Of Blood, Steel and Hunger

The pain of Chaos steel rending the blackened scales of the Draconith remains, her ruptured form held together by the self-sacrificed storm-wrought souls of her brethren. A live memory, strengthened by the vision of what laid ahead. The savage silhouette of a hulking Bloodthirster crests the hill with a bellowing roar, followed by an endless tide of unquenchable vermin and darkness-struck erstwhile allies given to the all-encompassing foulness covering these forlorn lands. While the artefact had been sealed away, its power no longer a threat to Thyria, the clamoring hordes of the devouring Ruinous Powers were no lesser threat. Yet the the glimmer of hope is not so easily quenched, brought to bear in starlit gleams. Different they may be, the desire for a preserved order unites, a wish to see realms thrive. Along the rumbling host of the Dawnbreakers march the Aelves of the Sunspire Expeditionary Force, ever keen and unshakable, their duty to the lands guiding their steps. And with a thunder and a boisterous shout, an unlikely ally, one who finds the barren void left behind the march of Chaos slightly less delectable than those they had just joined forces with. Ogors, unsatiable maws, Snow Eaters.

Rumbling clouds hurried over the firmament, flashing with insidious lightning as the draconith's few whose presence could be spared to strike against the remaining invokers of Chaos marched onto the field of battle, a meagre force of Protectors as well as the Veritant whose sole purpose was the purgation of just such darkness. Amidst their ranks, facing the oncoming onslaught, the Giltbearer herself. The luminous host of Sunspire joined their right, their constellation-marked banners tattered, but held high nonetheless, the mounted host of Belkharia Dawnblade riding along the masterful aelven archers. An-Zashra watched with a suspicious eye as through the howling mist the throng of Ogors descended the nearby hills, Rokar, Maw of Winter bellowing a deep, echoing sound upon a mighty horn, its power only nearly drowned out by the raging roars of the approaching might of the The Blazing Corruption, underscored by the chittering laughter of Clan Spitscreech remnants, who had rightfully earned the draconith's glare. Far, beyond the rocky outcrops, the Dawn Heralds, given to desperation and promise of power, joined the nightmare host face-to-face with the Ogors' strength.

A wrathful roar signalled the carnage, as the last defenders of Order struck out against the ferocious acolytes of the Dark Powers. Biding their time, the Dawnbreakers positioned carefully, knowing the insidious crafty nature of these ratmen, while their Aelven allies sallied forth under a hail of sunmetal arrows to carve apart the endless tide of clawing and biting bodies. The devious machinery of the Spitscreech clan roared to life, summoning emerald warp-lightning across the battlefield, striking down several Protectors attempting to flank their ranks, while the enormous Bloodthirster of the Khornate forces barreled forth against the Sentinels, their arrows tearing into its unholy flesh. The leader of the Aelves hurried to aid her warriors, yet, though they wounded it grievously, they could not manage to strike the greater daemon down, as its massive blades threatened their utter destruction. With a flash of lightning, the Draconith suddenly emerged in the Aelves' shadow, her fanged maw opening with a release of thrumming golden flame, ripping into the chaotic energies forming the Bloodthirster and banishing it with their aid back into the Chaos which had birthed it. Leaving the malevolent rodents to the Aelves' capable blades, she struck to the Ogor's flank, where daemonic riders threatened the stormhost's allies of moment. Charging with wrath unshackled, with talon, fang and flame she sundered their ranks before turning her attention back to the scheming rats. Their numbers replenished from the unknowable Gnaw, the Protectors moved forward as tempest surged from the heavens with the Dawnbreakers' descent. Their might empowered by Sigmar, both prepared to strike the Skaven ranks, yet the land, saturated with corrupted energies had slowed their advance. 

The desperation of the moment was untenable. If the forces of Chaos are not broken today, the land shall suffer forever more and their sacrifices would turn to worthless ash. The riders and archers of the Aelves struggled against the daemonic host, while the Ogors tussled with the knights and war-machines of the fallen Sigmarites; the innumerable wave of ratmen had to be halted lest it overwhelm all. The Draconith stood her ground afore the Skaven tide and bore the brunt of their rapid charge, their rusted blades spurred by the screeching call of their verminous lord. Stormwrought scales sputtered under the manifold strikes and, knowing she would be promptly overwhelmed, An-Zashra struck with unnerring rancor against the surrounding swarm.Lightning-wreathed talons and sweeping tail rampaged through the formless horde, sundering nearly all, while the fierce underlings of the Great Horned Rat had managed to overcome her Stormcast might as she burst into a flash of lightning, purchasing momentary reprieve for her allies. The rats screamed high in victory, waving their pitted weapons aloft, but their jubilations would not be lasting long. 

A crash of thunder struck their rear, the Annihilators bearing hard upon their feeble forms with meteoric weapons, carving broad swathes of destruction through their lines as the Protectors hit their flank with righteous zeal. At the same moment, the cliffs and rock-faces rumbled as an ash-cloud lifted, heralding the approach of the Ogors who had ground the humans into dust. Little remained of the chaotic forces at that moment, as the meagre remainder of the cowardly rats leapt into their gnawholes and disappeared, while the daemonic host was banished to the last.

A mighty victory had been achieved that day. The lands of Thyria shall be preserved as the stench of Chaos was removed from this restored form and the forces of Order, though battered and broken, return to their sanctums and prepare to smite the Dark Gods' forces wherever they rear their vile heads.

Nickit Cravenclaw roared with joy, at long last, the victory drew near. Long had he been bound-shackled by the rule of the hated master Taxril, made to obey and to work toward goals not of his own. Still, he managed to break free. Through cooperation with his hated rival, he outwitted the grey seer and even now, his might remade the grand monolith to Great Horned Rat's glory. All that remained was to win the coming fight, get rid of his rival the Red Rat and secure his place as the head of Clan Spitscreech.

Their foes were many, but as necessity of the moment dictated, for this singular moment, he would cooperate with others, at least for this moment. As such, the two mighty forces surged forward, ogres crushing the man-things while the khornite brute smashed into the pointy-eared aelfs. He himself unleashed his might and his creation The Big Bam cleaved through enemy forces, while his pitiful underlings bore the brunt of the assault of the cavalry. 

He was livid, thou some of his "allies" faltered, he pushed through, oh so close seemed the portal of the stormiest, where surely he would secure his prize. It was the joy of battle (being fought far from him) perhaps, that clouded his judgement. For the moment he saw the scaled An-Zashra he realised his folly. Looking back he saw the force of Snotsqueek the Red Rat, still standing Marin the back, not screening, and his own Horde so out of position that his mind reached the only possible conclusion. As the talons of the draconian tore him to pieces, he realised, there was but one ruler of the Clan Spitscreech, and it was not him...

____

"Allies" served their purpose, to fight, to die, was pointless, all that was needed now was a prize. As the Red Rat saw the demise of his "ally" he burned into laughter, finally, he thought. It was then that he commanded his forces to move, joined by the clarets who long ago became his servants, not Cravenclaw's. Surely, the Great Horned Rat laughed with him, as they charged the distance with speed so great, that they reached the towering giants and at long last, finally, Snotsqueek truly led the charge, inflicting first wounds on the titan. In rupture, his rats followed and under their strikes, the great draconith fell, and before the storm could take her, he cleaved from her a trophy, to forevermore remade himself into Drakefeller.

Though the battle turned to his foes favour, it did not matter. There was nothing more to be won. And as the rats died around him, he left for a gnaw hole, surrounded by the grizzled veterans of the struggles toward bright future. For after all, how else could it all have ended, and in the great-grand Blight City, he will be heralded as a hero, for all reports that came from this theatre of war praised him. He grinned, thinking back to the pact made with the rats of Eshin, quid pro quo, to slay those who would carry reports and to relay only what he deemed suited him in exchange for a price, price he held in his hands. Oh such a glorious day awaited him...

It was near the ruins of Twinbriar Monastery, at an inconspicuous barrow mound, where the last battle took place. The force of Khornate daemons and renegade knights was joined by a battered Clan Spitscreech. They had met the fury of the Dawnbreakers, who, led by An-Zashra, had decimated the wretched creatures. But together with the forces of K´Harzash, they were a terrible host.

On the other side, the pursuing Dawnbreakers were joined by the remnants of Belkaria’s Sunspire force. The Dawnriders informed both generals of the betrayal of their ally, and in their hearts sparked a cold wroth that hastened their march, each army tired but understanding that this fight would decide the fate of Lake Vitiis.

As the two opposing armies approached, a third host was seen rumbling through the wooded hills. It was to everyone’s shock the mighty Snoweater Tribe. The Ogors had rampaged through the region for months, and their route had brought them right to Twinbriar Monastery. They met the Laughing Ones in combat, and devoured many, resulting into a revolting sickness amongst the ogors. Yet these are hardy creatures, and instead of succumbing to the plague, they erupted in fury of the foul prey in the region. When they saw the host of chaos marching upon the clearing, Bragg Blackhorn led his strongest warriors into battle, vowing to kill the corrupters of his game, no matter what it would take. As such, the unlikely alliance of Stormcast, Lumineth, and Ogors faced the Khornate, the Skaven, and the former Cities of Sigmar.

It were the forces of Order who struck first. Belkaria drove with her Gold-Blooded Squadron and an eager Huskard into the endless horde of clanrats, slaying so many of the foul creatures that the legs of their steeds turned a deep dark red from the blood of so many ratmen. The arrows of the Third Platoon stuck home as K’Harzash was pierced by many. Yet the forces of chaos bided their time, and struck without mercy. While the Gold-Blooded managed to retreat out of the sea of venomous blades, Belkaria fell, her Phoenix Stone consumed like Torelith of Phoenicium who was consumed by Abraxia. The Huskard suffered similar, with the treacherous Glory Seeker shooting a cannonball through his steed while the ogor was hoisted up by K’Harzash and pulled apart by his gigantic serrated whip. With the centre cleared, the Bloodthirster charged into the Lumineth archers. On the left flank, Vytautas engaged Bragg Blackthorn while the Cavaliers, Glory Seeker, and the Crushing Host fought the Braggs closest warriors.

Just as the battle seemed to turn, An-Zashra appeared out of the clouds. The enormous stormdrake dived down and unleashed the full wroth of her righteous flames at K’Harzash while the Sentinels took aim. This proved to much for the material form of the demon, and with an earthshaking roar, the Bloodthirster was banished from Ghyran.

An-Zashra’s intervention had changed the course of battle, but it was not yet over. Vytautas and Bragg fought with a terrible fury as they parried and dodged each other’s blows while their fierce mounts were stuck in a mortal struggle. But Bragg’s warriors threw their famished fury at the cavaliers with both mount and riders biting large chunks out of their foe. With their regained vitality, they pushed back the united assault. Even the Glory Seeker would not hold onto these sustained beatings with the Ogors smelling the operator inside. The fight on this flank ended when a piercing shriek echoed across the battlefield as the griffon of Vytautas was gored by Bragg’s beast of winter. The marshal was forcefully dismounted by his dying steed, and squished mere moments after by his foe’s monstrous steed. Thus ended the life of the Vytautas, who betrayed all in the name of power; a mightier opponent bested him with none coming to his aid.

With the loss of their leader, the renegades broke and fled. Whatever man stood in the ogors way was trampled by the mournfangs, hungry for more flesh. Even the Glory Seeker was smashed until a part of the hull was pried open and the commander devoured like fish from a can. An-Zashra roared beside the Ogors, wiping the Bloodcrushers off the battlefield before unleashing her fury upon the surging Skaventide. In the midst of battle she seemed an avatar of Sigmar’s wroth. With each swipe, bite, and slam of her tail, scores of ratmen fell. Within seconds she had grabbed the Skryre mage and crushed the feeble creature with great ease.

Yet the Skaven were lost in a frenzy and surged upon An-Zashra like a wave of claws and nails. The gargantuan form of the stormdrake is tough, but even these noble creatures have their vulnerable spots. And finally, An Zashra fell, a bolt from the heavens taking her soul to reforge what could be saved. At this the Skaven squeeled triumphantly.

It was here however that the final blow was struck against the forces of ruin. The Skaven had indeed defeated An-Zashra and most of the Lumineth host, but this battle had costed many eatmen, even for the inconceivable amount of warriors that the Skaven possess. Without warning, lightning struck, and the Reclusians known as the Dawnbreakers landed on the battlefield and struck the remainders of the horde together with the Protectors. This sudden charge broke what was left of the horde. Snotsqueek retreated from the battlefield while the centre gave.

As the Skaven fled, and the Lumineth united again with their Stormcast allies, Bragg crashed with his raiders through a stream of fleeing followers of chaos. For a moment the Ogor looked upon his allies of convenience and the disciples of order held in their breath for what might happen next. Bragg gazed upon them, then looked towards the throng of routed enemies, and gave a roar. His beast of winter gave chase, and disappeared in the shade of the woods, though the screams of their prey could be heard far and wide.

And so the Battle of Blood, Steel, and Hunger ended. While the Snow Eaters pursued the remnants of the Ruinous Powers, the Lumineth Runecarvers started to draw the Master Rune of Alarith into the earth, under the watchful eye of the Dawnbreakers. When it was completed, the ground heaved and the battlefield was buried by a great landslide, sealing Thyrias's Bane from the grasp of The Ruinouns Powers.