They Who Thirst (Dr. Nibbles & SomethingEsoteric)

[SomethingEsoteric]

“Brilliant beams of light warmed my face, fingers, tiny as they were raking through the buds of barley stalks I never could have reached without my father, or who I assume looking back on it now was. He would lift me to his shoulders laughing with mirth as I giggled in return taking handfuls of the dried grain, grinding them between my palms and throwing them up in the air around us to be caught in the wind like so many little glimmers of confetti and rice, imagining we were the guests of honor of some grand illustrious ball for the heroine, for me, every lord and lady of the land in attendance.”

She had such high hopes then, now she had faith.

“I did not know it at the time of course, just a babe barely from her mother’s breast – but that brilliance, warming our faces and growing our stocks tall and proud toward the sky, that was Sigmar’s grace smiling back at us for our piety.”

Hilde could remember quite clearly, smiling at the young boy as she spoke – though just as clearly she recalled just how tired she’d been, how down trodden her frame must have appeared. Her heart, faith and mind had been willing but her body weak. She was sure the boy saw it too; sure the boy knew just how warn thin the Paladin must have been after an ordeal like that they’d been through.

”Not unlike your city, our township was thrown into darkness by the machinations of chaos. It was not a dragon, nor a murder of bandits, worse still the Tagoth’Ur – no, plague ravished our lands like Nurgle his self did touch every man woman and child. Our wells became feted, our crops withered down to darkened husks not even the mongrels dared to eat. Many ventured to new pastures, others stood for their homesteads, bundled around the hearth waiting for black clouds to pass. My family all contracted the blight, skin wrought with boils and legions most foul. –just when things were at their darkest, and we thought things could not possibly become any more dire than they had… the light returned.”

She’d given a long hitched sigh, lacking the proper zeal or condition to motivate whomever had the presence of mind to listen though her presence alone seemed to have been a boon on their sorry states, whoever was not too battered or broken by the Tagoth’Ur’s attack and the beasts that followed to consume the carrion left behind. With a deep breath, she’d steeled herself and raised her face to the sky pensively, then back to the boy.

”Men wrapped in bright cloth with kind faces and brass idols hanging from their necks and reliefs the same on their brilliant steely armour, they marched into our township, the canopy of darkness above pierced, men and women of The Empire, Warior priests with healing hands… they cured the diseased, purified our wells, blessed our crops so that they once again could grow tall and free-“

What the boy had interjected would stop her in her tracks, a brief falter and a bur in her heart ”Well that’s great for you – but what about us? Look around you! What is the point? What can one woman do for us?” he was far too grown for his far too few years on this plane, once bright face tarnished with smeared soot and blood.

Hilde had shook her head, brows furrowing, she’d probably not been so welcoming of the men and women that had saved her and attempted to save her family, she’d probably been lost and scared and wanting retribution far before recovery. ”The point is, young man,” she’d said, reaching into the tunic she wore atop a shirt of metal scales – ”I have come, and with me, I bring Sigmar’s grace unto you, The Empire’s word is bond.” from which she pulled a small roll of paper, took one of the boy’s hands in her own and placed the roll inside, a tract, closing his small fingers around it. ”The point, is not what one woman can do for your people, but what Sigmar, and The Empire can do for us all.”

Sigmar could do much, Sigmar could do all. Sigmar empowered to those who pledged faith in piety she was sure – and while it had not been the first day atop a great escarpment, in a priory to her lord, Hilde had accepted her fate, her destiny, a path of pilgrimage in his name. She’d spent her youth and early teenage years, high above the lands of squalor and sin, only a vicarious member of the world. The world Hilde lived within, cobblestone, old linen, stained glass and dusty yellowed pages, thick leather and iron bound books, scrolls so ravaged by time simpler men would fear unrolling them should they disintegrate between daft fingers. She’d learnt much of her deity and his followers, of the Empire, much of heroes and villains, of Ghal-Maraz and Kurgan Iron Beard, she’d learned the love a man of the cloth could hold not only for scripture but for wine, women and song, for honey, barley, freshly washed and dried linens and modestly made though indulgently enjoyed perfumed soaps and crackling fires – all within reason and restraint of course, but indulged in no less. Beyond this lavish of sorts however, she had also learned just how… how stagnant such a world could become. She enjoyed helping people, or the idea of, she felt proud of their cause, proud they could help those who did not know how to help themselves… she wanted more, pined for more, for a more active role, for the results of her service directly before her, Hilde wanted to do her part! –she wanted the same glory, the same sacrifice, she wanted to taste the heat of battle and feel the supreme gift to live and die by honour, by service to Sigmar and The Empire.

Tales and litanies sung by heralds filled her with a want for adventure, a want for her name and her deeds to spill off the lips and from the hearts of men and women – an ambitious want, hubris no less, but where her mind could be foolish her heart and soul not entirely pure, her faith if tested not true as she would implicitly believe.

Or so, Cruven had told her – her mentor, the man who’d promised her – he would ascend and train her from a scribe’s assistant to squire and in time, much time, like he a Paladin of Sigmar.

Were one to ask, Hilde may not have been able to accurately give a measure of time that had passed since that day, since she left the sterile safety of her leather bound world, she could not say how many cold nights she’d spent in bedrolls where was fire not given to bright the surroundings or warm her pallid skin, were one to ask she would not say just how much at times she missed those walls she once felt a prison, nor would she tell of the solace in what few memories of her life before blight struck the planes of her first home, her birthplace, she could not tell of how many faces she’d seen smeared with soot, how many farmsteads she’d seen burnt to the ground, the groans of agony and septic stench of death. She could, however, tell of the day when she no longer felt the harsh bite of elements, cold of winter or sweltering heat, tell of the day her blade struck true and javelin’s soared unwavering, tell of the day she learned how to heal both wounds of the spirit and body, she could tell when she was no longer Hilde the Squire and when Cruven had deemed her Hilde the Paladin.

Cruven would not live long passed that day, would not live to see her doing as he would have her do, as the brilliance she’d felt as a child decided she must. He had felt the wrath of a Tagoth’Ur battle-axe and not survived to tell of the tale, the very same wrath that had left a trail of scorched earth, blood and sorrow she’d followed since that dark day forever cauterized into the forefront of her mind. Duty decided she could never quite face them as she’d vowed that day, she was always just behind, only ever seeing the destruction they left, healing what men and children she could, women rare left behind save the old and withered, giving her blessings, handing out tracts of Sigmar and slaying those who would take advantage of the shattered townships. –today however, she was close, closer than she’d ever been, close enough to feel their howls and celebrations in blood and rape resonating across the plane, making the dust at her heels dance and quiver frightfully as if the whole country side were a skin pulled tight over their drums of war… and deep inside, she did too quiver with the dust.

It had been a sheer stroke of luck and one that staunched her deepest doubts each and every time the tapestry of her tales unfurled just a little further and the band of Tagoth’Ur slipped out of her reach – she did not possess the strength to fight them really… she was like a mongrel chasing a chariot – she’d never know what to do with it if she caught up! Standing atop an escarpment with a winding road leading toward the city they’d sacked – barely a sun’s trek away she closed her eyes and hung her head in prayer, was this her deity’s path for her? Was she to triumph beyond all odds or die in sacrifice to inspire more to take up arms? Sigmar’s will does not lead where his fervor cannot raze Hilde, never forget that. an old man’s words echoed through her mind… she hadn’t much choice now.

Steeling herself yet again she ringed hands, the leather palms of her chain and metal-scale gauntlets rubbing together to produce a sound only strained dry leather could. It had been far too long she’d waited for this day, far too long to turn back now.

“My good blade carves the casques of men, my tough lance thrusteth sure, my strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure…” the auburn haired woman whispered before continuing with even pace toward certain death.

 

[Dr. Nibbles]

Smoldering ashes of the once noble and peaceful hamlet danced through the desecrated air in an apocalyptic ballet. The collection of homes and farms that once harbored simple townsfolk of the Stirr were now left in ruin, their inhabitants to meet a far worse fate. No man, woman or child, no sick nor elderly, nor blind, nor deaf, nor dumb were spared by the onslaught of madness and slaughter that the Targoth'Ur brought. In an instant, entire families had their lineage blotted out by the dark moon that was their assailant, killing all their kin in a fell swoop with martial prowess and blind rage only Norse Champions could provide.

Iridith stood atop a toppled tree, riddled with arrows and half burnt, a young man who died clutching his sword in one hand and dead child in the other was crushed beneath its mass. She smiled and breathed in heavily, enjoying the ripe smell of burning flesh and oaken houses, the screams of tortured captives and the cackling laughter of her pleased subordinates; it was a good hunt. She leaped from the cindered log, her bare feet sinking slightly into the soot and mud beneath her. With grace, she gingerly stepped passed the toppled corpses of the Stirland militia. What a pathetic military, she thought to herself. The militia was ill-armed and poorly trained, they were no match for the mighty amazons of the Tagoth'Ur, a seldom few were.

In the past larger tribes and towns had been easily conqured by the seemingly minute force of Iridith's tribe. Rumors spread through out the Chaos Wastes of a mighty nomadic tribe that ceaslessly raped and plundered the lands of the Wastes and the border states of the Empire. Many had tried to cash in on their luck or obliterate them, retaining their fame. All had failed. What few understood was that this all female warband was far from ordinary, each was blessed with a gift from the Prince of Excess itself. All the Tagoth'Ur were beautiful women, flawless skin, shapely forms and fit, toned bodies. Though each woman born unto Tagoth'Ur parents bore a shocking mutation: a male penis. It was a secret that the Tagoth'Ur did not fight to hide, nor did they openly display this fact, though it is definite that it was the soul reason they leave the women alive, raping them endlessly and using them as breeding houses for new, tainted souls eager to serve Slaanesh.

It would be much easier for their seed to flourish if the men were born as lady-boys, or at least normal. But the dark gods, as proud and gifting as they are, have a twisted and sick sense of humor. On the rare occasion a boy is born unto a Tagoth'Ur sex slave, he often kills his mother in childbirth, ripping himself from her womb with gnashing teeth, razor talons and mighty claws. These boys are born mad and mutated beyond reason and only desire to murder; a vicious and potent weapon indeed. These Forsaken Sons are trained like wild dogs to kills from birth, and when they come of age they are armored in thick, black metal and unleashed into the foe so they may meet a warriors death and be released from their hellish un-life.

Running her hands through her long, unkempt hair, Iridith stood before some of her mightiest champions as they chained and ripped the commoner clothing from a young woman, ripe for child baring. However the girl was frail, most likely ill or baring some disorder due to her home's closeness to the Wastes. She would not last past one child, if that.

"Is this the only one?" she asked in their grievous dark tongue, frustration obvious in her voice.

"I'm affraid so, my lady." Replied one of the champions, attempting not to show her obvious fear of her chieftain.

"Why?" Iridith asked coldly, staring down at the warrior with piercing eyes of diamond.

"Th-the farmstead, where the women were being kept," stammered the champion, looking to the others as if yearning guidance. "It was... burnt down... with the women inside."

"Ah yes," smiled Iridith, oddly cheery, turning away to head the direction she came "At least we know Slaanesh will feast wholly on souls tonight."

"Haha, of course my la-" before the champion could finish her sentence of relief, Iridith spun on the ball of her foot, unsheathing her ax and severing the amazon's head from her supple shoulders. The young girl screamed and the remaining two champions looked in worry at their leader.

"And yours will join them..." Iridith spat, wiping the blood from her ax on the thin fur cloth of the champions corpse. "The Exiled One will be in Stirland in four passes of Morrslieb. We promised him brides! If we fail do you understand the consequences that could follow?"

Iridith was furious, her heart racing her chest heaving, she wanted to kill again but she would need every able soldier she could if they were to take Theamoor Hold. It was there she set a specific prize for herself; the Duke's Daughters.

"Chain her up and throw her in the carriage... we ride at dawn."

 

[SomethingEsoteric]

The road on which she walked was a peaceful vista that lead to a killing field of carnage, death, destruction, the screams of the innocent and cackling chuffs of the wicked – the air was thick with blood and ash and sinister deeds carried out with calculated abandon for all things pure and with virtue, the air was thick with regret and sin, the air was thick with righteous indignation. A great many men, women and children died needlessly on this road and where it lead and the thought of such events sickened Hilde to her very core – not like a young woman with stomach turned by the stench of death but like a hardening priestess growing spiteful of a world that could allow for such horrible and pervasive sin. Cruvan once looked upon her with a slanted grin, almost ruefully endearing when she spoke of ridding the world of such blights for all time. Cruven was not so… ambitious, Cruven knew without Chaos order would cease and without order Chaos would appear serene in the most twisted of creeping normalcies, he knew a lone priest or priestess of Sigmar could never hope to purge the world over but rather be a buffer to the wicked and a beacon of inspiration for the righteous few who took up arms no matter the odds. Cruven understood the brighter a light cast by the empires of man the more putrid a shadow’s depth could fester and mount – it was not his or her purpose to raze the chaotic shadow of the enemies of man but to offer torch to The Empire such as he saw it. Sigmar grants us the strength to both smite the wicked and protect the righteous, alone we cannot take it upon ourselves to rid the land of evil – only we The Empire are capable of such greatness… Sigmar himself did not defeat Morkar alone but with the entirety of our great Empire behind him.

This was no a history lesson, those words that rung through her head, they were not reminders of pilgrimage or how she should live her life, no they were warnings gilded in both hope and grandeur – like most words from her wise mentor’s lips before his untimely demise… a warning she’d nearly forgotten till the sounds of foot falls in slop and laboured breaths occupied her mind rather than the ramblings of a once great, now dead – priest of Sigmar. While the boy, wrapped in tabard, scrolled maps, a brass telescopic eye and chipped sword of poor forged iron could never know it – to Hilde this was a sign of great import from her god, from the front lines of the eternal battle Sigmar still waged beyond the edge of the earth against the torpid storm of chaos – Cruvan now amongst his holiness’s ranks. “Priestess! –Priestess!” The boy cried waving his arms as she turned to face him with incredulous expression to meet his most desperate. She afforded the boy a second to catch his breath before he retrieved a scrolled map and slid it open for her, The township she’d left emboldened, the hamlet of ash and death crossed out with a messy black x and several arrows drawn converging upon Stirland “The knights of Theamoor march, we, the militia of Oalstead received pigeon requesting aid and assurance others would march under the banner of Theamoor to meet the Tagoth’Ur upon the ruins of Stirr. –Please, the sergeant of our free companies sent me in hopes you would rally with us and meet the knights in Stirr!”

She could not say no, she would not say no, not long ago she’d been of aid to the people of Oal and they to her, a desperate conflict between their free company and a rambling pack of green skins had made them all brothers and sisters in battle and victory both and she would not turn her back on them… while they were no knights Sigmar himself had once been a lowly tribesman with only a birthmark to set him apart from his kinsfolk. The Free Companies of Oalstead were no different from most, several ranks of fighters – simple iron blades forged in lowly blacksmith stands of their streets, leather cured from local game more for day-to-day function than the heat of battle, cudgels hewn from felled trees that obstructed fields for tilling only adorned in nails and steaks for a killing blow, bow and arrows meant for killing game, some, maybe most couldn’t even hope to heft the great hammer slung across her back, the kite that held it in place or the plates that hugged her ample chest, could never ascend to the rites of that birthed the bright red emblazoned tabard her and others like her wore… but they were warriors at heart and vetted in blood she’d spilled along their side – they had the tenacity of the Empire flowing proudly through their veins without the bulwark of a keep to bar it from invasion.

The Free Company of Oalstead was not an ideal force to meet the horde of Tagoth’Ur but in this moment there seemed no better for the task in her righteous heart.

As the midnight chill began to nip at their backs the band and their priestess collected in the ditches of the farmland around the hamlet, obscured by the dark of night and raging of fires, the screams of dying and deafening silence of dead. Hilde and not more than forty men charged with shrill cries of their indignation as a volley of arrows blotted the night sky screaming through the air as they reached apex and in turn fell upon where they believe the Tagoth’Ur to rest – The Knights of Shaemoor’s drums of war pounded off in the distance barely audible over the foot falls of many men and the batting of simple hand weapons on shields improvised with barrel caps and storm hatches “For the Empire, for the dead, for Sigmar!” Hilde would shout with booming determination as the first poor forged sword met crude battle axe, the sky opened and from it a black downpour spilled.

 

[Dr. Nibbles]

As always after a glorious battle, the Targoth'Ur feasted, drank and raped their captives. Though the feast was weak tonight, the drink was stale, and the rape was limited. Iridith sat idly as she watched each over her warrior's have their way with the new, young girl, having their way with each of her tight virgin orifices, leaving her a sobbing pathetic mess, coated and filled to the brim with tainted grey seed. Iridith, normally the first to engage in such a merry festivity sad on a dried stump that had been cut down to produce a fire. She mused at the sight of carnal sin, but did not get any excitment. Her mind raced with worrying thoughts that kept her from relaxation, and most likely would until the Exiled One's tithe of brides was paid.

The jagged, ancient ax sat head down in the soil, Iridith rotating the handle and spinning an increasingly large rut in the ground with her nerves. She looked down at the circle her blade had created, the fire dancing close by, casting a shadow in the miniature ditch. Iridith thought deeply, using the blade of her ax to add the pincer of slaanesh to the end of the circle. In merely four whole nights the most powerful Chaos Lord to worship Slaanesh would arrive, a mere fraction of his mighty army escorting him to Theamoor. This warband however small, dwarfed the Targoth'Ur, and Iridith feared what he might do if he was left disatisfied with his offerings. They had collected over a dozen women but Iridith knew wholly it was not enough to please his insatiable appetite and rampaging lust and need to impregnate. At best, she believed she could offer some of her weakest women to him, perhaps as a placeholder tribute until the tithe could be met. At worst... Iridith could not imagine the thing he would be willing to do to her.

Iridith finished crossing the pincer with her ax, finishing the symbol in the dirt of her goddess- A shadow covered the symbol, blotting out the fire and shrouding the chieftain. Iridith felt her spine crawl, knowing the pressence of this all to familiar shadow as one who controls the winds of magic. Looking up, Iridith met eyes with the nefarious medicine woman Hys I'aqshy. Iridith smirked at the thought of sacrificing this witch to her quasi-master. I'aqshy's eyes glowed as bright as the fire behind her, merely one of her many unsightly mutations.

"Chieftain" she said with a supple bow of her masked head.

"How can I aide you, Sorceress," replied Iridith biding back iritation "Though make it hasty, I'm quite busy."

"Doing what exactly? Drawing chicken scratch in the dirt?" caustically laughed the Sorceress, recieving no such return from the Cheiftian. "Ahem... our brothers have been put to rest for the evening, as long as you keep the animal-whores quiet we should not have a single issue with them tonight. Also if you keep the slave girls from moaning to loudly that would be appreciated as well."

"You do realize these woman are twice your size and could rip your throat out with the flaccid cocks right?" smirked Iridith.

"And none of them are capable of reading a sentence of Common text, let alone arcane spells. How should I feel threatened again?" retorted the snarky Sorceress.

Iridith wanted to retort, raising her hand to silence the medicine woman, but suddenly her voice was cut off by a shrill scream of agony.

"Gods damn them, what did I just say?" barked I'aqshy turning to confront the warriors.

"That wasn't a slave." Iridith said grimly, standing, I'aqshy turning to meet her with a worried gaze. Not a second later, a barrage of black darts rained from the blackness of night, more than half meeting their mark, puncturing flesh of unarmored warrior women, several even hitting the chest of the raped slave girl, ending her agony in a blissful death.

"Ambush!" a drunk Targoth'Ur woman screamed, dragging her flail hurriedly behind her.

The camp fell into anarchy, each of the women scattering and attempting to take shelter, grabbing shields and raising them above their heads in hopes to protect themselves from the onslaught. Though most got out of the volley in time, a few of the dazed, drunk and sex crazed women were cut down by the arrows littering the camp with Norse, half-naked corpses.

"Damn them!" screamed Iridith, gripping her ax, and retrieving the other from beside her bedroll. She left the tent soon after the volley died down to see a swarm of green and white soldiers sprinting across and open field to meet the tribe in close combat. Iridith felt rage boil in her gut and slowly begin to transfer into vital adrenaline, getting her body hot and ready for the sexual gratification that only combat could provide

"Targoth'Ur! Show them the meaning of fear! End them swiftly! Take no prisoners this day!" She bellowed, rallying her women to the fight. Easily outnumbering the militia, the marauder horde poured from the encampment and ran to meet their daring if not stupid assailants in the no-man's-land. Iridith walked briskly, her warriors rushing past her with howls and screams of ecstasy, granted another glorious fight. Iridith's walk broke out into a steady jog as a single solider attempted to bring his simple, crude bastard sword to bare down upon her. With a twirl of her broad ax she cleaved his arm at the elbow causing blood to spurt from the open wound and leaving him screaming in agony, clutching the stump. With a swift turn on her heal she drove the other blade down his spine, shallowly slicing his back so he would be immobile but still living for the mean time.

With another swift turn a group of several spear wielding ruffians charged her. With a cackle of pleasure she swung her blades across hacking through the wooden pikes and slicing through the thin cloth meant to protect their necks. Hot blood splashed against her body, dripping down her bare breasts. Iridith moaned, her member growing stiff beneath the tightly bound leather strap. Another approached, suddenly reeling back in fear, arousal and confusion. Licking the blood from her lips, Iridith spun in a circle cleaving his legs apart at the shin. The soldier fell to the ground, blood gushing in a thick gout from his devastating wounds. Before he fully registered the pain she threw her second blade down penetrating his thin metal helm, severing his skull and implanting his head into the ground, still and dead.

Iridith stood atop the corpse, almost fully erect and reveling in the sight and sound of her soldiers dominating and slaughtering the opposition. Iridith let out a howling laugh that echoed through the raining sky, a wave of ethereal fear washing over the now dying peasant army. It is a good hunt.

 

[SomethingEsoteric]

The screams of Tagoth’ur rippled through the falling sheets of rain sounded of their retribution abound, both sides fighting with both righteous and wicked indignations in their chests. The skirmishers, their vanguard as it were – were no match for the Tagoth’Ur that in essence much greater examples of their own savagery. Their vanguard comprised of men too wild for a battalion, too random and raging to be filed into tanks, they dashed out ahead of the three ranks of twenty men that included Hilde and in a conventional clash of blade and bone they may do well to break the ranks of an enemy but in this case they served only… well, one could say a buffer but they were much more easily likened to cannon fodder or the fence post a young farmboy may enjoy slapping about with an ear of wheat… in this case however the ear of wheat be crude axe and the immobile post did succumb to each swipe. While the men in ranks did shudder at the sight, while the archers did question if their arrows took a single casualty, while the scent of fear and piss began to turn the air and whispers of fear with it – while all these and more played about Hilde she did not so much as Grimace, this was war, the eternal war – the bloodiest and most damnable, the odds were never at present in their favor and the casualties were in immeasurable swathes – a few lowly drunks was little concern of the stalwart priestess in the heated moment.

“Second Volley!” She cried out with her hammer raised in the air, a crackling skitter of radiance shimmering across the breadth of its maul, as she demanded another kite of arrows whistled through the skies, this one a slight smaller than the last, clearly men not as great as those at her side had been routed by the tenacity of their foes, she would not be.

As the volley fell, several more Tagoth’Ur staggered, growling and snapping the arrows off in their remarkable skin… fair as maiden’s was pure but hard and resilient as any beast of war or burden alike. A growl rumbled in Hilde’s throat then a bark “Charge! – Charge!” She cried over her right shoulder then her left, demanding the two columns on either side of her charging forward – then the next and finally her own.

The many men crashed with equal numbers but far more dispatching women, if a Tagoth’Ur could truly be referred to so flippantly as such, no, not women – beasts at best, twisted abominations not fit to breathe the same air as the Imperial blooded men and women of these lands… but deadly no less, no less deadly for it that is, maybe even more so. Just the same as a single Tagoth’Ur could swing their deadly axe and rip a Militia-man in two Hilde could fend off the coming blow with a swing of her steel clad arm and repay in kind with her brazen war hammer of Sigmar, their ribs shattering, the last breath wheezing from their chests as she delivered the final blow their skulls caving. Three Tagoth’Ur Warrior women did advance on the priestess and each met the same end, the first swung hard on her shield and its axe did glance aside with a glimmer of light and an arcing spark only flint and steel could create – Hilde recovering and burying her hammer so deep in the Tagoth’ur’s skull it’s frontal lobe ruptured and mixed with the ripped and sundered flesh of her cheeks, nose and what else gore the fatal swing of Hilde’s imbued hammer could yield. She did not revel in the death of the Tagoth’Ur, she did not enjoy battle, chemically thrilling as it could be, she did not enjoy the swell of adrenaline through her veins or the hard beating of her heart in her chest and ears. She took no pleasure in the second righteous kill as a Tagoth’Ur wound back to cleave her and she responded with a hard boot to her chest and a underhanded swing of her hammer that caved in her ribs and subsequently found punctured lungs sputtering feted blood off once screaming lips, the next blow to a Tagoth’Ur’s Cheek bone sweeping forward from the felled woman choking on her blood there was a brief red mist from the shattered woman, shards of skull, clumps of matted hair, scalp and brain matter cascading through the air, a wet spatter across her face that was warm – then soon washed away by the falling rain.

The priestess snarled and groaned, wiping the blood of the corrupted from her face, her eyes leveling to find her equal and opposite on this field, a woman wielding two axes, magnificent by every stretch at a glance, beautiful in her horrendous visage of madness and chaos… sin was often cunning in veneer but one did not need to scratch far passed the surface to see the true abomination wrapped in primal beauty. Hilde swallowed hard as her eyes followed the natural womanly curves of the very unnatural chieftain her two hazel orbs setting on a long, hard, phallic symbol of gluttonous lust and most fowl of sins – the touch of chaos.

For the first time on the battlefield since just a babe in martial respects – Hilde stood in a state of shock, watching the giantess barrel across the slop of mud and death that had once been a modest hamlet of good peoples and their good families and their pious lives – not even the piercings cries to brace the line from her men at arms pulled her from the thousand yard stare freely given to Iridith of the Tagoth’Ur.

 

[Dr. Nibbles]

As the rain washed away the hot ichor from Iridith's slender, toned body. She smiled, pure rain water touching her plump lips, flowing into her and rolling down her pale face. Her body was completely soaked now, here matted, braided hair formerly a vibrant orange now a dark reddish-brown. The thick leather straps that barely contains her nether regions and seldom protect her body are now heavy with water, tightening pleasurably around her body in their weight. The sound of battle caused her phallus to errect entirely, painfully bound by her leather crotch strap and further tightened by the dense rain. The pain of faux-chastity made her shiver with excitement only further causing her drool from the very tip of her bound cock.

High pitch screams from the pleasured and dying Targoth'Ur women roared from her right, pulling her back to reality. Still maintaining a seductive smile, her eyes drifted to the right corners, seeing a silver clad warrior-woman of much smaller stature then her slaughtering her way through the chaotic battle line. Their eyes met, and Iridith began to grin so wide it seemed like her cheeks were in danger of ripping. Another roaring laugh exited her mouth as she turned to face the Priestess of Sigmar; a rare gem indeed... she must have it.

Stepping down from her stage of a young man's corpse, Iridith raised an ax in almost preternatural precognition, sensing an assailant coming form the side. With a deadly swing that seemed to have no effort, she cleaved the head clear from the rugged man's shoulders, his body falling limply before him and jetting hot blood all over her breasts and abdomen. Iridith marched on, her grin never ceasing and never breaking eye contact with the pious leader of the assault. Her member twitched in excitement, drooling hot pre onto her body as she observed the armor clad woman, ripe for breeding.

Now mere steps away from the Priestess, Iridith halted among the killing field, seeming completely immune to the sounds of battle now, her only fixation the woman before her, her future pet and mother of her daughters. It felt like eons as tension arose, her grin never faltering. She eyed the movements of the priestess as she advanced with pious fervor. She now stood before the priestess seeming to let her take the first swing, it was never so simple. As the warrior priestess raised her hammer Iridith moved with lightening agility, twirling both her axes raising them up in together and slashing them both down in the same diagonal direction hacking deep grooves into the priestess's sheild. She could not contain her excitement caused by the sound of steel scraping agains steel and shivered noticeably as she orgasmed, spilling hot seed unto her self, cackling as she did. It was to be a great hunt.

 

[SomethingEsoteric]

Hilde watched on in a mixture of fear and sickly premonition both, she’d nearly screamed for the man to stop his advance but the words would not reach him soon enough – with no more than the action itself a head was sundered from shoulders and a body in motion stopped dead, tumbling down to the muck of farmland overflow, ashes and gore. The woman’s face was so unnerving to Hilde, like, if not for her ghastly and barbaric effects she’d be as beautiful and regarding as any lady of higher society – but the smile was far more unnerving than that hard truth – it was the way it split her face in two, deranged and high off the death like peasants on strange spices sold in stranger markets, milk of the poppy and other fermented and fungal afflictions of the civil mind… it took true grit to overcome the sort of terror creatures of a Tagoth’Ur’s calibre could breed in the hearts of the pure, especially a woman with virtue… -though she wasn’t just a woman with virtue she was a woman with pride, with faith, with strength – grit was only one of her many honed tools in this fight against Chaos, against the deranged warrior woman touched by chaos. Her grit may be one bastion but Sigmar was her maul, her shield, her armour all and with Sigmar in her spirit she could not fail, would not falter,

The beast was a disgusting charge chaos and each and every daemonic boon was on display when she neared, each gout of fluid gushing from her most ungodly of which making Hilde cringe with aversion till she was close enough to see it on her face. The Tagoth’Ur’s eyes pierced her own with uncommon intensity but her own couldn’t stay focused, couldn’t stop searching the abominations… “Sigmar’s grace…” Hilde hissed, wringing her war hammer’s pole arm in preparation a radiant crackle of light illuminating the maul’s ornate brass fineries – the effigy of flames and a commit on each side looking like their conceptions – like twin tailed satilites screaming from the sky… though she was not quite fast enough a twin blow glancing her shield the sting of rattled bones resonating deep through her knuckles and up her forearm rippling to her shoulder “Ssthh!” Hilde hissed, steeling herself, stepping backwards and grunting some sort of blessing – the same light that radiated along the breadth of her maul now rippling across the face of her kite.

“Hold the lines!” She barked over her shoulder, the ranks splitting and holding on either side of the single combat – allowing them to wage on uninterrupted by otherwise mindless onslaught. Hilde knew not the society of Tagoth’Ur, she hadn’t the slightest clue if they possessed the honour to allow a single combat, she doubted the devious denizens of chaos could comprehend such conventions but she knew if this combat was won so too was the battle, they’d be routed… or , at least held back till the war drums drew closer and with them relief from desperately compromised odds. “I am Hilde if the Imperium, Warrior Priestess of Sigmar – and I will-end-you in his name.” Hilde said, her voice uncompromising – bound in only the most righteous of determination, booming loudly for the woman of admittedly squat stature.

The beast’s response was a sickening display of her vulgarity, grey thick filth spurting down her thighs, boots and staining the ground – Hilde sure such soil could never again be sanctified, this hamlet was dead, she’d no intention of joining and every intention of ensuring never would another face such a needless fate.

The priestess growled and charged forward with her shield shouldered, turning her hip inward before, with all her might launching the steel clad arm forward to bash the Tagoth’Ur chieftainess with her kite, a fluid motion of an overhanded swing of her hammer following up the assault as the battle waged on around them, wardrums drawing ever closer with each exchange of glancing blows.

 

[Dr. Nibbles]

The wind howled through the fields pushing the rushing wall of brackish rain to come down harder, faster and at a further angle. The slaughter never ceased as both sides cause casualties upon each other with every passing second. As the thrill of battle overtook them, the Targoth'Ur grew more bloodthirsty and primal, tactics and weapon proficiency thrown completely to the wayside in favor of a sheer onslaught of strength and flurry of attacks. As the Stirland forces dwindled, the two commanders of each army stood at the center of the moor, meeting in a clash of blades that only two heroes of equal caliber such as they could perform and survive.

The priestess stood stalwart despite the devastating blows her twin war axes delivered. Standing strong, the devout woman of Sigmar began her ritualistic prayers, an ethereal light seeming to glow off of her flawless steel plate, radiating as though the sun itself were baring down upon it. Iridith snarled, already having a distaste for magic only further felt her rage grow as the magic performed was that of a false god. She could only do her best to conceal the look of utmost disgust when the Priestess spoke her premature words of triumph.

"Many of your kind have claimed such a similar quest," the norse-woman spoke, her Riekspiel very primitive, lacking proper pronunciation and often intelligible through her thick norse accent. Reaching to her side, Iridith grabbed a pair of bleached skulls, strapped to her belt by long strands of matted human hair. She raised the skulls before Hilde and gave a sinister grin "None succeed."

She dropped the skulls to the earth, the bone crashing into the ground and becoming spattered with mud. A rare sight to see a norse take so little care of their trophies, but Iridith used it as a driving force to enrage her Imperial Counterpart. With a bounding leap, Iridith let out a shrill and violent scream charging at Hilde. As she charged, the Priestess thrust her sheild into her assailant. The force of the impact, bolstered by her magical powers of worship thrust Iridith back with force. The chieftain slid in the muck extending her leg backward to maintain balance, spitting blood when she finally stopped. Quickly looking up to see a maul striking down with the fury of the comet it represents, Iridith had no choice but to roll out of the way, coating her body in the gore covered filth. The mace nearly struck her shoulder, a blow that would have incapacitated the warrioress. Her fanged grin returned as she looked up at the Priestess from her crouched possiton, At last, she thought A challenge.

Springing from her crouched position to a rising leap, Iridith swung her mighty ax up hoping to cleave at the Priestess's weapon arm while her other ax quickly raised into the air and dropped down this one aiming for her crown. It was more than possible that Iridith could end this holy woman in this instance, but in her heart, she hoped for the fight to continue.

 

[SomethingEsoteric]

No shame, the brutish monster had no shame – if it was not the appendage between their legs or the tenacious muscles that bound them, the fire in their eyes and vicious lust for blood that separated them from humanity, it was the utter void in them where shame was meant to exist. Hilde growled and wrung the hilt of her adorned war hammer, the thick coil of twined white-stallion mane that wrapped around the length beginning to soak with the down pour but remained tacky – keeping her grip as stalwart as her poise. Even with the heavy black rain her eyes stayed open and trained with determination, her face no longer twisted to grimace, she looked the very pinnacle of her piety, paragon even in righteous indignation. It seemed the further into the melee they clashed the calmer she became. Hilde did not thirst for blood, she did not lust for battle, she did not despise it – she did not invite it but she didn’t avoid it either and once inside she did what she could to put an end to the engagement as quickly as possible. She didn’t feel joy in this struggle, that was the difference, if she enjoyed her martial duties then she’d be as shameless as a Tagoth’Ur, there would be little difference.

As the trophies of her kills fell to the mud Hilde shook her head, two slow movements left then right before her upper lip curled, “You underestimate me and my kind Ur’Kin – I will take no pleasure in felling you – I will however take pride in showing the remnants of your clan what this human is capable of.” Her first blow hit true and the results of it shown but her second smashed down into the earth, mud, pebble and shards of bone from the fallen skulls. A gulp made her throat swell as the next exchange began.

Hilde parried the first blow with the neck of her hammer, pain ripping through her arm, shooting up from her wrist to her shoulder – threatening to bust her shoulder right out of its socket, she didn’t have time to recover from that blow however, another was arriving. –it was nearly a fraction of a second too late by the time she reacted, her shield arm swooping over her head and the rim crashing into the blade of Iridith’s axe, turning the face as Hilde lunged forward – her plated chest meeting Irith’s bare, their faces mere inches apart, staring one and other down with fire in their eyes as their strong bodies locked each other in place, Hilde pushing forward with all her might in an attempt to topple the Tagoth’Ur woman and deliver the final blow.

“Sigmar was but a man when he bested Nagash, you’re a mere flea compared to ilk of his kind.” She hissed through her teeth forcing all strength she could muster into the clinch just as a shrill cry of cavalry trumpets sung from across the moor – the rumble of hooves soon joining. “You’ll see Ur’kin, I promise.”

 

[Dr. Nibbles]

The mighty crashing of hammer, ax and shield wracked both bodies of the combatants. Though Iridith sensed the pain felt by Hilde, her grin growing wider, a cackle of satisfaction escaping her lips. The second blow was blocked expertly by Hilde's mighty steel shield, pain wracking her wrist, one of the few pains Iridith did not care for, forcing her to lose one of her ancient axes. Quickly reacting as Hilde pressed her breast against Iridith's own, the Chieftain gripped her shield and locked the the maul and ax together, the two rivals now standing face to face, Hilde pushing with all her might and Iridith holding forcibly her ground.

"You're weaker than you realize priestess." Iridith spoke through grunts of struggle "You will make an excellent whore-wife yet." Iridith mockingly licked forward, her unnaturally long tongue running up Hilde's own lips and nose before quickly retracting.

Her outstandingly arrogant demeanor was suddenly flush with visibly worry as the trumpants of war blared close by, soon coupled by the sloshing of hoof on mud. Whomever approached was coming rapidly, and it could not be their own. Iridith rammed her knee into the less armored side of Hilde's armor, staning a full head taller than her she easily reached the unprotected part of her armpit. Though not a desirable location to deal significant damage, the hit would be enough to off put her opponent and grant her an opportunity to withdraw.

Iridith quickly ran off, grabbing her ax and shouting in norse at the top of her lungs "Withdraw, they're knights are near." Repeating this order repeatedly granted the attention of a Taggoth'Ur drummer, whom quickly began pounding a cryptic military tune that signaled a fall back to all. Two more drums within the fight began to beat in unison alerting the norse horde, forcing them to stop their slaughter of militia men and raping of militia women. The small warband began to quickly retreat, their numbers not much smaller than when they began the fight, a contrary to the blood soaked and cum filled corpses of the Stirland militia.

I'aqshy approached her chieftain throughout the madness, running as best as her weak, mutated lungs will allow. "My mistress if they are on horseback we will never out run them."

"Indeed," Iridith replied entering the camp and grabbing her knapsack "Unleash our brothers give them something to fight."

"Cheiftain if we do that we'll be severely outmatch at Fort Shaemoor... allow me to distract them."

Iridith wished to stop her but instead would allow her this opportunity to prove her worth. Standing at the crest of the hill, I'aqshy extended her arms and began to chant cryptic and eldritch words. The storm above began to twirl, the rain stopping momentarily as it was cast aside by the winds of magic. With her chaotic psalm, bolts of bright purple lightening struck down around the field, hitting some soldiers and killing them in a blaze of magical fire. Her body began to tremble as the storm clouds lurched down, revealing the stars of the night sky. As the cloud descended a face of horrific nature emerged from its mass, roaring with the sound of thunder as it engulfed dozens of soldiers in a horrifiying display. The cloud began to twist and turn among the field swallowing men and women whole in its daemonic maw. The spell having released, I'aqshy collapsed, being caught by Iridith, whom hoisted her on her back and looked down at the field to see the priestess masterfully dodging the cloud-beast. She smiled, knowing she would see her again, and left with the remains of her warband.

 

[SomethingEsoteric]

Hilde growled, then made a sound more like a croak – a struggling little admission of derision and strain for the exchange of raw power, one, even with her near impenetrable armour, true shield, good maul – she just could not… “Hrgh, -and Sigmar is stronger than realization is cable of fathoming, especially from a –eugh!” before her rebuke could finish she felt the daemon-woman’s tongue flick over her face, turning her stomach with a sickly chill, through her armour she felt it, goose bumps shoot up her spine and cold sweats wipe away the muggy sweat the rain had caused to smear the skin between her padding and soft flesh.

Iridith’s avaricious lust for pride was what was truly unfathomable in this moment, her strength near confounding also – no matter what force had ever come in Hilde’s way she’d never been so closely matched, even rampaging ork-kin had been razed in her path, a green-skin war boss nearly twice her size had fallen prey to her maul’s brazen face, and yet, this woman not only contended with her strength but had the audacity and power to taunt her in the process, and in such a vile way. Her time was running out though, so long as Hilde could keep her locked in this combat, whether she lost or won the battle the cavalry would soon arrive and whether or not Hilde survived their band of depraved madness would be wiped clean from the world she was assured so confidently. “You will die vile creature, and the righteous fire in my eyes will be the last thing you ever see. Whore-wife, the crows will not even desecrate your corpse for the utterances of filth nor the pit of darkness from which you birth them.” And then, it arrived, “Hauh!” the sound of all air escaping her lungs and a sharp pain in her ribs and underarm.

Between the knee delivered to her and the shove to break the combat they were locked in Hilde was toppled off her feet and to her bottom – shameful for the position as she was “Coward!” she shouted at Iridith, struggling back up to her feet with a wobble, encumbered so by the armour she owed her life to many times over. By the time she had in fact, reached solid footing, reinforcing was so close by… well, the rage that had nearly taken her over entirely she kept in check, righteous indignation was not something that could wait but it was something she had to control – Sigmar’s blessing could give her strength she did not possess of her own – however, Sigmar did not steel ignorance, he bolstered the desperate – pride’s folly was not his obligation to mitigate.

“Hrgh!” A sharp pinch in her breast gripped then yanked, tore an ethereal piece of her being, piqued her attentions to a crest, a warp gnarled beast and her nemesis looking upon her and her smashed forces… and in that moment, she saw a glimpse of true evil, chief and prime “Retreat!” she screamed at the top of her lungs at the climate around her shifted with maleficent range, as the sky opened and a dark thunderous face charged toward her. The Priestess braced herself, there was no running from this force of evil, she – Hilde, Battle Priestess of Sigmar would face it head long. She heard, saw, witnessed that prime evil, witnessed her cohorts and fellow men being incinerated in foe fire conjured by purple volts of chaos given corporeal form.

-

A torpid world of smoke, black, purple of the strangest bright tenacity, voices that slithered more than sung – spoke in the strangest of voices, she felt a wet chill slither across her body, its entirety, cold and unpleasant though comforting in the strangest most visceral of ways, like a caress of her very soul… ”You’re weaker than you think Hilde… but so much raw potential exists within you… indulge… indulge in your lust… abandon all you know… become strong, become lustful, become all that is devious and depraved… you are chosen. –I gift to you, abandon.”

-

“Priestess! –Priestess!”

“Mmmngaaough… Wh-wha?” she was flat on her back and aching from foot to brow, convulsing even still.

“Praise Sigmar! –She lives!” A voice called out in the bleached field of her vision, not yet had focus returned to her. “Our Cavalry witnessed your heroic feat Priestess, sheathed completely in chaos, not one man survived… but you, you shrugged off the sin as if it were not… turned and walked to our lines before collapsing. Truly, you must be chosen, you will lead us to victory against this pox upon our lands, the Tagoth’Ur have witnessed Sigmar’s boon and yet they march on these walls. Foolish dogs they are.”

 

[Dr. Nibbles]

Iridith rode her mighty steed, its coat black as night and eyes red as blood, through the remains of her warband. They sat finally resting after a long forced march to escape from their attackers. Iridith halted her steed with a Nordic command and looked over what they salvaged. They had only managed to gather two carts worth of prisoners, Iridith's former worry had begun to rise into complete panic. However she did not where such a demeanor on her face, she refused to. Thankfully their brother's were fine, still armored, chained together with sacks over their heads, keeping them dormant.

"Some fight, right Cheif?" spoke a woman sitting on a rock beside her. Without speaking Iridith swept her blade down, severing the woman's head from her shoulders, a spray of hot blood spurting from the wound.

"Stupid slut." she hissed, spitting on the fallen corpse.

I'aqshy rode next to Iridith, sighing in frustration, now understanding the worry of her chieftain. The two sat in silence, the torches of their sisters lighting the path they rest on, surrounded by dense forest and with only one way to travel in both directions, they would not be ambushed again.

"How did they know?" I'aqshy finally spoke breaking the silence "How did they know where to find us."

Iridith remained silent, all she could think about was that priestess. That beautiful femme fatale, the most powerful warrior she'd ever come across. She could only indulge in fantasies of her as a bride, raping her nightly, having her birth her next batch of kin, showing her off as her greatest trophy and achievement. To break a Priest of Sigmar... is untold, unheard of. She dreamed of bringing her in chains to the Exalted One on his throne in Aeslings, denying him to even touch her for Iridith can tame the untameable, and not even the Exalted One has such power. He will envy her so he will go mad, his soldiers will follow her instead, they will betray him, she will usurp him and hang his corpse from the highest peak in the Norse. She will become the true favored of Slaanesh.... and NOTHING will stop her from receiving such glory.

"Hello? Iridith!" shouted I'aqshy, looking at Iridith will frustration, her tone sharp and iritated. "Are you even listening? What are your orders?!"

Iridith craned her head, her eyes burning with hatred. I'aqshy shuttered at the burning rage her Cheiftain held.

"M-m'lady?" she shuttered. With lightening reflexes Iridith delivered a powerful punch to the side of her seerer's head, her mask falling to the wayside and knocking her from her horse, the warband quickly turned their attention to their murderous leader, seeing what delights she would perform to the weakest link of their kin. Iridith dismounted and stood over the medicine woman kicking her hard in the stomach and forcing her back to the ground. The warband cheered for blood as she climbed atop her and began powerfully delivering blow after blow to the palid, frail woman's face. After several harsh and devastating punches, Iridith let the woman fall back, releasing her robe, only to run her hands down her heaving chest as she spat blood and teeth.

Iridith's soft hand met the intersection of her lap and I'aqshy's body, Iridith already hard from her vivid imagination need release before the next fight if she was to face her adversary again. Eagerly, Iridith stood and flipped over the battered woman, who's pleas finally began to emerge. With her mighty grip she ripped the robe from her lower half revealing her bound cock and plump rear. Iridith slid her own binding aside revealing her monstrous member and ripped the wraping from her victim. Her cries and pleas were as pitiful as those from her captives, something that only further fueled her desire to destroy and break her own second in command. Her head pressed hard against the ass of her opponent, a feeble "NO!" the only thing she could muster to stop her. With a rough thrust the Cheiftain penetrated the witch fully, causing both to scream in ecstasy and pain respectively. The crowed gathered and cheered, some unwrapping themselves to join in.

"BACK OFF!" Iridith spat, her eyes wild like an alpha wolf taming the pack and claiming its rite. "Back the hell off or I'll cut your dicks off and feed them to the brother's." Iridith hissed and the her underlings backed off, their cheiftain still making eye contact with as many as she could as she rapidly began thrusting into her victim. "We ride at dawn. Theamoor is ours" she groaned over I'aqshy's pitiful sobs.

 

[SomethingEsoteric]

“Whooaugh!” The priestess gasped a deep breath like she’d breached the surface of torpid waves around a breached hull, hands shooting to her sides “Take it off, take it off!” She screamed, fingers locked in steel and leather clawing at the plate that tightly clasped her chest as if she were searching for a chink in the armour to literally tear it off herself.

“Ooh-haou-ho,” the old hoary elder Enuss chuffed, “May-haps we’ve spoken too soon my friends…” an oddly amused relinquish, impossibly old for such horrid times the elder seemed to expect the downfall of men regularly. “Quickly now, ah-hagh-hagh-hrmph,” a sickly cough interrupting his suggestions, “Help the priestess with her breast before she-oh-hawg-… suffocates…”

A young squire did just that, the captain prying away her hands and a shield maiden attempting to soothe her urgency by placing her hands on either side of Hilde’s face, hushing her softly as the belts and straps that kept her mighty plate in place were unlatched by the young squire and removed. Hilde hissed and tried to free her hands to remove the padded tunic of sorts thats occupied the space between armour and flesh, soon enough, it was pulled to the side and her cotton shirt raised do reveal a deadly toll for her heroic feet.

“She’s been touched by the warp…” the captain spoke gravely, Enuss reaching toward the horrific wounding, dark swirling black skin, appearing burnt and purple like the flesh of a daemon nearly, bruising marching out from the darkest point and wrapping toward her abdominal muscles on one side and along her rib cage on the other. “… and yet she lives…”

“Remarkable isn’t it… -would be hubris to think she was entirely unscathed… and yet, oh-ho-ho… she lives. The blighted flesh… it appears contained, lesser men, and many greater than ourselves –surely they’d of fallen to this corruption… and yet, she lives.” Enus drawled lethargically before a few chuffs of bewildered amusement, musing almost as Hilde sat up and held the flesh in a fit of agony, hissing and clenching her teeth as she groped at the corrupted straight of scarring. “-and such vigor!”

“Sth… hngff… ih-it hurts…” She croaked, her mind throbbing with such intensity it was as if the very world and heavens above were weighing down upon her.

Emmbraaaccccce ssth’paaainnnsss a voice slithered through her mind with a booming irrefutable voice… and yet, just a whisper… it was all so terribly wrong… and yet, she felt… she felt… comfort, as she accepted the…

“Of course it does priestess, the moment it stops hurt’ing… you’ll die. Either the corruption will have enveloped you whole or you’ll have fallen to other causes… ah-hrm-hrm-hrm… but a wound such as this only festers, it does not heal I’m afraid… even that m’boy,” he referred pointedly to the scholar, “Is beyond Sigmar.” Before coughing into his hand, “… however, that fact you live alone, that, in itself shows he’s greater plans for you.”

Before he could drawl on further a terrifying crash could be heard, the earth rumbling, the very heavens above splitting much like they had the night before following a litany of screams and barks in the city bellow, the ominous purple glow of warp flame painting the room they occupied through the windows of the chamber they occupied. “It begins.” Enuss said ominously before pulling back, “They have come…” he wheezed, “and will burn this keep and the surrounding city to feted ash with their warp fire, rape our young, kill our old… a battle is no place for a man of my years… but you Priestess of Sigmar, you may turn the tides…”

-

The air was electrified, thick with the winds of magic like Shaemore was a beacon of chaos, each orb of flames raining above swollen and intensified beyond I’aqshy’s previous power, on this day, beyond what seemed the saving grace of the Empire – the Priestess Who Lived, they called her in hopeful whispers, all appeared lost. The small city that surrounded the grand keep fell in a matter of moments to the Chaos of warp magic, spades of heavily armed and armoured men were torn asunder by frenzied swings of Tagoth’Ur lusting in the glory of battle, possessed like never before, living up to every string spoken of them by fearful men and women. The sounds of rape, bloodshed and mirthful laughter, the crash of rams and brute force against steel and stone as they tried to breach the Keep… Hilde and the honour guards, the innermost circle and most decorated of soldiers… they’d not even had a chance to reach the frontlines before they encircled the keep – what once appeared the strongest of bastions was quickly becoming a prison – contrition lining every bar.

“The walls are impenetrable, the city lies razed, but they will never find their way inside Shaemoor.”

“You’re a fool, you weren’t out there, you didn’t see those beasts – the males – they could rend even the strongest tempered steel!”

“Hrmph-phrmph-phrmph… They will come, there will be blood… but we will prevail – with any great victory comes the darkest of desperations…” Enuss mused idly through his sickly state, sitting on a small throne next to one much grander where the lord of the keep sat and his lady at his side, both with grave expressions and tented fingers, long faces... fear.

 

[Dr. Nibbles]

In a torrent of beast furs, steel and feminine muscle, the Targoth'Ur breached the outer defenses of Shaemoor. The onslaught was relentless, the beast women of the Norse tribe never ceasing in their violent punishment to the innocent Stirland folk. I'aqshy created a cacophony of dark magics, casting shadows that lept from the ground and would devour the flesh of the soldiers desperately trying to defend. Massive wooden gates that held so many other lesser foes at bay splintered with the charge of Brothers, their hulking forms concealed by black and silver metal that could only be forged by the Chaos Dwarves deep within the mounts in the Chaos wastes.

At the spearhead of this assault stood the most intimdatingly beautiful, and frighteningly sadistic Iridith. With a whirlwind of her ancient axeblades she cleaved the heads clean from the shoulders of any who stood before her. Upward slices sent blood splatter spraying into the air in massive gouts. Downward cuts spilled gore and entrails across the soggy earth. Iridith approached the main gates that held her army and the keep apart, she smiled, her white teeth the only thing not drenched in the hot red ichor of the men she had slain.

"BROTHERS!" she bellowed in nordic "BRING FORTH THE BATTERING RAM! CRACK THIS FEEBLE DOOR LIKE A NUT SO THAT WE MAY FEAST ON ITS INSIDES!"

The brothers, their faces concealed by black, horned helms that bared terrible vissages that paled in comparison to the faces beneathe them, approached the door, each caring the massive ram on their shoulder. Tentacles, talons and crab claws gripped the handles, readying to break down these iron walls.

"BREAK IT DOWN!" Iridith screamed in delight, her brothers hammered against the door with a powerful charge, howling like monsters as they failed to destroy it with their first try. "AGAIN!" she screamed, howling in joy.

The brothers pounded against the wall as hard as they could repeatedly, each thrust buckling the wood and iron bars a bit more. Wood cracked and creaked with each thrust, the brothers howling in frustration as their sister cheer them on. "HARDER!" she moaned, running fingers through her hair and dancing in the unnatural rain I'aqshy had wrought. They hammered once more, a hole breaching through the doorway.

"OH YES HARDER BROTHERS!" she moaned, her hand visable gripping her genitals. The ram struck the tight hole spreading the opening wider. "OH FUCK GODS YES!!!!" she screamed, at the sound of battle, the thrust of her brother's ram. She could take it no longer and leapt from the bridge into the drained and muddy moat to find another kill.

As the brother hammered away relentlessly, Iridith found a young boy, no more than 14 or 15 summers old. She smiled as she saw the boy cowering in a sewer grate yet wearing the colors of the stir and sheepishly brandishing a sword. She approached him, dragging her axe along the mud, and stood fully above him. He blushed at her topless figure, her muscular form, but trembled at her scars, tattoos, warpaint and of course, thick coat of blood. She smiled sweetly and moved closer, the boy pointing the blade at her, with ease she batted the blade from his hands and pressed forward, smirking at his feeble attempt to crawl up the wall.

"Where are you off to lad?" she mused with thick Norse accent, unstrapping her leather, letting her unbound cock spill out, erect before him, standing at 14" long, impossible for any man that is not touched by the warp storms of chaos. "Do you not find me beautiful."

The boy screamed and crawled backward into the sewer, she moved closer to him, faster than he can withdraw. She grips his hair and the boy yelps in pain begging for mercy. "Please NO! I'll do anything! Just let me go!" she smirked at his feeble begging, her erect cock level with his eye. Her face lit with pleasure as the sickening pop and squish silenced the boy.

 

[SomethingEsoteric]

Each crack of the brother’s battering ram echoed through the hallowed halls of the keep, dust and timeworn matter shuffled down from the high cathedral ceilings, the men and women Hilde was honour bound to protect to her last fighting breath beginning to go cagey and fearful. “Rng-hrff-hrff… they’re coming…” Enuss choked not seconds before a tremendous crack could be heard followed by the most terrifying of sounds any of them could fathom in the moment – the crash of forged iron and splintering of great wooden constructs, stone slabs, the cheers of Tagoth’Ur women and the roars of their warped brothers.

There were no words of pride or protection, not a coddle or hush from the lord of the keep or his lady, only the whimpers and groans of futility from his duchesses and the chattering chain mail of his knights – each one of them trembling in their armoured suits. Hilde did not tremble, she did not whimper or groan, she showed only stalwart conviction – she reached out “My hammer.” A young squire scampering across the room to deliver the instrument of divine intervention to her hand, “My shield,” and then the steely face “Lash them.” She went on, the boy tying a sanctified strap about her wrists and netting them about the instruments so they could not be disarmed or dropped – a sign Hilde was preparing for the worst – if she fell she’d fall with her hands firmly clutching her two greatest (and of her very few) worldly possessions.

Lesser warriors may have felt naked without their chest plate or pauldrons – she however, was protected by Sigmar’s Armour – the greatest of bulwarks imaginable (she believed) a simple white cotton shirt loosely covered the flesh of her shoulders and torso, an emblazoned tunic of Shaemoor’s coat of arms as well as a pin with the twin-tailed comet of her deity pinning it in place – they would know her fury, the would know her wrath, they would know her loyalties, the would know she knew no fear in the heat of battle!

“We’re doomed,” the Duchess from the north of the keep whimpered, closing her eyes tight as the screams of falling soldiers began to echo through the keep toward the throne room. Her skin was pallid from the perpetual state of winter in her mountainous town known for their chilled ale and wild berries, her hips swollen and ready for child-bearing, her chest shapely much the same, long blonde hair spilled passed her shoulders and to the small of her back – an icy blue dress matching her hauntingly bright eyes.

“The priestess will protect us,” a darker skinned woman, tall and lithe like an elf though very much human – hazel eyes, short cropped black hair, high cheek bones – she seemed to be the strongest of the trinity but still huddled in the corner like her peers. From the southern city state of Zanth’tha’arr the woman should not of been here, she was visiting with her trusted compatriots to strike trade agreements for spices and exotically forged steels, “I will not die in this blasted, damp and dark moor.”

The final bereaved Duchess – sister in law to the Lord of this keep had long since broken into hysterics knowing her husband to be, a captain of the wall had been lost to the tides of chaos if they’d breached the keep. A thin girl, auburn hair and freckled ruddy complexion could not be consoled back to her natural beauty with their plight.

Screams, rumbling marches, the clink of steel upon steel and the blood curdling sound of entrails falling to the floor, heads rolling, skin splaying – it drew nearer and nearer with the litany of cackles and triumphant yips that made clear who’s blood had spilled. The northern Duchess – Avice – sprung to her feet with a plan “Shh-shh-shh! Everybody quiet – maybe they’ll believe we’ve fled if we don’t speak!”

“Ah-ha, a fitting plan for a foolish girl of the north, woe, I feel it – if we survive this day not one of you will ever see a proud Zanthion in your company, hiding in your keeps and mountains, upon your blighted moors, cowards ever last one of you. A priestess your only hope? Pah! Weak-weak-weak – every last damned one of you.” Seras wishing to feel the dry, arid climate of her home one last time – lashing out at those who could not provide her that grace.

“Quite! –The lot of you!” A knight barked from the door a trembling steel-clad finger drawn out to point at them in accusation “We will not fa-waugh!” mid-sentence, fall he did, the door crashed down upon him with a sickening splat and crunch of his steely shell, blood and gore bursting from his chest plate.

Each of the Duchesses, the Lord and Lady and the squire screamed in horror, the knights piquing to attention… Enuss wheezed and coughed but said nothing… Hilde brandished her hammer and readied herself as peasants scattered like fruit flies to hide behind the throne. When the dust and cloud of gore cleared a snarling beast stood in the door’s wake… A brother.

The warped beast barrelled into the room it’s great muscle wrapped form easily bashed away the advancing knights – its great warp twisted arms, sheathed in hard twisted chitin hit the men with such force their bones could be heard shattering beneath their armour, organs rupturing and fountaining from their screaming mouths before they hit the ground dead… it was only a matter of time before the hind ranks retreated, leaving the middle of the room for the priestess and brother only.

It snarled and spat, bashing its fists against the slate ground, shattering stone tiles and making a sound that could only be likened to a grim chuckle as Hilde sized him up.

Easily twelve feet tall though standing at eight the way it hunched forward, the beasts skin was sickly purple and black – only in the most fleshy of areas did it resemble a human even slightly, the leathery complexion stretched and knotted like a bolt of disheveled cloth, muscles weaved and protruded in the most unnatural ways. Its legs were short and gnarled the though rest of its body huge, arms like tree trunks, hands that could wrap around Hilde’s entire body if it so chose she was sure… and disturbing as the others of its kind a long, thick cock swayed languidly from side to side with its dramatic slurping breaths. Its arms, bulbous and muscular as they were – weren’t just frightful for raw strength – they had hardened and blackened to carapace like shells with deadly spikes much like its long face and chest and where the warp’s boon hadn’t touched him it appeared his sisters had bolted steely plates right into his flesh. The legions of chaos were many, were terrifying and powerful, Hilde would not be moved.

The beast charged at her finally, the priestess raising her shield and bracing her feet – a flash of radiant light crackling through the air as it delivered a blow much like those that had virtually liquefied her compatriots. “Hrgff!” She grunted, though her defence did not break. From under her shield Hilde swung low, her maul driven into the brother’s vulnerable ribs with a sickening crack – causing him to crumple and shriek in pain. The sheer weight of the brother was too much for her though – as it fell downward atop her, knocking her flat on her back beneath his twisted frame.

Her shield was propping him up by the chest, its appendages simply too long to find her though their faces were level. “Whooah!” She barked up at it, muscles beginning to give as its long jaw of fangs snapped at her face – drool and froth dripping down on and around her.

Knowing the Priestess was in trouble the remaining knights encircled – stabbing the spawn in all sides with their swords and spears, a flurry of glancing blows that initially went unnoticed till one found a chink in the brother, driving his blade between two ribs where Hilde’s hammer had left a seared scar. “Mrglrglrffff!” The brother shrieked, springing up and batting away the knight before rolling onto its back, crushing another two behind it, scrambling to pull the disarmed sword out of its rib cage but with such awesomely large clawed fingers it was a near impossible task – making it worse, knocking the sword about, puncturing lungs and slicing organs till it began to choke on its own blood.

Hilde took her chance, she struggled back to her feet and charged, stomping up onto his gut and with all her might “Raaah!” her hammer came crashing down on his face purple blood, flecks of bone ribbons of his brain matter popping like a smashed pumpkin… and a breath of relief.