Hysh, Realm of Light
The woman born Mitrades Ayel was the last of her name and the first. Her great-grandfather, scholarly and inquisitive, was named friend and confidant by mighty Sigmar who once spoke to him of the very place he first set foot in the Mortal Realms. Dying of a wasting illness, he begged of his son to deliver him to the place where it all began. He passed before journey’s end, but tale of the son’s task spread and soon others sought to follow.
So great a toll had the task taken upon the son’s body that he swore never to leave, and as others arrived, his shelter turned to a hut, then a cabin, and then a hall. He took another pilgrim to be his wife, and she bore him a son who fathered a daughter, the girl named Mitrades Ayel.
By her youth, the settlement had become a city. Where once the devout had congregated to honor their dearly departed, strife and malcontent had taken root. Factions were forming to the shouted words of demagogues, and uncertainty weighed heavy upon the great-grandfather’s final days. To stave off disaster, a compromise was decided upon, and a single ruler installed. Amasya, as the Hallowed Necropolis was now known, would forever yield to the judgment of the Mitrades bloodline. Mitrades Ayel was no more; Mithridates Bir, the First of the Mithridates, was crowned.
Her son Mithridates Iki would succeed her and reign over a golden era of prosperity. The city’s greatest architectural works like Grung Esik and Azyrhol were begun, and for the first time, the buried outnumbered the living. His son, Mithridates Uc, was ill-regarded, the shoes of his father and grandmother simply too large to fill, while Uc’s daughter Mithridates Dort would know the shortest rule, passing soon after the birth of her own son Mithridates Besh. None of them would live to see the Age of Chaos as Besh and his son Alti did. None of them knew what fate held for their city… and their bloodline.
The woman who died Mithridates Bir awoke to a spectacle of devastation, watching with empty eye sockets as her beloved city was consumed by the river it stood upon. The dead had been raised from their rest to defend their home, yet even that was not enough to halt the harbinger of the earthquake god. The calamity her great-grandfather feared had finally befallen them, his bones consumed by the sacred ground he once consecrated.
Bir, Iki, Uc and Dort endured, though. Their bodies broken, their heads became trophies, then relics, then idols. They learned of the ages that had passed; the coming of Chaos and the retribution of Sigmar. They learned of their descendants; how Besh had gone mad and been destroyed and how Alti had founded a new dominion which turned upon him. Finally, they learned of how wise Teclis had destroyed jealous Nagash, and how the undying armies of Shyish were routed and decimated across Hysh and become a remnant without a place to rest.
Preachers and shepherds all, what remained of the Mithridates bloodline returned to their purpose.
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Iscarion, Prime Dominion
Soulsworn Knight-Incantor Attica stood in the hall outside Iscarion’s council chambers, waiting to be received by Ceraph Dariel and his court. Their face, cast in the image of a god that was not their own, remained hidden behind the emotionless mask they seldom removed. They had never before set foot in the Prime Dominion or even departed the Realm of Heavens, yet this place, it felt…
Attica was no less a Stormcast Eternal than their peers, yet stood untested and unproven, having never seen battle nor earned their war-name. Despite this, those who counseled the God-King behind closed doors had tasked them with rallying the armies of Azyr to Dariel’s side.
… no, that wasn’t strictly true. The preservation of the Iscarneth Ceraphate was preferable, but preventing Waaagh! Mogrek from reaching Azyr was paramount. This command should have been everything to them, so why did they feel such sentimentality for a place they’d never been?
Surely there was a reason why they had been chosen for this task, but they held no memory of their mortal life. What they could remember were feelings and sentiment; the bindings of duty and the responsibility of a leader. It would have to be enough. They would have to be… enough.
The chamber doors opened, and Attica stepped forward to speak.