Twist of Fate

Elaine felt a disturbance in the north and so she gathered her forces and moved to investigate, reaching ruins of some ancient fortifications. Aiming to move past the ruins of Firewall, the Stormcasts Eternals found a small ritual site of Tzeentchian acolytes and immediately acted. There were three sites of power, well guarded by flock of Tzaangors and their Shaman. Elaine attempted to empower the prosecutors, but her prayer was left unanswered. So the trio of angels flew, but their wings were not swift enough, keeping them still too far from their query, but too close to the Tzaangor enlightened. Overwhelmed, they swiftly fell.

The other side was also not looking great, where Thunder Shields attempted to stand their ground and defend well earned emberstone, but eventually they were pummeled by a chaotic onslaught of arcane and physical violence. But even though Brightsworn prosecutors have perished, they brought enemy close enough for the rest of stormkin to step in. And when Tassar with his Aegisbound Reclusians met the maddened flock, feathers and blood was shed in equal measure. Even though Acolytes had the numbers, they certainly lacked the strength, but still their efforts were enough to wittle down Sentinels, the faithful praetors of Tassar.

Elaine called forth a heavensent prosecutors who managed to avenge the Thundershield by defeating a wicked Curseling before too joining the main fray. The Tzaangorian Shaman, seeing the weakened winged warriors hoped to slay them only to get close enough for Tassar to strike him down. Two strikes, one cleaving the disc, second sundering the shaman. After the fall of their leaders, the rest fall swiftly. Unfortunately for the stormcasts, they didn't reach the ritual sites in time so they spell was cast, even though in lesser effect. A strange barrier prevented the stormkin from continuing, so Elaine gathered her brothers and sisters, dug up emberstone and returned.

Upon arrival, Elaine was blessed with a vision, her voice strengthening as her faith endured even through fire and sorcery. As another boon, a patrol of Stormstrike Palladors embraced the ranks of the Black Aegis, as their previous force was defeated nearby.

The winds of change whispered their warning long before the battle began. From the shifting void of the aether, the seers of the Arcane Council foresaw the golden-clad interlopers marching upon the ruins of the Firewall. The ritual was in motion—three sacred loci of power, each a conduit to Tzeentch’s grand design, were under the vigilant watch of the Tzaangor host and their shamanic guide. The omens were clear: the stormborn would come, but they would not leave unscathed.

The heavens trembled as Elaine, self-proclaimed champion of Sigmar, invoked her celestial gifts. Yet the Changer of Ways wove his own designs into the weave of fate, twisting her prayers into silence. Bereft of divine favor, her winged heralds took flight, but their path was slow, their movements shackled by unseen forces. The Aetherwing Raiders saw their folly and fell upon them in a flurry of talons and spears. In mere moments, the angels of Azyr were torn from the skies, their light extinguished beneath a tide of eldritch fury.

Elsewhere, the Thunder Shields stood defiant, their crude weapons grasped in gauntleted fists. They thought themselves stalwart, but the tides of chaos are ever shifting, relentless in their advance. Arcane energies crackled through the air, distorting flesh and sundering steel. The onslaught was unyielding, and soon the once-proud warriors were but broken effigies upon the battlefield.

Yet fate, ever fickle, had not wholly abandoned them. Their fallen comrades had drawn the foe closer, within reach of the golden legion’s reprisal. Tassar, wielding his blessed Aegis, clashed against the maddened Thousand-Eye Legion, and the battlefield was drenched in blood and feathers. The Acolytes, though many, lacked the raw might to withstand the fury of Sigmar’s chosen, yet they played their part well. Even as they fell, their defiant resistance drained the strength of the Stormcast Sentinels, leaving them vulnerable to the Council’s greater designs.

Elaine, ever the zealot, called forth another host of winged warriors. They descended like vengeful comets, striking down the wicked Curseling before rejoining the fray. But the Shinxyrl, his mind alight with twisted prophecy, saw the weakness in their ranks and moved to exploit it. Yet even the keenest vision cannot foresee all—Tassar, ever the hunter, struck him down in a swift and merciless act. His first blow shattered the enchanted disc beneath the shaman, the second tore through his frail form, leaving naught but a lifeless husk upon the ruined earth.

With the loss of their leaders, the resistance of the Arcane Council waned. The golden warriors pressed forward, but they were too late. The ritual, though incomplete, had reached its conclusion. The spell, though weakened, had been cast. And as the veil of reality trembled, a barrier beyond mortal comprehension manifested, barring the Stormcast from further advance. Elaine, though bloodied and burdened by the weight of her failures, gathered her remaining warriors, scavenged what emberstone they could, and retreated to the safety of their keeps.

Yet even in their so-called victory, their fates were being rewritten. The stars turned, the skeins of destiny unraveled and rewove themselves in unseen patterns. The stormborn thought themselves righteous, but they were merely pieces upon Tzeentch’s great board. The Changer of Ways had already foreseen this outcome, and from the ashes of battle, the next move was already set in motion.