A Series of Anthology Warhammer Fantasy Stories.

[haralo99]

I don't know what I am, the magpie or the unaligned daemon. But I remember being two different beings until they met for the first time. I remember the magpie's first flight, its first meal, the first time a cat leaped at it, the first time a dog growled at it, the first fox it tricked, and the first owl it ran from. Then it first tastes of the winds of magic, for it had sight beyond sight, it used its tongue to see it. The wind had a coppery metal taste, it came from an exposed silver vein. It was the wind of chamon, but it didn't care as the magpie. Of the vein, it took a silver nugget that was too pure a metal without being exposed to fire.


As the days passed and it lived, it noticed the world's tastes. When there was a fire it tasted of cinnamon and a hint of sulfur. When I- it flew high in the sky, the ozone flavor was on its tongue. Its nest tasted of fur and skin. The berries and the fruit had a second taste to them, sweet with a hint of bitterness. Bright lights tasted like a sour lemon, the magpie's second favorite flavor. In a place where death happened aplenty, it tasted of rotting leaves. And in the dark of the night, clove. Those were the flavors of the world.


As time went by, the magpie lived and learned. Its feathers gained metal shine, its nests gained a collection of nuggets. When the taste of cinnamon was strong on the breeze, it fled because fire was nearby. When the taste of ozone reached its nest, it knew that a mighty storm was coming. When an area was filled with a taste of fur, many other animals were near. When the air was sweet, the fruit was almost ready. It only entered a place with a flavor of rotting leaves once. It was a trick, one the magpie would never fall for again. And during the long summer days, the sour taste of the day was almost too much.

That was the magpie's life, sometimes it would find a mate. And the eggs would hatch with hatchlings with flavors, but most did not. The magpie would remember them, and if they died, he would release a great cry with the flavor of fur. The magpie would hold a formal and the flavor of fur would bring more magpies to mourn with. He would take them all to one place, and sometimes he would visit, but that place started to taste of rotted leaves. It remembers the clove flavor cat, it had eaten it after it failed to to ambush it

The feathers of the magpie had changed, for it was not just the black and white it was born with, it was now a rainbow bird. With every color in the world upon it. It grew in size, eventually being unable to mate. and with the lore of metal, it gained a spark of intelligence. With the winds of magic changing its soul, giving it a longer lifespan. Its nest was filled now with not just metals, but crystals and gems it found with no magic because it was appealing to it. That was its life for a while, but then the flavors of the world changed.

It noticed that the flavors were more vivid, stronger, and more potent. When it used the flavors, the effect was big and less than in its control. Then new flavors appeared, and they were not pleasant. The first new flavor tasted of mold, and it seemed to overwhelm all other flavors with its rancidness. The next was so sweet that it became bitter, causing it to retch and gag. The last flavor was different from the rest, it was as if it didn't have a taste, but it always made the magpie sneeze.

Then they came, blue, purple, green, pink, and red. the air was filled with their retched flavor, except the red one. But it filled his mind with rage, like how the fur flavor made him lose control of its mind. But it couldn't control it, it would not touch these flavors, too uncontrollable, and chaotic. These creatures with those flavors were not welcome in his home, in his forest. It cried with all its power to call all of its conventicles back to their ancestral home.

The magpie didn't know that it flew across the world. From the Southlands to the continent of Ind, from Cathay to the isle of Nippon, the new world to Lustria. Its conventicles were everywhere, and only those magpies with great intelligence and willpower could refuse the call. And every other magpie, magical and not, traveled to the forests on the Old World continent. Many of them died on the way, and many feral were had when they arrived. But the mourning period was short, for they were now fighting hoofed and horned men, that defiled the forest.

The fight went from months to years to 2 decades. in that time both forests and generations of magpies died never knowing the peace that came before. hippogriphs, griffons, and demigriphs alike appeared as mutant beasts that should not exist. But these were the stable ones and were left to live. But when creatures too tainted with the new chaotic influences mutated, they were struck down. For they remember the corruption by the rancid ones who infected what the magpies called the Evergreen forest far in the north.

The choice was made to burn that forest down. But that wasn't the worst thing to happen, for a great force of flavor flowed into the sky. A great green hateful moon was born. And from it baleful light did its wraith strike against all. It was an offense against all that lived in the world. And nothing could be done about it. The rainbow magpie wept for the beauty of the world that is now gone forever.


No, those too corrupted would be down, for the greater good of all. For hundreds of years, they fought the pain seekers, the flavor twisters, the rancid ones, and the senseless ones. When a millennium passes the realization that merrily defending the forest would have the magpies lose. thus a great council to decide what the next moves were. and after much debate between the conventicles, the next course of action was chosen. The flight of the magpies would begin. A fourth of all magpie warriors would remain to defend the young, the old, and the forest. But a defense method was decided when a piece of forest was claimed by the enemy. Let it rot or burn it, there would be no reclamation tempts until the enemy was defeated.


A hundred more years were spent fighting away from its home. It fought with the lizard man in their jungle homes, it fought with all types of dragons across the world, and it fought with the elves on their island. it learned their languages, though its speech was not always heard by welcoming ears. but help was needed, so help was accepted. For many years the magpie—no, my war band traveled the world, and I headed north. Past the land that would one day be called Norsca, towards the chaos waste. There I would be where I met me- no, it's where I found my other half.

+++


I was- no, it was a pathetic thing. It did quite fit with the four. It wasn't as wrathful as Khorne, as devious Tzeentch, as pestilential Nurgle, or as cruel Slaanesh. It was a weak daemon that fed on the discomfort of meeting strangers, the fear that something was wrong, and that feeling something familiar was different somehow but you couldn't tell what it was. It had once changed itself to a Screamer whose shape wasn't quite right and rode with a human war band. Their defeat to a Nurgle cult wasn't a delay.


When defeat was evident, it turned itself nurgling that felt wrong even to other Nurgle daemons. When this cult was hacked to bits by khornate berserkers, it noticed a Bloodcrusher rider had been crushed by an embrace by a Plaguebearer. It turned itself into a Bloodletter whose spikes weren't pointy enough. It sat on the juggernaut who tried bucking it off. There was something different about this rider, but it didn't know what.


That made it angry, and rage against everyone on the battlefield it did. They rode like this for years, he took the skulls of all that oppose it and its steed. Though, it did keep some of them for itself. The conflict between steed and rider lasted until one day a Slaamesh daemon horde killed it. Its leader was a Keeper of Secrets, its awful form was a cruelty to the senses.


Its skill at inflicting pain upon others, masterful. And for the first time in its life, it tempted to obey something other than itself. But it was only for a moment, for only itself matters. Not rage, despair, temptation, or hope mattered. Only its wants and its ambitions matter, only its ascension matters.


Watching it fight, it knew that none of the berserkers were its equal. she/he/It by itself could destroy them all. I changed- no it changed itself into daemonette. It would not be as skilled as all other daemonettes. But it would have to take its chances.


Many years would go by, it would be subject to mockery and pain by the daemonettes. For it was the least graceful of all the daemons present. It would never be and didn't have to be. It would one day surpass them all. It would one day have legions of endless hoards of its own. It knew it, it could see itself leading them now.


Then one day a swarm of giant birds appeared and crushed the Keeper of Secrets under its talons.


+++



+++

I don't want to talk about the battle that led to my birth. I am no longer just a pathetic minor warp daemon of discomfort. Who was unknowingly walking the path of chaos undivided, forever a slave to all of the four. Deluding itself for pride's sake, for all time.


Nor was I just the living ancestor demigod to a race of intelligent, magically avian species. flying where I please, eating what I want, and commanding both my descendants and the winds of magic as I want. King of all the forests in the world!


I was now a full God. my kin, who told stories of my past, acting as worshipers. The Elves, Dwarfs, Orcs, Halflings, and Ogres that witnessed my victories gave weight to my new existence. Those humans that had begun to worship me, I felt their reverence. I saw the winds of magic for the first time, and I knew how to shift them into shape by my will.


I looked around the battlefield and saw the remains of my kinsmen, and I felt sorrow. I looked at those cultists that followed the daemons, and felt nothing. I looked up at the sky and saw that both moons eclipsed the sun. I felt both awe and horror at it.


I didn't know if I was the great rainbow bird or the spirit of discomfort, but it did matter now.

 

[haralo99]

The beginning of the end

Elara Glucklich was in a tavern called the Rusty Flagon in the city of Morlenfurt. She didn't know what a flagon was, being both a village girl and a prospector meant she didn't need to know. Her blonde hair, usually braided tight for the rigors of the prospector's life, hung loose, framing her strong features. Her muscles, honed from years of swinging a pickaxe and hauling heavy ore sacks, nursed a tankard of ale. Its smooth, dark surface reflected the thoughtful glint in her blue eyes. They were the eyes of someone who had seen more than her fair share of the world's harsh truths. Across from her sat her younger sister, Beatrice.


Life had been much kinder to Beatrice. She was in an emerald dress that shimmered in the light. Her blonde hair was clean, brushed, and beautiful. She was a performer whose talents were plucked from their home and placed onto the stage at fourteen. And, by Sigmar, she was good at it. She remembered the first performance she saw of her sister. It was a year and a half ago. She was twenty-one.

"He's late again, Elara," she sighed, her voice a melodious counterpoint to the low rumble of the tavern.

Elara looked up and into her sister's green eyes.

"Boris always manages to be late. It's almost a theatrical entrance at this point." She fidgeted with the delicate lace of her sleeve. Elara chuckled at the comment.


"You know I don't understand him," Beatrice admitted, her brow furrowed in a delicate frown. "It gives me the chills when he uses magic. Especially when he shows up with his hands stained strange colors." She glanced around the tavern, darting to each dimly lit corner.


"Don't worry about it, he spends most of his time in his cave anyway."


"No, he doesn't."


"Hmm."


"He was here a year ago with some strange woman."


"Now, I have to hear this, what woman has caught our hermit brother's eye?"


"She must be a witch too. She wore a cloak like her Brother's, and she wore a strange mask."


Elara didn't like that. Witchcraft had long been banned. For it was an unnatural thing that twisted the world itself. She would have to tell the town guard if a cult of witches had been formed. But she didn't want to get her brother killed. She was there when he had first used magic. She remembered how scared he was.


"Have you told anyone about that?"


"No, the reason he'd gone to the theater that night was to talk to Valerius. And for the past year talking to every noble Valerius could introduce him to, and many others I don't know about. I heard he made it into the castle, talking to Lady Brunhild Von Eiden and her daughter."



Lady Brunhild von Eiden was the noble in charge of the city. She was skeptical about that; witch hunters were known to travel through the city. It being sort of like a port city, being next to a river. So, the nobles, being wealthy and powerful, could afford protection from witches. She gave her sister an incredulous look.

"I'm serious."

"Let's talk about something else."

"Fine... why did you finally decide to join this expedition into the Grey Mountains?"


That caused Elara's mood to sour. A month had passed since she'd fled the open-air copper mine, the stench of blood and the screams of her fallen comrades still fresh in her memory. The Beastmen attack was the excuse she gave anyone who asked. The life of a prospector was harsh, and the fact that she was a woman didn't make it easier. The groping and slapping of men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves had given her an anger that she vented on everything she could see. She felt joy as her fellow miners were torn apart by the Beastmen.

This was not the first Beastmen attack the mine had suffered. The danger of it had made her ask some questions. Was this the life she wanted? A life of constant danger? Of pushing deeper and deeper into the unknown? All for the fleeting promise of wealth? With its backbreaking labor and the ever-present threat of violence, with little more offered than meager wages and the constant fear of another attack.


With its promise of riches, this expedition was her ticket out.

"I already told you the mine I was working at was attacked, so I decided to come here."

Then Valerius, the burly owner of the Grand Theater where Beatrice performed, and a family friend, who partially funded this expedition, entered the tavern. His smile was wide and friendly, as always. The rest of the day was spent telling tales and gossiping.