Cast in the celestial forges of Azyr from silver that was once starlight, the Silver Horn of Sigmar is sounded but rarely, for its voice is a summons that the heavens themselves must answer. When a herald sets it to his lips and blows, the note does not fade but climbs, gathering thunderheads out of a clear sky and drawing down the tempest in a lattice of white lightning.
The Stormcast Eternals march to its call as to the voice of the God-King himself. Where the horn sounds, exhausted warriors straighten and stand, wounds forgotten, and the enemies of Order feel a cold dread settle in their bellies, knowing that the storm has heard and is coming. Some say the horn carries an echo of the first thunderclap that heralded the Stormhosts' war of reclamation.
Yet the heralds who bear it are taught to sound it sparingly, for the storm it calls does not distinguish friend from foe once unleashed. More than one field has been swept by lightning that fell as readily upon the faithful as the damned. The horn is a prayer answered without mercy or measure — and its bearers learn that to summon the heavens is one thing, and to survive their arrival quite another.
The reliquary continues
