(Episode IX: The Legions of the Imperium Storm the Cloud-Capped Palisades of Gul-Kothoth) 

Chapter 11: The Siege Begins 

And so the mighty and resplendent armies of the Imperium assembled before the towering cyclopean
walls of ancient Gul-Kothoth. It was some time before the billowing dust cloud raised by the massed
arrival of the vast imperial host settled, ultimately dissipating as the shadows of dusk descended.
With nightfall, the imperial army's countless torches, braziers and cookfires illuminated the dark
plain before the fortress like a [bad word] sea, painting the stygian heavens the colour of flame.
And the high summer's night passed swiftly. At length, the dawn approached tentatively, and with
the first signs of the newborn sun etching its promise upon the skies, the martial [bad word] in earnest. brief perfunctory exchange between the Imperial Herald and the
fortification's [bad word] held no surprises, and the Emperor's banner was duly driven into
the seared earth before Gul-Kothoth with a chilling finality. 

Vast siege engines and powerful ballistae were hauled inexorably into position, alongside a battery
of katapelte and petrobolos. The one hundred thousand strong Imperial Frontier Army, having planted
their regimented blazons into the arid soil, waited with a disciplined patience born of never
having met defeat in pitched battle or siege, the dreaded Imperial War-Leopards straining noisily
against their iron-link leashes to the rear of the cohorts of conscripts and auxiliaries. The
pitiless Iron Phalanx and their Lord [bad word] had assumed position at the head of the
army's Alpha Wing, polished swords, spears and poll-axes reflecting the glow from the myriad
torches and braziers which still burned about the Imperial Host. And behind them were drawn of the
legendary Legion of the Ebon Tiger, Pride of the Emperor, the infantry and cavalry famed throughout
the Great Northern Continent, personal regiment of the feared general Baalthus Vane. [bad word] to their
martial reputation, the six thousand strong Legion were [bad word] in their jet black armour,
their sable banner billowing in the chill breeze which skittered over the plain. And finally,
astride his azure-shaffroned warhorse and surrounded by his elite guard, the silvern-armoured
Emperor Koord himself studied the precipitous gates with a disdainful [bad word]  At the Emperor's
right hand was the renowned Swordmaster of Kyrman'ku, an eastern bladesman of preternatural skill
and the most revered and expensive mercenary in the Imperium. At his left, the infamous Ogre-Mage
of the Black Lake brooded silently, swathed in a stygian cloak and fuliginous cowl and exuding an
aura of implacable malevolence, which unnerved even the bravest of the Imperial troops. The Emperor
had deemed the services of these two nefarious renegades pivotal to the execution of the Final
Campaign, for they alone had knowledge of the mysterious arcane rite known as The Words Which
Unfetter. And, behind their titanic time-worn palisades, the defenders of Gul-Kothoth beheld this
awesome force ranged against them and shuddered, not with fear, but with an awful and night-cold
anticipation. 

[The Emperor Koord:]
General Vane, we begin the final siege of this campaign with the rising of the sun. The war which
has raged for decades, shall finally be decided here, before the hoary walls of ageless
Gul-Kothoth. The Imperium's last and most glorious victory is at hand. The procrastinating
sybarites of the bureaucracy have been threatened and bribed [bad word] over this venture.
This more than anything else is why I have deigned to grace this final battle with my Imperial
presence, even against the advice of the Grand Vizier and the sage counsel of the Seers. 

[Baalthus Vane:]
You shall enjoy watching the Ebon Tiger bloody its claws, sire. Our victory here is assured. 

[The Emperor K