Guards came to escort Albrecht to his final holding place. He winced at the brightness, as he was lead outside. His eyes quickly became accustomed to the light. Looking across to the main gate, Griegir realised how his followers had been allowed to enter: the sentries were also badly disguised followers of Chaos.
These creatures dedicated their pathetic lives to the Blood God. Albrecht sneered and called out to his followers, warning them that a trap was about to be sprung.
The Nurglites cast off their stolen and bloodied robes, prepared for the fight that was clearly about to happen.
Whether it was the sight of the two heretical warrior bands, or simply the over-powering odour of Griegir's group, it was all to much for Albrecht's guards. They fled back into the building, leaving the two aspiring champions to demonstrate their worth to their respective masters.
Khorne's minions rushed forward. To Albrecht's disgust the sight of a raging minotaur was too much for all but his beast. The Pestigor, Cultists and even the Magi fled at its charge. In contrast Albrecht strode forward and commanded his gibbering slug to turn and attack the oncoming infidels. To his delight the creature's exuberant and slobbering attacks were devastating, as it collected paralysed victims for later meals.
Turn to command his familiar, Albrecht paused. He was sure that he had summoned the festering little creature, but it was not present. He was also confused as to where the sword, around which his tentacle was curled, had appeared from.
His momentary hazy state of mind was cleared by a call from one of the Magi. Both magic-blessed worshippers were advancing with the weak human cultists flanking them; the Pestigors and Beastman having apparently fled through a door and into the building beyond. Albrecht made a mental note to punish them for their cowardice once the cowards scurried back into his control.
Albrecht raised his newly received weapon to scream for a charge at the remaining opposition (during his confusion, the beast had reduced the blood worshippers to the champion and a handful of beastmen). A pulse ran though the sword, making his tentacle judder. From the tip of the blade spewed forth the vomit of Papa Nurgle Himself. The first wave of the putrid miasma felled two of the beastmen - their eyes bulging with the forced attempts to take breath through blocked throats, choked by the glorious steam of fetid, coagulated detritus. A second discharge had no effect, but it mattered not. The beast and cultists swarmed the survivors, dealing with the pathetic attempts to stop the onslaught.
…Later Albrecht looked around the warband's campsite. He saw the Pestigors shove the humans from the warmest spot by the cook fire. He was sure that he had meant to take some action involving the pestilent goatmen, but he could not recall what it was he had intended. His attention was drawn to the sword that he now claimed as his own. He could sense the power held within the blade. It talked to him, but he could not yet make out the meaning of its enticing message.
Thank you to Whiskey Priest for joining Malc, Rab and me for a day of gaming. My Nurglites faced off against WP's new Khorne warband in the first game (Malc and Rab taking up the other half of the gaming table, which I will leave Rab to tell you about).
WP's made a strong start, causing to units to route with the minotaur's charge. Unfortunately for him, my Beast turned out to be AWESOME! The giant slug-beast basically took out the warband single handed.
Coming soon - The second game of the day: A fatal four-way, with a random magic item up for grabs…….
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