Sunday, 28 November 2010

Battle of Hardor Ruins (187PC)

As the Skaven's arcane workshops and factories continued to expand more slaves were needed to man them. Without other skaven factions to force into bondage Typhus was forced to look elsewhere. The race of men were ideal candidates, being capable workers and their spirits easily broken. Despite his “understanding” with the lords of Lamentation Typhus did not trust them, so rather than sail directly into Galamor Bay and run the gauntlet of both the Dark Elf and Holy Sigmarite fleet Typhus landed his forces on the south coast of the Armaethor peninsula and marched them overland to Ravensgart.

Typhus sneered at the pathetic army of soldiers that had sallied forth to meet him. Their brightly coloured uniforms and pretty flags looked very impressive, but their technology could never match the advanced science of the Skaven master race! Typhus smirked as the enemies right flank broke apart and men began streaming back towards Ravensgart. His Eshin agents were already at work sabotaging their clumsy war machines.

The winds of magic seemed unusually weak and his conjurations fizzled and died. He tried again with similar results. Some accursed force protected the humans from his arcane might! He pretended to be just gesticulating to encourage his minions and hoped no-one had noticed his temporary impotence.

Things seemed to be going well despite this so Typhus settled down to watch the entertainment, cackling with evil glee as he watched humans running around screaming as they burned to death or collapse vomiting their dissolving innards amid clouds of toxic chemicals.

Just as victory seemed assured a desperate push broke through the centre of the Skaven lines and Typhus let slip the musk of fear. A small party of armoured warriors lead by a chanting priest with eyes of holy fire were headed straight for him! Desperation and a strong desire for self preservation lent him strength and he vanished in a puff of smoke, abandoning his slave retainers to certain death.

His conjuration had been mighty but hasty and he felt the aether slipping from his control. When he re-appeared it was in a mighty explosion rather than the usual pop and smell of burnt liquorice. As he blinked and regained his vision he was pleased to see the bodies of enemy cavalry lying about him, annihilated by the titanic energies. This pleasure swiftly evaporated when he realised no-one else had noticed.

Still, the enemy were defeated and all that remained was to mop up. A tiresome enemy wizard leapt out of a forest and tried to duel with Typhus, but his abilities were beneath the all-powerful Grey Seers prodigious talents so he once again snapped his fingers and teleported away, content to let his army dispatch the troublesome mage and not because he in any way felt threatened by the feeble and inferior magics the human commanded.

Typhus returned to Boiling Peak with the holds of his fleet crammed with slaves. The roiling ash clouds and brilliant flashes of larva above Boiling Peak were clearly visible from Kazad Varr as the complex went into full operation.

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