Drawing A Splinter

My plan to rejoin Alfonso and aid him in his assault on the dark magic at the centre of Concendia lay in ashes. Thwarted by uncooperative geography, delayed by arboreal flora and fauna (no doubt at the behest of the Sylvaneth) I paused in a break in the trees, halting my desperate rush to join my force with that of the King. We were not going to reach him before he closed with the beating, spite-filled heart that stood enshrouded in the centre of Concendia.

It was here that Agents of the Umberspire Inquisition found me, agonising over what to do next. They brought such dire news that Liversplat threatened to tear loose, but Léofolat held his presence off and calmed us both with an old Sigmarite roundel. The Inquisition warned that the Sylvaneth were already ahead of the King, having even prepared a fortified position around the thing they called “the Discordance that Splinters”. What foul magic had created such an abomination I could only imagine, but the Sylvaneth were clearly too weak to keep it safe. It needed to be in the hands of someone prepared to burn the very Realm to its roots to keep it from the hands of Slaanesh daemons that sought it.

I trusted Alfonso above all else to do that. The Lawgiver Amondenora had given her agent a personal message to pass on to me and I felt a chill steal through my sigmarite-clad breast at their words. At their behest a suicidal option had been presented by the Inquisition’s spokesperson.

“Alfonso faces a battle with both Sylvaneth and Slaanesh daemons for the “Discordance”. The Herd have wandered off, their attention meandering along such highways and byways that the cattle always follow. The Delarosa camp is in disarray, the brother’s Silus and Cesar at each other’s throats over actual or perceived treachery. But still, if Alfonso is caught between the Slaanesh and Sylvaneth forces he will be utterly crushed. The Sylvaneth are in place but the daemons are still en route. They must be delayed! Give Alfonso the time he needs to deal with the Sylvaneth and hold the Slaanesh back for as long as possible.”

I wondered for a paranoia laden moment whether Amondenora had replaced Vuchaptior Silverweft and Tzistal Cursecrow as my puppetmaster, pulling at my strings for their own goals. My dear friend was in mortal peril, but Léofolat’s impulse to sacrifice all for him was muted by Liversplat’s sly thought that Reforging was no longer an option should we fall in battle. In truth it never had been, but our delusion had kept us blind to that fact. No longer. Death would be final for us and panicked thoughts of what Nagash would do with the soul of one who had lived as though they were a Stormcast Eternal flashed through my mind. No doubt Elder Bones would think of some suitable, harshly ironic punishment.

Messages delivered, the agent of the Inquisition had gone as I stood paralysed by fear and indecision. Léofolat and Liversplat argued, fighting for control, and as I was buffeted by the swirling emotions I saw Mink and Ermine grinning at me, their genial halfling faces wearing looks of exultant glee, blurring as we began to lose control in the mental turmoil.

Straining, Mink hissed at me. “Did you kill your wife Liversplat? Did you consume her flesh? Is that crime against human nature the reason why you are as you are?” I staggered back as though struck a terrific blow but Léofolat and Liversplat continued their struggle for control, whilst I reeled from the implications of the halfling’s accusation.

True or not, he had miscalculated, for he had made me recall that I wasn’t just the ghoul king and the deluded Knight Questor. After all, who had I been before them? Buried deep there was a hint, a vague shadow of the man I had once been. Worn down to almost nothing, like the blade of a sword sharpened until no more than the point of a pin, the tired fulcrum on which my delusions swung, worn but still strong.

“Let us make an end of it then.” And I swung my support behind the Knight Questor. The argument was done, Liversplat sank from the ascendant screeching hate and fear whilst Léofolat took a firm grip. My halfling companions mewled pathetically and then were restored to dutiful servants.

“Your orders my Lord?”

“Our friend Alfonso stands all unknowing, in dire peril. Lawgiver Amondenora has given us details of the route the Slaanesh seem most likely to be taking and I see no other option.” Venomous thoughts drifted to the surface of my mind, indicating that Liversplat was very unhappy and awaiting a chance to reassert his control. “We march to intercept the daemons. Get the freeguilders and my Liberators moving.”

Occasionally I look back upon that day and it still makes me shudder. The price my freeguilders paid was horrific, I lost Liberators Stormclash and Starcall and Ermine was severely wounded. Nonetheless, we held for a time. The daemons were slowed, and some even destroyed. When they finally pushed past the shattered remnants of my force we had managed to hold them for almost half a day. We bought Alfonso much needed time with our flesh and blood even weakening the daemons somewhat. Vyspasian’s torc had been of great use, sowing confusion amongst the slaaneshi but we could not hold them forever. Léofolat prayed to Sigmar that we had done enough.

Later as we tended our wounded and set about harvesting the bodies of our dead for food, I felt the poisonous heart of Concendia dim, its fury trapped and rage muffled. I sensed it moving away, away from us, away from the direction that the slaanesh would have approached it. Like drawing a splinter to allow the infection to pour out, Alfonso had succeeded in saving the heart of Concendia and he now held “the Discordance” safely from all comers.

Against the odds he had won, and a ferocious feeling of exultation pounded through me. Léofolat’s pride swelled through our heart and I stood facing the direction in which I could feel Alfonso moving, and saluted my brave friend. Liversplat briefly surfaced to mutter about eliminating the competition, but he was quickly quelled. Nonetheless, I didn’t take his continued quiescence for granted.

It was time to move on.