Day 6 - The Bonestorm
Dawn’s weak light did not reach the weary warband that slowly stirred awake in the land leached of life, they had trouble remembering the smells and sounds of a waking dawn surrounded by leaf and blossom instead of endless burial grounds and breath choking arid sands.
With wooden limbs creaking and burial dust cascading off her, Lyliath was beginning to feel dead herself, and perhaps in Shyish they all already were, but even so she still heard the faint whisper of her people’s song on the wind and rose to hunt down the spined colossus that plagued her home.
Threading through the innumerable burial grounds to Shadespire’s last vestigial citadels, the warband finally saw the endless wastes that stretched on to infinity. Although the trapped shadeglass spirits whispered east Lyliath did not know if her already wilting brothers and sisters could survive the journey and the horizon looked to be confirming her fear, a great wall of dust miles high spread out before the city to the north, like ruptured veins of a fresh corpse, violet lightning shot through the billowing clouds looking ready to snuff out the last of it’s light.
At the edge of the city lay its last graveyard, a raised monument to its past glory and a gate sealing in the worst of the Encroaching Dune’s dangers. A tremor of heavy footfalls shook the gravedust slightly and an odd whirring sound floated on the air, Lyliath watched the Kurnoth Huntmaster let loose his owl Sprite into the sky to spy out among the surrounding mausoleums.
Before long a resounding crack of gunfire and an outraged hoot echoed and the Seedkin then knew they were near the ill tempered stout bearded ones they came across once. Within a dozen paces the high walls receded and the warband caught sight of the two incoming throngs of warriors.
Lifted high on turbulent winds rose the bone strewn reliquary to Sigmar with the ever present armored sons beneath it. Beyond them whirred a contraption of Duardin design, the short burly warriors marching, some gripping iron rifles the rest, unforgivable axes, a few grumbling with battle lust and foolishly near naked.
Though the Duardin and Stormcast were ages long allies, the greed of Shadespire, the saturation of death, had made them all mad and like Lyliath they rushed to the altar, her warriors attempting to decipher a means to open the city gates, the needs of the others unclear to her.
Quickly Lyliath ordered her Hunters forwards, and the nimble Skinks to flank and begin picking off the golden warriors while the rest of her seedkin made for the courtyard. The storm began to encroach and overwhelm the three warbands and the courtyards enclosing walls offered sanctuary. She prayed to her distant Mistress and land.
The sound of Duardin gunfire, the hollow whistling blow darts and the strum of the man-length bow sounded and the Golden warriors fell, the winged Prosecuter crashing into a heap of tombstones, his body broken by gunfire and oakenstone. The smoking aircraft soon joining him, it’s crash through earth and debris shaking the graveyard and toppling precariously perched stone statues. Before long all three warbands ascended to the courtyard’s gates, fleeing the approaching storm. Foremost among these, riding through the crossfire the Vanguard Pallador charged into the open space.
“For the might of Sigmar!” he hollered, challenging all before him, his Sigmarite javelin shining and ready to pierce both Duardin and Sylvaneth.
“A might Grungi forged for em! Ye ungrateful gits!” roared back the Warden King, a frothing mug of ale raised higher than his axe. Within moments the charging Duardin flanked the mounted warrior while the long strides of the Sylvaneth encircled the other side. Both rider and beast struck out at their assailants, claw, beak and javelin laying low Duardin and Sylvan alike.
In an attempt to cut off the rider’s support, the scythe wielding Kurnoth Hunter stood defiant before the wall of approaching Sigmarites, curiously a new member strode alongside the Lord Relictor, an Aelf, brandishing a glaive and bedecked in the scalemail of the hallowed Pheonix Temples. Silently the fine featured new comer met the long swipes of the Hunter’s crescent arced blade and they traded blows that would have fell an Ogor, the Anoited seemingly not where the scythe slashed, while the rest of his allies began to encircle the raging Treekin.
Duardin still marched up to the courtyard, firing off shots and insults, and among all of this three of the four Skinks fell to the crossfire, the remaining lizardman, Tikstii Leafstep held his pipe close and ran under and across the brawling maelstrom, hoping to get clear and investigate his mistress’s needs with the altar.
On the chaotic fight raged, the Pallador falling beneath the onslaught of axe and oakenblade, the Kurnoth Hunter collapsing under hammer and glaive, brothers and sisters fell to Duardin and stormcast alike and Lyliath looked on in horror. Desperation and rage fluttered to life within her and she unleashed once again the Spites that called her body their home, among the clash of battle she roared deeper than any mortal, when the winged little beasts escaped her open mouth she abruptly began to cough and retch, the spites falling out of her stillborn and lifeless. She looked up in pain, wiping their broken forms from her mouth and saw the Anoited Aelf gazing at her, a look of arrogant superiority plastered onto his fine featured face.
With the throng of Duardin now all within the courtyard, it was looking grim. Near exhausted Lyliath stumbled away from the melee, leaving her Tree Revenant and the last remaining Hunter to end their foes and made her way to the altar. With one hand out on the cool stone she gathered herself for one last stand, grasping her scythe she began to sing a dirge of harvest, only to be interrupted by the fleeing blue form of a skittish Skink, as anger flared at his cowardice, three bolts of lightning arced from the Stormcast archers and struck her hard. Falling to one knee she held onto the stone, her lifesap leaking from the lightning sheard barkflesh, and sung the last of her song with every fading breath.
With closing eyes all she witnessed was of the encroaching arcane storm surrounding them all and the great bow wielding Kurnoth Hunter outnumbered and broken, slaying Duardin and Stormcast alike fighting to the last of his breath, just as she took hers.