Working Title - Beats Me., The War Begins.

[Iron Coyote]

"Then you will allow me leave. Am I worth keeping here?" Kuth would much rather leave through negotiation than the alternative. Escape would've been swift; those long and shiny claws could be outrun and dodged. And if all else failed, she could pull a more exhausting maneuver from her ear. Running was always less of a strain than fighting. That held particularly well for a solitary individual. "What do you fight?" she slipped in.

[Greatak]

Eisthu stood on the edge of the cliff his new home was situated within. He looked out over the barren land scape and the various other mangled peaks that shared the skyline with his own. In particular he looked between his mountain and the next, into the lowlands that seperated them. A column of cultists, Sorcerors and demons marched northward. Clearly something was going on.

The weapons laying in the cave floated over to himself and fastened them to his belt. He was struck by lightning again and vanished, only a bolt of lightning, flickering across a cloud high above the army remained. The cloud was moving slow enough to follow the column in their journey and there Eisthu would find out what was going on.

[Senger Dral]

Sui'aerl himself was in the lead, mounted upon a daemonic steed. The Gohobi were the only ones that could match him in this - The Sardosians had never managed to find an animal that they could tame and ride for some reason. They did make up for that, though, in their insectoid allies and vehicles, especially the massive walkers. He knew for a fact that Deragh was looking forward to fighting one of them. He had to admit, though, that he was not certain whether their arch-enemies in the Warrior-Priests had acquired any type of mount. If they had, then the Sardosians were unable to ride it.

Jacob waved his hammer at a section of the cordon, the men moving aside quickly to allow the creature to leave. "We are the sworn foes of the heretical Vhid, and the technophobic Gohobi." He spat the two names, as though their very mention was distasteful to him.

[Greatak]

Eisthu arrived in a flash of lightning at the head of the column, merely walking along, not centered so as to appear a leader, but off to the side, walking along with the army. Lightning crackled at his feet and he looked around the countryside, pondering his existence here. He wished for a way to return to his own world, but he was stuck here for now. He drew his Sardosian blade and picked up a stone from the ground, placing it to his blade and sharpening it. He rather completely disregarded the marching cultists, choosing to be more interested at the blade he held and wondered how these people could be so completely lacking in significant metalurgical technology and were content with it.

[Senger Dral]

Boots clattered on the stone floor, causing him to look up in irritation from his prayer. "My lord, I beg your forgiveness."

"It is... of no consequence." Labouring for breath, as always, he stood, forced to use the ornate staff he carried to assist him. "What is it?"

"The evacuation is almost complete my lord, in a few hours all that will be left are military personnel. My lord, you do realise that we will be unable to support ourselves for much longer?"

He chuckled. "Look around you, Dalen. We could not hold out for much longer - I believe that acquiring sufficient food will be the least of our worries before long. We are simply here to buy time for the evacuees. Now, tell me of the negotiations."

Dalen Kral shifted uneasily. He had known this man for most of his life, but his current state was a painful, horrible reminder of what his own fate would be before long. Dalen still possessed his health, for the most part. "The witches see the need for it, my lord. That, and the fact that their scriers are detecting something - how could they not, even I have felt it - have convinced them. We can expect their support."

He rose from his kneeling position. "Good. They must hurry." Sensing Dalen's confusion, he elaborated. "Before you came in, I was given a report. Unless we do something soon, there will be an army of heretics unlike anything we have ever seen parading through the streats of Sardos itself

"That's too soon!" Dalen blurted. "They need at least a month to finish preparing, if they get in here -"

"Yes. All our efforts will have been in vain." He turned slightly, the hood of his robe mercifully raised to obscure his features. Dalen could see the two, pure-blue eyes he had grown used to over the years however, shining brightly despite his affliction. "We must gather everything. Strip the garrisons bare of all forces, we must marshal them and delay this army for as long as is possible." He held up a hand suddenly. "I know you don't like it, old friend, but we have no choice. All we can do is fight, and die in His name. What is the difference between one place or another - at least this way we have half a chance of victory."

"But my lord, if our other foes break through on other fronts then-"

"Does it matter! We are doomed, Dalen! Our people are fleeing across the void in a month's time, our cities have nothing left in them but the soldiers, and we all know there isn't enough room on that vithing thing for all of us!" Dalen noted that his lord had taken to using Feryxonis phrases. "Have I overestimated you all these years? Are you too cowardly to give your life so that others may continue theirs?"

"No my lord!" Dalen clapped his fist to his heart in salute. "If anything, I'm too stupid not to."

There was silence for a moment, then he started laughing. It broke down into a hacking cough a second later, but Dalen was waved away when he moved up to assist. The fit subsided, and he spat on the floor to clear his mouth.

Used to the shocking red by now, he straightened. Dalen closed his eyes, sighing inwardly. He could see that there wasn't much time left. "Try not to make me laugh, Dalen. I need my strength for battle, not so that I can cough myself to death in my own palace."

"Sorry, my lord."

“As I was saying, gather the men. We should have a large enough force ready to meet these traitors head on when we encounter each other. And send a message to the Gohobi – they want this as much as we do” Dalen bowed, and turned away. He paused when he heard his lord muttering something to himself – he realised it was a song they’d heard in another world; “Live by your heart. Always, one more try – I’m not afraid to die…”

“Stand and fight,” Dalen finished for him, “Say what you feel. Born, with a heart of steel.”

Lord Sarath Dral of Sardosia nodded, kneeling once more. Dalen left as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb his emperor in what could well be his last devotion, regardless of the outcome of this battle.



The moment Eisthu appeared, the Olath were onto him. Black, twisted armour covered in unholy sigils, four of them wheeled their mounts and bore down on him. A psychic burst of power and growled order from Sui’aerl brought them snarling back into line, although it was clear that they were only half under his control, rather like the grand daemons that marched with them. The elite of the Vhid, insane monsters that lived only for blood and destruction, they were easily a match for their loyalist brethren. They could take incredible amounts of punishment, but they were still mortal for all their ability – that was why cultists were employed, to act as a meat shield until the Olath could get into their preferred combat range. They carried automatic pistols, as a matter of course (With their enhanced strength the recoil barely affected them), but as far as aiming was concerned they could hardly hit anything with them. It was mainly out of a wish to get to the killing faster.