Lord Varon had had enough.
Ever since the Temple of the Storm had revealed itself to the Iron Bloods, the warband had bloodied itself to establish control over the ancient ruin. It seemed its previous rulers had designed traps and deadly devices for those who tried to disturb the great work.
Despite the Sigmarite Scholar’s seemingly vast knowledge of ancient tombs and seraphon relics, she provided scant few details on how to defeat the temple’s defenses.
There was some kind of treasure within the Temple of the Storm, yet three warriors had died in failure to locate such a prize.
Varon stepped forth to declare he would test the temple’s defenses.
“This is bold of you Varon,” said Skullgrinder Irox. “Clearly you could have sent another blood reaver to test the temple’s mysteries.”
“Nonsense!” declared the Mighty Lord of Khorne. “If we keep throwing our warriors to blindly fall in the maze, the only one to enjoy our demise will be Khorne.”
“Then go forth, Mighty Lord, and prove yourself worthy,” decried Irox.
Varon strode forward to face the gauntlet.
Down the stone hallway, he saw two dead bloodreavers. Their bloated skin was sickly purple and covered in darts. Varon took two steps before his right foot triggered the first trap. Several poisoned darts shot out from the walls with the intention of poisoning another intruder.
The darts shattered upon Varon’s armour, but one found a way through to his left arm. Poison injected into Varon’s vein, yet Varon was unfazed. His boiling blood fought off the toxin as he moved out of the hallway. He then pulled a nearby lever to deactivate the trap before moving on.
Next for Lord Varon was another hallway, but this one was stained with the blood of a dismembered bloodreaver. From what Varon could tell, this next trap involved blades. He drew his shield and axe and pushed forward. Hallway through, three massive half axes swung towards him. The first from his shieldside was parried away, but the force nearly knocked Varon off balance. He recovered just in time to avoid the second blade from in front of him. The third slammed into his back, biting into his armour and sending him forward, but it failed to hit flesh. Enraged, Varon smashed down the first two blades that swung back, then deactivated the third. He prepared for the worst as he pushed on.
Varon entered a room filled with empty shelves and podiums. This had once been a treasure room but whatever artifacts it held seemed long gone.
“Ah ha! You made it! I knew you would brave the temple’s defense!” spoke an unknown voice.
“Show yourself!” shouted Varon. “I have no time for games!”
A hooded figure in azure robes descended from the ceiling shadows into the center of the room. The figure pulled back the hood to reveal their identity.
“Very well, behold!” shouted the Tzeentchian sorcerer. Her face was heavily scarred, hair silver, skin cerulean and pulsing with magic. “I have been waiting for you, Varon. You are the one that will set me free from this prison.”
“And if I do, will you give me the treasure I seek?” ask the Khornate warrior.
“Perhaps,” the sorcerer said mockingly. She seemed distracted by something, possibly her own ego. “But first, you’ll have to play a game with me in order to-“
Varon’s axe interrupted the sorcerer as it embedded itself into her skull. The Tzeentch sorcerer stuttered in disbelief and death as Varon approached.
“Like I said, I have no time for games,” he said. “I set your skull free from your body and offer this to the Skull Throne.” Varon then decapitated the sorcerer, blood splattering across the ancient stone.
Curiously, the sorcerer’s blood coagulated into a stream that flowed towards a side wall in the room. Varon followed the blood path and felt the stone wall. This portion felt weaker than its surrounding structure. Varon merely kicked through the weak stone and uncovered the real treasure room.
“Blood for the Blood God indeed.”
