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.