A huge bloated man stood over Cargan, armour barely containing his bulging bulk, rusty cleaver dripping with the hunter’s lifeblood. Aengellania didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t know what to do.
He turned towards her, gurgling to himself as he raised the cleaver again. It took her a second to realise that he was laughing. It’s all she can do to stare up at the Blightking like a mouse caught before a cat.
Then, an axe lodges itself in the monster’s skull with a thunk. A white blur races past Aengellania, resolving itself as Blodaen just before his other axe chops into a diseased leg. The blightking falls, still laughing to itself even as Blodaen continues to hack into it until it stops twitching.
Aengellania shrinks away from Blodaen. As horrific as the worshipper of Nurgle had been, Blodaen’s rictus of hate and frenzied chopping sent shivers of fear into her soul even as she realised that that capacity for terrible violence had always been there, threatening to come out every time she’d seen him fight. That knowledge did nothing to diminish how horrible it was to watch.
She averts her eyes away from Blodaen, and her eyes catch onto Cargan. The shock passes, and it is swiftly replaced with a torrent of raw emotion.
“Cargan!”
She rushes over to his side, hand already glowing with healing light. As she kneels down she places it above the young hunter, but the wounds stubbornly refuse to heal.
“Cargan, please! You need to get up!”
A hand, more branch than anything human, reaches out into Aengellania’s line of sight, and gently closes her outstretched hand.
Aengellania looks up at Ylthe.
She is beautiful to the aelf. Her amber eyes that shone with inner light, the twists of her mouth that could go from scowl to smile with a few words from Aengellania, to the gentleness she possessed that belied the roughness of her bark.
That beauty remained, even under the blood and mud that encrusted her. That love… It pierced through all other things in Aengellania’s mind, even as she saw the sorrow she felt within her reflected in Ylthe’s expression.
Ylthe gently raised Aengellania up by her hand, and when they were both standing stepped in closer and brushed away the tears on her cheeks.
They didn’t say a word to one another. So strong had love made the link between their souls, it was unnecessary.
Finally, Ylthe broke eye contact with Aengellania to look to Blodaen. Her mouth opened, mimicking flesh-people speech as her slow, measured voice was heard.
“Blo, How long until the Realmgate is closed?”
The Fyreslayer looked up from his kill, a baleful light shining from his ur-gold runes.
“You’ll have to ask Myloc that.”
A shriek cuts Ylthe’s next question short. Through the melee of soldiers and shambling monstrosities, the Binding can see Myloc before the Realmgate.
He’s caught in an arcane duel with a Nurgle sorcerer, the putrid mage blasting him with foul effluence that rapidly rotted Myloc’s skin, all the while chanting constant, sonorous praise to his god.
Aengellania, Blodaen and Ylthe start rushing towards Myloc, but as they ready blinding light, rune-carved axe and armour-piercing vines, they know they’re already too late, for at the back of their minds they felt their friend’s last gambit.
Still roaring in agony, Myloc lifted his stave, and slammed it upon the ground. An amethyst sun exploded from it, enveloping both himself and the sorcerer, and contracting just as quickly. The Nurgle worshipper didn’t even have the time to grunt before the purple light of Myloc’s spell passed through his flesh.
Myloc’s soul burned bright one last time, then his ashes fluttered into the wind, mixing with the sorcerer that had killed him.
It was too much for Aengellania. She’d have fallen if Ylthe hadn’t caught her, so instead she lowered her head and wept onto her shoulder.
Blodaen stopped before the pile of ashes. They could feel his grief; it burned hot in his soul. But unlike Aengellaniahe had been a Runefather. Grief was an old companion to him, and one that wouldn’t paralyse him so long as he had rage.
Instead, he looked up at the Realmgate, the surface still shimmering, still letting them see Azyr beyond. Their task was still unfinished. Blodaen forces his voice to stay calm as he speaks;
“Someone needs to take over from Myloc.”
“I will do it.”
Aengellania raises up her head, tears streaming down her cheek.
“Ylthe, no! Let me c-close the R-”
The branchwych lifts up a finger and places it across Aengellania’s lips, silencing her.
“No. The ritual requires focus, and I have more than you now.”
Aengellania shakes her head, still distraught.
“Th-they’ll try to ki-ki-ki…”
Aengellania stammers herself into silence. Instead of talking, she just bows her head in silent, overwhelming shame and grief. Ylthe gazes up at the aelf, then moves her finger around to the aelf’s cheek.
“They will try. Which is why you must protect me.”
The aelf whispers back;
“I-I don’t kn-know if I can…”
“You can.”
Ylthe’s hand begins cupping Aengellania’s cheek. Motes of Soulfire, invisible to the naked mortal eye, flow across her fingers and over Aengellania’s cheek.
“You will.”
Ylthe gently lifts up Aengellania’s head, until they’re looking each other in the eye.
“Because you know I would do the same for you, my love.”
They hold each other’s gazes for just a second, then instantly and simultaneously bring themselves closer to each other.
Just before their lips meet Soulfire erupts between them, burning so bright that it’s blinding even to the human soldiers around them, before disappearing.
They hold their soft yet passionate kiss for as long as they dare, before Ylthe slips forward to rest her head on Aengellania’s shoulder. The aelf just brings her arms around the sylvaneth, hugging her desperately as if it was the last opportunity she’d get.
Ylthe speaks quietly, almost beyond the point of mundane hearing, yet Aengellania hears her words as clearly as if they had been shouted directly into her ear.
“You are so much braver than you know, Aenghel.”
Ylthe and Aengellania embrace each other for a moment longer, before reluctantly parting. Aengellania takes a deep, shaky breath to calm herself.
“I’ll… I’ll do my best.”
Ylthe just smiles and taps her love’s locket.
“I know you will. Now, go. They needs you.”
Aengellania nods, almost on the verge of tears again, and turns around to return to the front lines. Behind her, she hears Ylthe begin her chanting, calling upon the magic of Ghyran to close the Realmgate.
Aengellania stands by Blodaen, surrounded by soldiers waiting for the next wave of Nurgle’s champions to crash against them. In the lull of the fighting they share a moment of silence together, Aengellania too new to war to speak, Blodaen too familiar with it.
“Aenge?”
The cathallar starts when her name is spoken, but quickly composes herself as she looks down at the duardin beside her.
“Yes, Blo?”
The Runefather keeps staring dead ahead as he speaks, not taking his eyes on the feculent horde gathering at the edge of the clearing.
“You wouldn’t happen to know some spells that can do some damage? Healing and shields’ll only get us so far.”
Aengellania quickly glances fearfully at the Maggotkin, before looking back at Blodaen.
“I… I have some spent aetherquartz, I’ve been trained in how to weaponize it. But I… I’ve never…”
Blodaen just nods.
“Well, now’s as good a time as any to start.”
They fall into silence again, or as close to silence as they can get amidst the roaring of cannons, crackling musketry and ever-present phlegmy chanting. Eventually Blodaen grunts;
“You still have time to get back to Azyr.”
Aengellania doesn’t look back at him as she replies;
“Not without Ylthe.”
He shakes his head.
“They can send another mage over.”
“Then not without you.”
Blodaen keeps staring ahead for a long moment, then bows his head and lets out a bone-weary sigh.
“I knew letting you all volunteer was a mistake. Should’ve told Sigmar to shove it up his arse when he came to us.”
Aengellania gives him a nervous look as he continues on;
“None of you should be here. You and Ylthe should be safe and sound in Azyr, and Myloc and Cargan… Myloc and Cargan should still be alive. I’m just an old Duardin that’s fought for too long, but you… You all had lives ahead of you.”
He looks up again at the horde, now slowly advancing, and lets his moroseness bleed into his voice.
“You should’ve all outlasted me.”
Aengellania kneels down next to the old duardin and places a hand on his shoulder, flinching as she comes into contact with the heated Ur-Gold runes but keeping herself steady.
“Blo, we’re Soulbound. We don’t abandon each other.”
“I didn’t say abandon me. But you being here is senseless. None of you were ready for this, none of you should be here, none of you should… Should…”
Blodaen stops his tirade, at a loss for words for the first time Aengellania has known him. Finally, he murmurs to himself;
“I’ve already buried too much family, I didn’t want to drag more of it down with me.”
Aengellania pats his shoulder nervously.
“You shouldn’t give up hope, Blo.”
He looks back up at her with a curious glare.
“Give up what hope?”
She replies with a faltering smile.
“That we might survive?”
Blodaen stares at her for a second, trying to guess if she’s joking. When he decides she isn’t, he throws back his head and unleashes a full-throated roar of laughter, making nearby soldiers start and spooking horses. Aengellania cringes back, but keeps her hand on him.
Eventually, when his mirth has run out, Blodaen lifts up a hand and wipes away the tears in his eyes and beard.
“I guessed that optimism of yours was going to get you killed one day, Aengellania. I’d hoped that I wouldn’t have to be proven right.”
He brushes off her hand before she can reply, and picks up his axes again as a number of Beasts of Nurgle detach from the advancing host and break out into a charge.
“Well, I’ll be damned before I live to know for certain. Stay behind me lass, or I’ll cut your knees off and toss you through the Realmgate myself.”
Aengellania takes an amethyst crystal out of her pack, a darkness swirling within it, and musters up what courage she has left.
“Right behind you.”
Blodaen chuckles mirthlessly.
“Soulbound to the end, eh?”
He raises his two axes above his head, and bellows to the Realms aloud;
“Come on then, all you bastards and monsters and things in-between! Blodaen-Grimnir, son of Frygron-Grimnir, father of Ulik-Grimnir, wants to die in company, so bring your friends and hope they’ll be enough!”
The battle rages. Soldiers fall, hacked down by Putrid Blightkings who in turn are obliterated by cannons. Demigryphs roared and bore their riders into the thick of combat, tearing great holes in the enemy’s lines before being dragged down by hordes of Plaguebearers. Engineers fought asymmetrical duels with sorcerers, desperately firing off every weapon they had even as they rusted away.
And in the centre of it all, Blodaen charged like the god of war he worshipped, heedless of axe-blow and rancid maws with equal measure. Every axe swing took a life, every curse was punctuated by an axe swing. He cursed them for invading, for starting a war that would never end, for opening scars that would never heal. He roared battle cries to ancestors whose holds his soul was forever barred from. And despite his rage, he never left Aengellania’s side.
And Aengellania… For the first time, but not the last, she wielded the dark power of Cathallars that she had prayed would never be needed. Her magic was wild, unfocused compared to the mental poise later Cathallars would perfect, but every time she felt herself slip towards self-destruction a thought from Ylthe would pull her back.
After a dizzying haze of slaughter, the battle was over. Aengellania, to her dull surprise, was alive, though a sharp pain over a blind eye made her wonder if she would ever see Ylthe with both eyes again.
She now kneeled next to a fallen warrior, hand hovering over him emitting a healing glow. She felt too exhausted and beaten in mind and body for thought, but a part of her knew that this soldier was going to die regardless of her ministrations.
‘But not in pain’, a voice whispered to her. ‘Not in pain’.
Finally, his expression fell slack, and she let her hand drop. A thought occurred to her that she should prepare for the next attack, but somehow that didn’t seem as urgent a matter as it had before. Instead, she looked around the desolate battlefield with unfocused eyes, taking in the carnage with a calm that only comes when one is beyond pain.
Or rather, almost beyond pain. Her eyes alighted on a mess of weapons, flesh, and white hair. Panic surged through her limbs, giving them power enough to push herself up and start stumbling towards it. She tried sidestepping bodies, but they were too densely packed for her bare feet to avoid.
Aengellania croaked, then spoke, then shouted one name as she staggered onwards;
“Blo!”
She kneels by the duardin, hands already lighting up with Hysh magic. Somehow, either through sheer strength of will or by being supported by the weapons run through him, Blodaen remains standing in spite of every rent and tear in his body. One eye opens up behind the thicket of hair and steel and looks lazily at Aengellania.
“Ae… Aenge… You’re alive?”
His voice comes out as one long groan, broken up by laboured breathing and grunts of pain. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he must be enduring right now.
“I am Blo, I am. We survived.”
Blodaen makes a noise in between a gasp and choking. It’s only when he starts speaking that Aengellania realises it’s a laugh.
“Never… Never thought you’d actually do it. Thought… Thought maybe Cargan’d… Or Ylthe… But never you. Sh-shows me right for calling you sofhrt.”
Aengellania moves closer to Blodaen, bringing her hands as close she can to his skin. His ragged, bloodless skin her eyes told her. She tries to ignore them.
“It was th-thanks to you, Blo.”
Again he made that horrible noise, and this time coughed up bloody spittle.
“Hrurh. M-maybe. You still did well, laghr… lass.”
There’s a rustle of steel running through hair, and the eye turns skywards.
“There’s only one o-other way I’d wanted my saga to end.”
Aengellania reaches through the blades to grab Blodaen’s shoulder, not caring as she cuts her hand on them.
“Blo… Don’t say that. I can heal you, you can… Y-you don’t have to…”
The eye swivels back over to her, even as it begins to cloud over and lose focus.
“Die? Oh, I felt death coming in my beard, even beforghe Sigmar came to us. Knew… Knew whatever was coming, I wouldn’t see the other side offf it.”
There’s a slight shifting, and where it was visible on his face a smile appeared.
“But… Death isn’t defeat. I… I kept some of you alihve, didn’t I? Wasn’t… Wasn’t just a killer in the end, eh?”
Aengellania didn’t speak for a few seconds, then, finally, she bows her head in defeat.
“They’ll sing of you f-forever, Blo. Even i-if Aqshy itself burns to ashes.”
Blodaen reached out to her one last time, tearing his own flesh to bring his hand to her shoulder.
“Because you’ll tell them what happened. You… You’ll tell them that Blodaen Snow-Woven died… N-not for glory o-or gold… But for… For… His… Binding…”
And with one last quiet rattle from his throat, Blodaen closed his eye and let his soul immolate itself. Even in death, he remained upright, and unbroken.
It was a pyre fit for a Fyreslayer, some dull part of Aengellania thought, before she doubled over and brought her hands to her eyes, trying so hard to contain her tears.
Aengellania, with agonising slowness, lowers her hands and stands back up, her sobbing slowly drying up to trickles of tears running down her face and the occasional gasp of breath. She looks up…
And sees the last remains of the Nurglite host had retreated some distance away from her. No, not from her. From something behind her.
Aengellania turns around, dread already slipping into her heart as for the first time she hears the crackling of arcane power.
She sees Ylthe standing in front of the Realmgate, its magical portal destabilising rapidly. The branchwych’s bark was rent by weapons. That must have been why she lost control of the ritual, a small part of Aengellania thought.
The rest of her screamed.
Ylthe turned around as her body was whipped with flashes of lightning, barely holding her ground. Her whisper carries all the way over to Aengellania, in spite of the rising crescendo of crashing magic.
“Aenghel…”
Aengellania pauses just as she was about to step forwards. Ylthe fell to one knee, and opened her mouth to roar in twin voices of body and soul.
“Run!”
Aengellania doesn’t hesitate.
She sprints straight towards Ylthe.
The celestial energies, chained within the stonework of the Realmgate, explode outwards, engulfing all before them. It courses through the ground and the corpses, even reaching far enough to destroy the Nurgle host that had thought itself at a safe distance.
Even the two remaining Soulbound, as much as the ritual of Binding had hardened their bodies, were not immune to the outpouring of magic.
Ylthe was swallowed whole by the light, disappearing within it. Aengellania opened her mouth to scream, but before she could let loose her horror she was flung violently backwards as the magic slammed into her. She fell hard and convulsing, all she can remember is indescribable pain wracking her body before darkness claims her.
Whata felt like an eternity of oblivion later, that pain returned to her. But with it comes a soothing warmth, easing her mind and body towards consciousness. It felt… Familiar, wholly familiar, but she just couldn’t place the name. She just knew that she cared about nothing more than it.
Aengellania’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and she awoke to a smiling Ylthe.
“Hello, Aenghel.”
Aengellania stares up at Ylthe for a moment, uncomprehending, then a shocked yet utterly joyful smile breaks out across her face.
“Ylthe! You’re alive?”
The Branchwych chuckles.
“An exploding Realmgate couldn’t keep me from you, my love.”
Aengellania pushes herself up to her knees and kisses Ylthe, before embracing her with shivering strength. Ylthe closes her eyes and hugs her back with equal affection. Eventually, she pulls back slightly from Aengellania and takes her locket in her hand.
“Do you remember the day I gave you this?”
Aengellania seems a little confused by the question, but nods anyway.
“I’ll never forget it.”
Ylthe smiles down ruefully at the locket, stroking it with a thumb.
“And do you remember what I put in it?”
Aengellania is put on edge by Ylthe’s voice, but nods.
“Your lamentiri’s ashes.”
Ylthe nods back.
“Yes. I… wanted to give you something of mine to keep with you wherever you went, and it felt… meaningful.”
“I hope now you will find some comfort in them.”
Aengellnia lifts a hand to Ylthe’s cheek, full of nervous apprehension. Later she would both pity and envy her past self, for somehow keeping hold of some small part of her innocence as she asks;
“Ylthe, w-what’s going on?”
Ylthe lifts up her smile to Aengellania, exposing its fragility along with the agony in her eyes.
“I… I hope you will find someone to bury them in Ghyran with.”
Finally she sags, unable to bear the weight of her own body anymore. Aengellania catches her before she hits the ground.
“Y-Ylthe!”
She lifts that hand up away from Ylthe’s cheek as a white light erupts from it, to better bathe the fallen Branchwych in it. But despite the intensity of the light, it flashes erratically, and Ylthe’s wounds fail to heal.
“Y-Ylthe, please, s-stay with me! D-don’t… Don’t go!”
Ylthe shakes in silent agony, but she keeps it at bay through sheer will alone as she closes a hand around Aengellania’s own.
“You… You won’t be alone forever.”
Ylthe slowly brings Aengellania’s hand to her cheek, and lets the last of their shared Soulfire pass onto her. A brief spark of Ylthe’s love warred against Aengellania’s anguish.
“Please… D-don’t let our love become a regret…”
The amber of her eyes fades away to a dull brown and her body becomes limp in Aengellania’s arms. The aelf screams, as if trying to overpower the sound of the world falling down around her.
“Ylthe!”
She smiles up at her one last time, and whispers;
“I… I love… Yoouu…”
Then her smile sets, her eyes close, her head falls backwards. There is a blinding flash of flame, the shattering of a soul.
She brings Ylthe closer to her, hugging her and crying to her and apologising to her and begging to her to live.
But Aengellania is left alone in a way she never thought possible. Alone, in the soul.
