A cold blooded account...

Hey all.

Still cracking along with the Blood Dragons and should have them finished in the next couple of days (Life and GF permitting ;) ).

Anyway I'll get the quick fluff-report up, again no pictures so apologies for that guys, but please CC the hell out of me if you see any issues and what not with it.

Enjoy.

Locuitor Din Bezna looked across the field at the cold-blooded Lizardmen facing him down. He had been assigned by Lord Balaur, his sire and master, to safe guard the two necromancers that where currently in the Skeleton Regiment with him.

He looked over to his left flank, where the Lord’s favoured sons where bickering on horseback, the barbarian, Froske, laughing about something with the Imperial lordling, while the Kislevite tracker was tending to the undead hounds behind the small cavalry line. As per usual the Tilean scribe was deeply engrossed in one of his ever present books. Lucuitor at once both loathed and envied his sire’s chosen gets.

Over to his right was a hastily risen unit of zombies, their combat potential being less than useless but their abundance made them an excellent hindrance to an enemy charge.

Further afield where Petard’s doomed progeny, the underlying bestiality of  the vampire’s curse given form. There was three of them, bounding around like giant bats, on all fours, screeching and fighting with each other. While they were fast and could wreak a terrible toll on an enemy formation, they were somewhat hard to control and in Locuitor’s opinion had no place in a formal battle line.

“Bezna!” Vornehm Von Prachtig yelled as he stumbled his way through the perfect ranks of Locuitor’s skeletons, none taking any notice of his graceless passing. Prachtig was of Empire descent and still dressed as if he was a highborn of Altdorf. Puffed shirt, feathers springing from a rakishly angled cap.

“Yes?” Hissed Locuitor in unsuppressed vexation

“We will need to get closer to the enemy formation so both myself and Madam Effroi can mould the winds to our betterment!”

“Excellent!” Exclaimed Locuitor, unhooking the stolen Dwarfish Warhammer, Ancestor’s Fury, from his belt, scattering some of the bats clinging to him like a living cloak.

“Ah, but not into combat, as I would deplore having to fight these wicked fiends across the field, we can win this battle at a range!”

“Well as long as you and the woman hold up your end of the bargain, that may be feasible necromancer”

“Ah yes, well good, I will go communicate this with Madam Effroi.” Said Prachtig as he unceremoniously scrabbled back through the skeleton ranks.

The skeleton champion with the winged helm’s head snapped around to look directly at Locuitor with it’s emptied, glowing eye sockets.

Orders Master?

The warrior’s thoughts entered Locuitor’s head without sound, resonating like the echoes of a crypt.

“We will hold the line and protect the necromancers, I will inform you when I need anything done” Locuitor hissed at the skeleton.

As you will it master, so shall it be done.

Lucioutor’s gaze snapped to his left as he saw one of Balaur’s chosen’s horses buckle, he looked out the front of the small cavalry formation and spotted some small lizardmen materialise out of the mist, they had let loose a flurry of rounds at the heavily clad knights. Looking intently Locuitor could see that the steed that had been downed had fallen on the legs of Froske and trapped him there. The Imperial lordling yelled something at Froske’s prostrate form and with a raucous cry the three remaining knights charged into the almost ethereal lizardmen, followed closely by the Kislevite tracker’s dead hounds.

Looking back at the main Lizardman line they had advanced at an almost impossible pace and where not far from Locuitor’s battle line. Watching the large block of heavy Lizardman infantry he could see some of the enemy’s wizards calling forth on the winds of magic, and as their gesturing reached its crescendo, he was greeted with stupefied silence as the power ran out of the enemy spell casters.

He quickly willed the zombies to charge at some skirmishing smaller lizardmen that where screening the larger warrior block, a few zombies fell to blow-pipe fire on the charge but where not affected in any telling way. As the zombies shambled into the skirmishers Lucioutor summoned up some of the fell winds and coughed forth some ancient syllables. The enemy skirmishers where immediately set upon by a thick miasma, hindering their attacks and combat efficiency.

Looking past the finesse-less combat ensuing before him he locked eyes with a hulking Saurian monster within the enemy’s larger warrior-breed regiment. Locuitor raised Ancestor’s Fury in salute to the Leader-beast, it replied in kind with an ear-splitting roar and thumped its weapon against its shield.

Locuitor looked across the files of skeleton troops to see both Prachtig and the woman Effroi working the winds of magic to their will. He spied the fallen enemy skirmishers raising backup into the zombie horde to fight against their own kin.  This seemed to of sapped the skirmishers’ last ounce of courage and they fled back through their larger brethren. Locuitor looked on with contempt at the fleeing little ones.

“Necromancers! Swell the zombie’s with more of their dead!!” Luciotor yelled down the line.

“A moment lord” Prachtig said, holding a finger up.

Locuitor was about to march across the ranks and slap the fop for his impudence but stopped as Prachtig whispered something, so quiet it couldn't be heard over the din of battle, but he could feel the age of the words in the eight winds.

Locuitor gazed across at the leader beast as it let out a pained roar. Some of the warriors in its regiment, as if suddenly thousands of years had went by, withered away into old age and then dust, they’re shields and spears falling to the ground, rusted and tarnished and as if they hadn’t been wielded in millennia. With nothing left to do but charge, the large warrior-breed regiment smashed into the bolstered unit of shambling corpses, crushing rotted bone and flesh like it was nothing. The zombies would not held up long against even the weakened ferocity of the warrior unit.

Locuitor took in the battle at a glance. On the left flank Balaur’s favoured and the undead hounds had killed all the skink skirmishers, both where forming up to charge against the exposed warrior-block’s flank. Meanwhile another unit of wolves had engaged the warrior block and the large heavily armoured beast that had been slowly marching up behind the Lizardmen’s battle line. The wolves jump and snapped at the beast, but failed to do any damage. The beast though manage to flatten some of the wolves under is colossal mass.

On the far right flank Locuitor could easily see Petard’s bestial brood circling around to the rear of the quickly crumbling Lizardman formation.

“Advance!!” Snarled Locuitor, waving Ancestor’s Fury forward.

Your will be done, Master.

Was the creaking no verbal reply from the skeleton champion.

As one the skeletons advanced toward the enemy, much to the chagrin of the necromancers who had trouble keeping in formation with the perfectly synchronised steps of the skeleton warriors.

As the noose tightened around the Lizardman line, now only consisting of a handful of the heavy warriors and the armoured beast, three short horn blows sounded. With that, the almost depleted unit of Saurus disengaged from the grabbing hands of the shambling corpses and quickly retreated into the tight press of trees where it would be hard for them to be followed. Alas the armoured beast did not fare so well, Balaur’s chosen caught up with its ponderous retreat and deftly skewered it on the tip of their lances.

“Halt!” Spat Locuitor to the regiment, as one the skeletons stopped their inexorable march forward.

“Shiltron!” The skeletons deftly reformed into a defensive square, finalised by the rattle of their shields being brought together.

Locuitor strode into the middle and stopped, looking about he yelled,

“Map!”

A skeleton warrior strode out of the wall, the others readjusting to fill the gap.

My Lord.

The Skeleton unfurled the map up in front of itself to allow Locuitor to better see it.

“Ah, Bezna..” Locuitor looked over to see the two necromancers caught on the outside of the skeletons square formation, Prichtig trying to force his way through the skeletal shield wall.

“Part” sighed Locuitor, the skeletons blocking Prichtig and Effroi’s way parted to allow their access, the quickly reformed when the necromancers scrabbled through.

“A mighty victory eh Locuitor my boy!” Chuckled Prichtig, slapping Locuitor on the shoulder, scattering some of the bats hanging from his deep crimson armour.

Locuitor looked at the hand on his pauldron, then back at the necromancer, a sneer of utter disgust appearing on his usually serene face, baring his fangs he uttered

“I would advise removing your hand necromancer, lest you become one of them.” He gestured with his head toward the rabble of zombies standing motionless not more than 50 yards away.

“Ah yes, my apologies Master Beza, many apologies, I meant no offense” Prichtig stammered, while bowing and backing away from Locuitor.

“PART!”

Locuitor looked around to see the massive form of the Barbarian, Froske Drappman, storm into the skeletons’ square, his pallid face livid with anger.

“What in the mighty four’s name was that Bezna!” He pointed toward the horse’s corpse and the small bodies of the dead Lizardman skirmishers.

“Ah I believe that was you getting your horse shot out from under brother” Bezna smirked at Drappmann.

“By the bronze throne I’ll put your teeth down your throat for that, welp!!” Drappmann raised a mailed fist.

“Froske! Tsk tsk tsk brother, I wouldn't want to see you lose your temper at our younger brother there, it would be very unbecoming of you!” The Imperial Lordling called down from horse back.

It would seem the 3 still seated knights had finished their harrowing of the enemy and returned to the main battle line.

Both Locuitor and Drappmann turned to face the returned knights.

“Come brother, we’ll allow young Locuitor here to finish this small skirmish, we’ll return to our Lord and tell him of a great victory”

“I will not run along next to you like one of Temur’s hounds Ehre!” Froske muttered back at the Lordling.

“Brother, your lack of imagination never ceases to amaze me! Practhtig my good fellow, the horse!” The lordling pointed toward the horse on the right flank.

“Ah yes! right away my lord!” Prachtig jumped up from his bow, and uttered but a syllable of Nagash‘s ancient words.

For a moment nothing happened, then slowly, the undead horse began to shudder, and then jerkily stood back up, a green baleful gleam emitting from its dead eyes.

Drappman whistled and the horse came trotting over to him, stopping at the precipice of the defensive square.

Drappman moved through the formed shields of the skeletons and deftly mounted his horse.

Pointing at Locuitor he chuckled “Next time young one, my esteemed brother won’t be around to save you..”

“Again, always so dramatic Froske!” the lordling said. Tilting his helmet at Locuitor he exclaimed “I will see you at camp youngling, make sure you don’t lose these two” He gestured at the two necromancers with his bloodied broadsword.

With a whoop the four Blood Knights charged off toward the east where the main part of Balaur’s army was preparing for the larger battle to come.

Locuitor watched the quickly shrinking forms of the four knights.

Soon, he thought, they will each fall, in battle, die their final death, then he would be his sire’s last heir, and would claim this realm from his father in blood….

What do you guys think?