Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

In the old temple, a glowing green blade slid through the air, as if cutting through the painted backdrop of a stage set. A pink hand curled around one lip of the cut and pulled it wider. A twitching, rodentine nose poked its way through. It snuffled at the air, then withdrew. ‘I saw him set out two days past. He will be here…’

‘…now,’ said the future-seeing head.

A ratlike figure, nearly man-high, wriggled through the slit in space. It scurried from wall to wall, pausing at the corner to sniff at the air. The creature was half flesh, half machine. One leg was steel prosthetic and one arm had been replaced by a flare-mouthed weapon of brass, but these crude embellishments did not appear to slow it. Satisfied it was alone, it reached within its jerkin and produced a set of chalks. With a quick, trembling hand it began to draw an arcane circle of surprising artfulness around the altar in the middle of the shrine. Kairos watched as the ratman calmed and became absorbed in its work.

‘This is no true champion of Chaos.’

‘No. An opportunist. A sneak thief. Like all skaven.’

‘Still, time is of the essence when one is buying time.’

‘It will have to suffice.’ The head looked to its counterpart. ‘Must I wait until his circle is complete?’

‘Why wait on convention?’ said the other head.

Kairos waved his hand. A column of vibrantly coloured fire erupted from the cracked altar at the centre of the ruined temple. A burst of multi-spectral light shone up from the circle in reply. The skaven was taken by surprise, and emitted an acrid stink. He jumped back, holding his claw up to his sensitive eyes.

‘You are looking for me, child of Chaos,’ said Kairos’ heads in unison. Through the vortex of warpflame, the Oracle of All loomed high over the creature.

‘Yes-yes!’ the skaven squeaked and shrank back before the apparition. ‘How you know?’

Kairos clattered his beaks. ‘I know everything. That is why you are here, is it not? To seek my knowledge. I am an oracle.’

‘I am the oracle,’ said the second head.

‘Always,’ complained the first head, ‘they are fools!’

The skaven cringed in on itself, but nodded. ‘Yes,’ it gasped. ‘Shreeglum, warlord of five clans, seeks the Great Oracle! And Shreeglum has found him, summoned him!’ The skaven grew bold, impressed by its own success. It held up its chalk and stared at it in wonder, then gobbled it down. It came a little closer, stood a little straighter. ‘I come with great treaty-gift! I see things no other sees! I go through the ways between the worlds, to the hall of the god-thing Sigmar.’ Shreeglum stroked at its whiskers, its long face calculating. ‘What you give me for the clever things I learn there?’

‘You come to tell us that Sigmar has found his hammer.’

‘How very dull,’ said the other head.

A look of consternation gripped Shreeglum. He stooped low, cautious and suspicious. Already he was backing away, preparing to flee.

‘How you know-guess?’ he said again.

‘The same question!’ said one head.

‘I refer you to the same answer,’ said the other.

‘Do not flee. I have use for you yet. All is not lost. You must do me a service, and you shall have what you want,’ said Kairos.

‘A very great service,’ said the other head.

The skaven stopped, his nose twitching. He crept forward tentatively, and looked up at the apparition within its column of fire.

‘Listen, then,’ said Kairos. ‘I bid you breach Chamon at Silverfall in Anvrok, and take battle to the Stormcast Eternals. Do you know where that is?’

‘Dead-ruined man town. Much silver. Hot-hot! Yes,’ the skaven nodded. ‘I know the secret ways.’

‘Good. The Stormcast Eternals must fall there. Is that clear?’ said the second head.

‘Yes-yes,’ said the skaven warlord. ‘I will do this task for you. And in return…’

‘Do not tell me,’ said Kairos wearily, ‘you wish to usurp your leader’s position.’ Always it was the same with the Horned Rat’s brood, scheming and plotting against each other. Tiresome.

The skaven warlord squealed gleefully. A dribble of warpfire squirted from his arm-cannon, hissing onto the ritual circle. ‘Yes-yes!’

‘Very well,’ said Kairos, gesturing theatrically. He was getting into the spirit of the occasion. ‘Kill the one called Hammerhand and the fates shall align as you wish.’

The skaven paused, nose bobbing up and down as if it would smell the veracity of what Kairos had said.

The daemon leaned forward.

‘You may go.’

‘Yes-yes!’ chittered the skaven, scampering into the darkness. ‘Biters! Drillfiends! Hurry! Follow the tell-smoke!’

The skaven ran out of the fane. Kairos extinguished the flame and nodded both his heads.

‘It will not be enough.’

‘I know.’

‘I shall call the rest of the Nine,’ said both heads together. ‘They will be needed.’

Kairos, the place he inhabited and everything within it winked out of existence, leaving an oily trail of magic that faded away into the formless void.

Chapter Three Return to Chamon