Firestorm - Prelude

The clear ringing of trumpets filled the air as a triumphal procession of Sylvaneth, Freeguild and Fyreslayers poured forth from the Stormrift Realmgate and onto the streets of Hammerhal Aqsha. Great crowds had amassed along either side of the thoroughfare and cheered enthusiastically as the defenders of the Seeds of Hope marched past. The Treelords and their kin - themselves an honour guard granted to the Fyreslayers and Freeguild who had answered the Everqueen's call for aid - lurched ahead of the main force in silence. The feather-capped dandies of the Freeguild relished the attention of the crowds, punching the air triumphantly as they strutted by atop steeds encased in gleaming barding, blowing kisses to giggling young girls and generally making a great show of gallantry.

In the centre of the procession marched the duardin of the Hrukvorn Lodge of Ashenhold, led by Folkvar-Grimnir. He sat astride a great-dark Magmadroth, his beard and crest the colour of flame, tinged with blue. He was accompanied by his personal Hearthguard, and at his right hand rode one of his Runesmiters astride a slightly smaller Magmadroth.

Folkvar turned to face the Runesmiter when he noticed the priest waving his war iron, tracing runes in the air. Great embers lept up from the rivers of lava below, prompting increasingly enthusiastic cheers from the crowds. 

'What are you doing?' hissed Folkvar.

Alsvir grinned through his mask at the Runefather.

'Might as well give them a bit of a show - it is a celebration after all,' replied the Runesmiter as he launched yet another shower of embers up into the air to rapturous applause.

'You look like a bloody fool waving that wand around,' growled Folkvar. 'Like some aelven princeling practicing cantrips for father.'

'And dost father approve of my command of the elements?' shrieked Alsvir in his best falsetto.

Folkvar rolled his eyes then returned to scowling down at the citizens of Hammerhal. He reluctantly held his grandaxe aloft in a half-hearted salute as they passed a troop of the city guard who had in turn been locked in a salute as the defenders of Greywater Fastness marched on.

'The sooner we get back to Ashenhold the better. It's been too long since we were home,' said Folkvar wistfully.

'Aye, and no sooner will you be in the door than some other Runefather or other will be trying to marry his daughters off to you,' jibed Alsvir with a wicked grin.

'Not that you'll ever have that problem, priest,' retorted the Runefather.

'Oh, I am married to my craft, Folkvar-Grimnir.'

Folkvar raised an eyebrow at the priest then shook his head. Alsvir cackled wickedly, thoroughly relishing everything about the day.

The triumphal column marched out through the gates of Hammerhal and out onto the Parching Wastes of the Flamescar Plateau. They continued on for several days until they reached the Lifesprings, where they broke camp amidst the fertile forests and made use of the natural hot springs that gave the region its name.

'Bloody long march we have ahead of us, gents,' remarked one of the Freeguild generals that had joined the column in Hammerhal as a small group of the armies' officers soaked in one of the hot springs that camp had been set up around.

'On to Hallowheart next, eh?' continued the general as he puffed on his pipe, his magnificent grey moustaches quivering with each puff. 'Nasty business - what with this Stoneklaw character on the loose.'

'Who's this Stoneklaw, then?' asked Folkvar as he splashed the cloudy blue water over his face.

'A ruddy rascal, he is!' growled the general. 'All the Conclave and the Stormcast have their knickers in a twist over him. He's managed to scrape all the grots and orruks and Sigmar-knows-what-else together into a monstrous great crusade. Then there's that undead shit, Varactyr, prowling up and down the coasts again, and to top it all off some daemon bastard's only gone and set up shop in Castle Drakesbane!'

'Whole world's going to hell in a handcart,' grumbled one of the Freeguild captains.

'Grimnir, and they see we're a dour lot...' said Folkvar to Skjor, his Battlesmith, who cackled heartily in response before taking a swig from an ornate flask he appeared to have concealed within his beard.

'Runefather!' shouted one of Folkvar's hearthguard karls as he rushed over to the spring where the officers were relaxing, the braziers of his poleaxe swinging wildly behind him. 'Enemies spotted not far from here; a band of orruks approaching from the west, and what looks like a host of spirits from the east.'

Folkvar immediately stood up out of the water, pulled on his subligar and snatched up his helmet.

'Have they seen us?' asked Folkvar as he put on his crested helm.

'The tree folk are watching them now. Last I saw they were marching this way,' replied the fyreslayer karl.

'Have the magmadroths readied and gather the fyrds. We'll have the sylvaneth lead the vanguard under cover of their trees - we'll engage the orruks.'

The karl nodded curtly before hurrying off to see to his orders.

'General, could you take care of some ghosts for us?' asked Folkvar as he turned to the Freeguild commander, his grandaxe resting on his shoulder.

'You heard him, men!' roared the general as he leapt to his feet, completely naked. 'Saddled the horses and get those ruddy contraptions ready! Let's give these phantoms a taste of Simgar's steel right up their arses!'

Only the murmured prayers of the Runesmiters and the mutterings of the sylvaneth could be heard amongst the fringe of the forest where the Forces of Order stood arrayed for battle. Heat haze and smoke from the volcanic wastes ahead obscured visibility for some distance. 

'Steady, boys,' said Folkvar to the berzerkers that surrounded him. 'Harness your fury - do not be consumed by it.'

'Enemy spotted!' shouted one of the Freeguild handgunners as he sprinted back towards the main army.

'Ready those muskets, gents,' boomed the Freeguild general. 'Knights of Hammerhal, forward!'

All of a sudden, the eastern flank of the army burst to life as handgunners frantically loaded their weapons, a steam tank spluttered to life, and row upon row of heavily armoured knights urged their mounts forward.

A bestial roar reverberated throughout the battlefield as a hulking mound of living rock - accompanied by a shambling gargant - stumbled into view, heralding the arrival of the orruk war party. The largest of the treelords thrust his staff into the air and a copse of trees cracked and bloomed into being before him, sheltering the army's centre from a frontal assault from the newly arrived monstrosities. The hordes of dryads took on a sinister aspect at the sight of their foes and rushed into the newly formed woods with vicious shrieks and howls.

'Strike our Determination!' roared Folkvar.

In response, Alsvir formed the shape of a rune in the air with his war iron from atop his war altar, crossed his weapons, then began chanting. The priest began to glow, and before long the runes hammered into the flesh of the other fyreslayers of the Hrukvorn lodge began to glow. The fyreslayers whooped and hollered as the power of their god flowed through their veins, stirring the deep-seated fury locked within the heart of every duardin. Their eyes blazed and their knuckles turned white as their grip about the hafts of their weapons tightened in anticipation of the fray.

'Khazuk!' boomed Folkvar.

'KHAZUK!' roared hundreds of voices in response.

With that, the duardin marched forward.

The gargant picked up speed and rushed towards the trees where he was set upon by the wicked claws of the dryads therein. The orruk golem thundered forward at an alarming rate, sustaining considerable damage by a shower of sorcerous missiles loosed by the larger sylvaneth from their immense greatbows. Orruks began to rush forth from the trees ahead with bestial howls and roars, eager for battle. At the head of the orruks, great brutes astride monstrous swine rushed forward into the eastern flank and were leapt upon by Alsvir's mount - Ulavesht - in a vicious flurry of claws and horns as Alsvir's personal guard rained fire down upon them from atop a ruined tower they had garrisoned.

Folkvar's Vulkites advanced to hold the line as the animated orruk effigy rushed at them, eager to meet the monster in battle but determined to hold to the Runefather's plan. On the other side of the field, spectral lance clashed with silversteel as the knights clashed with the vanguard of the Wraith Fleet. Cannon and musket ball roared over the heads of the valiant knights and into the spirit hosts and hordes of ghouls rushing on to meet them. The spectral riders evaporated as quickly as they manifested as knight and mount rode them down, but many knights were torn from their saddles too and were promptly torn apart by the savage varghulfs and ghouls that now prowled the field. The Freeguild general plunged into the heart of the undead hordes, mount and rider laying waste to all that approached them, and at the sight of their leader valiantly facing down the horrors before them, the knights took heart and fought bravely on.

As the idol rushed headlong into the Vulkite shieldwall, several of their number were propelled backwards, hurled into the air like children's dolls. But having been ravaged by the volleys of the Kurnoth Hunters, the monster had been robbed of its momentum, its blows slow and ponderous. The Vulkite karl roared furiously as he led his brethren in hacking the effigy's legs away from under it. No sooner had the rogue idol hit the duardin lines than it was reduced to a pile of boulders once again.

The orruks rushed out from the trees in earnest, urged on by a hulking great megaboss and furious at the sight of their idol collapsing, they crashed into Alsvir's hearthguard in an avalanche of notched steel. The hearthguard were hacked to pieces or trampled under the weight of the orruk brute's assault. Surrounded, the hearthguard in the tower continued to blaze away where they could, and Ulavesht tore the last of the boar riders to pieces before rushing off to aid the now imperiled Vulkites.

Having laid waste to Alsvir's guard, the orruk brutes rushed at the Vulkites, just as another swarm of greenskins rushed in from the north. Utterly enraged that the duardin had the effrontery to destroy the effigy of his god, the megaboss rushed at the Vulkites and began hacking wildly at them, cleaving through shields and helms in a rain of frenzied blows. The Vulkites began to lose heart, with a handful of their number quitting the field. But it was then that Folkvar's hearthguard rushed headlong at the orruk brutes, setting many of their number ablaze, and a particularly monstrous sylvaneth emerged from the woods and leapt at the the lesser orruks in a whirlwind of claws, tendrils and swarming insects. 

Having carved a path through the Vulkits, the megaboss began cleaving into the hearthguard but was pincushioned by the missiles of the Kurnoth Hunters before he could finish them off. Folkvar charged at the orruks and Brim - his magmadroth - unleashed a great stream off magma, destroying the last of those at the duardin lines.

Across the field, Hakon Earthstrider and his Vulkite fyrd burst forth from the earth, hacking at the orruks from the rear. A great bolt of lightning struck the field and a trio of Stormcast astride gryph-chargers rushed at the undead swarming into the woods even as they unleashed volleys from their handbows upon the improvised bolt-throwers of the grots. Another peal of lighting struck the field in Hakon's vicinity and a towering warrior clad head to toe in armour black as night materialised. He slammed his staff upon the ground and from its crest a blinding white light shone. Having lost their leader and their strongest warriors, then having been attacked from the rear, the orruks began to flee, and what undead that were left disappeared.

Folkvar - still mounted - rode over to where the black-armoured warrior stood talking with Runesmiter Hakon, flanked on either side by Alsvir and the Freeguild general.

'What time do you call this, manling?' growled Folkvar as he leapt down from atop Brim's back. 'Who in Grimnir's name are you anyway?'

'Lucius Brightblade,' answered the Stormcast with a curt nod of his helmeted head, his voice like ice scraping steel. 'We need to talk, Folkvar-Grimnir.'