Breach The Mist

Aqshy, Township of Anchorhal

Liberator Prime Marius Canius surveyed the battlefield before him. Already various stratagems from battles past emerged to the forefront of his mind. Experience had been the wet stone that sharpened his mind.

The battle before him was obscured, but from what he could make out it was more of a brawl than an actual fight. Shapes resembling beastmen struggled to deal with smaller forms that he assumed were the city guard. Their formation had broken, their halberds and swords wouldn't nearly be as effective in this kind of fight against this foe. Something in Marius called for him to damn tactics, and rush into the melee. A burning desire to save those few remaining guardsmen and those mortals who fled through the fight, weaving between duels. He tempered himself with cold logic. He knew not what came at him, he knew not how many beastmen there were. Marius needed to be cunning, not brutish. That would win the day.

Curiously, the brayherds had not noticed the bolt that brought the Tempest Lords here, even more interestingly, it had seemed that the beastmen were not all that interested in the fight itself. While there was a brief melee before the liberators to deal with, Marius could see figures rushing from the eastern walls, moving away from the town. It'd also seem the mist that obscured the beastmen begun to roll over that very same wall, hiding the exact number that fled the city.

Above, a winged stormcast swooped low, allowing Marius to speak to her, "Venator!" He called to her, star eagle sweeping right over his plume, "Those beastmen fleeing eastward, tell me, do they take captives." It had been the first thought as to why they would leave.

She shouted back to him as she ascended upwards, "No! They take loot! Metal of any kind!"

"Loot?" Marius spoke the word aloud, perplexed by it.

It had been rare for beastmen to take an interest in anything shiny. Trophies yes, but mass looting was something more common in Orruks. Marius refocused on the battle, questions as too what the beastmen were doing could wait. Banging his warblade against his shield, he rallied his liberators.

"Brothers! Sisters!" Marius called, turning round to look upon his cohort, "Another battle lies before us! Another struggle to surmount! Ready your blades! For Sigmar has more work for us!" The thunderous cheer and clanging of blades and shields caught the brayherds attention. "Perhaps lighting isn't all that interesting to them..." Marius grumbled to himself as the battle now decided to come to him and his liberators.

The greatest of the gors grunted something like a command and motioned for the lesser gors to forget the humans before then, for Sigmar had sent his warriors to face them. Once they came into judicator range, Marius stratagem had been selected, and the plan already went into motion.

"Shields up!" He bellowed as the liberators locked shields and readied for coming beastial tied. "Ioseph! Take your grand hammer and five shields! Be ready to pour around us!"

"Aye!" Liberator Ioseph bellowed, "Who will join me!"

A series of clangs of sigmarite and grunts of acknowledgment signaled that the plan had already gone into motion. Overhead, prosecutors swooped over the coming beastial tied, javelinas picking off the larger beastmen, while hammers slammed into packs of lesser gors. Still, the tide of beastmen came.

"Ready yourself to swing the gate open!" Marius ordered.

Liberators fanned out to the flanks, packing tightly on the left and right while leaving the middle thin. Marius then placed his shield upon his back, opting to arm himself with a second warblade. The four other liberators in the middle of the formation followed suit.

"Be ready to fight backward!" Marius shouted right as the beastial tide was upon them.

Right as the beastmen made contact, the trap had been sprung. Marius with his brothers and sisters in the middle of the formation begun to fall back, slowly, enduring the beastmen's charge. As they did this, liberators on either side of the center locked their shields facing the middle as the beastmen marched into the formation. The plan relied upon the foe believing they had to advantaged and had breached the wall of sigmarite. In either wrathful arrogance or beastial ignorance they pressed into the trap.

The lesser beastmen who remained on the flanks were soon swiftly dealt with as Ioseph arrived with the rest of his volunteers, cleaning the stragglers and soon the gate had been closed behind the beastmen. Trapped in a corral of sigmarite, the beastmen began to panic. They started to frenzy, eager to escape the noose that had tightened around there throat, and it only grew tighter.

The liberators pressed into them, causing the beastmen to squish into one another. There fighting capabilities begun to strain as they could no longer swing their weapons without striking one of their kin nor gain the momentum to land a serious blow. That did not mean they gave up on. Hooves and claws beat and scratched sigmarite, hoping to fell at least one of the Stormcast. Mulls and whimpers could be heard as the Stormcast slaughtered the beastmen like cattle. Such reactions came not from the fear of death, Marius assumed, but by the great anguish of not even being able to fight back.

When the last beastmen fell, Marius whistled a familiar tune, signally the liberators to fall back into formation. The Liberator Prime gazed over the field towards the walled city. The fog lingered but had lost its thickness. Marius could make out buildings; familiar shapes of airship docks. With blessed eyesight, the Liberator Prime observed beastmen tearing and ripping any metal off the dock. They became easy targets for prosecutors who visited wrath upon them. All the while, Marius' liberators checked one another; giving praise and advice were it was due.

"Do not celebrate yet!" Marius called out, "Plenty of work for us still!"

"Do we give chase, Prime?!" Ioseph eagerly asked, "I see them fleeing in the mist to our east!"

"First we cleanse the city. Let the prosecutors and hunters deal with those who flee."

Above, Knight-Venator Pala Stormrider, sought another target. The fog had begun to clear when the stormcast thundered in. Lord-Relictor Yule Anvilborne countered the fell magic that produced the fog, summoning winds to blow at the stormcasts backs as the marched in. Pala could see the mist fleeing eastward, stubbornly holding against the wind, and hooking northward, towards the crags that led to the sea. She pushed thoughts of giving chase aside. The battle was here.

Pala found her next target. A particularly brutal looking beastman, who'd fashioned himself a cape of skin and bones collected from various denizens of the mortal realms. While the fog obscured the more exceptional details, the arrogant beast stood on a wagon, surprisingly intact, allowing the knight-venator an easy target. As she went into a dive, she drew an arrow from her quiver, Flash, her star eagle, keeping pace with her.

Nock.

Pala's target remained obscured from her sight directly. Liberators marched from the north and south, city guardsmen held in the Temple of Sigmar to the east and the grainery in the west. The remaining beastmen were now being forced towards the center of the city.

Draw.

The knight Venator singled out her target, as she begun to pick up speed. Bolting over the brayherds that roared and raved in the full, burning town. Penetrating a tall pillar of black, ember choked smoke she sighted her foe cleanly. The beastmen stood proudly among it's kind, axes bloody it roared over a now dead city guardsman, his shield ruined, spear broken, he lay before his killer in a pool of blood.

Loose.

The arrow whooshed from her bow. It did not so much sail like a normal arrow, such projectiles were empowered by the blessing of the Six Smiths. A bolt of such origins struck through the air flashing like vengeance made manifest. The arrow hit through the beastman's scarred chest, pulling the slave of darkness to the ground with it.

Pala used the moment to strafe over the gors that choked the street. She flipped around, allowing her celestial wings to burn through the herd of gors. She did not carefully select targets during this, her bow sending bolts of divine vengeance into any who seemed to be still standing after being burnt by her wings. Flash preyed upon a monstrously large, red-furred gor, his talons ripping it's throat bloody, beak picking his eyes into crimson craters before rejoining his master.

The knight-venator soared back to the sky and begun to seeking yet another particularly offensive foe. During which, Pala was joined by Prosecutor Prime Kador Rider, his war-helm was gone, and a bloody furrow now marred his tan face.

"A close encounter?" Pala asked, her eyes turning back to the town.

"Aye, but there is something else." He motioned with his decimator ax eastward, "My sister, Calee, reports that those who fled the town before we arrived make for the crags and furrows north east of here. Shall we cut them off before they can escape into the underground?"

The knight venator shook her head, "Let the hunters find them later. The fight is here, now."

Before she could select another target, movement upon the rooftops caught her eye. A young boy scurried up to the roof of a tavern at the city square. Claws slashing out at him as beastmen pursued him. Her blessed eyesight gave her the perception too see gors had a fork lodged into his nostril. It wasn't a great leap to make that perhaps that child had fight in him.

Something in the back of her mind screamed. A faded memory of some tragedy long hammered out of her upon the Anvil. It could not be ignored, how could it be ignored? Her previous, calculated process was abounded as she hurled herself, like a comet, towards the boy, moved by something she once cherished, and perhaps still did.

Arrows soared through the air biting into the beast men crawling from the balcony up to the roof. Some tumbled from it, the bolts stealing their chance at blood, while others endured the hail of arrows. Flash, knowing of his master's will clashed into the gors. Talons ripping at claws, rending great bloody furrows, exposing bone and ligament.

Pala smashed into the tavern's balcony, landing with such great force she sent several tumbling through the walls. Celestial wings sliced and burnt at the gors who remained, her bow becoming a brutal club, that broke the remaining gors into bloodied submission. Flying from the balcony upwards she found the boy. Tears still rolling down his cheeks, minors cuts and bruises along his exposed arms and knees.

She reached out, "Child, come!" Pala spoke warmly, easing the terrified blonde boy.

The boy rushed towards her, jumping into her sigmarite grasp. Yet before they could soar away, the tavern was rendered to splinters and rubble as a minotaur busted through the front of the building, hammer raised to strike. Pala could not fly away fast enough, nor could she just drop the boy. She turned her back to the great beast and held the child tightly. A prayer to Sigmar on her lips that she would survive the strike.

She felt the blow crumple her sigmarite, blood ran down her right leg as she felt bones crack. One of her wings absorbed the majority of the strike, yet it was still a might blow. She was slammed into the ground, skipping across the cobbles of the square, pulping several gors as she did so. Pala felt the child still in grasp, however, frightened, but alive. She shakily stood, one of her angelic wings damned she hid the boy behind her, retracting her wings to ensure she would not harm the child.

She looked to see the brayherd had now noticed her and the child, chiefly among them, the minotaur. It snarled and kicked at the ground as it propelled itself forward, squashing and sending gors tumbling aside as it charged forward to finish what it had started.

Nock.

She readied an arrow, despite the pain in her arm suggesting a crack in her bone were the sigmarite had been dented.

Draw.

She aimed between the minotaurs eyes, it's red fur shining with blood.

Yet before she could let loose the arrow, Kador slammed into the charging minotaur. It skipped across the cobblestone, the prosecutor prime opening a bloody canyon with his decimator ax across the neck of the minotaur. More winged Tempest Lords joined the fray. Celestial hammers hailed down upon the gors, javelins lancing the stronger, more fearsome foes. Pala did not remain idle during this. The knight venator sending arrow after arrow into charging gors, keeping the child safe from the beastmen throughout her volleys.

Soon, the square had been secured, and Pala fell to a knee, her body ached in pain. The child she saved clung to her armored leg still in fear, but the threat against him had been thoroughly removed.

"Pala!" Kador called to the knight-venator, "Are you hurt, sister?"

She laughed, "No Kador, I only wished to kneel so I may ask Sigmar to forgive me for my foolishness."

The crack of thunder from above caused Pala to note the lack of fog, and the gentle, soothing rain falling softly to the ground. The knight-venator chuckled to herself, it would seem her prayers were answered.

The healing properties of the storm wrought by the lord-relictor brought peace to her aching wounds. The child, still hugging to Pala looked up to her, his blue eyes wandering up to her war-helm.

"Are you okay?" The child seemed concerned.

Pala smiled beneath her war-helm, replying, "I am more worried for you. Are you hurt?"

He shook his head.

Pala, satisfied by that fact looked to Kador, "Brother. Tell me. The beasts, do they hold ground in the temple district?"

He chuckled, "With the sisters and priests holding it? They stood no chance! Not to mention the pyromancer that found her way there."

Feeling her strength return thanks to the storm she, grunting, stood up, she motioned to the child, "Come. I'll take you to the temple. You shall be safe there."

"Are you sure? I saw lots of those man-goats over there."

Pala got down on her haunches, taking her helm off, revealing her dark skin and brown eyes, showing the child her confident smile, "If there is any place the God-King wouldn't let fall, it'd be his own home here." She opened her arms to him, "Come. I shall carry you there."

The boy seemed far calmer upon that. He stopped shaking once in Pala's grasp, he laid his head upon her armored chest. The knight-venator began to hum a song of sorts. The context of it had long faded, but the tune nevertheless seemed to lull the child to sleep.

Ty fell to a sitting position, leaning against the base of a statue of some saint he didn't know. Nevertheless, the granite slab he rested his head against providing the comfort he sought. His chest still heaved.

The battle was won.

Rain had come, washing a good portion of the blood from the streets. It also, for a moment, seem to give new vigor to Ty, though it was gone as soon as it came. The Stormcast had remained, though there were feared whispers that they were going to move on soon. The bounty hunter had heard rumors that the Eternal Storm was stretched thin. Fighting war after war against both the Enemy, and the Dead.

The temple was still feeling the strains of battle, however. Wounded of all walks of life were being ferried into the temple grounds to be overseen by the priests and any surgeons who might've been passing through. The local order of the Sisters of Sigmar, the Blazing Roses, were distributing food, water and medical aid to any who were in need of it as well. The town guard had been rallied in the square before the temple, what remained of it anyway, clearing out the beastman corpses, and organizing them to be taken out via cart to be disposed of outside the city.

The bounty hunter would wager his last silver than he slew perhaps three score or so of the bastards by himself. Though he'd be confident that Amelia had killed far more. The pyromancer was splayed out on the steps towards the temple, still giggling to herself in a concerning manner.

"What's so damn funny," Ty managed to get out between breaths.

Amelia seemed to try to move, this evident by not even making an effort to look towards Ty, "I don't think you understand," She said between hurried breaths and quiet giggles, "Pyromancy has a lot of, huff, adverse effects... It makes me ticklish!" She said with a raise, letting out another cackle that ended with a cough and heavy breathing.

Heavy footsteps coming down from the Temple of Sigmar alerted Ty to a Sister of Sigmar. She was a young one, too young to fight in Ty's book. Yet despite that fact she had a bloodied hammer at her hip and a jarring look about her. It must've been her first scrape. In a vice grip grasp she held a bucket and ladle, containing, assembly water. Though Ty would prefer beer at this hour if had been honest.

"Water?" The young sister asked.

Ty simply nodded and took the offered ladle. The water was sweet, cold and precisely what the bounty hunter needed after such a brutal scrap. He sighed as he drained the last of the refreshing liquid and handed it back to the sister. She then made her way to the exhausted pyromancer.

"Um, water?" The sister was perplexed by the scene before her.

"Lass just," The pyromancer took a deep breath, "Just pour it on me. Right on my face."

The sister gave a glance back to the bounty hunter, who shrugged. The sister then, slowly, poured cold water onto the pyromancer's face. It steamed up at first upon contact with Amelia's forehead.

"That's the stuff..." Amelia said with a satisfied sigh.

"Friends! You live!"

From further up the stairs the Priest of Sigmar who had fought beside them. Father Phil as he called himself, marched towards the pair. Despite the battle the priest seemed as jovial as when it started. His hammer had been cleaned, it shining now in the setting sun. The priest took a look at Amelia, who was still giggling, albeit far less profoundly.

"Is she... Well?" Phil asked looking to the bounty hunter.

"Fuck would like I know father," Ty raised a hand, "Forgive my language."

The priest laughed, "Do you not think Sigmar let slip a few foul words when he was a mortal? Worry not! I am no prude."

"That's... Good to know..." Amelia managed.

"Well, I am glad I found you safe and well, both of you," Phil spoke sitting down on the steps with them, "The temple has rooms for pilgrims. If you wish to stay the night, I can offer those rooms to you both. Free of charge, ofcourse."

Ty nodded, "Aye, yes... I'll take that offer... Just need to go back and find-"

A loud squawk caused the bounty hunter to rise to his feet with new vigor. Rushing down the street, weaving between working guardsmen was his steed, Rose. Her beak was slick with blood, her talons red with it as well. Though by how she moved, Ty wagered she was alright.

"Rose!" Ty rushed down the steps, meeting his beloved steed in the square. He embraced the beast, the griffon-charger seemingly doing the same by resting her head over his shoulder, "Oh thank Sigmar! Knew they couldn't take ya!"

The griffon charger seemed to squawk in agreement, it now chirping in joy at the sight of her master.

"Good find ya, lass... Let's get some rest."

Azyr, Sigmaron, Palace City of Azyr

Pyrrha shut another book with a thunderous thud. The stormcast gasped slightly as she realized she'd overdone it, again. The newly forged Stormcast still had difficulties when it came to minor motions.

Her first time entering the Library of Sigmaron she pulled the door clean off its hinges, to the amusement of a passing Hallowed Knight. Pyrrha learned a great deal since her reforging. The realms fascinated her the most.

It was said that Mallus, the World That Was, had been destroyed eons ago. Since it's destruction, the magic swirled and collected into forms, these forms springing forth existence once more. Thus, the Mortal Realms were born; each a personification of the magic that created it. Though such a concept weighed heavily on Pyrrha.

A dangerous thought had come to her mind; had Remnant been Mallus? From what she had learned from her brother Hallowed Knight, Avatus, the same who had laughed thunderously at her mishandling of the library entrance, explained that some souls took years to reforge. Countless souls awaited reforging in the Soul Mills, some never even seeing the forge for centuries. It made Pyrrha wonder how long had it been since she died.

It had been why she spent her free time, how limited it was, in the library reading tome after tome, and scroll after scroll. Pyrrha searched for anything connected her past; Beacon, hunters, aura. She had even delved into darker books, looking for mentions of Salem or even the Grimm.

She found nothing.

That had been the most frustrating part. A small portion of Pyrrha found comfort in the priests' many warnings that records and myths of Mallus were rare, and if they existed were overseen by Sigmar himself. The God-King hadn't answered Pyrrha's prayers yet regarding the fate of her home, and her efforts in Azyr seemed to be for nothing.

"Have you found what you were looking for?"

Pyrrha looked from the stack of books to the weathered man. Despite his age, the dark-skinned man stood upright and steady. The priest reminded Pyrrha, much of the professors at Beacon. Old, perhaps. Strong, no doubt.

Pyrrha sat up straight, made eye contact with the man and with a smile replied, "No, but that isn't going to stop me." She spoke in an even, confident tone. Perhaps a bleeding over of her mortal self. Pyrrha was a celebrity once, though she was uncertain what she was famous for. As such, she developed ways of overcoming her lack of natural charisma. That said, she truly wished Sigmar had gifted her with more people skills during her reforging.

The priest, politely, smiled back, "Are you certain that you're a quester? I could've sworn that you were intended to be a Lord-Aracum, by how long you've been here."

The Knight-Quester seemed confused by that statement, "What do you mean? I haven't overstayed my welcome have I?"

The priest shook his head, "No you have not. You are a servant of the God-King, the library is always opened to you. However, I wouldn't say my coming to you wasn't about recommendations for your search." The man motioned, "You have a visitor."

Stepping towards her was one of her fellows. Armored in blue and white sigmarite the man bore the staff of a knight-indicator, his blade sheathed. Despite the war-helm, Pyrrha knew who it was.

"Aldrin," Pyrrha nodded, "It is good to see you! What brings you here?"

The stormcast chuckled, "Fear not quester, for I have come to free you of these tomes that bind you here."

Pyrrha rubbed an armored hand on her forehead, slightly embarrassed, "How long has it been?"

"Two days."

Pyrrha had an epiphany: She wasn't hungry. Little things like hunger didn't bother her much since she had become a Stormcast. Yet that did not mean she couldn't eat anymore, the food in Azyrheim was delicious, as she learned at the feast held upon the completion of her training. But she didn't need to eat anymore. Or sleep. Pyrrha was capable of going days without rest, yet eventually around the sixth day or so she felt somewhat tired. The longest she went without sleep was for one month, as a part of her training.

"I need to get better at keeping track of time, perhaps the Six Smiths should add clocks to our armor." Pyrrha joked as she rose from the table, "Allow me a moment to put these away."

The priest came forward, "Please, allow me-"

"No, I insist." The knight-quester's gentle nature overtook her, "My mess, it's only right I clean it up."

Pyrrha took the tomes and began to, as quietly as her armor allowed her, return the books to where she found them, Aldrin aiding in the endeavor. The two had grown close since their first meeting, becoming friends quickly,given that they shared a common backgrounds to a degree.

Aldrin was a prodigy in the arcane arts, his parents, but humble farmers, saved every last penny they had to send him to Azyr to become a mage. Then it grew fuzzy from there, or so he said. Pyrrha did not pry, but because of what he was now, Aldarin had to have met with some terrible fate.

"'Ways and Means to The Realms,' 'Ulrian Greyborn's Guide to Realm Travel.' Preparing for your first venture to the realms proper, eh?"

Pyrrha chuckled, "Something like that."

"Are you nervous?"

Pyrrha looked over her shoulder at the Stormcast, "Should I be?"

"It is natural to feel so, I know I was when they called us from the chamber."

"When the neckroquake occurred?" Pyrrha asked, "How long ago was that?"

"Perhaps a decade now," Aldrin said tapping his staff on the ground, "I was sent back to the Soul Mills afterward. I believe it was a night haunt that got me."

Pyrrha shivered slightly. The Stormcast seemed to talk so casually about their demises. Some were quick and painless. A bolt through the head, or perhaps a decapitating strike. Others spoke of far more terrible fates. Fates that Pyrrha did not dwell on.

"But to the matter at hand-" Aldrin handed Pyrrha another book to put away, "We're departing soon. I was sent to get you. Aqshy calls for us."

"The Realm of Fire..." Pyrrha mused for a moment, "To our fortress at Mournful, yes?"

"Good guess," Aldrin said nodding, "Come, we should avoid being late."

"Pardon," Pyrrha realized something, "Who called for me? I thought I was bound for Ghur. To Lord-Celestant Vicegrip?"

"The Vicegrip's 'grip," Aldrin laughed to himself slightly at the pun, "Is holding, and it was a Lord-Ordinator who asked. Didn't explain why. Figures. So, you're coming with me to Aqshy."

"They could do that?"

"Well when you say, 'You swim against the streams of fate you imblicel,' And then threaten to recall your Knight-Engineers, you tend to get results."

Sigmaron never ceased to amaze Pyrrha. The vibrant city was a far cry from her home of Mistral. The slight dreariness brought by the wet climate was nowhere to be seen in the palace city. The people of the metropolis aided in this. They were so varied and colorful. Princes and poppers. Merchants and mercenaries. All of them in attire that spoke of their vibrant and colorful pasts.

Pyrrha had learned that this was the place to be if you had any dealings with the world of trade among the Free Cities. It was a strange name to give them, Pyrrha mused. They were bound to Azyr in some way; however, they were free to rule as their caretakers pleased, so long as they did not break their treaties with the God-King.

That last part continued to take Pyrrha aback. Part of her was still in disbelief about the gods. How real and close they were. In contrast to Remnant, where the twins were seemingly nowhere, nor in the Libraries of Azyr as well, the God-King was very real.

Pyrrha still stood in awe of him, part of her swelling in joy at his sight. The idea that he was, in a sense, her new father, still perplexed her, yet also made her feel grateful. She knew that, like every Stormcast, a piece of Sigmar's Godhood rested in her. That alone made her feel ready to face down whatever hell awaited her.

"It seems to be far busier today," remarked Aldrin as the two made their way through a sea of colorful mortals.

"Indeed." Pyrrha agreed, she brushed by a vibrant merchant, "Sorry!" She said in passing.

"So modest, even still," Aldrin said laughing, "I wonder, even in your days as a 'champion,' as you put it, were you still so humble?"

Pyrrha thought for a moment, "Yes. I believe so. Forgive me, my mind is still, uh, fuzzy."

Aldrin nodded, "Aye, the reforging has its price, I can testify to that."

Memory loss was a common side effect of being forged into a Stormcast. Pyrrha felt that as well. Her mind felt muddled when she thought about her life before Beacon. Her time at Shade was a blur entirely, bits of her childhood too. The worst part had been her family. She vaguely remembered her parents. Her father's face was particularly fuzzy to her. Though if memory served, he was largely absent in her life.

"Your search, you haven't spoken of it." Aldrin addressed Pyrrha with measured concern, "I take it things haven't progressed well then."

Pyrrha remained quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts, "It still perplexes me," Pyrrha's gaze turned skyward for a moment, before coming back to the ground, "Was my realm Mallus? It was the best answer I could find. At least, that is what I assume anyway. With what I can figure out."

Aldrin clapped Pyrrha on her pauldron, "The answers are not always easy to find, sister. Let it not worry you."

"It doesn't worry me," The knight-quester replied, "I just- I wonder if I will ever see any of them again. If I will ever see my friends."

"Jaune? You spoke of him before,"

A small smile made it's away across Pyrrha's lips, "There were more than Jaune. Ren and Nora. Ruby and..." It was then replaced with a frown, "I have trouble remembering them sometimes. Faces without names, names without faces. Jaune however. He was special."

"You loved him?" Aldrin asked cautiously.

Pyrrha became flush, "Perhaps. We were both young, and he was..." She felt herself become especially flustered.

Aldrin pressed Pyrrha, "Well? Out with it! Don't leave me in suspense."

Pyrrha whispered, "Adorable." She said chuckling, "Clumsy, yes. Perhaps not the brightest, but he was a good natured soul. So determined. Motivated. I'd never seen someone progress as quickly as he. And his cooking! God-King! I'd feared what would happen to my waistline if I hadn't been a huntress!"

The two shared a laugh, "He sounds like a good man... What happened between you two?"

"We danced once! He wore a dress, a dumb bet he made. And we kissed once. Before I..."

"Died?" Pyrrha fell silent, Aldrin recognized the conversation had steered itself to unsavory waters. It was time for a new course to be plotted, "Right. Perhaps we should focus on something more pressing: Word from Aqshy is not well."

Pyrrha refocused, "Right. What is the situation, exactly?"

Aldrin looked around. The crowd was thinning as the Stormcast made their way out of the main square, "It would seem the Enemy sees opportunity in our Host's weakness in the region of Hellen."

"The land of the City-States, yes?"

Aldrin nodded, "Aye. From what I could gather, they aim to take advantage of our dwindling numbers." He waited for passing mercenaries escorting a young princess to make their way further down the road before carrying on, "It would seem to only be supply raids, but they're often a precursor to something far worse, I believe."

"From what I've been taught, yes, that seems to be it." Pyrrha said, "I know it is my first time facing the armies of darkness, but I am prepared for it."

"No need to reassure me Pyrrha Truestrike," Aldrin raised a gauntleted hand, "Sigmar would not have reforged you had you not been ready."

Azyr, Hall of The Lord's Eternal, Fortress Monastery of the Tempest Lords

Pyrrha entered the Hall of The Lord's Eternal with a cocktail of nerves and excitement swirling about her. What must have been hundreds of blue and white armored forms marched back and forth from various chambers leading to the countless theatres of war. The Hall itself served as the Tempest Lords' home in Azyr, the point which the Lord's Eternal marched to war.

She had never seen so many Stormcast in one place, and of one color of armor. Even during her training, it had been mixed in host. Here, however, it was a sea of blue sigmarite, washing across the marble halls of the fortress-monastery.

"Kingbolt! I hail you!" Pyrrha's attention was drawn to Aldarin, calling out to whom she assumed was a friend.

Stepping forward came a tall, slender, as slender as one could be in plate, Stormcast. His armor was battered and tarnished; ash, chips, and dents scattered across the sigmerite plate. Clearly, he had seen battle very recently. The Stromcast returned the greeting.

"Sexton! I hail you as well, brother!" Kingbolt removed his war-helm, revealing an elderly Stormcast. His hair was similar to salt and pepper in color. Clearly, he had evaded the forge for some time, at least that's what Pyrrha thought. That same grizzled visage turned to gaze at her. "Hail! I know your plate, knight-questor, yet I know not your name. What do they call you, sister?"

"Truestrike. Pyrrha Truestrike," Pyrrha, instinctively extended a hand to shake, Kingbolt seemed perplexed by the gesture.

He looked to Aldrin, awaiting context for Pyrrha's actions.

"Ah, lord-celestant, forgive her. From where she was from it's a 'hand-shake,' a form of greeting."

"Ah, strange. When I was a mortal, we bowed." Kingbolt replied.

Pyrrha became flustered, "Ah!" She bowed accordingly, "Forgive me, lord-celestant, I did not know-"

"Save your apologies knight-questor. Your blade is in desperate need." Kingbolt replied, his gaze returning to Aldrin, "I'm afraid I cannot speak, old friend, I am needed elsewhere."

"Take care then." Aldrin bowed, "Sigmar's grace upon you."

"To you as well, old friend." He turned to Pyrrha, "Pyrrha, was it?" The knight-questor nodded,"I wish you luck in your quests. Sigmar guide your blade."

He then left the two, marching off further into the Hall. Pyrrha felt that could have gone better. She feared that she might've offended him in some capacity. Aldrin punched her lightly in the shoulder, chuckling.

"Worry not. Kingbolt is... Prickly. He too fights in Aqshy, though I doubt his host will be able to support us." Aldrin reassured Pyrrha, "Come, our destination awaits."

Stepping into a large, sigmarite plate, etched with runes and prayers to Sigmar, a mass of Stormcast stood, awaiting their moment to leave. Upon taking her place on the platform, leaving Aldrin as he went to his spot, another Stormcast knocked her on the shoulder.

Judging by the hammer and shield, she was a liberator. The Stormcast's brown hair tied into a tight bun, her brown eyes looked at her with a minute amount of amusement. If the look she gave Pyrrha didn't tip her off, the grin did.

"You wish me to fix ya hair, sister? Boltin' down will mess it up, let me tell ya." She spoke with a thick, twangy drawl that Pyrrha could barely understand.

"Uh," Pyrrha had been tying her hair into a simple ponytail, keeping her war-helm secured to her belt, "Sure. I'm Pyrrha by the way, Pyrrha Nikos- I mean, Truestrike, sorry."

The woman smiled, "Wal, wal, reckon you're new forged ain't ya?" She stepped behind Pyrrha, already undoing her ponytail and began working it into a firm bun, "I'm Laura if ya 're wonderin'. Laura Ironstar."

"Nice to meet you, Laura," Pyrrha said with a twinge of pain as her fellow stormcast worked on her hair.

"Now ya see, when they send ya down there, to the mortal realms. It'll zap your hair good. Seen it happen to a good many brothas and sistas down 'ere, lemme tell ya." Satisfied, Laura tapped the war-helm on her belt, "Put it on, lightin' rolls over it like water off a duck's back."

"Thank you, Laura."

"Oh don't worry darlin', least I can do." She said smiling, "First time?"

"Yes, actually." Pyrrha said firmly.

"Wal. Be ready then. It's a bit of a shock the first time." Laura said clapping Pyrrha on the shoulder. "Oh! God-King's beard! What're those?"

Pyrrha looked to where the liberator pointed. It was the the spear sheathed on her back, shield as well. Quester could, after their training was complete, request custom made weapons. During her trials she used war blade and tower shield. However, further bouts in the Gladitorium had led to Pyrrha preferring spears. Her mortal weapons, given new life.

"Ah, my weapons! Miló and Akoúo̱ is what I named them."

"Mylow and what now?" Laura asked tilting her head.

Pyrrha chuckled, "They were two heroes I knew of. They inspired my fighting style."

"Ah," Laura said, "See I just had my ol' fryin' pan. A warhammer isn't far off as it turns out." The two shared a mighty laugh, "Lord-Ordinator is comin' best ya slip your helm on. See ya on the ground!"

Pyrrha then slipped on her warhelm. It was perhaps the one piece of armor she was not too keen on. It limited her senses by some margin, and as such annoyed ever slightly. Yet she stayed her urge to remove it since it was needed.

A bearded man stepped in front of the rows of stormcast, his bushy mustache connecting to even messier sideburns. His various instruments and vials clued Pyrrha to assume he was a lord-ordinator. He paused upon coming to Pyrrha, green eyes looking her over.

"Your name, questor, it is Pyrrha, correct?"

"Yes, sir. Pyrrha Truestrike."

"Aye yes. Good. My calculations are correct then."

"Um, what do you mean?"

He chuckled, "Never mind that. Less you know the better. Prepare to be in Aqshy at about, say..." The lord-ordinator looked to what appeared to be a pocket-watch, smirk remaining, "Now."

Aqshy, City-State of Laconia

The night sky of Aqshy reminded Theodora of a cloak from her past life. No... A dress. The lord-celestant thought on it more, the memory fragmented, but the night sky that hung over her reminded her of that magenta dress. Perhaps it was the occasion as well.

The festivities that were at hand gave the Stormcast warm, familiar feelings. Dancing. Galant suiters. The taste of wine and bread. Theodora held those fleeting memories for as long as she could, they were precious bits of life that had long passed her.

"My lord, I still have my doubts about this." Retributor Kasi said, concerned.

Theodora looked to the Stormcast, her bodyguard, "You are here? I believe that'll be enough. And besides, I am not completely defenseless."

Theodora received odd advice from her old friend Remus. In the Senate, while speaking in private, the consul informed her of the nervousness of he observed from his peers. The lord-celestant's militant presence made them uneasy. His solution: show more humanity.

Not by just removing her helm, but by leaving her armor behind, and coming dressed more appropriately. Theodora, admittedly, was skeptical of the plan. It made her feel naked being out of her armor, despite the dressed gifted to her. It was a rush order, as the tailors were given only a few hours to make it. Nonetheless, it turned out alright, at least by Theodora's standards.

It was long, flowing dressing, yet not too puffy as to hide her muscular figure. It was blue and white, symbolic of her host. She bore the sigil of her office as a brooch, displaying her cleavage, which she discovered to be quite ample, as according to the tailor. Her arms were left bare, revealing healthy, firm arms, marred with scars; yet by the looks of the mortals, it did not seem to offend them.

She was not defenseless, however. Tied around her waist was a sturdy belt made of dracoth leather, which held a warblade at her hip. Theodora hoped it would not be needed. Still, her ever loyal bodyguard, Kasi Stormshield, insisted on accompanying her. It amused the lord-celestant, at first. It did hamper her at times, the presence of a retributor was rarely a comforting sight.

The festival was a city-wide event; many celebrations were in full swing at the same time. Theodora made an appearance at one of the more exclusive parties . The Aquila Gardens were quite lovely in the magenta night. Wide avenues, intersections marked by tall columns, were decorated for the festivities. Ribbons and linens wrapped around them and connected them, creating a colorful web throughout the gardens. Beds of flowers and bushes from across all of the realms were on display.

She spied the purple, almost bruise-colored Morn Flowers earlier. They were a rarity in Shyish as it was, to be grown here was remarkable. Other exotic plants grew alongside them: Tiger Flowers from Ghur, Evergreen Roses from Ghyran. The list went on and on. Theodora had only read of most of these flowers. It was the soil of the region that allowed for such plants to flourish. Rich with nutrients, provided you had the skill, quite literally anything could be grown in the Hellenic Plateau.

It wasn't just the gardens that drew the upper class of the city-state to it. The Aquila Gardens were known more for their amphitheater. It rested at the far end of the gardens, right as it met the cliff that looked into the rest of the city of Laconia. Over the eastern edge, it was possible to see the whole of the city-state; many balconies had been carved out of the side of the cliff face, so lovers and artists could gaze over the city in times such as these.

"Lord-Celestant?" Theodora turned to see a perplexed, yet an in awe Maximilian. His robes were simple and flowing, allowing for the, relatively, cool night's breeze to flow through them. They were purple and red in color, his party's colors. The senator bowed from the waist before the Stromcast, "I almost didn't recognize you without your plate. You look wonderful. Karletta tailored that dress, didn't she? I know her handiwork anywhere."

Similar praise had been given to the Stromcast throughout the evening. It had grown agitating now. Every man seemed to forget his wife at his side and compliment Theodora and her 'forged' body. That or the bachelors would make it a point to greet her and kiss her hand out of respect.

Despite the annoyance, Theodora acknowledged that it did prove it's advantages. While still wary of her, most of the senators did at least hear her out. She also found it easier to articulate with her hands without waving about menacing fingers of sigmarite.

"Greetings Maximilian. Your praise is well received," She said putting on a facade of a smile, "The evening is progressing well, though I would be a poor judge. It's been sometime since I've attended an event like this."

"You Stormcast don't have holidays?" The senator questioned taking a sip out of the goblet of wine in hand.

"Sometimes. It truly depends upon the host..." Theodora's attention was drawn elsewhere. Above the party grounds, upon one of the pillars stood a robed figure. The moonlight obscured the form, but Theodora knew who it was. The figure then bounded off the pillar, landing without even a thud, disappearing into the flower beds, "... Blast it all."

"Beg your pardon?" Maximilian was quite perturbed about Theodora seemingly losing interest in him in the middle of a conversation.

"Forgive me, friend," Theodora waved a hand apologetically, "We do, they're... different from host to host. We Tempest Lords do celebrate New Year's Day with Azyrian Wine and sweets. While else the Astral Templars celebrate Winter's Night: Three days of drinking, carousing and feasting... then the holiday comes." Theodora said with a chuckle, though the attempt at humor seemed to be lost on the mortal.

Maximilian nodded, fascinated, yet still somewhat put off by Theodora's behavior, "Very well. I won't keep you."

The lord-celestant wasted no time as she marched through the gardens. She hid her now dower expression by holding her chin high and maneuvering through the crowd with newfound grace. She had forgotten how heavy the plate she wore was sometimes. Little things like turning sideways and stepping around a mortal were now far more straightforward and resulted in less near bone-crushing incidents. The Stormcast found the column the figure had dropped from, which was on a pathway that led directly to a balcony. White currents obscured the other side. For the privacy, of course.

She turned to her bodyguard, who had been making very little of an effort to minimize her presence. "Wait here, Kassi. Hopefully, this doesn't take too long."

"Of course, my lord."

The retributor took a position in front of the balcony, she planted the aft of her glavie on the cobbles, making it quite evident to any passerby to not enter the terrace. Sighing to herself, Theodora drew back the currents and entered.

"Enjoying yourself Theodora?" A low, focused, feminine voice cut through the sounds of festival and celebration, "Spend enough time with these mortals and you might grow old and fat with them."

The speaker was a Stormcast, one Theodora knew well, respected even, but forgot how abrasive they could be. Her armor was mostly concealed by a long, tattered and dirtied white robe. The hood hid her war-helm, which on a closer inspection belonged to a knight-zephyros. Assassins, thieves, brigands whom by some weird twist of fate, or some miracle, found redemption and their souls were deemed worthy to serve in Sigmar's Storm Eternal.

Her colors were not of Theodora's host, however, from what she could see. The knight-zephyros' armor had been painted with a dull, grey, her right armor painted blood red, white runes and prayers ran all the up to the pauldron. Her war-helm was painted red but the eyes, which held marks of white that ran like tears from her eyes.

"Storm Guard." In truth, Theodora did not know the name of her sister. She had never spoken it, so she called her by her host. The Stormguard were Stormcast made in mourning. Heroes and warriors who in their last moments had failed. Defeated and left to watch their kingdoms burn, their families were slain, their lives ruined.

It was that guilt that manifested into a wanting to atone. To seek redemption for their failures. And Sigmar would take those mournful souls that he measured worthy, and hammer forth the Storm Guard.

Their reliance was famed across the Mortal Realms, shrugging off the most grievous wounds, that should have sent even the hardiest of Stormcast to the Anvil. Bards sing of lord-relictors regularly having to force many of the host's brothers and sisters to rest and heal, even by restraining them. Their battle cry put it best: 'In life, shame. In death, atonement. In the Storm, war. On the Anvil, peace.'

"Enjoying the evening? Surely the smells, fireworks, wine, and bread bring you some semblance of joy."

The stormcast did not answer, she merely got to the point, "A soulblight I've been keeping my eyes upon is in a sudden rush to leave. Tonight. Something horrible is going to happen."

Theodora became annoyed, "What, you wish my permission? I am not your lord; you can go off and purge such deathspawn whenever you wish."

"That isn't the point. I'll allow the murmurs to handle the vampire." The knight-zephyros stepped towards the balcony, looking over the city, "Something's coming. Chaos in the hinterlands, Soulblight in the city. Sigmar preserves us. This city is a pit snake, slithering and writhing beneath our feet."

"Do you look upon all of the cities of mortals with such contempt?" Theodora asked

"Only ones that battle us when we are but trying to push back the shadows of corruption." The Storm Guard went on, "Idiots. Do they not see we're the Storm Eternal? The rain to wash the realms clean of such filth? They deny Heaven its due."

"Seems they have been doing fine to me," Theodora countered, "How long have they held against the Enemy? A Millennium or so?"

"Still..." The knight-zephyros kept her gaze over the city, "Their non-compliance is problematic. It is why I believe your little act is foolish, and why I am here to ensure you don't go off and get yourself reforged."

"Not you too..." Theodora pinched the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, "Listen, I can handle myself. And I have a retributor who I am certain would follow me into the privy if I didn't tell her to heel."

"You're too trusting of mortals. Common among you Tempest Lords. They're weak. Break easy. Turn easy. Fail easy."

"And yet we're drawn from them, all the same. Is this debate going to go anywhere? Always the same with you, Storm Guard."

She fell silent before turning back around, "Forgive me. I grow... frustrated at times with the current situation. It would be far easier to deal with such threats if I were allowed to lead my Hunters through the city. I must contend with..." she let out a sigh, "Mummers."

"Is that why you seem vexed? Do aelves frustrate you so much?"

"Perhaps."

Fireworks were going off, their thunderous end bringing red and white sparkles to the magenta night sky. "I have matters to attend to. Securing Laconia's aid will allow us to worry not about the refugees, and even bring troops to aid in securing the frontier, Sigmar willing. I shall be off if there is nothing else."

"No. Sigmar give you pardon and peace sister." The knight-zephyros then bolted over the balcony. Theodora marched over, looking over the edge, only to see nothing. Not even the hint of her cloak.

The lord-celestan sighed. "Always on the move."