This is something I have been working on for the last month, for Outpost's Rampage 1500 pt Tourny in 2 weeks time.
Warp fire danced from the hands and eyes of the three psykers in front of the ruined temple. Their monotonous chants growing deeper as the runes upon the arcane gate started to glow with unnatural energy. Slowly at first, but growing with each accursed word spoken, a tear in reality started to form in the centre of the gate, shadowy figures from behind the veil making their way ever closer to the warp breach.
As one the psykers stopped, held aloft on warp fire, flames licking their tattered robes but never setting them alight. The ritual was complete. Runes running the circumference of the gate glowed, their hues forever changing. The shadows could be seen more clearly now against the burning land that lay beyond the gate, until the first crossed the barrier between worlds.
A black skinned daemon, three times the hieght of a man, with wings as dark as the night itself was first to cross the void. B’aal’tor looked at the world before him and laughed, with a simple flick of his wrist, the ground began to fall away to reveal rivers of flame. “Better” the daemon uttered as it stepped down from the ritual circle. “You have done as was asked?” called out the daemon. A figure of a man stepped out from behind the nearby rocks. “Y-y-yy-yes my master” the man stammered. “As we speak other members of the Enclave are readying portals on other worlds, none know of our great work”. “Good” boomed B’aal’tor, his voice shaking the very ground he stood on, “I have no further use for you, but your whelps here will stay to hold the gate open”
Beams of the darkest hate flared from B’aal’tor’s eyes and incinerated the man before him; chains burst from the ground beneath the three psykers and bound them to the gate. “Come” cried B’aal’tor as more daemons appeared through the gate. With fury a band of bloodletters appeared whilst their monstrous herald Khal’thar’rak on his chariot made a roar of hate to the storm filled sky. Insane cackling followed as daemons of Tzeentch crossed over, horrors and flamers already warping the land when their master Tz’arkan rode his disc into the realm of mortals. A scented mist swept over the ground as daemonettes danced their way over the burning ground paving the way with bladed rose petals for Sheee’la’sar the leader of the hunt and her cohort of seekers. No sooner had the sweet smell filled the air when it was replaced with the scent of death and rot as Kru’ar and his plaguebearers shambled through the void.
B’aal’tor looked at the creatures before him and on his command the daemons of chaos bound off to massacre the mortals of this world.
“ Let the slaughter begin “
