Battlescroll - Be'lakor by Games Workshop Ltd

Author:Games Workshop Ltd
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Games Workshop Ltd
Published: 2013-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

The Dwarf line met that of the northlanders with a clamour that shook the valley. At once, the booming war-song of the Dwarfs melded with the harsh cries of the plate-clad Chaos Warriors. The clash of steel upon gromril and the first cries of the wounded sounded soon after.

Be’lakor watched it all from the top of the Magewrath Throne, and hissed with amusement. Of all mortal creatures, Dwarfs were amongst his favourite to torment. Few creatures had such brittle pride as the Children of Grungni, who refused to acknowledge the terror Be’lakor evoked even as it consumed their will to fight.

The Daemon Prince did not know how the Dwarfs had learned he sought to raise the throne, to release the magics bound to his former glories, but he was glad they had come, nonetheless. Be’lakor knew that Archaon would soon demand his presence once more, and relished the opportunity for a malevolence of his own choosing.

With a guttural laugh, the Daemon Prince drew upon the magic buried in his skull-borne eyrie. At once, the shadows of the valley floor came to life. Some crawled across the withered grassland as flickering tendrils, grasping at dwarfen legs, and holding the stocky creatures fast as northlander axes hacked down. Others became vaporous clouds that forced their way through close-set helms and smothered their victims. Dwarfs dropped their weapons and clawed uselessly at their throats, ravaged lungs gasping for air that would not come.

As the shadows struck home, the trickle of terror became a flood, and Be’lakor drank it in like the headiest of wines. He could feel the panic rising in the minds of his foes, could sense limbs growing numb and reactions slowing as fear set in. Yet Be’lakor saw a defiant soul spark brightly amongst the growing darkness. Consumed by indignant wrath, the Daemon Prince took wing, resolving to slay the wretch himself.

A crack of handguns sounded as Be’lakor sped across the battlefield, but the heavy bullets passed harmlessly through his intangible form, skeins of smoke-like essence spiralling in their wake. In response, the Daemon Prince called forth a great shadowy scythe and sent it arcing through the Thunderers’ ranks. A dozen Dwarfs fell dead as the blade passed through them, their bodies unmarked, but each face frozen in a rictus of terror.

With a sweep of wings, Be’lakor landed behind his chosen prey, a red-bearded fool who strode to battle naked save for his tattoos. There was no sound to herald his coming, but the Dwarf knew it all the same. Wrenching his axe free from the bloody ruin of a Chaos Warrior’s skull, he spun on his heel and swung at the Daemon Prince. The runes upon the axe-head glowed blue as the blade touched Be’lakor’s billowing form, and the Daemon Prince snarled in sudden pain. His return blow would have disembowelled the Dwarf, had only it connected, but the Slayer had foreseen the attack, and stepped out of the blade’s swing.

The Dwarf was laughing now, making unlikely claims about the Daemon Prince’s parentage, and besmirching his prowess in other endeavours.

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