He walks along the corridors, the
huge, cavernous halls of the Siegeworks, glancing left to right
quickly as he notices shadows dart around and above him. The
ground shakes violently and he is knocked off balance, he flails
as he stumbles and slices his hand on a jagged piece of wrought
iron metalwork. Incapacitated by the pain he lays on the floor,
listening to the guttural growls and eerie groaning of the
Blinding flashes of light surge in
through the door he came through earlier, he is blinded, the mass
of undead recoil in horror and pain and turn to flee. Bolts of
light fire out of the cloud of light and shear through the flesh
of the fleeing scourge and ricochet off the walls and columns
dotted around the massive hulk of the colossal building.
The fallen man is picked up by
strand of golden light and carried out of the now empty factory,
save for smouldering piles of ash that were once the rabid
attackers. As the man is carried out he hears a voice, it is not
a voice that uses vocal chords, it is a voice that never needed
to be said, it was always there, but never need to arise until
It was the voice of the High
Prophet Mo'iro. Mo'iro speaks to the wounded crusader in a
soothing tone, as it does so, the soldiers wounds heal, his
spirit lifts and his strength returns. Mo'iro has blessed him
with the sacred light. Once again the man seizes his weapon and
charges, bolstered and blessed into the citadel.
Unholy masses await him
He stands his ground.
They advance, flailing and
Still the man stands.
Ghouls leap from scaffolds and
handholds, spectres appear as if from nowhere, patchwork golems
of phenomenal power and size decimate the walls and lurch with
astonishing speed towards the lone warrior.
The circle closes on the
He stands and readies his weapon,
shifts his position, braces himself for the inevitable
The scourge mass converges and
buries the small body.
They scramble and drool and claw
and scratch and bite.
A silence descends over the
The ghouls and golems and spectres
Thin beams of light splay from open
gaps in the massive pile of rotting flesh and phantasmal
Suddenly the soldier thrusts
himself upwards with godly strength and is surrounded by a
searing white light.
He is a warrior of the
A protector of the people.
A destroyer of evil.
He is a paladin.
A Beacon Of Light.