Camilla floated in darkness, above her strange stars wheeled on unknowable courses. She tried to groan but no sound emerged from her lips. All around her was the familiar elven ruin, although it as spectral and distorted. The tower, only a stump when she had seen it, speared towards the heavens. The other structures too were no longer ruins. The temple reared majestically, a tall figure in marble gazed sternly down from the columaded entryway. Unsteadily she rose to her feet. The sword she had taken from the temple was till in her hands, it was the only object that seemed to have any solidity, the long slightly curved blade sported runes she had not noticed before, elegant elven characters burning like pale moonlight on the blade.

Far to the north across the spectral mountains a great fire blazed heavenward. Somehow she knew that if she went that way she could cross the mountains, pass through the crystal forest that lay beyond and reach the vale of mirrors. Once there she would find the altar of Ashen-Sughai. It was clearly visible in her mind, a beautifully carved piece of purple veined obsidian, wrought into the ten thousand pleasures of Slaanesh, each scene blending into the next to allow the devotee to follow the path to exultation. She could take Gorn there, lay with him atop the altar and walk the tenfold path. She saw herself writhing atop the reaver as she experienced pleasure beyond that which any mortal could comprehend. She saw the blade in her hand plunging into Gorn’s chest at the moment of exaltation, the bright arterial gush coating her naked body. She could feel the mystical strength of Slaanesh coursing through her, raising her above all others. Black armor encased her body as the blood congealed, she would no longer have to  fear age, she could remain young and beautiful forever. There were pleasures she could experience, she saw herself leading armies, saw herself standing upon a great seal as wings burst from her back and her skin changed, her form flowering into a being as immortal as the stars and as beautiful. All she needed to do was… 

The blade tugged in her hand, gentle but insistent. She glanced at it as she might a sudden stinging insect, enraged to have her attention taken from the raptous vision of her future that as so clearly laid out before her. Gorn, his body spectral and translucent lay on the ground as she had left him maimed and broken, defeated in a duel that had pitched her skill against his and named her the greater. The blade seemed to throb with approval at the thought but still it tugged. A purplish light pulsed within Gorn’s forhead, somehow the coin he had placed there was clearer than anything save the blade the beautiful elven woman’s features glowed back at her in hateful perfection. The weapon in her hand twitched again and she glanced into the fountain beside the sticken reaver. To her surprise there was water inside of it, though she remembered it being cracked and dry. In the water shimmered a reflection.

“Cydric?” she thought/spoke though no sound existed within this place. It was beyond her comprehension how such a thing could be. Surely there was no way he could have followed her to this accursed place but there he stood, holding his sword close to her, lips moving silently. Resolve filled her instantly and she felt something dark and seductive coil away in anger. With sudden intuition she turned towards the statue beside the temple, the armored figure looking sternly down at her. In a smooth motion she raised the blade in salute and then spun, stabbing the point of the blade down at the coin that screamed in Gorn’s head.

“It dosen’t look like its vorking,” Ivan rumbled, his hands wringing against each other in uncharacteristic concern. There crippled reaver laughed raspingly, almost silent from the effort of it. One of the Kislivites let out a feral growl and took a step towards the bloodied Norscan, hefting an axe to deliver the death blow. Dietricha stepped between the two men, planting her hands stubbonly on her hips. The grizzled warrior snarled in anger.

“Get out of my way witch or ill…”

“Look everybody just calm down we can get her to a healer,” Yantz began his eyes locked on Cydrics. There was a sudden surge of energy and Yantz’ hand jerked the pistol from his belt of its own volition. The big weapon boomed and Gorn’s forhead exploded in a spray of blood and brain matter. With a sound like a cannonball hitting a bell something metallic flew skyward in a glittering arc of gore, pinging off the side of a building with a sound nearly as loud before they lost sight of it against the background of stars. Yantz stared at his smoking pistol with a look of astonished horror. Dietricha only nodded in self satisfaction.

Camilla convulsed on the ground, her eyes snapping open wide and staring. For a moment her body arched silently and then with a wracking gasp she sucked down a tortured breath of air.

“Cydric,” she croaked and then rolled onto her side and vomited. 
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