The Starling Gale drifted through the shining heavens, aelementally enchanted silk sails fluttering as the skyship descended. Below, the Vale of Singing Stars opened like a gemstone cradled in strata, although most of its inhabitants had forgotten the name, and none knew the true extent of the treasures it held...
At the valley’s center stood Eklysium, the Forgotten City. A starglass citadel formed its glowing heart, and alabaster buildings radiated from it like the sun. All the splendour was contained by a ring of jagged, snow-peaked mountains that scraped the firmament, refusing to be outshone by the works of mere mortals. Midnight rivers traced shimmering, serpentine curves through the Vale’s mountains and fields, streams webbing outward and criss-crossing into constellations known across the Realms. Where the waters pooled, they formed mirrors that reflected the eternal cosmos above, seeming to capture glittering auroras, glowing moons, shooting comets, and countless, blazing stars.
Great bridges arched over Eklysium’s many canals, connecting its twelve districts and their creeping sprawl across the valley. As the Starling Gale descended with its fresh and fragrant haul of giant sea creatures, the sound of harmonious hammering and spirited shanties rose to meet it. The workers of the Boltbreakers’ Union toiled with pride, as they did day in and day out, to erect new homes, new monuments, and new hopes for the Vale’s people. It was their Guilders that guided the Gale onto the dark sea’s surface and into port and helped unload the cargo that would help feed Eklysium’s populace. It was their Guilders that forged the weapons used to hunt the krakens and sea serpents, and their Guilders who lent aid to those wounded during the Gale’s fishing expedition.
But when the Starling Gale’s crew paid the brinewright’s levy, the glimscale duty, the saltwake dues and the various other administrative taxes and tolls forced upon them, it was not the Boltbreakers that reaped those rewards.
A white-robed scion of House Pallaeon assessed the haul, a scented kerchief over his aquiline nose, and pocketed the pouches of gold demanded with a sniff. At a gesture, guards in polished armour and mirror-sheen shields fell in behind their lord and followed him to the next dock. The people gave them a wide berth, except for two children too caught up in play to realize their mistake until they bumped into one of the guards. A rough shove sent the children sprawling and bawling, the brawny ballads and ripsong rhythms going silent as nearby Boltbreakers stepped away from their work - dusty and soot-stained hands still gripping their tools.
Calloused fingers drummed on hammers, saws, and cleavers, the Boltbreakers’ scarred knuckles telling those across from them they weren’t strangers to a good scrap. Shining gauntlets dropped to broad blades and flanged maces, the scion slinking back with a sneer to cover his unease and the signal flare he reached for. The Valeguard, too, were no strangers to keeping the peace - by whatever means necessary.
Blades sung from their scabbards as a gargant approached, gleaming steel forged and sharpened by those across from them. Well made, but unable to cut through the tension that hung in the air between them. The gargant set down his hammer and took a knee before the children.
“There, there now,” Junnrik cooed, his soft words rumbling in the bones of all nearby. “Just some little scrapes, yes? They call me ‘Strong’, but look at you two, ready to walk this off on your way home for supper!”
A huge, calloused finger gently wiped tears from their faces and the children giggled before rushing away with scraped elbows already forgotten. The innocent sound dispelled some of the tension, but it was not truly banished until the gargant took up his hammer once more and returned to work. The others followed the gentle titan, songs of sweat and solidarity rising up once more as the aristocrats moved on.
On any other day, that may have been the only threat of violence within Eklysium.
With the noise of thunder, a door lost to time was thrown open, and through that howling maw did Mogrek Longblade set foot in Azyr. His first step was into water, his huge form sending waves that rocked even the largest galleys in port. His second step was onto ice, the Everwinter in his fist manifesting around him and chilling all to the bone before they even turned their heads to look upon him.
Mogrek crackled with the power of a shattered dominion, a slaughtered people, and a thirst for battle not yet sated. His Waaagh! energy no longer animated a hundred rogue idols nor drove a horde to war. He had taken all of it with him, and green lightning split the frozen gale that roared about him, drowning out hammers, songs, cries of alarm and screams of terror alike.
Mogrek grinned, and the winds of the Vale shifted as he took in a breath. Then they howled when the demi-god bellowed just one word...
"SIIIIIIGMAAAAAAAAAR!"
