Armyn In The Dunes
By: Stean
We moved swiftly through the dune, our mounts leaving whirling dervishes of sand in our wake. Thirteaight blazed a trail. His helmeted head swiveling to and fro, sharp eyes merely slits in his armor, on the lookout for signs of the enemy. We were well beyond the safety of the walls and they had already struck at us twice before as we raided a bandit camp in the shadow of a large dune. Viktre rode to on his right always watching in the direction he was not, yet sometimes it seemed as if her eyes lingered just a moment longer at her companion. I, Stean, rode at the back of the formation. Tome in hand I looked back occasionally to ensure we weren’t being followed.
"We’ll get them yet.†Thirteaight said calmly. After the last attack two of the vile elves fell back over the rise of the dune. Their camp in this valley was in the direction we were racing to.
"Aye, we will. Death Dealers deserve nothing but the light of Sigmar." I said, noticing the ichor that clung to my mailed fist having smashed the face of the Witch Elf that by the blessing of Sigmar had failed to find the chinks in my armor with her darkened blade.
"Ahead." Viktre coolly declared her voice as cold as ice.
We moved in, Viktre moving to the right, Thirteaight moving to the left, I fell back a few meters so as to form an inverse V for our assault. The wind raced through the mane of my mount, blood thumped in my ears. The light of Sigmar glowed forth from my clutched fists. I broke the silence with a prayer to bestow a healing boon upon my comrades. As we closed, the pair of them leapt from their mounts, Axe and Sword, Dwarf and Elf, meeting in a wall of steel the lone Chosen could do nothing to avoid. Blood sprayed across the hot sand, sizzling as it struck. The Chosen staggered slightly and rolled to a stop, quickly gaining his feet and charged; horned head locked on the slight form of Viktre, mistaking her as the lesser threat, hoping to spill blood for his Chaos Lords.
I called to Sigmar asking for the blessing of his protection. A haze of energy suddenly surrounded my companions. The Chosen swung his large axe at where Viktre’s head had been moments before. As he turned to feel her head smashing into his in a powerful head butt, Thirteaight’s axe buried itself in the middle of his back. Thirteaight struck so hard, he almost cut the Chosen in half. The Chosen fell to the ground, his life blood his gushing forth from his back.
We stood with our backs to the dying foe, scanning our surroundings for signs of any approaching enemy. As our mounts circled back Thirteaight spat on the convulsing body. "Filthy Death Dealers, you have no place in this world."
Viktre signaled for us to mount up. We did so and headed back the way we came to the bandit camp we had been cleansing. "They will come again and they will get the same."
We rode hard, we fought harder. Blades out not in.