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A little fluff on my army. If eternal gaurd had missile weapons, I would field nothing else.
The feast was interrupted…
The new guests were met with the silence of the merriment. The cold stares of their fellow Asrai boring down into their own bleak gaze. The fire crackled in the centre of the hall.
The two guests stood at the doorway, their clothes and long black hair dripping from the rain outside. Their orange and dark red cloaks hung heavily over their shoulders. Their earthy and flame colored armor produced a great chill from the merry gathering.
“I see we are interrupting…” began one of the two Eternals.
“You are.” Said one, richly robed noble, in a less than cold manner. If you were there between the dark cold of the outside and warmth of the fire, you could have seen the hate spilling over as the words escaped his lips.
Looking around, the second Eternal looked towards her companion under her hood. The first nodded to her and turned back to the gathering. “A stable… even a sheltered glade, would be much appreciated o nobles of the Higher Passes.” He bowed once and once again. “There are fifteen of us… we have been walking for hours in the rain. We humbly request…”
“Enough! We concede.” Interrupted a voice from the head of a large table. “You may share the stables in one of the smaller oaks…” said the eldest Noble in a tired voice, gesturing them to leave with haste. “But be gone before first light… the horses need their sleep.”
As the Eternal bowed in gratitude, a voice behind him made him spin. “I don’t see why we need to give these vagabonds the generous hospitality of our muck houses…” said a young Elf noble. He stood at the entrance behind the hooded Eternal… a great weapon held in his hands. “They have been denied elsewhere. Why must we bear the misfortune of their begging? Let them travel further.”
“Travel any further and it will be dawn.” Said the male Eternal.
“Then sleep during the day. At least then we’ll be rid of your presence during our waking hours.”
“Enough of this Firor.” Said the elder, sternly. “It is demanded by Ariel that we should give these misfortunate wanderers shelter, merited or not. Get back to your seat and put down your blade.”
“I do not see why Ariel would demand such a burden upon us.” Said the youth. “For a people who curse her King…” and he looked darkly at the male Eternal. “I challenge you for your right to rest on our land.”
“Enough elder.” Snapped the elf. “I do this out of my own accord! I will not sleep or continue in this feasting when I know we have soiled ourselves with the presence of these treasonous scum. I challenge you!” he yelled aloud.
“I accept!” said the female eternal, and she pulled back her hood.
At that moment, the crowds’ faces dropped and the youth fought back a tremble in his arm. The she-elf was little over the youth’s age (a hundred years or so), but from the distinct black patch over her left eye, they knew who she was immediately.
Immedietly, the elder strode up to separate the two combatants. “That is not necessary.” He said in a more polite tone “Firor is too young for the challenge. We will not have…”
“Firor seems old enough to speak against his elders.” Said Azamai in her heavy voice of authority. The other Eternal backed out of the doorway. “Maybe it is also time for him to die?”
“I am not afraid of you, or your disgraced House of Flames.” Said the young noble, regaining his composure. “Your clan is a shame to our land and kin! You one-eyed hag.”
“Stand down Firor! You know not what you are doing!” yelled the elder, and he reached for the young one’s weapon, but the noble jerked his hand back and pushed him aside. Immediately, Azamai strode towards him, forcing out of the door and into the rain.
The patio was the stump of a massive tree, walled by its ancient bark, paved with tiles and surrounded with erected torch boxes. The rain danced on the clay squares, building a pool of inch deep water that trickled down the wooden steps.
As Firor tried to hew his opponent, Azamai continued to stride forward, dodging each blow with a weaving motion, her movements’ swift as an eel. She drew no weapon and made no move to defend herself. The Veteran Eternal just continued to move on at an even pace to press her opponent back. Her feet swept the water like the tail of a serpent.
The guests now moved around the patio, surrounding the opponents, save at the stairway to the undergrowth. A challenge was a sacred ritual, and they would not dare interfere.
Backed against the edge of the stairs, with no were to turn, Firor let out a mighty yell and gave a massive arc with his great weapon, almost catching Azamai in the midsection. With great speed and strength, he brought the blade back as quick as a knife while charging forward, then over his head and down, chipping her shoulder-pad; all this in a flash of steel. The blade cut cleanly through the tiles and buried deeply into the wood.
It was a finishing move that he had worked on for many years, building its speed and power to the breaking of his limits, and it had never failed him… till now…
Firor glanced at his blade, then to Azamai’s patched eye as she stood beside him. The rain continued to pelt on their faces. “Impossible…” he gasped.
“You have talent.” Nodded Azamai. She knuckled him in the face, sending him on his back and on the staircase of flowing water, his dampened cloak sticking to his heaving and shaking body. “I advise you not waste it on your rash anger, you are a noble of the Alter Kindreds, not of the Wild Riders… forfeit immediately.” and she turned her back on him. “Otherwise… do you wish to begin?”
With unnatural stamina and renewed rage, Firor got up, grabbed his smaller sword and dashed at her. Catching her double-edged spear thrown from her companion, Azamai twirled it once to both deflect the blow and render the youth unconscious with the blunt side of the blade. He fell with a dull splash, with Azamai’s spear pointed at his neck.
The crowd was horrified, but silent in the dark rain…
Firor choked on the rain and his head slumped to its side, struggling to wake himself up…
Azamai looked around… and was satisfied…
The one eyed Eternal nodded and wiped some water from her face with her free hand. She turned away from the young noble and announced aloud to the crowd “I forfeit the match…” she said, throwing her weapon back to her companion. “As the agreement was; we will leave and enjoy sleep in the rain… as always… We thank you for your warm welcome.”
As the two warriors left down the steps, the crowd gathered around Firor and brought him back into the warmth of the hall. The heavy doors shutting with a mighty metal clang…
The male Eternal coughed in the cold “Azamai…”
“I know what you are going to say but that youth needed… no… disserved some humility…” said his superior. “I merely corrected him, as one should correct a child. I know it was foolish to accept the challenge, and an unnecessary risk… but it had to be done… I apologize.”
“I do not wish to chastise you on that m’lady.” Said her companion. “In fact, I applaud you on a good lesson well taught. I do not believe there was any risk at all.” Azamai turned her eye to him. “I was more concerned on the dilemma of which one of us was going to break the news to the others…”
“We have had news from the Eagles that the raiding party has moved with great speed East since three moons.” Said an emissary from Ariel’s court while talking to the chief Nobles of the House of Flames. “They have passed most of Brettonia unchallenged and in stealth.” The eight of them talked inside a small hall of interwoven branches. Spites in play buzzed around outside, often peeking in out of curiosity. The emissary was pointing to a map on a table “However, they will be met with some resistance in Quinelles, whom we have alerted.”
At that moment, Azamai walked in, accompanied by her standard bearer Zennothen, and Rota her musician. “I am sorry I am late…” she replied to their stares. “We had a long night…”
“You are not the last to arrive, so be at peace. Ah! And I see your arm is healed.” Noted a noble (See my battle report, WE vs Empire). “How was your trip down the mountain?”
“We have time for pleasantries on leeches and damp lodgings later. What is this important news you bear, emissary, that you have summoned all eight chiefs of our kindred?”
“Raiders from Naggaroth.” Replied the messenger, the very name making some of the gathering grit their teeth in anger. “A large band, almost three-hundred strong from ten ships. They will be here within three days, maybe two if they make it past Quinelles as quickly as they did most of the Brettoni.”
“Ten ships?” asked Azamai. “The Ulthuan fleet must be slacking on their defences.”
“The Ulthuan can deal with their own problems. We have enough problems of our own. The raiders are heading for Athel Loren, there can be no mistaking it now.” Said the emissary. “They have joined themselves with a Slaneesh war-band, probably a pre-planned arrangement, and have destroyed only one human village so far for supplies. As such, they will arrive more or less in full numbers and strength.”
“How large is the force of Chaos?”
“Our scouts were not able to get a reasonable number of the enemy, even with the vision of our Eagle brethren. The Slaneesh move fast and only at night. They hide during the daylight, sometimes within holes in the earth, sometimes within the ranks of the druchii. During the scouting, the crossbowmen proved too daunting, and we could not get more than a hundred Demonettes confirmed at the very least.”
“So a force four-hundred strong, or more, more than likely?” asked an elder. “Not forgetting that the druchii can summon more demons at whim…”
“What numbers can you gather in three moons?”
“A hundred and fifty if the weather proves well…” said a noble “Maybe more if we were not so heavily taxed with challenges from our own kind.” He added. “We have a fifty strong force at the moment, Eternals, Waywatchers and a handful of nobles, and that is all we can pledge so far.”
“Will it be enough do you think? Fifty against four hundreds?”
Azamai spoke with great confidence “Yes.”
“Good, then it is settled.” Nodded the emissary, and he packed away the map. “A force of dryads have elected to come to the battle to aid you, they will be there on the day of strife.”
“Stay a while friend.” Said the eternal, her fellow command group and herself standing between him and the door. “You almost forgot to mention our ‘wages’.”
The emissary sighed. “As patriotic as always I see Azamai.”
“Emissary, ambassador of her highness.” Bowed Azamai. “Do not mistake me for a mercenary, or a lowly dog of war, but the House of Flames is not called to service if the need is not indeed dire, nor is our kindred in any position to fight otherwise.” And she turned her eye-patch to him. “If you have not noticed, our kindred, our branch of this tree is dying. We number less then six-hundred throughout the whole of Athel Loren, that includes our horses. Each day proves a new struggle for us. We have no land, no herds, no friends. We have nothing but what we can forage and beg for. To fight for nothing is nothing short of suicide.”
“I have already pledged food and a currently un-used pasture to your elders, Eternal.” Said the emissary. “It is what little that we can spare from the current war with the Beastmen in the south. Even Orion is hard put with this present invasion, a sea of fur, teeth and muscle. The responsibility of defense of our borders against other attacks now rest in the smaller clans like yourselves.”
“Surely there are better equipped bands to perform this task.” asked Azamai. “The Druchii are not enemies that the Fey Queen takes likely last time I was aware.”
“The Queen does not take any enemy lightly. And I do recall you said this battle would not be difficult.”
“I only said we would not loose. We will win, but with risk.” She said patiently. “To pledge one-hundred and fifty, more than a third of our kindred, no matter how certain the victory, is a gamble I do not wish to make. I am only just recovering from the shock myself. Especially with a reward so belittling of our service.”
“They will battle on the Burnt Glade.” Said an elder, and Azamai turned her head. He nodded “Yes. I thought that would ease your resolve.”
Azamai sighed again, still tired from the little sleep she got the night before. “Yes… it does.” She replied regretfully. She moved away from the door, her companions slightly less enthusiastic, and the emissary bowed lightly. “Can we expect any aid from the other clans in the area?”
“They are willing to protect their own borders when the threat arrives.” Said the emissary. “But we cannot convince the more influential and more… stubborn elders to protect a glade that they have long considered... cursed…”
“It is fine…” Azamai bowed in farewell “We did not expect much from them in the past. I did not expect anything more from them now… I will get our forces ready…”
What do you think?
Yeah, Azamai is the main leader in an unheard of campaign for the Woodelves I have thought up. She is going to lead a good portion of her kindred to do something completely unexpected... Invade Naggaroth :ninja: !
I'll get the WE vs DE battle story up soon! Thanks for the encouragement.
I really liked the story! I really like EG so I liked the story set up. really cool. post more in the future! :w00t:
“Ah, Toraeth! We are ready to attack.” Rasps the general of the Dark Elf forces. To his side walks Toraeth, the Champion of the Forgotten Wastes, a powerful Druchii of awesome strength and magic. He wears thick black armor with silver lining, and has a wickedly shaped great-sword on his back. His helmet is shaped like a dragon’s head and his mouth was covered with a muffler of black cloth. “The Cold Ones are restless and hungry, it is a good sign.”
“Then I shall go and complete my part of the mission…” comes the voice of Toraeth, like a shadow unseen. Without any other word, he walks off to his black horse and rides north.
As soon as he was out of sight, the General’s face scowls “Stuck up wretch…” he sneers, spitting. “Pray that you do not ever find yourself under my authority…” and he goes to start the attack. “I’ll show that favorite of the Demonettes how to raze a forest…”
“They must be very brave or very foolish to face Athel Loren with such small numbers.” Comments Lioleth, Azamai’s Standard Bearer. She easily wields the Standard like a long-hammer, a large metal weight welded to the end (You can do this with the command group blister pack. Just don’t trim the end of the standard). “What do you say Azamai?”
“BY THE ORDER OF LORD MALEKITH OF NAGGAROTH, RIGHTFUL HEIR TO THE PHOENIX THRONE!” hollers the voice of the Dark Elf General. “LORD O’ER THE WESTERN ISLANDS! I CLAIM THIS FOREST, AND ALL WITHIN, FOR THE GLORIOUS KINGDOM OF THE DRUCHII!”
“They are very foolish…” replies Azamai, strapping on her helmet. “Let us quite him down…”
As soon as the general finished his declaration, he let loose the fire to back his words. Repeated bolt-throwers slice through the air in trails of demonic fire, hurtling at the trees. This is followed by the whizzing of arrows as the crossbows begin launching their deadly bolts.
Azamai wastes no time in ordering cover, and her clan is more than sane enough to not wait for orders to do so. Hiding behind great trees of sturdy bark, they wait out the stream of missile fire for the signal…
The General smiles at the flood of fire and iron tipped arrows tare at the trees, setting them alight. However, this is all too slow for his liking, so he brings up the sorceresses.
“I want acres of desolation my ladies…” he grins. “Burn it all!”
With a murmur of dark spells, the dark elf sorceresses start making brilliant balls of black flame in their hands and on their staves. But without warning, arrows came whistling from behind, felling the spell-casters as they stood with their black hearts pierced with deadly accuracy. The bolt thrower crews are also set upon by the surprise attack, and are soon corpses for the birds.
“By Khorne! What is this?” snarls the general, wheeling around. A band of executioners march towards the new threat and their leader slinks off behind the safety of their ranks.
From the long grass, a tall hooded figure stands. A single crow perches on her arm, and the other arm holds a bow.
As the executioners close in, clenching their mighty swords, they begin to tremble and unnerve. For as they walk closer to the figure, she looks up and reveals her face, half of it scarred cruelly like a mess of spiders web, punctuated by her fiery white eyes… piercing eyes… A terrible stare fixes on them…
As they slow down in hesitation, twenty more hoods spring up and let loose a volley of precise arrows, each one finding a mark between the carapace like armor of their foes. Two units of Waywatchers shoot from either side of their lord with unfathomable, deadly accuracy.
As their rear gets picked away, the crossbows of the Druchii about-turn to fight fire with fire, but they too are taken by surprise. Three horns blow from the forest, and three white and red banners emerge. Behind them came the might of their kindred, the Eternals of The House of Flames, garbed in red, orange, brown and gold. Their black locks furl like plumes from the back of their helms.
Though they number less than fifty, they are a force the Dark Elves fear.
In front of the southernmost army, beside the banner held by Lioleth, marches Azamai.
The crossbow units split up, and half of them aim towards the approaching forces and the others make for the way-watchers. However, their courage is cast down by a single Starfire arrow, whistling from the bow of a Noble of the Northern Eternals, bursting asunder in a fury of sprites and burning the body of its victim alive, causing panic upon them all.
The block of Eternals in the centre holds the Highborn, the General of the House of Flames. He pulls back his bow of Loren and let’s fly three arcane arrows, piercing the tough hides of three Cold Ones, who throw off their riders in a spasm of death.
And lastly, Azamai draws back her bow, yet only one arrow has she. She lets it loose and it splits apart to a dozen fiercely flying messengers of doom, falling amongst the already stricken Druchii crossbows who are having trouble standing their ground. The Waywatchers continue to slowly pick off the rear of the army, unopposed as their Lord freezes the hearts of all who challenge them. Their camouflage cloaks and skirmishing formation eludes the marks of the few crossbowmen able to return fire.
At last, the demons make their appearance; the demonnettes of Slaneesh slink out from the ranks, giving renewed courage to the dark horde. Their twisted beauty and aura of evil taint the very earth on which they walk. Soon the number of enemies doubles, slightly less than eight-hundred line up against an ambush of less than ninety.
The Dark elves are re-strengthened and march towards the red banners of the House of Flames.
Ahead of the dark forces, the mounted Demonnetes and Cold One Knights charge forward in hellish fury. Screams and roars of bloodthirsty battle-cries are met by the solemn and unmoving hate of the Eternal Guard. Still shooting, the two heroes give courage to their troops, felling the approaching onslaught with their pin-point archery.
However, Azamai has a more direct approach…
Sprinting ahead of her unit, Azamai leaps into the air and meets the line of Demonnete’s head on, decapitating two of the fiendish demons with her double edged spear. Their mounts scream and break back into the chaotic dimensions.
Spotting Azamai, the mounted demonnete champion challenges her with a chilling screech and sparks her steed to ride her down. Azamai falls on her back with her spear lodged in the ground, causing the demon mount to impale itself and disperse. Grabbing her spear again, she cleaves in half the still stumbling champion, breaking the will of the chaotic riders who all return to the realm from whence they came.
The Cold-one knights fare no better, their mounts breaking at the continual shots of star-fire and arcane arrows that whittle their numbers in spectacular fashion. The reptilian beasts flee away from the forest, despite the cursing and whips of their masters.
With a rage that would challenge the hate of the High Elves, the Eternals meet the charge of their dark cousins and their demon allies. Spear met spear and the Dark Elves suffer more severely, mowed down by the rapid attacks of the double edged weapons.
The House of Flames, being a small clan, meant many, if not all of their troops were hardened veterans. Their skill and stamina was superior to their counterparts of the more respected kindreds. Though the Eternals outmatch their enemies, the strength of numbers takes its toll, and soon the line begins to waver.
As the first few wood elves fall, the promised Dryads burst from the forest, flanking both sides of the attack and causing many weaker elves to flee. But their numbers are still too few for the defenders to keep in the trap.
Using her long hammer standard, Lioleth crushes her way to Azamai, who is now using her sword and shield on a mound of fallen raiders. Planting the flag on the bodies, a musician sprints up and sounds the horn, the horn of their house, to bring the final blow on the doomed raiders from Naggaroth.
Like a black swarm, a flood of ashes, two feet high, sweep the feet of the combatants. The demonettes scream and disperse as the black dust rises and engulfs them, halving the entire invasion force. The Dark elves, though not suffering the same fate as their allies, are deeply troubled by the wave. And before their eyes, their fears are put on a new level.
From the ashes arise the fallen and injured Eternals, their wounds filled with the ash of their ancient home, possessing their bodies to stand and fight once more.
For this was the home of the elves of the House of Flames, before the fell green lights of the Skaven tore it apart. Though the land seemed destroyed, though no tree lived in the barren ash fields and no animal could suffer the choking air… it was not altogether a dead place…
With no more will to fight these strange powered elves, with no General, no more allies, no bolt-throwers and no magic of their own, the raiders retreat for their lives and the attack is turned into a rout. Victory to the Wood Elves.
“Three dead and twenty are badly wounded my lady. Even with the healing ash, some injuries are far too severe to regenerate.” Reports Lioleth beside her commander who is being treated for a flesh wound by her musician surgeon. “Half our Dryad reinforcements were also wiped out.”
“Eight of our wounded will pull through over time. They will not be able to fight for a while, that is all.” Says the musician, Castellan. He dabs some medical herbs on Azamai’s gash on her side. “Five have a small chance if their luck holds, but seven will die before nightfall.”
“That is better than what we can say for our invaders.” Comments Lioleth, looking on the battlefield, strewn with the bodies of their enemies from the glade to the furthest hill. “Our way-watchers and the Dryads are only just returning from the hunt. Very few escaped their sight. Today’s victory is a massacre.”
“Eleven is too much of a sacrifice.” Says Azamai. “Even for such a victory as today’s.”
At that moment a messenger arrives at the tent. “Lady Azamai, your presence is requested at the council of eight about today’s battle.”
“Why does not Lord Cassiofray go? He was the general of our army.”
The messenger bows his head. “Lord Cassiofray has just passed away from his injuries, as has the other noble in command.” And Azamai’s command group look to their captain. “You have been elected as the new General of the Guard. What should I relay to the elders?”
“Get out!” Azamai says coldly. “Do you not remember our laws on the period of grieving? It has not been an hour since we did battle!”
“My apologies m’lady. But it is urgent we elect another general as soon as possible.” And Azamai asks for an explanation. “There has been another attack.”
A single Dark Elf shade spies from the edge of the Northern borders of Athel Loren. Behind him amongst the arrow ridden trees lay strewn the bodies of many Glade Guard and Glade Riders. Executioners, corsairs and Crossbowmen loot the dead and gather the prisoners; Elf children of Athel Loren, to be added to the ranks of their armies in Naggaroth.
“Toraeth, we have a survivor…” announces the shade, spying a lone Cold-one rider making his way to the battle ground. “It is the general of the diversion force.”
“Let him through.” Says Toraeth, unsheathing his sword.
“Our forces were destroyed! The land was cursed with a charmed ash.” Rasps the general as he rode in, leaping off his steed and in front of his superior. “Did you know of this? Why was I not warned?” he snarls enraged. “I could have been killed!”
Toraeth doesn’t answer him… at least not in words. His sword comes down and cleaves the general from the top of his head to the base of his left hip. The Cold-one goes over and feeds off the corpse.
“He survived the attack.” Comments Toraeth without emotion, talking to himself. “That was unexpected... and unfortunate.”
“Lord Toraeth! We have been spotted!” calls out the sentry, pointing to figures moving in the valley. “They followed the general here!”
Sure enough, a horn call is heard from the valley, which is responded by a chain of alarms across the borders of Athel Loren.
“We have outstayed our welcome.” Says Toraeth, hopping on the Cold-one, still calm. “I want the prisoners in the centre of the line. Everyone on their steeds. We go back to the coast and the ships.”
With those orders, the army mounts and leaves as quickly as they had struck, lighting the trees as they left to blacken the sky. The Wood elf forces are unable to pursue…
Azamai used a 2000pt army list of...
45 eternals, split into 3 units with full command
Noble eternal with starfire arrows
Noble eternal with Hail of Doom
Noble Waywatcher with terrors
Lord eternal with arcane bodkins and bow of loren
20 waywachers in two units with sentinels
20 drayds in two units with branchnymphs
To be continued...
Last edited by AsraiFlame; March 30th, 2007 at 12:06.
As before, I like the story a lot. It is based on a real 2000pts battle right? I love your theme, it's just awesome! i've been thinking of possibly fielding 2-3 units of eternal guard when I make my 2250pts list. And it looks like the build can work. good job with these reports ::rep:: :w00t:
EDIT: I'll rep you when I've "spread" reputation around to more people.
Last edited by trodi; April 1st, 2007 at 07:52.
No, it wasn't based on a real battle (sob). I would like to test out that battle when I have the chance though. But in order for it to go as planned, you would need to set up an ambush scenario as well as a regeneration special rule at turn five for the healing ash.
The 2000pt army list IS real though points wise. I, unfortunately, can only make up a 1000pt versio with the models I have. (45 eternal gaurd is alot, but I've read of a guy who has more than that in ONE unit!)
Here's my 'stats' for Azamai and Toraeth. I don't really know how to make a character, but I think this reflects them appropriately.
Special Rules: Eternal Gaurd fighting style. Longbow.
Azamai is unbreakable, as is any unit of Eternal Gaurd she joins. In addition, all friendly units within 12 inches may use Azamai's leadership instead of their own.
Save of the Flame
Azamai is the champion of her kindred, and so has a stronger tie to her land than others of her kind. The land itself is grateful of her, and gives her a protection of unseen power. Azamai has a 4+ ward save. This is changed to a 3+ against missile and flaming attacks.
Special Rules: Toraeth is immune to psychology. Light armour and shield.
Favorite of Slaneesh: Toraeth grants a unit within 12inches (including himself or the unit he is in) the ability to re-roll failed psychology tests. If this fails, the unit flees, but if Toraeth is part of the unit, he may elect to stay behind. If Toraeth fails a psychology test on the same turn, he may discard one wound and pass the test. Any other failed test in the same turn results in his death, no matter how many wounds he has left, as Slaneesh losses favour in him.
Gift of the Demmonettes: Toraeth's sword confers the killing blow to him, but on a 5+ to wound instead of 6.
Do you play with those rules? or are they just for fun. An unbreakable unit of Eternal guard is a might too strong......
"This sure ain't no pansy Eldar Armor, Son"
185th Cadian Armored Div.
"One Shot, One Kill"
Western Border Patrol of Athel Loren