Bloodstained Angels, a tale of the Crimson Seraphs

[mumperpa]

I was reading through the Stormcast Eternals battletome,  saw and fell in love with the color scheme and description of the Crimson Seraphs. I already have celestial vindicators, so I decided that I, once they come out, my Shadespire Vanguard-Hunters will be Crimson Seraphs. This is the first part of their backstory, once I get more written i'll add it: 

Chicahua starred as a single drop of blood dropped from his wrist onto his axe, the red liquid quickly filling the carvings on the blade, then vanished, leaving his weapon an unnatural metallic crimson. Around him, many armored figures did the same, the glowing fire in the center of the camp showing only vague shadows of the impressive warriors clad in gold. In the center, their Tlacochcalcatl carved deeply into the skin of one of the men with his ritual blade, the sacrifice a request for Sigmar’s favor. The man’s mask covered his face, but Chicahua knew that underneath he would be wearing a grimace of pain. It was just as well that the sigmarite helmet showed a forever stoic image of the wearer. 
The sky above showed a blood moon, the best possible omen for the upcoming attack. While the Crimson Seraphs were outnumbered ten to one, their courage would not wane. They numbered a mere hundred, but the forces of Khorne would be defeated. In their mortal lives, they had opposed this army, and now would do it again. Chicahua recalled the sweeping arc of the brass blade spiraling towards his head, his obsidian club and cane shield of no value defensively. Next, only darkness, at least until he was forged anew, and given a second chance to strike at his oppressors. 
“Form up,” the powerful voice of Tlacelel. The prime of the Vanguard-Hunter’s unit had risen from the kneeling stance the warriors had taken. “We strike at midnight. That should bring the omens to pass.” 
Five men rose in unison, their blades shining in the moonlight, boltstorm pistols at side. 
“We’re going to surround them.” Tlacelel explained. “And, if we wish to be ready in time, we need to get moving. Understood?”
The warriors silently nodded, and fell in step behind their commander. As they moved away from the campfire, other bands of five did the same. When they reached the treeline, another unit of Vanguard-Hunters, as well as the Tlacochcalcatl, second in command to their general, joined their formation, and together they faded into the forest. Soon the slaughter would begin.

[mumperpa]

The eleven shadowy figures picked their way along the narrow path, hundreds of meters above Khornate legions below. They stared down at mountain pass, carved out of sand colored stone, and filled with thousands upon thousands of red clad soldiers. The stormcast crouched behind the a boulder, and in unison, drew their pistols.

“3 seconds,”Tlacelel counted. “2, and 1...”

A cool breeze sent a chill up Chicahua’s back, and he realized the Aetheric winds had begun. In an instant, a score of vanguard palladors appeared before the enemy column. They didn’t break their stride as they charged into the front rank, smashing away bloodreavers and leaving only dead in their wake.

Yet as quickly as they appeared, they vanished again, teleporting through the next rank of warriors who had moved forward, only to land in the recently vacated space. Their charge continued, destroying another row barbarians.  As they faded away again, the hills lit up with bolts of lightning as the ambushers revealed themselves. The bloodbound had turned to face the initial threat, and were now blindsided by the many sided assault. The palladors appeared again, this time surrounding the enemy general. They had taken a few casualties, but were largely untouched. Meanwhile, the Hunters advances, taking advantage of the disarray in the enemy lines. Their axes reaped a bloody toll on the outer rank, but as the momentum faded, blood warriors moved up to fill the gaps, crushing stormcast to the ground.

Chicahua parried an overhead blow from a bloodreaver with his sword, then fired a succession of lightning rounds into his enemy chest. At his side, Tlacelel cut down another enemy. The Tlacochcalcatl lifted his bloodstained knife into the air, and with a flash, a bolt of lightning, accompanied by a roar of thunder, was called from the sky. A blood warrior who had been leaping at Tlacelel was knocked to the ground, his body scorched black. To Chicahua’s right, a Hunter fell, an axe buried in his chest. Another stormcast stepped forward to fill the gap, slashing down the attacker.

Across the pass, skirmishes continued, but even as the palladors assaulted the enemy general, they were slashed down one by one. The Lord-Aquilor burst out from behind his men, swinging a brutal downward strike, but the hound at the Lord of Khorne’s feet intercepted the blow with a wild leap. A demonic axe was lifted into the air, and swung forward, hitting the Sigmarite wearing warrior in the chest. The sky was lit with a strange red light, and the world itself was ripped apart. A rift appeared in the sky, and the surviving palladors were lifted into the sky, disappearing as the gap closed. As the bulk of the Crimson Seraphs force vanished, the Hunters were quickly being cut down. Around Chicahua, two other warriors were struck down in rapid sucession.

“Retreat,” Came a resounding order from Tlacochcalcatl. As the stormcast struggled to disengage, and increasing number of bloodreavers assaulted their position. Chicahua stepped back after slashing the throat of another barbarian, opening fire with his boltstorm pistol. Under the covering fire, the other warriors pulled away, the enemy troops forced to take cover behind the boulders dotting the mountainside. The Hunter numbered six where there had once been eleven, but a few paces forward lay a stunned Stormcast. Tlacelel lifted the limp figure to his shoulder, and the Crimson Seraphs fled back towards the shadowy forest, as the night returned to its silent state, the red moon shining overhead.

[mumperpa]

 

Kadmos crept toward the end of the canyon, his axe already splattered with blood, his red armor dented and damaged. He didn’t fear what waited for him, he had already completed many challenges of Khorne, but he did notice the strength of his opponent, and the odds he faced. 
The offshoot from the pass was a few hundred feet long, and a couple of stormcast lay in wait. The bloodtide had continued to advance, but Kadmos had been commanded to finish them off. Many of the bloodreavers under his command had already fallen, unleashing guttural roars before rushing that their enemies. They hadn’t returned. He turned to the men flanking him, and uttered a single word. 
    “Attack!”
At this, yet another wave of red-clad barbarians flowed down the passage, and another volley of fire met their charge. 
    Kadmos wasn’t among them, he was scurrying up the canyon walls, his weapons stowed on his back. His heavy armor which marked him as a blood warrior had been shrugged off, his weapons the only thing he burdened himself with. Even as lighting blasts filled the enclosed space, he krept atop a narrow cliff above the enemy position. 
    The bloodreavers continued to fall, but more and more leapt across the bodies of the fallen, and the Hunters fired their pistols non-stop. Two remained standing, and a third lay on the ground. 
    Kadmos dropped, hitting the first stormcast in the back. The warrior fell to the ground, and without reaching for a weapon, Kadmos gutted him with a bladed shield on his fist. The other defender retreated a few paces, and dropped his gun, drawing a shining sword. Kadmos lifted his axe in response, despite the fact that his legs had been shattered in the impact. As the golden warrior launched a brutal thrust, Kadmos moved into the blow, replying with an upward swing with his axe. The duel blows both connected, and the combatants fell into a dead heap. 

 

“What the hell was that!” Tlacelel questioned Tlacochcalcatl. “You said the omens were right! You said we would win!” He was angry at loss of his men, the failure to accomplish the mission, the sore defeat the stormcast had received.
“Quit your whining Tlacelel, and help with Cipactli. He took quite the hit to the head.” Tlacochcalcatl was kneeling next to the unconscious stormcast, whose long black braids were stained with blood. “We can still save him.” 
The warriors had formed a half circle around the incapacitated one of their number. Two of the Hunters had moved to scout the area, and to their left they could hear the firing of a boltstorm pistol. A few moments later, the sound was abruptly cut off.  
    “We must be the last ones…” Tlacelel realized. With that thought, he bent down to help Cipactli.
    
  

 Mars moved forward, the champion of Khorne staring in disgust at the blood warriors body. ‘So Kadmos has fallen. One less competitor,’ He thought. He lifted his head into the sky, a sniffed. He could still smell the golden warriors. There were more. He growled at his men, and they followed him as he dashed into the surrounding forest. 
 

[mumperpa]

          As the stormcast struggled through the forest, Cipactli showed few sign of life.  The lush jungle was untouched by the taint of chaos. Massive trees and wild creatures were the only sights in the wood. They made slow going, burdened by the weight of Cipactli limp form.  A single sound splintered the calm silence, and the stormcast froze in place. They drew their sidearms and encircled the wounded Cipactli. 

         A guttural roar split the night, and a blood reaver burst through the underbrush, followed by three of his brethren. The Hunters opened fire, but more warriors of Khorne appeared from every direction. As the attackers reached the defensive position, blades clashed. Blood ran across the green floor. The golden warriors were driven back into a tight huddle, pressed on all directions. They had fallen back as far as possible, and were literally back to back. 

        Tlacaelel traded blows with three reavers, and in an unfortunate turn of events, slipped of the body of another who he had slain a moment before. Falling to the ground, he feared the worst and closed his eyes, knowing there was no chance that he would be able to block the eminent blow. He felt a body collapse onto his own, but felt no pain. 
After a second, he climbed to his feet. The warriors of Khorne had been dispersed, and replaced by moss wearing natives. They clutched primitive flint weapons and blowguns, and several more dropped from the trees above. The native nearest to Tlacaelel kneeled to the ground, and retrieved the warrior’s sword, handing it to him. He then motioned for the stormcast to follow, and dashed away with his men into the jungle, the only thing that showed that he was ever there was the unconscious bloodreavers on the ground.