Mark of Chaos by C.L Werner

castle walls, pulled by massive furred creatures. Even as he watched, he saw one of the siege engines fall soundlessly, surely crushing scores of men beneath it. The elves must have war machines upon the walls, he thought.
    Stefan's gaze passed over Chaos warriors until it reached the rocky coastline. There was only one clear landing from the sea, the rest of the coastline being made up of rocky cliffs. Longships had been pulled up onto the land at this one small harbour. The waterfront was swarming with figures. He reckoned that there must be in the realm of a thousand followers of Chaos between the harbour and the castle.
    Looking out to sea, five white sailed cutters could be seen, sleek high elf ships that sliced through the water at great speed. In turn, they rapidly approached the harbour and unleashed great bolts from the war machines on their decks, before swinging back out to sea. Clearly, they could not land in the harbour, for there were too many enemies swarming along the coastline. Any attempt to land would be easily defeated. 'Damn it,' swore Stefan. He tossed the eyeglass back to the engineer and began the descent back to his army. Markus gasped and caught the eyeglass awkwardly, breathing a sigh of relief when he did not drop it. 'Thank you, Lady Verena,' he breathed, invoking the name of the goddess of learning and justice.
    He glared darkly at the figure of Captain von Kessel, who was already some way down the incline and shouting to his sergeants to join him and the reiksmarshal to discuss battle plans. Markus quickly rewrapped the eyeglass and replaced it in its case, and began his descent. He managed to trip only once on the way down the slippery incline, stubbing his toe painfully. Not for the first or last time, he cursed the war that plagued the lands, and kept him from his quiet life of study.
    Still, he reasoned, it wasn't all bad. At least it looked as if he might get to try out the Wrath of Sigmar on something other than a practice target. He grinned evilly, his stubbed toe and ripped stockings forgotten.
     
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    The green moon hung large in the heavens, swollen and emanating dark power, as Sudobaal had predicted. The preparations had lasted almost two hours already, and Hroth was growing impatient.
    The sorcerer had spent much of the time chanting incoherently, although the sound of the words had made Hroth's skin crawl. The sorcerer had capered around the tree, dancing from one foot to the other, squeezing the blood from a fresh heart onto the twisted roots of the massive tree towering above them. The heart had recently belonged to a runtish ungor, a stunted lesser beastman.
    The creature had squealed like a stuck pig when Hroth had grabbed it by its scrawny throat. Its cries had been cut short when he had twisted the creature's neck sharply, bones crunching loudly. The thing had been weak - he had almost pulled its head from its body, corkscrewing it off its shoulders in that one savage movement. The other larger beastmen had brayed and snorted when the creature had died - what passed as laughter in the crude creatures.
    The sorcerer had deftly cut the heart from the ungor, and Hroth had kicked the corpse into the hollow that lay beneath the twisted shape of the gibbet tree. The bones and bodies of hundreds of corpses lay in that hollow, all slain by the beastmen, and all sacrifices to the Dark Gods of Chaos. Scores more corpses hung in the leafless branches of the tree above, strung up by their necks or nailed brutally to the boughs. Other wasted corpses were slumped in hanging metal cages that swayed slowly above, creaking ominously.
    Runes of Chaos were carved into the trunk of the gibbet tree, runes that held great power despite the crudity of their creation. These carvings wept red, blood-like sap that dripped down into the hollow, and onto the corpses piled there. A series of standing stones stood around the base of the massive tree, each surrounded by piles of weapons and