Aengellania shares a fire with Nuklib, the Weirdnob Shaman that had made sure the Ironjaws welcomed her into their tribe. She likes him, she had eventually decided. He was good company to be in, a far more engaging teacher of Waaagh! magic than any of her Zaitrec tutors had been. But this time she wasn’t practising orruk magic with him. They had spent the last ten minutes talking about the Ironjaws’ next destination, a town called Titanflint-Upon-Ghur, and what they’ll do when they arrive.
“You can’t just attack Titanflint, Nuklib.”
The weathered old orruk, still physically powerful enough to break Aengellania with one hand, looks down at her curiously.
“An’ why not?”
Aengellania’s hands flutter upwards, trying to communicate her desperation.
“Because think of the chance you have right in front of you! You won’t need to keep travelling to survive, if you ally with them and live with them you’ll have a safe haven to be in.”
“An’ why do we want dat?”
Aengellania’s jaw hangs open for a second. Nuklib chuckles at her surprise and shakes his head, reminding her of the tutors that she had given painfully incorrect answers to.
“Yoo’ve been finkin’ about us wrong, Anjy.”
Nuklib grins down at her, displaying his broken fangs.
“You’ve been finkin’ about us like we’z ‘umies, or pointy-ears or stunties. We’z ain’t. We’z orruks. We fight, we kill, we Waaagh!.”
Even whispered, the Orruk battlecry echoes in the dark, as if a hundred other throats spoke it in sympathy.
“Dat’s life. Fight, kill, Waaagh!. We Orruks know it best, cuz we’z best at it. But uvvas can figure it out too.”
He lifts up his staff and pokes the end of it into the fire. A cloud of ash blossoms out of the embers, abruptly expanding at the end to form a symbol that makes Aengellania’s eyes widen.
Nuklib turns his red eyes back to her, still grinning as Ghal Maraz hangs in the air.
“Sigmar, ‘e almost knows da troof of it. E’ dun’t like ta admit it evva since ‘e put on dat shiny hat of ‘is, but in ‘is ‘eart ‘e knows ‘e just wants ta krump ‘ard, wevver it’s Godbeasts or da spikey lads, or all da gits dat turned der backs on ‘im jus’ when ‘e needed dem most. Dat’s why Gorkamorka likes Sigmar best of all da uvva gods.”
“Don’t y-you mean liked? I thought they fell apart just before the Age of Cha-”
Aengellania’s nervous interruption is cut off by howling laughter from Nuklib. He stamps his staff on the ground as he rocks back and forth on his seat.
“Dere ya go again, finkin’ dat jus’ because dey’ve been fightin’ means that dey ‘ate each other, like dey’z some ‘umies!”
Finally his laughter dies down to a low chuckle, rumbling through the air. Somehow it disturbed her more than his full-throated laughter.
“Gorkamorka luvs Sigmar. Not ya poncey love wiv da flowers an’ stuff, ‘e luvs Sigmar like a choppa luvs a basha. Dey ‘unted Godbeasts tagevva, ate up da land tagevva, even fought each uvva. Sigmar wuz one of da few gods dat could give Gorkamorka a challenge, an’ dere’s nuffin’ ‘e luvs more den a challenge.”
Nuklib looks back up at the ashen hammer, and grins all the wider.
“Da ‘umies, pointy-ears an’ stunties forgot dat evva since Sigmar started kallin’ ‘imself da God-King. But we orruks remember when ‘e wuz da God-Barbarian. Gorkamorka remembers, an ‘e misses ‘is mate.”
He stirs the fire once again, and the flames rise up to devour the hammer.
“But ‘e’ll tear inta Azyr wun day, and ‘e’ll make Sigmar remember too. Dey’ll get inta da biggest Waaagh! da Realms ‘ave evva seen, wiv da uvver gods, wiv da Chaos lads, an’ wiv each uvva. Jus’ as it shud be.”
Aengellania has long ago broke into a cold, trembling sweat listening to the Weirdnob Shaman. The intensity in his voice scares her, imposing its will upon the world until she feels that what Nuklib spoke of was the absolute truth that she couldn’t ignore. Seeming to sense her fear, Nuklib leans over and pounds her on her back in a friendly manner, for Orruks. She already knows that it’ll leave more bruises on her skin.
“But yoo dun’t ‘ave ta worry about dat yet. Yoo’ve still got sum time yet ta decide.”
“D-decide on what?” she asks, massaging her back.
The red glint in Nuklib’s eyes deepens and grows as Nuklib stares down at her.
“Wevva ya want ta join da Waaagh!.”
Silence deafens Aengellania, only interrupted by the crackling of the fire and the ambience of an Orruk camp at rest.
“S-Surely though I can’t. I’m an ae-aelf and a Lumineth one bes-”
Nuklib’s chuckling reverberates through her chest again.
“Anjy, yoo ain’t been lissenin’ again. Da Waaagh!’s fer a lot more den Orruks. E’en grots’ve got a place. It’s fer all dose dat wanna give up da fings dat dey ‘old themselves back wiv.”
He taps a gnarly claw against her chest.
“An yoo’ve got a lot dat’s ‘oldin’ ya back. Unlike yoo, I’ve been lissenin’ ta ya. All ya stories yoo’ve been sharin’, of all da times ya stopped an’ ‘elped out wiv sumwun else’s problems.”
Aengellania looks up at the Orruk looming over her, fear of the shaman she thought of as a friend paralysing her.
“W-what do you mean?”
His lips ripple out into an even more inhumanly wide grin.
“Yoo’s afraid.”
“I-isn’t that a little o-obvious?” Aengellania manages to say, after summoning up a little courage that she hadn’t thought she possessed.
Nuklib throws his head back and guffaws aloud.
“Ha! Course yoo are!”
He settles down again, but his stare doesn’t relent.
“But yoo’s not just scared of me. Yoos scared of gettin’ ‘ome, ain’t ya? Scared of gettin’ back ta Hysh and seein’ what ‘appened ta it while yoo were gone.”
“… A little.” Aengellania admits, remembering the stories she’s heard of this ‘Spirefall’. Just the thought of them makes her cast her eyes down and hug her legs close to her chest.
“An dat ain’t it, either.”
The young aelf looks back up at him, surprised.
“What else are you talking about?”
The old orruk grins and begins beating the end of his staff against the ground in a slow rhythm.
“Yoo’s scared of sumfin’ inside of ya.”
The pounding gets taken up somewhere else in the encampment, likely by a Warchanter. Aengellania almost asks Nuklib what he meant, when she hears her own heartbeat.
It pounds in her chest, in a way that’s alien to her. Before she had heard it beat when she was afraid, or when Ylthe had kissed her, but like this…
“Yoo’s afraid of lissenin’ ta da drums. Yoo’s afraid of wut yoo might do if ya did.”
Aengellania blinks, and she sees her Binding dead in front of her, lying together in a way she knew they hadn’t fallen. But it sets her blood alight regardless.
“Wh-what’s going on?”
More images flash past her eyes, of those she’d encountered during her exodus through the Realms trying to get back to Hysh. The village predated on by those sea-aelves, the tribe of Twinform Wolfpacks she had spent an entire generation with, the Ghyranite resistance to the Maggotkin scattered… All people she cared about, all in danger.
Her hand curls up into a claw, desperate for a weapon.
Nuklib nods approvingly at her.
“Yoo dun’t need ta be scared of it. Yoo can let it out, let it Waaagh!”
In her mind’s ear the battlecry is taken up by the entire camp around her, swallowing her whole and making it a part of her. She wants nothing more than to scream with them.
A booted foot begins erratically beating out the rhythm surrounding her on its own accord.
Aengellania looks up at Nuklib. She wants to hit him, she realises. Smiling knowingly at her but saying nothing, as if she can’t tell that he’s manipulating her heart. Somehow she summons up enough control to bring the winds of Hysh and Ulgu to her hands.
Nuklib’s smile just keeps widening and widening, until it seems that it’s all that’s left of him.
Aengellania lifts up her hands towards him…
And stops.
In her memory’s eye she can see Tyriana Bladebroken reach out to her, the Cathallar moving with a quiet strength and dignity that belies her years. Her hand touches Aengellania’s cheek, smoothing down with Hyshian magic a cut she had gotten from a fight, centuries prior to this moment.
“What happens when we lash out without thought or care?” The old aelf asks her student, her voice gentle and understanding.
“We succumb to anger.” Aengellania whispers to her mentor.
Tyriana smiles and nods, pride for Aengellania beaming out like Hysh itself.
“And what happens when we succumb to anger?”
Aengellania hesitates, and lets out a deep breath.
“We stumble into Cathartia.”
She focuses on Tyriana’s smile, blocking out Nuklib’s. Tyriana, who had been the first to see any worth in her.
“Why did you choose me to become a Cathallar?”
Tyriana’s fingers lightly tuck away an errant hair behind Aengellania’s ear.
“Because you love those around you more than they know, Heartmender.”
Her teacher leans forward and gives Aengellania a soft kiss on her forehead that spreads across her like a soothing balm, fading away as she does so. But her memory remains. The knowledge that she is somewhere in Hysh, waiting for Aengellania to return, remains.
Aengellania forces down the roar of rage building within her, even if it requires all of her Cathallar training to do so. Agonising seconds pass as her heart slows down, but she masters it nonetheless. She owes Tyriana nothing less.
Nuklib comes back into view. His staff is at rest again, and this time he idly examines Aengellania rather than pierces her with a penetrating stare. He nods at her when he sees her eyes focus on him again.
“Yeh, I can see why ya scared o’ lettin’ it out.”
Aengellania lowers her hands, letting the magic in them dissipate.
“I can’t stay with your tribe, Nuklib. I’m sorry.”
Nuklib grunts a laugh.
“Ya dun’t need ta be sorry. S’not for everywun.”
He tilts his head to the side slightly.
“So ya goin’ on ta Hysh den?”
Aengellania nods.
“Yes. I… I need to return to someone there.”
“Fair enuf.”
Nuklib idly scratches at on scar, his knowing smile returning.
“Ya know, I ‘eard dat dem Titanflint ‘umies know where ta find a Realmgate ta Hysh.”
The casual ease that he delivers this information is counterpointed by Aengellania’s burst of excitement, the object of over a century of travelling suddenly seeming so close to her.
“They do?!”
Nuklib nods, but lifts a hand up before she can speak again.
“But da boyz wun’t be happy ta let dem live. Ya gunna need ta find a way fer us ta convince dem.”
“Us?”
Nuklib nods again.
“Wut, ya fink dey’ll listen ta a grotty fing like yoo? Dey like ya lots, but yoo ain’t der shaman, Anjy.”
The grin splits his face once more.
“Oh, dey’ll lissen ta der shaman alright.”
Aengellania feels gratitude flood through her. That she had come so close to attacking him was the only cold shadow in her heart…
“Thank you, Nuklib.”
“Ain’t nuffin’, Anjy.”
Her mind begins to wander, to plan. An idea pops into her head as her eyes catch on Grunta dung, surrounded by flies…
But before she loses herself to the plotting, a question lodges itself in her mind.
She looks up at Nuklib again, curiosity overtaking her.
“How are you so wise, Nuklib? You just seem so more… Worldly than the other Orruks.”
“Wut, ya fink we’re all fikk?”
He waves down her embarrassed apologies with a laugh.
“Nah, I get watcha mean.”
His red eyes glow in the dark, and Aengellania realises for the first time that they’re not reflecting the fire before him.
Nuklib’s grin widens further as he sees the realisation spread on her expression. His low chuckling reverberates across the camp, like the echoes of the footsteps of a god, while his eyes burn with inner fires.
“Ya ain’t da only wun dat got a yellin’ from Gorkamorka.”
