War of the Woods - Turn 3 Aftermath

The brazen idol looms overhead, a grand pyre lit in front of it. Offerings had been burned for days on end and the idol emmanated with a chaotic aura. The Lord of Change known as Eyes of Gowron, watched as the flames danced before him, breathing in the fumes and interpreting the strings of fate being pulled. His eyes widen as he cackles into the cold night air, amused at the coming turn of events.
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The undead were unsettled, tearing up through the ground as if awakened from a terrible slumber. But as quickly as they rose, they were cut down by the advancing forces of the stormcast vanquishers. Lead by Raemsay Starcleaver, they dashed through the woods and cut through the hordes of undead barely needing to break stride. They had no time to spare, as it was likely that their presence was already known and the enemy would move against them soon. There was still a vast distance to cover and their part of the mission was crucial for its success. Their celestially burning blades sing in the night air, cleaving heads with each swing, but with each enemy felled, several more take their place and the number of the undead soon becomes stiffling.
A chilling howl gives them pause as several dire wolves launch themselves towards the group of stormcast. The beasts surround the warriors, as if cornering wounded prey but as they prepare to strike, a flurry of arrows cut down the creatures and the stormcast stand back at ease. Caeraen Swiftfoot reveals himself from the shadows with his cadre of shadow warriors. "Well met, do you have news of the other parties?" Raemsay speaks with a crackle of thunder in his voice as he wipes his blade clean of the defiling gore upon it. "Aye, the stout one has already moved into enemy territories. He moves quick for a duardin. As far as my scouts can tell, they remain undetected." Raemsay laughs to himself quietly at the realization that he'd been bested by a common criminal.
His laughter echoes around him and congregates into a single point as spirits coalesce and disperse to reveal a knight in crimson armour. Xavier Valencourt lunges forwards with his blade flashing, decapitating one of the stormcast as he rushes past. Sadly, no thunderstrike comes to reclaim the poor soul. Raemsay steadies himself and his followers, as dozens of undead spring up from the ground. The vampire lord before him was oppressively powerful and the vanquisher could feel sweat beading above his brow, "Get going Swiftfoot, we'll hold this monster here." The shadow warriors disappear back into the treelines as Raemsay locks blades with the vampire; regardless of what happens here, at least this part of the mission was successful.
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A chill mist rolls in over the strangleweed sea. Despite the suffocating thick fog though, Valencourt castle rises well above the mist and in particular, a brilliant purple glow can be seen for miles around, centered in one of the many garden courtyards of the castle. Lady Emmanuelle Valencourt manipulates the winds of magic delicately around the amorphous weapon that they had seized from the alliance. It radiates with a power that was difficult to contain and even harder still to wield. Yet, she was confident in her ability to use it as a focal point for her magic. With a flourished gesture, the blob crystallizes before her into a perfect vessel to contain the magical essence of her spell, and a conduit to magnify her power. Yet, she had no time to admire her achievement; she could sense that the hallowed grounds of her ritual were being spoiled by the presence of mortals.
Huntmaster Blackthorn breaks through a gate at the far end of the courtyard, his entourage stomping onto the castle grounds. Skeletal guards rush to intercept them but are brushed aside by cleaving blows of the gigantic greatswords. The trio cut a swathe of destruction and slowly advance towards Lady Emmanuelle and her ritual. She largely ignores them, seeing the lumbering giants as little more than a pesky distraction and easily occupied by her dozens of skeletal slaves and dire wolf familiars, but something else catches her eye. In a blur, several smaller creatures rush towards her, past the clashing kurnoth hunters and skeletons.
Hjrolf Strike Shank races across the defiled courtyard with his incarcerant band, striking down the undead as they streak past in chaotic blurs. The vampiress snarls at the incursion, pulling out her cursed poignard to parry the first of Hjrolf's attacks. His scythe being brushed aside by her vampiric strength. They exchanged blows for several bouts, but Lady Emmanuelle quickly took the upperhand, forcing Hjrolf onto the backfoot. "Oh, you are a feisty one ja?" he shouts out. As a last ditch effort, he throws his scythe towards her which nearly catches her off guard but only manages to draw a thin streak of blood. She gives him a paralyzing stare which causes him to shudder and pause, unable to move. She could feel his heart beat slow and his mind would soon starve of oxygen. With blinking leaps forwards, she plunges her blade between his shoulder pads, "you dare to enter this place?" She twists the knife into the paralyzed duardin making him gasp in pain. "Such pride, So foolish to think you could ever strike me down,"
Hjrolf manages a weak laugh, "no, not you." He raises his one free arm to point behind her at the crystalline arcane focus, with Hjrolf's scythe embedded deep within it. Webs of arcane energy arc around the crystal as a light envelopes the entire courtyard and castle. A screaming shockwave erupts from the core, blasting apart walls and shaking the foundation of the keep. The undead slaves are flattened outright, while the kurnothi hunters and incarcerants are flung back through the forest. Hrolf is tossed far over the edge of the cliff face and into open waters while Lady Emmanuelle is buried beneath a pile of rubble.
Regaining consciousness and crawling through the ruins, the vampiress feels the tang of her own blood in her mouth, both bitter and humbling. The interloper was no where to be seen, nor his followers. In their place, the grounds were scorched with arcane wyldfire, smoldering with a dull green glow that reeked of fouled incense. She tried to beckon for her minions but her voice was hoarse and silent, her magical reserves completely wiped from her mind. The only thing remaining was the fractured crystal floating before her. It burns with an ethereal intensity, and pulses with a writhing energy that made her eyes wince and her skin crawl.
Her magical ritual was ruined and concerningly, the weapon now unstable. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind at that moment, but the first thing she had to do was move away from it; it was unbearable to be near it.
Minor Victory for Avelorn Alliance: Hidden Agenda
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The woods from Riverwatch teemed with undead. Their number swollen to bursting by the newly raised from the Riverwatch outpost and more so by the graveyards of the various towns near Valencourt Castle. Lord Konrad had been forming a horde long before his betrayal, and only now does the Alliance see the true extent. Thousands shamble towards Oakshade in a march that stretches leagues across the lands. Several vampire lords guide the procession from various points, eager to take the fortress for their own personal glory.
For the past several days, the zombie horde has been assailed from all directions by the valiant efforts of the forces of Rodrigos and Taer Ghyran. While unable to commit to a full attack, they continue to cull the numbers of the undead in an attempt to slow down the horde and perhaps allow for the survival of Oakshade. Great cannons thunder from vast distances away, causing explosions of fleshy mist. But before they could even load their next shot, zombies began to pour from the trees around them. Tactic retreat soon gave way to panicked fleeing, weapons thrown away in hopes of escaping with their lives, but several rushed in the other direction. Chaos warriors lead by Thentropion the Everchanging rushed forwards to meet with the hordes, slashing their way through like a whirlwind of blood and limbs. Along side them was a lone barbarian woman; Mad Dog Myka threw herself into combat without fear or inhibition, carving a path for anyone wanting to retreat.
Pavel Ivansget orders his men to fire another volley into the wall of unfeeling flesh. Several of the zombies dropped, but their numbers never seemed to diminish. Pavel's men had been on a retreating path for days now, their ammunition nearly expended, but they showed no signs of surrendering. "Look alive men, our backs are nearly against Oakshade now; another retreat and we can restock and take our defenses onto the walls. Then it'll just be a simple matter of holding out until...." The sound of an approaching scout catches his words and he turns to greet the rider. "What news?" he snaps sharply, pushing the plume of his helmet to the side. "We've killed about 2000 by my count, how are the preparations at Oakshade?"
The rider let loose a short burst of fire into the crowd of undead. "Oakshade has fallen, there's no point in wasting your lives here."
"What?! How have they breached the walls already?" Pavel clenched his teeth hard as another volley is fired around him.
"They didn't need to captain, the dead just piled up and they crawled over the walls," the scout declares matter of factly. "The orders to evacuate were given and you too should pull back before you join their ranks, they'll need all the strength they can muster should this horde continue on to Avelorn." He reaches for his satchel to reload his weapon, but a chill wind blows from overhead which frightens his horse into a start.
"Yes, run away little worms," a sultry voice beckons from the dark, eyes glaring crimson. "Lest I spoil my appetite now before the big feast at Avelorn," Persephone Valencourt laughs with cruel mockery, her blade held pointed at Pavel waiting for a response.
The captain's eyes don't flinch, despite the chill running through his body. He raises his arm and fires a signal flare high into the sky, a bright green, a call for retreat. He nods to the vampiress, and makes his own retreat behind his men as the zombie hordes begin to close in once more. In the distance, plumes of smoke and fires can be seen rising up beyond the forest and hills, where Oakshade once stood.
Decisive Victory for the Coalition of Blood: Exanguinate the Woods.
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A full moon rises high into the sky, partially obscured by the shattered false moon that drifts in front of it. Lord Konrad sits upon his zombie dragon, waiting for the signal to attack. A faint purple glow could be seen from across the water of the Strangleweed seas, an indication of the ritual underway. He taps his weapon hilt, eager for battle but impatient at having to wait for this spell to take effect. He knows that his forces were more than ample to take the seaport and crush the defenders underfoot, it seemed unnecessary and even a sleight against him that he needed to wait, like a common soldier instead of the supreme commander he knew himself to be.
Steiger strode beside him atop his skeletal steed, ever silent but ever vigilant. The skeletal warrior was unerringly loyal though not the most stimulating of companions to have. He would lead the vanguard when the time came, and cut a deep swathe of destruction upon the enemy forces. Gozius paced back and forth nearby, always in search of more corpses to raise into their forces. The decrepit necromancer was diligent if not a just a bit overly eccentric at times. He and his colleague had toiled endlessly in the nights prior in preparation for this battle and Konrad was amused that the mortal was still alive in spite of the sleep deprivation and exhaustion.
Thousands of undead, skeletons, zombies and wolves await his command. Beneath him were also several vampire lords, loyal and keenly adept. Again, he scoffed at the idea of waiting for magical assistance when martial might was more than enough. As he pondered though, the light from Valencourt Castle snuffs out, and a suffocating wave of force erupts outwards from it. A pang of unease hits him, but so does the excitement of battle, finally a signal for war. A fanged smile tears across his face as he raises his lance and banner high and calls the order to advance upon Doomshank Port.
A great ditch had been created to slow down the invasion, but this was overcome quickly as the hordes of undead simply roll over the defenses in piled heaps. They would do similar to the settlement walls eschewing the need for conventional siege weaponry. Into the fields leading towards the settlement itself, the alliance muster their defenses, knowing that when the defensive walls are breached, they will be swallowed up entirely.
Ghost ships drift in from the Strangleweed Sea as Keeper Zindimir calls for his inquisition knights to charge in, screaming as the sea waves crash across the shore. Knight Vexillor Arioch holds his banner high in the air as the alliance forces march forwards in defiance of the vampire coalition. Captain Ulsan orders his brave retinue forwards, despite the horrors that meet them. They clash with deadly blood knights, and other vampire lords all too eager to snuff out any mortal life on the battlefields. Thunderous blasts ring out as celestar ballistae fire rain down indiscriminate destruction to the hordes of the undead but even with this, they showed no signs of wavering.
Warhorns bellow and the drums of war beat steadily from the far corners of the battlefield to announce the arrival of the horde. Ogors march in a hungered advance towards the battle, these mountains of muscle a stark contrast to the gaunt and skeletal figures of the coalition. Alongside them, trolls and goblins march in a crazed frenzy, also eager to reach the front lines. Konrad smiled at the sight of them joining the fray; he had thought the horde would turn craven and not join the fight as they had agreed. He pressed his forces onwards to flank the alliance vanguard and join up with the forces of the horde. He wouldn't let the beasts take all the glory and his own pride compelled him to make a show of force to the temporary allies. But as the forces met, the beastmen bullgors charged into his forces instead and began crushing the undead under a trampling charge. "Treachery from the beasts!" he growled, "expected from such lowly creatures, but disappointing nonetheless." The turn of events did not bother him any though, as his forces were still clearly superior in both number and ability, he shouted to his knights to drain the horde dry of their duplicitous blood.
Dioniae Hatebled fought near the front lines as the beastmen entered the fray, showing that they had arrived to aid rather than to attack. She held disdain for them all, but their assistance was welcome in this instance. Her forces fought back the undead but were steadily forced backwards as the alliance numbers dwindled. The charge of the bullgors gave her some room to breath and reassess the situation. Her eyes dart to a single pestigor shaman slowly shambling towards the thick of the battle, it's drooping eyes nearly melting away from its socket. The pitiful creature looked horrifyingly diseased but walked with a trembling sense of purpose. It's eyes lock momentarily with the melusai and in her mind she could hear the faint whisper of a motherly voice "turn away child." Without a moment of hesitation, she took the cryptic message and began to order a general retreat of the alliance forces as the beastmen surge forwards to replace them, holding off the undead temporarily with bulk and numbers alone.
The pestigor shaman walked forwards unperturbed by the destruction around him, muttering and chanting to itself in a soothing rhythm. Several zombies lurch forwards and bite into his diseased flesh but he moves on unflinchingly. He unravels the shawl from around his shoulders, to reveal dozens of degenerate eyes bulging through his skin and the pustules and buboes that dot his body. More and more undead began to tear into him, bursting the afflictions in their blackened mouths and the lone beastman smiled in self actualization.
The spores his body releases drift upon the winds of battle and they take hold quickly, germinating upon the decayed flesh of the undead with rapidly burrowing roots, the invasive fungus causes the tissues and organs of the undead to swell up and fester until bursting, resulting in a cacophonous explosion of sinew and bone, all the whilst spreading more and more spores into the thick of the melee. Gors and ungors succumb to the shrapnel of exploding corpses and the undead are simply blast apart by the sheer force. This wave of destruction blossoms quickly and exponentially expands as more and more of the dead are afflicted. The field is soon covered in a thick cloud of rotting corpse particulate and an ever spreading blight of spores. The entirety of Konrad's army is quickly decimated and reduced to rags and shattered pieces of bone. Even the blood knights take a heavy toll from the caustic explosions, forcing several of them to retreat, lest they too be torn apart by the carrion barrage.
He orders his zombie dragon to take wing and the remaining forces of his army to pull back, away from the deadly spores that polluted the battle. From the air he could see the quagmire that this biological weapon had wrought, a toxic field of cadaverous detritus that even he found repugnant. His jaw clenched in dire frustration as he steered his mount towards Valencourt castle, whatever spell they had been planning had obviously failed him and the humiliation he felt needed answering for.
Pyrrhic Victory for the Warherds and the Avelorn Alliance: Cry of Vengeance and Final Leaf
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The landscape of war has changed once more with powers shifting, new allies and threats on the horizon. The actions of a heroic few saw to the interruption of a crucial spell as well as the destabilization of a potentially devastating weapon. With the fall of Oakshade, the road lies open towards Avelorn and the teeming bodies of the undead show no sign of slowing down. A provisional truce has been made between the warherds and the alliance, will this tenuous relationship hold or will it buckle under old bad blood?

Included under Conflict

War of the Woods Campaign Overview