Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Celemnis was roughly disarmed and forced along with Ephryx and his acolytes through the gardens of the House of the Aldermen. The gates had fallen and the enemy ran riot through the streets of the city; a chorus of screams rose and fell in shrill waves. The smell of burning was overpowering, but in the garden peace lingered and the blackbird still sang its song.

They went through the portals of the monument. The building was deserted, and they descended its wide steps unchallenged. At the bottom was the vault, sealed with doors of black volcanic glass locked by wheels of silver. Upon the doors, Sigmar’s legend had been carved by the duardin. Tiny figures in long strips told of Sigmar’s life and his deeds in the realms.

Ephryx stood in thought for a moment, then indicated one of his acolytes with a finger and a smile. ‘You,’ he said.

‘Can I bear it, master?’ asked the acolyte hesitantly. ‘Will I die?’

‘That rather depends on you,’ said Ephryx. ‘If you can, then I will have no more to teach you. If you die, well…’ His smile broadened. ‘I could say the same thing.’

The acolyte nodded nervously. ‘Very well, master, I am ready.’

Two of Ephryx’s biggest warriors took station either side of the obsidian doors and grasped the wheel-lock handles. All but Celemnis and the acolyte averted their eyes.

‘Begin!’ said Ephryx. The Chaos warriors spun the wheels and heaved backwards. The doors parted and a line of brilliant light burst across them all.

The acolyte looked into the vault and made a noise of deep pain.

‘Is it there? Is it the Great Shatterer?’ asked Ephryx.

The man gasped out a reply. ‘Yes. Yes! I see a hammer, radiant with power. Oh, master, let me look away!’

‘I must be sure — describe it further. My favour will be yours. This is your final test!’

‘I see a comet with two tails upon the head, and the face of a great cat circles the haft. A spike is upon the… A spike… Ah, oh, it burns! It burns, ah, ah…’

Ephryx’s acolyte screamed and flames jetted from his mouth and his eyes. He flung out his arms and fell to his knees. His robes caught fire and his skin blackened from the inside out. He fell to the ground and rolled around, aflame. Within moments he was consumed utterly, leaving a pile of grey ash.

Ephryx held up a handkerchief to his nose and ordered his servants to sweep the mess away. ‘Close the gates!’

His warriors obeyed. The doors shut with a dull bang, sealing the light from view. Ephryx smiled again at Celemnis. ‘Well. I have in my possession one item I desire. What say you now to my offer? Be mine and rule at my side. Worlds could be your toys, such things I have learned! I will share them with you.’

‘I have seen what your favour brings,’ Celemnis said. ‘I will have none of it.’

‘You will submit yourself to me.’

‘If you are so powerful, make me,’ she said.

Ephryx bared his teeth. For a moment it looked like he would try to enslave her with his magic. One hand clenched and the other raised up, poised to release his arts. For a minute he stared at her, and she stared defiantly back. He let out an explosive sigh, and his hands sank back to his sides.

‘No. You will submit willingly, or you will die. You have fifty nights. Take her away.’

And so for fifty days and nights Celemnis was kept prisoner, and at every sinking of the sun she was brought before the sorcerer. Every night Ephryx would ask, ‘Do you submit?’ Every night she would spit upon the ground, or stare over his head, or look at the floor, or weep. But always she said no. ‘I will never be yours, Ephryx of Denvrok.’

For the first twenty days she was given every luxury, and was kept in a tall tower that had sprung fully formed from the wreck of the city. There was no way in or out, and she could never recall how she was taken to Ephryx. There was a single window of enchanted crystal, and through this she was permitted to look at the horror inflicted upon her home.

The days went by. Outside, the racket of industry set up. Slaves were driven into the city from all corners of the Hanging Valleys of Anvrok. Whipped and weeping, they were made to tear down the centre of Elixia.

The Great Monument was the first to be demolished.

Perfumed baths, fine food and wine, and exquisite clothes were all provided to her by unseen hands, while outside the remaining populace was enslaved. She could not eat at first, so dismayed was she, but hunger drove her to it. Every mouthful felt like a betrayal.

The clothes she ripped and destroyed every day, until after the first ten days she awoke every morning to find herself dressed in them while she slept — hideous, filmy things that stripped her of modesty.

Perhaps Ephryx was a fool and did not realise his actions only strengthened her resolve. Or perhaps he knew full well that she would never give in to him and tormented her out of spite.

‘No,’ she said to him every night. ‘Never.’ And so she was taken away again.