Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘They did not answer our call for aid,’ said Diraceth before Alarielle replied. ‘We offered aid when the Rotbringers came, but they did not want us. When Pestilens beset the Wrathwaters, they turned a deaf ear upon our pleas for help. Ancient Holodrin cares nothing for others. Clan Faech are traitors to their own, corrupted seeds that fell far from their mother-tree!’

‘Recant your accusations!’ roared the Dreadwood Keeper. ‘Vile lies!’

‘The truth burns deeper than flame,’ retorted the Willowqueen, moving to stand between the Dreadwood entourage and the lords of Winterleaf. Her branchwraiths jeered and snarled at their counterparts in the Dreadwood, and tree-revenants looked on with glowering stares.

‘My word is the law,’ declared Alarielle, drawing herself up to her full battle-aspect. The Spear of Kurnoth appeared in her right hand. Her other manifested as the Talon of the Dwindling, flaking dead wood falling from her fingers as glittering dust. ‘I have spoken and so it shall be. Clan Faech live on, trapped within the festering walls, hiding in the deepest shadows. But they are not yet lost. Not to death and not to darkness. I feel them, their pain and suffering. We shall free them. Go now, spread the word, ready your armies.’

The Keeper of Dreadwood withdrew, bowing in deference to the Everqueen. The others followed in turn, their leaves rustling with murmured apologies. Only Diraceth remained, trembling with sorrow and rage.

‘You will find nothing but rot in the heart of the Vale of Winternight, my queen,’ he said quietly. He uprooted and turned away, following the trail of rucked earth left by his clan-kin.

Alarielle diffused her power again and sighed. She no more wanted to travel to the Winternight than any of the others, but the Keeper was right. A bargain had been made, and it needed the alliance of all the Royal Groves, including the Dreadwood. If she was to reclaim the Jade Kingdoms from Chaos, she would have to win back the loyalty of the Outcasts, the dark and broken spirits she had denied.

There had been a time when the Vale of Winternight might justifiably have been called a jewel of the Jade Kingdoms. Though an age had passed during her slumber, Alarielle could still recall the white-and-silver trees, the sparkling mists that rose from the tarns each morning, the threads of streams that glittered on the walls of the deep valley.

Dark rock and bright ice, that was how she remembered this place, how it had come by its name. The twin peaks that stood as sentries to the valley were steep-sided, their white-clad summits lost in the haze of cloud above the vale. The Sisters of Serenity they were called, but there was little peace to be found on their slopes since the coming of Chaos.

A bastion had been raised across the mouth of the Vale of Winternight, running from one Sister to the other in an uneven line. She could feel the wall like scar tissue on her flesh. It was not a thing merely built, but constructed from the spirit-stuff of the lands, warped by corrupted magic into something far more hideous than a simple fortification. It was a mortuary-thing, made of corpses and tree-carcasses, heaped between with black rock and baked earth, a core of dead roots binding its foundation. Thornweave grew along its length, spines as long as swords, seeping toxic sap that would slay even the sylvaneth.

In three places the wall was broken by broad arches, through which flowed the great rivers of the vale. Gone were the bright waters. Now the banks brought forth bile, blood and seeping ichor. Their pollution stained the groves into which they flowed, carrying the taint of Chaos into the Jade Kingdoms and towards the shores shared by the Wrathwaters.

The bastion was broken irregularly by seven towers, each grown from an immense tree with branches of bone and fumaroles where knotholes should be, spewing a dark smog along the entire wall. Cadavers hung from the branches like fruit, and on the dead flesh puckered fungal growths and bright moulds.

The stench of death lay on the vale as surely as the fog-mire of the towers. The corruption was near total. Alarielle could scarce stand to be so close, as though she walked on the borders of Nurgle’s Garden itself. She shuddered at the prospect of wandering into such accursed territory, but it was for this reason that she had come. Here, the grip of decay was so great that the Realm of Chaos and the Realm of Life were almost indistinguishable. From this vile sanctuary, the warriors and daemons of Nurgle could march with impunity to conquer and despoil.

Just as sight could not penetrate the fog shrouding the valley past the wall, so the Chaos magic held at bay the questing tendrils of the realmroots sent forth by Alarielle. Linked to all the parts of the Jade Kingdoms, the realmroots allowed her and her children to pass from one glade to the next without effort. In such fashion had they come upon many foes unaware of their approach, and encircled even enemies that were.