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Blood In The Badlands Fluff Tråd!!!

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Ximnichuq now understands. His mind cannot be compared to even the lowliest of thoughts from the minds of his Slann Lords, but it recently had occured to him that maybe the picking on him by the others was in fact not their doing. His brother - at least they were from the same spawning - Tehetli had been killed recently when operating the Engine of the Gods mounted upon an Ancient Stegadon. Before that he had experimentated with the Old ones construction. It appears his ritual feathers had materalized close to the same genetic code after they had vaporized. Close, but not too close. At least all the feathers allow Ximnichuq to make short flights, had his brother known...


Lately, his Lord commanded him to run the Engine. It appears he have fragments of the Old Ones genetics inside him. The greatest warrior, the most revered of Saurus, Itz'Coatl, led the remaining forces to the heart of the Tomb Kings kingdom in the desert. A great host of Daemons manifested upon the city walls. Had they all not been cold blooded, the largest and almost unkillable leader of them would have scared the feathers of him. The Sauri were decimated and the skink kohorts were few in numbers. Even Itz'Coatl himself were not restored fully yet. Merely a great bombardement of poisoned darts and fiery flames of Salamanders besieged the city clad with ancient ruins of temples and monuments.


While Ximnichuq had finished summoning all lizardmen that could be gathered through the warp created between the Engines of the Gods, he suddenly managed to active the machinery in another way. He felt great magic flow through him and released wave after wave of pulses of energy. Deamon after daemon fell, which awakened the rage of the Daemonic god-like figure.


Itz'Coatl had merely given the order to send in the remaining skinks with the last great Kroxigors before it was clear the one strong Daemon was trapped and could not win. The battle continued with very few losses. At the end, all that remained was to storm the walls. Itz'Coatl swong Boq’Quagor, but the Axe hit nothing but tomb-scented air - the last Bloodletter was killed by the energies of the Engine. But one escaped with a flag in his hands.


The city was taken, hymns were written and the cheer of the many hundres of newly spawned echoed beneath the Floating Pyramid. Even the Chuq-Kor, the floating building, had been sighted briefly over the domains of the Lizardkin. Xla’Ata’kha, as a Slann focusing on the Lore of Light, predicted, of course, a future bright.



Edited by Fiddelarsson
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Month 5


“Pardon me my lord, but there are news from lord Argan” Jaskrul said in his usual hissing voice.

“Then speak up Jaskrul!” Lord Ravn growled at him.

The deformed but useful thing turned his head from side to side as if to make sure no one was near or was it maybe to find an escape if his words did not please his master.

“The lord Argan has defeated the lizards as you commanded and he is still alive” Jaskrul said as he started to look more and more uncomfortable. His many eyes wildly searched for an escape path and his body was trembling at the thought of what his master would do with him if he was displeased.

“Good” Was all his master said “Send him his next orders and keep making sure he stays as far from me as he can”.

“Yes my lord, I will if it pleases you” Jaskrul said as he bowed.

“It will now get out of my sight!” Lord Ravn screamed at him.

Jaskrul swiftly turned around and quickly got out of his masters sight before he somehow provoked him. When he left the great tent Jaskrul could almost swear that he heard a trace of fear in his lord’s voice when he spoke of lord Argan.

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Month 6


The weakling men of the south formed up a battle line far away in the distance. Argan knew that they were too cowardly to come to him so he had to come to them instead. His lieutenant bellowed the orders to form up and so his men did for they knew that Argan wanted discipline as much as he wanted blood. His horsemen formed up around him and the trolls kept close and so the march to battle began.


Khorne was smiling on him this day for the enemy’s canons exploded the first thing that that happened. He lost men but the weakling men lost more and anyhow Khorne would be pleased for blood was flowing everywhere. The battle went on and to Argans pleasure his chosen fought to the last man in the name of the dark gods. His army closed up at the remnants of the weakling army and crushed most of them before their general Karlich fled the field of battle.


Argan watched the weakling army flee at a distance and a sense of joy momentarily went thru his mind. His lieutenant was saying something to him but he did not listen and instead the sight of the fleeing army brought back a memory from his early years to him. What could he have been ten or twelve years of age? He and his brother always fought as only two brothers did only that Argan was younger by two years and did not possess a warrior’s body and so he always lost. Argan thought at the irony in that as a child he always lost to his older brother in children’s fighting and now he had defeated his brother’s army on the field of battle.

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Aouddunill saw the horde of plated warriors approach, in their midst he catched eye with their sorcerer general, so far it was all going as planned.

Aouddunill who had predicted he would be either captured or killed this day faced the coming threat with little worries, he were so calm and he might have been taken for any other tree, if not for his burning vengeful eyes that were focussing on the coming foe.

Aouddunill who were to old to be fooled by death had come prepared this day. It is so that a piece of his spirit never leaves the magic gardens in wich he belongs, if he should ever fall in battle the spirit back in the garden would begin a renweal process in one of the biggest trees in the garden. Though extremly uncomforting it ensured that the Garden would always remain in HIS capable hands, after all no one else could ever have chance of replacing him.

So was it that when he had crushed their general in a challange at last and the horde of angered warriors run upon him he was still calm in mind, even as they started tearing him down and chopping of some of his wooden limbs.

The last thing he could remeber was the horn of the Warriors of Chaos calling retreat, then he passed out and embraced the void.

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Karlich fought lika a true unberong yet the day was lost. He could at least take comfort that he slathered the paretic "chosen" chaos warriors.

And so the summer ends and autumn begins, as all the other armies race towards morgheim Karlich and his men stay back, planning for the storm that will come.

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With a determination only the undead can possess, the army of Necrotect Khephri marched to free their general. Many Liche Priests had the task of overseeing his army while Khephri was held captive. On their way to the location Khephri was believed to be held an army of the Forest-people suddenly attacked.


The undead army vastly outnumbered their foes, and it look as if the Forest-people would be overrun. But then a Dragon appeared on the battlefield, accompanied by giant living trees, that stomped their way through the undead force. The skeleton warriors did inflict casualties, but they were not strong enough to halt the monsters that trampled them under their roots and claws.


The Liche Priests did what they could to turn the battle around, but to no avail. When the battle was over the undead force was thoroughly defeated.

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