Deep in the Forest of Contempt smoke curled from the chimney of an ancient stone and timber manor. Damian Broadcloak stared into the flames of the open fire that flickered in the enormous grate. Shadows danced in the recesses of the hall and smoke filled the room from head height to ceiling, evidence of the inadequacy of the chimney. It was not only the reflections of the flames in Broadcloak’s eyes that made them glisten with excitement and anticipation.
This was his first calling. He had read the runes and it was to be he that called forth the warriors. He who unleashed hell, he who would be remembered in the annals of his Kabal.
He reached for the large stein of beer on the rustic table in front of him and his gloved hand curled around the ornate horn of the handle.
He raised the goblet in front of him and thousands of tiny flames reflected on the gold filigree. There was no one else in the room but he felt a toast was in order ‘To the Invitational….answer the call if you dare’ he whispered to the fire. he sipped and then pursed his lips; a gout of arcane blue flame shot from his mouth and into the fire disappearing up the chimney with a whoosh.
To the Chaos marines encamped outside the old manor house the explosion of blue flame from the chimney was electric. The flame danced against the black blue sky and split into over twenty separate flames. Each eerie flame shot into the sky in different directions. Each one bearing the invitation.
For the flame was the word and the word would be heard.