Lord-Celestant Rassus Ravenmane surveyed his small force, handpicked for an excursion to Ghur, The Realm of Beasts. With the great disruptions which had arisen with the awakening of the God of Earthquakes, more Stormcast than ever were needed to survey and subdue the savage, ever-shifting wastes. Rassus relished this opportunity, as did the Vindictors gathering below.
The amberstone supposedly held by the stampede unleashed from a Stormvault in The Hungering Steppe promised the cure to the Lord-Celestant’s wounded heart and, despite the protests of his Lord-Imperatant, Rassus was willing to risk all he could for that chance. As his gryph-hounds circled the mortal laborers making their final preparations for the journey from Chamon, Rassus couldn’t help but cast his mind back to the haunting memory…
Rassus had raced atop the ridge, ready to charge down into Wolfsvale the instant he’d seen the smoke, but had stopped as he beheld the devastation. The Freeguild had already been butchered, their plate punched through with a streak of powerful, magical energy. The only assailant Rassus could see stood along the main thoroughfare into the town. The figure gripped one of the townsfolk tightly by the chin, clearly possessed of unnatural strength. The air had wavered around the attacker’s other hand, streaks of lightning gathering before lancing through the captive citizen’s flapping lips. It wasn’t long before the man’s flesh began to melt in the wizard’s grip.
Rassus had tightened his grip around his hammer and snarled. The wizard turned to him, whether or not because they had actually heard the Stormcast or not, he wasn’t sure. He’d all but gasped beholding the strange enemy. Despite the flecks of ash smeared across the wizard’s face, her stark white hair was apparent, as was the youthful face she gazed out of. Her eyes, however, were glazed over, not unlike the undead minions of a vampire, but Rassus could tell this was far more sinister. Dark, jagged viens like lightning arced around the edges of her face and backs of her trembling hands.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” an intrusive voice had whispered in Rassus’s ear. Dread filled his heart. Last he had heard this voice, he’d lost his most beloved ally—his sister. “You like my little marionette, don’t you, stormling? And do you know what I call her?”
Rassus furiously swatted at the air with his hammer, trying to chase away the truth ready to batter him with the force of a Maw-krusha’s fist.
“I call her Raelione, stormling. I do hope you enjoy her works. She’s so many more to create.”
The grinding sound of the plates of his gauntlets against each other returned Rassus to the present, and the warband ready to begin their journey. The Lord-Celestant howled, signaling the Vindictors to begin their march. He spared no glances for the Stormkeep he left behind. Rassus knew he would return there; it was only a matter of the company he’d return in that plagued him.
* * *
The short span of time Lord-Aquilor Lucina Chromsdottir spent in The Realm of Beasts had already taught her to be wary of its unfamiliar landscapes. Unlike in her usual posting in Shyish, the forests ringing her destination of The Hungering Steppe were choked with dense and dangerous foliage. The few retinues of Vanguard-Hunters and Vanguard-Raptors she had accompanying her traveled more closely alongside her, their swift strides able to keep pace with their Lord-Aquilor’s gryph-charger. The tighter formation, combined with the number of attempts the forest itself had already made on them, aggravated the Lord-Aquilor’s anxiety.
Despite her fretting, she knew she had to persevere and reach The Hungering Steppe. Rumors from Ghurish refugees spoke of the warlords of this region weathering the storms of Chaos and bearing weapons of bygone eras capable of slaying even the mightiest of the Dark Gods’ abominations. Even if there was only a slim chance that the fabled blade—The Hero-King’s Falchion—Lucina sought was in this place, she had to pursue it. Lines of investigation in her assigned region of Shyish had all hit dead ends, never mind the opening of the Era of the Beast creating more of a need for Sigmar’s chosen in Ghur than ever.
That’s right. That is my goal. I must defend the mortals of The Realms as if they were my own subjects. Time in the wildernesses of Shyish and now Ghur spent pursuing the Falchion always weathered Lucina’s sense of purpose. All she wanted, far from civilization, was the sword to be found, but her reason for that want would fray like a taut string. At least until she allowed herself to sleep.
Fires raged as cultists of the Fell Dragon rampaged through the streets. A familiar sight in these dark days. The crown had fallen onto her young head, leaving her with the task of leading what little forces remained in the kingdom against a godbeast. What else was there left to her but this ultimate duty?
Something heavy stirred in the woods. Bipedal creatures, and many of them, by the sound of it. Silently, the Lord-Aquilor gestured for her forces to ready for an attack as her gryph-charger lowered itself into the underbrush. The Stormcast crept forward, their bolstorm pistols searching for the source of the disturbance.
“Lord Chromsdottir,” her Hunter-Prime whispered. “There.” White shapes passed behind a row of trees, seeming to proceed in an even column. “What do you make of them, my lord?”
“Shades, perhaps, or another trick of the woods.” Lucina gripped the reins of her steed tightly, tense for another fight with the hostile environment itself. “Prime Oliviason, move to the rear of the column and ready yourselves to attack at my command. I will approach the front to assess the threat.”
“Yes, Lord-Aquilor.” The Hunter-Prime swept into the dark of the trees, leaving Lucina to swiftly bound ahead of the wandering white itinerants.
The sounds of metal grew louder as she neared the column. As her gryph-charger raced to reach the head, she caught sight of the myriad lightning-shaped charms hanging from snow-colored armor. Fellow Stormcast? She pulled back on the reins, urging her steed to slow. As it began to trot near the front of the convoy, there could be no doubt. She recognized the thick sigmarite plate and warcloak of a Lord-Celestant and called to him from the woods. “Hail!” Her gryph-charger crept out of the foliage before the Lord-Celestant, revealing the Lord-Aquilor in her midnight blue armor, broken only by white gauntlets and poleyns. Her storm-gray eyes stared out from an impassive mask, gilded and crowned with the image of a celestial wolf and dark red plume. “State your name and business.”
The Lord-Celestant quickly reached for his hammer, but relaxed as he recognized the other Stormcast as an ally. “Hail, friend. I mean you no harm.” He removed his helm, revealing bright amethyst-colored eyes and raven black hair, including a beard. “It’s good to see another child of Sigmar. I’m Rassus Ravenmane, of the Wolves of Sigmar.” The Lord-Celestant extended a hand to her.
Lucina reached down to accept his handshake firmly. “Lucina Chromsdottir, of the Children of The End Times Vanguard-Auxiliary Chamber. What brings you to this forest?” Her tone barely changed to reflect their friendliness, remaining ever so slightly stern.
Rassus returned a warm smile. “We’ve been traveling for a while, just passing through. Our destination is quite the distance, I think. I don’t know much of The Realm of Beasts, but I could ask the same of you, Lord Chromsdottir.” Lucina noted his vagueness.
“Similarly in transit.” she answered, equally vague. “Seeking an artifact in a nearby region of Ghur.”
Rassus tilted his head with interest. “An artifact? Sounds interesting. Perhaps you could tell me more? Seeing as we are on the same ‘road’ now, we could travel until our paths diverge?” He gestured ahead, to the lack of a true road, and chuckled to himself.
Lucina remained stoic behind her impassive mask. “Perhaps, but only if you reveal your destination.”
Rassus swiped a strand of hair away in slight exasperation. “The Hungering Steppe. I’m headed there in search of the realmstone reported in that area.”
“Hm. This is quite the coincidence. My forces are also moving to this area.” The thought occurred to Lucina for them to stick together, if only so she could perhaps investigate why such a small warband from within a Warrior Chamber had ventured this deeply into Ghur. “What need have you for amberstone?”
Rassus broke eye contact with the Lord-Aquilor. “It’s a personal matter.” he muttered, before turning back to her. “But, I suppose, if there’s to be trust between us in our travels… I’m traveling because I believe the amberstone can help my sister.”
Lucina recognized the look in his eyes—loss. She’d seen it throughout her eternal life, in the mortals she served and even in her compatriots within her Chamber. It surprised her to see the same look outside of the confines of Shyish, but Lucina supposed it was but a constant across the Realms. Her voice softened briefly. “What’s become of her?”
“I don’t know for sure. She was a Knight-Arcanum of my Chamber, but the last I heard of her, she was in the company of a Tzeentchian sorcerer.”
“How is that possible?” Lucina demanded.
“How should I know?” Rassus bellowed.
The forest went silent for a couple tense moments. Lucina made a note of the Lord-Celestant’s temper, but also of his plight. His family was in danger; it was The Children of The End Times’ goal to repair that without hesitation. For the time being, however, she saw fit to order her warband from hiding to join the convoy of Vindictors and their gryph-hounds, as well as the mortal caravan they were sheltering. The Lord-Aquilor tugged at her gryph-charger to turn and look forward. Lucina looked back to Rassus. “Shall we move on, now?”
Rassus swallowed, replacing the helm on his head. “I suppose we should.”
