V. RETAINER
'Sister mine, enemy vanguard's here. We are to meet 'em and drive 'em away.'
In the wan wintry light seeping in from the high window, she glances up: one-eyed Toleslav, in the doorway, as brooding as ever; youthful, vigorous Massimeo, already outside, shouting his baron's order to the men-at-arms.
Aravia nods, exiting the room with a quick look at the immense Lake Everglut under the Fangkeep, its wrathful waters not fully subdued even by the dense ice-crust.
Such beauty...
At moments like these Aravia wonders whether she is a-dreaming. She rarely sleeps, and her dreams are never pleasant but filled with all-consuming starvation, violence, terror.
An existence of utter misery with no hope for survival…
Jaws clamped tight upon a chunk of red meat, wet growls of beastly infighting…
Her betrothed, killed with the rest…
'Dwell not on this,' she always tells herself. 'It's over. You are safe.'
As she mounts her noble steed and follows her siblings, Aravia hopes it's true. For a long time, they have protected their new home, baronial chateau entrusted by their liege lord in the name of their god and His winged champion. This castle deep in Ghurish Heartlands occupies an ancient site coveted by all sorts of enemies, but with the glorious King Pellenor, its loyal protectors always fought those off, and stood firm.
Yet still Aravia often recalls the cloying, heavy smells from her old life with all its horrors, and feels unsure. Trust is the ficklest of currencies, and even these days she believes none save her monarch and brothers. Just in case…
Battle is the only surety. Raising her gem-studded sword high, Aravia charges over the fresh snow, right at the mob of intruders – slavering vandals with crude weaponry, blood-craze in their eyes.
Her gallant comrades fight with proud cries on their lips, velvet surplices fluttering on the chill wind, ornate armour shining…
Some large, pale-skinned brute attacks her, emitting a thunderous roar, and she growls back at it; a strange, inhuman, feral sound. How she yearns to destroy these animals, to the last. For her people. For her lord.
Baron Toleslav screams in righteous fury and goes for the giant. By his able hand it falls at last, but not before a final mighty swing at her elder brother. His crowned, chopped-off head tumbles away...
Soon afterwards, she hears enraged Massimeo snarl nearby and then fall silent, cut in twain...
Desperately, hoarsely, Aravia calls out their names.
~Mashmarrow!~
~Tallowslew!~
Another maniac lunges at her, smaller and shorter than the previous one though none the deadlier for it.
Graceful, Aravia strikes a slashing blow, sees his vile blood fountain up.
Then her vision clouds over.
Her nobility devolves, evaporates, until only primeval hunger remains.
Aravia tears into the wounded creature, maddened by the scent of its hot, steaming flesh. Aravia turns into a beast herself.
No, she has been a beast all this time. And in honesty, she doesn't care.
She surrenders to this exhilarating frenzy...
A huge, sparkling warhammer crashes onto her spine, then total darkness-
…
Arrian Thundervoice of the Azyrite Arbiters straightens and shoulders his accusation hammer.
'Ghouls,' he spits, disgustedly. 'Befouling this wilderness ever since we'd been forced to leave its hapless people to their fates.'
These abhorrent things were only patrol. The rest of them, with its pale horror of a 'king', wait Arrian's Dawnbringer force ahead.
His accompanying witch hunter's dead form is horribly chewed and mangled. The Stormcast glances from his fellow Dawner to the slain abomination, unable to tell whether it was male or female, yet for a heartbeat sensing vague familiarity on its ugly snout.
Didn't his Excelsian prophecy warn of-
The ghoul's body twitches.