"Is it really mine?" the boy Valten breathed, reaching out and brushing his fingers along the shining silver plate. Wrought all from gromril, emblazoned with golden pauldrons, the right in the form of a wolf's head, the left like the head of a great boar, and a great hammer was carved into the chest with intricate detail.
"If it fits, it is yours," said the dour dwarfen runesmith. He'd come from the great dwarfen city with a hundred veteran longbeards at his back ,the sworn guard of the suit of armour. "It was made long ago, when no dwarf alive today was even a beardling. But before it could be delivered to it's bearer, he vanished. We have kept it ever since. But they say you are Sigmar's herald, his avatar on this world. If that is true, then the armour is yours."
Isabella found it revolting and beautiful all at once. She could appreciate the artistry of the under-mountain folk, even if the sight of the Sigmarite sigils made her want to rip it to cold shreds. It wasn't fair! Vlad had freed them from the blight of the sun, but still Sigmar's blessings could hurt them.
"Calm my love." She felt the reassurance of Vlad's hand on her shoulder, the fingers a gentle caress against her form. "We have nothing to fear from this one."
"Don't we?" She asked. "What if he turns on us? What if, after defeating the armies of the dark gods, Sigmar's champion chooses to turn his wrath on us, with all the Empire behind him?"
"Then I will kill him," Vlad said. He took her by the waist and pulled her in to him, resting his forehead on hers. She cooed at the feel of him. "I've lost you and Sylvania once already, my love. I won't again, I won't."
Isabella reached up and kissed Vlad. She'd never liked kisses in life, not even from her mother as a child, the warm wetness invading her mouth like a live eel, wriggling and writhing around her tongue. But Vlad was different, he wasn't warmth, he was a presence, an undeniable power, and feeling part of that power inside her... mortals would never understand.
As she revelled in the feel of his tongue in her mouth, the pressure of his hand holding hers, she heard exclamations of piety and the sound of metal hitting the ground.
She looked to the boy. The armour was sculpted around his form like a silk glove. Somehow it looked more perfect around the boy's body. It was like it had been made for him. The imperial soldiers nearby had fallen to their knees in supplication. Mortals, she'd forgotten how much they could amuse her.
"Curious," Vlad whispered, holding her close. "It seems we are witness to change my love."
She pouted. "But I was in the middle of my hunt." It had been an amusing hunt so far, the Witch Hunter had been blundering to and fro but had come closest to killing the creature of chaos that was attempting to destroy the Bastion. She'd dogged it all the way here, but had been unable to find anything. It was irking her beyond measure. But she'd find the beast first, she promised herself, she would not be bested by a mere mortal!
"I hear that Franz means to bestow Ghal Maraz upon Valten," Ludicio said behind him. "And only half a day from here. We should go and see it!"
Gelt held back a growl. His head was already throbbing nearly constantly, the Staff of Volans was becoming more of a walking stick than a conduit of great power. He'd voiced his displeasure enough about Valten being given such a symbol of state, but now he was nearly beyond the point of caring, he was definitely beyond the point of trying to persuade Franz of this folly.
"Is there anything worth my listening to coming out of your mouth," Gelt growled at the light wizard. "Or can I focus on the bastion."
"Master," his apprentice said, trying to soothe him. "You need to rest, let another shoulder your burden, if only for a few days."
"Who, you! You're having trouble walking. The Tzarina's magic is linked to the earth, the wizard circles are already working as hard as they can, how can I do less?!"
"What about the Elf?" His apprentice said. He'd grown so used to Gelt's fiery outbursts that they didn't faze him anymore. "Loremaster Teclis."
Gelt scoffed. "No, he would take it upon himself to try and improve it. I can't risk it."
"Master-"
"Everyone out, I need silence." He'd just felt something. Beneath the pain, a slight undertone hovering beneath the surface of throbbing discomfort there was a presence. He couldn't quite work out if it was new or had always been there, but he felt it none the less, a shadow across the winds of magic, the subtle shift in the winds of magic, but particularly the wind of shadow - Ulgu. Deception, disguise, something was hiding nearby.
But Gelt's power had grown vast since he had stepped in line with the wind of Chamon itself, and now he hooked onto it. He would follow it, and find this deception.
Taking up his staff, he set off alone to confront this shadow.
The servants of shadow were crude, for they had led him into... a catacomb.
He stepped through the dimming light of flickering torches, between pillars of stone holding up the floor above him, waiting for the perfect time to strike. It came soon enough. He found himself in a circle, no more than ten feet across, but with enough room for him to exercise his full powers. "I know you are here," he declared to the darkness. "Come forth now, and face me."
A high pitched chuckle responded. "How predictable, I knew you would come." A great armoured figure emerged from behind one of the pillars, a limp noticeable in its leg, it's armour a twisted mass of chaos cursed iron and steel. "My friends and I have been waiting, Supreme Patriarch." Three more warriors of chaos emerged as well, surrounding him at the four points of the compass. "Now we can fulfil our charge, by killing you, the bastion will fall, and the Everchosen will emerge."
"Good luck," Gelt replied. They came at him together, charging forwards. "He raised the staff of Volans and channelled his power. Three of them froze before him, their armour suddenly weighing on their shoulders like great mountains. The last one charged on, heedless, swinging a great axe in a wide arc for his chest. He ducked underneath it, swinging his staff, making it ring off the warrior's great helm. He summoned his powers, condensing them around the staff in a golden mist. When the warrior spun to face him, he raised the staff, pointing it at the warrior's face, unleashing a stream of molten silver that poured through its visor and any crack it could find between the overlapping plates of iron and steel. The warrior dropped it's axe and screamed in sheer agony. Gelt increased his power, pouring the molten silver into two of the other warriors as well until they all fell silent.
He stood tall and dusted his robes off as he let the three corpses fall to the ground. He approached their leader, still holding him fast with his power. "Now then, without interruptions, we will talk, beast."
"I never was much of a one for talk."
Gelt ignored him. "I can see that you are no sorcerer, so, who cast the guise protecting you and your fellows. I know they are strong, they made it just enough so that I would come down here in search of them, only to find you, though they underestimated my power in turn. That level of sorcerous subtlety leads me to conclude that they are behind the murders all along the wall, and now, you will tell me how to find them."
"I know nothing."
"You lie, With wizards such as myself and Loremaster Teclis here, and the powers of the Tzarina on top of that, you could not risk magical communication, it would draw too much attention from us, you met in person to discuss this plan, which means, you know who is behind the attacks at the wall, and you will tell me."
The warrior growled at him.
"So be it." He raised his hand and gave a twist of his fingers. The warrior started to pant in pain as his armoured boots began to heat up. "Tell me what I want to know."
It took hours of work, heating the warrior's metal covering until it was red hot, twisting it's metal fingers around until the bones had snapped in a dozen places and more methods that the Witch Hunters would be proud of until Gelt heard the word he'd been waiting for. "Enough." It came as a whisper, but that was all he needed.
He ceased his assault at once. "Who is it?" He demanded.
"The... boy... the one you call... Valten. He is a servant of the true gods," the warrior let out a cackle of laughter. "Oh you have blundered. While he sent you here, he has worked his way closer and closer, and soon will stand at the Emperor's side. Tell me, how long will the Empire stand without Karl Franz to helm it, how long will the faith hold true when the Herald of Sigmar shows his true allegiance. You have kept the Everchosen's armies out, but he will still destroy you, there are too many weapons for you to counter them al-" With a great crack of crunching metal, Gelt crushed the warrior's helmet around his skull.
Without a look back he turned and raced out to find Quicksilver. Valten's plot had to be foiled, now!
After a few minutes of silence, there was movement in the room. The three warriors Gelt had first killed melted away into puddles of ichor, and then evaporated into nothingness. The twisted, red hot morass of the leader of the warriors twisted, bubbled and contorted until the Changeling stood in its place. "Oh Supreme Patriarch," it giggled softly. "I believe it is you who underestimated my power."
The crowd gathered around the Emperor was as great as any Franz had ever seen. Much of the hard strength of the army gathered at the northern border had come to Alderfen, the sight of the Empire's great triumph over the beastmen, and the place where Valten had emerged as their champion. Thousands of soldiers of the armies of the Elector Counts were assembled on the plain, their livery proud and clean in regimented squares of halberdiers, swordsmen and spearmen, detachments of handgunners and crossbowmen to the side, their weapons shouldered. Eight Elector Counts stood to the side of Emperor Franz, their Runefang's at their sides. The Arch Lectors were there as well, attended by Warrior Priests and Witch Hunters. The grand masters of a dozen knightly orders held their blades point down in procession down from the raised dais. The Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the colleges of magic were there as well, seven of the eight, Gelt himself was absent, a fact which irked Franz, this was a time he needed all of the Empire to stand together. But Gelt had not been himself lately, and he could forgive the supreme patriarch for taking some time to rest and recouperate. The Von Carstein duo were also present, surrounded by a core of vampiric companions, off to the side, respectfully close, yet out of the way enough for people to pretend they weren't there if they so wished. Tzarina Katarin stood in a beautiful sapphire gown, ice crystals woven into her hair. Fifty seven Imperial Generals were in attendance, as were a hundred and eighty two captains of the Empire, all stood, like the grand masters, extending in procession down a single column between the armies. Such a gathering was the pinnacle of Imperial power, a force which Franz could have led from one side of the world to another and never known defeat, but they were not here for him, they were here for the Herald.
Silence fell as Valten approached. He came down the path cleared by the officers of the army. He looked magnificent, his hair a burnished gold around his youthful, clean shaven face, yet garbed in the dwarf-forged armour of Gromril he stood as taller than any of them, the sun glinting off the metal and making it sparkle like diamonds. Even Franz couldn't keep down the feeling of awe as he approached.
Valten did not bow, as others would before him, he simply took his place at Franz's side.
"Men of the Empire," he called, his voice carried out over the army. "We stand at arms in times of darkness and despair such that the Empire has not known since the time of Magnus, perhaps since Sigmar himself walked among men. The realm of Kislev, so long the northern shield of the realms of men, fallen into ruin, hordes of beastmen risen from the depths of darkness to despoil our lands. Some of you have seen a hundred battles in your lives, some have seen a hundred since this darkness began spreading, some of you have not fought in one yet, but you all stand together, united against our foe, and for that reason if nothing else, victory is not yet beyond our reach.
"But there is yet another reason to rejoice. For in this time of woe, mighty Sigmar has not forgotten us. He has blessed us with his chosen champion, the man you see before you is his hero, his warrior, his champion, his very herald, sent to us to deliver us from the darkness. And as the herald of our god, it is only fitting that he wields our god's weapon as his own once more." He signalled and on a proud scarlet cushion, Ghal Maraz was brought forward, held between the Emperor and the Herald, who looked at the weapon with trepidation hinting behind his eyes. Franz only hoped that no other could see it. "As I have served Sigmar at the head of his armies, so shall I remain, with his blessing and guidance, I will command the armies of the Empire in the war against the Everchosen. His herald will stride out amongst the armies and villages, of our land, wielding his mighty hammer, he will smite the foe wherever he shall find them. It is no coincidence, that this herald has come to us so shortly after the death of the Grand THeogonist, and the Cult of Sigmar is in agreement, there is no one finer to take Volkmar's place. So shall cult and Empire stand together against the great enemy." A shadow fluttered across the stage.
"Here, witnessed by you all, shall the Herald of Sigmar begin his path of war against our enemies, yet all men know, as you battle the enemy, Sigmar battles beside you."
"Stop this now!"
The call split the air like a thunderbolt as a mighty Pegasus landed partway down the cleared passage, the honour guard leaping out of the way as Gelt dismounted ungracefully. "This farce ends here!"
What is he doing? Franz thought. Had the strain finally broken Gelt? He nodded at Kurt, who walked as fast as he could while maintaining dignity down towards the Supreme Patriarch. "I know the truth daemon," Gelt declared, pointing his staff at Valten. "I know that you have murdered my wizards and now seek to murder the Emperor. I will stop you here!"
"Blasphemy!" Arch Lector Kaslain roared in anger.
Kurt got right next to Gelt, and took his arm gently. Whispers were spreading out across the army as soldiers further away tried to work out what was going on. Franz looked at Valten, who stared at Gelt, bewildered. "Franz, you cannot give him Ghal Maraz!"
Kurt was trying to talk sense into the Patriarch, but Gelt brushed him off, shoving past him. "Stop now, in the name of the Emperor!" Kurt demanded, reaching for his blade.
Gelt held out a hand, catching Kurt in his magical powers and holding him fast.
"Enough!" Franz roared. Gelt may be many things, but he couldn't lay his hand on the Reiksmarshall with impunity, and he knew that, he must be cracking. "Reiksguard, make Gelt secure, take him."
Three of the Reiksguard immediately advanced as Gelt's assistant hobbled on after his master, seemingly desperate to stop this before it got too far out of hand. "Master," he called, limping heavily. Two warrior priests were advancing at a gesture from Kaslain. Everyone was moving in some way, either towards the action or into huddling groups. Only the vampires stood still, Vlad von Carstein watching Gelt with something approaching concern on his face.
"Take Gelt away."
"No, stay back!" Gelt roared, his voice dripping with power and making the armoured Reiksguard knights fall flat with it.
"Master please!" The assistant took Gelt's arm and pulled close to him. "This is madness, please, you need to sleep... just sleep now."
A flash of movement made Franz spin. Valten had seized Ghal Maraz and raised it high. For just a moment, everything froze and Franz was certain it was about to smash down on his head. But then Valten hurled it. Ghal Maraz shot through the air like a golden comet before slamming into the chest of Gelt's assistant. The assistant was picked up, a long curved knife falling from his grip. As he was carried through the air he changed form, becoming a witch hunter, then a bright wizard, then a captain, then a priest, then a flagellant before finally taking the form of a hideous creature of purple spindly limbs and a head like that of a crow. Then, with a great cackle of laughter, he vanished.
The uproar drowned out almost everything, but Franz could see Gelt had fallen to his knees and even behind the mask, he could see the Supreme Patriarch was frozen in utter shock. He didn't resist as warrior priests seized him and dragged him away.
A/N: Apologies for the delay, I was planning out the stories going forward and have basically decided on a complete rethink. I will no longer be confining these stories per race, I want to tell the whole lot, so I'll be telling a lot more of them covering individual moments in the story which will allow me to develop the characters and stories more. Basically it will be in a similar vein to the Horus Heresy stories.