Aetheryos, the Tzaangor Shaman of the Veiled Flame, led his warband high into the teeth of the mountains, Tzeentch’s whispers tugging him toward the elusive Embershard. But as the winding pass narrowed, an Ossiarch Bonereaper phalanx emerged from the mist—silent, implacable, and utterly unwilling to yield the way forward.
The clash was swift and brutal. Aetheryos’ sorcerous volleys and the first charging waves of Tzaangors broke the Bonereapers’ front ranks, but their relentless constructs reformed again and again. Sensing the cost of pressing the assault, Aetheryos pulled back, slipping into the high valleys to seek another route.
Moving north, however, brought no respite. Out of the shadowed crags swept Count Art and his Flesh-eater Court, their delusional nobles howling as they descended. The battle surged like a living storm—Aetheryos’ forces cutting down ghouls by the score, only for the ravenous horde to surge anew. In a devastating counter-charge, Count Art shattered the Tzaangor line, leaving the Shaman’s main host scattered and bleeding.
In desperation, Aetheryos unleashed his last reserves. The Skyfires swooped in from above, discs crackling with arcane power, while the Enlightened carved through the press of bodies—until at last Count Art himself fell beneath a storm of bolts and blades. With their liege undone, the Flesh-eaters dissolved into panicked retreat, leaving the mountain path open once more.
Exhausted yet driven onward, Aetheryos sought rest in the ruins of a crumbling village. Instead, he found it crawling with Skaven. For long hours the two forces circled one another—probing, feinting, snarling—yet neither desired a full engagement. At last both sides withdrew, licking their wounds in the deepening dusk.
Though he had survived three perilous encounters, the Embershard remained distant. Still, the whispers of Tzeentch curled through Aetheryos’ mind, urging him forward. His quest was far from over—and the Changer of Ways had many more twists in store.