Below is excerpts from the Turn 3 Unfolding Narrative of Animosity II included here with permission.
The search for the missing Lord-Celestant Han Shinzong was confusing at its best, and narrowly avoided catastrophe at its worst. Fearsome squalls racked the Thawing for days, the elements themselves seemingly tortured by the conflict raging around the Lord-Celestant and his mysterious affliction. Lord-Celestant Hilmar Thunderstruck spearheaded the Expedition’s efforts to find Han, and would soon engage in deliberations with the bereaved Soulmuncherz. This tense period is best described by the private journals of Sequitor-Prime Lionstrife of the Ryze Detachment:
Day X:
The lack of supplies is becoming evident amongst the troops. I firmly believe that they can continue to push on, but they need a true reason for why they are here. Fighting for a Realmgate they can understand. Following the pursuits of a young commander that has not proved his worth yet is much more difficult. I almost feel bad for the young Brighteyes. He must find a way to unite the Expedition’s forces after a humiliating defeat.Day XII:
There was a messenger last night that appeared at camp, having a long discussion with Lord-Celestant Hilmar Thunderstruck. Overhearing what I could, he mentioned something about Lord-Celestant Shinzong which angered him, and Lord-Relictor Aetherdorn was furious as well. I felt it best to leave them be. They have enough on their plate as it is. I wonder if he has wavering thoughts of the purpose of this campaign as well.Day XIII:
Lord-Arcanum Azyrhand has recovered finally. The men are in higher spirits seeing him awake even with damage to his Sigmarite armor. He delivered one of his short speeches which rang true to our spirits. He vowed that we will go back and reclaim the Ghyrplunge from the savages in “due time”. A few of the men even joked about his defeat at the hands of a Fyreslayer of short stature. He took it in good stride, despite the apparent injuries he was still recovering from.
He entertained the notion of joining forces with the group known as “Da Soulmuncherz” as they have more information about Lord-Celestant Shinzong. This drew concern initially but any being with a soul in this damned area that doesn’t want to draw blood is a welcome idea.
Realizing that Han might slip away from both sides if they came to blows, a momentary truce was struck, with the Soulmuncherz demanding the Azyrites show “proppa respek” to Gorkamorka’s triumph over the Ur-Whale by bearing an Icon of Gork in their ranks. In return, Tidecaster Galrach gifted a runic soul-lantern to the Expedition for use in pacifying the restless spirits of Tsatraya and beyond. In the words of the ogor Belagar-Bel:
“Da Soulmunchaz ‘ave agreed ta hunt Shinzong down togevvar wiv you. Dis is not alliance, just short peece… ‘tween hunterz of moar dang’rous prey. Agreement is, bouf sides confront ‘im togevver. If, durink battle, Shinzong saved, Soulmuncherz agree Expedition gits ta take ‘im. On promiss of futur serviss to da Soulmunchaz fo wot ee’s done to da fish-elf souls.
If instev, durink battle, doez not appear Shinzong can be saved, or might escape, both sides agree ta fight to the deff to take ‘im down for guud… and the Soulmunchaz git to munch his soul.”
Several times did the newly-allied armies cross blades with Han, yet each time they thought him surrounded or corner, he would slip away among blinding, driving winds and shifting drifts of snow atop the ice; such were the fortunes and resulting frustrations of the Verdant Maw Hunters of Belagar-Bel and the Soulmuncherz elusive ally they called “Da Green Knight”.
Furthermore, those who encountered him did not come away unscathed. Such was the fate of the scout Telion of the Y’saran Lumineth, who returned from battle badly burned and afflicted with nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. He reported that the corruption which afflicted him appeared unseen; there was no flame or pestilence, as servants of Khorne or Nurgle might exhibit, or mutation and perversion, as those of Tzeentch and Slaanesh display. Although Telion appeared to recover soon after, the battle wasn’t over.
The pursuit would draw to a close when Lord-Celestant Hilmar Thunderstruck fulfilled his mission and confronted Han himself, the flight of his Stardrake granting him the speed and vision to run Han to ground between the shifting storms.
Hilmar and his Stardrake dove from surprise straight at Han Shinzhong, knocking Han free from his mount. Hilmar expertly dove off the Stardrake, tackling Han in the direction of the Sacrosanct gathering nearby, the Stardrake landing between the two Lord-Celestants’ and Han’s rabid mount.
The two drake-kin creatures sprayed their lightning-breaths onto each other. Clearly out matched by the greater child of Dracothion, the howling Dracoth fled the battle, Hilmar’s Stardrake giving chase.
Hilmar himself grappled with Han, never inflicting any serious blow, but expertly blocking each wild assault Han assailed him with.
Hilmar noticed an intense heat coming off his opponent and former shield-brother, like he was fighting a raging inferno. He tasted metal in his mouth and gagged, nausea washing over him like waves upon rock. The importance of this confrontation forced him to focus through it, and keep his stomach under control, not that anything would come up if he were to vomit, as he had gone without since the loss of the realmgate and being cutoff from resupply. Stormcast could go much longer without the necessities the normal mortals needed.
Hilmar moved to draw the fight closer to the Sacrosanct who were preparing dispelling scrolls and scrying magics in an at tempt to “cure” whatever had befallen the Lord-Celestant, yet soon found himself turned around in the fury of combat, all sense of direction lost as the howling snowswept winds blinded him to all but his opponent.
“Do you not recognize the armor I wear? That you are wearing?” Hilmar shouted over the storm and the clash of their battle.
“What happened to you? We want to help you!” Hilmar continued shouting, all while trying to focus through the bile in his throat, his Sigmarite plate burning through his robes and searing his skin.
Growing frustrated with the standoff, Hilmar exploited an opening in the wild swings of his foe’s tempestos hammer and angled a chopping blow to Han’s face, tearing free his war-mask and shattering it upon the ice in a wet splatter of flesh and fluids.
To Thunderstrock’s shock and horror, most of Han’s face had come away with the mask, his flesh seamingly seared to the Sigmarite. What remained was nearly unrecognizable, a pulp of melting muscle and weeping veins, the blood turned thick and dark like oil, punctuated by a single milky orb that passed for an eye, the other having seemingly burst some time ago.
Han Shinzong did not fight out of rage, Hilmar realized- he fought in agony, and Lake Bykaal itself reflected his unimaginable anguish.
His convictions renewed, Hilmar chose to end the fight quickly, quickly disarming Han of his two-handed tempestos hammer with a deflecting strike. Fighting like a cornered beast, Han allowed the momentum of his attack to carry him into Hilmar, throwing the rival Lord-Celestant off balance. Wrapping his hands the hilt and pommel of Hilmar’s off-handed gladius, he twisted Thunderstruck’s arm and drove the Lord-Celestant’s own blade into his ribs.
Spitting blood into the inside of his war-mask, Hilmar tore it off with his free hand. The eyes that met what was left of Han’s betrayed only rage, the burning hatred of someone betrayed.
“You may have forgotten the first part of your former battle cry, ‘First to be forged’ Hilmar growled.
“But let me remind you the second part, ‘Never to fail’“
And on the last syllable, Hilmar with shocking strength that defied his wound, Hilmar brought the hammer in his right hand down onto Shinzhong’s head.
_________________
Somewhere in the blinding snowstorm, there was a loud crack and a flash of light. Nothing remained of the two Lord Celestants but a large, steaming hole in the ice, the water below momentarily boiling before starting to freeze back over.
Lord-Arcanum Morian attempted to peer into the water, but he could not make anything out in the inky darkness. Morian looked up to the heavens wondering if his former commander had returned to the Anvil of Apotheosis. Had they both been sent back? His gut told him it wasn’t that simple.
With heavy heart, Morian gathered Hilmar’s discarded war-mask and Han’s scorched two-handed hammer and gathered his troops to rejoin the refugees heading across the Thawing towards Tsatraya.
