Working Title - Beats Me., The War Begins.

[Senger Dral]

Warrior-Priest Jacob O’crag had to struggle with both the terrain and his opponent, boots slipping and sliding on the muddy, blood-soaked ground below him. He managed to stabilise himself long enough to get a swipe off at his opponent, the heavy war hammer missing by inches as the crazed follower of the Dark Gods before him jumped back. The warrior laughed, darting in again with a swift jab from his sword, but Jacob managed to smack it aside with the metal hilt of his hammer.

The butt of a rifle caught the warrior on the back of the head, sending him crashing to the floor. Jacob didn’t bother looking up, instead raising the hammer and bringing it down heavily on the cultist’s head. He was reminded vaguely of a melon, raising the drenched weapon in case he had to defend himself again. It turned out that one of the Imperial Riflemen had assisted him, the Warrior-Priest’s technological allies, and he was now having a few problems of his own as a pair of the cultist’s friends came to get revenge. A trio of rounds from the Rifleman’s gun downed the first soldier, but the other was already upon him, his morning star already descending on the Rifleman. However, he managed to jump to a side, slipping and falling into the mud as the star crashed into the ground just next to him. As the warrior freed it for another stroke the Rifleman reached down to his belt, drawing a short knife that was certainly not standard issue, and stabbed upwards. He gave the weapon a savage twist, but it was wrenched out of his grip as the heavy cultist collapsed, screaming in agony. The Rifleman managed to scramble up onto one knee, raising the rifle and finishing him off with a round to the head.

The Rifleman looked over at Jacob, eyes widening as he realised who he had just assisted. The Warrior-Priest’s hammer was a relatively short thing, but the head of it was about as large as the average person’s head, maybe slightly bigger. The two sides of the hammer head were covered in small spikes, while the thing was made entirely of metal. He was garbed in an ornate red robe, with the silver caduceus of Ap’Za, the god who’s name they fought in, sewn on the front. It was splattered in places, showing that he had been busy during this engagement. His head was unprotected, a line of angry red sure to scar him for life as it trailed it’s way along his forehead. He appeared to be otherwise without armour, apparently relying on speed and faith to keep him alive.

Whatever it was, Sergeant William Valyrin was glad that there was at least one of them left. When they had engaged the forces of the Dark Gods here on one of their standard patrols around their home fort they had been targeted first by the cultists, so it was a miracle that there was still any left. The Warrior-Priest raised his hammer, roaring in a powerful, deep voice as he charged the cultists attacking a crumbling knot of Riflemen. Valyrin dumped his rifle, picking up the sword from the Warrior-Priest’s earlier opponent with an expression of distaste that he was forced to handle such a heretical weapon, before adding his own voice to the battle cry as he ran after the Warrior-Priest.

Jacob reached the fray again, swinging his hammer around in a wide arc for the first target. The cultist barely had a chance to cry out as he was smashed to the ground, but Jacob had already moved on, using his momentum to drag the weapon out of his foes chest with a sickening noise. The second cultist had knocked a soldier to the ground, and was about to deliver the finishing blow when the hammer thundered through his brains. William was right beside him, having also liberated a flail from another enemy, and was swinging both with reckless abandon, cutting through all the traitors in his path. Seeing one of the devout, deadly Warrior-Priests and their commanding officer fighting side-by-side, the soldiers took heart, pushing forwards into the enemy with renewed vigour. Far from being discouraged by this display of savagery, the cultists threw themselves into it even more, now that they had found an enemy they believed was worth fighting.

During the confusion of the battle a few Riflemen managed to survive long enough to get over to William and Jacob, one of them handing William a pistol. He gladly discarded the two disgusting things he had been saddled with, taking the weapon gladly and opening fire. He still had a couple of magazines on him, but it was almost as if the enemy didn’t even feel the rounds until they’d already taken up the better part of a full clip. William did manage to scoop up an honest-to-Ap’Za Sardosian sword however, from one of his fellow sergeants who was now beyond caring what happened to his corpse and possessions.

Working together, the small group cut a swathe through the enemy’s ranks, and in twos and threes managed to gather up the beleaguered Riflemen. They didn’t have nearly enough ammo though, and so were either falling back on their bayonets, knives or scavenged weapons. They were meeting the enemy on their terms, in melee, where they were weakest and the cultists were strongest. Well, all except for Jacob, who could only fight in melee and was causing a hell of a lot of damage in Ap’Za’s name. Regardless, the warriors of Ap’Za did not flinch in their duty, waging war with the fury that only fanaticism could inspire.

A bellow in the foul tongue of the cultists sounded, and even though they did not like the order they retreated, reforming around a hulking cultist who was obviously their leader. Unlike the others, who garbed themselves in furs and skins, this one was in crudely made metal armour, probably scavenged from foes and battered out to fit him. William cried out his own orders, the disciplined Sardosians moving into a line to match the cultists. Jacob and the leader of the enemy forces, their champion, took positions ahead of the rest of their soldiers, ensuring that they would be the first into battle. The champion growled something to his people, and William raised his sword to the sky. “Ready!”

The champion roared, his men screaming as they ran forwards.

William brought his sword down, breaking into a run. “Charge!”

Jacob held his hammer high, bellowing. The champion’s own weapon, a mace with wicked spikes, rose, and then both came crashing down again.


It had begun. They had long known that this day would come, all three sides had been preparing for it. From the eastern deserts the seemingly technophobic Gohobi were marching out, their beasts, magicians and terrifying Blademasters in the fore as they slaughtered all in their path. From the south the rapid cultists of the Dark Gods descended from their mountains, an unstoppable tide of human traitors, daemons and sorcerers to pillage and plunder to glorify their masters. And finally, from the western plains marched the fanatical Sardosians, their faith in Ap’Za unshakeable, the few Warrior-Priests leading the legions of technologically supreme Imperial Warriors that would form the backbone of their resistance.

However, this was never meant to be your fight. You are not even meant to be here – this is not even your world. However, something has happened, something that none of the powers on this world can be certain of. It is almost as if permanent gateways have been established between these two worlds, moving seemingly at random, without aim, purpose or maker. It is only a matter of time before the fight spills over into your homes, your countries – so, what will you do about it?

Sell your soul to the Dark Gods, in exchange for riches, power and the thrill of the kill? Join the Sardosians in their holy purge, perhaps? Maybe you will assist the Gohobi, as they attempt to wipe this world of all technology? Or, just maybe, none of them. Lead a band of adventurers to chart this new land, a force to colonise it, or if you are powerful enough an army to conquer it. The choice is all yours, but take heed – they may hate each other, but the inhabitants of this land would unite if threatened too greatly.

Whatever your choice, I wish you luck. You will certainly need it.

[Greatak]

It was a dark and stormy night, Eisthu liked it that way. Storms gave him comfort and he needed some comfort now. His eyes snapped open and he was in the middle of a battlefield. Soldiers of all sorts clashed around him, at first he thought he was in a dream. But the sword that caught the edge of his arm and a sharp sting gave way to blood, he realized he wasn't dreaming. He ducked from another blade and reached up and grabbed the wrist of the one who had just swung at him. The hand of his assailant twisted oddly and lost it's grip on the sword which found its way into Eisthu's hand and a moment later the neck of its former owner, dropping a disembodied head to the earth as another soldier lunged at Eisthu. It was all he could do to roll away as a bolt of lightning, against all likelihood, struck the new assailant, scattering his body across the field in a large crater. The fighting went on for quite some time before Eisthu made it to the edge of the battle and reached a rock out of reach of the swords and spears of his assailants. He jumped to the summit of his sanctuary and sat down, breathing deeply and figuring out what was going on.

[Senger Dral]

Jacob and the champion were in the thick of it, slugging it out against each other. Both were growing more and more frustrated - each blow was countered by their foe, neither could gain an advantage. The champion bellowed, mace coming in low, but Jacob batted it away with the hilt of his hammer for what felt like the millionth time. He raised his hammer in a crushing overhead blow, but somehow the champion managed to raise his mace, blocking and holding the hammer there. The two deadly warriors were held in a stalemate for a second, before the champion jumped to a side, letting the hammer fall down rapidly into the space where he wasn't, curled his free hand into a fist, and rammed it into the Warrior-Priest's face.

He crashed to the ground, but extracted himself from the mud in a moment. He seized his hammer, pushing himself back onto his feet, then he turned to face the champion again. He snarled, before thrusting his fist holding the hammer's shaft into the air, crying out a short prayer in his own tongue. The champion's grinning face suddenly looked thunderstruck as the hammer burst into bright blue flame, his eyes following suit as the power of Ap'Za joined with his own. Jacob roared, charging, and without any such channel to his dark gods as a mere champion the champion started falling back, losing ground as he tried to ward off the wrath of the righteous

William had his own problems, though. One of his men had just exploded, struck by lightning, and now he had to deal with the Vhid cultist that had been charging for him. He darted under the hasty sweep, sabre sweeping up and decapitating the over-eager warrior, turning just in time to see the hammer explode into the fire of Ap'Za. "For Ap'Za!" He bellowed, and the cry was taken up by his men, who once more found their spirits bolstered by the Warrior-Priest. The cultists, rather than rising to the challenge, seemed terrified, their defenses crumbling. A few of the weaker ones were already turning and running, although one of them dropped dead after a Rifleman snatched up the pistol William had discarded and unloaded the clip into him. The remaining pair were being chased after by over-eager recruits, but William wasn't about to stop them. They'd certainly know the way back.

[Greatak]

The group of men running at Eisthu's rock worried him, considering there was another group behind them launching some kind of projectiles that could hit him. Not one to question nature, he was surprised, but glad at another odd coincidence. The men charging after the cultists found themselves and the terminal point for a bolt of lighting, scattering the lot of them into small pieces, littering about the field. The fleeing cultists however would not be off the hook so easily. Eisthu leapt from his rock and stood before them.
"You disgust me. Charging in here, ready for battle then at the first sign of defeat you do what? Turn tail and run? You are truely pitiful souls, perhaps I should kill you now." The look in Eisthu's eyes made it certain he wasn't joking.
"Uhh, of course not. We were just, trying to fool them. A false retreat."
"Sure. Just five of you?" The cultists turned and ran back into the battle terrified of this man more than their enemies for the moment.

[Senger Dral]

Jacob had the upper hand now against the champion, his opponent's panic becoming obvious. With a thunderous crack his hammer impacted against the mace, snapping it clean off and leaving the champion with nothing he could use to save his life. So the champion resorted to the only option left - he lunged, locking his arms around Jacob's waist, and sending them both crashing to the muddy floor, kicking, punching and cursing. The champion and Jacob both knew that it was all over for the servant of the dark gods however, he was only delaying the inevitable.

Jacob managed to kick the champion off him long enough to scramble after his war hammer, laying a hand on the burning weapon and scrambling to his feet. The cultist, in desperation, lunged again in an attempt to stop him, but Jacob had the hammer raising to meet him -

His chest caved in and the blow itself sent the dead cultist flying backwards. The surviving cultists were by now so demoralised they were fighting not so much to win as to escape, and the Sardosians were mercilessly cutting them down, surrounding them and ensuring that they didn't get a chance at freedom. One of them managed to break through, making a break for it, but he made the mistake of going in Jacob's direction. The spiked hammer exploded through his head, the corpse being thrown to a side as Jacob charged, determined to gain his share of Vhid cultists.

William, however, was by now waiting for the cultists who had retreated. He and four others had retrieved their guns, bayonet and all, and ran to get in the path of the cultists. As one they dropped to a knee when they were in the way, and as they skidded to a halt William called out the fatal order: "Fire at will!" Machinegun fire managed to take out three of them, but the other two managed to last into melee combat, but quickly succumbed to the twin powers of numbers and discipline.

[Greatak]

Eisthu realized the battle was over and if he stayed much longer he'd probably become a target. With that a bolt of lightning struck him, but there was a new result. He did not get blasted into a few thousand pieces, he instead vanished. A moment later a series of lightning bolts streaked across the sky, bouncing from cloud to cloud southward. He didn't know where he was going but there was a big storm to the south, so he might as well head that way. He didn't have anything better to do since being banished from his former world.

[Senger Dral]

Jacob sank his hammer into the last Vhid standing, smashing him into the floor and giving him another smash from the weapon for good measure. The flames extinguished finally, his eyes returning to normal, and the Warrior-Priest looked around at his surviving comrades. A ragged cheer rose from them, and he thrust his hammer into the air as he joined them. After exulting over their victory for a few moments the victorious soldiers began checking their wounded, giving the Emperor's Peace to those too far gone even for a Feryxonis healer while the others were hauled to their feet, without stretchers, and either carried or supported as they slowly started making their way back to their fort to report what had happened. One of these raids could only mean one thing, especially when supported by a champion.

As one went further south, the land became blackened and twisted. It was remarkable that anything could survive here, however the Vhid cultists apparently did, as their camps were dotted around the area. When one went beyond the outer fringes where these lowly cultists lived, the land grew steadily worse, volcanic vents giving birth to rivers of lava. Monsterous daemons of all shapes, sizes and descriptions stalked the area, feeding on anything foolish enough to go this far, and occasionally one of the dreaded Sorcerers could be seen overseeing them, ensuring that they did not overstep their boundaries. These heretical sorcerers were garbed in heavy, black robes, and carried a twisted staff. They wore a type of skull helmet that ensured their features could not be seen, save for the mouth and eyes, and surveyed their domain as if they were kings, and the monsters and cultists in it were his serfs.

At the very heart of Vhidian territory, however, was the greatest concentration of them. No pitiful cultists were here, only the most powerful daemons and sorcerers were permitted to get this far and live, here to serve their gods. One of these Sorcerers was being tasked, at this moment, with the job of raising a true army, comprised of everything they could get their hands on, and to strike as deeply as they could into Sardosian territory. Another Sorcerer would have the same task, only on the Gohobi desert.

[Greatak]

And coincidentally the heart of Vhid country was where the grand storm was that Eisthu had been drawn to. He barely noticed the progressively more sinister terrain, his lightning was moving so fast. He was still clothed in his tattered cloak and half rusted chainmail when he left the skies, a Sardosian blade in his hand. He random jump to the surface landed him ontop of a Vhid alter in a flash of lightning. The amazed eyes looked at him from through the smoke of the lightning strike. The one near the alter dropped the knife with which he was about to sacrifice a chicken and backed down the stairs so fast he tripped and made it look like a bow. The others in the area followed, believing Eisthu to be one of their gods, or at least a messenger for them.

[Senger Dral]

The Greater Daemon of Katrill managed to catch sight of the lightning strike, and looked up at it. The Sorcerer, slightly confused, turned and followed his gaze, then bolted upright, scrambling to his feet. Behind the skull mask his lips curled back in a snarl, and without a word both he and the daemon stalked in that direction, readying their weapons. The Daemon bore a huge sword, and since the thing was many times the height of a man that was saying something, while the Sorcerer could fall back on his magic with ease. Here, at the heart of the dark gods' territory, he was at his strongest, as was the daemon.

Sergeant and Priest got back to their fort without any further issues, and reported what they had been through. The commander instantly ordered that a message be sent back to Sardos, so one of their few hawk-like creatures were dispatched with the message. Neither of them knew about the newcomer, however, so they couldn't report back. However, with the news that the Vhid were going on the march, the commander ordered all hands not otherwise occupied to get up to the battlements ASAP, keep an eye out. There could easily be more.

[Greatak]

Eisthu noticed the pair moving towards him and began walking that way. He tried to fix his armor and stuffed the blade in his belt to look presentable. These sorcerors might pose a challenge in a fight so he didn't want to offend. Not to mention he had no idea how far into their territory he was. So he tried to look presentable.
"Hello. Who might you be and where is this place?" He needed a starting point and he was never one to talk in circles. He always just got to the point.

[Senger Dral]

The Sorcerer raised a hand, stalling the much taller daemon from doing what it wanted to do and disembowel this thing, or - much more easily- eat it. "I am the Vhid Master Sorcerer Sui'aerl, and this is Xuhkuth, the heart of -"

"How did you get here?" The daemon snarled. Apparently Sui'aerl's request was enough to stop him killing on the spot, yet not enough to make him keep his tongue still. But then again, when you're a daemonic creature from the Void that can command legions to march and die with a single word you don't follow many orders.

In the absence of any orders, likely for the next day or so, the fort master decided that they should start scouting out the outskirts of Vhid territory. Small teams were sent out into the start of the wastelands, to explore and see what the heretics were up to. Jacob, along with a number of other soldiers, was being kept back as reinforcements if they ran into anything too dangerous, and were unable to extract themselves.

[Greatak]

"I slew the Othys, the god that granted me my power, and as punishment I was exiled from my former home. And now I have ended up here. May I ask you the same question... I don't believe I got a name." Eisthu turned to Sui'aerl. "Capital, let's assume it's my pleasure, Master Sorceror." Eisthu gave a slight bow of the head more out of requirement than respect as he had never been one for superiors or respect. His words were blunt, but again he wasn't one for pleasantries and the few moments of evaluation told him that these two were the only real threats.

[Senger Dral]

"I am the Greater Daemon Degahr, most favoured of Mighty Katrill." The daemon brought itself up to it's full, impressive height, but Sui'aerl waved him into silence, showing that in their hierarchy he was probably more important and, therefore, powerful. However, when you were up against a greater daemon there was no real way to find out whether you were stronger until it came to the crunch.

"Then this Lord Othys was a fool." Sui'aerl said. His voice was quiet and smooth, skin the same pale colour as many Sardosians. "You should never grant your subordinates power such that they can overthrow you, it was for the good of your land that he fell." Within Vhid society, promotion was normally done by dead mans boots, although if the Gods took an interest in some of the warriors they may find themselves being elevated quicker than if they assassinated their superiors.

The patrols didn't find any more Vhid prowling about, and one by one returned to base. When all of them had got back inside the commander ordered them to stand down, seeing no point in keeping up a watch when there was nothing out there. Jacob, though, didn't trust this, and wished that the radios worked - they had a habit of working on and off this close to the corrupting influence of Vhid territory, and even when they did work their range didn't extend to the next nearest border fort. They were relying on that hawk, and it was far too slow for Jacob's tastes. Well, at least their vehicles worked, and the guns, so they weren't entirely on their own.

[Greatak]

"So it would seem, though what I did was unprecedented, none had ever before tried to question the gods. I was to relinquish my soul, which the gods had valued as highly important, in exchange for my power. My soul was great and so my power was as well. When the time came to die, I slew him and found myself in the middle of a battlefield. I must say, you're warriors have terrible discipline, running from battle as they were. I'd think with these demons at your command you'd at least have a sense of fear, but apparently not." Eisthu smirked, this man had shown great control at these disrespectful remarks, and had so far gain a little respect in Eisthu, but he still trusted neither of them.

[Senger Dral]

"They are cultists, weak, pathetic." The sorcerer replied. "They should be glad that they are dead, for if they were not they would have to answer to me. We use them as cannon fodder, meat shields to ensure that our true warriors get into the fray. There are many more where they came from." The Sorcerer did not even seem phased. "If they were worth anything, then we would not be using them to waste our enemies ammunition now, would we? I believe it was an uncoordinated raid, without reason or purpose. If it was a true one, then we would have sent more than those fools in."