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Armory structures contain advanced manufacturing modules and electronic support measures that unlock structure, training time, and population capacity upgrades. Construction of an Armory allows the requisition of UNSC Spartans and Operatives to the battlefield. as well as deployment of the Condor gunship. These are key facilities for a UNSC field commander, though their full potential is only unlocked once sufficient resources are available.
Then there was the "Eye of Sheerian," which was named after the Tzeentchian Sorcerer who discovered it. On its own, it granted the bearer prophetic powers, but, when placed within the Crown of Domination, its prophetic powers could be used to their full ability and allow the bearer to predict and avoid the attacks of their enemy. At that time it laid in the lair of the Chaos Dragon Flamefang, who guarded the Eye jealously above all of its other treasures. Exercising caution, Archaon came upon the dragon stealthily and laid his claim to the Eye by smashing his axe into Flamefang's head. Long did man and monster battle at the base of the Cliff of Beasts; Flamefang breathed fire and even swallowed Archaon whole. But the Armour of Morkar fulfilled its purpose and protected him from its acidic stomach and gnashing teeth. Archaon hacked his way out of the dragon's gullet with the ferocity of a Flesh Hound, until Flamefang's throat was hacked to shreds and it died of exhaustion and blood loss. Archaon plucked the Eye of Sheerian from its place on the belly of the dragon and hung it around his neck as his rightful reward.[6a]
As Morrslieb swelled full in the night skies above the northern waste, the touch of the Dark Gods slowly grew stronger and stronger by the day. As the defenders of the World fell by the thousands with every passing moment, either by the cold touch of biting steel or swayed to eternal damnation, the Dark Gods each adopted a Human champion to further their own earthly interest in this dying world. Archaon, foremost favoured of the Gods, knew that if he is to usher in the End Times, he needed the powers of all four powers in unison. The Chosen of Khorne under Valkia the Bloody are ravaging what remains of frigid Naggaroth. The decadent host of Slannesh under Sigvald the Magnificent continues to terrorise the shores of Kislev and the Sea of Claws, his acts of debauchery growing more horrific with each passing invasion. The devious pawns of Tzeentch are being led south by the dark twins, Vilitching the Cursling down south to further enact the destinies coveted by the Architect of Fate. Only the followers of the Plague Father lacked their own supreme champion, directionless since the death of Festak Krann by the hands of the Imperials sometime ago.[2b]
Back at the Temple, Loeun and Ku'gath once more went head to head. His Hippogryph dead after trying one to tear the flesh of the Greater Daemon, Louen drove his sword deep into the creature's throat, while his blood, now a golden fluid, burnt the Daemon with great pain. With agonizing cries, the Daemon lurched back and forth and slammed against the Statue of Magnus the Pious, the construct falling down upon him, pinning him down as second by agonizing second, the greater daemon bubbled away into nothingness until all that was left was a simmering stain. In place of the statue, Louen stood victorious and pointed his sword towards Festus. He ran towards the apothecary yet, as he was tangled by a leech thrown at him, he made a barrel roll and plunged his holy sword deep into the daemon's gut. But Festus was not a full daemon, not yet at least, and the sword and blood did not kill him as it did the Plaguefather. With great power, he smashed an acidic potion upon Louen's face, and with his bonesaw, he hacked at the Champion, golden blood spurting across the pavement. Fighting back the pain, Louen Leoncoeur stared straight into the face of his would-be killer, and cracked a sly grin.
Sorcerous lightning rent the clouds, crackling sheets of lurid energy illuminating Middenhelm's streets with the kaleidoscopic colours of madness. Below, emerging from the forest to the city's north, came the front-runners of Archaon's horde. Trees fell with a series of groans and cracks, battered aside by hulking monsters. Behind these tireless behemoths came rank upon rank of feral tribesmen, armoured warriors and tentacled mutants who tramped out of the forest's shadows. An endless black tide, they swept out to the cast and west, marching on to encircle the city in a living noose of armoured bodies. Chariots rumbled through the masses, flanked by bands of hulking Chaos knights. Packs of hounds bayed at the boiling skies, their howls jarring with the gibbering and shrieking of caged spawn. Warshrines lurched Into the sickly half-light, borne upon the shoulders of hulking mutants. Dragon ogres stamped and roared, shaking their axes in challenge at the imposing bulk of the Fauschlag that reared above them. As the day wore on, more and more northlanders marched into view. And still their numbers swelled, Beastmen drawn from all around by the sounds and smells of the ruinous host. At their head came Malagor, the Crowfather emerging from the shadows at last to join the monstrous horde. Even the most fiery-tempered Ulrlcan priest found his spirits doused by the chill realisation that this would be a battle not for glory. but for simple survival. This was no marauding band of raiders, come to burn and pillage. The full strength of the north appeared to march beneath the banner of the Everchosen. Here was an army of annihilation, a never-ending tide of foes against which there seemed little hope. 2b1af7f3a8