Vladan stared at the cavern in front of him, astounded by the sheer size. It was was as if the inside was larger, somehow, then what could be seen from outside, as if the space within expanded itself, creating a temple of sorts. Huge pillars ran through the room, and an alter loomed up ahead. The ceiling was an endless blue sky, white clouds drifting in the breeze. And throughout the entire space, grass grew in abundance, trees reached up into the never-ending sky, and birds and other animals flittered about. It was a paradise within the desert, day within night, life within death.
The key on the cord about his neck pulled towards the alter. Mannfred stalked forward, now oblivious to him. Apparently his job was complete. As far as Vladan was concerned, it was the vampire’s first mistake. He could feel the temple’s magic swirl about him, knitting the broken fibers in his body, straightening bent bones, tightening skin. He flexed his hands, and twisted his neck, feeling the life pouring back into his blood and mind. He felt alive power surging into him and the key throbbing near his chest. Vladan stretched out his hand.
And pulled.
He didn’t know how he knew what to do, but somehow the key had directed him, it’s energy so close to one of it’s own it flowed through his mind and body. It came, breaking the air as it screamed towards him, plowing into his chest so hard the healing power flowing around him had to work hard to mend his broken ribs before they pierced too deep. Even more lucky for Mannfred, as the key had flown straight through his lower side, blood pouring out of him before he could comprehend what had happened. In the blink of an eye, Vladan had both keys, now resting easy on the cord about his neck. Mannfred turned snarling at him, and only then realized the blood soaked floor, he put a hand to his side, but it was already healing over. He limped slowly, and then walked, towards Vladan, death in his eyes.
And suddenly, the air was ablaze with lightening. Mannfred’s eyes widened and, just in time, Vladan leapt to the side, a bolt of flame sending rock and dirt flying where he had stood. Mannfred was already on the move, he had darted, faster then Vladan could watch, launching himself at the closest golden warrior that now stood at the entrance to the temple. Leaping from one to another Mannfred weaved his way through missed hammer strikes, tearing out necks and breaking limbs, he tore a bloody path through the warriors. As each fell, a lightening bolt seared upwards into the sky, and Vladan suddenly knew what he was looking at. He had heard of these ‘Stormcasts’, followers of Sigmar, and regardless of how Mannfred acted, he had no desire to stick around. As he followed the vampire through the retinue he cleaved through all that had not died completely, his sword rending armour, or plowing in-between gleaming helmet and chest-plate. The key also called to him, and he realised he was able to use it to launch searing beams of energy at foes that ran towards him. They burnt up like kindle in a forest fire.
Their rage knew no bounds, and death trailed the pair as men fell like stars at the end of the world.