A single candle illuminated the silent chamber; its warm orange glow cast a dim light upon the smooth walls of polished white stone and the one figure who resided within it. Seated in a cross legged position and dressed in robes of purest white which matched her pale skin and cloud white hair, Sylanielle softly breathed the cool, dry air and her eyes remained closed in deep meditation. With senses heightened by her trance, she could hear the muffled steps of those others within the other chambers, she could smell the burning of the wick and melting of wax and most of all, she could feel the flow of the Winds.
Like many of her people, Sylanielle could sense the presence of the Winds and was also capable of discerning their differences. The fiery Wind of Aqshy for example felt as hot as a smith's forge while the entropic Wind of Shyish was as cold as the grave. From Ghyran, she felt warmth, like the sun without its harshness, from Azyr she felt a charge in the air like that which presaged a lightning storm and from Ulgu she felt that strange sense of disorientation as its shadowy essence sought to play tricks upon her mind.
Drawn upon and wielded by the Mages of the White Tower of Hoeth, she could feel the Winds being harnessed and shaped into its purest of forms, Qhaysh, the High Wind. A warm glow resonated from an object which lay across the lap of Sylanielle, reacting to the flow of the different Winds which saturated the Lord of Wisdom's shrine. The familiar weight and the presence of the greatsword was comforting one for like all members of her order, the sword was not just a tool of death but an extension of her own self.
Quiet words escaped her lips, both a mantra and a vow long ago memorized, the vow of a Swordmaster.
'From the darkness I cry for you
The tears you shed for us
Are the blood of elven kind.
O Isha,
Here I stand
On the last shore,
A sword in my hand
Ulthuan shall never fall.'
Her eyes then opened to reveal twin orbs of sky blue which reflected the light of the single candle. Lifting a delicate, bare hand to the burning light, she placed her fingers around it; the heat was a distant thing in her mind for she had entered that perfect state of mind. There were many names which many philosophers and scholars called it, War Mask, Battle Focus, some said that it was the Spirit of Khaine which filled the warrior's heart, others say that it is to merely embrace that which lies within the heart of every Asur.
Soft footsteps came from across her, the eyes of the high elf looked up to see who intruded upon her meditation but already she knew for she could feel his presence. Dressed in robes much like her own, the other elf bore many a feature which Sylanielle was familiar with, pale of skin, hair also as white as the clouds on a clear day and eyes of sky blue, it was almost like looking in a mirror for the truth of the matter was one that went deep within the very blood and soul of the Swordmaster.
'And what have you seen?' asked the lady swordmaster, her voice filled with gravitas and respect, in accord to their stations within the halls of the White Tower.
'I have seen a great darkness, falling upon the east' replied the other elf who was counted among the ranks of the White Tower's Archmages. 'Of decay spreading within the lands of Men, bringing ruin to the lives of those it touched and if left unchecked, would bear further discord upon the world'.
'Can it be stopped?' asked the Swordmaster who knew well of the other's gift of sight. His competency and skill was unquestioning for the Swordmaster, especially when considering his history, mentorship and lineage.
'Find the Sun-Bearer' cryptically replied the Archmage. 'Seek out the scion of the land of the sun and together will you banish the darkness….'
Talabecland, The Empire, IC 2514
'Not much further now' quietly spoke Lebrecht Sonnen towards his black Destrier, Audo who whinnied in empathy. 'I will make sure to buy the finest oats for you once we get to Talabheim' he then said with slight humor as they he rode down the road. With night already having fallen over the Old World, he was eager to find a village or an inn where they could seek shelter until dawn.
Both the man and horse were fully equipped in black lacquered dwarf-forged plates adorned with sharp rays of golden sunlight. Bright feathers and a burnished disc depicting the sun decorated the top of his close helmet, the visors of which was currently lowered for although it reduced his vision, it was one of those better to be safe than sorry sort of things, especially if forest goblins armed with bows and throwing spears were sneaking about in the trees. His gauntleted right hand remained close to a holstered flintlock pistol for the Great Forest was home to many a dangerous monster.
A sheathed Flammenschwert rested upon his back , over his crimson, white fur trimmed cloak, its sorcerous enchantment, a gift from a lady Bright Wizard he had met in Reikland, gave off a mystical heat which partially chased off the chill of the night. Carried on the side of his horse's saddle was his burnished heater shield which proudly bore the eagle symbol of his patron goddess. By the left hip of the knight, he carried another weapon, a Tilean Schiavona which was well suited for his role as a heavy cavalryman.
To anyone who would have seen him, Lebrecht looked every part a Templar to the Order of the Blazing Sun. Devoted to the Bellona Myrmidia, the goddess of knowledge and battle, he followed the practices of his Order, to travel the land and seek out those who needed protection. Having recently crossed the borders to Ostland where the northman raiding season had just ended, the Knight was on his way to the provincial capital of Talabecland to attend to some business for the Church of the Myrmidia.
The only source of light which the knight had at the moment was a glowing lantern which hung from a small hook attached to his steed's crinet. A cold wind blew through the Great Forest, the eaves rustled as night birds and insects continued their wild song and Lebrecht felt a chill run across his spine. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, his gaze swept from side to side, seeking for any dangers that may lie in wait for the unwary.
Audo nervously whinnied; the Destrier had probably sensed something beyond that which the man could know. It was also like that with dogs, cats and other animals, some sixth sense that allowed them to tell when danger was afoot. Having long ago learned to trust such instincts from a trained war animal, the knight kicked his horse into a trot and its iron-shod hooves thundered across the dirt road.
Continuing to watch out for any possible dangers, the Knight raced through the forest, the clatter of armored plates and the hooves of his steed hardly made him subtle. Eventually he was relieved to see the the distant lights of a lone building, a fortified coaching inn which was quite common to see on the roads across the Empire.
'Thank Myrmidia' gratefully whispered Lebrecht as his steed eagerly galloped towards the inn.
Blight and sickness was spreading across the forest of Loren Lacoi, corrupting all those it touched, mind, body and soul, just as the Archmage had foreseen. For many millennia, the corruption that been born from a fallen star had long lain dormant, kept in check by the ancient Waystones constructed by the elven colonists who had once ruled these lands. But that was the time of the old empire, a time long past, before the war with the rock eating dwarfs of the mountains, before the desolation brought about by the Sundering, the hopes of ever rebuilding was now nothing more than an impossible dream for the Asur.
The Asrai who had remained behind in Elthin Arvan, The Old World, were poor stewards of this land and the race of Men, even less so when it came to protecting the Waystones. Thus it remained the duty of the High Elves to maintain the balance, to ensure that world did not fall to Chaos. Now travelling alone through the forested lands of the human Empire, Sylanielle kept her senses alert for any threats from the woods.
Beastmen, greenskins, mutants and human bandits were among those which prowled this arboreal realm. Those who had thought her easy prey had learned the hard way just how dangerous a true master of the sword could be. It was of course unwise to unnecessarily court dangers in these lands and even for one who attained the rank of Bladelord, such as herself or one who was not very well versed in the way of the wilds, it would be far better to seek shelter from the cold night.
Disdainful of the idea of travelling covertly and trying to blend in with whatever crowds of humans she may pass; she did not bother to conceal her appearance and instead was proud to show her full regalia. Dressed in the white and blue colors of her home realm of Saphery, Sylanielle wore a silvery breastplate of Ithilmar with pauldrons to protect her shoulders, scale mail for the limbs and lower body, gauntlets for the hands a conical helmet adorned a crest of azure silk strands and a tall shield crafted in the distinct elvish style carried upon her back. Brilliant gems the size of large birds eggs adorned her wargear, some of which was the source of an enchantment that imbued her already considerable skills and abilities.
With eyes already adjusted to the darkness of the night, the Swordmaster clearly saw the paths ahead. Sensing no nearby dangers, she carried onwards at a brisk pace, her hands ready to reach for the hilts of either her greatsword or a single longsword which would be used in defensive fighting. After a short time, she saw an ugly and crude human building in the distance, candle and torchlight made it clear that it was still inhabited.
Supposing that it was better than camping out in the wilds, the Swordmaster decided that it would be better to bear whatever conditions awaited her within the building.
'How much for a room?' asked Lebrecht Sonnen towards the innkeeper of the Wild Stag, his helmet was now held in the crook of his left arm and revealing his grizzled features. Blonde of hair and blue of eye (the right of which sported a trio of claw scars that went from forehead to lip), his once fine, patrician features were marred by years of hard campaigning in service of the Empire. He also sported a short, well groomed beard that covered his entire chin along with a few other scars he had earned in battle.
'Five pfennigs for one of the common rooms, two shillings for the noble quarters milord' bowed the innkeeper, a rather corpulent, bald man with double chins, a cataract-filled left eye and dressed in clothing which seemed a bit too thick for the weather. The knight did his best to hide his discomfort for the innkeeper also reeked strongly of some cheap perfumes. Nodding to the innkeeper, he reached for his coin purse and produced four silver coins while also looking towards the open doorway leading into the kitchen behind the man.
'The noble quarters please, as well as attending to my steed, I will also have a bowl of whatever you have cooking there and a pint, serve the food first' said the knight and the innkeeper eagerly took the payment, his hands were covered as well in thick cloth gloves.
'Right away milord' grinned the innkeeper whose teeth were mostly black and rotted.
The knight took a seat on a bar-stool and he patiently awaited his order. Looking about the interior of the inn, he noticed the stares of some of the other patrons, lean and hungry peasant folk dressed in furs or rags, all also unusually thick for the current season. Many of the patrons had yellow, rheumy eyes and some of them gave off a foul, sewer-like stench.
His palms began to itch and he felt a sense of unease from the way which they looked at him. Slowly reaching for his flintlock again, he then heard the heavy steps of the innkeeper who returned with a wooden bowl which steamed from whatever was inside before setting it on the counter before him.
'Here you are milord' said the innkeeper with another grin before reaching for some emptied mugs.
'My thanks' nodded Lebrecht who looked to what was being served. An unappetizing stew of meat, oats and cabbage are what greeted his eyes, the first of which he could not recognize and in his experience of travelling the Old World, it was probably best that he remained ignorant. He then looked to the innkeeper who filled a wooden drinking mug and he noticed that the man had been staring at him and as soon as the knight's attention fell upon him, the innkeeper immediately looked away.
'Yer drink, my lordship' the innkeeper then said, serving the mug towards the knight.
Suspicion grew within the Knight of the Blazing Sun, his palms further itched and a terrible gut feeling filled his belly. Nodding to the innkeeper and giving a word of thanks, he took both the mug and the bowl before heading towards the hearth. His boots thudded heavily across the wooden floorboards which was scattered with straw and again, he saw the stares of the patrons.
Finally taking a seat upon a chair close to the hearth, he set both the bowl and mug upon a small circular wooden table. Basking in the warmth of the fireplace, he raised his hands forwards, enjoying the heat, especially after such a long journey from the north. A pounding then came at the door to the inn, the eyes of the patrons were immediately turned towards it.
'Who is it!?' called the innkeeper, there was a sudden nervous tinge in his voice.
'A traveler' replied the strangely accented, lilting voice of a woman who could be heard even from behind the doorway. 'I have coin to pay for lodging!'
The patrons nervously glanced to one another and then to the innkeeper who looked unsure and the fat man quickly began heading towards the door. When the innkeeper opened the door, there was a collective gasp from the patrons, the knight could not see from his position who this newcomer was. The innkeeper took a step back, he said something which Lebrecht could not make out before he saw a sudden flash of metal.
Blood began to spurt out from the innkeeper's throat; the knight's eyes went wide as the innkeeper futilely attempted to stem the fatal wound before falling back upon the floor. A stunned silence filled the inn, they heard soft steps upon the wooden floorboard, the jingling of mail armor and it was then, they saw the stranger. Like some ghost of legend, he beheld a tall, slender warrior in shining silvery armor worn over garments of white and blue, an elegant long blade was held in one hand as blood spattered across the stranger's breastplate.
'Scheiße!' hissed the Knight who immediately drew his pistol and as it cleared from the holster, he heard a loud, inhuman screech from one of the patrons.
'Bastard!' roared one of the peasants who knocked over a table and began bounding towards the armored stranger on all fours like some wild animal. Knives, cudgels, hatchets and other weapons were drawn and they ran towards both the newcomer and Lebrecht as well.
Quickly switching his aim towards the peasants, he pressed the trigger of his gun and it fired a lead ball into the chest of a man at the front who immediately collapsed on the floor. Drawing his Schiavona, he reversed his hold upon his gun and he readied himself in a defensive stance. A peasant lunged at him with a rusty knife, its point did not even get close before Leonhardt's thrust his sword which pierced his attacker's throat.
Kicking the fatally wounded peasant forward and off of his Schiavona, he swung the butt of his pistol to the side and it connected with the forehead of a woman with sharp, shark-like teeth and she dropped like a sack. Ghouls he realized! Or mutants! Not giving it much further thought to it, he slashed at another of his attackers with his sword and he felt the blade of a hatchet scrape against his left pauldron.
'Myrmidia!' roared the Knight of the Blazing Sun, his sword bit deeply into the flesh and his pistol broke bones. At the edge of his vision, he saw the flashes of silver which was immediately followed by spurts of blood and the fall of bodies. Maintaining his focus on his attackers, they proved to be as unruly and uncoordinated as a pack of beastmen and as soon as the fighting began, it ended.
When silence descended upon the inn, Lebrecht stood his ground, five bodies lay at his feet and more around the stranger who then looked towards him. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the almond shaped eyes, the angular features and the pale skin of the stranger. An elf! He thought, one of the fey folk of the isle of Ulthuan.
'You are not tainted' came the distinctly feminine and accented voice of the elf who swung her blades to the sides with a loud swish, the blood which had coated it had completely leapt off from their silvery surfaces before sheathing it. Still holding on to one sword, she kept the blade pointed downwards and away from him.
'Who, who are you?' cautiously asked the Knight of the Blazing Sun, his gauntleted hands still tightly held on to his weapons.
'I am Sylanielle of Saphery' answered the elf in voice filled with both arrogance and disdain. 'And I have just saved your life, human….'
'Saved my life?' questioned the human rather stupidly and the Swordmaster took a very close look at his trappings and she knew what was needed to be said, to turn things in her favor.
'Indeed' stated Sylanielle who gently pointed her chin towards one of the corpses closest to the human. 'See the bodies for yourself'.
Patiently watching as the human cautiously knelt down to inspect a corpse, he carefully placed his sword beneath the collar of a fallen assailant's heavy clothing and he gently lifted the filthy rags. She heard him hiss a swift oath to one of the human gods before backing away from the body as if it were plagued with some disease. Considering the nature of the creatures, it would hardly be of a surprise.
'Mutant!' spat the human with disdain before looking towards her with a questioning look. 'How did you know?'
Sylanielle's lips curled in disdain upon hearing the silly question. Reminding herself that humans had senses far more inferior to that of the elves, she began to speak once more in the crude, guttural language which passed for speech among the race of Man.
'I can tell, human' curtly answered Sylanielle.
'Lebrecht ' the human then said. 'I am Sir Lebrecht Sonnen, of Sudenland and Knight of the Order of the Blazing Sun.'
'Is it the taint you seek as well?' questioned the high elf in a neutral voice.
'The taint?' replied the human, his tone was already an answer enough to the Swordmaster.
'Yes, a taint' nodded the Swordmaster 'and one which if left unchecked will bring further darkness to your Empire and the lands beyond'. The human's eyes widened in surprise as he heard her words, a reaction which she knew would do well to sway him.
'Do you think these mutants have anything to do with it?' asked the knight.
'Perhaps' shrugged Sylanielle who then heard a groan of pain from one of the fallen.
'We should question this one' announced Lebrecht and the high elf found herself agreeing with him. At least this one has a modicum of intellect she thought before walking towards the wounded mutant. Giving the twisted creature time to get regain its senses, it was greeted by the knight's sword pointed towards its face.
'Now what was this all about?' asked Lebrecht towards the creature and gesturing towards the inn around them. Although it outwardly still looked liked an ordinary human male, the Swordmaster could sense the corruption, the raw traces of Dhar within it. Its eyes widened in surprise, sweat beaded upon its wrinkled brow and began to nervously speak in a throaty, gurgling voice.
'I-I aint tellin you nuthin, nob!' it said. Having little patience for this nonsense, Sylanielle raised her right boot up and slammed it hard over the thing's right shoulder. To her surprise, she did not feel a crunch of bone but rather, there was a bizarre, sinewy consistency to it. Regardless, it caused the mutant great pain and a long pink tentacle shot out from underneath its right sleeve and wrapping around her left leg.
Gasping in surprise, the Swordmaster immediately reacted by bringing the tip of her sword down and the blade easily cut through fleshy mass and eliciting another cry of pain from the mutant. Foul green ichor mixed with the red of blood sprayed from the severed tentacle and with revulsion, she kicked the unclean appendage away as it writhed like a serpent. Wracking sobs came from the tainted thing but the lady Swordmaster felt no pity for it.
'If you talk now, I can promise you that there will be less… unpleasantness' the human said towards the mutant.
'Okay, I will talk!' begged the wretched thing while futilely attempting to stop the bleeding with its rather normal seeming fingers.
Fortunately for it, the Swordmaster was as knowledgeable in the art of healing as she was in death dealing and so she began her work, to ensure that it lived long enough to give them the information they needed. Using some dried herbs which would help staunch the bleeding but not actually help in the healing of the wound, Sylanielle had no intentions of letting the twisted thing walk out of here alive.
The mutant then began to speak, it told them of how its kind had "unjustly" been persecuted for their differences from the rest of Man, of days spent wandering the wilds of the forests, among beasts and monster. It then spoke of how they found an ancient menhir of white and gold, of obscene rituals performed under the baleful green light of Morrslieb or as the elves knew it, Yenlui Sariour. It then reverently spoke of the Horned Prophet who would lead them to vengeance against the "smooth-skins" of the Empire and how both the knight and the Swordmaster would die at the magic of this being.
Curious at the mention of this prophet, the Swordmaster had pressed it for questions and when the mutant became hesitant, it only took the sight of her blade to make it talk. The prophet it seemed was another thing of the wild (or so the mutant claimed), a mighty shaman, dedicated to the god of pestilence and disease. Once they had learned everything they needed, especially with direction on where the rest of the mutant's kin gathered, Sylanielle gave a silent nod towards the human knight who immediately understood her meaning.
'You have my thanks, mutant' coldly said the human knight who then brought up his hand-held black powder weapon and he mercilessly shot the thing in the face, splattering blood and brain upon the floorboards.
'It seems my quest will be finished faster than I had anticipated' commented Sylanielle as she sheathed her sword.
'Then let me aid you' announced Lebrecht . 'As a Knight of the Blazing Sun and of the Empire, it is my sworn duty to keep these lands safe, I cannot abide by any evil that may be afoot'.
'Together' quietly replied Sylanielle who raised her left hand forward, mimicking the rather intrusive way which humans greeted one another or formed pacts.
The knight gently grabbed her hand instead of giving it a shake as she was expecting, he brought his head down and kissed the armored gauntlets protecting her middle and ring fingers. Hiding her distaste for such crude forms of etiquette which passed among the lesser races, the Swordmaster bore with it and their alliance was made.
At dawn's first light Lebrecht Sonnen and the elven woman, Sylanielle departed from the inn. Glad to no longer have to pay for the sleeping quarters that turned out to be in absolutely atrocious conditions and considering the nature of its proprietor, the victuals were likely something best left untouched, the Knight of the Blazing Sun gave his most scathing review of any establishment by burning it to the ground with the use of broken ale kegs to serve as a fuel source for the flame. After mounting his steed (he had offered the elf a ride but she had declined), they departed towards the north, where the source of this corruption came.
While Lebrecht was not entirely convinced of the elf woman's motives, he did believe in the mutant's words for there had been many a time in the past that the Knight of the Blazing Sun, had taken part in campaigns against the beastmen. In the deep woods across the Old World, in the places where no sane being dare to tread, the beastmen erected great stone monoliths, infused with the blackest of sorceries. These Herdstones as scholars called them were places of great religious significance to the mutant hordes, it was where warbands tended to rally around and if this so called Horned Prophet could be found anywhere, then it would be there.
For hours they traveled through the woods, their journey slowed by the brush and briar, Lebrecht was eventually forced to dismount and manually guide his steed, his eyes, along with those of the elven woman were ever alert for dangers. It was by early afternoon that they finally began to find some progress for the healthy wild woods soon gave way to things most foul. Trees as black and dead as those found in cursed Sylvania surrounded them, the birds, insects and other wildlife which they saw were as twisted and corrupted as the mutants from the previous night.
The once green canopy of leaves had given way to countless dead branches which rose up towards the sky like clawed hands. Their pace slowed even further as thick roots grew rampant among the forest floor and several loathsome patches of fungi grew upon the barks of the trees. Lebrecht's eyes darted from side to side, his pulse raced and even his brave Destrier began to become uneasy.
He saw one tree with a disturbingly human-like face upon its bark, it bore rotted fruit from its branches which buzzed with flies. A cyclopean crow had watched them from its perch, its one bloodshot eye wept with vile pus. The knight even spotted a mange-ridden hare feebly try to get away from them, its hind legs were boneless sacks of pink flesh and it even had a tooth-filled leech like maw for a snout when it briefly looked at them.
The sickly sweet stench of Chaos was strong here, thought the knight, his gauntleted right hand instinctively reached for his sheathed Flammenschwert, it gave of a heat that caused beads of sweat to form on his back, beneath his armor. Even though he was no Witch Hunter, nor a member of Sigmar's or Solkan's clergy, he knew that this place needed to be cleansed with fire. He then began to feel a strange chill down his spine, goose-flesh began to form upon his skin and he thought that he could hear voices in his head.
'We are drawing close' whispered the elven woman who reached for her own greatsword and Lebrecht nodded, drawing his great weapon.
Said to have been forged by an apprentice to the master swordsmith Magnin, the Flammenschwert sported a wavy, undulating pattern which was further enhanced by its enchantment. He imagined that the lady Bright Wizard who had imbued it, found some humor in the idea of placing fire magic into this very specific type of blade. With this blade, he had slain many of the enemies of man and so long as he still lived, it would take the lives of many more.
The elven woman's own greatsword glowed with a brilliant white light. A glow as well emanated from the gems which decorated the elf's armor which combined with the light from the blade, gave her an ethereal quality which enhanced her already haunting beauty. Focusing back on the task at hand, he returned his attention to the path ahead and soon, they finally found that which they sought.
In a clearing within the dead forest, they found a lone obelisk of white stone rise high, above a mound of dead grass. Dark patches of filth encrusted parts of it at the base and an even fouler stench, like that of the diseased from a Shallyan hospice was enough to nearly overpower the knight who used every bit of his willpower to avoid gagging. Dark forms scurried around the obelisk, beneath the sun's light he saw that they were heavily clothed figures, probably like the mutants from the inn.
'Something is amiss here' whispered the elf.
'How so?' questioned Lebrecht but all he received was silence and after a moment realized what it was.
On the way to the glade, they did not encounter any tribal markings left behind by the beastmen. No obscene glyphs dedicated to the ruinous powers, no little piles of moldering skulls, no effigies made from the stretched faces of unfortunate victims. The obelisk suddenly began to pulse with a cold blue light and on the other end opposite of them, there was a bright green flash of light.
'The Prophet is here' announced Sylanielle who planted her sword to the dead earth and she reached for something upon her belt.
Glancing down to her armored waist, Lebrecht saw the elf remove a leather scroll tube and from it, she produced a rolled up sheet of parchment which she immediately began to unfurl. At first he thought that she began to sing, but immediately he felt the unnatural effects of sorcery at work. It was not like the fell magic wielded by the followers of the ruinous powers, nor was it like that of a necromancer, whatever spell the elf woman was enacting felt oddly… pleasant, it was hard for him to describe but immediately, he felt a strange rush of vigor within his veins.
The scroll held by the elven woman then began to crumble in dust, she discarded what was left of the parchment before reclaiming her weapon.
'The Prophet will no doubt have sensed the spell, we must move' announced Sylanielle as she brought her greatsword up and held it an aggressive stance.
'Let's go' grimly replied Lebrecht and in a single moment, the two burst out from the tree line with enchanted blades in hand.
At the very heart of the corruption, the source of the taint which the Archmage had foreseen, Sylanielle could feel the dread presence of Dhar all around her. The raw magic that should have been siphoned by the Waystone and sent to the Isle of the Dead had now saturated this glade. She had to stop it; she had to punish the one responsible for this travesty and undo the damage upon the Waystone, lest it cause irrevocable damage to the world.
Sylanielle and the human knight moved far faster than what should have been possible by mortal means. The magic that had been bound within the scroll, a spell from the Wind of Hysh known as Speed of Light, had imbued them with both greater alacrity and martial skill. At the base of the Waystone, the defilers hastily attempted to form ranks in an effort to stop them and as both the human and herself crested the hill, she saw that the creatures were not what she had expected.
Draped in soiled rags were furry, animalistic creatures for sure, but rather than the goat-like features common among beastmen, they had the distinct appearances of rats. Skaven, she knew these creatures to be called, a vile race of underground dwelling monsters which prized Warpstone, the solidified essence of Chaos, above all else. It all made sense to the Swordmaster who had faced these creatures in past, their vandalism of the Waystone had spread Dark Magic upon the forest and if left unchecked, raw deposits of Warpstone would form beneath the earth, the mutants from the inn had likely been duped into either killing off any human travelers who may get too close or perhaps would abduct them for the Skaven's vile experiments.
Before the verminous rabble could even finish forming up into proper regiments, Sylanielle and Lebrecht thrust deeply into their ranks like a spear upon flesh. Beginning her deadly dance, Sylanielle's greatsword was everywhere, swinging left, right, front and back, forming a barrier of flashing silver that hewed apart bodies and leaving a trail of butchered corpses in her path. Her glowing enchanted blade made mockeries of what little armor they wore, the Ithilmar weapon cut deeply into plague tainted bodies, the magic within banished the pestilence within the enemy along with their very lives.
Although her attention was focused on the Skaven, she remained close to the human who performed fairly well in holding his own against the vermin. Where Sylanielle relied on speed and grace, the human knight Lebrecht focused on strength and zeal. His greatsword which was infused with the burning Wind of Aqshy, cleaved apart the vermin and setting both rags and furs on fire.
Rusted blades ranging from swords, spear and axes sought both the Swordmaster and the Knight of the Blazing Sun, Sylanielle was easily able to dodge or parry their clumsy attacks while Lebrecht was able to withstand their blows, a testament to the skill of the dwarf armorers which the Imperials employed. The Swordmaster decapitated a trio of ratmen with a single swing which was followed by her blade bifurcating two more from the waist. A golden light shined from the knight, at first she thought that it was some form of magic but quickly she realized that his armor which sported many golden adornments, shined brightly underneath the rays of the sun and leaving Skaven blinded by its brilliance.
Soon they encountered a group of robed Skaven wielding flail-like weapons which the high elf recognized were implements of spreading unnatural diseases.
'Breathe not the fumes of the censers!' called Sylanielle towards the knight and she began whispering words of power.
Having dabbled in the arcane arts, the Swordmaster knew a number of very basic spells which she mainly used for either protection or healing. She wove a defensive dweomer to provide some defense to both herself and the human from pestilence before the Censer-Bearers engaged them with spiked balls filled with Warpstone, each leaving a trail of diseased gas which would have proven lethal to inhale. Sylanielle knew that her spell would not protect them for long against the filthy weapons, thus they only had a short window of time to slay the things.
Her greatsword parted the hands of a Censer-Bearer from the rest of its arms by the wrists before a swift kick to the face sent it reeling back. Another spiked ball came close to impacting against her side but a cleaving strike from the knight slew the attacker along with another one. Maintaining the fine balance between aggressiveness and defense, they defended one another with parrying strikes and deadly sweeps which easily severed limbs and heads.
A strong buildup of Dhar was felt by the Swordmaster who glanced over her shoulders and she saw the skaven leader, the Horned Prophet. Just as the name suggested, the Prophet was a horned skaven sorcerer, dressed in filth-ridden robes and glowing with the raw energy of Chaos. In one hand, it carried a staff made from human bones and in its other hand, it held a large nugget of Warpstone which it quickly devoured. Sorcerous light began to fill the body of the Prophet and it began to screech a foul spell towards them.
'I am going after the Prophet!' roared the human knight who quickly disengaged from a group of skaven and leaving the elf to face them alone. 'Keep the beasts off of me!'
Before the Swordmaster could reply, she was assailed by more of the vermin and it took all of her skill just to be able to handle so many foes at once.
The spell from the elf woman's scroll was still within the Knight of the Blazing Sun who rushed towards the Prophet. He knew well enough that he would not be able to halt its foul incantation with his Flammenschwert so he drew his flintlock pistol and took aim. An odious cloud of gas seemed to surround the enemy sorcerer and he did not want to wait and see whatever it would do.
Thumbing the hammer on his pistol, he tried to steady his aim while on the move by holding his breath. Despite having once served among the Empire's Pistolkorps, like many noblemen seeking to join the Knightly Orders, it was one thing to be able to accurately shoot a target on the gallop and another entirely when running on your own two legs. By the time he was finally able to get a good shot, the cloud of gas entered the mouth of the Prophet and it spewed it towards him like the fiery breath of a dragon.
Pressing the trigger of his gun, the piece of flint struck the frizzen, sending a shower of sparks into the pan where the black powder was held. A loud crack emanated from the pistol as a ball of lead was shot out and into the oncoming cloud which engulfed him. Within a single moment, breathing became impossible as foul humors filled his lungs, his limbs became weak as the weight of his armor threatened to overwhelm him, his vision as immediately began to go as a gooey substance filled his tear ducts.
For what felt like an agonizing eternity he stumbled about before finally falling to the dead earth, he barely even felt the impact. His body was filled with all manner of pestilence and disease which made every second a living hell. Despite his fevered state, a part of him inside prayed that his shot had struck true and that the Horned Prophet had been slain.
The Skaven which had nearly threatened to overwhelm Sylanielle were halted by the single loud crack of the human's black powder weapon. In stunned silence, they saw the body of the Horned Prophet fall, a large portion of its skull was blown out from where Lebrecht's bullet had struck. Taking advantage of their distraction, the Swordmaster quickly reached for her belt and she pulled out a glowing crystalline egg covered in the fine runic script of Anoqeyan.
Unlike the Power Stones created by mages which contained the solidified essence of a single Wind of Magic, this egg carried within it, the purity of Qhaysh. Drawing upon the trapped essence of the High Wind, the Swordmaster spoke the words to unravel the magic within the egg and the runes upon it began to glow with an arcane light. A mighty gale like that of a tempest was unleashed; the magical energies contained within caused the object to crumble in her hand.
Arcane energy infused both the Swordmaster and the Waystone, creating a link that sent out powerful waves which touched all around the obelisk. Concentrating all of her will into maintaining that link, Sylanielle felt the strong flow of the Winds which also blew over the Skaven. For the ratmen though, the spell created by the Loremasters of the White Tower was far less benevolent towards any creature of darkness, their bodies crumbled to dust, set ablaze, melted like wax or other various forms of evisceration.
The ratmen who had been furthest away quickly began fleeing for their lives, very few got far before the furious magical storm engulfed the entire glade...
A hot breath washed over the face of Lebrecht who then felt something warm and moist over his face. His eyes opened and was greeted by the face of Audo, a fresh coating of horse spit covered the side of the knight's right cheek. The dark eyes of his steed looked down towards his own and he could see the concern in the noble beast's gaze.
'I am all right boy' groaned Lebrecht with a slight smile and the Destrier neighed.
He could see that the sun's position had moved, it was probably almost late afternoon by his guess. Taking a deep breath of cool air, he was surprised to find the smell of fresh grass and flowers. Turning his head to the side, he saw that the dead plants upon the obelisk's hill were now green and in full bloom, of the rat-like beastmen, he saw no sign of them.
Getting himself back up to his feet, he looked to the obelisk which now had a pristine, white hue. The forest ahead was still dark and foreboding but he could see that some of the trees now had branches full of green leaves. Whatever foul magic was unleashed by the beastmen, he guessed that they had stopped it and the land was healing.
Looking about for the elven woman, he quickly spotted her shining silvery form lying upon the slope of the hill. Quickly making his way towards her, he found the elf maiden to be very still, her helmet lay next to her and her long white hair spilled out over the blades of grass. Hissing a curse, he was about to go down and check her pulse but he saw the slight movements of her chest and was relieved to know that she was still breathing.
'Well thank Myrmidia for that at least' sighed Lebrecht.
When consciousness returned to Sylanielle, the first thing she noticed was the deep exhaustion which wracked her body and the feeling of arms around her. Her eyes widened in surprise and she looked back to see the face of the human.
'Oh your awake' Lebrecht said, there was a nervous look on his face and his cheeks were somewhat reddened. They were both upon the back of the knight's horse which carried them through the forest. His gauntleted hands held on to the reins and he kept the Swordmaster secure on the saddle between his arms.
'How did-' croaked the high elf who could not finish her sentence, her throat felt very raw and hoarse from the magic which she had unleashed. Her eyes felt heavy and it was a struggle just to keep them open.
'You should rest and regain you strength' the human knight then said. 'You look as bad as an Ostermarker after an all night binge'.
'S-stupid human' Sylanielle tried to say but the words came out as an unintelligible, rasping groan.
'Did you say something?' obliviously questioned Lebrecht.
Groaning with resignation and knowing that there was not much she could do in her current and vastly weakened state, the Swordmaster remained silent as she stoically bore ride back to civilization.