Glancing ahead of him he could see the reason why – a powerful vortex of untamed magic span in the landscape, sparks of raw power flying out from the centre. Gripping his staff Spangel forced himself to concentrate. He knew he must enter the vortex and speak the words of power, channelling the magical discharge through himself. Above all he must prevent other, darker powers from accessing the mighty forces unleashed by the vortex.
Even as he though this his eyes caught sight of movement beyond the pillar of raw magic. Called by the siren cry of the Whirligig like carrion to a corpse, the shambling warriors of Sylvania were intent on harnessing the magic to their own ends.
However all was not well for the Sylvanians as with a crackling of energy the misshapen form of the Necromancer was flung from the whirligig amidst a storm of magical feedback.
Ingwer cursed as the forces of darkness began to close in. The incorporeal knights flew again and again through his men, leaving lifeless corpses in their wake. The knights of Sigmar’s Blood ran regained their valour and ran down the remaining skeletons but it was all too little to stem the tide. Clutching his hammer amulet and brandishing his pistols the witchhunter looked to sell his life dearly as the Sylvanian’s closed the circle about him….
The early miscast by the light wizard did rather put paid to any chance of holding back the ethereal troops and the Vargheists proved tricky to stop, so it turned into something of a slaughter for the stout men of the Empire (no prizes for guessing which side I was in charge of).