Astranil focused on the water. An image formed of flecked white clouds, pink and blue sky and a sea of motionless waves, amber and dappled black in the rising sun. In the centre of this land-sea a tower stood, megalithic and partially ruinous. It was a tower top - truly its true extent must be hidden beneath the sands.
With her wych sense she could experience the real reason for her journey in her inner eye; a bright amethyst jewel set in a hallowed chamber of that ancient tower. A vortex of shyish magic spiralled from deep within the earth and up and through the crystal. It was a focusing stone capable of channelling incredible power.
No wonder my Lady Morathi covets it so.
Astranil intended the vision forward to the tower but the moving image froze as two titanic wills collided suddenly with her own. Their diaphanous aetheric forms occluded the image, bright green unlife pulsing through their aether shades and shining out balefully from their aether eyes.
They knew she was here, they knew for what she was coming and they resolutely opposed.
Astranil had heard of the dhar-children before. That the cast off powers of weakling and outcast Druchii could corrupt and then raise whole civilisations of lesser beings was a source of endless mirth in the halls of the Dark Convent. It was yet more and fitting proof of Druchii true superiority and destiny to enslave the world. But she had not expected that these corrupt beings could match her in magical power and will. She also had not expected to find two of such stature together.
But great missions require great opposition, she reminded herself.
These liche priests, old even unto an elf, openly projected their hatred and disdain for her. Through the mind-contact of the scrying pool she could feel them beginning to raise their army of the dead. They made no attempt to hide their plans, though they could have. They wanted her to know of their strength, and they wanted her to know they were invoking something even more ancient than the race of man to deny her. An image flashed into the pool of a mighty gilded blade of titanic proportions set upon a monsterous stone arm. Runes on the great blade crackled with purple nimbus - it was an instrument of pure Death, enchanted with her very name.
Enraged, Astranil hurled her attention from the bowl and ended her spell.
Perspiration ran down from her hairline. She had not faced such opposition even in the trials of the halls of training.
So, these lesser creatures would dare to destroy me?
Wiping her brow and composing herself, she summoned her lieutenant.
Llithandro knocked at the door of her chamber within moments.
A chill shot to her core as she opened the doorway. The touch of the Dark Prince. She hoped her lieutenant would not notice the weakness.
“Your orders my Lady?”
“Tell the Lord of the Ark to prepare the landing vessel. The given will of Her Majesty Morathi obedes it.”
Llithandro departed. She was glad to be out of his immediate presence; although he had proven himself a trusted and capable underling, both he and others of his cursed brotherhood brought unease into every Druchii heart. With so much magical power blazing through their bodies that even the wych-blind could see it, the Warlocks were Elves of supernatural nous. But that power came at too high a price, and they were slaves to the blood sacrifice needed to sustain it.
* * * * *
Astranil and her elven steed, Buccleus stood on the bluff at the head of the raiding force. Below, an oasis provided the only flat and stable land for miles around; it would be the place of battle. She watched through the spy orb as the enemy emerged in front from beneath the desert sands. A citadel surrounding the tower still existed underneath the sand sea, and its denizens still ambulated as if the centuries of dunes had not intruded.
To mortal eyes files of skeletal warriors, archers, chariots and horsemen assembled; the relic remains of a once proud mortal army. But to her wych sight the glowing silhouette of the animating force was evident. A great war construct formed up on their left and heavy Serpentine cavalry to the centre, protecting their unholy battle shrine. A defensive deployment. She could see the white nimbus of the Hysh magic around one of her liche lord adversaries, a remembrance of his past mortal skill, and the pulsing green, purple and yellows of the Dhar-spawned Nehekaran lore of the other.
So, they are going to give up the initiative? This is a gift I am happy to take.
“What are your orders, My Lady?”
It was Kuron, her bodyguard and her standard bearer of the Dark Convent.
“We assemble in the Oasis below. Reapers man the hillock in front, with Darkshards in the centre. You form up with your Reavers once the Wraith Lord unveils itself; take Granils unit with you and tell Llithandro to enchant the Harpies to attack their shrine. Iagho, the other Raiders and Warlocks are on the left with me. You break through on the opposite flank from the Wraith Lord. When we crush their leaders, the puppet strings will fall."
“Wraith Lord? My Lady”
“A fell construct - it is hidden in the sands and waits for us”.
“To Rule and Be Ruled, My Lady” Kuron gave the clenched fist salute and bowed.
“To Rule and Be Ruled, My Vassal” she dismissed him.
* * * * *
Astranil took the field. The dunes opposing her shifted, and the nameless one from the Underworld, now cloaked in physical stone, emerged as her direct opponent.
She controlled her fear, and used it to steel her resolve. To Glory, or to perish.
“Attack!”
The Druchii cavalry lines surged forward in unison. She urged Buccleus and the Warlocks into full gallop. With the wind flying through her hair, and the motion of her steed like flight, she knew what it was to be a Dark Elf.
Astranil raised her hand heavenwards and began the incantations. The winds of magic spiralled down to her intent, and she wove the spell in her mind as her being swelled with pure power. Spurred on by the fatal challenge the liche lords and this Underworld Terror had brought on, Astranil poured every fibre of her being and the lifetime depths of her sorceries into one perfect spell.
No one will dare to destroy me! No one!
She felt the energies coagulate and the spell complete. With a cry of dark delight she unleashed the aethers power; at the cast of her left hand a cataclysmic portal of brightly burning darkness opened and sped from her like a comet.
It struck the construct true, boring a perfect hole straight through it. She felt the emotion of surprise, something the nameless one had never felt in this physical world, as it tried to register the happening. Then it collapsed in on itself, banished to the Darkness once more.
Kuron advanced his Knights gradually, making sure to protect his flank with the scattered ruins of the oasis, while the harpies, jeering and cackling, swept towards the enemy line. Haaldrak’s Raiders advanced on a deep outflanking manoeuvre, while the other Raiders fanned out to bait and tempt the enemy cavalry into Iagho and Kuron’s deadly embrace. The Reapers sent a greeting volley into the Serpent cavalry.
Undettered, the necro-priests responded. The dread shrine was opened and lights shot up and out into the morning sky. They resolved into the aetheric forms of long dead maidens.
At first they circled lazily the heights above the Undead centre.
But with a word, the shrine keeper commanded them and they attacked; swooping down upon the Druchii ranks.
Astranil knew this form of shade magic. It was simple, yet not to be underestimated.
“Close your eyes! Do not look at them!”
Only the Reaper battery on the hill did not hear or heed, and those Elves payed the price with their lives — the airborn shades unveiling their true form of undead daemons, and relieving the Reaper crews of their mortality by magical force.
The undead horsemen and chariots surged forward, baited by the Dark Riders. Granil’s and Zhaka’s men attempted to false-fly through one other; a signature manoeuvre perfected by the Druchii fast cavalry. But something unexpectedly went wrong; the scent of death from the Undead horde had sent Zhaka’s unit’s horses into panic. They froze in terror.
Elves and horses were caught by their pursuers and crushed.
Iagho knew what to do; he had not come across the Sea to look on as his brothers and sisters in arms perished at the hands of lesser races. He gave the order and his Knights charged straight at the chariots.
Elleria gave the order and loosed the Darkshards at the skeletal horsemen. All were brought down by the storm of bolts.
Kuron, seeing the carnage in the centre, wheeled his unit out from the lee of the ruined wall and prepared to strike a hammer blow to the chariots anvilled against Iagho’s Knights.
Buoyed by the improbable ease of her victory over the Necro Assassin, Astranil lead the left wing towards the enemy position. She smiled at the thought of what another shysh Death-Star would do to the enemy lines. She felt for the aether and began the incantation.
She gestured to unleash her spell again, but in her overconfidence the supporting aether was not properly controlled. Raw magic threatened to explode into the physical world like a thunderbolt, but Astranil managed to earth the energies at the last moment ...however she could not protect herself from the side effects of the power drain.
The spell was cast, but without the velocity and menace of the last Death Sun; the orb merely spun slowly towards enemy lines.
Astranil slumped to fall, but was caught and re-seated by Llithandro.
She held on to the saddle, grasping at consciousness as her whole body burned and ached from the shock of the miscast. She could taste her own blood in her mouth, and feel the trickle of heat as it ran from her nostrils. Her mind and magical focus scattered.
Buoyed by their enemies misfortune, the liche lords re-assembled their troops. The harpies were shot down in a single volley and the Warsphinx advanced from its position protecting the shrine. The skeleton warriors reformed to face the Druchii left wing, and most unfavourably for the Druchii of all, the great Snake-Knights charged suddenly and with unexpected speed from the centre, taking advantage of Kuron’s forming up to support Iagho.
Their attention set on the chariot combat, it was all too late that Kuron’s Knights sensed the danger from their flanks, and the great Necro Beasts shuddered into their side ahead a cloud of dust before they could properly adjust. One Knight on the flank was decapitated immediately, but the other wheeled his Cold One expertly to run his sword through the head of an incoming construct-serpent.
The wrath of the liche lords poured down upon the Dark Elf lines in the form of the shrine’s shades.
Astranil, still reeling from shock and barely conscious, turned to her army to warn them.
But even at full strength her voice could not have carried across the whole plain.
Iagho and his men, elated at the victory they had won over the undead chariots, met the gaze of the incoming shades with spite. It was their last mistake. The aether maidens morphed into their daemon forms at the invite, and flew straight through the bodies of the Knights, turning their armour to molten liquid and causing their viscera to bubble out through the gaps in their helmets and armour. Their Cold One steeds roared in pain and scattered in panic, molten metal and the remains of their masters leaking on to them.
It was a horrible death.
Granil’s unit lost their nerve and looked on in horror as the proud Knights were magically destructed.
They too perished.
Astranil, enraged at the toll the Liche army was having on her charges, pressed Buccleus onward. Her adversaries would die by her hand; she vowed it.
She summoned the Winds. Llithandro, sensing his Mistress gathering her energies urged his Coven into the chanting of a spell of their own. The Warlocks would burn these unliving pretenders to Sorcerous power to blackened husks.
The Liche Lords, intuiting the magical quickening, threw their power at the Warlocks to earth the energies.
Llithandro was thwarted, but Astranil sensed her opponents had over extended themselves in their attempt to counter. But her mind and focus had been fragmented by the earlier disruption...
Come on, Astra!
...she cast the only spell she could still remember; one that was burned into her memory from the trials of the Dark Convent - the Fate of Bjuna...
It was more than enough. The tendrils of magical power encircled around the Hysh High Priest and Astranil cried with sheer joy as she felt her adversaries’ unlife being cursed out of existence by her evil spell.
In the midst of the field, Kuron showed his courage and wheeled his unit to better engage the attacking Serpent Knights. Dust spiralled into the air. The infantry on both sides watched transfixed, knowing in their hearts that the outcome of this no-man's-land combat would determine the tide of the battle. The shadows of the great hooded serpents danced with the dark elf warbeasts and their horned-helmed masters amid clouds of sand and dust. Only the undead Knights atop their warconstructs could be clearly seen above the billowing clouds, their spears thrusting and parrying with millenia of practiced deadly efficiency.
The Heirophant knew that this was the time for desperate measures. The archers reformed to face Astranil and Llithandro, magically enervated to allow them to turn the sky black with arrows and a magical fleetness of foot was put upon the War-Sphinx.
Sensing the danger from the encroaching construct, one of the Warlocks spurred his steed into the path of the burning Sphinx-flame. His mount screamed as it took the brunt of the fire and died, whilst the Warlock merely gazed at Astranil and his comrades as he was immolated.
The archers took their cue and unleashed volley after magically quickened volley in the blink of an eye. Llithandro and the remaining Warlocks sheltered their mistress. As even his balefire-enfused body was fatally disrupted by the accumulated missiles, he looked into the eyes of his leader one last time before Slaanesh took him.
Astranil held his dying gaze. He had lived a cursed life, but had died a heroes death.
Her senses re-collected by his sacrifice, she spurred Buccleus around.
Discretion is the better part of valour.
She gave the signal to withdraw to the rest of the army as she galloped back towards safety.
On the wing, Haaldrak saw it all, and knew he had to create a diversion.
“To Glory, men!”
The Raiders levelled their spears and charged straight at the skeleton infantry ahead.
Their dark mounts, sensing the engagement, coursed with renewed vigour, muscles pulsing under black silken coats. Rider and steed became enveloped in the anticipated thrill of mortal combat.
The Raiders spear points crashed home, and the skeleton warriors broke apart like so much chaff. Haaldrak whooped; this was it, this was life, this was why he had left Naggaroth to serve in the raiding fleets! To feel the power of your enemy come apart by your own power. They all felt the rush, as did their steeds, crushing skeletal warriors with hoof and breast. One rider was dragged down in response, but the will of the skeleton warriors had been broken and they crumbled into dust. Haaldrak followed the momentum and re-spurred his elven mount to engage the archer unit beyond.
Uncowed by the great size of their monsterous cavalry opponents, the Cold One’s had been worked into a death frenzy by the presence of the great construct Snakes. Their Knightly rider’s murderous prowess and mercurial blades had proven too much for their skeletal adversaries. Three more Druchii Knights had fallen, but the Necropolis Knights had been utterly vanquished.
Kuron bid his men hold position and steady their raging steeds. Opposing him was the flank of the remaining Sphinx, but his weaponry was inadequate for its engagement.
At the sight of his Mistresses new command, he ordered the withdrawal to the high ground.
But the Tomb Lords were not finished.
The shrine priest set the shades after the retreating Sorceress.
Six undead daemons swept down upon the galloping Buccleus as Astranil steered him behind ruined walls.
Astranil never even turned around.
At the last moment she reached into her baggage and pulled out a scroll.
It's runes flickered bright orange sparks as it burst into flame.
The speeding shades exploded in orange flare, as if they had all struck an invisible wall.
Astranil smiled.
The Heirophant roared. Summoning the depths of his ancient power, he set a shimmering aura around his now embattled unit and prepared an apex spell to destroy the upstart girl-elf. But in his haste and fury he called upon too much of the Winds of Magic. The power reached a critical level and the unrefined energies of the realm of chaos cascaded into the physical dimension, obliterating him and blowing much of his bodyguard to pieces.
Their Overlord gone, will leached from the remaining unquiet dead.
The Shrine priest fell into dust, and the Shrine imploded, before exploding in a burning pyre high into the sky.
The archers opposing Haaldrak regenerated due to the remnants of the Heirophant’s miscast spell, then comically collapsed immediately after due to his passing.
Only the Warshpinx remained, rocking back and forth, it’s beast intelligence not allowing it to know what to do. Exhilirated, Haaldrak and his men turned to mock and bait it. The skeletal howda riders, now impotent, could only stare on malevolently at their quicksilver tormentors.
* * * * *
Astranil reassembled her troops on the bluff.
“Tend to the wounded, they have supported victory and thus deserve our mercy.
Burn the dead and their mounts; do not let the necromancy of this realm taint their bones.
They have died as heroes. Make songs and stories of their deeds.”
She turned back to the vista in front of her. There was the ancient tower, now under the bright blue sky and burning sun of midday. No longer guarded by an undead army; hers completely for the taking.
Morathi will be so proud.
Siddhriel and her co-horts on the Ark will be seething.
She allowed herself to continue to experience the swelling emotions of victory. Her epithet was "Lifebane"; perhaps now she would need to be called "Un-lifebane!". This had been her greatest day as a Supreme Sorceress of the Dark Convent. That her mastery of Shysh had allowed her to win the day, and to reach a treasure on a vortex of the Amethyst wind was poetry.
The losses did not bother her; they had died a good death. Unlike the past mortals of this realm, she knew that her physical body was just a vessel and that the end of a story was as certain as a beginning. They had tried to cheat death, not knowing of its inevitability; not knowing that every single living act of Glory changes the entire Creation forever. They had made themselves into caricatures whilst mastery of Aether had allowed the Dark Elves to master reality. Astranil’s fate would not be determined by lesser beings. She was a mighty member of the mightiest of all races and she knew that her story would be written by her own hand, and would echo to eternity.
Only a Druchii can know this success.
She gave the order to march on. There was an undefended prize to claim and the rewards of her Mistress to return to.
Name: Astranil Lifebane
Rank: Supreme Sorceress
Specialties: Death, Dark
Favoured of: Morathi; Secret Agent of the Dark Convent
Presence on the Ark: At the bidding of her Mistress
Astranil's combination of few elven years and precocious talent ensure the enmity of a large part of the Dark Convent and outer Druchii society. But with her exceptional abilities and self-confidence-beyond-her-years (beyond-her-abilities according to her critics), goes incredible fortune under pressure. Astra, as she is known only to her superiors, appears destined for greatness. But is her luck due to the favour of her lady, Morathi? Is it fate? ...or has she caught the attention of even more powerful and capricious admirers?