Thystra Fairwind is not a good woman. She is a sorceress, a criminal, a manipulator and a murderer. Yet sometimes the Mortal Realms do not need good men and women. Sometimes, they just need a hero.
Besides, compared to the other lot she's downright normal.
The Realm of Azyr was a beautiful place. The Peerless Kingdom stood at the apex of the Mortal Realms, and everything from its snow-capped mountains to the sparkling infinity of the heavens seemed designed to reflect that divine glory back upon the people. Everywhere the beauty of nature and the creativity of the mortal mind intersected in harmony, silk-thin spies of silver and gold rising from amid the alpine forests to reach for the distant stars above and whirling cascades of arcane magic danced in perfect symphony with the beautiful aurorae that painted the sky with light. From their spires of silver and gold the free Azyrites pursued works of creative beauty and endless ingenuity, working with soaring hearts and unflinching wills towards the day when all of creation could be as safe and peaceful as their eternal home.
Yet it was always the brightest light that cast the deepest shadow, and the Realm of Azyr was no exception. There were monsters aplenty lurking amid those shining spires, hiding their foul intent behind only the fairest of faces, and try though he might, Watch-Captain Heinrich of the Azyrite Free Companies could not help but dwell with obsessive intensity upon that thought. It was the pursuit of such a fiend that had brought him here today, and when he set off upon his path he had thought himself ready for what lay at the end. As it turned out, he was not.
Thystra Fairwind simply did not look like a monster. If anything, she looked rather like the sort of innocent damsel he had half-heartedly imagined himself saving from such ravening beasts, back when he had been young and stupid enough to sign up for a career with the Free Companies. Her golden brown skin was soft and smooth, marked only by abstract lines of green and black down the lengths of both her arms, and the honey-blond hair that cascaded loosely down her back was a thing of sinful temptation. It would be the easiest thing in the world for him to think of her as nothing more than the merchant princess she pretended to be… but a merchant would not be so calm at the sight of an armed man in her boudoir.
"Why, Captain Heinrich, what a surprise," the Aelf purred, settling back in her armchair to regard him with a single raised eyebrow, her piercing jade eyes fixed intently upon his face, "What brings a valiant hero of the City Watch to my door in such a state?"
"Drop the act, witch," Heinrich growled, hoping that the beads of sweat painting his brow were not visible, knowing in his heart that they were. This was madness, he had been so certain, and yet now at the very threshold his will deserted him? No. No, he was better than that. He had to be.
"Why, so you can feel better?" Thystra laughed, a low and throaty sound that sent the Captain's stomach twisting itself into knots. "Did you come here to kill me, then? Or merely to slake a… baser need?"
Gritting his teeth, the captain kept his eyes focused on the woman's face. It was difficult, for the Fairwind was achingly beautiful and clad in nothing but a loose silk robe of vibrant red, but he endured. He had come here at this hour with the intent of surprising her, after all, and the fact that his gambit had been successful should not be allowed to distract him. No matter how artfully the half-open robe framed the curve of her shoulder.
"You'd deserve it," he growled, biting back a curse at the way Thystra's eyebrows rose at the confession, "If I killed you, I mean. Not… you're no innocent, not some guileless merchant. You're a monster. My men, my precinct…"
It had taken him weeks to notice anything was wrong, an age to put together the clues. Sergeant Jory, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. Bors, a hardened veteran of the streets suddenly prone to grinning like a schoolchild at the oddest times. Prisoners released without record, funds missing from the station coffers, a thousand and one pieces of the puzzle he'd been too stupid to solve and too desperate to abandon. When the cloaked agents had come to him with a solution, murmuring something about the Order of Azyr and presenting him with a knife and a name to go with it, he'd taken both without a moment's hesitation. That burning will had carried him across the town and up the quicksilver spire to this palatial apartment, but now he stood opposite the architect of all his woes, it abandoned him.
"That's quite an accusation," Thystra observed with evident amusement, soft lips curving into a smile that he ached to see again, "yet you stand here alone. No doubt a smart man like you brought a little insurance along, an ace in the hole? Let me see it?"
It sounded like a question, yet Heinrich scarcely had time to think before the dagger was in his hand. It burned the skin to hold it, cold and heavy in a way no mortal metal could hope to be, and when he looked closely there seemed to be a faint halo of rainbow light that grew stronger with every twitch and shiver of his trembling hands. Magic itself, parted by the edge of the knife.
"Nullstone?" Thystra said, her voice a shocked whisper as she sat up straight in her chair, and for a moment Heinrich dared to hope she was scared. That he had regained some measure of control over this situation. Then her green eyes softened and her voice grew warm once more. "Oh, you poor man. You don't know what you have, do you?"
"I have a weapon," Heinrich growled, brandishing it at her. He meant for it to sound intimidating, a definitive answer to her veiled insinuations and suggestions, but his voice was weak and his hands were shaking. He sounded like an ignorant child. "Everyone knows Nullstone cancels magic. Try bewitching me, sorceress, and I'll… I'll cut your throat. I swear it, in Sigmar's holy name!"
"You have your doom, you silly man," Thystra said with a sigh, shaking her head in slow pity, "Nullstone is not of this world, and in time neither are those who wield it. They lose their ambitions, their preferences, even their sense of self… and you're clutching it like a child with his first icon. Tell me, Captain, can you even remember how you got here?"
Heinrich frowned, opening his mouth to reply, and stopped. He could remember the precinct, the cloaked men, the knife, his journey here. Those were all sharp and clear in his recollection, but the actual break-in… he'd timed it to catch Thystra unawareness and without any of her tools and armour, had clearly managed to slip through whatever wards a sorceress (she was a sorceress, he was sure of it) must have had up around her residence, but how had he done it? He couldn't remember. It was as though he had gone from the street outside to the woman's boudoir in a single step.
"They sent you here to die, Captain," the aelf said, and her voice was so dreadfully soft, so terribly sympathetic, "I don't know what they told you, but you were never meant to walk out of here. Please, for your own sake. Put the dagger down."
His hand was shaking. His body felt leaden, his thoughts so impossibly light, racing around inside his head like wisps of cloud. Slowly, almost unable to believe he was doing it, he stepped over to the bedside table and set the knife down. It was a deliberate effort, a slow and focused process where he released one finger after another, but eventually it was done. The knife clattered to the ashwood table, and he was unarmed.
"There we go. Isn't that better?" Thystra said, smiling up at him from the comfortable depths of her chair. She hadn't moved, not once since the confrontation began. "Now, don't worry about anything else. I will dispose of that horrid thing, and you should feel much better after a good night's sleep. All I need you to do is apologise."
"I'm…" Heinrich took a step back, swallowing thickly. His brow was cold, his throat stuffed with wool, but he still managed to force the word out. "I'm sorry."
Thystra just raised her eyebrows, staring up at him in silence. She was still sitting in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, one dainty foot hanging in the air. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. He'd come here to kill her, that deserved more than a few stammered words by way of apology, didn't it? Yes. Of course it did. And so Captain Heinrich, who had come here with a nullstone blade to kill the sorceress that had corrupted his men, went to his knees and kissed her slippered foot.
"I'm sorry," he managed to say this time, far more easily than before, tilting his head to look up along the long sweep of the aelf's bare legs, "mistress."
"Good boy," the sorceress purred, before hooking her foot under his chin and slowly nudging him back to his feet, "now run along. I'll deal with you later."
Swallowing nervously, Heinrich rose to his feet, swaying slightly in place. He felt like a young boy again, a hero joining the company with a dream of princesses in his heart. Slowly, unsteadily, he turned around and walked away, a giddy smile on his face.
-/-
There was silence in the apartment for a full minute after the Captain had left. Then, quite suddenly, Thystra Fairwind shoved one dainty fist into her mouth and bit down hard enough to taste blood. It was the only way to keep from screaming.
A warrior, a trained soldier, in her own boudoir! Armed with a knife made of nullstone, no less! Thystra had experienced more than her fair share of danger over the course of a long and eventful life, but she rather thought that might be the single closest she had ever come to dying. If the Captain had been just a bit stronger of will, or a fraction less principled…
"Stupid," Thystra hissed, pulling the fist back out from her mouth and carefully licking away the blood, "Stupid, overconfident, fool. How did you get so reckless?"
Her eyes fell upon the nullstone knife, now sitting innocently on her bedside table, and she scowled. A spell-eating weapon, in the hands of a disposable pawn? That was an insult and boast all in one. A demonstration of the sheer depth of resources at her foe's disposal, that they could equip their troops with such specialised weapons, and a mocking comment about her ability to defend herself without the aid of her magic. A single, stumbling thrall could have cut her throat, and she would have been almost entirely unable to stop it.
Muttering a sulphurous curse under her breath, the Sorceress rose from her chair and made her way over to the balcony, dimming the windows with a wave of one hand. Airships did not generally travel so deep into the city, warded off by the thicket of spires, but humming aether skimmers were almost common and she was in no mood to give some passing courier a show.
Sighing, the sorceress leaned forwards, pressing her brow to the tinted crystal of her window and staring out morosely at the sight beyond. By any objective measure the vista was incredible, a perfect unobstructed view of Mount Silverspear and its frozen alpine slopes, but she found no joy in it. Beautiful as Azyr was, it was not her home, and on days like this the simple weight of that fact stole all warmth and joy from her life.
Article:
Thystra Fairwind is a cunning sorceress with only the barest scraps of what another might call a conscience, but even she can feel homesick. Where is the home that she misses so dearly?
[ ] Hammerhal A metropolis that lies athwart Realms, separated by a million leagues and a handful of steps, Hammerhal was the birthplace of the Age of Reclamation and the Realmgate Wars. Dwelling in such a bastion of industry and warfare, Thystra absorbed a great deal of military knowledge, and can coordinate her minions… valued allies with skill and insight.
[ ] Excelsis Built around a mighty spire of otherworldly rock near the heart of Ghur, Excelsis is a black iron bastion in a ferocious and untamed land. Chips of the great mountain-sized spear at the city's heart grant prophetic foresight, which Thystra has learned to pair with sudden bursts of ferocious instinct to surprise and outwit her many enemies.
[ ] Lethis Towering gothic spires cast their shadows across a dark and unfathomably deep lake, while inhabitants clad in dark shrouds and trinkets of pale bone revere a god most believe lost to the Usurper's eternal hunger. As a daughter of Shyish, Thystra learned early how to fashion amulets and work trinkets to protect her body and soul from all manner of spirits, be they undead or daemonic.
[ ] Misthǻvn The City of Scoundrels may be found in any of a thousand places in Ulgu's seas, for it is no city at all, but rather a hundred armadas pressed together in a giant floating metropolis. Dwelling among these drifting city-ships, Thystra learned the importance of reputation and discretion, building for herself a chain of contacts and references that stretches across the Mortal Realms.
[ ] Yllurai Xhen The glimmering city of Settler's Gain, a veritable utopia amid the shining spires of Hysh, has been carefully planned down to the last cobblestone to encourage a sense of wonder and enlightenment. Thystra spent much of her early life seeking to ascend the spires, answering mystic riddles and surpassing complex examinations to earn her place in the higher tiers, and even now she appreciates the spiritual and magical value of a world perfectly in balance.
Well, home was lost, and there was nothing she could do about it. Oh it was still there, still prosperous and charming and oh so very beautiful, but she could not go back. Her enemies had chased her out, slaughtered her thralls and freed her debtors, hounded her so relentlessly they had apparently tracked her all the way back to her safehouse in Azyr within a month of her flight. The local precinct had meant to be her chance to rally, the foundation of her renewed power, but only a fool would miss the message in the Captain himself coming by with a gifted weapon in hand. She had lost, and would not be allowed to recover, not here or in any other place.
All she could do was wait for death to claim her.
Idly, Thystra considered reaching out to one of the other Covens, of finding a fellow Sorceress and throwing herself upon a sister's mercy. It wouldn't work, of course, for the primary reason that her sisters didn't have any mercy, but it was a nice thought. Perhaps if she managed to strike back against her persecutors, secured a meaningful victory or useful asset for her own, that would change. Taking in someone who came with something to recommend them was far more in line with the Darkling ethos, and she'd always been good at persuading people to fudge the rules in her favour… but again, she lacked the power or the resources to manage such things, and unless that changed…
She stopped. Froze solid, in fact, the weight of a thought pinning her in place like a particularly elegant butterfly. Then, slowly, she lifted her head and looked up at the heavens above. Azyr's sky was always lit by stars, the twinkling lights clearly visible even in the middle of the day, but by far the most obvious feature of the sky was the ring. The great fortress-ring of Sigmar and his hosts, stretching clear across the sky like some fanciful steel girdle. The Vault Celestial.
"Yes," Thystra murmured to herself softly, jade green eyes alight with potential, "that will do nicely."
-/-
Of course, finding a way inside the halls of the gods unbidden was a task rather easier said than done. Some people would have called it impossible, small-minded fools terrified of blasphemy that they were, but Thystra Fairwind was not much given to obeying the fearful dictates of other people. More importantly, she was a woman without a great deal left to lose, and that opened up some truly remarkable options others might hesitate to consider.
She pawned the knife for bribe money, bargaining with a laughing man from Shyish for the orbs of Aqua Ghyranis necessary for her task. The blessed water was a potent tool of healing and purification, but it was also the closest thing to a unified currency one might find across the Mortal Realms, being both easily measured and possessed of a practical benefit to entice those more used to barter. With such portable wealth to hand she bribed a soldier for the transport schedule and next transport, plucked the knowledge back from his mind when she was done, and snuck aboard a thrumming ornithopter when it left the cog-fortress on Silverspear's slopes for the orbital cityscape far above.
Making her way through the Vault Celestial itself was harder, of course, and in the span of a day she changed her face and name a hundred times over, stealing memories and fogging minds when she had to, pressing ever onward. The possibility that her destination might very well be legendary in the most literal sense had occurred, but in the absence of any better idea she stuck with it, and soon enough found her way to the very doors of the God-Forge and the Anvil of Apotheosis held within.
That was, of course, when the Stormcast caught her.
"Surrender," said the first, holding a slab of celestial steel the rough size and shape of her bedroom door to her throat, "this is your only warning."
Making very sure not to move, Thystra scanned the room. The two Stormcast nearest to her were the most immediate threat, of course, both of them ideal specimens of masculine perfection sealed shamefully away behind thick golden plate armour, but even if she managed to slip away she counted at least half a dozen archers aiming in her direction as well. Several of them had gone so far as to set bolts of crackling lighting to their bows in preparation, and proud though she was of her magic, the chances of avoiding that were slim in the extreme. Well, a proper lady could always admit when she was beaten.
"I am Thystra Fairwind, of the Darkling Covens," she said, idly betraying her identity in the way that her teachers had warned her over and again to never, ever do, "I wish to become Soulbound."
Well, full credit to the Stormcast - they were not easily rattled, and though she could tell they were surprised, none present took their eyes off her or lowered their weapons. Not that she could have reasonably done anything to them if they did, given the sheer disparity in size and strength at play, but she could admire the professionalism even so. If her own people had been half as competent, perhaps she would not have been in this position to start with.
"To be Soulbound is among the greatest of honours," the second swordsman spoke, his rumbling voice rising and falling like the roar of a distant thunderstorm. Some part of Thystra itched to peel him apart and see how he worked, to trace the lines of arcane power that surely suffused his half-real frame, but she kept such thoughts carefully away from her face. "It is a holy calling, granted by the gods, not some boon you can simply walk in and demand."
"It is a spell like any other," the sorceress corrected him, mostly to be contrary, "and one that grants the beneficiaries a great deal of power. I need that power, and if service is the coin required to secure it, then so shall I serve."
All the Stormcast present were clad in their full armour, complete with face-concealing helms sculpted in the visage of heroes long since dead, and so she could not easily read how her words were landing. None of them moved for long seconds, as if processing her casual disregard for the sacred mysteries that they guarded, and then after a moment the two swordsmen stepped back, clearing space for an angel to descend.
No, Thystra frowned at her own thoughts, not an angel. Another of the Eternals, female in form this time, with a silver face-plate and wings of light emerging from the back of her armour to bear her aloft. A… knight-azyros, if she remembered the terminology correctly, the inspiring heralds and glorious emissaries of the God-King of Azyr. The sort of person mere guards might call to handle a thoroughly unusual situation.
"By what I am sure is simple coincidence, there is indeed a binding planned to take place soon," the angelic warrior said in a voice like whispered hymns, looming over Thystra where she stood but a mere dozen paces from the great gold and azure gates to the Divine Forge. "All present are heroes brave and true, summoned here from across the Mortal Realms. Are you worthy to stand among them?"
For a moment Thystra said nothing, trusting in the mere fact of her presence to be her answer. A mistake, apparently, for while it spoke rather eloquently of her ability it seemed this hero among women was asking for a rather different kind of merit.
"I understand the risks," Thystra said tersely, trying not to squirm beneath the herald's unflinching gaze, "And I am willing to take them, in order to stand with the others and defeat the threats facing our Realms. What is that, if not a hero?"
Not that her motives were entirely pure, of course. This was a move of desperation more than virtue, one last roll of the dice in hopes of escape from the noose slowly tightening around her throat. Still, she rather thought she had it in her to be a marvellous heroine, world-saving antics and all, if that was what it took.
"Perhaps you understand the risks of the ritual," the Knight-Azyros said slowly, still studying her like some kind of particularly interesting bug, "but what of the consequences of success? To entwine your soul with the souls of others, to share everything you are with them on such a deep and intimate level, cannot be undone. You will be together, in life and death, for eternity. It is the purest form of selflessness, one that your kind are rarely willing to embrace."
For a moment Thystra was tempted to snap, to make some sharp comment about what exactly 'your kind' was meant to mean or some acidic observation about moral judgement from a perfected being. She controlled the thought, however, for it would yield her nothing and might well cost her the prize she yet sought.
"I suppose you could say I have little to lose, then," she said, hoping her smile was not half so brittle as it felt. "Now, unless you have any other warnings to impart, kindly make a decision and stop wasting my time."
For another long moment the Knight-Azyros considered her, far longer than any mortal could take to render a judgement. Perhaps the rumours were true, and Sigmar's heralds really could invite the God-King to look at the world through their eyes. Regardless, in the end the knight only nodded, and without another word the great gates to the Soul Forge swung slowly open.
Smiling fiercely to herself, Thystra Fairwind squared her shoulders and walked forwards, ready to meet her boon companions, the keys to the power that would allow her to strike back against her enemies. And, she supposed, to the fellow heroes who would of course be saving the day over and over again from now until they died.
They were not at all what she was expecting.
Article:
To be Soulbound is a great blessing. The ritual bestows immense power, accelerated healing, an immunity to chaotic corruption and the ravages of age. Yet so too does it impose great costs - once bound, a Soulbound is sworn to the service of the gods and their companions until death. Their bodies are made sterile, and should they die then their soul will either remain in bondage or shatter into fragments, made brittle by the same rigidity that shields them from chaotic corruption. And, of course, there is the ritual itself - an act of spiritual reforging that often proves too much for even the most heroic of souls to endure.
All of the following are present at the beginning of Thystra's reforging. Only three will survive the process, to be bound to the sorceress and each other by their very souls. Which ones?
CHOOSE THREE:
[ ] Ahnika Heartseeker A Daughter of Khaine, Hag Priestess of the Bloody-Handed God. Plagued by mysterious visions, Ahnika sought the counsel of the High Oracle Morathi, who listened sympathetically to her worries… and then exiled her to a life of service and death outside the Sisterhood.
[ ] Crann One of the forest spirits of the Sylvaneth, Crann is a titanic figure of hardened bark carrying a bow that more closely resembles a siege weapon than anything mortal hands could wield. Strangely, Crann seems almost to long for the silent oblivion that other Soulbound regard as a curse, refusing to explain why the thought of being returned to the Spirit Song of their kind is so terrifying a thought.
[ ] Sir Drakmer of the Red Keep A knight. A monster. A vampire. Sir Drakmer is all of these and more, but most critically he is a rebel. Bound by honour and his own knightly oaths, he turned against Nagash when the Usurper began his conquest of Shyish, and for his bleak heroism Sigmar offered the cursed knight a position among the Soulbound.
[ ] Snagga Sharpfang One of the barbarous Orruks, a greenskin warrior clad in leather and bone, Snagga is an inexplicably inspiring orator and a skilled medic. He came to the attention of the Free Cities when he was found patching up a wounded patrol, having apparently taken some kind of oath that all who wanted to fight another day should be given the chance.
[ ] Mikkal Longstrider An Ogor mercenary with a list of successful contracts a mile long, Mikkal is the archetypical wanderer, ever seeking the distant horizon and the thrill of new experiences. He's surprisingly adept at a baffling wide range of skills, each of which comes with its own rambling story about who taught him and the increasingly improbable circumstances in which he has previously employed it.
[ ] Zortran Heartsong The beastmen, known to themselves as the Children of Ghur, are anathema to civilization, but that does not mean they don't understand it. Zortran Heartsong appeared at the gates of Azyrheim one day, his horned head held high in pride, and announced that his visions had brought him there on a holy quest. That he consented to be Soulbound was a surprise, but his mastery of primal magics was not.
Appearance: Thystra does not look like a sinister mastermind; only amateurs wear their nature so openly, and she has been a member of the Darkling Covens for centuries. She wears her honey-blond hair long and loosely bound, and favours elegant dresses of fine aether-silk and velvet that leave her tattooed arms bare, flowing wave-like patterns of green and blue that draw the eye and render her elegant movements a mesmerising dance. Only her eyes, jade green and painfully intense, betray that she is anything but the beautiful merchant princess the natives of Azyrheim believe her to be.
Short Term Goal: Long Term Goal: Re-establish her Coven
Talents Criminal - Laws are more of a set of guidelines than rules as far as Thystra is concerned. She has Advantage on Opposed Tests when attempting to steal from someone or when trying to go unnoticed during illicit activities. Additionally, she is adept at finding the right kind of wrong people and can easily track down havens of criminal activity such as illegal fight clubs or black market dealers.
Diplomat - Thystra has a keen sense of empathy and a knack for soothing words. She gains Advantage on tests made to gauge moods, detect deception and defuse tense or violent situations.
Master of Disguise - Thystra can easily change her voice, speech patterns, affections, body language and appearance. She gains Advantage on any test made to disguise herself or impersonate another. Additionally, she has a false identity with a verified place in society at large.
Silver Tongue - Thystra has a way with words, natural skill honed by careful training. She gains advantage on tests made to persuade, deceive or seduce others, and unless given strong cause otherwise, everyone she meets remembers her fondly and welcomes her return.
Spellcasting (Grey) - Thystra can cast Grey Magic, and begins the quest with knowledge of six spells.
Talismans of Morrda - Thystra possesses multiple talismans and icons of the god of ravens, and knows how to make others for her allies. While wearing them, her weapons and armour count as magical when opposing undead or daemons.
Unbind - When an NPC within long range attempts to cast a spell, Thystra may spend mettle to contest the channelling roll.
Equipment
220d
Dark Leathers (Light armour)
Witchstaff (Quarterstaff)
Ebon Dagger
A vial of favoured perfume
Disguise Kit
Two vials of useful poison
List of names, each marked with a drop of blood
Spells
Common Spells Arcane Bolt (DN4:1) - Target enemy within medium range, inflict 1 damage, +1 per extra success.
Flight (DN4:1) - Target self to gain flight (normal speed) for one minute, +1 minute per extra success.
Mystic Shield (DN5:1) - Target creature within Medium range. Their defence rises one step for one round, +1 round per extra success.
Grey Magic Spells Enslave (DN5:3) - Choose a mortal within medium range. They must resist with a DN4:S Soul (Determination) test, with advantage if you are known to be hostile. On a failure they fall under Thystra's control for one minute, +1 minute per extra success, and may be generally commanded as a free action or deliberately controlled with an action. When duration expires may prolong with a channelling test, which target resists as before. After a day, the domination is permanent, barring powerful magic or divine intervention.
Illusion (DN5:2) - Target a zone within medium range to create an illusion. Can be still or preprogrammed, any size, will fool all senses save touch. Lasts for one minute, +1 minute per extra success, can be recognised as fake with a DN4:S Mind (Awareness) test.
Mindslip (DN6:1) - Target creature within short range. Either remove all of its memories of yourself and your actions for the last minute, or prevent such memories forming for the next minute. Duration may be extended by +1 minute per extra success.
-/-
Your Binding and their Known Capabilities
Sir Robyn Drakmer, the Blood Knight (Soulblight Vampire, Kalestai Dynasty)
Superb Melee, Great Defence when mounted (becomes Extraordinary/Good after blood has been spilled)
Heavy armour, ignores difficult terrain. When using natural weapons, heals 1:1 for each point of damage dealt.
Knight of the Red Keep - Double damage to swarms when charging, may charge and/or attack as free action after killing an enemy once per turn.
Role: Tank and DPS. Absolute murder-blender.
Snagga Sharpfang, the Wardokk (Orruk, Bonesplitter)
Good Melee, Average defence, Bigger n' Better gives bonus dice when fighting enemies tougher than him.
Spellcaster, Lore of the Savage Beast, generally damage+debuff combo effects.
Ritual Dances:
Grimdokk Dance - Heals allies at medium range, all other healing is close or touch based.
Glyphdokk Dance - All allies in zone raise defence by one
Weirddokk Dance - Allied spellcaster gains bonus dice to cast
Medic and Cook
Role: Support and utility. Makes all of his allies better in their specialities.
Ahnika Heartseeker, the Hag Priestess (Aelf, Daughter of Khaine)
Good Melee, Good Defence, may drink Witchbrew to go up to Great Melee for a fight
Miracles:
Rune of Khaine - +4 damage to one weapon for one attack in the next minute, spend Mettle for +8.
Blood Binding - Inflict Charmed, Frightened or Restrained on one enemy at medium range.
Healing Spirit - Heals all allies in zone for (success) toughness, spend mettle for +4 bonus.
Role: Support caster. Buffs, debuffs and healing, plus a nasty alpha-strike.
[X] Lethis
[X] Ahnika Heartseeker
[X] Sir Drakmer of the Red Keep
[X] Snagga Sharpfang
Lethis is of course the most melodramatic of the options.
As for the survivors, clearly the best party is an otome-villainess sorceress, a weirdo vision-having witch elf, a brooding antihero vampire... and a goodest boy orc medic who's the moral centre of the edgelords who make up the rest of the party.
[X] Lethis
[X] Ahnika Heartseeker
[X] Sir Drakmer of the Red Keep
[X] Snagga Sharpfang
I'm hesitantly hopeful here for how this quest will go even if I'm not too interested in Age of Sigmar. Originally was just going to vote for Snagga, because that sounded fun but EarthScorpion's summary convinced me.
I dunno, an "oath that all who wanted to fight another day should be given the chance" could probably go in some pretty amoral directions...
Thystra: Now, my minionsboon companions! We have finally defeated Archaon! Bind him in chains that he might kneel at my feet and sing songs of praise to me!
Snagga: Crikey, the blighter seems like he still 'as some fight in 'im! I'm gonna set 'im free so the beaut can 'av a great scrap again tomorra'!
(...he became Steve Irwin as I was writing that, yes.)
