#GUEST MUSE; VA'RRICK

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𝐕𝐀'𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄

FINALLY COMPLETE. Va'rrick Headflayer is the Gorelord of the Fifth Host of Murder and one of the three Bloodpurrsters Bloodthirsters sent to the mortal realm by Khorne. I decided to do something a little different with him: I made him feline-coded rather than the typical dog/bull inspiration Bloodthirsters are usually designed with. He was inspired by the Charr, Nosferatu Zodd, Gulltoppr from GOW, and the Kariians from my friend @apexulansis' original species ^^. I REALLY enjoy how this came out :3c

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@warhammer-fantasy-muses ( Prev / Next )

"Mmm?"

Va'rrick looked skyward, roused by the sound of heavy wingbeats. Reflexively, he grabbed his axe, pulling the weapon out of it's bed of soil and grimacing at the blue sky. His army, what was left of it anyway, soon followed, some raising their horned heads from their bloody work of harvesting skulls and flaying the dead-- and the living.

Va'rrick gave a sniffle, detecting the unmistakable scent of a Daemon Prince. No matter how fully they embraced the powers of Chaos, their mortal stench would always linger. However, this Daemon Prince had earned the respect of many true-daemons, however begrudgingly. Valkia was a singular human. A singular daemon prince, too.

But there was another smell. Foreign to him, but definitely of Khorne. Too strong to be lesser daemon, even a Herald, too new to be a season warrior like himself. Shadowing the Gore-Queen was another Bloodthirster and Va'rrick immediately felt himself become annoyed. His wings partially unfurled and he stared the youngster down territorially.

Even so, he didn't disrespect the GoreQueen as she landed. He knelt. They all did.

" Hale and Red Tidings, Mother-Queen of Slaughter."

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PREV / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐒 - 𝐈𝐈

"You cannot mean it."

Idonea strained. She struggled in the mighty paw she had found herself caged in. Beneath the voice of the woman warbled the god in truth who had taken possession of her body, creating a dissonance of tones-- one feminine and one deeply masculine. Both both were certainly angry, panicked, biting and fighting the beast holding them. Khade only glanced down at himself, trapped in that pathetic mortal shell, in annoyance.

"𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓, 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍-𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅." The Red God responded with a rumble. He put his other paw overtop of her, completely muffling her angry protestations. "𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆." Khade flicked his ears, twitched his whiskers, and shifted his eyes as if he could see the to-and-fro of the battle from deep beneath the cobbles. The dark, spacious under-chamber he had called his cathedral had been emptied of supplicants. They had all taken up blades and axes, spears and shields, and joined the City in it's defense against the Khornates. They had been eager to spill the blood of the enemy, from the newest acolyte to the most senior and mutated of the Red Cults.

Bloodshed. Copious amounts of death. Enough that Idonea could've manifested should he let her sup of it. Certainly, it would spell the doom of all of them: The Two Bloodthirsters and even the Mighty GoreQueen herself. Khade's lip twitched. GoreQueen. He would have never expected his brother to look at another being and not see a skull-to-be-taken.

Let me drink of this slaughter! Let me grow and swell and we can take this city together! We can destroy all of Khorne's wrenched spawn!

Idonea had needled into his mind, but it availed her not. He had woven magics into his very hands to keep her from doing just that and had shook his great head.

"𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄, 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒. 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐈𝐓? 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋…𝐇𝐈𝐌?"

Khade's skin twitched in the manner of large, anticipatory feline. Yes, he had looked into the tales of his sister-through-bonds. Valkia. The Queen of Skulls, Keeper of Khorne's Heart and magnet for his eyes. And she was here. Kharneth was too. He could feel the heat of his brother's gaze in the air, leeching through the stone, snapping in the air all around him. Good. Let the Blood God see how strong and vital he had become!

The battle had shifted, power swinging towards Khorne's brazen warriors and away from the defenders of Myrmidens. Khade shifted his weight, and his horns, just so, bunching the muscles in his legs.

And then, he launched himself.

---

" You fought well, Neophyte. Perhaps a sliver of Khorne's fury burns within you yet." Va'rrick hissed, speaking around the blood coating his teeth and tongue. Much of it was hers, but not a little of it was his own-- it was hard to tell the soupy, black mess apart. He had her held aloft by the throat, near-spent. Exhaustion was creeping up on him as well, wrought by the battle and by the insidious wrongness housed in her very talons.

For her part, Sābon was little more than a rabid animal, one making a ruin of whatever flesh she could grab, in this case the arm holding her. The battle had taken them from the battlements to the ground, through several builds, and back up the tallest and grandest of the City's towers. Among the corpses, Sābon spied her champions-- Kruall and Thyrr had foolishly tried to assist her, thinking they could make any difference against the red abomination locked in a deathmatch with her. For this stupidity, they had paid with their lives.

Va'rrick's fist tightened. Sābon choked on her own blood. " You will make a fine skull for the throne." The Bloodthirster chuckled, holding his prize to be high for all the lesser daemons to see. And then he roared the Skulltaker's Mantra, "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

And his guttural proclamation was answered in kind, Bloodletters pausing in their butchery to chant in equally harsh tones and tongues, "Skulls for the Skull Throne! Skulls for the Skull throne! All Glory to Khorne!" As if summoned by the clamor, he could feel his Lord's eyes on his back and held his prize to the swirling, bloody sky.

But then the chanting had stopped. It had been stopped and abruptly, a louder and altogether more destructive force drowning out the fervor of the Blood Daemons. The ground itself seem to explode outward and a massive figure lurched from the Heart of Myrmidens with a mind-shredding roar. Red forms once caught in the throes of bloody celebration had been strew about as if tossed by a massive hand. The creature pulled itself through in it's wretched entirely, crimson hooves grinding to dust.

A shadow fell over Va'rrick, massive and bright vermillion, a cold hatred more chilling the depths of the arctic washing over him and extinguishing his fury in an instant. The face was felid and foreign, but furious and familiar all in one. It was Khorne, just as much as it wasn't, and that fact alone drove Va'rrick to drop his weapon and even his prey, both clattering to the ground as the Storm Rage seemed to stumble with the depth of his own terror.

The Red God reached out. The Bloodthirster didn't move. Couldn't move. It seized it's hand around Va'rrick's armored form, then lifted him up ponderously before it's cerulean gaze. All around, the Bloodletters, Blood Knights, Khornate servants of the warp and womb alike, looked on and watched as the Storming One, the Deluge of Rage, was crushed in the hand of the God-Creature like an overripe fruit. With one flex of it's muscular digits, Va'rrick was no more, and his gore dripped between the Felid Deity's fingers into a gory mess upon the ground.

Only then did the Daemons lose heart, even with their Queen still watching and fighting. They began to waver, their grip on this reality overcome by sheer fear. Glyphs on his horns and feathers, and whiskers glowing with the foul magics of Unmaking, the essence of the Red God rippled outward. Only the GoreQueen and her remaining Bloodthirster did not shudder and perish then and there and to them, the Red God looked with glittering eyes. To her he reached, arm outstretched, claws outstretched, still slick with Va'rrick's blood and flesh.

And then he heard it, as he suspected he might. The Roar. The Furious Wrath of the Blood God, a scream almost, of challenge and incense. And to his brother, he answered with his own challenge and his own rage. A second roar, this one louder than the first, and woven into the concussive sound was his hellish breed of magics. Daemons melted. They lost form, but they did not return to the Aether, instead their bodies slipping into the very ground. The stones, the soil-- all was red before Khade's power, suffused by corruption. Mortals died and buildings rung to the two deities, crumbling before the combined fury of the Blood God and the Unmaker.

But even through the noise, even if he hadn't heard it, Khade knew reprisal was coming. Khorne would not entertain such a threat without a direct response and the reply was as direct as could be. A sword, which could have only been thrown by the Blood God's own hand, screamed through the heavens. It tore at the very seams of reality, aimed for the upstart Godling that had angered Kharneth so. But Khade was quick, and more importantly, he had predicted this.

The Blade of Khorne slammed into the City's Heart where the Red God had been moments before with an explosion of sound to dwarf even Khade's roar. The earth split and cracked and bunched up around it, waves sent through the ground and turning whatever buildings remained into mere piles of rubble. Daemons, mortals-- all who tread the land were obliterated. All but Khade, who had slipped the attack and endured the aftershocks. He eyed the blade and reached out his talons, wrapping a hand around the pommel of the godly weapon.

And it cried out and fought him, for it was consecrated to Khorne and not this usurper, but Khade's will was more than iron or steel. He was firstborn, prime, apex, Unmaker, and the fell runes Kharneth had set into the weapon to ensure none would wield it but him were swiftly undone. Khade pulled the weapon from it's crossguard-deep tomb in the earth; a blade from Khorne's own forge, by the Blood God's own hand. His now, for his fell and evil purposes.

And with this victory, with this plunder, he left the city, blade in one bloody hand and Red Sage in the other.

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐒 - 𝐈

Siege bells rung.

Men ran, either with weapons in hand to man the battlements or to herd their families indoors, aware from the carnage-to-be. Knights, men-at-arms, whatever the Border Princes -- not as well-defended as the Empire -- could muster to defend itself, rushed to the direction of captains and commanders. But Myrmidens was a capital city yet; taking it would not be a simple matter.

Outside of the high walls, surging forward in a murderous tide, was the Daemon Host that mounted scouts and displaced families had been warning about for weeks. Red skinned, horned, and full of hate. Brazen-bladed, iron-shoed, and battle-hungry. These were the sons of Khorne, the Reapers of the Bloody Harvest, come to collect their heads for the Brass Lord of Slaughter.

Cannons fired, cannonballs landing in the middle of the daemon-horde and banishing a few luckless infernals outright, but it didn't shake the other monsters. They didn't so much as glance at the fates of their brethren, driven on if anything by the gory demises nearest to them. The air stunk of sulfur, of fear, and of gunpowder. On the walls of the City, men drew bows and unleashed a hail of iron-tipped arrows upon the intruders; it barely slowed them.

It certainly didn't phase the abominations leading them.

Va'rrick charged with powerful wingbeats to the fore, grinning and guffawing at the feeble efforts of the Bordermen. The electric thrill of battle seemed to enliven him, the deaths of both friend and foe stoking his own bloodlust just that much more. Behind him were his allies, another Bloodthirster and the GoreQueen herself. Valkia the Bloody had come down from her paramour's side to see this city turned to rubble and ash, a punishment for the men of Myr and warning for all those who might think to harbor Khorne's enemies.

And if Valkia was here, that meant Kharneth was too. That meant the Blood God's himself would witness everything that took place under this crimson sky; ever body to hit the dirt, ever skull snatched from its fleshy perch. He would be here to witness Va'rrick's glory!

But there was something else too, throbbing next to Va'rrick's murderous excitement like his own hellish heart. Something he couldn't name, but it was deep, and black and ancient and hateful. They had found Khade's ichor shed around the city, etched into Herdstones, and he had felt it then too. But then it had only been a whisper. Now it was a headache, gnawing on his temple incessantly like a nest of flesh hungry insects.

Had Khade manifested? The thought gave him the briefest of pauses, even as he landed atop the walls, crushing tiny mortals underfoot. Even as he swept out his axe, destroying cannons and hacking down towers as if they were stone trees. He was so lost in his reverie that he didn't see it. Didn't see her. And it was almost too late when he did. But Great Va'rrick, the Rage of the Storm, had battle and slain too many of Slaanesh's slayers, daemons altogether more quick and lithe, than the likes of the them to be killed by something as simple as a sneak attack.

" SLOW!" He barked, wrenched from his thoughts back into the present by the challenger. He felt her claws skin him by the merest amount and grabbed her as she sailed past him. But her skin, black like a starless night, burned him. It was slick with substance that stung at him like acid and such was the pain that Va'rrick yelped and released her. This she took advantage of; her second strike stole the sight from one of his eyes. Roaring in pain and rage, the Bloodthirster belched forth a gout of flame, forcing distance between himself and his attacker.

Before him stood an Anarche of Malal. Sābon faced him down, her talons dripping with his oily, black blood, his mushed eyeball gripped in her taloned fist.

" Abomination," The felid Bloodthirster levelled his weapon at her. " Wretch! Heresy in Flesh! You were not meant to be. I will scrub you from the face of all existence!"

" Not meant to be?" Sābon snorted, her multiple eyes slitted. She tossed away his ruined eye and licked his bloody from her palm. " We are the result of your father's indiscretions. Kharneth lay will the snake, and now my master suffers for it, O' Honorable One."

" Then let me set it right." Va'rrick growled through gritted teeth, eyes blazing. With a flap of his great wings, he hurled himself at Sābon, and the great dance between greater daemons had begun!

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Concurrent | The Border Princes

Va'rrick sneezed, the irritation and pressure building in his throat and lungs too much to bear any longer. Black foulness sprayed from his nostrils, dripping beneath his overlarge fangs despite his efforts to cage it all. Blood. Diseased blood. And this was no phage of the Poxfather, but something altogether more.....poisonous.

The leonine Bloodthirster wiped at his snout with the back of his hand and then cast his gaze over to his blood host. Many were afflicted with the same malignancy as he himself, ugly black marks scored into red bodes by teeth and claw and horn. It had been the Whiteblack beasts of Malal, commanded by the quilled she-daemon who had crossed blades with him a few sunrises ago. They had died and taken few of the Bloodkin with them, but victory, as Va'rrick was learning, hadn't been the point of their ambushes.

It was meant to slow their inexorable march. To dim the fires of their hatred and curdled their hunger for glory. And it indeed, his host was flagging ever so noticeably, as the black blood sickness made ever mile agony. At the last, they had made came, and Va'rrick had raged. He had crippled his lieutenants, killed some of them, and when at last he had fallen into a simmer, he sat apart from the rest of the milling horde and he had brooded.

"Damn wench." He cursed, wincing and fishing another quill out of his maw. Like the Red Sage, finding them was proving to be a pain in the flank. Va'rrick growled, hating the Malalian Daemon, hating the quills that swelled his mouth, hating how afflicted his horde was, hating, hating, hating--

" Great Son of Khorne."

The Bloodthirster whipped around, nearly setting whoever was so bold to interrupt his ruminating on fire. Before him was a Beastman, dressed in flayed skins and bearing twisted, mismatched horns of iron. One eyes was hell red, glittering with malice and the other was a shining brass. He was a diminutive thing, with tawny fur and a coppery reek, flanked by two of the Bloodreapers who had survived Va'rrick's tantrum.

A shaman of Khorne, respectfully down on one knee, speaking to him in the daemon-tongue.

" What is it mortal?" Va'rrick's patience, already tenuous, was short. " Speak."

" I bring portents from our master." The odd-eyed Beastmen said quickly. The Bloodthirster flicked an ear, suddenly cautious. " He sends more warriors for the hunt. To find the Red Sage; it is imperative she is found."

Va'rrick felt his blood boil. Did Khorne not think he alone was enough? He raked an angry line in the dirt with his talons, but did not voice the thought lest his father be listening and smite him for it. The Beastmen continued.

" The Gorequeen flies on the wing. She and another Greater Daemon."

" The Gorequeen?" That was a surprise. A welcome one, considering what was said to lurk in Myrmidens. Ah, but if Valkia was coming, then Khorne's eye would surely be upon all of them. And no one could afford to be found lacking in the Blood God's gaze, especially not him.

" Very well. If that is all-- leave me. Or, join the pile of skulls." He motioned to the great horde of skulls and bones that was at least as tall as the Bloodthirster himself. " I care not."

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The Border Principalities, Realm of Mortals

Truth be told, Va'rrick had lost sight of the mission amid the bounty of battle on offer within the Borderlands. And if anyone under his banner had the mind to remember, they certaintly didn't have the courage to remind their Lord. The men of the Princes were more sparse than the Empiremen, but they were meaner and leagues more dangerous owing to the cut-throat nature of their society.

And there were much more than men-- pockets of Skaven, sounders of Ogres, and war parties of Orcs. Even the odd pocket of Malalians. Though squabblesome, all saw the wisdom in putting aside petty grievances in order to deal with the Khorne Lord hacking a bloody red path through their home.

Indeed, the skull tally would be handsome by mission's end. It was only by chance they stumbled across the first Cult of Khade, bearing the strange cross-crown mark of the Red God, and with that stroke of luck the Bloodthirster of Khorne Va'rrick directed his killing frenzy to find more and more.

The Sage of Khade, he figured, would be here, trying to hide amidst it's own. The Ascended Godling himself might be stalking about, a prospect that filled the feline Bloodthirster with equal parts anticipation and trepidation. He was weaker than Khorne, obviously, but still a god, if a minor one. And thus, dangerous to Va'rrick...but imagine the glory! How Khorne would bless him and his legions for delivering the Skull of a God to his throne and the ichor of the divine to fill the Chalice of Wrath!

It was these thoughts Va'rrick focused on, not allowing fear to take root and taint the purity of Khorne's gifts.

---

The Blood God was still predictable as ever.

Halle-Khade, looming large over his congregation of kneeling cultists, paid the bodies before him no heed. Instead, he quietly considered the message he had been brought. A Bloodthirster of Khorne raging it's way across the land, first indiscriminately, now with an obvious target in mind: his followers. He casts his multiple eyes over the prostrating assembly. Though humans were by far the most common, dwarves, ogres, and even the odd Skaven could be seen among the hunkering figures.

₪ SO KHARNETH HAS COME TO BATTLE. Khade was giddy. It reminded him of old times. He hummed.

₪ SOME WEEKS AGO, YOU SPOKE OF A DAEMON OF MALAL AND CULTISTS LURKING ABOUT THE LAND. He began. A GREATER DAEMON, I BELIEVE IT WAS? FIND HER AND SEEK AUDIENCE. THE SHADOWBROOD HOLDS MORE HATRED FOR KHORNE'S KIND THAN IT DOES MY OWN. AND WHAT IS THE ENEMY OF YOUR ENEMY BUT A FRIEND TO BE?

The Cult Magus, his sigil branded proudly in their forehead, bowed and scraped.

" As the Blood Lord wills it." They said, the mortals behind them repeating the sentiment in one voice.

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prev/Chaos Wastes, Northern Polar Gate

Khorne's timing could've better.

It was the unspoken sentiment written across the face of every Blood Daemon, the massive daemonic host having strode directly in the middle of a storm at the Blood God's demand. Legions upon legions of red daemons stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a bleeding wound on the white-covered landscape. There were Bloodletters, the infernal footmen of Khorne, and Flesh Hounds, his tireless hunters. The mutated men that called the Chaos Wastes home had been drawn to the potent corruption of the daemon's coming and they too milled about in anticipation. Towering above the man-sized mutants and daemons were the Bloodthirsters of Khorne and not just any random grouping of Daemons.

These were the Skaradrim, peerless lieutenants of the Huntsmaster himself, Ka'Bandha. One of the mightiest of of Khorne's servants, the Gorelord surveyed all he held dominion over. Truly, Khorne had spared little expense to see this hunt completed successfully. The Huntsmaster rather figured he alone could neutralize the God-Strands of Khade, but Kharneth had felt differently. Mixed in with the Third Host of Murder were the artisanal killers of the Fifth Host of Murder and the Immutables, a lesser Blood Host commanded by Hish’khar’tzin. The Headsmen, Throne-Architects, and the Order of the Change-Slayers. It was very clear that Kharneth wanted this done with as much care and precision as possible for his daemons.

In his hands, and Va'rricks and Hish’khar’tzin, were special blades forged by Khorne himself. They were Bind-blades, meant to capture the god-strands and return them to Khorne's authority. The Huntsmaster weighed the furiously burning weapon in his hand. His ear flicked at the approach of hooves. Looking down, Hish’khar’tzin had walked up, keeping her head and posture low enough to be respectful but not so much that it would be obsequious.

" My Blood Host is restless, Great Huntsmaster, as am I. They hunger battle. Will we see it soon?"

The Huntsmaster simply snorted. It had been a day or two since they arrived and waiting had claimed some of their numbers. Khorne's fury couldn't be kept at bay for long and it was becoming clear this storm had no intention of abating anytime soon. Ka'Bandha wasn't put at ease by Hish'Khar'Tzin's show of submission. Even here, even now, she was a threat. Va'rrick of the Fifth Host was too; a greater one in fact. As were every single one of the Skaradrim. All it would take was one Blood Challenge. No rank in the Blood Legion could not be claimed by right of arms.

But, for the time being, the gulf between his strength and their own was vast. This stayed any ambitions they might've had. Ka'Bandha exposed a fang to her and eyeballed Va'rrick as well for good measure.

"We shall. This storm shall not stop us." He declared, flaring his wings and drawing every pair of eyes. " Take your hosts and spread fast and far! We must strike down this God-foe for the Glory of Khorne!"

"And what of the traitor?" Va'rrick spoke now, " What of Skarbrand?"

Skarbrand. The look Ka'Bandha wore was dark, but anticipatory.

" Leave the Whore-monger to me."

[skxrbrand]

Va'rrick can't hide how pleased he is to see the whelp be put in his place. It was one of the many perks of being high in the Blood God's sight and near the top of the Army of Blood's brutal hierarchy. He makes sure to wipe (most) of his smirk away the moment the Blood Queen turns her attention to him once more.

Along with the Blood Queen and Gourmand of Gore, Va'rrick raises his own Wrath-Axe, which burns with the fell spirit of yet another Daemon of Khorne.

"SOULS FOR THE HUNTER! WE SHALL SLAY THEM ALL!"

The Khornate Haste, which had been milling about surreptitiously, was unsure what all the celebrating was about. That didn't stop them for joining it, the roars of Bloodletter's bending the ear and the howls of Flesh Hounds heard as far away and Myrmidens itself.

A omen, surely, of awful things to come.

---

WESTERN BORDER PRINCES, REALM OF MORTALS

Daemons needed no sustenance and little rest, not while they had Khorne's blessing and their own battle-lust to drive them onwards. A normal army would've taken at least three days to reach the Capital City of the Border Princes, but the Three-Headed Host only took one and a half such was their anticipation.

Villages and hamlets had been butchered along the way; mere preludes to the Blood Offering that was to come. The survivors had come, bloodied and broken, with warnings of the danger. The Daemons of Khorne were coming and they were headed by the GoreQueen herself, among other terrifying sights!

The wealthy among them fled, boarding ships and loading them down with as many valuables as they could carry, abandoning the city to the fury of the Daemons. But many could not leave. They could only fight and die. There was no other choice; their never was. And while berserker rage was terrifying, the rage of a cornered animal was not to be underestimated, as the host was finding.

From the Battlements, cannon fire exploded into the oncoming daemons. Arrows rained down. Many were focused on Valkia and the absolutely massive Bloodthirster Zhubon.

Behind the walls, the Cultists of Khade and Followers of Malal mustered, alongside the proper sentinels of the city. Atop his Imperial Griffon, lord Valmir Gausser rallied the troops, having been one of the few uppercrusts who hadn't fled with their precious jewels and pathetic lives.

Valkia was about to have her input on Va'rrick's opinion of the enemy, but unfortunately, Zhubon seemed to do what he did best, and that was to cause trouble. Trouble that SHE had to clean up. A low growl builds in her throat before she literally BLASTS off the ground like a bullet, zips in front of Zhubon's face, and smashes her knee into his lower jaw, the sound of his chin cracking echoing through the air as the daemon howls in pain and holds his already healing jaw.

"YOU will mind your attitude, cur!" she snarls at the upstart daemon, to which Zhubon snorts defiantly, yet visibly shrivels up in submission, lowering to one knee in subservience. "Be GRATEFUL I choose to spare your arrogant life rather than send you hurling back towards the Axefather!" she remains hovering in the air, wings flapping once or twice as she looks to Va'rrick, shaking her head briefly. His intervention would be appreciated, but she had him under control.

"Now then... picked off one at a time, you say. They are utilizing the full breadth of their cowardly tactics... yet valid tactics, they remain. Misdirecting and leading the foe astray is as lethal as any straight-forward swing of the sword, Storm Rage. Remember this." she's going into full-on commanding mode. As devoted as she was to the Blood God, Valkia was known for both her ferocity and her tactics in her chieftain days. "Do not let the picking-offs of our fellows misguide you, Va'rrick. That is their aim. To goad you into striking early, and slither within your guard. Such is their tactics." she gazes over towards the fortifications, scoffing gently.

"Then let us DROWN these defenses in the blood of our enemies. In the blood of our kin! Let it come forth from both sides, and paint this entire battlefield a fresh crimson!" she proclaims, as Zhubon has now gotten up, brandishing his paired weapons, clashing and grinding obsidian and brass teeth together as sparks fly and he bellows out a roar, along with Valkia letting out a shriek;

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

@skxrbrand

[skxrbrand]

"As prepared as we can manage. The the cowardly bastard-bloods have been picking off my blood hosts, one daemon at a time." Stealth. Ambush tactics. Dishonor, in the eyes of the Storm Rage. But he guessed he shouldn't be surprised that cowards would be cowardly.

However, Zhubon's words rip his mind away from the enemy. Upstart whelp! The Bloodthirster rises from his kneeling position and addresses the younger daemon. " I do not presume. I know I can order you about. Remember, daemonling, our father accepts the blood and skulls of all including unruly daemons who do not know their place."

But even as he says that, Va'rrick casts his eyes over to the Gore Queen for silent approval.

" The Red Sage is behind the walls. Bloodshed may trigger its transformation. We are fortunate the Bloodfather sent you, My Queen, as this will be a hard-won victory."

The flight down to the southern realms of Malleus had been nothing but a dreadfully TENSE quiet between the Gore Queen and the Cannibal. Kha'zhubon knew better now than to argue with Khorne's consort; his still regrowing horn on his head was proof enough of that. The queen would soon tilt forward into a fierce dive, however, and Zhubon would follow suit, as both Daemon Prince and Bloodthirster would soon find themselves landed before a host of Khornates, lead by the infamous Va'rrick. The Gore Queen makes an incline of her head, but nothing more.

"Hail and Red Tidings, Va'rrick. Your host is prepared, I assume? More will join us shortly, I am sure of it... the blood we shall shed in the near future will be a beacon for our kin, and will undoubtedly spawn more in our wake. If anything, I will see to it -personally-."

"..." Zhubon stares at the fellow Bloodthirster with a quiet, but still oh-so disrespectful glare, showing he had nothing but contempt for being put underneath one of his own kin. But it was the will of the Gore Queen, that he would be under the thrall of another, older 'brother', to be shown discipline and learn to respect his peers.

"... DO NOT PRESUME YOU CAN ORDER ME AROUND TOO MUCH, -KITTY-." he sneers, however, showing he was not going to be completely quiet of his disapproval.

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