The Warhammer Community site has given us another lore update for the Dawnbringer Crusade!
The crack of Hanniver Toll’s gun sent reverberations through the alleyway. It was swiftly followed by the sticky splash of blood and grey matter hitting stone. The witch hunter blew smoke from the barrel and muttered a quick prayer to Sigmar before slipping it back into its holster.
Next to him, Callis let out a soft whistle.
‘Nice shot. How did you know that was the last of them?’
Toll knelt down by the fresh corpse crumpled at the alley’s end and tugged the fabric of his sleeve up. Below the hem, a cluster of three infected circles were stacked in a festering brand. Yellowed pus oozed from the uncovered skin, the smell of which caused even the stalwart Toll to recoil.
‘When he ran, I noticed it on his arm,’ Toll said, straightening up and dusting himself off. ‘I knew he wouldn’t leave the areas where the Shudderblight was rampant – not when plague worshippers are striking at the heart of Aqsha – so disguise was more likely. Then it was just a matter of watching the wrists of those matching his profile in the industrial zones.’
A clatter of applause rang out at the entrance of the alley, bringing the moment of camaraderie to a sudden halt. Toll stiffened as he turned, hand flying back to his gun. Next to him, Callis unsheathed his old army-issued blade.
An aelven woman clad in Ghyranite green robes stood at the end of the alleyway. Callis lowered his sword, but Toll remained ready to shoot. He didn’t recognise this newcomer. There was every possibility she could be part of the cult as well.
‘Congratulations on your successful hunt, Armand Callis, Hanniver Toll. Master Delorius wishes to speak with you again,’ the lady said. Toll relaxed his shoulders, but kept a hand on his gun. Perhaps they were to receive some sort of compensation for their mission. That said, where the Hidden Hand was concerned, it was equally likely he might want to silence them over the whole cult affair.
‘Couldn’t he have come here himself?’ muttered Callis as the two made their way towards her. ‘That old co—’
Toll stepped on his foot as they walked. His friend hissed a breath through his teeth.
‘Certainly, my lady. Just let us clean up here and we’ll be right with you.’
Zane Delorius did not meet the pair in the luxurious chambers that were his by right as Hammerhal Aqsha’s so-called Hidden Hand. If the rumours were true, those were occupied only by silence. Instead, their aelven guide led them deeper into the capillaries of the Black Dust Alleys, past bulging, smoke-belching factories and through squat districts full of workers’ homes. They were eventually taken down a set of stairs tucked below a smoke-blasted domicile’s salt cellar.
A candlelit chamber opened out before them, surprisingly large and clearly retrofitted for the Hidden Hand’s needs. A pair of black-clad guards were stationed behind the door, causing Toll’s fingers to itch for his sword. A mahogany desk spread with moth-bitten maps sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by a cluster of chairs.
Delorius himself cut a sharp figure seated upon one as he pored over the maps. Toll could see the man’s eyes skimming quickly across the parchment from behind his mask. Next to him sat a figure Toll didn’t recognise, though they looked out of place – a cloud of untameable curls partially hid the face below, and the Aqshian Collegiate robes they wore were hidden under a layer of volcanic ash. How old they were, or whether they were man or woman, was completely lost under their frazzled appearance.
‘So, the Shudderblight Cult has been decimated thanks to your hard work,’ Delorius began. ‘Hammerhal Aqsha owes the two of you a great debt. Striking out against this illness is vital to cauterise public unease.’
‘Didn’t you used to have a different assistant?’ Callis asked, gesturing at their guide.
‘Most regretfully, he began exhibiting signs of the Shudderblight,’ Delorius said. Although his face was obscured, his voice remained constantly cheerful. ‘Had to be put to the flame. So I heard.’
‘And you were alright with that?’ Callis pressed. Toll put a warning hand on his friend’s arm, but he continued. ‘Do you really condone the Archmage Collegium’s order to burn anyone on even the slightest suspicion? People are torching their neighbours in the streets!’
‘Questioning Conclave decisions in front of the Hidden Hand is possibly not your wisest move, Armand Callis.’
Delorius’s voice was even, but Toll knew a threat when he heard one. He eyed the exit, wondering if there was another way he could get his friend out if—
‘But you’re right. Even I cannot go against a majority vote. However, we may have more pressing problems,’ Delorius continued, beckoning forth the woman in green. ‘My young helper has been listening to the rumours of Hammerhal Ghyra as of late. Apparently entire settlements have been deserted. Wall daubings proclaim fealty to a ‘Summerking’. We still do not understand what is causing this mass exodus.’
‘And yet, I have heard whisperings that the Grand Conclave wishes to send forth a crusade,’ Toll narrowed his eyes. ‘We crushed as many cultists as we could, but the disease still lingers. We are so undermanned that duardin engineers fight the waves of grots pouring into our factories. Does the Conclave still intend to launch this ridiculous ‘Twin-Tailed Crusade’ just to prove that it can?’
Before Delorius could offer a well-tailored reply, the messy figure to his left rose to their feet.
‘This is what I was telling him! Zane, we cannot go ahead with this. If these reports are true, the geomantic nexuses are winking out one after the other. Keep stacking crises like this and the city will be in turmoil without a single soul to defend it, and—’
‘Calm yourself, young Val. You needn’t panic our guests when they’re here to be rewarded for a job well done.’
Callis shook his head. ‘Let them speak, by all means. Who are you, exactly?’
‘Val Petras, Collegiate arcanogeologist, at your service.’ Val rose and bobbed a little bow before crouching over their spread of maps. They swept one dirty finger in an arch over eastern Capillaria.
‘I was giving Zane the report on my findings in the east,’ they explained. ‘The geomantic ley lines that criss-cross our realm are in a state of disarray. According to my calxcite geometer, the points where they meet are flickering and dying – and this pattern of destruction is leading slowly towards Aqsha.’
‘There’s no guarantee this will even affect us,’ Delorius said.
‘We cannot allow an unknown threat capable of destroying leylines to reach the city. Our power, our industry, our defences – all are reliant on geomantic energy.’
Toll rubbed his temples. This was madness. The situation in Ghyra was stable, but the surrounding settlements were crumbling or mysteriously vanishing. Aqsha was under threat from Shudderblight, tunnel-dwelling grots, and even its own pyromaniacal people. If the young arcanogeologist was correct, they could also add an unknown strongpoint-smashing threat to that list. This was the worst possible time to send out a crusade.
‘This is the best possible time to send out a crusade,’ announced Delorius. ‘The people are in despair. They are convinced we are fighting a battle we cannot win. We must remind them of the infallible glory of Hammerhal. Besides,’ he added, a strain of mirth creeping into his level tone, ‘would you like to try saying no to Tahlia Vedra?’
Toll cast a heavy look at Callis, and then back at the map, upon which Val was still drawing a spider-web of lines. Although the job was done, one thing was becoming increasingly clear: they wouldn’t be going home anytime soon.
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