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Alright, the final entry for the LO Campaign Fluff Battle has been received. There is only a short time left to vote, so make 'em count! Votes should go to the story you liked the best, and every vote will help the faction represented take one step closer to victory! So without further ado - here are our contestants!
Lolthien (Chaos) Warriors
The Death of Black Ben
Black Ben, Rampager of the Plains, Orcslaughter, Blight of Elvenkind... Benyam, Son of Wrack the Mighty had been called many things in his long life, but not once had he been called coward. So why now, as he feels his demise slowly creeping up his throat does he feel.... afraid?
It is not a feeling with which he is familiar. It took him days to realize what this knot in his stomach truly was. Since the day he saw his armored feet slowly turning to bronze below him he had felt it. His legs grew heavier by the day, and the infection had now spread so far. His arms felt as if he’d been in battle for a fortnight. His legs obeyed his commands to walk, but with such effort! It wouldn’t be long now, the infection was spreading more quickly. In the last hour he could watch it move on his reflection in the pond over which he stood, like some damned fungus. Twenty of his personal guard stood nearby, but not TOO near he couldn’t help but notice.
He’d heard stories of men who somehow had managed to die not in battle, but of old age, or of those whose wounds became infected and they slowly withered. Stories of how they would reflect on their life: how they would consider how they had served the Chaos Gods... how so often they had been judged wanting. These men were ‘blessed’, as his troops would call it, with eternity as a Spawn of Chaos. Their bodies melt like wax, their minds erased and filled with nothing but mindless slaughter and unthinking rage. Despite what the sorcerors and prophets said, he knew these were no blessings. These were punishments for dying in a manner unfit for a follower of Chaos. As he was about to now.
Why he was picked for this, he did not know. He had spent very nearly every waking hour either slaughtering the puny followers of the Elven Empire, or Orcs, or Men. He had fought every type of army he could think of, Elves mostly of course, they were simply the closest to his part of the Wastes. But he had also vanquished troops of the Empire, Dwarven Thanes, Hordes of Ratmen and Orcs. He had even killed more than his share of his own Chaos brethren in the name of Khorne and taken their troops for his own. Those few days between battles were spent with wine, whiskey, and women - all in the name of Slaanesh of course. He took his share of captives, granting them freely to the Nurgle Plaguemancers for experimentation. To Tzeentch... well, to be honest he had no idea how to please the God of Change. That God’s followers confused him and he would try with all his will to not murder them on sight. Often he failed.
There it was then. Tzeentch, Lord of Change. This was his punishment for not showing Tzeentch his proper respect. He spat into the still water at his feet, watching his reflection twist and move on its own.
“There’s your respect Bird-God,” he chuckled softly. Suddenly his arms grew just slightly less heavy. The time was near. Just moments left, he was certain of it.
He might be damned, but he would die in battle, he swore to Khorne. He gestured to his closest, most trusted lieutenant to come closer.
As the man grew near enough, there was a flicker of glinting sunlight and an axe was embedded in the man’s head. Before the dead man had even fallen, Benyam was pushing past him screaming, “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” and leaping at the shocked troops. His fury at his fate drove him on, higher, faster... bloodier!
His troops were some of the most elite in his army. Once snapped out of their shock, they fought to the death, not one ran, just as he’d trained them. But when the battle was done, hours later there was only one man standing... it was not Black Ben.
The figure, shining with blood and gore, raised his Greataxe to the sky shouting, “FOR KHORNE! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” His joy in slaughter was heard a mile away, sounding like someone laughing through a trumpet or into a great gilded hall.
Lord Benyam the Bronze emerged from the forest. And in the years that followed, his army would strike the New World like the hammer in a belltower.
Tzeentch could choke on his claws and die. Tzeentch’s followers would not be so lucky.
JackModdle (Order) Empire
The Coming of the Tide
Gasping for air, the young man crashed through the thick forest brush. The ground was becoming ever more unsure beneath his feet, and thorns and branches grasped at his skin from all directions. His clothes had been turned to tattered rags by the dense woods through which he was making his escape, and now they were bloodied as well.
Finally, he threw his slight form behind the mass of a heavy-set oak and crumpled against it as he tried desperately to catch his breath. He had been running for miles straight and could not continue any further without rest. The young patrolman had run these distances before, but this was different. The threat of pursuit made his heart surge, pumping adrenaline into his veins, and he was running carelessly fast. The fear was mounting in his head, overrunning his meagre military training, and hopelessness began to creep in.
His mind wandered unbidden back to the events that had set his chase in motion, though the terrible nature of it all still felt not quite lucid. Two years under the torturous grip of the Great Plague had hardened men like him, forced them to deal with grief. The past winter alone he had seen hundreds die in agony and delusion. But he had not been prepared for today.
It had not always been like this; the world had changed much since Eneric was a boy. The bastard son of an Altdorf noble, he had had been sent to serve at the Helmgart Keep, patrolling the Southern forests of the Axe Bite Pass. His life had been simple and dutiful until the year the Black Plague was released. Refugees came streaming South from the rich cities that had shut them out, and the small villages were soon overrun with the sick and the dying. The Helm Guard had managed to restore order, horrible as it was. The mobs were pushed back beyond the gates, and those villages that had been wiped out by plague were burned in hopes of destroying the virus.
Today had been one such ‘cleansing’ mission, though thankfully all the villagers of tiny Soldeheim were already dead. As Eneric and his fellow patrolmen were preparing to torch the plague-wracked bodies, they were beset by fierce hounds that sprang from the woods. Trying to fend them off, the patrol beheld an even greater horror as the dead men and women of Soldeheim began to stir and rise on broken and desiccated limbs, their flesh hanging loosely and soaked in kerosene as they ambled forth to join the assault.
Eneric returned from those thoughts and forced himself to breath slower. He steeled his soul to store away the events of the past, choking back a revulsion at the back of his throat. Slowly, he began to regain control of his senses. He focused his mind on the importance of the task ahead of him, and he got to his feet, knowing that his hunters would soon come. Eneric knew they would be enraged by what he had done, and he was unsure if he had the strength to fight again if he was caught. Gaining his bearing, he determined the way North to Helmgart. Just then, he heard a loud snap in the woods behind him.
Caught off guard and suddenly paralyzed by fear, Eneric froze. He suddenly realised that he could smell decay, and realised he had been caught. Fighting his every urge to run, he forced himself to turn towards the inevitable threat. He had no weapon to fight, but he knew he could no longer outrun these pursuers.
From the dark woods emerged a pack of ghastly wolves. In the moonlight Eneric now saw what he had not before- their skin and fur hung loosely from visible flesh and bones, and unnatural horns and spikes protruded from their heads above piercing green eyes. They slowly surrounded him, as if waiting for command, their muscles tense. Eneric drew his hand instinctively toward his neck.
A cloaked figure strode from behind the pack. It seemed to have the form of a skeletal old man, but its gait was odd and swift, as though it did not touch the forest floor. Eneric could not see its face, but he could sense its stare as it paused to examine him, weak and defenceless in the clearing. The patrolman’s heart thundered in his chest. The hounds waited impatiently for an order from their master.
Then they were upon him, and Eneric was instantly knocked down. He felt teeth tear into his hand, though he felt almost no pain. He clutched the ring that hung around his neck tightly, prepared for death.
Suddenly, the hounds cried out and sprang back, as if repelled by some unseen force. Eneric looked, surprised, at his wounded hand and saw that as the blood trickled from it, it began to steam in the cold air. A bright fire sprang up from inside his soul as he had felt only one time before, and he staggered to his feet. His attackers regarded him unsurely, but the hounds were unwilling to attack again. The hot blood rage built behind his eyes and chest, and he stood tall now, feeling immeasurably strong. Drawing on a power whose source he did not understand, Eneric channelled the overflowing heat inside himself and with a deafening shout, he released it.
White-hot light burst forth from Eneric’s body, shattering the clearing. The hounds and their master were immolated instantly, banished to Morr. The only sound louder than the blast was Eneric’s scream, which carried for what seemed like forever. Then, abruptly, it was over, and Eneric collapsed in the middle of the ruined clearing. His attackers were destroyed, but he was utterly drained, and he lay there unconscious for hours, bleeding into the burnt moss.
As dawn broke, Eneric awoke again. Barely alive, he forced himself to his feet and staggered on towards Helmgart. He knew he had to warn them; many more were coming.
So there you have it folks! The LO Campaign Fluff Battle. Be sure to get your votes in, and show some support for these two new writers!
I thought both were very good entertaining reads. But conflicting with my faction I am going to vote for The Coming of the Tide by JackModdle. I just liked it a bit more and am interested to see what happens next to Eneric the patrolman.
A vote for the faction of Order - The Coming of the Tide by JackModdle
Not that I mind losing folks.. *poke poke*... surely there's more than a single person who'll vote?
We gotta get more traffic to these threads...I really liked yours by the way Lolthien. Be a shame to win by one vote
Last edited by sirkently; November 7th, 2011 at 22:46.
Honey badger don't care.
Ahh, both such good stories. After reading Lolthien's I thought that the next didn't stand much of a chance, but I was pleasantly surprised. Both were interesting concepts and well written, though I have to say the climatic events seemed to be a bit... abrupt. The imagery could have been explored much further, as it is they seem to end too quickly. Nevertheless, once again both hint at a great deal more events to come.
By the way, wasn't the point of the curse in Lolthien's story that it was preventing him from fighting? If so, how could he lead his armies to victory? The concept kind of reminds me of Taurox from the beastmen book. And in Kackmoddle's, what was it that attacked him? Vampire counts or chaos, I'm not sure.
Also, has anyone noticed that warriors of Chaos have been in all 3 fluff wars? Not that I'm complaining at all . Well, after a lot of consideration, my vote goes to Jackmoddle of order, though I'm sure the Chaos gods will punish me seen enough
“The ultimate philosophical question, “Am I human or machine” is answered by many people, “I don’t care, as long as I am”
- Myron Krueger
The abruptness prolly comes from the 1000 word limit. But thanks for the feedback!
Yeah, I took out about 1000 words of detail from mine too lol. Thanks for the votes, keep the thread alive!
Honey badger don't care.
Hi guys, both stories are soo good......dam you good writers lol. God, I read both twice and love then both, I really do. Will admit though I too got bit stuck on the 2nd story. I thought it was Chaos when mentioning the hounds then when described the figure my mind lead to Vampire Counts ????????. But still great stories. Well I could not make up my mind as both have parts I so loved more than the other so......My vote goes to Lolthien, only cause the whole Chaos or Vampire thing and also i cant have Lolthien's great story go without a vote as they both deserve to win in my eyes. Great stuff men.
I am that wolf you always hear, no matter were you are
I think I see the problem here. I foolishly confused Dire Wolves with Chaos Warhounds. It is indeed supposed to be Vampire Counts/ Undead, although I tried to make it intentionally cryptic (pun? no?). I figured they were the most likely incurrent to the Empire other than Skaven, since the Castle Drachenfels is just southeast of Helmgart. The dire wolves (not the same as warhounds, I now realise) are supposedly hunted in the woods near the Axe Bite pass, so I figured they'd make good companions for a hunting necromancers. Anyway, I agree that Lolthien's story is damn good too, the best of the 3 chaos stories IMO.
Honey badger don't care.
Not sure if I'm too late to vote or not, but anyway, here goes nothing!
I find it interesting that both stories had a similar theme - a character close to death, who manages to overcome their fate. As much as the brutal way in which Lolthien's Black Ben escapes his doom was certainly exciting, I felt a little more connected to Jackmoddle's Eneric, and was genuinely surprised by the ending in that piece - I fully expected it to end with a painful mauling, which didn't seem to fit with the fact he was writing for the Empire!
Both great efforts, but I give my vote to JackModdle's (Order) Empire