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CHAOS RISING
The sun was just creeping over the Eastern horizon. The road was full of shambling refugees trudging in silent lines away from the stricken town of Littleton. Mothers carried exhausted infants who had finally cried themselves to sleep. Children clutched the hands of their parents tightly as they shuffled along, stepping aside to allow his galloping Knights to pass. Some carried little bundles, all that remained of their worldly possessions.
Amongst the straggling line of miserable humanity trudged soldiers. They slumped, demoralised as they made their way slowly north. Exhaustion was etched in their faces, their eyes hollow, telling of the horrors they had witnessed. Men, dwarves, even Lizardmen, trudged along the road, mingling with the shattered civilians. Only the Elves showed any semblance of order. Remnants of once proud High Elf armies marched in orderly ranks along the roadside, giving way to the advancing Templars. Wood elf bowmen and warriors flanked the road, alert for any trouble. The fiery look of defiance burning still in their bright eyes.
Sir Alain scanned the mass of retreating refugees and soldiers, no Bretonnians. He sat up in the saddle and looked south. An orange glow lit up the lightening sky from the south. Tall columns of inky black smoke could just faintly be made out in the fading gloom of the retreating night. Littleton was burning. Faintly, in the distance could be heard the sound of screams. Sir Alain gritted his teeth. His Bretonnian countrymen were not amongst the retreating mass. They had remained in Littleton to hold back the hordes and provide a rearguard for the evacuation.
Their sacrifice would not be in vain. Sir Alain and the Templars were here. They had bought him time with their lives, but they would be avenged.
Urging Sperran on, the Templars galloped south, towards the burning glow of the dying town.
Less than two miles from Littleton they intercepted the Chaos host riding hard northwards. They rapidly formed a line of battle, deploying efficiently as Sir Alain took up position north of the river which blocked their path.
The bridge was the key. He had to hold it at all costs to buy time for the townsfolk to escape. The only other passage over the river was a shallow ford on his left flank.
Sir Alain surveyed the enemy arrayed against him. South of the Bridge were the Chaos Knights, eight of them led by a Knight in crimson armour. Sir Alain could make out his features. His Parchment white face was lined with thick blue veins which sat out thickly, writhing across his cheeks and forehead. Piercing blood red eyes glared towards him and as he opened his mouth to snarl, he bared his sharp yellow fangs. This was a worthy foe. A pale banner flapped above their ranks displaying the symbol of the eight-pointed star of chaos and the mark of Khorne. Sir Alain’s blood chilled as he realised the banner was made out of flesh, human flesh he had no doubt.
The Khornate knights were flanked on either side by Chaos Warriors and something worse! Bloodletters! Fell daemons from the pits of hell itself. Like devils, their skin red like blood, black horns jutting from their foreheads, their ravening maws filled with razor sharp black teeth. They clutched wicked looking blades which promised dire potentialities.
On Sir Alain’s left flank were eight monstrous hounds, red and green in colour, as big as small calves, their backs ridged with bony plates, brass colours on their necks. These Fleshhounds would threaten the ford, but not right away. He did not have to concern himself with them immediately. The bridge was where the main danger lay.
Close to the hellish Fleshhounds something was moving, shuffling slowly forward…a thing! He could barely describe it even though he was looking at it. It defied description. Slug like, yet as big as a Bretonnian warhorse. Without legs it pulsated and squirmed its way forward. Instead of slime it oozed blood, smearing the ground where it had wriggled past. Writhing tentacles sprouted from its front and each seemed to have a tooth filled mouth which snapped at the air around it. Sir Alain had never encountered such a nightmare before but he had no doubt he was witnessing a horror called a Chaos Spawn. Old Knights had recounted tales of such creatures round the fires in the Great Hall, paling as they recalled old memories and past nightmares. So this was a Bloodbeast. A Spawn of Khorne. He would do his best to stay out of its way.
Sir Alain looked at his own pitifully small force. His Grail Knights were deployed to the Right of the bridge and somewhat back. His Knights Errant were deployed on the left side and close to the ford. The Knights of the Realm were positioned by the Ford to guard it against any attempt to flank his force that way. This was all he had to face this bloodthirsty horde. He galloped towards Sir Robert and Sir Parsifal, bringing Sperran to a skidding halt before them.
“Sir Knights, listen”, he said urgently. “here is what I want you to do. When the Chaos Knights reach the bridge I want you to advance to within charge range. When they attack, I want you to flee before them”.
“My Lord no Sir I won’t!” stormed Sir Parsifal. “I shall not run from the foe! Never!”
Sir Alain glared at Sir Parsifal, “I do not have time for this nonsense. You will obey orders or I will have you sent home to Bretonnia in irons, do I make myself clear!”
The bristling, red-faced youth mumbled agreement as he took up his position again, while Sir Alain galloped rapidly back to his men.
Suddenly the Crimson Knight raised his axe and roared in a guttural booming voice “Blood!”
The response from the horde answered him, resounding round the battlefield, “BLOOD!”
Again the Knight bellowed, “BLOOD!”
Again the reply, “BLOOD!”
Then louder than ever he cried, “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!”
The host, their fury rising to frenzy cried the response,
“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!”
As one they surged forward to the attack.
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