Kako

I understand and agree with what you say 100%. The Sacrosanct Chamber is indeed visually closer to priest-warriors. But the keywords always mess with my head 😅 And you are correct, sometimes we caught ourselves biased by our own vanilla definitions of MAGIC and PRAYERS, no matter its origin. I believe the Relictor and the Veritant were created while there wasn't a clear idea of these distinctions and roles that are now being defined as the Lore grows. Sacrosanct is here to stay and I'm enjoying every bit of the new stories, I'm sure that the original priests will eventually find their place in the lore and table. We must always remember that we talk about Chambers a lot, but we never talk about the Temples (Relictor, Valedictor, Judicator, Heraldor). I feel excited that there are many aspects of the SCE army that can still be explored.

>>>>> This story start righty after the Malign Portent story "To End the Everwinter" <<<<< “Bjorgulf was no more.” His words carried a heavy tone of grief, shared by everyone on the dimly lit hut. Háma sighted heavily. He is tired of this. For months he could barely rest, the non-stop dreams troubling his already troubled sleep. His back aches, more than it ached during his long life. He is used to pain since he was born, but the piercing stabs on his malformed bones are reaching new levels… He must endure… For he is The Hands… The assembled council stays silent, as if waiting for his next words. “I told him not to go. It was too early. I told him that if he wants to go, he must stay true to the true enemy. He was too reckless…” “Who felled him, Wise One?” asked Hartha in his rumbling voice, already baring his gold plated teeth. The Frostlord was huge, a giant among giants, standing quickly as in defiance to an unseen foe. “The Carrion God?” “No Hartha. The Carrion God still lingers in his black fortress, doing his dark deeds. His foolishness felled him. He picked up a fight where he should have picked up allies.” “WHO… FELLED… HIM?” the tone now full of threat and spite. Everyone backed up, as they know that Hartha’s anger can be like an avalanche. Everyone but the hunchbacked ogor in the middle of the hall, still staring intently at the huge amber crystal glowing on a bone armature, ignoring the angered brute. “Calm down and sit, Frostlord. We don’t need a second Bjorgulf…” The voice was husked and dry, but carrying a commanding tone. The hulking ogor grumbled with himself, looked around for support, and founding none, sit again in a dark mood. “Something is amiss...” “What?” this time the question came from Hrothgard, the Hunting Hand. Covered in pelts, his Blood Vulture perched on his shoulder staring intently with beady eyes as the conversation unfolds. The First Hunter pointed at the crystal. “What are you seeing, Háma?” “The Everwinter. The storm is still raging. Bjorgulf’s Allfrostum doesn’t walk the paths of the living anymore, but yet his storm still lingers. They walk in the twilight, between life and death. That is an abomination.” Everyone looked around in disbelief. For the curse of the Everwinter always follow their kin, but abates when the cursed ones fall. “Badoun, cast your bones. We need to see to where this leads.” As if waking up from a dream, the huge Gargant sitting crouched on the corner of the hall grabbed a pouch from his belt. Covered in bones and fetishes, the giant shaman threw at the floor a handful of carved skulls from his oversized fist, looking intently at some unfathomable pattern they formed. “Hummmm… Ommmph… Hummmm… Me sees deff… Dat ya ‘now… but…” with a finger the size of an arm, he moved around some skulls “Foul magicks workin’… Ole Bjorg will ‘now… Even ded… Me sees him ‘ere… We need him ta speek… He found sumfing…” and absentmindedly the Gargant start carefully to collect the skulls back into his bag… Háma started walking on the hall, with his peculiar shambling gait, leaning on his staff, thinking. “To Shyish we shall go. Find Bjorgulf. Or what was left of him. Hrothgard, ready your skals. Small group, take some sledges with you, we need to move fast. You must find him. If there is one that can do it, it is you” “Aye, Wise One. I shall be the Hand that Hunts! Should I bring him… whole?” “Yes. And for that part Hartha will be going with you.” With a snap the Frostlord moved into action, with a speed that defies his bulk “My spear is yours, Wise One! We shall bring him!” “Bring him… Whole! Take Blackrock with you. Stay back until Hrothgard finds a lead. Then bring the husk that once was Bjorgulf here. I shall see what he has to tell me, and will give him a proper rest with the Winds.” “Svard, how much time we have until the Howling Gate opens again for the Realm of Death?” Adjusting his prized duardin-made googles over his nose, the old Hand of Winds searched into the satchel hung on his shoulder, bulging with books and scrolls, and grabbed a well-worn leather-bound tome on one big hand and started looking at it. “According to my calculations, if the Amber Moon is really at the peak, then the gate will open for Shyish by next night. Of course this may change depending on the tides of…” “Enough time” cut Háma, before the old and wizened ogor started once again one of his endless speeches over the winds of winter “Hasten the preparations, the Horandrár shall ride soon!” ******* Háma walked into the pens. Hartha is preparing his mount for the long and dangerous journey, the enormous black Stonehorn impatient to be released. “I remember when you brought Blackrock to the encampment… Only you to tame such a foul tempered beast…” said Háma in his usual rasping tone. “Yes. It was a little difficult to tame, but here it is…” replied Hartha, without turning, still concentrated in placing the many leather straps of his big saddle. “Little difficult? When it came crashing to get you he only stopped after you put your spear through one of his eyes! And even so you barely managed to mount him!” “Nonsense. Everything was under control… Besides, now I have only one eye too… Heh, don’t they say that the rider became like his ride?” “Yes. Only that you lost ours not to a spear, but to that Orruk you was choking.” “It was well worth it! If you could feel the sensation of that ****** kicking in your hands you would know what I am talking about…” “It surely do, as you kept choking him even when he was gouging your eye with his finger!” A sound like two big rocks scrapping together came from the big ogor. It was a long time since Háma heard Hartha laughing. “That ******!” “That ******!”, agreed the Wise One, laughing too. Háma came closer to put his hand on the beast long black fur. Stonehorns normally have white or pale grey coats, to better blend on their icy surroundings… Not that the creatures had many natural predators, but this one is pure, jet black. This is very rare. A king among his kin. A giant among giants. A survivor. Like Hartha. “Why all this talk about the past? If you came here to command me to be cautious on my mission, Wise One, there is no need. I will be. I will bring what was left of Bjorgulf back to you. Whole. No unitended fights…” “No Hartha. I am not here as the Torr Kønig, the Wise One, commanding his Frostlord. I am here as your brother. Asking. Please. Be careful, we need you.” Turning to stare back for the first time, his face becoming a little softer when he gazed at the ruined body of his twin “Aye, Little Brother. I know. I don’t want to end like Bjorgulf. We will prevail. The Winter will end. You will see.” “Yes… The Winter shall end…We shall see…” replied Háma, already lost in thought… _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Hunt, a story by AJ ( @Antonio Rodrigues )

I do understand the idea of this character doing a war cry/prayer, like the Paladin Prime before him, but I'm not sure if they are priest/clerics, at least not to me. The Relictor is still my favorite character (both in game or books) and I still have this weird feeling that the Sacrosanct Chamber are made of Wizards doing what was supposed to be in a Lord-Relictor's job description. When I first read about the unopened chambers I was sure the Sacrosanct was a priest Chamber. But when the Soul Wars lore came out it was confusing to read about wizards doing what I've always thought was a priest job. I mean, Relictors had always this closeness to necromancers, Nagash, Shyish and Death stuff in all previous books. Ionus Cryptborn and Boreas Undying are great examples of that. It is written in their Warscroll that "their weapons and armour are replete with icons of Death, for these fell guardians keep the warrior souls of the Stormcast Eternals from the gloom of the underworld". Also it is described that "it is the task of a Lord-Relictor to keep the souls of his chamber’s brethren firmly tethered to Sigmar and the Celestial Realm. With frequent binding rituals and lightning-wreathed blessings, Lord-Relictors ensure that should a Stormcast Eternal fall in battle, his spirit will heed only the call of Sigmar, ascending as a scintillating bolt back to the Heavens. The role of spirit-warden is but part of a Lord-Relictor’s duties." I'm not even including the Veritant, a priest who unbinds and which is now is really dead and gone more than ever. They should reinvent him with a new profile. The "White Reaper" is one of the most amazing characters with just a few lines of story during the Solstice. He reminds me of an Medieval Inquisitor and GW should totally go for it. I'm not looking for an explanation, it's just something I wonder every now and then. I just have doubts about what actually is a SCE wizard and a priest and I understand where are you coming from when I read your post. Maybe Relictors are there to point the souls to Azyr during battle and that's about it. All the rest is a Wizard's job and now that they are in the battlefield too it's confusing. To me. And I've always wondered why the Lord-Exorcist doesn't have the Priest keyword. He is the only one in Sacrosanct Chamber that could actually be a priest considering what he does. Anyway, Sacrosancts are awesome no matter what they are/do and this miniature is amazing. Also, I'm really hoping for the release of a Relictor Chamber/Temple. (Please Sigmar, hear my prayers!) 😉

Neave Blacktalon

Nice conversion! I'm going the in the same way, but trying to give an Astral Templar look.

I'm going full ASTRAL TEMPLARS. I've been painting with their colors since last year and I love their stories in the books. I think the stormhost released fits the way they are portrayed in the stories. Bear in mind I'm not a competitive player AT ALL so I'm going to put every crazy idea on the table, specially because there's a lot of monsters and monster/heroes running around here in my area.

Check the Guerrilla review video. They cover all stormhosts. Celestial Warbringers are the "wizard stormhost", Hammers have a very cool trait and my Templars continue to be the Monster and Hero hunters as before. Loving it so much. Can't remember the rest, I'll check it after work.

Definitely looking forward for the Astral Templars rules. I think we will sure have them as there are 2 big characters on the current and upcoming books (Hamilcar and Zephacleas).

_ Cleophus… His name sounded like thunder, but hushed and deep like a distant rumble of an incoming storm over the horizon. As his consciousness sought any kind of coherence, he remembered pain. Excruciating pain. Razor-edged metal coming down like a violent storm, each drop like a blade lacerating his flesh to the bones. And from each wound, rays of light found their way out, so many that even Gods would have to steer their eyes from. He remembered the light spreading out across realities in all directions, crossing dimensions and ethereal gateways, traveling far beyond reason and understanding. One could only imagine how vast eternity could be, but in an instant he felt every corner of this unfathomable place as he could touch them all with the tip of his fingers. He sensed only Aether around him. Nothing seemed to describe where he was, yet nothing described it so well. And for this was a place where time was no longer, he couldn't tell if it all happened in a split of a second or if it took eons to begin. This new place offered an endlessness of possibilities. He only had to choose and fate would be manifested. But one stood out from all as inevitable. He remembered no resistance while being drawn from the stasis he was in. And like a river that becomes a waterfall, all energy spread out in this expanse slowly converged and fell through a dark chasm on reality. He could feel this energy force intertwining with his own and remembered experiencing lifetimes of different emotions, as if hundreds of thousands shared time and space with him. But as much diverse these feelings felt, they were taken over by the same dreadful and agonizing sensation as they were all drained into nothingness. _ Cleophus… This time he heard his name as a striking sound waved through silence, making every suspended particle oscillate. This inviting pulse echoed from the opposite side of oblivion, shaking the core of the expanse and everything in it. He hesitated for a new possibility presented itself, bringing with it a proposal of glorious life and honorable fate. Each pulse that followed reminded him of embedded atributes that once made him whole. Devotion. Duty. Sacrifice. He ceased moving. All of a sudden, a booming pulse, stronger than any other before, dissipated all doubt that remained as he finally joined the others following the rhythm of this holy parade. As they marched across the Aether, he felt a sudden pull preventing him to continue. The river must run its course. Whatever was the force that came from that void, it was resolute to not let anyone escape. He could sense others trying to resist, but many surrendered and were shredded into pieces. As he felt his essence beginning to shatter, he remembered words, sacred words. He dared to whisper one and immediately the brightest light flashed all around him. The pull ceased for a brief moment while the divine rhythm intensified as he recited word after word, thunder and lightning keeping them all safe as they moved again towards salvation. Eternity gave way to urgency as the chasm turned into a colossal vortex giving a new boost to that ominous force, dragging inside not only the vital energy but the expanse itself. All reality was now crumbling and large pieces of this dreamlike landscape were sucked into oblivion. The pulse then hastened as if it was possible to avert this catastrophe In the middle of this chaos he felt twisted, distorted. Nevertheless he kept chanting along with the divine drumming, trying to help the only thing he could recognize inside this madness. But then, darkness overwhelmed it all. His voice gave up as the last word came out as a gasp. Then his mind surrendered to unwilling thoughts - "Who am I to deny nature? Everything must pass. Life is brief and Death… Death is certain". But as his spirit was about to do the same, a final clang stroke him so hard that it became impossible for him not to yield to the will of the true God-King… _ SIGMAAAAAAAARRRRRR!!! FORGIVE MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! He woke up in a somber room. Four monolithic columns were spread out in front of a massive closed door. Their capitals adorned with dragons fighting monsters on landscapes of ages untold. Their dark blue marbles were covered by thin golden veins in a wavelike pattern that reflected Sigendil's light that was coming in from a partially opened window next to the bed. It had handles in form of hammers and frames embellished with celestial motifs. aHe felt the cold breeze coming from it as it touched his skin and noticed he was not wearing his armor nor his Mortis Helm. It was an awkward feeling not wearing it, for these many years his helm became part of him and what he represented. He then felt uncomfortable, like he didn't belong, and despite the luxury of the room and comfort of the bed, all he desired was to return to the mountains. A knock on the door and his name was called again. "Come in", said the priest. “Cleophus. Glad to see you again, my friend". He knew this voice. It was earnest and severe as one of the most disciplinarian Lord-Castellants should be in these dark days. But it was also serene in a way that could turn foes into friends and calm the most enraged of the hearts. "Titus. Where are we? What happened?", asked Cleophus. "We are back in Azyrheim", said Lord Titus, "And you were… reforged." The word struck Cleophus like the sharpest blade. He took a deep breath and reached his mind for memories, anything lost would be a sign that part of his soul was missing. "I can't remember what happened! Titus, I can't…" "Calm down. It'll come to you. Pray for Sigmar all-mighty, for he'll protect and preserve". The Castellant has seen it happen before with other brothers in arms. He came closer to Cleophus, bringing a small satchel and a wineskin filled with a dark brandy wine brought by the Duardins of Barak-Th'uum. "Drink it", said Titus while opening the window. The Castellant could see the Sigendil star perfectly aligned with the Golden Palace of Sigmaron that towered over the city, a breathtaking sight for all of those who were not part of a barbarian host of Astral Templars. "I miss the mountains too, my friend".. Cleophus took a sip of the brandy wine. It tasted good and strong. Then came a long and steady gulp. He let the drink flow and cover every inch of his tongue before swallowing, looking for answers on that bitter sweat drink. He raised his hand, placing it ponderously over his bald head, then proceeded to slowly move it from forehead to nape and back again, reciting in whispers each mystic word tattooed on it. With the tip of his fingers he could feel the bumps of an unrefined twin-tailed comet tattoo that went from his right temple to the back of his ear. He missed his Mortis helm more than ever. A spark of an image came to his mind. A strange symmetric mark carved in a dark purple skin chest. But it was not a scar like any other, it was evil in its form and concept, a distinct shape that he knew so well. Khorne. The image became clearer and he could now fell a pungent stench that made his arm hair raise. He could see a wide muscled torso, then long arms with protuberant bones and hands that carry long and dangerous claws that could tear a man apart. Cleophus' hand swept the newly formed sweat from his head making it drip on the floor. The sound of each drop was unusually loud. Like steps, heavy steps. Every second that passed made them louder. And faster. Khorne. This imaginary beast started to advance in such pace, impossible to any creature that size. And it was coming right at him. He froze, unable to move... "SIGMAAAAAAR!!!!” As the enemy advanced into the Stormcast positions, all Liberators locked shields. There were still no Judicators, as their paint hasn't dried yet, but even so Lord-Castellant Titus knew there was no point in moving forward. The land was barren and covered by gray sand, a vast desert with no vegetation in sight. They could only see a small tower placed right on the center of the battlefield. He prepared a defensive formation with fifteen Liberators divided into three units. Bound to his master, Nestor was by Lord Titus' side, checking for any sign of threat around them, physical or ethereal. The Stormcast Eternal officer knew there was not enough men. He needed more points to achieve the unachievable. Like a comet coming down from the heavens, help came from another Realm. Crossing through a mystical gate that linked both tables, a Lord-Celestant from the Hallowed Knights arrived swiftly riding his Dracoth to join the Astral Templars. "Lord Titus, I see you have quite an assignment here today", said the newly arrived champion. "Yes, indeed", replied the Astral Templar grateful to have a skilled ally on his side. “Lead us to victory, Lord-Celestant!" The Castellant learned the ways of proper manners when a fellow Stormcast outside the barbarian Astral Templars was present and knew all about hierarchy, even though his wild nature was bound to his soul like the trophy bones were chained to his belt. Furthermore, this would be his first game ever. “I'm sure you are capable of this task, Lord-Castellant", shouted the Hallowed Knight patting his dracoth's head. "But I'll assist you with anything you need. For now, let me cover the left flank for you!" He rode his dracoth and found a place amongst the Liberators near a big fissure on the ground, with a slab of rusty metal over it like a bridge. A dark crimson liquid flowed at the bottom, it resembled blood but more viscous like thick oil, with bubbles popping every now and then liberating the most nauseating odor. Meanwhile, Cleophus rose from the ground and found himself between two units of Liberators. He felt the weight of his helm and touched it with his fingers. He noticed he was wearing his old gauntlets. "How am I in full armour?”, he wondered. His gauntlets had the bones of an Necromancer attached to them, an old friend turned into foe during the time of malign prophecies. He looked around and wondered if this was a dream. Or perhaps a memory. Was he in Azyr or on a battlefield in a unknown Realm? "I can smell the stench of the enemy", he thought. “But memories do not smell. And if I'm here, how can I remember the room…" His thought was interrupted as the first clash came at the left flank, a unit of Bloodreavers came charging, eager to eat the flesh of those who stood in their way. The mounted Hallowed Knight motivated the Astral Templar infantry to hold the line as the enraged enemy threw their bodies recklessly against their shields. A mad laughter came from behind the throng and a warrior climbed on their backs and threw himself over the Stormcast line. Right before reaching the ground, the Bloodreaver was caught mid air by the jaws of the Dracoth and was savagely mauled to his death, torn apart limb by limb. The Lord-Celestant proceeded to attack, finding his way through the Liberators until reaching the enemy line. He took the life of each adversary on his path and raising his hammer he shouted "For Sigmar”, raising the morale as the Liberators around him cheered enthusiastically while holding the assault. At the right flank the enemy general advanced, followed by two strong units of Blood Warriors. Lord Titus knew this could be their weak point. 'Fall back 5 inches! Make an elbow with the other unit!". The Liberators knew what to do and followed his instructions precisely. He knew that if he kept his distance he could first finish the left threat and move all formation to the right before the Lord of Khorne and his men arrived. "All I needed was one unit of well trained archers" and wished The Hand had more time to spend on the Painting Hall. Every plan looks good on paper and the Liberators performed the formation retreat perfectly. But at the center, horror came as a Khorgorath was unleashed upon them, managing to find a breach between both shield walls. The creature came charging, unstoppable as a Thundertusk stampede. The center unit had just been held in place by part of the Bloodreavers horde, unable to close the gap. But before this beast could bring carnage into the Stormcast lines, Lord-Relictor Cleophus decided it was enough. Blocking the passage of the Khorgorath all by himself, Lord Cleophus held his reliquary staff as the creature charged at him. A crushing blow left the priest with only a wound left, but even so close to death he fought back and stood his ground. "You will not… take my head… foul beast…". Cleophus closed his eyes, the next Hero Phase couldn't come any faster. The enemy general reached the right flank quickly. The thirst for blood made the Khorne Hand speed him up, inconsequently charging into the Stormcast shield wall. But this haste move was not secured by his bodyguards, since both units failed miserably their charge rolls. The mighty Lord of Khorne was held in his place by Liberators, and as much damage he could make, he would suffer twice his share. "Lay low the tyraaaaaant!", shouted the Liberator-Prime to his men as they brought down their warhammers over the Champion of Chaos, making his bones break with a deafening sound. Lord Cleophus saw an opportunity that he could not miss. Knowing this sacrifice could take him out of the table he held his relic staff tightly and abjuring his healing prayer, the priest brought down a powerful Lightning Storm, taking the life out of Khorne's commander. "Sigmar…" Still holding his staff, the Lord-Relictor got on one knee feeling every muscle and bone ache. Sensing movement next to him, he remembered the Khorgorath. Dice were rolled… There was no strength in his arms to defend himself. All he could do was pray. In an instant all would be over. “Was this the way I...?” A powerful BOOM was heard. He was still alive! The Khorgorath fell after a massive blow of a bright silver Grandhammer. Liberator-Prime Alexus Maximus hit the beast right on the jaw, smashing it into pieces. The strike pushed the creature away from the priest and its gigantic body almost fell on top of other Liberators, who cheered their champion as they formed another shield wall closer to the right flank. Alexus reached for the priest's arm and helped him to get up. Cleophus noticed the Liberator-Prime was still carrying Azyrian prayer beads around his forearm. It was a gift he gave Alexus as he was promoted to Prime. Though his entire body ached, he smiled. He heard a scream coming from behind the shield wall, an enraged Blood Stoker was charging furiously towards the Alexus' unit after his beast was defeated. Vengeance foamed out of his mouth. With a single command, Alexus' Liberators responded by locking shields and preparing their warhammers. Meanwhile, the right flank was ready to engage one of the Blood Warriors units, but the other was out of reach, still advancing in the priest position. He raised himself and proceeded to chant a new prayer. The fight continued in the left flank. The Hallowed Knight and his beast were wrecking the enemy lines along with the Liberators. Many enemy units fled during battleshock, but the fight was far from over. It was time to consider moving the formation to help the other flank, but they were still far from reaching the center, let alone Lord Cleophus. Watchful as ever, Lord Titus pointed his Warding Lantern at his friend, who now faced a whole unit of Blood Warriors. Alone. The brutes engulfed him. Lord Cleophus was exhausted after the Lightning Prayer and still had only a wound left. But again, for the sake of victory and to protect his men, he decided to bring another Lightning Storm into Khorne's men. As they burned from inside, they made their last attack on him, a despicable skill only permitted by a mischievous Khorne warscroll. But the God-King protects those who serve him well and Cleophus miraculously managed to defend himself again and again. As the final blow hits the priest, a lucky save roll result of six healed one of his wound. “Bless you, Titus”, he murmured. But he knew in his heart it was still not enough. As the fight went on, Lord Titus shouted orders still pointing the lantern's celestial light to the Lord-Relictor. The enemy was enraged and insistently kept beating the priest. There was a tough decision to be made now. The Astral Templar was surrounded by Blood Warriors and if the Liberators came to help, the Khorne men would definitely unleash their final blows on him. But there was no other way and the Relictor knew it. “So be it”. As predicted, each felled enemy directed the final attacks at Lord Cleophus. The priest defended blow after blow and by Sigmar All-Mighty he rolled four sixes on the dice! None around the battlefield could believe this miracle! Blessed are the dice thrown by the hand of Sigmar, blessed is the one who fights unrestrained for His will! But to every miracle that blooms, a treacherous tragedy looms. Healed again, the Astral Templar priest kept his ground ferociously. His Relic Hammer circled around him, blazing lightnings from heavens and taking the lives of all who dared face him. But as much as he fought back, there were too many foes to defeat. A strike on his arm made his weapon fell. Another one on his back made his legs tremble and many of the sacred scrolls hanging from his armor were cut in half - ”Cleophus!” He kept swinging his reliquary, hitting the enemies and trying to keep them away from him. “Cleophus, get out of there!” Another blow on his shoulder and he could not hold his staff anymore. There were too many battle axes coming down on him like a furious storm, his sigmarite armor barely holding out the attacks. “Cleophus, get up!” All he could see were legs coming back and forth, unable to recognize friend or foe. This war dance made the dust rise from the ground making him cough. Another strike hit him hard on the neck, his Mortis Helm was thrown many feets away. A dark sweet liquid was expelled from his throat as he coughed, collapsing into the ground in midst of an explosion of light. _ “Cleophus”… He heard his name once again, closer and soft. _ “Cleophus, rise up.” The priest was in the room again. He got up and sat on the bed, wet from his own vomit. “Crazy fool, what did you give me to drink?”, he said cleaning his mouth with his forearm, still dizzy from whatever happened to him. The Castellant reached for the wineskin on the ground and drank some of it. “Good, isn't it?” The priest stared at him. “Your new body is not used to this strong wine... yet. And I needed you... unguarded." _ “What is this foul smell?” asked Cleophus. _ "It's a piece of the Khorgorath's tooth. I took it after the battle.” _ "So it really happened. I really died…" _ "Yes. And brought back. As Sigmar whilst it. I thought this souvenir would speed up your memory." replied the Castellant - "Memories do not smell… but a smell can bring back memories.", thought the priest. _ "You can add it to your trophies", said the Castellant. _ "Give it to Alexus", Cleophus replied. "He deserves it more than I do”. The Castellant put the tooth back on the satchel and took another sip of the brandy wine. "They are calling you… The Stalwart". Cleophus didn't know what to say. Part of him was relieved to be alive again, but the fact that he was reforged still affected him in a way he couldn't explain. He remembered stories about the Excelsis knights during the Solstice, he saw the change in the eyes and hearts of many warriors reforged. Again, he felt uneasy. "You are still Cleophus, my friend". The Castellant voice comforted him. Lord Titus was holding the Mortis Helm facing the priest, who reluctantly reached for it. Holding it with both hands, he got up and crossed the room until he reached the window. He looked at the golden city and wondered how many more times he would be back in that room before his emotions got lost forever after many reforgings. He faced his helm again and slowly put it on. He felt whole. After a brief moment Titus put a hand on his shoulder. "We are all waiting for you, brother. It is time to head back to the mountains”. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Hello. My name is Kako and if you reached this far, somehow my text was interesting enough. So… thank you! This is my first post at the Ghurian Chronicles, a tale-report of my Astral Templars. But wtf is a tale-report? Well, remember that miraculous save roll that kept your hero alive after your opponent's attack? Or that time you were losing but managed to turn the game to a win on the last tournament at your local store? And then you tried to tell your friends on your AoS whatsapp group and it looked… meh? So, I decided to turn my (sometimes) boring battle-reports into short stories!!! I think it would be a cool thing to make them more epic, specially if you read them with Jonathan Keeble's voice! LAY LOW THE TYRANTS!!! This short story is very special because, as it is mentioned, it was really the first time I played a game of Age of Sigmar! A actually played once before, a quick skirmish, but this was the first time I've actually played against an opponent with my army. Well... part of it. I was lacking my Judicators because I hadn't finish their bases… I know… I'm a slow painter. A veeeeery slow painter. To complete the 1K points I needed for the games my friend Paulo, who was playing in the other table with his Hallowed Knights, lent me his Lord-Celestant on Dracoth... Hey, relax. Everything was under control. He had a Stardrake on his table... Even though I was completely lost with the rules, this was one of my favorite games ever, mainly because of Lord Cleophus' “return to life” bit, due to the Castellant's Warding Lantern ability (Bless you, Titus!). This was really something unbelievable and the reason that inspired me to write this story. When I wrote its first draft and posted it on my instagram (@astraltemplars), at the end I said that Lord Cleophus needed a surname that fitted his actions during the game and one of my followers suggested some, including the epithet “the Stalwart”. I loved it so much and decided to make it canon in this final version of the story - thanks @winningbacon!!! Lord-Relictor Cleophus and the Yan Campanella's Korgorath I really hope that you enjoyed and I'm looking forward to your feedback! If you feel that something was off, know that English is not my first language so… be gentle! Many more tale-reports and short stories will come and I already have another one almost done, a tale about a Judicator-Prime facing… nah… better not to give any spoiler! See you next time! K