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Gorthor21

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Blog Entries posted by Gorthor21

  1. Gorthor21
    I got the flamers finished and based as well as the curseling done.  The curseling was fun and got me thinking of doing some of the new chaos warriors if I could get my hands on some.  Next is either screamers or horrors, I haven’t made up my mind yet.








  2. Gorthor21

    eBay scavenging

    By Gorthor21,

    I recently ordered a bunch or Orruk boys to add numbers my destruction army which has turned into a Greenskinz force though I’m thinking of adding in some gutbusters leadblechers and an ironblaster.  They are from the 6th edition starter set from way back when I started the hobby.  The nostalgia is real today!



  3. Gorthor21
    A mood has struck me to make a second post today after fiddling around with my tree people.  So I made a battle line shot and decided to make a post where I can post some ideas for future updates to my project in the near future.  
    As a place holder I’ve taken a few photos of the army so far and a few up close for you folks to look over. Any comments or concerns are always welcome In the corporate tree people offices.
    I love a few of these models in particular the heroes that I have accumulated over the years including a knight incantor, old dark master battlemage guy who doubles as an inquisition type guy, a darkling sorceress with bad charisma as she has no thrilling thrills.  Aramathea or something sounds like a good name.🤪
    I have got a unit of iron drakes that make me happy to look at but I feel they would be cooler as Ironbreakers from time to time.  I have also got a unit of terradons that always made me come up with the idea to have a small seraphon embassy in my homebrew free city 
    speaking of Arranoc I think now that Alarielle has cast she great crashing wave of a spirit song that spread to all the realms it could logically reach the wandering isle.  It has healed the Wellspring of Renewal  and now the Last of the Shimmering Isles has come to a final rest in the regions east of Verdia in the Evergreen Swathe. Now the mighty Spirt of Durthu known as the Oaken King has rallied his people to war now with the song of Alarielle burning so strongly in his heartwood.  Great processions of newly grown Harestboon dryads pour forth from the soul pod groves even as new groves spread voraciously over the mountainous remains of the once mobile city.  Now a warren for foul skaven and still wracked by the curse of the nighthaunt pouring from the depths as the Darklings and Duardin work tirelessly to clear old levels and purify sections that were tainted during the Tzeentican invasion.  Still haunted by the sins of the past the Druids of the Inner Temple have escalated their witch hunts  by a magnitude and now entire districts have become active warzones as long hidden chaos and death cults rise up in response to the isle settling finally and the over abundance of soul pod groves which have over taken maybe neighborhoods and warehouses that’s had to be seceded to the fey creatures or feel the wrath of the branchwyches wrath.  To live in Arranoc in the Era of Beasts is both terrifying as it is hopeful for there is a small seed that is rapidly growing and soon the city with clean its streets and then turn their eyes outward as the Oaken King has.  His crusades have crushed many chaos strongholds and cleared much of the regions around the city of dire foes.  
     
    As this new edition advances I’d like to invite you to embark on the journey of this free city and feel free to offer suggestions as to how I should advance the story!









  4. Gorthor21

    Slow moving

    By Gorthor21,

    I dry brushed a few squigs with an orange and they as slowly becoming the tomato knights of yore.  It’ll be fun to see how they come along as a unit.

  5. Gorthor21
    After the recent move we now have an area dedicated to our nerdy pursuits.  My intent with this blog is to have a place where I can post updates on my armies and writing.  Mostly I have been focusing on my Death and Destruction factions, though the Orruks are still unprimed and waiting for more boys to make the effort worthwhile. So far I have the majority of my nighthaunts painted with a basic two tone drybrush that seems to be my go to for cloth-like texture, smoke, and wood.  I hope to update this blog regularly instead of posting in my painting blog so I can keep all of my hobby posts together in one place.  On the bottom shelf you can see my Delvers of the Deep changecult and above that is the mixed order army I feel I have been posting way too much about.  All of these armies will eventually make their way into my fiction so I can feel that I have done something more with my hobby than just painting for the sake of painting.  Mind I am not much of a gamer in the sense that I don't play in tournaments and the last game I played was well before the first general's handbook came out.  Anyway here are the pictures.



  6. Gorthor21

    Era of Beasts Lore

    By Gorthor21,


    Lore
    some fluff
    Era of Beasts in Arranoc.  
    -rite of life stabilizes magic in Wellspring of Life and the Isle returns to Verdia where if first fled from and crashes to ground
    -After rebuilding and soul pods overtaking the ruins of the city, an arch revenant arrives heralding the arrival of a Warsong Revenant at the head of a host of Gossamid archers and dragonspite riding revenants.  At his arrival to the base of the crashed mountain, a swelling note picks up in his song and vegetation bursts to life around his and awakens all of the soul pods upon and around the city.  With a great ethereal song now audible to the non-Sylvaneth,  a great procession of the various Sylvaneth forms aside the Warsong Revenant.  At his side strides the Oaken King who now bears the guttering Font of magic the once fueled the Wellspring of Life.  As the song abruptly ends the momentary silence is replaced by the sounds of a great frost departing on a pilgrimage.  
    -with the source of their life magic gone the inhabitants of Arranoc under go cataclysmic changes.  The council becomes destabilized  from infighting and crime spreads to many of the districts.  The Druids loose power and new Arcanite Cults spread seeking a way to get to the Font of the Wellspring now that it has left. 
    -Khainite cultists and Witch-Aelves orchestrate a millenia old vengeance as the acolytes of Morathi bring about the downfall of those who betrayed her to flee upon the Isle.  Through subtle manipulation they create a palatable tension between the daurdin and aelves that comes to a head after they assassinate the duardin king. All out war breaks the Covens and only a handful Sorceresses escape with their meager thrallhosts in tow.
    -Seeing an opportunity that regain power a select group of the Order of Druids meets in secret to orchestrate the rise of a cult of personality based on the Oaken King.  Desperate to be near the limitless power of the Wellspring of old these Druids ensure the rise of the Temple of the Oaken King, proclaiming him as a divine Avatar of Allarielle and given a scared mission of restoring the Wellspring of Life.  Though the cult grew well beyond their ability to control.  Rogue elements of the Temple themselves met in secret and created the Blades of Dramareth a select group that would itself guide the Temple of the Oaken King which would in turn influence both their rivals in the Council and the disparate communities of minorities still clinging to life in the verdant ruins.  
    -All the death that the various conflicts have inflicted upon the cities inhabitants have left many innocents slain as a result .  The sheer level of death and misery at such a quick pace drew the attentions of Nagash.  His agents quickly raised up a great host of Nighthaunt as the corporeal remains of the death were often mulch within days.  These tormented souls are given over to a cruel Knight of Shrouds who uses them to drive the forces of the living from Arranoc.
    -Galvanized by their religious fervor the Temples of the Oaken King mobilizes the remaining military forces of the city and drive the Nighthaunt back for a time.  It is then the Council meets and rules to support the Temple in their Crusade as the Wellspring has left and it is their duty to serve it.
     
    With the changes wrought by the Rite of Life, Arranoc stands in the verge of civil war as well as economic collapse.  Whole districts have been consumed by the forests of Verdia.  The local populations of Sylvaneth and human refugees have flocked to this center of life magic.  This influx of immigrants and refugees has left a strain in the established powers and without the mediating hand that the Oaken King once provided, the Druid Council has divided. Scheming of the ever present minions of the Feathered Lord have left many of the leaders in shame and they have even begun to incite interracial violence.  Several great magical fires have burned whole districts before they could be dispelled.  Many militias and mobs have seen to many minorities being dragged out and slaughtered in the streets.  These chaotic conditions have seen the introduction of the Cult of Khaine among the thralls of the Darkling Covens often leading to witch hunts that see more aelves slain that would have been worth the effort as the khainite blood wives slaughter whole platoons of thralls.  These attacks have lead to subversion in the treaty with the Duardin and has lead to open war between the two factions as a khainte assassin was captured after he slew the the duardin King.  This attack has incised the stout folk into a great vengeful wrath.  The whole of the hold now marches to destroy the treacherous aelves and all who harbor them.  Left with little choice the Council decreed neutrality in the war, seeing it as an opportunity to finally shift the balance of power between the different factions of Arranoc.  
    With so much turmoil in the city, a movement has been called to begin a Dawnbringer Crusade that will follow the Oaken King on his warpath until they find a suitable local to raise a new city in the hopes they will found it better than the cesspool that Arranoc has become.  The Dawnbringers have taken to calling themselves the Blades of Dramareth.  Hailing from all the factions and races of Arranoc the first bands of disparate warriors and soldiers march shoulder to shoulder with gromril plated duardin and small bands of darklings who stay well away from the duardin.  A whole cult of personality has begun to spread among the human inhabitants of Arranoc who view Dramareth as the Avatar of Allarielle’s Divine Wrath and view him as a messiah who will lead them to a new paradise that they will make for themselves and will spill blood if necessary.  A great many of the disgraced Druids have clung in to the cult in its early days and have acted as priests and prophets and many as fiery orators who galvanize the downtrodden mass with promises of salvation.  This rapid spread of hopeful faith has seen an exponential growth of refugees and mercenary minded warriors swelling at the base of the great fallen mountain.  And on the change of the spring to the summer season in Verdia the declared a Holy Crusade would be taken to follow the Oaken King and his mighty Sylvaneth warriors and once the met up with him proclaim their devotion.  He will then lead them on to their promised land.  With that the entirety of the order of Druids begin to enact great spells upon large pieces of the broken Isle.  With an industry of the truly devoted the cult worked the floating platforms into means of conveyance with great harnesses for packbeasts and men to pull and large warehouses for all the conceivable needs of such a great mass of people.  With hope they drive out to seek their Oaken King.
  7. Gorthor21

    Trees of all Colors

    By Gorthor21,

    I finished the dryads and got them based.  As I start to see what my painting looks like it the day light I notice that I rush through models very quickly and often leave mistakes that glaringly stare me down every time I get the models out to look at.  Given I don’t have a proper place to paint and the lighting is usually bad when I do get to paint through the night until 5 am on my days off of work it becomes evident I need to get a place for myself that I can focus on painting more.  I have never been a great painter but I always try to finish armies with the best of my ability but it seems at times that ability isn’t what I want it to be.  10 years of practice and I still try and rush through painting haha.
    Anyway up next is the Spirit of Durthu which is something I have looked forward to since the day they announced the Sylvaneth were becoming a Battletome army.





  8. Gorthor21

    Looncurse

    By Gorthor21,

    I finally got my looncurse box today.  I’m pretty excited to get back on to working on Sylvaneth though I have started painting some of my Squigs.  Well anyway I took some pictures for anyone who wants to see.





  9. Gorthor21

    Riders of Kurnoth

    By Gorthor21,


    Lore
    Dark Riders of KurnotH
    Those in the darkling covens who spent their lives enthralled to powerful sorceresses were thrust into a whole new paradigm when their petty kingdoms were broken by the assault of the vengeful Duardin and slaughtered upen the treacherous altars of Khainite cults.  A great number of wounded or lost thralls gathered together in one of the largest chambers they could defend.  Soon their numbers swelled into the thousands and Khainite shadowstalkers found them.  
    A number of them banded together and started an ordered flight from the ruined isle’s, all responding to their instinctual discipline instilled in them by their previous masters.  As they fled into the forests the thralls preserved relentlessly for days until the majority could go no longer.  As they gathered to account their supplies and survivors,  they were approached by a Branchwych.  She promised the aelves succor but it would come with a price.  
    As they deliberated it became clear that a unanimous decision was made.  Their spokeswoman gave the darklings’ counteroffer that they would be slaves for no one ever again but they would be willing to support the Sylvaneth in any way they would need.  A symbiotic relationship that the darklings knew the Sylvaneth would approve of.  Despite their efforts though the Branchwych countered with a single stipulation that they must devote themselves to Allarielle utterly or they would be eradicated there on that spot.  She went on to explain that all of the Everqueen’ s children are wary of the words of Aelves as they are all duplicitous.  With no other option the darklings conceded and were given succor in the tundra of the Glades of Midsummer.  Within its massive stretches of blooming tundra life,  massive herds of Swifthoof horses flourished under the Darklings’ protection.  They soon mastered equine warfare becoming daring combatants who can single handedly take out packs of Great Fangs or Yhetees who like to prey on the Swifthooves.  
    In the years since the fall of Aranoc and their near destruction at the hands of their enemies, the darklings were reborn under the Sylvaneth’s tutelage becoming devoted to Allarielle and adopting the veneration of Kurnoth in their role as the force that maintains the balance of nature either the Glades of Midsummer.  As they move with the swiftness of the hawk the Riders have adopted the Raptor as their totem, likening themselves to the swift strikes the birds favor in the harsh tundra where energy must be conserved.  As a force of many thousands the nomadic Riders camp close to the wild herds but never close enough to disturb their neighbors.  With alert watches at all times of day the Rider tribes have now found a purer purpose devoted to the realm of Ghyran and the Everqueen.  
    With a fanatic’s devotion they have pledged themselves to the Crusade of Arranoc in its mission to follow the Oaken King. 
     
  10. Gorthor21
    I pulled these guys off in two days.  I gotta say they were a lot easier than the flamers and gave me a satisfied feeling once they had a healthy clunk when the basing was finished.  After these I think I’m going to finish the silver tower acolytes I’ve had lying around for a few years or start the rest of the horrors.  I might do an army shot later to see how it looks altogether.





     
    here’s a few pictures of the army 




  11. Gorthor21
    It’s been a while since I’ve posted on here but a recent thread got me thinking of my unfinished projects.
     I based a bunch of my treekin I had soaking some December when I got them as a gift for Christmas.  A cheap 20 us and 5 months and I gave a cool unit.  I plan on getting the treelord from that generation as well.  If I was to play I would hope my opponent wouldn’t care if I allied them in. Summon a lifeswarm next to them and they could do their job.  My next aspersions are to get 3 sets of wyldwoods to decorate.
    On my productive side I have begun a 40k army as I like the direction they are going by moving the story along.  I hope you guys don’t mind but here are my Ynnari war band. It started by chance of two sets of scourges and a headless Farseer and a few dire avengers with a metal harlequin lead me to pursue the project as a way to collect models from all kinds of factions and editions all the way back.  After I finish touching up the last few wyches and such I am going to do a batch of old  dire avengers that would be a fun destraction.  
     
    I have a set of Thundewolf Cavalry as well as Necron Warriors I intend to paint for fun.  I have a set of clanrats and bloodletters I might build and paint.  I have a considerable Tzeentch army I expanded on and sold but was returned that I have been sitting on the fence about keeping and I am at the point that I am going to keep it and paint it to be something worthy of my tribute to my first true army. 

     





  12. Gorthor21
    This is the first time I’ve used contrast paint on anything and I feel like I used it the right way but the way it runs on flat surfaces and often leaves difficult to reach areas like the tops of these kurnoths is kind of frustrating as you need to use a light base coat for them.  I think it works better than just slapping agax earthshade on them but I’ll relegate this stuff to just another tool I can use to diversify my color range in my Sylvaneth collection.  

    As an aside here are some better pictures of my durthu who has become a point of shame and pride at the same time.  Some of the yellow looks good but most of it is just embarrassing.  
     
    i gotta say that compared to how I painted when I stared this blog I have come a long way and that taking a step back to recollect and fix things like this guy has made it a fun learning experience.  I’m really looking forward to getting these treekin stripped and built.




  13. Gorthor21

    Brown teeth

    By Gorthor21,

    I got some work done on my squig riders last night.  It’s been some time since I have painted so it was good to get back on track.  I started with some 40k Eldar that got me motivated to finished my collection.  These guys are not done yet but with some more time I think they will turn out good.



  14. Gorthor21

    Nighthaunts

    By Gorthor21,

    I made good progress this week and finished the few remaining models.  All that is left are the banshees and that won’t take long.  I’m thinking of getting more as well as the mortarch and craven king to finish the army.  Once the army. Is at the 2000 mark I want to try a game with them and see what that looks like.  








  15. Gorthor21

    Reapers and rasps

    By Gorthor21,

    I finally finished the chainrasps and based the Grimghast Reapers as well as the shackleghiest.  Aside from some touch ups they are done and I am moving on to the knight of shrouds.  Next week will see the rest of the sheets done and hopefully a nice cohesive army





  16. Gorthor21

    Sylvaneth

    By Gorthor21,

    I have finished assembling and primed the Sylvaneth.  I’m thinking of using a few different shades of brown should give it a nice diversity.  I have been waiting for a spirit of durthu for a long time and I’m happy to finally have one.

  17. Gorthor21
    I managed to finish all the odds and ins details on the first 8 orrruks that I managed to salvage from my Bitz. One even has googles from a deff kopta pilot.  
    I also decided that the necromancer Arborius will be a deathlord much like the woman from Lord of the Undead novel.  He being tasked with the spread of blood cults for the Legion of Blood on Arranoc.   Secreted onto the island through the years from various realms Arborious has gathered vampire husks  and hide them all around Arranoc.  New death cults arise everyday as the influence of Shyish has taken its toll on this Season of Renewal.  Plagued of the walking dead spread quickly through cramped cities only to to swiftly put to the sword by thr various militant factions.   As a deathlord he would still be represented by a normal necromancer but I am going to theme the army to be around him and his Legion of Blood allies.  The dead do not stay long on Arranoc so legions of skeletons would have been reused by the ravenous Life Magic that permeates the island always sprouting new growth, hence zombies and the recently dead or spirits of the damned as well as either soulblight or ghouls to fill some of the roles the army is lacking like a hammer unit and more expendable troops like zombies that can tie units in place for a turn or two.




  18. Gorthor21

    Tzaangors

    By Gorthor21,

    The Tzaangors are ready to march!  I got these guys done over the last few weeks.  The newer set I made as many of the mutants and great weapons I was missing as I could and the paint job is a little lighter on the skin but it’s not all that noticeable.  I feel pretty good about how the two batches blend together.  I have got a few sets of enlightened and a shaman are on the way so I’m looking forward to assembling them and putting the paint to the plastic to finish churning this Tzeentch horde out.






  19. Gorthor21

    Horrors of Tzeentch

    By Gorthor21,

    I have been working on these guys for a while now and I am happy to say they are done.  The pinks and blues are brighter than my older ones and don’t have the varnish on them but I am fine with the way they are.  The two units of pinks I have are on different size bases( I think my first set was an old 40K box before they introduced the 32mm bases).  It is not much of a bother and I doubt I will use all 21 of them at once.  I also got the slaves to darkness starter and I love the new sculpts especially the chaos knights.  
    I did the underworlds warband as well and I now have 30 acolytes and a cool magister!
    well here are the pictures and my next project.





  20. Gorthor21

    Warriors of Tzeentch

    By Gorthor21,

    I finished these guys really quickly compared to everything else I have painted lately.  I went for the color scheme I used on my first chaos army back in 2003 as a throwback to my Warhammer roots.  I had a lot of fun painting them aside from the green scale thing and the super old ones I had in my bits box.  The hunchback one was made from several broken guys I had from when I started way back when.  The sorcerer was a quick paint last night.  He was one of those models I always wanted but never got around to buying until now much like a lot of this army.  These guy have me motivated to get the box of 16 warriors to fill it out to 30.  Next on the paint log is most likely the enlightened but we will see.  






  21. Gorthor21
    After what seems like an aeon I have finally finished my Tzaangor Enlightened and Shaman.  It didn’t really take more effort than the guys on foot I just felt unmotivated to get them done and had lots of mistakes to clean up.  I got a good haul from Christmas with some more chaos warriors and a lord of change which should be really fun to paint.  I also started the changling so hopefully that doesn’t take 3 months to finish up.






  23. Gorthor21

    Warriors of Lag

    By Gorthor21,


    Tzeentch
    It’s been a long time but I finally finished the chaos warriors minus a few that need static grass.  I’ve started my knights using contrast colors but at this point I’m gonna need to do a lot of silver.  Hopefully these guys don’t take as long as the warriors.  I have some 40k stuff I have planned to paint.





  24. Gorthor21

    Skeksis of Change

    By Gorthor21,


    Tzeentch
    After what feels like an entire age of the realms I have finally finished my lord of change minus the basing.  I have run out of Raw Sienna so I’m going to have to wait on basing it for now.  I really had fun with the dry brushing on this guy and it surprisingly didn’t take as long as I would have thought.  Years ago I painted a frostheart Phoenix for a friend and I had flashbacks to that while I was doing the wings.  I tried to use as many different colors as I could and I like the balance I achieved between them all.
    I have it up to table top standard but if anyone has any ideas to make it look better please let me know as I want this guy to look awesome.
    Lorewise he is called the Feathered Lord( original I know) and he is the patron of my gaunt summoner much as Kairos was for Ephryx with much-much backstabbing.  
    I don’t have much of my tzeentch collection left to paint so hopefully in the coming weeks I get the last few pieces finished and I can move on to some other projects I have lined up.






  25. Gorthor21
    Boledrian cast the runic seeds for a tenth time with the same result.  Always the specter reigned above the Lady.  Death over life.  No divining with runic seeds was ever the same, with slight variations in the scatter.  But this was different.  The seeds told the same story every casting.
    "Death will reign", creaked a figure from the shadows of the dark night.  The voice belonged to the malicious spite-revenant that was his near constant companion.
     Boldrian gathered the seeds and glanced about before rising, his worn robes tinkling with a profusion of amulets and talismans.  An Inquisitor needs his insurances. 
    The narrow path upon which he stood was framed by great twisting trunks and branches of trees grown to form the structure of the storefronts and tenements that occupied this district of the city.  Mostly refugees from the lands below; Azyrites mostly but many from Ghur where the Great Island had come to rest recently.  Boledrian knew that with refugees came despair, and with despair came the breeding ground for the changling cults to recruit.  The castings kept pointing him to this district with its eternal twilight under its twisted canopy. 
    Boledrian knew of the struggles that afflicted this district.  A rise in a new plague outbreak that took one in five with a horrible death at the end.  Swiftly the druids had reacted to the outbreak; loosening the Sisters and their malevolent spite allies, much like his spirit-path walking companion.   After the pogroms that followed the denizens of these slums knew better to be near at Boledrian's approach. 
    He cast his shadow long down the road, sending a feeling to hear the spirit-song of the deranged tree-kin that acted in a way as liaison in this hunt for the tree-folk, though so far it had been of little help in acquiring information aside from occasionally terrifying their prey until Boledrian would end their miseries with a crossbow bolt of pure silver-elm.   The creature remained distant to his callings, never giving voice to its intentions.  He did not know if it was agent for the Sylvaneth or simply a mad spirit following him for its own inscrutable means. 
    As he made his way along the cobble-roots of the street a chill wind began to pick up.  Slowly and silently the wind picked up into a low-moaning wail.  The leaves and hanging talismans rattled and made apparent to Boledrian that something was askew.  Hefting his rough worn crossbow with the action locked he made a slow advance down the road.
    Though not a skilled practitioner in magic, he had developed a particular witch-sight that allowed him to track instances of magic to their source.  In this particular instance, with this particular wind his witch-sight left a sickening feeling in his gut.  Unfortunately, the spirit-paths his Sylvaneth companion traversed were invisible to his sight.  He knew not if the vicious spite played tricks on him to unease his resolve or if it was something else altogether different.
    Upon his waist the icon of Usirian began to glow a brilliant amethyst light as it confirmed what Boledrian had suspected.  As he made the next step the gale picked up in such intensity that he was forced backwards off his feet and onto his back, his breath knocked out of him.  The wail reached such a deafening volume that Boledrian's ears rang until the point of his eardrums bursting. 
    Flailing breathless and deaf to the world, the druid-seeker was unaware of the mists the swiftly filled the roadway and brought with them a chill that reached the bone.  Boledrian grasp at his side, feeling a broken rib as he made it to his feet and became aware of his surroundings.  He tried yelling but found his voice mute.  He screamed and screamed but was unable to hear anything.  Clawing at his deafened ears he caught sight of movements in the mists.
    Not in the mists, but the mists themselves.  Raising his head to look upwards he saw twenty feet in the air a wailing spirit of a woman.  A banshee.  A foul servant of the Great Necromancer had manifest and brought with it a host of tormented spirits.  Ghastly hands reached for him, their screaming voices falling on deaf ears as Boledrian tried to flee but found himself trapped.  With but one option left he grasp at the assortment of trinkets and icons he had about his person until he found upon a small seed that glimmered with an iridescent shell.  Quickly he tossed the seed while muttering an incantation of growth.  With a sudden and violent rapidity thorned brambles burst from the ground and seized on the wailing spirits one by one in a way that no corporeal thing should.  Almost as suddenly as the vines had burst and grasped the host of spirits were the vines withered and died taking the spirits with them. 
    It was in this moment that Boledrian dove through the momentary opening and managed to land with a trained aim behind him.  Without a moment to fire the host of spirits was descending towards him again he cringed back and gave into his primordial fear of death.  As he sank to his knees in the face of a physical manifestation of his fate a tittering song began to play in his head.  Though deaf he heard a mocking laughter hidden in the song.  Out of the walls of branch and bole and canopy above came forms that gave voice to the song in his head.  Creatures as much a part of the forest as it was part of them, that had given into the primal urge to kill and slaughter without need or want but simply the necessity of it.  He found the creature that had secreted him since his assignment to this case and gazed with his witch-sight into its intention.   Nodding he removed a series of vials from a bandolier about his chest which he threw into distance. As they shattered a red alchemical smoke rose into the air.  Soon the Sisters would arrive, and they could curb the spites more malicious tendencies from getting to the innocents.  The creatures descended from the canopy above and grasped futilely at spirits, occasionally raking and unfortunate soul when it manifests into solidity.  Out of the walls of the very buildings they charged at the spirit hosts, clawing like crazed maniacs at the air in hopes of rending through a spirit as they made to attack.  The banshee had begun to keen another song that was soon to reach its deafening crescendo as a javelin burning with green witch-fire struck her in the heart. 
    As the banshee gave its death wail and began to discorporate so too did the other tormented spirits that she had brought with her into this realm.  The green witch-fire spread to the rest of the host and soon nothing remained that would have given evidence to what had happened.  Disbelieving at his own survival, Boledrian stared where the spirit host had almost taken his immortal soul when the Sisters of the Thorn approached him.  It was their sisterhood that acted as executioner when the Inquisition has need of a heavy hand.  The sisters were all aelf maidens who had made covenant with an ancient being of the island or, so the legends said. 
    From their glowing fey-stag mounts the Sisters watched Boledrian for what seemed like punishingly long moments before the lead Sister raised her staff and a warm sensation began to overcome his ears.  After it abated he began to slowly hear sounds again.
    "Stand and be recognized," commanded the lead aelf with a voice that pierced his weak hearing.
    "I am Boledrian Winterleaf of the High Council's Inquisition," he said with a weak flourish that displayed his badge of honor on his chest.
    "Very well," the aelf witch said as she lead her mount to leave.
    "We must find the coven of death witches at the heart of this Sister, you cannot just let these kinds of occurrences keep happening.  I have cast my runic stones twelve times this night and each casting is precisely the same, telling that Death will reign over Our Lady."
    At this the witch turned back at glared deeply into his eyes.  The pupiless gaze bore deep into his mind and soul searching for the truth.  Having found her answer she raised her staff and the other riders halted.  With curt hand gestures she sent several of her sisters off in different directions and returned her gaze to him.
    "We will aid you Druid but know this: our magic comes at a cost and we demand a greater title of children this year to compensate. Do you agree?"
    "Of course, I agree, she-aelf.  As by the oath sworn by our two orders.  Now tell me what the root of all this death magic in these wastrel streets is?"
    "A blood-leech has left its taint on this death magic; do you not see it with your witch-sight?"
    "No, I have been a little uneased by my experiences of late," he retorted back.
    "There is a trail, if one is keen enough to follow," she baited him.
    Stifling his hurt pride for the miraculous return of his hearing he decided not to return insult.  These aelfs were stranger than normal aelves and that was saying much.  He knew they would muster forces wherever their whimsy might have sent for aid.  But as with all their deal it came at a price.  A price in innocence that would be high this year indeed.  Those children taken are never seen again and no one ever sees them go.  Simply vanish. 
    His spine chilled to think of his childhood and the myths that gave him nightmares as a child.  "Let us begin then, lead the way sister."
     The leader and two of her sisters lead Boledrian and a few of the lingering spite-revenants who seemed to be now literally shadowing all his moves.  Of the five none where the one who hid from his perceptions.  These were its drones, those so lost in the pursuit of prey that they were little more than shells of sylvaneth filled with the wrath of a wild beast barely held by the leash. 
    Boledrian would say that fear was part of his world and that he made a living of it, but that would be a lie.  His career as an Inquisitor had been one of desk work and very rarely was he called upon for a raid.  This was different, and his warrant was for a very real man, no ghost or ghast. 
    As the aelves lead the way to the presumed vampire's lair, a troupe of sisters arrived and rode to speak with the leader.  After a curt exchange the riders split and rode down two adjoining streets.  This had been the fourth such exchange in the past ten minutes and their pace had slowed considerably.  The road had opened onto a plaza with a bubbling spring in its center.  The water gave a slight luminous glow as it came out of the roughhewn pillar at the center of the shallow pool.  The cobble-roots were worn around the circular area from a telling history of foot-traffic over the ages. 
    Of the other two roads that met in this square, the Sisters were present cordoning off those avenues.  The lead Sister turned over her shoulder and gestured for Boledrian to approach.  As he drew close he felt the hairs on his neck rise at the otherworldliness of these aelves, her eyes boring into his soul, seeking the truth as she had before.  She was testing his resolve to ensure that he would not be a hinderance in the face of such things as the dead or the changlings.  Though these beings were terrifying he knew the Sisters and even the spites were his staunch allies in this hunt. 
    “This is the residence deeded to Rand Sosenhal, the man whose name appears on your warrant.  Suspect of Death worship a crime punishable by death,” she said gesturing to the door they faced. 
    From within there were no signs of habitation, without the refuse set outside or lights in the windows.  As Boledrian cautiously approached the doorway he felt rather than heard the spite-revenants moving into position within the very walls of the building.  Ready to strike when they deemed fit.  Only if he could understand their spirit-song like he could other Sylvaneth then he would know what awaited him.  With growing trepidation, he reached the door with a pair of dismounted sisters at his back, their staffs held at the ready.
      With the third tackle he had the door off its hinges and the trio made quickly into a darkened parlor furnished with antiques from across the realms.   He could make out the craftsmanship of at least three different Chamon artisans among them.  A wealth belied by the façade outside was obvious for all guests to see.  Though Boledrian doubted he would get a guests’ welcome once he met his host.  Rand Sosenhal had made a fortune on the tormentuous periods in which the Island moved to new realms in which he could profit from acquiring priceless artefacts and pieces of art that he would then sell for a profit among collectors.  The perfect position for a heretical cult to grow out of.  Most of Boledrian’s past season of renewal was spent investigating Sosenhal and were his expenses came from and where they went.  When he had set out earlier that evening he felt the strongest conviction he had felt in his life.  Now that he was in the home of his first prey he felt a great weight of dread overcome himself.  He was not sure if it was merely the presence of so many spite-revenants with their susurrating voices that always accompanied them or his trepidation at being at the end of the hunt. 
    He felt it in his bones, a deep hunter’s feeling that he knew his prey was close and he would make the kill.  He had but one choice, he could not freeze up in the face of Death again as he had in the street.  Cultists and daemons were one thing but the recent rise in Death cults had upset the strange form of balance that had formed in these tumultuous times as the Island shifted Realms so frequently.  A recent Blink into Shyish had upset the natural balance of the Well of Renewal, or so the Ancients had claimed as they dispatched this latest series of warrants against men and woman like Sosenhal who had unique places of power in courts of the druid-kings of the Outer Kingdoms.  Hundreds would soon meet a similar fate as his prey.  He felt it in his bones.
    The witch-sight showed the trail much more vividly in the halls and parlors of Sosenhal’s manse.  Death magic permeated the place, proof of Sosenhal’s heresy. The Sister had mentioned a vampire’s taint on the summoning magic and that never boded well for men like Boledrian with hot blood in his veins.  The trail led down a flight of cellar stairs that led to a sturdy ironoak door.  Clearly Sosenhal was hiding something he wanted protected.   
    Reaching into a pouch on the small of his back under his cloak, Boledrian removed a small metal flask he carefully unscrewed and dashed its contents on the door.  With another incantation of growth, the door began to bloom in all forms of colorful lichen that gave way to full fungal growths and mushrooms that deteriorated the door within a few moments.  He stepped back to allow the spores to settle before he moved through into an antechamber with racks of hanging robes on either side.  Many were missing giving evidence of what lay beyond the drapery that divided the antechamber from the main room.
    The two Sisters moved gracefully from the entrance with their staffs held at the ready, a murmuring incantation on their lips.  Boledrian followed with his crossbow held at the ready.  Given the shadows around its perimeters the room was of the same constitution as the rest of the structures in this district with calcified wooden growths forming the foundations for the home.  The center of the chamber was lit by a single brazier that blazed with an amethyst fire.   Arrayed around the brazier were circles of kneeling, purple robed figures each taking part in a soft, whispering mantra that sent chills through Boledrian’s spine. 
    At the head of the ritual was a man with a portly figure and the bearing of a noble-born Azyrite.  He bore a scepter crowned with a gibbering skull in one had who’s eye glowed with ghastly balefire.  In front of the cult leader was a large stone sarcophagus that bore strange sigils engraved into its sides.  The top bore the image of a resting man with his arms crossing his chest.  A pungent reek that reminded Boledrian of a decaying corpse filled the air with its overwhelming aroma.  As the lead figure noticed their entrance he shouted in alarm at his follower who ceased their chanting and began to rise to face the interlopers in their ritual.
    The cultist drew a motley assortment of weapons from beneath their robes as they stalked to form a semi-circle around the trio.  Casting his glance at the two Sisters who had accompanied him he knew they would be able to hold their own.  Each began to sing out incantations of powerful life magic.  Taking his opportunity Boledrian saw his chance.  With the Sisters preparing their spells, he brought his worn crossbow to his shoulder and took aim at the cult magister.  He took a deep breath like he had so many times in his practice.  His mind cleared of outside influences and it became just him, the silver-elm bolt and his prey at its most vulnerable.  As the bolt flew towards its target, it burst through the magic veils that protected him from harm.  The silver-elm bore the purest of Azyr’s magic within its branches which found great power against the forces of Chaos and Death.  Much to the unsuspecting magister’s chagrin, the bolt passed through his defenses and burst into his chest.  As the wound opened blood began to pour onto the sarcophagus as he leaned over it as if to give his last bit of life forces to the evil thing that rested within. 
    As his attention returned to his surroundings he first noticed the shifting shadows that flittered just out of sight giving him confidence that they would soon be victorious.   The Sisters had summoned forth a brambling briar with thorns long as a man’s forearm that sought out the cultist like a hungering beast.  As the first vines grasp about their prey they began to constrict with bone breaking strength.  Like powerful constricting snakes they bound around the cultists cutting deep gouges in their flesh and ripping limbs from torsos with their titanic strength.  The cascades of gore drawn from the corpses of the slain momentarily rained down coated the room with sprays of life blood. 
    Out of the shadows and the very walls themselves came an insane spirit-song that was reminiscent of manic laughter.  Spite-revenants began to stalk from the gloomy perimeter of the room even as several dropped from the ceiling to land amidst the rearmost cultist.  Even in the face of such overwhelming odds the cultists seemed unfazed by the deaths of their comrades or even their leader.  In response to the insane song of the spites they began a low sonorous dirge that seemed to fill the room.  As Boledrian readied a second bolt of silver-elm, the spites launched their attack.  As their spirit-song reached new heights they tore into the rough line of cultists that had turned to face them.  The spite-revenants gave into their natural tendencies as they clawed and tore into their prey.  Such wild abandon was not new to Boledrian but still it unnerved him.
    He simply gazed at the unbridled slaughter before him.  The wall of brambles had cordoned the two dozen or so cultists into a knot that the revenants tore into with gory abandon.  Great fountains of gore followed every slash of claws, ropes of entrails and ripped organs being tossed aside like refuse.  As the spites made their way through the cultist Boledrian stared in wonder as they simply allowed the spites to rend and tear their bodies asunder.  Casting a glance at the floor he saw for the first time the sigils that had been carved into deep channels to allow the blood that had been spilt to pool around the sarcophagus. 
    A dry, rattling breath filled the chamber overpowering even the keening song of the spite revenants as they reveled in the gory remains of the cultists.  The Sisters drew up in front of Boledrian as the lid  of the sarcophagus slid to the floor with a heavy thud of finality.
    Amethyst fog rushed out of the sarcophagus as an ancient creature rose from within.  Piercing animalistic eyes singled Boledrian out in the chaos of the melee.  It was a withered creature, long cursed with the Soulblight though malnourished from eons of confinement.  The bloody carnage that had been wrought about the chamber had fueled a ritual that had awoken this creature from its slumber.  With a creak of bone and stiffened ligaments the vampire raised its arms and with a rasping voice intoned a fell incantation.  Wisps of the raw Death magic that emanated from the creature quickly speared out striking half a dozen of the nearest spite-revenants.  They fell to the floor in agonized screeches as their heartwood began to wither and their bark turned to dust.
    As Boledrian readied his loaded crossbow to fire at the fiend it launched itself with load creaks and pops of joints thrown into violent action.  The spite-revenants responded in kind launching a viscous assault on the vampire.  The questing vines of the Sisters’ magic wrapped about it only to wither and die from the potent curses enscrolled across it’s taut and leathern skin.  With both the Sisters locked into maintaining their enchantments he had to act fast.  Aiming for the Soulblight’s black heart he fired the silver-elm bolt as true as any shot he had fired from the weapon. 
    With a flash the pure celestial magic imbued in the silver-elm dissipated across the blood-leech’s wards.  As the light cleared from his eyes he saw the first revenant lunge at the creature only to be swatted to the ground in a broken heap.  Three more leapt upon it vengefully clawing at its head, arms, and back.  The creature cried out as one revenant’s claws found purchase and tore a great gouge in its robes and back.
    Issuing a bestial roar, the vampire wrenched the spite-revenant from behind him, smashing aside several more to make itself more room.  The spite’s struggles were ended swiftly as the vampire tore its head from its shoulders in a fountain of amber sap.  Throwing the ruined corpse into the onrushing spite-revenants, the creature vaulted an unnatural height into the air over the Sylvaneth landing lightly near Boledrian and the pair of Sisters.  Forgoing the wall of choking brambles, the sisters summoned forth a coruscating ball of lightning that smashed into the vampire and sent it sprawling backwards into the waiting revenants.  The treekin piled atop the creature as their spirit song reached new heights of madness and fury. 
    Boledrian readied his next shot as the Sisters moved to his side already summoning forth a new enchantment of crawling briars that sought to pin the vampire down.  As the vampire gouged and clawed at the revenants the thorns struggled against the creature’s wards.  Drawing in his breath he aimed for the creature’s eye and fired. 
    Crushing the heads of two spite-revenants together, the ancient fiend caught the silver-elm bolt in its head.  The weight of the thrashing revenants and twisting vines held vampire pinned as the pure celestial magic within the wood burned within its skull.  A wave of power rushed from the creature as it emitted a horrifying scream in its death throes.  Rummaging through his various pouches and talismans he produced a small pouch which he cast at the melee.  The vines continued to struggle against its wards as a flash of brilliant light blinded everyone who was not prepared for it.  Frantically blinking to clear the after images from his sight, Boledrian moved to aid the two Sisters as he noticed a familiar presence moving towards him.  It was the revenant who had shadowed him, bearing a pair of heads in his hands the cult leader Sosenhal and that of the ancient vampire still pierced by Boledrian’s bolt. 
    As the Sisters made to reign in the spite-revenants, Boledrian accepted the heads from the treekin, knowing that it meant great respect that it offered him the trophies.  A strange pride welled in his stomach as he turned Sosenhal’s head over considering all the carnage he had witnessed and the selfless destruction the cultists had given of themselves to bring the fiend back from the grave.  Such zealotry was on the rise in Arranoc since the last Season of Renewal had seen a flood of Death magic after the last shift out of Shyish.  Wyrdfyre Cults and the Harbingers of Decay were one thing the city could handle, but the necromantic powers that had seen graveyards empty and druids to go mad and turn to the dark arts.  The Inquisition needed all the help it could get.
     
     
     
     
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