Skip to main content

Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Warhammer Fantasy: Heart of Darkness [P3: CLOSED]

Captain Sunami Anglermaw (played by KingofHaddock) Topic Starter

"What my friend?" Countered Mokte, whose vision was still striken by the cowl of the sun. "What is the matter, why are you so afraid?" He asked, his arms raised as to soothe his panicking companion, fishing net and rotting perch in separate claws. It had been clear that he'd been blind to the sight of the trireme ahead, sailing eerily upon the wide Mortis river in a cold, logical rhythm. The lapping of oars upon the swampy riverbed was synchronized, like the ship itself was automata; piloted by some machine or unholy spirit. It wasn't far from the truth, as Mokte would soon learn.
His curiousity was piqued when Falderan ignored his act of reassurance, the Man-elf racing over to the rudder to adjust their direction toward the reeds (Mokte was indifferent to Falderan's origins, and believed the past was best left unsaid). Now he'd been completely dumbfounded, and he watched Falderan struggle with the ship like Lustrian prey evading the chase of a salamander. He tossed the miraculous perch into the water without ceremony, and treaded toward the prow. Immediately he became privy to Falderan's fear. A glittering canoe of glimmering gold, bleached bone and ancient, rotting wood. It's sails were stained with age and tattered beyond repair, it's broadsides glimmered with sheet-thin gold, like a beetle's segmented carapace. A serpentine head craned it's neck in their direction, the face of screaming skull bearing down at these interlopers with utter contempt.

But none of this was enough to unnerve the Saurus of Tzlipectl. Until he'd glimpsed at the slavering menials that milled onboard, to and fro in their own rapid movement. Whatever these skeletal thralls were clambering about at was hardly on Mokte's mind, save that the entire crew was composed of the undead; reduced to little more than mewling puppets of calcium. Mokte did not voice his findings as he raced to the oar. It would have been entirely redundant to alert Falderan of what he'd grimly ascertained. Mokte heaved as much as his grave countenance would allow, and that was much more than even the most seasoned human sailor. The little vessel moved like it had been spurred alive by the clarity of the situation.

Meanwhile, Anglermaw still roved around the used grainsacks that had made for improvised bedsheets, completely oblivious to the danger. His world now comprised that of his fever. His chest heaved in a spike of acute pain, and he sputtered beneath the textile rags he'd taken from the storeroom.

In his own blissful little world, Anglermaw was as safe as one could be.
Falderan (played by Dreath)

As the small vessel turned and brought itself on track the soft waves of the river hit with a gentle thump. Something the group had grown to ignore like one would sea birds or nearby conversation. Fal took over the row and began pushing along. Moving them with increased vigor as the trireme came closer. Making it to the small forest of reeds mere moments before being spotted Fal's heart pounded like a cat cornered by feral mutts. Once they were successfully behind cover Fal went immediately to his belly and indicated for Mokte to do the same. The boat rocked and if he were a Skaven he would, as Anglermaw would put it 'squirt the fear musk'. They went quiet.

Back on the main river the shimmering trireme moved past. Seeing the large form through the reeds going by with an unnatural purpose. The narrowly noticeable forms of skeletal rowers moved in the bright light that reflected on their sun bleached forms. As the vessel started it's slow pass by the slow beat of drums was heard. It was low. A pattern similarly used to synergize rowing. At least in the olden days of the Empire. It was something he heard about in stories from navymen and saw first hand back in Araby. The shimmering gold along the trireme and it's remarkable strong seeming structure despite age would be weirdly beautiful in other circumstances. Above the reeds towards the front third of the boat was a bone and wooden construction. From the triangular form of wood and numerous bones of possibly Human origin Fal could tell it was some kind of catapult. Each bang of the drums rang out more and more and soon he noticed a golden roof near the end from the corner of his eye. Likely the location that sat whoever was in charge. Though he couldn't tell through the reeds but a noticeable amount of bronze armour adorned those standing up the golden encrusted stairs. Each drum beat continuing to send a booming terror through Fal as he gripped his newer blade's handle.
Captain Sunami Anglermaw (played by KingofHaddock) Topic Starter

Mokte did as he was bidden, he leapt from the ship entered the swampy grove, hoping that they had avoided the sight of the undead. He was afraid of leaving Anglermaw to his fate, but so long as the skaven remained within his reverie, he would be safe. They were all consumed by the lush mass of reeds; the matter was simply allowing these creatures to pass through. With each reverberating pound of the trireme drums, their presence was betrayed. An order was barked in a tongue the Saurus did not recognise, piercing the ongoing percussion. From the distance - his vision marred by the canopy of reeds, Mokte noticed all movement cease. The machinary strides of oars from within the ship stopped.
"I hope you haven't lost your edge. Falderan." Mokte murmured, whispering as best as his saurian countenance would allow. Conflict seemed inevitable. They could retreat into the open desert, but even if these mummies did not give chase, they would inevitably die -- The desert was the sun's domain, and they would eventually succumb to the heat.
Mokte continued to theorise who would die last, as he awaited the trireme to approach. Anglermaw would of course be the first to die; he was already suffering enough from the heat and would not last much longer without medicine. Falderan had shown strength in the face of this climate, but the heavy sunburn across his once milky white frame told stories of his slipping endurance. As for Mokte...

...Well, was starvation a worse fate than dehydration? He did not know.

He brooded over this within ten minutes, the trireme closing in under every synapse as it was directed by a dessicated humanoid, it's face concealed by a bicoloured mask as it strode under the serpentine figurehead. His bleached servants slavishly complied with every imagined sentence. Mokte's heart pounded with anticipation, his club-sword clenched tighly in his right claw as cold dread replaced the desert heat.

The trireme's leering skull must have been a mere few metres from the reed grove before Mokte heard something scream to his left. Heaving footsteps thumped the brass-coloured sand, their owner's warcry horrendously gutteral. Mokte snapped to his left, driven by instinct. Whether the creatures were allies of the undead or not, it had barely entered his mind, but he raised himself to full height as the beastmen charged. The crocodilion were stark naked, almost in parody of the Saurus himself, save that it was dimunitive in comparison, and bore self-mutilations that displayed the icons of chaos. Scavenged greataxe in hand, the creature did not relent. Instinct gripped his mind, Mokte parried the blow, his club-sword dug deep into the creature's chest, crushing it's ribcage and near splitting it in two. A torrent of blood snaked from the monster's palsied body, jittering to the dance of it's death throes.
"What in Nahwa's name was that?!" Mokte blurted as the creature fell, his nerves jolting with a bestial urge for battle that even he struggled to contain. "These beasts, they are a vile interpretation of the Saurus-kin!" Reeds ruffled intimidatingly in front, before exposing the monsters that took refuge. More crocodilions charged with hand-me-down weapons. Others were crudely smithed onto cudgels or gnarled spears, made for the sole purpose of instilling pain.

They charged from all sides save the river. Although he could only spot seven, Mokte feared that there were more hidden within the reed groves. All anticipation left him, he would fight, he would fight until he had killed as much of these monsters as possible. He beckoned Falderan to do the same, he only wished by some miracle that Anglermaw would be safe.
"The undead? These monsters? who does it matter whom we mete pain to?" Shouted Mokte, ignorant of his comprimise.

--

"Bow front! Close in on that swamp!" Barked the masked prince atop his dais, his long since emaciated hand gripping tight the scabbard of his khopesh. Silhouttes danced within shade of the reed grove, their shadows flickering like dancers in the sun. Prince Sobekanen mouthed his thanks to Ptra; the last remnants of Skukeel Dharkhar's host would be slaughtered here, and Sobekanen would take his pelt to Bhagar, where it would be paraded to a soundless crowd of dead. The last thought made him feel awkward, sad even. This living purgatory was not the paradise as described by the Mortuary Cult. This broken frame was not the golden carapace promised to him by the liche priests in his adolescence. No matter how fragmented his memory had become, he could still recall those insipid lies. He had instead awoken ages past the glory days, from a young man his prime, his body had been aged by what seemed to be millenia, though the Nehekharan calendar ceased relevance ages ago. His freedom had been stolen away by a single blade, an orc choppa that had cleaved his skull in two.

Priest Iannoes had told him not to remove the laces that wired his head together, no matter how much it itched.

The itch was frustrating, it reminded him of his last and most costly failure. It also brought him a desire for redemption, and had drove him to challenge Skukeel's predecessor to single combat, where Sobekanen's khopesh exposed the bowels that quivered inside Mukban Fishbeast's belly. The routed host had plagued the Mortis for as long as the Prince had been raised. He would make sure that the remants of Mukban's host never lived to regret their humbling.

"Captain Nourma! I want Myrmiden fire smoking across that forest." Sobekanen ordered to the statuary golem, nondescript from the skeletal crew save a flamingo headress. "Skukeel will know retribution in Usirian's realm."

Nourma silently complied. Soon the skeletons once again milled about in preparation to make the Mortis river a landscape of Hell.
Butch (played by Thelordofmemes)

Whhhhhh-whhhhaaaa
Falderan (played by Dreath)

The roar from the reeds broke the tense silence when only the sound of oar and wave was heard. A large crocodilian beast leapt to Mokte before being swiftly dispatched. Body flung into the water and tainting the water a dread red. The sound of crude war horns blew out across the river followed by splashes. Out of the reeds came three more of the mostly crocodilian beasts. Seeming to be twisted mix of man and reptile many looked deformed with patches of scales on mostly stretched, fleshy frames. They all had a majority of their bodies as scales and beast but the ever so mild fragments of humanity were a twisted reminder of what they were. Beastmen. A foe Fal had fought dozens of times and despised their sickly breed. These ones were a different variety to the typical he met in the Empire but it would be no different.

Drawing his blade he leapt off the boat. Jumping over the head of one as it lunged. Slashing down his steel clashed against the beasts back. Scales hard as armour deflected the blade. Though the strike was enough to trip up the beast. Sending it face first into the boat and underwater. A hole dented into the side of the boat as it rocked furiously. The beasts turned and moved towards Fal. Any other situation he could smell Beastmen a mile away. But between dehydration, the drying of his nose and the foul unnatural smell of the river paired with the Beastmen's own desert hardened skin their was little to give away their position apart from their actions. The sounds of more bodies hitting water ran out. A series of smaller Beastmen more noticeable as a variant to Ungors came. Resembling Hyenas mangy furred hides the humanoid figures roared out. Coming out around them some went for the trireme while four emerged around Fal and Mokte. They screamed and charged swinging ancient, blunted swords likely stolen from a tomb and some simply large rocks. The whistle of shafts flew out and a series of arrows pattered into the reeds. Several bodies fell according to the splashes but this was no comfort. Before Fal could realize the chaos around him one of the crocodilians struck out and knocked him back. Meanwhile another struck for Mokte. Roaring in fury.

Behind the reeds a heavily scarred Beastman resembling a cross between a vulture and camel but with a surprisingly bulky frame glared to the trireme. He stood eight foot tall and possessed a thick neck with a beaked head like the typical carrion. His hands had long talons and feet were hooved. His torso was bulky and hunched over with a large hump like that of a camel. He wore several rudimentary pieces of armour taken from Nehekaran cities and drabbed over the creatures back was a sun bleached standard of faded gold worn like a cape. In his talons was a long khopesh of bronze with an intricately carved handle. This beast was the leader, Skukeel Dharkhar. Letting out a cry that sounded like the screech of a bird but deeper the beast charged in. Eyes set on Prince Sobekanen.
Captain Sunami Anglermaw (played by KingofHaddock) Topic Starter

"There you are, nek." The words rasped off of Sobekanen's dried tongue, muffled from within his facemask. Skukeel's presence elicited torrent of venom in the Prince, figuratively leaking like a malignant ichor from the parting gash that had abruptly ended his life so long ago. The untested Beastlord was of a huge girth, his almost spherical mass wobbling in rhythmic motion. His gangernous flesh was so green that Sobekanen had nearly mistaken Skukeel as one of the crocodilian rank and file within his host, and his body was marred by a number of orifices across his flesh. Pools of virulent mucus trickled from the pores and sizzled upon Skukeel's skin. This was not the second-in-command Sobekanen had mortally wounded near Bhagar. Sobekanen clenched the gilded grip across his khopesh, he'd dare not ascertain what wretched spirit Skukeel had debased himself to.

Skukeel raised himself in a dominating display over the deluge, like a primate sizing up the latest upstart alpha. A retinue of four wargors approached like the minions of an infamous bully. Three of them bore the head of an ibex bull, while the fourth head was smothered in a dazzling mane unfitting for a creature of chaos. Sobekanen recognised the lion-headed wargor as Leo'slaka, the rippling, halberd-bearing servant of the deity called Slaanesh, and one of Mukban's most savage lieutenants.
"Skukeel aksho akh nehek!" Rumbled the baritone drum that was Leo'slaka's voice, he beckoned Sobekanen's leering vessel with a flick of his free claw.
The flammable container had already been made ready for it's flight, fashioned into the likeness of a skull, as was the aesthetic for the tomb lords. Nourma approached his master with a robotic salute, his vibrant headress fluttering to the deluge of makeshift javelins that whooshed in the vessels direction.
"Burn them all, then dock the boat by the shore, so I may take Skukeel's hide."
Nourma nodded, and it had taken merely a boney gesture from the captain for his underlings to sever the sinew holding the catapult in place.

The flaming skull's jaw was swung ajar by the wind, mimicing a rictus scream. A moment later it would shatter upon the reeds, the oil within it's broken cavity engulfing the trench like tendrils which quickly terrified the lesser ungors of their brood. Soon the reed grove was doomed to crumple before the inferno.

--

It was the smoke that stirred Anglermaw from his reverie. His throat was engulfed in ash as embers flickered across the riverbed like black snowflakes, lapping across his whiskers. The air stank of crumbling firewood, as he awoke to a blurry world of ruby red. Pain rang across every nerve of his body, the unprecendented urgency arguing with the fever that burned inside him. Anglermaw dug his left claw into the fur of his forehead, but he couldn't quell the pain. He grunted hard to dull the sensation, but his ears were tortured by the abrupt deluge.
"What in Rat's name..." He muttered aloud, still blind to the danger he was in. He pulled himself upward from the used sacks of food, using his free hand to finger the familiar sensation of his revolver, hidden beneath a makeshift wrapping of linen. He hacked again as he unwrapped the sheet and fingered the shiny trigger. The vision of Hell branded his feverish mind, but the runic etching across the weapons muzzle was imprinted on his mind like muscle memory.

Anglermaw rubbed his eye with the handle, he felt double his age as he heaved himself up the weapon like an old man's cane. He almost fell on his snout as boat swayed upon the riverbed. A moment sooner, and his eyes were smothered with the vision of death and fire. The fever burning in his mind soothed, his nerves were suddenly ice cold with fear. Mutants dotted the beachhead, dead, dying or in great pain as they flailed, their flesh burned black. Beastmen always screamed harder than they roared, Anglermaw had known that from cold experience. He cocked his revolver, looking over the ship prow at what was once a grove of swampy reeds. Mokte and Falderan were nowhere to be found, but he'd hardly fathomed the idea of their deaths.

He didn't have time for it; a javelin had nearly found it's way into the side of his ribcage. He screamed in fear as he stumbled back in shock, curses spilling from his mouth in every language he knew. Queekish, Reikspiel, Estalian, and even a hint of Tilea-Khyprian. The mocking cackles were enough to pull his mind back to the danger, as a second javelin flew past, digging itself so hard into the boat that it tore into the wood. Anglermaw fell on his back, nearly crushing his tail. A jolt of agony spread across his spine, distorted laughter biting at his mind. He struggled back on to his feet, screaming in pain as well as fear as the curses continued to flow. Two hyena-men hurled their bodies by front prowl. The spotted figures grunted in dominance, stone cudgels wrapped across their fists as they cackled gleefully at their prey.

Anglermaw's eyes widened with panic. The ungors closed in for the kill. The Sea-Rat screamed in terror, fight or flight commanding his hands as he pulled the trigger of his revolver. The first ungor fell dead almost instantly, a red orifice leaking pieces of it's shattered heart. It's companion backed off for a brief moment. At first, it reacted only to the thunderous bang, but after a second, the hyena-man noticed the bleeding corpse of it's companion and quivered with clarity.

Now it was the creature's turn to be afraid.

It squaled like a pig as Anglermaw shot the creature in it's furred stomach, penetrating through it's spine. It dropped it's club upon the woodwork as it fell, and it attempted to crawl back into the sea. The pattering upon the surface was clear evidence that it had been far too slow. "You're gonna rot, beast-thing." It was the last thing the fearful creature heard as Anglermaw grabbed the spiked cudgel and thrust it across the ungor's horned crown. It died instantly.

The sudden adrenaline had escaped the Sea-Rat, his body slumped across the bow as the fever once more leeched his energy away. "Horrid bastard-things." Anglermaw heaved, the curses gave him some semblance of control. He had to get off the boat, he had to find Mokte and Falderan. More curses blurted from his mouth as he fell into riverbed, the smoke blotted out the desert sun, and he'd forgotten that he'd sailed some grove on the Mortis River.

He swam feebly to the scabbing surface, glad that the revolver bullets had not fallen out of his jacket while he slept.
Falderan (played by Dreath)

The world became a distorted mess of colours and flashing lights as Fal was knocked under the shallow water. Dazed by the impact and feeling a burning ache within his chest he went to gasp in pain but quickly felt water fill is mouth. The distortion around him clearly water. Breaking the surface of the water he gasped for air and started to spit up water. His vision returning to the chaos around him he quickly remembered his peril when a bulky, crocodilian form burst from beside him. Teeth gnashing he narrowly dodged before being slammed away by it's tail. The impact hitting his belly and causing him to throw up a mix of stomach juice and river water.

The taste was vile as he searched for his blade but finding it nowhere. Looking frantically for Mokte he saw the Saurus tackle another reptilian beast into the some reeds and furious roars and screeches followed. A clawed talon came down and managed to slash along Fal's right shoulder. Tearing into the flesh and sleeve a centimeter and drawing blood. Fal grabbed his wounded shoulder. The creature turning and opening its jaw for a kill strike. Fal stared back at the beast not wanting to die looking fearful. He clenched his teeth and growled back. But before the beast leapt a whistling cry erupted. The sound of crackling flames burst out as the Beastman fell to its side roaring in pain. It's flesh burning and a black oil like fluid covering it. The fluid stuck to the water and reeds. Igniting the whole area and filling it with a vile stench. As the beast roared and flailed to remove the stinging flames a swarm of arrows flew out. Flying through the air like rapid wasps they landed around Fal who through either luck or divine intervention avoided him as he fell back. The shock of the ordeal hitting him with weakness. The Beastmen he fought fled from the flames. A wailing erupting from nearby as a burning Ungor ran out. Cackling and yelping in pain Fal managed pick up a flung club by the beast. Little more than a stick and stone tied together it would need to do for now. His shoulder ached as he wielded the weapon in his left hand. Creeping to the shore Fal saw the futility in remaining in the burning riverbed.

Skukeel let out a great cry. Causing even the terrified Ungors to pause. They looked back and the fear for the flames was made miniscule to the fear of their twisted leader. Blinking with vertical eyelids the creature ordered it's host to charge back. From the water he witnessed two of the crocodilians including the one that fought Fal, swimming to the trireme.
"Tuzuu delar batru!" He cries in the vile dark tongue, or at least a variation of it. With new found vigor the Ungors charged back. Black fletched arrows flew out from the sand dunes and smacked about the trireme. None hitting their mark as they spiraled down.
Captain Sunami Anglermaw (played by KingofHaddock) Topic Starter

Cacophany thundered within Anglermaw's wetted ears, the dawi revolver dangling from his claw while he sauntered amidst the dug arrowheads and discarded blades and cudgels like a plague victim trapped within his last feverish sleepwalk. The fire branded his vision, flickers of soot flew like wayward mites, no amount of blinking rid away the itch. Pain flared across his spine, his earlier fall made his tail limp and swollen hot like the inferno. Cretinous little creatures ran amok, unharmed and afraid while the myrmiden fire danced across their cloven bodies before Aqshy claimed their lives. Anglermaw felt no remorse for them; he'd killed two of them already, stained his clothes and fur with their bodily fluids. These whinning wretches were the lowliest of their brood, but the ungors were sadistic in their own jealous manner, and they were no better than any other beastfolk. He cocked the revolver, the thought like muscle memory, and continued waddling through the conflagration, ignorant the clanging of archaic bronze and the whistle of rogue arrowheads that found their home inside the dying beastfolk.

Until a moment later, one whistled past his snout, nearly replacing the scar he'd earned at Al-Haikk with a fresh dye. Someone was aiming at him, which was enough to make him scamper despite his fever. His reflexes were slower, his pace laughable for even a docile slave, but it was enough to avoid being skewered by the barrage. He aimed the revolver toward his rear out of instinct, but thought better of pulling the trigger. Instead he ran zig-zag of the flurry, a flechted tail dug into the sand of where he'd just leapt. No breath could be taken, no respite, the fire had spread like a visible virus across the swampy forest, the sky bright with brimstone as blackened trees tumbled like falling books from a shelf.
Anglermaw cursed, his body almost cushioning the fall of a smouldered tree. A trio of hidden gors were exposed by the fall, their figures chiseled from obsidian, their snouts long and slim like jackals. They did not charge but instead scaled the sandy hillside for better ground, and were each awarded an arrow to the back for their courtesy. They whimpered like dogs as they bled out.

Anglermaw turned to face the tide of arrows, his mind awoke and astonished by the auric shape of the tomb trireme, gilded sheets of gold masked a millenia of wood rot, the dated vessel sailing by supernatural means that Anglermaw could not guess. What had truly enraptured him however were those who sailed the vessel, and their skeletal visages were bleached with rotten bows in their grips, save the bronze clad figure at the prow, the handle of a halberd clutched between his rotting hands. It had been a revelation to him that dead men truly ruled the ruins of Nehekhara. He felt his heart pause at the sight while another flurry of arrows launched toward the savage host.
"Horned Sigmar-rat, they're actually real." Anglermaw gulped, he hid beside the fallen tree for cover. The sounds of skirmish did not relent however, and he heard the gutteral howls of more beastmen as they dropped upon the smoking sands. His pistol shook between his jittering hands, and he wondered where on the Chaos moon Falderan and Mokte could be?

--

Mokte was forced into killing grounds, abominations encircling him like carrion birds to a sunbaked cadaver. Unfortunately for these mutants, this was Mokte's home away from home. His eyes were full of purpose, and all trepidation was void when he beckoned the mutants forth with his free claw. Three hyena-gors answered the challenge, cackling with battleaxes sharpened from stone, charging at him in frenzy while their peers egged them on. The first one was kicked where the branded icon of Khorne hung upon his stomach, and his organs ruptured violently. The other two were caught in a strike that took both their dog-like heads clean off, bobbing down the hill like lost toys. A red skinned berseker flung at Mokte, two steel axes rolled in his arms like wheels. But the Saurus noted the crazed warrior's weakness instantly, and dug the clubsword into the creature's bovine skull before it could lay a strike. A packhound leapt not a moment sooner, gnawing at Mokte's shoulder and disarming him, but the grip of Mokte's jaw was stronger, and he ripped mutant hound in two with his teeth. A creature with quills upon it's back and a toothy maw for a stomach sought to capitalize on the distraction with a leap, poisoned dagger dripping ichor upon it's arms of exposed bone. But Mokte caught the now whimpering creature midfall. His fangs gouged deeply into the mutant's flesh, and he pulled ruddy flesh so hard that the beast's spiked head came clean off. Mokte laughed as the arterial blood snaked across his dagger sized fangs, and he dropped the jittering corpse to bleed upon the hill.
The creatures lost their impetuousness, they backed away from the very figure of the crimson Saurus, the skulls upon his breast rattling, grinning like the faceless archers down below. From gutteral taunts in the Dark Tongue came hisses of dissonance. The creatures that previously encircled Mokte soon found themselve caught in the next flurry of arrows. Mokte mockingly bowed like an actor on his stage while his apparent audience were whittled down by arrows, dropping where they stood. Mokte licked the blood from his teeth as he rose, did the same with the dripping juices upon his club-sword as he knelt to pick it up. It tasted of salt and iron, and he grimaced at the taste. The creatures fled in terror before, some skewered by fletched arrows, others lost within the brimstone until their forms dissipated from reality.

'Was this truly it?' He thought, raising his arms in challenge. Were these creatures truly the children of Chaos that Supa-Kheti - for all his wisdom - had taught him to fear? Were these the creatures prophecised to devour and corrupt the world in the time yet to come? It would take a million of these monsters to threaten Tzlipectl. Not even close enough to stir Lord Nahwa from his contemplation. The Saurus were engineered to face Demons, not bull-faced cavemen. This skirmish was not a contest. Therein lay a new problem however, for the undead below made no distinction between 'good beast' nor 'bad beast.' Arrows flew at Mokte's direction, three puncturing his side, like glass shards splintering his flesh. The arrows were not fatal -- thanks to his stone hard skin -- but they were painful. Mokte limped for cover while the undead reloaded, the figure of a bronze clad warrior and his skeletal retinue disembarking from the trireme. It would be better to let both abominations fight amongst themselves.

Skukeel, Leo'slaka, and the beastlord's other nameless catamites. It did not matter if this grove was to smoulder and die under the lappings of myrmiden fire, Sobekanen would take their heads as trophies aboard his ship.
Falderan (played by Dreath)

The trireme was slammed by a pair of the crocodilian beasts as they leapt from the water. Propelled by their muscular tails they came up from adjacent sides. Both near the front of the vessel. One slammed it's massive claw onto the deck. Digging into the wood it crawled it's way up. Revealing it's burnt body it grabbed the leg of one of the rowers. Flinging the boney form across the deck with ease it's spine shattered as it his the ground. Several others turned and howled as a raspy tone as they reached for short swords by their sides. The Beastmen gave no remorse. On the opposite side the other came up grabbing an archer by the ribs in either hand and slamming them together. Powdery dust emerging from the bones as they bashed together. Throwing the shambling bodies aside as arrows turned on him the beast roared and charged it's attackers. A fierce attack emerged on the vessel seconds after the ships leader got off.

Skukeel let out a cry of challenge to Sobekanen. His great cry keeping what remained of his force nearby and fighting. He glared to his skeletal rival pointed his blade out. His talon clenching around the distant skull of his quarry. Despite the language barrier the meaning was clear. Come and fight. Face your doom. Nothing could misinterpret such meaning without purposeful ignorance. A stillness fell upon the water around Skukeel's feet as he waited for his opponent to come and face him. Honor was now at stake. And between the pride of a Beastlord and a Prince of the sands neither would turn down the offer. And neither could be welcomed by their gods for such cowardice.
Captain Sunami Anglermaw (played by KingofHaddock) Topic Starter

While the main body of Sobekanen's host fought against the last remnants that Skukeel could muster, the Prince had already found himself caught under an ambush. The trireme teetered alarmingly under the swell of the crocodilian beasts. Sobekanen was himself compelled to reach for the prow to maintain balance, his skeletal servants cast into littered mortis water, not the slightest whimper slipping from their rictus mouths as they plunged. His men were no longer capable of fear, that primal sense had been discarded millenia ago. They did not share his alarm, and even in the presence of danger they sauntered to and fro the deck like automata, spears, bows and wooden shields scattering across the broken mast as their bodies became literally disassemebled under brute force. Only Captain Nourma seemed to maintain some level of awareness; he'd silently ordered his retinue of bowmen to rendezvous with the Prince, acting as his motley crew of bodyguards. Seven supplicants in total, hardly a match for the two monsters, each nearly the size of an ushabti. Sobekanen demanded passage as they notched arrows at the beastly pair, and the wall of bone aquiesced. Fletched arrows screamed beneath the sun before piercing the scaled hides, charred wine red with flame. But the pain only seemed to frustrate the beasts, and with a roar that could pierce the ear drums of most living men, the crocodilian less festooned of the pair charged with the ferocity of it's bovine cousin from the north.

"Disperse! Get away from here!" Sobekanen shouted to the bowmen, his voice muffled under the funerary mask. If either Nourma's cog-like mind failed to process Sobekanen's words, or if his men had no chance of reaction against the beast, it did not matter. The Prince had flung himself opposite the crocodilian's direction, seconds away from being converted into a dusty, millenia old paste. Nourma's men faced the charge headlong; one last flurry punctured the beast as their skeletal frames were cast across the smoking horizon. The beast tumbled alongside the discarded array of plumbed skulls, unknown to the Prince, a fortunate arrow had pierced it's windpipe, hot blood frothing beside the oily river bed as it gurgled underwater.

The second crocodilian had not concerned itself with the bowmen, and had been busy turning the catapult into splinters to vent it's rage. Oil from the rictus containers seeped across the platform, and before Sobekanen could prevent the ruin of his ship, a drawling voice beckoned him to the flaming grove. He turned his masked head to the gangrenous form of Skukeel, a sharpened blade of steel with a makeshift hilt bearing the icon of Nurgle pointed in the Prince's direction. This was a duel, he realised, leaping from the ship to join the rest of his host, Leo'slaka was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the rotting crocodile was hungry for validation in the eyes of his debased god.

Sobekanen wasted no words on Skukeel, he raised his shield arm and braced for the duel. Wetted globules of sand flew riverside with each stride. Despite his dessicated form, Sobekanen charged with the same bygone mien as he had done in life, unshakable in the face of a monsterous threat. Cleaver and khopesh soon connected in a ringing twine amidst the deluge of battle.
Falderan (played by Dreath)

A deep crack boomed out as weapons clashed. The first clash of blades drew the attention of those fighting. The echoing bang and following shout caught the ears of the Ungors and the other underlings of Beastmen. Watching from around a crowed gathered for the twisted game. A clash not unlike fight pits seen in the rougher parts of cities. The Beastmen slowly approached but kept their distance. A good thirty feet stood away from the fighters as they clashed. What Ungors could escape combat came to watch. Erratic like nervous dogs they watched their leader battle the skeletal ruler. Yips and snarls came from the watchers as they observed the struggle to determine the battle.

Skukeel knocked back Sobekanan and with his foe off balance leapt with a shoulder charge. Swifter than bones would appear he dodged. Only narrowly being clipped and sent spiralling. Regaining his balance from the near bone shattering attack he was swift at avoiding an over head slash of Skukeel's khopesh. A retaliating strike hit the beast in it's side and a roar of anger came out. One hand slashed for Sobekanan's head using the weapon while the other hand slashed with talons. It was a blind fury. Bloodlust taking over and more than that his very honor stood on the line. Even as they fought the others of the tribe pondered the end. If Skukeel was weak enough after one may try to take him out for dominance. A dishonorable tactic but where was honor when survival and domination were on the line?

You are on: Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Warhammer Fantasy: Heart of Darkness [P3: CLOSED]

Moderators: MadRatBird, Keke, Auberon, Dragonfire, Heimdall, Ben, Darth_Angelus