Hilde heard the Kurgan warlord laugh and it was like knives in her mind. He was a figure out of nightmare, nearly seven feet tall and swathed in ornate black iron armor inscribed with sanity rending glyphs that seemed to twist and turn when you looked at them. Upon his head sat a vast helm with curling horns sprouting from either side, baleful blue lights gazed through the T shaped visor piteously. The chaos champion raised his sword in challenge and Cedric leaped to the attack.
 
“For Sigmar!” someone yelled and suddenly the two forces were charging together across the great hall. Hilde levelled her pistol and fired, the heavy balls smashing the jaw of a charging gor with a great stone axe. Then she was fighting for her life. Gripping her sword with both hands she battered away a rusty sword wielded by a beastman with snakelike tendrils hanging from his bovine face. While it was off balance she slicked a hard backhand stroke across its belly, spilling forth blood and entrails. She jabbed at another brute with an open wound for a face and ducked under the stroke of a third. Her guts roiled with fear, she was’t a swordsman and she knew she couldn’t last long in this mess.
 
Off to the left she saw a knight smash the rib cage of a gor to pulp with a mace before two smaller beasts tore his shield from his arm and fell on him with long dripping knives. Golden blasts lit the hall like distant thunder and she knew that Isolde was in action somewhere. The noise and stink was incredible. Men and beasts screamed as the died and howled their mutal hatred. Suddenly she was face to face with another of the armoured chaos worshipers. He swung his rune encrusted weapon at her in a hugee glittering arc and she felt the passage of it sweep through her hair as she ducked. Desperately she thrust at the heretics crotch but her blade rang harmlessly off the thick plate, nearly jarring itself free of her hand. A lance of golden light struck him in the chest as he aimed his killing stroke and he fell to his knees, armor deforming and warping like cracking ice. Hot  pain exploded up her arm and she shried. A smaller ungor had caught her a glancing blow with a rusted cavalry saber. She slashed a backhand stroke across its face, sending the thing crashing into its fellow, spitting blood and teeth.
 
The battle had lost all semblance of order now as the opposing sides hacked and killed. Hilde saw a disarmed knight snatch hup a heavy teak chair and parry a sword stroke before bludgeoning his opponent into the ground. Isolde followed her closely. The wizard’s hands light the hall with blasts of light which burned and killed indiscriminately but her face was pinched and the pace of her attacks was slowing.
 
“Save it for the warriors,” Hilde tried to shout but her throat was dry and her voice cracked. A fish faced beastman lunged at her with a spear and she barely managed to parry the blow she kicked ineffectually at its knee but the brute twisted out of the way. Another of the men at arms split its head open with an axe, showering those nearby with pus and maggots.
 
“Sigmar!” the scribe was shouting, standing atop his precious chests and wielding his sword with a ferocity that compensated for his lack of skill.
 
“Sigmar!” screamed the knights, but it seemed more a prayer than a war cry.