I slipped quietly through the woods, the trees here grew close together and my armour occasionally grated on grasping boughs, or scraped through the wet moss coating the trunks of these majestic arboreal titans. Ahead of me, the forest grew brighter and I could smell brackish water. Had I finally reached my goal?
I had wandered far and wide seeking…. well, seeking. Guided by the faintest of feelings, the haziest of memories, dreams half-remembered and the faint thrum/tug of the God-King’s lightning in my veins. But now, now I felt the weight of Sigmar’s Hand upon my shoulder, steering my course, urging me on. Now time was short, the God-King needed me to be somewhere and He needed me there soon.
I stepped free of the dense forest and for the first time in days stood in the unfiltered, warming light of Hyish. Before me lay a narrow seaweed and rock strewn strand and then crystal clear water but beyond… Concendia, the Lost Isle!
Had the magicks that shrouded her also clouded my mind? I had wandered from Realm to Realm, crossing some in their entirety on foot, in others just making the short journey from one Realmgate to the next, just to reach these shores. But now Concendia was shrugging free of her foggy shroud, out into the light of day and finally I had been able to sense her and at last even to see her verdant shores with my own eyes. This was what I sought, I was certain. Here, beyond all doubt, was where I was meant to be. Finally the petty distractions of killing the various Chaos things that crossed my path could be set aside and I could complete my quest.
“M’Lord?” Piping voices broke my reverie. “We’re here then?” I turned to the halflings who had taken it upon themselves to follow me and declare me their Master. “I’m not your Lord, Ermine, nor yours Mink. I am Knight Questor Leofolat Grymbane, one of Sigmar’s Chosen. I command no one. How many times…” My voice trailed off, worn out by the needy look in their eyes.
“But you lead by your most impeccable example my Lord, and cannot help but attract followers.” And of course he was right. I had forgotten, so engrossed in my quest but yes, I had inadvertantly gathered a band of followers. I suppose when one is a paragon of Knightly, indeed Orderly virtue and the God-King’s vengeance made flesh, you attracted adoration. Loyal to Sigmar but adrift in the Mortal Realms, they had sworn to follow me despite my protestations. They too began to emerge from the forest, staring in wonder at Concendia, spearmen and archers and even (how had I forgotten?) five Sigmarite clad Liberators who had taken up my quest as their own.
“Rafts my Lord?” Ermine queried, and lacking the heart to correct him again, I simply nodded.
“We must reach Concendia with all haste, I fear that others are before us and we must make up lost ground.”
“Your will, my Lord.” Mink replied with a solemn bow before rushing off and ordering the collection of deadwood to construct rafts. Wise, for numerous though we were, far more so than I had realised, still we were not so foolish as to loose an axe in the forests of Ghyran.
“Glory to Sigmar, unending glory…” I mutter, falling once again into a dream-like contemplation of the shores of Concendia. “We shall cleanse this isle of Chaos filth, complete the task Sigmar has set me, and the Sylvaneth will once again have cause to rejoice in the God-King’s friendship.”
