Prologue
Salaga contemplated the gold coins in his hand. "The Burgomeister is worried," he concluded. "He's never paid us in advance before."
The paymaster was busying himself among the mercenary regiments, freely distributing stipends and promising more if they fought hard. They'd marched a long way through the Border Princes to take this job, and it seemed their leader had doubts that they'd be marching back.
"He values our talents," Mechika looked up from slowly whetting his ceremonial knife to answer his fellow acolyte. "He pays out of respect for our master."
Salaga scowled, biting back his response. Mechika's words never revealed anything, no more than his face did. In all their travels, that cold snake had never let his mask slip, never questioned the motives of their Hierophant master. But Salaga was not deceived: both apprentices had been sent on this dangerous mission so that one might prove himself, and the other might die.
And Salaga would ensure that he alone triumphed. Once this renegade daemon had been banished back to the void, he would ensure that Mechika would follow close behind.
---
Mechika eyed his fellow acolyte, so hot with temper it might singe his topknot. Salaga had little control over his emotions; it made him powerful. And vulnerable. He would have to look after him in the coming battle, for the deamon Phlothos was not to be underestimated. If even half the stories were to be believed, this unclean one was indestructible, surviving a string of bloody encounters to emerge stronger every time.
Now Phlothos had corrupted a village of farmers and peasants. Even at this distance, Mechika could see the massive horde brandishing their wood axes and scythes, like a pack of beastmen bearing down upon them. These were indeed dark days, and it was the duty of every pupil to cast his own light against it.
"To battle, then." he nodded at Salaga and took his place among the crossbowmen.
"To battle." Salaga strode off to join the other unit of Tileans. At least they had been spared fighting in the front rank. Here, on this hill, they would be afforded some protection.
He would do his duty. And yet Mechika wondered why they had been sent here, to such a remote corner, to confront a daemon who was already leaving their lands.
And then it occurred to him that perhaps their master, wise as ever, had devised a means of ridding himself of two ambitious apprentices at one stroke.
Let All Wrongs be put Right!
It's All-Skype Fight Night!
As the Warhammer World is pitched into the writers' bin at GW, the epic journey of Phlothos is almost at its shattering conclusion! Tonight, having ascended to Daemonhood but lost his entire warband in the process, he's up against the stalwart steel of the Empire. Can he reach his final goal and extract vengeance on the dwarves? Or will these puny mortals thwart his schemes?
I alone, Kraken, shall chronicle Phlothos's deeds...
And I, Stylus, will once again captain the revolving-door of opposing armies - this time it's The Empire! (in the guise of greedy Dogs of War, bless 'em)
We're playing another of our variant magic phase rules, this time using standard 8th Ed magic rules but with End Times spell selection - so everybody knows everything, but has much less power to cast it with.
