“Comte Vyspasian de Ryeat!”
The name fell from the agonised necromancer’s lips and landed on me like a blow to the head. I shall spare you the details of how we had put the vile bone-stealer to the question, it was brutal, bloody and honestly I had not the stomach for it, but Mink and Ermine were grimly determined. At the screeched name of the necromancer’s patron however we were all left stunned and Mink even paused in his knife work.
“I know that name,” I whispered, my brow furrowing with the effort of recall. “Where do I know that name from?”
Ermine shared a loaded look with Mink, an ‘I told you so’ look. I believe my memory issues were becoming a matter of concern for both of my companions but when he spoke he addressed me. “You have crossed paths with this vampire before Léofolat. Many times you have spoken of encounters with this vampire, fighting at the Tombs of Ragakarn, desperate battles against the odds at the Teal Reach of Tzenjira, defeat and Reforging at the Shinrana Kinai. Battles in places Mink and I have never been to, nor even heard of, but we have been with you in recent encounters, he has managed to escape your righteous judgement many a time. “
Of course. I remembered now, the memories trickling back like a thick treacle. Yes, this Soulblight villain and I had crossed swords and wits many times before. I am not too proud to admit that he had had the better of me when it came to wits and he had escaped my grasp more than once. I only vaguely recalled these clashes, but the name, screeched out in pained agony again by the necromancer lit my Azyr-forged blood aboil with a furious fire and I let loose a roar of frustrated rage causing the halflings to flinch away from me.
Memories of faint grey, so old that all colour had been leached from them, oozed back into my mind. My relationship with Vyspasian had been a long one and even pre-dated my first Reforging. Sort of. I knew of him back then anyway, he had ruled the city in Shyish in which I had been born. He had not known me, to him I was merely another potential food source, but I recall him clearly. I remember watching in the dark of night as he and his Blood Knights left the city he ruled and was commanded to defend, a task he had done well, whilst unchallenged. Ha! Then word had come that the borders of Shyish had been breached, the Chaos Gods had sent their followers to seize all in their name and our Comte had fled. He was just the first that night, I went home, collected my wife and daughter and then we too had fled Morrowskarn. Thousands more had ran away from the city abandoning what little protection the walls afforded in the hope of escape in the wildlands from the approaching hordes of Chaos.
How we had prayed then, begging Elder Bones, Nagash, to intercede, to send his countless armies to our aid. Reliving the memory my lip curled in contempt, for of course he did no such thing. The horrors of our flight and the relentless pursuit of our unarmed and helpless fellow citizens, the infighting as hunger bit and resources grew scarce, fade away. I gladly let it go, I had no wish to relive those terrible days, although I’m sure it was in them that I first turned from Nagash and instead began praying to the God-King, taking my first hesitant steps on the path to Azyr and the chance for eternal vengeance. Was this it, I wondered? Was revenge on Vyspasian my quest?
I felt a surge of animalistic fury. This time there would be no escape for the treacherous Comte Vyspasian. By Sigmar’s Grace and against such incredible odds I had him in my sights again. With the sage advice of my halfling friends we would weave about him such a web that this vile creature would be caught fast and then crushed. The halflings continued to question our captive, extracting what information they could and eventually I wandered off and left them to it. This necromancer was terrified of me, whenever I asked anything of him, he stuttered and stammered and howled in fear, he was far more talkative with the less intimidating halflings. No doubt they would tell me of anything else they managed to obtain from him.
However as I strode away, my preternaturally sharp hearing caught Ermine ask about the Comte’s magical item. A torc, a large ring, perhaps an amulet and the choked response from the necromancer, “He has all three, but never all at once.” And I recalled Vyspasian’s torc, quite clearly. Curious as to this line of questioning I paused, by simple coincidence just outside of the light cast by the fires kindled to assist in the “information extraction”. In the shadows of the treeline, I stood silently and listened as the necromancer described an artefact of some power, made of Falsestone and Gravesand. Supposedly this item was prone to changing its appearance, no doubt due to the Falsestone fragments used in its construction, and it gifted the wearer with the ability to cast shadows and powerful illusions. Perhaps this is how Vyspasian had escaped me so often before? Perhaps my wits were not so slow after all? I nodded to myself, something to ponder upon, and continued back to the main campfire.
Buoyed by our recent victory and in spite of our losses, my soldiers were in high spirits. Whilst we were no Cracklebone Court, and I not as merry and jovial as the good King Alfonso, we celebrated our victory, mourned the loss of our comrades and ate well that night, using up supplies that with our casualties and foodstuffs recovered from the enemy were surplus. When Mink and Ermine returned to the camp we sat together to plan our next moves.
I dislike sneaking, I am after all is said and done, a Knight of Sigmar. Calling out the chaos-touched, striking down the God-King’s terrified enemies and diving back the minions of the Ruinous Powers with paeans of praise for the Thunderer is part of that package. Sneaking is not. However, Ermine convinced me that the numbers against us were too great and that an outright battle would see us defeated and slain. We needed a way to even the odds and cunning little fellow that he was he had a plan. Whilst I initially baulked at it he pointed out that King Alfonso was relying on us to secure his flank and keep these Soulblight off his back and eventually, seeing no alternative, I acquiesced.
So we began our campaign of swift, sudden strikes ambushing Vyspasian’s patrols, hitting unwary outposts. The necromancer hadn’t given us any information as to the vampire lord’s intentions so we settled for disrupting as much of his activities as we could whilst whittling down his superior numbers. Once again my halfling companions were instrumental in our successes, stalking our prey, covering our tracks, laying false tracks for Vyspasian’s soldiers to follow into traps or to lose themselves in Concendia’s thick forests.
Having realised what was happening the Comte tried doubling his patrols, reinforcing his outposts. It slowed us down but we continued to pick and choose our battles carefully. Once when he had anticipated us and set a trap of his own we managed to escape by the thinnest of margins, my soldiers and I crouched in a shallow dip behind a thin line of bushes. The halflings placed themselves between us and the enemy, hands out to us as though urging us to stay put. I was certain that we would be seen but just as I started to move Ermine stopped me with a look and a fierce shake of his head. I held my breath as the Soulblight went rushing past our hiding place, but the halfling woodcraft “magic” worked its trick again, they passed within mere feet of us but didn’t see us.
We took greater care after that for whilst he was many things Vyspasian was not a fool. Our plan allowed us the time to continue this guerrilla warfare on a slower timetable but then we received word via one of the Lawgiver Amondenora’s informants that King Alfonso had been defeated in battle by the Beastherd of Grolghur Festerhorn. Not decisively, but it was still an unexpected setback. We needed to bring this contest to a swift conclusion and turn our attention to assisting King Alfonso more directly. It was time to let the Comte’s troops find us and time to secure the fortified tower that the Soulblight had appropriated. Mink and Ermine, Ermine particularly, were unhappy with this gamble, insisting that it was too soon, but with Alfonso’s forces and plans in disarray we needed to secure our own position and the best way to do that now was to seize Vyspasian’s headquarters the tower known as Meornath’s Folly.
When I asked for volunteers of my soldiers they all stepped forward, all willing to be bait for the Soulblight, to give their comrades a chance of success against Vyspasian. I was humbled by their bravery and nearly wept that I should have need to send such men and women into danger. In the end I chose to send 2 of my Liberators to stand with them and bolster their chances of survival. Mink pointed out that it reduced our own chances of success but I put my foot down. We would just have to fight harder I said, and my brave volunteers cheered me.
As the cool morning air began to brighten with the false dawn, Mink, Ermine, myself and the bulk of my force lay hidden within sight of the Soulblight encampment around Vyspasian’s tower. I was perfectly placed to see the wounded Blood Knight that rode into the camp. As we had planned my volunteers had attacked and mostly wiped out a patrol leaving one or two to escape, at least I hoped they had, it was possible that they had all been slain. I held my breath waiting to see what the Soulblight did next and gave a sigh of relief as troops rapidly began to muster. We watched as Vyspasian’s forces gathered en masse and then moved out of the encampment to chase down and finish my brave volunteers thinking they had finally managed to get a location for their wily enemy. It seems that the Comte had also had enough of this little campaign and wanted to bring things to a swift conclusion as well.
I dislike sneaking. I also hate waiting, but we had to wait. My volunteers were to fake being surprised and then lead the Comte’s forces on a merry chase, only engaging if absolutely necessary. How successful they’d be at avoiding a direct fight I wasn’t sure, it would depend on whether the dense wooded lands could slow the Blood Knights down enough. Either way, we had to wait until the Soulblight were well clear of their camp before attacking.
Finally Mink nodded. “It’s been long enough, now’s the time Léofolat.” A weight lifted from my shoulders that I had hardly been aware was there. Time to unleash the righteous fury of a Stormcast Eternal.
“You know your duties.” I called out to my soldiers, and then raised my Questor Warblade in salute. “At them friends, with all your might!” With a roar we raced from our vantage point down into the encampment. In the time since the main force had left we had seen some movement but we were expecting no more than an honour guard for the Comte and some resting, off duty troops. I staggered as I crossed into the camp and it was as though a blindfold had been whipped from my eyes, an illusion of emptiness melting away to reveal that Vyspasian had held back far more troops than we had counted on.
Bellowing like a wounded Dracoline, I ploughed into the front ranks of the deathrattle troops stationed just inside the gateway. We were already committed, it was too late to turn back now. My Liberators followed my lead and we hacked and hewed our way though the unit leaving the shattered remnants for my Freeguild to finish off. Arrows whipped past me as my archers took up positions and started to shoot at anything that looked like an officer or a necromancer. They were well trained veterans and knew their business, and as I led my Liberators forward I saw a necromancer go down with an arrow in his throat, a summoning spell dying on his lips.
The Soulblight were reeling. Although it seems they had expected us, they had not anticipated facing the fury of a Knight Questor and his shieldbrothers to come straight at them. However I could see that they were recovering from the shock of our assault and we needed to shake them again. Killing the Comte would certainly do it.
I looked around desperately for any sign of him but had only very hazy memories of what he would look like. He had apparently anticipated my attack but had he left or decided to stay? If he were not here then this had all been for naught. Ermine caught my arm and jerked me around, pointing toward the steps leading to the ancient tower at the centre of the encampment.
“There Léofolat! He flies for sanctuary behind those stone walls!”
Vyspasian though was not fleeing. He stopped halfway up the tower steps and turned to survey the battle in his camp with such a sneering disdain that I howled out in fury. His eyes locked on mine and his sneer only deepened.
“Stand and fight you treacherous coward! The peoples of Morrowskarn demand justice!” I roared across the camp but he stood unmoving and in the next instant I was beset by deadwalkers, as a tide of them shambled in from behind the tower or clawed their way out of shallow pits in the ground.
There was no skill to fighting deadwalkers, you just needed to hack, smash and stab them, if you could outlast them, like a rock on the beach resisting the incoming waters, eventually the tide would roll out revealing an unchanged rock. Ermine had taken shelter in my shadow, he had his pistol but was saving the shot for a worthy target or desperate need. I could hear Mink fighting off to my left out of sight behind some rickety sheds and tents, the crack of his handgun testament to his ongoing battles.
My Freeguild soldiers were beset on all sides at this point, deathrattle and zombies hurling themselves forward in numbers that were frightening to behold. Cutting my way free of the last of the first wave of deadwalkers I paused to survey the utter mess that my plan had been torn into. “Help them!” I ordered my Liberators, nodding to the Freeguild soldiers. They hesitated briefly wanting to stay by my side before my frown sent them charging into the rear of the deathrattle with a resounding crash.
Turning back to the steps of the tower I had just enough warning to pick up Ermine and throw him and myself out of the path of an arcane bolt launched from the hand of Comte Vyspasian. We sprawled amidst the still twitching bodies of the deadwalkers I had recently despatched and Ermine sprang quickly to his feet firing his pistol at the Comte causing him to duck as splinters of rock flew around him. I scrambled to my feet and raced to close the distance between us, but I was too slow and as I looked he sneered down at me raising a hand blazing with arcane energy. The distinctive crack of Mink’s handgun rang out and Vyspasian spun around clapping a hand to his shoulder.
“You MISSED?!” I shouted in disbelief, the halfling had never missed a killing shot in all the time I had known him. But I was still running and didn’t catch Mink’s distant reply.
I launched myself up onto the tower steps and Vyspasian turned to face me, his sword grazing my jawline as he drew and slashed at me in one smooth movement his wound apparently not hindering him and ignored in the face of my sudden attack. He was fast, and supremely skilled, in combat my years of experience spent honing my sword skills usually tipped the balance in my favour against even the best mortal swordsman but Vyspasian was more than a match for me. He had been old whilst I was still a mortal man, but I was tough, Reforged on the Anvil of Apotheosis and faster than my bulk suggested.
“Do you even remember Morrowskarn you filthy cur?” I spat at him and he just looked down his nose at me with that supercilious sneer. We traded blows, fighting back and forth across the steps to the Folly, but I quickly realised that he was just toying with me seeming to be happy to drag this fight out for as long as he could. Briefly I allowed myself to remember the final moments of my wife and daughter, dead because this beast refused to honour his duty and defend his city. I summoned my rage at this monster that I had clashed with again and again over the last few hundred years. I hacked and slashed at the Comte, discarding my cautious and measured approach in favour of pure unadulterated fury. He wounded me over and over but the fear grew in his eyes as I kept coming for him and then he seemed to break, quailing in terror and shrinking away from me. In that moment filled with an overpowering sense of justice I struck him down, cleaving him from neck to midriff with a great overhand blow.
I slumped to one knee on the ground, holding myself up with my sword, blood streaming from my many wounds. Ermine rushed up the steps and brushed past me into the tower and came out moments later triumphantly brandishing a handful of papers. “King Alfonso will be pleased to see these, reports of anomalies and Soulblight investigations all over the island including areas recently revealed by the shrinking shroud. The mystery of Concendia could yet be solved with this information. We need to get this into the hands of one of Lawgiver Amondenora’s agents to pass on to the King.” He stuffed the papers into his leather satchel and then started to help bind my wounds.
Mink arrived moments later along with one of my Liberators. “I’m sorry my Lord, I’ve never missed a shot like that before.” He paused looking down at Vyspasian’s body. “Who’s this?”
Ermine and I looked up sharply. “What do you mean?” The whip crack in my voice causing the halfling to flinch.
“This isn’t Vyspasian Léofolat.” I heaved myself awkwardly to my feet and staggered over to the body. My sword had missed the head, and as I looked at the face of my enemy the shadows on it seemed to slip revealing different contours and the face of a vampire I had never seen before.
“Tricked?!” I yelled furiously, looking out over the carnage we had wrought and suffered, down to the reduced ranks of my Freeguild guards. “He was never here? How did he know what we were going to do?”
Ermine knelt next to the corpse and examined it carefully. “No Léofolat, look. No wound where Mink shot him. I suspect he switched places with this one in the moments between being hit and your arrival. The prisoner told us he has a powerful artefact that helps him cast strong illusions, it would seem it can be done swiftly too. Mink, check for tracks.”
It didn’t take long for the tracks to be found, Mink trailed them as far as the edge of the thicker woodland where he saw signs of a troop of Blood Knights escorting the Comte de Ryeat away.
“He’s not invincible Léofolat. We were so close today and now we know not to rely solely on appearances. He’s wounded, his forces have taken a beating and we hold Meornath’s Folly. He’ll either return to his master, Delarosa, if he’s brave enough to report such an abject failure. Or… He may plan to betray Delarosa and solve the mystery of this island for himself claiming the prize that lies beyond the shroud.”
I nodded, weary to my bones. We spent the evening picking through the corpses searching for any of my Freeguild who may have been buried beneath the bodies. We pulled some few survivors out, but the only good news came when my brave volunteers marched into the captured encampment. They were almost unscathed and had driven Vyspasian’s troops off with a bloody nose after a few hours of hide and go seek in the woods.
We stayed at Meornath’s Folly to lick our wounds and gather our strength, and it was there that we were brought news by one of Lawgiver Amondenora’s Umberspire agents. King Alfonso had faced the main Soulblight force of Delarosa in battle and had lost, narrowly beaten by the undead servants of Nagash. Alfonso yet lived, but his Court was in disarray and his message to me was simple. ‘We’re heading for the shroud and will do our utmost to stop them. I trust in your judgement dear friend, take whatever action you deem best.’ My poor friend’s high hopes seemed to be crumbling all around him leaving him with nothing but a gamble on throwing himself into the path of the vile enemies of Concendia. I wondered whether I would ever see him again.
We passed on the reports retrieved from Vyspasian’s papers, to be taken to Alfonso, and later that day Mink returned from his expedition tracking the course of the Comte’s troops that had escaped. It seems that he was indeed afraid to report his failure to the Delarosa’s and had made straight for the shroud. We were not strong enough to face Grolghur Festerhorn’s beastherd, nor the mighty Delarosa’s and Alfonso was too far now, driven away by the tides of war, for us to rejoin his Court but Vyspasian had been fatally weakened by our clash and I felt that he was unfinished business.
I set my shieldbrothers to destroying the tower, no one would use it again to strike at Alfonso and sat watching the tower shudder and shake as my Liberators smashed it down, brick by cursed brick.
As the tail end of the day gradually shifted to twilight, Mink and Ermine found me. Ermine proffering a cup of steaming tea which I gratefully accepted.
“Do you feel it?” I asked them, keeping my voice low. “An ending is approaching, a mighty quest will truly soon be done, one way or another.”
Mink smiled at me, his round, jovial features blurred out by the encroaching darkness. “Yes Léo. We feel it too, soon Vyspasian will be dead, justice will be served for the people of Morowskarn and we will take the arcane piece that the Comte has into our possession.” I heard Ermine inhale sharply and concealed in the rapidly gathering darkness I was left wondering just what my halfling friends would want with such an artefact. Ermine sat beside me as still as a rock but I felt the pressure building in him as though he were going to burst whilst awaiting a response from me.
“Indeed Mink, Alfonso will no doubt appreciate such a powerful weapon. We rise early tomorrow and make haste to catch up with Comte Vyspasian de Ryeat.”
Ermine resumed his breathing, Mink slowly relaxed, I had not picked them up on his little slip and no doubt they thought me oblivious. But finally wheels were turning and I was taking a long hard look at my halfling friends with a strange feeling growing within me. It had been a long time since I had felt anything like this whilst awake but the fragments of my dreams clued me in.
I was feeling fear, and then for an instant, like ice cold slivers of shadeglass in my heart, I felt the gentle tug of puppet strings.
