Just a lil something I wanted to put out. Hopefully, the next update will be out this week.
The Ancients
In the heights of Azyr, the Lord of Storms, Sigmar Heldenhamer, stood before a pair of massive windows in his citadel. The Man-Turned-God cast his gaze across the vast sprawl of Azyrheim, the gleaming spires and wide streets where Humans, Aelfs, Duardin, and other less-common races mingled in peace, unworried by the horrors of War and Chaos.
In a way, Sigmar envied them. For so many of those people, the threat of Chaos was little more than a whispered legend: it was not
real to them, the dangers it presented not fully understood despite his attempts to prevent ignorance on the subject.
They knew not of the Great Game, of the Long War, of the World-That-Was as anything more than the great red orb that was Mundus hanging above them in the sky.
He, along with the other Gods of Order (as well as that bastard Nagash and...
maybe Gorkamoraka?) were the only ones left who remembered what came before; the lands and the world that would shape the Mortal Realms into what they became. And the, his friends and allies were all gone, lost among the realms or shattered by great beasts or the Machinations of the Chaos gods.
Even Grungni, his companion, who had helped him forge his Stormcast, had disapeared: one morning, his workshop was simply empty, with no indication as to where he had gone or what had happened.
Despite being surrounded by millions of souls, and with his personal guard a meager few steps away, Sigmar felt utterly alone.
However, that would not remain so.
Sigmar stiffened as he felt a surge of unfamiliar power coalesce behind him, turning and placing a hand on his sword as his guards shifted to a ready stance facing the beams of soft starlight that penetrated the ceiling, glittering with the colors or distant nebula as shapes began to form within the beams.
As attuned to the realm of the Heavens as he was Sigmar knew immediately that this was Celestial Magic: but not any like he had ever seen before. The magic of the Heavens, while pure, was naturally unrefined, powerful, even Chaotic to an extent: it was the rage of the Wind, the Power of Lighting, the Wrath of the Storm. This...this was calm, detached Starlight: more pure, more...
ordered.
He waved for his guards to stand down as he stepped forward. After a moment, beings formed among the beams of light and strode forth into his halls: a dozen were reptilian creatures, almost as tall as a stormcast and covered in thick-looking scales of sky and navy blue. In clawed fists, they carried shields made from the scales of massive beasts and ornate spiked polearms, while their heavy heads with massive jaws were topped with helms made from the skulls of unknown beasts.
But these warriors were not what drew Sigmar's eye, even though he vaguely recognized them from the depths of his memory, those of the World that Was.
For behind them floated a palanquin of pure white Starstone, set with gold and Gems, that floated above the ground through magics forgotten to the depths of time. On the throne sat a being, amphibious in nature, that seemed to flicker between a desiccated mummy wearing a golden Death Mask and a large froglike creature that seemed to be made of Light.
Sigmar knew this being, or at least what it was. This was a Slann, one of the Mage-Priests of Old Lustria, a leader of the reptilian leaders of the Lizardfolk, the oldest enemies of the Chaos Gods.
And to Sigmar's eyes, among the greatest traitors he had ever known.
"You..." The God seethed, locking eyes with the Slann as it seemed to decide to resolve itself into the Light-Being form. "You have the
gall to come here, Slann, after what you did all those ages ago?!"
The Temple Guard shifted almost imperceptibly at the threatening tone in Sigmar's voice, even their unbreakable discipline tested at the sound of a God's rage. The Slann, however, did not seem fazed.
"What wrong did we of the First do to you, Lord of the Third, to incite such hostility?" The Wizard asked, tilting its head ever so slightly.
"You were the First: the so-called 'Chosen of the Old Ones'. You were tasked with defending that world,
our world, from the depredations of Chaos. But when the End Times came, and the Everchosen marched the legions of ruin across the old world," Sigmar's voice got deadly quiet. "
Where were you? You were fleeing from it all, on your great Exodus Engines, leaving all of us to our fate. You
abandoned your duty, Slann, and we lost
everything.
That is the wrong you have done me, frogman."
The Slann held Sigmar's gaze for a moment, and then to the God's amazement and shock he felt a building power within the Mage-Priest, a power that rivaled, perhaps even Surpassed his own. The power to stop time, to obliterate nations, to undo death through Willpower alone, and to
bend reality to your will for the sole purpose of destroying your foes.
For a moment, Sigmar glimpsed the Might of the Firstborn of the Old Ones, and he felt a pang of fear.
Then it was gone, and the Slann spoke again. "You know not of what you speak, King of Storms. We of the First fought tooth and nail to hold off the End; hundreds of my brethren destroyed themselves preventing the Warpstone Moon from crashing to earth. We bled and died just as you did, and it was by our blood that the World That Was survived as long as it did. But...perhaps you are somewhat right in what you say," the Wizard said, "for we abandoned our duty, and despite all the losses and conflict, we could still have made a difference. But what is past is past, and the Great Game can only move forwards."
Sigmar could grudgingly agree with that statement, and so slowly nodded. "Very well. Why have you come here, Lizardman?"
The frog shifted on his Palaquin. "We have been watching from above, in our seats among the stars, the moves that both you and the Abominations have been making. You have finnaly put your endgame into motion, and while many of my peers disagree with me, I deemed it time to tell you this: Your Storm does not break alone. Where the Thunder and Lightning of Sigmar roll, so too there shall shine the Starlight of the First. We shall be to you as the Daemons often are to the Dark Gods: aid unasked for, blades unexpected, and damnation for the foes of Order."
The light began to shine once again from above, and the Guard and Slann began to fade. As the Great Frog shifted once more into the mummified husk, Sigmar heard it's words echo through the vast hall this impromptu meeting had been held in.
"For we are Lizardmen no longer. We are Seraphon, the Daemons of Order. And by every memory I cling to, we shall see the end of the Chaos Gods. Even if we must battle until the very end of Time."
And as they finally disappeared, leaving Sigmar to ponder the significance of this meeting, the last words hissed out of the Slann's mouth, like the final dregs of air being expelled from the lungs of a dying man.
"Such is the Will of Lord Kroak." The Starmaster whispered as he and his guards vanished in a swirl of stardust.
