The Black Dawn [Campaign Fiction]

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The Black Dawn [Campaign Fiction]

#1 Post by Voodoomaster »

And this is the final Campaign Fiction, thank you for being patient with us, and we hope to see you at sometime in the future for campaign four.

***

The city was ruined. Buildings shattered and towers broken. This once proud city of men, half elves and elves was utterly ruined, and Tor Ylanthar would never rise again. Flames could be seen flickering in the night for weeks after the city was sacked, and every so often a low rumble would echo through the air as yet another tower collapsed. Bodies littered the ruins, slowly disappearing amidst the rubble and flames. The sun was setting in the west, casting a blood-red pall over the fallen symbol of civilisation. The waystones were cast down, and the watcher could feel the broken links in the great and complex network.

***

Delketh stood upon the parapet of Kithanan, looking out at the wild hordes that were massing for another assault. The former warrior of the Hand of Khaine gripped his spear tightly as yet another ship braved the rocks and grappling hooks were hurled against the wall once again. Reassuring himself with the thought that they had held out as long as they had, he found it to be less than comforting. From all across Elthin Arvan his people had been forced back, starting from the captured port of Talienence and Marienburg, all the way through to where he was now. It was only due to the masterful leadership of the Lady Gieselle – and ultimately her sacrifice, with the destruction of the Reapers of Sorrow – that had even allowed them to retain this much of their holdings. How the Lady-Commander had known that the forces of the beast would betray them there at the Siege of Tor Ylanthar he knew not, though in the privacy of his own thoughts he would have guessed that it was a result of her masterful command of the Winds of Magic.

“Spears and shields! Spears and shields!”

Delketh snapped to attention as the commander of the wall raced past his position, an axe in his hands as he swung at a rope that had hooked itself over a nearby parapet. He himself swung his spear down with as much force as he could, severing the one that had landed just next to him. All across the length of the wall, he could see his peers doing the same as the tired elves mustered to repel yet another assault. As always, some of the more terrified warriors had failed to cut the ropes in time, permitting the barbarians to reach the top of the walls and lay about them with their crude iron weapons. Screams echoed in the air along with the wet, meaty sound of severed limbs striking the stone, and the stench of blood was all about Delketh. He snarled as he raised his shield, flinching involuntarily as the shield vibrated, deflecting the weapon that had been aimed for his head. Casting aside the ruined shield – such had been the force of the blow that it was almost split entirely in two – the elven warrior thrust forward with his spear, almost howling with glee as he was rewarded with a bellow of pain from the barbarian.

He could faintly see through the red mist that seemed to be obscuring his sight, and noted the human lying prone upon the parapet, a large gash in its side and a spreading pool of blood as it rolled around in pain. Perhaps he had struck one of the vital organs. It glared up at him for a moment, spitting at him before shuddering one last time and going limp, the steaming hot blood pooling around the elf's boots, slowly beginning to soak them. He shrugged and looked out over the sea, specifically towards the ship that had managed to get so close to the walls of the citadel. Already it was sinking to the bottom of the bay, a strange black fire blazing across its wooden structure, as it did so. Delketh could almost see the flows of mighty magic in the air, ripping and tearing at the boards, yet sluggish, like black tar. While one part of him, deep down inside, shied away from that destructive potential, he felt himself being almost irresistibly drawn towards it, drawn to the potential for destruction that it offered. Shaking his head to dispel the feeling, he could see an Eagleship beginning to head back out to sea, ready to engage more of the ships that were attempting to cross the bay and attack the last citadel of the Druchii people in Elthin Arvan. This assault had been repelled... just.

The commander seemed to sense his mood as he walked up behind him, wiping blood off his axe as he did so. The two of them looked out across the bay to where the numberless hordes of humans and daemons waited, flames flickering around from various fires. Delketh knew that in a quieter time, he would be able to hear the sounds of chanting in the air as they sacrificed and prayed to their gods for assistance in the coming battles. In the midst of the bay, longboats battled against the Eagleships and Falconships that held their position, but as always, there were fewer elves than the Druchii really had.

“We have held out for this long,” the commander said softly. “We can hold out until the very end, and then we shall be free. Free to return to our home.”

Delketh merely shrugged as he watched the lone Dragonship Ancalagon cut several raiders into driftwood while moving about the bay, the starblade ram slicing through hulls like butter.

“Still, sir, it would be nice if the sorceresses in the tower...” Delketh scowled for a moment, but then carefully assumed a blank face. “...would move more quickly with the evacuation. All of the other cities have fallen. We are the last.”

“True.”

Delketh and the captain looked up towards the tall tower of Kithanan, wherein sat the four remaining sorceresses of the council that were responsible for the well-being of the city. Nothing had been heard from them in days, and and some were beginning to question whether help would ever come at all.

***

Roars filled the air in equal measure with screams of terror, joined by the whipping of branches and crashing noise of falling trees. The forest seemed to have gone insane. All evidence of control was gone; a reek filled the air, the reek of burning trees. Athel Loren was in what seemed to be its death throes, as far as the elves living within its borders could tell. Of course, the forest itself could not 'die', but those that inhabited it could, and the out of control mind lashed out blindly at anything within reach. Trees lay where they fell, as did the bodies, as the forest began to consume anything and everything within reach, straining against the sorely taxed border stones.

As it suffered, it tried to reach for more, and he watched from afar, troubled by what his eyes were revealing to him. The threads of destiny were slowly unraveling, and everything was falling apart. The forest could sense it, he knew. It might not understand it – who could? – but it could sense it.


***

The hordes camped about the coast surrounding the city were growing restless. They had been camped there for nigh on three months now, and they had not even penetrated the massive outer defences of Kithanan. Food was scarce, and while the mighty Chaos Warriors were sustained by their gods-gifted armour, the Beastmen tribes had suffered greatly. The Norse amongst their numbers had tried to gain a foothold from the sea, but thus far had failed miserably – his former people were the masters of the sea. The Druchii were escaping by their hundreds every day, and so far nothing had stopped them. Now the horde was parting before the advance of the Everchosen of Chaos, all of them well aware of his exalted position among the hierarchy of Chaos.

Alith Anar gazed out across the bay towards the island city, his armoured hand idly scratching behind the ears of the wolf that lay beside him. On either side of the open carriage the Shadow Warriors had assembled, nearly all their number bar a few that remained in the south. They too followed the gaze of their lord out into bay. In many ways, they were almost like extensions of his will, he mused to himself.

“Iaketh.” The Shadow King addressed his herald with a cool and emotionless tone, and no feeling was displayed when the herald appeared, his arrival signified by little more than the sound of his cloak rippling in the wind. “Order the hordes to pull back. There is little need for them to continue this stalemate.”

Iaketh bowed his head. “Yes, my Lord,” he responded. Turning, the herald vanished to spread the word about the army.

“Do you have a plan then, Alith Anar?” The wolf looked up at the Everchosen’s face as he continued his scratching, a faintly mocking look entering into those eyes.

“Yes.” Alith Anar continued to stare out towards the island city, as though hypnotised by it, “Before we can achieve our goal, we will need a method to travel there. This city might just be that method.”

“It is possible,” the wolf yawned, “But the magic required to accomplish it is far more than you have at your disposal here, Alith Anar.” Settling down again, it continued to allow the Everchosen to scratch it, and seemed almost to enjoy it in some strange sense. Anar however, slowly rose up, and the wolf looked back up to him, disturbed slightly by what it saw.

“It might be beyond my magic right now,” the Everchosen said softly, “But I doubt it is beyond yours.” Alith Anar gazed down at the wolf, who watched him without expression for a moment before laughing. The laugh, however, echoed throughout the bay, resounding from the walls of Kithanan, and seemed to grow in force, magnified, continually building upon itself until it was merely a roar of sound that could be heard for leagues around.

Thunder boomed overhead, grey clouds beginning to darken as a storm began to form over the Everchosen and the wolf. As lightning crackled through the sky, the wolf continued to laugh.

***

The mountains were silent. A slow trickle of water could be heard as it moved across the rock, deep within the bowels of the caves under the World's Edge. The landscape was scarred, and the once great waterfall was now but a faint drip, the once mighty torrent blocked by the mountain it used to power. Zhufbar, home of the Engineers, was shattered. The mountains were dead, and the mines abandoned. Karaz Ankor had all but fallen to the beasts that now lurked within the depths. While the people of the Ancestor Gods continued their battle, as they always did, there was now a faint hint of despair to their struggle. None of them would ever admit it, but it persisted. And yet they still fought on.

***

Delketh looked out with growing concern as the storm to the north east continued to grow in size and strength. Already it was blocking out what little could be seen of the cold and weak sun, and it showed no signs of abating. Delketh had never seen anything like this in over three hundred years of warfare. Even during his two long years in Elthin Arvan, and in that time, he had seen things that still haunted his sleep. This land was truly an accursed one. Delketh and his commander glanced at each other once again, before looking back out towards the shoreline. Both of them were transfixed by what was happening – as were hundreds of other warriors, ignoring everything to just observe in a strange mixture of fear and awe.

“This is not normal,” Delketh finally managed, well aware of how obvious he sounded. He tried not to let his voice waver as he said it, but to his own ears, he didn’t succeed. The commander, however, said nothing as he stepped back from the wall, causing Delketh to look towards him questioningly.

“What in Khaine’s name is that?” The elf's voice clearly held the overtones of sheer terror now, and his eyes had widened as he looked back outward.

Delketh turned back... and fell to his knees in terror. The clouds had continued to darken, until they were utterly devoid of anything resembling light, and yet it moved and grew as if it were a living thing. That blackness was now advancing towards them, along the ground and in the sky. Gripped by a terror that reached deep into their hearts and minds, elves along the wall were already running, away from the darkness, away from the wall, away from death. As they fled, they cast aside weapons and armour, wanting nothing more than to flee this darkness that seemed to suck all light and life from the world. Delketh struggled to his feet again and looked outwards. Though his knees had turned to water and his stomach roiled, he watched as the vague form of a wolf suddenly appeared at the front of the darkness. It howled.

Delketh was flung backwards by some unknown force that struck the parapet, blasting away great segments of the wall. Powerful magical enchantments were brushed aside as if they were the gossamer webs of a spider by the horrific force, the walls coming apart brick by brick in a whirlwind of death and destruction. The commander remained upon one of the few sections that still stood after that initial blast, struggling to his feet with blood dripping from his side. But before he could fall back to safety, the wolf was upon him, ripping at his throat. While the captain struggled in his death throes, blood pooling about what would soon be just another corpse, Delketh groaned in agony from where he was partially covered by rubble. He would have tried to rise, but his legs had been shattered, and a black fog was beginning to creep around the edges of his vision.

The wolf howled again as the darkness crashed over the wall, hundreds of shapes akin to it moving on two legs, four legs, and some in even more bizarre configurations, shapes that Delketh struggled to comprehend. Others soared through the skies and over the walls, while the wolf itself began to take on a new shape. The darkness now seemed to be coming from the wolf itself – it towered above the other shapes, part of the darkness, and yet not part of it.

“So this is the way the world ends,” Delketh murmured to himself as he closed his eyes for the last time, surrendering himself to oblivion. A pair of the winged shapes descended upon him and began to attack the broken body that lay there, but he was no longer capable of feeling pain. At least, not in this world. Delketh felt a brief tearing, followed by the sensation of endlessly falling, dragged from side to side as if many arms were tugging on him, and then there was nothing.

***

A second darkness. That was the only way to describe it. It was all that could be seen and felt across the land, but nowhere was it more prevalent than here. The black towers were broken. Tor Cynath was no more. The former slaving capital was dead – the capital of Malekith’s empire in Elthin Arvan had fallen. And with it the last hope for the Druchii.

***

The wolf howled with newly returned power, leaping into the air it turned and watched as its followers ripped apart the fleeing Druchii. Growing in size and strength, taking on a vaguely humanlike form, it grinned maniacally as it continued its ascent towards the tall tower, the last to remain standing in the face of his onslaught. It could sense a great power there, and that power needed to be gone in order for its aims to be fulfilled. Smashing through the roof, the wolf rose up to its full height the shadowy horns on its head almost reaching the top of the room – even though the ceiling had been well over fifteen feet above the floor. The four sorceresses sat upon their stone chairs and did not move. They merely looked at the wolf’s true form with a simple look of sadness upon their faces, gazing unafraid at the sparks of reddish-black flame that server as the eyes of the beast.

“Greetings, spirit. We have been waiting for you.” All four spoke at once, as if trying to unnerve the wolf. It, however, did not care, for it was far too powerful to be harmed by such as these. Yet there was something... here. Like a faint touch, a passing scent, but one that disturbed the wolf, for the power it sensed was like and unlike its own. Of the realm, yet apart from it, and strong. So very strong. It dismissed the feeling, however, for whatever it indicated, the cause was gone.

“You know me, mortals” the wolf growled as it returned its attention to the elves surrounding it. The four nodded solemnly, and the one closest to the wolf rose from its chair, striding unafraid towards the darkness.

“We know what you are, harbinger, and we know what you will do. Your master is already growing impatient, so do what you must with us.” The sorceress remained still and silent, even as the wolf began to summon its power.

A bolt of pure darkness tore first at the standing sorceress, hurling her back into her seat. It then leapt to the other three like a traveling spark, and slowly, inch by inch, their bodies became as stone, their minds and souls forever bound to the purpose he had envisioned for them. Outside, lightning began to flash down from the darkness. The sea boiled with released energy and the screams of the fleeing mortals, cut down by the beasts of the darkness. The wolf laughed as he felt the earth tremble. The sorceress who had spoke to the wolf earlier looked up at him again, and her eyes seemed to smile even as her face began its inexorable transformation to granite.

“The Hour of the Wolf is over. The sun is rising in the east, and when the rays strike the hidden land, hope shall return to the hearts and minds of mortals.” The words crackled in the air, seeming to echo and resound all through the room, their source unknown but the voice that of the four sorceresses. Was it carried by magic, these words of power? The wolf did not know. But nor did it care, as it turned to look at the one who observed it.

“It was you,” the wolf hissed, observing the shadowy figure. “You that I felt.”

“Yes.”

“You cannot interfere.” It was not a question, but a simple affirmation of the truth that was known to both of them.

“No.”

“Leave, then,” the words came, and along with them an almost overwhelming pressure, an utter blackness that descended upon the figure bearing with it all the force behind the mind of the wolf. No great destruction, no bright displays of light and gathered power that would be visible to mortal eyes, just the feeling of an incredible, otherworldly force being directed at a single target.

There was a brief moment when the blackness seemed to push down upon the figure, and then it responded. A like pressure flowed back against the wolf, a vastness that seemed to be at once lesser and yet far greater than that which pressed against it. It did not attempt to meet it, but rather stood unmoved, a rock against a raging ocean. It held for but an instant, and then faded away as the wolf withdrew from the confrontation. There was nothing to be gained, the wolf knew, and much to be lost.

“Are you done here?” it asked.

“Yes,” the figure responded. And then it was gone.

***

Lightning continued to strike at Kithanan. The earth trembled as the darkness entered the towers of the elven city. The boiling sea rose and fell, drawing Kithanan with it out to the open waters. And then the darkness seemed to fade. The sea began the – perhaps inevitable, perhaps not – cooling, and now the island city was something else. It was an ark, an ark for the Everchosen.

Alith Anar smiled to himself as he strode up the ruined stairs of the tallest tower. The wolf had outdone itself this time. Emerging from the staircase to the destroyed apex of the tower, he found the wolf perched upon one of the ruined walls, looking out to the east where a weak sun was rising. Anar walked up behind it and ran one gauntleted hand across its back. The wolf growled, appreciative of the gesture.

“You have done well, wolf. You have done better than imagined.” Alith Anar was smiling as he continued to scratch the wolf’s back. “The blight of Malekith has been purged from these lands, and all that remains of it now is in the west.”

“You intend to go on, then?” The wolf spoke in a low tone, but its voice still carried a great weight and veiled power. The blackness may have been gone, but a fire seemed to shine from its eyes. “You intend to succeed where so many have failed?”

“Yes. I shall keep my word and usher in the eternal night.”

***

The wild sea ravaged the coastline of Cothique as the skies above resounded to the sound of another shattering thunderclap, the pelting rain almost like a sheet of water that descended from above. High upon the cliffs, a figure stood motionless, allowing the rain to strike him as he looked to the east. He had changed, he knew. His eyes perceived the raging storm clouds over distant Elthin Arvan, the black, sluggish tar rolling through the Winds of Magic. He turned his head slightly, seeing his teacher step up beside him, appearing as if from the air itself by some unimaginable means. As always, the other was clad in a grey robe, tied at the waist with a simple rope belt. Despite the wind and rain, his cowl continued to conceal his face from sight, preventing any observer from knowing more than he chose to reveal. Yet it was not the appearance that so awed the student, but what he could now see, a complex tapestry of interwoven energy, as if the skin of the teacher were just a shell for what was held within. And even that, he knew, was just another part of the mystery. Finally, he spoke.

“War is coming, teacher. There is nothing we can do to prevent it.”

“This war was never meant to be,” the cloaked figure responded, his voice betraying his sorrow. “This war was never meant to go on, and this war was never meant to come to Ulthuan.” He abruptly paused, and then turned to his pupil. “The Hour of the Wolf is over,” he said.

“The sun is rising in the east,” the student replied, the words seeming to spill from his lips. He didn't know how he knew what to say, but he did know that the words were the right ones. “And when the rays strike the hidden land, hope shall return to the hearts and minds of mortals.”

“Come,” his teacher said, walking with unhurried movements down the slippery path away from the cliffs, towards the mighty dragons that waited to bear them away and to their destination. “It is time.”
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#2 Post by Prince_Asuryan »

Interesting. I think that pretty much wraps up all of the loose ends - well done guys.

Does this mean that the next campaign (if it follows on from this one), will be set in Ulthuan again I wonder...
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#3 Post by TimmyMWD »

A very nice story, enough hints in there to let me know what your intent is :D
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#4 Post by Illidan Hellforge »

Awesome stuff. :)
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#5 Post by Paraicj »

Very nice. Good sense of forboding. Nice work Voodoo. 8)
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#6 Post by NoOoDLe »

Great story! :D
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#7 Post by Avaris »

Final?

First off, it was a nice read, and does tie up lose ends while setting the scene for a future campaign.

However... seeing the word 'final' can't help but annoy me. It has been said time and again that certain factions, namely the Reik and I believe the skaven, never even got their initial fiction written/posted. At this stage this is irrelevent, but what I really want is a proper ending for the Reik; thus far all we have is a brief mention of an unworthy (IMHO, given he never featured in game at all, when us players did so much) Sigmar driving off Alith Anar (IIRC). No knowledge of how the land has fared, no indication as to if it even survived (which I feel it should have, given our comparitively strong end position). I'm sorry, but as it stands I feel my contribution to the campaign was worthless.

Eh, who am I to say what the campaign team should do or complain about what hasn't been done. I'm a long time lurker who had far less contribution to events than many others, and so far less right to comment or enjoy the excellent work that has gone into the entire campaign process. I appreciate the sheer amount of time and effort put in, and though I may wish for more am in no position to demand it of anyone. Regardless, I will join the next campaign, if and when there is one. I'd far rather there be work done on the future than finishing the past as it were. However, I still will bear my badges in my sig banner, as for me the war is still not truely over. Glory to the Reik! Death to Sigmar, false son of Ulric!
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#8 Post by Anarion »

I agree Avaris, sort of, because like you say there are factions that didn't get full justice done in the fictions. I wasn't part of the fiction team at all but I'd say at this point they are driving the necessary components toward a potential next campaign. So as a suggestion, since we're over a year beyond the end of HotW if you or someone else feels a strong compulsion to write a suitable fiction for the Reik or some other faction then the remaining fiction team members might consider it for inclusion in the official writing if it fits in with the themes and results and so on of the campaign. Of course they might say otherwise, being busy guys, so I don't know that for sure. It's just an idea because I don't think we'll see it done otherwise. I'd suggest a PM to someone like VM or Eldy or Victor if you (or anyone else) are so compelled

Just a thought...
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#9 Post by Eldacar »

I think Torkles wanted to do something with Sigmar and the Reik, but I'm not sure - he'd be the one to contact.
no indication as to if it even survived (which I feel it should have, given our comparitively strong end position)
Have a read of this fiction again, looking at the sections done in italics that deal with how most of the good factions are pretty much falling apart. You'll notice a theme, and you'll also notice that the Reik isn't mentioned inside that theme.
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#10 Post by Loflar »

Eldacar wrote:I think Torkles wanted to do something with Sigmar and the Reik, but I'm not sure - he'd be the one to contact.
no indication as to if it even survived (which I feel it should have, given our comparitively strong end position)
Have a read of this fiction again, looking at the sections done in italics that deal with how most of the good factions are pretty much falling apart. You'll notice a theme, and you'll also notice that the Reik isn't mentioned inside that theme.
I admit that I would not notice that by myself. OK, so it seems that Reik is not completely destroyed. (And maybe even pushing Druchii out? It looks like that. Now that is surprising, because our position was not that strong. Or are those barbarians of Chaos? It is simply not clear to me.)

Well, it is definitely nicely written, but finding information there is slightly difficult.
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For reference, look at this thread, where post-war situation in Reik is discussed. In short, we decided that we don't need to worship some upstart Unberogen who never showed when we needed him, even if he managed to drive off one of enemy commanders. The confederate tribes are now ruled by the Order of Griffon.
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#11 Post by Illidan Hellforge »

Loflar wrote:I admit that I would not notice that by myself. OK, so it seems that Reik is not completely destroyed. (And maybe even pushing Druchii out? It looks like that. Now that is surprising, because our position was not that strong. Or are those barbarians of Chaos? It is simply not clear to me.)
Yeah, something about that makes me wonder... Didn't Druchii get the (almost) highest VP (capturing all 7 port cities I think)?

Tried to find the thread with the VP count in the archived campaign forum but I couldn't find it.
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#12 Post by Ramesesis »

Druchii did do well, but maybe the effect of doing "well" is another one than what you think it should be Illidan. :wink:

Anyway, I think there as indeed mentoning of the Reik in the Conclave of Twillight, where a chaos lord is mocked because his forces had been driven out of Mordkessel by the men of the Reik. This implies that chaos is not there anymore.
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#13 Post by Giladis »

Ramesesis wrote:Druchii did do well, but maybe the effect of doing "well" is another one than what you think it should be Illidan. :wink:

Anyway, I think there as indeed mentoning of the Reik in the Conclave of Twillight, where a chaos lord is mocked because his forces had been driven out of Mordkessel by the men of the Reik. This implies that chaos is not there anymore.
That is beacuse men have mighty patrons that command the ages :wink:
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Ramesesis
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#14 Post by Ramesesis »

Yup, Gods are nice things to have.
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