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She could still remember the Forge of Souls, the legions of daemon engines that assaulted her forces. Katarin remembered all of this… and saw it replayed. The blood of her people spilling in the very heart of hell itself, all to save their god…
It replayed before her in the streets of Erengrade. The Forces of Chaos had done what they never could before; they would destroy Kislev. Her Warsled barreled through the carnage… She could not retreat, but the situation was dire and her hopes were melting by the moment.
Her people fought on despite it. They could not save this land, but they could avenge it. Her Father, who recently returned, said that Kislev was strong…
But not strong enough. That their gods had a plan for them.
The world was coming at its seams. The realization hit her at the moment, as she continued to see the effects of the daemons. Stones bleed, the air crashed with contrary heat and cold, and the dead starred up into the sky, some twisted in disturbed grins or with bliss of pain…
Katarin joined with her people, defending the back… she couldn't turn back, for if she turned back, she’d see what remained of her people and their butchers.
—-
The Motherland was loving and cruel. It was a harsh land, its spirits older than the Gods, who at least ruled somewhat justly. Mother Ostankya knew them all well. The Elves claimed differently, but they were deaf to the will of their lands or too easily bent to them. And now, it was all dying.
This was no place for her or the others any longer. It was… inconvenient to say the least and deep in her heart, she’d never forget the motherland… but it was the way of things. The Motherland was more than its physical influence.
She blamed the elves. It was ALWAYS the elves, mucking around in the natural order of things out of their perversion of wisdom. But such was the way of things. Everything packed her cauldron secure… she tapped her staff on the porch of her hut, and it rose on spidery legs… marching alongside some of the creatures of the forest and her fellow Hags.
Some of them had to protect the people of Kislev. They were the land, wherever they would appear may yet be the next Kislev after all… but they had to protect the nascent spirits and little things. They had warned her the safe point was a world where they would be dormant for a time, but such things mattered little to Ostankya…
All that needed to be dealt with was the Godslayer, but the spirits had said his fate was to be settled by the god he had slain. She simply needed to live, as she always did.
—-
None were worthy.
He was the Judge of the Worthy. A Herald of Khorne who did not waste time with the lesser warriors; the Kislivites who died afraid of his siblings were not worthy. They could not even raise up their arms in deference for their little godling. All Save one.
He stood before the Patriarch. Kostaltyn. “Daemon!”
He could not be easily banished. How could he? Such a cowardly act was already undone by the spilling storm of Chaos. Even this holy ground could not keep him out. The blade of flame trailed behind him as he approached. The lesser Bloodletters and the daemons of his enemy watched him. The daemonettes jeered and cackled, the Plaguebearers watched in bemused boredom, and the horrors shifted. It was pointless…
Would he ever find something worthy of him?
“STAY BACK!”
“I will not. If you wish to defend your idols, then you will stand and die.” He gestured to the audience, Daemon and God alike. “Show us your actual strength. Show them the worth of such coddling Gods.”
Kostaltyn composed himself, as much as a zealot can be composed at all. “As long as i live, you will NEVER break this place.”
“Easily arranged.”
He struck with fury, the blade crashing with Kostanltyn’s burning mace. The judge’s pale face reflected. Yellow eyes studied the Priest.
He will last long. His pure faith makes him a potent weapon against us. Why defend the Idols?
Khorne was not a stupid god, regardless of some of the comments of his fellow neverborn. Khorne hated lies; mortals lied to themselves, the other gods were made of the lies of hope, despair, passion… Industry, machines, entropy…
There was a minor truth to each, twisted from the purity of existence only Khorne knew. How could Kostaltyn deny the simple truth even as rage and curses fell freely from his lips. His righteousness diluting the purity of his hatred, Struck the judge on the right side of his head. It hurt… the impurity hurt, breaking a horn on his brow. The Preacher continued. As if filled by something else as much as himself.
He met the mace and another clash began. “What are you without them?! They dilute you…”
“You are incapable of understanding.” He Spat back.
In response The Judge impaled Kostaltyn with his blade… of course it did not kill, but it hurt. Irritating but it could be corrected soon. “Indeed. I would not wish to understand it. You are strong, resilient… and yet, you depend on ‘gods’.”
The Priest’s breath was slow, as he readied himself. “You are Worthy. So why beg?”
“I do not beg. Kislev will never kneel….” Kostaltyn rose and launched himself. The Neverborn around them cackled and booed and even laughed as the clash came to an end.
The Judge of the Worthy claimed his Skull, which continued to issue curses and insults… it’s very existence is painful to it… before the soul vanishes to wherever the dead go. Khorne did not care. The Judge did not care.
Another worthy champion wasted on weak gods.
“Aw, don’t sweat it.” “Or Do,” He turned to see the three heralds of the Dark Prince, the harlots preparing to create blasphemies against the idols… how drool, the Judge thought. His master hated these… things.
They did pointless acts to debase, when the mere execution was enough… The God Slayer would never have his approval. Perhaps the others would vote in his favor… but where was he? Chasing ghosts, ordering this pointless exercise for the degenerates among his kind…
No…he was still hunting.
—-
*Boris’s Last Stand*
Boris had not been returned to this earth long when this mess happened. He tried, oh by Ursun did he try but… there was only so much he could do. Only so much one man could do in the face of Chaos… and it was not enough. Erengande as gone…
There is still hope yet…
He looked up into the sky… he could swear he could see the God-Bear, Ursun.
Kislev is more then us… It is more than the mother land… And it will survive.
Boris wasn’t sure if he believed it… but he needed to have faith. His daughter had freed Ursun, had lead their nation through the wars against the northmen and went into the heart of Chaos itself… he had a bear and a Halberd, but both had changed the fate of his home before.
It would have to do so again.
He rode next to Katarin. She was stoic, cold, but he knew she must have felt just a little comfort to have her father again. She had grown up well without him… He wondered it it was for the best he was away… would she really be the same woman with him there? Perhaps the gods and the spirits of the land had their reasons, but it was hard to accept.
There were enough Ungols and Gospodars that their people would not fade away like so many others. Wherever the Gods were leading them… it would be safe. Maybe not forever, but safe enough…
Urskin seemed to know that too. His friend and companion was old, nervous… not of the daemons and marauders on chasing their retreat, but of not quite belonging in another place.
He turned back… black clouds followed, a host of daemons, of men and women who sold their very being to dark and cruel gods who cared nothing for them. Even this, he knew, was nothing to those enemies; a world, a people, a culture… merely a thing to possess.
“Katarin.”
The Sled Paused, its guardians and the Golden Knight by it’s other side dutifully allowing their Tzarina to step down. Boris stood, fully turned… many others in the refugees turned as well. Katrin frowned… some only had loyalty to men like her father… Boris put a hand on her shoulder. “... They will need you more then they need me.”
“No, we must face this-”
“I must face them… many of us must. But you…” he tried not to show fear or weakness. Not in front of her. “You ARE the ice that makes us. The Motherland brought me back for a reason… You are the Tzarina, and the survivors will need leadership. You are the greatest daughter a man like me can ever have, and I know you and all who follow you will be amazing… they already do.”
“Father-”
Warbear Riders, Hussars, and others. Hags, Patriarchs… those who knew that they were born on this world, and would die upon it. “Go, and no matter where you are, or what my fate is, your blood is ours. You carry the Motherland with you wherever it may be.”
Katarin and her father knew there would be no further discussion… Neither showed one another their face, turning from one another…
I wish this day would never have come… I miss the cold forests of my youth. I miss the peoples who cared for me. I miss my brothers and sisters… But I have done what I could.
The Tzar and Tzarina, father and daughter, did not cry less it turn to ice upon their faces. They didn’t have the time to weep.
—-
The God-Slayer marched. Slaughtering as he went, laughing. “You have met your God, and he is great and terrible!”
His redemption was going well… The Gods and the Everchosen had promised him that much… all he must do is to destroy Kislev… and what was that to him? He had seen his God brought before him, broken. He had been shown the weakness of morality, the promises of dark rewards… that he could be not just a mere Ungol Prince, but a God of his own making!
He stepped on one warrior who dared to get in his path, smirking as he let the poor sod think he ignored him… before crushing him. That was the future after all…
Why did they still fight? Was it not over? Was his glory not obvious? Was the world not coming to an end?! The Bears tore into his lines, the Plague drones went to face them. The Lore of Hags is called down upon him, and by the trinity of Heralds of Slannesh in his command, it is dispelled. One looked to him for desperate approval… and the Judge, the ever hateful herald of Khorne slew many champions, carving a path for his glory! The Moon-Faced Jester was away in Cathay, but he was surely watching him. His minions aiding his might, sending these damned souls to a fate worse than mere hells; failure…
He spotted the old Tzar, Still fighting, still so full of pride… and behind him, Ursun… and behind them… his quarry. He smiled and charged. Man, bear, god and daemon clashed. Ursun empowered Boris… this would be their end, but they would go together.
—-
“KATARIN!”
The Soul grinders were still there. The endless hordes of daemons coming to devour her very soul knew. Her. name. And at their head was Yuri… or rather, the thing he had become. He was gone… replaced by a horror that took everything good, everything she had loved from him. “YOU CANNOT RUN FROM ME!”
She had to… She had seen the Gods. Salyak, Dazh and Tor guarded the gate, to another land of frost and hardship, but safety… an ancient gate, older than she could know, but they knew perfectly… She had seen her Gods, and she still was too horrified by what she saw. What she still saw… Ursun’s pelt adorning the Daemon Prince, almost fused to his very flesh, the dead god chained in the forge of souls…
She and the other Ice Mages summoned a blizzard, the ground behind them freezing…and the Daemon prince walked on. Toying with them… “Entire worlds await my ascension. What are your lives to eternity?!”
But he had forgotten one fact… one known to those of the Ice Court: a True Name is the weakness of the daemon… and she knew his.
“Yuri Barkov, You are named! You shall go no further!”
Thunder echoed, Tor agreeing with his might. Dazh and Salyak marched before their people… The Daemon Prince staggered back, Ursun’s corpse may have given him strength, but the faith of Kislev, their devotion weakened him, bringing him down… just enough for them to slip past.
The last thing Katarin saw of the Old World were the eyes of a denied Daemon… with the barest hints of fear in those eyes.
She did not notice the moon-faced horror that picked up the gun… and threw it threw the portal as a blast of magic. A plan already set in the motion as he turned to grin at the Daemon Prince.
—-
*Meeting between Nicholas and the Tzarina*
Nicholas was in over his head. To be frank, he felt that way about 72% of the time by his estimate, but still, had to pretend to be a bit confident. The War was over, things were looking up for everyone, and no one had gone deeper into the Ice then he had. The Schnee Dust Company might just be a thing yet if he could keep everything together…
They were calling him a huntsmen. A newer term for his type of adventurer. He rather liked it; seemed very gentlemanly. The team he had aiding him were made up of a fellow huntsmen, and surveyors. He could do everything himself to a degree but a team helped you deal with the grimm or anything else.
Which is why he wasn’t sure what to do even when they seemed confused by what they see. “I didn’t think there was a village out here.”
“I don’t think that’s a village.” Nicholas replied, frowning. If it was, it must have been one heck of a place… Lots of people, still too far to tell but they seemed lost… But too many to be a simple village. Lots of people were trying to settle in odder places.some to prove that they could, others for something the cities couldn’t offer…
But they were people in need of help. That much was clear to Nicholas. “Whatever the case, they seem like they could use a hand. This land is already hard enough.
Rudy was his second in command, a tall man, not too lanky. He wasn’t handling the cold very well; his poor nose was a testament to that, but still, nothing a good deed couldn’t fix… hopefully. He checked their supplies. “We’re still a few days out from Mantle… It might not be the best idea, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, please… That’s my father, I'm just Nicholas for now.”
They rode closer; their equipment wouldn’t be enough to get them all home (indeed he’d probably need a train.) but it should be enough to at least catch up. Large snowmobiles like theirs held all the equipment they could use for surveying, scouting and bringing back Dust samples. Plus the Equipment needed to face the Grimm… which brought him to thinking why the grimm hadn’t picked them off…
He wasn’t sure he believed the answer when he saw it… they had a blizzard all their own. His grandfather used to tell him the stories of how the first people up north used frost Dust and the cold to keep safe from the grimm…
The crowd looked at them wearily, nervously… some readying themselves for battle, speaking in a language none of them could understand, though with careful hand movements they at least got across they weren’t going to harm them…
Nicholas was now really over his head… “Uh… I don’t understand…”
“You don’t speak our language?”
He turned and held his breath at what he saw… A golden knight strode in front of what he could only have thought to be something out of a fairy-tale. She was tall, with eyes hard as ice… her face wasn’t unkind, but it had been through a lot… It was a look he’d seen on some of the few friends he had that came back from the great war but not… completely broken. He lost his tongue and tried to find it again.
“I-I suppose not no.” He replied. “Ahem, I am Nicholas Schnee… you uh… you don’t look like you’re from around here…”
That put the ice queen in a thoughtful expression. “You could say that.” she paused, looking to the Golden Knight who seemed to be equally unsure of what to do next. “... I am Katarin Bokha… Though I doubt my titles would mean much to any of you.”
“It must mean something…” He gestured around him. “You… must have quite the story to tell at least. We can lead you to civilization if you want… You all look like you need it.”
Right about when that left his lips he actually noticed the problem… they looked a few centuries out of date… “I’m not sure… we would be a able to get along with your people.” The Frosty woman said. “... there’s too vast a gap it seems…e ven with your world’s daemons, you….” She frowned.
“No, no no, I don’t know… much about what’s going on, but I can see all of you need help. No one deserves to be lost out in the cold.”
He pulled out a map of the areas he was planning on surveying. Showing it to Katarin who seemed a little shocked and yet intrigued. The others followed suit as he showed them… some of the soldiers (well, if you could call them that, with their antique guns and weaponry) confused at the landscape. “Here is Mantle… it’s a few days away, but we could guide most of you to some of the settlements around it, should be easier to adjust and i’m sure they’d help… and I… might have enough ties to the Government to maybe work something out?”
He paused. “I-I know it’s idealistic but… well, you look like you could use a little hope these days.”
“... I don’t think we have much of a choice, Tzarina.”
“Indeed… Thank you, sir-”
“Sir is what they call my father. Like I said, it’s Nicholas Schnee… an entrepreneur of sorts.” he smiled. “And a Huntsman of Solitas! We’ll… try to get you settled, Right gentlemen?”
They knew better than to question him when he set his mind to something… Something Katarin seemed to see…
—
*20 years later*
“This man is a genius… a mad one, but a genius.”
The Schnee Manor was finally a place to relax… a hidden shrine to Ursun was finished, designed to his wife’s precise construction, and hopefully a training room for her Magic…
Honestly, he wasn’t sure if Willow was the type: The Girl was still sweet as can be, and Katarin could flip between kindness and warmth and stotism… apparently it was just what that sort of magic did… he was assured Willow would still be Willow at the end of the day… but it did make him wonder about Katarin herself. Maybe she used to be the same way… though he has trouble imagining it. She could be downright scary when she needed to.
“Another letter from that man in the Vale?” She asked politely, sitting down. “Did he try to drink it again?”
“He tells me he got it to work. Even offering a recipe…” He chuckled. “Honestly, he seems to have a pretty good grasp on most of the science behind Dust… just not sure if it’s proper. Nothing illegal at least.”
“It would be unwise for him to send that to you.”
“True…” he paused. “And… Well, he’s at least interested in the field. Still, he worries me. If dust is as connected to magic as you say it is, then it’s something no one should play around without a license.”
Katarin just relaxed by the fire… She could see still Erengarde sometimes, in the embers, or the Forge of Souls… “Remnant is oddly peaceful compared to home… i doubt the consequences for failing to use Dust are as severe as it was in the Old World.”
“... I’m still not entirely sure I believe it… At least the people of Kislev are safe.”
“In no small part because of the kindness of Remnant.” Katarin agreed. “I’ll never be able to make it up to you or to Atlas.”
“Kat, there’s nothing to make up for.” Nicholas smiled, sitting down next to his wife. “Besides, haven’t you given me enough? A beautiful wife, a wonderful daughter… I’m the jolliest man alive. I don’t need much else.”
Katarin closed her eyes, smiling. “Well, that may be true but that will never prevent me from trying, Nicholas… Willow should be away for a bit now so perhaps we should go to our private little chamber for a bit…”
Nicholas usually felt very chilly when by Katarin… but at that moment, he could feel the heat of the fire a little more closely. Moments like this were the ones he would carry with him… it made everything just a bit easier.
—-
Anthurs the Unpleasant grumbled. The Herald’s plague-fly buzzed in irritation as well. The God-slayer did not pledge to any God. He offered the lip service of the Gods, but he cared only for himself… What a jerk! Slow and steady was his appeal. It was more than Moony mc Moon Face over there could do, and the Judge! Oooh how the other minions of the gods could be so pushy.
But… well, they had to represent their Gods in this ‘trial’ in the warp. It had happened, it will happen, and is happening. Time had very little meaning to most of them, but they had to try for mister Former Mortal here.
“Here here! We stand here to try… ugh… D-Daniel?” he squinted his one yellow eye before flipping the page. “Oh sorry, uh, The God-Slayer?”
He twisted and roiled in his chains, before him, four plinths stood. On one Stood the Judge, the bloodletter looking down upon the Daemon Prince with contempt. On another stood the Three Daemonettes, the one who seemed to be his most eager sycophant looking pleading, on the point of misery while hir kin mocked her and pinched at her. The Moon-Faced Herald chortled with amusement… and Anthurs frowned. “Right so… Your case? You killed the Gods, but…”
“I have slain Ursun, his pelt adorns my flesh!” The God-Slayer half-boasted, half pleaded. “The Gods of Kislev are gone! I have slain them with my own hands!”
“Yes! Yes! All this is true” the Daemonette argued before their kin smacked her down and laughed.
“Order! Order!... wait… no that doesn’t make sense…” Anthurs burbled. “Uh.. oh rot it, SHUT UP! By my Grandfather, can we not simply work together for once?!”
There was a pause, before the five other daemons in the room burst out laughing, only the Judge found it crude.
“Anyone can kill. You do not kill in the name of our lords. You kill for yourself. You think you have a purpose beyond war.”
The room fell silent as the Judge spoke, pale flesh glowing in the fell light of the chamber. “You were favored by all our lords, because you could choose. You were not a Norscan runt, raised to bring praise from birth. You were a Prince. Skilled in War, and all the lesser skills these moronic excuses for neverborn value… yet you wished not to devote yourself, as if you were above those impulses that feed us… And now, I judge you unworthy. To the Basilica of Torment, you are not worth Vashtorr’s infernal contraptions, you may yet prove useful to Chaos as a whole. But Khorne rejects you as do I.”
“Well…” Anthurs pet his mount. “Ughh, guess that’s his statement… Well, i’ll admit, I think given a little time in the oven you could be a great prince of our Grandfather.”
The God-Slayer growled, but said nothing. “Buuut well, even Nurgle must rush. A little time out, I think, is very fair.”
“So it is a tie in your judgment?”
“Don’t jinx it please…” The supportive Slaanesh Herald replied under whispered breath. Hir sisterbrothers pushed her aside. He could not really tell them apart… all bore something off Katarin, but also of his brother, and of himself… When more aligned to the dark prince, they were easier to look at.
“Look, once I get Me’lpom’ene here to agree with her betters-” “You prude…” “-She’ll agree with our judgment; The God-Slayer can slay gods, but he rarely thinks of things our Seductive Majesty agrees with… so many odd little thoughts. A font of Ego, do not misunderstand, but not as succulent as we would usually desire.”
“It’s his best trait-”
“You’re out voted, the Prince is fickle, but She has decided that the God-Slayer will have to earn it more before Joining Hir ranks. Mayhaps the Basilica would be the best place to each him the proper joy in agony.”
“And before I get to you… uh… Moon-Faced Jester?”
“Hmm?!”
Anthurs tried to swallow his contempt… it came out on another end, but he just sighed. “Right, so be straight forward for once in your eternal life; what is Tzeentch’s ruling?”
“He has played a part in the Game, and must retire until he may play another.” Moon Face giggled.
“Oh thank the primordial Chaos that gives me form…” The God-Slayer’s eyes widened as Chains surrounded him, binding his body. Searing his flesh, as if the will of all the four dark Gods hated him in one moment… Yuri wept, The God-Slayer begged and pleaded, but the lie was revealed before him in a moment…
Furies, great multitudes of Furies flew down, grabbing the chains and raising him into the air, to the Basilica of Torment, which would more than live up to its name…
“... And another one of your so-called Champions goes to their punishment.”
“THIS DOESN'T PROVE ANYTHING!” The Daemonettes would have begun to mutilate eachother… but Moon-Face opened his hands and all three fell through a portal.
“... Where did you send them?”
“Not here.”
“... see this? This is why people hate your kind.”
The Judge simply turned and left… passing by a verminlord who seemed to think he was invited or wanted… he would find Khorne a worthy foe, or champion, he almost (as much as a Daemon could) sympathize with the daemonette.. But only just. She didn’t know what made a proper Champion of Chaos, nor what she actually sought. He went on to another battle; for why would he ever desire rest?
—
The forests of the land were misty. Not quite cold as she would have liked… but nice and quiet and quite private… just as she liked it.
The spirits were still young here, oddly. Not very chatty either, which also suited the Hag Mother just fine. Less demands, more time to mourn her the only things in her old world privately… she would be needed again, one day, but Kislev did not need her at the moment… nor did this new world.