“Death, they said, is no barrier to the Stormcast Eternals, merely an inconvenience. The histories of the Mortal Realms since the Gates of Azyr were flung open and Sigmar’s armies marched forth to challenge the Ruinous Powers are littered with the tales of stormhosts slain, reforged upon the Anvil of Apotheosis, slain and reforged again, assaulting the same stronghold or enemy before their eventual victory. Entire Stormhosts, or individual Stormcast Eternals who sacrificed their lives in the aim of a greater goal.
Although, and we dared not speak it aloud, there was that niggling voice in the back of our heads asking sotto voce, if they return unharmed, where then is the sacrifice?
Of course in time it was revealed that the reforging process is imperfect. The reforged were returned to their stormhosts, incomplete. Missing memories, shattered personalities, indeed some it was said were so damaged by the process that they were little more than automatons lacking any will or purpose other than to follow their orders, or to strike at anything they deemed to be of Chaos.
And then, no doubt, fear began to grow in the hearts of the heroes of Mortalkind. For surely none would wish to return to life so stunted. A cure was sought, techniques employed to try to reduce the effects on the reforged. Rumours of stormhosts sent to retrieve ancient artefacts from the Age of Myth whose functions might be turned to aid a more successful reforging process.
It was said that the people of Rodrigos, made up of refugees from the World That Was, could spark a recovery of memories by talking of their lives to those stormcast who were once denizens of that world themselves. Whether true or not, such a ‘cure’ would only work for a tiny fraction of the reforged warriors of Sigmar.
More troubling are the stories that it is said the Stormcasts speak to each other. Tales of the reforged who are returned without any primary motive, who have to be encouraged to eat, to drink, to sit, to do anything that was not autonomic. Tales of such unfortunates disappearing without a trace. Scattered all across the realms, these afflicted Stormcast Eternals seem to simply walk away, but that is not considered possible, for these individuals lack the will. Where do they go? Why do they go?
Mayhap the question should be, with whom do they go?”
Extract from “Musings on the Flaws of Immortality.” Author unknown, although often erroneously attributed to Scrivener Dearik Von Hubleschafer.
****
Styvaniel Thunderscion stood watch, a silent, unmoving shadow in the darkness. Some distance behind him a small fire smoked and cracked, lending the slightest hint of warmth to the freeguild soldiers accompanying his stormcast brethren. Liberator Prime Testaniel Steelskies had called a halt as the mortals had reached the end of their endurance. In full flight from the enemy that had ambushed and beaten them, the chances to rest had been few and Steelskies had pushed them hard in their attempt to escape.
Once, Styvaniel would have preferred to turn and face the innumerable hordes of the foe and, if need be, ride the lightning back to Azyr. But the thought of being reforged upon the Anvil of Apotheosis now left him cold with a dread he dared not speak of. To his left, also keeping watch was his best friend, Gerastiel, a stormcast who had once sang joyfully when charging into battle, or around the campfires in the evenings to cheer his fellows along. Funny, boisterous and kind, his last reforging had left him little more than a shell of his former self. They had to tell him to sit, to eat, to stand, all he did under his own aegis now was fight and breathe.
“All quiet?” Testaniel’s voice was a careful whisper in his ear.
“All quiet Prime.” He confirmed, suppressing his jump reflex. Steelskies was known for checking up on his sentries, apparently a carry over from his mortal life as a soldier.
“Gerastiel?” The Prime queried lightly, and StyvanieI briefly nodded over to his friend.
“Where?” The Prime asked again and the sentry pointed at the shadows where his friend had been standing watch.
“He’s gone!” He blurted out in surprise. The spot where Gerastiel had been standing just moments earlier paradoxically seemed darker and emptier without his shadow in it. Unmindful of the risk, he ran over to the spot where Gerastiel had been left and instructed to stand watch. Behind him the Prime was bellowing orders and rousing the exhausted freeguilders to their feet fearing their foes had caught up and were about to attack.
But no attack materialised and as a chill rain swept down upon them Styvaniel’s attempt to track the missing stormcast swiftly became an impossible task. Gerastiel had apparently just walked away into the darkness.
Styvaniel spoke quietly to the Liberator Prime of the brief glimpse of a green cloak and a shadow the size of a Stormcast he thought he had seen. There were no tracks to back up the existence of his half seen quarry. Gerastiel had not been in a green cloak. Steelskies ordered Styvaniel to silence; Gerastiel, much changed by his last reforging, had simply walked away by himself. Case closed.
Styvaniel stared at his Prime in disbelief, and as he thought to argue, he saw the telltale flicker of azyrite lightning in the Prime’s eyes. A gift from his last reforging, it was a guaranteed sign of suppressed anger, and Styvaniel lapsed reluctantly into silence. Something, some Stormcast HAD been out there. Styvaniel hoped that they had taken his friend with them. The alternative, that Gerastiel was now wandering the Realms alone, was too terrible to contemplate.
He nodded his agreement at Prime Steelskies. Case closed.
