Elsewhere in Ymurica...
The Blight Lord Bactius heaved a husky sigh as the congealed fluids that filled his lurid lungs shifted with the changing pressures in his bloated, hulking form. It was a hot, wet sigh of relief stemming from the new knowledge that the first of the aelven war parties had been utterly crushed at Anreth. Even now, the last of them--a she aelf scinari--was being pursued. Hmmm, how nice would it be if they were to capture the sorceress? Corrupting one such as her would please Grandfather Nurgle; surely, such an act would compel the God of Pestilence to bless Bactius in blighting this horribly enlightened and pristine realm. Bactius conveyed his wishes to the messenger blight drone before stepping out from the shade of his putrescent pavilion to survey his troops' great work.
The putrid blight kings had listlessly dragged their feet and weapons in a circular vortex for hours now, leaving a trail of offal and a other unspeakable fluids in their wake. Off in the treeline's shade, Harbinger Cryptosporidicus watched as the chanting and capering of Spirossius III, a chaos sorceror of Nurglite persuasion, finally bore fruit: a new feculent gnarlmaw suddenly erupted from the decayed remains of whatever its foul seed had been planted in. Almost instantly, it imposed an oppressive entropic air about its being. Only when this finally happened did the listless shifting of the blight kings come to an end. Swiftly they formed up before Bactius, eager to be sent any direction to bring blight and ruin upon the realm. A rumbling, rotting cheer erupted from among their number, for the corruption of Hysh was about to begin in earnest.
High Warden of the Wyrmclaw 3rd Company, Gilgalion of the Aleroth gesticulated and half the phalanx broke off to expand the front and secure the south. Beyond the treeline, the Dawnriders lied in wait. Three hundred strides before them was the enemy. Not three hundred strides behind them, the denizens of Favanor, a small trade depot, boarded carriages and wagons to flee the sudden invasion. Others were on foot. Others still, foolishly sought to take the entirety of their possessions with them. Gilgalion resolved that the 3rd Company would hold the Maggotkin at bay long enough that even these fools could make it to safety. Swiftly and silently, the 3rd Company formed its glittering battleline, serene and ready to die to the last against the invaders.
The Maggotkin assault was rapid and implacable. Even with glittering aethyrquartz infused armor, arcane protection and emotional transference facilitated by old Madame Ythrila, the casualties piled on quickly. As the detachment advanced, they were bombarded by blighted projectiles which melted them on the spot. Even so the stoic phalanx persisted. To the south, Dawnriders engaged blight kings which had sought to circumvent the melee forming around the phalanx, while others rode around, lending arcane aid where they could.
Bactius chortled in derision. What a pitiful defense these weaklings were putting up. They had died in droves and now only a pitiful few remained. Perhaps there were some worthy adversaries in this holdout, unlikely as it might be. Suddenly, the Blight Lord was momentarily disoriented, seeing stars. He also spotted a pack of Dawnriders riding north. Turning his attention back to the melee, he only had enough time to register a dozen blazing bodkins before they perforated his torso. Even with the boon of Nurgle, Bactius knew the salvo had grievously wounded him. Looking for the culprits, he spotted the sentinels shouldering their bows and pulling out their blades to join the few wardens still in the melee. Bactius smiled, for he would fertilize the earth for the nearby gnarlmaw with their blood.
Gilgalion saw the approaching Blight Lord and barked an order to slay him. High Sentinel Yolola appeared next to him, blade drawn, her Scryhawk perched on her shoulder. The two veterans acknowledged each other and advanced upon Bactius, Lord of Blight. The Sentinels died quickly, but the wardens held out a little longer. Despite countless strikes and wounds, it seemed like the chaos lord would not go down. Even as the last of the wardens died under the weight of the blight kings, it was Gilgalion, High Warden of the Wyrmclaw 3rd Company, who finally struck a mortal blow to Bactius. The Blight Lord gasped and burbled, stumbling away whilst clutching his throat. Gilgalion himself would die soon after to the press of blight king bodies, but before he did, he witnessed old Madame Ythrila collapse before the Harbinger.
It was the reaving Dawnriders of the 3rd Company that would still be around to witness the end of their world before they perished. With alarming alacrity, feculent gnarlmaws began sprouting everywhere. The air became thick with pestilence and chaotic magics. As they tried to reorient themselves in the rapidly warping space about them, the Dawnriders witnessed a bulge in reality quiver before them. It was big, as if some putrid entity were pushing through the viscous membrane of reality. Like pus oozing out of an ******, the Great Unclean One Perticuss the Poxbringer, burst into Hysh with a wet, thunderous pop. The aelven knights resolutely engaged the greater daemon, dying to the last.
The aelves of the 3rd Company would not know whether their sacrifice saved the people of Favanor. It did, for a time. Nothing escapes entropy, mused the Great Unclean One as he fished a nurgling out from his exposed lower intestine. It was covered in sulferous goop, and looked awful tasty. So he ate it, relishing the putrid pop nurglings make when eaten.