Mighty Body, Broken Mind

Created by Burning Templar 

The enemy was at the gates, and pressed against the defenders on every wall. It was chaos, and in chaos, the defenders thrived. A Templar next to him hacked the axe part of his halberd down into the helm of a stormcast ascending a makeshift siege ladder, causing instant death and a destructive tumble back down. Khornate warriors threw themselves in the fray with reckless abandon, beating back the burnt remains of those who managed to pass the wall of holy fire; ladders were cast back down, another attempt thwarted, with many to follow. Blood splatters covered the Templars' golden armour, and little pools of blood formed around their clawed armoured feet. The Blood God feasted that day, and hopefully lent his followers that stood beside the Templars strength.
The blasphemous growth that Nurgle had sent burned in Holy Flames at the bottom of the wall. It was no wonder the archenemy had taken the side of the Stormcast, but with the Templars' wall of divine fire, his help had been exquisitely falsely placed.
Archon Zytrion the Transcendent delighted in the image, and, using his intricately engraved staff as focus, conjured an additional blast of fire into the repulsive tree's toothy maw. Luckily, it was far easier for those inside the wall of fire to see what happened before the walls of Scarra than for those outside to see within. He could imagine the frustration of the sharpshooters before the walls.
The Priest of Ours Burning Saviour stood still, taking in the tide of battle, observing the invaders' movements outside.
Now he had spotted them. Them, whose arrival he had awaited with anticipation. His beak clicked in malicious delight as he saw the gargants finally arrive.
They were beyond impressive. Powerful beings, truly - but also weak-willed and simple. Perfect for his intention, for his Holy Sorcery granted by His Divine Will.
Archon Zytrion concentrated, the shrieking sounds of blades on armour, wailing and shouting faded slowly away from his consciousness.
He held his staff before him, and he looked through the blue crystal on its tip, into the winds of magic in his grasp. As he weaved, other priests on the walls did the same.

Outside, many of the gargants suddenly stopped in their tracks. Looks of confusion and vexation appeared on their ugly faces, and abruptly, they began to viciously flail and kick at the other units of the attacking host. Panic broke out as their allies stomped through the ranks of Freeguild soldiers, as they brought their primitive weapons down upon King Tiberius' heretic Khornates, shattering men and women instantly. Parts of the advancing force had to refocus their attention, to stop their rampaging Gargant allies.
The spell had been excellently woven, the Archon mused, and he cherished every moment of the brutal infighting, the pure anarchy and panic he and the others had created. Eventually, the Gargants would regain their senses, but the damage would be done - upon their allies, and some of them would have been felled as well.
Slowly, the noises of fighting near him returned. A Templar shoved a Stormcast warrior back into the Flames. The Archon refocused his attention. Nothing was won yet.
The siege would continue.