The Chronicles of Lyllien Raventongue

Lyllien was 10 years old when her father brought the forbidden text home.             

“Under NO circumstances are either of you to come into my study,” was the first thing out of his lips to her and her mother as he walked in the door, a slimey, skin bound book under his arm. Lyllien went to run to him for a hug, but the look in his eyes stopped her dead in her tracks. With that, her father marched into his study and slammed the door behind him.       

      As a high ranking witch hunter general, the man often brought home knick knacks and other oddities with him for experimental and research purposes so the practice wasn’t out of the ordinary. Still, Lyllien felt shunned by her father constantly. Her home life was strained as her mother was not much better; both ignored her, even if it was opposite reasons.               

She started to go towards the study, but her mother grabbed her by the collar and pulled her back.               

“You heard him! Don’t you dare” She hissed in the girl’s ear.               

“But… I just want to see father.”             

“You heard what he said,” her mother said. Lyllien drooped in disappointment. For the last couple weeks her father was engaged in research, not coming out of his study for anything other than basic needs. The glimpse of the book she had gotten assured her that he would probably be away for even more time. It seemed to ooze… something. Something even she could tell would be extremely important.             

Under her mother’s watchful eye, Lyllien slinked off to her room and closed the door. There was no point even in trying when they got like that. If anything, Lyllien was even more curious about the book just based on her parents’ reactions. Of course they had been protective of his other artifacts he required but this… There was more urgency and fear in her father’s voice than she had ever heard. Instead of being afraid, she found herself intrigued. The way her parents had been treating her like a little stupid girl as of late irritated her, as if she couldn’t put anything together. It was obvious something was happening even if they didn’t tell her. Her father was working over time, there were strange deaths turning up… Not that Lyllien cared. If anything it made her more skeptical. Her father assured her that Sigmar was looking out for them, but with the nature of the attacks that had been happening; she highly doubted anyone was watching over them.             

Sighing in frustration, Lyllien sat on her window seat staring at the muck of Altdorf below. It was the shining gem of the Empire they said, yet the horrors and the dirtiness of the streets spoke against that. She highly doubted anyone who said that had actually been to Altdorf. Maybe, she mused, it was the shining gem but the Empire was not as good as they made it out to be.               

A sharp tap shocked her out of her thoughts and she noticed a large raven perched on her window sill. It seemed to stare right at her; its eyes piercing into the depths of her soul.

Part 2             

             

“Oh… Hello.” Lyllien greeted the raven with a small wave. It fluttered back and tilted its head intelligently. It seemed to greet her in return and she couldn’t help but smile.               

“How are you?” She placed her hand on the window and the raven tapped the glass gently where each of her fingers were, then it looked up into her eyes.             

“May I come in?”             

Lyllien tilted her head confused. She swore the raven had talked to her, but it yet seemed to come from within her own mind.               

“Did you just…?” the girl trailed off and the raven cawed in agreeance.             

“Yes. Now please let me in.”             

After a slight pause, the girl opened the window and let the bird in. Neatly it hopped in and rested on her knee, fluttering its wings and softly cawing almost tenderly. At first she hesitated, but the raven sat patiently giving off almost what felt like a calming aura. In her head she swore she heard soft voices whispering to her, each voice a distinct sound but so insubstantial she couldn’t pin down what they were saying.           

“What’s your name?” She asked it. The raven tilted its head.     

“I am called many things. You, my dear, may call me ‘friend’.” Every time the raven ‘talked’ the voices in her head stopped and came together as one to form the words. The words were highlighted in various sensations; feelings of trust, wellbeing and a hint of sorrow floated around, dancing delicately about her brain. She had never felt such sensations before and it both delighted and confused her. It was making it hard to focus, but at the same time she didn’t mind.     

“I’m Lyllien,” she said.     

“I know,” whispered the raven.     

“Why are you here?” Lyllien asked in awe of the presence of the bird resting gently on her leg. The voices in her head murmured comfortingly and she felt a slight headache coming on as she tried to pick out words, yet despite this, she welcomed the opportunity to brush with such a creature. Even in prayers Sigmar himself had not replied and even if he did, it was certainly not like that.     

“To free you.” At this statement the voices rose up as if in song in a hymn that she had never heard the likes of before. The beauty of it brought tears to her eyes and she wept uncontrollably thinking nothing except of the creature. Surely this was god; not the unfeeling stones of the temple of Sigmar or the dead churches that speckled the Empire. This was living, breathing, shifting, changing. This was life. There was no other answer.     

Through the girl’s tears she swore the raven shifted colours; first to blue, then red, then orange. Such vibrant colours. Lyllien felt her breath catch in her throat and she wiped her eyes trying to see through her tears. Still, the raven changed; it wasn’t a trick of the light. A cry of wonder escaped her lips, and she stopped trying to comprehend.     

“You are sad, alone, lost. Stuck forever as a little girl. Stuck as something small when you could be so much more, Lyllien. So very much more.”     

The girl softly sobbed both in happiness and despair. “But… My parents…” Surely her father would not tolerate this experience. He was trying to strike down such things. Such experiences. Her mind slowly shifted and gave in to anger and frustration; the voices cried out in indignation at such ideas. Not that they would care, she reasoned. They didn’t care; they just kept her in the dark from all the things she already knew. They kept her powerless and fragile.     

Suddenly there was a sharp knock on her bedroom door. Lyllien jumped, startling the raven perched on her knee. Instead of taking off, it fluttered over to her bedpost and looked at her patiently. Another knock sounded on the door.     

“Just a minute!” The girl quickly wiped her face clean and got up to answer the door, the voices in her mind softly whispering ‘hush… hush…’     

Upon opening the door she saw her mother standing in the doorway, impatient as ever.     

“Lyllien it’s time for dinner,” she stated.     

The tone of the woman’s voice stirred up thoughts that even Lyllien was surprised she was thinking. The raven clearly did not like her.     

“I’m coming,” Lyllien replied and then closed the door on her mother. A small exclamation of surprise was heard from the other side but Lyllien ignored it, her eyes falling back on the raven that was still shifting from colour to colour magnificently.     

“I’ll be here, my Lyllien.”     

“Please don’t go,” she pleaded. The bird tilted its head and the voices slowly shifted back to pleasant feelings of comfort and support.     

“I will not. Never.”     

Falling down on her face, she bowed down with her nose touching the floor. Lyllien heard a flutter of feathers and snuck a peak up to see the raven land before her. As he touched the ground he was a raven no longer. In his place was a man with resplendent robes made of feathers gazing down at her, his face obscured by a hood. Carefully she crawled towards him and kissed the hem of his robes with the voices in her head violently singing hymns, each voice singing a different one. As she did, the image of her father holding the text flashed in her mind and she knew she must have it.

Part 3     

     

The dinner table was silent; only Lyllien and her mother occupied it.     

“Where is father?” Lyllien asked innocently as her mind flooded with images of the book. The various voices in her head (which she now counted as three) desperately cried urgency and the girl felt her heart speed increase. The text… the text… She had never wanted anything so badly, but wasn’t sure why. They told her she did, and that was good enough, which was a bit out of character of her. Lyllien had always been so independent and had always been quite a bright girl, but felt stifled by her peers and her parents. Her father always cried ‘heresy’ every time she asked questions of Sigmar but never did it occur to here there might be something else no matter how much she wished it. This was an out. The voices told her that it would make her better than the naysayers. The voices assured her that she would be recognized.     

“He had to step out for a while.” Her mother looked concerned, but it didn’t faze Lyllien. Perfect! Cried one voice. Opportunity! Cried another. Lyllien had to bow her face over her plate to hide the smile.     

“Oh, I was hoping to see him,” the girl said softly. Shaking her head, her mother sighed.     

“You know he’s involved in his work right now.”     

“I miss him,” Lyllien lied.     

“Me too.”     

The rest of the dinner was silent, save for the trio of voices in Lyllien’s head. As they talked, she began to pick out specific voices and gave each of them a name. Turik was the reassuring one, constantly comforting Lyllien; Syd was the angry one, reminding Lyllien of everything people had done to her. And Xen. He was the off kilter one, constantly bouncing back and forth between Xen, Turik and Lyllien, pointing out the obvious and the not so obvious. While Syd craved revenge, Xen was creative in thinking up solutions for him. While Turik was comforting, Xen found images and items to assist in Turik’s cause. Each of them loved her and in turn she loved them.     

The raven was a fourth voice, drawing Xen, Turik and Syd together as one, though that voice faded in and out.     

“We’re a present,” Turik told her.     

“We want the best for you,” Syd assured her.     

“We love you!” Xen exclaimed.     

“To fully free you we need the book,” the raven said, though she could not see him. The voices answered excitedly agreeing with the raven.     

“The book! The book! The book!” they chanted. “The book!”     

“Yes,” Lyllien breathed.     

“What?” Her mother asked. Lyllien glanced up over her half full plate.     

“I asked if I may be excused,” she said quickly.     

“Good one,” Turik said.     

“She hates you,” Syd murmured darkly.     

“I liked the potatoes, they were tasty,” commented Xen.     

Her mother looked at her suspiciously, but Lyllien tilted her head slightly pouting.

The woman finally wore down with a bit of a smile. “Alright go ahead.”     

“Thank you!” Lyllien pushed herself away from the table and headed into the main room off of the dining room. A quick glance her mother’s way confirmed that she was looking the other way, and Lyllien took the opportunity to head off in the direction of her father’s study. A swift beat of wings was heard and Lyllien looked over to see the raven soaring stealthily towards her, landing on her shoulder.     

“What if it’s not in there?” Lyllien asked.     

“He doesn’t trust you,” reminded Syd.     

“He never did,” Xen replied.     

“But it doesn’t matter,” the raven said. “You’re far cleverer than he is.”     

“It’s true.” Turik agreed.     

“You’re special,” Xen giggled.     

The girl tried the door handle to find it was locked and no matter how hard she tried it, the door would not open. She was about ready to give up, when all the voices rose up in unison. “NO!”     

“You’re a beautiful little girl!” Turik told her.     

“Don’t give up or they win,” warned Syd.     

“The door is made of wood. Fascinating!” mused Xen.     

“Do not fear, dear one. Just do as I say.” The raven hopped close to her ear and she felt its beak clack as soft words in a strange language were whispered into her ear. In response she felt the voices in her head murmur amongst themselves excitedly. Lyllien’s eyes rolled back in her head as she took the instructions in. A strange power emanating from the raven extended tendrils to her and her skin responded to it, drinking it in thirstily. Reluctantly she expelled it by performing the quick motions and words she was told and the door creaked open.     

The voices congratulated her and cheered her on as she tiptoed into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She felt a slight remorse as she released the power and almost wept aloud, but the raven brushed his wing on her face assumingly.     

“You will have more,” the raven explained. “Once you read the book.”     

“I don’t understand,” Lyllien replied. “What is this? Why is father hiding it if it feels this good?”     

“He’s stupid!” Xen laughed.     

“He doesn’t want you to live up to your potential. He is afraid of you. He hates you,” Syd spat.     

“Do you trust me?” the raven asked as he took flight from her shoulder and settled down where the book sat on his desk.     

“I love you,” Lyllien replied desperately.     

“Would you do anything for me?”     

“I will! Anything, you ask of me! I am yours.” Her eyes welled up with desperate tears again and the raven hopped off the book.     

“Then read, my child, and you will be filled with everything you want.”     

Without hesitating she stumbled towards the book, ignoring everything else. Frantically she climbed onto the chair and put her hands on its cover, unable to breathe. This was it. It was exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed. Exactly what she craved.     

The cover was leathery in some type of skin, still sticky with what appeared to be blood, although the pages betrayed it to be much, much older than she could ever imagine. Despite it’s appearance, she wasn’t deterred and accepted it.     

“It’s very lovely,” Xen said. “Doesn’t it feel lovely?”     

“You wish that it was someone you know, don’t you?” Syd snickered.     

“It’s alright to admit it,” Turik laughed.     

Reverently, she opened the book and began to read. The pages were all in languages she couldn’t understand, but still the knowledge flooded her mind, invading every nook and cranny until she understood it and it understood her. Such thoughts started popping up in her mind as she read the writing and took in the teachings. Her friends only stoked it, massaging her hate and whispering secrets about the world. They were her friends. Not the humans, not the Empire, not Sigmar. Only they cared for her; wanted the best for her. And she wanted them.     

It was then her father opened the door.

Part 4

“Lyllien Kirsten Weiss!” her father growled. “Get away from there right now.”

   

So absorbed into the text she slightly jumped as she heard the witch hunter call her name. Slowly she turned, the raven perched defensively on her shoulder.

   

“Frederick…” The raven hissed. The witch hunter’s eyes went wide and he adopted a defensive position. Lyllien could sense the hatred rolling off of her Lord and she grabbed the book, clutching it tight to her chest. There was no way he was going to take it from her now. Not this. 

   

“He wants to take it from you,” Syd warned. 

   

“He’s afraid of what you’re capable of. Your power scares him!” Turik reminded her.

   

“His hat looks stupid,” Xen giggled.

   

“No!” Lyllien screamed. “Go away! Leave us alone!”

   

Her father drew his sword out of his sheath, a look of anguish on his face as he stared at the bird and the girl. “Lyllien, how could you?”

   

“You’re just afraid of me! You want to keep me away from this so you can have it all to yourself! But you can’t! It’s mine! He gave it to me!” The raven flew from her shoulder to the floor, transforming into his cloaked form as soon as his talons connected with the stone. Lyllien bowed her head in reverence, discusted that her father refused to do the same. What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he see the power? Couldn’t he see the beauty? This was nothing like his stupid Sigmar. This was real.

   

“It’s too late,” the robed man said. “But I must say, you raised a fine daughter.”

   

“Lyllien, don’t listen to it! Don’t fall for his tricks!” her father spat. She looked up, a haughty smirk on her face. He had no idea. He was the one who had been tricked.

   

“He ignores you. But he will no longer,” Turik whispered.

   

“Kill him! He hates you!” Syd demanded.

   

“He’s always hated you, but don’t worry. We love you. Listen to us!” Xen purred. 

   

Lyllien spat at her father’s feet. “They’re right. You’ve just held me back from my true potential.”

   

As the words came out of her mouth, he lunged forward for her with his sword poised in a stabbing motion. Instead of screaming, she instinctively searched the depths of her soul and grabbed onto a large pocket of power dwelling inside of her. The robed man laughed and her friends cried out in joy as she released it on her father, causing him to be propelled backwards, his head slamming with a sickening thud against the wall. 

   

“You evil daemon… You’ll pay…” The witch hunter moaned. Lyllien walked to her father still clutching her book. He looked up at her, his face contorted in pain and hatred. “I will slay your kind. You’re not my daughter any longer.”

   

Feelings of hate and betrayal welled up in her breast. The voices cried out in anguish, stoking her feelings of anger until they became hard to control. In a rage, she started to kick the witch hunter as hard as she could. She felt the ribs starting to give way under her blows and she could literally feel the fear and resentment rolling off of her father. It gave her power. And she loved it.

   

As she started to aim her kicks upwards, the robed man pulled her back.

   

“No my dear. We have plans for him. Do not damage his skull, for that is the seat of the soul. The soul gives us power, and we shall use it.”

   

Her Lord motioned towards the semi-conscious witch hunter and from out of nowhere ropes sprung into being around him, binding him tight. “Now for your awakening, Lyllien. Will you do as I say? Will you prove your worth? Will you follow your new God, Tzeentch?”

   

Lyllien threw herself down in front of Tzeentch and swore obedience, kissing the ground before him. Bursts of joy and pleasure sung through her head as Xen, Syd and Turik sang glorious hymns of praise to him. Tzeentch’s voice… or was it voices… echoed in her head, promising her power, glory and recognition. Anything she wanted. Any thing she desired. Everything she deserved.

   

Her mother appeared in the door way, her hands over her mouth and her eyes panic striken as she looked at the scene in the witch hunter’s study. 

   



“You’re just in time,” Tzeentch told her, causing the door to slam behind her. Lyllien looked up at her mother standing in fear. She drunk it in. “Lyllien, this is your test. Follow my instructions and you will garner my approval.”

   

The girl stood eagerly and she felt Tzeentch in her mind, giving her the instructions. She didn’t even balk as she grabbed a cursed dagger off of the table, and even through the screams of her mother, Lyllien didn’t hesitate. Slowly and surely she followed the instructions, ceremonially dismembering her mother and painting chaos runes in her blood. Syd moaned in pleasure as Lyllien sawed through the flesh and bone and Turik murmered sweet words of encouragement. 

   

Finally the girl stood, covered in the sweet blood of her mother. She could hear the witch hunter sob as he watched her complete her rituals. Tzeentch nodded in approval.

   

“Well done.” He walked to her and they both stood in the circle she created, the God’s hands on her shoulders. “You have earned my blessing. Such a clever girl, with a tongue that shall sway millions to our cause. I bestow on you the title and the gift of Raventongue.”

   

Tzeentch reached to her face and held her cheeks in his talon-like hands. A burning sensation seemed to well up in her throat and extend to her tongue, causing her both pain and pleasure. “Your chants and spells in my name shall grow in power spreading my word and glory through you.”

   

“Thank-“ the girl started to say, but quickly stopped as a sharp pain wracked her body. She cried out in agony and reached for her God, but he straightened her up. The pain faded as quickly as it had begun.

   

“The words of the weak are not for the ears of others,” he snapped. “In my name you shall do wonders, but without gaining your own power, without achieving great things in my name, the tongue shall be a curse! It is a gift for the strong! Not the meek and lowly. In time you shall gain the ability to control it. But for now, only through my power will you be able to survive.”

   

Lyllien nodded stoicly, taking in his words. Her mind twisted it until she made sense of it, helped along by Turik, Syd and Xen.

   

“You can do it, we believe in you!” Turik exclaimed.

   

“Use his power to gain your own. In time you will control it. You will control everyone. They all want to hurt you,” Syd said.

   

“Use others to further yourself. I have often heard of tribes that use their enemy to gain strength…” Xen hinted.

   

“Take! Consume! Lust! Evolve! Devour!” Tzeentch commanded.

   

Xen giggled. “Devour… Devour their power… Devour their fear… Devour their body…”

   

“Yes! Yes, feed on the flesh to gain their strength! You are strong, you will absorb them.” Turik laughed in glee.

   

Syd moaned with blood lust. “Eat them.”

   

“We are not done.” Tzeentch turned from her and pointed at her father lying in pain and blood, still bound. “He is worthy. Take your trophy and absorb his power. Bind his soul to its throne and use the skull to power yourself. It is a token. Remember.”

   

Lyllien walked over to the man and knelt down beside him taking a handful of his hair to pull his face back.

   

“The eyes… to increase clarity and vision…” Xen whispered. Taking her dagger, she plunged it into his eye socket and speared the organ on the tip. Sharply she jerked it out, the eyeball still attached and snapped it free of his head. The screams of the witch hunter did nothing to stop her as she ate it in front of him, chewing thoroughly. Without even needing convincing she plucked the other eye and ate it. It tasted of pain and fear and she wanted more.   

   

“The skull,” breathed Tzeentch and she nodded, still engulfed in the pleasure of the suffering. 

   

“Monster! You disgusting monster! To hell with you! May your blackened souls burn as Sigmar strikes you down!” he screeched. 

   

Rage filled the girl at the mention of his false god and she decided not to kill him outright; instead she took her dagger and skinned him to the bone as he lived. 

   

“Fantastic! You glorious, gorgeous girl!” Turik exclaimed. 

   

“That eye tasted succulent,” Xen sighed in pleasure.

   

“More! More more more!” Syd panted.

   

Tzeentch nodded in satisfaction as the girl scrapped the muscle from the bone, almost lovingly, popping a piece of flesh in her mouth. She was addicted and it was sweet, this taste of power. The taste of domination. The man’s frightened squeals only added to her excitement. She felt her mind breaking and she giggled. She giggled and couldn’t stop as the last pieces of flesh and muscle and organ fell from the skull. The screams had died down and she felt a rush of…something… escape from the skull. 

   

Before it could take off, the girl exuded power and grabbed the thing that tried to escape. As she touched it, she could hear it screaming in torment inside of her head. His soul… She gingerly forced it back and secured it with some words of power Tzeentch had given her. Because it was his, it did not hurt to speak it.

   

It was done. Severing the final strings of flesh, she pulled the skull to her and she hugged it to her chest, kissing the bloody bone. It exuded fear, pain, frustration. 

   

“Such a lovely toy,” Xen remarked. 

   

“Now… Come with me.” Tzeentch extended his hand again and she took it, standing up and still clutching the skull to her breast. The dagger, she tucked into the belt of her dress. “I will start you upon your journey. Keep my books, for they are mine. Keep my books of power and gain from it. Take power and grasp it and you shall emerge victorious!”

   

Lyllien nodded. She had been sleeping as Lyllien Weiss, but awoke as Lyllien Raventongue: zealot of Tzeentch.



Part 5



It had been two days since the slaying of her parents by her hand and already Lyllien felt slightly lost. Tzeentch had sworn that he would guide her slightly, but she knew that to gain His favour she was going to have to survive on her own wits. Luckily she found just the place to hide.

The house had been abandoned for at least a week. She had heard her father claiming that all sorts of rituals had been taking place there and as such, all people that had lived there were convicted and pulled for questioning. Lyllien couldn’t think of a better place to start. 

“It’s perfect! You’re so smart!” cooed Turik.

Inside, the house seemed ordinary enough, save one room where Lyllien could literally feel a rush of magic floating about the air. Bloody runes and messages in daemonic tongues were scrawled all over the walls accompanied by crude daemonic faces carved into the wood. 

“Oh they’re so cute!” exclaimed Xen. Lyllien sighed happily and sat in the middle of the room. A rough, smudged outline of a magical circle was stained in the floor boards beneath her. She could feel the power coursing through her body and she giggled in excitement. This was the right path. Her Lord would be so proud of her! Content, she fell asleep curled up with her book and her father’s skull with Xen, Turik and Syd murmuring to each other quietly.

                                                 ~

The loud noise of boots stomping on wood woke Lyllien up from her slumber. In a daze, she looked around confused. The sound was coming from just outside the room she was resting in, and before she could get to her feet, the door swung open revealing two witch hunters.

There was a brief pause as they halted and stared at the young girl, frozen in place at the intrusion. This did not last long.

“Lyllien!?” exclaimed one of the men, recognizing her as the daughter of Frederick. Quickly she got to her feet, only to stop in place as the other had his pistol aimed at her head. He quickly cocked it, daring her to move. Scarcely breathing, she quickly tried to calculate her odds.

“Be wary, love,” Turik cautioned.

“It’s his blood to be spilled, not your own,” reminded Syd.

“Their coats look chewy, but don’t choke on the buttons,” warned Xen.

“What is the meaning of this, you wretched girl?” spat the older witch hunter with his gun pointed at her. “I highly doubt that I need to tell you what happened to your parents. You smell of chaos and blood!” The man strode quickly towards her and slapped her with the butt of his pistol. She collapsed on the ground, next to the skull and the text she had been covering with her body. The witch hunter that knew her name… Heinrick, she recognized… cried out in surprise as he saw the tome. Lyllien reached out her hand and started to pull it to her, but the other man stepped on her hand causing her to cry out loud.

“Lyllien, you stupid girl!” Heinrick shouted. “What in Morr’s name is wrong with you? What did you do!?”

“You fool-“ she started to say, but was interrupted by a surge of almost paralyzing pain. A low moan of agony escaped her lips and she tried to hold back her tears. She wasn’t strong enough yet… Not yet… Gingerly she reached for the skull, only to have her hand pinned to the floor by the witch hunter’s sword. Compared to the pain she had just experienced it was nothing and she mentally separated the flesh wound’s pain from herself and turned her fear into anger. Their souls would be her toys and their flesh her dinner.

The witch hunter snarled and opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a loud screeching echoing through the house. The templars turned to see three large ravens darting through the doorway followed by two more of their order. Before Heinrick could react, the birds were at his face, savagely pecking and scratching the flesh off his bones. His screams echoed around the room and Lyllien drank in his suffering, feeling renewed slightly.

By the time the servants of Sigmar had finally killed the ravens, Heinrick was beyond helping. His mutilated visage both sickened and excited her; one eye pecked out, the other dangling by a nerve against his twisted and bleeding flesh. He wept, fumbling around with one hand and the other attempting to shove the eye back in its place. His efforts proved fruitless as the socket had been shattered, and no amount of force would squish the organ back. Heinrick’s resolve fascinated the girl and she made mental notes on his tolerance. She could hear Syd mumbling about his limits and she wondered how much more the man could take before finally passing out. She knew she had to try it later.

“Enough of this! Curse your daemonic tricks, heathen. There is no question to your guilt,” the man hissed. Lyllien simply looked up at him, her hand still pinned to the floor with his weapon. Her expression was indifferent which infuriated him more. Deep in her gut she felt a fluttering of fear, but her friends whispered encouragement.

“I die… by my Lord’s will!” she managed to say. Her words, pleasing her master, managed to pass by her lips without too much physical pain. In response to her words, the witch hunter flushed and his face became a mask of rage. Roughly he pulled the weapon from her hand and raised it.

“Your soul be damned! Sigmar will-“ The templar’s words were cut off suddenly as a loud bang sounded from behind her. Before she could twist herself to see what caused the noise, she felt a burst of power surge by her and throw one of the witch hunters against the wall.

“I do not think so,” replied a soft voice behind her. Taking the opportunity, she quickly snatched up the book and the skull and scuttled backwards, away from the certain death the witch hunter offered her.

“Marcus! You finally show yourself,” one of the warriors of Sigmar sneered.

Without saying anything, the man named Marcus stepped into view from behind her, placing himself between the girl and the witch hunters. He was gaunt with dirty robes and wild hair, but exuded power. In one hand he held a twisted staff crafted out of materials Lyllien couldn’t even recognize with horrific symbols carved on it that excited her. Lyllien could sense the touch of Lord Tzeentch on him and she felt comforted being near one like herself.

“Eric, you amuse me but I promise you that you shall meet with your false god soon. Tzeentch demands this girl and what He wants, He shall surely have. As a pawn you have proven yourself useful, but that use runs out as of now.” Marcus didn’t wait, puncturing the end of his sentence by lashing out with a large tentacle-like coil of magic. It struck fast and hard, cutting into the witch hunter’s flesh with intensity that seemed to surprise even him. His companions rushed into the battle to clash with the magus, guns and swords at the ready.

“Your hand, dear one,” Turik whispered. Lyllien looked down at the hole through her skin and cried aloud. She had been aware of what had happened, but on seeing the damage she recoiled at the bloody mess it had become.

“Do not fear! Listen…” Turik murmured something quietly and Lyllien felt herself calm down enough to remember some of the things she had read in the text. Calling upon her power she wove a spell of healing, sealing the hand back to normal. Looking at the bloody, but whole hand, Lyllien felt tears coming to her eyes. Her Lord surely blessed her! Such gifts… Such things she could weave. It took her breath away.

A shout from Marcus brought Lyllien back to the matter at hand. Two witch hunters had been taken down in such a grisly manner, even the zealot was shocked, though she had no time to dwell on it. Eric, the head of the templars was still living, locked in close combat with Marcus sword to staff; a dagger lodged in Marcus’ hip.

Forgetting her handicap she cried out, but was immediately beat back by the pain. Summoning all her strength, she pulled herself to her feet and ripped the dagger from Marcus, then quickly cast a spell of healing on him. The witch hunter looked at the girl shocked and Marcus saw his opening, and summoned the daemonic tentacle again, this time piercing the other man’s heart. Eric tumbled to the ground a moan of pain escaping his lips. Marcus turned to the girl, torn and bleeding from the blades of the men of Sigmar and he collapsed on his knees breathing raggedly.

“Such an age!  Such potential! Your power… I’m… jealous. It was… exactly how they described.” The magus slumped forward and Lyllien propped him up, dropping her bauble and the book to support the stranger. As soon as she could, she summoned the remaining power she had to heal as many wounds as possible; her power draining quickly. She cursed her weakness, but managed to heal him enough for the bleeding to cease. He looked up at her gratefully. “Truly, you will serve the master well. I trust you received the book.”

Lyllien looked at the magus in shock. She started to ask, but caught herself before the words left her mouth. She was already tired from the battle and didn’t need to hurt herself further. The magus looked at her and smiled. “Yes, I know of the book. I was the one-“

A loud bang echoed through the room and Marcus called out in pain and surprise, blood seeping from a hole in his chest. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Lyllien’s suspicion: the witch hunter was still living, albeit barely, a smoking pistol in his hand. There was no way she could heal the magus’ fatal wound in time.

Furiously the zealot got to her feet and dashed over, knocking the gun from the man’s hand. With a scream of frustration, she grabbed her dagger from her belt and repeatedly stabbed the dying templar until he was no longer gurgling or twitching. How dare he rob her of a possible companion? How dare he murder a man of Tzeentch?

“Lyllien… Please …”

The girl immediately stopped what she was doing and turned to Marcus, who had collapsed on the floor. He looked at her imploringly; his hand stretched out to her, clutching a pouch brimming with parchment.

“No time. Please… Take this and go…”

Kneeling down beside the dying man, she took the pouch from him and tied it on her belt. “But…!” She stopped and gritted her teeth in pain, then pointed to the book questioningly. Marcus looked at her and shook his head. “No… time…! Take it and go! Down the trapdoor I entered in. The book will answer your questions… You must… follow my instructions. Tzeentch… be with you, Lyllien Raventongue…” Marcus’ eyes closed and he fell limp.

“I hear them…” Turik said urgently. “More filthy witch hunters to do wicked things to you.”

“I liked him,” Xen said sadly. Lyllien thrust the dagger into her belt and stood quickly. Indeed, she heard the approaching men as well, but she felt remorseful. If only she had been stronger. Then Marcus would have survived. He could have helped her. If only…

“So much blood… Delightful…” Syd moaned.

“Shut up, it’s time to go,” Xen hissed back. Lyllien nodded and turned to see the open trapdoor wide like a gaping maw. It had to be better than the alternative she figured, and quickly jumped down without even looking.