AN: Hey so, I forgot about this story, too be blunt. This is mainly due to real life stuff hitting me and the fact that I had no real plan for this. The first chapter, which will remain, was an RP me and a friend did that I thought was cool, and I wanted to turn it into a story. The problem then came, "Well, what the hell is the story going to be about?" And I couldn't figure that out.
I read more into Age of Sigmar and got hooked with Plague Garden and now reading through Soul Wars. So I decided to strike while the iron is hot. Extra long chapter for those who've been waiting. Enjoy! Review and Follow! Message me if you wanna chat. Door's always open!
New Form, New Purpose
Elsewhere...
Were.. Where am I?
I could not think straight. Emotions were still running high. After meeting the gods, I was still beside myself. They were real. Really real. Nagash, Sigmar. Their names weren't what I imagined the God of Light and God of Dark to be, but that's what they seemed to be.
Suddenly... I am back at Beacon? The shattered moon loomed overhead, and the CCT tower... I see her. My blood boils over. It's Cinder. Unmistably. Except now I can see more. I can hear more, Smell more even.
A horde of grimm appear before me, and I do not hesitate. Hurtling myself forward, warblade in one hand, shield guarding the other, I plunge myself into the crowd of abyssal beasts. It's when I notice that I am no longer in my old combat outfit. The one I made before arriving at Beacon.
Now my form is covered in... Sigmarite... How do I know that? That word is foreign, yet familiar. Such thoughts are buried as my warblade bites into the first beowulf. I forget my old arms. Their names seemingly lost to me as I plunge deeper into the horde of grimm...
Azyr, Sigmarabulum, Chamber of The Broken World
Lord-Arcanum Julius Starseeker, of the Tempest Lords, stood vigilant at the forge.
So far this day had been productive. Ten souls had emerged from the Anvil. None appeared to be any worse for ware. One, of which, of the Astral Templars, stepped off the Anvil of his own accord, in seemingly perfect condition.
The celestors songs were especially sweet this day, for this many forged, and without any incident, was welcomed. The Stormcast turned for a moment to see his comrade, Marren Windstrike, of the Astral Templars, step forward, his purple armor shining in the light of Mallus.
"A good day today." He was far more jovial than usual and for a good reason. To see one of his brothers step from the forge so quickly seemed to put Marren in a good mood.
"So far," Julius reminded his brother. "Remember, we're not done till the Anvil is."
"Right, right, but still, so far, so good." Marren seemed optimistic, "The past ten reforges have been swift, and without too much pain. Only one seemed off put."
Julius nodded in agreement, "Aye, that is true. But remain a cynic till the day is done. Prepare for the worse."
Another soul entered onto the anvil. This one was strange. Julis, like other lord-arcanum's, could see the magic of the realm that soul hailed from, they smelling of it at the very least, had they been a mage in their mortal life, they would be surrounded by it. This one was almost absent of it. And yet, it seemed to have something about it. Magic not of any of the realms, or at least not in any form he'd seen.
"You see it?" Julius asked Marren.
"Aye," Marren said flatly as he took a step back towards his post.
"Exactly. Be on your guard."
Then, it began.
The sound of hammers thundered through the chamber as the soul was smashed and broken. It's form weathered away by the Anvil, broken down to its barest parts. It howled and screamed, the aura of strange magic flickered and buckled underneath the blows of the anvil, until it too broke.
Shattered into millions of fragments the soul was left formless on the anvil until the hammering begun once more. The soul took on more of a base form. Starting with the indications of feet, then legs began to show; finally, the torso was formed, informing Julius that the Stormcast on the anvil was a woman. Lungs and other internal organs built as well as the chest was finished, the arms came into being, and the red, topped with crimson hair was formed.
Then she began to scream. Julius did not know her name, but the lord-arcanum knew that she was too be one of the Tempest Lords. He instinctively knew it, so was Sigmar's Will. She writhed on the ground screaming. Her chest swelled as the Stormcast took her first breaths, which where turned into screams.
"Jaune! Jaune! Please! It hurts!"
Then the celestors began to sing to her, calming the storm that raged in their newly forged sister. Her pained twitching started to slow as a celestor of the Tempest Lords stepped forward. Bruno was one of Julius' bodyguards and a trusted aide. He was also skilled in dealing with the newly forged.
"It's alright," He spoke softly, "You're safe now."
The woman's green eyes looked unfocused, unused to the blessed eyesight the forge granted her, "Jaune... Jaune is that you." She felt around, finding Bruno's armored hand.
"No. It's is I, Bruno Dawnguard, your brother."
She seemed to test the name, "Bruno... Bruno..."
"It will become easier to say in time," He said lifting the newly forged to her feet, "Your name, what is it?"
She stood, wobbly, "I am... Pyrrha. Pyrrha Nikos." She tried to take a step forward but her form was alien to her, so she stumbled, Bruno catching her, "Sorry..."
"Nothing to be forgiven. Come," Bruno wrapped his arm around her and led her from the forge. Bella, another celestor, offered the newly forged Pyrrha a robe, which she gladly accepted. Julius still watched her with suspicion. Something was off about Pyrrha. Still, she was his new sister, and she would need to be hooned into a new weapon.
Pyrrha awoke in pain.
A dull throbbing pain persisted from her forehead to her toes. It was an exquisitely strange pain one wholly new and already despised by the huntress.
Her eyes opened to see a large, marble celling over her. Above her, a censer burnt sweet smelling incense above her. The scent gave her a calm sense, she thought she'd be lulled back to sleep by it, had not a voice call to her.
"Sister?" It was a rumbling voice, low and gravelly, "You wake?"
Pyrrha groaned as she tried and leaned upon her bed of soft velvety pillows. The room filled with similar beds, most were empty, save for a handful. Muscly, great forms slept in them, or perhaps they experienced the same pain she did.
Across from her, back against the wall his bed faced, sat a large, black-haired man. An anvil tattoo dominated the center of his chest. His eyes looked at her, his gaze was curious.
"I do not know you. What host do you hail from?" He asked Pyrrha.
She thought for a moment, but an answer did come from her lips, "The Tempest Lords."
His expression nodded in realization, "Ah. Newly forged. Sore still?" Pyrrha nodded, "You'll get used to the ache, and it will eventually subside. You're of my host as well. Though I am of the Sacrosanct chamber."
Pyrrha seemed perplexed still. The name was strikingly, yet she had no idea what it exactly was, or how she gained the knowledge of it. The man seemed to pick up on that.
"You're newly forged as I said before. Things shall be confusing for some time — new memories and names. It came with the forging. Worry not." He then waved, "I am Aldrin, Alrin Sexton, you are?"
"Pyrrha... Nikos? Yes. Pyrrha Nikos." Pyrrha chuckled awkwardly, "Forgive me, my mind is, um... How to put it..."
"Fuzzy?" Aldrin offered.
"Yes! That." Pyrrha said pointing to him.
"It will fade, once everything settles."
The huntress smiled, "Good," She sat up, now leaning against the wall as well. She looked out the wide window that dominated the wall to the right of her bed. Outside she could see stars and comets striking by, a great ring that seemed to be a city stretched out before her. It was awe-inspiring, truly,
"Where am I?" Was all Pyrrha was able to say in response to the sight.
"Azyr, the Realm of Heaven."
Pyrrha was still struggling to find the words that best describe what raced through her mind, all she managed was, "Incredible."
"Aye." Aldrin spoke as well, "Amazing, isn't it."
Pyrrha looked back to Aldrin, "I take it we don't battle darkness from here."
Her fellow Stormcast let out a snort, "Funny. Keep that trait. It'll serve you well. And I would recommend you cherish this moment, Pyrrha Nikos. The next couple weeks shall put you through your paces soon enough."
Aqshy, City State of Laconia
Lord Celestant Theodora found herself in the midst of a great battle, though not one fought with blades, but with words.
The warriors who participated in this battle where the Senators of Laconia. Elected individuals who represented the Will of The People in the city-state of Laconia. This had not been Theodora's first engagement in the Senate, and she doubted it'd be her last. The lord celestant allowed the battle to unfold before her. She took note of debate tactics and tone which the senators spoke in.
'Knowledge is power,' She thought to herself; even knowledge of debate tactics. Theodora felt oddly at home in the tense halls of the Senate. Perhaps in some life long past, Theodora had been one of these senators. A warrior of words battling for her people.
"Such matters are to not our concern! Let the foreigners try and fail, again and again, to tame what cannot be tamed!" Senator Cassian spoke to his fellow senators, marching across the marble stage before the raised seats of the Senate.
The debate had been spurred by recent tragedy that Theodora had witnessed. brayherds on the edges of the Hellenic Plateau had struck at settlements belonging to Azyrites. They came to the Realm of Fire looking for opportunity — lives that may reap a considerable fortune. The plateau's volcanic soil and the Morunfall Realmgate brought rains from the Realm of Life, gifting the further soil potency. Cash crops such as cotton were great incentives to come to the Realm of Fire.
Cassian was an old Politarii. The party represented the farmers and laborers interests in the city-state. Part of that had been the protection of land and jobs from 'foreigners.' Fears of Azyrite princes buying up vast swaths of land or swarms of colonists from Realms far from there own taking away an opportunity from the Laconians had been an old fear that seemed immortal. Despite numerous treaties, the Politarii never seemed satisfied.
"We are not to be held responsible for the failings of the Azyrites! They came to this land of their own accord. Settling in the shadow of the Medusian Mountains, despite our warnings!" Various jeers and cheers came throughout the room as Cassian spoke, "And look what has come to pass my fellow citizens! Azyrite settlements burn! Should we weep for them?" He gazed briefly to Theodora as if to gauge what he should say next with the imposing Stormcast present. Turning his eyes back to the Senate proper he answered his question, "No! No, I say! It was there own foolishness that brought them there downfall!"
That earned the ire of some, particularly of another senator, Senator Victoria Prim, a member of the Principes, the party of the soldiers, "Where is your heart, honorable friend?! There deaths, like any other, is a tragedy. Least we should do is open our gates, and welcome the widows and orphans of those settlements to find homes here!"
"And should we open our gates to their princes and their priests as well? Shall we allow Sigmar to claim our city as he has done to so many others?" Cassian fired back, "I will not allow our independence, that our ancestors paid for by their blood be taken away by bleeding hearts! We must remain stalwart! Our gates must remain closed!"
The debate had been going like this for, perhaps, half an hourglass, the lord celestant wagered. No side seemed to be able to claim a victory. While the Politarii and Principes held their ground, the Plebians and Nobilis, minorities in the Senate, appeared unmoved. There party leaders keeping them hushed, as if to allow both sides to exhaust themselves, only for them to rush onto the battlefield to claim the day.
Theodora had seen it done before. Maximillian Voltis, of the Nobilis, had done it before. He was an actor by trade, his natural charisma a deadly weapon on this political battlefield. That said, Maximillian seemed to be rather quiet this day. Theodora waged it had been because the Nobilis, being from the artisans of the city-state, who benefited greatly from trading with these new settlements, as well as offering their services to the princes as mentioned earlier. That said, a sense of mild xenophobia could be detected about them not overt like the Poltarii, but one hidden by honeyed words and seemingly altruistic actions.
"Enough!"
The firm baritone voice ended the battle. It echoed through the room for a few moments. Consul Remus Tiber sat up straight in his marble throne that faced the Senate. It was the consul who regulated the speech of the Senate and called it to order when needed. Remus had waited patiently for the battle to come to some conclusion, Theodora thought, and finally realized that it was at a stalemate.
The grey-haired man let out a sigh as he stood from his seat, using his cane to aid him in the endeavor. The sight of him with a cane gave Theodora a strange feeling in her chest. It seemed only yesterday that Remus Tiber had been a centurion in the legion. A brave warrior, marching out to face the Darkoath tribes, that bit on the edges of the City States dominion. Now he was a statesman, with wife, four sons, two daughters, and a cohort of grandchildren.
"Emotions are high. That is easy to see," Remus spoke carefully, his gaze made it's way around the Senate for a moment, resting longer on those more vocal champions of the people, "It would seem that calling a vote now would be foolish. Such decisions should be left up to those with cooler heads."
"For the moment, we shall call this session to a close, in observance for tonight's festivities," Remus let that hang for a moment, it was the End of The Long Night, a night of feasting and music. Such a festival was quite the event, and would surely shut the city down for the rest of the day, "Tomorrow, in the cool evening, we shall hold words briefly, and then call a vote. I encourage you to drink and be merry, and to ask what your ancestors would have done." With a firm strike on the marble staircase leading to the Consul's throne, he said, "Dismissed."
The senators began to leave their seats. Theodora stood aside so the senators could go. Whispering senators fell silent, concerned, angry, and fearful gazes all greeted Theodora as they passed by. She kept a calm, neutral expression despite the evident distrust she faced, Theodora did not wish to fuel their fears, no affirm their prejudices.
The last senator had left, Theodora turned but had been halted by Remus calling to her, "Not you. You stay."
Theodora turned to the consul, "You command me?" A slight smile was forming as she asked the question.
Remus chuckled, "It amazes me how you have not changed."
"It amazes me that you haven't either." The lord-celestan replied.
The consul laughed, "Haven't? Look at me Stormcast! I am an old man now. I have a horde of grandchildren and a procession of apothecaries who will testify to that fact."
The lord celestant approached the throne, Remus sitting back in it. She took a few steps up it, and only had to come halfway to be at eye level with the consul. She got a better look at his rugged features now.
"You've neglected to shave," Theodora observed.
Remus smiled, "Ah, forgive me," He ran a hand across his tan, worn chin, "I've been faced with many challenges as of late. Shaving has fallen at the wayside as a result."
Theodora became concerned upon hearing that, "Your wife, Martina, is she in good health?"
Remus didn't make eye contact, "She endures."
The Stormcast bowed her head, "I shall pray for her."
The consul nodded, "I thank you for that kindness, old friend." He looked back to the Stormcast, his weathered, amber eyes still holding the sparks of a younger man, "Now. We have much to discuss. Tell me. Your host fights on the edges of the plateau, near the sea, yes?"
Theodora nodded, "The darkoath have been roused recently, and the Red Horde, a brayherd clan, has emerged from the sea as well. As according to our brothers in the Astral Templars."
"More Stormcast?" Asked the consul.
"Your friends in the politarii will be glad to hear the Astral Templars could not spare troops to pursue them." Theodora said dryly, "Still. We shall remain committed to driving back the shadow of the Ruinous Powers. Wherever it may arise."
Remus hummed to himself, "And I am grateful for that. I'm also certain that my fellow citizens are as well."
"Some less so than others, I would wager." Theodora did not mean to come off as abrasive, but the Stormcast knew that Remus did not represent the whole of Laconia.
The consul could detect that, he sighed as he leaned back into his throne, "I cannot control Cassian. Far too passionate for a reason."
"What of the Nobilis? They could be swayed." Theodora purposed, "From my observations, the Nobilis, while perhaps wary of outsiders, they're also sympathetic."
Remus then narrowed his gaze; a thought occurred to him, "Has any ever seen you without your armor?"
Theodora was admittedly taken aback by the query, chuckling slightly, "Perhaps some of my brothers when I choose to remove it. Though I do not believe any mortal has ever seen me without it on."
The consul smiled, "Are you coming to the festival tonight?"
"Am I invited?"
"Now you are."
Theodora nodded, "I shall be there then."
"Good. May I recommend something then."
Aqshy, Hellenic Plateau, Township of Anchorhal
Anchorhal was the only place Ty could think of to rid himself of his current burden. His new, babbling, hot-headed burden. The red-headed sorceress had been on and on since her capture two nights ago. The morning he held sight of the city, he almost killed her out a need to end the source of his vex.
"And then the bastard shot at me. With, like, a gun, who does that?!"
Amelia the Firebrand. A hot-headed thief who'd assault some poor dispossessed who'd earned her ire after they demanded she yields her seat to them in a tavern. The story devolved into a list of other crimes that made her name a hefty bounty.
"Was that before, or after you burnt his kin's beard to ashes, I can't remember," Ty flatly asked the pyromancer.
"A joke! Can't those squat little bastards take a joke!" At that Ty pulled the chain he had her by a bit hard, causing Amelia to nearly trip, "Hey! Rude!"
"Mhm." Ty grunted, he gave his steed, Rose, a griffon-charger, a good rub across the back, "Almost there girl. Will be inside the walls before the sun is beating down on us."
"Oh, I see how it is!" Amelia shouted at the bounty hunter, "What? Give her a good-"
Before the hot-headed pyromancer could finish she found her chain jerked again, and she tumbled to the ground, landing squarely on her face. Amelia managed to push herself up, and with a slight wobble, assume a mostly stable stance. The bonds she found herself in held Azyrite runes that would give her a good shock if she tried anything. They weighed heavily on her slight frame, yet she was not detoured. She cheated the noose before; she'd do it again.
"Come on, you wretch," Ty looked down at her from the saddle, "Keep at this and I'll take your head now."
She cackled, "Oh like you would. You know I'm worth more alive than dead!"
Ty turned back to the trail, "Certainly. That doesn't mean having to deal with you is worth the reward."
"Come now bounty hunter! You enjoy my tales! I've even seen a smile on your lips."
Ty now let out a sigh, "Shut up..."
This had been the norm for the past couple days, and the status quo did not change. The pyromancer would not shut up, and Ty continued to nod and 'Hmm,' every so often to satisfy his charge enough to keep her from becoming more vexing.
The trail to Anchorhal offered nothing too impressive. The plateau rose above the Theibian Wastes, nothing but blistering sand for miles to the south of Hellenic. To the north, the Teras Sea dominated the northern coastline. It was said that a realm gate was buried at that bottom of that sea, leading to the Realm of Beats. That being the explanation for the terrible monsters that lived in its foggy waves.
Anchorhal's walls were low, and manned by few guardsmen. It nagged at Ty's inner soldier. The walls from the bounty hunter's judgement could be scaled easily. He wagered, even in his plate and chain, he would be able to vault the walls before the guardsmen could sound the alarm. Such concerns would've been alleviated had there been more guardsmen on the walls, which it did not have.
"Never been to this settlement!" Amelia spoke loudly to battle the approaching sounds of the hustle and bustle of the town, "Tell me! What is it known for?"
"Well. It's Anchorhal for a reason." Ty spoke flatly.
Amelia looked around, "Well I don't see a river, nor sea. Where is-"
She was cut off by a passing skyship, it flying lazily overhead. It was a bulbous cargo ship; it's barring indicated it was on it's way to Hammerhal Aqshy. It became clear to Amelia that this bounty wasn't for frontier crimes.
"Your... You're taking me back to Hammerhal?" Her voice had far less bravado now.
"Mhm."
"But... What about the bounty? You told me it was for that-"
"The dwarves?" Ty asked with a slight laugh, "No. I'm wiser than you think. Hangman in Hammerhal is far more willing to see you live long enough to be hung there."
Amelia felt a tinge of panic fall over her. At worst, she thought she'd spend a few nights, maybe a fortnight in the stockade. But this bounty hunter was far more familiar with her than he had let on.
"Look. Please, I- I was far dumber when I was younger-"
Ty curtly cut her off, "Younger? You're, what? Twenty?"
"Twenty-five. Okay. Twenty-five summers." Amelia's poster became more hunched, as the weight of past sins begun to weigh on her, "Listen, please. Just turn me in for the dwarves. I'll plead no contest. That'll net you more silver."
"Or I could turn you into Hammerhal and earn ur-gold. That's worth far more."
Amelia fell silent at that, too Ty's relief. It may have also been the town that drowned her out. At this time of day, Anchorhal was busy with work. The harbor workers were at the sky-ports, towards the rear of the port. During this various merchants were hard at work selling their wares.
Farmers choked the road with wagons fit to burst with crops. Some were hauling grain, their carts wore and torn, pulled by even more venerable mules, their drivers tired and in dirty, sweat-drenched rags. Others carried with them bounties of cotton. Those wagons were in far better health, overseen by mean looking mercenaries. The drivers sat next to well-dressed businessmen. They'd probably never worked the fields that their cotton grew in, but tirelessly observed the trade of their crop.
Carefully, Ty navigated the packed street. He'd forgotten what time of year it was. The spring harvest was on, and the wanting to collect and sell crop before the summer blazed in drove farmers by the dozens to the nearby townships and cities to sell so they could buy reserves of water to fill their stores to survive the summer drought. Ty kept an eye on his charge. He'd almost forgotten his pyromancer. She was silent now, perhaps knowing she was on her way to the noose robbed her of confidence. If it meant she'd be quiet, it suited him well.
Rose squawked, something riled her up.
"Shh," Ty patted her on the mane, "Easy girl, what disturbs you."
Looking down Ty did see the source of the nervousness the griffin-charger felt. A cat. A small, orange and black tabby. That cat sat in the path of the bounty hunter. He chuckled, dismounting, he marched over to the tabby, which stood its ground in the face of the tattooed, armored, warrior.
"Go on, get." He pushed the tabby gently, "You're taking up the road you crazy cat."
He felt a chill come over him. He turned to look over his shoulder, inspecting his mark. Amelia stood there in silence still, now sulking with her shoulders slumped. He turned back to the cat; something was off. Ty knew air change was an indication of the arcane.
"Come on you," He moved to push it again, only for the tabby to now hiss, and runoff, "Odd little guy..." He trailed off, "Come on Rose, let's find a stable."
Finding a suitable place to board a griffon-charger was often a gambit. However, it would seem Ty ran into a bit of luck. A prospective young lad, eager to make coin, told him that a nearby tavern had a stable for griffon-chargers. After spending her silver for the information, the bounty hunter found himself before the 'Prancing Griffon: Stable and Board.' It was a prominent building in the town square, as evident by the well-crafted sign, and fresh paint job it had.
Handing off Rose to a Lilith aelve woman he went inside to get a room. He wrapped Amelia's chain around his around to ensure she didn't try anything when they went inside. Ty noted several 'looks' directed towards him. It wasn't odd for bounty hunters to come through Anchorhal, yet to bring a charge with them was positively bizarre.
The barkeep noted that as Ty and Amelia approached the bar, "I don't care if you're from the States, slavery is illegal here. As decreed by Sigmar himself!" He spoke with a proper Azyrite accent. However, Ty realized it was more than likely fake.
"Relax. Just bringing my bounty with me. I'm an agent of the law. Here to take her to hang in Hammerhal." Ty smoothed things over quickly, no need to get heated, "Now, how about a room?"
The barkeep put the glass he had been cleaning to take a look at Amelia, "Is she a mage?"
Ty shrugged, "Aye, look, I got her in irons. Runed irons. She ain't casting-"
"Oh, bloody no!" The bartender pointed him outside, "She can go to some other tavern and burn it down. Not here. No sir!"
Ty rolled his eyes, "Sir. She's got a big price on her head, I'm-"
"It's bloody policy sir! How else do you think we keep this place from burning down! No mages!" He pointed to a sign at the entrance that Ty, neglected to read, "Ain't-" He cleared his throat, catching him slipping into his native Gyhran accent, "It isn't anything personal. It's just business."
Ty leveled at the bartender before saying, "Right. Well, got any idea when the next ship to Hammerhal is coming?"
The bartender shook his head, "Lad, you don't get it. Mages ride on cargo ships. Not on passenger liners. And good luck. You'll end up paying up a hefty sum to get her to the noose."
Ty then heard Amelia whispering smugly, "Why, it seems I'm just not worth the trouble. Aren't I?"
The bounty hunter begun to feel hot under the collar, this was no good. This bounty was supposed to pay a lot of debts that had built up. Even if he could get another loan, because Ty genuinely believed he'd need on to get to Hammerhal at this point, he wasn't sure if the bounty would be worth it now. Ty then settled on a dark thought.
"Keep my griffon in the stable, me and my 'friend'-" He jerked Amelia's chain as he began to walk from the tavern, "-I'll be back."
"Of course sir."
The bounty hunter dragged he pyromancer out of the tavern, Amelia seemingly elated, "My oh my, aren't I the luckiest girl in all of Aqshy!"
Ty didn't say anything. Death was in his eyes.
"Well, I suppose it's to the stockade then... Right?"
Ty kept marching at a pace that Amelia struggled to stay at, "Hey! How about slowing down?"
The town square wasn't crowded. However, Ty didn't take any measure to avoid others. He pressed past them like flood water crushing trees. They were now out of the square, into the backstreets. Amelia felt herself becoming anxious again.
"Where are we going?" She asked the bounty hunter, "Never seen a stockade in the back- Hey! I nearly tripped slow down."
At some point, they came to an exotic garden hidden by some of the taller buildings near the town walls. Amelia then noted the guardsmen were patrolling nearby.
"Ah! Sir! Sir!" Amelia called to the guardsmen, who noticed them quite quickly, "Could you point my captor in the direction of the stockade!"
"Halt there sir!" The red-headed boy in uniform strode towards them, "Explain yourself!"
Ty then produced his bounty hunters medallion, the skull, and gavel, "Bounty hunter. I'm collecting." He then pressed into the boy soldier a fist full of silver.
Counting the coins, he seemed satisfied, "Carry on then."
"Good." In one swift motion Amelia found herself on her knees and a pistol to her head, "Now. Tell me why I shouldn't send your soul to Lord of Bones and your corpse to Hammerhal?" He then cocked the hammer.
Amelia went pale, "What? Really? Backalley? You know they'll hear you? Come on Ty. Ty right? We can work something out. I bet-"
Bang!
The gun went off right next to Amelia's ear. She felt the bullet past her. She fell to the ground, writhing on the ground. Ty then produced a second pistol. Murder in his gaze he kicked her onto her back, boot on her chest, he pointed the gun at her.
Click.
"Beg! Beg you fucking cow!"
Amelia couldn't form words. She was terrified.
"Come on! You were so fucking talkative for that fucking week I dragged you around the Plateau! Out of stories?! Out of fucking jokes?!"
The pyromancer was sobbing, holding clasped hands up defensively.
"Please! P-please! I-I don't wanna die!" She spoke between sobs, "I didn't wanna kill those people! I was young, in love, and an idiot! I left Hammerhal cause of that shit! I tried to change but I couldn't! Please! Don't kill me..." She said looking up to Ty, "I'm afraid! I've always been afraid..." She descended back into sobs. Nasty sobs, her breath fogging.
Wait.
Ty then noted his breath. It fogged as well. Was no magic she did.
"What the bloody hell is that!"
From the walls Ty noted the guardsmen were yelling, and scurrying about the walls. Ty couldn't see what it was, but it didn't seem immediately threatening. Slowly, however, a thick fog rolled over the battlements. It crept over Ty and Amelia, Ty barely able to see Amelia in the mist. It was at that moment that the pyromancer ran for it.
Bang!
Ty let loose a shoot, that missed. The pyromancer ran into the fog, cackling all the way. He cursed to himself and produced his grossmesser; he was not about to allow her to escape.
Dashing after the cackles and glimpses of red, tattered dress Ty noted that it got cooler as the fog rolled continued to roll in. Something was wrong. Fog like this? Chill like this? Completely out of the ordinary. Still, that was not on his mind. Finally, he caught the bitch again. She tries to free herself of her manacles on a lamp hook. Grossmesser to her neck she raised her hands.
But before he heard the sound of horns, and now he went pale. He knew those horns. He thought he'd left those horns behind long ago. His soldiering days' instincts kicked in. Ty needed to put distance.
"Wanna live?" Ty asked Amelia, she about to give some long-winded, cocky answer before Ty cut her off, "Then follow!"
Jerking her chain, he found his way out of the maze of back streets and back onto the main road. All the while horns grew louder, joined by beastial roars.
"What the hell-" Amelia tried to speak but found himself cut off by another shout.
"Beastmen!"
Ty turned to see a beastial, red-furred, half man, half goat creature hurtling down the road. Savage club in hand, already red with blood. Amelia screamed, and Ty jumped into action. It was a gor. Healthy, perhaps a little higher in the pecking order considering it's size. That told Ty what he needed to know to kill it.
The gor smashed aside a poor onlooker and faced Ty, only it didn't find a defenseless Azyrite. He saw an angry bounty hunter, armed with steel and fury. Sweeping wide the beastmen arced his club to take both Ty and Amelia.
Jerking the chain hard Ty brought the pyromancer to the ground, he meanwhile dodged, into the blow. Rolling underneath the club, he brought his grossmesser upward, finding the beastman's wrist and biting right through it.
Without a right hand, the beastman screamed in pain, and his club found itself impacted into a nearby wall. Ty needed to finish this; only good beastman was a dead one. Backing up, evading the coming retaliatory headbutt. Ty brought his Grossmesser's hilt downward, cracking the gor's horned skull. The beastman tumbled down, landing face first into the cobbles, allowing the bounty hunter a true strike to the neck, decapitating the beastman.
With skill, Ty could kill a beastman easily, but with more emerging out of the fog, talent wasn't going to be enough.
"Free me." Ty looked down to Amelia, a wicked look about her, "Free me." She repeated.
Ty then realized that he had an angry, scared pyromancer with him as well. Though he thought just to leave her, leaving her in chains to be meat for the beastman would be a waste. Cursing, Ty dashed over, producing the key from his jerkin he unlocked the manacles. As soon as the irons fell from her wrists, sparks flared from her palms.
The pyromancer began to cackle, attracting the next gors.
"Here my pretties! Come to me!" Her very hair begun to whip upwards, it seemingly sparking and burning, as her hands became engulfed in flame.
A trio of gors burst from the Mist and met the same fate. Fire. The realm of Aqshy was the Realm of Fire. Pyromancy thrived here, and so the flames that burnt the beastmen were white and blue as their flesh was not so much burnt away, but melted into slag, turning bones black as they crumbled into ashy soup on the cobbles.
While the gors burned, Ty reloaded his pistols. He had no intentions of dying. Not here. Not now. He fully intended to become an old, fat man, and die with his wife clinging to him and his sons fighting over who got what in the inheritance.
Bang! Bang!
Two more shots rang at as two more beastmen that managed to evade the Pyromancers wrath. Sounds of battle now filled the city. Panicked citizens fled the walls as the beastman had taken them, as evident by the multitude of gors already in the city.
The pyromancer and the bounty hunter began to pull back, further towards the town center slowly. Even with the white-hot spellfire, the beastmen would overwhelm them. Ty did his best to defend his captive, now his ally, from flanking gors. He'd lost one of his pistols in the fighting but still pressed on. His grossmesser now slick with beastman blood.
"Hold your ground! Sigmar is with us!"
A war cry from behind alerted Ty to the presence of a warpriest. His hammer was breaking the back of another gor as he pushed towards the bounty hunter and Pyromancer.
"Hail! Priest of Sigmar!" Ty called to him, "How many are you?"
The priest laughed, "Sigmar is with us! Is that not enough?" The red-headed, lanky priest slammed his glowing hammer into another gor, sending it tumbling to the cobbles, "But if you wish to live, come too-"
Thunder.
They all heard it. The unmistakable sound of that meant help had arrived. Another two bolts shined through the fog, far from the city, but soon to save them.
The pyromancer let out a long cackle before saying, "Oh! You're all fucked now!"