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post #12 of (permalink) Old 10-08-15, 11:11 AM Thread Starter
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Aenaria thundered a defiant cry as the Herald of Khorne crashed against her shield with it’s all of its weight. Despite her human strength, her muscles waned and she fell to her knees. The Hoplon shield in her grip became pinned to the blood-slathered earth and she desperately hunkered beneath it’s weight to avoid the pressing mass of a thousand seething blades cutting at the phalanx. She hefted her spear into an overhead grip, shattered through the Herald of Khorne’s spine with a single lance through the small of the foe’s spinal chord.

As the Demoness’ Chosen made to remove her weapon, several Bloodletters charged into her kneeling form. Their gazes locked eye-level with the standing chosen, their hooves scrabbled over Aenaria’s shield as it she raised it over her body. The Daemons leapt from the hoplon shield and onto the waiting spears from her comrades that caught them in mid-jump. Blood rained upon her shield from the speared corpses from where they dangled mere feet above her.

Aenaria’s sisters waited until she rolled onto her feet before they discarded the bodies. Other Chosen had swarmed around her in order to protect the weakened gap in the phalanx. Even now, they fought ferociously on the frontlines, traded ten blows for every one that a minion of Khorne could manage to land.

“Sisters and brothers!” Aenaria bellowed over the cacophony of battle. She shouldered her way into the front ranks. “Wipe this filth from our realm! To your master!”

All Aenaria could see were the quick-silver flash of spear shafts and great swords in the malestrom she had entered. In her grip, the double bladed spear tore through guts and rent through armor with every thrust. It ripped away the innards of demonic fiends with every reversed arc. Her inhuman strength allowed her to wield the great spear as if she used two hands. The weapon spun and parried and whirled around her back to cleave away an unsuspecting foe’s head.

Hours passed, but they felt like fleeting minutes to Aenaria. Despite herself, after she killed her twentieth Bloodletter, she realized that her arms ached sorely from overuse. Yet the effort had not been in vain. The phalanx proved implacable in its advance, in spite of the number of chosen fated to die in the struggle. Kindred spirits that Aenaria had known for decades, she had seen split open and crushed to pulp beneath the Khornate meatgrinder.

We will arise again, one day… and celebrate our eternal victory over this nemesis!

By the time Aenaria and the first ranks of the Chosen had reached the Demoness, their master had already cleared a great path through the hordes of the Blood God. Aenaria marvelled at the sight of Nyst. Her alien form glistened with sweat, her veins thick and oily on her skin, her armor dented and rent in a hundred places, decorated with the viscera of her enemies.

Nyst smiled without looking. Two of her relic blades flashed from her person and cleaved through a Skull Cannon. “Ah, my Chosen. My heart was filled with woe that you may have fallen before your time. I still have need of you, you know?”

Aenaria slammed her fist against her chest plate. Dozens of Chosen shouted their war cries as they advanced past her. “I am here ever to serve by your side, mistress.”

Nyst quirked a grim smirk. “I have a quest for you, my chosen. I have looked into the skeins of the future. I desire you to return to the forlorn city and prepare a second warhost. You will not be coming to reinforce the Gates of Sorrow, but instead I order you to help the Prophet Mirathir.”

“Mistress?” Aenaria would have bawked, if she were not in the moment of spearing another Bloodletter through the eye. “What about the battle?”

Nyst spared her a fleeting glance and winked mischievously. “I shall take control of this chaos. Do as I bid, immediately.”

Aenaria rested her spear on her shoulder and bowed her head reverently. “Your bidding, eternal, mistress. I shall do as you command.”

Nyst replied. “I also have one more request before you take flight. A special… ambassador of another realm desires my ear for a time. Please, indulge him before you go. You may find him in the Chamber of the Infinite within my palace.”

“Of course,” Aenaria said. “At once, your grace.”

Aenaria unfurled her ebon wings and beat them furiously until she soared into the crimson skies once again. The aerial battle above the Gates of Sorrow was still frantic and relentless, but it was no longer her concern. She weaved elegantly through the fighting, toward the endless labyrinth of the Forlorn City in the distance.

“Evil is relative…You can’t hang a sign on it. You can’t touch it or taste it or cut it with a sword. Evil depends on where you are standing, pointing your indicting finger.”
-Glen Cook, The Black Company

Tales of Heroism and Bravery, in the 41st Millennium and the Old World. Perhaps some Realm Gate Wars in the future .

Gods' Hall (Completed)

The New Word (Completed)
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