Stormfall (Worm/Warhammer: Age of Sigmar)

[Tontis]

Expedition 1.1​

Steel sang in the Garden of the Moon. In the grand palace-city of Sigmaron, the garden was a quiet place of contemplation, mediation, and a haven of solitude for most. To the guardians of the free people of the Mortal Realms, it was an excellent ground to practice their dueling skills.

Scattered through fields of pale grass, the armored warriors of the God-King Sigmar sparred in near-lethal duels beneath silvered trees that glimmered with starlight. The sound of blessed sigmarite arms crashing against one another was a near constant in all but the latest hours of the day in the Garden of the Moon. To the Stormcast Eternals, this was its own form of meditation. Battle where the only consequence was a bruised ego or shattered bone was an excellent place to perfect a personal form or develop new strategic or tactical lines of thought

For Vanquisher Andraste, the gardens were one of the few places she felt at home. Sigmaron was a strange and alien place to the fresh-forged Stormcast; majestic and beautiful yet primitive and backwards at the same time. It was a beautiful picture, a marvel for certain, one she didn't feel like she belonged to. These feelings of the unfamiliar and alien ate at her soul, even if she held no memories of home with which to compare. Her forging had been far from a kind one, leaving many gaping holes in her memory, filled now with only a swirling fog. In quieter moments, it felt as if this fog threatened to consume her in body and soul until all that remained was an autonomous husk bound by duty and order.

But here, in the Gardens of the Moon, she could put all that aside and focus her mind on a singular task. To fell her foe before her as quickly and efficiently as possible.

A task easier said than done though.

Andraste circled her opponent, armored boots flying silent over shimmering grass. Callus Bladefall, a renowned Vanquisher and swordsman of the Hallowed Knights Stormhost, matched her steps. The silver and gold of his armor's livery seemed to practically glow under the silvered light of the garden, a far cry to her uncolored warplate. Unlike Andraste, he had forgone his helm for this spar, and his face betrayed no emotion but a cool confidence.

His celestial greatsword was held in both hands at his side while the point rested near the ground. A calm stance that would easily let him attack fast and strong. Andraste matched it by holding her greatsword in both hands before her, the point facing his chest. A beginners stance, but reliable and not easily countered, or so she had thought.

They had been circling each other for what felt like an eternity now. While some of her brothers and sisters preferred quick and brutal combat, Vanquishers like herself and Callus preferred quick and brutal ends. A celestial greatsword was a powerful tool, but unlike the brutal power of a lightning hammer or elegant simplicity of a Realmhunter's bow, they required finesse and skill to see their full potential. A careless vanquisher would quickly find themselves tired and useless in short order.

But as it would turn out, to maintain her blade so far in front of her for long enough had its own flaws. While Andraste's physique stood well and true above any mortals now, to maintain a position like that for any real length of time without adjusting inevitably caused strain that made her arms and grip begin to twitch and adjust. She could change her stance to something that would require less strain, but to do so would create an opening for Callus. So she stubbornly clung to it, despite the possible disadvantages.

Instead, Andraste slowly ceded ground, taking one slow step back at a time until her back was against the tree. Let Callus think he had outmaneuvered her, tricked her into backing herself into a corner. Like she hoped, he adjusted his grip, pushing his blade farther behind him; gripping the handle tightly with one hand while the other rested loosely on the pommel.

Then, he lunged forward and swung his blade for her neck. Andraste pushed off the tree, swinging his sword against his. There was a shatter of sparks and the screaming of sigmarite as the two passed, blades bouncing off one another. Andraste whirled, twisting her blade in an overhand swing that Callus caught on his hilt. Her blade slid against the crossguard of his until the point slid into the empty air between his head and pauldron.

Callus surged forward, and slammed his bulk into Andraste hard enough to knock her off balance. Their blades broke apart, and Callus pulled it back before thrusting the tip of his sword into Andraste's stomach. She fell to the ground, arms splayed seeing the sky of Azyr framed by the trees of the garden.

Then, she saw Callus's blade at her throat. A warm smile rested on his face, "I claim victory, Andraste. Again." Despite the gloating, there was no real malice in his tone, only a faint amusement in his voice.

He lowered his sword and offered her his hand instead. Andraste took it and let him haul her back to her feet. "It's only proper. What would the rest of your host think if you'd lost to a Stormcast only two years off her first forging?"

Callus clapped her shoulder, "They would say you were a prodigy beyond your years, blessed by Sigmar himself and a terror against his enemies. And they'd be right."

He paused and added, "Almost right."

Andraste gathered her greatsword off the ground and cradled it in the crook of her arm before turning back to Callus, "You did not need to add that last part; but you did anyway. I suppose Sigmars name for you was apt."

Callus stared at the heavens and sighed, "I speak only truths, Andraste. You are a prodigy; where most may take years to reach your level, you can match blades with those fifty times your senior. But there is a flaw in how you fight, and it is that flaw that has kept you off the field of battle. More than even the rest of your kin."

As he spoke, Andraste removed her helm, feeling the cool wind on her sweat stained face. She grit her teeth at Callus in an approximation of a smile, "Oh? Pray tell then, what is my fatal flaw? I grow tired of being marooned on Sigmaron."

Callus tapped the edge of his blade with an armored finger, and it hummed pure and true. "You lack a killing instinct. I have watched your technique, and though you have had opportunities to take a blow that would end your enemy, you pull at the last second. It is this hesitation that could make the difference between victory, or a return to the Anvil for a reforging."

Andraste frowned and held her sword in front of her, admiring its finely honed edge. "Were I not careful, I could have easily sent you to the Anvil, Callus."

Callus waved a hand, "Here in the Garden, that is an impossibility. Sigmar long since had them enchanted to prevent us Stormcast from accidentally killing each other, when bans did not work. No, your flaw, Andraste, is that you are too empathetic. You are a warrior forged by Sigmar, and there is a great fury within you. But it is bound by a deep love and sorrow that prevents you from using it to your advantage. It is a great thing to have, but when at war you must be able to harden your heart for what must be done."

Her reflection stared back at her bitterly from the blade, the faint celestial energy within making her eyes flicker. She closed them and buried the tip of the blade in the ground. "You make it sound so easy."

Callus wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "I wish it were so. It is a skill we all have had to learn. You will in time of course. Just remember, to harden your heart does not mean to abandon your humanity."

"So I am to set it aside, except when I shouldn't?"

"The paradox of our existence." Callus sighed. When he saw the unsure expression on his face, he shook her, "Take heart, sister. Sigmar chooses us as much for our humanity as he does our prowess as warriors. It is what makes us Stormcast. Never forget that, and in time you shall descend to the Mortal Realms with the rest of us and bring your fury to those deserving of it."

Andraste managed a smile, "Thank you for your wisdom, Callus. It is a beacon in these uncertain times I find myself in."

She wrapped her hand around the hilt of her blade and raised a brow at him, "Perhaps you have time for one more bout?"

That made the Vanquisher-Prime laugh, "I always have time for another opportunity to best you sister."

His eyes flicked to the side and his face grew more serious, "But I fear that I no longer have the time."

Andraste followed his gaze and saw another Hallowed Knight approaching them, another Vanquisher. Callus gathered his plumed helm off the ground and swung his greatsword around to rest it on his shoulder.

"Remember my words sister." He grunted, "Sigmar willing, when next we meet, it shall be together on the field of battle against the Ruinous Powers."

Andraste brought her fist to her chest in a salute, "Sigmar guide your blade, Vanquisher-Prime."

Callus returned the gesture, then marched to his fellow knight. The two clasped forearms, and then left the garden, leaving Andraste to herself. Steel still sang through the forested fields, and the starry night of Azyr flashed on the sigmarite plate of the many stormcast still embroiled in their own duels. For a brief moment Andraste considered staying and watching, but dismissed the idea. There had been plenty of sparring today, and while Callus was willing to spar with any, not all Stormcast were as open-minded about her Host. She gathered her own equipment and set off from the garden, leaving it and her sour thoughts behind.

The city of Sigmaron shone in its splendor as she left the garden behind. Its many towers and domes of ivory and gold clustered the slopes of Mount Celestian like clouds of stone. Walkways and ramparts spilled from the center of the city across storm-worn crags to neighboring peaks to form a ring of sigmarite and steel. Even from the higher levels of the city, Andraste could see the fires of industry and magic ceaselessly at work.

Overhead, eternal storms vented their fury into the greatest of the city's aetherdomes. The strange magical devices were beyond Andraste's understanding, but she knew that they harnessed the power of the storms for the sake of the city. That immense power was poured into its many industries and amenities while siphoning the stormwater for the farms and gardens that fed the populace. Deeper within the cities depths, the clamor of grand forges at work was near constant, a rumbling, ceaseless clamor like the beating of a heart.

Great masses of humanity bustled about the grand walkways, the blood that kept the city alive. At the busiest times of day, miles of mortal kin could be seen stretching between clusters of the city and could take hours to traverse. But, one perk of being a stormcast was that the crowds partedfor Andraste as she walked. Most in Sigmaron were servants of Sigmar himself or the many Stormhosts and showed greater deference to the stormcast. A privileged few even worked within the inner chambers where Sigmar held his court, an honor even Andraste had not earned.

Beyond servants, representatives flowed into the city from the many great cities of Azyr, coming for Sigmar's blessing and council in their ventures.. Then there were the ambassadors from beyond Azyr; from across the Mortal Realms, came heroes and leaders of races to secure diplomatic ties with Sigmars free cities. Thin and graceful aelves tread alongside the gold-scarred fyreslayers who in turn marched under the shadows of lumbering ogors or even the occasional gargant or sylvaneth.

Andraste had to sidestep a towering tree lord thrice her height, whose face was carved into an expression of pure disgust; it clearly wished to be anywhere else but in Sigmaron. A sentiment that Andraste sometimes felt herself.

The thought almost seemed… not sacrilegious, but petty to Andraste. Sigmaron was a beautiful and wonderful place, a city forged by a literal god and filled with wonders beyond counting. It was for this very reason that it felt so alien to her, it was too grand too beautiful. A living portrait that was astounding to observe, but baffling to comprehend. A city was as much ugly as it was beautiful in her mind, and Sigmaron stood at odds with that mental image she held.

Andraste put her helm back on and frowned deeply. It was best not to let the common people see a Stormcast prowling the street with murder on her face. That was at least how her brothers and sisters described her face when such sour thoughts danced through her mind.

She found her way to one of the city's many cable-cars, powered by great kharadron endrines to carry many people over great distances that would be impractical to walk. This one was one of many bound to the great Warrior Temple on a neighboring peak. Many such temples were scattered about Azyr, places of training and respite for the Stormcast. It was here that Stormcasts were molded to fit the roles Sigmar had chosen for them. While some were more specialized for the many lords and knights of the countless stormhosts, the Warrior Temple existed for the sole purpose of training the bulk of their forces. Liberators, Vindictors and of course, Vanquishers.

More than a few Stormcasts of other hosts joined her in the car, along with many mortal servants. The doors trundled shut and the cart jerked forward as it began its descent. Andraste stared out the openings, watching the vista as it passed. She made a point to ignore the curious stares of the mortal servants, and the judging eyes of her kin.

Judging might have been too harsh a word, in truth. Most Stormcast wore livery as varied and colored as the realms themselves. But Andraste and her host were different. The Storm Envoys bore no livery, no heraldry of their own. Their sigmarite warplate gleamed like unpainted armor and their tabards were simple and lacking in decoration. They were untested, unproven in the eyes of their brothers, for Sigmar had yet to loose them for their true purpose. Thus, their kin always bore some curiosity and suspicion towards them.

An ache grabbed Andraste's heart and she shook her head. On more than one occasion, the thought of Sigmar finally releasing the Storm Envoys to their true purpose had dominated her musings above all other things. And when Andraste's mind wandered, she had a habit of simply halting in place until it had found a destination. So she sealed away her frustration and turned her gaze to the Temple instead.

It was not built onto the mountain, but was in fact the mountain itself. A keep large enough to hold the tens if not hundreds of thousands of Sigmars chosen that came to and fro to keep their skills sharp and recover from the rigors of war. The light of thousands of torches glimmered upon its edifice, accompanied by pillars carved into statues of stormcast heroes or monuments to Sigmar, Grungni, and the Six Smiths. The many walkways of Sigmaron connected to the Warrior Temple as well, and even from her vantage she could see the constant stream of mortals that maintained the warrior temple.

Atop the mountain stood a truly massive domed structure, the Gladitorium. A gift to Sigmar from the shadow god Malerion in the Age of Myth, the structure of ebony was a miracle of magic that allowed anyone inside to fight to the bloody death without any true harm occurring to any. Its sheer size meant that entire wars and battles had been waged within its walls. Andraste herself had taken part in more than her fair share of shadow campaigns as part of her training; she did not envy her brothers who's barracks and quarters were directly beneath the Gladitorium.

The cable-car jerked to a halt and the doors were hauled open by a pair of waiting servants. Those inside spilled out, Andraste included, and made their way deeper into the temple. The inner halls were high enough that a troggoth could have lumbered through them unimpeded, and just as wide. For the uninitiated they were a maze of winding corridors, stairs and lifts that were easy to get lost in. Andraste had long since memorized the most important routes however, and made her way to the upper peaks of the temple.

A perk of her status as a Vanquisher was that, unlike her cousins in the Liberator or Vindictor retinues, Andraste was granted a private room. Her cousins had to share a barracks, but Vanquishers were afforded this rare luxury due to the nature of their weapon and role.

Andraste's eye went to her blade's ricasso, the guard built into the blade itself so she could safely grip it in battle without fear of cutting herself. The golden sigmarite was delicately molded into a replica of the twelve pointed star Sigendil. Within the engraving was a single shard of celestium, the realmstone of Azyr that was the pure concentrated essence of the wind of magic. With that single shard, all Vanquishers could feel the future and at times see what was to come in the heat of battle and counter their opponents appropriately. But it required constant training and meditation to maintain, which in turn was why Vanquishers were granted private quarters, even when on the march. It was, after all, quite difficult to meditate in the general chaos of a crowded barracks.

The halls of the Warrior Temple changed as Andraste climbed its levels. The higher one climbed, the more ornate the temple grew. Censers of incense became common, torches replaced with aether-lights, and walls decorated with frescoes depicting the rise, rule, and ruin of Sigmars Pantheon in the Age of Myth. In turn these were followed by depictions of Sigmar and the duardin god Grungni creating the first Stormcast, and returning to the Mortal Realms, ending the Age of Chaos that had followed the end of that first golden age. There were of course many more depictions of battles and defeats that decorated the halls, but these were the most popular among artisans and were a firm reminder of where the Stormcasts had come from and what they one day hoped to achieve again.

Monsters, daemons, and gods, such a strange thing, Andraste thought idly. These were all things of story and myth to her, or felt like they should be. Yet here she strode, a demigoddess herself among the city of a god, trained to fight all those that would bring ruin to mortal kind. As uncertain as she felt at times about Sigmaron and her role in the cosmos, that last purpose was one that set a fire in her chest. If only she could be unleashed to fulfill that purpose.

Her chamber door was open when she arrived. Andraste arched her brow and slowed her approach. She paused at the doorway, peered inside, and smiled.

"Adelheid, I was not expecting a cleaning today." Andraste said.

Her chamber serf was a young woman with dark, wavy hair and sharp eyes that glimmered with starlight like most natives of Azyr. Her rounded face broke into a smile as she straightened up from her work.

"Lady Andraste!" she chirped, "No one was certain when you would return, and when I heard you were meeting with Lord Callus for sparring again, I thought you would appreciate it if your chambers were tidied up for your return."

Andraste glanced around her sparse quarters as Adelheid talked. There was little in the way of decoration on the marble walls. A simple shrine to Sigmar in one corner, a simple if large cot, a space to eat, and a rack for her arms and armor. Adelheid had cleaned it all and laid out fresh robes on the cot, and a small pile of tomes on the table.

After removing her helmet, Andraste smiled at the serf, "You are too kind to me, Adelheid. Thank you."

"Anything for Sigmars chosen!" she bowed sharply at the waist then looked up with nervous excitement, "Is there anything else you need, my lady?"

Andraste shook her head as she stepped inside, "No, you've done enough for me today, Adelheid."

The Stormcast reached into the pouch at her belt and produced a sphere of aqua ghyranis that shimmered in the glassy orb that contained it. Andraste set it on the table in front of Adelheid. "You're free for the rest of the day. Take this and enjoy yourself; my treat."

The serfs' eyes sparkled as she picked up the sphere with reverent care. Stormcasts had their needs and wants tended to without cost as a necessity of their purpose. Thus they weren't actually paid for their service. Andraste had earned this sphere as part of a (not technically legal) bet with a fellow stormcast in her last shadow game. Adelheid would see far more use from the sphere than Andraste would.

"My lady, you are too kind, my thanks!"

Andraste smiled, "Go, go! Life is too short to waste it on thanking me."

"Of course! Thank you!" Adelheid chirped and ran out of the chambers, humming a hymn as she practically skipped down the hall.

Watching her leave stirred a feeling of nostalgia in Andraste. The vaguest collection of a memory from her mortal life struggled and failed to take shape in her mind, dissolving before her like sand through a sieve. Nostalgia threatened to give way to frustration before she forced herself into her chambers and shut the door behind her. The constant surge of half-forgotten memories and feelings was one Andraste had grown used to, and she had developed her own ways of controlling them. But that made it no less painful to feel them at the edge of her mind's eye, always just out of reach.

The best way to deal with it she had found was to focus not on the past, but the future instead. Andraste set her greatsword in its rack with careful reverence and then removed her warplate so she was standing in her padded garments. Later she would head to the baths then return to dress in the robes Adelheid had laid out for her. A night of studying the many myths and legends of the Mortal Realms would be an excellent way to end the day. But first…

Andraste set a bowl of incense on the stand beneath her sword and lit it with a match. While the warm aroma filled her quarters, she rolled out a wool mat and kneeled before the blade. Then, she shut her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and began her meditation.

There were many tomes and anecdotes from the Vanquishers of many stormhosts that discussed the best ways of attuning with the celestium bound within their greatswords. Some recommended intense training beyond the limits of even a Stormcasts physiology. Others the slow repetitive practice of the many forms of swordsmanship until they had become instinctual. The more fringe and near-heretical schools of thought did away with subtlety all together and suggested the imbibing of celestium itself. More moderate variations on this saw Vanquisher-Primes adding Celestium to their warplate, but it was generally a fringe belief.

Callus had suggested meditation to Andraste, and she found it the most effective method. While she enjoyed the act of sparring and combat, focused meditation had always felt more effective. It kept her focused and off the void of thought that had been her mortal life. The downside to this method was that it was a slow and not always fruitful process. It could take hours for her to achieve a mental state that let her bind to the celestium shard, if she managed to bind to it at all

She kept her breathing steady, and settled it for however long it would take. In her mind's eye she separated from her perceived self, visualizing her physical form kneeling in meditation. Dissociating and evaluating what had come and what would be. She 'watched' Andraste's day as it had passed, her morning patrol, her lunch with her fellow Envoys, and her sparring with Callus.

The image of Andraste flickered, frustration tinged her mind. It was the same routine, day after day, week after week, month after month. For two years she had done with little variations. And for all her work, all her training and dutifulness, she had nothing to show for it. Her brothers and sisters in the Storm Envoys at least saw deployment across the Realms with other hosts, providing support where it was needed. Even if Sigmar would not deploy them as a whole, at least he did not let their talents waste.

But Andraste, she was bound to Azyr, told she was not ready. Despite her training, despite her purported skill, she was kept confined to Sigmaron. Left adrift with no past to reminisce on and no future to reach towards.

What was the point?!

Anger clouded her mind, her heart beat in a staccato rhythm, and fingers dug into the flesh of her palms. Andraste hissed out a breath through clenched teeth and tried to wrangle her frustrations. To bind them and tie them before they could spiral out of control and she did something stupid and impulsive to relieve them.

But still a small part of her asked again and again. What was the point, what was she made for, why had Sigmar forged her?

Andraste didn't expect a real answer. She had asked it many times before after all, and had received nothing but the vaguest platitudes from her superiors and kin.

At that moment, however, that changed.

Thunder rumbled and her eyes snapped open. The walls of her chamber melted away as a storm surge rolled over her. A vision of carnage unfolded before her. A city of glass and steel towers, ravaged by a storm beyond Sigmar's control but equal to his fury, rose around her. Rain battered its carcass, washing the blood of battle in its wake. The bodies of mortals littered wide and blackened streets, many dressed for war but not all.

Lightning split the sky, and thunder bellowed its fury. A tower tumbled to the earth bellow, dragging many of its fellows with it. Andraste could only watch, unable to move even as the vision shifted. Through the cloud of smoke and debris, she saw a Stormcast go skidding across the street. They used their greatsword to anchor themselves, barely keeping themselves from crashing to the ground. She recognized the lack of livery, a member of the Storm Envoys like her, though their warplate was scarred and scorched by battle, the helm cracked.

Arcs of lighting danced along their armors edge, and the stormcast pulled their blade from the street. They held it at their side, and murder gleamed in their eyes. From the ruins of the tower, their opponent emerged.

An angular monster of claw and scale stalked forward, easily moving between two and four limbs with practiced ease. Three eyes along one side of its face glowed with emerald malice, and its whipcord tail cut ribbons through the rainfall. It towered over the Stormcast, easily five times their size, and cocked its head to the side.

The Stormcast glanced at the fallen in the street, at the storm overhead, and then back at the monster before them. The leather of their gauntlets creaked, the sword shook in their hands. And then they screamed their defiance, and charged the monster.

Andraste's eyes snapped open and she fell on her hands and knees, panting. Sweat dripped from her forehead and ran down her back, and tremors wracked her body. She swallowed a shaky breath and looked around to see herself back in her chambers. The incense had long since burned out and the sunlight from the chamber's sole window had been replaced with moonlight.

The only other light in the chamber was coming from the shard of celestium embedded in her greatsword. Andraste rocked back into a sitting position on the cold floor of her chamber and stared at it. Her prayers had been answered, now she had purpose.

But with purpose came questions.

What did I just witness?

A/N: I will be posting new chapters on a weekly basis until I burn through my stockpile. Please leave comments and criticisms below and I'll see you again next week.

 

[Daddycool101]

So, Annette is Andraste?

 

[Tontis]

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: I sort of forgot to update this on account of a busy personal life. Sorry!

 

[Tontis]

Expedition 1.3​

Andraste fell to her knees and knelt before her God-King. She heard the clatter of sigmarite as Vel did the same besides her. There was a sigh from Sigmar that could only be described as exasperated. Then he offered his hands to both of them.

"Come now, you needn't kneel for me," he said, his voice like the rise and fall of the morning tide. The war-room echoed with his words, and warmed her very bones.

Andraste looked at Vel, who shrugged and took Sigmar's hand. After a moment's hesitation she did the same and he pulled them both to their feet with effortless ease. It took all of Andraste's effort not to stare at Sigmar in open awe. He laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Show respect to me through your deeds, Stormcast, not niceties. I am, regardless, happy you see that all have arrived." Despite all efforts, Andraste found no words with which to respond. She had seen Sigmar before of course, when she had been bestowed her celestial greatsword and on the day of her reforging. But never had she met or talked to him in person.

The God-King stood in golden war-plate bereft of ornamentation and decoration beyond the symbol of Ghal Maraz at his belt and the twin tailed comet at his pauldron. He stood head and shoulders taller than the tallest stormcast present, and even Kardon seemed smaller by simple comparison. But even beyond his physical presence, it was as if the very air itself twisted about him, as if he warped the realm simply by existing. He was the storm incarnate and more, a being beyond the physical comprehension of mortals. Andraste could feel that greater presence, a vastness that stretched beyond the realms and had shaped the stars themselves. It was as terrifying as it was glorious.

Phara, to her credit,.remained composed as she and the rest of the command echelon rose. "My lord Sigmar, forgive my impetuousness. I was not made aware of the vanquisher's invitation to this meeting."

As she spoke she cast a withering glare at an unfortunate Knight Azyros standing to her right, who merely shrugged in response. Sigmar approached the war-table and rested his hands on it, "There is no need to ask for forgiveness, Phara. Andraste's addition was a last minute arrangement by myself. Rest assured though, that all shall proceed as has been discussed previously. I am merely here to provide my counsel, should you require it."

Phara's expression was as far from pleased as could be, but she at least seemed satisfied by Sigmar's answer. There was a moment of commotion as the chamber settled down and everyone returned to their positions at the war-table. Andraste approached it alongside Vel, feeling exceptionally out of place amongst her commanding officers. She made a concentrated effort to keep her eyes focused on the table itself. A massive circle of iron and oak, but at its center churned a sea of living metal harvested from Chamon, the Realm of Gold

Lord-Commander Heron coughed and stepped forward, "Well, with that settled, I believe we can begin."

He passed a gauntleted hand over an apparatus on his side of the table, and the metal shuddered and rose at his command into eight large spheres. Many smaller spheres orbited around them, but all rotated around a single central point. It was an accurate, if simplified, physical representation of the Mortal Realms itself. Andraste could not help but stare at the center point, for she knew what dwell within. The Varanspire, Citadel of the Everchosen and seat of power for the Chaos Gods from which their malignant taint spread across the Realms.

"All here are familiar with the arrangement of the Mortal Realms." Heron started, making the model spin with a wave of his hand. "And most are familiar with the fact that there are worlds that have existed outside and before the Realms. However, there is another fact that only some here are privy to."

The orbital display melted away into a new array. Eight spheres of various sizes rotating around a single unassuming star. Just looking at it, however, was enough to ignite a throbbing pain in Andraste's skull. She removed her helm and rubbed at her temple, easing the pain. Her focus turned to Heron's words as a distraction from the discomfort.

"These worlds do in fact still exist, in one capacity or another, some very far from the Realms. This world however, has found itself hurtling into the Aetheric Void between them. A World Between Realms, as some have called it. To it's inhabitants however, it is called Earth. And it is where all Storm Envoys hail from."

Heron paused and swept his gaze around the chamber. The lords present seemed unsurprised by this information as did many of the Knights. However, more than a few whispered their surprise and stared at the world with renewed understanding, as if a veil had been lifted.

Andraste held the table's edge with a death grip, taking all of her focus not to collapse. Her thoughts burned with unanswered questions and half formed memories that faded as quickly as they formed. The Realms were not her home, this Earth was where she hailed from, where she had been born; where she had died. So much that had felt wrong, fell into place. Yet as questions were answered, more were raised.

She swallowed and felt the dryness of her throat as she spoke. "Is… this why so many of us cannot remember what came before?"

Heron looked at her, sympathy scrawled across his face as he gave a silent solemn nod. Phara answered properly for him. "Those of us chosen to be Knights and Lords retain more of our past memories. But those of us of lower rank, well…"

"We're not worth the effort."

Phara had the decency to not look away from Andraste's accusing stare. A low murmur came from several knights at Andraste's brazen confrontation. But it was not Phara that answered the accusation.

"Earth is beyond my reach, under most circumstances." Sigmar spoke with a quiet melancholy. "For brief windows of time, its orbit brings it back within my reach. During such time, I can pull worthy souls to the Sigmarabulum to be reforged. But even then, the process is difficult and traumatic even by the standards of other stormhosts. And for some, it's too much."

He did not meet the eyes of the stormcast as he spoke, and for a moment Andraste did not see the God-King Sigmar standing before her. She saw only a tired old man, shoulders bowed by the guilt eons had hung upon him and the responsibility he struggled to carry every day. It was only for a moment and then he stood up strong and the image faded away.

"If it is any consolation, Vanquisher Andraste." Phara said. "The loss of your memories is not wholly unique to you. It is a blight on the Storm Envoys. Those of us who do remember our shared home, have been sworn to secrecy. Not all of our brothers and sisters react so well to the truth."

The respect in Phara's voice was one of the only things that stopped Andraste from cutting back a bitter retort. It was easy to call out the discrepancy as a privilege hoarded for the commanders. That she and her fellow Stormcast were being unfairly treated by arbitrary measures. But the situation obviously was not that cut and dry. The shared expressions of shame and melancholy on the faces of her commanders made that clear. So she stowed her anger, kept it in reserve for when it was needed.

"My apologies. This is a lot to take in."

Heron smiled, "Don't apologize. Your confusion is warranted. This is a great deal to take in."

"If all goes to plan, however, the rest of the Storm Envoys will know the truth as well. In time" Phara added.

Knight Imperious finally spoke up, his voice booming like thunder. "This is why you called us here, yes? Have we finally decided on a plan of action? Is it time to rise and face the challenge Sigmar forged us for?"

Finally, someone actually said it.

The Draconith, Kardon, let out a bemused snort from behind the Stormcast. "Always impatient, Imperious."

Heron ignored them both and said, "For most of the last few decades, approach to Earth has been impossible. Without a Realm Gate, traditional movement to Earth would take too long to be remotely practical if even possible. However, we've been working on that. Or rather, Grungni has, when he's been able to spare the time."

Sigmar let out an approving grunt at the duardin gods name. It was Grungni that had forged many of the greatest wonders in the Realm. With his help Sigmar had created the Stormcast in the first place, and his return to Azyr after the end of the Age of Chaos was responsible for the leaner and stronger thunderstrike armor that Andraste and the others wore. Last she had heard, he had returned to the Realms at large to rally the scattered duardin people and reunite them, to limited success. That he was involved in this project as well was not a surprise, but an expectation.

The image of Earth was replaced with that of a large platform surrounded in complex clockwork that spun around it in increasingly elaborate and fast arcs. It reminded her of the Thunder-Gates used to travel to the Sigmarabulum that hung around Malleus, the World-That-Was.

"If you're familiar at all with the Thunder-Gates, you'll recognize this." Heron continued, confirming Andraste's observation. "Grungni calls it a Star-Gate. Unlike the Thunder-Gates, it does not transform us into lightning. Rather, it turns any who use it into starlight and can shoot them at a chosen target."

There was a murmur among the assembled commanders. A device like that could completely alter the flow of the war. Phara cut off that line of thinking before anyone could voice it.

"Unfortunately, the aetheric void that permeates the Realms means that even a Star-Gate with a matching gate at the other end simply cannot transport even stormcast. Lightning is strong enough to punch through the void, but starlight is more easily dispersed. Only if the conditions are right will we even be able to attempt a shot at sending any Stormcast to Earth."

The Knight-Azyros behind her stepped forward and spoke up, "If it's so hard to send anyone to Earth, why are we even trying? It seems like reality itself is shielding the planet from the mess in the Realms."

A fair point, Andraste agreed. If even Sigmar struggled to pull worthy souls to Azyr, why make the effort to send any Stormcast at all? It seemed that Earth was plenty protected from outside interference.

Sigmar answered, his voice strong once more. "A fair question, Davos. So far, the Ruinous Powers either have not noticed Earth, or deem it beneath their notice. However, the risk that this might change is too great. Earth and its people are oblivious to the greater cosmology that surrounds them; they have their own culture, customs, and wonders completely untouched by the Realms. It is why I forged the Storm Envoys in the first place, so that you might better interact with them when you return. But it also means that if Chaos should find its way to Earth, they will lack the tools and understanding to protect themselves."

He fixed them all with a serious gaze; Andraste felt herself standing at the edge of a great storm, waiting for the first crack of thunder. "Let me be clear. I am sending you to Earth not as conquerors, but as allies. To secure relations with the people of Earth, while allowing them to live as they have. They are a rare people untouched by the horrors of the Age of Chaos, and I intend to keep it that way."

Phara tapped the table with a sigmarite-clad finger. "A fair point, my lord. But Earth is not free of its own problems. Are we merely standing vanguard against chaos? What of the metaphorical chaos that already enshrouds the world?"

A few confused murmurs spread among the knights present. Andraste exchanged a glance with Vel; his expression was a dour one. Heron rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, "Thank you Phara, for so elegantly bringing us to that next topic."

He addressed the chamber as a whole, "Earth is, unfortunately, not totally free of outside influence. Though my fellow Lords already know this, those of you that retain your memory and the secret of Earth, will not."

Once more the living metal shifted and swam, forming a new image of Earth once more. But it was different this time. Something massive clung to the planet, a creature of shifting crystalline lattices and thundering clouds. It never stayed entirely still, and the living metal seemed to have trouble giving a proper physical form to the entity.

"Earth is home to an entity of massive proportions, from far beyond the stars. How old it is, or where it truly hails from, no one can say." Heron explained. "But what we do know is that the Entity's presence has had a profound impact on Earth. It is, in essence, a parasite on the populace, providing power to the traumatized and damaged at their greatest moments of weakness. The end result has caused a slow but steady decay of stability and order across the entire world."

Andraste stared at the parasite latched onto the planet. That sounded similar to how the Ruinous Powers operated, but the way the Lord-Commander talked about it suggested otherwise. Vel was the one to voice her thoughts.

"What does it gain out of this? Are we looking at the birth of a new Chaos God?"

The thought alone was chilling. The Five were already challenging enough, but a sixth could turn the war forever against the forces of Order.

"As far as we know, nothing concrete. The Entity doesn't seem to feed off worship or have a tangible end goal. The working theory is that it is observing, learning from the hosts it gives its power to. However, it is still acting and operating in strange ways." Heron shifted the table again and an image of a handsome man with skin of gold and clad in plain white clothing appeared.

Heron gestured at the man, "This is the avatar of the Entity. Locals refer to it as 'Scion'. It has never spoken to the populace, but currently acts as a guardian or protector of the world. A hero, if you're willing to use the term. No one knows why it does that, but any attempts at communication have failed. And, until decided otherwise, none of you are to actively engage with Scion either. We have no idea how it will react to our presence, so we'll make sure to avoid any direct contact. Understood?"

Murmurs of agreement whispered through the chamber. Andraste stared at the model of Scion intently, feeling a sense of familiarity at it. The name, the appearance, all pulled at her brain, made her head ache. If she was from Earth, she would certainly know of a creature like Scion. But again her memories only came to her as half-formed things. Her hands curled into fists but she kept her frustration bound.A time would come, but not yet.

She kept her focus on the meeting itself, to the best of her ability instead. Heron spent some time briefing them all on the expected dangers that resided on Earth. The dangerously powerful champions that wandered its wastes leaving ruin in their wake, and the strange and monstrous endbringers that none had been able to stop.

The Godbeasts dredged up a familiar sense of dread and a buried sense of anxiety. She sucked in a small breath when Heron created an image of the Leviathan, the godbeast from her vision. It was hard not to glare at Vel when it appeared, but the ramifications of its presence and her own vision was hard not to dwell on. She made a mental note to confront the Incantor about this later.

After some time, Heron sighed and gestured to the Lord-Arcanum. "I've given you what you need to know for now. The actual expedition to Earth however, will be led by Lord-Arcanum Phara. If you'd please?"

Phara stood up straighter, "Thank you, Lord-Commander Heron Doombreaker of the Triumvirate."

Heron sighed.

Phara ignored him. "As of this moment, the limited power of the Star-Gate and Earth's inconsistent orbit through the Realms means we can send only a handful of Stormcast, or creatures of Azyr, to Earth. Our primary goal upon arrival will be to scout the initial territory, establish relations with the locals, and begin work on warding the location. I have already prepared the designs and arcane rituals needed for this, with assistance from Lord-Ordinator Andre Windshaper of the Iron Mind."

She gestured at the lean Stormcast, who bowed his head but remained silent. "Hopefully, if all goes according to plan, this will turn that specific location into a metaphysical lightning rod. Any attempts by other powers to come to Earth will deposit them at our doorstep where we can prevent them from spreading their influence to the rest of the planet. In addition, we'll be able to establish a Star-Gate of our own that should allow us to more consistently start bringing in more Stormcast reinforcements."

Phara paused and a flicker of apprehension passed over her face. The first time the woman looked unsure of herself since Sigmar had arrived, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

"There is, however, a caveat. Any Stormcast on Earth is at risk of dying a final death until this is done."

Silence filled the chamber. Stormcast were familiar with death of course, it was a requirement to join the ranks in the first place. But the thought of true death was one few chose to talk about. Every Stormcast permanently lost was a tremendous blow to its host, from the lowliest liberator to the highest lord. And unlike mortals, a Stormcast lost to a true death had naught but oblivion awaiting them. Worse, if the Lord-Arcanum was being so forthcoming about it, that meant she was certain at least some would not be returning to the Anvil.

Phara coughed into her hand, "But, but! One of the reasons we have been slow to send an expedition in the first place, is because I have been working on a countermeasure to this!"

She reached under the table and revealed a small silvered lantern. The lens had been printed with the symbol of the twin-tailed comet, and a small flickering fire burned within. No, not fire, lightning. The pure power of Azyr burned within that lantern, a tiny fuse with massive potential. Those standing nearest to Phara took a cautionary step away from her.

"Over the last years, I have developed these lanterns to work in conjunction with our thunderstrike armor to ensure that anyone that dies on Earth, can be reforged. The principals are ultimately the same, though they come with two caveats. One, on death the explosion may be massive enough to wipe out a small city block. Two, I… haven't exactly been able to test it yet. It's not exactly something one can easily test."

A cautious silence was the response Phara got. She obviously had meant to assuage their fears by explaining how the lanterns worked. Instead, she had done an excellent job of making sure no one wanted to get too close to the one she had brought with them.

"But it's better than nothing." Andraste almost jumped in surprise at the voice, until she realized she was the one that spoke. All eyes turned to her. She sucked in a breath and steeled herself.

She gestured at the lantern. "The alternative is final death… which to be honest, final death or no, that shouldn't stop us in the first place. This is our home, where we all hail from. Our families, their descendants, are in a danger they cannot possibly comprehend. Reforging or not, we were forged to protect them from what they cannot hope to face alone."

Andraste clasped a fist to her chest, "It's what makes us Stormcast. To stand in the face of an enemy greater than us, and refuse to back down no matter the cost. We save our home, or die trying."

"I agree with the Vanquisher!" Imperius declared thumping the table, "We were made to do the impossible. An expedition to another world, with little back up against a foe we barely understand and the threat of the Dark Gods looming over us the entire time? That is a challenge worthy of the Storm Envoys. That is our purpose."

Vel stepped up beside Andraste, "And if we save even one mortal life that would otherwise have perished at the cost of our own? Then it is a worthy trade. Much is demanded of those to whom much is given."

More Envoys steppedforward, voicing their support for the expedition, a chorus of voices rising like the storm. Regardless of the cost, regardless of the risk, they would go to Earth and they would face its challenges or die trying. Because they were Stormcast Eternals, and to do anything less, was unacceptable.

-SF-​

The Command-Echelon filtered out of the chamber as the meeting finally drew to a close. Phara had chosen four other Stormcast to accompany her on the expedition. Knight-Draconis Imperius Galerider and Kardon, Knight-Azyros Davos Silverstrike, Knight-Venator Garus Surgebreaker, and Knight-Incantor Vel Mistwalker. Perfect choices, in Andraste's opinion. The strength of a Knight-Draconis and their Draconith would be an incredible force multiplier on the field, and the Knight-Azyros and Knight-Venator would allow them to maintain a wide area of awareness. Vel's skill in magic was second only to Phara herself; he would be instrumental in creating the wards that would protect Earth.

Which was why Andraste was surprised when Sigmar stopped her before she could leave with the rest of the Stormcast. He did not say anything, but she sensed the intent from him, the command. A thought that was not her own, but did not intrude into her mind.

She stopped at the door as the last Stormcast filed out and the doors swung shut with a quiet whisper. Sigmar approached her then, his face as unreadable as a mountainside.

When he spoke though, his voice was warm, cheery even. The warm sun that followed a solemn storm. "You spoke well today, Andraste. Well done."

She swallowed a pit in her throat, "I… only said what the others were thinking, my lord. Anyone else would have said the same in my position."

"But you spoke first." Sigmar replied. "And that's important. It shows courage, it shows strength, and it shows integrity. You did not need the approval of your fellows to speak what you felt was right."

"Thank you. My lord." Andraste almost bowed but remembered his words on niceties.

The God-King arched one brow, and she saw the faintest flicker of a smile on his face. "It is for that reason, that I will be assigning you to the Expedition with Lord-Arcanum Phara."

Andraste choked, covering her mouth as she coughed, "S-sorry. What?"

He clapped her shoulder, a gesture that almost sent her tumbling off her feet. "The Star-Gate will be able to afford one more Stormcast. If it can hold a bloody draconith, it can hold you."

"N-no, I understand that. I would never doubt the work of Grungni." Andraste stammered and resisted the urge to slap herself. She sucked in a breath and spoke with a measured calm. "What I meant, what I mean, my lord… Well, I have fought in the Gladitorium, but I have never actually fought in any campaign. I am an untested blade in your arsenal. Why send me, why not send a Knight of greater renown, or another one of the Lords?"

Sigmar waved his other hand in the air, "The other Lords are needed here, to prepare the Storm Envoys for the battles to come; and there will be battles. And while I am certain there are Knights greater in skill and ability than you, Andraste, I believe few of them possess your heart."

"I don't understand."

He sighed and released her shoulder, "Andraste, do you know why Ghal Maraz is one of my greatest symbols of power?"

Andraste didn't even hesitate on her answer, "Because it is a powerful weapon. You've killed godbeasts and reshaped entire continents with it. There are only a handful of weapons like it in all the Realms. It's a symbol of your might."

Sigmar chuckled, and Andraste felt a tremor shake the chamber, "Well, you're not wrong. But you're only half right. Ghal Maraz is not a weapon, it is a tool. A hammer. Hammers can destroy things, quite easily in fact. But they can also be used to create. A work of art, a farmers plow, a family home. These are all things that can be built by the humble hammer. And just like Ghal Maraz, my Stormcast exist to be both weapons of war… and builders of a new dawn."

With a flick of his wrist, the image of Earth reappeared on the war table, shimmering in the Aether-torch light. "Earth is not used to our ways. They have developed on their own, and have their own cultures and ideas. And I have no intent on robbing them of that. Phara is brilliant, and Davos an excellent ambassador when he keeps his mouth and curiosity in check. But this expedition is going to need more than arcane might and silver tongues to see it through."

He pointed at Andraste, "It's going to need a Stormcast like you, Andraste. Warriors that understand the necessity of violence, but abhor it in all but the most necessary of circumstances. Or to use a phrase you're familiar with, a warrior that lacks the killing instinct."

Despite herself, Andraste felt warmth in her cheeks, "You… know about that, huh?"

Now Sigmar laughed, a deep thunderous thing that was as terrifying as it was charming. "Andraste, child. A part of my divine essence flares in your heart!"

He rapped an armored finger on the center of her chestplate, "There is little that goes on amongst my Stormcast that I am not aware of, should I wish to know it. I know your struggles, I know your last words Callus shared with you, and I know your frustration and self doubt. And, knowing all that, I still choose you to return to Earth. Because I believe you will do great things when you get there."

His expression grew more serious, "And perhaps, more importantly, I think you deserve it. The city you will go to, this 'Brockton Bay'. It is deeply tied to your past, who you were as a mortal. If you are to define your future, you must uncover your past."

The words of Sigmar rang in her ears like the forges of Sigmaron. Andraste felt her heart hammer in her chest, blood rushing in her ears. A chance at finding the truth, at knowing who she was before her reforging. She had craved that since she had joined the Storm Envoys, more than anything in existence. Now that it was in front of her, that desire burned in her breast like the brightest star. All other thoughts, doubts, or questions? Meaningless in the fire of hope that had ignited in her heart.

She squared her shoulders, held her chin up high and met Sigmar in the eyes, "My lord, I would be honored to accompany the Lord-Arcanum on her expedition."

 

[Tontis]

Expedition 1.4​

Beyond a short but pleasant goodbye with Adelheid, Andraste had no one to wish farewell to on the eve of the expedition. Those she was closest with were either deployed in other Stormhosts, or accompanying her on said expedition. Thus, she found herself alone in her own quarters packing for the journey to come. Though, to be honest, a stormcast had precious few possessions to prepare for any kind of journey. Her quarters, much of her clothing, and even the tomes she enjoyed reading, those would be given to the next newest stormcast to be forged, or returned to the Grand Library. All things that were hers belonged to the stormcast as a whole; even her body and soul belonged to Sigmar.

The only thing that could truly be considered Andraste's, was her greatsword. It sat now on its shrine, Andraste's reflection staring back at her from its steely edge. Her unfamiliar face was creased with lines of anxiety only matched by the apprehension that held her heart in a death grip. Everything she knew, which to be perfectly fair was very little, was about to change in the coming days.

The fact that she would find truth to the questions she had asked herself for so long, excited and scared her. On the one hand, she would finally know who she was before Sigmar had found her. But on the other, what if she found out the truth and didn't like it? There was of course the possibility that she had done terrible things, maybe even been a servant to the Ruinous Powers themselves. Though in truth, that possibility hardly phased her; Sigmar had saved and redeemed those that had fallen in the past, which was hardly anything to be ashamed of. Atoned for certainly, but never ashamed of. No, the greater fear was what if who was hadn't mattered at all?

It was a strange thought, when she dwelled on it. After all, what could matter more than standing between civilization and obliteration by the Ruinous Powers? But there was more to life than war and battle; Sigmar himself had admitted that to her. So, what if the only defining moment of Andraste's mortal life, the only thing of true value she had accomplished, was dying?

A heroic death was worthy of praise certainly, but if it was all that defined her first life…

Andraste shook her head, she didn't need to fall into such a downward spiral of thinking. Yes she could turn over the idea of what had been until the universe itself sputtered and died, but it would give no answers. All it would serve to do is make her as anxious as a child, and she was beyond that. She was Stormcast, she had to be better than that.

"Focus not on the then," she murmured to herself, "Nor the now. Focus on what is to come."

Her eyes flickered back to her greatsword. Already she had seen one vision of what might come to pass on Earth. Perhaps if she were to return to her meditations, she would receive another. An attempt to gleam the future wouldn't hurt, at the very least.

Andraste knelt on her knees before her sword once more, and met her reflection gaze. The face that was hers but did not belong to her met it with unyielding iron. She took in one deep breath after another, slowing her heart and calming her nerves. Her eyes slid closed, and in her mind's eye she pictured herself in front of the blade, with focus on the celestium itself The innocuous realmstone gave no answers. Even as Andraste focused and the walls of reality seemed to fall away, no vision rose to fill the void she forged. She sat waiting for three hours, but as her efforts proved fruitless, her stray thoughts ate at her concentration until she gave up with a final sigh of resignation.

This was typical, her vision of the Leviathan was just a fluke compared to her usual attempts to commune with her greatsword. Andraste let out a breath and her eyes fluttered open, staring at her reflection once again. It offered no answers to her, only an ugly frustrated glare. Frustration ate at her and she stood up and turned her back on the blade. Her past was an unknown history, and her future stubbornly remained a mystery. Which meant her only option now was to live in the moment.

She let out a resigned sigh and resumed her preperations. "I suppose that the more things change, the more they stay the same."

-SF-​

Had no one told Andraste where to go, she never would have found the Star-Gate on her own. It sat among its lesser cousins, the Thunder-Gates, nearly identical in all ways except for its immense size. Already the Thunder-Gates could transport dozens at a time, but the Star-Gate was large enough that it easily could have transported an entire Stormhost. But today, it only held a dozen or so Stormcast and one napping draconith.

The storms of Azyr raged eternal overhead, their power funneled into the gates via a series of complex apparati and enchanted mirrors. Within the structure itself, large brass concentric rings spun silent around the platform, each as wide across as a man was tall. They were silent, save for a hum that steadily grew louder as more power was funneled into the gate. It was, as all things were in Sigmaron, a wonder of magic and engineering.

Andraste stood at the entrance of the structure, helm in hand, staring back at Sigmaron in all its brilliant splendor. A strange sense of melancholy had gripped her since her goodbye with Adelheid, and she had been unable to shake it. She had wanted to talk with Vel about it before they departed, but the Incantor was embroiled in a quiet but fierce argument between Heron, himself, and Phara. On more than one occasion, one of them gestured in her direction, and Andraste had to resist the urge to let out a petulant sigh. It was, after all, unbecoming of a Stormcast.

The solitude was relaxing in its own way, letting her gather her thoughts and nerves for what was to come. Her only real companionship since her arrival were the Stormcast Annihilators standing guard at the entrance to the Star-Gate. They were dutiful, but far from exceptional conversationalists.

This was why Andraste felt relieved when she heard steps beside her and another stormcast strode up next to her. She was tall and lithe, with sharp eyes, an angular face, and blonde hair tied into a braid around her skull like a makeshift crown. A flower that shimmered with soft moonlight shone against her temple. On her shoulder, a Star-Eagle sat preening itself, not even deigning to spare Andraste a second look.

"Andraste, yes?" the stormcast asked.

"That is I, yes." she replied.

The stormast offered her gauntleted hand, "Gali, knight-venator. And this grumpy chicken on my shoulder is Aerani."

The star-eagle chirped something in response, and Gali shook her shoulder under it, making it squawk and flap its wings to steady itself. "You can take that tone with me, mister, but show respect to my brothers and sisters."

She turned back to Andraste and smiled, "Apologies, I have no idea where he gets such an attitude from."

Andraste took the offered hand and couldn't help but smile, "It's an honor to finally have a face to match the reputation. You have quite the legend you know."

Knight-Venator Gali Surgebreaker was renown for her skill with the bow. Among a group renowned for their skill, her legend stood out. Not necessarily for having the best aim, but for choosing the best targets. More than a few armies had been thrown into complete disarray by one well placed arrow from the Knight-Venator. If the legends were true, of course.

"All of it true, I assure you, except for the parts that make me look bad." she winked.

"Of course, as is expected." Andraste said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Gali shrugged, "I've been acquainting myself with everyone on the expedition. Barring our Lord-Arcanum and Imperious, I've never worked with anyone else on the expedition in any real capacity, though I am well aware of the tales of their deeds."

"Unfortunately, I have nothing to add to those tales." Andraste admitted, unable to keep the note of bitterness out of her voice. "So I apologize if I seem out of place in our expedition."

She glanced at the argument still unfolding between Phara and Heron. The Lord-Arcanum was now brandishing her staff angrily at the Lord-Commander, her eyes alight with the crackling lightning of Azyr. Andraste winced, "Assuming I am still going on the expedition, that is."

"Don't worry about that." Gali waved a hand at the scene. "Phara loves her perfect plans, but even she understands that no plan survives the reality of war. She'll adapt and get over it… eventually."

"That's encouraging." Andraste said dryly.

She turned her gaze back to Sigmaron, content to take in its sights. Gali followed her gaze, and a nostalgic smile graced her lips.

"You know, all these years later, I never quite get tired of seeing it." she whispered. "There were a lot of amazing sights back home, but… nothing really compares to the home city of a god."

Andraste turned back to Gali, open curiosity painted on her face, "You have memories of your life before, of Earth?"

Gali nodded, "I know that those outside the command echelon… struggle, with remembering Earth. But, I do, I remember most of my mortal life. All of my fellow lords and knights do, even if being reforged… chip away at them."

Apprehension sat like a weight on Andraste's chest. She wasn't sure what, if any, protocol there was to talking to her superiors about their home. Or if such protocols even mattered now, since they were due to arrive there soon anyway. Yet though her curiosity burned with unmatched ferocity, Andraste felt afraid to face the truth. To know more about her home, to put a 'face' to the fogged half memories that haunted her dreams. Wondering who she had been was a wonderful way to kill time, but the truth rarely met the expectation of a fantasy born of painful curiosity.

"What is Earth like?" Andraste forced the words from her lips, and the effort was like flinging herself off a cliff.

Gali's fond smile returned, "Peaceful. Relative to the Realms, anyway. Sure it's not without conflict, but compared to the realms it is an idle paradise. Though truthfully, I don't know how much of that is true. It's been over a decade since I was reforged, and if the commander's words are true, then much has probably changed since I walked among the mortals of Earth."

She scratched at her chin and frowned. A flicker of concern flashed behind her eyes, but vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "I have… had, family on Earth. Siblings, parents… a lover, I think."

"Are you going to find them when we arrive?" Andraste asked. The possibility of living relatives was one she had dreamed about, and she felt a twinge of jealousy that her sister knew that they existed with absolute certainty.

Gali shook her head, her smile falling, "I have seen what happens when we try to reconnect with those we left behind, if they survived. It is rarely a happy ending, Andraste. We are not the people they remember, and it is a disservice to them and ourselves to try and be so. I will let those I left behind be content with the memory of who I was, instead of confronting what I have become."

That was not the answer Andraste had expected, or wanted. Nor could she accept it, even. Sigmar had assigned her to this mission to uncover her past, and to remember who she was. Though, perhaps he expected her to uncover her past so that she could put it to rest. A final rite for a soul that had barely escaped the grasp of death. Not a comforting thought in the slightest.

Her discomfort must have been obvious; Gali clasped Andraste's shoulder and smile again, "Take heart sister. Even if the truth of your past is not to your liking, your future is unwritten. And you will not face it alone; one thing I know for certain is that we Stormcast stand together. You will always have the Storm Envoys."

"Thank you, Gali. I appreciate your kind words." Andraste said. She did not have the heart to argue her frustrations with Gali. It was clear her fellow Stormcast meant well, and whatever Andraste's anxiety's were, she didn't need to burden Gali with them.

There was a sound of thunder, and both Stormcast turned toward the arguing commanders. Phara had cracked the ferrule of her stave to the gate's polished stone brass floor, silencing any conversation the rest of the Stormcast were enraptured in. From his position on the far side of the Dais, the Draconith Kardon woke from his nap with a long fang filled yawn, and turned one glittering eye toward the stormcast. Knight-Draconis Imperius and Knight-Azyros Davos halted whatever conversation they were having and turned their full attention to the Lord-Arcanum.

Phara waited until all eyes were on her, and when she spoke her voice was tight and clipped. "Sigmar has deemed fit to add a seventh member to our expedition. Vanquisher Andraste shall be accompanying us, by his will."

"By his will." were the solemn replies.

After sucking in a breath, the Lord-Arcanum exchanged a nod with Heron and gestured for everyone to approach. Gali gave Andraste an encouraging look, then unhooked her helm from her belt and slid it into place, the deep red plume waving in the wind. Andraste did not look away from Phara as she approached. Though the Lord-Arcanum's crackling gaze made it clear she was unhappy with this development, the decision had been made. Superior or not, Andraste was not going to be cowed by her either. She would respect her authority, but she would not be bullied because Phara was upset by a last minute change in plans that Andraste herself had little say in.

On some level, the Lord-Arcanum clearly knew that, because she elected to ignore Andraste instead and address the expedition as a whole when next she spoke. Though, her words remained clipped, "I am pleased to see all have equipped their lanterns; remember, those are your lifelines to the Anvil. Lose the lantern, and you are as mortal as any in the Realms."

She stood up straighter and changed topics, "Now, with all accounted for, I will give a brief summary of our initial objective upon our arrival. Our first order of business will be to make contact with whoever is the local authority. We are to establish a working alliance with the mortals of Earth, not assuming command. Most of you know that the people of Earth are used to governing themselves; even if it was necessary for us to assume direct control to protect the world, the people would reject us. Thus, we will operate as allies and advisors instead, meaning that we will be subject to their rules and expectations for the duration of this expedition. Am I understood?"

"Yes my lord." they intoned.

Phara nodded, satisfied by the response. "Good. We will discuss our primary objective in detail once we have established proper relations. For now though, I shall allow Lord-Commander Heron Doombreaker of the Triumvirate say his final words before we depart."

Her staff clicked against the floor as she stepped aside and let the Lord-Commander step forward. He held his helm under his arm and regarded the assembled Stormcast with open pride. "I am not one for elaborate speeches, so I'll get to the point. In the coming days, your actions will define not just the fate of an entire world, but the future of all your brothers and sisters in our stormhost. It is a great honor, but with it comes an even greater responsibility. But I believe it is one you are fit to bear. Stand together, trust in one another, and you will return to us victorious. The people of Earth are counting on you. Sigmar be with you."

He clasped his fist to his chest in a silent salute. They returned the salute in a staccato barrage of armored gauntlets to chest plates. Heron nodded and addressed Phara, "They're in your hands now, Lord-Arcanum."

Then he turned on his heel and departed.

Phara addressed the others, "To the center of the dais. Ensure any loose items are secured, and brace yourself for transport. This will be disorienting."

Andraste carefully stowed her greatsword in the sheathe on her back. It was too large to store that way when traveling with it, but the sheath was necessary for the transit to Earth. A vanquisher without their blade was hardly worthy of the title. Around her she saw the others similarly tie down weapons and trinkets, either to their belts or stowed in packs they slung over their shoulder.

A large number of extra provisions hung strapped to Kardon's saddle, though the draconith barely seemed bothered by their weight. He let Imperious clamber into place and then rose, claws clicking against the platform as he approached the center and loomed over the rest of them.

Vel stood next to Andraste, his staff firmly secured to his arm by a series of intricate roped knots. She could hear the smile in his words, "Hope you ate light, sister."

"What do you-"

Her question was cut off by the sudden shift of the dais beneath their feet. Deep within the bowls of the star-gate, gears began to move with a rumbling snarl. The rings that spun around the daise began to spin faster, and more rose from the outer edges of the platform. Faster and faster the rings spun, lightning strung between them like the threads in a tapestry as they swung. Soon, all Andraste could see was a blur of blinding light.

Andraste widened her stance to keep from falling. Lightning raced across the war-plate of the stormcast, or swirled about the tip of Phara and Vel's staffs. The smell of ozone grew overwhelming, and Andraste felt the pounding of her blood in her ears. Then, there was a crash of thunder and the world vanished.

-SF-​

The world spun, and Andraste crashed into the ground in a crater of her own making. A cloud of earth and dust spat into the air around her only to quickly be smothered by a sheet of rain. A steady tapping of raindrops on her armor started, and by the time the stormcast had risen to her feet, her tabard was soaked through. Bile threatened the back of her throat, but she swallowed it with a force of will and steadied herself until her head stopped swimming.

Her vision came back into focus, revealing a muddied hillside dotted with carved stone. No, tombstones she realized. She had landed in a graveyard, and had landed in it alone. Around her, a thunderstorm raged, accompanied by a thick fog that made it impossible to see more than ten or twenty feet in front of her. The storm itself did not bother her, she was born of it after all, but the lack of visibility and her comrades was a problem.

Andraste weighed her options. The safest option was to stay where she was, wait for the others to find her. Assuming of course, that the others were anywhere near her location. The star-gate was untested technology and magic, and the possibility of something going wrong had not been ruled out. She could wait a very long time for another to find her, if they ever did at all.

No, it was time to be proactive. The last two years she had sat, waiting for others to put her to work, and that was a trend she was happy to bring to an end. Besides, storm forged or not, standing on an open hill in metal armor during the middle of a thunderstorm was asking for trouble.

She unsheathed her greatsword, taking comfort in its weight, and moved to leave the slowly flooding crater her arrival had made. Stone crunched under her feet and she paused to look down. The shattered remains of a tombstone lay beneath her feet, the name of who it commemorated lost by its destruction.

Guilt rested itself on her shoulders, and Andraste knelt to run a hand over the ruined script. "I'm sorry for this desecration. I will find someone to restore it, as soon as I can."

She was no speaker of last rites, and everything she had learned about Earth suggested there was no fear of the dead rising if disturbed. But the words felt right, the oath necessary. A mortal's body may be frail, but even they could live eternal as long as there was something to remember them by. And she would deny no one that right.

After leaving the crater, Andraste followed the curve of the hill down passing more graves as she went. Trees occasionally emerged from the fog like twisted specters, their branches reaching out like the arms of the damned in the storm wind. But, to no surprise, the living were in sparse supply; even if there were no storm, few enjoyed the company of the dead. Phara's lantern at her side cast a perpetual glow that added an eerie edge to the entire experience that Andraste really could have lived without.

A gate loomed out of the fog leading out onto a stone pavement. Beyond it, she recognized a blackened street, slick with rain water. Squat, square buildings of stone, steel, and glass, rose from the fog like the corpses of dead beasts, abandoned and weathered from years of exposure with no maintenance. A sliver of anxiety cut at her heart as she stepped out of the cemetery. Her mind thought back to her vision, of a city wracked in storm and menaced by the Leviathan. Was this what it had meant to warn her about? Her arrival to Earth?

Before she could dwell on that, there was a crash of stone and the screaming of steel that derailed her train of thought. A nearby building's edifice exploded into shards of stone and glass, and a figure in red came soaring out of it and crashed into the wall surrounding the cemetery no more than ten feet to Andraste's right. Stone and wrought iron shattered under their impact, and the figure lay there unmoving.

Andraste rushed to the mans side, her hand already moving for a phial of ghyranis stored in her belt. But when she knelt by his side, she paused. He was of average height, well built, in covered in a form fighting red-body armor. The rain had plastered his hair to his head in a helm of brown and blonde, and tapped harmlessly on the now shattered visor he wore on the top half of his face. The man let out a low groan of pain, but seemed otherwise unharmed.

A spike of pain hammered itself into the side of Andraste's skull, staggering her. The fog that clouded her memories parted at the sight of the man; terms, names that were familiar yet alien returned to her in a flood, throwing her off guard. She clenched her eyes and focused until the pain subsided and she was able to look at the man again.

Assault, that was his name. He was a… cape. The name people on Earth used for those infected, gifted power by the Parasite. Assault was part of an organization, the Protectorate. A group of these capes that worked to protect the people of Earth from greater threats. Andraste remembered seeing Assault join the Protectorate, it had been big news when he had joined the team. She remembered feeling excited, and intrigued by the new cape, but also wary. But she couldn't remember why.

By this point, Assault had regained his consciousness and had begun a slow crawl away from Andraste. He had one hand raised at her in a sign of peace. Andraste sucked in a breath and ignored the hammer still pounding on her skull.

"Rest easy, Assault. I am not your enemy, I am an ally. Are you well?"

Assault lowered his hand and took in a breath, "Well, considering Hookwolf just flung me through a building and a wall, I'd say I'm about one foot in the grave, literally. Fine otherwise though. You here to help us with Hookwolf?"

Andraste winced, more vague memories threatening to spill over, but no faces to give them purpose. She ground her teeth and growled out, "Hookwolf?"

Lightning flashed overhead and thunder rumbled. From behind, Andraste heard the sound of chains rasping and stone shifting under an immense weight. She tightened her grip on her sword and turned toward the sound. From the gaping hole in the side of the building, a writhing mass of living blades and chains spilled into the rain. Sparks and chips of stone flew into the air as the mass moved and took shape.

Powerful arms and legs lifted it off the floor, and wolf like snout snapped open revealing a constantly shifting sea of blades and chains Beneath the sea of blades and weapons, a pair of very human blue eyes stared at Andraste.

"That would be Hookwolf." Assault said.

 

[Tontis]

Expedition 1.5​

A nasty storm rolled into Brockton Bay before noon. It started as a roiling fog bank that flooded the city overnight and reduced visibility to non-existence. The sky darkened after that, like an angry bruise. Finally, at noon on the dot, lightning ripplied across the sky seven times and unleashed hell.

In Assault's under-educated opinion, hell was not dry and hot. It was warm, wet, and accompanied with a downpour that never stopped. On days like these, he was thankful his costume was made of waterproof material. Didn't do anything to save his hair, but with the fog how it was, no one would have to suffer that sight.

Truth be told, the only real concern Assault had to worry about with the storm, was losing his footing. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop was fun and easy, but with how fast the rain had come down, his power wasn't going to keep him from slipping and falling on his ass. It wouldn't hurt him, but it would be annoying as hell. Silver lining, the rain and wind were a nice little extra boost for his powers. Nothing extraordinary, but a constant stream of kinetic energy never hurt.

Even with the streets as fogged up as they were, Assault knew Brockton Bay well enough that he was able to find his rendezvous no problem. The outskirts of the city were poor at best, and stood mostly abandoned. Old suburbs that had housed hundreds of families now sat vacant, a sad testament to the state of the city. And, unfortunately, a nest for any would-be ne'er do wells. Which was where people like him came in. That and his partner, of course.

Assault landed without a sound on the roof of a small suburban house. Its tiling had long been stripped away by scrappers and was a patchwork of weathered holes. He stepped carefully around them, and approached the figure sitting on the far end of the roof. As he grew closer, he raised both his hands and smirked to himself.

"If you try and startle me, Assault, I will punt your sorry ass into the bay." said Battery without turning to look at him. She was about average height, dressed in a skintight black costume decorated with shimmering 'circuit board' patterns along her chest, arms, legs and waist. Her hair was cut very short, something Assault still wasn't entirely a fan of.

"Puppy, please, would I do that?" Assault replied, his tone dripping with false-innocence.

Battery looked at him with the driest expression she could muster. Then she smirked and turned her head back to their target. An old church, long since abandoned, stood shrouded in the storm fog. Its paint was well worn and its roof a patchwork of weathered erosion. The old parking lot and park around it were overgrown, yet there was one car parked in the lot. A beater, but clearly new.

Assault knelt next to Battery and said, "Bet you're happy 'bout that haircut, aren't ya?"

She rolled her eyes, "You're just jealous I wear it better. Can we focus now?"

"That's your job, you just point me at the bad men."

A playful sigh, and then she pointed at the church, "BBPD have had someone staking this place for the last month. They're pretty sure it's one of the Empire's staging grounds for dog fighting, or at the very least, where they keep their 'merchandise'. No one's approached it however, because…"

She gestured at the front entrance but Assault had already seen it. One of those supermarket security cameras, loosely fitted over the front door and poorly disguised to look like part of the decoration.

"Right, the average squatter wouldn't bother setting up security like that. And we wouldn't wanna spook them and give them time to escape with the evidence."

Battery nodded, "Exactly. BBPD is also gun shy when it comes to the dog fighting rings. Apparently they've been pestering the suits to borrow us for a while."

"We're working with cops this time?" Assault asked, surprised. When the Protectorate got involved, the cops were already being pulled back. He didn't get to do many joint operations with the boys in blue.

"No, Renick had us take over the operation. Very rushed last minute job. You know how it is." The note of bitterness in her voice was upsetting, but not uncommon.

"Too much shit, not enough shovels." Assault replied.

A shrug this time, "Pretty much. We have a PRT squad on standby, waiting for us to pull the trigger. Standard crash and smash."

"And if the big bad wolf is waiting for us?" he asked. Dealing with Empire mooks was easy, but once their capes got involved it could get real ugly real fast. But at least it wasn't ABB.

Battery regarded him with a smirk of her own, a habit she'd picked up from him that made his heart flutter every time she did it. "We put him outside and let the kids have fun."

"I love it when you're enjoying yourself." Assault laughed.

He hopped to his feet and stretched his arms, and pulled her up. "You lead this time?"

"If you insist." Battery said and stepped off the roof without another word. She hit the ground and shot off like a bullet for the side of the church. The wall shattered into splinters, and a dozen angry and surprised voices rose in response.

Assault smirked, and flung himself off the roof towards the hole his beloved had punched in the side of the building. Kinetic friction died at his command, and he slid across the floor when he landed like it was ice. Already, Battery was at work; a half-rotted pew had been flung under the legs of half a dozen Empire thugs, knocking them on their faces. She was taking cover behind another, building up another charge, which was where he came in.

"Fellas!" Assault hollered at the remaining men, "We appreciate the warm welcome, but perhaps you should tone it down before someone, that's you, gets hurt!"

Their response came in the form of bullets that bounced off him. He ducked for cover opposite Battery. There was a limit to how much kinetic energy he could store, but the real threat was that he couldn't redirect where the bullets went. So there was always the risk that they could hurt someone he was trying to arrest, or a bystander that wasn't even aware of the raid. One of those pesky things he had to keep in mind as a hero, but he'd gotten used to it.

Over the sound of gunfire, which showed no sign of relenting, he could hear a cacophony of dogs howling and baying at the sudden commotion. Well, that answered that question, didn't it?

"Suit yourself guys!" Assault shouted. He exchanged a look with Battery and recognized her expression of concentration. She was charging for another go, which meant it was time to draw the fire.

Assault shot to his feet and punted the pew in front of him, spreading and amplifying the kinetic force so it was spread over the entire object. This sent it flying in a lazy arc that bowled over more gunmen without obliterating them in the process. They'd be bruised and battered, but if they didn't want broken bones they shouldn't have started shooting.

He coiled his legs, and released them like a spring, sending himself sailing across the nave toward the remaining mooks still standing. On landing, he skated across the floor, twisted on his heel, and clotheslined the nearest man, and used the momentum to slam his fist into another's stomach. Both toppled to the floor and did not get back up.

Most of the men were out of commission, at this point, but Assault was given no time to make a smart remark at their expense. He felt more than he heard, the rattle of chains from behind the church sanctuary, and turned to see blades exploding from the ruined altar. They snaked around it and coiled together in a shimmering mass of steel. Within seconds, Hookwolf towered over Assault, blade fill maw bared in a snarl.

"Well shi-" Hookwolf grabbed Assaults foot and ripped them out from under him. He only just managed to redirect the kinetic energy from his skull when the villain slammed the back of his head to the ground. This meant Hookwolf didn't splatter his brains all over the floor. It did make stars flash in his eyes though.

"Fucking capes, get the fuck out of my territory!" Hookwolf snarled and twisted, sending Assault flying through the church's front doors.

"Assault!" Battery cried, and then Hookwolf was on her.

The doors splintered on impact, and Assault went soaring over the street into the cemetery fence. Only instinctive use of his power kept him from being splattered on impact. Stars were now dancing in his eyes though, which was a fun upgrade from flashing.

While his vision flashed, he heard footfalls approaching and shook his head. When his vision cleared, he expected to see Battery by his side. Instead, he saw a giant in shining plate armor, looming protectively over him. The helmet they wore was carved with the stern expression of a woman, one Assault was very familiar with. An absolutely massive greatsword was impaled in the ground next to her, and she let one hand gently rest on its hilt.

Assault almost scrambled away, but his good sense told him that if this new player was actually dangerous, they would've used that sword of theirs to end him while he was disoriented. Unless they were an absolute sadist, like Hookwolf, another part of him pointed out. He elected to ignore that part.

The giant raised a hand in an obvious gesture of friendship. "Rest easy, Assault. I am not your enemy, I am an ally. Are you well?"

"Well, considering Hookwolf just flung me through a building and a wall, I'd say I'm about one foot in the grave, literally. Fine otherwise though. You here to help us with Hookwolf?"

He couldn't make out her eyes in the socket of the helmet thanks to the storm. But he did see her head twitch to the side. "Hookwolf?" she asked.

Lightning flashed overhead and thunder rumbled. From the church, the sound of chains rasping and stone shifting under an immense weight filled the air. Assault staggered to his feet and clenched his fists together. From the ruined church doors, a writhing mass of living blades and chains spilled into the rain. Sparks and chips of stone flew into the air as the mass moved and took shape.

Powerful arms and legs lifted it off the floor, and wolf-like snout snapped open revealing a constantly shifting sea of blades and chains Beneath the sea of blades and weapons, a pair of very human blue eyes stared at them both, with particular interest on the giant.

"That would be Hookwolf." Assault growled.

-SF-​

The name, the appearance, they all sparked feelings of familiarity in Andraste. Her skull pounded with pain, but it was not the sudden surprise rush of memories that Assault had brought. Why was it that he brought so many memories and feelings back, but the only feeling Hookwolf brought… was fear? Andraste ground her teeth together at the quickening of her heart and the tense feeling in her bones. The fear ate at her resolve, worsened by the lack of true memories to give it context. A fearsome foe could be scary, but the unknown was terrifying. She hated that feeling, and shut it out best she could.

There wasn't much she could remember about Hookwolf, but she could remember what she needed to. That he was a monster, a danger to everyone around him. But unlike in her mortal life, Andraste now held the power to slay monsters.

Assault bounced on the heels of his feet beside her, "No time to strategize, new girl. I'll draw his attention. You go nuts with that sword of yours."

"With pleasure."

The cape bounced back on one foot, bent it, and rocketed forward like he'd been launched from a spring. Hookwolf surged forward to meet him and ate a fist to the side of his face. Chains and blades shattered and exploded on the impact, jerking his head to the side. Assault landed beside him, sliding across the street like it was ice.

Hookwolf roared and raised a clawed hand to smash down at Assault. Andraste rushed forward, ducking beneath his legs and spinning with her blade overhead. Steel shattered and snapped as the edge of her greatsword cleaved through it like a scythe through wheat. Mortals often assumed that the arms and armor of the stormcast were limited to the same realities as their own, especially if they saw them clash with the warriors and champions of chaos.

The truth was, mortal steel was next to useless against the might of sigmarite. Only weapons and armor blessed or enchanted could resist its bite, or pierce its hide. It just so happened that many followers of chaos did in fact, have weapons and armor that met those criteria. But against mortal foes that lacked that advantage, the gifted weapons of Sigmar were without equal. Andraste had seen sigmarite weapons cleave through full suits of plate without slowing down, and stormcast wade through a hail of gunfire with only scratches to show for it. She knew one stormcast had taken a cannonball to the torso, and had walked it off no worse for wear. So against the might of her celestial greatsword, Hookwolf didn't stand a chance.

He yelled in surprise at Andraste's attack, flinging himself across the street as new chain spilled to replace what he had lost. Water exploded from his impact, and he rushed forward within seconds of landing. Andraste held her blade to the side, and charged, screaming. But she never made contact.

A woman in black and shimmering clothing came speeding out from the ruined church and slammed into Hookwolfs side hard enough to send him skidding across the street. More hooks and chains exploded from his body, grabbing at the street to slow his movement. He snarled at them again, his entire body rippling with metal.

Andraste staggered again, her head throbbing as unbidden memories flooded to the surface. Her memories of this cape, of Battery, flashed before her eyes. They were brief, feelings of hope and concern, and quiet conversations with… someone, about the impact a new hero would have on her home. They ended as quick as they had appeared, leaving Andraste holding the side of her head while the capes battled Hookwolf.

Battery landed, and raced at Hookwolf. She leaped into the air, both hands raised overhead, and brought them down on his 'skull'. The monster's head exploded into a mess of chains and blades, some broken and bent but still connected to the main body. They shifted and writhed like a nest of angered snakes and went for the woman as she fell in the air.

Andraste gathered her wits and rushed forward while he was stunned, and cleaved her sword in a vertical arc that severed the many chains before they could get to the woman. Assault leaped over the both of them, running his hands over Hookwolf's spine. Wherever his fingers touched, chains and blades exploded with a series of metallic snaps.

Battery rolled when she hit the ground; her movements were much slower and sluggish now. Her last blow had clearly taken most of the energy out of her.

Hookwolf howled and his body exploded, hooks, chains and blades filling the air like shrapnel. Andraste moved, putting herself between the sluggish Battery and the attack and wrapping both arms around her. The impact smashed into the both of them, sending them rolling across the street. Blades and hooks screamed against her armor, trying to find purchase, to no avail. They retreated, pulled back to Hookwolfs main mass as he put himself back together.

Andraste opened her eyes and looked down at the stunned cape, "You okay, Battery?"

She nodded, "Yeah. Thanks."

After helping her to her feet, they both turned to face Hookwolf. It was only as the villain's wolfish form returned that Andraste realized she had dropped her greatsword in her rush to protect Battery. It lay impaled into the street, directly in front of Hookwolf, who swung his oversized canine head to glare at the two of them.

"You're holding your own good." Battery whispered as she started to crouch into a runner's position, "Assault and I can keep him distracted until you get your sword."

Andraste gave a wordless nod and put one foot forward as she prepared to sprint for her sword. Phara's lantern hanging from her belt felt heavier than before, or maybe that was just the possibility of death finally registering with the stormcast. Andraste grimaced beneath her helmet; focus not on what could be, but on what would be. That would lead her to victory.

Hookwolf stared them down, but made no immediate move to attack. He understood the threat of Andraste's blade. If he let her get to it, the fight would turn on him. At the same time, if he found his way under Andraste's armor or caught Assault or Battery off guard, the fight would end very quickly for them.

Thus the stalemate.

Rain drummed on Andraste's armor in a steady rhythm, and plinked off the thousands of blades that made up Hookwolf's body. Those cold blue eyes stared at her, brimming with hatred and fury she thought beyond mortal ability. She tightened her hands into fists, while his claws dug into the street.

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked, and Andraste and Battery flew forward. Battery was a blur of light, that bounced once, twice, three times across the street and barreled shoulder-first into Hookwolfs chest and sending him crashing into the cemetery. His form shifted, rearranging itself in a way no living creature could to face Battery. Which left him open for Assault to burst from the fog and grab onto his side where he started ripping and tearing chunks of steel with his bare hands.

As Hookwolf bucked, slashed, and snarled, Andraste got her hands back on her greatsword. She felt the thrum of Celestium in the blade, the familiar weight balancing her charge. Water splashed beneath her foot falls, and the rain was a

In the cemetery, Battery had taken cover behind a gravestone while Assault danced away from Hookwolf's attacks in bounding leaps. It was the perfect opportunity, he was distracted. Andraste braced the crossguard of her sword against her armpit and charged. She didn't know where, if anywhere, a creature like Hookwolf would have its heart.

"For Sigmar!" She bellowed, her voice like thunder. Hookwolf whirled, exposing his chest, just like she hoped he would.

It was just a guess that he would keep his 'heart' where his chains were at their thickest. A logical assumption, but an assumption still. She drove the blade forward, impaling it in the left side of his chest. The scream of steel on steel and the shattering of chains was deafening but she didn't stop until all seven feet of the blade had been driven into his chest and the point burst through his back on the other side. Hookwolf stiffened, and the cemetery fell silent.

She had been aiming for the center of his chest, but had been off, again. Her mind raced, trying to understand why she had missed, it had been a sure target. Had she really pulled the killing blow again?

Her panic changed to surprise and vindication as a trickle of blood ran down the blades edge and dripped into the muddy grass beneath them. Hookwolf growled, "You… nicked me. You fucking bitch!"

Chains snaked down the blade and around her left arm before Andraste could release the blade. Hookwolfs arm took shape around her arm and sword and lifted Andraste off her feet. The sudden shift and pressure sent fire through her shoulder, threatening to dislocated it, before Hookwolf slammed her back into the ground. Andraste felt her body scream in pain, her vision flashing, and her arm twisting at an awkward angle.

"Unless you fuckers want the bitch's death on your conscious," Hookwolf snarled, still holding onto Andraste's arm, "I'd suggest backing the fuck off! And tell the pigs to let my boys go before I rip her to shreds!"

Andraste's head lolled to the side, and she saw Battery standing at a distance, her face twisted into fury at Hookwolf. The guilt and shame she felt at failing in her first true battle was enough to make Andraste speak up.

"Don't worry about me! Death or no, I will return renewed! Don't let this monster escape!" she shouted.

Hookwolf slammed her against the ground again, "Shut the fuck up. Heroes and their fucking 'nobility'. I swear to-"

Whatever else Hookwolf was going to say, it was drowned out by what one would at first mistake for thunder. But Andraste recognized the sound; she had heard it in Sigmaron on some occasions. It was not the thunder of Sigmar's fury, but the furious bellow of a draconith.

Overhead, the fog parted to reveal a picture of rage. Kardon dove from on high, jaws parted and lightning streaming from his maw. On his saddle, Imperious rode with scorched arm raised and blade alight with the fire of the stars. Lighting and rain raged around the duo, and Kardon roared again.

"What the fu-!?" Hookwolf screamed, and then Kardon slammed into him with all the fury a drake could muster.

Hookwolf released his grip on Andraste as he was flung out of the cemetery into an abandoned house that shattered from the impact. Kardon pounced on him in an instant, flattening anything the initial impact didn't, and tore into him with fang and claw.

Assault and Battery rushed to Andraste's side and helped her up. Battery pat her on the back once she was sitting up, "You did pretty damn good kid. Didn't expect you to go for the kill like that or I would've done more. Sorry."

Battery hissed, "Oh, that's going to scar."

Andraste glanced at the arm Battery was holding now. Much of her armor was marred by scratches and nicks from when Hookwolf got a grip on her, but he had finally found a weak point. The underside of her gauntlet, especially around the hand, lacked the more complex armor that protected the rest of her. His blades had shredded the meat of her palm and blood pulsed from the wound in time with her heart. Oddly, she didn't feel any pain from it, though the blood leaking from under her armor suggested that he had gotten to the rest of her arm too.

Battery was already pulling gauze from her belt and pressing ito her palm. She looked at Assault, "Come on, lets get her somewhere dry so we can stop this before she bleeds out."

"On it." he nodded, and the two of them helped her to her feet and led her to the ruined church. All the while, Imperious and Kardon tore into Hookwolf.

A mass of slag and steel went careening down the street, bits of flame flickering off it even as it struggled to pull itself off the road and reassemble itself into something resembling an actual body. The many chains and blades that had made Hookwolf so dangerous before were now a hindrance as the flame of Kardons breath had melted them into near uselessness. Hookwolf seemed to realize this and started dragging himself down the street.

Kardon pounced on him again, pinning him beneath one clawed foot. The handful of chains that had not been reduced to slag whipped up and around the draconith, trying to strangle him. Any that tried were quickly put to the sword by Imperious, who cut them down with grim determination. To Hookwolfs credit, he never stopped fighting. But it was not enough.

At some point, Hookwolf had started screaming. Kardon ripped open his steel body like the shell of a crab, and thrust his head in. A moment later he ripped it out with something round and fleshy in his mouth. He closed his jaws tight and a fountain of blood and gore erupted out the sides and drizzled down his neck. Kardon chewed, a cacophony of squelching and cracking bone followed. Then he swallowed and licked his chops with a self-satisfied smirk.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Assault gagged. Battery stared at the scene with open terror.

Kardon, for his part, dragged Hookwolf's remains onto the church lawn and then sat himself down directly across from the three of them and held his head up into the rain, letting it wash his muzzle of blood and gore. Imperious swung a leg over the saddle, and slid to the ground.

"We've just arrived, and already added a new victory to our tally! This expedition is off to a wonderful start!" he laughed as he approached. The two capes exchanged a silent look and then looked at Andraste.

"Assault, Battery. This is Knight-Draconis Imperious Galerider, and his partner Kardon. He is my brother in the Storm Envoys, which I realize as I say, means nothing to you." she sighed. As far as first impressions go, seeing the full might of a draconith and a stormcast on display was going to be a bit stunning. At least they weren't screaming.

Imperious shook Assault's hand while letting Battery tend to Andraste's wounds. "A pleasure to meet you both! I saw you fighting that ferocious beast with my dear sister, you have my thanks for keeping her alive until I could find her. We're all a bit scattered you see, so I'm thankful I found the new blood before she got into any real trouble."

By this point, Assault finally found his voice, "Okay, hold on. Pause, time out. I thought she was a new cape, but now you're here and you have a fucking dragon and… can someone explain what on Earth is going on?!"

Kardon raised his head and glared at Assault, "I am not a dragon, mortal. I am a draconith. Do not make me remind you again."

Assault stared at Kardon. His mouth hung in open astonishment before a giggle bubbled up his chest. He started laughing, full-bellied hysterics, and threw up his hands, "It talks, of course it talks! Cause this day couldn't get any weirder I swear to god!"

He ran his hands over his face but was stopped from ranting when Battery touched his side. "Love, maybe go inside and make sure the response team locked up the rest of Hookwolf's gang, hm? I'll handle everything out here."

"I…" Assault looked at Kardon, Imperious, Andraste, and then back at Battery. His expression softened and he said, "Good idea, Puppy. Keep me posted."

Then he headed inside past Andraste. Andraste felt a strange sense of envy when he passed and she saw the warm expression on Battery's face. It was a fleeting feeling, but didn't entirely fade even when Battery's expression grew more serious.

"So, Imperious is it?" she asked.

"Correct."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you two aren't from Earth. Or, our Earth, anyway." Battery said.

Imperious put his hands on his hips, "Well, yes and no, I suppose. It's all very complicated, if I am entirely truthful. I would like to explain it in depth, but my brother would do a much better job than I. Plus, I hate repeating myself. Once I've found him, we'll talk with your superior and get it all laid out on the table."

He turned to Andraste, "How's your injury, sister? I see they've treated it already."

Andraste slid her ruined glove and gauntlet over the patchwork gauze and bandaging Battery had wrapped around it. "It'll do for now. I won't die anytime soon, anyway."

"Excellent! Bleeding out is a terrible way to go, speaking from experience. If you're going to die, it needs to be a worthwhile sacrifice. But, if you're feeling combat ready, we can depart immediately and start searching for the others!"

"Wait, hold on!" Battery started, "There's a lot we need to get clear here, and you can't just run around the city with a dragon-"

Kardon growled.

"A draconith. You'll start a panic."

Imperious nodded his head, "This is a fair point, Lady Battery. However! If the rest of our kin are scattered across the city like I fear they are, then I fear that we cannot delay. My dear sister here was fortunate to run into you, but the rest of my brothers and sisters may not be so lucky. Or anyone they run into that is willing to cause them trouble. My fellow stormcast are not all as subtle as Kardon and I."

Andraste and Battery both stared at Imperious, unsure if he was being serious or not. Battery blinked and set her jaw, but before she could response, Andraste rose on shaky feet and put herself between them both.

"Battery, do you have a way we can contact you, or someone we can contact? We really do need to find the rest of our people and I'm afraid Imperious isn't going to take no for an answer. This way at least, we can work together to find them."

The cape looked at Andraste and then at Imperious. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, "Armsmaster you dick. Why couldn't you have been put on parole tomorrow. Yeah, I have something you can use."

She pulled a device about the size of her hand out of her belt and offered it to Andraste, "Backup phone, it can only contact anyone on my team or the PRT. Contacts are labeled. You know how to use one of these, right?"

Andraste ran a thumb over the buttons on the device's surface. Faint memories flickered again, old muscle memory that threatened to reassert itself. She nodded at Battery. "I'll manage. We'll make sure to avoid causing any undo panic, you have my word."

"Please do. You two have already made my day difficult enough as it is. That said, thank you for saving Assault."

Andraste smiled under her helmet, "You're welcome."

"Oh, one more thing." Battery said. "You never gave me your name."

The stormcast paused, and then offered her good hand, "Vanquisher Andraste."

"Battery." the cape replied, and shook the offered hand. Andraste's hand practically engulfed the cape's much smaller hand. But in that moment, she felt a genuine connection with her. Perhaps not on a personal level, but they had fought and bled together and few things were as binding as the fires of battle. Andraste made a note to keep an eye on this cape, for the future.

Then she followed Imperious and clambered onto Kardon's back. The draconith rose to his feet, stretched his wings, and in three great leaps, flung himself into the sky. Andraste clung to Imperious as the ground rapidly shrank beneath them.

"So where do we start first?!" She yelled over the storm.

"In truth, I'm not certain!" Imperious admitted. "But I know that we should start with the Lord-Arcanum. Wherever she is, she'll be certain to alert us as soon as she is able! Lets just hope she hasn't gotten herself into trouble like you did!"

A/N: Sorry for missing last weekend, I genuinely just forgot to post.

 

[theian]

Looking forward to more

 

[Tontis]

Expedition 1.6​

The roll of thunder and the burning fire of lightning greeted Lord-Arcanum Phara with all the friendly grace of a warhammer upside the head. There was a crash and the sensation of walls giving way beneath her passing. Then the thunder ceased, leaving her senses overwhelmed with the smell of ozone and pastries.

Rain rattled off Phara's helm as her senses returned.

She lay in a kitchen of sorts. Lined with smooth steel cabinets and thick with the smell of cheap pastries and sugars. Despite her sudden and explosive arrival, the mortals seemed unsurprised by her arrival. Most rarely took well to the sudden appearance of Sigmar's chosen, but aside from the sound of some startled voices in what must have been the cafeteria, no one seemed to take notice of her.

Phara rose from the crater she had formed and towered over the mortal cooks. Even with flour and sticky syrup dripping from the edges of her war plate, she cut an imposing figure. The kitchen door swung open and a scrawny mortal youth stepped inside and paused when he saw Phara standing there.

"Whoa, you one of those cape guys?"

His tone of voice and the red in his eyes made it clear that the youth was heavily inebriated while attending to his duties. Phara scowled under her war plate, but set aside her disgust to focus on the matter at hand.

"Where am I, mortal?"

The youth looked around as if the answer was obvious, "You're in a Waffle House, dudette."

He paused and looked at the hole in the roof, "Shit, boss man's gonna be pissed."

"I am certain he will be fine." Phara said. With a muttered spell, her staff rose from the ground of its own accord into her outstretched hand. Then she strode past the youth without another glance. He was too impaired to be of use to her, but perhaps his superior would be of greater assistance.

Phara ducked under the door and emerged into the main area of this 'Waffle House'. She emerged into a scene of chaos that explained why no one had bothered investigating her sudden arrival.

An overweight balding man in a uniform similar to the youth was being held at gunpoint by a trio of men dressed in mismatched clothes with various iconography tattooed on the sides of their heads and their bare arms. Phara scowled again under her mask. She knew those icons, from her mortal life on this very world. Everyone knew them, and any reasonable individual despised them. These were clearly criminals of ill-report.

On the floor, a fourth member of the trio lay unconscious with a solid bloody welt on the side of his skull. The balding man was still holding the metal box he'd used as a bludgeon on them before the rest of the criminal's comrades had pulled their weapons on him.

Said weapons swiveled to Phara when she stepped through the door. Then they lowered for a second when they got a good look at her. Phara looked from them, and then to the obvious owner of the establishment.

"Do these vagrants seek to pilfer from your legitimate business?" Phara asked.

"W-what?"

Phara sighed, "Are you being robbed?"

The man opened his mouth, clearly ready to explain the entire situation, and the three men's guns swiveled back to him. That was answer enough for Phara. She sucked in a breath and pulled on the Winds of Magic, channeling them into the head of her staff. It thrummed with the light of Azyr, bathing the whole of the structure in its divine glow.

A moment later, the doors to the Waffle House were flung open of their own accord, and three unconscious men went flying out the door into tumbled heaps in the parking lot. Phara stepped outside into the rain, dragging the fourth unconscious man behind her, and throwing him onto the pile.

It had taken some restraint on her part to not just kill the men. But, this was not the Mortal Realms. This was not one of Sigmar's Cities. While robbery would be dealt with fairly under Sigmar's rule, the threat on innocent life usually demanded a harsher punishment. But until Phara knew exactly how the rule of law operated in this city, she would err on the side of caution.

"Hold on, wait!" a voice called from inside.

Phara turned back to see the owner coming after her. He stopped at the threshold to the door, holding it open with one hand. His eyes shimmered with that familiar wonder that Phara was used to seeing in Mortals. Very few came away from an encounter with a Stormcast unaffected.

"You saved my life, who are you? Are you a new cape?" he asked.

Phara raised her head half an inch, and looked down at the mortal, "I am a Stormcast Eternal. A Lord-Arcanum of the Storm Envoys, Phara Sunborne, the Storm-Tamer. Remember my name, remember my arrival, mortal."

He stared at her for a long minute. The rain pattered on the pavement surrounding them. "I… okay. Um, thanks for saving me… Also, do you Stormcast guys like, have insurance for the damage you caused or-"

Phara had already begun to tune out the mortal. It was her duty to protect them, but she had more pressing matters to attend to. The Star-Gate had functioned as intended, but it had scattered her and her Stormcast across this city. This was not an unexpected development; sending anyone over such a distance through the Aetheric Void with no real guidance had practically guaranteed it. But, Sigmar had blessed their arrival with a storm to foretell their coming.

With her eyes closed, Phara focused and cleared herself of distraction. When she opened them again, the world was awash with color from the Winds of Magic. Never had Phara seen the Winds in such bounty, untamed and untouched. The pure white of Azyr clashed with the violet strains of Shyish which in turn melted at the touch of Ghyran. It was astonishing; these people were inundated with more magic than they could ever possibly need, and they had not the slightest idea that it was there.

But, if they were not going to put it to use, then she certainly would.

Phara raised her staff and overhead and started murmuring incantations. Through focus and will, she drew the Wind of Azyr towards her. It ran through her staff into her arm, a lightning touch that hurt as much as it comforted. Over many reforgings, the sharp sting of Azyr had become the embrace of an old friend. Phara did not just welcome it, she reveled in it.

Lightning crackled along the length of her staff, and with a yell, Phara unleashed the Wind of Azyr into the sky, guided only by her will. To the untrained, they would see only a flash of brilliant light. To Phara, she saw the Wind snake into the sky, a dragon of living lightning and starlight confronting the storm overhead. It pierced the veil of the storm, and circled around the clouds in an ever expanding spiral.

The first light of day cut through the cloud cover and shone upon the Phara, joined by many more. She smiled with triumph beneath her war-helm.

There was no way now that her Stormcast could question where she was now.

-SF-​

Davos staggered across the crater his impact had left, and ripped his helmet off. A moment later, he spewed bile onto the ground. After a solid minute of heaving his guts onto the ground, the knight's stomach seemed content to stop tying itself into knots. Davos sagged onto his knees and looked directly up into the falling storm, letting it wash over him and feeling a sense of calm pass over him.

Though he was calm, he was not blind nor deaf to his environment. He heard the sounds of footsteps and voices. Men were approaching him, but the sound of their tread suggested cautious curiosity, instead of murderous intent. Davos opened his eyes and looked towards the men.

He recognized the look of dockworkers. Even in different worlds across different universes, the uniform and their general rugged nature was a mainstay. One man was tall and thin with thinning dark hair and large eyes. His friend was short, squat, and built like a brick house with long untrimmed hair.

"Hey, um… you okay?"

Davos groaned and pushed himself to his feet, "Never better. But I appreciate the concern, sir."

After rolling his head until his neck had cracked several times, Davos scooped his helm off the ground and tucked it under his arm. Then he turned and swept his gaze over his landing zone. A flash of nostalgia swept over Davos. The empty lot, the towering industrial buildings, the well used and worn cars that dotted the street. It had been a near decade since Davos had seen anything like this, and he welcomed the sight.

His landing had dropped him in the middle of a large, near empty, lot in front of a squat square building that was built for pure utilitarianism. The scent of the sea was heavy in the air, overwhelming even in the storm. A few more men stood under an awning of corrugated steel jutting out from the side of the building.

Davos glanced down at the crater his impact had made."My apologies for the damage, gentlemen. Long distance teleportation isn't an exact science."

He stepped out of the crater and offered his hand to the men, "I am knight Davos. Consider me an… emissary, from another world. And to whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting?"

After a moment's hesitation, the taller man shook his hand. "Danny Hebert, I'm head of hiring with the Dockworkers Association. This is Kurt Miller, an associate of mine."

Kurt waved a hand, "Sup."

Davos felt the hint of a smirk on his lips. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I wish I had time to stop for pleasantries, but I'm afraid I do have duties I need to attend to. Though perhaps you can help me. Out of the rain of course."

It was, in general, a good idea to take into account the concerns and comforts of mortals. They tended to be more receptive if they thought of Davos as a particularly large friend instead of a demigod imbued with the power and divine ordainment of the God-King.

Mr. Hebert and Mr. Miller agreed to Davos' suggestion, and the remaining dockworkers huddled back when he stepped under the awning. The top of his head just scratched the rough metal, but he ignored it for the moment.

Instead, he put his hands on his hips and asked, "It's been some time since I was on Earth-Bet. But if my memory serves, the Protectorate is one of the primary forms of government in this nation. Can any of you point me to their place of power? I'm looking to open diplomatic channels with this world and my own."

There were murmurs of some confusion, but Danny saw to the heart of Davos' question and pointed in the direction of what Davos assumed was the ocean. "Protectorate Headquarters is on an old oil rig in the bay. You can't see it because of the storm, but if you can fly or have a boat, you should be able to reach it no problem. Though, if it's raining they probably have that shield of theirs up, and won't appreciate you just… flying up to them."

"No, I imagine they wouldn't appreciate that." Davos agreed. He rubbed his chin and thought. He could still fly and make contact with the Protectorate, and work with them to locate the others. But the risk of sparking a violent confrontation from that was high enough that he discarded it. Imperious might try that, but Davos would not be the one to start that particular fire.

Instead, he'd take the more subtle and practical route. He turned to Mr. Hebert, and asked, "Sir, do you have a way of contacting this Protectorate?"

The request was so simple so benign, and so ordinary, Mr. Hebert had to take an obvious moment to process it. He blinked once, then nodded, "Yeah, I… I can go give them a call on the office phone, if you're willing to wait."

Davos wiggled his head side to side to mock though, "I suppose I can summon the courage to spare you a moment, Mr. Hebert."

A couple snickers from the other dockworkers. Mr. Hebert nodded and headed upstairs without another word. Davos stared out into the storm while he waited, answering the occasional question from the other dockworkers in the meanwhile. They were harmless queries, and he was happy to relieve the men of their curiosity. Besides, it would pay to be on their good side in the days to come.

In turn, Davos learned what he could about the DWA. He was familiar with most unions of course, they were a common sight across Sigmar's cities and his own mortal memories confirmed that they had been common on Earth. More important though, he learned the state of the union and from it the greater whole of Brockton Bay.

It did not paint a pretty picture. Brockton Bay was a dying city, cut off from its primary source of income and succumbing each day to a final death. The Union workers here were all that was left of the logistics side of the union. A dozen or so men and women in an organization that no doubt had numbered in the hundreds at some point.

Of the three godbeasts that ravaged Earth, the Leviathan seemed to be the one that caused the greater harm to the realm overall. The near total destruction of naval transport and trade was killing smaller nations and weakening the larger ones. In time, that godbeast alone would sign the death knell of civilization on Earth. That they had two more of equal or greater power was…

Davos shook his head, he would have to focus on the here and now. The godbeasts were beyond his own abilities. And the mere thought of confronting that false angel again…

Any further thoughts were interrupted when Mr. Hebert returned. "Got a hold of the Protectorate. They're sending someone to meet you, Davos. But um, sounds like there might be more of you running around?"

Davos frowned, "Ah, no surprise there. It seems my siblings have been up to no good. I'm going to have quite the headache when this is all said and done. Thank you, Mr. Hebert."

"You're welcome." Danny nodded.

After that, Davos continued to chat with the union workers. They seemed good people, and having a figure as… unique, as a stormcast in their midst seemed to energize them. Davos made a mental note to return to the union after establishing relations with the Protectorate. He could see great things in the men and women working here, and no doubt having a son of Sigmar around would benefit them greatly. It would also be a project for Davos to sink his free time into, a way to keep him bound to the mortals he was charged to protect.

Something he felt grew harder with each passing day.

About five minutes or so after Danny had made the call, a blur of red rushed into the lot and came to a stop openly staring at Davos. The man wore an all red skin tight costume. Checkered black and white stripes ran down his sides and formed a 'v' shape on his chest. He was average height and build, which was to say he came about to Davo's stomach, give or take.

"Wow, they weren't kidding. You guys are huge." the cape said.

Davos bid his goodbyes to Danny and his fellow workers, and approached the cape.

"Or perhaps you are all exceptionally small." the knight chuckled and offered his hand to the cape. "Davos, Knight-Azyros. And you are?"

The cape took his hand and shook it firm, "Velocity, officially licensed Protectorate parahuman. Sorry, Control mentioned you guys have a thing for titles."

"They were correct. Titles, pontification, and a love of verbose discussion. It's a condition, I'm terribly sorry." Davos smirked as he said it. No one in the Storm Envoys could explain why, despite their shared origin, every Stormcast forged for it developed strange mannerisms like that. Davos was of the opinion that it was from Sigmar himself, even if the God-King would deny it. Though personally, Davos enjoyed hamming it up on occasion. It was a good trick to hide details from one's diplomatic opponents.

Velocity put his hands on his hips, "So, my colleagues ran into two of you guys on the outskirts of town. There any more of you we should be worried about?"

"Three, to be exact." Davos said. "Though, if I am to guess, we will likely hear from my direct superior any minute now. She is not one to tolerate tardiness."

As if on cue, a crack split the sky. Davos and Velocity turned towards the source, closer to the center of the city. A beam of golden sunlight carved a swathe through the storm overhead, and began to spiral in an ever increasing outward direction, dismissing it all together.

Velocity worked his mouth a few times. Then he looked at Davos. The Stormcast shrugged, put his helmet on, and unfurled his wings in a crackle of lightning and fire. "My lord hates to wait. Shall we continue our conversation there, Velocity? I'll race you."

A smirk crossed his features, "You're on."

-SF-​

The drumming of rain on Gali's warplate intensified as she knelt at the edge of the roof and peered down into the streets of Brockton Bay below. Beside her, Aerani stretched his wings and fluffed his plumage, delighting in the downpour. A small smile crept onto Gali's face at her companions' antics, but she focused on the scene unfolding below her.

When the Star-Gate had sent their expedition to Earth, Gali had expected the possibility that they would be separated. Nonetheless, she had not appreciated being dropped in the motorpool of the local police station. That was a part of her mortal life she wished to leave behind, and the reminder was an unwelcome one.

She had departed quickly of course, the mortal law enforcement had no chance of catching her. And though the shining towers of steel and glass were common in Brockton Bay, Gali had flown through the skies of Sigmaron and Hammerhal. The city was miniscule in comparison to the continent-spanning wonder of Sigmar's power. Even if it did feel more comfortable to her.

Gali hadn't bothered trying to link up with her superior. When Phara was ready, she would summon them and Gali would find her. There was no point in wasting her time flying blind over a city she barely knew. Instead, she had spent her first few minutes in Brockton scouting the city. Learning the layouts of the streets and buildings and seeing if she could find anything of note. Easier said than done, considering the thick fog that engulfed every street, and not helped by the downpour and thunder. But she had persevered and had come to a very clear conclusion.

Brockton Bay was a shithole.

A city letting out its dying gasp as decay and a lack of purpose ate at its outlying features bit by bit. In a generation or two, even its great skyscrapers would be naught but the ribs of a great dead beast.

Or, that would have been the case, had Sigmar not sent her and the rest of her brothers and sisters.

That was why she knelt over the edge of one of those towers now, looking down at a scene of moderate chaos below. Criminals, vagabonds, enemy elements, it didn't matter exactly who they were. What was clear was that a group of poorly armed men had engaged in a standoff with a pair of lawmen. The sound of gunfire was familiar to Gali. It lacked the heavy, almost thunderous, quality that those in the Ironweld guilds used, but made up for it with a consistent stream and ease of use.

It was three men in total, poorly dressed for this kind of weather, all sharing a similar ethnicity. A gang most likely, often gangs were formed of men and women sharing ethnicities. A defense mechanism of mortals in hard times. But their actions had caused undo harm to the surrounding innocents, and threatened more. At the moment, they were firing away at the lawmen, who were taking cover behind their cruisers.

Gali glanced at Aerani. The bird fluffed his plumage and gave her a side-eye. "What do you think? Shall we introduce ourselves to the mortals of Earth?"

Aerani chirped at her, and Gali booped the end of his beak, "At some point, we're going to have a talk about where you're picking up these swears. I've met sailors with greater decorum than you."

The bird squawked indignantly, and sidestepped across the lip of the roof before resuming preening himself. Gali rolled her eyes and stepped onto the edge of the roof and turned her back to the street.

"Right then, I'll see you at the bottom of the road then." she said.

With her bow in one hand, she spread her arms to either side, and let herself fall off the edge of the building. The wind embraced her like an old friend as she twisted in the air to face the ground rising to meet her at a rather alarming rate. Well, alarming for a mortal perhaps.

Gali smirked under her helm, and held out her bow. She knocked an arrow to the grip, and pulled. A strand of lightning materialized between the limbs, crackling in her grasp. Gali spared only a moment, a fraction of a second, to mark her targets.

When she fired, it was in the blink of an eye. Three arrows, three marks, faster than any mortal eye could track. Slower perhaps than some of her brothers and sisters. But none were more accurate.

Each arrow found its mark, slamming into and shattering the weapons in the hands of each man. There were cries of surprise and alarm as to the men, their weapons had simply detonated in their hands with no outside force. Gali was quick to relieve them of such a notion.

She unfurled her wings a crackle of thunder and lightning. The wind pulled at her as she dragged herself out of her dive and came to a stop above the lawmen the criminals had been attacking. With her bow in one hand, she held out her others towards the now dumbstruck and cowering lawbreakers.

"Villains, offenders, criminals!" Gali's voice boomed with the divine authority invested in her, silencing the storm around her. "Lay down your arms, and surrender to your betters! You face not just the law of this realm, but the might of the storm itself! Cross me at your peril!"

She always enjoyed the look of terror on those that would stand against law and order, be it criminals or servants of Sigmar's enemies. Very few were prepared to see the full splendor of a Stormcast unleashed before them.

Disarmed, and faced with a being of divine wrath before them, the criminals chose the wise option and raised their hands in surrender. Gali smirked behind her helmet, and let herself land with the gentle practice ease that came from a decade of practice. Aerani swooped out of the sky and perched himself on Gali's shoulder, chirping something beside her.

"Ah, now you join me after all the hard work is done."

Aerani chittered at that. Gali put her free hand on her hip and looked at the bird, offended, "What do you mean that doesn't qualify as work? I dispatched them, did I not?"

A shrill trill from Aerani and a fluff of feathers.

"You keep up that attitude, I'm requesting a cage from Phara for you." Gali threatened, her tone playful.

Aerani huffed and turned away, warbling to himself. Gali rolled her eyes again and turned her attention back to the situation at hand. The lawmen, after getting over their shock of Gali's appearance, had stuck to their duty and were cuffing the criminals. Content that her work was done, and that the lawmen could handle the offenders themselves, Gali turned to leave.

But she paused when she remembered that others had been injured in this brief exchange. In the distance, she could hear sirens, the tell tale sign that someone was on their way to assist. But when she scanned her gaze over the cordoned off street, she saw the injured and knew that her duty was not done.

In total, only three had been injured in the exchange. Most had been wise or fast enough to escape and take cover when things had turned violent. Those that had fled inside were peeking out from their shelter with caution, but few dared to leave the promised safety of the surrounding buildings.

Gali approached the first of the injured, a younger couple that had clearly been caught up in the storm. Their umbrella lay in ruins beside them, and the woman cradled her husband in her arms. A stray bullet had pierced his side and blood stained the pavement around him.

The woman looked up at Gali at the sound of her heavy foot falls. There was fear at first in her eyes, but then a vain, tearful hope. "Please, you're a cape right? Can you help him?"

Gali reached into a pouch at her waist and pulled out a vial of aqua ghyranis. The blessed liquid glowed in her hand. They only had a set supply, for use in emergencies. Until a proper connection could be established with Sigmaron, it was all they would have.

The man's face was pale with blood loss. Without help soon, he would be gone. Gali knelt by their side and opened the phial. It was for emergency use only.

But there was no greater emergency in her mind, than the loss of an innocent soul.

"I can. Stay still, you will survive this day." she promised.

And then, she got to work.

-SF-​

The injuries along Andraste's arm thrummed with pain. Battery had done as good a job as possible with what she had available binding the injuries, but that did little for the lines of thrumming pain that traced along her flesh. Every heartbeat sent a new wave of pain through the stormcast, and the steady beat of Kardon's great wings only aggravated it further.

But the pain was a good thing, in its own way.

It was a reminder to Andraste that under the divine blessing of Sigmar, she was still human. If she was still mortal enough to feel and endure pain, then she was still mortal enough to reclaim what had been lost to her on the Anvil. When her duty would allow it of course.

Andraste narrowed her eyes and scanned the skyline of Brockton Bay, trying to pick out details through the storm. The city's towers rose from the fogged streets like great iron fingers, and light shimmered in their windows, but there was no sign of the others as they flew. Though, Andraste hadn't expected this to be quick or easy.

"Your eyes fair no better than mine, do they Vanquisher?!" Imperious bellowed over the wind.

"I'm afraid not, my lord!" she admitted, "The storm is fierce, and the city is large. It could take some time to find the others, if they're even in the city!"

Imperious let out a laugh, "Fret not, if we were truly at risk of being so widespread, our Lord-Arcanum would never have let us depart in the first place. 'Outside the margin of acceptable error' she would say! No, they are here in this city. It is just a matter of finding them, or causing enough trouble to attract them to us."

Andraste looked at the Knight-Draconis, "I would highly recommend against that, my lord! The capes seem genuinely concerned we may incite a panic with our presence!"

"Aye, I noticed!" Imperious waved a dismissive hand, "I was speaking in jest, Vanquisher! I have no intention of starting a panic! I cannot speak for my companion though!"

He slapped Kardon's flank. The draconith huffed and twisted his serpentine neck to look at the both of them. When he spoke he had no need to raise his voice; as a creature born of and infused with the magic of Azyr, he could speak through the wildest storm and be heard with ease.

"Your cavalier attitude may cause us more trouble than needed, Imperious. No one doubts your valor, but save it for one when it truly matters." the draconith chided. His dark eyes flickered to Andraste, but anything he might have said was cut off by Imperious.

"Look! Ahead, the storm clears!"

Andraste had to lean to the side to see past the rider, and saw that he spoke true. Near the relative center of the city, rays of golden light touched and broke through the cloud cover and grew at a steady rate. A spiral of light was cutting its way through the storm, and in seconds the rain had dropped to a light drizzle before ceasing all together. Andraste had to shield her eyes from the morning sun, even as she welcomed its warmth.

"That is our destination, my scale-clad companion!" Imperious laugh. "Onwards! I would not wish to keep our Lord-Arcanum waiting any longer!"

Kardon's entire body vibrated with a low growl, and then the draconith tilted into a dive towards the source of light. Past towers and buildings he dove, his brilliant scales shining in the fresh morning light for all to see. More than a few passing mortals paused and pointed at their passing.

They found the Lord-Arcanum waiting for them in front of a building labeled 'Waffle House'. Kardon's wings flared open as they landed, large enough that he could have wrapped them around the structure. Once they were safely on the ground, he folded them neatly to his side, and flopped to the ground with an earth shaking thud. Imperious and Andraste slid off to the ground, and approached their superior while Kardon picked at bits of steel still stuck between his fangs.

Andraste clasped a fist to her chest in a salute and knelt before the Lord-Arcanum, while Imperious merely saluted. The mage's eyes burned still with the fires of Azyr, but she gave a curt nod to the both of them.

"Knight-Draconis Imperius Galerider, Vanquisher Andraste, I am pleased to see you both in good health." the Lord-Arcanum said, though her words were dry and monotone.

"My lord," Imperious said, "We would have been here even sooner, but Andraste and I saw fit to put one of the villains in this city to the sword. A glorious victory I shall regale you of once all our brothers and sisters are assembled and we have properly introduced ourselves to this fair land, of course."

"Of course." Phara said. Her tone suggested she was not looking forward to that tale when the time came.

Her burning eyes flickered to Andraste, and she could feel the frown on Phara's face, behind her helm. The Lord-Arcanum pointed at Andraste's arm. "Vanquisher Andraste, are you injured?"

Andraste flexed the limb, "Some cuts from a local cape. They should be scars by tomorrow."

Phara sighed and waved her hand for Andraste to approach, "Next time, use the Ghyranis. We cannot afford injuries on this expedition, and the damage of one of your limbs will severely hamper your combat proficiency. Your presence has already derailed the initial plans for this expedition, do not hamper it further out of a misguided attempt to prove yourself to me."

Andraste muttered an apology and looked away from Phara. The stormcast whispered a few incantations, and a shimmering green energy flowed from her hand along Andraste's arm. She felt the cuts and gashes knit themselves together, a strange itching sensation that set her arm ablaze. And then Phara was done, and the pain was gone.

"I lack Knight-Incantor Velaryon Mistwalkers skill with the wind of Ghyran, but I am proficient enough to tend to such injuries. Do not let it happen again." Phara ordered.

Andraste bowed, "As you command, Lord-Arcanum."

To her relief, she was spared any further attention from her superior by a pair of voices from above.

"Hail, brothers and sisters!"

Davos and Gali descended from the sky, their armor shimmering with dew from the rain. On landing, both knights saluted the Lord-Arcanum. Gali's companion, Aerani, perched himself on the Venator's shoulder and chirped.

"Your timing is impeccable, my knights." Phara said. She spared a glance at Aerani, "And you, Star-Eagle, will learn proper decorum when addressing superior officers."

Aerani puffed out his feathers and looked away from Phara with smug indifference. Gali scratched under the bird's chin, "I apologize for his attitude, Lord-Arcanum. Aerani is headstrong, even by the standards of his kind. I haven't the faintest idea where he learned such foul language."

"Hmph. It can't be helped at this point in time." Phara shrugged, and turned her attention to Davos.

"Knight Azyros Davos Silverstrike of the Broken Skies. Have you something to report?" She asked.

Davos nodded, "I have made contact with local government forces. Two of their representatives will be meeting us shortly."

On cue, a blur of red came to a stop in the lot. A man dressed all in red, similar to Assault but with less padding. Another cape, of course.

He froze at the sight of Kardon picking bits of Hookwolf out of his teeth and murmured, "Shit, Assault wasn't kidding. They have an actual dragon."

"Draconith." Kardon hissed, his attention now firmly on the cape. "You do not like it when someone calls you a 'monkey' do you?"

The man raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, "No no, of course. Sorry. Didn't realize that would be a sore spot."

Kardon snorted, "You are forgiven." and resumed picking at a machete a foot and a half long lodged in his gums.

"Jesus…" The man gave Kardon a wide berth and approached the Stormcasts.

"Hi, um… so I've already met Davos. You must be the others he was talking about. And I'm guessing one of you is Phara? I'm Velocity, I'm with the Protectorate."

The stormcast in question strode past the rest of them, slamming her staff into the lot, "I am Lord-Arcanum Phara Sunborne, The Storm-Tamer, and I am the leader of this expedition. We are representatives of the God-King Sigmar Heldenhammer, and we seek to parley with your superiors, Velocity."

The cape scratched at his chin, "Yeah, I figured as much. So, first things first… I received a report on my way here. Sounds like your missing seventh member has been found."

"Vel's okay?" Andraste asked. Phara's gaze shot towards her, and the Stormcast immediately bowed in apology for speaking out of turn.

"Forgive the Vanquisher." Phara said as she turned back to Velocity. "This is her first mission outside of Sigmaron. She is used to the greater freedom afforded to neophytes. But she raises a point. Is Knight-Incantor Vel Mistwalker alive and well?"

Velocity shrugged, "Sounds like it. We can send someone to go get him."

Phara tapped her staff against the ground, "That shan't be necessary. Give me the location, and I shall retrieve him myself. The rest of my brothers and sisters shall accompany you to your superiors."

Velocity paused, a very clear debate on how to handle this situation going on inside his head. He looked between the five stormcast, and the draconith lounging in the parking lot. Then he sighed, and pressed a finger to his ear.

"Control, this is Velocity…"

He paused as a balding man emerged from the Waffle House and walked up to Velocity and handed him a slip of paper. Velocity stared at it for a moment, and sighed.

"Control, this is Velocity, anymore reports on Stormcast sightings? Also, someone inform Deputy Director Rennick that we're going to need to pay off damages on the Waffle House. Yes, again."

-SF-​

Amy Dallon, alias Panacea, remembered a time when she used to love thunderstorms. She had never been the type to go out and play in them. But she loved watching the world change as the rain fell, the smell of freshly wet concrete and asphalt, and curling up with her family and a cup of hot cocoa to watch cartoons. That was a distant memory now; the only thing thunderstorms brought her now, was a sense of anxiety and annoyance.

Because, when the storm clouds rolled in and the rain started to fall, the hospitals were going to inevitably be filled. It was a statistical fact that if the weather wasn't perfectly nice and sunny, more people were going to get into accidents. This applied to holidays and special events too. In general, Amy had grown to despise changes in the status quo, because it always meant more people in the hospital.

She still went of course. Her powers were needed, and she couldn't turn her back on the injured. But it was frustrating, and she felt more like she was treating a symptom and not a cause to a greater issue. The fact that she had no idea how to treat the cause, didn't help matters. At least she got a ride from her sister this time, instead of having to take a bus.

Victoria, alias Glory Girl, landed in front of Brockton General, and released Amy. She patted her sister on the arm, "Want me to stick around until you're comfortable?"

Amy debated sending Vicky back home. It was a Sunday after all, and she knew that Vicky would want to spend time with Dean. Plus, there wasn't any need for her to stick around. Unlike Amy, she didn't have powers that let her heal people with a touch. But her support was always appreciated, and given how stormy days tended to turn out…

"Sure, thanks Vicky." she said.

The two headed inside, and Amy sighed as the familiar sterile stench of the hospital settled around them. Before she could head into the emergency wing, she had to check in with Sharon at the front desk. Sharon was a pudgy woman with rosy cheeks, graying black hair, and a constant smile. Some at Brockton General appreciated her perpetually chipper attitude. Amy found it tiresome and exhausting.

At least she was good at her job though.

The receptionist beamed at Amy as she walked up. "Oh Panacea, you were scheduled to help today, weren't you?"

"It's a Sunday, Sharon. I always come in on Sundays." Amy reminded her.

"Oh, I know. It was just so hectic the last half hour. But, good news for you, you can go home today!"

Amy had to blink a few times as Sharon's words sank in. "Sorry. What?"

"Oh it was a whole mess." Sharon explained. "Lighting hit outside about an hour ago, and this new cape showed up. Big hunk of meat, apparently he's a doctor and has healing powers just like you! He's been helping around the hospital since he showed up, cleared out all our waiting patients in record time! So I guess you finally get a day off, dear! Isn't that wonderful?"

Amy could only stare at Sharon as she processed her words. There weren't many capes that could heal people that she knew of. The Empire had one, Othala, but in general it was a very rare power. If there was a new cape that could heal people…

"Sharon, is he still here?" Amy asked. She tried to keep her voice level.

The receptionist smiled, "He's with a patient right now, but I'll page him and let him know you're on your way. He's in room 1-E, and goes by 'Incantor'. Or Vel. Either or."

"Thanks, Sharon." Amy said and headed deeper into Brockton General.

Vicky had to walk fast to keep up with Amy's stride, and eyed her sister with curiosity. "So what do you think? New trigger?" she asked.

"I don't recognize the name, so probably." Amy said, keeping that same even tone.

Her sister side-eyed her. "Amy, are you jealous that there's another healer in town?"

"I'm concerned. Healing powers are… complicated. If this is some new guy that barely knows how his power works, he could be causing more harm than he's helping." Amy replied. That was most of the truth. Deep inside though, she also felt a sense of possessiveness, which was unlike her. But the hospital was her domain. She spent her time here helping people, and having someone just waltz in to do her job felt like they were trying to steal it.

Rationally, they were probably just an overeager kid that wanted to make a difference. Judging by the name, 'Incantor', they might also not be all there in the head, which was the last thing Amy needed. A delusional hero in the vein of Myrddin with power over biological functions could be a disaster.

Whatever Amy had been expecting when she found room 1-E, Incantor did not fit any of it.

For one, Incantor was massive. A true giant of a man, easily over eight feet tall and built like a freight train. He was clad head to toe in gleaming silver armor with a long, gray tabard. A staff stylized with a lions face and bolts of lightning floated in the corner of the examination room, where a helmet carved into a stern expression hung from it. Incantor had dark almost obsidian black skin, and his hair was storm gray. As in, if Amy looked at it too long, she could see his hair shifting and writhing like a living storm cloud. A matching beard covered his lantern-like jaw.

"Just a moment." Incantor said, his voice rumbled like the bay tide.

The cape was crouched in front of a child, a young boy no more than six or seven cradling his clearly broken arm. His parents stood to the side, watching intently as Incantor raised a hand to the injury. He murmured softly under his breath, and a faint light emanated from his hand. The air prickled and Amy felt her hair stand on end. When the light faded, Incantor withdrew his hand and smiled.

"There, try moving it now, Mason," he said.

The boy did as commanded, and his eyes went wide, "It's okay now! It doesn't hurt!"

"Oh thank heavens." the mother whispered and slumped against her husband.

Incantor helped the boy off the table, "Now, try and be a bit more careful in the future son. We wouldn't want to give your parents another heart attack, would we?"

Mason looked sheepish, "No. I'll be better."

Incantor laughed, a warm almost melodic sound. "Haha, good lad. Go on now, you have the rest of the day to look forward to."

"Thanks, Incantor!" the boy chimed.

He started to run out then his parents grabbed him before he could disappear into the hospital. The father stopped to talk to Incantor as the giant rose. "Thank you again, for helping us."

"It was no trouble at all, sir. Sharon should be able to help you at the front desk. And if your insurance tries to charge you for this, let me know. I'll give them a firm talking to."

"God bless you, sir." the man said. He and his family left, leaving just Incantor, Amy, and Vicky.

After a moment of silence, Vicky broke it. "Holy shit, you're one big bastard."

"Vicky!" Amy elbowed her sister in the side. "Sorry, Incantor, my sister has no filter sometimes."

Incantor chuckled and held his hand out to his staff. It flew to it and he tapped it to the floor with a warbling chime. "No offense taken. I'm used to such reactions. But please, call me Vel. And you, must be Panacea. The staff speak quite highly of you."

He offered his hand. Amy felt some heat in her cheeks at the praise, but took the offered hand, "I am. This is my sister, Vicky. We're with New Wave. I've… never heard of you though, or a cape like you."

The fact that he was so willing to expose his name and identity suggested that the man was likely a case 53 of some kind. An amnesiac who had undergone significant physical change upon triggering. That would explain the strange glow in his eyes and the shimmering texture of his hair. It did not explain the suit of ornate armor he wore though.

Vel laughed again, "I'm afraid that's because there are no capes like me, and I am not a cape in the first place."

Amy and Victoria both stared at the eight foot tall giant with glowing hair and eyes. "You're… not?"

"It is a complicated matter." Vel admitted, "But the source of my power and ability is very different from your own. Parahuman theory is a complicated subject, but I and my siblings do not fall under its umbrella of study."

"Wait, siblings?" Vicky asked, "There's more of you?"

"Six of us scattered across your city in total. Seven if you count Imperious's partner. Eight if you count Aerani. Though I mean brothers and sisters in arms. No blood relation beyond the spark of divinity i-" Vel stopped as he noticed the sisters staring at him. "Sorry, I'm pontificating, aren't I? It's a bad habit. I will summarize. I am part of an expedition from an… alternate Earth to your own. We were sent here to provide assistance with our abilities. Does that make sense?"

Vicky groaned, "Oh man. The Protectorate are going to be so obnoxious about this. They're sticklers for contraband from Aleph, you guys are going to make someone blow their lid."

Vel shrugged, "It cannot be helped, we have our duty."

Amy's mind was racing as she tried to catalog everything she was learning. The man's hands were gloved, but she felt a screaming urge to know exactly how he functioned. If he wasn't a cape, that meant he had to be some kind of bio-tinker creation. Someone on another Earth had gone hog wild on this man and turned him into some sort of swiss army knife of power. And Amy wanted to know how.

What she managed to actually say though, was a simple question. "What… are you, exactly?"

Vel clapped a fist to his chest. "I am Stormcast. Once more mortal, reforged into a warrior to defend those who cannot protect themselves. I see the curiosity in your eyes, Panacea. If you have the time, I'd be more than happy to educate you on the intricacies of the process."

Amy paused. Her heart had jumped into her throat at the offer. Answers were being offered, freely, with no caveats. The only reason she was hesitating was because it seemed too good to be true.

Which of course, was when the other shoe dropped.

There was a shudder than ran through the hospital, and the sound of thunder outside. Vel closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "Ah… there she is."

A woman's voice rang through the hospital a moment later. "Knight-Incantor Velaryon Mistwalker, you are summoned by your Lord-Arcanum to continue your duties in the name of our God-King Sigmar the Heldenhammer!"

"What the fuck?!" Vicky yelped as Phara's voice seemed to come from every direction.

Vel looked at the sister apologetically. "Another time, perhaps. I am afraid my superior's patience is at an end. Take care, the both of you."

He turned and departed down the way they had just come, his staff clicking on the floor in time with his steps. Amy leaned against the hospital wall and watched him go, her mind thoroughly focused now on what a Stormcast Eternal truly was. Over all the questions swimming in her mind, that one shone brighter than the sun itself. She would find out, one way or another.

 

[Tontis]

Expedition 1.7​

Assault and Battery were the first to make it to the conference room, to her surprise.. Like the rest of the Rig, the Protectorates personal conference room or 'War Room' as some of the staff called it, had a sleek futurism style to it. All smooth angles, pale walls and hidden lights and monitors that cast a constant pale light everywhere. On long days, it gave her a splitting headache.

Today, it was tolerable.

With no one else to stop her, Battery slid into one of the middle seats around the oblong table in the center of the room. Assault flopped into a chair next to her and grinned. His grin faded as he looked at her, replaced by a more serious expression.

Wise to his antics, Battery eyed him with suspicion. "What?" she asked.

"Tough day on patrol, puppy?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Battery responded with slow caution, "Yeees? Lung's in custody and Hookwolf is dead. I had to interrupt a few fights between the ABB and E88 before they got out of hand. Why?"

Assault leaned forward and tapped the side of his forehead, "You gotta bruise on your forehead, right here."

She reached up to touch the spot he was indicating, and flinched. How had she missed that, and why had no one told her? Had she been walking around the Rig with a giant bruise on her forehead all afternoon? That was a mortifying thought.

"Hurt?" Assault asked.

"Eh." Battery shrugged, "Just stings a little. I've had worse."

Her husband leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the bruise and smiled at her, "Better?"

She returned the smile, "I might need another. Just in case."

He kissed her cheek this time, "How about now?"

"Well," she started to say, but the conference door slid open. Assault slipped back into his seat and Battery sat up straighter. Her hand found his under the table and she gave him a sly smile. They'd continue 'treatment' later.

The rest of the Protectorate capes filtered in. Miss Militia in her military fatiguqes, Velocity in his racing themed sprinters attired, Dauntless in his bronze age armor, and Triumph in his gold and white costume with his lion helmet under one arm. When she saw the two of them sitting together, Miss Militia raised an amused brow but said nothing. Velocity smirked at Assault, while Dauntless sat at the head of the table without so much as a second look. Trumph, their newest and youngest member, paused. There was a faint blush on his cheeks.

"I um… I thought you two were banned from being alone on-"

Dauntless interrupted Triumph without looking at him,"Kid, you do not want to go down that rabbit hole. Take a seat and pretend you saw nothing."

Battery coughed and found a great interest in the ceiling lights. You get caught in the utility closet one time…

Assault squeezed her hand then released it and folded his hands in front of him. "So, you got a new briefing for us, Hannah?" he asked, changing the subject.

Miss Militia, the technical second in command of Brockton Bay's Protectorate, shook her head. "Not today. There's been a change."

As if waiting on cue, the doors to the conference room slid open again, followed by the heavy thud of armored footfalls. Battery blinked in surprise as Armsmaster, their team captain, stepped inside. His blue plated armor glowed under the harsh conference room light, which really only served to highlight the dour expression on his face. More dour than usual, somehow. .

Armsmaster was the nominal leader of their group, and though Battery didn't care for the man on a personal level, she wouldn't deny his abilities or record. The tinker was damn good at his job. Or rather, he had been. No less than two days ago, Armsmaster had single handedly captured the leader of one of the Bays pre-eminent gangs, the Azian Bad Boys. Lung had enough personal power that past attempts to capture him had required the coordination of several powerful capes and the local PRT forces. And he always managed to escape afterwards.

But Armsmaster had brought him in alone, and everyone had soon learned how. Experimental, unapproved tranquilizers that almost killed the supervillain by sending him into cardiac arrest. A dark spot on Armsmaster's spotless record that had seen him relieved of duty and put under intense review. That kind of process took days at a bare minimum; to see him up and about in full regalia less than 48 hours after that incident meant that something big was going on.

Battery didn't have to think hard about what exactly that was. The media was abuzz with news of Hookwolfs brutal death and the perpetrators. And of course, Battery had met one of them, fought alongside her.

In truth, it was a surprise it had taken this long for anyone to officially breach the subject of the Stormcast. Assault had been pestering her about them since Andraste had flown off on the back of an honest to god dragon, and he and Velocity had been swapping stories and theories ever since.

Battery had been content to wait. After being taken into custody, she knew it was only a matter of time before she and the others learned exactly what was going on with the armored giants that had appeared Monday morning. And, as usual, her patience had paid off.

Assault leaned back in his chair, a broad grin on his face.

Oh no.

"Hey Armsy, funny seeing you here. How was prison time? Did they let you out for good behavior?" his chuckle died at the withering glare Armsmaster sent him. Even with most of his face concealed by his helmet, Battery could feel his eyes burrowing into Assault's skull.

Battery grabbed her husband by the shoulders and said, "Sorry, sir. You know how he is. No filter on account of all the brain damage."

Armsmaster glared at Assault for a second more, then stood at the head of the table. He put his hands on it and leaned forward before addressing all of them. "I am still under investigation. The director however, has seen fit to reinstate me for analysis of our new… allies. For the moment, I am consigned to desk duty. Is that clear?"

A chorus of agreements from around the table. Everyone knew better than to prod at Armsmaster when he was like this. Battery spared her husband a glance. Well, almost everyone, anyway.

Satisfied with the response, Armsmaster pushed off the table and stood with his arms folded behind his back. The wall behind him slid open and a monitor unfolded beside the tinker. An image flashed on screen, an ensemble photo of the Stormcasts.

Battery hadn't seen the new arrivals in detail, and peered closer at it. She recognized Andraste and Imperious, but the others were different. Their armor was more ornate and decorative, and while there was definitely a theme, no two Stormcast looked exactly alike. The one far at the back made Battery's skin crawl with her strange glowing eyes. That wasn't an uncommon trait with some capes, but something about that Stormcast felt… off.

Armsmaster gestured at the screen, "By now I'll assume everyone is familiar with our new arrivals. Seven capes, they collectively refer to themselves as the Stormcast Eternals. On Sunday morning, at roughly 11:32 AM EST, Assault and Battery made first contact with two of their members, Vanquisher, Draconis, and Kardon. Together, they were able to kill former Empire 88 heavyweight, Hookwolf."

That was a very flattering recounting of what had happened. Hookwolf had handed them all their collective asses until Imperious and Khardon had appeared, and Kardon had done most of the heavy lifting. Battery would correct that notion later; Armsmaster hated having his briefings interrupted.

"However, the rest of the Stormcast made collective appearances across Brockton Bay at the same time. Confusion was, thankfully, kept to a minimum barring a minor incident with their leader Arcanum."

Fucking Waffle House.

"After regrouping, the Stormcast willing submitted to our custody in exchange and expressed interest in working with the Protectorate. After consideration and discussion with their leadership, Director Piggot has agreed to this request. She and I both agree that the current situation in Brockton Bay is volatile enough that the Stormcasts assistance would be invaluable. We are beginning small-scale integration of their team into our operations effective immediately.

This didn't surprise Battery. The Stormcast had proven themselves as stable and capable. Director Piggot was willing to play fast and loose with a lot of what was acceptable if the ends justified the means. It wasn't something Battery agreed with, but Andraste had seen a decent enough sort that she wasn't too off put by the Director's decision. Though when she glanced at Miss Militia, she saw that same cautious curiosity on Miss Militia's face.

New allies were all said and good, but they knew nothing about said allies.

Triumph, bless his heart, raised his hand like he was still a kid in high school. Armsmaster nodded his assent

"Why are they here? Are they a cluster-trigger, a foreign team, or… well, what's their deal?"

Armsmaster sighed. He seemed almost reluctant to discuss this. "I am abbreviating a lot. I have reports that will go over this in more detail; the Stormcast are thorough. In short, the Stormcast Eternal are an 'elite' group of alleged demigod warriors from a series of alternate Earth's acting under the orders of their 'God-King' Sigmar." Armsmaster actually snorted at that.

With how weird and esoteric powers could be, Battery didn't blame him for the skepticism. But at the same time, she had watched a literal knight riding on the back of a dragon fall from the sky and rip Hookwolf to bloody pieces. Even if they weren't actually magic, that kind of action left an impression.

"According to them, they draw their powers and abilities directly from this Sigmar." Armsmaster explained.

To her surprise, Assault interrupted Armsmaster, "Could we be looking at some kind of Teacher counterpart? A parahuman that can give weaker powers to others?"

For a moment, Battery swore she saw Armsmaster's lip twitch into something resembling a smirk. She dismissed it as her imagination.

"That is the current running theory. Analysts, and myself, theorize that the Stormcasts are part of a larger collective that acts in a similar function to the Protectorate. That is, a collection of parahumans formed to maintain law and order against criminal activity. The main distinction aside from their greater spiritual bent, is that they are more militaristic when compared to our operations, and function under a greater collective of S-Class capes that seem to be functioning with benevolent intent.."From the tone of his voice, Armsmaster didn't seem to believe that last part.

Dauntless leaned forward, "So what's the catch? Something about this stinks. What's the wrench in your theory, Armsmaster?"

The frown deepened. Armsmaster regarded Dauntless coldly, and answered him with a firm tone. "The Stormcast claim to be from Earth-Bet. According to them, Sigmar 'reforged' stormcast from people who have 'died heroically' on Earth. Completely ridiculous, of course… Except we have three confirmed matches from deceased individuals and the Stormcasts. "

The image flicked behind him, two images in parallel. One was of an unmasked Stormcast, the other of a normal looking human. They both bore a strong resemblance to one another and could have been brothers. Beneath the pictures was the name 'Velarian'. A strong-jawed black man with graying hair and very kind eyes.

"Velarian, alias Incantor, claims that in life he was known as 'Victor Mason'. Those who know your Parahuman History should recognize his name. Victor Mason was one of the leading researchers on Parahuman psychology and helped coin the term 'Trigger Event'. He died June 23rd 1998, talking down one of his patients who suffered a secondary trigger. Unfortunately, said patient went into hiding shortly afterwards and disappeared from the public eye"

Next image on screen showed a pale-faced woman with short blonde hair, and her human counterpart with a similar hairstyle dressed in SWAT gear. This one was labeled 'Gali'. Armsmaster gestured at the picture.

"Gali, alias Venator, was known as 'Gale Simmens'. She was a sniper on the NYPD's SWAT response unit and died September 15th, 2000."

That got a cold response from everyone. The Siberian Incident, the death of Hero. A lot of people had died that day, and one of the world's worst monsters had been let loose on the world. And now, one of that monster's victims was back from the dead, with powers. That… was a lot to take in.

Battery had just been old enough at the time to understand the gravity of what had happened. Gale Simmens death had been one of many used to justify the transfer in funding from local police departments into the Protectorate and PRT as a whole. The equipment and training for dealing with normal criminals just wasn't effective when dealing with parahumans.

Personally, Battery wasn't sure if this had made as much of a difference as the politicians claimed.

A third image flashed on screen. Another black man, both images with shaved heads and faces, and laugh lines around their eyes and mouth. It was labeled 'Davos'.

"Davos, alias Azyros, was known as David Glenn. He was the head astronaut on the last trip to the International Space Station, assumed lost in space."

No one had a response for that.

Battery remembered the name, and remembered vividly the day the Simurgh had ripped the ISS out of the sky and flung it screaming back into the Earth's atmosphere. It had been a final, brutal reminder of what the Endbringers represented and the rules they had set for the world. No one was leaving.

This was getting ridiculous. Battery shook her head and spoke up, "Sir, are we sure these stories are legitimate? How do we know there isn't more at play here?"

Armsmaster sighed, "We… we don't. These three were able to provide enough information to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are, or rather were, who they say they are. But the other three members refuse to provide similar information, or claim to have no memory of it."

"So that's it then?" Dauntless asked, "They throw a few names at us, and we just let them on the team?"

He had a fair point. Though, Battery had seen the Stormcast in action, it seemed a bit much to just… take them at their word. She and Dauntless weren't the only ones to find the situation uneasy. Miss Militia and Triumph bore similar expressions, and were eyeing Armsmaster with a mix of concern and curiosity.

To her surprise, or maybe not, Assault spoke up again, "Not just names, D-man. Read the reports. Stopped a robbery, interrupted a public shootout and tended to the collateral victims, assisted at a local hospital, and oh yeah, killed fucking Hookwolf. I'm not saying we should give them the keys to the city, but these guys are clearly on the up and up. Are we really so paranoid we can't be a little happy for some good fortune for once?"

"It doesn't hurt to be cautious." Miss Militia replied. She paused and added, "But, and I can't believe I am saying this, Assault has a point. They did help around the city without prompting. Delusions or not, they seem genuine in their desire to help."

Assault beamed, ignoring the backhanded compliment.

"Additionally," Armsmaster said, "The Stormcast are not being deployed in full yet. We will be garrisoning them in key locations around the city and otherwise holding them in reserve. The Director and I both agree that the extra manpower can be put to use to discourage any movement from the ABB or Empire in light of recent events."

Assault gestured in what he probably assumed was the vague direction of the Stormcast, "Plus, they have a fucking dragon! We have a dragon on our side guys, that's awesome!"

Armsmaster cleared his throat, "Which brings me to our next topic. Memo's should be going out later today with new sensitivity training regarding the seventh member of the Stormcast. A reminder until then, that he is a draconith not a dragon and that it's culturally insensitive to refer to him as otherwise. Assault."

---

-SF-​

---

Armsmaster dismissed them about an hour later, leaving Battery free for the day. She was going to head home eventually, but her head was swimming after everything Armsmaster had gone over. God's, magic, souls, and resurrection.

She didn't believe a lick of it.

Or rather, she didn't believe it was what the Stormcast claimed it was. She had seen so many strange and esoteric powers over her career that she knew it was easy for a less advanced culture to mistake them for magic or divinity. In any other circumstance, she would have just dismissed it as another Myrddin-tier delusion and be thankful that the delusional were on their side.

But she couldn't just dismiss it, and that was the problem. Something about the facts presented painted too clear a picture to just be delusion, but there was enough missing that she couldn't accept it at face value. If magic, if gods were real, what were they fighting? Armsmaster's briefing and the intel given by the Stormcast was frustratingly vague. But if they were telling the truth, what were they facing that a supposed god had to resurrect the dead to turn into superhuman super-soldiers to fight?

This was her line of thinking when she left the conference room, and it left a deep pit in her stomach. So while she let her husband head home, she jogged laps around the outer catwalk of the Rig. There was a small gym inside that she could have used instead, but she wanted the fresh air and the sea breeze on her face. The water of Brockton Bay was more toxic than Chernobyl, but at least the salty sea air was as invigorating as ever.

Battery turned a corner and came to a dead stop.

Leaning against the railing, staring at the city, was one of the Stormcast. The first one she had seen in person out of their armor. The lack of a hundred pounds of armor-plating did little to diminish the woman's imposing stature, however.

She towered head and shoulders over Battery, easily scraping eight feet. Her body was all lean whipcord muscle; proportionally, she almost seemed thin, but her arms were almost as thick as Battery's neck. She was just that tall.

Dark curly hair fell down to her shoulders and framed a strong pale face, providing a stark contrast with her brown eyes. Her features looked chiseled, literally. As if she were a statue of carved marble that someone had managed to breathe life into. But there were flaws, subtle ones that stood out because of their contrast to the almost manufactured appearance she bore.

Her eyes were a touch too large for her face, her lips thin, and her mouth wide. Faint lines spread from the corner of her eyes and mouth.

Without the armor and magic, she just looked like a very large woman.

Battery remained standing there, unsure of if she should talk to the Stormcast or not. They were allies now of course, but knowing what she did made Battery feel more awkward. This wasn't just a cape with a flair for the dramatic, she was a parahuman with delusional fantasies. That made her unpredictable.

Besides, she didn't even know which Stormcast this was. The woman's eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward on the rail, her attention entirely on Brockton Bay. On her arm, Battery saw lines of faded scars, as if someone had taken a hacksaw to the Stormcast at some point.

Andraste, this had to be Andraste.

That Stormcast had come to their aid without hesitation and had been ready to lay down her life if it meant helping them. Compared to, say, Imperious, she had been downright reasonable and straightforward. At the very least, Battery reasoned, she owed Andraste a thank you for the assistance.

She sighed and approached Andraste. "Hey, Andraste, right?"

Andraste tensed for a moment, then looked at Battery and relaxed, "Ah, Battery. Sorry, you startled me. I was… lost in thought."

Battery looked at Brockton Bay on the horizon, "Enjoying the view? She's no New York or Boston, but Brockton can have its… moments. As long as you don't look at the Docks."

"I…" the Stormcast drew her thin lips into a tight line. "I was. It is beautiful in its own way; and I don't want to forget it. Not again."

That got Battery's attention. She leaned on the railing next to Andraste, careful not to get too close, and eyed her, "Again? Are… were you a local? We were told about your whole 'resurrection' thing, but no one mentioned you were from the Bay."

"Reforging." Andraste corrected. "When we are made Stormcast, the process is akin to a smith reforging a shattered blade."

"Right, sorry, 'Reforging'." Battery said, making quotation marks with her fingers. She let her hand flop to her side and said, "But you didn't answer my question."

Andraste leaned on the rail, those dark eyes focused back on the city. She didn't answer Battery's question, and remained quiet for a solid minute. It was unnerving, she didn't so much as twitch. She just… stared at the city.

Battery was sure she had pissed off the Stormcast with her remark, and was going to excuse herself, when Andraste spoke. "Battery, have you ever wandered into a room with a set task, only to forget why you had entered that room in the first place? You know you were going to do something, but the details are just… gone.."

"Yeah, I think everyone deals with that." Battery said.

Andraste nodded. "That has been my entire existence for the last two years. When I was reforged, when I was made Stormcast, my memories were lost. This doesn't afflict all of us, but… No matter how much I reach for my fleeting memories, they slip through my fingers like so much sand, and the harder I hold to them the faster they fade. And then I came here."

She sighed, "It started when I met your husband, Assault. Memories, fragments returned to me. Half-remembered conversations about the safety a new cape would bring, discussing the politics of the Protectorate's authority in Brockton, what this would mean. Never full details, but enough to remind me of who I was, without actually telling me."

Battery opened her mouth, then closed it. Amnesia of course was something she knew about, but she had never met an actual amnesiac. No amount of emergency trauma training prepared her for that.

Instead she just asked, "Does… Do you get these flashes when you look or talk to anyone?"

Andraste shook her head, "It's random. The more I interact with the city, the more I remember… context. With every passing hour, I can feel parts of myself return. But a mortal life is an ocean of experiences, and what I remember is just a dripping faucet"

She gestured at the city, "That's why I am out here. Trying to remember what I have lost, and memorizing it. I can't… I don't want to forget who I was; not again."

"And your teammates, do they…? I mean this seems like something you should tell them, not me." Battery admitted. She had just met Andraste, after all. Her team would be better suited for this.

Andraste shook her head, "My brothers and sisters struggle with the reforging in their own ways. When we are reforged, we lose part of ourselves. Our memories and personalities fade. A favored food, a treasured song, or a personal tick. When our injuries are smoothed, a part of us is lost in the process. They understand, but are numb to it. Besides, we have a mission here. I would not waste their time with my personal concerns."

That was a line of reasoning Battery had heard before and it never ended well. It was easy to justify shoving aside trauma and troubles, to tell yourself that you were protecting others from your own minor problems. But a thousand small problems could build up into big one's very fast.

The worst part though was that if Battery said this to Andraste, she'd dismiss it. The woman was terrified of being seen as a burden. And as frustrating as it was, you couldn't force someone to seek help for this kind of stuff. Best you could do was be near them and hope they came to the realization on their own.

Andraste looked back at Battery and continued, "You are new to this. Your reaction, it… grounds me. Reminds me how precious these memories are and why I should strive to hold onto them. But… I am sorry, you're right. We just met, I should not be putting this all on you."

Battery watched the Stormcast's face. There was an exhaustion in her eyes, a weariness that spoke to her soul. Nights staggering into her apartment and collapsing onto the couch for the rest of the night, falling asleep at the console, or standing outside a crime scene dry heaving at the latest atrocity inflicted on people she couldn't help. She saw that, felt that in the Stormccast's face.

And beneath it all was a very real very primal fear of losing herself. To know who she was and watch it fade piece by piece.

The cape turned her gaze back towards Brockton Bay. The glimmering towers of downtown were a sharp contrast to the dilapidated outer city, and the bay sometimes shimmered with an unnatural oily sheen. It was ugly, but it was home, she had memories here good and bad.

She wasn't sure she could part with them.

Battery pointed her finger at the city, and traced along the coast to the southern lip of the bay. "You can't see it from here, but there's a few hidden coves there. If you know where to look, you can get a private beach all to yourself. Assault and I, we've gone down there every once in a while just to… get away. One time, we took a day off and just stayed at one for an entire day, brought a tent and everything. Woke up to find a giant cast of horseshoe crabs had come up on shore the next day when they accidentally tore our tent down."

She smiled fondly, "Assault bitched and moaned the whole time. But sitting on that beach surrounded by living rocks and watching the sun rise together… I don't think I could trade that memory for the world. Do you remember anything like that?

Andraste hesitated for a moment. Battery shrugged, "Your call, big girl. Talking about this might help you remember. Or, if you forget again, I'll be able to remind you."

"The… the ferry." Andraste pointed at the old ferry station. It had been dead and abandoned before Battery had even been transferred to Brockton Bay.

She let out a whistle, "You were an old time native, huh?"

Andraste shrugged, "I remember riding it with… others. Their faces though, who they were, are… I struggle to remember them, but all I remember are empty shapes."

"Do you remember what you did with them?"

Andraste thought for a moment, "We were… excited. Back then, the ferry did whale watching tours. I? Was I excited for it? Or maybe one of the others. I can't remember.. We didn't see any though. I remember the disappointment. So when the Ferry landed, I bought us all pastries to lighten the mood. Long thin breadsticks, covered in some kind of sugar.

"Churros?"

The stormcast's face lit up with delight, as if something had slid back into place. She laughed and snapped her fingers, "Churros, yes! Two for each of us, because we missed the whales. We ate enough sugar that we were sick for the rest of the day afterwards."

Her smile faded, "I wish I could remember who I was with. I am so close, but…"

The wistful tone in her voice, the pain etched on her face. Like it or not, Battery couldn't leave seeing Andraste like this. The woman desperately wanted to talk to someone about this in detail, someone that wasn't another eight foot tall stack of meat with their own issues. Battery made a note to text Assault and let him know she'd be home late tonight.

Then she leaned back against the railing and let her arms hangoff the side. "Well, what else do you remember, huh? My shift is over for the day. I'll share something I did in Brockton Bay, then you share. Back and forth, see if we can't jog anything else loose."

"I… are you sure? I wouldn't want to waste your time."

"Oh please." Battery rolled her eyes, "I'm happy to help; I am a superhero after all, it's what we're supposed to do."

For a moment, Battery swore she saw tears in Andraste's eyes. Then they were gone and the Stormcast was staring at the city again. When she spoke, her voice was very soft. "Thank you, Battery."

"Friend's call me Jamie." she replied with a smile.

A/N: Last chapter update for a while. Not in a great headspace for writing at the moment.