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1,250 Omega Secure and Control
Eldar vs. Tyranids
Avarteme had pressed ever further into the tyranid held city. Thick capillary towers disappeared into the spore-choked sky, and the buildings were barely recognizable as the tyranids had long since converted them to brood chambers and digestion pools. What was once an imperial plaza was now an overgrown pseudo jungle of alien flora.
The silence was palpable as Avarteme walked cautiously forward, the rubble mixed with the tyranid resin crunched under the heavy footfalls of the wraithguard host he lead. To his flanks, twin squad of guardians set up firing positions while a squad of dire avengers sprinted across the blasted, rubble-strewn landscape. The spiritseer knew that his mission was one he was unlikely to survive, but he knew what he had to do.
A shrill cry pierced the air, and Avartemeâ€™s reverie was shattered, he could hear the tyranids as they dashed through the overgrown brush. He half-saw glimpses of the onrushing genestealer brood, and he fell back, the wraithguard forming a protective screen. His attention was diverted from the onrushing horde by the familiar â€˜fwip- fwip- fwip-â€˜ of the pathfinder long rifles. They had found a target and were opening fire. Avarteme could not see what they were firing at, but he could tell that they were close. Their return fire struck the building, the maggot-like weaponry burrowing into the rockrete looking for living tissue, while razor sharp crystals as big as an eldar arm buried themselves into the thick walls.
Avarteme called through the empyrean, and summoned the pair of wraithlords that had been serving as rearguard. The towering behemoths strode onto the field, their majestic forms bristling with eldar weaponry, accompanied with the very embodiment of the Eldar raceâ€™s mastery of war; the Avatar of Khaine.
The spiritseer could feel the presence of a shadow in the warp. A great Hive Tyrant crashed through the distant ruins. Its deadly bio-weapons spitting death into the Dire Avengers trying to hold the Chemical Treatment Plant. After culling the aspect warriors, it continued relentlessly toward the eldar lines, its venom cannon scoring a hit against the shadow weaver platforms partially hidden behind an imperial power plant. The crystalline projectile slamming into the artillery grav platform. The impact kilted the platform backwards, and the grav engines gave out, crushing the guardian crewman beneath it.
As the Wraithlords continued their implacable advance, Avarteme gave the silent order to fire. As a single entity, the combined arms of the warhost fired into the onrushing genestealer brood. The towering wraithlords doused the horde with flames, as monomolecular blades scythed into chitinous bodies. As each stealer leapt from the undergrowth, it was cut down by the disciplined eldar firepower.
Avarteme grinned, as the tyranid corpses piled up, but there were ever more tyranids rushing his position. They leapt over their dead, and climbed onto the bodies of the wraithlord constructs who flailed desperately to remove the bothersome creatures. Avarteme stepped up, his witchblade tracing a gleaming arc, while his wraithguard joined the fray. The tyranid hormagaunts fell in droves, but it seemed that for each gaunt killed, two more joined the fray. One of the wraithlords snatched a gaunt by the tail, and swung it in a brutal sidearm swing, the tyranidâ€™s body crushing its allies leaving several of them crushed and broken on the ground. Their numbers began to slowly dwindle. The field had been cleansed.
Avarteme looked out over the battlefield. Casualties had been light, and he still had time to complete his objective.
Avarteme came to the resting place of the fallen farseer and paused, he could feel the psychic resonance emanating from the hidden waystone. The farseer Thomilial had fought valiantly, but he had fallen to the Tyranid horde. He knelt beside the fallen corpse and carefully removed the farseerâ€™s spirit stone, placing it reverently in his satchel. â€œRest well, my friend.â€? He whispered into the silence. But that was not why he was here. Clutched tightly in the farseer's hand, was an ancient wraithbone spear that crackled silently with arcane power. The lambent glow of its psychic resonance casting flickering blue-green shadows over his face. The Alean spear; an artifact from before the fall, finally to be returned to the Ulthwe craftworld.
A bad difficult terrain roll won this game for me. Iâ€™m not even going to lie. His genestealers were about to leap on my wraithlords, and if his difficult terrain roll had been one higher, (or if his fleet roll had been one higher) he would have charged his stealers into my wraithlords. And it would have likely been all over but the crying. But because he got to just the edge of the forest they were running through, I gunned them down. I gunned them down so badâ€¦ (There is only a little remorse here, as I have been on the receiving end of his stealer rush on more than one occasion)
* "I'm Significant!" -screamed the dust speck
* "Call me old fashioned, but an evil ascension to power just isn't the same without someone chanting faux Latin in the background."
Did he use Fast and Deadly...er Move Through Cover for that difficult terrain test?
By the way, the story is well-written, but there are some people who like the technicalities
of the game, for example the army lists used in the battle.