Our crossing to Concendia, urgent though it was, was delayed. By the time we had gathered enough material for our rafts it was too dark to risk rafting across the channel, and so our departure was put back until dawn. I decided reluctantly to try to get some sleep, I had been plagued with bad dreams of late but with Concendia ahead of us I needed to be as fresh as possible to face whatever was to come.
I slept poorly that night. I dreamt of horrors, tidal waves of blood, men and woman twisted terribly into avian-like man-things, screaming in soul-wrenching agony, their bright plumage shaking with their every shuddering breath. They surrounded me on all sides both jeering at me and cursing me, and I was forced to mingle with them, as some faceless power pulled at strings tethered to my soul as though I was some sort of puppet.
No matter how I struggled I could not break free, and when my puppet master let the strings fall slack and I ran, I was lost in a maze of witchfire, barriers that burned through to my very essence in an agony more intense than my last Reforging on the Anvil of Apotheosis. Everywhere I saw the signs and symbols of Tzeentch and I ran in unthinking terror, eventually finding a way out. As I stepped through the door, I felt the catch of the strings on my soul being tugged – just a little.
I awoke, drenched in sweat and more tired than when I had first lain down to rest. In the dim light cast by our small campfire, I saw movement beside me and as I reached in panic for my sword, Ermine lent forward into the light and patted me gently on the shoulder. I shuddered in relief leaving my sword undrawn and he handed over a mug of hot tea. He watched me drink slowly, the warmth and gentle aroma calming me and muttered, “There my Lord, it was just a bad dream. No need to fret.”
But I did worry about these dreams. They had started some time ago, my memory was hazy on when, and they had reached such an intensity that Mink or Ermine always sat with me when I slept now. Of course, being Stormcast I had the stamina to put sleep off longer than a mortal but eventually even I needed rest. I had spoken to Ermine and Mink about them, as my most trusted companions I had come to rely upon them heavily but they had brushed off my concerns. I was under pressure, they said, I had seen such horror that it was only natural I dream of it, but I continued to feel that these dreams were warnings. Someone was trying to reach me and all I was hearing was the distorted echo of the message that had been sent. Whatever the cause, it seemed possible that servants of the Changer of Ways were here to oppose me.
In the early morning light we made our way across the channel to Concendia. The crossing was choppy, the current was strong and our rafts poorly made. Alas, tough warriors and mighty Stormcast though we were, our woodworking skills were not up to much. Fortunately the rafts only finally disintegrated when we were within wading distance of Concendia’s shore.
Wet, cold and somewhat bedraggled we marched our way inland with Mink and Ermine using their natural stealth to scout far ahead, ranging across the land looking out for threats or, more importantly, our Sylvaneth allies who seemed to be wary or reluctant to announce themselves to us. Instead the halflings found an ancient city, tumbled down and mostly in ruins and more worryingly still the scene of a recent, ferocious battle. We spread out looking for clues as to what had happened here, searching the detritus of battle and the piled Beastmen corpses. It seemed clear that a Beastherd had been met with overwhelming force and decimated. There were so few enemy casualties that at first we assumed the Beasts had turned on each other before we eventually found some evidence of a Soulblight force, and also the hacked apart remains of a Tree-Lord.
As my followers ranged across the battlefield gathering up any food or supplies not despoiled by the presence of the filthy Beastmen, Mink approached me. “We should seek shelter my Lord, night is drawing in and after our soaking the last thing we need is for our men to take on a fever or ague.”
Ermine chipped in. “The wind seems to be picking up too, we could be in for a change in the weather.” I nodded absently, thinking over the possibilities of what had occurred here and what it meant for Concendia, happy to leave the halflings to sort the soldiers out with their usual efficiency. But the noise of the leaves rustling in the woodland surrounding the city caught my attention. It was… wrong, too regular to be a breeze.
Just before they emerged from the edge of the woodland I realised that our Sylvaneth allies had finally decided to approach and to make themselves known. I turned to face the apparent leader, a rather battered looking Tree-Lord with some wounds that still oozed sap, and so was in a perfect position to watch as it scooped up one of my archers from the ground and tore him in half like a piece of rotten sackcloth.
The shock held me frozen for a moment before I began yelling at my soldiers to run. Scattered across the battlefield and ruined city they would be unable to put up any organised resistance and would likely be overwhelmed and cut down one by one. The perfidious Sylvaneth had timed their attack perfectly.
Mink, ever ready for a fight, sighted along his handgun barrel and managed to pick off a dryad that had been closing in on an oblivious spearman. Ermine took up my cry ordering a withdrawal so that we could regroup at the far side of the city.
“Liberators! Too me!” I roared out, we Stormcast would need to be the shield for our companions whilst they reformed their ranks and stood a chance of fighting the Sylvaneth off. Drawing my Questor Warblade and Celestial Hammer I roared again, this time a wordless bellow of rage at the unprovoked attack and charged full tilt at the nearest Sylvaneth, thinking to cut my way through to the Tree-Lord.
Behind me I heard my Liberators calling for the God-King’s blessings and racing to catch up but my fury and sense of betrayal lent me wings. Hewing left and right with my warblade and lashing out with my warhammer I left shattered and screeching dryads in my wake, the noise soon drowned out by the thunderous crash of Liberator shields against the dryad force as they sought to bull their way through and keep me from harm.
My fervour dimmed somewhat as I found myself surrounded on all sides by Tree-kin and with their numbers growing, more and more of them emerging from the woodlands to the south. It was with some relief that I heard trumpets signalling for me to withdraw. Our counterattack seemed to have shaken the Sylvaneth, or perhaps we were not that important to them and they were here for another reason, either way our retreat was mostly uncontested, they seemed glad to see us leave.
Miraculously unharmed, I ran back through the ruined city accompanied by my Liberators seeking to rejoin my troop. Mink and Ermine emerging to lead us to the shaken units. With the Sylvaneth now unwilling to recognise us allies and apparently determined to drive us from the city and perhaps even out of Concendia, our position was fragile. Add roaming Beastherds and an army of Soulblight as well and we were in almost as much trouble as Concendia itself.
We fled the remains of the city and headed North towards the hills, as far away from the wooded lands as we could manage seeking somewhere to make camp and mentally regroup. I would need to speak to Ermine and Mink and reconsider our plans, things had already gone very awry. I prayed that Sigmar grant me the wisdom to see my way through our predicament.
