Hello there and what's up everyone? I have returned with Chapter 7 of "Age of Overlords". Thank you guys for the reviews and support so far, which is very appreciated. After negotiations had been concluded, things in Nazarick weren't the same and they have to contend with new tenants settling themselves there as ambassadors and guests in their turf.
My responses to these Guest reviews that I can't normally reply on PM:
Guest #1: I will keep that in mind. At least the forces of Nazarick would have a chance when facing powerful foes in the Mortal Realms and also go all out too as well.
Guest #2: That would definitely come in handy against the Daemons of Chaos and also the forces of Nagash too as well.
HeIsReal: Thanks, glad you enjoyed it.
Guest #3: No worries about that, I assure you.
Guest I 6646: I'm working on it.
Guest #4: Nagash and Arkhan are like a bunch of sitcom buddies in a nutshell. Of course, they're both dangerous respectively for a reason and not to be underestimated.
Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer Age of Sigmar or Overlord. Both franchises respectively belong to Games Workshop and Kugane Maruyama. Credits goes to GhazzgullThrakan, the original author of Age of Overlords who allowed me to adopt it.
Enjoy and don't forget to review. :D
Chapter 7: The Three Eyed King
Embassy of Realm of Shyish, Tomb of Nazarick
Humming idly, Mannfred von Carstein, the newly appointed ambassador of Nagash the God of Death, placed the golden plaque with "Ambassador Mannfred" written on it over his desk. The ambassadorial office looked glorious as all hell and it shows! And, now he needed a gold or ivory plated desk, and something that screamed "pompous asshole who's better than you".
Oh right, a wall-sized painting featuring his likeness and glory!
"A painting of me… huh, what do you think, Kraken?", Mannfred asked.
Kraken, sitting atop a satin cushion next to the desk, barked and panted as he trembled furiously and turned his head sideways a few times.
Smiling, the Vampire Count indulged his pet, "That's my boy! I knew you'd like it! Felix fetch me a painter, there's a masterwork to realize!"
Turning to his aide he found out… no one as he thought. Where was Felix?
Oh, wait..., Mannfred realized in a deadpan manner.
"Bah it's just a flesh wound," Felix casually handwaved as if it was just a minor inconvenience when his sire noticed it.
"If by flesh wound you mean that gaping hole that goes from one side to the other on your body, then yes, it's "just" a flesh wound., dryly snarked Mannfred in response.
Sitting on one of the benches of the colosseum's inner halls, Mannfred von Carstein stared at the bloody hole his subordinate had. Blood flowed in a tangle within the limits of the remaining flesh as if contained by translucent veins, as the Dhar spell Felix had cast kept it in place. About the only thing he knew about healing.
"At this rate you'll look like a gruyere cheese.", Mannfred remarked at his subordinate's current state. "A week or so in and you've gotten blown to chunks what, half a dozen times at least?"
It was endearing that Felix Jaeger wasn't scared of pain and wasn't worried about it upon being made as a Carstein vampire, after all it would increase his proficiency as a meat shield. On the other hand, he needed him kicking around to be used as a meat shield, something he wouldn't be able to with those kind of holes/wounds popping around so often.
The source of his minion's outburst of mutilations exited the room they were waiting to enter. riding-red-she-wolf named Lupusregina Beta smirked at seeing the wounded vampire. Like always, Felix returned the smirk.
Oh dear, a vampire and a werewolf getting along. Sounds like it came from a trashy human romance novel I read from Nazarick's library given to me by that Ainz fellow as a welcoming gift. Twilight, was it? , the Vampire Count rolled his eyes.
And, like always, they started their usual banter. And by usual banter, Mannfred meant they explained how they'd brutalize and borderline-torture each other in the next sparring session, how they'd make the other beg for mercy (lies, they still had to pull it off even once, and he doubted that flute would ever sound) all while wearing slasher smiles and making friendly (and rather sinister) laughs.
The vampire, who had ruined Baltazar Gelt's last attempt to save the World-That-Was in the End Times, almost got shivers from the atrocities the two managed to say.
Keyword: Almost.
Inside the library, the necromancers of Nagash's embassy had devoured what books they were allowed to read and learn from them. They were pretty sure they were only being given superfluous knowledge (On the Principles of Necromancy, Empire Building 101, PK for Dummies, The Feisty Lizardmen Womanservant and the like).
Mannfred in particular was reading a rather interesting history book. Whomever this Napoleon fellow had been the guy certainly had had a very extravagant lifestyle.
Despite his short stature.
A rustle distracted Mannfred from the thrilling life of the general, to notice a little dark elf girl. She was looking for a book but seemed to struggle with her height to see the last line of books properly.
Without any prior warning, Mannfred had decided to help her and rose her to the last line of book's height, grabbing her like a cat.
"Can you see what you're looking for now, girl?" the Vampire Count asked helpfully.
"My lord," said Felix as he briefly rose his eyes from the book. "That's a boy."
At that point, Mannfred all of a sudden threw the young dark elf to the side and shouted, "IT'S A TRAP!"
Naturally this ended up as well one could have expected: Mannfred got scolded by Titus, the lich in charge of the library and the one who was keeping an eye on them. Mare got very annoyed at being thrown like a ragdoll and stepped him in his foot. Mannfred loudly screamed like a hooligan, jumping around in pain as if he had been stomped on by a Giant.
All while the necromancers laughed hysterically at the scene as they went on to place their things back. Felix was smirking the whole time and he found it comedy gold.
Mare even compared the Vampire Count to that of some cat Beastman named Tom in a comedy skit with a Skaven named Jerry.
Once he entered his own private chambers, Mannfred took from his pockets the day's haul: six books and three magical items, ready to be hidden inside a magical box Nagash had given the Vampire Count. Profiteering from his episode in the library with the dark elf boy, Felix and the others took out a few relevant items and had placed charms of memory erasing on those positions.
If someone wanted one of the stolen items, he'd forget about it once he got his hands on the crime's scenes.
Mannfred smirked in a pleased manner, This would go rather well.
He could see various forays that would give Nagash a good edge (and a massive benefit to Mannfred). In so far as the reputation of Mannfred as an outright moron was spreading like gunpowder. A strong moron, yeah, but even rubber would look like a sharper pencil than the doddering fool that seemed half obsessed with the dog... well that last part wasn't entirely false.
It essentially gave a lot of freedom of movement without people paying attention to him and go about their business.
After all, who suspects an idiot?, he thought.
Somewhere in the Tomb of Nazarick
On the way back, Satoru backtracked to the zone where Shalltear Bloodfallen's abode was.
Clad in her red full plate armor, wielding her signature lance and shield, the Floor Guardian of the 1st-3rd Floors swung and battered into smithereens on the training dummies as she grunted and roared with anger. For a few days she had kept doing this non-stop, according to her hand-maidens who were watching from the sidelines.
The Supreme Being of Nazarick stood silent as she vented all of her anger, frustration, and shame. He felt compelled to allow the True Vampire that moment of self-flaying instead of letting her emotions bottled up and fester for too long. It was cathartic for her. Still, he had seen co-workers whip themselves too hard for their past errors, often driving them to even worse scenarios. He had seen it all too well back in his world where it's literally hell for salarymen there.
If possible, he wanted to avoid that with Shalltear.
After a while, Satoru decided to speak to her and defuse the bomb as soon as possible. Faking a bit of cough, he got Shalltear's attention almost immediately. She jerked her head around as her eyes widened in surprise.
"M-my lord!" She stuttered as she shifted uncomfortably.
Ainz Ooal Gown reassured, "Don't worry, I understand perfectly your desire to further hone your skills so I didn't want to interrupt."
Shalltear diverted her gaze, ashamed with herself. She was still blaming herself for falling to defeat from Arkhan's attack that turned her to dust and bypassed her Resurrection Item that should have brought her back after her first death in battle. Which was funny and ironic considering that the Supreme Being of Nazarick was actually scared of her.
"I'm not fighting her again if I'm given half a chance. That was a game of chicken and I am not very interested in being the one ending up in the pot, something too probable with her." Arkhan the Black had affirmed this to Satoru, saying he didn't want to fight Shalltear Bloodfallen again, nor did he think he could pull off a victory the next time if they clash again prior to return to the Realm of Shyish.
Ainz thought, It was more fifty-fifty, a game of chicken as the lich had said, as both were equal. Then again, I, too, don't want to fight her either. In fact, I don't want to fight any of the Floor Guardians at all. I must keep their loyalty and treat them better. Not doing so would be asking for betrayal waiting to happen and I am not pulling a pin on that grenade.
"Your opponent was a mighty warrior and magician," Satoru placed his hand beneath her chin, raising it ever so slightly, before Ainz spoke in a determined tone. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You put your life on the line for Nazarick, and almost triumphed in your duty. Fates are fickle but they don't demean the merit of your actions, results be damned!"
For a second they stood silent and with the last words, Satoru had grabbed her by her hand and pressed gently.
Then came the reaction.
She smiled and beamed confidence now, her apparent gloom and self-deprecation starting to fade. Good, they'd need everyone in high spirits to be ready for anything., the Supreme Being internally sighed in relief.
Of course, he didn't understand the whole reason behind her blushing. Well, he did… only in the totally opposite way the truth lay.
While checking on the Fyre Slayers who had decided to stick around and check out the Tomb of Nazarick after the Stormcast Eternals had left with Sebas Tian and Yuri Alpha as ambassadors of Nazarick at Azyrheim where God-King Sigmar lives there, Satoru right now felt awkward, to say the least. And honestly, any heterosexual male would feel nervous so if twenty ripped as hell guys, totally naked if it weren't for thongs of leather or belts of gold plates (luckily those massive beards also double-timed as aprons to cover part of their bulk) stood in front of him, glaring intently at him.
Please tell me this isn't Broke Back Mountain VI!, he internally panicked.
Deep inside, Satoru made a nervous, cracking laugh.
But he still managed, (at least he hoped), to strike a regal position and deep dignified voice. Befitting as the Supreme Being of Nazarick and he would not break character in front of them.
"Something I can help you, dear hosts?" Said Ainz Ooal Gown.
"My lord Ainz, within these past few days that we've tasted your hospitality, we've seen many wonders of your people," the leader slash father of the dwarves, Bael-Grimnir waxed lyrically. "But the most wondrous one that we've heard of is the box that lets you convert items. I won't dillydally too much, lord Ainz: we'd like to use that box in a fair exchange.
Huh, interesting. Let's see what they had to offer., thought a part of Satoru.
They have to offer a knife in our bony back. Don't you see these guys are here to con us and then make us pay dearly for our mistakes? Everything from that blasted door is trouble! Thought a part of Ainz.
Bael-Grimnir proposed, "We'll swear permanent service to Nazarick: in exchange for regular Ur-Gold, we will fight under your banner and any other enemy you wish, even our own if it were to come to that. My lodge, when fully assembled, numbers eight-thousand warriors of good breed and we will fight until the bitter end or your glorious triumph."
That was… actually interesting. These guys clearly had a lot of information, seeing as they were mercenaries.
"You're going to be scorned or worse, that much I assure you. My people are very proud and… distrustful, to say the very least, of non-heteromorphic races," seeing the confusion in the dwarves, Ainz warned, "Humans, Dwarfs, and so on. Your life in Nazarick will be far from idyllic."
"We don't care if we are hated, if we are at the bottom of the chain, my lord." the leader of the Fyre Slayers responded quickly, his resolve unwavering.
Intrigued, the Supreme Being listened to the Dwarf's compelling speech.
"For a long time, our people have fought for the chance to resurrect our lord Grimnir, who died in battle and became the Ur-gold my kin fights for. For a long time, we've hoped to see him again and recover what was ours. For a long time we've had no hope. Until these days. My lord, you and your marvelous powers are the hope my people is looking for," Bael-Grimnir at that moment knelt and bowed his head as his fists touched the ground while the rest of his followers did the same.
They proclaimed together, "We beg of you, even if it is as slaves for the rest of our lives, grant us the chance to recover and bring back our God!"
Wow, is there something in the air on the other side of the door that makes people over-dramatic? Satoru thought wryly. I hope it isn't contagious.
The leader of Nazarick stated, "I've got a primary condition, aside from swearing undying loyalty to Nazarick."
"To the latter we will swear loyalty to you and vow our honor along the line, as long as you uphold your part and, if successful, don't try to attack Grimnir… in the case he starts hostilities for some reason we swear we will try to control him, putting our own bodies as meat shields if need be." said the dwarf solemnly as he rose, then hesitated a bit before speaking. "To the condition… what is it, my lord?"
"Put on some clothes.", Ainz Ooal Gown plainly declared.
A bit more of negotiations still followed, regarding the location of the Dwarfs. They'd settle in the magma level of Nazarick as they said it reminded them of their home, their duties and their obligations. And at last they'd wear some damn fabric aside from those skimpy leather thongs. At least until they fight in battle alongside the forces of Nazarick.
Ainz had to inform the Floor Guardians and their subordinates about the Fyre Slayers and their current employment to him. Along with giving them direct order to at least work with the Dwarfs as professionals, stating that the latter group are useful and can provide important information about the Mortal Realms and the factions that dwell there due to their line of work as mercenaries.
Goodness gracious..., the Supreme Being internally sighed while noting. I wonder if there are Dwarfs living here in the New World. Hopefully, they're not like the Fyre Slayers.
That afternoon, and using the rings, Ainz got to contact Narberal Gamma, or Nabe at the moment, whom he tasked her as a direct order to remain with the Swords of Darkness adventurer group and tolerate them for his sake.
"Narberal, I'll be able to be joining you soon, now that things have returned to a modicum of normalcy;" said Ainz Ooal Gown, trying to pay not too much attention at the exaggerated relief her subordinate's face was showing. "We've dealt with the invaders while gaining a few interesting pluses along the way. Not bad for a crisis."
The beautiful dark-haired Doppelganger in human form said, "That is good to hear, my lord, though I didn't expect any less regarding a Supreme One. Truly we are most blessed to have you at our leadership, we cannot be too thankful."
The way Narberal said those words, which in ANY other context would have sounded mocking, made Satoru think about how straightforward and blindingly loyal to him his subordinates truly felt. Still, it's better safe than sorry. It will do no good if I lower my guard and fail to do my part of keeping their loyalty., Satoru thought.
"Thank you very much for your compliments, Narberal. Now, is there anything of interest you've learned about?", Ainz demanded an update from her.
"We..." she pronounced that word with utter distaste, as if she was on the verge of vomiting but pressed on for the Supreme Being's sake. "Are heading to the kidnappers' hideout. They seem interesting, at the very least, as they wear a sigil that I've never seen around here, so they may be an interesting object of interest."
Shifting slightly, the Battle Maid took out a piece of paper that had an eight pointed star drawn on it and showed it to the ruler of Nazarick for him to see. "This was a representation of the most concurrent symbol these people, allegedly extremely powerful, wore.", she explained.
Ainz remarked with curiosity and interest, "An eight pointed star?"
A clank of plates falling to the floor distracted the two speakers. A Dwarf named Belgein, if Ainz remembered well, had let them fall as he turned, totally aghast and paled in cold sweat at the sight of the symbol Narberal displayed.
"Do you know what it means?" Asked Satoru, wondering what got the normally fearless Fyre Slayer so spooked.
"Trouble, my lord," said the Dwarf with great fear and apprehension. "Lots of trouble, to say the least."
All-Points, Mortal Realms
The All-Points, the nexus that connected the Realms, was a place of great power. Once a prosperous hold of the Sigmarite Pantheon, where human, undead, elf, dwarf, orc and goblin and all the other races have lived and coexisted in peace... this was now the seat of power of Archaon, the Thirteenth Everchosen and the one who had destroyed The World-That-Was during the End Times.
Here rose the Varanspire, commanding the land atop a desolate landscape as the warp had ravaged it beyond repair.
Hundreds of towers rose high and proud over gargantuan walls, lumps of black stone and brass metal shaped in forms that brutalized the sky. Portcullis and battlements lined with teeth and filled with the millions of skulls belonging to the defeated and whose countless halls were stalked by hordes of warriors of chaos, daemons, and horrors that man or any other species should not know of as long as they valued their sanity.
At the heart, at almost the very top of the mightiest spire, which rose to the sky far taller than the others, was the throne room. An empty room with a throne no one had ever taken a seat upon.
Up until today.
The tyrant of the Varanspire, the greatest warlord under the service of Chaos. He was a colossus, almost making it to the height of three meters, clad from tip to toe in a plate armor dyed in the darkest pitch of black, gold adorning the pauldrons and joints of the armor and the neck, though this trimming in particular was hidden beneath three skulls of bizarre beasts. His helm was crowned in a nightmare of steel thorns flanked by two grand horns, curved and thick. A velvet top-knot was at the top of that ugly lump of metal and contempt.
His three eyes scoured the room. Two were barely embers, blazing with hatred and wrath. The third, the one above the other two, equidistant between them, was a sapphire that shone eerily and whose core moved independently, twitching right and left.
As he took his rightful seat, nine voices belonging to featureless and bizarre faces announced, in perfect unison of pitch, tone and timing, the presence of the man chosen and favored by the Gods of Chaos himself:
"All hail, Archaon! Hail to thee, Everchosen of Chaos!"
"All hail, Archaon! Hail to thee, Grand Marshall of the Apocalypse!"
"All hail, Archaon, that shall be the destroyer hereafter!"
Archaon, the Everchosen of Chaos, grunted in confirmation. For the first time since its finalization, Archaon stepped up to the throne of the Varanspire, for there was a lot to deal with.
Reports regarding the fall of Ghyran and Ghur, the Realms of Life and Beasts respectively, flooded him. News about the impending attack Nagash was preparing, (it was hard to miss two million soldiers and a horde of dragons after all), were also abundant. Oh, and the situation in the Realms of Ulgu and Hysh, shadow and light, was still very shaky.
Sure, Ulgu was more or less stabilized thanks to Malerion or Malekith, the fool who became the so-called True Phoenix King but failed to save the World-That-Was to even matter anyway.
But those insufferable twins Tyrion and Teclis and their highborn elves were being a massive thorn in his plated side.
Almost grunting in frustration, Archaon barely noticed his nine Gaunt Summoners approaching him. Powerful sorcerers of eldritch knowledge, clad from head to toe in blue and golden clothes with bird motifs all over the place. Together they spoke, their chorus pitch perfect, almost as it was a single voice coming from nine mouths.
"My lord, we've seen something that may be of your interest."
Indeed it was of his interest, not in a positive sense though when they explained to him of an existence of a new Realm. His response was that of unparalleled wrath. How could it be? Thought the Everchosen. How could it? Only when he calmed down, when the outrage at knowing he hadn't fully annihilated the World-that-Was waned, did he speak.
"Prepare the Legions!", said the Everchosen with a voice as cold as the most purest of ice, and as chilling as the mightiest blizzard. "The Holocaust calls again!"
The Varanspire's underbelly held hordes of Skavens. Half a dozen clans and millions, (well, most likely billions), of ratmen called this dark place home. In the deepest of the burrows, thousands upon thousands busied themselves with the bizarre digging. Warp tunnels were strange things in themselves, something that Archaon didn't, (and didn't want to), understand.
There are things better left unsaid.
Still, it's annoying that the Great Horned Rat had to be the fourth Chaos God after Slaanesh got trapped and sealed away by those so-called Elf gods. And yet their followers persist regardless..., Archaon darkly mused.
Next to him was Arch-Warlock Riddick Irontail, a Skryre Skaven. Like all techno-nutjobs of his ilk, that rat had more metal than flesh grafted in his body. His face was a mask with two glassy green beads for "eyes" and two breathers connected to a giant backpack that contained crushed Warpstone, the powerful drug/magic booster Skaven loved so much.
A dozen tubes penetrated the surface of his greasy and unkempt fur, and Archaon could swear none of them served a specific or meaningful purpose.
Riddick Irontail explained, "We've encountered-found* a few problem-complications but the tunnel is working fine-great and well under our projections-calculations, only a quarter of a million Skaven have been lost, yes-yes."
To any other faction this would have been an unsustainable toll with such massive loss of lives. Clan Gautner, Riddick's clan, would have replenished those numbers within the hour, if one didn't want to count the deaths caused by the dozen (or more) civil wars his clan was having. It would take more in that scenario.
But then again, they were Skaven, that was par for the course.
While hearing in full detail the nigh-meaningless babble the Skaven was spouting, a member of Archaon's warrior elite, the Varanguard, approached. "Sire, the Gaunt Summoners confirmed that we've found a Realmgate but it's small and its power flickers, we won't be able to send too many or reliably through it.", he informed him.
Then it would be the slow but steady approach, a handful of Chaos Sorcerers and Warriors to convert the local populace into his cause, followed by whatever they could send. And then they will launch an all-out attack to destroy and kill everything in the name of Chaos.
Such an old but effective modus operandi repeatedly used back in the World-That-Was.
"So does that mean, we must-must halt-stop?" Said Riddick in a most dejected tone. Mainly because he wouldn't get to kill en masse as many dissenters as he had done these past two days.
The Everchosen bluntly declared to the Arch-Warlock, "No, keep going at it, you'll serve as a second front to support the incursions and to distract them from the main invasion once we find a Realmgate big enough. Once attacked by all sides they'll know no respite."
Riddick Irontail was pleased and thanked him, resuming his operations once more with enthusiasm.
He internally scoffed, And it's not like we are losing a great deal. A couple million Skaven is nothing. They breed faster with greater numbers anyway.
What wasn't nothing was this so-called New World. The fact that it stood intact, alien to his conquests, made Archaon seethe in pure unadulterated anger. It was an affront to him, to the promise he had made and his life-long objective.
For all he know, he wouldn't be surprised whether if the New World could possibly be a remnant of the World-That-Was or that same haven world made by Lileath, who pretended to be the Lady of the Lake for Bretonnia whose people were gaslit into worshiping her and built that pretentious joke they call for a code of chivalry and honor around her, created as a haven for her chosen people to flee there and settled in.
Once upon a time, aeons ago, the Everchosen had sworn that he'd destroy everything. Gods and men, kings and plebians. And everyone else for they're all fair game. He'd leave nothing in his wake but a burning pile of rubble and death that would span all creation. That much he swore.
And Nothing. Would. Stop. Him.
Baharuth Empire, New World
Fluder Paradyne's abode was filled with books and parchment, with tons of knowledge gathered in a relatively small place. Thus it almost seemed to be dripping with wisdom. And it's all thanks to his years of dedicated research into the depths of Magic that he had spent his entire life on learning everything he could and master the spells.
The Archmage of the Baharuth Empire was utterly absorbed in his studies when the shadow reached just behind him.
Turning with a gasp, Fluder jerked his body to turn at the trespasser who had apparently bypassed his defenses and snuck inside without alerting him until he showed himself in person.
It was an older man, one who hadn't seem to age nowhere as well as Fluder. Blind and bald, with an unkempt beard and a ragged outfit and staff he holds as a support to walk around. Alongside a tome he carries by his side. A white raven rested upon his shoulder, acting as the blind man's guide as his eyes and ears.
"Greetings, oh wise Archmage," said the ragged old man with a tired voice.
"Who are you?" was the immediate and distrustful response from Fluder as he prepared his magic to attack the intruder.
"Who am I is of no of importance, my lord.", shrugged the stranger as he brandished a scroll. "Who sent me is, and the promises he holds for you."
The mentor of Emperor Jircniv Rune Farlord El Nix frowned, doubtful of what the intruder was saying before lowering down his hand. Then the Archmage touched the scroll the old stranger was going to hand him. He saw it, falling to his knees. The man, who thought he had already seen everything in his research of magic, realized it that his previous worldview have shattered.
Fluder saw it all, as the visions from the mighty and powerful god calling itself Tzeentch had flooded into him where he had seen the true depths of Magic he was looking for all along and it made him happy to have found it at last. Along with the promise of a new future, a new destiny, presented itself as a log to embrace and survive the flood.
He saw it, as he nodded at the blind man, who made a smirk. The white raven seemed to be laughing too as well. But of course he was, in what other way one would react at the foolery of someone who claimed to be a sage. What could do one but laugh at a man who had taken so long to notice the truth?
Change was due for too long, better get moving, shouldn't they?
Author's Note: Alright, the seventh chapter of "Age of Overlords" is done and I hope you guys like it. Chaos had already noticed the New World with Archaon planning to have it corrupted and destroyed just like he did with The World-That-Was, and that The Advisor, the same guy from Total War: Warhammer who wanted to free himself from the Tome of Fate with Ursun's blood but got blinded and re-enslaved again, appear before Fluder who become enticed by the power of Tzeentch and join him.
And that Ainz would soon learn about Chaos after Narberal Gamma showed him the Eight Pointed Star and the Fyre Slayer told him that they're bad news especially in the New World.
*Skaven speak in that fashion: very often they'll speak using two verbs and refer to any other race as (insert name)-things.
Enjoy and don't forget to review. :D