Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

Lord-Castellant Eldroc led the detachment of Celestial Vindicators that were tasked with disposing of the corpses left in the Manticore Dreadhold’s main courtyard. In places the piles were knee-deep. It had been an inglorious slaughter at the end, when the ranks of blood-starved warriors had finally begun to break and flee. No Celestial Vindicator had given the foe a moment of mercy. They were tainted. They were traitors. There was no question of quarter. The men had killed with a song and a smile upon their lips.

Perhaps the Hallowed Knights would shake their heads at such joyous slaughter. Perhaps the Hammers of Sigmar would see it as beneath them. So be it. Let their brother Stormhosts be the proud and noble warriors. The Celestial Vindicators would fight as they had always done — with the fire of vengeance burning in their hearts.

Lord-Celestant Thostos approached.

‘A fine tally,’ said Eldroc. ‘Many have been avenged this day.’

‘This is but a taste of what awaits us,’ Thostos replied. ‘But yes, it will do for the moment.’

The Lord-Castellant studied his friend. It was hard to describe the exact difference in the Bladestorm’s mien, but something had certainly changed. He remained reserved and distant, but where previously being around the man had made one feel awkward and uncomfortable, as if he radiated a cloying sense of unease, now there was simply a quiet intensity.

‘What happened on that tower, Thostos?’ asked Eldroc.

His friend did not answer for a long while.

‘Truly, I do not remember,’ he said at last. ‘Sigmar reached out to me, that much is clear. I was broken, defeated. He restored me. The rest is but a fragment of a dream. Images, emotions.’

He shook his head. There was an element of frustration in that movement, but also, it seemed to Eldroc, an acceptance.

‘I have never heard of such a thing, of the storm of Azyrheim reaching out to restore a warrior in the midst of battle,’ said the Lord-Castellant.

‘Nor I,’ said Thostos. ‘Yet you saw how the retrieval of Ghal Maraz ignited the fire within the God-King. Do any of us truly know the limits of his power, especially now that he is reunited with that marvellous weapon? Whatever the storm revealed to me was lost in moments,’ Thostos continued, ‘but the echo of it remains. I do not remember the life I have lost, but I recall the vows that I made. That we all made. If this is now what I am, the fury of those oaths wrought in sigmarite and unleashed to destroy the taint of Chaos wherever it may be found, then I embrace it.’

Eldroc opened his mouth to say something, but Thostos raised a hand to cut him off.

‘We will speak of this again, but not now,’ he said. ‘Lord-Relictor Tharros requires our presence at the realmgate. We still have a mission to complete.’

The Manticore Realmgate no longer spewed out tendrils of eldritch fire, but it still resonated with ill intent. The monstrous carving that topped the archway of rune-carved black stone glared down at the Stormcasts, its leonine head promising obliteration to anyone who dared trespass upon its territory. Lord-Celestant Mykos Argellon made the mistake of staring too long at the symbols carved into the unyielding stone of the structure, and immediately regretted doing so. His head ached, and sour bile filled his mouth.

‘We must pass through this gate,’ said Thostos. He could see that no one present relished the prospect. ‘You all know the part we have to play in Sigmar’s grand plan. Our task was to secure this path to the mustering point, where we shall join a host the like of which the realms have never seen. The God-King aims to bring the war to the Everchosen’s doorstep, but unless every piece is on the board at the allotted time, that cannot happen.’

‘The Allpoints must fall,’ said Eldroc, softly.

The Allpoints. The nexus through which was linked every single Realmgate. An island adrift, set apart from the Mortal Realms yet intrinsically linked to them through its web of eldritch passageways. As long as the forces of Chaos controlled the mighty fortresses that guarded these portals, the enemy’s great armies of daemons and dark warriors could be sent forth anywhere in the realms to burn and despoil.

‘It must,’ agreed Thostos. ‘But first we must shatter the formidable defences that guard it. That is our task, and the Manticore Realmgate will lead us to the Crystal Forest of Chamon, and to the next stage of the war.’

‘These gates — the magic that binds them is strong but easily warped,’ said Lord-Relictor Tharros Soulwarden, leaning on the ornate staff that was his mark of office. ‘The fell powers can easily twist them to their purpose, redirecting and refocusing the latent energy to their own dark ends.’

‘We had actually noticed that,’ said Evios Goldfeather. The Prosecutor-Prime was perched on a rock cluster slightly above the ancient structure, staring grimly down.

‘Don’t interrupt,’ snapped Tharros. ‘My point is that we cannot trust that this portal will not drop us in a lake of fire, or a pit of blood demons. Throne of Azyrheim, we could even end up in the court of the Blood God.’

The realmgate stood at the rear of the fortress courtyard, on a raised platform built against the great mountain wall. Around it was a cluster of jagged rocks, and to each side of the stone-carved dais were tunnels that led deeper into the mountains. To hold this position, one needed to control both the fortress and the gate. At any moment, they all knew, fresh reinforcements could come pouring through this portal to smash into their exposed flank.

‘How long will it take for you to purge the taint, Lord-Relictor?’ asked Thostos.

‘How long will it take me to restore this realmgate to its original state? How long will it take a man to unravel the dark enchantments and twisted blood rituals that have fed this thing for centuries upon centuries?’

Tharros tapped his fingers rhythmically on the metal of his staff.

‘Somewhere between half a day and a hundred years,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll have no idea until I begin, and once I commit to this…’

Thostos nodded. ‘Begin, Lord-Relictor. If we do not pass through this gate, our mission is forfeit regardless. Eldroc, how goes the refortification?’

‘Our assault kept the fortress largely intact, aside from the main gate,’ said the Lord-Castellant. ‘I have ordered the breach secured with caltrops and spiked wolf holes using iron taken from the ramparts. We do not have time to repair the gate entirely, but if we are attacked, forcing an entrance will cost the enemy dearly.’

‘Good,’ said Thostos. ‘I will not trust to luck that our engagement with the Chaos scum went unnoticed. The orruks are too close, and there is every chance they heard the sounds of battle, or saw the sky darken with sorcery. You do not need me to tell you your business, Lord-Castellant. Make this place as secure as possible.’

Eldroc struck a fist to his chest in salute, and turned to make his way back to the wall, Redbeak loping along at his heel.

Tharros rested his chin in the crook of his hand. Wisps of celestial light coalesced around the haft of his relic-staff, and he reached one gauntlet out towards the burning portal.

‘This is a stubborn, defiant old thing,’ he spat, through gritted teeth.

‘If that’s the case, I feel it may have met its match at last,’ said Goldfeather. He had removed his helm, and a slight smile was visible on his angular features.

‘Pray find something to keep yourself occupied, Prosecutor-Prime,’ said the Lord-Relictor. ‘I require concentration, and must be free from the jabbering of pompous buzzards.’

Xos’Phet howled and wailed and spat as he was carried deeper into the gloom of the caverns, the volume of his screeching growing louder every time the gorepriests that carried him stumbled over another rock formation or a cluster of the great conical fungi that grew throughout the tunnels.