by Warhammer
Black clouds gather in the distance, growing closer. The air is redolent with the promise of electricity – I feel it on my teeth. I bring the storm and it chases at my heels like a hound. It growls with anticipation of violence and the land trembles in reply. My head throbs with pressure behind my eyes – this pain is not a new thing but it worsens as the storm approaches. This is the weight of Sigmar’s gaze as he looks upon me from his throne in Azyr, as he has for all of my life. The attention of a god is enough to bring a man to his knees.
The forest thins as we approach the village and we see it clearly for the first time. A small stone tower, half in ruin, sits to one side of a collection of simple thatched hovels. No wall, no defences. It sits incongruously in a clearing, amidst a sea of flowers, surrounded by lush forest, and in the distance, the great snow-capped mountains of Ghur. It is a scene from a painting. It is beautiful, idyllic in a way that takes my breath away. A vision of a life without war, without death.
Grar sucks his teeth. ‘Such a place should not exist. It is not so hidden that the tribes could not find it.’
No’grok shrugs. ‘Maybe they are lucky.’
‘Then we come,’ Rhukhal mutters, ‘and so their luck has run out.’
We step from the treeline into the field of flowers. I shield my eyes from the blazing midday sun. Despite the heat, I fasten my cloak about me, the sigil of the Order plainly visible on my breast. It would not do to be mistaken for a marauder. But there are no sentries, no cry of alarm or barking dogs. There is no such thing as luck.
When I was a boy I lived among the peasants of the Denebreke. We called ourselves an army, though we saw little in the way of battle. The Denebreke were one of many such armies that raised a holy banner and the people of the city flocked to it, eager to follow in the footsteps of Sigmar’s crusading Stormcast Eternals, eager to share in their glory. I do not remember life before the Denebreke, nor do I remember my father in the years before my mother was taken by the God-King and remade, reforged. I longed to catch sight of the Stormhost in whose path we followed, but we never saw anything of them save for the devastation that they left in their wake. We were an army overcome with holy zeal, fuelled by righteous purpose. We marched in the footsteps of conquering heroes. I imagined that if we could but catch up, I would see my mother again, fighting in that holy host. I willed us to march faster, I prayed that we would. But instead, the Denebreke became a nightmare.
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Warhammer horror
A Black Library Imprint
First published in Great Britain in 2020.
This eBook edition published in 2020 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Rachel Williams.
Sepulturum © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2020. Sepulturum, Warhammer Horror, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-78999-339-4
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
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This is for my editors, Kate Hamer and Hannah Hughes, for all your enthusiasm, encouragement and belief in my work. You’ll never truly know what that means to me. Thank you.
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