Before Thoruhn was known by the title of The Shepherd, he went by Thoruhn Twicedead. He had only died twice, one death in his mortal life, defending his village against the horrors of Tzeentch, the second death as a stormcast, whilst liberating the same village, where he died in 1 to 1 combat with the enemy Lord Of Change. Thoruhn took great pride in the fact that he had died only twice and liked to think that he was a great warrior because of it. He was a Lord-Celestant in the Hammers of Sigmar, where he was in charge of a smaller Stormkeep that protected the city of Metalgrowth. The city had been founded on the very village Thoruhn had fought for twice and as such, he was seen as a sort of guardian angel, something he reveled in. He loved the attention and faith the citizens showed him.
Always by his side was Lord-Aquilor Jardan The Ashen, with whom Thoruhn had formed a very close bond during their time in Azyr. What started out as a friendship between two new cadets, had grown into love. Despite the two being seperated a lot, with Thoruhn manning the stormkeep whilst Jardan was always away leading various expeditions with the Vanguard, they were inseperable, albeit training, scouting, attending meetings or walking through the city together. Whilst Thoruhn hadn’t been reforged very often, Jardan was not as careful in combat. The Lord-Aquilor hailed from Aqshy and the feriosity ran through his vains. Every battle he’d charge headfirst into battle, recklessly engaging the enemy. Many of those times he was fine, but once in a while, it would go wrong and Jardan’s soul would shoot back up to Azyr.
With every reforging, Thoruhn would see his beloved change. Piece by piece, Jardan became a different person. The once warm and tender Jardan he had known, had become a near automaton, a shadow of the hero he had once been. But even as the Lord-Aquilor was reforged over and over again, his love for Thoruhn had remained. Whilst Jardan had grown into a cold and somber man, when he and Thoruhn were alone, a glimpse of the old Jardan shone through.
And then tragedy struck. During a particulary harsh siege, Jardan led a flanking force against the Blades Of Khorne. As the battle reached it’s climax, Jardan engaged the enemy Lord Of Khorne in combat. Thoruhn was too busy trying to cut through the hordes to help his loved one, upon which Jardan was slain once more. After the siege was finally won, Thoruhn returned to Azyr to see Jardan once more. There, he found a horrifying discovery. After this most recent reforging, Jardan’s soul had been shattered and broken to the point that the Lord-Aquilor could not be reformed. Now, his broken soul had become a lightning gheist, a mindless monster.
Devasted Thoruhn left Azyr and returned to Metalgrowth with Gheist that had once been his lover, keeping it trapped in a special room of the Stormkeep. Day after day, Thoruhn would forsake his duties to the city, sitting outside the door as the restless spirited wandered through the room. Finally, Thoruhn couldn’t stand watching the monster anymore and he took a few of his elites, upon which he left the Stormkeep and scoured the realms, searching for a cure. For years, Thoruhn chased down every possible cure, every magical spell spell or ancient scroll. But despite the endless attempts, Thoruhn had no succes. Failed, depressed and hopeless, Thoruhn returned home at long last, only to find out that in his absence, Metalgrowth had been reduced to rubble and the Lightning Gheist that had once been Jardan gone. With no hope left, Thoruhn broke down and fell to his knees. Devasted at the loss of his home and his lover, Thoruhn felt like he had no purpose. So, he took an oath of penalty and went to live with The Broken.
At first, he did nothing more than wander the desolate halls of Soulquarry, like all the Broken used to do. But over time, he began to see potential within the ranks of stone. Mostly, they were a shambling mess, incoherent, dangerous but every now and then, a glimpse of their former selves shone through and Thoruhn saw what was buried beneath. For a long time, he had been one of the many that saw the Broken as nothing more than weaklings and cowards, but a certain event finally made him realise that they were his kin. His brothers and sisters, his fellow stormcast, discarded by their own kind for being unable to bear the immense burden placed upon them. He finally realised he had been wrong all along. They were no animals, no traitors, they were lost souls, who needed help, not solitude. And so he started to speak too them, treating them as equals, not as broken tools. And ever so slowly, the Broken started to talk back. Not many coherent things, no deep conversations, but small things. A simple thanks, a hi, a yes sir. And that was all Thoruhn needed. He had come to realise that this is what he had needed, this had been his destiny. Over time, Thoruhn managed to get the Broken in line, start doing simple things. Stand guard, march to a spot, defend against an attack. Over time, Thoruhn had done the impossible, he had given the Broken a spark of hope, a touch of kindness and in return they have given everything their broken minds can gather. They follow his every word and he is the only voice that can calm any raging Broken. His sheer presence can cause nearby Broken to gather themselves and stand straight. They’d die for him, over and over again, sacrificing what little remains of themselves if it meant Thoruhn can remain whole a little longer. In return, Thoruhn would fight the gods themselves to protect the Broken. To him, they are his kin, his true allies, his real friends.
At the battle of Brysdol, Thoruhn had his first chance to show his fellow stormcast how wrong they’d been for discarding their fellow warriors of Sigmar. Right at the center of the small town of Brysdol, a massive gate right into the realm of chaos had erupted, from which endless tides of the servants of nurgle had started to pour. In no time, the whole town and the surrounding area had become a vile land of disease and rot. Whilst his fellow Stormcast failed to wither the incoming storm, Thoruhn came riding atop his bronzen Dracoth, followed by the raging legions of the Broken. The soldiers of stone followed their leader into the heart of infected wasteland, their stone bodies eroding away because of the sheer amount of vile chaos magic. But their shattered minds cared not, they needed no coherent thought, they needed no orders. They had but one thing on their mind, destroy this chaos, and so they did. Where their so-called ‘superior’ brothers had failed, the almost animalistic Broken had prevailed, smashing through the ranks of the Nurgle daemons with an unbridled rage. Thoruhn led the charge himself, right to the realmgate, his flesh boiling from the various magical diseases he had contracted. But with his newfound kin at his side, he shut the gate to the realm of Chaos, before succumbing to his wounds, his soul shooting back to Azyr. Once the Lord-Celestant was reforged once more, he ignored the stormcast who tried to thank him, question him, recruit him. Instead, he rode right back out to the now desolate village of Brysdol and collected what remained of the Broken and led them back to their home. As the tales of his heroic act began to spread, there were stormcast who now wished to voluntarily join Thoruhn, and so the Shepherds were formed. Stormcast who choose to help their kin in need, leading their discarded brothers and sisters into battle against chaos. These days, it’s said Thoruhn is actively searching for a way to repair the damage caused by reforging, or at least find a way to minimise the cost of their immortality. Not for his own sake, but for that of the Broken, so they can be repaired again, be made whole again. So they can be the heroes they once were again.