Firestorm - The Hrukvorn Lodge V - Dread Solstice

The Sorrowpeaks, Flamescar Plateau, Aqshy

Runemaster Ruadhar squinted down at the piece of parchment he held in his calloused hands, eyes as black as jet glinting in the light of the torches.

'From Ashenhold?' asked the Runemaster.

'From Loremaster Imrael, to be precise,' said Folkvar-Grimnir as he gazed ruefully down at the scrolls arranged on the wartable. 'I'd have taken it for more umgi ravings if it hadn't come from the aelf.'

'"The Balemoon waxes and unrest increases,"' read Ruadhar aloud. '"The Brightblade has returned and is keen to pass the Fiery Gate to expunge the 'infidels' within the city. Ironbreakers spread thin, Aurelius manning the Gate personally."'

'A fine mess, by the sounds of things,' groaned Folkvar-Grimnir. 'And here we are – stuck in the Plateau, wiping the Heldenhammer's arse again.'

Ruadhar knitted his brow and gave the Runefather a derisive, sideways look.

'That sounds like whinging to me, Runefather.'

'Aye, aye,' replied Folkvar, waving a hand dismissively. 'So, then – you're the priest here. What do you make of all this?'

Ruadhar drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose as he sat back in his chair.

'Something evil is stirring in Shyish,' said the Runemaster finally. 'Of that there is no doubt. The earth feels wrong – disturbed. And we've had far too many reports of the same lunacy to dismiss them outright as, well... lunacy.'

'And what do you propose should be done, then?' asked Folkvar, his forehead resting on his palm.

'Letting Brightblade into Ashenhold is not an option. He's a fanatic – a complete nutter,' continued Ruadhar. 'But he is dangerous. He needs to be appeased until we return.'

'Then we give him what he wants – on our terms,' said Folkvar flatly. 'We send Imrael through the Gate to speak with him. He's a silver-tongued devil – could sell trees to the sylvaneth, that one. Then, we have Aurelius and the Ironbreakers round up these "prophets" and hand them over to the Brightblade.'

'He gets what he wants, and we keep the wolf from the door,' said Ruadhar with a solemn nod. 'I'll send word immediately.'

Ashenhold, Aqshy

'Even now the Great Necromancer plots beyond the Gate!' shrieked a wide-eyed, bedraggled old aelf from atop a crumbling pillar in the forum.

Though winter had come to Ashenhold in earnest, a considerable crowd of duardin, men and aelves had gathered to listen to the latest prophet of doom to take to his pulpit. Some of the Fyreslayers from the Hrukvorn lodge were dotted around the square, chortling and joking with one another about the raving aelf that was currently the centre of attention, whilst most others exchanged worrying looks and spoke in hushed voices.

The sound of steel boots on stone rang throughout the square and the attention of the crowd suddenly shifted from the ravings of the doomsayer to the retinue of Ironbreakers led by a giant of a man clad in armour black as midnight. The heavily-armoured duardin set about closing off all passageways in and out of the forum as the man in black strode through the crowd and up to the raving aelf on his podium.

The man turned to face the crowd. His face was frighteningly pale – almost as white as his hair. His features were gaunt and wolfish, and bore the scars of many battles.

'By order of Folkvar-Grimnir of the Hrukvorn Lodge,' boomed the man, 'prosletysing has been decreed a crime. Lose found guilty of said crime shall be punished by immediate imprisonment. This law shall remain in effect until further notice.'

The man turned to face the preaching aelf.

'Will you come quietly, or do I have to restrain you?' he said in a low voice.

'Neither you nor the Runefather are to be feared,' spat the aelf. 'The Lord of Shyish ascends his throne and he will reshape all the realms in his likeness.'

'He's right, you know,' came a voice from the other side of the forum, with a strange, lilting accent.

Aurelius turned away from the aelf to face the newcomer.

Standing in the middle of the street, his path barred by two of Aurelius' Ironbreakers, was a man in black armour. He was of a similar stature to Aurelius, though he wore an apron akin to that of an artisan, and had on his person tools that seemed as though they would belong to an engineer or a mason.

'Who are you?' said Aurelius, disgruntled at this sudden interruption.

'My name is Titus Ironbrow,' said the stranger. 'And I am the Lord-Ordinator of Ashenhold. I must speak with Folkvar-Grimnir.'