The Race through the Silver Tower: The Trinity and the Traitor.
What? Wargaming Wednesday back so soon!? The weeks are flying by and the year is certainly gathering pace just like our brand new narrative campaign!
Last week we introduced you to the glorious Company of Sigmar, our 'Good' Team that are about to begin their perilous journey into the Silver Tower.
They're all ready to set out on their first quest, swords, pistols and halberds at the ready!
But they aren't the only ones braving the Gaunt Summoner's hellish trials! Desperately trying to beat them to the fiendish sorcerer is The Trinity and the Traitor our 'Evil' team of loyal Chaos worshipers!
But who are the Trinity? and who is the Traitor? To introduce you to our Chaos team we have for your reading pleasure the first part of their story!
We join Malphikk. A powerful Chaos Sorcerer who is on a dangerous pilgrimage, scaling an unforgiving mountain in search of answers from his favoured deity Tzeentch. But relations between Master and Mortal have soured and Malphikk may not be a follower of Tzeentch for much longer...
The Trinity and the Traitor
Prologue.
One hundred years. That was the bargain. One hundred years of service.
This thought bore deep into Malphikk’s mind as he continued his bitter pilgrimage. Through clenched teeth he smashed the foot of his staff into the rocky earth beneath his feet and once more hauled himself up this torrid mountain.
One hundred years.
The thought once more slashed through his consciousness like a great fork of lightening cutting through a darkened sky and like some corrupted electricity it leapt about his restless mind, igniting and sparking bitter fury in every synapse it touched. With a vicious growl he thrust the bladed base of his staff back into the ground beneath his feet with such ferocity that he split the solid rock he walked on. Great cracks ran out from around him as if the earth were made of glass and not granite, the delicate fractures in the rock stretching out and interweaving like the web of some great arachnid. The enraged sorcerer again pulled himself further up the mountain his hatred fuelling his grim determination to complete his seemingly endless endeavour.
Time had long since ceased for Malphikk. The moment he began this tortuous ascent was already beginning to fade from his memory; like the remnants of some fetid dream that escapes the dreamer it has plagued as the night gives way to dawn. The minutes had given way to hours, and as those hours accumulated into days, Malphikk’s grip on the sands of time had slipped through his fingers. Even the cold light of the winter sun had long since disappeared behind thick grey clouds, that soon swallowed Malphikk’s solitary figure as he climbed ever higher. The fog now was so thick that barely no light could permeate the dense shrouding mist, and he now found himself in some hellish purgatory where it could be night or day and the time was not measured in seconds but in footsteps. But even then, as he had begun to count the rhythmic pounding of his feet, those numbers had also escaped him, dissipating from the fore of his mind like mist.
At this high altitude the fierce winds whipped and slashed about his ragged form like the tendrils of some great leviathan threatening to drag him back down the slope of this hellish mountain. But it would take more than a fierce gale to stop the infuriated sorcerer’s ascent, the Gods themselves would have to come down the mountain to meet him, and wrench his heart from his chest before he would yield. In fact, Malphikk thought with just the hint of a wry smile, wasn’t that why he was here in the first place?
Such a grisly fate Malphikk perhaps would have welcomed at this point. Every step now was pain. The blackened and dead earth at the foot of the great peak had soon given way to jagged rocks that had reduced the soles of his feet to bloodied tatters. Each step now sent a spike of torrid pain boring into his mind, and his exhaustion was gnawing at his insides and consuming his muscles like a great maggot. But Malphikk would not be deterred. One hundred years of devotion to his beloved deity. One hundred years he had bowed and scraped and danced like a puppet to win the favour of his God whom he worshipped and followed blindly. His faith was to be rewarded. That was the bargain; and the bargain had been broken. If the mighty Tzeentch would not reveal himself to Malphikk then he would find him himself.
The greatest shamans and sorcerers all know of this grave place. The land here where this huge foreboding peak stands is nothing more than a desolate and hellish mire that stretches for miles. It is a land of utter lifelessness and deafening silence, so abandoned and forgotten is this place that no man or beast that has ever lived has ever thought to gift it a name. For even words are wasted on such a cursed land. The mountain however, the deathly peak that stretches into the heavens here does have a name and those followers of Chaos who are dedicated or foolish enough, journey here to scale its jagged face. To do such a foolhardy task is often to consign oneself to death and madness, as only the truly worthy will return from its deathly summit. This lonely mountain is known as Mount Uhlimpus, a name so ancient that the language it was crafted in is forgotten and its meaning has been lost. But the legend that surrounds it is well known and established. Those who do return do so with the greatest power and knowledge as somewhere on that torrid slope, one can find and speak with the Gods, should they wish to speak to them.
But such things as the name of this mountain and even whether the legends that surround this rocky slope are true are trivial now to Malphikk. The Chaos Sorcerers’ shattered body was beginning to break, and even after his blessed and prolonged life, it was starting to succumb to the mortal concerns of exhaustion and starvation that would soon give way to the throes of death. But Malphikk would not yield and still, despite his bodies screams for respite, he slammed his staff back into the mountain and hauled himself up another step, and another and another, leaving a bloodied streak trailing behind him.
The agony that wracked his body was still not enough to slow his ceaseless advance. As the steps continued to roll by the darkness that was growing around the edges of his sight began to draw in, threatening to consume his vision in total blackness. But even if his sight failed him it would make no difference. He was blind up here in the clouds, wandering lost in the heavens, he didn’t need his sight to know where he was going. Up. Up into the clouds until he was stood before his master.
His feet however were threatening to fail him, as the blood was no longer trickling from between the cracked flesh on his feet. Now it was running out in gory rivulets from muscle and sinew that lay exposed to the elements, the flesh that has once covered them had been worn away or left in ribbons on the piercing rocks. He wanted to stop, he yearned to, but he would not, he continued his now stumbling and clumsy ascent still. His grip on his staff was becoming weaker and now he needed both arms to haul his failing body up the endless climb, his back bent over double like that of an ancient man. His breath rasped out his lungs in torrid wheezes, every now and then being accompanied by an audible hiss of pain. He couldn’t last much longer, he wouldn’t, in a matter of moments he would be a crumpled carcass already beginning his slow rot into nothingness. If he had any faith left in any God he would have whispered a prayer, but he decided to save his already failing breath. But as it turned out, this non-existent prayer was about to be answered.
At first the figure appeared only as an indiscernible black dot standing in the distance, shrouded in the grey mist. It was only when the dark spot began to take on the shape of a mysterious humanoid figure, that Malphikk finally stopped his ascent. For a moment he merely stood there, savouring the respite, and as his limbs lay still for the first time in what seemed like eons he felt the sickly wave of exhaustion threaten to overwhelm him. His knees buckled momentarily beneath him and just before his legs would have given way he managed to steel himself and stand as tall and proud as he could. The figure began to move elegantly through the mist and even as the thing loomed closer, still Malphikk could not discern a single detail about the stranger, their features remained in some impermeable blackness. Malphikk began to believe that he may have at last found what he came here for. But he had to be sure.
Malphikk whispered an incantation to the air that had suddenly turned to a dreadful chill; his words carried onward by a waft of frozen breath. The hellish icon atop his staff began to glow and steam in the icy air, its kindling light grew stronger until it shone brighter than a beacon. The red light it emitted permeated the air and filled the dense fog with a blood red hue, but still the figure remained in darkness, its features impossible to distinguish in its mysterious and shadowed veil. Malphikk began to advance holding his staff aloft before him, his bloodied beacon guiding his way, but even as he approached the stranger they appeared to retreat away; always remaining on the fringes of the red light.
They did not move however, instead the figure appeared to float away, always just out of reach like a carrot dangled before some gullible mule. Malphikk felt a hiss escape from his lips that cracked and bled in the frosty, fetid air. His patience already ground down to a nub he suddenly roared as his frustration spilled out from within his chest and manifested itself as a great dark bolt of energy that flew from his palm. The searing bolt soared through the thick, clawing air and as it reached the dark stranger it dissipated into nothing. Malphikk would not yield yet however, and summoning every strength he had left within him, he thrust his staff forward allowing a great gout of purple flame to spew forth in a great fireball. The ball of flame roared towards the figure and just as it was about to consume it with a heat that would have melted stone, it was extinguished with a sound as silent as breath. The figure stood perfectly still, and mockingly calm.
Malphikk strained his eyes, desperate to make out the form or shape of the stranger but he could not. As soon as his eyes fixed upon a feature the figure would blur around the edges, vanishing and melting into the mist. He desperately tried to discern something, anything about the figure before him but always at the moment he saw, or thought he saw, a limb, head or claw the outline would shift and fade as if passing in and out of reality. He could have been looking at man, beast or demon on this hellish mountain and Malphikk cursed his feeble mortal eyes that could not allude the strangers illusionary tricks.
As Malphikk continued to wrestle with his vision the figure waved and ambiguous limb, that could have been a hand, hoof or tentacle in a grand sweeping gesture. A great and sudden gout of wind lashed Malphikk across the chest, sending him sprawling to the rocky earth that was now dusted with light covering of snow. The Chaos Sorcerer landed in a crumpled heap, his staff wormed from his palm and the light that shone from it was snuffed out like a candle, plunging him back into almost total darkness. Malphikk scrambled across the freezing earth and wrenched his staff from the ground, he fumbled about his robes and scrambled back to his feet in utter panic, fearing the stranger would have vanished. But instead, the opposite was true. As Malphikk returned to his bloodied feet, the shadowed character materialized before his eyes, so close he would have felt the stranger’s breath on his face, if the mysterious figure did indeed breathe. Such was his shock that Malphikk felt his hand fly to the hilt of his sword, sitting silently in its scabbard; but the foolish idea that it would be any use was a one he batted away quickly. He was beginning to understand that no weapon in the world could harm this mysterious figure, as the longer he stared at the shape before him the more he realised that he was not dealing with any mere mortal.
Even at this impossibly close distance, still, Malphikk could not discern any detail in the strangers face and as he stared into the utter blackness that would have been the stranger’s eyes, still the shadowed silhouette shifted and phased before him, melting into the surroundings and appearing again around his periphery vision. The hellish creation would have driven Malphikk mad had he not surrendered his sanity over a century ago and instead of being reduced to a jabbering wreck, Malphikk found the courage to speak in the most commanding voice he could muster.
“Did he send you?” Malphikk commanded. The figure merely stood and Malphikk saw, or thought he saw, a questioning look pass across that shadowed face, before it once again phased, shifted and blurred.
“No one sent us,” the figure replied, its voice was hollow and toneless, like an echo drifting up from a deep and empty well. “You came looking for us, and here we are.” It was the use of the word ‘we’ that filled Malphikk with unease. He shifted on his aching limbs and his eyes darted around his surroundings, desperately trying to discern if they were alone.
“And who are we?” He asked.
“We are friends,” The figure cooed softly in its empty voice.
“Are you him?” He demanded.
“We are us,” It retorted.
“Where is he?” Malphikk spat as forcefully as he could.
“He isn’t here,” It whispered almost voicelessly, “But we are.”
Malphikk felt like reiterating his original question, but knew he would only be answered in more maddening riddles. He instead decided to explain himself, his impatience and frustration threatening to give way to desperation.
“We had a bargain,” He began grandly, “One hundred years service. One hundred years killing and mutilating in his name, and in return he would gift me his secrets, his knowledge. He promised to elevate me to the highest echelons of his Order.”
“And?” The figure questioned tonelessly.
“And I have served my years. I have marched under his banners, led his armies and perfected his lore; and I have been rewarded only with silence.”
“And?” The stranger taunted.
“I want what is owed to me. I want what was agreed over a hundred years ago. I want my bargain honoured!” Malphikk pleaded.
“A mortal? Making demands of the Gods? You think we care for your desires?” The stranger mocked. “Are you surprised that you stand here empty handed you fool?” It continued. “Do you believe that the Great Deceiver would do something as noble as to honour and arrangement with a mere mortal?” It let out an eerie laugh that carried no humour at all. “Our deceitful brother is not renowned for keeping his promises nor relinquishing his secrets. The knowledge he holds is worth a million mortals each serving a million years, not the pittance of a mere century of your feeble existence.”
“And yet that was the bargain. That was what was promised to me.” Malphikk reiterated.
“Our fateful brother has not heeded your cries.” The stranger began, “Nor has he even troubled himself to send even a single servant of his to meet you here on this mountain. It appears your service was of little consequence and of little use to him.” The figure allowed Malphikk to see a gruesome grin spread mockingly across his dark face, before it vanished back into its ambiguous features. “Instead you have us. Our deceitful brother may feel he has no use for you, but we feel differently. Each one of us have a score to settle with our dear Brother. And you can help us,”
“How?” Malphikk replied in a hushed tone, the dread realisation was dawning on him now. He had scaled this peak to confront one God, and instead, he had found three. There was no doubt in his mind that the figure before him spoke for the other Dark Gods, Khorne, Slaanesh and Nurgle had each manifested before him in an unholy union to put forth their dark agenda.
“Tzeentch will not give you his secrets Malphikk,” The figure spoke solemnly, “and if he will not give you what he promised you. Then you must take it.” Another hollow laugh slipped from the stranger’s featureless face. “Are you worthy enough to betray the master you have served for so long?”
“He is my master no longer,” Malphikk required quietly but sternly. The figure made no effort to hide its pleasure at this.
“Excellent! Malphikk! The traitor of Tzeentch!” It exclaimed and bellowed a horrid peel of emotionless laughter. “Go to the Silver Tower,” It continued, and Malphikk’s understanding and quiet fear was instant. “Find Tzeentch’s favoured son, and force him to relinquish his master’s secrets. Slay the fell sorcerer that dwells there and strike a terrible blow to our hated brother’s heart and prove your worth, not to him, but to us. We will strike no bargains, and make no promises. The power the Gaunt Summoner will bestow to you shall be reward enough.” Malphikk felt an ambitious smile touch his lips and yet even his unrelenting pride would not stop him from adding.
“I cannot go alone,” The stranger gave a contemplative pause.
“Who said you would have to?” It soothed, “You are not the only one with scores to settle Malphikk the Traitor. When you slay that fell wizard, we want Tzeentch to see each one of our followers standing alongside you, standing against him. We will gift you each one of our greatest champions Malphikk. Use them wisely.” With that figure began to drift away, as if being carried away on some unfelt breeze. Before it disappeared Malphikk felt compelled to shout after it.
“Why?” Malphikk bellowed into the frosty air, “Why would you help me?” The figure paused and answered proudly in its hollow and toneless way.
“Because of all of our followers, traitors and mutineers are our favoured sons. And you Malphikk may be the greatest betrayer of them all,”
