The Long War Continues

Abaddon strode triumphantly in the darkly lit room, flanked by Ahriman, whose robes swished and swooshed as they walked. A red-clad Chaos Lord brandishing crayons and a some dirty sheets of paper trailed them.

“I have made some fantastic strategic changes to the Black Legion,” Abaddon announced.
Fabius looked up, the rat he had been torturing skittering away.
“What, you have more Cities of Death stratagems?” Fabius remarked snidely.
Abaddon ignored the Chirugeon’s comment.
“Together with Ahriman, my Sorcerers have come up with a new spell for our Sorcerers! It allows three of sorcerers working in concert to seize control of our enemies’ and have them fire at their friends’ backs! Sure, we don’t have that… Tau Stormsurge, but we can at least use its weapons against the Tau!”
All but Kharn seemed rather intrigued, who sat moping at the side of the table of rich mahogany they were sat around.
“Stop sulking, Kharn! It won’t change the fact you are not part of the Khorne Daemonkin! However, that is not all! I have organised us into army formations! First the Black Legion Warband, which is my own combined arms detachment!”
The gathered warlords looked up expectantly, though the red-clad warrior who had entered with the rest was eating glue.
“It allows you to take up to six squads of Chaos Space Marines or Chosen, up to three squads of Possessed or Terminators, up to three squads of Warp Talons, Raptors, or Bikes, and up to three squads of Havocs or Helbrutes, in addition to a few Chaos Lords and maybe a Sorcerer if you feel like it! Now I know many of you complain about… well, all of the aforementioned bar Bikes and Havocs, but they have my blessing, and will gain double the amount of boons and will have a slightly bigger chance of killing if they already killed something!”

The silence was palpable. The gathering had not been this unimpressed since Abaddon had mysteriously lost the 13th Black Crusade after winning most of the battles.
“And if that wasn’t enough,” Abaddon continued, “I’ve also come up with an idea so that you can take up to four Chaos Lords or Sorcerers, which must be accompanied by either Chosen or Possessed, but they will be Fearless!”
Abaddon stood with his arms aloft, expectant. Cypher sat with his head in his palms.
“Chaos Lords fear nothing already, my lord. And please don’t make me take more Chosen or Terminators,” the Fallen Angel muttered.
“Wait, you are complaining about Chosen? Yours can’t even hitch a transport or take Marks!” Lucius replied gleefully. Cypher glared at him.
“Okay then! You can take an additional Daemon Prince -,” The gathered crowd looked up from their collective palms expectantly, “and at least 2 extra squads of Possessed!”
The gathering let out a collective groan, but the red-clad warrior squealed with glee, a crayon sticking out his nose.

“I can tell you are less than impressed,” Abaddon said with a smirk.
“Which is why I have invited Krayon!”
The red-clad warrior stirred and rose to Abaddon side, the crayon finally falling out of his nose, clattering as it hit the steel floor.
“My name is Kranon,” the warlord mewled petulantly.
The warriors of Chaos looked at each other, all shrugging. Nobody had heard of the newcomer. Holding up his childlike drawings of red-armoured Chaos Space Marines with extra appendages, he declared in a shrill voice: “I have  come up with a strategy that allows you to take a squad of Chosen and Possessed! Another one includes a Sorcerer and Possessed, and my Lords of Slaughter include Terminators, more Possessed, and…”
Kranon was cut off by Huron.
“Lord, with all due respect, this is a waste of time. I was expecting something from our ForgeWorld, like recovering our Fire Raptors or Sicarans,” Huron replied curtly.
“I mean, we all know how much the Eldar and Dark Angels love those accelerator autocannons! No jinking around for them!”
The rest nodded in agreement as Abaddon patted Kranon paternally on the head. Kranon was still clutching his red and yellow crayon in a power armoured fist.
“You did well, Krayon! I’m sure the Word Bearers appreciate your… enthusiasm for the Possessed,” he said before wiping some snot from the Lord of the Crimson Slaughter’s nose and turning to the others.
“Don’t give me that look! Possessed are basically the same as the Gal Vorbak!”
This time it was Typhus who hid his face in palms.

The awkward silence was broken as a Cultist ran into the dank room, panting.
“Masters, our spies report the Loyalists have reorganised into new formations, applied their Chapter Tactics to their vehicles, and developed a whole slew of new Psychic Disciplines!”
Ahriman made a strangled sound.
“New Psychic Disciplines?!” Ahriman was near tears.
“Yes, masters! They reduce invulnerable saves, create bubbles impenetrable to witchfire…” another strangled sound materialised in everyone’s minds as Be’lakor made his presence known, “and they can move battlefield terrain around!”

Huron skewered the messenger on Tyrant’s Claw.
“Did you really need to do that, Mr. D3 Infiltrate?” Fabius seemed annoyed.
“What now, great leader?” Huron eyed Abaddon, setting the Cultist down so it would not stain the mahogany table.
Abaddon looked out from behind his position at the head of the table, the Talon of Horus drumming against the table. With grim determination in his eyes, he rose and looked at his gathered lieutenants.

“We do what we have always done. We continue the Long War.” And with that he turned to leave the room, the rest filing in behind him, leaving only the dead Cultist bleeding out on the cold floor…

Dedicated to all the CSM players out there. Your tenacity and endurance is something the Loyalists will never achieve. Death to the False Emperor!