Finis Malitiae

From the journal of Johanna Schwarz

29. Kaldezeit, 2499

As we stood at the foot of the ancient ziggurat, trying to work up the nerve to ascend those dark steps, I could feel Morr’s breath. This was not going to be a fight like any other. Within the stony halls ahead, nestled like a grotesque spider in her web, was an evil older than the empire itself. A being so infused with power, arrogance and hatred that she saw the very strands of fate as her loom, to weave as she saw fit. Just the mere, impossible presence of her lair here, on the site of where the small settlement of Dunkelkeifer recently stood, a thousand miles from where we last saw it, was a testament to the force of that old, old will. What were we? Mere insects in the face of a giant. I could not help but recall those awful days a year ago, in the deep frozen wastes of the north. How her hook was planted deep in our minds, driving us nearly to our doom. And how her power even now burned through Eldur’s soul, leaving him a pale shadow of the firebrand he usually is. Against such malice, what hope could we have?

And yet, a part of me sensed the lie hidden under the overpowering aura the Fimur witch projected. A tang of fear, permeating the stench of bravado. She had spent her power like it was small coin, stretching it to the limit. Moving her whole home like this must have cost more than we can fathom. All for the sake of petty revenge. Maybe this hubris would mean her downfall?

Climbing the steps of her pyramid felt like drowning. Every footstep like a knell of death’s own churchbell. She knew we were there. Oh yes, she knew. And we were walking straight into her dark embrace.

The steps led to a large landing. Before us was a yawning archway leading to the heart of the dark edifice. Malice’s hatred was palpable, like a foul taste in the air. Standing on the causeway, I surveyed the faces of my companions and the soldiers we brought with us. They looked just as shaken and nervous as I felt. Mustering every last drop of willpower, I forced my fear down and put on a defiant face.

“Make no mistake: We are in Morrs bony hands, friends. Beyond that doorway lies one thing only: Death. But death is a coin with two sides, and noone knows where it lands. I say this: Let us call on every power we know. May Morr, Shallya, Ranald, Sigmar, Ulric and any others who value order and light over ruinous chaos make the coin fall right. Let this be the day of Malice’s death, for once, and for all. To death! To death!”

With the rallying cry “To death!”, we charged through the gate to Malice’s inner sanctum.

The inside was like being transported into a nether realm. The air was thick like soup. Glowing green and putrid yellow light glimmered in the mist. Bugs of every conceivable description flew, jumped and crawled everywhere. Across the massive chamber, the one-eyed reptilian witch, the mistress of the Fimir, Malice herself sat, resplendent on a huge stone throne. Impossibly large, wrapped in a deep cloak, holding a massive, gnarled staff, she fixed us with her massive eye. It was as if time stopped for a moment, and the gears of fate itself ground to a halt. Through the buzzing, chaotic cacophony, one word whispered in that grating, otherworldly voice reached us: “Eldur!”

Then everything happened at once. With a grunt, she stood up, thrusting her hand forward, and vines, tentacles and eldritch bands rose up to wrap us in its embrace. Several of us got tangled up, unable to move. But then a fire rose in our midst. Pale and shaken as he was, Eldur’s voice still boomed like a storm of righteous fury, flames dancing all around him, and the dark bonds called forth by Malice began to dissolve.

I charged forward, yelling “Your death has come, Malice!”, firing both guns straight into her massive form. Viktor and Johann ran straight at her as she stood up on her dais. As their blows landed, vicious energy shot out from her, and their blood spurted into the air.

Arrows sped through the air from Sunniva and Torgil, finding their mark. It was as if the gods themselves were guiding our hands.

Then - disaster: With a yell of fury, Malice unleashed a raging storm of dark energy, filling the air in the chamber. I could feel it ripping the skin from my arms, and I saw two of our soldiers simply dissolving into skeletons before my eyes. Her terrible, baleful eye turned to my faithful guard Viktor, and the energies converged on him, tearing his body in two, his proud sword Eleanor falling uselessly into the swampy water at our feet.

Raising her staff, her voice boomed through the crackling storm: “I will EAT your SOULS!”

I do not recall all of what happened - we were being decimated by her terrible power, her chaotic energies consuming our very flesh. Yet as I drew my rifle from it’s holster, aiming straight for her head, I thought I could spy, masked behind the grimace of triumph, a hint of fear. As I stared down the barrel, a short prayer went through my mind: “For Viktor and for victory - let my aim be true this time”. And it was. I am sure it was. But Malice’s defenses were not yet broken. I saw the bullet tear through her energy shield, cutting a tear across the side of her face. But she was not beaten.

I saw her turn her gaze to me, preparing to unleash her terrible power. I knew her next blow would end us, leaving nothing but sad tales to be told around the campfires at Wulfhaven while they waited for the inevitable doom to come. And then, a flash of light: A silver streak, one of Torgils blessed elven arrows flew through the air, through the rift in her shield left by my failed shot, sinking in to the very feathers straight in her eye. Was it shock I saw, was it fear, was it rage? We will not know. With a final groan, the huge beast toppled over, sinking to the ground. And as she expired, the storm of dark energies seemed to sputter and die, leaving us gasping for air, coughing blood.

With a yell of righteous fury I can only imagine the depths of, Eldur raised his fists to the sky. As he slammed them down a massive pillar of pure, white-hot flame washed over the body of our vanquished foe, dissolving skin and bone.

I staggered to my feet, thinking to find out if Viktor somehow might still be saved. But a cry from Sunniva shook me out of my fanciful ideas. The very structure we were standing in was shaking, starting to dissolve! There was nothing to do but run. Stones falling around us, pillars toppling, we raced down the steps of the ziggurat. What greeted us was alarming. It was as if we were back in the north, where we first met Malice. The landscape was warping and shimmering, as if it was trying to be two places at the same time. A snowy, chilled hillside fought for dominion over reality with a fetid, dark swamp, trying to swallow us - a final revenge by the slain fiend.

I don’t know if I’ve ever run as hard as I did then, but somehow we made it. As the whole cursed edifice that was Malice’s home seemed to be sucked down into the very earth itself, we stumbled out onto the familiar grounds of the wintery Nordland landscape. I don’t think I’ve ever been as grateful to feel snow chilling my hands.

We won. Malice was no more. But at what cost?