The mountain towering above the exhausted Druchii seemed to bellow as a mass of ice and snow thundered down its slopes towards the marching Regiment, threatening to sweep them away and break their bodies. Swift and athletic, Gretka somersaulted backwards onto a low ledge; the witch elf successfully dodging the icy flow. She watched as her kin were consumed by the avalanche, noticing Amarthandir taken first by the snow. Imagining the horrible ways his twisted and broken body could have been ravaged, she noticed him out of the corner of her eye and turned with astonishment to find the sorcerer standing right next to her completely unharmed.
Slow to react due to injury and fatigue, two of the sorceresses could only stare at the torrent of ice cascading towards them. Ithilsyn would run, but slowed by her chains and the arrow wound, could not evade it. The snow blasted into her shortly after taking Sildra; the sorceresses dragged downwards along with it for several metres before it came to a halt. Vithari had dutifully leaped into the avalanche’s path, grabbing hold of the prisoner’s arm, only to be swept away by the snow, coming to her senses some distance down the road with heavily dented armour. Struggling through her pain, she pulled off her helmet using it to dig through the snow to the sorceresses, hoisting Ithilsyn to her feet. Barefoot and wearing only her robe, the ice bit into her. At least the cold was numbing any discomfort she might otherwise feel. Grazed and bruised, the heavy chains causing each step now to be a labour, the seeress could only nod in gratitude, her will steeled on surviving this if only to ensure that the Commander received the conclusion that he was surely due.
Caranordor at the head of the formation had been pulled into the avalanche, his heavy armour weighing him down. Carried by it some distance, he was eventually able to dig himself out, although not without injury. His left arm hung limply at his side, useless. It would appear that the limb had been broken. Andyrion’s armour had caused the same issues.
The wintry conditions had at least prevented the Druchii from suffering from too much blood loss, the cold causing their wounds to coagulate more quickly. Gretka fumbled with her belt, producing a small phial. In an unexpected gesture of kindness, the witch elf left Amarthandir upon the ledge, bounding down to the foot of the avalanche and passing the bottle to Ithilsyn, explaining that it was a brew meant to heal. The seeress took it, regarding the witch with a look of surprise and gratitude. The witch elf hardly spoke, save praising the name of her revered deity. Removing the cork, Ithilsyn gulped down the contents finding the tincture filled her body with warmth. She was then aware of a feeling on her collarbone, much like a finger being dragged along her skin. For a brief moment there was pain, then a searing sensation. The Druchii placed her hand on top of the arrow wound to find that it had sealed itself and already seemed to be fading as if it had never been. What blessings the devotees of Khaine had at their fingertips, what knowledge might be obtained from them? Despite centuries of disagreements between the Temple and the Black Convent, the seeress considered the possibilities, her mind astute as ever. There was much to learn, should she survive this ordeal. The gesture of kindness however had already taught her much. How interesting that the witch elf had chosen to grant her the potion above any others among them. Gretka slunk back to her former position, hoping that in the chaos her deed had gone unnoticed by the others.
As they gathered themselves, they dared not imagine what might lie ahead. Nearly through to the border, they had nearly lost their lives countless times in not even five miles. “Move forward or we all get buried under this snow,” cried Caranordor over the din of the howling wind, his voice unwavering despite his injuries. Onwards they continued, following the path as it narrowed and twisted through to the gap at the head of the pass.
Something stirred behind the inexorable veil of snow, stepping calmly through the swirling blizzard with swords drawn. Three tall masked figures accompanied a fourth elf, clad in the regalia of a mage with a staff held in his hand. Standing back from the fight, he admired his work, leaving the shadow warriors to get on with theirs.
The thalken charged at the Druchii with clear hatred burning in their eyes. Met like for like, again the Regiment found themselves in the thick of a skirmish. Sylleth thought to toy with her chosen victim, casting a dancing spell upon one of the shadow warriors who much to her cruel amusement began to dance about, whilst screaming like a madman as his mind was pulled away to join the Pavane of Slaanesh. Vithari swung her sword at a shadow warrior who swiftly avoided the strike by simply bending his body back nimbly before striking out with a riposte. “Gah! Stay still you snivelling little rat! Someone kill that thing!” she cried, enraged by his evasive move. Gretka did. The thalken was swift, but she swifter still. Stepping out from the shadows behind her target with two blades raised, she stepped in, crossing her knives either side of his neck before shearing his head clean off with a satisfying spray of blood.
Amarthandir launched a blast of dhar at one of the shadow warriors, curling his lip in frustration as the bolt narrowly missed its target, curling past his hooded face. Sildra threw out her hand and made sure she found her target. With a strangled cry the elf fell to the ground dead, as Vithari stepped forward hacking and slashing into the dancing shadow warrior, painting her armour with gore.
Sick of his arrogant “cousins”, Caranordor held his halberd with his good hand and charged at the mage. Distracted by his spell weaving, the opponent panicked and attempted to summon a shield. The tip of Caranordor’s weapon found his head moments before the mage found his weave and sheared through bone, leaving his face a bloody mush as the mage fell lifeless to the ground. Immediately the howling wind about them seemed to die down, the snow falling more sparsely until it stopped all together. A pale sun struggled to break through gaps in the grey clouds above the pass. It would be some time before the snow and ice here vanished.
“Press on,” the Commander urged, “I see the passage through this mountain!”
Finally they were through, the road clinging to the narrow gap before winding down to the Shadowlands near the coast. There was no pursuit behind them, yet the Regiment wounded and weary had no idea what lay ahead. As they took in the sundered landscape of twisted gullies, shattered forests, and black sharp rocks, Amarthandir sighed “Old Nagarythe” under his breath. Long before the Druchii came to be, this was their homeland, seat of Malekith within the fortress city of Anlec, now long gone. Cast out and banished, the Shadowlands were now as ruined as the Druchii themselves, and equally as cruel and unforgiving. Gazing at the desolation of the land with unseeing eyes, a single tear flowed down the sorcerer’s left cheek.
“Behold... our birthright!” Caranordor exclaimed.
“We’ve got a lot to do before it’s ours with no resistance,” replied Vithari.
“Ravaged and torn asunder. All this land reminds me of is vile thalken treason,” exclaimed Sildra regarding the seeress ahead flanked by Vithari and Andyrion, breathing heavily as her jaw tensed as she gazed across the land.
“It doesn’t matter now... We had better move on,” advised Vithari. “What we saw back there won’t be the last of those Nagarythi Shadow Warriors.”
“A garrison should be nearby,” the Commander explained, gazing ahead for the way forward. “Regiment, march on!”
Traversing the broken shores of the Shadowlands, the Regiment veered away from the Chrace road inland to the south east where a heavily fortified Druchii encampment had been erected. Iron palisades adorned with vicious spikes surrounded the garrison, watchtowers on the ramparts overlooking the land above which circled a pair of chimeras, their sharp eyes alert for any would-be ambushers. A horn sounded as Caranordor approached the gates, which swung open inwardly on squeaking hinges to allow the Regiment to enter, mirthless guards watching as the Druchii made their way inside. Within were laid out a series of tents; some for the soldiers, others for whoever commanded this outpost and the garrison’s provisions. Weapons stored nearly and ready for battle lined the courtyard, chariots rested with the cold ones that would pull them secured away in their pen.
As the gates closed with a thud, Ithilsyn felt a wave of anxiety through her. The soles of her feet were bloody, the shackles around her ankles and wrists had left her delicate skin raw. Again she assessed the rune inscribed binds around her, testing by drawing a little of her power into herself. The shackles responded with the feel of spikes pressing into her wrists and ankles, and she stopped before they could pierce her flesh, doing her utmost to hide her unease. The Regiment was safe. She was not.
“The place of your Trial, Seeress,” Caranordor explained, a welcoming smile on his lips, sweeping his good arm outwards to gesture to the garrison, before turning about, pacing thoughtfully as he planned his justice. “I shall require one brave enough to represent the sorceress.”
Ithilsyn exhaled slowly. In the fabric of Druchii society, favour was hard to win and easily lost. The Commander bore the Writ of the Witch King, and any that stood with her would be proclaiming themselves an ally of Caranordor’s enemy. A very dangerous, if not foolish thing indeed. Fully prepared to speak for herself, she turned to see Sildra, her second step forward with a nod to her. Most trusted among the Coven, Sildra had been instructed on what to do should things go badly. The seeress was grateful that she would risk her reputation for her.
“I volunteer”, called Sylleth. Such a strange one this sorceress. After all that had occurred at the waystones, this sorceress touched by Slaanesh was prepared to defend her. Then Vithari, loyal Black Guard, and her warden stepped to Sylleth’s side explaining that a voice independent of the Coven would be more impartial. Caranordor looked at the guard and two sorceresses and growled, “Sildra claimed this dubious ‘honour’ first.”
“A sorceress is the only adequate representation. After all, who best to know the mind of a Seeress?” Sildra explained as Caranordor smiled mirthlessly. “Very well, Sildra. Form a circle around her!”
The show of support had roused Ithilsyn’s hopes, who through her fatigue blinked slowly with a smile in her eyes as the Regiment surrounded her. The Commander stood in front of her and began the proceedings. “Seeress, you shall be judged by this court of peers.” He removed his helmet, throwing it on the ground in an act Ithilsyn interpreted as being one meant to intimidate. As at her arrest, she remained quiet and calm, holding herself in a regal and demure poise. “Ithilsyn Arakhael, you are accused of treason.”
“You have acted against the Iron Writ in placing your commanding officer in direct danger in a plot to usurp what is not yours. What say you?”
The seeress remained quiet for a moment, considering a diplomatic reply. Having been treated so shamefully, dragged chained through the snow in a mere robe like a slave, then have these accusations thrown upon her, she had had enough. She looked the Commander up and down as if he were a petulant child and replied, “I am surprised our esteemed Commander thinks I would be so stupid to attempt such a thing.”
Holding his helmet under his arm, Andyrion smirked at the reply before regaining his cold quiet demeanour as quickly as possible. Caranordor glared at the seeress as she went on to ask, “Might I ask the reason behind this madness?”
“The Waystones,” growled Caranordor, “Did you think them a weapon to be used against me?” he asked, pointing at her threateningly, “Or perhaps you misjudged their effects, a gross negligence?”
Ithilsyn tilted her head then calmly gave her answer, “I had been investigating their potential for travel. To allow for swift movement of your troops across Ulthuan and beyond.”
The Commander crossed his arms with a frown, “We shall see. Does your representative have any opening statement?” he asked, turning to Sildra. The sorceress stepped forward, clearly with plenty to say.
“The Commander accuses our Seeress of treason. Yet other than his suspicions, he has presented no definitive proof.”
“I have been a part of any plans the Seeress shared with the Coven and I can attest, that no such schemes were devised to rid the Regiment of its current command. If it were so, I would have reported this to you, Caranordor. You are after all, Malekith’s representative.”
Caranordor stepped forward replying, noticing Andyrion’s doubtful expression about what had been said by the defence, “Ah yes, and you are aware of what happens to those who act against his direct orders?”
“Certainly,” replied Ithilsyn, deliberately omitting his title to make her displeasure known. “I have broken no orders. Have our valiant efforts to retrieve you gone unnoticed?” Ungrateful wretch, she thought to herself.
Sildra stepped closer with a smirk, with more to say. Clearly she was riled by the events that had come to pass. “I am quite aware, Commander. I wasn’t however done delivering my opening statement yet.”
Caranordor nursed the bridge of his nose with his good hand as he sighed, “Proceed, Sildra.”
The sorceress took a deep breath then continued, “Instead of your betrayal, it was the Seeress who was at the head of the vanguard organising your rescue. She instructed the Coven to devise ways to track the leylines connecting the waystones in order to find you. It was she who called upon the Regiment and set out so valiantly to your rescue.”
Caranordor turned to Sildra with a look of disdain. “Ah yes, no doubt to cover her tracks. Surely she had hoped not to succeed at these efforts. Let us hear what others have to say of this matter.” He dismissed Sildra with a wave of his hand, inviting his kin to step forth and damn the seeress. “Who wishes to speak and tell us what they have witnessed?”
Sildra nodded with a frown as she took a step backward into the circle, leaving an opening for the next one to come forward. Caranordor looked about at the silent faces, narrowing his eyes. “Step forward.”
It was Slaa who stepped forth. A witch elf, it was not known for her to speak, for it was her knives that did the talking for her. The white-haired Khainite glanced at the seeress, and Ithilsyn wondered how this was going to go. “Speak then, Bride” urged Caranordor.
The witch elf raised a hand and pointed at Ithilsyn. “She is not the one that attacked us in Chrace, or caused that unnatural storm which risked all our lives. She is not the enemy. Our enemies are outside this camp, awaiting the slaughter.” Caranordor grinned. “Noted.”
Vithari then stepped in, eager to not be denied her say, “I distrust magic, I distrust those who use it. But when you were lost, the Seeress did nothing but ensure you were brought back to us. I’ve no reason to lie, for I do not trust her fully myself, but from what I’ve seen, she has done nothing but as she’s told.”
Andyrion piped in, another silent one roused into speech. “As long as we can’t read her mind, or trust those who can, we can’t prove her motives. But if we think upon those attacks that we faced on our way here, it seems obvious that they weren’t mere skirmishes by chance. The mage was after something, and it seemed to be our Seeress. We should take this into consideration.”
“I will consider this,” Caranordor replied.
Sylleth then piped up, “If it were not for her, your mind would still be in the middle of nowhere, Commander.”
Gretka then spoke up, who had so helpfully offered the seeress a healing brew back in the pass, “My dreams were telling me about Slaanesh’s corruption. The Seeress helped the Regiment to save us from them. That is all I can add.” Was it the courva talking? Perhaps. But two Brides of Khaine had spoken up for a seeress of the Black Convent. Unprecedented. Ithilsyn glanced at them both with a grateful nod of her head.
“Very well,” Caranordor said, “I believe everyone has had their say now.”
The Commander stepped forward, carefully inspecting the seeress. “Anything to add, sorceress?”
“Merely that it is my devoted work to see the Rightful King upon the throne, and swathe the lands in shadow.” Ithilsyn replied, not to be cowed by his looming form.
“Very well. I shall pass judgement now.” He stepped to the edge of the garrison, the guards escorting the seeress forward with him, “I have considered all the evidence laid out before me.”
“High Seeress, in acting against the Witch King’s orders, you have forfeit your life. By the authority granted to me by the Iron Writ, I sentence you to death. Open the nauglir pen!”
The Commander’s sentence upon the High Seeress was decreed, and the weight of doom fell upon her. There was no benefit here in deceptions. She lowered her head with a sigh, her ebon hair falling over her face, and began to laugh, quietly at first, then louder as she looked up with the manic smile of a woman with nothing to lose. “So, you would be rid of me?” she purred, “I think not. Time for you to die!”
She wrapped herself in shadow, calling her power to herself. At this, the shackles responded, sending thin spikes into her wrists and ankles, painfully biting into her flesh. Crying out as her blood began to flow, she threw her head back, calling on its power which formed a mist around the restraints. Fuelled by fury, power surged through her as the bloody mist gathered around the shackles which glowed as if fresh from the forge, before shattering, raining fragments of steel down about the seeress.
She stepped forth, extending a bloody hand towards the Commander. Her eyes lit up with relish as she opened her palm, turning her hand over as she commanded her magic to grasp Caranordor’s heart, her lips uttering a silent incantation.
The Commander grasped his chest with an armoured hand, struggling for air, as he clawed at some invisible assailant. Not long after, he fell to his knees, his heavy armour thudding against the ground. Eyes bulging, his voice filled with rage, he snarled up at the sorceress, “Seeress, I’ll rip out your throat!”
As the words left his lips, an ethereal shape began to take form right in front of him. The impossibly twisted and shamefully intriguing lithe-bodied figure captured the undivided attention of the horrified Regiment, frozen or perhaps unwilling to intervene in the scene playing out in front of them. Try as they might, they could not turn away. The spirit’s emerald eyes transfixed on the seeress, gazing at her with bewilderment and anger, having been wrenched from its host so abruptly.
“So, you meant to escape the Chaos Realm through the Commander?” Ithilsyn hissed, taking a step forward, her hands and feet crimson with her own blood.
The abomination laughed mockingly “You dare? He belongs to me! And you belong to the pit!” she cried, referring to the nauglir pen behind them. “Your lands shall be put to the torch even as your people drown in blood!”
“Parasite!” Ithilsyn yelled with fury. “Coven! With me! Destroy her!!”
The sorceresses stepped forth, raising their staffs. Slaa drew her daggers readying for battle, despite her wounds. “There is a place for each of you at my feet! Let the daemon pipes sound!” laughed the corrupting spirit. “Kill this elf and a thousand blessings will be yours!” it continued, urging the Druchii to do away with the seeress.
Sildra began to mutter incantations as tendrils of dhar emanated from the crystal on her staff. They latched onto the shade and begun to whirl around her, attempting to tear her asunder. Ithilsyn backed away slowly, exhausted already from pain and her efforts.
The screams of the parasite rang through the garrison. A terrible sound, its face contorted in unimaginable ways by the ecstasy of pleasure and pain as its flesh was torn away by pure dhar. Starting from her extremities, the creature was finally reduced to dust, which caught in the wind carried only the slightest echo of a whisper as a reminder of her torment. Sildra lowered her staff, and gazed upon Caranordor, slumped on the ground with a pondering look.
“Where... am I?” he gasped.
If you wish to join us or learn more about us check this topic:
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Previous Chapters:
Chapter I - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=23964
Chapter II - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24190
Chapter III - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24669
Chapter IV - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24808
Chapter V - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24875
Chapter VI - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24880
Chapter VII - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24898
Chapter VIII - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24937
Chapter IX - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24976
Chapter X - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=24979
Chapter XI - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=25000
Chapter XII - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=25033
Chapter XIII - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=25053
Chapter XIV - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=25067
Chapter XV - viewtopic.php?f=55&t=25155
