Preface: The combined order strike group consisting of Stormcast Eternals, Seraphon, Sylvaneth and the Free Cities travelled to the expansive underground of Gallet in Ghur. There they clashed with the forces of Chaos, Death, and Destruction. (And a small band of dwarven mercenaries looking for ancient gold). Losses were high for our heroes, but the subterfuge campaign led to victories for the forces of order high above them on the surface. Battered, bruised and triumphant, our heroes returned to their respective homes, preparing for the next campaign.
Prologue: The New Garden
Cherise was sleeping soundly in her hammock of vines. It was past midnight and the only things still stirring in the forest around her were the smaller nocturnal creatures of Ghur. Quickly darting about playing and looking for food among the treetops. The moonlight poured in through holes in the ceiling of the great underground cavern. The expanse was filled with the soft cool glow of the moon. It was peaceful and quiet, until a gentle whirring began nearby. Cherise bolted awake, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and looking for the source. Towards the soft whine she ran, reaching the end of the forest growth after some time. There she knelt, sitting low to the ground and out of sight. In the distance she saw a drill, mechanical and deadly whirring through the ground.
The drill slowly made its entrance larger, melting and breaking away the ancient rocks. Eventually the drilling stopped, and a pale green light slowly began to pour from the hole. Out popped the head of a giant rat-man. His hideous eyes glistening with malice, he looked around, not seeing Cherise among the trees. His head disappeared for a few moments back through the portal, then he popped out entirely. He was twitching and scared, sniffing the air as he slowly advanced, exploring the old battlefield. Cherise laid her hand upon the nearest tree and a soft emerald glow appeared from it. Using her magical connection with the tree, she spoke to the rest of her warriors, rousing them from their slumber.
More and more Skaven began to pour out, Cherise could count a few hundred at most, barely even a threat. She looked to her sides and saw her forces gathering at the edges of the forest camouflaging amongst the growth until it was time to strike. Eventually the column of rat men began to march towards the forest. Gracefully, Cherise rose up and took a few steps out of the forest and shouted out to the mob skittering closer.
“Abominations!” she shouted, “Leave my domain at once or face my wrath!” The wall of rat-men gave out a scream of fury and battle as they began to charge at her. So be it, Cherise thought to herself and gave the order for her amassed forces to charge. From the trees burst waves of dryads, groups of Treelords, swarms of Spiterider lancers and several units of Kurnoth Hunters. Her warriors gave a bloodcurdling bellow in return and charged at the writhing mass of rat-men before them.
The one-sided massacre lasted a few hours, and the field was littered with Skaven bodies. Kurnoth Hunters walked among their fallen enemy, finishing off any stragglers. Cherise looked across the field then called for her second-in-command. “Get the honor guard ready. We’re headed out.” Cherise then walked back towards the forest to a tree she had planted only a few weeks ago. Before her, towered a grand Evergreen, its pine scent filling the nearby air. She made a brief waving motion with her hand and the tree began to split in two from the base, where the trunk met the ground. The void in-between glowed a brilliant green emerald, and with grace and poise Cherise strode into the Treepaths.
The Burning Dawn
Morning sunlight was spilling over the bastion of Sigmar the Lestek poured over the reports of last year’s campaign into Ghur in his personal room in the realm of Azyr. Troop movements, logistics reports and various other notes were attached to the walls and spread out on the various desks and dressers in the room. His eyes were aching, and his wrist was cramping from the writing, but Lestek soldiered on, making sure to underline the next entry in his journal a few extra times: Lots of Orruks. He sat back in his chair and let out a hearty sigh, the campaign last year was a total disaster for the troops sent out last year. Some of them returned safely but most of them screamed back to Azyr and were forged once again, including Lestek’s brother Miroslaw who had his skull bashed in by a particularly brutal Orruk during one of the last battles of the campaign. Most of the final plans were ready, Lestek gave them one final look through before beginning to fold all the numerous papers around the room. No sooner had he started to clean when the door to the room was flung open and his cousin, Zbigniew Ruza, burst in, collapsing on the large bed in the center of the room, his massive weight causing it to groan.
“How are the troops?” Lestek asked.
“In better shape than me.” Zbigniew groaned through the pillow. He had been training with his battle squad for the past few months on various realms and he had only returned in the past few hours.
“Excellent, get some rest. We’re headed out first thing tomorrow morning.” Lestek threw the last of the scrolls into a chest and closed the lid. “I’ll send word on the location-” He was interrupted by the rhythmic snoring of Zbigniew. Lestek chuckled and shook his head, turned on his heel and quietly left the room. Up, Lestek ascended the great staircase at the end of the hall. His silent thudding footfall joined the rhythm of other Stormcast Eternals starting their day, greeting other warriors heading out to training or breakfast. They all gave a short polite bow as Lestek strode past them, his heavy armor clanging softly with each upward stride. Finally, Lestek reached the top of the stairs and was greeted with a simple unadorned door. Opening it he found himself at the topmost level of his Stormhost’s tower. The towering spires and domes of Azyrheim sparkled among the rising sun. Star-Eagles and Aetherwings darted around in the skies. Lestek checked the straps on his armor one last time and made sure his weapons were secure, he stepped out to the ledge and slowly leaned forward. The gentle pull of gravity greeted him as the wind began to whistle around his ears. He spread his wings on his back, the pylons catching the gentle winds of magic of Azyr and the gentle pull of gravity disappeared as Lestek evened out his flight. To his left he saw a blazing streak shoot past. Lestek’s Star-Eagle, Comet, screeching a little hello. Lestek brought his arms forward and increased his speed, heading for the Realmgate to Excelsis. He had one last thing to do before this next campaign.
Blood on the Snow
Xit’laami Kuet’spallin turned his head slowly and surveyed the desolate plains behind him. It was midday, yet there was no sun to be seen in the sky. Winds whipped around him, the cold air stinging his scaled skin down to his bones. This was a desolate place, he thought. Devoid of life, devoid of bounty, undeserving of a good fight. He looked up, where he knew he must go, a range of peaks raced to the sky and disappeared into the clouds. He inhaled deeply, taking in the unfamiliar scents and gave his Aggrodon the call to go forward. His mount was swift and dexterous, jumping felled trees weaving between those still standing. Eventually Xit’laami broke through the tree line. His mount began to pick up speed on the unobstructed ground. Suddenly the wind changed direction and Xit’laami caught the scent of something new and unfamiliar to this forsaken place, turning with practiced fluidity he raised his shield catching a lone arrow. Among the trees he had just broken through, shapes began to emerge, then more from below the snow. The ambushers had used the snow to mask their scent and heat. Xit’laami bared his teeth with glee. “Finally!” he exclaimed, “A worthy fight!”
The fight lasted for hours; blood drenched the snow and Xit’laami gave a shout of glee. In tandem with his Aggrodon they were invincible. Broken bodies of worshippers of chaos lay at the Aggrodon’s feet in large piles. The loose formation of marauders had formed a circle around Xit’laami, sending men in every few minutes from random directions, yet more came from the cover of the trees in periodically until a loud roar pierced the clamor of the battle. From the tree line emerged the hulking shadows of a cadre of Dragon Ogors. Lightning struck the ground around Xit’laami, and the few unlucky marauders of chaos within the circle of the arena.
As the group reached the edge of the circle of warriors, the largest of the Dragon Ogors came forward, his skin tinged unnaturally purple. He sized up Xit’laami then he gave out an earsplitting roar and began to charge. Xit’laami simply roared back with glee and charged forward. Xit’laami brought up his shield at the last moment, expertly deflecting the Dragon Ogor’s weapon and plunged his spear into the chest of the champion. Its death was swift, too swift for Xit’laami’s liking, but if would have to do. With a quick twist of the spear, he pulled it out and held it at the ready surveying the remaining enemies before him. His foes had fallen quiet, only the wind whistling by broke the silence.
After what seemed like ages, the mob of bodies rushed towards Xit’laami, yelling and shouting in anger and bloodlust. Xit’laami quickly turned his mount in a half turn and barreled through the thinnest point in the line, dispatching a few more marauders with practiced fury. Xit’laami and his mount were exhausted, yet they broke back into the tree line. The mob followed closely, the group of Dragon Ogors slowly closing the gap. As the Dragon Ogors got closer the leader of the group raised his weapon high and brought it down with savagery unfettered, striking Xit’laami hard enough to unseat him from his saddle. The proud warrior crashed to the ground and with a well-trained roll he regained his feet and shoved his spear towards the nearest Dragon Ogor. His spear bit through the scaled skin of the Dragon Ogor causing it to bellow in fury and lash back. Xit’laami brought up his shield to block and it connected with the blow from his opponent offering protection, but he was still lifted from his feet and thrown against a tree. Smashing through the trunk, Xit’laami shakily rolled over on his stomach and got up on one knee, spitting out some blood, and took stock of the situation.
His mount was gone, his spear was still sticking out of his newest opponent with more opponents on their way. Luckily his shield was still strapped to his arm and his will to fight was stronger than ever. He maintained a defensive stance as the Dragon Ogor stalked closer, menacingly scraping his weapon against tree trunks leaving jagged gouges on the bark. The Dragon Ogor reached Xit’laami and raised himself to full height ready to bring down his weapon and claim victory. Then the trees sprang to life and their branches darted down grabbing the arms of the Dragon Ogor, stopping his frenzied movement with magical strength. From behind the chaos monstrosity, a tree began to groan and move. Near the ground of the trunk a head popped up, covered in bark, the sunken eyes of the face glowed an intense blue.
Cherise, the Branchwych, briskly walked out of the ground and closer to the two fighters. More marauders were being whisked away by the branches in the nearby distance, shouts for blood soon changed to screams of terror. Then Cherise raised her hand and clenched her fist, the small choir of screams faded to nothing as the branches and roots constricted around their victims. The glow faded from Cherise’s eyes, she noticed Xit’laami and offered him an outstretched hand. Xit’laami took it and regained his feet.
“Good thing I softened them up for you,” Xit’laami chuckled softly as he went to retrieve his spear. Cherise gave him a captious look as she slowly brought her hands over the gouged bark in the trees, reknitting the damage with ease. Eventually Xit’laami’s Aggrodon found his way back to the pair and after a short rest the strange trio set off once more up the mountain.
Off to Work We Go
Ulf Thundgrik hammered away at the rivets in front of him, the rhythmic clanging of hammers on metal filled the underground of the outpost of Dal Boga. Various members of his personal retinue were running around ensuring that the outpost would hold together for the fight ahead. Ulf hammered away at the last of the rivets in front of him with the same fervor and duty as Grungni in the age of myth.
Wiping away the sweat that had accumulated on his brow, Ulf reached for his tankard only to find it nearly empty when it reached his lips. He frowned, tipping it fully upside down and lapping up the last mouthful of ale and letting out a sated burp. He gave his tankard to the nearest cogmonculus and prepared to set about filling some nearby canisters with aether-gold laced fuel when a shrill whistle drowned out the symphony of the workers. Ulf directed his Arkanauts to finish the work in his stead, as he began to climb the stairs from the bottom of the outpost towards the main level.
Magical lights from motes of energy behind glass lit up the stairs with a warm pale glow as Ulf ascended, appreciating the craftsmanship of his crew. Granted it was rushed work, but it would do for now, what else could they do with only a few days of warning. He cursed under his breath and made sure to remember to write down Lestek’s name on his list of grudges if this excursion was less than fruitful.
Ulf threw open the front door and the wind from the outside bit him to the bone, and his guests hurriedly rushed inside. It was a strange group, a Xit’laami covered in blood and limping slightly, leash in hand attached to a terrifying Aggrodon covered in just as much blood, Cherise almost skipping along supremely elated to be out of the cold, and Lestek shaking out his wings slightly and letting the accumulated snow fall off. Ulf introduced himself to his guests and summoned a cogmonculus carrying a platter full of tankards for all of them.
“Esteemed guests,” Ulf began, “I thank ye for comin’ out to the grand unveiling of the newest sky-port of Barak-Mhornar, and for its first test flight into battle. Cheers!” They all raised their glasses and gave a hardy cheer back. Ulf pulled Lestek aside quicky, “Your friend arrived a few days ago” he whispered, motioning to the corner of the great hall. There, a hooded figure was sitting with an ancient book, its pages yellowed with time, reading with great interest. Lestek excused himself and went to go speak with the hooded man.
Ulf returned to his remaining guests and summoned the cogmonculi from the kitchen, each of them carrying dishes full of magnificent, freshly cooked food. Soon Arkhanauts and Endrinriggers began to join the others in the great hall, famished from their hard work and ready to celebrate a job well done. Cheers, raucous drinking songs and calls for more ale filled the warm Great Hall.
After a few hours, most of the party goers had gone to sleep either in their own beds or on the various tables and benches across the hall. All that remained was Ulf, Lestek, Cherise and Xit’laami sitting around the magical fireplace of the Great Hall in a loose semi-circle. Speaking fondly of old memories, the rag-tag group of heroes each fell to a peaceful slumber, fully prepared for the fight ahead.
PKredki 
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