Silence fills the suffocatingly small chamber. The occasional drip of a century old leak echoes off the walls, like the ripples it forms across the serene surface of the Slaan's pool. The only other sound, barely audible, is a deep, rhythmic breathing emanating from the center of the pool, it's source veiled by the dim light. At the water's edge stands a lone Saurus, his halberd hungrily awaiting the unwanted intruder. Bedecked in golden armour, and adorned with the blessings of the Old Ones themselves, the Eternity Warden stands in his eternal vigil over his charge, and master; Azmodius, Keeper of the Stars, a title of renown, even amongst the Slaan. For he is one of the last of whom to receive his teachings from the Slaan who learned directly from the Old Ones. A knowledge jealously guarded, and rightfully so.
Residing in Xlanhuapec, City of Mists, Azmodius remains dormant in his star chamber. Secluded within, he is allowed the deep meditation it requires to discern the Old One's intentions, and the next implementation of their Great Plan. Here he has dwelt for nigh three centuries, the last words uttered to his Skink attendants before retiring to his chamber bore little meaning that they could discern, "The Wight King comes." It is not uncommon for the Slaan's sparse speech to baffle his skink attendants, and it may take several days to debate its meaning. Whatever portends the statement holds, the Skinks deemed it ominous.
It has been three hundred years since that day, and since Azmodius, Keeper of the Stars, retreated to his chamber to muse upon space and time. Patrolling day and night, Chameleon Skinks, and Skink scouts alike keep their unblinking watch on the vast, treacherous jungle, and the unquiet Vampire Coast, where the dead refuse to lay in their grave. Awaiting the arrival of the "Wight King", their vigilance is soon to be rewarded.
Thunder rumbles on the horizon, as dark clouds roll across the heavens, tumbling towards the Vampire Coast at an unseemly gait. Casting the sea and shore beneath in twilight, the thunderheads soon engulf the sky, blotting out the sun and its relentless glare. Blinding flashes of lightning arc angrily in their midst, and split the sky with cacophonous booms. On the distant horizon, small shapes begin to surface, slowly forming into distinguishable sails.
Sheltered in the lush undergrowth, a regiment of Chameleon Skinks gaze upwards at the unnaturally fast clouds. A sense of foreboding and dread sends chills through their crests. Without a word, all but a few vanish into the verge, swiftly making their way back to Xlanhuapec to warn of the dire omens. Nearly a day's run from the City of Mists, the Skinks hasten their cadence as the thunder fades into the welcome, tumultuous jungle ambience.
Deep within Xlanhuapec's pyramid-temple, through stone, mortar and a labyrinth of passages, Azmodius' regulated breathing pauses for a heartbeat. The Eternity Warden glimpses over his shoulder at the large figure gliding across the pool's surface, awake after centuries of contemplation. Floating on his palanquin, Azmodius needn't say a word, but simply nods to his guardian. Taking ancient key in claw the Warden unlocks the entrance to the star chamber. With a resounding clank of stone on stone, the heavy obsidian door swings open with seemingly no effort. Moving forward into a long hallway, Azmodius drifts lazily between the two columns of Temple Guard lining the walls, erect and at attention. Skink Priests soon scurry into sight, piling into attendance at the hall's end. Squawking and quibbling amongst themselves, they are scarce able to hide their excitement, and trepidation at their Lord's return. Without a glance Azmodius drifts past them and up the ensuing stairs, hurriedly his Skink Priest attendants scramble upwards after him, lost in their wonders at his appearance.
Emerging from the pyramid-temple, Azmodius gazes up at the sky, his demeanor indiscernible. It is the first time he has seen the sun in three centuries. A few moments pass, and with a slight nod and grunt, the ancient Slaan continues down the many tiered steps. A dozen Skink Priests join him at his sides, scrolls in hand to record every syllable spoken. Unconcerned, Azmodius descends the final step before taking any interest in his attendees. Lifting a hand he waves dismissively, and all but one of the Skinks bow out, scampering from sight. Trusting only his chosen scribe, as is his custom, Azmodius floats towards the city gate, mist encircling the skinks feet, and staying oddly at bay before the Slaan.
The massive gate towers into view. It's stone arches span nearly forty feet, glyphs inscribed on every block, and enough width for four Saurus to comfortably defend it's inhabitants front to back. An almost unnecessary precaution, Xlanhuapec's natural defenses of an impenetrable shroud of mist have kept the temple-city in relative safety. Soon the gateway is stretching out above them, and a crowd consisting of most the city-dwellers hang back uncertainly, their Lord's purpose still unannounced. Staring intently at the jungle line, Azmodius contentedly waits. After a few hours an uproar goes up amongst the on lookers, as close to a regiment of Chameleon Skinks break from the brush-line in full stride, their colours flashing a warning.
Nodding knowingly, the Slaan brings his palanquin about. "Gather my hosts." is all Azmodius says, before turning back towards the inner-city. He has no need for the news the Chameleon Skinks bring, having foretold it nearly three centuries ago. Carefully sketching out each glyph, the Skink Priest looks up from his scroll and nods fervently, no debate between Skinks is required for such a statement.
Arrayed for war, the Saurus battle line awaits the oncoming enemy. Row upon row of Suarus Warriors, bred to kill, stomp and scuff at the loose sand, eager for the coming mêlée. Its taken a few days for the Lizardmen to reach the Vampire Coast, giving their enemy the time needed to deploy from their great galleys. The undead filth fill the beachhead, twisted, perverted, forms of dead defying the very laws of life. Distant rumbling overhead indicates the static, black, and ominous cloud cover; looming over the coastline like the shadow of some dreaded nightmare.
Thinking of disbanding it, Azmodius decides it is of no consequence to the battle's outcome, and rather suits the atmosphere. Returning to the matters at hand, he rises above his accompanying Temple Guard, and signals the army. Shouting guttural curses, oaths, and roaring the names of the Old Ones, the Lizardmen begin their inexorable advance towards the undead horde. Reacting in kind, ghouls, ghasts, and grisly undeath of all nature surge forth in a tide of creaking bone and rotting flesh. Their numbers so vast they blot out the sand, churning it up into dust behind them as their many feet plow the shore. Already reaching the grassy dunes before the Saurus, their ranks swell as dark necromancy is invoked. The Necromancer easily piercing the veil between life and death on the already haunted coast, the enemies line's are reinforced with dead long laid to rest, now hideously reanimated.
Amongst the countless bodies stride figures resplendent in armour, ancient weapons, and far more ancient spells. Vampires, of all sorts of nature, lead the mindless mob. The most prominent lay directly across the Slaan's general, Kor'Kai, needing but a nod from his Lord before spurring his Cold One on to challenge such a warrior. Another Vampire, of a more savage, but nonetheless cunning, nature taking the form of a massive, and fearsome bat shape tears across the sand. Half gliding, half loping forward on its elongated claws, the beast's fast movement carries it across the field at an alarming rate, threatening the nearby Chameleon Skinks laying in ambush,. Knowing this threat must be eliminated swiftly, Azmodius lifts his arms over his head, palms inward, one above the other. Raw, magic energy crackles between his fingers, and a ball of lightning blossoms between his hands. Hurling the missile forward, it careens across the field, searing clumps of crab grass as it passes over head. With a boom the ball slams into the Varghulf's chest, dropping it with a blinding flash. The charred corpse collapses to the ground mid stride, and is soon engulfed by the mass of teeming undead.
With sudden gusto, the Chameleon Skinks emerge from their advanced positions, raining death upon the skeletons in the form of poisonous darts. Finding little substance amongst the undead bodies, the volley of darts falls relatively harmless, felling only a few Grave Guard as the poison seeps into their marrow.
Undeterred, the undead horde surges forward. Realizing that unless he can keep their increasing numbers in check, the battle may begin to go unfavorably. Focusing his magics on the mass of undead, Azmodius raises his eyes to the heavens. The air itself crackles with pure energy as Azmodius draws the winds of magic around him, binding it to his will. A brief spell of light illuminates the battlefield as the clouds momentarily part, an ill omen for both sides. Hurtling through the sky, a great meteor burns across the dark clouds, chunks tumbling off in plumes of black smoke and fire. The meteor crashes into the coast with a deafening blast, cascading sand and throwing hot glass high up into the air. The impact strikes just as the armies converge, shattering ghouls, skeletons, and Lizardmen alike in an instant.
So great was the amount of magic needed to call down the comet that Azmodius, Keeper of the Stars himself could not contain it all. The unchecked magic blasts into reality, roiling the air with intense power. Only the ancient artifacts built into his palanquin save Azmodius from the wrath of the miscast, directing the energy towards Vampire Count himself, crippling him with chaotic energy.
Recovering ranks pick themselves off their feet to continue hacking and slashing at the enemy. Blunt, brutish weapons of the Saurus descend on the enemy in vicious arcs, cracking skulls and splintering bone. But for every thrall lost it seems several more stand in it's wake, the broken bodies rising back to "life" even as their heads roll listlessly from severed necks, dangling by decrepit tendon and sinew. Eventually falling before the countless numbers, the battle begins to turn in the Vampire's favor.
Rising above the ranks, Kor-Kai rears his Cold One, bellowing a challenge to the heavily armoured Vampire. Answering in kind, the Vampire Count leaps across his horde with preternatural speed and agility. The two foes clash amidst the storm of mêlée, blades ringing as blows fall faster than the eye can trace. Both entities honed by centuries of war into pure killing machines, they revel in the rare treat of a worthy adversary. The Vampire's attacks carry him past the mounted Saurus, the Cold One snapping uselessly as he moves beyond reach. Turning his mount, Kor-Kai once again unleashes a furious war cry as he charges forward, eager to commit this creature to the grave.
Alas, his cry is cut short as another blinding impact explodes behind him, immediately silhouetting him, and lifting him and his mount into the air. A second, larger comet punches into the shore, utterly decimating both sides. Ghouls, Saurus and other indistinguishable bodies are thrown into the air as shock waves knock any in range off their feet. Carried on waves of fire, the Saurus Scar-Veteran's blackened body soars through the air before landing in the sand with a thud, mount falling close behind.
A lull descends upon the battlefield as both sides soak in the casualties. Azmodius pauses, and seeing the destruction he's wrought briefly takes his attention from the Temple Guard and Grave Guard's fierce combat; looking to end the carnage as swiftly as possible
Rising to his feet, the Count finds himself alone amongst the desolation, all nearby troops devastated from the meteor. Staring down at the charred remnants of his foe, he watches the smoke rising from the still sizzling flesh. Reaching out with an armour clad boot he disdainfully overturns the smoking body, snarling at the stench of burned meat. The lizards face is construed in a half snarl half shocked expression. What a waste. is his only sentiment. Turning to the source of such destruction, his eyes widen as he glimpses a bright ball of light surging for him. Leaving no time to dodge, even for a Vampire, the missile smashes into his body, lifting him off his feet before his ashes scatter into the wind, along with much of his army.
Not much of either side is left as the Temple Guard and Grave Guard fight to the bitter death, hatred seething from their eyes. Azmodius desperately tries to strengthen his units with more spells, but still they are felled like wheat before the lethal blades of the skeletons. Some force still binds these creatures. muses the Slaan, and for the first time in a millenia fear crawls up the Slaan's spine. From the Grave Guards midst, crumbling as they fight on, a figure strides forward, dealing death to the Guards in his path. With irrevocable purpose, the Wight King slaughters the rest of Azmodius' honour guard, his intentions clear, he takes an armoured step towards the lone Slaan. Fleeing from what he knew three hundred years ago was an inevitable death, the Mage-Lord tries to defy the Old Ones' plans and retreats for the safety of the jungle line. But before reaching the safety of the undergrowth, he is stopped, dead in his tracks. Looking down at the blade protruding from his fat chest, he watches his blood spill forth in a deluge as the Wight King guts him from behind, his wight blade cutting through the palanquin like paper. More blades punch through his body, as the rest of the Grave Guard descend upon his quivering mass. Disemboweled, and blood spewing from his mouth, the old Slaan sinks to the ground, falling off his palanquin and flat on his face. Blades flash as they continue to rise and fall in a flurry, piercing his body. Bright blood flowing from the grievous wounds as it soaks into the hot sand, surrounding Azmodius in a crimson pool.
Seeing their Lord's death, the lone Chameleon Skinks heed not their own safety, rushing to destroy the defiler of their ancient leader. Raining yet more missiles on the Grave Guard, all but the Wight King survives the harassing hail of darts. Charging forwards, the last forces meet amongst all the carnage, showering yet more darts the Chameleon Skinks desperately try to fell the undead hero. Shrugging off the attacks the Wight King reaches the Chameleons, and slaughters them with unnatural ease. The Skinks fall, in pieces, to an honourable death beside their Lord.
Standing alone on the field, surrounded by an ocean of red and mutilated bodies, the Wight King stares at the Chameleons, his orders complete. The sea breeze tugs at the tattered garments of the Wight King, snapping, and blowing them about like a billowing sail. Head lowered towards his fallen enemies, the Wight King remains motionless as he begins to fade to dust. The sun peaks from behind dispersing clouds, its rays falling upon a horrific scene of death and destruction. One sole ray spotlights Azmodius' dead body, blood still seeping from the Wight Kings ethereal wounds.
A battle summary I typed up afterward, not really a note worthy battle as it ended in some what of a draw, but it was a lot of fun. In hindsight I think I will avoid engaging his tarpits as I did, head on x[ oh well, first time playing Lizardmen, and first time playing VC.