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7/25/2019 Warmachine: Reckoning
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7/25/2019 Warmachine: Reckoning
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CREDITSWARMACHINEcreated and designed byMatthew D. Wilson
Lead Designer,WARMACHINE
Jason Soles
Designer, ReckoningDavid Carl
Project DirectorBryan Cutler
Creative DirectorEd Bourelle
Lead WriterDouglas Seacat
WritingMatt DiPietroGeordie HicksZach Parker
Additional WritingMatt Goetz
Lyle LoweryWilliam Shick
ContinuityDouglas Seacat
Jason Soles
Editorial ManagerDarla Kennerud
Graphic Design DirectorJosh Manderville
Graphic Design & LayoutRichard AndersonBryan CutlerShona FahlandMatt Ferbrache
Laine GarrettJosh Manderville
Art DirectorMike Vaillancourt
Cover IllustrationAndrea Uderzo
IllustrationsCarlos CabreraOscar Cafaro
Johan GrenierKory Lynn HubbellNick KayRaphael LbkeMarco MazzoniNstor Ossandn
Andrea Uderzo
Lead Concept ArtistNick Kay
Concept IllustrationsRoberto CirilloAndrea UderzoMike VaillancourtChris Walton
Studio DirectorRon Kruzie
Staff SculptorsBrian DugasDoug HamiltonMichael JenkinsBen Misenar
Additional SculptingJavier Garcia Urea
Studio ModelerJames A. Thomas
Additional ModelingStephen Scott
Miniature PaintersMatt DiPietroGeordie Hicks
Studio AdministrationAssistantCharles Foster III
Hobby Manager & TerrainStuart Spengler
Hobby & Terrain Specialist
Michael Archer
PhotographyMatt Ferbrache
Project ManagerShona Fahland
Licensing & Contract ManagerBrent Waldher
PresidentSherry Yeary
Chief Creative OfcerMatthew D. Wilson
Director of Business &Branding Development
William Shick
Executive AssistantMichelle Horton
Marketing ManagerLyle Lowery
Web/IT ProfessionalMicah Scott Ralston
Convention CoordinatorMichael Plummer
Marketing CoordinatorSimon Berman
Organized Play & VolunteerCoordinator
William HungerfordQuartermaster AssistantDianne Ferrer
Retail Support andDevelopment SpecialistCharles Agel
Customer ServiceAdam Johnson
Customer SupportJustin CottomGabriel Waluconis
Writing & Continuity ManagerDouglas Seacat
EditorDan Henderson
Video ProducerTony Konichek
Publications ManagerAeryn Rudel
No Quarter EICMichael G. Ryan
No Quarter AssistantMichael Sanbeg
Director of OperationsJason Martin
Production DirectorMark Christensen
Technical DirectorKelly Yeager
Packing/Shipping Manager
Joe Lee
Vendor CoordinatorGeoffrey Konkel
Metal Casting SupervisorMarcus Rodriguez
Resin Casting SupervisorScott Paschall
Lead Quality ControlCody Ellis
ProductionOren AshkenaziRyan BaldonadoNelson Baltzo
Felisha BolzenthalThomas CawbyJohan CeaHenry ChacBryan DasallaAlfonso Falco
Joel FalkenhagenMaddie GillTrevor HancockMike HarshbargerBryan KlemmMark LawsonChris LesterDavid LimaClayton LinksKeith Loree
Christopher MatthewsBryan McClainChris McLeroyAntonio MoraPhuong NguyenAntwan PorterSam RattanavongErik Reiersen
John RothRob Seamount
Jesse SterlandTu ThanhChris Tiemeyer
Ben TracyDara VannMatt WarrenMichele Wheeler
Development ManagerDavid Carl
Roleplaying Game ProducerMatt Goetz
Game DeveloperWilliam Schoonover
Playtest CoordinatorJack Coleman
InfernalsPeter GaublommeTravis Marg
John MorinGilles ReynaudD. Anthony RobinsonDonald Sullivan
Internal PlaytestersEd BourelleDavid CarlLeo Carson
Johan CeaJack ColemanCody EllisBill FrenchCharles FosterWilliam HungerfordTony KonichekLyle LoweryBryan MaclainMichael PlummerErik ReiersonWilliam SchoonoverWilliam Shick
Jason SolesJacob StanleyGabe WaluconisMatt Warren
External PlaytestersAndrew AllenAlice Bettoli
Jonathan BoggsCody BrownCorey BrownAndrew HartlandKristin Hartland
Jake HoffmanTom HoffmannFederico IngrossoStu Liming
James MorelandShane PhillipiThomas PhillipiAndrew ReadyOwen Rehrauer
Josh SaulterTim Simpson
ProofreadingDavid CarlDan HendersonDarla KennerudWilliam Shick
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4
THE THORNWOOD NECROFACTORIUM,
EARLY 609 AR
Kommander Oleg Strakhov sat on his haunches keeping
watch on the entrance, glad to be free for the moment of
the oppressive drudge helmet that he had been wearing
for the weeksor was it months?since he rst inltrated
the Cryxian base. He had lost all track of the passage of
time amid his desperate bid to nd and rescue Kommander
Karchev. Time meant little below the earth with no sun
or moons to mark its passage, and Strakhov had quickly
given up trying to track it.
He had been back to see Karchev several times since
discovering his location within the necrofactorium. When
the great kommander was lucid enough to speak to him,
he would ask Strakhov to kill him so that he could not be
made into a weapon against the Motherland. Each time
Strakhov had refused or deected the request, assertingthat he would nd a way to free Karchev and return him to
the ght against Khadors enemies. The promises sounded
increasingly empty to Strakhovs ears. Karchev was clearly
deteriorating, the torments inicted upon him by his
captors eroding even his legendary iron will.
Strakhovs own mind had begun to fray under the pressures
of remaining unseen in the bowels of the Cryxian base for so
long. He had forgotten the taste of real food, subsisting on
the vile substance employed to nourish cephalyx drudges.
His apparent impotency to rescue Karchev from the torments
that were slowly breaking the kommander was far worse
than any deprivations, though. His own darkest momenthad come when he found Karchev, fresh from some new and
horric interrogation, raving incoherently and with wild
eyes, incapable of recognizing him. Strakhov had almost
drawn his blade to end the kommanders suffering. As his
hand had tightened on its grip, his resolve had returned, as if
the familiar feel of the hilt had reignited the re within him
that had been smothered by the necrofactoriums darkness.
The next time he had visited, Karchev had been his usual
stoic self, his mind intact, though weary beyond belief.
Kommander, I need your assistance, a gruff voice hissed,
breaking him from his thoughts.
Of course, Alexi, Strakhov said in a similarly low tone,
trying to keep his voice from carrying. He stood and made
his way to his fellow Khadoran, carefully picking his way
through the scattered scrap piles of the necrofactoriums
mechanical salvage area.
Strakhov had discovered this place shortly before he had
found Karchev. At the time he had dismissed it as useless; it
had appeared to contain only the worst of the wreckage Cryx
DEEPER OBLIGATIONS
had scavenged from the battleeld. Most of its piles held
little more than shredded scrap. All the better pieces had
been claimed by necrotechs and taken to their laboratories.
Following his last visit with Karchev, Strakhov had
returned here, desperate to nd somethinganythingthat could help him make Karchevs life-sustaining
equipment mobile. He had determined that the undead
used a systematic approach to sifting through the scrap.
Intact cortexes were prioritized and taken away, but among
those that were rejected he sensed several of Khadoran
manufacture that still had a spark of internal functionality.
Strakhov was able to steal the best of these before they
could be broken down and reclaimed.
His limited mechanikal aptitude was another barrier, and
it was this that had prompted him to seek help. He had
entered the necrofactorium alone. During his explorations
he had come upon chambers where recently capturedprisoners underwent the horric surgery that transformed
them into mindless drudges to serve the cephalyx. Among
these prisoners had been his unfortunate countrymen,
including battle mechaniks waylaid in the last engagement.
I need you to maneuver this piston here, Alexi said,
motioning with the steel clamp that had replaced his hand.
None of the rest of us have the necessary delicate touch,
thanks to our captors. Alexi spat into the cold earth at the
mention of the cephalyx.
You have made do. As true soldiers of the Motherland,
Strakhov said. He forced himself not to think about thefate of the men he hadnt saved. It had been difcult to
stand by as his countrymen, and even the Cygnarans,
were cut apart, violated and transformed into mindless
abominations. Hed had little choice, of course; trying
to save them all would only have led to his deathand
Karchevs. So he had waited and watched, until he saw
Alexis small group of mechaniks.
It had taken all his skill to liberate them without alerting
the entire base. Unlike with the mindless thralls or
drudges, the death of a cephalyx, even a minor one, would
not go unnoticed. It was an unavoidable risk. He had been
unable to intervene until after the cephalyx had begun
many of the external modications to the men. In order to
throw off the rest of the base as long as possible, Strakhov
had staged the scene to appear as if several prisoners had
broken loose and killed the overseeing cephalyx before
being torn apart by drudges. He had not relished killing
his own countrymen, but those chosen had been suffering
and were slated for a fate worse than death. It had been
imperative that the scene be as authentic as possible.
PART ONE
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This connective tubing will probably leak, and many of the
parts are damaged. Anyway, Alexi, its ready for its cortex.
Did you pick one out, Kommander? Alexi motioned to
the three cortexes Strakhov had selected. Each had severe
dents from direct impacts, and one had been partially
attened.
Strakhov pointed to the one on the left. That one.
Lazlo looked skeptical. That one by far has the worst
wear. Are you sure, Kommander?
My mother told me once, the prettiest girls rarely make
the best wives, Strakhov said atly.
A light of amusement entered Lazlos eye. A strange
lesson, Kommander.
My mother was not an attractive woman. Strakhovs face
showed no humor as he xed his gaze on the mechanik.
Alexi chuckled. But clearly she was a smart one.
Strakhov nodded. The brightest I have ever known.
Stop chit-chatting with the kommander, Vadim growled
from atop the jack where its access hatch had been openedwide. Get his cortex up here! My ass is getting numb.
Lazlo looked between Strakhov and the delicate but heavy
cortex, then down at his own handsone a cauterized
stump, the other an oversized metal gauntlet. Um,
Kommander . . . ?
Strakhov patted Lazlo on the shoulder once and went
over to pick up his chosen cortex. Alexi followed.
Suddenly a mufed boom echoed through the chamber
walls, and Strakhov felt the oor of the room vibrate
from the activation of heavy machinery in the heart of
the necrofactorium. He stopped and listened as his handinstinctively went to his blade. The walls had come alive
with a vibrating hum. He thought he heard more mufed
noises. Explosions? Gunfre?
What is it? Vadim hissed, his eyes darting around
nervously.
Strakhov held up a hand for silence as he strained to listen.
It was difcult to discern over the new sounds of the
machinery, but he was certain he heard distant explosions.
He swore their sacrice would be honored once he had
succeeded in liberating Karchev.
He was depending on the hope that the cephalyx cared so
little about individual humans they would not notice the
deception. This meant he was trying to conceal an entire
group from the inhabitants of the lower tunnels. The clock
was ticking. They would be noticed eventually.Now youll need to bend these back into position here,
but be careful you dont crumple the piston itself, Alexi
instructed.
Strakhov did as he was told while Alexi and another
mechanik named Vadim use their mechanical appendages
to secure the hydraulic array in place.
You can let go now, Alexi said.
Strakhov released the piston and stepped away. He winced
at the sight of the slapdash nature of the thing. Youre
sure you can get this machine operational?
Alexi scowled, exaggerating the heavy lines in his sallow
face. Depends on what you mean by operational. The
legs are misaligned and the steam engine has faulty
relief valves, which could lead to a boiler explosion. Im
condent we can get this kuchkato move, however, and so
get Kommander Karchev out of this place.
Strakhov nodded, though looking at the thing along with
the ragged band of survivors he had his doubts. He had
saved their lives, but they were scarred, mentally as well
as physically. The horror they had endured combined with
the strain of scurrying about the base had left its mark:
they moved more like mice avoiding a housecat thansoldiers of the Motherland. Normally he would never
have tolerated such weakness, but he knew he must rely
on these men, for they had skills he lacked. He recognized
their tenuous mental state and had made it a point to
bolster their shattered spirits in whatever way he could.
He said, Once we make our move, well have precious
little time before the alarm is raised.
We were lucky to nd a chassis with so little boiler
damage, Lazlo interjected, speaking quickly and with
enthusiasm. The scrawny youths harrowing experiences
had clearly not extinguished his energetic personality.Doubly so that it was on one of the new Grolars. The
sheer power possible from its boiler array will give you
plenty of speed.
Youll just need to watch your fuel, Vadim added from
his place atop the warjacks chassis. His face, damaged
by the cephalyx, had been hastily bandaged, and he
struggled to speak clearly. Theres a full load taken from
the other wrecks, but that wont last long if you push it.
SUDDENLY A MUFFLED
BOOM ECHOED THROUGH
THE CHAMBER WALLS, AND
STRAKHOV FELT THE FLOOR OF
THE ROOM VIBRATE.
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6
DEEPER OBLIGATIONS, PART ONE
Above, he said, an excited edge to his voice, our
comrades have commenced a new attack. He turned and
looked to Alexi. We will never get a better chance than this.
Our enemies will be distracted. We have to move, now!
The group worked quickly, Alexi overseeing Vadim and
Strakhovs installation of the cortex while Lazlo stoked the
warjacks boiler. When the nal conduits were connected,Strakhov felt the dull pulse of the warjacks damaged
consciousness surging to life. Though its mind was clearly
impaired, there was an impulse still there: a need to serve.
Strakhov gave a sharp nod. Lets get Kommander
Karchev.
SOUTHWESTERN THORNWOOD, TWO
WEEKS EARLIER
The dark-haired woman rode in an enclosed wagon that
looked like any of the many others comprising the long
resupply column. It was ahead of several wagons hauling
inert warjacks and behind a number of iron-banded andbarred wagons resembling prisoner transports. These
displayed the sigils of the Greylords Covenant and
contained dozens of doom reavers. Regular soldiers were
already descending from the front wagons and being
swiftly assigned to tents among the forest encampment
by ranking ofcers. These were reinforcements brought
in to ll the ranks of war-ravaged kompanies. Grim-faced
arcanists in fur hats and coats assembled outside the doom
reaver transports, awaiting orders. The doom reavers
themselves would be ofoaded and bivouacked under
Greylord supervision, assigned to isolated tents. Through
the wagons slatted window, she observed Obavnik
Kommander Zerkova, who had led the convoys military
escort, disembark from one of the forward wagons to give
the ranking Greylord ofcers their orders.
The army encampment was bustling with activity, and notonly among those wearing the uniforms of the Motherland.
A portion of the encampment was dominated by soldiers
attired in blue, gold, and whiteCygnarans, who watched
the arrival of the Khadoran reinforcements warily. A single
hooded form stepping down from one unmarked wagon
was easy to overlook.
Those with an attentive eye might have noted something
signicant was happening at the largest command tent,
adjacent to the new arrivals. This was a place set aside for
meetings between ofcers of the two allied armies. More
soldiers than usual were posted around its perimeter,
among them several Man-O-Wars and elite Iron Fangs from
highly decorated units. Also present were heavily armored
Cygnaran knights, both Stormblades and Stormguard, and
though their voltaic weapons were dormant at the moment,
a blue glow simmered within each. Some of the knightswore armor that gleamed silver, bereft of the typical blue.
Several warjacks rumbled at either end of the tent,
their numbers divided exactly between Cygnaran and
Khadoran machines. She noted that this precise parity
continued among the tents watchful guardians, which
included among them a battle-seasoned warcaster from
each side. Every man standing guard around the tent was
tense and wary.
Before she stepped down from the wagon the slim woman
had been stopped by a hesitant sound from another
passenger, a much older man sitting partially in theshadows. Though aged, he retained a robust frame and
there was an alert gleam to his eyes when the light caught
them. You are certain you do not want me to join you?
I am sure, she said rmly, though her eyes offered
the barest smile. We will speak afterward. You worry
overmuch.
Of course I do, he said with a sigh. He spoke in that rare
tone reserved for when he wished her to think of him as
family. But you have heard my warnings already. I will not
tire you with their repetition.
Good, she said. She knew all too well the risks she wastaking, yet she also knew how vital it was to be here. I am
nowhere safer than here with my ofcers, my countrymen.
His look suggested he could think of several more secure
locations, but he held his tongue.
As she approached the opening of the tent, she saw, as she
had requested, the hulking presence of a certain warcaster.
He stood leaning part of his weight against his great axe, the
butt of its shaft set into the soil. Sensing movement, he turned
to face her with a scowl. She pulled back her hood, revealing
her face. On her brow was the simplest of her crowns. The
nearest guards immediately turned to her, removed their
helmets, and bowed deeply. An expression of wonderment
crossed the face of Orsus Zoktavir before he, too, bowed,
lowering himself as far as his thick armor would allow. She
inclined her head slightly to him and laid a hand on his
shoulder as she walked past him and into the tent.
It was a large space, intended to accommodate dozens of
ofcers together with their accompanying clerks and aides
as well as a large table and several desks. The furniture had
SHE SET HER LIPS AND FACED
HIM SQUARELY, SEEING BEFORE
HER ONE OF THE GREATEST
ENEMIES OF HER PEOPLE.
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8
DEEPER OBLIGATIONS, PART ONE
it to hearing a southerner speak Khadoran. He added, Let
us speak without unnecessary formality.
She stepped forward a pace and he did the same,
allowing them to address one another more comfortably
and discreetly. She kept her expression carefully blank,
revealing none of her loathing. Once she would have
thought the only way she would ever stand so close tothis man was with him in irons, her prisoner, begging for
mercy. A pleasing image.
Yes, she said. Let us not waste time on idle pleasantries.
He indicated the eld chairs. Would you like to sit?
I prefer to stand, she said. We both know why we are
here: to discuss the strange alliance our armies entered
into unbidden.
He nodded, pensive. After a pause, he said, We nd
ourselves in an unusual circumstance, one that has never
arisen between our two nations.
She said, You should know, before all else, that I did not
consent to ally. Given the circumstances it is clear that
neither did you. Those who made this bargain might be
deemed guilty of treason and could be executed in bothour nations. It is only the extraordinary circumstances and
the supreme kommandants value to me that forestalled
my hand. I am still weighing whether I should proclaim
this alliance null and void.
His eyes widened. He replied carefully, While it is true
that I was also taken by surprise by this arrangement,
my commanding ofcers have my utmost condence. I
understand the reasons they chose as they did. The enemy
we face makes other enmities seem paltry. If Cryx prevails,
all suffer.
Ayns lips compressed. She did not consider the claims of
the Khadoran Empire and twelve centuries of grievances
paltry . She said, It was natural for your generals to beg for
help. None can fault them. Your city was in ames, your
citizens slaughtered. Your army was not strong enough to
protect them. It must have been difcult for your generals
to ask aid of those they blamed for their suffering.
Letos expression darkened. Yes, he said softly. Point
Bourne would not have been vulnerable to Cryx had your
army not cracked its walls and invaded its streets. Despite
this, I do not hold you to blame for what transpired
at Cryx's hands. We have been at war for a long time.
Khadors objectives were military ones, and I believe your
forces would have treated the civilians with honor. But
whereas you seek conquest, Cryx seeks annihilation and
eternal enslavement. Those who fall to the lich lords cannot
even nd peace in death. Your men saw terrible things inthe streets of Point Bournepure evil, unadulterated by
politics or mortal ambition. Your ofcers reacted as any
sane person would have. The living must stand against the
undead. So was this alliance born, as a means to counter
the darkness. I see this as a moment of clarity and sanity.
Ayn was not unmoved, though her face did not show it.
She could not help but imagine the same fate aficting her
people. Cryx had stretched its skeletal claws north before.
Port Vladovar had suffered under its assault. Its horrors
had even deled her own cathedral in Korsk. Still, this
was no time for compassion. She said, War is harsh and
innocents suffer. You hold me to blame for the deaths of
thousands of your countrymen: in Llael, at Northguard,
in Point Bourne. Neither can I forget the spilled blood of
countless sons and daughters of the Motherland slain as a
result of your commands. It would be foolish to pretend
to be friends.
I do not seek your friendship, Leto said. But our path
and cause are for the moment aligned.
So you are decided that you wish to extend this alliance,
even knowing it will not end the bitter enmity between our
people? It gave her some satisfaction to see the pained
look in his face at her blunt speech.
Leto continued in a measured tone, There are deep
grievances between our peoples, ones not easily put aside.
I still think it worth the attempt. If afterward a resumption
of war is needed to resolve them, I will accept that. But
not now. Not today, or tomorrow, or any day Cryx holds
a portion of the mainland. We should agree to a period of
extended cooperation terminating only when Cryx is driven
from these lands. We can resume our discussion then.
Ayn narrowed her eyes. She said, What do we gain from
this cooperation? Certainly Cryx is terrible. We have
fought them before and will again. I am uncertain if it isto our benet to tie our fate to yours. We should discuss
real terms. In any negotiation there is a stronger and a
weaker party. The weaker must compromise and satisfy
the stronger.
At last she had broken his calm demeanor; she saw anger
flash in his eyes for the first time. Terms? This is not a
peace negotiation. We are not surrendering. The issue is
whether we can save thousands of lives by cooperating
WHEREAS YOU SEEK CONQUEST,
CRYX SEEKS ANNIHILATION AND
ETERNAL ENSLAVEMENT.
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to eliminate a threat that faces your nation as much as it
does mine.
She found it reassuring to see a break in the serene veneer
he preferred. She said, Those are noble sentiments, but
it is misleading to suggest Cryx is as much a threat to us
as they are to you. They dwell off your western shores,
and ours are only rarely troubled. Now that we are awareof the extent of the problem in the Thornwood, it will be
dealt with.
The recent defeat of our combined armies suggests
otherwise, Leto said. You do not have the luxury of time
to assemble a greater army here. We know this enemy. They
are deeply entrenched. If not extracted now, they will only
extend their hold. For the moment we have an advantage,
won at great cost: we have learned the disposition of the
enemy. We have found their heart. Give them time to adapt,
and their vulnerability will vanish. They can recover more
swiftly than we can. Combining our forces now is the only
way to ensure we can root Cryx out before it becomesimpossible. This foe relies on fear and hesitation. He
spoke with rising energy and conviction.
Near the end, however, she saw him open his mouth to
say something else before he apparently thought better
of it. What was he withholding? His hesitation called to
mind reports from her spies regarding a recent clash in
Ordic territory along the Dragons Tongue River, west
of Point Bourne. Something significant had transpired
there, she was sure; the Cygnarans eagerness to resume
the fight in the Thornwood had followed immediately
thereafter. She also knew many Cygnaran nobles were
increasingly restless, almost defiant. The southernerswere near the breaking point, which made her loath to do
anything to bolster them.
Balanced against this was the recent and unexpected
visit from the Old Witch. More than anything else, it had
been this that had convinced her to risk her life to travel
to this forsaken place. The ancient crone had delivered
dire pronouncements regarding Cryx. She had said that
Ayn would regret ignoring the Thornwood. The annals
of Khardic and Khadoran sovereigns contained proof
of tragic calamities befalling those who disregarded
Zevanna Agha.
Did you feel that? King Leto asked abruptly. She frowned
and realized there was a growing vibration underfoot.
Each of them stepped back, but before they could even
raise a voice to shout an alarm the ground tore open with
a rumble and creatures of blackened steel ripped through
the earth to crawl up from below. Ayn stumbled briey
as she stepped back. She was scrambling to right herself
when something heavy landed in front of her, one of its
forelegs piercing the ground where she had just stood. Its
hunkering form was fronted by a freakish gaping mouth
lled with long bleached teeth, and along its lower jaw
gleamed a pair of hooked metal mandibles.
The outer wall of the tent tore open in a half-dozen places
as the guardians stationed around the perimeter reacted
to the disturbance. Even as the bonejack lunged for theempress, an Iron Fang moved to interpose himself. He
gave a choked cry as the creature hooked into his torso,
piercing his lower breastplate and driving upward into his
chest cavity. An Iron Fang kovnik put himself before her
next, driving the machine back with his axe.
A smaller, more spindly bonejack with a skeletal head
leapt at Leto, and he narrowly evaded, stepping to the
side. It shattered a table behind him, its sharpened foreleg
piercing the outer wall of the tent, before it whirled back
around, hissing through its open jaws. Then that side of
the tent was torn and more defenders poured in.
There was a roar and Ayn was pulled back as Orsus
Zoktavir strode past, his face red and livid. His great axe
was drawn back to strike. He pushed past the kovnik and
with a single great blow cut through the Helldiver, which
split apart with a shriek of protesting metal. The air of the
tent quickly became rank with necrotite as the machines
fuel reserves spilled across the ground. Orsus paid no
heed, giving a bellow and striking at the next Cryxian
thing in reach.
The entire tent was in uproar, and Ayn found herself being
ushered back and away as Khadoran soldiers converged.
Leto had a sword in hand, perhaps given him by one of hismen, and he drove its point through the skull of the Stalker
that had sought to skewer him. Undeterred, the machine
struck again as Leto moved aside. Then he, too, was pulled
back and surrounded by armored soldiers. Moving quickly
to the fore was Lord General Stryker, whose warcaster
armor lled the tents interior with sharp blue light and a
buzzing sound l ike angry bees.
Spectral forms continued to pour from the hole below the
tent, unnatural gures that seemed half shadow, attired
in strangely archaic armor and wielding long bladed
polearms. They struck down several of the nearest soldiers
before they were hacked apart. A cordon of Man-O-Warshocktroopers surrounded Ayn, shields locked tightly
together as they moved her back.
Wait! she commanded, refusing to be pulled entirely
away.
The nearby encampment had been thrown into tumult by
the attack and the air was lled with shouts, cries, and
barked orders. She saw Zoktavir annihilate another dark
machine and then turn without thinking toward Lord
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Irusk suspected he and Stryker shared some thoughts
in common, such as how mad it had been to allow their
sovereigns to meet here, in the Thornwood. Of course,
they could never have expected Cryx to nd a way to
attack so precisely. But each also had experience with the
stubborn resolve of a monarch set on a course of action.
Their respective rulers had chosen to meet despite all
warnings and objections.
You have a plan to neutralize Cryxs advantages? Stryker
asked, folding his arms.
We do, Irusk afrmed. We put the best minds of the
Greylords Covenant to the task. They have analyzed
this fortress and its mystical workings. The lich lords
necromancy is based on Orgoth principles, which our
arcanists understand very well.
No doubt, Stryker said, with narrowed eyes.
Irusk ignored the implied condemnation. Now that
we better apprehend their defenses, we can attack withgreater effectiveness. We intend to approach deliberately,
laying down extensive re on their xed positions as we
encircle the perimeter.
We will lend our own cannons to that effort, Stryker
noted.
Irusk nodded. He continued, I intend to shell the area for
several days before we begin our main approach. Naturally
the enemy will attack our artillery positions, but we will
advance in formations to protect them. The Cryxians
have extensive underground facilities, so shelling will
accomplish only so muchits purpose will be primarilyto allow us to seize the perimeter with limited losses. Once
we control the surrounding ground, we can approach the
tower more systematically.
What of the fortress itself? Its supernatural defenses are
formidable.
Its strongest protections rely on fresh souls. It is
absolutely vital we limit initial casualties. Every death
in proximity of the fortress outer spires will make them
stronger. He tapped a sketch showing the known layout
of Cryxs outer defenses.
Stryker said, The power wielded by those emplacementsbehaved similarly to voltaic energy. Our stormsmiths
described it as necromantic lightning.
That ts. Irusk nodded. Some of the external structures
of the complex serve as conduits for this power. He
traced those areas on the sketch. Before we allow our
armies to close on the main tower, we need to disable these
necromantic spires.
There are dozens of them, Stryker said.
The Greylords theorize we can disable the system by a
focused two-pronged attack, Irusk noted. We will send
one special vanguard here, to destroy this building we
believe serves as a surface conduit to the southern spires. I
have a force picked for this, comprised primarily of doom
reavers and warjacks. Those should be immune to thenecromantic defenses. Kommander Orsus Zoktavir will
lead them. Their deaths will still empower the complex,
but that cannot be avoided. We will use as few as we can.
Simultaneously, I need you to bring a concentration of
voltaic weaponry here. He pointed to a portion of the
complex on the opposite side. If we can deliver a great
surge of voltaic energy into the system at this northern
conduit not long after the southern one is destroyed, the
connections between the spires should overload, perhaps
even harming the central fortress itself.
This is the recommendation of your Greylords? Stryker
asked, clearly skeptical.
Yes. Their theories are sound, I believe. It will be risky.
After a moment the Cygnaran warcaster nodded. Whilewe reserve our strength the entire Cryxian army will seek
to slaughter those sent forward.
True, Irusk said. I will go over detailed plans to divert
the foe and provide covering re to the forward elements.
With just the numbers we have gathered, even the recent
reinforcements, I would not hold our chances of success
very high. But we will not be alone. A messenger has
brought word of additional forces from the north. I am
working to time their arrival to coincide with our main
assault.
Stryker frowned. He asked, Reinforcements from
Merywyn?
Irusk offered a tight smile. Not directly. From Umbrey
and Leryn. When the lord general shot him a sharp look,
Irusk added, Great Prince Tzepesci brings his vassals.
With them comes Hierarch Severius and his Northern
Crusade. He saw the blood drain from the Cygnarans
face. Severius was persuaded by the great prince to lend
his strength against Cryx.
THEIR RESPECTIVE RULERS
HAD CHOSEN TO MEET
DESPITE ALL WARNINGS AND
OBJECTIONS.
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An acrid stench lled his nostrils, and he choked on the
sulfur and ash that lled the air. The muddy ground was
treacherous, yet he had no trouble nding purchasehe
was rushing toward the enemy, and the ground always
favored him in battle. His mind was lled with the barking
of his argus and the susurrations of the fell blades around
him. They made the perfect cadence within which to
deliver obliteration.
The heavy blades of the doom reavers swung into motion
as they reached the wall of thralls. They hacked through
the walking dead even as the rune-covered thralls began
to raise their giant sts to retaliate. Helljacks and bonejacks
loomed behind the forward ranks, unleashed from the
blackened fortress at the center of the green-glowing spires.
Flickering emerald energy surged across the talon-like
spires surrounding the structure, ashing in time to the
surging clouds above. Green re lashed out from the spires
like whips, each dispersing just before reaching a doom
reaver. It was as though the chanting of the gaping mouths
along the sides of their Orgoth blades was disrupting the
balere before it could land.
Orsus felt nearly alone amid a eld of undeath. Other than the
doom reavers, which were offered as sacrices to the mission,
his army was not at his side; they had remained behind. The
soldiers were afraid of balere and did not want to risk their
souls. He understood this fear, though he himself felt only a
familiar blend of rage and joy.
The soldiers of the Motherland were providing what support
they could by indirect re. Destroyers and mortars sent shells
arcing high into the air to come shrieking down in thunderous
explosions amid the enemy ranks. The rest of the armywould close after he had done his part. He could hear the
clash of battle elsewhere as Sorscha, Zerkova, Irusk, and the
various Cygnaran battlegroups directed their forces against
Cryxians that had been drawn out to the wider perimeter.
None were willing to close on the fortress. By going where
the others would not, Orsus had drawn the Cryxians to him
like hornets swarming from their nest.
Several doom reavers on his left were washed with caustic bile.
They staggered as their esh was melted through, and then
their bodies dissolved into steaming sludge. Their souls were
wrenched from their dying bodies, howling and gibbering as
they were collected by the nearest spire. He directed one of
his Juggernauts to trample through those bile thralls, which
exploded wetly underfoot.
A Slayer loped forward between the ranks of thralls
ahead, unleashing an unholy howl of steam as it came
at him, anked by Deathrippers. His eyes burned with
power and his axe lit are with blue light. He sounded
a short note on his war horn and the argus leapt together
to confront the bonejack on the left, their fangs ashing in
the light. It was a nimble machine, snapping with its own
necromechanikally augmented jaws. It sidestepped the
rst argus but not the twin heads of the second, which was
maddened and empowered by the Butchers rage. Their
teeth tore through metal plates and ripped the bonejacks
head from its body, shaking it to send pieces ying.
The Slayer came for him, swiping its claws, but his axecrashed into its torso rst. The impact drove through the
armored ribcage to lodge deep into the helljacks cortex.
He yanked the weapon free amid a spray of sparks and
greenish ichor even as the Slayers left arm clawed at
him, its metal talons skidding across his power eld. He
hacked into its armpit, shearing through its shoulder and
arm to the torso, then scrambled to the side as the helljack
toppled. The second Deathripper launched itself to snap
down on his armored left forearm. He yanked it free as
the metal began to buckle and pinch his skin. A backswing
with Lola sent the machine tumbling, skittering on its
small legs to right itself. The pair of argus were upon it in
a moment and ended its twitching movements.
More helljacks were coming and he directed his warjacks
into them, letting their weight and momentum drive the
Cryxians back. At his urging the two Devastators opened
their armored shells to deliver an explosive barrage,
obliterating both the jacks and the thralls nearest them.
Ruin, the new machine delivered to him by Zerkova,
waded into the battle as if it were another frenzied
berserker, its enormous mace glowing with power akin to
the necromantic gleam illuminating the helljacks and the
spires around him. He could feel the chanting of the relics
attached to its arms ringing within his mind.The red haze threatened his vision, like blood seeping into
his eyes. Orsus clenched his teeth and held madness at
bay. The chorus of voices from the fell blades reached a
crescendo around him as Fenris charged past astride his
demented steed, one accursed blade in each hand.
He was close enough to the main tower to see a gure at
the apex, standing on a platform and surrounded by a
runic halo. This was Lich Lord Asphyxious, who seemed
capable of guiding the attacking forces from a great
distance, no doubt aided by the talon-like spires. The lich
lords dark intelligence gleamed behind the endish eyes
of the Cryxian helljacks. Orsus wanted to surrender to
the rising tide of violence and drive onward to confront
Asphyxious. Nothing would please him more than to see
the lich lord hacked into a bent and twisted heapbut he
had a different purpose.
Another squad of bile thralls closed from his left ank.
Galloping soulhunters circled around the right side.
Those that came too far forward fell under re from the
Khadorans behind Zoktavir. He could sense cortexes in
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16
DEEPER OBLIGATIONS, PART ONE
motion and knew a freshly delivered Victor colossal and
the Behemoth were marching forward, directed by Irusk
and Sorscha respectively, each lending repower against
the foe. Shells dug deep craters where they struck, and
the twisted, horselike bodies of two soulhunters were torn
apart in one forceful blast.
Ahead rose an enormous machine with long tentacle-likearms. It could only be one of the Cryxian colossals he had
been told ofa Kraken. It moved with surprising speed
on insectoid legs as its long tendrils snaked out to seize
one doom reaver after another. Orsus gave a battle cry, his
vision entirely crimson, and gripped Lola in both hands.
He charged the colossal while runes surrounded him to
empower his straining leg muscles. Ruin and his battered
Juggernaut came with him. He set his Devastators to reload
and re their grenade launchers again, hoping to clear the
anks. He paid no mind to the doom reavers, leaving them
to be shepherded by Fenris. Each would inict a toll before
he fell. A number of ying bonejacks peeled off from the
heights of the central tower and sped to intercept.
One of the extended tentacles of the colossal struck
for him like a metal serpent and crashed against the
brightened hemisphere of his power field. He lashedout with a sweep of his axe with contemptuous ease,
as if he were slapping the hand of a giant. Lola cleaved
through the machinery at the end of the limb, sending
pieces of metal flying. Another of the Krakens tendrils
struck his Juggernaut, wrapped it in its coils, and sent
the warjack hurtling away through the air until it crashed
and tumbled end-over-end. The Cryxian colossals belly
cannon spat sharpened steel at him, and he snarled as a
piece tore through the armor at his waist. Consumed by
anger and drenched in adrenaline, he felt no pain.
Ruin reached the larger machine and struck a powerful
blow, tearing through and buckling the metal on oneof its forward legs. The argus at Orsus left veered off
to intercept a brute thrall coming for him. He hardly
noticed, his focus entirely on the Cryxian colossal. Ruins
shattering of its front left leg had caused it to wobble, and
it leaned forward as its great gears churned and it worked
to recover its balance.
A ring of runes surrounded Orsus as his magic poured
through him. He leapt through the air, axe raised above his
head, and then brought it down. The power he channeled
blazed along his arms, his entire body become a projectile
with Lola at the fore. The axe blade parted steel with a
whine when he struck and then fell downward, all his
weight upon Lolas haft as the blade carved a gash almost
ten feet long down the front of the colossal. He tumbled
under an awkward retaliatory strike from its remaining
tendrils claw. Another blow of his axe exploded throughmetal and shattered the innards of the machine. Alongside
him, his warjacks battered it repeatedly. It toppled,
swayed, and fell in a resounding crash.
Other helljacks would be coming. He had kept one of his
Marauders in reserve, following behind. He sent it forward
now to obliterate the conduit. As it got up to speed, he
reached forth his left hand, which was surrounded by
gleaming arcane runes, and then clenched his st. With
all his will he unleashed an eruption of rending energy
into the target, creating an explosion that momentarily
deafened him and caused the ground to buckle. A portion
of the stone and metal foundation blasted free, and a hail
of debris littered the area. His power eld ebbed.
The Marauder hit a moment later, driving its steam-
powered ram pistons into the structure. Orsus sent what
power he had left into the machine, urging it to batter
the building and its necromantic machinery to oblivion.
Greenish power wrapped around the warjack and erupted
outward from the building. Then there was a keening
sound that ended in a tremendous fountain of sparks, and
a number of the nearest fortress spires suddenly darkened,
no longer fueled by the energy that normally fed them.
He had done his part. Now there was only to survive longenough for his army to reach him. He saw more bonejacks
and helljacks clambering toward him across the torn,
pocked ground. He raised his hunting horn to deliver a
single long, sustained note.
For a moment the red haze before his eyes receded and his
memories returned to him, lling him with pain and grief .
He clenched his sts and felt Lolas haft within them, and
then he looked to the horde of onrushing enemies. Setting
his stance, he adjusted his grip on the axe and whispered,
Ill be with you soon, my love. But not yet.
NOTHING WOULD PLEASE HIM
MORE THAN TO SEE THE
LICH LORD HACKED INTO A
BENT AND TWISTED HEAP.
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THEME FORCES AND CEPHALYX RULES
CEPHALYX
WARCASTERSCephalyx warcasters do not control battlegroups of
warjacks. Instead they control forces of surgically altered,
mechanically enhanced giants colloquially known asmonstrosities.
CEPHALYX WARCASTER
SPECIAL RULES
Cephalyx warcasters can control only monstrosities and
cannot control warjacks. A Cephalyx warcaster can allocate
focus points to monstrosities in his battlegroup as if they
were warjacks. A Cephalyx warcasters warjack points can
be used on monstrosities even though they are not warjacks.
In addition to their other special rules as warcasters,
Cephalyx warcasters have the following special rule:
HEALING
At any time during its activation, this model can spend focus
points to heal damage a monstrosity in its battlegroup that is
in its control area has suffered. For each focus point spent this
way, remove 1 damage point.
MONSTROSITIESMonstrosities are classied according to base size a light
monstrosity has a medium base (40 mm), and a heavy
monstrosity has a large base (50 mm). Even though it is
assigned to a specic battlegroup, each monstrosity is an
independent model.
MONSTROSITY
SPECIAL RULES
Monstrosities are not warjacks and do not have a cortex.
Monstrosities can be controlled only by Cephalyx warcasters.
Monstrosities are living models.
Monstrosities are so utterly dominated by their Cephalyx
masters that they lack even the rudimentary capacity for
free will required to form bonds.
Additionally, monstrosities have the following special rules:
DAMAGE GRID
Monstrosities have damage grids like warjacks.
DESTROYED MONSTROSITY
When a destroyed monstrosity is removed from the table it
is not replaced with a wreck marker.
FEARLESS
Though it does not appear on their stat lines, all monstrosities
have the Fearless advantage.
BRAIN
This model can be allocated focus. This model can have no
more than 3 focus points at any time as a result of allocation.
This limit does not apply to focus gained by means other
than allocation.
Unless otherwise stated, this model can spend focus only
during its activation.
FOCUS: ADDITIONAL ATTACK
This model can spend focus to make additional melee or
ranged attacks as part of its combat action. It can make oneadditional attack for each focus point spent.
FOCUS: BOOST
This model can spend 1 focus point to boost any of its attack
rolls or damage rolls during its activation. Add an extra die
to the boosted roll. Boosting must be declared before rolling
any dice for the roll.
FOCUS: SHAKE
During your Control Phase after allocating focus, if this model
is knocked down it can spend 1 focus point to stand up.
During your Control Phase after allocating focus, if thismodel is stationary it can spend 1 focus point to cause the
stationary status to expire.
MONSTROSITY POWER ATTACKS
This model can make power attacks. When a monstrosity
performs a power attack or a model performs a power attack
against a monstrosity, follow the WARMACHINE: Prime
rules as if the monstrosity were a warjack. All monstrosities
can make the slam, head-butt, and push power attacks.
Heavy monstrosities can make the trample power attack.
On a monstrositys damage grid, the following letters
represent the monstrositys systems:
B: Brain
L: Left arm weapons system
R: Right arm weapons system
H: Head weapons system
M: Movement
A monstrosity with a crippled brain (B system) loses
any focus points on it and cannot be allocated focus
points. It cannot spend focus points for any reason.
Monstrosities with crippled left arms, right arms, heads,
or movement suffer the same penalties as warjacks do
(see WARMACHINE: Prime Mk II).
MONSTROSITY DAMAGE KEY
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POINT BOURNE INFIRMARY, 609 AR
Victoria Haley clenched and unclenched her right st. She
watched intently as her ngers folded toward her palm and
straightened again. Much had changed since her death and
restoration, but the re-creation of the limb she had lost solong ago held her attention above all else. She had become
accustomed to her metal prosthetic, and the feel of esh on esh
was oddly foreign.
At the foot of her bed, her new storm chamberpowered armor
stood upon an armor rack. General Nemo had completed the
suit during her illness in hopes of raising her spirits with the
promise of continued service as a warcaster, though she had
not believed that would happen. Now she was glad he had
taken the time to craft the suit. Its presence, and the insignia on
the right shoulder that marked her as a major, conrmed her
continuing place in Cygnars ranks.
She and Nemo had discussed much after her unexpected
restoration. The relic Strykers forces had recovered from the
Cryxian column, the current state of the alliance with Khador
these events were pieces of the same puzzle. Nemo had left
Point Bourne the previous day to rendezvous with the armies
gathering in the southern Thornwood for a second possible
assault against Asphyxious, and she yearned to join them.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and Vigilant Peer Carrick
Dolan stepped into the room. Dolan was the Church of Morrows
foremost expert on supernatural afictions and poisons, and
despite Haleys protests that the debilitating poison she had
carried within her no longer plagued her body, he continued topester her. He did so on Nemos orders, as she well knew.
Still feeling right as Caspian rain? Dolan asked.
Never better, Haley replied.
Dolan chewed his lower lip and narrowed his eyes, looking her
over. I still cant understand it, he said after a moment. He
shook his head. Id like to run a few more tests and keep an eye
on you for a while longer.
More tests? Haley asked, indignant. Theres a war on, if you
hadnt noticed.
Major Haley, the fact that you survived the poison isremarkable; I dont mind saying you surprised us all. But
though I appreciate your contributions to the war effort, the war
is not my primary concern. The well-being of my patients is.
She sighed and waved him on, and he went about his
examination. She knew he would nd no sign of the poison
or its effects. In truth, Haley accepted these intrusions because
they gave her an opportunity to conduct an examination of
her own.
As she had done half a dozen times before, Haley relaxed
her mind as well as her eyes and focused her attention on
Dolan. A slender, ethereal thread glowing gold seemed
to materialize from Dolans chest and oated there as he
worked. She knew he couldnt see it. For a moment theglowing strand faded, and Haley redoubled her efforts.
The thread brightened and revealed more of itself, weaving
from Dolan to the doorway and the hall beyond. There it
split in two, one part leading left and the other right. Even
through the thick stone walls she could see the luminous
strands branching again at other junctions.
Dolan nished and said something about rest before heading
to the door. Haley nodded absently. As he spoke, the thread
leading to the right faded, together with all its branches. A
choice had been made, extinguishing a series of possibilities.
Dolan turned left, closing the door behind him.
Haley slid from the bed and crossed to the window. Dolan
wouldnt be back soon; none of his threads led in her direction.
Outside, the damage wrought by the invading Khadorans and
Cryxians lingered over Point Bourne like a pall. Displaced
citizens and soldiers roamed the streets, collecting bricks in
wheelbarrows and hauling supplies alongside laborjacks.
Haley focused on the thin strands of energy owing from
the people toiling below. Gradually, the threads came into
existence, rst hundreds and then thousands viewed through
the foundations of buildings in the same way she had seen
Dolans threads. She swayed momentarily and held the
window frame for support as the multitude of decision lines
washed over her.
Great spools of threads wove about churches and the makeshift
eld hospitals housing the injured. She let most of them go to
focus on oneher ownwhich wound through the streets,
though not in the direction she had imagined it would.
South? Haley asked aloud. She had expected to be drawn
north, toward the Thornwood. She focused harder, gripping
the windowsill. Her thread was faint and very difcult to
follow, but she saw it, pulled taut like wire and strained to the
breaking point as it stretched off to the Wyrmwall Mountains.
She gasped to see a roaring black vortex there that swallowed
the mountain tops some presence far beyond any mortal fate.
Her thread vanished into its dark heart, a prospect she found
terrifying but also alluring. Something pulled at her mind,
drawing her there. When she turned away, under her relief lay
an undeniable certainty.
She turned to the armor that until her restoration she had
expected to never wear and reached for it with her mind,
effortlessly lifting it into the air. By the time anyone came to
check on her, she would be long gone.
THREADS OF FATE
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CENTRAL THORNWOOD, NEAR THE
CENTRAL NECROFACTORIUM
The rhythmic sound of mortar re grew louder as the combined
force of the Northern Crusade and the Umbrean army neared
the valley where the Cryxian stronghold was under assault.Upon the approach, the Umbrean cavalry had spread to the
right while Menite vengers went left to climb the hills and gain
the superior vantage. From there, they would be able to charge
down to join the fray when ordered. The long column of infantry
had proceeded through a narrow entrance to the valley.
Severius rode atop a palanquin resembling a golden throne,
resplendent in his scrutator mask, warcaster armor, and
gleaming vestments. Although a lifetime of service had taken
its toll on his body, the hierarch took pleasure in spending
his twilight years crusading in the name of the Creator. High
Exemplar Kreoss rode on his right, and several Protectorate
warjacks strode alongside. On his left rode the UmbreanVladimir Tzepesci; the great princes warjacks were with his
soldiers at a distance.
Vile things have long ourished in this dark forest,
Vladimir said, speaking serviceable Sulese. We thought we
had uprooted the corruption. Clearly we were mistaken.
Severius said, The light of the Creator shines brightest in
the darkest places. We will cleanse these lands with faith
and resolve.
I am not certain you have taken a proper measure of our foe.
The faithful have faced Cryx before. We will force themback. The palanquin dipped slightly as its bearers struggled
against the tangle of roots.
I thought the same when I discovered their foothold here
years ago. The concentration of their strength is greater than
you imagine. The prince faced forward as he spoke, eyes
scanning the thick trees. Severius admired his vigilance. It
was a shame the man was a heretic, carrying the tainted
blood of his line and dancing on the puppet strings of the Old
Witch. With the proper guidance and willingness to forsake
his legacy he might have made a good Menite.
I read the reports of the Battle of the Temple Garrodh,Severius said. The Cryxian armies there were all but
destroyed, swallowed by the earth.
So many thought, including our kommandants as well as
Cygnaran commanders. We underestimated the enemy.
Such evil must be seen rsthand to be fully comprehended.
I also read of your signicant role in the events surrounding
the temple. The hierarchs words carried an edge, for it was
Vladimir who had struck down the Harbinger at the height
of the conict.
Vladimir nodded, focusing his gaze elsewhere. I saw more
than enough, yes. I only regret I could not cleanse this place
fully. I would not rely on reports, especially given the recent
information. I feel this time is different.
Since starting south to join the forces amassing in the
Thornwood, the great prince had done what he could
to maintain communication with Khadors supreme
kommandant, Irusk, to coordinate their movements for the
coming engagement. The plan outlined a joint effort with the
Cygnarans, calling upon Severius and Vladimir to launch an
assault from the north at his signal. Although the hierarch
had said nothing, such orders were of no consequence to the
forces of the crusade. Perhaps the Cygnarans were content to
follow the commands of their northern rivals, but Severius
would assess the situation upon his arrival.
Another round of mortar re sounded, and the crackle ofries carried on the wind. The battleeld lay just ahead.
Let us see what it is we face, Severius said.
The sound of war became deafening as they passed the last few
blackened trees and he beheld the scene before them. Severius
stood on his palanquin, his scalp tightening as a chill played
along his spine. Below lay a valley of death, within which
nothing natural remainednot grass, nor trees, nor the trickle
of streams. The stench of decay and necrotite choked the air.
Dozens of enormous spires jutted from the ruined earth,
with masses of the dead swarming like insects beneath their
towering forms. Brilliant green light streaked from thesespires to lash the hills, drawing the hierarchs gaze to the
embattled forces there. Each blast tore agonized screams
from trenchers and Winter Guard alike as it snuffed out their
lives and snatched their souls to be fed to the necrofactorium,
the promise of Urcaen lost to them forever. In the depths of
this valley dwelled certain ruination.
Severius felt the spiritual void before him and ice owed
through his veins. It was one thing to know how Cryx abused
the souls of the fallen but another to see depravity on such a
scale with his own eyes. Every soul torn from esh here was
stolen from the Creator. Yet amid his horror shone a icker
of hope looking upon the desperate battle, he understood
a way Cryxs gluttony for souls might eventually be turned
against them. Such a course would require great sacrice, but
the lich lords of Cryx would suffer a blow from which they
would not soon recover. Menoth had led him to this precipice
so he might observe something only his eyes could see.
Menoth give me strength, intoned the hierarch. He gripped
his staff, feeling a familiar re kindle within his breast despite
his age. In that moment he felt not despair but steadfast resolve.
He did not fear death, so long as his life served the Creator.
BEARING WITNESS
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SOUTHWESTERN THORNWOOD,
COMBINED ARMY ENCAMPMENT
Orsus Zoktavir clapped a massive hand to the closer of the
argus twin heads and smoothed its fur before cinching the
next strap of its armor. As he let go, the argus gave a bite tohis forearm and shook its head. This might have dislocated
the shoulder of a lesser man, but the Butcher of Khardov only
wrapped his free arm around the other head and applied
pressure until the rst relented.
While the rest of the camp bristled with preparations for the
upcoming battle, the corner Orsus and his men occupied
remained relatively quiet. Dozens of masked doom reavers
stood scattered around him. Fenris stood nearest, obscured
by the shadow of his nightmare steed. Orsus brooded, the
lingering anger over the recent attempt on Empress Vanars
life rst in his thoughts. He could not entirely dispel the icy
feeling of dread that had lled his veins when he heard thesounds of violence within the tent where she was meeting the
Cygnaran king.
Orsus Zoktavir, said an authoritative feminine voice
behind him. He turned to nd Kommander Aleksandra
Zerkova, anked by a pair of reaver guards. The weapons
they bore were clearly of Orgoth origin. His eye was drawn
to an unknown warjack behind them, which emitted a low
rumble as exhaust rolled from its smokestacks.
Kommander Zerkova. Hed had little interaction with the
warcaster, but even among the secretive and manipulative
Greylords, Zerkova carried a particularly sinister reputation.The insignia on her tabard indicated a promotion to Obavnik,
one of the highest ranks within the Covenant.
She took in the lay of the camp with her good eye, the other
being scarred over by some past trauma. I come bearing
a gift from Khardov, Zerkova said. Her gaze returned to
him. Orsus felt as though she were mentally dissecting
him. The argus behind him growled, and the other came
alongside, sensing his unease. Zerkova merely indicated the
warjack rumbling behind her. The high obavnik arbiter has
granted you use of this machine in the coming battle. It is
one of a kind.
Suspicious, Orsus frowned but stepped closer and looked the
jack over. Its chassis resembled existing designs, but the relics
attached to it were another matter. One st gripped a huge
blackened mace, and the armored plate along the back of the
other st had been shaped from an ornate Orgoth buckler
and glowed with sinister power. Orgoth runes marked both
artifacts as well as other ornaments afxed to the machine
and the metal plates bolted to the cowling around its head.
He thought he could hear indistinct whispers and felt a
strong desire to connect with its cortex.
Does your high obavnik often give gifts? Orsus gave
Zerkova a sideways glance.
After a pause she said, Its name is Ruin. It has proven . . .
difcult to control. It crushed its controller during a eld testoutside Khardov and would heed no commands. Several
Greylords were likewise killed before it ran out of fuel.
Zerkova nodded to the argus and then Fenris. Given your
afnity for the untamable, the Covenant has deemed you
suitable to test its use in battle. Place your hand on the chassis.
I will relinquish my hold, though you must be quick to seize
the cortex. Ruin will not remain idle if left to its own devices.
Orsus ran a hand over the warjack. He felt a strange rapport
with the machine and its seething anger. Ruin, he said. A
good name. Why not claim it for yourself?
She gave him a tight smile. Orders are orders.
Orsus felt Zerkova surrender her bond to the cortex. Almost
immediately the warjack hunkered and raised its arms to
readiness. It pulled back its mace, but the arm froze as Orsus
plunged his mind into its cortex, swiftly delivering the code
images to seize control. He had done this countless times, but
this felt very different. Whispers suddenly ooded his mind, as
though he were surrounded by a legion of ghosts. For a moment
it was as if his mind were not his own. Rage lled him and
he felt a strong urge to seize the haft of his axe. He restrained
himself with effort, gritting his teeth to force the voices to quiet.
You see? Zerkova asked softly. Only the strongest
warcasters can endure it.
He asked, You will ght alongside me in the assault? It was
clear she desired the machine. She hoped to see him perish so
she could reclaim it. He intended to see her disappointed, to
master this machine.
She frowned. As much as I would enjoy joining you in
seizing the necrofactorium and plumbing its depths, I have
other duties. I am to stay at Empress Vanars side.
Orsus inched as if struck. Once again he saw the empress
stumbling as a death-fueled construct lunged at her. That
he hadnt been chosen to oversee her safety opened an old
wound in his mind. What? Why? The words sounded
more hostile than he had intended.
Zerkova looked to Ruin and back. There are times we must
obey and play the role given us. Her tone was cold and
suggested a meaning he did not apprehend. Of course she
must obey the empress. To do otherwise was unthinkable.
Without another word, the obavnik turned and walked away,
her reaver guards following. A strong wind pulled at her coat
and the scattered tents. Orsus barely heard its howl over the
whispers lling his mind.
UNTAMABLE
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UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCESIOS, NORTHEAST OF SHYRR
The hooves of undead mounts battered the forest oor in a
swift yet silent gait as the ethereal forms barreled through
trees and undergrowth to carry their riders ever deeper
into Ios. Goreshade had set out from Eversael two daysearlier with a host of eldritch and banes riding at his back.
His circuitous route to the capital had swung them north
and west in hopes of avoiding undue attention, but even
proceeding with caution they had still needed to actively
evade far-reaching patrols. That they were not alone in their
incursion, however, was soon apparent.
They discovered the smoldering ruins of a village late in the
rst day. Near midday on the second, they spotted several
columns of smoke rising into the sky far to the north. Here and
there, the thralls riding at the northernmost limits of the group
came upon tracks of both men and beasts.
Warriors from across the sands, Goreshade said as they
reined in their mounts in the forest outside a village. He
had diverted their course to inspect the source of smoke
nearby, and now they watched through the trees as pale,
armored soldiers in red and gold torched the remaining
structures and clapped survivors in irons. Thick chains ran
from one set of wrists to the next, and the steady crack of
whips forced the prisoners into orderly lines. Although
Goreshades knowledge of the marauders was secondhand,
he recognized them as skornethe same vicious race that
had pursued his people in their exodus from Lyoss after the
destruction of the Bridge of Worlds.
An invasion! Where are the Dawnguard? Lothvyn asked
from Goreshades side. Despite his initial hostility, the former
Silowuyr nobles disposition had changed considerably after
he had been bested beneath the ruins of Eversael. Thus far,
the eldritch had proven himself knowledgeable of the areas
comings and goings despite his exile, and Goreshade felt no
regret at sparing his existence.
Hiding, Goreshade said, his voice heavy with disdain for
the self-righteous knights of House Nyarr who traditionally
protected this region. His gaze lingered over the column of
Iosans being led from the village, youths and even some few
children among them. Cowering behind their walls whilethose who depend on them fall prey to barbarians. His race
had grown weak in his absence, and the thought of the once-
great people falling to outside aggression goaded him deeply.
They stay comfortable in their strongholds, abandoning the
rest to ruin, Lothvyn said.
Hearing this from a fallen member of House Silowuyr, whose
members dedicated themselves purely to the defense of Shyrr,
grated on Goreshade. What ofyou? he snapped. How many
centuries did you spend hiding in Eversael before I came to
drag you out kicking and screaming? He looked to each
eldritch in turn. The Dawnguard are short-sighted imbeciles.
But yousome of the greatest minds of your time!you have
no excuse for years of cowardly inaction.
The words hit their mark. Lothvyn hissed and looked toward
the village, drawing his weapon, and several other eldritch
followed suit. We will prove our resolve, he said.
No! Goreshade said sharply. At least, not yet. We must
know more. This force is but a raiding party.
Once the last of the skorne and their captives had departed
the village, Goreshade urged his steed from among the trees.
Lothvyn and the other eldritch followed, Suneater and his
bane thralls trailing behind. Black smoke swirled around
them before billowing into the sky in a fountain of ash. A
roof collapsed with a crash, and a cloud of sparks rose from
beneath it to are and die. Tracks lay thick upon the ground.
Goreshade said, This group is too feeble to have made it
through the border on their own. From the smoke, it is clear
they intended to attract attention, though to what end?
We will be spotted ourselves if we are not careful, Lothvyn
said.
Goreshade guided his mount around the roaring remains of
the village, taking in the gruesome details. Here and there
limbs and heads lay on the ground near the Iosan bodies
they had been severed from, including some hands still
gripping the hilts of blades. There were no skorne corpses;if the attackers had suffered casualties, they had taken away
the fallen. Goreshades eyes narrowed. Too many questions
remained. The fact that this force was connected to an army
was all but certain.
His mind turned to the capital and its defenses. In all his
planning, dealing with Shyrrs defendersmost notably
House Silowuyrhad been least clear in his mind. The
presence of the skorne so near opened up a number of
possibilities.
We will follow these raiders and discover their intentions,
Goreshade said.
What of the capital? Lothvyn asked.
This will help prepare the way. Send word to our forces
beyond the border to make ready. We may need to seize an
opportunity at short notice.
Goreshade gripped the hilt of Voass, feeling the thrum of
power from the blade. Never had he been so close to achieving
his goals. Although the presence of the skorne was unexpected,
he felt condent he could accommodate for them in his plans.
If Ios must burn before it could be saved, so be it.
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IOS, EAST OF THE GATE OF MISTS
Two dozen of House Ellowuyrs nest swordsmen traveled an
ill-used path through the northern reaches of the Mistbough.
Each was committed to the rites and traditions of their house,
which bound them to their blades, to their ghting discipline,and to one another. Foreign invaders had brought war to Ios,
and their blood stirred. Boasts and promises conveyed their
excitement and apprehension alike.
Ive heard of new invasions north of the capital, said Rayl,
the youngest of the volunteers. Rumor has it the village
of Yren was enslaved and Shynl burned. Im surprised we
arent marching there.
The main skorne army threatens Iryss from the south,
coming through the Twilight Gate, sneered Fynar, a
bladesman of the rst mark. Thatis where we go. Leave the
north to the dogs of Nyarr. The loss of those villages is theirshame, not ours.
Rayl reected that these incursions were a mark against all
the great military houses but only said, I wonder which
coalition houses well be ghting alongside.
Worried? asked Melyna, to his left. She walked with a
nonchalant stride, her blade balanced across her thin shoulders.
Rayl shrugged. Curious. What about you?
No. We have him. Melyna nodded toward Thyron at the head
of the column. He loomed over the other warriors, his cape
and ornate helmet suggesting his noble standing, with a pair
of large, graceful myrmidons in Ellowuyr colors anking him.
The nobles skill with the blade combined with his warcaster
talent and leadership made him a unique asset. Rayl had
seen the issyr best several adept opponents simultaneously,
demonstrating awless technique and blinding speed.
The path turned and they reached a clearing occupied only
by the ruins of a watchtower. From here the trail split, one
strand heading west to Iryss while the other disappeared
deeper into the Mistbough. Thyron raised a hand and
brought the column to a halt. He climbed atop the remains of
a low wall and looked out over the gathered Ellowuyr elite.
My brothers and sisters, I hold each of you in tremendousregard for volunteering to join me. Before we proceed, I need
to clarify our situation.
As you know, our nation faces an invasion for the rst time
in history. We must draw upon every resource, employ every
tactic. Consul Brysor is limited by the political realities of
the Consulate Court, and the majority of the warriors of our
house have been ordered to remain at Aeryth Ellowuyr to
guard the interior. That is not what I intend. It is in times like
these when a trusted few must serve in the consuls stead,
walking a path he cannot. Know that he is glad we are here,
though he cannot openly acknowledge this.
I march not to ght the enemy alone, nor to join the Homeguard
Coalition. Rather I have chosen to join those who we called our
rivals House Shyeel, House Vyreeven the Dawnguard of
House Nyarr. A murmur rippled through the warriors; each
of those houses was allied to the Retribution of Scyrah. Thyron
continued, This is not a temporary measure, nor is the choice
based solely on the enemy incursions. I have chosen to aid the
Retribution by any means necessary. The rest of our house may
never follow, though I am not alone in my thinking.
Silence hung over the soldiers. Rayl looked at the bewildered
faces around him. He knew individual nobles of some the
lesser houses had similarly gone over to the radical sect,
taking their liegemen. But they were House Ellowuyr, held to
a higher standard. Conicting emotions tightened his chest.He had never heard the Retribution spoken of with anything
but scorn and loathing. That Thyron embraced their cause
was beyond shocking, yet it also made him wonder if his
own presumptions had been wrong.
I know your loyalty, but I do not order you to join me. This
decision is yours alone, and you are free to turn back. I would
only say that some threats must be confronted to avoid a
greater disaster. Blood spared on the front will be exacted
tenfold from the innocent in our cities. Beyond this foe, our
enemies are myriad. They would be glad to see us extinct. Let
us stand for our house among those who already bleed for Ios,
accepting risks refused by those bound by tradition. I will goon alone, if need be.
The issyrs stern gaze moved from one swordsman to the
next. A part of Rayl longed to return to his house, but another
ached to take up arms against their foes. He was not alone
in having marveled at the return of Nyssor and enviously
watched the triumphant procession of Incissar Vyros of the
Dawnguard. The Retribution did not seem loathsome. How
could a group so committed to the preservation of Ios deserve
censure? He knew what he must do.
Before he could speak, a voice cried out, Allegiance to you,
Issyr! Rayl turned to see Melyna with a st pressed againstthe ceremonial knife tted to her shoulder.
Allegiance to you, Issyr! Rayl shouted, placing a st over
his own shoulder. He exchanged looks with Melyna and
Fynar, seeing his excitement reected in their eyes. One by
one those around him took up the cry.
Very well, Thyron said, smiling at last. Let us show the
Retribution the true steel of Ios. We bring them the sword of
Ellowuyr!
MARCHING ORDERS
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EARLY DEPARTURESCEPHALYX TUNNELS BELOW THE
THORNWOOD NECROFACTORIUM
Cognifex Cyphon cocked his head and listened as another
explosion sounded far above him. From his place within
the sanitation chamber linking cephalyx and Cryxian levelsof the hive, the cognifex could sense mental and emotional
emanations from both human armies above and the cephalyx
remaining in the upper levels. Fear and doubt radiated from the
invading forces. In contrast, members of the hive demonstrated
heightened urgency and awareness, but those thoughts
were efcient and focused. A good number of lower-ranking
cephalyx had gathered their drudges to contribute to the ght
above. Behind Cyphon, a pair of warden monstrosities stood in
silent vigilance.
Already the exulons had retreated deeper underground, and
persistent queries from remaining cephalyx petitioned his
mind, many disregarding the etiquette for such communicationin favor of expedience. Contingencies had been set in place
for this very threat, but the assault on the necrofactorium was
early by several weeks, and what was to have been a calculated
withdrawal now contained a greater number of variables. What
aggravated Cyphon the most was that Thexus had left to attend
to some urgent matter with the hives northernmost holdings,
which forced Cyphon to coordinate matters on the exulons
behalf. The descent of the remaining exulons deeper into the
hive to avoid the unpleasant prospect of speaking with their
Cryxian allies only amplied his discomfort with the situation.
A series of metallic clacking sounds issued from the opposite
end of the chamber, and Master Necrotech Mortenebra entered
the room with a pair of helljacks anking her fabricated form. A
sense of revulsion washed over Cyphon at the sight of her. He
possessed no strong biases against Cryxians, but Mortenebra
had once been a disciple of the Maiden of Gears, and the taint
of the association remainedher necromechanikal body was
not so different from those used by the Convergence of Cyriss.
Even so, he was here on orders from the exulons to assess the
situation and pressure their allies.
uery Entity Asphyxious projected distant date for attack
by externals. Explain discrepancy. As soon as he sent this
mental message, Cyphon sensed it had not connected. This wasnot unexpected; other cephalyx had reported that the minds
of the sentient undead were not reachablea puzzle he might
return to, when time allowed.
Though he loathed communicating through his articial
vocalizer, he saw little choice in the matter. Assault disrupts
predetermined agenda, Cyphon said aloud. Continued
existence of the hive is in jeopardy.
The hive will be secured, Mortenebra said. Another explosion
rained ecks of debris from the ceiling, and the necrotechs
limbs clattered as they moved to compensate for the vibrations.
No more than the upper levels will be lost to the mortals.
Upper levels contain projects of import, he said.
Mortenebra nodded. I, too, have work housed nearby,she said. If we act quickly, some of these projects may be
saved. Doing so will require a diversion. The drudges and
monstrosities created since the last battle should sufce. I have
been instructed by Lich Lord Asphyxious to remain with the
hive and assist with any complications.
Immediately Cyphons mind factored in these potential losses
against the gains they had seen from the alliance with the
undead. The inefciency from faulty planning hovered at the
edge of acceptable limits, yet the survival of the hive outweighed
any other considerations. The commitment of an irreplaceable
asset like Mortenebra at least signied the lich lord did not plan
to entirely abandon them.
Submit alternative action plan, Cyphon said. The clamor
above was growing steadily louder, and even now, a dozen
cephalyx telepathically pressed him for information.
A not inconsequential number of thralls have been sent to
assist your drudges in nishing the closure of the tunnels. We
must buy them time to complete their task.
Current resources are insufcient to stall the advance, Cyphon
replied. Cryxian retreat implies a low probability of success.
The warcaster appeared unfazed. We must prod the enemy
and draw them to tunnels of our choosing, which we willcollapse upon them. They will suffer cas