They found the massive encampment out in the wilderness, far away from the frontlines of the Hellscorn war, or indeed, any fighting. Their movements, as their Corvus Cabalist scouts had reported, indicated their goal of leaving Thondia behind.
Disillusioned, weary glances from huddled figures around campfires followed them as Vardeshir the Solemn, his hands folded behind his back, floated into their circle, accompanied by a unit of Tzaangor Chosen.
The Tzaangor Paladin regarded the Blue Lions with pity well-hidden behind his golden helm.
It was obvious their spirits had been broken. Their resolve had not survived the disappearance of their commander, Arkoak Cressir.
From out their tents, more hollow faces crept, staring up at the golden-armoured Templars marching into their encampment.
Slowly, but steadily, a crowd had formed around them. The Paladin of Fate came to a stop in the middle, and regarded the warriors around him. His Chosen formed a circle around him.
“Where are the Blue Lions?” Vardeshir addressed them, firmly.
There was mumbling amongst them, but nobody raised his voice.
“No proclamation? No protest? Is it true you lost all Hope?”
One of the men, an officer, stood. “There is nothing left for us here, Templar. Leave us alone. We will not become mindless enforcers of the Pandaemonium’s will.”
The Tzaangor Paladin’s disc floated closer to the man. Vardeshir regarded the officer’s bearded, scarred face.
“I understand, friend. I agree. It is not the Blue Lions’ Fate to mindlessly enforce the Will of the Pandaemonium, to go to war because of petty internal conflicts of petty warlords.” His gaze left the officer and drifted over the other Blue Lions around him. “No. This is not your Fate.”
His hands unfolded from his back and came to the front, he opened them towards his listeners.
“You must ask yourselves, then – what is your Fate?”
He let the question linger, but for a moment.
“Is it the Blue Lions’ Fate, then, to dissolve and diminish as you seep, unsung, into the cracks of these lands?” From behind the eyeslits of his helm, he looked into their eyes, at least of those who did not avert their gazes in shame.
“Ask yourselves – what is your nature? You are no mere mercenaries, no enforcers for hire. You are professional soldiers, Holy Warriors. You have come here with a Cause, have you not?
Is it not your Fate, then, to fight the very Holy War the Blue Lions have come to wage?”
The Tzaangor Templars eyes again fixated on the officer before him.
“Ever since our arrival in Thondia, the Templars of Our Burning Saviour have been allies of the Blue Lions. We have shared Victory and Loss, we fought and bled together, in the Name of Our Lord, the Great Architect. These our bonds, they have been forged in War. The Desraki broke at our Shields. The Desraki were cut down with our blades. Their lands were cleansed with our Holy Fire. We beat them back, sent them reeling, drove them far into the west. It was the Blue Lions and the Templars of Our Burning Saviour who spearheaded the Scorntide’s offensives.
Should all we have achieved be for naught because of petty machinations of the Pandaemonium? Do we need them, or the Scorntide? Did we need them before?”
The Scorntide was lost. They were bound to dissolve again. They already had. Whatever the Blue Lions, the Templars and Tzan the Stargazer had tried to build had been shattered by the Unknowable’s arrival. The war, though, was not over.
“I know you have suffered much. Yet, you still remain strong. Do not let this strength slip away.
Have Hope! Know that the Templars will not abandon you in your time of need. Likewise, I Hope the Blue Lions will not abandon us as we now call on you.”
The Tzaangor spread his arms wide, encompassing all of his listeners.
“Come, join us. Bring war to the Desraki and their Tuskmen vassals. This Crusade is far from over, and we welcome the Blue Lions to join us at the front. We shall stand shoulder to shoulder as brothers and sisters as we bring the remnants of the Khornates down. It is the Will of Tzeentch, Our Saviour. Victory is within our grasp. Glory will be yours again.
Come. I can feel your Fate beckoning.”
