Let's just get this over with.
The Stormraker Host:
The Stormraker host primarily consisted of soldiers from Tiranoc and Yvresse, but it also contained soldiers from all over Ulthuan, many of whom owed a debt to Eltharion or Tyrion.
Eltharion the Grim, Warden and Prince of Yvresse: Eltharion and Tyrion became fast friends in the first expedition to save Aliathra, which eventually resulted in Tyrion telling him Aliathra's secret. Eltharion knew that Ulthuan needed a leader, so he took the mission to save Aliathra in Tyrion's stead.
Eldyra, Princess of Tiranoc: Princess Eldyra forsook fighting from atop a chariot like her kinsmen from Tiranoc, preferring to place her trust in living beings over machines as well as serving as a callback to her days serving as a squire to Tyrion. While her horse Malhadros was no match to Tyrion's Malhandir, he was a quick witted and canny horse and more than served his purpose.
Belannaer, Loremaster of Saphery: Ever since he gave up the position of High Loremaster of Hoeth to Teclis, Belannaer spent his days isolating himself in his study and going through the tomes and contemplations of yesteryear and moving away from the material concerns of the realms. It was only the capture of Aliathra that had pushed him out of his tower, as he sensed a great disturbance would occur if she were not to be saved.
The Stormraker Banner: Previously unthinkable that Tiranoc and Yvresse would be mustered together, this banner was hastily made to represent both Kingdoms. The Hawks of Yvresse and Tiranoc are equally represented, demonstrating the hunter's talons of both Kingdoms working with each other.
Sentinels of Astaril: They have a wiki page.
Knights of Dusk: They have a wiki page
Athel Tamara Faithbearers: They have a wiki page.
Battle of Nine Daemons:
The battle starts with the Elves charging into battle like a "Silver thunderbolt on a dark sky". Despite starting with 10,000 soldiers in Ulthuan, the host is of course outnumbered by the Undead.
I'm not feeling it so I'll just summarise. Elves from Yvresse (Mistwalkers) kill Undead, Undead kill Elves, Elves push deeper, they get bogged down, Eldyra comes in at the head of Tiranoc chariots and cavalry to break in the left flank of the undead and crush them underfoot. Mannfred sees that they're approaching the circle and gets mad because he wants to be in the circle when the ritual is finished to interrupt it. He determines that he can deal with them, even if Eltharion worries him because he saw him in Nagashizzar and he was fierce, so he sets off with his Drakenhof Templars to face off against the Stormraker Host.
Meanwhile, Arkhan is pleased with himself because everything is going according to keikaku. Apparently he knew that Aliathra was warning the Elves of her location with a silent song and he deliberately made certain that Mannfred wouldn't figure it out so the Elves would come in to try to interrupt the ritual so that Mannfred would be distracted.
Arkhan begins the ritual and the Fey Enchantress is already dead, with her death not even being on screen. Very dignified send off for one Bretonnia's Legendary Lords. Meanwhile, Volkmar is in the middle of the circle forced to bathe in the Enchantress' blood within a cauldron as Morikhane, Nagash's armor, is bound to his body by chains that are also keeping him upright. Despite being awake and alert because the ritual required him to be so, and despite the terrible pain he's going through, Volkmar still takes the time to curse Arkhan and chant invocations in Sigmar's name that do nothing because of Sylvania's enchantment. The Nine Books of Nagash are spread across the Nine Pillars of the Nine Daemons, each open and siphoning their energies at Arkhan's hands, which wield Alakanash. Aliathra is the final sacrifice, awake and defiant, hope in her heart thanks to Eltharion's arrival.
The next page shifts to Mannfred, who knows none of this, as he attempts to harness the Winds of Magic and consistently fails to. He sees an Elven Magi and kills him expecting that to solve the problem, but he still can't muster the Winds. Mannfred then spots Belannaer protected by a bodyguard of Swordmasters of Hoeth and calls out for his servants to attack the aged mage interrupting his casting.
It is here that I truly had my blood boil, resulting in my outburst in thread.
Belannaer is doing great in counterspelling Mannfred. His full concentration has to be focused on toning him down, because he has never known the Winds of Magic to be blowing this strongly, but his performance is impressive. Then the stupidest shit ever happens. A host of spectres attack the Swordmasters and Belannaer. "Their swords had no effect on these creatures".
Get that. Swordmasters of Hoeth, from the White Tower of Hoeth in Saphery, the centre of magical learning in all of Ulthuan. Knowing they were about to face undead. Did not enchant their weapons or have access to any magic that could deal with these spectres. I hope you can understand my rage.
Of course, because of this utter bullshit, Belannaer had to break out of counterspelling duty to kill the spectres with flame, which allowed Mannfred to muster a powerful necromantic spell that Belannaer could not counterspell in time, so the Loremaster and his bodyguard were then enveloped within the spell as Belannaer cast a hasty shield to keep the energy at bay. It was successful, but he had to maintain his full concentration to keep it.
It was then that Mannfred swung his sword down to signal his Drakenhof Templars for a charge, and Eldyra, seeing this, countercharged with her own knights. Discarding her useless lance after a single blow, Eldyra realised Mannfred was the center of this and had to be dealt with, and a relatively decent fight scene popped up in the midst of all this garbage, so I'll present it in its entirety:
"Eldyra was a proud warrior of an ancient and honoured line; she did not hesitate.
Mannfred heard a voice cry out in challenge, and turned his mount to meet the princess' charge. With a ring of steel, his blade met hers and turned it effortlessly aside. Again, the elf struck at him, and this time the vampire caught the blade by its flat. For a moment, the sword burned and hissed against his skin, then Mannfred tore the weapon from his opponent's grasp, the momentum hauling her from the saddle. Casting the stolen blade into the press of battle, Mannfred leaned low across his beast's neck to deliver a final blow, but Eldyra was not yet done. Twisting aside from the strike, she plucked a dagger from her belt and sprang at the vampire. Mannfred hissed as the blade sliced into his shoulder, and again as the elf – still mid-leap – reversed the dagger and tore a deep furrow in his arm. Eldyra landed, coiled herself and lunged at the vampire again, but this time Mannfred was ready. With a quicksilver motion he struck the dagger from the elf's grip and fastened a taloned hand around her throat. Yet even as the dagger tumbled from Eldyra's right hand, her gauntleted left slammed into his face, and the vampire felt a fang shatter under the impact. This one had spirit! In Mannfred's experience, most elves were a knotwork of vanity and hubris that shattered like glass, but this one he could use.
At the vampire's call, fell bats swooped from the darkness above, their membranous wings enfolding the still-struggling elf. When the flock cleared, Eldyra was gone, and the vampire set his sights on Belannaer once more." Page 160
Even decent is relative, and Mannfred is as usual, invincible and casually destroys everyone. At this point, Mannfred turns his attention to Belannaer after dealing with Eldyra. I'm not going to bother boring you with the exceedingly long monologue that attempts to justify what happens, just know that Mannfred distracts Belannaer with a storm of dark magic, Belannaer manages to keep it at bay, and then Mannfred mind controls one of the Swordmasters because despite their training Mannfred is strong (this is the in text justification. Swordmasters specifically have strong minds and Mannfred mentions that, since they clearly practice, but Mannfred "studied the Books of Nagash" so he can do anything). The swordmaster was about to decapitate Belannaer but the old man is a badass so he dodged and only got a slash across his torso, but that was enough to distract him, causing his shield to crumble and Mannfred's spell to consume him.
Eldyra's gone and Belannaer's dead, his soul flying back to Ulthuan. Arkhan had the brief urge to capture his soul but lets it go because his duty is greater than his personal desires. Arkhan took the Crown of Sorcery and put it on top of Volkmar's head, and Nagash's whispers could now be heard on the winds. Mannfred hears this and knows he should go back, so he spurs his horse to go on.
Eltharion was beginning to despair, because now his host of 10k is now a couple hundred people even capable of wielding a sword. There is no chance of succeeding, so better to kill Aliathra to relieve her suffering than let her be subject to whatever ritual is going to happen. He spurs his Griffon Stormwing into flight.
Again, another relatively decent fight scene pops up here. It's still bullshit, but it still puts some respect to Eltharion's name, and I'm not up for properly representing it. Just witness it for yourself:
So consumed was he by his mad charge to the Nine Daemons that Mannfred did not sense Stormwing's approach until the moment the griffon was upon him. However, for one such as he, the shadow of the griffon's strike was warning enough. As talons raked at his back, the vampire threw himself forward over his steed's neck: an attack aimed to tear Mannfred apart merely tumbling him from the saddle. Scarcely had the vampire hit the ground than he was on his feet once more. Stormwing banked hard, sweeping around in a great arc so that Eltharion could bring his lance to bear. Down the griffon swooped, faster than a mortal eye could follow, but Mannfred was ready. An instant before the lance's point would have rammed home into his black heart, the vampire twisted aside, his own blade spearing upward in the same moment. Eltharion's lance missed its target by a hair's breadth, but Mannfred's strike fell true, plunging deep into Stormwing's chest and dealing the griffon a mortal blow. At once, Stormwing's strength left him and, with a mournful shriek, he crashed from the sky a few feet from the barrier surrounding the Nine Daemons. Eltharion was thrown clear as the griffon's impact gouged a great furrow in the cursed ground. Battered but unbowed, the prince rose up and threw himself at Mannfred.
The vampire was the greatest of his twisted kind; he was mightier than the elf, and tireless besides. For his part, Eltharion was weary from battle, his strength sapped and his reactions slowed by a dozen poisoned wounds. It seemed that the prince had no chance of prevailing. However, this was not merely a battle of flesh; it was also one of will, and Eltharion's was indomitable. Where Mannfred fought for power, and for his own selfish ascension, Eltharion strove for his people's future, and to fulfill an oath made to a friend. The one could never be the equal of the other.
Mannfred claimed first blood, and the second; his blade cheating the elf's guard. Eltharion staggered with each blow, but he did not fall, and came to the attack once more. Tyrion would have gone berserk at that moment: his anger ever lay close to the surface, and he would have harnessed that rage and bent it to his will. However, Eltharion was of different mettle: he won his battles not through fury, but with clinical precision and a skill far beyond the grasp of lesser races. The prince shifted styles as he fought, battering aside Mannfred's blade in one moment, then giving graceful parry in the next. A great cleaving blow worthy of an orc warlord was followed by a riposte as graceful as any taught in the fencing schools of Tilea, and the vampire was slowly driven back.
Mannfred could not match the elf's skill. For too many years he had relied upon unnatural strength and reflexes to best his enemies; he had toyed with too many foes as prey, rather than as equals. Now he found himself in a dangerous position. The vampire brought his sword up to block a great, sweeping blow, but Eltharion used the parry's momentum to whirl the Fangsword about and lay the flesh of Mannfred's chest open to the bone. With a snarl, the vampire drove forward a great disembowelling thrust, but Eltharion knocked the blow aside and followed up with a savage cut that would have taken Mannfred's head had the vampire not flung up his free hand to suffer in its stead. The vampire howled in pain as the Fangsword smashed into his forearm. The enchanted blade clove through undead flesh as sunlight cleaves through darkness, shattering bone and leaving the limb hanging from a tortured strand of flesh.
In that moment, Mannfred knew he could not beat the elf in a physical contest. Cradling his crippled arm, the vampire backed away, reaching out into the winds of magic as he went. At Mannfred's command, death magic coalesced out of the air, forming into six black swords bound to his vengeful will. As the gleaming black swords bore down on Eltharion, the elf strove to counter their blows. Had he but a moment to think, the prince could have harnessed the Talisman of Hoeth, and dissipated the magic that gave life to the blades. But Eltharion's instincts were those of a warrior; faced with a physical threat, he responded in kind.
Mannfred knew that the sable swords were but a temporary distraction, and prepared a writhing bolt of raw magic with which to end his adversary's life; Belannaer's fate would be Eltharion's also, the vampire swore. Eltharion saw none of this. He was too busy fighting for survival, and would have surely perished in that moment but for Stormwing's intervention. Though the griffon's noble spirit hovered on the edge of death, he roused his broken body to one last act of loyalty. With a final shriek, Stormwing hurled himself at Mannfred. The griffon perished before he struck, his valiant life quenched at last by the spell meant for his master but, even in death, the griffon's aim was true. Mannfred von Carstein was borne to the ground, Stormwing's talons deep in his chest.
Instantly, the swords menacing Eltharion vanished. Bloodied and weary, the prince glanced at the motionless bodies before him. The prince would have liked to bid one last farewell to his old friend, but Eltharion knew that there was no time. He could sense the magics within the stone circle coming to a peak; through the swirling barrier he could see the liche leading Aliathra to the cauldron. He would have to act now, or it would all have been for nothing.
Laying a hand on the magical barrier, Eltharion knew at once that he lacked the knowledge to unmake it, so he again fell back upon his warrior's instincts. The Fangsword had served him well these many long years; it would not fail him now. Taking up the weapon in a two-handed grip, Eltharion thrust the sword's point into the barrier. The magic crackled and spat as the two made contact, the runes upon the Fangsword glowing an angry red as their magic fought Arkhan's enchantment. For a moment, nothing happened; then a section of the barrier melted away from the ancient blade and Eltharion pushed his way through into the ring of the Nine Daemons.
Behind him, Mannfred von Carstein's eyes flicked open.
Away from that kerfuffle, we get a brief narrative tidbit from Eldyra's perspective, where she wakes up in a castle and attacks a Vampire smugly grinning at her only to feel a compulsion not to do so. Then she takes her first breath since she woke up. And realises.
The Vampire tells her that she's one of them now.
And again, because this part is also important to see for yourself:
Mannfred von Carstein watched through slitted eyes as Eltharion cast aside his battered helm and passed into the circle of the Nine Daemons. With a snarl, the vampire heaved aside the deadweight that had once been Stormwing, and pounced at the gap in the magical barrier.
He was too slow. With a ripple, the barrier healed its wound, sealing Eltharion inside the Nine Daemons, and isolating Mannfred on the outside. Biting back his frustration, the vampire probed at the wall before him, but it was old and powerful magic, and the Lord of Sylvania could find no weakness.
Wailing spirits swirling around him, Mannfred slammed his fist against the barrier and watched, unable to intervene, as Eltharion closed with his prey. The blade of the elf's sword melted away as the enchantments set within the steel collapsed. The Fangsword had breached the barrier, but that had been its final act. Without pause, Eltharion cast down the smoking hilt and lunged, weaponless, at Arkhan.
The liche was standing at the edge of the cauldron, the skeletal fingers of one hand wound through Aliathra's hair, forcing her head and torso over the vessel's rim; his other held a bone dagger at her throat. In the centre of the cauldron, Volkmar hung limp against the chains that bound him.
Should he alert the liche? Mannfred wondered. He dismissed the thought. Let Arkhan fend for himself. His usefulness had passed.
Arkhan needed no warning. Without hesitation, the liche released his grip on both Aliathra and the dagger, and reached for Alakanash. Unprepared for her sudden freedom, the princess staggered, struck her head on the cauldron and dropped stunned to the ground. Alakanash flared briefly with light, but then fell inert as one gauntleted hand knocked the staff from his grasp, and another locked around his bony neck.
'Release me!' Arkhan demanded.
Eltharion did not reply, but brought a second hand up to join the first. The elf hoisted Arkhan off his feet and slammed him against the side of the cauldron. Mannfred could hear the scraping of steel against bone as the elf sought to snap the liche's neck.
'Very well,' Arkhan intoned, and wrapped his skeletal fingers around one of Eltharion's vambraces. Immediately, Mannfred saw flakes of rust rise from the metal. In a heartbeat, the entropic curse spread across the steel and into the flesh beneath. The gauntlets locked about Arkhan's throat warped and cracked; the elf's flesh grew parched and withered, his hair grey and brittle. Then, the witch-lights of the liche's eyes flashed once, and Eltharion the Grim, Warden of Tor Yvresse, exploded into a cloud of dust. Good riddance, thought Mannfred, and again bent his will to breaching the barrier. He would not let the liche thwart him on the brink of victory!
The vampire saw that Aliathra had risen unsteadily to her feet to face Arkhan. 'My father will destroy you for this,' she said flatly.
There was no fear in her voice, Mannfred noted, just a weary acceptance, laced with steel. He would have thought that the slaughter of the princess' rescuer would have driven her to despair, but there was no sign of it in her manner. The vampire found himself approving of her defiance – anything to bedevil the liche.
'Your father is already dead,' Arkhan told her, reclaiming his dagger. 'My allies have seen to that.'
Aliathra's gaze did not falter. 'For all your power, you know nothing.'
'We shall see.'
Arkhan reached forward to seize Aliathra's tresses once again. The princess didn't resist, and instead stepped forward to press her bound hands against the liche's chest. There was a brief flare of white light and Arkhan recoiled as if burnt.
'What have you done?' Arkhan demanded, regathering his composure. With a twist of his arm, he forced Aliathra over the cauldron once more.
'You'll find out,' the Everchild spat. With a dry rasp of anger, Arkhan drew the dagger across Aliathra's throat, and royal blood sprayed forth. Some ran down the liche's bony arms, or spattered against the skirts of Volkmar's robes, but most of it flowed into the cauldron, where it mingled with the blood of the Fay Enchantress. Abandoning the elf's still-twitching body, Arkhan reverently took the Claw of Nagash from a casket at the cauldron's base.
'Endrek, melis savar!' the liche shouted, and the blood in the cauldron began to boil. Arkhan turned to face Mannfred for the first time. 'Rejoice, last of the Von Carsteins, for our master will soon rise.'
'Let me in!' Mannfred demanded.
'So that you can subvert the ritual to your own purposes?' Arkhan's tone was contemptuous. 'I think not.' Mannfred went berserk and assailed the barrier with every weapon at his disposal. He struck at it with sorcery, with his sword, and even with his talons, but could make no impression.
Almost as maddening was that the liche paid him no heed. Instead, Arkhan walked calmly to Volkmar's side. At his gesture, the web of chains binding the high priest shifted, raising the unconscious figure's forearm at right angles to his body.
'Azkal, mek Nagash,' chanted Arkhan, pressing his dagger against Volkmar's outstretched wrist. 'Azkal, Azkal.' The blade glowed green, and Arkhan jerked it down. The chains went taut as the limb briefly resisted, but the liche's blade would not be denied.
Volkmar, roused by the sudden agony, bellowed in pain as his severed hand fell away into the cauldron. Wordlessly, Arkhan abandoned the dagger and pressed the Claw of Nagash against Volkmar's gushing stump.
The moment the hand was brought into contact, its fingers began to move, clenching and unclenching as if testing their strength. Arkhan let go of the hand, and it remained in place, talons raking at the air.
'Ezkel mek endrekel!' Arkhan intoned, taking up Alakanash and raising it high. In response, tendrils of dark magic burst from the Claw of Nagash. For a moment, they swayed back and forth through the air, like serpents seeking prey. Then they twisted back around and burrowed into the flesh around Volkmar's bloody wrist.
The Sigmarite screamed and shook against his chains as Nagash's claw bound itself to his own ravaged arm. Blood spurted as the tendrils of magic burrowed their way back outward. Lashing and flailing, they wound themselves around Volkmar's upper arm, then darted across to where Morikhane hung loose on the priest's spare frame. From there, the tendrils grew in number and spread across the remainder of Volkmar's body, boring into his chest and limbs, and leaving a writhing mass of sinuous dark magic in their wake. Within moments, all Mannfred could see of the priest were bulging eyes and a mouth gaping in an agonised scream. Then the scream stopped as the tendrils wrapped themselves around Volkmar's head and forced their way down his throat.
There was no longer any sign of Volkmar, just a pulsing mass of dark magic, whose tendrils spread and expanded as they feasted on the cauldron's blood. Chains thrashed and snapped as the mass grew larger. Moving carefully, Arkhan removed the Fellblade from its cradle of bone, and held it, point outstretched towards the cauldron.
'Eznek malikal!'
The sword rose from Arkhan's grasp and hung in mid-air for a moment. Then, with a flat crack, the weapon burst into a thousand glimmering shards which flew forward and burrowed their way into the pulsating magic. The Fellblade had once slain Nagash; now it restored him to life.
Outside the circle, Mannfred felt the wind pick up and the screeching of the spirits rise to a deafening crescendo. He felt the ground buck and heave under his feet, as Arkhan's ritual clawed open the door between the worlds of the living and the dead. Before him, the eyes of the Nine Daemons glowed with hatred as the magics binding them to the stone weakened just enough to grant them a tantalising glimpse of freedom.
Thunder rolled across the skies above, the Nine Daemons grew still once more, the magical barrier at last collapsed and the mass of magic dispersed like smoke on a breeze. When it cleared, Mannfred could see no sign of Volkmar, nor the chains that had bound him. Now a much larger and grander skeletal figure stood at the cauldron's now-dry heart, orbs of magic floating about him like will-o'-the-wisps.
For a moment, the figure stood motionless and silent. Then, green witch-fires glimmered to life in his eyes. Arkhan prostrated himself, Alakanash outstretched in offering.
'Master...' he whispered. Nagash stepped down from the cauldron and took Alakanash from Arkhan's grasp.
'YOU HAVE DONE WELL, MY SERVANT.' Mannfred did not merely hear Nagash's words – they echoed through his mind. 'THE GREAT WORK CAN BEGIN.'
The vampire felt a pressure upon his thoughts as the Great Necromancer's gaze swept over him. At once, Mannfred realised that he had lost; he could no more control the creature before him than he could command the gods.
'DO YOU SERVE ME?'
'Yes,' said Mannfred, falling to his knees, and hoping that Nagash would not detect the bitterness in his heart. 'I serve you... master.'
…
Yeah. Whatever. At least I got a mild chuckle out of
Mannfred.
The chapter now transitions into the conclusion. The aftermath. It is explained to us from Arkhan's perspective that the ritual wasn't just to revive Nagash, but to elevate him to Godhood by absorbing the Wind of Shyish from the Vortex into the Great Necromancer himself. Nagash knew the Chaos Gods were rising and he did not want them to win, because they would enforce change upon the inevitable world of dry predictable order that he desired. Thus, Nagash was revived several centuries before he had originally intended.
As such, when Nagash was revived, he absorbed the energies and spirits bound within the Nine Books laid around the Nine Daemons and released a bolt of energy into the sky and then into the Vortex, plucking the Wind of Shyish to elevate himself. All around the world, disturbances began appearing. Light flared all around Ulthuan's annuli mountains and waystones and the seas surrounding the Isle of the Dead turned black. In Naggaroth, energies swept across secret shrines to Ereth Khial and a ghostly city shrieked its way into existence atop the ruins of Har Kaldra. Swarms of khepra beetles swarmed over Nehekhara's temples as Settra railed against his priests. In Altdorf, the Amethyst College crumbled to dust. In Karak Azul, ancient runes covering tomb stones glowed briefly before snuffing out. All around the world the dead began to rise.
Here, the plot twists hit in some of the most matter of fact, dry narration. Nagash could have ascended to godhood if Arkhan and Mannfred had done it all successfully and provided Divine Blood, and they did some of it right. Volkmar, the host that Nagash consumed, was a scion of Sigmar. Morgiana Le Fay, the Fay Enchantress, was a daughter of Ladrielle, the Lady of the Lake. But Aliathra was not the daughter of Finubar the Phoenix King and Alarielle the Everqueen, a vessel of Isha and Asuryan. She was the illegitimate daughter of Alarielle and Tyrion born out of wedlock during Finubar's marriage period with Alarielle. As such, Aliathra's blood was tainted by the curse of Aenarion's Bloodline. Arkhan and Mannfred watched, helpless, as Nagash began to stagger under the weight of the power he was summoning.
And then the bomb drops:
It has begun, has it not?' The sneering words echoed through Teclis' mind.
'It has,' Teclis replied quietly, speaking aloud though he knew his ally could pick the words from his thoughts. 'Aliathra has played her part, and Nagash has played his. The vortex is destabilised; your time will come soon.'
Teclis knew he would bear the guilt of Aliathra's death for whatever years remained to him. He could have rescued his niece had he chosen to do so, but Nagash's vassals would merely have sought another sacrifice in her stead, probably one in whom divine blood flowed true. Aliathra's impurity had bought them time.
The voice laughed. 'All these years, and I never suspected you capable of such ruthlessness.'
'We are all what circumstance requires of us, as well you know.'
'How pitiful. You cannot absolve yourself of the blood that stains your hands. You must taste of it, and relish the flavour; only then will it make you strong.'
'That manner of strength does not interest me.'
'Then it will be only a matter of time before you fail.'
'If that is so, why have you agreed to my plan?'
'Perhaps because it amuses me to see you discard your closest allies like pieces on a gaming board.'
'Winning the war to come will be as much about timing as strategy,' Teclis asserted, wondering which of them he was trying to convince. 'Had Nagash succeeded, he would have confronted the Dark Gods before the rest of us were prepared, and they would have destroyed him. Only fighting as one do we have a chance of success.'
'And your "heroic" brother?' the voice mocked. 'Is he not permitted to know your plan?'
'Tyrion most of all must play the part I have set for him. He has never understood the necessity of sacrifice. He believes that courage and steel can triumph over any threat. In trying to save everyone, he would doom us all.'
The voice grew darker, more threatening. 'Remember, nephew, that I am your ally in this only because it suits my purpose. If you attempt to manipulate me, I will flay the flesh from your bones.'
Teclis almost laughed at that. He was already manipulating his ally; only the other's arrogance prevented him from realising that this was so.
'If Tyrion discovers I sacrificed his daughter so that Nagash might live,' he replied bitterly, 'I doubt you will get the opportunity'
Teclis? TECLIS??? TEEEEEEEEEEEECLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ahem. That out of the way, let's get back to Nagash.
Nagash, realising his folly and the massive weight of power that his mortal body could not handle, decided to use Sylvania as a vessel to contain it until he could fully ascend. Burying his staff into the ground, Nagash turns Sylvania into one giant pit. Nagash turned the entirety of Sylvania into a Magical Locus, like the Vortex in Ulthuan, causing the place to become a completely dark pit with the exception of the island of stone that is the Nine Daemons. Gelt's Wall of Faith shattered instantaneously from the surge of energy, and any spirit that attempted to escape the pit would be pulled back in by scrambling hands.
Nagash decided that he could not war against the Chaos Gods just yet. He needed to build his forces, leave to his Black Pyramid in Nehekhara, and use its energies to fully ascend by breaking Aenarion's Curse and recuperating his spirit. That meant facing off against Settra the Imperishable, greatest of all Nehekharan Kings, and for all his arrogance even Nagash know that the Khemirkhara surpassed him in the theatre of war.
In order to achieve his objective, Nagash needed his Nine Dark Lords. The Mortarchs. Of the Original Nine, Three remained, and they would take their positions once more. Arkhan, his loyal servant, became the Mortarch of Sacraments. Neferata in the Silver Pinnacle, who hated him but feared him even more, became the Mortarch of Blood. Krell, as loyal as ever despite his long gone allegiance to the Chaos Gods, became the Mortarch of Despair. But he would need six more.
Nagash's whispers moved through the Winds to those who had embraced his teachings. Some were defiant, rebellious, or demanded far above their station. Zacharias the Ever Living had his brains burnt out for thinking him an equal to Nagash. Dietrich von Dohl the Crimson Lord of Sylvania presumed to make demands and withered to dust within seconds for his temerity. But so many others submitted to his will.
The ones who accepted to be his Mortarchs gained immense powers in exchange for servitude as the powers within the bedrock of Sylvania rushed into their form.
Mannfred begrudgingly accepted the title of "Mortarch of Night" and was granted a Dread Abyssal, a mythical creature of Nehekhara's underworld, as a mount.
Luthor Harkon, Pirate King of the Vampire Coast accepted his position out of boredom.
Dieter Helsnicht, the self-styled Doomlord of Middenheim, accepted so that he may learn Necromancy from the one who made it.
Walach Harkon, first of the Blood Dragons and disciple of Abhorash, saw the opportunity for glorious battle and took it.
Within the Grey Mountains lay the shattered remnants of the spirit of a once-Great Enchanter who had lost his essence and no longer knew of his name. The Nameless accepted his position to pursue his lost name. To become Drachenfels once again.
Only one of them was truly pulled back from the veil of death, a man who Nagash felt could be a capable emissary to hold off the forces in the North. A man who did not fear nor trust Nagash, yet held great power. The Mortarch of Shadows, Vlad von Carstein, accepted so that he might see his beloved Isabella once again.
Nagash instructed Vlad to march beyond Kislev to hold Chaos at bay, and while he started the trip alone, he was joined by forces from Sylvania who saw that their True Lord had finally come back. He would further be joined by the Walach Harkon and the Knights of Blood Keep as well as the Nameless.
While three of Nagash's Mortarchs proceeded north, the remaining Mortarch accompanied Nagash to his destination. Only Arkhan and Mannfred were on his side in the beginning, but Neferata and Krell were a few days march away, Dieter Helsnicht was already travelling to meet up on top of a bat winged steed and Luthor Harkon's fleet had already slipped anchor.
Far to the south, Settra could see the portents of times to come. He would have to face Nagash, and while the two had fought each other several times (this was never mentioned in any book that I know of, either End Times original or a Novel thing), every fight ended in horrendous losses. Settra knew that the time for the Last War of Nehekhara had come.
The chapter ends with a narrative peek at the incensed, jealous and irritated Mannfred, who's not only mad he was duped, but mad that Vlad is back. He knows better than to believe that Vlad has no idea that Mannfred was behind his death so many years ago. Mannfred of course ends the chapter with him scheming and thinking that he has to be subtle and patient (by Mannfred's standards I assume, which is not much).
Welp. We're finally done with this atrocious chapter. Next is Chapter 3: Death on the World's Edge from Spring 2524 to Winter 2524.
So. Final Thoughts?
I think you know what my final thoughts are. We sure learned a whole lot in this chapter, and a lot also happened. Volkmar is Sigmar's descendant. The Fay Enchantress is Ladrielle's daughter. Ladrielle is the Lady of the Lake. Aliathra is cursed and her sacrifice caused Nagash to be cursed. Teclis planned for this to happen deliberately and worked with Morathi to do it for
"The Greater Good". Nagash is back. Vlad is back. Eldyra's a Vampire. Belannaer's dead. Eltharion's dead. The Mortarchs are back. The Wall of Faith is down and Sylvania is a new Vortex. Nehekhara is about to be besieged. Zacharias the Everliving is no longer Everliving.
But I think the most important take away from this?
End Times sucks.
