Marshal’s Log, Entry 11:
The Gods of Ruin have not yet released us from their grasp.
Today, we were ambushed at the roads in the south of Pyrix. We were marching back from our battle at the Violet Coast when we heard the loud clanging of armour, and saw large silhouettes on the horizon; it was a warband from the Helots. They cared little for subterfuge, and openly screamed their objective: To run me, the leader of the expedition, to the ground.
After my failing health since our second altercation with the Mortis Praetorian, we had practiced retreating scenarios with the army, so when the warriors of chaos lunged at us, we made a feigned last stand, with Volgi and the Yndrinien watch performing covering fire while I and the cavaliers made a push to escape. To our but to my inner horror, the Helots did not take the bait; instead they wailed with their full force into our forces. While I made my retreat, I heard behind me the sound of steel going through wood, iron, and flesh, releasing cries of agony. I wished I could help them, but they put their lives at stake in my protection. To go back was to ensure their blood was spilled for nothing.
As we marched with utmost speed, the sound of battle dampened, and before I knew, I noticed that our plan had worked. We had created a good distance between us and our foes, who were still occupied. The Freeguild that stood that day proved hard to kill, and did not move an inch. It was here, far from worries, that I saw something glittering in front of me; a vein of raw emberstone. With my fortunes turning, I saw it as a reward for our successful manoeuvre. Yet, as if Slaanesh was mocking me, the vein erupted as I touched it, slinging red-hot shards of rock my way that pierced my armour.
It was at this point that my soldiers alerted me of what was approaching us: A row of Chaos Knights, pledged to Khorne the vicious, rode to us in full gallop, accompanied by an even more vile champion who followed on a monstrous Kadarak. The order of the White Wolf tried to intercept them, but their clash did not even break the fiends’ stride. They rode on as bolts from a ballista.
We did not stand a chance. As the tide of steel hit us, my wounds gave the final stab in the back like a daemon in the most dreaded nightmares. I got lost in the scuffle as I was launched away by the sheer force of the charging attack. Only many hours later could my retinue find me again.
I regret to inform the city council that our losses from this battle were severe. At the moment, we have a casualty rate of over 40%. Many of our men now have scars that will follow them for the rest of their lives. Our Sylvaneth allies share our casualties, with many an elf walking with scorched limbs from which no leaf will grow. The only prize we have taken from our battle is that in Yndrinienburg, we have been able to construct a steam tank. It is not the usual mobile fortresses we take on our endeavours, but these steel behemoths are still quite useful in a pinch. Let us hope they turn the tide of war.