Ashe points to right and cries, “hostiles approaching, just over the horizon.” Ammon-Sul looks at Ashe with both admiration and some trepidation.
Glog unlimbers his warhammer (while his sheathed artefact sword, the companion to the chalice, writhes and screams in frustration at remaining unengaged). Glog speaks to Ammon-Sul and asks, “do you know who or what would be attacking us? Do you know of a place of safety or that would defend us from this new foe?”
Ammon-Sul consults a small device on his wrist and says, “these are Dark Eld-Elves – dark elves. They ride on wings of blades and seek only to rape, torture, and kill. To be defeated by them is to live as a slave at best and to be a plaything for demented experiments at worst. My vessel is approximately one-quarter mile distant from here. I am afraid that the minutes to reach it are not minutes we have. The foe will be upon us in less than a minute.”
Roland begins a series of incantations and the Sword of Fire thrums with the Spirit Magic. The Sword of Fire’s edge gleams with a supernal bluish light. Roland says, “we have to protect Ammon Sul. He is our only guide here, and without him we would not know how to complete our quest or return home. Ashe, if Bert can sense their presence, expect these enemies to use psionics; can you use your powers against them?” Then, Roland mutters another Spirit Magic spell and looks in shock around at the other Party members. Roland shakes it off and adopts a defensive stance with the Fire Sword thrust out before him to meet the flyers.
Ashe concentrates hard on the horizon as he extends Bert forward. Bert blazes with an inner purple light, and the air around the Party drops more than 60 degrees in moments. Ammon-Sul looks at Ashe in horror and shrieks, “an unshielded psyker! Drov ak mala ak zhar!” Ashe indicates that he is thinking of fecal matter and immediately switches tactics and teleports to meet the menace just as flying contraptions sling over the horizon.
Thivinen takes several largish steps backward and crouches in the vegetation. He mutters loud enough to be heard, “what rules govern this place? If we do something rash, it could destroys us all!”
Perra grabs her head and screams loudly as the flyers approach, “they are SO STRONG! My gods are here. They are so strong! Ai! Ai! Khorne! KHORNE! Blood for the blood God!”
The Party members’ battle honed, preternatural powers of observation and tactical acumen kick in. Time slows to a crawl for the intrepid team. They all note details that no mortal could hope to see let alone understand in a combat environment.
Yet, the Party members note the nine sleek, flying craft that blur over the horizon, skimming the ground at approximately 45 feet. The flyers are painted in a garish blue, trimmed in chrome, and bloody red. There are stubby wings that are studded in the front with blades and sharp tips. Chains rattle beneath the vehicles. The pilots are slight of build and swathed in some type of armor that is silvery and festooned with the stenciled outlines of various types of skulls. The human and elvish skulls are recognizable, but there are a myriad of other creatures represented that the Party cannot identify save that these stencils must represent kills.
Ashe is a blur. He shifts from the ground to the air and punches the stunned pilot, who dutifully explodes into a meaty mist, but before that flyer hits the ground Ashe flits to another flyer and lands a flurry of blows on that pilot, and another flyer arcs planetward. Just before shifting again to another flyer, Ashe releases a cannonade of magical shuriken that blast another pilot from his flyer. Ashe repeats the process and in less than thirty seconds, six of the nine flyers are down in flames beyond the Party and Ammon-Sul’s position.
Glog and Roland split up and run opposite directions. Two flyers swoop towards Glog, and one bears down on Roland.
Roland jumps, spins, and dances aside as he splits the pilot from sternum to thigh in a wash of fire and gore.
Glog claps his hands together using his “come and get it” ability, and the two flyers collide as Glog dive rolls just out of range of the fiery crash.
* * *
These adversaries appear to be defeated, but Ammon-Sul glances nervously around. “No one knew of this event. No one! Lord Lorgar was quite explicit in this being a secret …”
A wailing ululation from Perra pulls the Party members’ attention away from Ammon-Sul. The space near Perra seems to thin and membranous, multi-eyed, multi-mouthed, tentacled, semi-transparent denizens seem to float around her like deep sea creatures swimming in a viscous jelly.
The scene near Perra seems to shift and suddenly a large, bestial, bi-pedal creature pulls into view. The creature is massive – it is seventy feet tall if it is an inch. The head spasms back and forth – its two eyes, one seemingly bovine and the other serpentine, roll around taking the Party in. The head is capped with great horns and a gigantic, bronze helm, and the beast sits upon a throne composed only of stripped skulls.
Perra turns to the apparition and genuflects saying, “Ai! Ai! Khorne! KHORNE! Blood for the blood God!”
A voice like a raging river combined with the sound of a war horn booms through gut and ears. Ashe falls to his knees vomiting. Thivinen’s eyes are bleeding. He mutters, “Chaos and the Void, they bring ruin. They promise much, but they bring ruin!”
The voice states, “daughter, beloved Perra, you have done well. You have brought me the Changer of Ways Chalice and Sword. Give them to me now, and I will make you a queen over faithful denizens. You will be drenched in blood and will bring me skulls beyond counting.”
Ammon-Sul yells, “Nooooooooo! Those implements were ordained for Horus! For a thousand years they gathered strength only to return now when our Lord needs them!”
The being turns his attention on Ammon-Sul. Ammon-Sul slumps to the ground in defeat. The beast raises a huge, meaty fist to pulp the unfortunate Ammon-Sul.
A sound like tearing linen rends the silence, and a shimmering portal opens to the Party’s right side.
“What is this?” the beast exclaims as he turns to face the wound in reality.
From the portal five caecilian, bipedal creatures emerge. They are approximately five feet tall with webbed fingers and prehensile thumbs. Their grey and green mottled skin is mostly covered in a golden armor. Their heads are protected by glassy helms that dance with lights and stray bolts of energy. In their arms, they cradle long, metallic implements with long projections pointing toward the daemonic being.
In a clearly artificial voice, the caecilian in the lead says, “Perra, our princess, we have been seeking you! Thank Aracne that you have made it to a world we can both reach! Come now, your father needs your talents to defeat the insect hordes that threaten these worlds! Come quickly! Time grows short!”
The beast roars its opposition as the caecillians beckon to Perra and begin to back towards the portal.
* * *
Let the games begin!
In service,
Rich