Anthony (of occasional Lost Hemisphere fame) sent me on this amazing piece of fluff that describes our game during the Frozen North campaign. I think it captures the single-minded focus of Lich Lord Venethrax.
The snow hissed and turned to steam under Venethrax’s heavy footfalls, evaporated by the crackling power field. The Seether to his right stumbled, dropping to one knee before collapsing as white hot fire chewed through its vitals.
The Lich Lord scanned the scene, contemplating.
Venethrax had committed his forces to a frontal assault of Vayl’s retinue. The lives of his minions were individually worth nothing, but there was a long game to consider. He had not anticipated that the Legion would be able to lay down such a withering wall of ranged firepower. The northern weather had suddenly become clement, falling into an uncharacteristic calm, as if the blizzards themselves held their breath in anticipation of the conflict. Without that cover, the Cryxians had suffered heavy casualties, and with the vital battle still to come, it seemed wise to preserve his remaining Helljacks.
Withdrawing his forces was one thing, but full scale retreat was anathema to the Lich Lord Venethrax. He had faced a Dragon in single combat and survived. There was nothing to fear from squirming spawned that only pretended to the majesty of the true Draconic form, and less still to fear from fragile elves who were nothing more than pawns.
As the remnants of his battlegroup withdrew, Venethrax hefted his blade and advanced. His magic turned inwards, strengthening his power field so that the snow around him began to evaporate in great gouts of steam. His eyes fixed on Vayl, Venethrax broke into a run, each stride covering more ground and lending momentum to his immortal metal body.
Arrows shattered against the power field, and Nyss claymores blunted and broke against his armoured forearm. The elves panicked and scattered, only to die to wide strokes of his halberd. Venethrax inhaled a great breath, gorging in their souls before they could flee beyond the veil.
An Angelius swooped towards him, its barbed tail aimed at his chest. The beast’s momentum gave it enough power to pierce the power field and drive the barb into the Lich Lord’s chestplate. Venethrax braced against the impact, catching the monster’s tail in an iron fist. With a roar, he turned its momentum against it and slammed it into the snow. The dragonspawn twisted and thrashed free, trying to right itself, but Venethrax moved faster, burying his blade into its heart and drinking deep of the Fury Vayl had awoken in it. The power field’s angry hum became a wail.
The Cryxian warcaster paused for a moment to relish his victory before once again giving chase to the cowering pawn of Everblight. He spied her as she left the cover of the forest, moving quickly to escape. Her forces in tatters and her beasts merely fuel for Venethrax’s power, she knew there was no victory here. He collected the Focus that armoured him, expending its massive energy in a wave of green-black hellfire.
Vayl fell, and Venethrax released a primal shout of victory. Her servants began to drag her unconscious body from the field, and the Lich Lord laughed as he walked confidently back towards the Cryxian lines. Everblight’s foolish presumptions and arrogance had evidently infected his minions, but they would soon learn. They could no more stand against an Iron Lich than Everblight himself could face his Father’s Wrath.