Améline runs at the Fairwater cannon crew. Their attention is diverted away from her by Boomer’s army, their ears deafened to her thudding boots by their own cannon. Although they haven’t thought to fire at Boomer’s warsuit yet, Améline has seen the potential future where it will enter their minds soon, and with a single cannonball doom the entire Bleeding Wilds. She doesn’t intend to let them get that far into that future.
They start noticing her presence just when she’s behind them. The officer whirls around and gasps as he looks up at her towering form. He mumbles prayers of deliverance to Sigmar as he shakenly pulls his pistol out of his belt. She wrenches the weapon from him and crushes it in her grasp.
“Run.” Améline says to them, her voice dropped to a bowl-loosening whisper. A ram is swung at her by one of the terrified crew. She grabs it and snaps it across her knee.
“Run, and count yourselves lucky that you will see Fairwater again.”
They needed no further encouraging, and flee from the battlefield. Améline hadn’t lied to them; she had seen their futures, and knows that they will likely return to their city alive. Perhaps triumphant. Perhaps penniless and dishonoured. For the officer at least, she sees many futures in the priesthood of Sigmar.
A fairer fate than he expected, Herakes whispers. He prays with a guilty conscience.
Améline turns to search for Boomer on the battlefield, but he and his host has already moved on. And so should she. Every second is precious.
Améline didn’t know if this Keeper of Secrets had been summoned by artifice or the indiscriminate carnage of the Bleeding Wilds, but that didn’t matter. She knows that if they are unimpeded, they will be drawn to the curse tormenting Ishothea’s army just when Barak-Drak’s defences are inactive, and rend the general’s soul from her body. They had to be stopped. Even just a dozen minutes’ delay would be long enough for Barak-Drak’s guns to come back online and destroy the daemon before they could reach Ishothea.
The Keeper of Secrets is alone. So is Améline.
As she raises her sword and prepares to sell her life dearly, Herakes’ voice speaks in the back of her mind.
I recognise this foe. I have bested them before. Let me show you how…
Améline drops the point of her blade and raises her open hand towards the daemon, palm faced towards them. They grin with fanged expectation, already savouring her death.
“With faith, I abjure thee.”
The smile falters as Améline’s voice cuts through the air between them.
“With purity of purpose, I oppose thee.”
Fear comes forth in the daemon’s eyes, as Améline’s hand begins to blaze with divine power.
“With thy name, I banish thee…”
Améline lands down onto the battlefield, borne by a bolt of lightning from Azyr. Before the after-image fades away from the eyes of witnesses she is already running, knowing exactly what she has to do.
Ahead of her Umithil fights on, unaware of her presence. In a few short seconds, Améline knows that a rifle will be aimed at her back and fire, sending a bullet straight through her head. Améline didn’t need further incentive to try and save the Idoneth, but looking further into the future she sees how the Namarti’s death will send her prince into a deep depression. Without his leadership, his army would be rendered ineffective.
She couldn’t let that pass.
The rifle barks. Améline throws herself between it and Umithil. Time seems to slow, so that she can see the bullet fly towards her eye.
No matter the cost.
Umithil turns around as she feels Améline’s body fall through the ethersea, but the lightning bolt has already carried the Stormcast’s soul back up to Azyr before she could see who had saved her life.
Améline walks out of another lightning blast, Reforged anew. There’s a niggling blind spot in her memory, but she had expected such a loss.
She strides forth towards the corsair officer guarding this pass. He had been one of the Reavers who had captured her aboard the Stormdancer, and she sees from his horrified expression that he recognises her too.
She raises a hand as he whips a handbow from his belt and his corsairs draw swords.
“I am not here for vengeance, Cilgfu.”
His name makes him hesitate, though he keeps his handbow trained on her.
“Then why are you here?” Cilgfu demands.
“To defend this pass with you.”
Améline nods at something behind him.
“Against them.”
Cilgfu turns, and sees the Cabal force charge. Améline knows that they would overrun his position and continue on into the Reavers’ territory. Though they would be stopped, it wouldn’t be before they would attack Hakai’s brothers. All they’d have to do is drag down one of those gargants, and the Bleeding Wilds would be set on a course that could lead to its destruction.
As Cilgfu’s corsairs raise the alarm and brace themselves, Améline draws her own greatblade and takes up position beside them.
They’d be overrun by themselves. But with her intervention, disaster could be averted.
After the battle, Cilgfu stares down at the scorched earth before him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t put the Stormcast’s sacrifice to save his life out of his mind.
“She will live.”
The witch aelf whirls around when Améline speaks behind her. She shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on the aelf ordinarily, but Améline knows that Khelyra’s recent near-death experience had left some of her followers wallowing in despair.
This aelf had been particularly distressed, to the point that she had had to leave the Cult’s encampment to process her thoughts alone. But by herself, it would only leave her in a worse state…
She gapes up at the massive Stormcast, then finally manages to speak.
“The Scáthspeaker?”
Améline nods down at her. She’d taken off her helmet, letting the aelf see that she shared her pain, and the unshakeable certainty she invests her voice with.
“I know the hour is dark for you. You have doubts. But Khelyra is stronger than most think. She will survive, and continue leading you against Morathi’s tyranny. Your cause won’t end here.”
The two stare at each other for a moment, then the Witch Aelf, a sworn enemy to Améline in so many ways, steps forward to embrace the Stormcast and let out grateful tears. Améline hugs her back, letting her lean on her strength for a moment.
She hadn’t lied. Khelyra would live. Because not too far away, the Khainite assassins who would have slitted this aelf’s throat, then moved on to silence the Melusai heretic, lie dead by Améline’s hand.
They numbered just a few dozen, barely an army. If Améline had her old Retinue, they would have been routed without a single scratch on their sigmarite. But Améline is alone, and knows that if this Cabal force continued on its way it will happen upon the Beastmaster Avalida and rip her apart.
Not bothering to judge the thickness of the ice, Améline leaps off the rock she’d been perched on. She falls and lands on her two feet, boots briefly scrabbling on the slick ice before a hand shoots out and steadies her by grabbing onto a nearby rock. The ice cracked dangerously, but held. As she had foreseen.
The lead Cabal, a human bounty hunter, hesitates when he sees Améline. Evidently, he had not been paid high enough to take on one of Sigmar’s chosen.
She watches his fear fade away as his lackeys crowded around behind him. Perhaps his pay would be high enough, if he had less underlings to divide the loot with.
“Turn back, for your own good. Return to your homes and live out the rest of you lives in peace.” Améline warns them, her heart heavy knowing that her entreaty will fall on deaf ears. But despite what the future had already told her, she needed to try anyway.
“I don’t think we will.” the bounty hunter drawls. “I think we’ll continue on an’ kill that Loomienef as we were hired, then turn in any magic she has on her for a bonus. Nashwar likes magic.”
Améline draws her greatblade.
“I cannot allow that.”
The bounty hunter smiles and motions forward his warriors.
“You heroes are mad. You all die the same as us.”
“And the greedy are foolish for grabbing at wealth that will never sate them.”
His face reddens in response to her barb, and he urges on his mob.
“We outnumber you! You’ll die here alone, and we’ll slit that aelf’s throat anyway!”
“No, you won’t.” Améline whispers softly, as she reverses her grip on her blade. The point is directed towards the ice, and some of the foremost mercenaries begin to have doubts as they spot the spiderweb of cracks.
“And I need no allies to stop you.”
Just before they hit, Améline raises up her blade, and plunges it into the ice.
Avalida looks up from her work as the crashing of ice catches her attention. A second later, a lightning bolt scores the sky, so fast she almost didn’t catch it.
She rushes off to investigate and finds a hole where the lightning bolt had hit (or originated from? They’re not sure.). They find the broken bodies of many fighters in the pit. Here and there, she sees sigils of the Cabal on them.
They look back up at the sky, just in time to spot another bolt of lightning hit the ground many miles away from them.
The chisel carves another curve into the rock, completing the ward.
Just so, Herakes murmurs. I wonder if you had missed your calling as a Relictor.
Améline grunts as she gives the chisel a few last taps.
“You said it best. My talents lie beyond the priesthood.”
Améline stands up to examine her work. Without Herakes’ guidance it would have been impossible to begin, but even she had to admit that learning how to place and form the runes in the stone had been easier than she’d imagined.
She walks around the old fort, examining every detail to make sure that it was just right. Some of the runes she understood, either language she was familiar with or symbols she recognised. But others were completely alien to her, and given Herakes’ silence when she thought of them likely would remain so.
The fort itself… To describe it as old would be a disservice. The Skyguard records had come up empty on information of when it had been constructed, and even Havard Erkansson hadn’t been able find out what it’s name. Perhaps more worryingly, he hadn’t immediately proposed to have it named after him.
It had just always been there. Claiming to have discovered it would have been like claiming to have discovered the earth.
Besides, why did it matter? It was just an old fort. Only the ancient dead knew or cared about its name.
Until tonight, Améline thinks to herself. Then Runedaughter Dura Forgeheart would lead her patrol of Fyreslayers here, and choose this eminently defensible location to rest for the night, keen eyes facing outwards for threats in the night.
Which is why Améline had carved these runes into the walls and floor, and torn down the decaying roof. She figures Dura would be tough enough to weather a night under the open sky.
“Now what?” Améline asks, when she’s satisfied with her inspection.
How soon until noon?
Améline looks up at Hysh.
“Not long. Half an hour, at most.”
Good. Begin the ritual. Just place your hand on this rune, repeat the chant I gave you, and invest the stone with Azyr’s purity. It will be difficult without training, but keep a clear focus on your intent and you will prevail.
Améline follows his instructions to the letter. Nothing happened at first, but as she continued reciting the sacred words she felt the air around her become charged with power. Lightning bolts leapt from her hand and earthed themselves into the rune, then began to spread throughout the fort, lighting it up with a star’s soft glow and filling the air with crackling.
That sound was joined by wailing, as the Nighthaunt dormant in the stone were forced out. During the night they would have been terrifying killers, and stolen Dura’s life. In the day’s light, they were easy prey for Améline’s blade.
Whether placed here as a trap or cursed by circumstance to linger in this place, Améline wouldn’t let them take away the future that Dura and Breyla might have. Someone deserved happiness to look forward to, even amidst the destruction the Bleeding Wilds was drowning in.
Améline was long gone before Dura had arrived at the fort, leaving behind only strange carvings, an unsettling chill in the stone, and a chance.
Améline hangs in Azyr’s void, planning her next strike. She scours the threads of fate, looking for a point in time where her intervention would be needed. She pursues one future in particular, chasing a thread belonging to a human in the Cult called Veiðan. This WAAAGH!-Mother might need Améline’s help to survive an Arcanite ambush, if it even happens…
Depths piling above. Water all around fading to black, as pale hands reach up to bind…
She’s already falling from Azyr before Herakes could say anything.
Marley!
She crashes into the water and punches a hole into the sea with the sheer force of her lightning bolt. She swims down furiously when she spots Marley, and draws her gladius when she sees the hands.
She slashes and stabs at them, slicing off fingers that had grabbed onto the warlord. Blood fills the waters quickly. Under the cover of the red mist, Améline tucks Marley under her arm and starts swimming back up to the surface, then onto the beach without pause.
It’s only when she staggers onto the beach dragging Marley does she realise that she has just swum through the sea for minutes, while in armour and burdened. Her entire body painfully reminds her of that fact in a moment that felt like every muscle had started screaming at her.
She falls to weak knees and lets Marley drop from her arms. Only then, does she remember Herakes.
He is a devotee of the Blood God. He says when he feels her attention turn to him, voice absent of the warmth he usually spoke to her with. Evangeline is almost a step too far, but this Chaos Lord? You would save him?
“Yes.” Améline croaks through a burning throat. “He is a good man.”
Good men can be corrupted, you know that.
Améline falls from her knees to her arms, muscles protesting every movement.
“I know. And he has come close to falling. But it’s something he fights…”
Malliana, he has the blood of Stormcast on his hands.
Now Améline can hear a note of desperation in his voice. Almost fear, if she didn’t know him better.
“They were imprisoning his wife and preparing to destroy her. Would you expect me to do any different if Aengellania’s life was threatened by Chaos Warriors?”
Aengellania is not a Daemon Princess. Stormcast are not Chaos Warriors.
“But that’s what it was to Marley.”
Améline closes her aching eyelids, arms straining to hold her up from collapsing onto the sand.
“Herakes, would you have done any differently if my life had been threatened?”
There’s a long pause, before she hears No. She takes a shaking breath.
“You said to me that I had always been gifted at seeing the potential in others. So trust me. I can see Marley’s potential. Both for great destruction, and great tenderness. He has killed Stormcast, but he has also healed Aengellania’s spirit. He had saved me from despair. And those acts have brought him greater joy than any violence he has ever committed.”
Améline sinks closer to the sand as her arms buckle under her weight. She can feel Herakes’ silence in the back of her mind, a textured quiet that is busy with private thoughts.
“He’s… He’s not a perfect person. But he wants to do good. I can’t… I won’t let him be dragged back down again. Please, Herakes… Let me help him be a better man.”
She’s answered only with silence for a long few moments
I hope you won’t regret this.
Améline bows her head and lets a few tears trickle out. Not just from relief, but in hearing the earnestness in Herakes’ voice.
“You won’t.”
I can give you my power to heal wounds. Combined with his own healing, I reckon he will survive.
Améline’s arm starts becoming warm with an inner storm.
Place your hand on his chest, and will his wounds to mend. And, Malliana… I’m sor-
“Don’t be. I know you just wanted to protect me.”
She lifts her hand and touches Marley’s chest with it. Sparks leap from her into him, and she can see the colour return to his skin.
“Thank you.” She mutters aloud.
Help guide him away from Chaos. Herakes responds, before Marley grunts and his eyelids slowly open.
He slowly looks up at the sky, then down at her hand, then over to her with a look of confused incredulity. As they lock eyes, his mouth slowly curves into a smile, as does her own.
“H’lo, ‘Line.”
“Hello, Marley.”
Améline finally lets herself fall into the sand. She feels tired all of a sudden, weary in her soul more than her body. She scours the future ahead of her, and finds to her relief that she can spare some time.
Right after she did one last thing.
She raises her head up from the sand.
“Aenge and I are going to get married.”
For a moment, she wonders if Marley hadn’t heard her, he seemed so still. Then, his smiling lips part into an iron grin.
“That’s perfect, ‘Line.”
“You’re not surprised?”
He reaches a shaking hand to her hair and gently pats it.
“You keep your promises.”
He winks at her with his last human eye
It really is perfect.
