The regal blue gown ensnared Alaric's legs and he pitched forward over the cold marble floor. He scrabbled forward, breaking a fingernail as he threw himself under an ornate wooden table.
He lay; the sound of his breath as loud as hurricane winds to his fear-crazed mind. If he didn't shut up it would find him.
He had been so stupid.
Tell had come to his village two years ago, tell that a god walked the wide plains. He had come to protect them from the false god and his servants.
As a trader peddling a variety of knickknacks and doodahs, Alaric soon had the chance to travel to Durkheim, the largest town on the continent of Emmain (although Alaric didn't know that) and see the world's glorious new deity for himself.
And Glorious he was; four or five heads taller then Alaric, clad in armour the likes of which could only have been forged in the stars by angels, the royal blue with gold trim practically glowing.
He nearly passed out when, across the square, the giant's eyes locked with his and he strode, parting the adoring crowd with a staff the size of a small tree to tower above him. And his new god spoke, a deep bass rumble that seemed to come from every direction, as well as echo inside Alaric's head.
"You are touched by the warp, merchant."
Soon, when Kastor appeared in public to perform his miracles, Alaric Thoth stood beside him. His latent psychic abilities awakened with careful coaching from this disciple of the true gods. For yes, as Kastor had informed him, despite his immense power, Kastor was merely the herald of a force immeasurably more potent. A force he called Tzeentch.
Together, Kastor and Alaric were to build an army, yes! An army! To bring to bear against the forces of the False Emperor who ruled in the sky. They had travelled the land, bringing the good news to all who would listen, and even to those who would not. They had met a man, a man clad in robes bearing the two-headed eagle – the symbol of the false emperor – preaching to a small group far in the southern deserts. What Kastor had done to the man, Alaric didn't fully understand, but his staff had glowed in a strange way that hurt the eyes to witness, and the preacher was left a dessicated husk, like an ancient dry corpse.
His misguided followers soon came to the light.
Kastor instructed him in the ways of the gods, rituals, prayers and the power that came with them: the power to bend men's minds, to shape the world as he wished. Though he couldn't hold a candle to Kastor's incredible strength, Alaric became a demigod in his own right.
Power, riches, women. All were his to do with as he pleased.
Until the day it all came crashing down.
For many months Alaric ruled the western continent of Gydion in the name of Kastor, sometimes seeing his lord and master but once every few weeks. That day, as he took tea with one of the more beautiful ladies he had the pleasure of entertaining in his castle, his head rang like a bell, Kastor's presence forcing its way into his brain, beckoning him back to the capital.
A portal dutifully presented itself to the great pyramid in which Kastor resided in the centre of Durkheim. In no time at all, Alaric was presented with a terrifying site: A fearful Kastor.
He was raving about some kind of ship, though they were ten day's ride from the sea. In a scrying pool Kastor had created an image of inky blackness punctuated by stars presented itself. Alaric understood it to be the sky at night. Something moved slowly in the void, though it was far away and he could make out no more than that.
The building shook as though an earthquake had struck and the colour drained from Kastor's face.
"They have found me…" The giant whispered.
He stood stock still for a moment as the rumbling faded, then exploded into action. "Alaric! You remember the spell to open a portal I taught you? Good! Remember the sacrifice it needed?"
Alaric indeed remembered, sometimes, to gain the favour of the gods, sacrifice was required, especially when attempting to channel particularly powerful magic. Several heads of cattle were needed, for example, to open a lasting portal between his castle and Kastor's, for instance.
He nodded. "Should I have someone fetch cattle my lo…"
Kastor cut across him, "I'll be going a little further this time, I'm afraid…" He rang a bell and several attendants scurried into the room. "Fetch me the kitchen staff! And anyone else you can find! Send them all here immediately!" The attendants hurried out.
Screams echoed from somewhere within the building and Kastor frowned. "We haven't much time…" He grasped Alaric's arm, nearly breaking the bones as he carved a shallow cut into his wrist with a blade that seemingly appeared from nowhere.
He covered his hands in the blood and dropped to one knee, scrawling a circle several feet in diameter, then scribbling spiky, strange-looking characters in a pattern that made sense only to him.
Confused-looking servants began to filter into the room; their inquiries about what they could do to please their lord were met with a withering glare that shut them up swiftly.
As the blue and gold giant straightened up, a curious feeling of nausea swept over Alaric, he felt drained, as though he'd run a mile flat out and been awake for days. It was worse for Kastor. The sorcerer fell to one knee again, cursing and doubled over.
Through the open doorway to the chamber, Alaric saw death. Clad in black, a silver mask and one massive, glowing red eye.
Kastor was practically spent, he had made it to his feet, drawing a boxy device from his hip, but he leant heavily on his staff.
Alaric ran as Kastor pointed the device drunkenly at the door and the sound of thunder filled the room.
He curled himself into a smaller ball under the huge dining table. Maybe the devil he had seen would look no further than Kastor, After all, he was the leader! They wouldn't bother with someone as lowly as him, would they?
The feeling of weakness and nausea resurged as the door to the hall crashed open. Alaric could contain himself no longer and he wretched, tears leaking from his eyes.
The table was battered aside and the sight that met his eyes caused a wet stain to appear on his robe. The figure stood, its breath heaving, taloned hands flexing and unfurling as though eager to rip him to shreds. Alaric only caught a glimpse of its face before the gigantic red eye sent waves of pain through his skull.
His vision swam as he tried to draw on the powers that Kastor had given him, but it was like he was blind, fumbling in the dark. The power that had floated in the back of his mind was no longer there.
Another figure strode into the room behind the avatar of death, he caught a glimpse of a golden icon on a long chain in the shape of a stylised 'I'.
As he collapsed back onto the floor and waited for the end, he heard a voice.
"Purge the mutant."