OG: Chapter 47

I lashed out with my Runeblade, carving apart the shield of an Ox-headed Bovigor with a black iron axe and a bronze and wood shield. It let out a bellow at me as it slashed for me with its axe, only to find the tip of my runeblade buried in its throat. A whining bleat ensued even as the axe dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers and my mount charged forward, trampling it even as it struggled to draw breath through the hole in its throat. As it did so, my mount bowled over a Caprigor with a cleaver-like blade and wooden shield, trampling it underhoof even as I lashed out with my runeblade, splitting the head of a Cow-headed Bovigor with a blacksmith's hammer in one hand and a leather-covered shield in the other in twain vertically as I passed by it. At my side, Radamenes leaped onto a hapless Sheep-headed Caprigor and tore into its chest with razor-sharp claws, even through its pilfered chainmail shirt, carving into its heart.

This was my twelfth kill of the battle, along with my mount's seventh and Radamenes' ninth, making twenty-eight as a whole, a respectable number even without counting the Cavalry Guards under my command. We were clearly butchering our way through the ranks of the Corpsecaller's army, but unfortunately, we could have slain fifty Beastmen on our own, and still it wouldn't have mattered. There were just that many Beastmen on the field of battle outside Vimera. There were always fresh enemies ready and willing to attack us, and the fact was that we hadn't come through the combat unscathed ourselves. I had taken a vicious blow from a Gor Foe-Render with a massive iron mace that had cracked my ribs through my armor, my Mount had taken a cut to the flank from a Caprigor wielding a pilfered sword and bronze-banded shield, and Radamenes had taken an arrow from an Ungor Skirmisher to the shoulder. I was able to heal, of course, being a Perpetual, and we had healing potions, but enough wounds would wear us down eventually.

By this point, of course, the battle had raged on for close to an hour and a half. We had been forced to wheel about and charge again two more times to get to this point, and the dead were piled up like cordwood in places where they'd fallen. Fortunately, Anders had managed to stabilize the situation on the walls using Fellstaves carved with sigils to ward against Beastmen that he had prepared in advance to demarcate safe areas along the walls that the Beastmen would refuse to attack. It was from these warded sanctuaries that he was able to lead counterattacks to push the Beastmen off the walls of Vimera. With both sides' attacks failing, a stalemate had ensued, one that favored the Beastmen thanks to their numbers.

Still, however, it was possible we could win the day, just by attacking hard enough. Unfortunately, our Gryphon Gun-Howitzers had been forced to deal with a number of Chaos Beasts over the past hour and a half, first, a pair of Giant Spined Beasts of Chaos, then a hulking, slimy, toad dragon with a maw filled with fangs and corrosive breath that liquified Beastman and Man alike, and lastly a flock of Preytons. All of these had been called forth from the mountains by the Corpsecaller's Deathly Pale Bray Shaman to soak up cannon fire and allow the Beastmen's lines to stabilize and the battle to turn into a slog.

That was cunning of the Bray Shaman, showing human-like intelligence. A slog was an attritional battle, and those always favored the side with more bodies to throw into the grinder. In this case, that was the Beastmen. They had over twice our number of troops at the start of this battle, after all. Thankfully, it seemed the Gun Howitzers were finally beginning to finish off the last of the Preytons. Also, fortunately, it seemed the Corpsecaller's Bray Shaman was out of Chaos Beasts to call up out of the mountains. Unfortunately, it seemed that wasn't the only trick the Beastmen had. A group of Centigors led by a Warhoof Captain wearing a Black Iron Breastplate with a Black Iron Battleaxe in one hand and a Gnarled Wooden Club in the other, whose Jaundiced eyes glowed with a sickly yellow light, revealing a blessing from the Plaguefather, charged forth.

The Centigors were charging the flank of our forces, and as I parried a strike from an axe-wielding Caprigor with a Ram's Head, I realized that if I did nothing, they were going to slam into the side of Martine's Port Donkerzee Skirmish Guards, likely routing the archer unit from the field and possibly killing Martine. With a snarl, I flicked my wrist, tearing the bronze-headed axe out of the Caprigor's hands, disarming it even as my next move decapitated the hapless Caprigor, and Radamenes tore the throat out of a Bighorn Sheep-headed Caprigor with large, curling, horns, wielding a stone axe and bronze-studded wood shield. After killing our thirteenth, eighth, and tenth enemies respectively, I yanked on the reins, wheeling my mount about and raising my runeblade, roaring out for my Cavalry Guards, even as my Mount trampled a Buffalo-headed Bovigor underhoof.

"About! Turn about and follow me! The Port Donkerzee Forces are under attack!" I called out, waving my flaming blade in the air in a whirling motion to get my Cavalry Guards' attention.

We didn't have to break off the attack, and could have driven deeper into the enemy line, but this was more important. Many of my Cavalry Guards seemed to recognize that, and those who didn't were loyal enough to follow my orders without complaint. As we wheeled about, however, a number of javelins and arrows showered us from Ungor Skirmishers as we disengaged. Some of my cavalry guards fell, but not enough to rout us. Thankfully, those Ungors would soon be suppressed by Mercenary and Militia Archers along the walls of Vimera, coordinated from one of the warded sanctuaries by Anders. This allowed us to charge into the wedge of Centigors, intercepting their attack just short of the Port Donkerzee Skirmish Guards.

I lashed out with my Runeblade, carving apart a two-handed spear from a Centigor that attempted to parry with it, my follow-on thrust goring through leather and hide armor to puncture its blackened heart. It slumped to the ground dead, my mount reared up as a second Centigor charged in with a Pilfered Khypris Border Guard Halberd, lashing out with its front hooves to stave in its ribcage, even a Radamenes pounced on the back of a Centigor and seized the back of its neck in his jaws, snapping its neck with a jerking motion. That made thirty-four kills in total so far, and they would not be the last. In the meantime, my Cavalry Guards lay about them with their blades, some falling, but others wounding and slaying Centigors, inspired by my example.

As we intercepted the Centigor attack, however, we swiftly found that we were not the only ones who had decided to attack the Centigors. Martine de Luxembourg, my companion, Baroness of Port Donkerzee, and Commander of the Port Donkerzee Skirmish Guards, seemed incensed that her forces had almost been taken completely by surprise. She wanted to wreak bloody vengeance on the offending Centigors and was clearly prepared to do it, as I heard her voice ring out loud and clear over the din.

"Left face! Fill those Chaotic Sons of Motherless Goats with arrows!" Ordered Martine, loudly enough to be heard over the clamor of battle.

The Port Donkerzee Skirmish Guards turned to the left with a practiced, coordinated movement, drawing and nocking arrows to the strings of their longbows as they did so. Clearly, Martine, or more likely someone hired for her by Anita de Roelef, who was the real power in Port Donkerzee, and who worked very closely with Martine to ensure that the port remained profitable for her family, had trained the Skirmish Guards well. A shower of arrows flung out in a massive volley from the Port Donkerzee Skirmish Guards, peppering the flank of the Centigor Wedge and downing several of the Hulking Cavalry Beastmen. As Martine called for a second Volley, I roared out, imploring my Cavalry Guards to fight on faster.

"At them, Lads! Between our force and Port Donkerzee's, we'll annihilate these Beastmen!" I cried out.

As I did so, I lashed out with my Runeblade, flaming blade carving apart a hapless Centigor from shoulder to hip, despite the pilfered Chainmail Shirt, even as it tried to raise its two-handed maul to block. Radamenes carved into the rear left leg of another Centigor at the same time, the Beastman losing its pilfered Khypris Border Guard Halberd as it tumbled to the sodden ground, allowing my mount to trample over it in a shared kill. I would count that as a kill for both Radamenes and my mount, something that Radamenes seemed displeased about as I mentioned it to him, making thirty-six dead Beastmen for our group. This, it seemed, caught the eye of the Warhoof Captain of the Centigors, as it charged me even as a hail of arrows came in once more from the Port Donkerzee Skirmish Guards under Martine's Command.

It slammed its club into me, the gnarled, petrified wood smashing into the side of my head, ringing out as it struck my helm like a bell, and bruising my skull from sheer concussive force. Thankfully, I had enough presence of mind to throw up my Runeblade to parry in a wild attempt to avoid being hit by the axe, which the Warhoof was sure to attack with now that I had seemingly given it an opening. Sure enough, the Black Iron Battleaxe came literally screaming in, practically howling as it cut through the air with chaotic force. My Runeblade intercepted it, barely, and as it bulled forward, the Warhoof smashed its bony, horned head into my face with a headbutt. My nose was broken, my lip split, my cheek busted open, and my orbital bone cracked from the horned head smashing into my face, the visorless, more open nature of my helmet proving unable to stop its brute, chaotic strength from wounding me.

I spat out blood onto the sodden ground, already turned muddy from blood that had been spilled, and riposted with my Runeblade. The Warhoof weaved out of the way of my fiery sword, lips splitting open to reveal a grin of sharp, jagged teeth, rotting with some kind of nurglite plague that would clearly spread if it managed to bite me, another blessing of the Plaguefather, no doubt. Thankfully, I parried its next club strike, dodging the screaming axe blade and hauled back on the reins, forcing my mount to back away, even as it tried to lean in for a bite. At my side, Radamenes was bearing down on another Centigor moving to aid its Captain, lunging for its throat with a pounce, even as he took a shallow cut along his side from the Centigor's blade. Radamenes tore the throat out of the Centigor, killing it, and landed on the ground, hissing in pain.

Growling out at Radamenes even as I leaned away from an axe swing, I told him to return to the rear to heal up, which got me a yowl of protest. Radamanes still did it, though. His healing powers worked more slowly than mine. It would take him fifteen minutes or so to heal up. By that time, I would be done here, hopefully. As Radamenes stalked off, my mount lashed out with its rear hooves in a donkey kick, staving in the chest of a Centigor creeping up on me from behind, even as I was forced to parry a strike from the petrified wood of the Warhoof's Club. As the parry turned into winding and binding with the Warhoof, however, I realized that there were a number of odd tumors in the Warhoof's arms, just barely visible under the skin, which increased its strength. I snarled, forced to activate my various enhancements to surpass the beast. Now able to strike back properly, I was able to tear the petrified wood club out of the Warhoof's grasp, wiping the fanged smirk off its Caprine Face.

As I pushed forward, my turn to shine arriving, the Warhoof was hard-pressed to keep up. A number of shallow cuts opened up on its arms and flank as I pressed the attack, which were suddenly cauterized as the flame of my blade licked away at them. Alarmed, the Warhoof let out a loud, bleating bellow, clearly calling for aid if my read on its caprine facial expressions was correct. As soon as it did so, I was alerted to a nearby Centigor, watching as the Black-Furred Gorehoof Champion in a Black Iron Breastplate, wielding a Black-Iron Spear, who punched its spear through the armpit of one of my Cavalry Guards and turned about to come to the aid of its Captain. It too bore the Jaundiced, glowing eyes granted by the Plaguefather, and I could see several patches of odd, crusty skin that had turned the black skin to a leathery consistency.

Time slowed down as I ran the numbers. Two Centigor Officers, both having been blessed by the Plaguefather, both equipped in Black Iron Gear, against me without Radamenes by my side to help me. I was already engaging my various chemical and cybernetic enhancements to deal with the Warhoof. If the Gorehoof attacked as well, I wasn't sure if I would be able to deal with them both, even pulling magic out of my bag of tricks. Not without being able to reload my Custom Streltsy Revolving Autorifle, and that was something that I very much doubted I would have the ability to do any time soon. My best bet here was to use Magic and try to delay the Gorehoof from engaging, hoping that Martine would come to my aid or I would be able to finish off the Warhoof before it could. Just before time sped back up, however, the Warhoof moved in such a way that I could tell it was about to try and counterattack with its axe. I would have to deal with that first, then the Gorehoof charging toward me.

As time sped up, I lashed out with my Runeblade, parrying the Warhoof's Axe even as he struck out with it, my whirling cut slapping it aside, even as I raised my left hand and summoned the power of Chamon stored within my Arabyan Puzzle Box, casting a spell of Burnished Gauntlet at the charging Gorehoof. The translucent golden gauntlet appeared in mid-air above my outstretched hand and flew to smash into the Gorehoof's face, cracking one of its black horns and sending it slumping to the ground, slightly dazed. The Warhoof tried to bite me again, but I shifted just enough that its plague-ridden, daggerlike teeth scraped against the scales of my armor instead, lashing out with a cut to its side that sheared through the black iron breastplate thanks to my Runeblade's Master Rune of Alaric the Mad, opening up a gash along its right side that immediately burned, cauterizing as the Gromril blade passed through it.

The Warhoof bleated in pain, rearing back and flailing wildly with its axe. I parried, binding the Black Iron, Chaotic Axe with my blade, and tearing it free of the Warhoof's grasp with a flick of my wrist. In desperation, the Warhoof reared up, lashing out with its front hooves to smash into my armored torso, almost knocking me out of the saddle, and re-brusing my just-healed ribs from sheer concussive force. I pressed on, however, my enhancements allowing me to deal with the pain, and lunged forward, thrusting my Runeblade even as the Warhoof lashed out in another front hoof kick. This time, I was knocked out of my saddle, my bruised ribs cracking under the blow even through the scarab bone sheath. However, my runeblade split through the Warhoof's breastplate, even as it was torn out of my hands and I was knocked from my saddle, punching through several of its vital organs. It let out a pathetic, pained, whining bleat as the Warhoof toppled over dead.

Unfortunately, I clambered to my feet, wincing, just in time for the Gorehoof to shake off its dazed status and resume its charge. I didn't have time to retrieve my Runeblade from the corpse of the Warhoof and instead snarled, pulling my Custom Streltsy Revolving Autorifle. Unfortunately, I only had time to reload two bullets before I would have to shoot, firing both into the charging Gorehoof as it crossed the field. One of the bullets was deflected by the Chaotic Power of its black iron armor, but the other punched through the left pauldron, staggering it and wounding the Gorehoof. Unfortunately, even with its left arm hanging uselessly at its side, the Gorehoof simply couched its spear under its right armpit like some Bretonnian Knight and resumed its charge. I tried to stun it again, drawing on the stored Chamon in my Arabyan Puzzle Box to cast another Spell of Burnished Gauntlet at it, but the Gorehoof weaved aside of the flung golden spell.

I sucked in a breath, bracing myself and wondering if this was the end of my run. Thankfully, just before it reached me, the Gorehoof was intercepted as the charging form of Martine de Luxembourg launched herself at it from the side, plunging her Blade through its neck sideways. The Gorehoof was so focused on killing me that it hadn't seen Martine and her Melee Guards, which were a more elite formation than her Skirmish Guards, charging at the bogged down Centigors from the side. The Port Donkerzee Melee Guards were armored in plate armor and bore halberds, similar to my own guards, though their equipment wasn't nearly the same quality as my own forces had. Regardless of the quality of their equipment, they were clearly drilled well, as their charge saved me and scattered the remaining Centigors to the four winds.

As I made my way over to the Fallen Warhoof, drawing my Runeblade from its fallen corpse, I could only grin at the save. Climbing back atop my mount, I made my way over toward where Martine was standing, glaring down at the fallen Gorehoof and spitting in its bloody corpse. She turned as I approached, nodding. I returned the nod and offered a smile.

"Thanks for the save." I remarked.

"You would have done the same for me." Shrugged Martine.

"Of course." I agreed.

Just then, there was a booming noise as our artillery, the quartet of Gryphon Gun-Howitzers under the command of Sergio Triano of the Mantreda Militia, shifted their fire from the last of the Preytons. Instead, they began firing shells amongst the enemy's left flank, drawing our attention. I watched as the Beastmen among the Left Flank stalled in their attack on Ruggiero's position near where Augustus Von Hagedorn and Erensto Quintavalla were clashing with a mixed formation of Gor and Minotaur Units. I smirked as I saw large gaps open up in the lines, allowing Ruggiero and Von Hagedorn to charge forth at the heads of their Guards and Halberdiers respectively, cutting down multiple Gors with each swing of their blades, even as Ernesto Quintavalla organized his Quarrellers to begin firing into the Gors and Minotaurs still standing fast.

I watched as Quintavalla's own Crossbow punched into the eye of a Bloodkine Captain wielding a massive, black iron, two-handed hammer whose veins were visible against its skin, pumping blood forcefully with the power of Khorne. The Bloodkine Captain went down, even as Ruggiero battered aside the shield of a Foe-Render Captain in a Black Iron Breastplate, wielding a battleaxe and shield of Black Iron, whose eyes glowed with the Blessing of the Plaguefather. As Ruggiero ducked a wild swing of the axe, he came up with his blade, thrusting through the chin of the Foe-Render, killing it and sending a wave of panic through the mixed group of Gors and Minotaurs now that their officers were slain. Von Hagedorn took advantage of it ruthlessly, leading his Halberdiers through the formation like a knife through butter.

The Beastmen's left flank began to be carved up like Nordlander Cheese. The Panicking Beastmen began to rout, something that Francois de Montjoie and his Mounted Yeomen took full advantage of, following the rout and cutting down many fleeing beastmen. It forced the Corpsecaller to plug the gaps in the line, sending in its reserves to avoid the total loss of the battle. At the same time, the Corpsecaller's own unit was engaged by the Strigany Cavalry Forces under Ion and the Kislevite Lancers under Kaspar Fedorenko, the freshly-created Baron of Aldium, both men hacking down multiple Gors and Ungors as they cut their way toward the Corpsecaller. As they engaged, however, I could tell that they wouldn't be enough to defeat the Corpsecaller, even together. The Wargor was clearly the equal of both of them combined.

Meanwhile, on the Walls, Anders dueled with the Corpscaller's Bray Shaman on the Walls, while the dwindling forces of Vimera repulsed another attack on the walls from a mixed group of Ungors and Gors that had climbed the walls from the safety of their Fellstave-warded Sanctuary Zones using crossbows and spears. Thankfully, he had been joined by his Apprentice, Ygraine de Salignac, who had managed to somehow sneak past the fighting Beastmen alongside Henrietta Steiner and Esteban Cortez of the Mantreda Militia. Henrietta and Esteban were leading the forces of Vimera, which were being led by a Curly-Haired Tilean in Miraglianese Armor embellished with bronze etchings, in repelling the Beastmen, even as Ygraine helped to keep the Beastmen off of Anders.

As I watched, Anders unwove a clearly Chaotic Attack Spell from the Corpsecaller's Bray Shaman, even as Ygraine turned a stick into a mystical dagger that she used to stab through the Black Iron Armor of an Ungor Halfhorn Captain that was bearing down on Anders with a short spear, killing it. The Tilean Man, meanwhile, cut down a Gor Foe-Render, even as Henrietta stabbed her pike through the face of a Gor that had managed to get past the fellstave, while Esteban fired a crossbow bolt through the eye of a Minotaur that had tried to rush the wooden Gates with a stripped-down tree trunk used as a battering ram.

This was clearly it, the final stage of the Battle. If we could pull out a victory here, then we would have largely won the war. All that was needed was to deal with the Corpsecaller and his Bray Shaman before either of them could call for a retreat back to the mountains. If we could do that, I had no doubt we would win, a thought that was backed up by my running the numbers. Unfortunately, I could only afford to help personally in one battle or the other, not both. The question was which one do I aid in? Both were important, after all.

"It seems that the battle is almost finished. The Corpsecaller has taken the field personally and sent in his reserves. We can break them here." Intoned Martine, drawing me out of my thoughts.

"We can, but we'll need to deal with both the Corpsecaller and his Bray Shaman to truly win the day." I acknowledged.

"Why don't you deal with the Corpsecaller while I move to deal with the Bray Shaman?" Questioned Martine.

"Out of the question." I refused.

"And just why is that?" Queried Martine.

"Someone needs to stay in overall command now that all of our leaders are fighting on the line." I reminded.

"And you want it to be me?" Asked Martine.

"Who else? I am needed elsewhere, after all." I answered.

"I am honored. I will not let you down." Beamed Martine.

"I know you won't. The question is, which fight do I aid? I'm just one man. I can only help one." I frowned.

Just as I said that, however, a cry of pain rang out across the field, drawing my attention to the Corpsecaller fight. Ion had just been knocked out of his saddle with a vicious blow. He was still moving about, but clearly wounded too badly to continue aiding Kaspar against the Corpsecaller. Already, his Strigany were moving to evacuate him from the battle, leaving Kaspar alone against the Corpsecaller. It seemed my decision had been made for me. There was no way that Kaspar could slay the Corpsecaller on his own, after all. Remounting my steed, I dug my spurs into its flank, leaving Martine in overall command as I charged across the field. The Corpsecaller would be slain by my hand, or at least I would have a hand in its death, I swore it. If not, then this war would drag on past the point of sustainability, as the Zani, Greenskins, and Prince Waldemar decided to take advantage.

And that was something that I couldn't countenance in the slightest. . .

XXXX

Anders Hellman growled as he tore apart another Dhar-laden spell from the Corpsecaller's Bray Shaman. It had been a sour-smelling wind that the Bray Shaman had called up from seemingly nowhere, clearly laden with all sorts of miasma and mystical chaotic pestilence. Thankfully, Anders was by now more than practiced at countering Chaotic Magic. He had to learn, or else Vimera would have fallen a long time ago. He knew well by now the fault-lines and fracture points in spell structures made of Dhar, and could rip and tear at them with the best Magisters in the Border Princes, though he doubted he was on the same level as a Master Magister of the Colleges of the Empire. He knew that he was close, though, at least when it came to unweaving Dhar.

As he flung a Bolt of Magical Force at the Bray Shaman as a riposte, Anders frowned. The Bray Shaman swung its staff at the Spell of Magic Dart, shattering the spell against the Chaotically Imbued Impletment. Anders Scowled, ripping apart the next spell the Bray Shaman flung his way, a sickly yellow light suffused with Dhar that would have caused whoever it struck to break out in pus-filled Buboes had he not done so. Anders' next attack was made with a mystical dagger that he had transformed from a small branch using the Spell of Dagger of the Art, flinging it at the Bray Shaman. The shimmering, mystical, eight-inch blade cut through the air with a hissing noise, only for the Bray Shaman to weave aside at the last second, a slight line of blood being drawn across its corpse-pale skin, the black, rotting fluid splattering against the wood of the wall and rotting it wherever the droplets fell from sheer proximity.

It was a shame, but Hedgecraft lent itself far more to defense, support, and healing than it did to attack. Offensively, Anders' bag of tricks was limited. He had been forced to dip into petty magic spells to widen his repertoire there, and while it had given him some breadth to work with, none of those petty magic spells seemed to do anything to his opponent. Indeed, the attack with his thrown Dagger of the Art had been the first wound he had actually dealt to the Bray Shaman this whole time. Thankfully, his defensive focus had allowed him to avoid wounds himself, along with protecting his dwindling forces from the Bray Shaman's foul magic. However, he wouldn't be able to win like this, and he knew it. Fortunately, Ygraine had arrived to help him, aiding him in managing the defense and allowing him to focus more on throwing offensive attacks at the Bray Shaman. It was just a shame he didn't have enough ones of power to really press his advantage home.

Anders frowned, however, as the Bray Shaman let out a series of wheezing coughs, preparing to unweave another potential Dhar-ridden spell. However, a spell never came, and Anders suddenly realized that the coughs weren't mystical in nature, but were instead the Bray Shaman laughing at him. His frown only deepened at that, before turning into an outright scowl as the Bray Shaman managed something completely unexpected. Contorting its bestial maw in an unnatural way, the Bray Shaman managed to speak to Anders in slightly mangled Reikspiel, though it was clearly a taunt.

"Hyu hwon't beat me hwith that pathetik powur. Hyu don't seem to haav tha strength to doo it." Taunted the Bray Shaman in mangled Reikspiel.

"Bold talk from a Beast that hasn't landed a single blow!" Challenged Anders.

"Grandpoppa Gifs me Strength Enuff foor that! Just Hyu Hwait und See!" Scoffed the Bray Shaman in Broken Reikspiel.

And with that, the Bray Shaman's maw returned to its normal shape, jaw cracking as it did so, causing a slight shudder to run up Anders' Spine, which he ruthlessly suppressed. The Bray Shaman barked out more guttural chants in its foul language and stretched out its arthritis-ridden, taloned hand. A wave of Dhar erupted from its clawed hand, bearing with it the power to cause anyone hit by it to erupt into painful boils, even as the Bray Shaman opened its mouth to spew a foul, Dhar-ridden, puke-like substance at Anders. Two attacks at once were something that Anders didn't know if he could deal with. He was good, but not that good. Fortunately, he didn't have to.

Ygraine began to pick away at the wave of Boil-granting Power, allowing Anders to unweave the stream of puke-like Dhar, which seemed to bear a caustic, nauseating spell along with it. Between both Anders and Ygraine, they managed to unweave both of the Bray Shaman's foul Chaotic Attacks, destroying the spells with their countermagic. Anders couldn't help but grin at that. For all the Bray Shaman's Ruinous Powers-granted Strength, he was fighting alone, while Anders had Ygraine to aid him.

"You may have the power advantage here, that much is clearly true, but I am not fighting alone, Beast!" Smirked Anders.

A snarl erupted from the Bray Shaman's Maw as it began to suffuse its body with Chaotic Power and Dhar, clearly building up for a potent retort. Even Anders wasn't sure if he could unweave such a spell, and he flung a small, torchlike, ball of blue flame at the Bray Shaman, forcing it to unweave his spell with some of the power it had gathered. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough, and Anders could only think of one thing he could do. Holding up his left hand, Anders fired a bright beam of golden light from his spell, the sunbeam flashing out to strike the Corpsecaller's Bray Shaman. Painful Burns erupted across the Bray Shaman's Body where the beam struck, and the rheumy eyes unfocused as if blinded. However, this wasn't enough to stop the Bray Shaman's chant.

In a last-ditch effort, Anders summoned spell power out of his right-hand ring, the stored power suffusing him enough that he was able to cast a lightning bolt, even after the extended two-hour battle he had been partaking in. An arc of electricity surged forth, smashing into the Bray Shaman and sending it crashing to the wood of the fighting platform atop the walls of Vimera. Raising his left hand ring once more, Anders summoned a patch of quicksand to suck in the Bray Shaman, keeping it stuck in a prone position and unable to discharge the power. Unfortunately, that was going to be a problem.

The Bray Shaman, even unable to discharge the power it was accumulating from the surging energies of the Warp, was still Gathering Power. Frowning, Anders turned to Ygraine, nodding at his apprentice. Ygraine frowned, her green, dirt and blood-streaked robes swishing as she turned sharply to regard Anders. She clearly wasn't pleased by this turn of events. However, there was one thing that might just save them. Anders had enough magic power left for one more spell.

"I can cut the Bray Shaman off from the Warp. However, after that, it will be up to you to kill it!" Insisted Anders.

"What? How would I do that?" Questioned Ygraine.

"It will be unable to cast or draw more power after I use the Spell of Wyrd Ward on it! At that point, it will just be a regular Beastman!" Answered Anders above the din.

"So then, Dagger of the Art?" Queried Ygraine.

"Sure, that will work." Nodded Anders.

"All right." Agreed Ygraine.

"We'll need to do this swiftly, or else it will cause a catastrophe! Are you ready?" Asked Anders.

"I am." Confirmed Ygraine, brandishing her mystical dagger formed with the Spell of Dagger of the Art.

"Good! I'm going in! Be prepared!" Warned Anders.

Then he surged forth, chanting in the Druidic Language as he did so. Anders' hands began to glow with a greenish light, the color of pine needles, as he drew upon the power of the hedge to separate the bounds between the Immaterial and the Material Realms. His feet were suddenly sucked into the Quicksand, but Anders kept going. The shifting sand did alert the Bray Shaman, though, and it struck out with its staff blindly, slamming into Anders' temple and causing stars to erupt behind his eyes, even as Anders felt blood begin to flow from his head. He stumbled, the Quicksand pulling him in further, but managed to seize hold of one of the Bray Shaman's horns in the chaos.

The Green Light leapt from Anders' grasp, limning the Bray Shaman in the warding power of the Hedge. Anders felt more than saw the Bray Shaman cease drawing in power, even as the Bray Shaman's staff struck once more, this time, managing to knock Anders down. Anders began to sink deeper into the quicksand he conjured, but a flash of green robes to his right alerted him to Ygraine's arrival. Anders immediately dispersed the Quicksand Spell, just before he was sucked down and suffocated by the mystically conjured sucking sands. The Bray Shaman pushed itself to its feet, eyes wide and maddened, confused at the lack of power it was able to call on. It still had the presence of mind to raise its staff high to attempt to strike down at Anders' prone form and finish him off. That was when Ygraine shoved her mystic dagger, conjured with the Spell of Dagger of the Art, through the back of the Bray Shaman's neck.

The Corpsecaller's Bray Shaman jerked in place twice as the blade severed its spine, before the staff fell from its nerveless hands. The Bray Shaman then pitched to the left, toppling off the Wall of Vimera to land on the ground outside the town gates, spine severed and skull dashed against a rock on the ground below. With its death, Capitan Rizzo of the Vimera Guard, alongside the Girl and Estalian that Ygraine had arrived with, led the charge in pushing the remaining Beastmen off the wall. The battle for the Wall of Vimera was over. The Defenders had won.

Now, only the Corpsecaller and his army outside the walls remained. . .

XXXX

I charged the Corpsecaller, my mount's hooves now eating up the home stretch of ground between my position and its position. It had badly wounded both Kaspar and Ion before I managed to cross the field to aid them. Ion had been evacuated from the Battle to the rear, but Kaspar had been dismounted and was just barely hanging on by a thread. Unfortunately, the Corpsecallers' own Caprigors were holding Kaspar's Lancers at bay, as the Corpsecaller stalked forward, fang-filled maw parting in a snouty grin as it prepared to strike down at Kaspar. Kaspar, for his part, managed to ward away the first blow, but found his Sabre ripped from his grasp by the effort it took to parry. As the Corpsecaller raised its black iron, two-handed axe high, the deadly blade humming with Chaotic Power, preparing to finish Kaspar off, that was when I arrived.

My Runeblade lashed out at the Corpsecaller from the side, slashing for its neck. It would have been a killing blow, had the buzzing flies that surrounded the Beastlord not increased their buzzing in intensity, warning it of my approach. The Corpsecaller whirled about, axe lashing out to knock my Runeblade off-course. I snarled, winding and binding, trying to lever the Corpsecaller's axe out of its grip. Unfortunately, the Tumors Granted to the Corpsecaller by the Plaguefather were more powerful than the ones that had been granted to the Warhoof Captain, and it was easily able to avoid having me wrench its axe out of its grasp, even with me engaging all of my enhancements. It soon became clear that Corpsecaller wasn't just a Champion, but a Chaos Lord of the Plaguefather.

That was both disconcerting and heartening. Disconcerting because the Corpsecaller was clearly the most powerful opponent I had faced yet in the War, and heartening because even as we went back and forth with axe and Runeblade, it became clear that we were perfectly evenly matched in terms of capabilities. With my enhancements and equipment, I was able to match a powerful Chaos Lord in single combat. However, matching the Corpsecaller would not win me victory. I would have to defeat and slay it in order to win the day. Unfortunately, with Kaspar too wounded to help, Radamenes still healing, and my other Captains elsewhere, this would be a stalemate. I would have to think something up fast to tilt the balance in my favor. The longer this went on, the more of my men died, after all, and the more chances the Corpsecaller's army had to withdraw.

The first trick I tried was something I had done once before, drawing on the power stored within my Arabyan Puzzle Box to cast a spell of Channeled Shock through the metal of my Runeblade. Unfortunately, it didn't manage to stun the Corpsecaller, as it was clearly made of sterner stuff. A headbutt from the Corpsecaller's Horned Head smashed my nose flat and re-split my lip, cracking my orbital bone and busting open my cheek, as well as shattering a tooth and blacking an eye. I had only just managed to heal my busted face from the Warhoof Captain, and now it had been broken by another, more powerful headbutt. I still had the presence of mind to sway aside when the axe came screaming in, though unfortunately, the haft smashed into my scale-armored torso, breaking two of my ribs, cracking a third, and bruising a fourth.

I was bowled off my mount, though I pushed past the pain in time to roll aside and the descending axe blade. Snarling out in the language of Magic, I drew on the Chamon stored in my Arabyan Puzzle Box, a spell of Burnished Gauntlet lashing out for the Corpsecaller. The translucent golden gauntlet smashed into the Corspecaller's temple as the axeblade thunked into a rock, slicing through the stone and lodging in the ground. The Corpsecaller stumbled to the side, its axe lodged in the broken rock. I pushed myself to my feet, even as the Corpsecaller picked up a discarded Halberd from the ground and set itself into a guard. Gritting my teeth past the pain, I drew on more Chamon from my Arabyan Puzzle Box, casting a spell of Armor of Lead at the Corpsecaller, slowing its charge and allowing me to lurch to the side in a dodge, away from the flashing Halberd.

Unfortunately, my Riposte Strike was parried on the metal haft of the Corpsecaller's Looted Halberd. Time slowed down as I began to run the numbers. I could try the dwarf trick they used to disarm Greenskins. A Halberd wasn't so unlike a Choppa in that it didn't have a guard to protect the fingers, and it might give me the edge I needed. After all, if it was good enough for Gotrek Gurnisson, it was good enough for me. A telltale twitch, however, alerted me to the fact that the Corpsecaller was about to lash out with its hoof at my chest in a kick that would probably decide the fight if it landed, and forced me to lurch to the side as time sped back up, avoiding the kick.

The Corpsecaller then whirled about with its looted Halberd, striking for my head with the backspike, clearly hoping to impale my skull. I swiped out in an arcing strike with my Runeblade, knocking the Halberd off-course and pressing my parry. The looted Halberd cut down into the sodden ground, axe blade lodging there, and I ran my Runeblade up the metal haft, hoping to carve off some of the Corpsecaller's Fingers. The Spell of Armor of Lead made the Corpsecaller too slow to back away, and its right hand lost three fingers and a thumb, clawed digits tumbling to the ground, regardless of the Corpsecaller's matted, scabby, armor-like hide. The Stumpes were cauterized, and now, with its grip only single-handed, I pressed my attack further, forcing it to let go of the Looted Halberd.

The Corpsecaller aimed a kick at my chest, cracking the bruised rib as it clipped me and spinning me around, but I turned that spin into more power for a whirling cut at the Corpsecaller's torso. Its flies buzzed, warning it just in time to avoid being disembowled, though it still took a shallower cut across its stomach, the Black Iron Armor it wore no proof against my Runeblade, thanks to the Master Rune of Alaric the Mad. Both of us were badly wounded now, and I could see in its eyes that the Corpsecaller knew that either it killed me or it would die here. Snarling through bloodstained teeth, I pressed my attack, this time reaching into a pouch at my hip and pulling out a flask of Alchemist's fire. As I charged, I flung the flask into the Corspecaller's face, lighting it aflame just before I kicked it backward with my steel-shod left boot.

It went reeling back, and as I stamped the flame out from my left foot, wincing with the motion as it jostled the broken mess that was my ribcage, I pulled my Custom Streltsy Revolving Autorifle, loading a few more bullets into the cylinder as I did so. By the time I had four of the six chambers loaded, however, the Corpsecaller had managed to douse itself and pick up a fallen spear. I shut the cylinder as the Corpsecaller shifted the spear to an underhand grip and sighted down on the Corpsecaller as it made to throw the spear. I fired as it let fly, managing to get all four shots off as the spear sailed through the air. Two were stopped by the Corpsecaller's Black Iron Armor or Armorlike-hide. A third went wide as it swayed to the side, alerted by the buzzing of its fly swarm. The fourth hit it in the torso, punching through the armor and biting deep just as its thrown spear slammed into my chest.

My armor saved my life here. The Mystically-enhanced scales manage to blunt the blow. It still bruised my sternum and sent me gasping to the ground as the impact sent a shockwave into my heart. Fortunately, after a few moments, I was able to rise to my feet. I couldn't say the same for the Corpsecaller. I'd had to slash its stomach, cut off several fingers, kick it, burn it, and shoot it to get it to go down, but the Corpsecaller was down. It was still alive, but just barely, in a similar state to Kaspar. I wasn't much better off, mind you, but I had enough presence of mind to drag myself over to the Corpsecaller, raise the axe-bladed bayonet of my Autorifle high, and cut off the Corpsecaller's head. Plus, as a perpetual, I would heal with time. The same couldn't be said of my opponent, especially now as I decapitated the Corpsecaller and gripped its severed head by the mangy hair, raising it high and shouting for all I was worth.

This display seemed to break the Corpsecaller's Personal Gors, and they began to flee the field, many of them being cut down by Kaspar's Lancers as they charged forth to retrieve their Baron and Captain. The Corpsecaller's Personal Gors fleeing had a ripple effect on the rest of the Beastmen, and soon their entire army was literally running for the hills, being ridden down by my Cavalry Guards, Montjoie's Mounted Yeomen, and what was left of Kaspar's Lancers and Ion's Strigany Horsemen. At the end of the day, our casualties were heavy, with us losing almost a quarter of our force killed and wounded. It was a heavy toll to pay for victory, though it was a victory. There could be no doubt about that.

The Corpsecaller, though, had its Army utterly destroyed. Out of the estimated four-thousand-five-hundred Beastmen he had mustered at Vimera, we had managed to kill over ninety percent of them between the battle and rout. This included most captains and both the Corpsecaller and the Bray Shaman. The pyres for the dead, necessary to cleanse the battlefield, burned for five days before the area was finally declared cleansed by a passing Priestess of Shallya, who hurried through the area on her way west toward Citadel Boullia between Prince Waldemar's Domain and that of Erich Dahl.

The threat was well and truly over, and in the course of the next week or so, while we rested, resupplied, and abused alchemy and hedgecraft to heal our wounded, I sent parties into the forests to find and destroy Herdstones. This, it turned out, was wildly successful, as the fleeing beastmen had seemingly been harried by Dwarves from the Holds deep within the mountains. This, I would find out when a party of Dwarven Rangers made their way to Vimera in the aftermath of the battle. They were led by a Lord Strom Skallisson, the Lord of Khazid Nekewukaz, a small Dwarf Settlement of around a thousand Dwarves which owed fealty to Karak Izor. Apparently, they had been doing the same thing that we had.

Lord Skallisson wanted to speak with the Manling who had defeated the Corpsecaller and thus, wiped away the Grudge his family had sworn after the Corpsecaller had slain his Grandfather in a skirmish in the Black Mountains. For my part, I was still healing, and thus all too happy to engage in Diplomacy until the time came to ride out again and deal with the Zani.

And this, it would turn out, would be a very smart move to do so on my part. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here's the next chapter. I meant to get this out a bit over an hour ago, but I couldn't manage without breaking up the Third Battle of Vimera even further. The MC wins the battle, though he has to spend a week recovering from the wounds he took in the process. Now, the Corpsecaller is dead and his Army utterly annihilated, their camps rooted out and herdstones destroyed in the aftermath. Now, the MC has diplomacy with the Dwarves of Karak Izor to do, followed by more campaigning. By the time this is over, he's likely to have the entire Central Border Princes from Ghoulstone Keep west to Citadel Bouellia under his control or sworn as vassals, along with possibly being declared a Dwarf-Friend depending on how this talk with the Dwarf Lord of Khazid Nekewukaz pans out.

At any rate, the next chapter will be an interlude showing the Goings on with the Greenskin invasion of Ghoulstone Keep, then I'll have another chapter with the MC out as he parleys with the Dwarf Lord of Khazid Nekewukaz. I'll also have more images and a character sheet update out before then as well.

Stay tuned. . .