The Warhammer moment that killed my WoW addiction.

The following transpired in actual gameplay, during an Empire vs. Chaos tier one scenario. What you are about to read is 80% fact and 5% exaggerated truth, 15% dramatization and was only possible because of the collision detection system in WAR.

And so they stood side by side, the human Warrior priest and the Dwarven Ironbreaker, on a bridge three breast wide.

The priest was an avatar of Sigmar’s fury, reigning righteous vengeance for all those who defile the sanctity of the Empire. And yet scion of his mercy, bring new strenght to the innocent and the courageous.

The dwarf was a mountain given life, clad in heaviest armor forged in the belly of the mountain hold Ekurnd, it would take the full strength of the hell to move him.

And indeed it was the full fury of hell that stood in front of them. Mighty Chosen warriors summoned dark gifts upon themselves and blessed their oversized armor and weapons with malign powers. Marauders called upon their dark god and had their prayers answered with gifts from the Changer of Ways, their Lord Tzeentch. Their arms twisted and turned mutating into demonic pincers and claws, foul be the blessings of the Raven God. Zealots called down curses and Magus summoned foul demons. The followers Tzeentch even brought allies, massive Black Orcs, sadistic Dark elves and their Disciples of Khaine, God of Murder.

Behind the two heroes stood a High elf Archmage, deep in concentration, fine tuning the Winds of Magic so that he may mold into life giving spells. A dwarven rune priest stood beside the elf, carving runes into stones creating ones that would protect the two heroes who will hold the forces of destruction at the bridge.

Both sides prepared, both sides calculated, both sides waited. The Dwarf turned to human, raised his axe and said “You honor the ancient bond of friendship between dwarf and men and I honor you by declaring you my Oathfriend. Wretched is the fate of he who strikes me, far worse is the fate of he who strikes you.”

“The strength of Sigmar will flow through the both of us. By His grace we will do to them what an apprentice blacksmith does to a sword” the Warrior priest replied cracking a small smile.

“Aye lad! For Grimnir!”

“For Sigmar!”

Then an ear shattering scream of tormented souls ripped through the air as line between the world and hell was strained by the powers of chaos. Bathed in a battlecry of pain and fury, the forces of Destruction fell upon the bridge like the sea the upon a cliff. And like the sea they were parted.

The Chosen, Black Orc and two marauders were first to smash into the two man defense of the bridge. The Chosen should have blessed his blade rather than himself for he was doing more damage to his sword than to the Ironbreaker. The warrior priest matched the Marauders blow per blow and with the combined strength of the Ironbreaker and Archmage vanquished one in a flurry of blows and flare of arcane fury.

The Warrior Priest turned and unleashed a righteous assault on the second marauder, a combination four blessed swings from his massive hammer that injured his enemy and healed his wounds. The marauder fell back and tried to taunt the priest into breaking away from the line, giving the forces of destuction access to the healers behind them. But the priest kept his righteous hatred under check and let the marauder live another day.

The Marauders were quickly replaced by a Black Orc and a Disciple of Khaine. The Chosen was still deadlock with the Ironbreaker, neither were able to place a decisive blow on the other. The Priest was in trouble with the combined strength of the orc and dark elf, but held on. However the Disciple of Khaine made it difficult for them to hold the line for long. The elf, on the other hand, did not care whether his foes lived or died. He was a follower of a dark cult, one that revels in the pain suffering of others. His blows were never lethal, aimed only to inflict pain and suffering, bleeding the opponent slowly. The blood and torment gave the elf a sadistic thrill and he laughed and screamed in an orgy of pleasure from the pain of the two heroes that stood in front on him.

His laughter were drowned in shriek of his own pain as a fireball exploded in his face, engulfing him scorching red fire. The Bright Wizard stood behind the warriors, his magical tattoos were set a blaze, his beard and hair glowed with a radiating heat as he spoke incantations that would bring a fiery finish to the elf. The Ironbreaker broke from his opponent just long enough to knock the elf on his arse and wizard finished his last incantation. The elf exploded, scorching both the Chosen and the orc, forcing them back.
The orc roared in rage and came charging back when a bullet punctured straight through its lower jaw. Alive but shaken the orc looked up to see a third member in the line of defense on the bridge. A Witch Hunter stood in the middle of the Warrior Priest and Ironbreaker.

“In the name of Sigmar” he intoned, as more members of Order showed up behind him, “we purge!”