Anvilgard is ruled by the Grand Conclave. However  a cabal of outcasts known as the Blackscale Coil manipulates the conclave using a combination of blackmail, threats and murder. This organisation is ruled by a shadow council of aelves, including Fleetmasters of the Scourge Privateers, Sorceresses of the Darkling Covens and Beastmasters of the Order Serpentis and has agents of all races in every military and social stratum of the city.

Anvilgardians are dour and hardy frontier folk, distrusting of others and beholden to superstition and ancient folklore. Despite the intractability of its populace, Anvilgard draws many visitors from faraway lands. However behind the noble exterior the city is rife with illicit trade and criminality.

The city’s shipyards bustle with activity, with merchant fleets, nomadic tribesmen and foreign traders all flocking to the markets to sell produce and trinkets looted from the scattered ruins of the Searing Sea. Aelven corsairs regulate this busy trade, maintaining order with merciless efficiency.

It is here we find a young boy, Raith. Orphaned, grown up in the streets. He knew his way around the worst of folk. Natural born leader and very clever,  he was very comfortable at the head of a small band of misfits. Causing trouble and getting away with it was something he prided himself on. All things considered, he had a handle on his world. He knew everyone, and he knew how to get what he wanted, but unfortunately everyone also knew him.

             Salekh, Captain of a Scourge Privateers Wolfship from the city of Anvilgard. This Aelf was the worst. He was brutal, merciless, and above all, feared. Nothing went on under his nose in Anvilgard. His followers were fierce, and fiercely loyal. He was part of the assault on Blista Bakk leading his crew into battle before unleashing a Kharibdyss on the Orruk defenders. The sea-lanes of Anvilgard were plagued by orruk pirates from a floating shanty-port known as the Blista Bakk and the shadowy cabal of criminals known as the Blackscale Coil pressured the Anvilgard’s Grand Conclave into launching a naval invasion. Scourge wolfships surround Blista Bakk and rained fiery missiles on its rusty ramparts while Freeguild marines were unloaded from steam-galleons with reinforced prow-rams that smashed their way into its harbour. After the docks were cleared the Scourge Privateers unleashed several Kharibdysses driven to a mindless rage, Blista Bakk sank into the Searing Sea. Aelven pirates of the Scourge have travelled the waterways of the Mortal Realms and hunted mighty sea monsters for generations. Some are dragged back to the free ports to be sold to pitmasters or curious wizards for a rich haul while others are slain and stripped of valuable materials. While slavery is outlawed under Azyrite decree, loopholes are frequently exploited by fleetmasters.

Raith and his band saw the perfect opportunity to finally get off the streets. To make it rich and get the hell out of Anvilgard. Salekh’s Privateers were heard to have poached a giant Megalafin. An incredibly valuable source of trade. A deal had been made between him and The Darkling Coven. Now was the perfect time. Salek out of town, the Coven too self confident in themselves to guard their gold. So in they went. And there it was, so shiny, so perfect, and so heavy. They grabbed what they could carry and stuff into their pockets. Turning to bolt out the door, it slammed shut. Zenthe, staring right into his eyes. Zenthe is a Black Ark Reaver and 1st mate of Salekh. Her look is both beautiful and deadly – she is tall with the build of an athlete, projecting an aura of both strength and agility. Her white hair cut short, spiked at the tips, donning a long Sea-dragon cloak  over a suit of tight fitting dragon scales, the cloak embellished with images of the Kraken, the spiked collar framing her face. Brandishing her weapons of choice, a pair of jewelled cutlasses. She is more than 500 years old and she is not impressed.

Raith knew exactly how much shit he had found himself in, and no way was there a plan to stick around and find out what would happen. He and the boys all ran in different directions. Some of them too stupid or greedy to drop their loot an make a getaway. Their stories end here. Jim threw his handful of gold at Zenthe, stunning her just long enough to dash through a broken slat in the storehouse. To the streets he was an alley cat, knowing every nook and cranny. It was little trouble getting away but he knew better than to stay in Anvilgard. He’d have the worst kind of villains looking for him now. Up and over market carts he dashed, through alleys, and rooftops he made his way to the docks. Not caring where he ended up, just that he could escape was the only thing on his mind. There was a ship that looked like it was preparing to depart any minute now he figured this was as good as any. Making his way down into the hull he found the cargo bay and made himself scarce in a crate.

Tempest’s Eye is a City of Sigmar carved out of the rock of the Titanspear Mountain, located south-west of the Flamescar Plateau in the Realm of Aqshy. It was founded from the fortified towns built during the Realmgate Wars. A wondrous city of soaring towers and palaces that dominates both land and sky for many leagues around the Tempest’s Eye is a multilevel metropolis linked together by winch-lifts and cable carriages and on its cliffs are several busy docks, where hundreds of duardin airships and gyrocopteers tie up daily, unloading goods and bartering and trading in the city’s merchant districts. Situated as it is so close to the firmament, an aura of celestial magic gathers strongly about the Eye. Around the city are many planar observatories and arcane orreries where seers and battle-scryers work to keep constant vigil over the surrounding lands.

This is where Raith found his new home. With no “normal” skills to speak of he did what he knew best. Steal. But he didn’t know this city well. One day he was caught by a Freeguild guard. Eventually they saw his potential and Raith was recruited into the army, his new family, the armies of the Eye. For the Shadow Warriors he was a natural. In the armies of Shadow Blades and Swifthawk Agents, they act as masters of infiltration. Trained extensively in the techniques of ambush and guerilla warfare. Showing himself a natural leader and highly skilled working from within the shadows, he ascended to the rank of Shadow Walker, leading a company of Shadow Warrior Assassins. He was now among peers he had always admired. Raelyn, and Maslaer were famous for slaying monsters and Beastmen of the Scorchpelt Greatfray. He even brushed shoulders with the most famous of all, Maleneth, she is said to have adventured with the legendary Gotrik. It was Maleneth herself that bestowed Raith with the surname Witchblade.

It was here that Raith really came into his own. His precision was unmatched. There was no city he and his company couldn’t infiltrate. Every army he encountered always ended in a similar manner. Over confident warriors with little regard for what’s hidden, littered the battle fields with slit throats and perfectly placed blades between the chinks in their armor.

Raith walked up the stairs to the temple of Khane on the eve of battle. He knelt at the altar. The high priestess approached him “I’ve never seen you before, what can the God of Murder do for you?” she whispered with a smooth voice. 

“I want to bring swift death to the enemies of the Realm” Raith replied with resolve.

The oracle came through the shroud behind the altar. “I’ve been expecting you” it sent a chill down his spine as she spoke. “Kneel before the High Oracle, you will have your wish.”

So he did, at the very moment he drank from the goblet of warm blood and gave himself up to Morathi he felt a great hole in his spirit. A piece of his very being was missing. It was strange, he couldn’t shake it. It felt as if he had lost something very dear to him. It shook him deep, like a quake in his soul. So much so he didn’t care about the battle any longer “Travel to Hammerhal and you will find them”

Having trained one of his best assassins in the ways of the Shadow Blade, he left the very capable Gilean Shroud in command of his company of Assassins, named The Black Lotus by their enemies. Leaving his post with the blessing of his commander he set off to find “them,” not even knowing what that meant.

The Warpriest Utrecht,  Tree-Revenant Waypiper Barkthorne, Darkling Sorceress Ahnika Greyweaver. These were the souls bound to Raith. Excelsior Warpriest Utrecht Bok was their leader. He was fierce in his dedication to the God-King. His resolve unmoving, knowing full well the price he paid. Never opening up to anyone, seeming full of deep sorrow, a pure embodiment of stoicism. They trusted him without question with their lives. Warpriests are chosen to be Soulbound because of their unshakable faith. In doing so they are forever denied joining their god in the afterlife. 

“We are the Binding, and we have been searching for you. Welcome Raith”

Another of the Binding, in which Raith became very fond of, was Ahnika. The sorceress was cunning, even the most resolute of men fell under her charm. Those piercing violet eyes seem to look straight into the soul. She was strikingly beautiful, tall and slender; she always carried herself with dignity, her long, white shimmering hair never out of place, nor a wrinkle in her cloak. Behind her beauty and poise however hid a mask of deceit. Raith could never tell if anything she said was with pure intentions, or just another one of her many webs of lies and schemes to bend the world around herself. Raith was completely captivated. The two would soon become inseparable. Together they were true monsters to their enemies, killing without restraint or mercy from the darkness, as if a shadow themselves. Riath with his martial prowess, sure footing, and speed. Ahnika with her abilities to conjure illusion and sew dread into the hearts of foes, bringing shadows from nowhere, concealing Raith for the perfect kill every time. Her power was something Raith had never seen, a true master of manipulation and sorcery. Her devotion to The Shadow King and the ever present desire for knowledge and power was all she had. Her tales of the realm of the God of Shadow were told with such longing. Like she was missing a part of herself.

The companions would travel together for years and years. Accomplishing many great deeds in the sight of the gods. Ahnika and Riath would eventually fall in love. Truth be told, Raith was in love the moment he set eyes on the beauty. It was her that needed convincing. Even after all they’d been through she still would never admit it with a straight face. She always toyed with him in public “He’s just another one of my puppets, come here little doggy and give momma a kiss.” Their actions spoke a different tale. Especially in the crappy inns that couldn’t afford thicker walls.

One morning the Binding was summoned by the Grand Conclave in Hammerhal, led by Master Patriarch Sevastean Mench. Upon arrival they are met by Loremaster Alnaryn, receiving word the High Arbiter himself has a request for the champions. The mages have sensed a dark presence at Anvilgard. Not the usual riff-raff they are used to dealing with. There are suspicions a follower of Chaos has gained influence among the elite ranks of Blackscale Coil. The High Arbiter has given them a critical mission, one they will not likely get a second chance at, failure was not an option. Infiltrate the city, find the scourge, and bring him back for questioning. This snake must not be allowed to give Chaos a foothold.

For the first time since he was a boy, Raith would be going back home. Knowing Anvilgard like the back of his hand, it was the natural choice for him to lead. There are no friends in Anvilgard, no one you can trust, no place would be truly safe. For this is a dark place, full of the worst kind the Realm has to offer.

It was easy for them to blend in. Ahnika was an adept illusionist, the champions would look like they belonged. Raith looked up some old friends of his. Now either traders or pirates he soon found himself among familiar company. He never revealed himself to them, they would not recognise him today and he didn’t want people asking too many questions. Over the course of weeks, they had discovered a web of corruption. Still not knowing who, or finding any presence of Chaos, they had narrowed down their leads. Salekh, he was the best chance at discovering their mysterious assailant. Raith grew up having an admiration of the pirate Aelf, maybe he could be reasoned with.

Raith and Ahnika began to trail him. Spying his movements, who he met with, when, and where. Mostly all they found was the usual setups, double-crosses, back alley deals, and executions. They discovered there was one location, a house, very hidden within the lower tier of the city, which he frequented. In and out was a steady flow of Fleetmasters, Magisters, and the city’s most elite class. Day and night it’s only entrance was guarded by Black Ark Reaves and Darkling Executioners. Along the rooftops, if one had a keen eye, they could spot several crows nests, each manned by a Darkshard. This must be the place, the headquarters of the Blackscale Coil. There was no chance of even making it to the front door alive. These weren’t the kind of heroes to be valiant and go down in a blaze of glory. They would simply walk in like they owned the place.

Ahnika spent days channeling her magic, the plan would need to be without incident, one slight oversight and they would all be dead before even knowing it. Utrecht, Barkthorne, and Raith had work to do in the meantime. Track and capture three of the dignitaries that frequented The House. It all had to work, to capture them all within the same night, bring them for restraining at the base of operations, and be transformed into their likeness. While Ahnika stayed back making sure the prisoners were kept under wraps, if things go south, only warriors will have a chance at survival.

The champions are now walking towards The House, nervous as can be. Passing by rows of guards, all of them staring at our heroes with intent, helmeted heads following their movements. Utrecht in the front, not to be disrespected, scowls back at them. They reach the front door, take a moment to collect themselves. They’ve rehearsed this a thousand times, “just find out what we can, get the hell out.” They slowly enter the room, to find nothing. Candle light fills the room, fireplace roaring, huge dining hall with a freshly prepared feast and 3 empty chairs. “Come, feast with me.” A calming voice gave them a chill from the top of the stairs. Our heroes are stunned, not knowing what to do they ready themselves for the fight of their lives. A man slowly approaches them from the stairway. Very handsome, tall, prestigiously dressed in the finest silks. His demeanor is gentle, calming, but exuding with confidence. “I mean you no harm Utrecht, you may have a seat if you wish. I would hate for all this to go to waste.” As he says this a harem of the most beautiful women in all of the Realms follow behind him. Even Utrecht, the most resolute of priests found himself starting to feel his heart patter and sweat come off his brow. The women come to surround the men, circling them, hands trailing over our hero’s chest and back. Simultaneously the ladies, dripping with seduction, lead them to the table. Sitting down in their chairs the battle hardened, fierce warriors find themselves in a state of bliss unlike any other. The finest foods they had ever tasted,  hand fed by the finest hands ever to have touched them.

Days go by. Our hero’s helpless, enchanted by the throes of passion. Taken over by a hunger they never knew they had, not able to be satisfied they just hungered all the more. Utrecht catches a strange glimpse, a subtle shift in the eyes of the woman on his lap dropping a grape in his mouth. He would swear on his oath to Sigmar he saw the eyes of a snake. Now slightly aware of his surroundings he looks around, seeing his Binding brothers in a manner he wishes he could unsee. He starts to notice that in the candle light he can see subtle shimmering of purple in their skin tone. He climbs on the table, as if to crawl to another of the maidens, he slips a knife into his hands. A tentacled arm begins to run up his legs, not to draw attention, Utrecht rolls over on his back. He now sees something utterly hideous and beautiful. He’d only heard rumors but he was most certain he was now staring face to face with a Slaanesh Daemon. Thrusting the knife into her throat he jumps to his feet, now standing on the table, stark naked and ready to fight. The Daemons all turn to him, hissing. “Wake up you morons!.” Utrecht shouted as

two of the daemons leap towards him, Utrecht able to grab a food tray deflects their claws. Stunned, he quickly rams the tray into one’s skull, while burying his knife in the other. He notices their gear in the corner and makes a run for it. Grabbing his warhammer he becomes a whirlwind of Daemon killing madness. Taking blow after blow, but giving them back in greater measure. After several long minutes, beaten to a pulp, half dead. Utrecht, a naked and bloody mess, stands victorious, a dozen lifeless corpses litter the room. “What the hell happened?” a groggy voice said, as if just waking from a long nap. Utrecht turned to find Raith, now awake, in a very immodest state, looking around like he was in a dream. “You’re absolutely useless” scoffed Utrecht. “Ahnika!” Raith said with dread, his face said it all.

The Binding made it back to their base. It wasn’t right. It was evening, with no candles lit and the stench of death was in the air. Noticing the door was ripped off its hinges, streaks of blood leading inside of the house, Raith ran without thought or hesitation inside. Sitting in the middle of the room he saw it. The most hideous thing he’d ever laid eyes on, he just couldn’t believe it. Ahnika, the only love he had ever known. Clothes that never had even a single wrinkle in them now lay torn on the floor caked in dirt and blood. Shimmering white hair that has never been out of place now matted with blood, handfuls pulled out. The once elegant, proud posture of an Aelf now sits slumped, bound to a chair, lifeless. Her body exposed and mangled, bruises, gashes, and protruding bones, hands and feet bound by over tight razor wire. The face of a goddess, now unrecognisable, her once beautifully high cheekbones now caved in, nose broken. Her captivating violent eyes that always brought Riath to his knees were now closed, completely swollen shut. Her exposed chest holstered a large knife buried deep, it held a message.

This is my house, my streets, my rules. 

No one out plays me.

Scurry on little rat, scurry on.

Hope you enjoy your gift as much as I did.

It was a delight

Kind regards

Salekh

Raith was completely shattered to his bones, the very fiber of his being felt sorrow and rage which is indescribable. Not knowing what to do or how to react, all he could muster was a few steps towards the corpse, falling to his knees. After many moments of pure grief, he managed to partially collect himself. With great care Raith gently pulled the knife from the Aelfs chest. Wiping the blood from the blade as he fashioned it to his belt. He took the note, with an eerie calm he folded it, ensuring the creases were perfect, placing it into his pouch. He spent a few moments attempting to restore Ahnika’s dignity. Covering her nakedness with his own cloak, unbinding her hands and feet, trying his best to fix her hair, caressing her broken cheeks. He did take the time to fashion the razor wire tightly around the barrel of his hand cannon. It was at that moment he gave it a name, Ahnika. “She deserved better than this” Utrecht doing his best to comfort him. “I’ll make the proper arrangements for the body, we must be off to Hammerhal. They will want to hear the news”

“Fuck Hammerhal, fuck the councel, fuck the binding, fuck the gods, and fuck you!” Raith yells with fury as he takes a huge swing at Utrecht. Knowing his pain he allowed the blow to land squarely on his jaw, knocking him to the ground. Eyes full of hate staring down at him now, those of a mad man. “Do what you need to do”

“I’m done with you! I’m done with all of you!” Raith races out the door.

Far and wide across The Great Parch criminals began to fear the shadows. If there was a bounty on your head, it was with almost certainty you could expect a visit from an Aelf. No one ever saw him coming, if you even saw him at all. The last thing few saw before the flash was the long barrel of a huge pistol wrapped in razor wire. “Where is Salekh?” were the last words many ever heard. Most met their fate dying before they even knew there was an assailant. Looking down to see the end of a blade protruding through their chest just before going dark. The streets of all major cities in the Parch ran red with criminal blood. Raith was focused, resolute, and furious. A hitman without mercy, an assassin without restraint. He was a ghost.

He had an ache in him, similar to what he felt before being found by the Binding. It was something that was a constant plague to Riath. It was painful, but remembering her was true anguish. Everytime he aimed down that barrel he would see the razor wire, fight back the tear, replace it with malice , and squeeze the trigger.

He was in _________ tracking down a bounty. Some scum from the undercity. On his first night in town he found a comfortable inn to lay down his head. What he didn’t know however was that Utrecht and Barkthorne had been searching for him. Tracking him down they knew where in town he was. Raith thought he heard their voices in the lobby. At that moment he slid into a deed sleep. 

Darkness. Complete, all encompassing, darkness. His steps felt heavy, his breathing painful as if breathing smoke. Coughing he fell to his knees, as he did, he began to fall. Falling down an endless hole. Then he just stopped. The black mist began to fade, a violet moon through a hazy sky hung in the air. Shooting up out of the horizon was a single spire, a citadel. Without thinking much of it Raith made his way forward. As he got closer the citadel got taller and taller. Getting very near it reached into the black clouds now crackling with lightning. A monstrosity of a building, no windows, no doors, just a single set of stairs that led to nowhere. “Come” a great, and terrifying voice said. He felt the voice in his bones but it was only a whisper. He took a very unsteady step onto the first stair, as if he was unsure it would hold him. As he made his way up the stairs towards the citadel with no doors it seemed to only get further away every step he took. As if he made no progress at all. He began jogging up the stairs, yet it would never get closer. Frustrated he turned around, only to find himself still standing on that first step. 

“Come” a familiar voice said, this time it was soothing like water to the soul, it was Ahnika. “Ahnika” he shouted, looking around frantically. More determined than ever he turned back to face the citadel. This time it had no stairs, but a single open doorway. In it he saw a silhouette, a tall and slender figure of a woman, beautiful as he ever saw. It must be her, he was sure of it. Now in full sprint towards the door but it just doesn’t get any closer. “Help me, I need you, please” the voice pleaded to him. Even at full Aelfen speed he is only inching his way closer. As he does he can now see her face. It is as perfect as he remembered. He felt his heart well up with love and passion that he hadn’t felt in what seemed to be an eternity past. She was now close enough to touch, her hand was reaching out towards him. Raith outstretched his hand to hers. A knife runs through her chest from behind. She turns into sand and is carried off with the wind. Her feet first as it made its way up, for just a brief moment all that remained was her face. Her smiling face, as it fades into the air. Now he sees the knife wielding assailant, Salekh.

Standing there laughing at him was the thing he hated most in this world. Without even a beat of hesitation Raith leapt towards him, gun drawn and raining down a hail of fire power. Mid-air he reached with his off hand to his belt, unsheathing for the first time the blade that killed his love. Landing down with all of his might he buried the knife to the hilt straight into the top of Salekh’s skull. He too turns to sand and is carried away. Desperate and outraged he unloads his pistol at the sand floating away. Defeated Raith drops to one knee. The instant his knee hits dirt he is immediately transported elsewhere.

A throne room, upon a mighty chair sits a being of great and terrible darkness. Raith could not speak, he could not move, he could not think. For he was in the presence of a malefic deity, hypnotised by its gaze. “Welcome to my domain mortal” the voice was spoken only in Raiths mind but it made his hair stand up. “What do you want with me?” Raith finally was able to utter a mumble. Just then the shadow stood, filling the room to consume it completely for an instant. Just as fast the darkness collected itself to reveal it’s true form.

Raith stands now face to face with a god. Malerion, The Shadow King, absolute monarch and god of Ulgu the Realm of Shadows and supreme master of the illusory arts.

Speechless, Raith kneels at his feet. He knows where he is, only a fool with a death wish would dare not show due respect. “What would you have of me?”

“Only to give you what you want.” The God of Shadows voice was smooth, a deep rumble in the soul, with subtle accent trails of a dragon. “The only thing I want is my beloved returned to me.” Riath said, shocked at himself for speaking with such boldness.

“Oh, I doubt that a great deal” as the deity spoke Raith saw Ahnika, and Salekh across the room. Knife still in hand he dashed across the great hall, again firing his pistol. As he reaches Salekh he goes for the killing blow. This time, his dagger only whiffs through air. Raith stood there looking down at his knife, head hung low, for he knew his heart. Just then the shadow manifested again to sit on his throne. “Give your soul to me, and I will give you what your heart most desires. Revenge” Malerion says boasting with supreme confidence. “It will cost you everything you have ever known, but it will be yours. Now kneel mortal.”

As he kneels tendrils of shadow swirl around him. His armor and weapons fall to the floor. His clothes disappear leaving him without any cover. “Stand, my champion.” As Raith begins to rise up he is wrapped up entirely by the shadows. As they recede, Raith is found standing there. Completely changed. He has simple pants with light weight gunmetal grieves greaves covering his legs. A strap over his bare chest holding the Talisman of the Watcher, his protection. He looks to his off hand, from it pure shadow manifests into claws coming from his fist, and just as fast they vanish into thin air. In his other hand a mask, carved to resemble the skull of a raven. Made from pure Falsestone, his channel for the shadow arts. On his shoulder, a raven, made of pure darkness is perched, staring at him with violet eyes that reminded him of what he lost. Raith places the mask on his face, it wrapps into his face and recedes into nothing. At his feet lay only 2 of his belongings. His pistol, wrapped with razor wire, and a carefully folded note. He reaches down to pick them up. “Now go” the voice booms.

Raith is violently woken up in his bed, drenched in cold sweat. As he comes back to reality the door bursts open “Raith, what have you done?” Utrecht yells as he and Barkthorne enter the room. They all feel it, a part of their souls are missing. It feels like emptiness and sorrow. “We came to find you, it’s time to come back” Barkthorne said with a bit of excitement, it was rare for him to utter even a word. 

“I can’t go with you, I’ve chosen to walk another path. My soul now belongs elsewhere, I’ve given myself over in service to The Shadow King. I’m certain I have been bound to others, I can feel it, I know you can feel our bond is broken as well. I must find them, you know I have to, it has to be this way. It’s just too painful to remember. So I say fare well, I wish you the best of luck my brothers. I hope we meet again.” making for the door Raith pauses for a moment before turning to Utrecht “It’s been my life’s honor to fight with you” clapping hands together, they bring it in for a hug.

Utrecht smirks, “I won’t let you win so easily next time”