Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

The seraphon did not immediately react to Zephacleas’ greeting. As he stood waiting, he studied them. While he had never encountered them before, others had, if only briefly, most notably in the Gorevale, as well as the Fortress of Embers on Obsidia Isle. Never before had the seraphon remained after the battle was done. Always, in his admittedly limited experience, they vanished in beams of starlight, returning to wherever it was that they came from.

But not this time. This time they waited, though Sigmar alone knew for what.

Zephacleas saw a plume of fire rise up over the Dorsal Barbicans, and knew that the Far-killer had begun his attack. Impatience won out over discipline, and he took a step towards the seraphon. The saurian warriors raised their glittering spears with a thunderous rattle. He stopped, gripping his weapons more tightly, ready for whatever might come next. The little saurian in its feathered cloak met his gaze. He felt a chill, and tensed as it raised its staff.

The ranks of the seraphon split, allowing a large shape to amble through. It was massive, far bigger and bulkier than the saurus warriors around it. The creature stalked forward, slamming its war-mace against its curved shield. It bellowed in challenge. Zephacleas instinctively bellowed back. The creature glared at him, its nostrils flaring. It was larger than any Stormcast Eternal, and twice as broad. Its turquoise scales were interrupted by weals of pale scar tissue, criss-crossing its wide torso and marring its face. It slammed its star-metal war-mace against its shield again and lurched forward.

Instinctively, Zephacleas caught its blow on his sword and struck its shield with his hammer. It gave a chortling grunt and came at him again, more swiftly this time. They traded blows, moving back and forth between the two forces. Within moments, however, Zephacleas realised that the creature was only playing with him. Anger surged through him, and he pressed the attack, trying to bring it to its knees — whatever game it was playing, he was in no mood for it. But the seraphon caught his fiercest strikes on its shield or turned them aside with its war-mace, matching him blow for blow.

Abruptly, it stepped back. Arms spread, it turned its back on him and roared. Zephacleas lowered his weapons, sensing that the game, or perhaps test, was over. The little skink advanced to meet its champion, then stepped past to where Zephacleas stood. It cocked its head.

‘Sutok has tested you,’ it chirped. ‘You glow with the light of Azyr. You shine like the stars in the dark between realms. Great Kurkori has thus decreed that we will speak.’ It swung its staff back, indicating the seemingly slumbering slann on its floating throne.

Zephacleas waited. The skink eyed him. ‘The stars change. The skies burn. The war remains the same,’ it chirruped. It raised its claw in a complex gesture. ‘Always the war. Great Kurkori dreams always of war. The last war and the first.’ The skink straightened abruptly. Its head swivelled, gazing at its seemingly insensate master. ‘Never to wake, only to dream, until dream’s end.’ It turned back, fixing Zephacleas with a beady eye. ‘You are part of it?’

‘I…’ Zephacleas began, wondering how to answer. Then he nodded. ‘Yes.’

The skink’s crested skull twitched and dipped, reminding Zephacleas of one of the flightless predatory birds of the Savannah Kingdoms. He smiled at the thought, but only briefly. Those birds were larger than a man, and deadly. In his mortal days, the armoured knights of the kingdoms had tamed them to ride in battle. The skink chirped wordlessly, and he wondered whether it knew what he was thinking.

‘Will we dream together?’ it said, after a moment. ‘Will we dream of war? Of death, to the scurrying vermin?’

Zephacleas nodded in understanding. ‘Aye, and gladly.’ He extended his hammer. ‘We fight to free this city from the vermin which infest it, to free its people and the great beast upon whose back they ride.’

‘You march to the great fortress which spans the worm,’ the skink said. ‘Great Kurkori has seen it.’ Before he could reply, it clicked its jaws and added, ‘You must march further and farther. You must go into its belly and to the worm’s head. This, Most Ancient Lord Kurkori has seen in his visions,’ the skink said. ‘The future and the past are all one for him. He has seen what will be, what is and what must be for the dream to be good.’

‘And you will march with us,’ Zephacleas said, somewhat shaken. The seraphon knew of their mission.

‘The Most Ancient and Somnolent Lord Kurkori has seen it,’ the skink said. Zephacleas peered at the slumbering shape of the slann. He wondered if the creature was even aware of what was going on. Then, perhaps it didn’t matter for such a being. An ally was an ally, and he was not one to turn away the offer of friendship. Especially if it meant the difference between success and failure.