Leaving The Woods:

The Great Forest, the banks of the River Talabec: (Autumn 2528 Imperial Calendar)

Winter was coming, that much was clear to the Men and Dwarfs of the column. The weather hadn't changed that much since they had set out but the air and the rain that fell had grown chilled. The column had been travelling down the Old Forest Road since it swung slightly south, down to Hergig and the River Talabec beyond that. Whilst they had yet to find any other living being in the forest, they had found more ruins and signs of animal life the further they got away from Middenheim.

Hergig had been reduced to a sodden ruin like Krudenwald before it but had served as sufficient and defensible shelter for the exhausted Men and Dwarfs.

Despite the reprieve the former city had provided, the sight of yet another shattered metropolis had been somewhat depressing for the men of the Empire. The Dwarfs of the Zhufbarak remained far more stoic than the Men who marched alongside them but even they had seemed to become more dour and humourless as the days went by and the forest revealed even more devastation.

Now the column stood on the banks of the River Talabec, the river rushing by them. The Old Forest Road turned away at the riverbank, the somewhat ruined stones of the road ending completely with the exception of a portion that carried on to the west, following the river's course.

Sigmar took a deep breath as he watched his men set up camp on the riverbank. This was one of the few times they had been able to find clear land, free of the oppression of the trees. There as still plenty of debris, much of which had likely been washed ashore from further up the river. Most of what they had found was unusable but some driftwood had been carved, sharpened and set up to build walls of stakes. As before the Dwarfs had taken over the organisation of the camp, overseeing the Men as they erected tents, placed stakes and gathered whatever nearby materials were worth salvaging.

The scavenging that the column had done over the course of their journey had awarded them with enough materials to give them better equipment. Under the supervision of the Dwarfs usable scrap metals had been gathered and re-purposed for other uses. Proper canvas had been found for their tents and replacement weapons were now strapped at the sides of the ragtag survivors who walked at the rear of the column.

"Are you sure this is the best way to get downriver?" the familiar voice of Gotri Hammerson asked. The Runesmith had been invaluable to Sigmar as a source of advice and an assistant in managing the Dwarfs of the column.

"Going down river by raft will be quicker and easier than following the road," Sigmar replied. A day before the column had made it to the riverside he had proposed building simple craft that would carry them downriver.

"Aye, you do have a point," Gotri grumbled. "But I don't trust those waters and I don't trust riding down them in a flimsy wooden tub."

'I definitely understand how you feel,' Sigmar replied with a chuckle. 'But we don't want to be caught in the middle of these woods in winter and the longer we take, the less time we have to prepare.'

'So you still insist on making a new city?' Gotri asked. The Dwarf didn't betray any of his feelings but Sigmar knew the Runesmith felt some trepidation towards his plan.

'I do,' Sigmar replied plainly. He looked back at the Dwarf who gave him a look that hinted he expected more. Sigmar sighed a gave a good natured smile. 'I want to start again,' he began. 'I want to rebuild my nation but I want it to be what I had dreamed of so long ago when I first set about uniting the tribes. I've had to endure seeing everything I and my descendants built get torn down to the ground and ripped up from its foundations. Now that I have finally returned I have sworn to myself, my forefathers and the people who have put their faith in me to make a true Empire for all Men,' he paused for a moment, 'and your own kin too of course.'

'Aye,' Gotri conceded. 'I can respect that. You manlings have always been an odd lot but there's something I've always noticed about your kind. You certainly do dream big.'

'That we do,' Sigmar replied with a chuckle. 'When you live in the world that we do you have to dream. Seeking the light is what keeps the darkness at bay.'

The camp settled down for the night, assigning posts for sentries and keeping a watch on both the forest and the river. All the members of the column were finally able to sleep under a tent and had noticed a reduction in their nightly troubles as they slowly made their way south. Here, in the heart of the Empire and further away from the taint that saturated Middenheim, they had clearer heads and more peaceful dreams.

Every person in the camp was still on edge though. The oppressive feeling that had beaten down on them since they had entered the woods was weakened but still present. No-one knew what awaited them in the south. Many hoped that the beasts of Chaos had been routed from their lands altogether but others were concerned that the lack of Beastmen in the northern woods meant they had simply been pushed into the southern fields instead. These rumours and speculations had of course been quashed by stern officers and the dour Dwarfs who disapproved of such defeatist ideas but the aura of trepidation and fear was still there.

Sigmar watched the stars as he had every night since Middenheim. He tried to read the stories and visions that the twinkling lights told him. His own dreams were a jumble of horrors and triumphs, shifting an changing as the countless possibilities of the future tried to assert themselves. The emperor smiled despite his confusion as every new vision told him, once again, that there was in fact a future.

While the men slept, Hermann Schreiber was away from the camp. In the weeks since he had left Middenheim he had been restless. Rather than grow weak or tired by the long monotonous march he had grown stronger. Winter was coming and he knew the season's approach was the reason for his new-found vitality.

He was currently stalking through the woods around the camp. He had woken shortly after the rest of his group had fallen asleep and had sneaked out of the camp, sleeking past the sentries as if he was invisible. Though he had difficulty understand whatever power was inside him he knew that there was something otherworldly that now resided inside of him. He also knew he was being changed by it. With every passing day he felt his mind becoming more wild. He needed to enter the woods, walk amongst the trees and stalk the few living things he could find in the surrounding forests.

This night, however, he felt that the compulsion that had driven him was different from the usual instincts. This time the power was looking for something.

He weaved between the trees with a grace and ease that he never remembered having before as the feeling in the back of his head guided him. The light of Mannsleib shone down through the canopy in a way that he had never seen before in his life as he approached whatever the power inside him wanted him to reach. He followed the light as surely as the power did, seeking it out. He was marvelled by the moonlight which seemed to be stronger and purer than at any other point in his life.

It was almost a shock when he left a the thick trees and entered a massive clearing. The area was wild but the way in which the trees circled the copse and the lack of smaller bushes and scrub indicated that something had deliberately made this place.

Hermann wandered into the copse, suddenly unsure of what he was looking for. The feeling that had driven him here was now satisfied and didn't coax him in any particular direction. He breathed more heavily as he looked about the clearing, wondering just what the power inside him had wanted here.

It was then that he suddenly felt a new presence in the clearing. Hermann spun around as he saw a figure enter the copse and stand straight and tall. Hermann's eyes widened as he saw the largest stag he had ever seen in his life walk in. He vaguely remembered the mighty and majestic beasts that some of the Elves had ridden to war but this great creature was beyond compare. It towered over him and possessed a regal dignity and a wild and divine power that threatened to overwhelm him. Hermann could almost see a brilliant intelligence in its eyes as they regarded him.

Suddenly the stag shone, a bright and glaring light filling the clearing. Hermann winced and shut his eyes, warding the blinding light away with his hands. When the light gradually faded away, Herman lowered his hands again to see what had happened.

Where the stag had stood was a massive man. Like the beast it had replaced, the figure towered over him and possessed a wildness and divine dignity that humbled Hermann instantly. The man was covered in animal furs and skins and had a long tangled beard and wild hair. However what drew Hermann's attention the most was the pair of long stag antlers that grew out of the crown of the man's head.

"So," the figure spoke in a loud, rich voice that sounded like the roar of a raging storm. "Though art the mortal man who hast inherited mine brother's mantle?"

Hermann could barely say a word as he felt the words wash over him. He could barely understand what he was feeling. It was if he was facing the very world itself and that it was looking past his being and studying his soul like a predator stalking its prey.

"Do not speak," the figure said. "You stand before Taal, Lord of Nature and master of these lands. Thou art the inheritor of a great power, stewardship of the season of winter and the duties that mine brother once upheld. However, though thou hast been chosen for the task, thou art not yet worthy."

Taal spread his arms as he still looked down on Hermann. "Thou shalt leave these men and enter my realm that surrounds you now in thine entirety. Thou art needed for these lands to heal but thou must also cast away thine trappings of mortal life."

Hermann had no idea what to think about what he had just been told. The power within him was reacting, broiling and churning within his body. He had no idea what to think about its reaction to the god's words. If he threw his life away and fled into the woods, what did await him? What were these duties?

"Thine tasks await thee," Taal suddenly spoke, as if he had read his mind. "Thou shalt understand once the winter season arrives." Taal once again raised his arms. "Go," the god commanded. "Enter the woods and embrace thine gifts and duties."

Hermann felt the pressure of the god's presence slowly fade as another flash of light engulfed the clearing. Once again, he turned his head and raised his arms to ward off the blinding glare. When the light faded away, Hermann looked back and saw that Taal was gone.

Hermann's breath was heavy as he tried to recover from what he had experienced. The power within him was still moving inside his body. He could feel it grow impatient, as if it was demanding he do what Taal had just commanded. Hermann tried to ponder what he had just been told to do but his objections and speculations were quashed by the power within him. He wanted to stay, to at least think about what he could do but the new divine mission was compelling him to leave and flee into the woods.

His breath frosting despite the weather only being cool, Hermann turned back to the direction that Taal had emerged from and walked forward. He passed out of the clearing and back into the woods. As he weaved through the trees he began to pick up his pace. His walk quickly turned into a jog and then into a run. As he sped through the forest the began to use his hands to help carry him along. Wherever his hands and feet touched a thin layer of frost was left behind.

Soon, he was sprinting through the woods, occasionally falling onto all fours and loping ahead. Hermann Schreiber disappeared into the dense woodlands of Talabecland and never once looked back to see the slowly melting trail of frost that he was leaving behind.

The camp was buzzing with activity as the Men and Dwarfs prepared for the next part of the plan. That morning officers had woken their troops with new orders. Once again Men had gone to the edge of the woods to cut down trees. Now however, they were being ordered to fashion them into straight logs. Dwarfs were pulling items from the scrap they had been carrying and moved them to a crude forge they had set up. Already their smiths were hammering away at the metal, fashioning them into simple pegs and nails.

The plan called for rafts and simple boats and though they could have simple lashed planks and logs together, Gotri and his Dwarfs had insisted on constructing the vessels properly. Already the industrious Dwarfs were organising their human comrades in picking the best lumber they could gather and fashion to make the hulls, judging the material with their race's traditional exacting scrutiny.

With saws and other tools salvaged from the ruins of Hergig, the men were starting to make planks from the trees they had felled. A simple keel had been laid for a large, wide-hulled boat that would handle carrying the supplies they still had. Some of the Men were talking about fishing the river as they travelled down it to catch food rather than waste time landing and waiting for foraging parties.

Sigmar grunted as he hauled one of the heavy logs his men had cut into place. He had insisted he take part in the labour, wanting to join his men and aid in speeding along the construction. His log ended up on the pile of finished lumber that he and his men had been denuding of branches and cut into a rough shape. It was more lumber than the existing number of hulls needed but the Dwarfs wanted a stockpile of surplus.

Under Dwarf supervision and direction the work was going much more quickly than it normally would. Like the deceptively simple defences around the camp, the Dwarfs had undertaken their tasks with an almost inhuman meticulousness and efficiency.

Picking up another log that had been stripped and shaped by other men, Sigmar hauled it over to the pile with another man helping him. He had stripped off his ornate armour and was now dressed in breaches and an under-shirt that had been stained long ago with blood, mud and smears of green from a variety of vegetation. Without his armour, Sigmar felt both vulnerable and bizarrely liberated. There was something profound about performing such labour amongst his people without any finery or weighted clothing.

"Franz," the gruff voice of Gotri Hammerson said. Sigmar turned to see the stout figure of the dour runesmith march through the workcamp. "I need you over here."

Sigmar finished placing his log on the pile and patted his hands, brushing off dirt and bark as he approached the venerable Dwarf.

"What is it?" he said in a serious tone, matching the Dwarf's expression.

"Not here," Hammerson replied curtly and indicated for Sigmar to follow him, his face not betraying his emotions.

The two leaders walked through the camp, Sigmar occcasionally stopping to give attention to the men of the column. Whether it was a small nod, a smile or even a brief handshake, the men appreciated it and responded with greater effort and enthusiasm in their work.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" Sigmar said as they approached the riverbank.

"I sent a foraging party into the forest two hours ago," Hammerson replied, his face still unchanging but his eyes revealing the importance of what he was saying. "They reported back with no food but they said that they felt that they were being watched."

"Were they?" Sigmar asked, also keeping a composed expression on his face.

"They never saw anything but Dawi do not lie about these things," Hammerson replied. "This forest's been too empty as it is. If my men notice something in these woods the chances are it is unnatural."

"I understand," Sigmar replied. He had a vague idea of what it could be. The power of Ulric had disappeared from their camp the previous night but there were still remnants of the winter god's essence in the surrounding woodlands. He didn't, however, know just what had been left behind by the vestigial remains of the god. "We should be more cautious about what we do in those woods. It's likely that the inhabitants are returning."

"Aye," Hammerson replied, nodding in understanding.

"How much longer do you estimate the boats will take?" Sigmar then asked, wanting to change the topic of the conversation.

"If your men keep shaping logs the way they are we'll be finished in another five days,' Hammerson replied with a grunt of annoyance. "If I had a few more of my lads we'd get it done in three but I'll have to make do."

Sigmar chuckled. "I think we could all do with more men. At the very least we'd have a few more hands for foraging."

"Aye," Hammerson agreed in a grudging tone.

The conversation ended after that. Both leaders had nothing left to say and instead stood and looked across the river into the forest beyond. Sigmar wanted to rejoin the men but he knew that he could see something in the forest. As he peered into the trees he saw the lines of magic shift. His sight could now see beyond the veil of the world, revealing the powers that flowed over them. It was almost impossible to describe the shapes and colours that appeared before him when he used this sight but they were beautiful and imposing at the same time.

In his eyes, the trees were saturated in unnatural blotches of colour that appeared similar to frost. It surrounded them, spreading around their camp and over the river to the woodlands beyond. Ulric was free in the forests of the Empire and he was marking this land as his.

After five days of hard and strenuous labour, a collection of simple but incredibly sturdy boats now waited on the edge of the river. Some were rafts made form the logs that the men had stripped but a large number were wide, low-hulled boats that were built to carry people. Despite their simple design they were well built, the planks fitted together almost seamlessly thanks to Dwarfen meticulousness and precision.

Already the Men and Dwarfs of the column were loading supplies on the boats and rafts and securing them with thick rope and the spare tarps. The plan was to put the supply rafts in the middle of the convoy and pull them along by attaching ropes to the other boats being powered by oarsmen.

Boats were being pushed into the water, the Men and Dwarfs hauling them off the bank climbing in and bragging oars that had been carved the day before. Others were pushing the rafts up to the water and into the river.

Sigmar got behind one of the boats, once again dressed in his armour, and helped heave it into the river. One of the rafts had been attached to his boat with thick ropes which made the load even heavier but he and those who had been assigned to the boat with him put all their strength into moving it. Eventually the vessel slid into the water and came to a halt, held in place by half of the team responsible for pushing it off of the bank. The rest of the group, Sigmar included, then went to aid in moving the supply raft. The work was arduous but the men eventually managed to float the raft.

One by one the boats and rafts were floated into the river and held in place. Men struggled to keep the currents from sweeping their new craft away and anchors were crafted from rocks and rope to keep the new flotilla of simple craft in place.

"Alright men," Sigmar said, a proud, almost boyish smile on his face, "Everyone aboard. It won't be much longer now. The river will take us to our destination."

There was a cheer as his men began to loud themselves onto the bats that various officers had allocated them to. The Dwarfs, distrustful of travelling by boat, were a lot slower and many of them grumbled as they stripped themselves of their weighty armour so they could safely wade to the boats set aside for them.

Climbing aboard his own boat, he grabbed an oar and waited for the last of the column to prepare themselves. It took longer than he had hoped for everyone to finally finish settling onto their vessels and get everything ready for their departure. Still, they were eventually ready and with the sun now high overhead, he gave the order to begin paddling. Tentatively, the flotilla, every boat roped together for safety, began to move forward. Under the direction of officers and whatever experienced oarsmen were already in the group, the pace increased and eventually, the flotilla set down the Talabec.

For several weeks Sylvania, the land of the dead, had played hosts to great numbers of the living. Humans from the Empire, Tilea and the former Border Princes had fled here, seeking any refuge from the armies of Chaos that had ravaged the land. Alongside them were the Halflings from the Moot and even a few Dwarfs and Ogres. All of them had come to Sylvania because in a world descending into unremitting anarchy and horror, the personal lands of the Great Necromancer and his foul subjects had become a beacon of order.

At first they had merely gathered in the borderlands, sure that they were simply escaping a horrible death at the hands of Chaos by ensuring they would die at the hands of the restless dead. However instead they had found themselves left untouched. As they thought the dead had risen to butcher the living, but only when they were in service to Chaos.

Sylvania's new, bizarre and oxymoronic reputation as a land of safety was cemented when a column of refugees from Averland was rescued from a Khornate warband by a vast host of exotically dressed skeletons. The berserkers had been torn apart whilst the Empire citizens had been left alone. Of course it was difficult to spread the news as only the mad or the foolish were willing to leave to try and find other survivors and guide them to safety but soon enough people were heading to Sylvania, a land free of the threat of Chaos.

Of course this sanctuary was a temporary one and it was soon about to disappear.

Nagash's journey back to his stronghold had been a long and humiliating one. When he had departed Sylvania it had been at the head of an army the likes of which had never been witnessed before. The dead had came when he called, grimly regal Morghasts had surrounded him and his Mortarchs, undead creatures only second to himself in power, had relayed orders as he wished. Now he was alone, the best he could summon to march beside him were the remains of the rabble that had inhabited the surrounding lands and his powers, whilst recovering at a rapid rate, were still severely weakened when compared to what he used to command.

Still, none of this prevented the necrotic giant that was now the Great Necromancer from carrying himself with the usual arrogance that he presented to others.

Nagash did not walk upon the land, finding such an action to now be beneath him. Instead he travelled through the ruins of Stirland as a great cloud of darkness. Though sustaining such a spell continued to drain his reserves of power, Nagash's pride made it impossible for him to even consider resting or simply walking.

Despite his exerting spellwork, Nagash's powers were rapidly recovering with every passing day. When he had left the ruins of Middenheim he had been a weakened shadow of himself, barely able to conceal his presence from the other, equally weakened, incarnates. Now he was returning to the form he had become accustomed to in the past few years since his resurrection. His form was once again wreathed in an otherworldly darkness that made his impressive, godlike stature all the more intimidating. His unnatural presence was also beginning to affect the land around him once again. The dead that lay in his path were becoming restless. Though none of them ever truly rose to false life unless he exerted himself he noticed that the many corpses that were strewn across the ruined land began to twitch whenever he drew close to them.

Nagash never once slowed his progress, continuing through the wrecked remains of the Eastern Empire. He could feel the Death Magic that permeated Sylvania drawing him like a beacon. It was an intrinsic part of him and called to him with an intensity he could never truly deny. Though most of the power had either been absorbed into his body or dissipated by the infuriating actions of the followers of Chaos and the foul Skaven it still remained, leached into the earth of the cursed province, waiting to be drawn out once again. With the power of Chaos receding Nagash did not feel the need to hasten his apotheosis like he had before. Now he was free to draw in the power that was rightfully his without fear of interference by any other power. Chaos had been beaten and had retreated to lick its wounds whilst the meagre mortal forces of order were now too few in number and too exhausted to assault him in his stronghold.

Nagash had ignored the passage of day and night as he continued to billow over the land. The time it took to return to Sylvania did not matter to him. All that he cared about was the progress he made. Once he was within the lands he had claimed as his own, surrounded by the very power that sustained him, he would rest.

The burnt and sodden remains of villages, towns and castles of all shapes and sizes passed by him as he flew past them. He also passed by the evidence of the depravaties of the End Times. Foul altars to Chaos built from the remains of buildings and the victims of Chaos' predations dotted the land. The remains of Herdstones that had been destroyed to summon the Garden of Nurgle years before could also be found here and there in the Drakwald. Heedless of the destruction around him Nagash bypassed them all and continued on his way. His skeletal and armoured feet never once touched the ground as he carried himself closer to his goal. Occasionally some kind of threat, whether it was a band of Greenskins, a party of Chaos followers or an unfortunate group of surviving humans, would cross his path and would subsequently be obliterated by him as he passed them by with barely a thought.

It was only when the desolate hills of Sylvania and the powerful waves of magical power that saturated them were in his sight that he slowed. He was eager to once again enter the borders of his realm but now, with so much power around him, he was no longer as vulnerable as he had been for the past few days. He could feel his strength increasing exponentially as he drew in the power of death that now surrounded him. The darkness that surrounded his form grew thicker and darker, plunging the area around him into a pitch blackness that no light could penetrate.

He noticed his absence had allowed the eternal night that had wreathed his realm from the sun to thin, no doubt a result of tapping the magic that sustained it during his battles elsewhere. It was a simple matter of reinforcing the spell with the power that once again freely flowed through his being. With barely a gesture the clouds that had filled the sky and covered the land in a thin shadow thickened and billowed, turning darker than any storm-cloud and broiling with an intensity that verged on unnatural. With that one act Nagash had reaffirmed his control over Sylvania and announced to all within its bleak borders that the rightful master of the benighted land had returned.

Neferata had not enjoyed her time as regent of Sylvania. After being unceremoniously summoned from the Silver Pinnacle the Vampire Queen had found her new position to be distasteful enough to almost be considered humiliating. What's more, as the one now responsible for keeping the Undead Legions in check, she had been forced to contend with the bruised egos of the remaining Tomb Kings of Nehekhara.

Aware that she would be staying the province for the duration of her master's mission, Neferata had decided to make Drakenhof Castle her base of operations. The fortress was grim, bedraggled and soaked in the disgusting image of the Von Carstein lineage but it was also the traditional centre of Sylvanian power and Neferata had decided that if she was going to rule the land she would do it in the proper fashion. Also as detestable as the fortress was, it was also the finest seat of residence in all of Sylvania.

Under the guidance of her handmaidens the dead in and around Drakenhof had laboured constantly to return the castle to an acceptable state of habitability. Repairs had been made to the sections Neferata and her handmaidens wished to use for their own purposes, the defences had been reinforced and the interiors had been tidied and cleansed of the last of the rot and dust that had started to return in Mannfred's absence. Unwilling to anger the Von Carsteins beyond what she deemed necessary, Neferata had left the Von Carstein portraits and busts that filled the halls and corridors alone.

The ranks of her handmaidens had been thinned by the trials and tribulations of the End Times and Neferata had worked to find suitable replacements to replenish her ranks. Most had been taken from amongst the refugees that now cowered on the outskirts of Sylvania. Neferata did not particularly care for the mortals who had fled into the domain of the dead and found the task of dealing with so many freshly turned vampires to be rather frustrating but she tolerated the presence of both. The mortals presence did not impede any of the duties she begrudgingly performed and so she left them alone. Of course she did not necessarily try to protect them from the predations of the other vampires that called Sylvania home but the sheer disruption a blood-drunk vampire could cause to the order she enforced had eventually led to her reining them in and leaving the mortals alone.

She been reclining on the rather obscene throne that dominated the main chamber of the fortress when she felt a wave of power wash over her.

In an almost unrefined display of concern Neferata quickly rose from her seat and left the chamber. Her handmaidens, noticing her movements, scrambled to follow her, none of the thankfully noticing the signs that hinted their mistress was upset.

She finally made it to one of the rooms that had a balcony leading outside. As always the oppressive gloom that had cloaked Sylvania for years remained. However Neferata had noticed in the past few months that the darkness had thinned somewhat. She knew that it had something to do with Nagash, the Great Necromancer's power now held the overcast skies in place and anything that happened to it would be his doing. Neferata had often wondered – and secretly hoped - whether the turning weather was the result of Nagash experiencing some kind of slow demise.

Suddenly the billowing clouds grew thicker. A wave of darkness swept through the blanket of storm-clouds that shrouded the land, absorbing and expanding them. The black pall that glowered overhead turned darker than it had been for weeks, returning Sylvania to the eternal night that it's residents had grown accustomed to.

Deep down inside herself Neferata quivered. Though she never let even a hint of her fear show she knew without a doubt that Nagash had survived. Not only that but he had also finally returned. Turning towards her handmaidens who had all gathered at a respectable distance from her, she sought out the highest ranking amongst their number. It barely took her a moment for eyes to fall upon Imentet. First amongst her handmaidens, the Lahmian vampiress had fought by her side throughout the End Times, weathering the worst that the end of the world had thrown at her and her mistress. Their eyes met and an unspoken command passed between them. Without a word Imentet stepped forward and bowed her head.

"Imentet," the Vampire Queen said in an authoritative voice.

"Yes my Queen" the handmaiden replied questioningly. Imentet was the closest any of Neferata's own get would be to trustworthy and had served her faithfully for centuries. With Naaima elsewhere, seeing to the running of Sylvania, she had been forced to make do with the former Nehekharan woman. Neferata knew that whatever she ordered Imentet would execute it with due diligence and skill, the rewards that were offered to her were too great to not do so.

"Ready Nagadron," Neferata said, the power and suggestion in her voice adding weight to the command, "our great lord Nagash has returned to this land and has announced his might to us all. He would expect us to receive him and it is only proper that we oblige his wishes."

With that the entire assortment of vampires ran to attend to their mistresses commands. Imentet immediately began laying order on top of the chaos as she issued instructions to the fledgling vampiresses at her command. Throughout it all Neferata retained her regal and collected mask. However, beneath the dignified expression on her face, she struggled to make sure no other soul would notice the anger and distaste she felt towards the entire situation. Nagash was still alive and his powers were still evident. She would remain shackled to him and his foul will and there seemed to be little that could change that. The near destruction of the world had failed to end his existence so what was there now that could accomplish such a feat.

Neferata left the balcony and made her through Drakenhof Castle. She made her way back through the serried galleries and corridors, ignoring the route to the main chamber and instead heading straight for the courtyard.

The open area was a paved square ringed by a crumbling wall of rotten brick. Thankfully the boundaries were not connected to the castle's sturdy stone curtain walls and therefore they had been left to crumble without concern. Ruined stables had been rebuilt in order to house the Hellsteeds that Neferata's handmaidens had ridden on their way to the Sylvania. The undead constructs did not need food or shelter but appearances were everything and Neferata expected her servants to be serviced in the traditional manner of all aristocrats.

Drakenhof Guard manned the walls, their comparatively well maintained halberds and worn tabards marking the distinguished Grave Guard as the elite guardians of the Von Carstein's home. Lesser skeletons filled the courtyard, shuffling back and forth as they carried materials for the repairs back and forth. Others saw to the Hellsteeds whilst under the careful instruction of Neferata's handmaidens.

Dominating the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by skeletal attendants that handled the beast, was Nagadron, the Adavore, Neferata's personal Dread Abyssal. The massive mythical creature was dog-like in appearance but only barely. It's body was skeletal, composed of armoured plates that gave it its animal form. Beneath its carapace were countless ethereal skulls, straining beneath the armour plates. They were the remains of the souls the gluttonous divine beast had devoured over the millennia. Its armoured form was reinforced by plated barding that was as unnatural as the rest of its body. Finally the Dread Abyssal was crowned by a deep red mask that covered is head, leaving only its tooth lined maw free to move at will.

To Neferata's satisfaction the handlers had already strapped the throne she sat upon when she rode Nagadron on its back and had readied the reins and caparison for her as well.

Wordlessly she approached the monstrous beast, the handlers parting without conscious instruction. The Adavore lazily inclined its head in her direction, studying her from behind its mask. The creature was more intelligent than its brutish appearance would suggest and its nature as an opportunistic ambush predator meant that it had an instinct for assessing rivals, threats and prey. Neferata, however, was none of these, she was it's master and it respectfully kept its position as she clambered up its armoured side and onto the throne on is back.

Once she had settled down on the high-backed chair she scanned the courtyard. Her retinue were all bringing their Hellsteads to the centre of the courtyard. Some were already mounted whilst others preferred to lead their mounts into position before seating themselves on their backs.

Neferata straightened herself in her saddle and eyed her retinue, making sure they too were prepared to depart. None of them had packed any of the supplies a human traveller would have brought. Such things were unnecessary now, even the mortal retainers they used to keep close to feed off of were no loner needed, the power of Shyish flowed directly through them, rejuvenating their bodies.

"Fly," Neferata said in an imperious tone. The command was an unconscious action. The Dread Abyssal did not need to hear her voice to know what she desired but even after several millennia Neferata found some of the habits of mortal life had not escaped her.

At her command the Dread Abyssal crouched down, ethereal muscles coiling before it launched itself into the sky. The unnatural beast had no wings or other discernible methods of flight. Instead it ran upon the Winds of Magic as assuredly as any predator would on the ground. It's claws found purchase in the open air and with an otherworldly grace it pulled itself high into the sky.

The flap of rotten pinions informed Neferata that her handmaidens had also taken off. Gripping the reins whilst feeding directions into Nagadron's mind, the Vampire Queen guided the creature north. Her retinue adjusted their courses with her, acting almost like a flock of massive disgusting birds as they moved with one mind.

The entire flock of undead creatures aligned themselves to the north. The wave of power and the broiling clouds of pure darkness had both come from that direction, indicating where Nagash was arriving from.

Her course now set, Neferata once again reflected on her situation as Nagadron bound through the air. Nagash was back, he had recovered at least enough of his power to reinforce the flagging spell of eternal darkness and return it to its full strength. The sheer amount of Death Magic that saturated Sylvania would only serve to make Nagash even stronger, ensuring his place in the morbid kingdom once again. Neferata made sure none of her concern showed on her face as she considered her options. Once again there was no chance of escaping the Great Necromancer and no chance of profiting in the new world without bowing to his will. If she fled or abandoned him she would likely be hunted down and destroyed, too many Mortarchs had turned on Nagash and each of the traitors was now dead. She imagined that this time Nagash would not be so foolish or forgiving as to leave his servants to kill the traitors to his cause. This time any dissent would be punished by him personally.

As Neferata flew through the air, her arrayed handmaidens around her, she came to one clear realisation. With Nagash's return everything was about to, once again, become so much more difficult for her.

Isabella Von Carstein stumbled around in a confused fashion. For weeks now she had wandered back and forth over the land, lost and blind to the world around her.

The Von Carstein Ring had resurrected her from true death and purged the Daemon's taint from her body. However the experience was jarring and the denial of Chaos' power had been torture for her mind. She had woken shortly after the end of the brutal battle at Middenheim and had drunkenly made her way out of the ruined city, unnoticed by the exhausted mortal armies that remained. She had witnessed the dissolution of the Everchosen's legions as she joined them in flight.

In that time she had been unable to speak, unable to make a sound other than the ragged cries that occasionally escaped her throat. Her mind still felt the remaining stains of Bolorog's taint and it was a splinter in her mind, a corruption that not even the Von Carstein Ring's properties could completely remove. She could feel the splinter, a dagger of pain coursing through her brain that drove her on. She refused to cry out from the endless aching, grinding her teeth together even as her fangs began to slide out from their unnatural sheaths.

She couldn't remember the last time she had fed. The unholy power of Nurgle had sustained her and kept her strong before and she now felt the power of Nagash doing the same. However the Red Thirst still flowed through her and the quiet agony she subjected herself to only made it stronger.

"D'ya hear that," a voice cut through the forest, startling Isabella. She had been so preoccupied by the pain in her mind and the direction-less confusion that had engulfed her ever since her liberation that she had never truly paid attention to her surroundings.

"For fucks sake keep yer voice down," another voice followed after the first one. It was quieter than the first but to the vampire's ears there was barely any difference. Now that Isabella was paying attention the voices of whoever she had stumbled across were practically shouting at one another.

"What?" the first voice said, indignation clear in its tone, "I heard somethin in the trees. Don't tell me ya didn't notice?"

I did notice," the second voice replied. " I also remembered." he continued in a patronising tone, "that if ya hear a noise in the Drakwald it's usually somethin bad so keep yer fuckin voice down or we'll both be dead."

Isabella crouched down low, slowing slinking through the under-brush as she moved in the direction of the voices. In this day and age the chances were that whoever travelled the Drakwald was some kind of Chaos touched filth, the kind of monster who's blood would be too corrupted for her to feed on. However the voices she had heard spoke with the local accent, identifying them as men of the Empire. Unless they had consigned their souls to the Dark Gods recently they might also be survivors. Whoever they were they weren't that smart.

Lowering herself further she moved through the under-brush of the forest. She couldn't remember the last time she had to hunt in such an undignified fashion but she was desperate and it was all she could do to keep from immediately charging at the nearby humans and tearing them apart like one of the savage Varghulfs.

Though the foliage around her barely thinned at all Isabella realised she was nearing a path. Her senses, once clouded by the remnants of Bolorog's taint, were now sharp and aware of everything around her. The almost unidentifiable stench of the Drakwald was now mixed with the heady smell of the nearby humans. She could practically hear their heartbeats and the blood pumping through their veins and their clumsy footfalls were now loud thuds that she was embarrassed to have missed prior to this point.

Her eyes narrowed as she finally found the break in the trees. Like with most pathways and clearings in the Drakwald, the change from dense foliage to open space was abrupt and surprising, only those who had lived in the forest all of their lives would ever fail to be shocked by the sudden shift.

The road was little more than a dirt track, probably cut through the trees long ago and simply maintained by frequent traffic by the lower orders of the Empire. The travails that had struck the Old World meant that even this simple roadway was looking untended and run down. The fresh growth of the Drakwald was creeping in on the edges and great branches clawed down from the canopy, seeking to block the path from above. The ground had turned to mud long ago thanks to frequent rain, leaving a cloying mess for any traveller to get caught in, no carts or other vehicles would be taking this way for long time.

Finally she spotted the two men. They were definitely people of the Empire, whatever that meant now that the Empire was dead. Of course they rugged and worn, their clothes were rags, their hair and beards were unshaven and the only things they possessed that remained in relatively good condition were their weapons, meagre swords and spears.

Isabella's face lit up in anticipation even as she wrinkled her noise at their disgusting smell. Humans were normally unwashed and stinking but this pair were fouler than most.

Making no sound as she sneaked up on her prey, Isabella could feel her claws coming out of their sheaths. Her fangs did the same, transforming her into a horrific monster, a predator, a hunter of mortal men.

She leapt onto one of them men, moving faster than their eyes could see. Her fangs latched onto the side of the man's throat and dug into his flesh. The man screamed as he felt the unbearable pain lancing through his body. Isabella, meanwhile, felt a rush of ecstasy as the hot blood of her victim flowed into her mouth. She drained him quickly, greedily feeding off of him as he expired. The second man screamed in fear and ran, abandoning his companion. Seeing her prey fleeing before her, and with the Red Thirst still running strong through her body and mind she ran the helpless mortal down. Isabella grabbed the man's arm, crushing the bones in his wrist as her claws grasped at his flesh. Like her previous victim she dug her fangs into the man's neck and slaked her thirst on the blood the flowed out.

Isabella dropped the remains of the man as the violent bloodlust began to fade away. The Red Thirst calmed by her feeding, she could even feel the remnants of Bolorog's taint ebb from her mind. The fresh blood still flowing through her body, Isabella felt invigorated. She could finally notice the draw of the powers of Shyish. The Wind of Death was calling to her from it's epicentre, Sylvania, her family's former demesne.

Isabella picked herself up and angled herself in the direction of Sylvania. The magic in her body was calling to her like a beacon and she had no reason to deny it. Now strengthened and with a much clearer mind she strode forward with confidence and purpose. She once again left the road, returning to the thick tangling mass of the Drakwald which she picked her way through with ease and grace.

She was going to return to her home.