December 8

Critical Miscast

Another tale from the Warhammer universe, this time focusing on something a bit different. Chaos is very chaotic, after all.

Disclamer: Just as before, I do not own the Warhammer: Fantasy universe. Character names and descriptions are my own however.

Critical Miscast

Over the centuries many incursions and invasions of Chaos occurred throughout the civilized world. They targeted those too weak to defend themselves, easy prey and sacrifices to the Dark Gods of Chaos. Yet sometimes a particularly popular leader of Chaos forces would seek to impress the Gods, in a display of might or cunning. In a land known as Kislev, which bordered with the lands of Chaos, and was the first obstacle on the path south to more bountiful regions, stood many forts and outposts. These aimed at slowing any incursion, giving the Kislevites enough time to form a reactionary force, and push the invaders back.

During one such event an unnamed fortress belonging to Kislev was besieged by a sizable force under the leadership of Fixhig the Slime. Blessed by the Gods of Chaos to look like a slug, this champion took almost no notice of his condition, and lead his troops, so far, masterfully. This attracted the attention of many different Warbands that joined his banner, warbands dedicated to the four main gods of Chaos. Though there were many different Gods present in the chaos realms, four of them stood out the most. Tzeentch, Slaanesh, Nurgle and Khorne. Though on rare occasions they would work together toward a single cause it was far more likely that they would try to backstab each other. This was reflected upon their followers, who would gladly fight the warriors and cultists of other gods, only to strengthen their own.

To unite these faiths was no easy task, but when a champion managed such a feat he was considered a champion of Chaos Undivided, and with such a united host none could really stop him.

In Fixhig’s army, not counting a rich selection of warriors, demons and cultists there were also four promising Sorcerers, each one loyal to a different god. Met by an obstacle that the army could not surpass, the fortress’s impenetrable walls, strengthened by unknown magic, Fixhig gathered his four Sorcerers to resolve this conundrum.


„The worms are testing us, our resolve!” Fixhig proclaimed to the four sorcerers. They gathered in a tent, erected for the sole purpose of this discussion. Each of the sorcerers looked to Fexhig, listening intently. Or so it seemed at least, some of them had more than one eye, so they might had only pretended to do so.

The first sorcerer, Silizug of Khorne spoke first. Dressed in blood-red robes, most likely dyed with the blood of his enemies, he looked the most human of those gathered, which did not mean much. With horns protruding from his head, and pieces of armor that were permanently fused to his body, he looked more like a warrior than a Sorcerer. It seemed likely that he enjoyed using his staff as much as he used his axe. „We will summon forth a Bloodthirster, and with his might we will smash apart the walls!” he bellowed, his voice thunderous, loud.

The second sorcerer then made his own suggestion. His robes were decayed and old, rotten, his body bloated and maggot filled. Skin pale and green, flesh falling off whenever he walked. With a sickly yellow gaze, and a hunched back. He looked more like a plagued leper than a powerful sorcerer, but such were the gifts of Nurgle. Regux the Plagued spoke, „Blood. We need not blood or axes… A disease from Nurgle will kill all of the defenders, slowly, making them melt away with sores and puss.”

Then the third Sorcerer spoke, his face was beautiful, looking almost too perfect. An angel, one could say, if one did not look anywhere below the neck. From beneath his cloak, a mass of tentacles formed his body. One grasping his staff, as if it was his arm, while the rest allowed him to shuffle along, and kept the sizable cloak wrapped around him, concealing, at least in part, his squid-like nature. A follower of Slaanesh, Konrad. „So primitive… No. Allow me… With my magic we will dominate the minds of those behind the walls. We will corrupt and perverse them, and we will enter the fortress unhindered.”

And finally the fourth sorcerer spoke. Though one could see the armor that the sorcerer wore, that covered every inch of his body, one could not see any bit of his flesh. And whenever he spoke it sounded like a distant echo, coming from inside the suit of armor. Perhaps the armor was possessed by the Sorcerer, or he was, for whatever reason, locked away inside. „Amateurs. The Gods of Chaos grant us their magic and you squander it on such petty ideas… We should summon a maelstrom, that will consume the entire fortress leaving nothing behind!”

Quickly the discussion turned into an argument, each sorcerer claiming superiority over the other. As their voices rose up so too could one feel a sense of dread hanging in the air, when they prepared to cast spells at one another. Just as things were about to get out of hand, the Slug Lord bellowed, „ENOUGH!”. And the homicidal urges of the Sorcerers were, for now, halted.

„You will work together on something. The Gods have chosen me to lead this host, and you will show them what chaos united can achieve that no single follower can! Is that understood?!” he shrieked out. It seemed a bit comical, coming from a large humanoid-like slug, but none chose to say it. „I give you one day, to find a solution. Otherwise you will preach away from my army!” and the chaos lord left the tent, at a hastened snail’s pace.

And thus, left on their own the Sorcerers renewed their attempts at diplomacy. Eventually, slowly, they seemed to find a solution. They agreed that the glory of battle should not be taken away from the warriors who waited outside. Rather, the walls should be brought down, allowing the army to storm the fortress and slaughter the defenders. That would please the gods, for certain.

They later conveyed their idea to their slug-leader and he accepted the idea. A delivery of Wyrdstone was expected, crystals that could greatly enhance the strength of the spell. It seemed necessary, as the magic protecting the walls was just that powerful.

When the next day begun, and the army gathered, ready to strike as soon as the spell was ready, the sorcerers met at the tent once again. A small pile of Wyrdstone waited for them, in the center, and each of them took their positions.

Their arms and tentacles rose up, and the winds of magic seemed to bend around them, focusing on this single great ritual. The Wyrdstone soon too empowered the mixture, a great ball of chaotic magic forming, and growing, as each Sorcerer added a bit of his own power. With a spell so empowered, so powerful, nothing could withstand it.

But, as one could expect, things did not go according to plan.

A little nurgling crawled from under the Rotting sorcerer’s robe and crawled over to the sorcerer of Khorne, suddenly leaping on him, between belches and sputtering, distracting him. „What in Khorn-” he shot a furious, berserk glare at the other sorcerer, who then seemed to try and hijack the ritual.

„Nurgle knows best! We will do great things with so much-” but the Sorcerer was suddenly forced to duck when the hollow suit of armor fired off a thunder bolt in his direction.

The situation only escalated from there, the Sorcerers each trying to take control over the ritual, while trying to harm each other. Lesser demons, magical projectiles, and even axes, were exchanged in each direction. But as the Sorcerers became more and more focused on fighting each other the ritual only grew further, and further in power, nobody really taking notice when it was going out of hand. The battle suddenly became far more important that the ritual itself.

What the army beyond the tent suddenly heard, and saw, other than the ruckus of the battle within, and the stray missile piercing the tent, was an explosion of wild magic. The tent was completely destroyed, but instead of the charred remains of the sorcerers they saw a mad, furious, blob of flesh and metal, with the four sorcerers stuck to it. Chaos Spawns normally appeared when a favored follower of Chaos received too many blessings and was driven mad, and shapeless from the experience. In this particular case it seemed the uncontrollable magic of the sorcerers fused them together, creating a raging mass of chaos and destruction.

But that was not all.

The Sorcerers each still had partial control over the whole being, and furious at what happened they continued to battle each other, while they were now the same being. However, fueled by the wild magic that created „them”, their spells were much more destructive. But, as they were blinded by their own rage they could not tell apart friend from foe.

What the Kislevites on the high wall’s of their fortress saw was both terrifying and curious. A blob was rolling through the chaos army’s ranks, flattening, burning or exploding anything that stood in its path. Even the mighty slug lord that led the army and tried to swing at it with his weapon was rolled over upon by the creature, leaving behind a wide green soggy stain in the grass.

A few of the stray projectile hit the fortress itself, doing some noticeable damage, but to the defender’s relief as the chaos army scattered in panic and confusion so too did the chaotic ball of magic roll away into the forest, thunder and magic still visible from a long distance while it battled itself.

A relief force appeared at the fortress some time later, astonished to find a decimated army at its gate. Nobody could believe the stories of the unlikely „hero” that destroyed its own allies.

It is said that to this day the four sorcerers continue to battle each other, their mass of conjoined flesh rolling throughout the Old World, bringing uncontrollable death and destruction to anything and anybody that crosses their path.

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Posted December 8, 2016 by ABielski in category "Short Story

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