Zeigfried shrugged his left shoulder, depositing their charge onto the ground with a heavy thud. The Grand Theogonist, Volkmar the Grim, the voice of Sigmar and the pinnacle of holiness in the entire Empire, collected a bit of mud on his white mustache as his unconscious body slowly pooled out and came to rest on the cell’s floor. The face that had adorned murals and paintings, been carved into a hundred marble reliefs and cast in even more bronze statues was now purple, black, swollen, and caked in his blood.
“Strip him. Bind him. I’m going for Lupio.” Rollo turned to leave.
“That’s a lot of blue blood in this room,” Zeigfried noted, “With the armies inside our walls, are they going to be secure?”
Rollo was already out of the hall and nearly out of the prison. The Warden looked after him. “If the Empire gets all the way in here, we’ve already lost anyway.”
The Dread Master of Liches had waited outside while they dealt with the prisoner. He only watched the skies. His blank visage betrayed nothing. Was it Tzeench? No… this was too well-crafted. The Worm That Walks? If the Far Realms could reach their world to such a degree already, they might as well give up now. No other ritual casters he knew seemed capable. The Sisters of Lahmia?
Now that was a thought….
“I am Grand Marshal Lupio,” spit the proud human clutched in Rollo’s gauntlets.
He scoffed at this man’s response.
He lies, the Dread Master whispered to Rollo’s mind, They all will claim this title, but I have ways of extracting the truth from them.
While the others rode down the various imposters, the Dread Master enjoyed his waning moments in the visage of the Abishai. Few things could beat a good pair of wings. Perhaps he could use them to return to his tower? No, Mannfred would probably want to see their captives immediately. Especially-
Trinkets pinned to the dead soldiers littering the city streets began to glow. The Dread Master reflexively pulled the fabric of reality around him into a crease, a small tear he could momentarily step through to escape calamity.
Sigmar. The energies had come from Altdorf after all. Their miracle…. from horizon to horizon and beyond, it seemed as though all of Sylvania had fallen beneath a magical dome.
Beneath his faceless mask, the Dread Master tsked, What sore losers.