Red dust rose and wirled from stomping bare feet, weaving around a smoldering bronze brazier. The stars shone unobscured by either the polluting light or smog of civilization, and -at this altitude- with a piercing blue that could almost be felt. The glow of the embers seemed to throb in time with the unheard beat of the dance. Glowing heat grew and spread as the dancers relentlessly continued, heat from their own bodies making the still night air suffocatingly hot. Sweat flung from their gesticulations hissed as it struck the now growing fire. But that was not the only liquid present, others carried up great jars slung between two straining bearers. The posture of the laborers betrayed the effort of bringing these sloshing vessels up the mountain… at least until the growing light was reflected in their eyes, with which the laborers’ vigor appeared to be utterly renewed and soon the peak was encircled by a wall of clay. At this, the dance ceased and the quiet was broken by long quavering cries. Slings, sticks, spears and daggers were hurled against the clay pots. Viscous sludge began to spread down the slope. The patterns of the dance utterly broke as figures rushed up to the brazier, scooping coals in bare hands. Some instantly collapsed screaming in pain, and they were trod underfoot as others took their place. Pinpricks of lights, held in scorched hands spread from the center of the peak out, out to the encircling ring. The pinpricks went out, and for a moment there was only the moans of the wounded and the now much-diminished center brazier. There was stillness, dark shadows, and pensive quiet for a moment. Then everything changed at once. First there was a rush of wind as superheated air raced into the sky. Leaping joyful bodies cast no shadows as they were starkly light from all sides, their cries of exaltation were utterly drowned out by the roaring of the flames
The flames spread down the rocky slope, casting a light that could be seen for miles. And on that peak, next to the flaming brazier, a hole was torn through the realm’s material. In much the same way the center of a paper held over a candle darkens, smokes, and then a circular hole is made, smoldering at the edges as the paper gives way to the heat and change of the fire.
A disc of curved spinning whirling machinery emerged from this, upon which stood two figures. The dancers, laborers, and wounded all gazed in wonder at this appearance, it was clearly not part of the planned ceremony. The shortest figure took in a deep breath of the dry air, and her words were imbued with a heat and power that overcame the tumult: “My children, your task here is done! You have served Fire; the ultimate embodiment of forceful change, something that rages against external control. That above all seeks to subsume and spread. I know those desires are in your hearts as well! You have gained power and thus a way to finally shape the world around you in your own will.” “What I offer you is not leadership, or orders. One does not try to command the flames. I offer fuel and the tools to set it alight” The second figure carefully stepped from the disc to the altar, as she carried a huge pack.
From this pack she produced then unwrapped a sphere. Those gathered whispered in awe “Aqshyian realmstone!” It seems there could have been no more convincing argument. The mountaintop was soon bare but for the fire and broken clay, the human catalysts for desolation had moved on.
He tasted blood, and he spit it out. Beside him, Xshaeta’s head was hanging limp. Isthubar turned his neck towards the Blightking, hissing at him.With extreme effort, he staggered to his feet. An ugly, blubbering belly laugh greeted him as he once more faced the...
“Who did this?”The Skaven struggled in pain, his extremities broken and limp. It was no challenge to make him talk; it was obvious the coward had seen too much already.The Templars had followed the fleeing plague monks to this clearing, where the skaven had tried to...
Three days. That was how long Rittichik had been cowering in the hole he'd dug into the dirt under a pile of fallen tree trunks, waiting for the dust to settle enough to be able to get his bearings. Stale fear-musk filled his nostrils, the earth around him soaked with...
He tasted blood, and he spit it out. Beside him, Xshaeta’s head was hanging limp. Isthubar turned his neck towards the Blightking, hissing at him.With extreme effort, he staggered to his feet. An ugly, blubbering belly laugh greeted him as he once more faced the...
“Who did this?”The Skaven struggled in pain, his extremities broken and limp. It was no challenge to make him talk; it was obvious the coward had seen too much already.The Templars had followed the fleeing plague monks to this clearing, where the skaven had tried to...
Three days. That was how long Rittichik had been cowering in the hole he'd dug into the dirt under a pile of fallen tree trunks, waiting for the dust to settle enough to be able to get his bearings. Stale fear-musk filled his nostrils, the earth around him soaked with...
Tis awesomeness that