The Howling of the Damned

Resonant, deep, resounding. Prayers to Sigmar shake the air.

In the rising light of dawn, black powder, shield, and sword ready.

Discordant, flaming sphere rises. Banners of Tzeentch eviscerate sight.

Thunder of hooves, bellowing, howling. Praise the Rising Fire. Slay men.

Steel rends scale, the beast's anger is visceral. Mortals tremble.

Prayer buffers the Winds, glancing off auras of flame.

Hounds slip free, hungry for flesh, shredded by bullets.

Towering behemoth of corruption. Faith holds fast.

Aura flames seethe around a tide of armor. Chanting clashes prayer.

Exalted, righteous, courageous. Sigmar's hammer and the beast.

Heedless of ballistics, cannons are destroyed, anger's revenge.

Ground shaking, ogres bloodstained. Artillery is loaded in haste.

The fury of fusion released, refined. Monsters flee its wrath.

Templar screams, crushed and devoured. Wounds cover slabs of green flesh.

Unstoppable, the storm crashes upon the shore, scattering, slaying.

With honour comes pain. Black powder answers flame.
The laughter of dark gods on the wind.