My Knight of Shrouds

[Wolfman]

Onderrion Dawnseeker, Knight of the Citadel, Master of the Order of Onyx Templars and General of the armies of Ipilas drove his sword into the face of yet another walking corpse. It collapsed at his feet as the magic animating it dissipated. He was amazed that another did not immediately replace it. Taking advantage of the reprieve, he surveyed the battle. His bodyguard lay dead at his feet, almost indistinguishable from the other bodies there. His armies were hard pressed, the horde of the dead seemed numberless. Even with the assistance of the mighty Stormcast from the Host of the Hammer it looked as though the day may be lost. The Freeguild general tried to remember why they had left the security of the city walls to take the fight to the dead instead of holding fast within Ipilas. The city was well prepared for a long siege and had already endured for 3 months. Aid had been requested from Vona and Ivrine, sister cities which made up the Grand Triumvirate of Chamon. Almost immediately, his head filled with an unbearable noise, like the screeching wail of the banshees in the dead host and he remembered why he was here. Wailings and whisperings had afflicted him the entire time the dead sat outside the city. His desire to be rid of them had pushed him into making the rash decision to attack. His moment of clarity was brief and Onderrion fell to his knees, hands on his ears as he tried to block out the pain. In his distracted state he did not register the approach of the ghostly horsemen. They flew up the hill, scythes ready to reap his soul.

Azzerius, Knight-Questor of the Host of the Hammer smashed his shield into a group of skeletons, which disintegrated from the impact. He ran towards the hill where he had last seen Onderrion fighting a group of deadwalkers. The general had disappeared from his viewpoint and Azzerius was determined to make sure that the man made it through this battle, if only to see him hang for leading the army of Ipilas into such a hopeless position. Sigmar himself had charged Azzerius with a quest to retrieve an ancient artifact from the bowels of the city but the enormous army of the dead surrounding the walls was making it difficult to begin his task. His small force of Stormcast had arrived at the city hours ago to find a great battle underway and immediately launched themselves into the fray. From the snippets of information he was able to gather from the mortal soldiers the general Onderrion had ordered all forces to attack the army of the dead head on, in a desperate attempt to drive them from the city. The Knight-Questor knew that such an attempt was doomed. He continued on his path regardless, striking down the forces of death with each swing of his sword, glaring through his helm at the hill where the general had been.

 

The pain in his head subsided and Onderrion got to his feet. Groggily he tried to grasp his surroundings. He cried out as he heard the wailing again but slowly realized it was different as his head did not feel like it was trying to turn itself inside out. He turned to the source of the sound, shocked to see a group of hexwraiths hurtling towards him. He realized that he had dropped his sword and scrabbled in the dirt to find it before it was too late, knowing the whole time that it already was. Suddenly the air filled with a mighty roar and a flash of gold blinded his eyes. A few brief chaotic moments dulled his senses and then he felt himself pulled to his feet by a powerful grasp. He opened his eyes to see one of Sigmar’s chosen before him. All of his life Onderrion had idolized the soldiers of Sigmar. He dreamed of earning a place among the Stormcast. His every wish was to have his soul taken and reforged by the god-king into the mightiest of warriors and take his place in the realm of the Heavens. And while he had fought alongside them in the past he never had the chance to meet one up close before. He was so taken aback he barely registered that the demigod was speaking to him.

 

“Well? Answer me man!” Azzerius demanded. The Knight-Questor stood above the General of Ipilas, helm in hand, barely holding his wrath in check. His war-sword was thrust into the ground beside him as he waited impatiently for an answer to his questions. When no answer was forthcoming, he spoke again.

“We need to get back inside! We will not survive this, their numbers are too great. And each man you lose only serves to increase their host. What could have possessed you to take the fight out here?”

He paused briefly, not giving the man time to respond. “Never mind that now, order the retreat General. I will deal with you once we are safely inside the city.”

The Stormcast turned to look out at the state of the battle, determining the best way to withdraw and save as much of the army as they could.

 

LIES! DECEPTION!

The voice in his head whispered sharply to him as the golden giant berated him. After months of incessant prodding and poking, of his mind being under siege as much as the city, of missing the silence of being alone, Onderrion’s sanity finally gave way. Finally he recognized the voice. It was the god-king himself! Sigmar had chosen him and was preparing him for the reforging process. This creature before him was obviously a child of the dark gods, some foul daemon sent to distract him and lure him away from his destiny! He would not allow himself to be tricked. He bent slowly and retrieved his sword. As he stood up, he stepped forward onto a rock, bringing him eye level with the golden daemon. He knew what needed to be done and accepted his transformation willingly. He struck like the lightning that would soon bear him into battle.

 

Azzerius turned back to the mortal before him. “I see a way to…”

His words were cut off, quite literally, as two feet of cold steel erupted from the back of his head. His helm slipped from his hands and fell to the ground. The sky above rumbled and divine lightning shot down to return the soul of the fallen Knight-Questor to Azyr. Caught in the godly blast, Onderrion Dawnseeker’s physical body was vaporized.

 

WELCOME MY SON.

He heard the voice that had tormented him for so long. No, he realized. Not tormented. Prepared. The lightning struck and he was changed. He felt the weakness of mortality leave him as the reforging stripped it away. A new power filled him and he rejoiced in the god-king’s blessing. No longer was he Onderrion. Now he was Onderyx, bringer of the Storm. A sense of purpose and clarity filled his mind like never before. He knew his quest. Sigmar had revealed it to him now. He retrieved the helm and war-sword that the lightning had brought him and, placing the helm upon his head, he gazed out over the battle still raging around him. He saw the truth of it now. An immense force of Stormcast brothers fought against the servants of the dark gods. Victory was theirs! As he watched, a small group of golden daemons were overwhelmed by his fellow immortals and the rest of the chaotic army soon fell to their might. He heard the voice of the god-king in his mind once more.

TAKE THE CITY! BRING ME THE GRAVESTONE SPHINX!

 

I present my converted Knight of Shrouds, a fallen Freeguild general who, in his madness, believes himself to be a Knight-Questor. Simple enough conversion. Hope you all like it.