Through a Glass Darkly
Alanthrasil watched impassively as the two Tzeentch Strike Cruisers, Waning Moon and Golden Dawn bore down on the hideously bloated corruption that was the Death Guard Capital Ship Plagueclaw; its wretched picket ships entangled in the debris of their recent victims, now a swirling mass of mutated color conjured by some fell warp magic.
He could hear the vessels chanting their names and extolling the false virtues of their masters through the ether. The power of their twisted words made his temples ache and he noted a few spots of blood had fallen from his nose onto his fine robes.
He could hear the vessels chanting their names and extolling the false virtues of their masters through the ether. The power of their twisted words made his temples ache and he noted a few spots of blood had fallen from his nose onto his fine robes.