Ace, Captain Allistair Caine’s heavily modified Hunter crouched slightly as it lined up it’s Long Arm cannon on the upper-portion of the enemy Devastator. The rest of the steam-powered machine’s considerable bulk was hidden from view by the unit of Storm Knights who had charged in, their voltaic Storm Glaives glancing off the enemy’s thick armour. Ice-blue runes materialized along the specially crafted barrel as it fired – the usual muzzle-flash replaced by a gout of ethereal black mist.
Caine groaned inwardly when he sensed the Hunter fire. The damned Khadoran machine shifted at the last possible instant and he was certain that the round was about to fly wide – or worse – strike one of his own men in the back. He was just about to start formulating a “Plan B” when the enemy jack’s form turned insubstantial – turning to a faint outline of black mist and shadow, and revealing Kommander Aleksander Karchev – The Man in the Machine.
Seeing his opportunity, he focused his arcane energy into his two magelock pistols, aiming both of the intricately-carved weapons at the massive form and squeezed the triggers. His hands were a blur as he reloaded his pistols after each salvo, his magic both driving his bullets with ever-increasing force at their target and guiding his hands as they went about their task.
Karchev’s mechanical body shuddered as Caine’s acrane bullets ripped through his powerfield more violently with each successive impact. While his powerfield had slowed some of thier impact, each one of the blasted Cygnaran whelp’s bullets found their mark. When the cacophony of gunfire ended, his body was in shambles. His attempts to move proved just how extensive the damage was. His legs were crippled, growing more resistant to movement as gears seized and fluids leaked.
But that wasn’t going to stop him, not Karchev.
Seething, Karchev commanded his field mechaniks to attend to the damage. They huddled around him, surveying the ruin that was his legs and hull. With a defeated shrug the head mechanik spoke up.
“No good sir, we can’t fix this with what we have here.”
Karchev’s rage boiled over, washing over him and the four warjacks under his charge.
Frightened, the mechaniks stepped back as Karchev roared.
His vision swam. Stormknights, gunmages, Hunters, he could see them all in the eyes of his machines. Where. Was. Caine?
Enraged, he raised his axe Sunder and sent it smashing down into the earth. The ground exploded outward, killing one of the mechaniks in a spray of blood and gore and striking a Devastator. The resulting shockwave continued on and he heard the distant scream of a Cygnaran and the crash of a jack losing their footing. As the scream died, one of his jacks, with unbidden urgency abandoned it’s compatriot to the storm knights. He looked through it’s eyes to see why and smiled.
“There you are.”
Fueled by the will and arcane might of its master, the Devastator bore down on the Cygnaran Warcaster with the force of a locomotive.
In his mind’s eye Karchev watched as Caine was consumed in a fiery embrace.
“For the Motherland.”
The story above describes the final turn of a Warmachine Mark III game between my brother and I. We find it fun to spin a narrative to justify some of the more “questionable” things you can do in-game.
We’ll add a battle report below once it’s ready.
Here are the previous Battle Narratives: