#8 Remnant of the Rose

AUDIO

Even as the limp body of Liesel Sommer crumpled onto the floor of Barfunweltz Cathedral, the Apostle knew it was too late. He watched as her blood pooled beneath her, perfectly matching the colour of the Sanguine Rose icon repeated on the tiles. His betrayer The Apostate was dead, and so were most of her spies, their bodies lying around hers. But they had finally discovered his true nature and, he was sure, communicated it to their Stormcast masters.

He licked his lips as the pools of blood started to merge, and sighed. He would have liked to feed on her, but now there was no time. An urgent voice brought him to his senses: "Your holiness, what shall we do?"

The Apostle turned towards the Bishop, standing by the high altar. So loyal, so fervent, so utterly in his thrall. And now so confused, so frightened. Yet even in this desperate moment, still faithful.

The Apostle glided up the steps towards him. "Bishop, do you love me?"

"You know I do my lord!"

"Hear me, for I do not have long." His voice was urgent. "My betrayer has acted and the enemy will be here immanently. For a while you will not see me, but do not despair, for I will return. Look to my coming from the skies in glory with a myriad angels in my wake."

"My lord!" exclaimed the Bishop, eyes wide with fear and wonder.

"But first, my most faithful disciple, I have a gift for you." Gently, reverently, the Apostle leaned forward as if to kiss the Bishop's cheek, but suddenly, with an animalistic snarl, his mouth locked onto the cleric's jugular.

Instantaneously, there was a deafening clash and a blinding flash of pure white light. The Apostle threw the Bishop to the ground before the high altar and spun around. A score or more Anvils of the Heldenhammer had descended as lightening bolts into the nave, the pale mauve sun of Shyish shining down on them though the holes they had smashed in the roof. Their heads were all turned towards him and even the skull masks of their helmets could not hide their unalloyed hatred and disgust.

He could no longer have hidden his nature even if it would have helped, for the Bishop's blood was fresh in his mouth and smeared across his cheeks. But that had been essential if his legacy, The Sanguine Rose, was not to end this day. He had only had the briefest opportunity, but he knew he had succeeded - he had passed his curse on to the Bishop. And his other curse. But he had no time to concern himself now with what might come of that.

The Apostle drew his blade and, with a bestial roar, charged straight at the black-armoured leader of the Gravewalkers. Even as he threw himself at the Lord Celestant he knew this was not a fight he could win, but if he could just distract them from the prone form of the Bishop there was still hope for his plan.

* * *

That fight had been brief, for even a vampire is no match for so many Stormcast Eternals. Yet even in that short time, the collateral destruction had been spectacular and Barfunweltz Cathedral lay in ruins. The Zealot had of course led the Crusade of the Sanguine Rose in a counterattack against the Gravewalkers but it had achieved very little and the persecution of the Society had been brutally swift and efficient.

Precious few disciples survived the purging of Barfunweltz. Days later, they crept out of their hiding places one by one: ragged, bruised, bewildered and confused that their great Apostle had fallen. Weeping, they searched through the rubble for corpses and precious holy relics of the Sanguine Rose. They interred the bodies of their brothers and sisters beneath the blood roses to await resurrection with the souls of the brethren who had gone before.

Suddenly a cry went up from deep within the ruins of the cathedral. Protruding from beneath the mighty stones of the collapsed high altar was a hand bearing the ring of the Bishop, the Apostle's chosen. Mustering what strength they could, the remnant of disciples strained and heaved the marble slabs from his crushed body. One who had been Abbess of the holy sisters of healing held her fingers gently to the Bishop's neck. There was no pulse. She shook her head, tears streaming down her dusty face.

But suddenly, one bloodshot eye in the Bishop's broken face flickered open.

"He's alive! It's a miracle!" they cried in awed whispers.

* * *

Cowering among the tombs and hiding in sepulchres, the Remnant of the Rose (as they called themselves) secreted themselves away lest the Gravewalkers return to complete their persecution. What little food they had recovered from the ruins was rapidly running out and despite their fervent prayers, the Apostle's disciples were inexorably descending into despair.

Meanwhile, the Bishop was incapacitated. His injuries had been appalling and the Abbess of Healing attended him constantly, marvelling that he had survived at all. Surely the blessing of the Apostle remained upon him and the hope represented by his enduring life was perhaps all that held the Remnant together. She had still not been able to discern a heartbeat or indeed breathing, but he stirred in his sleep and occasionally an eyelid flickered to look at her. 

One night the Abbess was mopping the Bishop's fevered brow. After weeks of negligible recovery, she finally reached the abyss of utter despair. The Remnant were clearly going to starve to death long before their leader regained consciousness. And even then, would he be able to lead them to salvation? But even as she looked into his face through her veil of tears, she was suddenly granted an epiphany. An overwhelming assault invaded the Abbess's senses - visions of the Bishop's recovery, of glory, of the Apostle's return, of a messianic banquet. And she suddenly understood with perfect clarity the ritual that was required if the Remnant was to survive, if the Bishop was to be healed, and if (hope beyond hope!) even their beloved Apostle was to come back to them...

They must feed upon the flesh of the martyrs of the Sanguine Rose. 

* * *

The Abbess exhorted the Remnant to obey her vision, and in their desperate and already-deluded state, even those with the most gentle and kindly souls were persuaded. Raiding the tombs of Barfunweltz, they exhumed the corpses of the followers of the Way of the Rose, and feasted upon them. All joined in this communion of flesh, but the choice cuts and congealed blood of children were saved for the Bishop alone. Now nourished by the meat of his former flock, the Bishop quickly recovered. And as he grew fat on infant carcasses his new, abhorrent, vampiric nature became plain for all to see. For the Apostle's blood had apparently been polluted, and his parting gift to the Bishop had not been the curse of the Soulblight, but of the Flesh-Eater.

Of course the Remnant of the Rose were blind to the true nature of their leader for they were now mordants in his thrall, infected by his delusion. In their eyes, he was still the Bishop of Barfunweltz, now miraculously healed, and as kindly, benevolent and wise as ever. Even when he slaughtered the Abbess and fed her to his flock, this was to them a joyful ritual feast in celebration of her self-sacrificial service.

Soon after that feast a new horror came to Barfulweltz. A massive, bloated spectre, damned by Nagash for inciting her community to cannibalism. The Abbess had become one more spectre in the Procession of the Foolish Martyrs.

The Abbess (Mourngul)

#9 THE ORDER OF THE BLOOD DRENCHED ROSE