Island of Fire : Path of the Star

 “For an Asrai to walk into fire, nothing but doom awaits. Island of Fire, a name fitting for the mysterious burning island, a place thought to be even more mythical than the spirits of Athel Loren. It was long told that on every undisclosed period of time, the island will magically summon various warbands from all over the world against their will. Brace yourselves o'kinsmen, for the dreaded time is foreseen to arrive soon. There’s only one manner for you to return home, the most basic general rule of all; Survival of the Fittest.” - Spellsinger Aerith Brightwood

***

The young and rash Gilrhath Whipvine was always the unlucky one. The first to hunt, yet the last for feast; the first for inception, yet the last for reception. This time, his patrol was sucked into a magical vortex as he was patrolling the borders of Athel Loren. As he arrived, Aerith’s recent teachings came to mind; this would probably the Island of Fire. It appeared that the vortex has brought some of the ever-present Forest Spirits and the lost Minaith elves too. The denizens of Athel Loren are well-known for their fearless and no mercy attitude, but the ghastly sight of surrounding tree-less inferno brought fear to their eyes. One by one, several other vortices materialized on the island. The closest warbands to Gilrhath’s patrol was the Lizardmen of Lustria and the non-living Lahmians. As the Asrai silently trudging to avoid the nasty savage warbands, a psychic explosion boomed, deafened their senses, and subsequently, the consciousness faded away.

Gilrhath slowly picked himself up, with a throbbing pain at the back of his skull. This is the first time he experienced this sensation, and to his surprise, even the forest spirits felt them too. Helping his kinsmen to their feet, whilst trying to sober himself, four words nagged annoyingly in his mind: Fight or Die, Now! The nearby Lustrians and Lahmians seemed to be affected too. Seizing the chance, the young elf led his kinsmen away to safety; with the hope of the warbands annihilating themselves, and for them to strike against the final survivor when they least expected.

Their getaway brought them into contact with a familiar face, the famous Paladin Piotr and the horse-riders. His gracious deeds in supporting Aerith during the Battle of Fortenhaf were sung in harmony throughout the forest back home. To have an ally in such a dread place of this was very valuable. But the realisation came late. Swallowed either by madness or desperation to survive, the Brettonians charged without warning. Gilrhath and his Glade Guards were caught unprepared by the unexpected turn of event. Doom was imminent, but the ever-ready forest spirits blocked the charge which allowed the Minaith elves to unleash their lethal shots and allowed the elves a swift escape from oblivion.

Relief and confusion were mixed altogether. Realising that the danger was real, the only way for them to survive was to come out on top. Gathering all knowledge and experience that each of them had, a list of plans were mapped out. The first plan was assassination, and the first victim was the keigh-mons of Sigmar. The Minaith elves went way beyond enemy lines, while the rest of the Kindred shall move forward utilising the terrains and cover. Suffice to say, the plan worked to an almost perfection. The Empire engineer wasn’t successfully assassinated, but was demoralized just enough to send their warband into disarray.

The second plan was seizing grounds, and the victim was one of their most hated adversaries, the Druuchi. The Minaith elves and Gilrhath himself went into enemy territory separately and caused chaos. Whatever that survived the hail of doom arrows, were met with another hail of arrow from the Glade Guards. Since the enemies were Druuchi, the Asrai were merciless, and were shot down into pieces.

The third plan was capture and control, and another nemesis was the victim, the Bearded Stunties. The Kindred was a bit caught off guard as the Dwarves were more agile than usual. Agility does not necessarily means speed and the Kindred led the Dwarves around aimlessly. Again, the Dwarves surprised them when one of their regiments managed to pursue the bowmen. Despite it being a much mobilized skirmish, the elves won the match as their nimbleness proved too much for their foes.

Slowly but surely, the Kindred was approaching salvation. The next foe was seemed pre-destined to be the Asur. Feeling the frustration of abandonment swelling from within, Gilrhath unleashed a malicious barrage of arrows, annihilating an entire Asur bowmen regiment in one shot. They responded with two magical fireball volleys of their own, which massacred the forest spirits. Spiteful of the treachery of old, the remaining Asur was then sandwiched by cascading arrows from front and back. The warriors of Chrace were tough warriors, but even that wasn’t enough. After three salvos from the fore and rear, they were shred to pieces before they even manage to engage in close combat.

As soon as the last Asur fell to the ground, they were sucked again into the vortex. Floating in the maelstrom of ever-changing continuum, the only thing that came to Gilrhath’s mind was Athel Loren, wishing to see his green, luscious beautiful home one more time before his life was taken away. Then, everything was pitch black.

***

A stinging sensation over his left shoulder woke Gilrhath up. In a dreamy state, he discovered a burning disc marking inscribed to his skin. Afterwards, he noticed that he was in the infirmary, together with the surviving brethren from the Island of Fire. Apparently, all of them had the same marking on their left shoulders. Suddenly, he felt some eyes were watching. It was Aerith’s and Elendil’s, his mentors.

“Survive he did. Luck has finally befallen the unlucky one,” said Aerith, smiling.

Elendil then added, “He is an Arhain now. Our guidance is no more needed.”

Gilrhath, still holding on at the pain on his left shoulder, could only look quizzically at his mentors, “But...”

Aerith responded, “Young one no more, you are not.  Your Kindred, this is now, vindicated by the mark of the Chosen Ones. In Mordheim, destiny awaits.”

Both Aerith and Elendil then bowed at him in respect and simply left, leaving him behind in puzzlement.