Expedition 1.2
Davos Silverstrike, Knight-Azyros of the Storm Envoys, soared through the clouds over Sigmaron. So high was he, that the city itself was but a field of marble grass on the slopes of Mt. Celestine. His only company were the star eagles of Azyr and the occasional airship breaking the cloud cover to sail upon it like forgotten ghost ships, before silently disappearing once again. Up high, it was almost as if he were the only man alive in the whole of the Mortal Realms.
However, even as high as he was, the peaks of Mt. Celestine rose ever higher, far beyond his sight. He knew at the very top of the peak was the glorious city of Highheim, the city of the gods, and for a moment Davos was tempted to abandon his charge and sail to the city if only for a glimpse. But his better judgment and sense of duty restrained such an impulse; the once great city was forbidden by Sigmar himself for any outsiders, and had been so since his Pantheon had collapsed.
So as tempting as it was, bringing the wrath of Sigmar down upon him did not seem like a fair trade to Davos. He let out a forlorn sigh, and shifted his flight instead, descending through the clouds to Sigmaron. His celestial wings creaked and hissed as he moved, the azyr fire flickering against the clouds; tiny sparks of lightning arced from his wings among the vapor in dazzling chain reactions.A smile graced his lips.
Ahead, a tower of marble and gold rose up to meet Davos when he broke the clouds. He made a lazy bank around it and gently spiraled down its length several hundred feet before breaking off to glide along Sigmaron's mighty edifices. A flock of cloud-doves startled at his passage and a few mortals below pointed up at his passing. Davos waved as he flew, reveling in the joy his simple presence could bring.
Even in the dead of night, Sigmaron was busy as ever. Shifts changed, businesses opened and closed, but the city never slept. The streets were always flooded with people going about their duties, from clusters of friends heading to their shift to great caravans moving supplies from one hub to the next in long chains of supply. Airships rose and fell, hulls laden with cargo to be shipped to the front lines of the empire, or returning with treasures and artifacts salvaged from the ruined cities that filled the Realms. Some even flew with the Stormdrake Guard providing escort.
Not for the first time, Davos wondered at it all. When memories of his mortal life threatened to overtake him, he merely had to look outside of himself to remind him of what he had gained when he entered Sigmars service. A world of wonder and progress, a world worth defending where he could actually make a difference, however small it might be. Oh yes, for that he would die, a thousand times if necessary.
Despite his best efforts at wasting time, Davos did reach his destination. On one of Sigmaron's inner rings a lonely tower stretched from a greater workshop that hissed with the constant release of steam engines while aether domes sucked ever more energy from Azyrs storms. He came to a silent touch down on a small landing platform that had replaced the towers balcony, and his wings hissed shut with a release of magic and sliding of metal on metal. He shook the dew from his war-plate, and marched inside the tower.
'Tower of the Mad Mage' that was what the locals called this place. Its owner and their experiments were an enigma to the average passerby, and even to many of the local nobility. To them the tower was a symbol of mystery and danger. Not helped of course, by the sporadic appearance of its reclusive owner. Thus, the tower was a common subject of fable and fabrication
Of course, most of the rumors and hearsay weren't true. Only some of them.
As Davos walked, he passed by innumerable experiments of magical, mystical, and mechanical nature. A building sized jar swirled with an eternal storm, a half finished automaton slowly put itself together while also disassembling itself in an eternal loop, and many more half finished projects that their owner had started before abandoning in a sudden fit of boredom or new inspiration.
Davos wondered what miracles she would produce if she could ever keep her mind on track. He shuddered at the thought. Once, he had seen exactly that on the field of battle, and the storms that had scoured the field were talked about in legend. But of course, one would expect nothing less from a Lord-Arcanum of the Stormcast Eternals.
In the center of the workshop, Davos found Lord-Arcanum Phara Sunborne the Storm-Tamer embroiled in a project that had consumed her for nearly a year now. The towering mage had abandoned her office's armor in exchange for plain colorless robes, and was otherwise a mess. Her short hair was unkempt and frayed at the edges, her face and hands smeared with grease and scorch marks, and small knicks and cuts lined her hands and face. All things considered, she was in surprisingly good shape compared to the last time Davos had been to her tower.
She hurried about a dozen tables spread evenly around the center of the tower, each littered with discarded tools, parts, and parchment detailing magical theorem and spells. The one consistency among them all, was that each resembled the shape of a lantern, similar to the one that hung at Davos belt in various states of assembly.
Davos cleared his throat to make his presence known. Phara didn't even bother to look up from one of her tomes when she spoke, "Yes, I was aware of your arrival the moment you touched down outside, Knight-Azyros Davos Silverstrike of the Broken Skies."
"I'm hurt, Lady Phara. I thought we were past titles at this point." Davos said, mock pain in his voice.
"You earned those titles. It would be disrespectful of me not to use them." she replied and finally deigned to look at him.
Lady Phara had been reforged more times than any Stormcast Davos knew. Most Stormcast were reluctant to return to the Anvil of Apotheosis for resurrection, but Lady Phara seemed to relish in it. Seventeen times she had returned to the Anvil, and each time she returned with new insights and theories relating to the process.
Her own magical power had rapidly grown as well, though it did not come without its costs as well. Most obvious were her eyes. Once they had been a deep brown, a darker shade of her skin that had sparkled with intelligence and empathy. Now they forever crackled with the light of Azyr, another buffer that made her ever more unapproachable.
Except for Davos.
He met those storm-filled eyes without fear and held up a pack in his hand, "Well, title or no, I come bearing important tidings, Lord-Arcanum."
She straightened up, her vertebrate letting out a series of pops as it straightened for the first time in days. "You should have led with that. Very well, what news do you bring, Knight-Azyros Davos Silverstrike of the Broken Skies?"
Davos reached into the pouch and revealed an apple, a sandwich, and a bowl of leafy vegetables. "First and foremost, food. When was the last time you ate?"
She scoffed, "That's hardly relevant, or necessary."
One look past her put doubt to that. The moldering food he had brought her last time he'd visited sat untouched on one of her work stations. That had been over a week ago. He turned back to her, "Lady Phara. Despite what you might say, you're only a demigod. Like it or not, you do still have to take care of yourself. Eat first, and then I will deliver the message for you."
He recognized the warring indecision on her face. Phara would decide if it was quicker and easier to argue this point with him, or if just eating the damn food would save them all a headache. As always, her boundless wisdom prompted her to take the latter option.
She flicked a hand through the air, and a chair skittered across the floor in time for her to fall into it. Then she tore into the delivered food without further delay. Davos grinned with smug satisfaction beneath his helm.
"You don't have to be so smug about it." Phara said between mouthfuls.
"Who said I was being smug?" Davos said, wry amusement in his voice.
Phara eyed him, tiny bolts of lightning arcing along her brow as she did. "You hide it terribly. You preen every time you think you've outsmarted me."
Davos held a hand to his chest in mock hurt, "Preen? My dear Lord-Arcanum, I am a decorated warrior of Sigmar's Storm Envoys. I do not preen. I stand with smug satisfaction and self-righteousness."
"An art you've mastered." she muttered through a mouthful of apple.
"Some master the art of the arcane, others the art of war. I have mastered the art of sass. And in that regard, I am its unmitigated master," Davos chuckled.
The Lord-Arcanum muttered something undoubtedly witty under her breath and tossed aside the apple core. She dug into the sandwich with equal enthusiasm, leaving them alone in a companionable sandwich. While she ate, Davos took time to inspect the lanterns she was working on again.
"Phara, the lantern's are very clearly modeled after my own celestial beacon. But you of all people never work on small projects."
She stared at him, her expression sharpening, "I am not, currently, at liberty to discuss that, Davos. All I can tell you is that the project is all but done. All my work now is fine tuning their functions. Ensuring they work."
A knot untied in Davos' chest. For well over a year he had watched Phara slowly destroy herself working on whatever this mysterious project was. Knowing that it would be at an end was a great relief. Whether or not she would actually slow down afterwards was another matter entirely, but he had learned to take the victories as they came. Leave the concerns for the future to his superiors and Sigmar. Even if his curiosity did burn like a star every time he came to her workshop.
Phara finished her meal and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the sleeve of her robe, "Thank you for the meal, Knight-Azyros Davos Silverstrike of the Broken Skies. Now, the message if you please?"
Happy enough that Phara had eaten something, Davos reached into another pouch on his belt and produced a single wax sealed letter. She broke it open as soon as he handed it to her and scanned it. When she finished, she stood up, walked to the nearest table and started writing while muttering to herself.
Davos could see the letter from his position, unprotected, and fought to keep from trying to read it while she worked. If it was for him to know what was written on it, it would not have been sealed. Once more, duty over curiosity.
Phara finished her scribbling and folded the letter in a parchment envelope that she also sealed with wax. She handed it to Davos and said, "Bring that to our Lord-Commander as quickly as possible."
Davos paused, and his curiosity won out. "Why?"
Instead of reprimanding him or ignoring him, Phara replied with a smile. "The time has come to fulfill our purpose. The Storm Envoys march to war."
-SF-
Knight-Incantor Vel Mistwalker sat in the Grand Library of Sigmaron sipping on warm tea and perusing a tome on ancient Azyr ritual magic when Andraste found him. If not on the Sigmarabulum high above Azyr, the mage could almost always be counted on to be found within the Grand Library. He lifted his mug in greeting to Andraste as she approached, a friendly smile on his face.
"Sister, it's wonderful to see you here again! I take it you've finally overcome Callus? Or has he finally grown bored of besting you?"
Andraste sighed and pulled a chair up to the slab of stone that made up the table Vel was studying at. "Neither, I am afraid. The Hallowed Knights return to the Realms once more and Callus joins them."
Vel grunted his sympathy. "Pity, he and you got on quite well. I am afraid my swordsmanship cannot match his own, but if you're willing to test wits, then I must warn you my tongue is quite sharp."
She forced a smile, "Another time perhaps. I am afraid that I sought you out for more serious matters."
Sensing the dour mood in her voice, Vel set his mug down and closed the tome. He leaned forward on the table, resting comfortably on his forearms. "What ails you, Andraste? More nightmares? A fit of unease? Or do you just find yourself lonely in these uncertain times?"
Like other Knight-Incantors, Vel and all other Stormcast in the Sacrosanct Chamber were as much therapists as they were warriors. They lent their magic and voices to the Anvil of Apotheosis where all Stormcast were forged and reforged, easing the trauma of the process on their brothers and sisters. Andraste remembered vividly the calm of Vels voice as she had emerged from the anvil, screaming and crying like a newborn infant. Vel had been there to bring her back to her senses and he had been there for her ever since. If there was anyone in the whole of Sigmaron she trusted without a shadow of a doubt, it was him.
"I will spare you my inane frustrations," she said. "I've come for your counsel on… a vision."
Vel raised a single brow, his curiosity piqued. "Interesting. Is this from communion with your sword then?"
Andraste nodded, "During my meditations last night, I managed to… connect with the celestium within my greatsword. The vision it gave me troubles me still."
"Then share it, sister. At the very least, I can help you shoulder the burden." His smile was warm and reassuring as always.
Her retelling was short and to the point. She focused only on what she thought was most important, and emphasized the sense of dread and primal fear she had felt when the strange beast had made its appearance in her vision. When she had finished, Vel was leaning back in his seat, his expression unreadable.
For a solid minute he said nothing, clearly lost in thought. Andraste swore she saw his eyes flit about the room, as if scanning it for threats or dangers. Why he would be doing that… well, hopefully he would explain that to her in full when the time came. When he did finally speak, his tone had become more serious.
"Have you told any others about this vision?" he asked.
She shook her head, "No. I thought it best to come to you for your advice first."
"The Lord-Relictor would have sufficed as well. Regardless, that's good I suppose. Can you tell me more about the city you saw the vision in? I noticed you were vague on that."
Andraste frowned and thought back to the vision, "It was… filled with towers of glass and steel, with wide black streets and stone walkways lining them. There were mortal bodies littering the ground, and they wore strange armor and clothing. Colorful, decorative. Meant more to inspire than to protect, it seemed."
Vel nodded as she spoke, stroking his chin with her every word. "That is what I thought. What about the Stormcast themself? Did you recognize anything about them?"
"No," she shook her head, "Their armor was too battered for me to make out any iconography. The only thing I know for sure was that the stormcast was one of our own. A Storm Envoy."
"Fascinating."
Vel glanced around, then looked back at Andraste. "Sister, I cannot speak to the entire meaning of your vision or why it was given to you. But I can answer one question for you, at least. I know the beast you saw in your vision."
Andraste shuddered at the thought of the strange godbeast. Its strange uneven head and those burning eyes were seared into her memory and had haunted her dreams that night. Knowing what the creature actually was would at least let her put a name to it. Maybe even understand how to deal with it if she ever encountered it. Knowledge was the first step in defeating a foe, after all.
"It is a godbeast known simply as 'The Leviathan'. Among the monsters that prowl the Realms, it is of unparalleled power and destruction, capable of twisting the seas and storms to its very will. Entire kingdoms and cities have drowned beneath its fury. It is a near immortal creature that can only be driven off before it wreaks too much destruction, but if it can be killed, none have been able to do so."
A palpable sense of dread gripped at Andraste's heart. The name alone struck a chord with her, awakening a memory from her past life. The faintest memories of what this monstrosity had unleashed, and the lives that had been lost in its wake. A sharp pain stabbed at her head, and Andraste rubbed at her temple, holding back a grimace. Vel reached out a steadying hand, but she waved him off.
"Why has Sigmar not struck this creature down, if it's as dangerous as you say?" she grunted through her teeth.
Vel paused for a split second, before speaking in a slow even tone. "There are many godbeasts across the whole of the Mortal Realms. Some as great if not greater than the Leviathan. The forces of Azyr are mighty, but they are not omnipresent, and the Leviathan never stays in one location for long."
Reasonable, there were stories passed on through the stormhosts of a similar beast slain by Sigmars great huntress, Yndrasta. It too had moved fast and constant, never staying in one place for long. Yndrasta had spent centuries hunting it down whenever it rose to wreak havoc on the surface before cornering it at one of Sigmars own cities, at great cost. If the Leviathan operated similarly, she could understand why Sigmar had not seen fit to focus on it yet. There were enough war fronts as it is.
A thought occurred to her. "Wait, then what does this mean in regards to my vision? Is slaying the Leviathan the purpose of our Host?"
Vel raised a hand, "That's quite a leap in logic, sister. I think it would be more realistic to say that at some point, one of our brothers or sisters may join the defense against the Leviathan, likely one of your retinue. If it truly comes down to a battle between a Stormcast and the Leviathan… I fear that our comrade will be making a swift return to the Anvil."
He made a fair point. A frustrating point, but a fair one nonetheless. Of the two in her vision, it was the Stormcast that was clearly being bested. There was no reason to assume that any in the Storm Envoys could ever hope to best the Leviathan. It was just a fleeting hope on her part, in truth. To have a true idea of what their purpose was in Sigmars grand plan.
Her frustration must have been obvious, because Vel clapped a hand on her shoulder, "Sister, be patient." the warmth had returned to his voice. "You will find your place among the host. Of that I have no doubt."
"We barely have a place among the rest of the Stormcasts." Andraste said, making no attempt to hide her bitterness. "We're Sigmars scraps and leftovers. Too valuable to throw away, but not great enough to stand alongside the rest of his chosen."
Vel raised a brow in bemusement, "You and I both know that is your impatience speaking. We may not have led any campaigns ourselves, but we are not without our worthy deeds. Sigmar has a purpose for us. You will see it in time, when you are ready."
"But when will I be ready?" she hissed, slamming her gauntleted fist onto the stone table. Cracks spread from the impact, and thunder echoed in the skies of Azyr.
"That's not for me to decide." Vel said. His expression was cool, but his voice remained warm, understanding. He did not approve of her frustration, that was obvious, but he clearly understood it.
She let her hand go limp and slide off the table into her lap. "I'm sorry Vel. You don't deserve my ire."
"I'd rather you unleash it on me instead of a hapless serf. I can weather the storm of your fury." Vel chuckled. He clasped her shoulder, "As for the vision itself, bear it in mind but do not let it consume you. The future is a mirky uncertainty, and even the greatest seers have been proven wrong. Your fate is what you make it. No one else."
How true his words were, was something Andraste knew was debated hotly by scholars throughout Sigmars domain. But that didn't stop them from being a comforting balm on her aching spirit. She reached up and patted his hand, letting him know his words were heard and appreciated.
Vel smiled and leaned back in his chair, "Now, off the topic of visions and purpose. Tell me, how goes your training and studies?"
It was an obvious ploy to get her mind off her frustrations. But it was one she was willing to fall for. Andraste did not enjoy dwelling on her frustrations and flaws, and discussing what she enjoyed instead was a surefire way to brighten her mood. She was no scholar, but she enjoyed the histories and legends of the mortal realms. When she was not training or meditating, she could often be found reading new tomes on the many wonders that had stood in the Age of Myth, before the Ruinous Powers had found the Mortal Realms.
The two fell into a comfortable discussion on her most recent research into the World-That-Was. Such tomes were theoretical at best, but they always made for a fascinating topic of discussion. Her favorite theory at the moment was that the Aelven God of Shadows, Malereon, had actually been mortal once like Sigmar and gone by an entirely different name. It was believed in fact that any that could learn his true name would be able to bind the god to their service. A ridiculous notion, but an amusing one.
This was their general line of talking for the next hour or so, and the thoughts of her vision and the frustration at her lack of purpose vanished for the moment. Given time, they could have talked about nothing of true value for the entire day.
However, as midday came, they were approached by a pair of Liberators. Andraste stopped her retelling of the Mortach Mannfred Von Carsteins hundred year imprisonment by Nagash and looked at them with open curiosity. They were Liberators from the Storm Envoys, their armor as undecorated and unmarked as their own. If they were in the Grand Library, that meant her discussion with Vel was over.
"Knight-Incantor Vel Mistwalker?" one of them intoned.
"Guilty." Vel said, already standing. "Am I needed, brothers?"
The Liberator nodded, "The Lord-Commander requests your presence in his war room."
Andraste stood up as well and bowed at Vel, "Sigmar be with you, Vel. If the Lord-Commander is requesting your presence, you'll need his guidance."
"Thank you Andraste, your sympathy is boundless." Vel said, his tone as dry as a desert.
The other Liberator held a hand up to stop Andraste, "Hold. Are you Vanquisher Andraste?"
She stopped and looked at the Stormcast with naked surprise. "I am."
"Your presence is also requested at the Lord-Commander's war-room."
Andraste blinked several times then looked at Vel. His only reply was a smirk, "Sigmar be with us both, sister."
-SF-
The Storm Envoys did not have their own Storm Keep, not yet. Instead, those not garrisoned at the Temples found themselves stationed in the logistical offices and war-chambers that made up the core of Sigmaron. The Lord-Commander's was a relatively humble one in terms of structure if not aesthetic. Gold and silver lined the walls of the war room outside and within, and both were decorated with bas-relief carvings of triumphs of the Storm Envoys and tributes to Sigmar. In comparison to its fellows however, it was small and sparsely decorated, only large enough to hold a command echelon and their supporting staff, no more or less. Some war chambers were large enough to hold the near entirety of a Stormhost; but the Storm Envoys had no need for such structures.
Andraste could hardly appreciate this, however. She could only focus on the polished marble directly in front of her as she marched, feeling like a child caught doing something she shouldn't. Neverin her service had she met the Lord-Commander in a meaningful capacity She had met him once during the ceremony when she had been bestowed her greatsword and named a Vanquisher. Otherwise, his station and duties simply meant she was never going to meet simply wandering Sigmaron.
But apparently he wanted her at his war-room now. The Liberators had given no answer for why he wanted them there, only that he did. They had remained otherwise silent as they escorted the two of them, and even Vel had grown uncharacteristically stoic. Andraste was left with her thoughts, which she was not a personal fan of.
Anxiety was not something a Stormcast should have to deal with, but it wormed its way into her heart regardless. Her palms were slick by the time they reached the towering stone doors of the Lord-Commander's war room, and she had to focus to keep herself from shaking. The Lord-Commander was still a servant of Sigmar, like herself. They were all chosen by him, he had simply been put in charge. There was no reason to feel like this.
That line of thinking did ease some of her anxiety. Vel's presence by her side also helped. It was just the Lord-Commander, and if Vel was there she could handle this. She sucked in a breath and felt her heart begin to slow.
Both Liberators marched forward and pushed the doors to the war-room open. They swung without so much as a sound, revealing the chamber within. And the entire Command Echelon of the Storm Envoys waiting inside.
Andraste rocked back on her heels like she'd been struck. Only Vel's steadying hand kept her from immediately falling on her back. He ushered her in and clasped his fist to his chest in a salute.
"Lord-Commander Heron. You summoned us?"
Lord-Commander Heron Doombreaker of the Triumvirate was clad in armor decorated with various eagle iconography. His face was strong and his hair was a constantly shifting color of grays and whites, a gift from a paste reforging if rumor was to be believed. His eyes were kind and regarded the both of them with respect.
He was surrounded on both sides by the entirety of the Storm Envoys commanding echelon. From the Lord-Aquilor down to the Lord-Veritant, all were present, and accompanied by more than a few Knights.
Most notable was Knight-Draconis Imperius Galerider. The stormcast was clad in full armor, a long red plume running down his back. His right arm was scorched black and the shoulder pad had been replaced with the skull of a beast from one of the realms. Behind him, lounging comfortably in the remaining space the chamber could provide, was his partner. The great Draconith Kardon lounged behind the storm envoys, silvery scales glimmering in the aether torch light. That would explain why the doors to the war-room were so large.
It was hard not to marvel at Kardon's majesty, but Andraste managed to pull her attention away when she noticed someone drilling two holes into her skull with their eyes. Lord-Arcanum Phara Sunborne's storm-blessed gaze crackled with open annoyance
Heron returned Vel's salute, "Yes and no. It's good to see you both here regardless. We'll be able to begin momentarily."
The Lord-Commander looked at Phara, and Andraste swore she saw his eye twitch. "Lord-Arcanum. Do you have something to say?"
She composed herself, and turned to Heron. "I am only curious why the Vanquisher is here, my lord. I was under the impression that this council was for the command echelon only."
Heron's smile faded, "Correct. However, Andraste's inclusion here was not my decision, Lord-Arcanum."
Phara frowned, "Then who invited them here?"
Heavy footfalls sounded behind Andraste and Vel and the entire war room fell stone silent. As one, the commanders of the Storm Envoys fell to their knees. Andraste felt a presence behind her and slowly turned.
Sigmar, the Thunderer, Justice Maker, Hammer of the Heavens, the Stormlord, and God-King of Azyr, stood at the entrance to the war-room, a look of bemusement etched in his stony features. "My apologies for not informing you sooner Phara. Rest assured, Andraste's presence here is very much intended. Now."
He clapped his hands together, and thunder boomed across the skies of Azyr. "Shall we begin?"
A/N: And this is where the fun begins! As promised, another new chapter on this 'wonderful' Monday. I hope the wait was at all worth it. Please leave any comments or critiques below, and I'll see you all next week!