Chapter 1 - The Journey to Brightspear (IC Thread)

You are scions of what remains of the Pantheon of Order, driven by divine purpose. Some of you are direct representatives of the God-King Sigmar, entrusted with a holy duty. Others are bound together by a powerful arcane ritual, your souls entwined for eternity. You are Soulbound, destined for greatness or death in the war for the Mortal Realms.


The city of Hammerhal, also known as the ‘Twin Tailed City’, is a beacon of light amid the darkness of the Mortal Realms. It is a great city built around the enormous Stormrift Realmgate which towers above the tallest buildings. On one side of the gate is the city of Hammerhal Ghyra. It lies in the lush realm of Ghyran, which is abundant in life and home to endless jungle. On the other side, stretches the flame-scorched realm of Aqshy — a mountainous, broken and craggy wasteland as far as the eye can see. Here the city of Hammerhal Aqsha was built, and this is where your adventure begins.



The Soulbound arrive in the city during the oppressive heat of the blistering mid-day sun, under orders to report to Captain Brokka Brokkisdotr of the Kharadron Overlords aboard her airship Grungni’s Face for briefing and assignment.

Steeling themselves against the heat, they begin to make their way to the Cinderfall District, where the sky-docks are located.



The smell of soot greets the Soulbound as they enter the Cinderfall District. Ash rains down from the billowing chimneys that command its skyline. Despite this, it is rich in enthusiastic traders from both sides of the realmgate, selling local and exotic food, trinkets and weapons from the comparatively cool shadows of their covered stalls. The crowd of shoppers, mainly humans and duardin, seem unbothered by the industrial filth staining the walls and covering the ground as they haggle with the merchants.

By Príom... this heat is unbearable, Ímren thought to herself, as she wandered the marketplace of the Cinderfall District with her fellow Soulbound. The sea-aelf had wrapped herself in the deep folds of her ethersea cloak, a magical creation that was less fabric and more a fusion of air and water given form, and took refuge in the aura of cooling mist that its woven enchantments provided.

"You are from Aqshy, isn't that right Warpriest?" Ímren asked Xan, "Are you familiar with Hammerhal? So much heat, crowding, ash and smoke... It would be useful if at least one of us knew how to navigate through this hellscape of a city." She was tempted to stop at a market stall, just to gain some relief under the shade of a canopy but her disciplined mind was focused on the mission at hand. She wanted to know how they were going to get to the sky-docks before she would allow herself to relax.

"We are in agreement on the heat," started Vel, as she wiped some sweat from her brow, "I'd sooner be in a battlefield brawl than live in a place like this." Vel may have been a Stormcast Eternal, forged in lightning and blessed with the fury of Sigmar, but even she felt the oppressive heat in her set of plate armour.

Nevertheless, she was determined to start their quest. She knew full well that the forces of Order needed every victory they could muster right now, no matter how small--and the sooner this one was obtained, the sooner the next victory could be secured. Such was the purpose of the Stormcast: victory at all costs.

Luadine looks enviously at Imren’s ethersea cloak. Her own sea dragon cloak might serve her well for protection but it did little to combat the blistering heat. “What I wouldn’t give to be on the water right now, eh Imren?” She nudges the sea elf with her elbow as they walk along the crowded streets. Drawing a waterskin out from under her cloak, she takes a long drink of the strong alcohol contained within before holding it out in offering to the others, not disclosing what it contains.

She keeps an eye out for a lively tavern as they journey. Just because the world was in chaos and destruction ruled they day didn’t mean they couldn’t take a moment for a little fun, though she doubted the others would agree, especially the ever serious Darach.

Malgra snatches the container from Luadine's open hand, pouring it down an exhaust port in their aether-rig in a puff of steam. They let out a deep chuckle—"funny that you all are the ones complaining about the heat, while I'm the one wearing a bulldozer on my back." Taking a brief moment to drink in their surroundings (and their drink), they smile as thick soot coats their armor. They couldn't help but be reminded of their home, their old life, and felt at ease. But, they are on a mission: no time for aesthetics.

Tossing the waterskin back to Luadine and giving a nod, they continue, "so, who are we looking for again? Broccolli something?

Ímren bristled at being unceremoniously elbow-nudged by her distant aelven kin whilst she was nodding in agreement with Vel.

"Aqshy's heat could still reach the top of your wolfship, Luadine. Far better to be in the water than on it, I think," She lectured haughtily, with the weary, know-it-all tone of an older sister to a wilder sibling. "And it's Captain Brokka Brokkisdotr, Malgra," Ímren said with exasperation, showing off as much duardin intonation in her pronunciation as possible, "Our briefing was very clear on that. What kind of Kharadron doesn't know how to pronounce their own kin's name?"

A drunk one, she thought to herself as she eyed the contents of Luadine's waterskin warily, suddenly very thankful that Malgra had snatched it first.

Thirsty wrote:

"You are from Aqshy, isn't that right Warpriest?" Ímren asked Xan, "Are you familiar with Hammerhal? So much heat, crowding, ash and smoke... It would be useful if at least one of us knew how to navigate through this hellscape of a city."

Xan doesn't answer Ímren, his eyes distant, focused on memories from the homeland he hasn't seen in years. He walks confidently down the street, however, leading his companions towards the far side of the market. The group's progress is made easy by the fact that a lot of the other pedestrians seem to be heading the same way.

Soon, the first of the tall, black towers of the Cinderfall sky-port becomes visible through the smog. The five other towers appear one by one as the party draws closer. Countless spiral walkways and swaying bridges link the towers to each other and to numerous loading platforms. Between this dizzying forest of stone and wood, the group catches the staggering sight of the anchored Kharadron fleet. Over a dozen Kharadron airships, from swift cruisers to colossal ironclads, hang over their heads. The atmosphere buzzes with the excited sound of countless shouting voices and armoured boots clanging off the decks, as the crews of rowdy Duardin go about loading the ships.

On the ground are a large number of barrels, crates and chests containing supplies for the beleaguered city of Brightspear. Sky-port stevedores, ship crews, and passengers, mostly Duardin and Humans, a few Aelves, a handful of Sylvaneth and a single Seraphon, can be seen travelling to and fro as the fleet prepares for the perilous journey. Port criers are standing on raised platforms, directing traffic and helping guide passengers to their ship.

Near the entrance of the sky-port, Luadine's trained eyes spot a worn wooden sign sporting a drunken looking Duardin laborer sitting on the ground and cradling a mug of ale. The words "Toil's End" fill the rest of the placard.

In moving with the flow of pedestrians Xan is able to lead the group at a slow pace, far slower than that with which they are accustomed. It had been some time since he had been in Hammerhal but old habits, such as eschewing any drive to speed, returned readily.  The heat, like any crafty predator, lay patiently in wait until its lethal presence was underestimated; when given the respect that it was due, it was akin to one's shadow: a constant, silent companion.  

Xan lets his eyes flit to Tolla for a moment before looking from the bustling Sky-port to his companions in equanimous silence.

The party makes their way into the port, approaching one of the port-criers for directions. When he hears that they are seeking Grugni's Face and Captain Brokkisdotr, the crier tells them to head to the farthest tower on their right and to "Look for the giant angry face!"

The flurry of activity at the sky-port's ground floor make their progress more complicated than getting through Cinderfall's market, but they eventually reach the tower. Looking up they see multiple ships docked to it, but on the second level is a well-travelled frigate bearing the purple and gold of Barak-Nar with a large, scowling duardin face as its figurehead.

The party climbs up the spiral staircase and emerge onto the large platform where Grugni's Face is docked. The crew is busy loading a number of crates into its hold, under the watchful eye of an unusually tall duardin woman. Her face is scarred and tattooed, and she is wearing an ornate golden armor over a purple pressure suit.

As the party approaches, she turns to face them, giving the motley group an appraising look. Understanding dawns on her and her expression changes to a wide, welcoming grin. "Ah! You must be the Lord-Arcanum's esteemed guests! You know, I'm getting a nice bonus, beyond the honour of being your host, to transport you to Brightspear. So, I'm very glad you made it on time," she says with a bark of laughter. "Welcome to Grugni's Face! I am Brokka Brokkisdotr, its captain."

A part of Vel had always admired the warships of the Kharadron Overlords; with their judicious usage of gold, and the thick armour they employed to better fight through enemy attacks, it reminded her of how some of the Stormcast like to operate. It's a shame that the duardin were more comfortable blasting their foes away with blackpowder than facing them in melee.

She doesn't seem to have an angry face, but that could change in an instant. Best not to say anything rash. Vel ventured out to the head of the group, offering a hand to her erstwhile captain as both a greeting and a sign of thanks. "Thank you for taking us onboard, Captain. I hope the bonus you are receiving is considerable, given your experience."

The captain shakes Vel's hand firmly. "I'm not complaining. Your God's people certainly aren't sparing any expenses for this relief effort. Suits me just fine. You can't keep a ship flying with wishes and enthusiasm, eh?"

She looks at the party up and down. "I'm afraid you tall folks won't be too comfortable for the journey. My ship was build for my people," she says with a wink at Malgra, before turning back to Vel. "Most of you will have to stoop quite a bit. You're welcome to roam the main deck when you need to stretch your back, so long as you don't get in my crew's way. We'll be flying low enough, you won't need to suit up," she adds, tapping a pressure gauge on her armour.

She looks back at the crew loading up the crates, doing a quick calculation in her head, then nods to herself. "Fleet's leaving in an hour. I can show you to your quarters now, if you'd like. Otherwise, just be back here on time. I wouldn't want to leave that bonus behind," she says with a grin.

"You certainly can't, Captain." replied Vel, taking joy in the fact that the party wouldn't be struggling at a high altitude.

When Captain Brokkisdotr offered them the choice between exploring Hammerhal or their quarters, Vel turned to the party briefly. "I'm all for being shown to our quarters. Does anyone have any objections or unfinished business?"

The ship is designed to accommodate its intended crew, Xan notes quietly to himself,  as it should be.  When Vel puts the query to the party, he answers without so much as a glance towards the others.
"Quarters."

Having just arrived and with under an hour remaining before their departure, he could not fathom why they would delay getting oriented to their conveyance and to their mission.

Luadine glances around the deck of the airship as Vel speaks for the group. It’s good to be back on a ship again, even if it takes to the sky rather than the sea. She loses herself in thoughts of the ships of her people briefly before tuning back in to the tail end of the conversation. Luadine certainly wouldn’t have minded a chance to visit the tavern she’d see on the way for what she deemed a proper send off before a voyage. However, when two of her companions immediately say they’d like to be shown their quarters she feels compelled to agree and just nods.

Brokka nods. "Alright. Follow me."

She leads the party up the gangplank and through a reinforced metal door in the ship's hull. The duardin captain wasn't lying, the ceiling were low for most of the Soulbound, forcing them to hunch as they walk through the corridor. The ship is alive with the sound of the crew packing in the last supplies and the other passengers settling in at the back of the hold. The captain leads the group away from the latter, however, and to a small cabin near the galley. It is small, barely large enough for all six Soulbound to stand inside, and lined with two stacks of 4 bunkbeds on each side. They bunks are duardin-sized, meaning the taller members of the party will have to curl up to lie in them comfortably. A single porthole breaks the monotony of the far wall.

"It isn't much," says the captain apologetically, "but it's more than what the other passengers are getting. Well, I still have much to do before we depart. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other better over the next few weeks." And with that, the captain takes her leave.


It takes more than an hour for the fleet to get under way, but when it does, it is a sight to behold. The ships detach from the sky-port and gracefully ascend to the sound of trumpets from the towers announcing their departure. As they rise, they get into formation and fly over the city. Crowds have gathered in plazas and other open spaces to watch the armada. Cheers rise when they pass and more trumpets call as they pass over the city walls and begin the long journey to Brightspear.


Over the next few weeks, the party has the chance to talk with the crew and the other passengers. Flying is impressive at first, but even such an impressive feat soon becomes routine and everyone must find ways to pass the time. Grungni's Face's crew is a welcoming, cheerful bunch, and are more than happy to swap stories and share drinks with the party. The passengers, artisans and craftsmen mostly, are more weary and keep to themselves at first. Tightly packed in a small part of the hold, they play dice and cards to pass the time. As they get used to the presence of the heavily-armed Soulbound, they open up to those willing to make the effort.

As a firm believer that within every inconvenience there was an opportunity for self-improvement, it was not long before Xan had developed a strength training routine that would leverage the low ceilings within the Grugni's Face. If the crew thought it odd that the Warpriest kept their back straight, opting rather to move through the ship using variations of walking lunges, lateral squats and similar exercises, they did not share it with him, nor would he have cared if they had.

Alone above deck, Xan allows a sense of peace and wonder to wash over him as he contemplates the wonders of creation in silence. When he is not in the company of his fellow Soulbound, the crew tended to leave him be, with a single, notable, remarkably persistent exception.

The ship's Second Engineer, Enskevi, was a quiet, serious woman who performed the daily routine checks of the vessel, and saw to the innumerable small details of running the vessel.  She never encroached on his silent contemplations, but somehow managed to be underfoot when he least expected, peering up at him, unblinking, from behind thick spectacles.   They mainly spent their time together in companionable silence or engaging in short bursts of discussion, but periodically she would talk to him or more accurately, speak at him until she had said her piece, nimbly deflecting his every attempt to extricate himself from the conversation if not her presence.

"... and then there is the other expedition.  Not one as extensive as this one, mind you, but the ships were solid.  I should know; on one of 'em was the old gaffer who put me through my paces as a journeyman. That old gaffer, as you might recall," she paused a moment as a sailor calls out for the 2nd engineer, and Xan pivots his body to leave her side.
"I will leave you to attend..."
"Nonsense, I was telling you about the old geezer, and like he would have said," she pitches her voice to be heard by the sailor who had called. "'if I come over there and it is something that you could have managed yourself, I will box you one!  Do you still want me to come?'" She nods tersely at the mumbled reply. "It'd chafe me something awful when he did it, and I am sure that it chafes those young'uns too, but it does the trick. And do you know why? Because if it is worth the risk to them, it is worth my time to go see.  So where was I? Ah, yes, the gaffer. The ship had a fine engineering crew, the entire expedition did, and so the fact that they never arrived in Brightspear is right odd.  No one right knows what happens, but here we are on the same route.  Speaking of routes..." Xan shifted on his feet and stands At Ease, knowing that this would be one of those times where no degree of politeness or directness - Xan even had his doubts even as to the effectiveness of violence - would cause Enskevi to deviate speaking to him until she had said her peace.  He would not say it to his fellows, anymore than he had named his initial frustration, but he did find himself growing more tolerant of this particular aspect of his otherwise restrained companion.

He did his best not to show it, but the effects of the journey were heavily felt by Darach, who had always found coping with heat a particularly draining task.
At first he was displeased with the idea of having to spend the following weeks with the loud Grungni's Face's crew and passengers, and in the first day he was glad to get the possibility of spending some alone time contemplating the moving panorama below. In his mission-oriented mind, though, Darach knew that the most logical approach to the trip would have been to get acquainted with as many ship's company members as possible, and decided to make an effort to engage with them, and with any passenger that appeared to be potentially useful, in the following days.

Early in the voyage, the Duardins' affection for their captain was apparent to Xan. The Warpriest found the pride and confidence that the crew had in Brokka's leadership to be impressive; their qualification of her as ‘madder than a Fyreslayer with heat-stroke’ less so.

Vel decided to keep to herself for a great deal of the voyage, preferring to spend her time checking her wargear and praying to Sigmar for the strength to succeed on her mission. The few times she socialised with the crew, however, were spent exchanging stories on monsters, with the Duardin crew in particular mentioning the monsters that plagued the skyways of Aqshy.

Although Vel had little experience with them, she found some measure of a kindred spirit in some of the more warlike members of the crew, exchanging tales of monster slaying and battling hordes of frightful enemies. Having been reforged almost half a dozen times now, Vel had plenty of experience on the field of battle, and the Duardin who gave her a chance were well-rewarded with valourous tales of war and glory. For a brief moment, Vel felt like she was with her fellow Stormcast once more.

Being the social creature that she is, Luadine seized every opportunity she could find to get to know the various crew members on Grungni’s Face. And not just to know their role on the ship and their names, but rather to learn those little things that are only revealed after a couple drinks. Using her charm, she wormed her way into a number of card games and evenings of drink and storytelling. It was one such evening where she learned the tale of the origin of the ship’s name. By morning, all she remembered was something about a Megalofin, a certain death experience, and their imposing captain shouting “Say that again to Grungni’s Face!" as she rammed full speed into the creature. It was good to know all ships had their fantastical tales, whether true or not, Luadine reveled in the chance to engage with the crew. She’d learned a few other things in their time on the airship and that in addition to themselves, the ship was carrying valuable preserved food and medical supplies for the new inhabitants of Brightspear.

Seftan was an old refined artisan who made a small fortune in Hammerhal Aqsha; passionate and knowledgeable about the Bright Realm and its history, he sailed on the Grugni's Face with the goal of showing his most high quality products to some rich potential purchasers in Brightspear. He was decently well known in his home city, so it didn’t take long for someone to indicate him to the Darach, who had started looking for sources of information about the Soulbounds’ destination; the elderly man was standing in a corner of the hold, drinking and talking with a few passengers who were having a seemingly heated argument. The Kernoth Hunter started walking towards the group in a hesitant fashion, partly because of the low roof (that already caused him to hit his head several times) and partly because he was uncertain about how to approach Seftan. Once he reached the artisan, he was glad to notice that the discussion addressed the legitimacy of the Brightspear’s government, questioned by one of the interlocutors. Darach decided to just settle near the group, listening to the conversation; at first he wasn’t able to gather any useful information, but, right when he was starting to question his strategy, the group started talking about how the government was established, and Seftan was consulted due to his authority on the subject:
“The city got its current name from the Stormcast Eternals of the Celestial Warbringers, who gained control of it long time ago. After the slaughter of the conclave that used to rule the city, caused by Nagash’s infamous attack on the Mortal Realms known as the Necroquake, the control of the government was taken by Lord-Arcanum Salonia Gravewing.”

"You're sure of this?" Ímren asked, her brow furrowed as she read through the details of research scrolls on Brightspear placed in front of her, sitting with her legs folded beneath her in the ceremonial Hyshian position for exchanges of knowledge. It had taken some weeks to charm and flatter the scholar enough to persuade him to share his findings secured magically beneath the bunkbed of his cabin. For the sake of her cramped knees, and the ache in her back from tolerating the low ceilings of their quarters below deck, the tidecaster hoped that her efforts had all been worth it.

"If I were unsure, I would not have put it to paper," Replied the aelf that faced her, sitting in an identical position. He was of the Lumineth, fair and radiant, the tussled locks of his silver hair dancing gently as he wafted a decorative fan so softly it seemed impossible to create any kind of breeze. They spoke to each other formally, showing no emotion, not even really looking at each other. For there was no love shared between the first and last aelf children born to Teclis, the Illuminator. The Idoneth had fled from their creator god into the water to escape his wrath, seen as flawed creations, whereas the Lumineth were embraced as successful heirs to Teclis' vision. How the Idoneth felt about them was complicated, for they seldom sought to feel anything at all.

"And what do you ask in return for this... act of generosity?" Ímren suggested, keeping their exchange strictly transactional, "I could provide assistance with mapping Aqshy's thermal winds..."

"My advances in that field require no assistance," The Lumineth said curtly, giving a small pause for thought before continuing, "What I want to see is that which you are keen to hide from your companions by sleeping so thoroughly concealed." Ímren's stomach tensed as she fought a sudden urge to feel something distinctly aggressive -  had he spied on her? Did the corner of his mouth twitch into the tiniest of smirks? She was trapped and forced to indulge him. With a few flourishes she brought her great crested helm down from her head.

As part of their ancestral curse of being released from the belly of Slaanesh, all Idoneth were born entirely hairless. Ímren, however, was now only bald on the back and sides of her head. She had recently developed a short mohawk of blue-silver hair that fanned across the top of her head like the dorsal fin of an allopex. The hair was naturally grown, not a decorative periwig as commonly worn by the nobles of her Isharann caste. She looked at the floor and raked a few fingers back across her scalp self-consciously.

"Most curious," Said the scholar, "I would venture that this is a side effect of your participation in the soulbinding ritual."

"We have reached the same conclusion," Said Ímren with as much pleasantry as she could muster, already snatching her helm back to cover up, entirely uncomfortable with both the unnatural mass of alien strands growing from her dome like seaweed and the level of vulnerability shown to a Lumineth, of all mortals in the realm.

"An interesting means of bypassing the tragic flaws in your heritage," The Lumineth quipped, not even bothering to show courtesy anymore now that he had confirmed his suspicions and put the Idoneth in an unsettled position, "Why else would you tie yourself to such a rabble of land-dwellers? Your aspirations are obvious: you believe the binding ritual can keep your deepkin's accursed souls from withering without having to steal lifeforce. But at what cost, tidecaster? Will they welcome you home and allow you to save them when you look like this?”

"I believe we're done here," Ímren said, a little more firmly than intended as she stood up, "Your cooperation is appreciated." With the slightest tilt of her chin in acknowledgement, the tidecaster departed, processing the knowledge gained and finding information on the Agloraxi Empire stored within the vast vaults of her mind to distract her from the unpleasantness of what had just happened.

At the mid-way point of the journey, word strikes up throughout the fleet. Signals are flashed from deck to deck, warning of an approaching storm blocking their path. The party can see the roiling mass of thick pink iridescent clouds brewing on the horizon that flickers with flashes of violet lightning. The fleet executes emergency maneuvers in an attempt to avoid the storm, but in response it accelerates towards them with shocking speed, catching the fleet mid turn and swallowing them before they can react.

The Soulbound's senses are muffled as the viscous clouds engulf the fleet around you. They can barely make out the edges of the deck through the iridescent clouds; muffled cries of alarm rip out from nearby ships.

A bolt of incandescent violet lightning forks through the clouds and slams into the airship beside Grungni’s Face without warning. It detonates instantly, exploding into a rippling fireball that illuminates the storm.

Amid the roiling clouds, visible only by the glow of the dying ship and flashes of lightning, the party spots an airborne horde of Chaos Daemons overhead. They let rip a horrifying screech and dive towards the fleet.

Arrows rain on Grungni's Face's deck. The party shields themselves as best they can as they hear cries of pain from the Duardin crew. When the initial assault stops, the Soulbound see with horror that the crew defending the front deck have all fallen. Six Tzaangors, avian-humanoid servants of Chaos, flying on fleshy disks lined with teeth and claws are busy notching more arrows on their wicked looking bows. An equal number of Screamers, ray-like daemons of Tzeentch, swarm the deck, their horns and teeth slick with Duardin blood.

With blood-curdling cries, the forces of Chaos turn their attention to the Soulbound.

Map:

"Fuetháin..." Ímren cursed as the stormcloud approached them, her keen Witch-Sight identifying its magical nature just as it moved in to swiftly envelop them. Within the cloud, she was overwhelmed by the stench of Chaos and ill-prepared to intercept the bolt of violet lightning that destroyed a neighbouring ship. But the tidecaster managed to regain her composure as the daemons assaulted.

With aelven fleetness, Ímren moved towards the Knight Questor, and formed a mudra of guarding with her free hand. A pearly shield materialised in the air just in time to deflect a couple of arrows but even with a defensive whirl of her staff knocking away some of the volley, the rest managed to cut and graze her. What's worse, a Screamer swooped in and wriggled through her mystical shield to give the aelf a piercing thrust with its barbed tusks. It was a tough onslaught to resist but the tidecaster was still standing.

The Screamers flowed over the bridge towards the Soulbound, snapping at the with their vicious toothed maws, while the TZaangors rained arrows on the grouped heroes. Desperately, the Champions of Order parried and dodged, but the forces of Chaos managed to draw first blood.

Malgra pivots away from the Screamer snapping at them with its fanged maw. "Someone keep that cursed thing away from me! I have bigger fish to fry." They aim their rivet gun towards the Tzaangors on the port side and open up. The rapid-fire aetheric weapon makes a rat-tat-tat-tat-tat noise as it spits death at the flying archers. One of the archers takes the brunt of the Duardin's fire, staggering back and falling off its disk to plummet down through the storm. Its two compatriots fared better, keeping their footing, but sporting a few bleeding wounds.

Luadine glares off to the side of the ship as she's attacked by one of the Tzaangor Skyfires and with her attention focused elsewhere a Screamer slips past her guard. She grunts in pain but undeterred she shouts "Come on then foul beasties, let's dance." With that, she launches herself into a whirlwind of blades slashing out wildly with two attacks at the screamer that attacked her. Upon hearing Malgra, she spins around and begins furiously attacking the screamer harassing them, moving to stand between the two, going back to back with Malgra. Her practices slashes strike true, and the two screamers collapse onto the deck.

Darach backs off, looking to get away from the screamers to attack the Tzaangor twice with his greatbow. His two arrows hit the Tzaangor who had shot at him. The Sylvaneth's shots finish the work begun by Malgra and send another Tzaangor to its doom.

Daemons. Some of the foulest creatures to ever blight the Mortal Realms. Vel was all too familiar with the infernal enemies of Sigmar, and grew incensed at their hindrance of the Soulbound's quest. Even as she was struck by arrow and claw, Vel's anger turned to focus, and she positioned herself to strike out at the Screamer harassing her and Ímren. Her blade flashes, lightning-quick, cleaving the daemon in two. Then, she held her shield aloft, putting herself between Ímren and their enemies. "Cast your spells, Ímren. I'll protect you as best I can."

Xan looks with open disgust at the daemons.  His sadness at the loss of life on the ship goes unnoticed in the conflagration of righteous anger that threatens to immolate him. See the Light of Sigmar and know that you are damned, vile filth, he thinks, drawing on deeply on his faith.
"For Sigmar!" Xan bellows, his voice ragged with rage and conviction that is plain to see on his normally stoic, nigh expressionless face. Light cascades off his body, reinvigorating his companions and burning the Screamers hounding them.

The sounds of battle resound from all around them. An explosion to their left, the constant sound of aetheric weapons' fire coming from every direction, daemonic shrieks and bellowed Duardin war cries. To their right, the storm clears momentarily and the party glimpses a group of winged Stormcast Eternals from the convoy's escort battling a large, vulture-like daemon in flight. The nightmarish creature seems to cut down one of Sigmar's Chosen with every strike, sending their souls back to Azyr with a burst of lightning and the crack of thunder.

From behind them, the Soulbound hear Captain Brokka Brokkisdotr's powerful voice through the din of the crew's battle against the daemonic assailants. "Someone get on the main gun!" As the Screamers recoil from the Soulbound's counterattack, the party can see that the front cannon's gunner lies dead in his seat, but that the weapon still looks in working order.

Out of the clouds, two more Tzaangors Skyfires and another Screamer emerge, making their way towards Grungni's Face and taking aim at the party.

Map at the start of turn 2:

Under the newfound protection of the Knight Questor, Ímren crouched defensively and pulled an arrow out from her shoulder, shivering with the effort not to scream, but the wound to her body was gone as quickly as it had arrived as Xan's holy energies suffused it and sealed it shut as if it was never there. The tidecaster gripped her pelagic staff with both hands, keeping the memory of the pain she felt in her mind and channelled it into her stave which crackled with rapidly building biovoltaic energy. Ímren sprung up to her feet and raised her staff to the sky, casting a raging storm of crackling arcane energy in the middle of both the newly arrived and surviving Tzaangor Skyfires and Screamers on one side of the ship. The injured Skyfire gets thrown off its disk but the arcane conflagration. The newly arrived Screamer fares just as poorly, blown to bits and plummeting down into the storm.

One of the newly arrived Tzaangors surges forward towards Malgra. It weaves to let its partner shoot at the Duradin, then rams its toothed disk into the Kharadron. The Screamer left on the port side hisses at Luadine and snaps at her with its fangs. On the starboard side, one of the Tzaangors moves in close to the boat, trying to ram its disks' horns into Vel, but the Stormcast brings her shield up, deflecting the blow. One of the Screamers snaps at Vel's legs, trying to get through her plate at the juicy bits beneath, but its fangs only manage to scratch the plate. Another Tzaangor, hoping to take advantage of the distraction, takes aim at Imren. Its shot flies true, but Vel steps in front of it, protecting the tidecaster. The last Screamer bites at Xan's exposed arm, while the last Tzaangor Skyfire shoots, both drawing blood from Sigmar's servant.

Malgra wheels away from the Skyfire and ducks behind Luadine and Darach. They see the cannon and climb onto the platform, pushing the dead gunner out when they get to his post. With practiced efficiency, they pivot the gun towards the Skyfire that shot at them and fire. The Skyfire vanishes in a cloud of blood a gore, vaporized by the Duardin's shot.

Grateful for Xan's divine healing but afraid of his companion losing stamina, Darach shoots an arrow at the only screamer remaining and seeks coverage from the skyfires targeting the soulbounds from starboard running behind the gunner's spot. Worried for Malgra, he targets the Skyfire that just surged towards the Duardin with his Greatbow and suggests them to swap positions, conscious of his body strength and his decent accuracy.

As her side of the ship is momentarily cleared of enemies, Luadine notices Vel, Xan, and Imren still bogged down. She bounds across the deck, moving past the main gun, coming up at the backs of the nearest Skyfire and Screamer. She lashes out fiercely and without hesitation, landing two vicious blows on each of the foul creatures. The Screamer goes down, but the Skyfire still stands, hissing in frustration. As she feels a healing wave wash over her thanks to Xan, she nonchalantly peeks around the Skyfire without breaking stride in her attacks and grins at the warpriest. "Thanks Darling!"

Paying no mind to her biting wounds, especially after the concerted efforts of Xan, Vel pressed on with her counterattack, slicing into the opposing Screamer with her sigmarite warblade. It dies with a blood-curdling scream. "You're doing well, Imren, keep it up!" Vel cried out to her arcane companion.

The all encompassing nature of his fury is such that the Screamer's bite and the Tzaangor Skyfire's projectile barely register. It is his awareness of Malgra's wounds that calls forth divine healing.  Had he been younger, Xan might have ignored Malgra's injuries as well as his own and struck at his enemies. He had long since learned to value both hammer and anvil; these creatures had to die, but for that he and his fellows had to live.

Three more daemons, two Tzaangors and one Screamer, emerge from the clouds, speeding towards Grungni's Face. They suddenly stop as an explosion illuminates the sky above the Kharadron airship. The flaming wreckage of another ship comes spiralling out of the clouds and collides with the endrins keeping Grungni's Face's aloft. The sound of splitting metal and secondary explosions fill the air and the deck bucks violently under the party's feet. Burning debris fall all around them. The ship starts to list portside, and then to fall through the clouds, barely slowed by what's left of its endrins.

The servants of Chaos zip after it, keeping up with Grungni's Face's death spiral as they notch new arrows onto their bows.

OOC wrote:

The deck is now difficult terrain. Furthermore, if you try to move, you need to succeed at a DN 5:1 Body(Reflexes) roll or fall prone, start sliding portside, and risk falling off the ship.

Map at the start of turn 3:

Ímren came from a world where everyone floated or swam semi-weightlessly most of the time so falling and hitting the ground was a concept that took some getting used to once she started making excursions up onto land. She didn't like it at all. But she liked daemons even less so she focused her attention on one that was pursuing them from the air and thrust her staff at it, releasing a bolt of crackling energy that caught the flying creature in its stream. She then struck it again with another crackling shot from her free hand.

The Tzaangor hovering above the ship's deck, rolls away from the fiery debris and Luadine's deadly swords, trying to move away from the fray and to get a shot off at its assailant. The Aelf, however, is faster. Luadine lashes out with her swords, cutting off one of the creature's legs from under it before impaling it with her other cutlass. Another Tzaangor, on the starboard side fires at the Aelf Corsair as it races to keep up with the falling ship. The one struck by Imren's bolts fires back at the Tidecaster, but Vel steps in and the arrow rings off the Stormcast's plate. On the port side, the two new Tzaangors fire at Darach while the Screamer rushes in, biting at the Sylvaneth's rough, bark-like skin.

Malgra turns the cannon towards one of the Tzaangor Skyfires hounding Darach. They fire twice and the Tzaangor gets torn to shreds.

With one smooth motion, Darach switches from his bow to his greatsword. He hacks at the Screamer twice, faster than any normal mortal could swing such a large blade, and cuts the daemon apart.

With the only foes left flying off-ship, Luadine and Vel shift to defensive stances, the latter still protectively shielding Ímren.

Dodging burning debris on a listing ship divides Xan's focus as he opens himself to Sigmar's glory to tend to the injured. He takes a deep breath and tries to ground himself despite the chaos. He could do better; he had to do better. For Sigmar. he says to himself, adding reflexively Glory and honor onto him, now and forever.

Grungni's Face emerges from the storm, its plunge taking it under the roiling mass of clouds. The Tzaangors do not follow, staying concealed within the unnatural tempest. The party can see that they are heading towards a burning forest. To the west, they glimpse The Grund, the skyfleet's flagship, going down as well, but towards the edge of the woods.

Through some miracle of Duardin engineering, or perhaps plain stubbornness, Grungni's Face pulls up for a moment before hitting the ground. "JUMP!!" the captain roars. A second later, Grungni's Face crashes.

OOC:

Everything around them is aflame. Thick trees crack and split under the heat, their embered needles rain down around the party like hellfire. Grungni’s Face lies broken in two, her cargo and crew spilled out across the smouldering forest floor like ruptured guts. Through the roar of the forest fire around them, voices scream for help.

OOC:

Malgra and Luadine find themselves near what's left of the ship's rear, smoke billowing out from cracks in the hull. They can hear voices from within crying for help, but the only hatch is buried behind debris. It's only a matter of time before those trapped within suffocate from the smoke.

Ímren and Vel are amongst broken crates of cargo, their contents spilled across the smouldering floor. The panicked sound of a woman’s voice comes from the debris field. Her cries for help are punctuated by the sound of a smaller secondary explosion that shake the trees overhead. "Please, can anyone hear me? The medical supplies are burning! Help!"
With a bellowing rallying cry, Captain Brokkisdotr emerges from the smoke with a hefty crate balanced on her shoulders. "Here!" she says, handing bulky masks to Ímren and Vel, "these quadbreathers can protect you from the smoke. Don't lose them, I'm going to need them back." She then heads off in search of other survivors.

OOC:

Darach and Xan can make out Grungni's Face's bow, its scowling face showing clear displeasure at its current situation. A group of a half-dozen Duardin crewmembers, Enskevi among them, have taken refuge near it, but have been surrounded by the same number of Tzaangors. The daemons are toying with their injured and mostly unarmed prey, but will surely tire of their game soon enough and slay the helpless Kharadrons.

Map at the start of turn 1:

Ímren watched the captain disappear back into the smoke, and glanced with a reflexive curiosity at the quadbreather mask handed to her but there wasn't time to hesitate. Taking a meditative breath to distance her mind from awareness of the damage her body had sustained from the crash, she pulled again on the realms of magic and drew together motes of arcane energy into a light source that shone high overhead like a glowstone released underwater.

"We need to find her and get those medical supplies," Was all that the tidecaster had time to call over to Vel as she took off in the direction of the woman's voice they had heard. Her conjured light punctured through the surrounding smoke clouds in the area providing greater visibility for all as she moved through the field of scattered debris.

"We can hear you!" Ímren called back in reply to the female voice, "Tell us where you are!"

"Over here!" Ímren and Vel make their way through the wreckage and quickly find a frail human woman frantically searching the spilled cargo. She has made herself a makeshift mask out of her robe. She is pulling apothecary pouches from a broken crate and stuffing them into her bag. "Please! Brightspear needs these." She looks around, her eyes wide. "And we might too..."

Vel quickly recovered from the crash, thanking her Stormcast body and armour for keeping her safe from harm. Although she rushed to Imren's aid, Vel also took notice of the sheer quantity of debris that needed to be cleared from the crash site, as well as the helpless Kharadron at the mercy of the Tzaangor. She felt that fighting without an escape route in play would only spell doom, so she resolves to aid in moving the debris.

"I trust you to help with the satchels, Imren. I need to move the debris and get to the Kharadron crew. Their lives are in danger," she says, before running off towards what's left of the ship's aft.


Luadine feels a sickening crunch as she lands among the wreckage of Grungni's Face but there's no time to figure out where it came from in this moment. She is grateful to see Malgra, alive next to her, and rises with a cough as she inhales the smoke billowing from the destroyed ship. She takes a moment to observe their surroundings to determine where they've landed. The Kindling Forest... fabulous. They're weeks from Brightspear she thinks to herself before her attention is again drawn by screams from the ruined ship. She rushes towards the hatch attempting to clear it of debris. "MALGRA" She shouts at the Duardin. "Got anything useful that can get us into this godforsaken ship?" If anyone would be able to find a way through the ship walls it would be the Skyrigger, but in the meantime she'd do what she could to clear passage to the hatch.

Malgra gives a huff in response to Luadine, flaunting their aethermatic saw with a mechanical whirl. Stepping forward, they slam their weapon into the hull, letting loose more sparks and smoke into the already volatile air. Sparks fly as their saw skids off the ship's thick armour plates. Malgra frowns as their aetheric tool barely makes a scratch.

Vel emerges from the smoke and joins Luadine, using her bulk to move more debris away from the hatch.


Enskevi... Forever underfoot, Xan is rueful, but his smile is downright predatory. Gripping his hammer tightly, he reaches out to his Binding and to his God; together, they made him formidable. He senses the assent of his fellows and is grateful. He senses the power of his patron and is inspired.

Looking at the vast forest fire surrounding him, the sloping terrain and the species of trees, Darach immediately realizes the Soulbound find themselves in the Kindling Forest, a perpetually burning woodland in the south of the Vitrolian region.

He had discrepancies with Xan in the past, yet the two of them didn't even need to look at each other to settle on what to do: it was their duty to promptly take on the daemons and stop the threat they posed to the Soulbound and the crewmembers. Thinking about the lives that must have been lost in the storm, Darach tries his hardest to keep his cool as he repeatedly hurls his arrows at the Tzaangors in front of him.

The Tzaangors shriek in pain and anger, while a cheer rises from the beleaguered Duardin. The avian-humanoid servants of Chaos turn from their toys and focus their cruel attentions on the two Soulbound.

Ímren joined the human woman searching through the cargo by the overhead light of her conjuration spell. Although Ímren was not the most adept at dealing with emotion, the human was clearly panicked besides her physical frailty, so chances were that Ímren would do a better job of recovering medical supplies at speed before they were ruined in the surrounding blaze. The tidecaster's keen aelven eyes spotted pouches matching those, hidden in the dancing shadows, that the woman was collecting and darted in to save them from the flames.

"Thank you," the human woman says to Ímren as she continues to search the debris. "I’m Elma. Elma Fass. I’ve… seen you. On the ship, I mean. Never had the nerve to talk to you." She gives Ímren a small, embarrassed smile. "I-" her sentence is cut off when the satchel she was bending down to pick suddenly explodes. Elma is thrown backwards a few feet and hits the ground hard.

OOC:

“Aye, that’s more like it!” Luadine grins as Malgra’s aethermatic saw bites into the metal of the hull. She continues to clear debris, though slowed somewhat by her wound. She gives a grateful nod towards Vel as she joins in clearing the debris.

Vel's supernatural strength went into overdrive as she hefted chunks of debris left, right and centre, bolstered by her faith in the God-King, and her companions. Little more effort would be required, so little of the debris remained. She regretted not being able to join in the daemon slaying, but she knew there would be other opportunities; Tzaangors seldom travelled in small groups, after all.

Malgra frowns at their saw, having not made much progress. Much to their dismay, some things are better done by hand. They lower their saw, joining the others at the debris.

With the three heroes' combined efforts, the hatch is soon clear. It opens with a metallic clang and five coughing passengers, three humans, an aelf and a duardin, stumble out. They're covered in minor burns and smoke stains. "Thank you!" A human in fancy clothing says. "I'm not sure how much longer we would have lasted." His fellow passengers nod in agreement and thank Luadine, Malgra and Vel.

Captain Brokkisdotr emerges from the smoke, the crate still balanced on her shoulders. She starts handing out quadbreathers to those who need them.


Four Tzaangors rush the two Soulbound. They swing their bows like clubs, trying to beat the heroes into submission. Two Tzaangors stay back and fire at Darach and Xan, their barbed arrows unnaturally accurate.

The Duardin seize their opportunity. In groups of three, they surround the two Tzaangor archers and pound them with improvised weapons. One of the daemons goes down, while the other holds his own. For now.

Impressed both by Duardin's bravery and Skyfires' accuracy from the distance, Darach decides to stop his widespread furious assault and focus on the only archer remaining, to then draw his sword and strike a blow at one of the daemons at hand.

Xan is ready for the Tzaagors who close on him; parrying one and partially blocking the other. In contending with them however, he is unable to avoid the barbed arrows loosed by one of their fellows. He grunts in pain as he pulls out the wicked projectile that had bitten so deeply into his flesh. It is almost worth the pain to see that in focusing on him, the archer had left itself open for Enskevi to 'box it one', raining blows down on the daemon with the help of her crewmates. The Warpriest prays for Sigmar's grace and the strength to continue fighting, and feels his wounds begin to close.

The Tzaangors fight desperately as their numbers diminish, lashing out with their weapons at the two Soulbound. The Duardin crew bellow a war cry and charge at the Tzaangors. They strike at them with broken pipes, pieces of armor or simply with their fists. The creatures snarl at their diminutive assailants, surrounded and on the back foot.

Tossing a final piece of debris aside, Malgra turns their attention to the Tzaangors. Leaping across flaming boxes, they join their friends and slash their saw towards the enemy.

As soon as the crew is free from the ruins of the ship, Luadine turns on her heel and sprints towards her companions engaged with the Tzaangors. As the Duardin swarm two of them, Luadine slips in cutlasses at the ready, to attack the third. Her blades find flesh and the Tzaangor gurgles before falling to the ground.

The explosion had not gone unnoticed, but the War priest's attention had been directed towards the writhing mass of daemon scum surrounding the 2nd Engineer and her crewmates. Now, with most of the Tzaangor dead and the remaining filth appearing to be well in hand, Xan noted how the spread of the pool of blood around the frail woman who had been in the explosion's wake had slowed from its startlingly rapid flow to an almost lazy crawl, which in its own way was far more alarming. He would not stand by and allow her perish; not when by Sigmar's grace she might yet live.  With a brief hand sign to Darach, he made his way towards the fallen woman.

Darach can feel his body strengthening after Xan's prayers and copes with the deamons' desperate and weak attacks with little difficulty. He then proceeds to finish what the crewmembers started, slaying both of the remaining Skyfires.


Ímren blinked and shook her head. One moment the human Elma Fass was stammering out something to her, the next she was gone in an explosion. Blinking away spots from her eyes, she saw Elma's prone form lying on the ground in grave condition. She tilted her head to one side and felt an emotion threaten to make its way to the surface. The Idoneth maiden considered her options - she had no formal training in medicine herself to be able to save the woman's life, and no gods left to pray to. She turned and called for the Excelsior Warpriest but could not hear her own voice as it was drowned out by the ringing in her ears. Perhaps she could attempt to capture the woman's soul so as not to let it go to waste... she could bring it home, give it to a Namarti. An apothecary's soul could prove useful. No, she had to clear her head, she was not here to be a reaver. And besides, her people would not change how they saw her just because of one measly soul. Instead, she stuck to her duty to this woman and doubled her efforts in gathering medical supplies for Brightspear. She would ensure that as many as possible made it there, even if this woman did not. She continued to call for Xan as she collected the satchels - wary of the apparent volatility of their contents should they get too hot.

"Hold on Elma Fass," Was all that she could think to call out awkwardly while she carried out her work, "Stay with us. Help is coming. Brightspear needs you."

With the debris cleared, and the fighting over, the best thing for the Soulbound to do was evacuate the area. But Vel noticed Imren attempting to stabilise Elma, the woman who had been calling out for the apothecary satchels before. Working her way over to her Idoneth companion, Vel said nothing as she holstered her wargear, reached down for Elma, and gently hoisted her up into her arms.

"We can get Xan to stabilise her once we are away from the wreckage. We need to get to safety." Vel told Imren, completely unaware of Imren's earlier temptations. Brightspear would not lose their apothecary. Not today.

Xan strides out of the smoke, calling on Sigmar's favour. Elma's wounds start to mend as the God-King answers.


With the Tzaangors dead, and the passengers and crew rescued, the Soulbound turn their attention to the supplies. In total, they are able to find 14 intact apothecary pouches. The Duradin crew busies themselves looking for useable weapons and equipment, while the passengers fit some quadbreathers over their faces. Ímren and Darach recognize Mistral and Seftan among the survivors.

Busy as they are, it takes a moment for the survivors of the crash to notice that the ship's prow is sinking. Ímren is the first to notice. As she draws attention to it, others turn to watch the once proud figurehead disappear under the forest floor. The Captain looks on with a pained expression, while one of her crew members cries onto her shoulder.

When they move closer, the survivors see that the prow has fallen into a wide tunnel running under the burning forest. Left with very few option as the fire closes in, the group climbs down into the tunnels and makes their way down the only open path, away from the fire and smoke.


The survivors (the Captain, 6 crewmembers, 6 passengers) and the Soulbound party go deeper into the tunnels until the smoke pouring in after them thins then disappears and they find a slightly larger cavern with a thin stream of clear water running along its floor. Bioluminescent mushrooms glow on its walls, bathing the chamber in an eerie dim blue light. Exhausted, the group stops to take a breather.

Captain Brokkisdotr approaches the party. "We're in a pretty bad spot of trouble," she says with a rueful grin. She looks at the passengers and what's left of her crew. "You lot might be able to make it to Brightspear on foot, but the rest of us won't." She turns back to the group of warriors. "But there's hope yet. When we were going down, I saw The Grund falling as well, towards the edge of the woods. I'd say it's about three days away on foot, if these tunnels take us the right way. If we can get to it, we might be able to make it out alive."

Xan hears a throat clearing next to him. "The Grund is an Ironclad, bigger and more resilient than a frigate like Grungni's Face. There's a good chance it survived its crash and can be fixed," Enskevi explains, matter-of-factly.

Survivors and supplies, start of journey:

How best to navigate the tunnels was well outside of Xan's field of expertise; admittedly most things were.  It was not so much that he balked at having an open mind - he did not believe, like some, that it left the gates of the soul unbarred and unguarded - it was rather that his calling to serve had been so all-encompassing, that it had left room for little else.  

Recognizing Enskevi by the sound of her vocalizations alone, Xan turns to bring the Second Engineer into his line of sight. "That is good.  Can you repair and operate the vessel if its crew is unable to help?"  Not normally one for euphemisms, he chooses nonetheless to spare Enskevi the more blunt version of his question.  He knew that she was not so naïve as to not have considered that the Grund might have no survivors.

Enskevi takes a moment to consider the question, then nods. "Yes, so long as we don't take too many losses getting there," the engineer says.

Luadine subtly nurses a wounded shoulder as she stands with the rest of the Soulbound. She suddenly very aware of the injury sustained in her fall from deck of Grungni's Face now that the adrenaline of the last few moments has worn off. She nods along in agreement with Captain Brokkisdotr "Well, I don't like our odds on the surface anyway. It'd take weeks on foot to get to Brightspear and it's crawling with those little beasties." Luadine glances past the captain at the other survivors. "Right then, I could use a drink. Do they need a rest? Or do we press on?" She asks as she draws her waterskin out from beneath her sea dragon cloak and takes a swig before offering it to the captain.

The Captain takes the wineskin gratefully, giving an appreciative nod after taking a swig. She hands it back to Luadine. "We should push on. We're still close to... the wreck... and that's bound to have attracted the attention of whatever lives in these tunnels. I'd put more distance between us and it."

"Excuse me," says a human passenger in fancy clothing as he approaches. Darach recognizes him as Seftan, the artisan with a passion for politics. "If we could have a proper rest, it would do us some good. We are not used to such excitement and could use the opportunity to gather our wits about us before this..." he looks down the tunnel with a look of dismay "... new ordeal."

The positions of the artisan Setfon? Sefton? No matter... and Captain Brokkisdotr are mutually exclusive but not equally practical.

"The mind is still when the body works." Xan says, reciting an expression oft heard and put into practice during his training.

No one argues with Xan's wisdom. The survivors take a few minutes to rest up, then gather their salvaged supplies and get back underway.


About an hour into their trek, the survivors are making their way through a long, wide stretch of tunnel when they feel a vibrating rumble through the earth. Concerned murmurs strike up among the survivors as they huddle together and prepare for the worst. Loose soil and rocks begin to trickle from the walls as the noise increases, until they hear a roaring charge coming from behind them. they see a mass of hooves and twisted forms as a stampede of mutated wild animals thunder down the tunnel towards the group.

The survivors break into a run, or as close to a run as they can manage with the heavy supplies they are carrying. Captain Brokkisdotr is the only one making good time, her aether-powered armour allowing her to move unimpeded despite her heavy load. "Come one," she urges the other survivors, "there's a branch in the tunnels ahead! We can get out of their way!"

It is clear to the party, however, that without help, the other survivors will not make it in time...

Running. Especially relating it to his height, his speed was nothing more than average for someone with a training of his caliber, but Darach always found something special in running; except for when he was overly exhausted, he always felt in control and ready to think and react quickly to the situations he had to face, as if his body movement had an effect on the mind as well. He had always been rather shrawd, but when running or fighting he felt like time slowed down and his senses and judgement got sharper.

Darach had always felt a special connection with animals: their instincts and natural inclinations often matched his far more closely than the ones of civilized creatures, and as he was frequently surrounded by them he liked to observe their actions and their relative causes.

Looking at the wild mutated beasts the Kurnoth Hunter immediately recognized fear, and in a split second reconducted it to the peculiar storm his group had just been victim of. An idea popped into his mind.

"We need something that resembles a lightning or some other sort of storm activity to scare these animals away" he shouted at his companions, placing his biggest hopes on Xan's miracles and on Imren, who he had already seen do something similar several times.

In the back of his running mind Darach knew that fleeing and abandoning the other passengers would have been the safest choice, and he was not really sure on what approach to take; nevertheless, time was of the essence and unless the other Soulbound opposed it, he was ready to fully commit to his plan.

Ímren listened to the Kurnoth Hunter's advice, the quiet Sylvaneth known as Darach seldom spoke but when he did his words were full of the wisdom of a child of Alarielle. Today, he did the Goddess of Life proud. She nodded to him and took a breath.

In her heart, she felt some trepidation. The daemons and beastmen of Tzeentch that had attacked them were bringing the arcane tides into chaos. Wild magic prowled in every corner, invigorating local energies into unpredictable patterns that were difficult to keep hold of. The Tidecaster bunched her hand into a fist and gathered crackling force into it, finding comfort in shaping her spell into the biovoltaic forces of a fangmora eel from her homeworld. But as she built on the spell to allow it to grow into a storm, try as she might to keep it contained the surrounding wild magic brought it out of her grasp and the spell turned on her. With a gasp, Ímren was electrically shocked by her conjuration - the familiar crackle of her energies washing over her and jolting across her armor. She had failed - and the stampede was upon them.

With little choice, the party does their best to scare the mutated animals through conventional methods. They make themselves as big as possible and yell as loud as they can. Vel bangs her shield with her sword, Luadine twirls her blades, Xan bellows like a preacher, beseeching Sigmar's favor. With his teammates united in purpose, Darach calls upon the might of the other Soulbound. He feels their assent and he pulls on their combined power. With their help, both mundane and spiritual, he makes for an imposing, fearsome sight.

The mutated beasts break at the sight, fleeing down smaller corridors or trampling each other as they flee in terror. The stampede scatters, leaving the party and the survivors unharmed.

The heroes' charges stare in awe. The duardin start moving again first. The rest only follow once the party gets moving themselves.


The survivors keeps moving forward, trusting the Soulbound and the Stormcast to lead them to safety, but navigating the tunnels proves to be a daunting task. In the tunnels, it's all too easy to lose track of time and there are no distant landmarks to orient oneself by. The underground maze seems endless, with twists and turns, dead ends, and dark bottomless pits. The smell of earth and rot permeates the air. The travelers are mostly silent, the only constant sound is that of their boots scrapping on the rocky ground with every step.

The party finds their skills tested as they try to make sure that their charges reach The Grund unharmed...

After hours of uneventful travel, the tunnel opens out before the survivors to reveal a surprising sight. A vast underground cavern filled with the primitive, stone carved ruins of a large settlement. But this place is long abandoned. No lights warm the windows or communal hearths and a stale breeze that reeks of aged death stirs the eerie, damp silence that shrouds the cave.

Captain Brokkisdotr approaches the party and clears her throat. "We should stop here to rest. The civvies are barely holding together and my crew isn't doing much better. If one of these buildings is in good enough shape, it could make for decent shelter."

Xan signalled Tolla to do some close scouting as they navigate the tunnels. The gryph-hound padded ahead and on occasion bristled or pointed if there was anything of note. When they arrive at the settlement, Tolla seems a bit overwhelmed by the various scents, and so Xan calls the hound to heel and then kneels to smooth his dear companion's feathers, murmuring words of encouragement.

Luadine slowly takes in their new surroundings, the reek of death and eerie silence in this place is disturbing but the fatigued look on the faces of their charges gives Luadine pause. She ponders her own physical state as the adrenaline of the day begins to wear off and looks to the captain and her companions. "Aye, can't say I'd be opposed to resting and this seems as good a place as any we've encountered so far. Won't do us any good if we're all to exhausted to keep everyone safe. Let's find a secure looking spot and set up a watch schedule. While we're at it, I could use some help getting this shoulder situated." She gestures to the left arm she's been nursing, which appears to be hanging somewhat out of its socket and has been since they first fell from the sky. She'd pushed through fighting even with it in such a state out of necessity, until now, but the opportunity to rest it off is very welcome in this moment. "Just needs a good little shove and I'll be right as rain, if any of you would be so kind?"

Xan approaches Luadine, Tolla at his heels. "You should have said something soon," he grumbles not unkindly. "Brace yourself well." Like in most things, the Warpriest works with a brutal efficiency, giving her no warning or count down once she has braced herself.  Once done, he reaches down to ruffle Tolla's feathers a bit and speaks again without looking up from the gryph-hound.
"Why would we need a watch schedule? Surely we do not need a schedule for a single four hour shift."

"A watch schedule would be wise," started Vel, who had been uncharacteristically silent until reaching the ruins, "one can never be too safe, especially with our charges."

Vel motioned her head to draw attention to the other survivors, before taking the time to wander off a few paces, seeking some semblance of solitude. It's not that recent events had taken their toll on her--far from it, in fact, as Vel was in perfect physical health--, but Vel couldn't help but feel somewhat on edge, for she too had picked up on the eerie silence of the group's new surroundings. She had her suspicions as to what might be the cause of such death and silence, but she kept her thoughts to herself for the time being, not wishing to worry some of the survivors.

"I will take first watch, if no-one has a problem with my doing so. You all should rest."

Xan looks at Vel impassively for a beat. "I can relieve you for second watch. Shall I come in one hour or two?"

Vel offers a courteous smile and small nod of her head to the warpriest before replying. "Two hours; an even split will serve us well. Guard yourselves well, and know that through me, Sigmar shall be watching over you as you rest."

Captain Brokkisdotr frowns and crosses her arms. "Four hours won't do. We need a proper rest! My crew aren't used to marching for hours on end and the civvies aren't used to facing death multiple times in a day! They need to rest, patch themselves up, and grieve," she says stubbornly.

Luadine groans through gritted teeth as Xan relocates her shoulder. "We were just a touch busy in case you hadn't noticed." She then looks indignantly at him at his suggestion of a four hour rest.

"Xan, dearest, I understand your vigor and zeal for Sigmar are enough to sustain the "temple" you call your body but not all of us have been graced with such divine blessings. If you can find it in your heart, we mere mortals might just need a bit more than four godforsaken hours to recover! Luadine says, giving a melodramatic bow as if she's unworthy, all while progressively getting louder and more exasperated by the end of the last sentence.

She abruptly rises and turns glaring at Vel. And you, Vel, my darling, I half expect you not to understand. After all, who needs rest when you can just be reforged... not all of us are warmachines! She says back at her normal volume but with an equally exasperated tone.

She looks now at her fellow Soulbound, hoping some of them might have some sense left in their heads. "Really... have we all lost touch with those we're supposed to defend?!? How much good will we do as the "chosen of Sigmar" if we all end up dead because of foolish mistakes made with tired minds and bodies."

Xan looks up from Tolla and stares flatly at Luadine, face remaining unchanged as she gets louder and more exasperated.  His eyes narrow ever so slightly when she inflects the words chosen of Sigmar, but waits until she is finished speaking.   "Four hours each then Vel. We will keep the even split," he says softly before looking to his Aelf companion.  "It is good of you to advocate for our charges; in this I appreciate your fervor if not your choice of words."

He returns his attention to Tolla, seeking calm in the familiar motions.  He was furious with Luadine for making light of the reforging process; Vel was more than a simple warmachine.  But he was even angrier with himself, for Luadine was not wrong. He had not considered whether the pace would be sustainable for the others.  Was he carelessly dimming Sigmar's light by lacking care for the comfort of others? He did not consider himself to be insensate, but perhaps he was wrong about this as well.

Captain Brokkisdotr nods. "Good. Let's find a place to lay down."


The group splits up, searching the abandoned underground village. They find plenty of old bones, rusted weapons, and damaged buildings covered in Chaos iconography. Near the center of the settlement is one building that seems mostly unscathed and free from Chaos imagery. It is filled with broken shelves, barrels and crates. The group surmises that it must have been used for food storage, though whatever food it held has long ago rotted to nothing. The building has strong walls anda single entrance, making it easily defendable.

The survivors share their meagre provisions and tales about the ones who did not make it off Grungni's Face.

Captain Brokkisdotr shares the story of the time Yngarak Gunsworn, one of the ship's gunners, fought a whole battle wearing nothing but his underwear because he'd been too hungover to get his suit on and had grown frustrated, earning him the nickname Doomstringer.

Elma Fass shares the tale of her friend, Altaia Quill, who once spent a whole week without rest as she helped fight the marrowplague in Hammerhal-Ghyra's slums.

Enskevi talks, at length, about the time Brelga Sternwright, the First Engineer of Grungni's Face, once jumped onto the back of a megalofin after it had damaged one of her beloved endrins, and wrestled her way into the creature's gullet to retrieve the piece she needed to fix the ship. The story would have been more exciting with a few less technical details.

Eventually, the survivors settle down to rest, while the party share the burden of watching over them.

After a few hours' worth of rest, the ragged group of survivors begin to pack for the walk ahead. As they wait for the last stragglers to finish getting ready, Tolla lets our a cry of alarm.

An unnatural chill wind sweeps through the ruins, setting the survivors' senses alert as they suddenly feel like they are being watched. A low moan and an ethereal rattling of chains fills their minds and sparks a primal fear of death in them. They look around nervously. Then, cries of panic rise from the survivors as ghostly visages phase through the nearby stone walls, their transparent haunted features affixed in silent screams as they lunge towards the living.

Enemies:

Map - round 1: