Our quarry had fled inland towards the mysterious shroud that still covered the heart of the Concendia. It seemed to me that it was receding at a faster and faster pace, perhaps just my overactive imagination triggered by a sense of impending doom. But events on Concendia were cascading wildly out of control and the sense that we were all rushing towards some terrible cataclysm with consequences beyond our comprehension had seized me.
My ally and dear friend, King Alfonso del Fonte Ribeiro sought with all his might to avert the oncoming disaster, but the odds were stacked against him. Too far away for us to reach him and offer what little aid we could, I instead turned my focus to our most recent foe. Comte Vyspasian de Ryeat who had run wounded from our last encounter, using cowardly and deceptive magics to escape his well-deserved fate. He had apparently decided to make a play for the Isle’s centre himself with what forces he had left. I was not surprised that rather than return to his Lord, Cesar Delarosa, and report his utter failure at Meornath’s Folly, my enemy chose to run and seek to win his way to glory through deception and betrayal.
I had no intention of letting him get that far and hoped that by taking the Comte and his soldiers out of the race for Concendia’s soul, I would give Alfonso some space in which to work a miracle.
So we ran, Mink on my shoulders and Ermine perched on the shoulders of Liberator Glimmershield, so that they would not fall behind. The remaining Liberators took to carrying those of my Freeguild who started flagging and struggling to keep up, we could wait for no one, our quarry had had a good head start on us and speed was essential now.
Occasionally we stopped to let the halflings down to check for evidence of Vyspasian’s passage and make sure that we were still on the right track. It gave those Freeguild not being carried a chance to rest and recover for a short while. They had abandoned a lot of their kit at Meornaths Folly to reduce the load they were carrying but even so I could tell we could not keep up this pace, we would soon start to lose people to exhaustion.
I had surrendered to the joy of the hunt, chasing down my prey with a single-minded determination. I pushed everything else aside other than trying to keep my soldiers alive and fit enough to fight Vyspasian, and after our conversation at the Folly, the niggling worry that Mink and Ermine were making plans of their own. Did they have completely different prey in mind? In between our periods of running I tried to keep an eye on them without being obvious, but it was difficult, I felt now that they were equally as watchful of me and I wondered whether in fact they always had been?
Eventually though I reasoned that possession of an artefact as powerful as Vyspasian’s would no doubt buy my halfling companions a long life of very comfortable retirement, something I understood halflings to be rather keen on. I began to believe that perhaps Mink had simply shown a moment of avarice and after all, no one is perfect.
On we ran, rising early and pushing forward for as long into the evening as I could bring myself. I urged my soldiers on, trying to lift their heavy feet and weary limbs with my rhetoric, forcing them to keep running by the power of my will alone. In the distance I could see that the ground began to rise and perhaps a day away mountains stood across our path. Previously hidden from view, the shroud had now receded enough for them to be visible and there, far ahead but at last in sight, Vyspasian and his bedraggled troops. I felt a savage, feral grin spread across my face, soon I would have vengeance, at last some measure of retribution for a wrong that could never be made right. My wife, my daughter… Without thinking I surged ahead and it was only the massed groan of my brave cohort that brought me to my senses and induced me to slow my pace.
I ordered no fires lit that night, wanting to give Vyspasian no clue that we were closing in on him. My poor soldiers were too exhausted to even moan at another cold meal, gulping down cold tea and dried rations before slumping into deep sleep.
“At this speed we’ll never catch Vyspasian in time. He’ll be at the shroud by tomorrow evening I would guess.” Ermine pursed his lips as if deep in thought but reluctantly nodded agreement. “The Freeguilders are all done in, they’ll not manage another day like today. We need to slow him down and give them a chance to catch up at a more reasonable pace.”
“Perhaps the shroud will slow them down.” Mink started, but I cut him off sharply.
“Perhaps? No, no, no! I can’t take the risk that he can pass through and I lose him again. I shall run on ahead with my shield brothers, we will circle ahead and bar their path. You will lead the Freeguilders as fast as they can come and if Sigmar wills it, we shall meet again.”
“That is madness Léo, they will cut the 6 of you down and be long gone before we even arrive!” Mink shot a fierce look at Ermine. “Talk to him, Ermine. Make him see he cannot do this!”
Ermine however just grinned at us both. “I think we have a solution. Do you smell that?” He asked, and before either of us could respond, he laughed to himself in delight. “Horses!”
The halfling’s keen sense of smell had me beaten, I could smell nothing but as horses usually meant riders, I leapt to my feet reaching for my sword. The halfling was ahead of me again though, his hand on my wrist staying my blade. “Stay here Léo, Mink come with me.” They slunk away heading towards a small copse that we had camped beside to keep some cover between us and the Soulblight.
As I stood, hand to my swordhilt, I heard much muttering and furtive movement before Ermine strode out of the copse leading a horse, and then Mink followed coaxing more of them out. They were looking a bit wild and unkempt, but I instantly saw why, these must be horses that had lost their riders and run from the chaos of King Alfonso’s latest clash with the Delarosa’s. I was saddened to recognise the colours and heraldry of some of Alfonso’s Court that I had gotten to know. In fact, Ermine was leading the mount of the Duke Makinna, who had been a powerful, noble man and trusted confidante of the King. If such as he had fallen in the battle with the Delarosa’s then it must have been a desperate affair indeed.
“We have just enough horses here Léo. The Freeguilders will need to ride doubled up but they will be able to keep up with you, Glimmershield and the others. Perhaps Sigmar has taken a hand and been the architect of your good fortune?” He flashed an impish grin at me and for a moment I relaxed enough to smile back, my suicidal plan to slow Vyspasian was not going to be needed.
“Likely enough, my friend, but His gifts are not without a price. Wake them up,” I nodded to the snoring Freeguilders. “We’ll make as much ground up tonight as we can. With luck we’ll be able to get ahead of Vyspasian before daybreak and build enough of a lead over him to grab some sleep.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur, travelling as swiftly but as quietly as we could and giving Vyspasian as wide berth as possible. With the halflings pointing out the best route to cross the mountains into the heart of Concendia we positioned ourselves to bar the road to the Comte and his troops. The Freeguilders and halflings slept through the morning and as the afternoon edged towards evening I ordered them awake and to eat. Probably the last meal for many of them, but they were children of Sigmar and made ready to face the evil of the Soulblight Comte de Ryeat with equanimity.
As Vyspasian and his troops entered the valley that would lead him to the heart of Concendia, we poured out from hiding places along the side of the valley, my Liberators cutting off the Comte and his officers from the main body of his troops and killing most before the vampire lords managed to strike back. I winced as Glimmershield was blown apart by a well-aimed arcane bolt, and Firestrike was skewered by the Comte. But then Mink and Ermine had taken their shots and all that was left of the Soulblight command was the Comte Vyspasian himself.
We three moved in, and with a jerk of my head I sent the remaining Liberators to help the Freeguild with the Comte’s main force.
“Go!” I cried, “We’ll take care of Vyspasian.”
The vampire snarled vicious laughter at me. “You poor deluded fool! No one will be taking care of me, you’re overmatched here! Let me show you the truth of your allies!” And so saying he touched a hand to the golden torc at his throat before gesturing to my Freeguilders, who seemed to melt away into terrifying, grotesque creatures. Ghouls, slaughtering their way through the deadwalkers that Vyspasian had summoned, consuming the rotting flesh of the zombie creatures as they fought.
“No!” I cried out, stricken with horror but the vampire lord was not done.
“Have you met Vulchaptior Silverweft?” As Ermine disappeared in melting shadows to be replaced by some sort of Tzeentch daemon, a Changling, I thought in numb dismay. “And Tzistal Cursecrow?” Shadows sweeping in and away replacing Mink with an Ogroid Thaumaturge.
I was left reeling, my friends, my allies all ghouls and daemons of Tzeentch?
Ermine/Vulchaptior was screaming at me, trying to be heard over the roar of battle, Mink/Tzistal joining his voice “Illusions Léo! It’s just illus-“ They cut off, diving for cover as Vyspasian sent an arcane bolt screaming across at them. Moments later Ermine replied with an arcane bolt of his own but faintly I thought I could hear the distant crack of a pistol.
I forced myself forward, I understood that the vampire’s illusions were overpowering but they were simply illusion. My soldiers still fought with his deathrattle and deadwalkers, regardless of what he had made me think they were, they still fought for me.
Another step closer and having forced Ermine/Vulchaptior to take cover, Vyspasian turned to me and smiled with nothing but pure hate and gleaming teeth.
“Have you even met Ghoul King Liversplat Grynbone?” He asked, sneering as my powerful, muscled body sagged away from me. My gauntleted hand flung out in a pitiful attempt to ward away the vampire’s magic, withered, becoming the tautly muscled, long clawed limb of some monstrosity. Greying skin, covered in scars, scabs and pieces of dried offal.
“No!” I cried out in helpless denial, at least I tried but all that emerged was a throaty rasp. I sank despairing to my knees, it wasn’t true, I was a Stormcast Eternal, chosen of Sigmar, his Knight Questor, but my eyes refused to show me my true self and panicking I had to wonder. Had Vyspasian used his torc to delude me with illusions, or to remove a delusion as he implied, was I truly what he claimed?
“I’m glad we met again Liversplat, I was so disappointed to not be able to put you straight at Meornath’s Folly. Your halfling/Tzeentch friends of so many adventures? They first joined you on the shore of Concendia, they used their unnatural talents to convince you of your long friendship, indeed of anything they wanted from you. After all, how hard is it to fool a mind that is already deceiving itself? They probably stuck close by you when you were with “Alfonso”, yes? They needed to be close to use their deceptive magics to strengthen your own delusions to prevent you being absorbed into his Court. Poor, poor cursed, wretched fool, deceived once, twice and even thrice.”
Held loosely in my hands, my Questor warblade, a thigh bone sharpened to a point, and my celestial warhammer, some large beast’s thighbone, more a crude cudgel than a warhammer. The scent of spilt blood and torn flesh carried from the battle downslope from us and I was horrified when my stomach roiled in hunger. Illusion, I screamed internally, it’s just an illusion but my mouth began to water and I was soon drooling.
Vyspasian was again distracted by the Tzeentch daemons attacking, arcane bolts and balefire tearing through the air between them. I lurched upright, leaning like a drunk in my new body and had an image of my family from before I had been Reforged or had it been before I was cursed?
“And Morrowskarn?” I managed to growl out in a guttural voice. “Was that also a lie?”
The look on his face told me all I needed to know, my family had been real, and whatever else was real or not here, Vyspasian was responsible for their deaths. He staggered under my weight as I plunged my “sword” through his black heart and he simultaneously unleashed an explosion of force that sent me tumbling away and spiralling down into darkness.
When I regained consciousness, the battle was over. I ached everywhere and couldn’t get to my feet. I managed to claw my way up on to my knees and it was at that moment that I realised that Vyspasian’s illusion hadn’t passed.
“I say we kill him.” The creature that I had know as Mink sat watching me closely down the length of his handgun, actually a staff of some power judging by the attacks he had launched at Vyspasian. At the thought of the vampire, I turned looking for him and relaxed a little when I saw his corpse. Although somewhat disturbingly my mouth began to water again.
“No, no friend “Mink”, let us give the “honourable” Knight Questor a gift.” The sneering and acid tone sent a chill down my spine. “After all, he has however unwittingly, helped us to secure this artefact for us and we will be rewarded well by our master, Tzeentch, Changer of the Ways.”
Of course, the realisation sent my heart sinking, this was the betrayal that my nightmares had foreshadowed, the mutated horrors, the manipulation on puppet strings, the Tzeentchian themes, but too late I saw the truth. Leering down at me “Ermine” gestured with his staff and cried out.
“Behold then, your gift Liversplat Grynbone, true sight of your life, memories unwarped by your curse. I gift you with true sight.”
It’s an illusion, an illusion I tried to say but the memories that came swimming up from the depths of my mind choked me into silence.
“Remember Grynbone! Remember it all!” The foul memories kept coming, painted with gore and bile, years and years of atrocities, foulness beyond measuring, beyond any reason and the heart of me that was Léofolat gave a throat-tearing cry of soul deep pain and self-hatred, silenced only when I vomited up my breakfast.
Shreds of meat, and gobbets of unidentifiable flesh spattered the ground before me and I felt Léofolat dying away, shutting himself away from the abomination that I was becoming, that I had always been.
The Changling and Ogroid stood looking down at me, kneeling in the blood and hurled up remains of my last meal. Mewling and drooling in a mix of gibbering horror and cannibalistic hunger.
Exchanging grins at a job well done, they turned away and started to walk downslope, ignoring the heart of Concendia, they had what they had come for, it seems that Vyspasian’s torc was far more valuable than I would have guessed.
Just an illusion, a faint voice inside me whispered, and I grasped at the edges of a thought, letting it descend, slowly at first like the first snowflakes of a blizzard and then faster, settling, covering my anguish, drowning my horror, self-hatred, muffling the vileness of what I had seen. I tried to speak and only then became aware that I had still been screaming.
I stopped and the sudden silence caused the sorcerers to turn back to me in surprise and as they slowly, cautiously approached me, I raised my head and smiled a feral, blood stained smile.
“Ermine” flinched back and started an incantation but his attempted defence sputtered out in flaking sparks and razor edged light as I pointed a clawed arm at him and spoke.
“Ermine, my trusted halfling companion and wisest advisor.” The look of fear on his face as his body started to shimmer back and forth between his current form and previous halfling body made me smile even more widely. He fought against it, trying to push back with his magics, but his powers responded sluggishly as of course, Ermine the halfling did not have any powers.
“Fight it you fool!” The Mink creature urged him but “Ermine” scrabbled and struggled to find a weak edge at which to attack with his powers. “We resisted his delusions before.”
That which was Liversplat within me gave a great hacking laugh and I pointed my other hand at “Mink”
“Mink, my trusted halfling companion, crackshot and stout-hearted warrior.” Now both sorcerers were struggling, flailing in and out of their halfling and alternate forms. Together they fought as well as they could, in dismayed disbelief but the changes to their halfling form slowly began to dominate.
“Why can’t we stop him?” Mink cried out in despair, but Ermine was too engrossed in trying to resist the changes imposed by my delusion. They had entered that delusion and originally kept themselves insulated, apart from it with their magics, but they had failed to maintain that distinction and now my belief that they were powerless halflings was becoming their reality. Or I was fighting back against the all-encompassing illusion that Vyspasian had cast, I was losing track of what was real and what was not. “Do something Vulchaptior!”
Cursing and wailing franctically, “Ermine” grabbed Vyspasian’s torc from his satchel, and held it out before him as though intending to use it to strike at me. He wavered between halfling and his daemon form again and then dropped the torc.
Into my outstretched, clawed hand. Shadows rushed, flittering and swirling, as I turned the torc over in my gauntleted hand, and I rose to my feet, sigmarite armour gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
“A gift my Lord, taken from the wretched vampire that you have slain.” Ermine bowed to me deeply.
I nodded my thanks and smiled at both my halfling companions. “Well done my friends, well done indeed.”
“That was close. Thank you Léofolat.” Mink also bowed, “I thought you would never be able to dispel that vile creature’s illusion.”
“All thanks go to you for reminding me that this was all naught but an intense and powerful illusion.”
“I’m curious Léofolat…”
I sighed. Ermine was always curious. “It’s complicated. The torc casts illusions so powerful that they can shape reality, my little friend, just as water is shaped by the vessel that contains it you see? Vyspasian’s mistake was in making me believe the deception that I was a ghoul king. That meant that within the illusion I had the power of ghoul kings to force others into my ghoulish delusion. It’s hard to explain clearly, a little like an optical trick, the knack is in being able to see both forms at once. Using my delusionary power as an illusory ghoul king I forced you back into your true halfling forms and personalities and to give me the torc, then using it to cancel out Vyspasian’s illusion in its entirety.”
The admiration and beaming smiles of the halflings was a little much, but then, as a Knight Questor and Stormcast Eternal I’m used to being the object of such adoration.
“I fear though that our plans will have to change now. For as much as I admire King Alfonso, a power such as this should not be abroad in the Mortal Realms, even in hands as wise as his. It seems I have a new duty and a new quest.” I strode downhill towards the remaining members of my Freeguild guards, our casualties had been heavy but we would be leaving Concendia soon, and we would recruit new soldiers into our ranks. The light patter of Mink and Ermine’s feet followed in my wake, until I stopped on the edge of a rise looking back out over our route towards the shores of Concendia and thence to Ghyran.
“Today is a good day, dear friends. I feel the God-King smiling down on me, blessing my endeavours. I swear dear halflings, I can almost feel his hand on my shoulder, guiding my steps and steering me to where I need to be.”
“Tea Léofolat?” Ermine asked proffering a cup, and I gratefully accepted the gently steaming brew.
“The wind’s changing Léofolat, we should find somewhere sheltered to make camp, I can smell rain on the way.”
I nodded absently, staring into the wooded lands between us and the shore, contemplating the future. I was happy to leave the halflings to sort out the troops with their usual efficiency.
For a brief instant I thought I heard two voices screaming, peal after peal of horrified denial. I shook my head allowing myself a feral grin.
“Yes,” I mused absently. “The trick is in having the knack to see both forms at once.”
Then the screaming voices were gone, or had never been, perhaps just the fragments of a bad dream.
