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Warhammer Ellyrion

Once every few decades, the countless wild herds of Ellyrion gather somewhere on the plains, drawn by some nameless imperative to run together in a thousands-strong stampede of fierce exultation. Every son of Ellyrion longs to ride with the Great Herd, to mingle with the powerful beasts as they joined together in one thunderous ride to glory. Only the best riders dare join with the herd, for these steeds are wild and care nothing for the safety of the mortals in their midst. Many an experienced rider has been crushed to death beneath the hooves of the Great Herd.[1a]

One need only follow the tracks of smaller herds as they seek each other out. Lowland steeds joining as they cross a confluence of rivers that foam white as though desperate to be part of the ride. Hundreds of horses, their numbers growing with each passing moment, meet with the white herds of the south, the dun and dappled beasts of the mountains; the greys of the north and the piebald mounts of the plains - galloping proud and haughty - to be met by the silver herdleaders of the forests.[1a]

Here and there, a black steed will gallop in splendid isolation, honoured and shunned in equal measure by its equine brethren. Soon the plains become filled with thousands of wild horses in a mighty herd that stretches from horizon to horizon.[1a]

Dust billows in thick clouds as the Great Herd gallops for all it's worth. The earth shakes, and the pounding beat of unshod hooves on the hard packed earth is like the storms that boom and roll over the Annulii when the Chaos Moon waxes full.[1a]

Source

  • 1: Sons of Ellyrion (novel) by Graham McNeill
    • 1a: Chapter 7

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