Into the Storm

For the first time in centuries, the City of Beystone was quiet. The howling, gurgling, shrieking and raging beasts who roamed this former bastion of civilization were now silenced by the storm hitting the Realm of Ghur.
Deafening thunder and blinding thunderbolts shook the twisted denizens of the Realm. The creatures infesting the streets of Beystone stood frozen as the wind carried sounds of battle from the southwest, followed by a strong smell of blood and — oddly enough — ozone. 

Once the cries of pain and echoes of war died out in the distance, they knew something had changed. In one single motion, all the beasts raised their heads and howled to the thunderous sky.


Hidden on a rocky cliff in the heights of the Three Peaks, Tork hadn't left his cave for decades. He feared the ravenous beasts that rampaged the mountains, and always ran back to his hole at the slightest noise. 

But this time, it was different. He had seen the sky darkens, the lightning strike and golden warriors appear in the valley. He had witnessed the mighty battle taking place below him, as hordes of mutated creatures crashed on the shining shields and hammers of the newcomers. Transfixed, he could only stand there and watch the bloodbath. 
What seemed to be hours later, the valley was but a field of dead beasts. The stench was overwhelming. The obvious winners of this onslaught were orderly gathered around a strange lonely stone gate at the foot of the mountain.
Were these invaders demons or angels ?
He couldn't tell, but deep down something told him that his years of hiding might be over.

The orders were simple : stay in formation, march to the rallying point, and start working. Marcus felt an unusal twist in his stomach ; was it fear or excitement ?
Just like all of his peers, that would be his first time outside Azyr. All the other Realms were thought to be savage wastelands, where only the strong thrived. They didn't even know if there would be anyone to save out there... But it didn't matter. It was time to see the land of his forefathers with his own eyes, and bring back light where there was only darkness. 

Standing a few hundred meters from the Realmgate, he was part of the very first team of volunteers to step on Ghur's soil. Alongside the other masons, carpenters and smiths, he would be protected and escorted by those demigods called the Stormcast Eternals. 
From here, he could see their leader on the doorstep of the now glimmering portal, giving a last speech to his soldiers from the saddle of his noble and fearsome Dracoth.
He was told that the immortal heroes escorting them were called The Wardens of the Realms, and that under their gold and red armors were great men of the ancient times, older than the Age of Chaos and the free people's exodus to Azyrheim. Thousand of years later, it was more than time to reclaim their lands.
Marcus was robbed from his thoughts by a sudden burst of light : the portal was open, and ranks of Stormcast were already disappearing through its shimmering shape. Clutching his tools and gathering his courage, he followed the Shields of Ghur into the light.



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