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In the old world, where the mighty empire lays at it centre, where the dwarfs fight to preserve their race and hold. And where the knights of Bretonnia fights all those who would defy the lady of the lake, there are many stories to be told. Of hero's and peasant alike. This is one such story
In the north of the Empire lays North-land, this part of the realm of Karl Franz, the emperor of the largest kingdom in the old world is filled with dangers. One of these are the cloven ones, also known as Beast men. These savage beasts are driven by their hate for man, elf and dwarf. They seek to tear down the old world and set it ablaze and feast on their foes. Our tale will follow one of these dark herds, and a young man who is thrown into the fiery hell that is war.
Will the beasts and their infernal masters win, and plunge the world into a reign of blood. Or will a champion arise from the ranks of man to stem the tide, and save those who have not the will to strength to fight the coming darkness.

Chapter 1.
Thomas Forlangen was not particularly brave or strong, in fact he was quite the opposite, he always seemed to melt away when trouble brewed. None of the other people in the village could recall the scrawny boy standing up for himself. Instead he fled away and stayed away until whatever form of trouble had died down. But the few that had looked into those steel grey eyes had sensed something lurking beneath those fleeting eyes.
He lived alone with his mother near the edge of the woods that surrounded their home town. When not tending to the few sheep they owned or sitting bent over his working bench making arrows or fitting a string to a new bow he spent wandering the woods, there he felt a sense of peace but yet still as a outcast.
His mother was a kind and gentle woman but she was marked by the constant struggle to make ends meet, being alone and with a growing son was not easy at best of times. But they seemed to be few and far between. She had once been a beautiful woman that had made heads turn but now her hair was streaked by grey and her once fair skin worn by the weather and she walked with a slight limp
As she watched her son string a new bow she felt that that boy had been born at the wrong place, he never seemed to take a interest for the happening in town. Or anything that did not concern him or his mother, but she knew he was a good son. And a more helpful son she could not have asked for.
She felt a tear make its way down her chin as she wished she could have offered him more but since her husband died that fateful winter twelve years ago she had more than enough with keeping food on the table and cloths on their backs.

Meanwhile deep with in the woods to the north a lone figure walked amongst the massive trees. His footsteps where heavy, and it seemed the man made no attempt to mask his presence. Any sane man would do this since the woods crawled with all manner of foul chaos spawn when the moon was nearly full.
In his hand he held a long sword while the other was formed into a ball, his head was covered in a great mane of black hair, and his face was adorned by a beard that could make any dwarf green with envy. But this man was no friend of any free man or Dwarf. He was a Kurgan and he had come to this place with a single task on his mind, the Beast herd would kneel before him or die by his hand.
At this point any observer with a talent for the magical would realize the man was emitting a pale aura of fear and bloodshed, his red tinted amour and the brass gilded hilt of his sword made his worship of the evil god known as Khorne, the lord of war and bloodshed, clear for all to see and fear.
While the blazing amulet on his chest bore the marks of the architect of fate and dark lord of sorcery. Blessed by these gods he felt the power surge true his veins.
His men awaited his return on the edge of the woods, with orders to set it ablaze should he not return when the night ended. Twice he had seen the lean shapes of something inhuman scurry of into the night as he came closer.
Let them fear cold steel and fury he thought and cracked his knuckles, ahead of him a clearing in the woods could be seen. The smell of burning wood and the stench of unwashed bodies washed against his nostrils. Gathering all his unholy will he stepped into the the flickering light of the roaring camp fires.
He was rewarded with a choir of howls and the roar of hundreds of throats all braying for his blood. But he knew this was a test, to see if he truly was blessed by the gods or merely a midnight snack for the herd to feast on.
A large group of what seemed to be the tribal elite drew closer, each of the beasts was clad in heavy and worn amour while holding great axes and pole axes in their hands. Their horns was impressive and only a fool would underestimate these savage warriors for anything less than highly skilled with the weapons each of them carried.

The largest of them who clearly was their lord stepped forth with a hateful sneer on his face, even for someone who worshiped the same gods and had similar ambitions there was little love lost between man and beast.
Its head was the shape of something resembling a goat but only if said farm animal was a bloodthirsty monster spawned by the dark gods themselves.
Its yellow eyes seemed to radiate hate and a barely controlled blood lust but no blow or challenge came. Instead the fiend spoke
“Man worm, the shamans spoke of your coming and only by their word you yet draw breath!”
It said and spat on the ground, still barring his way.

The man seemed to size up the beast before him before replying in its own dark tongue.
“Kneel you filthy whore son! I answer only to the lord of skulls. Stand aside or face his eternal wrath.”
no sooner had he spoke before the now insulted beast lord howled in anger and struck with its axe, the man sidestepped the blade.
Drawing his own blade forged in the dark and fiery lands he struck like a enraged bear, a sickening crunch was heard followed by the unpleasant sounds of guts spilling forth from the now dying beast, it brayed in pain but was silenced when a hell steel gauntlet wrapped strong fingers around its throat.
“I warned you, but one can always rely on those who bed their own offspring to act like a fool.” he said and tossed the former leader aside.

This show of brutal strength and cunning what he knew this herd needed to see, displaying his power and skill with both sword and mind would go a long way to promote his dark schemes for war.



The shamans had watched the foolish chieftain challenge the one marked by two gods, long had they plotted his downfall and this had been a well laid plan. The man would indeed bring great fortune and infamy to the tribe, and allow them a chance to strike at the hated man who dwelt outside their woodland realm.
Bowing their heads in respect for this walking avatar of their fell gods they would serve.....for now at least.
The Kurgan smiled his wolfish grin and accepted the jug of foul smelling alcohol offered to him.
As the night passed into morning he wandered back the way he had come, his fell goals achieved he went to gather his men. Then he would await the herd, they would come he knew.

When he walked out from the cursed woodland realm he was greeted by his men. They all stood awaiting news, they where all clad in armour forged in the dark lands and weapons forged by their tribal smith far to the north. These men where the only ones who he knew would never betray him, too much had been lost and too many kinsmen had died for the mere aspirations of mortals to ruin their schemes for vengeance.
Not long after his return a lone horn sounded from within the woods, followed by the beating of drums and hoarse chanting from bestial throats. The herd was on the move and woe to those who sought to oppose them.
The first to appear was a lone bestigor, who clearly had much better senses for politics than his now eaten former chieftain. The warrior stood there and gazed at the fellow worshipers of the dark ones, its nose told it that the fires of the abyss burnt in their veins and that many carried the scent of recently shed man blood on their grim weapons.
With a howl it called its kin out from their realm and into the lands of men.
Ragnar looked at the horde of beasts pouring out from the woods. Yes this would most definitely suit his needs for a numerous ally .

“Command us chosen one!” the massive brute growled in its broken tongue. It seemed tremble with a urge to shed blood. Its grey pelt reeked of excrement and other foul substances, and its filthy paws clasped a large broad bladed cleaver.
“Take your kindred and find me a place that can offer us a chance to give praise to the maelstrom! But do NOT attack before me and my kinsmen have caught up to you. Do I make my self clear!” Ragnar said in a tone that left no room for questions.
“Now go and hunt!”

With those words the beast ran of leading its kin in a search for fresh victims and glory to the one who had set them on the warpath.

Nice set-up. This looks like it'll be fairly bloody before the tale's all told.

'One can always rely on those who bed their own offspring to act like a fool'. I'll remember that one ... I'm sure it'll come in handy at some point.

Chapter 2 The storm unleashed.
Night brought rain and howling winds down from Kislev, the two riders raised the hoods of their thick Stirrland wool cloaks to ward of the rain and drove their horses onwards at great speed.
One was a scarred and weather worn woods man the other a woman clad in mail and heavy leather armour armed with a shield and a slender sword with a hilt that was made to resemble a dragon maw.
They rode hard trough the night spurred on by their foes who had hounded for days now.
The man cursed the foul weather and looked around himself while guiding the horse ever onwards,
the woman seemed lost in thoughts but still did the same with her own horse. It was he who broke the silence first.
“Damned this bloody rain, first Beast men and now this for a few days. And here I was beginning to think life could hardly get worse. Just goes to show that I never should start reading fortunes.” he said and wiped water from his bearded face.

His companion muttered a few words in agreement. But fell silent again as the finally spotted their destination, on a hill some distance away stood a massive fortress who guarded the town below. Torches blazed on the ramparts and smoke rose from the chimneys below.
They rode up the cobblestoned streets and reached the main gate without anything happening, there they where meet by a large detachment of halberd armed men clad in armour who barred their way.
“State yer errand within these walls!” said the man who seemed to be their leader.
The scarred man who went by the name Morgan Kane answered him
“What you think? To get out of this Sigmar cursed weather, and find a place to get some proper sleep! And don’t tell me the stables are the only place to sleep for weary travellers”
The captain who had questioned them looked at the by now dripping wet pair and decided to let them enter, even at this ungodly hour the night.
“None of ye seems very hostile, or intent on causing problems, the tavern is the last building before you reach the end of the street behind me.” he said and pointed in the general direction.
Morgan said thanks and he and his weary companion rode into the town.

When they reached the inn the stable boy took care of the horses and was told to feed and water them well, And to keep them warm too. They shook the rainwater from their cloaks and walked into a smoke filled room buzzing with voices and the smell of beer and food washed against them.
Finally breaking the silence his companion said in a bone weary voice.
“By the gods I need a beer, and proper warm food. Then I am of to sleep, I never imagined I could feel this tired and still walk upright.”
Nodding in silent agreement he walked over to the counter and waited to be served by the barmaid.
There in the serving line he stood out, his tall lean frame and worn face stood out like a wolf amongst lapdogs. But most of all was his eyes, they seemed to promise any drunkard a painful demise or to keep other sorts of rabble at bay with just a casual glare.
However these features also made him a target for lonely women in need of company, the barmaid was no exception from this rule.

The woman was pretty with long red hair, fair skin and a bosom that certainly made her working day a lot more profitable. Flickering her eyes at the man who now awaited his turn to be served she asked in a sweet voice she knew men was almost unable to resist.
“So darling....what can I offer you? A bed for the night or perhaps a kiss?”
The response she got was as cold as the wind when a winter storm blew trough town.
“Just give me two beers, whatever you have cooking and then keep your foul mouth shut girl, your charms wont work on me. ”
with those stinging words he walked away and sat down beside his now sleeping companion who had dozed of where she sat with her back to the wall.

Sitting down he drew his pipe and stuffed it with tobacco and lit it. The food and rink came and they ate in silence for a while, the meal was boiled beef and bread with heaps of butter. It was more then good after months of eating rations and whatever they could find in the wilds.
She broke the silence first.
“How do you manage to be so cold at times Morgan? The poor woman just wanted to flirt, sometimes I wonder if there is a hearth beating in your chest and warm blood flows in your veins?”.
Breaking of a piece of bread and chewing hard on it she continued.
“ Gods know I would have payed a lot of gold too see you actually smile to her, or if by some Sigmar blessed miracle flirt with her.”

He turned and looked at his companion for the last two years. Putting his beer mug to rest on the rough table he answered her in a voice that revealed that age had not allowed him to forget that it kept up with him.
“perhaps your right, but what’s the point. In the morning we leave and will most likely never return and she will still be stuck here in this place."
realizing that the argument was lost as it almost always was when this subject was brought up between the two.

While the pair was relaxing and the cold being driven from their bones someone else was having a miserable if not outright hostile night. Rain hammered down as the rider drove his great war horse forwards and lashed out with his long gleaming sword, the blade struck one of his attacks square in the head and cleaved it in two.
Wheeling around the horse reared up and kicked hard at a spear wielding assailant who went flying when the iron clad horse hoofs struck him in the chest. Now only two of the original hundred remained. Most had either fled or died by lance or blade. The two remaining villains realized that fighting this man was a bad investment in their own personal health and ran into the waiting woods.

Breathing hard the man looked around himself to make sure no more stinking beasties was lurking nearby ready to brain him once his back was turned.
Patting the horse on its neck he cast one final look at the body of his now fallen comrades and swore an oat of vengeance. Their names would be washed clear of this shame and their killers would not rest until he had buried his sword in their warm and fearful guts.
As he rode on he felt his wound ache and bleed, even his plate amour had barely managed to stop the blow aimed at his ribs, it hurt to breath but soon he could rest. He just needed to hold on for a bit longer and fight the pain.

As dawn broke and the shadows was forced to flee from the rays of the sun the town and the keep awoke, Morgan woke up and felt his body groan in protest to him having plans for getting up early. The bed on the other side of the room where Andre snored showed no sings of releasing the woman sleeping just yet.
It suited him just fine, he had things to do before they could leave anyhow, and they needed at least a few more days to rest and rebuild their energy before resuming their hunt.
As he walked out into the street he saw a lone horseman riding up towards the gate, the guards too saw this and walked towards the rider.
But before anyone could say or think anything the man slumped from his saddle and hit the ground hard.
The guards rushed over and discovered the man was clad in plate amour, armed with a long sword and sported a coat of arms that signaled his knighthood. In addition they saw his still body bleeding onto the ground.
With great haste the man was carried of to the local healer.
But what interested Morgan was the horse, it snorted in anger and fear and seemed to be on edge.
Walking over to it and gently whispering soothing words, the horse stood still for long enough or him to grab the reins and examine the horse, it was clearly a Breton war horse. And the quality of the saddle and such provided evidence to what he had thought when he saw the coat of arms on the the chest of the man.

This was indeed not good news he decided and almost ran back to the inn to wake his companion, word needed to be sent about this turn of events.

Very nice, cant wait for chapter 3. One segestion, when they arrive at the town you might have put - without incedent (or however you spell it) - instead of - with anything happening -. but it up to you if you want to change it it's still fugging good, nice work.

Excellently written. Sorry I missed this earlier.

No problem, one can not manage to keep track of everything

Good characterisation and a pinch of mystery.

The recipe's a good one.

Chapter 3 : Unholy sacrifices
The same rainstorm that had plagued Morgan and his friend Andrea pounded the village where Thomas Forlangen slept uneasy, his dreams filled with the visions of fire and death and a great beast that brayed and screamed for his doom to manifest.
He woke with a muffled scream at his lips but he managed t stifle it, so he did not wake his weary mother.
He got up from his bed and walked over to the now dying fire in their fireplace. He added a few logs to get the flames up and to ward of the night chill, whenever he woke on nights like these the fire seemed to calm his frighted mind. It seemed like a long lost friend, had he not been sure abut his own sanity he could have sworn he heard it whisper to him, telling its secrets and how to master its fiery potential.
Sitting down by the fireplace his fingers found the old but still shining amulet his mother had made him swear on his life that he would never take of. It had belonged to his father she had told him, and that it was all that remained in this world after his passing into the gardens of Morr.
The strange jewellery had always seemed strange to Thomas, it portrayed a snarling wolf head with a red gem stone set in its maw. He could have sworn that sometimes it had kept wolfs at bay and sent dogs with a less than pleasant mindset scrambling for hiding, either that or dogs were just afraid of him. Slowly sleep claimed him as he sat there an gazed into the fire.

At the same time a baleful precession of man and beast filled out from under the trees that surrounded the village, the Ungor scouts had returned with the news of their discovery of this place. Pleased by their obedience they had been spared a beating and told to surround the place and await the bloodshed to come.
Ragnar Ndjamena stood at the front alongside his finest warriors, his blood boiled with hate and his skin crawled with a urge to shed blood.
“Kill everyone you find but bring me the boy and his wrenched mother! Those two are mine to slay!”
With those words his horde was unleashed in a torrent of violence.

“BLOOD FOR the BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE” his men howled as they charged down the grassy hill and hammered into the palisade surrounding the town, the town militia could not hope to stop this rampaging horde but they still fought like heroes of old. Everyone who wore their uniform was a seasoned fighter against bandits, beast men and other unpleasant woodland creatures that treated their homes.

Captain Erik watched as his last surviving men was cut down by a giant of a man clad in red tinted armour, he fired his pistol at point blank range and rammed his sword into the brutes neck sending a gush of blood out into the dark night, drawing his blade clear he hacked down and cut the head of.
“Curse you foul dogs! This ain’t over yet” he said and ran for all his worth towards the hut near the edge of the woods.



Thomas awoke when he heard the sound of wood splintering and a inhumane voice growl in a broken tongue to whoever was its companion. He felt panic surge true his body but was brought back to reality by the voice of his mother.

“Run Thomas! Don’t let them get you” she screamed with terror in her voice. He saw one beast raise a club and strike his mother in the head dropping her like a sack of flour, he had only a moment to take this gruesome scene in before the two beasts was joined by a third and bigger abomination who looked at him with eyes that burnt with hatred.
Upon seeing the unconscious woman it growled and with a casual motion brought its cleaver down hard on the nearest Ungor who died with a yelp of pain on its twisted lips.
As it stepped closer it raised one of its great paws and readied to hammer the still standing human down so it could be delivered to its master.
Thomas backed up against the wall, his hands seeking something to defend himself with, as the Gor was about to strike a thundering sound filled the room and hot blood washed against his face, it slumped down with a gaping crater where its neck had been, the remaing Ungor was already dying with a long sword embedded in its guts.
“On your feets lad! We need to be gone before another minute passes, I’ll take care of your mother!” the bloodstained and weary Captain said as he pulled his blade free, the man looked like he had waded through a river of gore and seen the very hearth of the burning hells. His breathing was laboured and he looked like a man with not much left in the ways of nerves.
Seeing the one man who had ever treated him with anything resembling respect in such a way made Thomas feel very ill, his stomach churned and before he could do anything he threw up on the floor and gasped for air. With shambling steps he followed the now sole survivor of the town militia out into the bloodstained night.
As they came around the corner of the small hut they saw the flames reach for the sky down in the village below them. They heard the howls of beasts and the screams of those not yet dead.

The trio ducked in between the trees who stood silently witness to the massacre below and the wind sang a mournful song amongst the leafless branches.

After what seemed like a whole night spent walking Erik stopped and sat the unconscious form of Eva Forlangen gently down and looked at the bruise on her head. After several moments he stood up and looked at Thomas.
“Your mother took a nasty blow to the head, but she seems to be waking up. How about you Thomas? Any wounds on you?” he asked and sat down with his back to a tree while wearily gazing up at the sky above their heads.

Looking pale as a corpse Thomas was the one to break the silence that followed.
“Those....monsters what where they? And how come did they not simply murder us all!” he said and shivered as the cool air gripped his now bone weary body.
“I don’t think I’m hurt, except for those things we saw in the light of the fires.....just thinking about those scenes makes me feel sick and afraid.”


Captain Erik Vanaheim or former Captain now as it was looked at the scrawny lad and his mother who had begun to wake up and was moaning in pain as she gripped her sore head.
He had received no word of the coming attack, and hence had few men ready for battle, oh what a fight he would have given them if he had an army to back his boys up. But now those thoughts where just another shattered illusion gone up in flames.
Snapping back to the current issues at hand he looked at the two who was in these damned woods with him. The cold would kill them just as fast as any beasties lurking about would. If he was alone he would simply walk on and in that way keep the cold at bay, but now he needed a fire to get the warmth back in them. And to keep the haunting dreams at bay for a fleeting moment at least.


Meanwhile many miles from the dark and lonely woods where three lost souls now huddled for safety around a fire, Morgan Kane walked into the hospital that had received the wounded knight the night before. His gaunt features and hard face kept the nurses and the doctor at bay, aiding in this was also his set of pistols and a heavy cavalry sable.
He had asked to be taken to the man and was shown to the bed where the man lay, upon entering the room he saw the man was clearly a seasoned fighter, his torso was covered in scars and his left chin was a tangled mess of a old wound who clearly had almost cost him his good looks if not almost his life.
Deciding that a calm and diplomatic approach was the best thing he spoke in a calm voice.
“Quite a entry you made, I think the guards where ratter rattled by your fall! And I could not help notice the coat of arms you wore. Must be hard to earn that one I imagine. Even for a man like you?”

This honest attempt at diplomacy did not seem to sit well with the man. He seemed to stifle a moan of pain but held the mask of self control, sitting up and tossing the blanket aside he revealed a body ravaged by war and old wounds.
“ If you have to preach or attempt to gain knowledge of things you need not know about I must disappoint you, if you have not very important things that require my attention I ask you to leave.”

Drawing breath and reaching for his now mended shirt of thick wool he continued.
“However seeing you wear that ring you have on your left hand tells me you are someone I can spare a moment for, Before you say another word I ask that you deliver me proof of who you claim to be.”

He was handed a envelope by Morgan and read the content of the letter within and looked up. The signature and trademark emblem on the bottom of the paper sheet left no doubt.
“ Very well then sir Kane, it seems I am to offer my blade and lance to your hunt then. However know this, I will not be able to ravel before tomorrow, the healer told me the blessing of Isha needs time to work. And large amounts of sleep it seems, I will meet you and your companion by the gate when the sun rises.”

Oh yeah this is turning out to be epic

Damn, excellently written.

The following morning found Morgan and Andrea waiting under the roof of the toll gate, the wind had gained strength and the rain storm had given way to clear blue skies and a promise of fair weather for a change.
They sat on their horses and waited for the knight who had told them he would be here, Notting was said between the two as often was the case when they waited or traveled.

Andrea for one hated the silence at moments like this, the tall and rough cut Kislevite was not particularly found of waiting but she endured, as she always had no mater what. One thing she had learned over the last years was that her companion was not fond of complaining or people who had a need to talk at all times. He was in many ways a mystery even after all they had seen and experienced together, never as a small girl had she imagined herself traveling with such a man.
She let out a mutter and reached for her pipe and tobacco when the sound of horse hoofs on cobblestone made them both look up.

Coming down the street sitting straight in his saddle came the warrior, his amour mended and his tunic that displayed his coat of arms was washed and sown back to its former glory.
But what took her by surprise was his eyes, they where like two endless pits of nothingness, he gripped in one hand a long slender lance and the other held his shield.
By the Tzarinas tits he looked like a unpleasant man to cross or make a foe out of. She swore never to make that mistake.
“Hail I see your fit to ride boyar!" A new companion is always nice eh” she said and sent him a smile meant to break the ice.

Morgan too greeted the man in a somewhat friendly tone.
“Glad to see your up and about, your blade and lance is most welcome to our hunt! I trust you have understood what we hunt and what is at stake?”

To these words the man simply replied.
“Greetings daughter of Kislev! Always glad to lend steel to a Kislevite and yes Kane I know very well what you seek. A worthy prize indeed however grim the odds may be!”
Pausing he seemed to make a slight grimace of pain but his face except fr that made no other signs of any discomfort.
“You already know my name and my tale Kane, but I think I own your companion an introduction, should I do the honors or do you want that job?”
Waving his hands in dismissal Morgan left that to the knight.
“My name is Hararld, I serve the lady Elspeth von Draken of Nuln. May Sigmar bless her.” said the pale man and it was clear no more questions was welcome regarding his servitude to a woman from Nuln. He grasped the reins of his horse and cast a long glance up towards the place had been saved from the cold embrace of death.
And with those words the three riders set out from the slowly awakening castle town.


As the three left Helmsborg behind others were too waking up to a new dawn.
Thomas had not slept much that night, between keeping a vigil over his mother who thankfully had woken up and beside from a sore head and a sense of despair was unharmed. Although no one could escape what they had gotten away from with all their pieces intact.

On the other side of the smouldering embers that remained from the fire former militia Captain Erik had been out cold for almost the entire night, his limbs ached and his mind felt spent.
Defying these things he rose and stretched his body and felt some resemblance of functionality return to him. Seeing his new if albeit somewhat fearful traveling companions awake he decided it was best to get the unpleasant stuff done first of all.
“Right good to see you both awake, but sadly this is not a bad dream and there will likely be no happy ending to this story unless we make a very fast journey to Helmsborg, I need to report about what happened last night. And you two need a new place to call home.”

Pausing only to strap his still bloodied sword back on his belt and adjusting his boots he looked at the two who now for good or bad shared whatever fate ha had in stall.
“Before we set of I need to make one thing crystal clear! As long as we are in these damned woods my word is law, now you both most likely have by now realized that we are alone out here, and that friendly faces will be very far away. So without any further pause we need to get moving, are you fit enough to walk miss Forlangen?” he asked.

Receiving only a nod from the woman who had not spoken more than a few words since coming to herself, witch was understandably he thought, he got a simple yes from the boy.
And without further pause the trio set of.
Thomas and his his mother walked behind the captain who had thrown away his deep blue cape and kept one hand hear his sword hilt for most of the time while the other held his pistol in a firm grip. At times the man would kneel and examine something on the ground or signal them to be quiet and listen for something or someone.
When noon was well passed and they rested by a fallen tree he suddenly placed a finger over his lips and gestured for the two to be quiet and stay hidden.


Erik peered out from behind the fallen tree and felt his hearth drop, there stood a score of heavily armed Northmen. They seemed unaware of being watched but still they looked ready to throw themselves at him. He knew against these foes his blade and pistol was only a fools hope. But was worse than in addition to the steel clad warriors there was a large amount of Beast men too standing there, one of them had clearly awoken the foul temperament of the Northmen
One of the damned brutes stood a head taller than the rest and was clearly a leader of sorts.
“Incompetent mongrels! I gave you ONE command! You claim to master these woods yet you fail to find a child and a woman? Pray that you find them soon or you will discover just how dangerous it is to fail me....”
To drive home his point the man grabbed a beast and with a single devastating blow from his armored hand broke its spine and threw the paralysed beast down. The best brayed in agony but the only response it was a brutal kick to the head by its now former underlings.
Swallowing hard Erik disappeared back behind the fallen tree, this was bad. Very bad he decided. While he stood there and prayed for a miracle he heard the abominations disperse and the forest once more fall quiet and seemingly peaceful.
“Gods help us! This is not good” he thought to himself as he helped Eva to her feet. Thaal knows that you lot deserve better he continued his one sided conversation.



The clear skies brought hopes of staying dry to the trio who rode in good speed along a winding path in the woods, but the cold air and the dour mood of the two men in the party did not promote much in the way of joy to the lone female riding at the rear. She was however not put down by this, after all a break from the sole company of Morgan was a relief she greatly enjoyed.
She brought her horse up to his side and spoke to him in a almost singing voice.
“So Harald, never have I seen a man get up so fast with wounds like you sport. Even with the aid of healers! Your bloodline must be a hardy clan indeed.”
without waiting she continued while gripping her bow in one hand.
“ I may just be a curious Kislevite but that shield of yours is a piece of art and your amour the same. Whoever provided them must indeed be wealthy...or enamored in you” she finished with a grin.

Her grim faced conversation partner only stared at her first then replied in a low tone.
“Yes you are curious, as a child I learned that that was got the cat killed. But yes, you are correct. I hail from a once proud family or clan as you call it. And as for weapons and armour. Their origins are of no great concern, they are tools that serves me well.”

but before he could reply he saw the Kislevite raise her bow and send a arrow speeding into the woods right ahead of him. A muffled howl followed and then all hell was loose.
Out from the woods swarmed a horde of howling beasts. Ahead the sharp crack of pistols and howls of pain from inhuman throats.
Andrea released another arrow and saw her target topple to the ground with a long shafted arrow buried in its eye socket. Using her feet she guided the horse amongst the beasts and unleashed a steady stream of arrows.
However not all of the three preferred ranged combat, lowering his lance and shouting a battle cry Harald came on hard, this was something he was seasoned veteran of. Fighting these unholy creatures while mounted on this trusty steed he reaped a bloody toll.

But not all was going well for the trio, Morgan had been knocked down from his horse when one of the beasts tackled him and intended to bite his throat out. The stinking Ungor was rewarded with a dagger jab to the guts and a brutal punch to the face.
He regained his footing and found himself all but surrounded by a mob of the now deceased Ungor tribal companions.
“By Sigmar you boyzs reek of filth” he said and sent another one to the afterlife with a pistol shot to the leg. '
“If you want to claim me as dinner come and try then!” he said and pulled his heavy sabre.
As the first beast threw itself at him he decided this was going to be one of those days that really hurt.
He parried and slashed down hard at a exposed arm and swung around in a wide arch to dispatch one Ungor armed with a spear, the first blow chopped the limb clean of and sent its owner running away in pain and despair, the other had its spear chopped in two but still came on hard with the remaining two pieces aiming to gore him.
He sidestepped it and fired his remaing pistol at point blank into its head that exploded like a ripe melon.
Suddenly he became aware of something in the corner of his eye running at full tilt at him. The shape of a great snarling hound with pitch black fur.
“Oh bollocks” he muttered as he realized he had no way of stopping the beast. As he braced for a toothy death, a yelp of pain reached his ears and the grounded shook as something speed past him in a flurry of steel and the smell of horse.

Looking up he saw the hound impaled on a lance and several of the Ungors either ridden down or hacked down strew about, the remainders looked at him and snarled with hunger showing in their eyes.
Well this was odds he could live with.
“Lets dance then goat lovers” he said and smiled his characteristic wolf grin.


Harald thundered down the road while granting swift death to any beast that strayed into his path, he turned his horse around and allowed himself to cast a glance at the swirling chaos in front of him, he and his fellow travelers had been ambushed by a flock of Ungors it looked from the looks of things, his blood boiled with hate for these mindless savages!
He saw Andrea hack one down and then stick a arrow in the neck of another only to be rewarded with a club strike by a third. The Kislevite rewarded the beast with a downward slash followed by a kick that ended its life with the guts dripping from its belly.

"“Lets dance then goat lovers” he said and smiled his characteristic wolf grin."

Badass.

Another excellently written entry.

Haha glad you think it was badass.

There's a nice dynamic between the three hunters and the fight scenes are paced really well. As always, there's some gems of phrasing sprinkled in there.

I dunno, maybe it's because you're not a native English speaker, but you have a knack of putting words together in ways I wouldn't think of, and they work really well. Me jealous

A nice couple of updates - let's have some more, please!

The Ungor ran for all its worth, behind it heard its last kin scream in pain as the lioness layed its prey low with a slash of her hungry blade. If it only could reach the shelter of the brush it would be safe, no human could follow it in there.
But it was not to be, it sensed something in front of it. Looking up it saw a great black horse rear up and a point of gleaming steel rush down to greet it. It died impaled through the head with its killer pulled the lance out and spit on the still warm corpse.

The ambush had been repelled and the ambushers rewarded with death and misery, but the tree hunters all agreed that it was the lack of any larger Beastmen that had enabled their victory here this day.
Harald wiped the blood of his sword and shook the blood of his lance while he observed that strange and somewhat interesting woman Andrea search the dead for any clues or tribal markings. This was indeed proving to be a fruitful journey after all, perhaps his initial skepticism had been misplaced? He knew his greatest foe was his own mind at times but he still had a gnawing feeling when he thought about what had been outlined in the letter Morgan had shown him. His free hand sought the medallion hanging around his neck, it was one of the few things that seemed to calm his mind and troubled hearth at times. He whispered a silent prayer to the lady of the lake and a equally silent curse at the woman who had brought him back to this world no mater how good or noble her goals had been.
When he had fallen all those years ago he thought himself free from this world and finally able to let go of a life spent on noting but war and bloodshed.
But even in the afterlife it seemed the lady had need of knights who could serve her, and guard the sleeping herd from the predators in the dark.

“Damn it all! These bloody curs are noting but fodder!” Andrea snarled as she rose back up from inspecting a dead Ungor. Her face and person was covered in blood and other less than pleasant substances, Oh how she hated these things. For once she would like to not reek of blood.
Her scimitar was cleaned and her bow recovered although she no longer had any arrows. As she looked around she saw Morgan mount his horse and curse his rotten luck sine he had bumped his head and taken a rather forceful head but to the groin. The man seemed to not relish the idea of sitting on a horse after that. But at least he was unharmed if a bit sore.
But she felt a cold shiver creep up her slender spine when she saw Harald sitting on his horse almost staring at her, the man seemed to drill holes in her with those eyes of his, his horse snorted and stamped its hoofs and its eyes reflected the sun in a manner that made them look like fiery pits.
The man looked equally otherworldly, his face was paler than before the battle had begun and his shield who portrayed a snarling wolf head was covered in blood and fur.
She tensed as the man guided his horse towards her but decided the man had no evil in mind.
“Are you hurt my lady” he asked and handed her his water skin so she could get some of the blood of her at least.
Not getting a reply at once the pale rider dismounted his horse and walked calmly over to her. He extended a hand to her and pulled her up. He removed his gauntlet and examined a small cut on her forehead.
“I would wash that if I were you. Before anything sets in it.” the knight told her in a almost friendly tone.
Unsure how to react she allowed herself to be pulled up. When his hand touched her face she felt how cold the man was, it felt like a dead man touching her, and she would have believed so if she did not feel his breath and the faint hint of a pulse under his pale skin.

With a hint of fear in her voice she answered him.
“Thank you boyar, I will tend to the wound when we make camp”.
She got no reply only a nod and then the man walked back to his waiting warhorse and in one fluid motion mounted up. Once seated he grabbed the reins and set the horse into a quick pace.

Andrea took the reins of her own horse and swung herself up in the saddle, casting a finale glance about her, she followed after her two companions who already was making good speed ever onwards on their hunt.
When she caught up with Morgan the two exchanged a look that signalled their somewhat uneasiness regarding the man riding up front.
He spoke first “You look like you have seen a dead man Andrea, felt a cold hand on your face have you? And before you ask there is more to Harald than meets the eye, so much will I tell you. But do not concern yourself with it, as long as you are on side you are safe. Just make to keep it that way, he makes for a deadly foe.” Morgan finished and waited for a answer.

“His hand....when he took mine it felt like the embrace of someone who has no warmth of life in them, I felt my skin crawl. And you tell me he keeps secrets from us? I pray to the Tzarina Morgan that the man don’t dabble in witch craft or such foul things. Because sharing company with a wyrd is something I will not do. Even if you assure me he is of a friendly nature.”

Kane looked at her and gave her a answer the woman would never forget until the day she died.
“Keep your tongue in check! Do not make the mistake of thinking that just because you have been given the chance of serving the Empire makes you irreplaceable Andrea! Mine and your duty is to the Grandmaster and the Emperor! And NOBODY else. As regarding Harald and his curse......All you need to know about it is that some men serves onwards even when their natural life ends and others means are required to keep them fighting the foes of Sigmar.”
this was the first time she had been treated by the man who had obtained her service all those years ago. She now realized just how close she was to tumbling down from the knifes edge she was clearly balancing on.
She merely nodded and decided to not speak for a while. She needed time to work all this out, even Kislevites did that at times when confronted by such promises.


Some time after the three had departed from the body strewn battlefield armored forms emerged from the woods lead by a giant of a Northman. They stood silently as their lord communicated with the dead by unholy means.
The man turned and his eyes meet those of a gnarled Beastman clutching a staff.
“Your minions prove their eagerness to shed blood well. But they found other prey than expected here, it seems we are not alone in hunting the child who will end our hunt. Send out the summons and call forth your best warriors, the pale rider must not find the son of the wolf. For it would spell bloody demise and eternal damnation for us all.”

with those words the old one left the gathered Norsemen and prepared to sound the drums of war, now the weaklings that sought to oppose the will of the dark gods would flee in terror when the true children of Chaos was unleashed and the great hunt began.

I'm loving the way this is building. There's ominous foreshadowing and then there's OMINOUS FORESHADOWING. It makes me care about these characters and want to continue reading.

Harald's a dude.

Harald is most definitively a man yes, Andrea is a woman if you did not understand it.

I think he meant that Harold is cool, as opposed to stating that he's male.

I can't keep up with all the hip lingo of the younger generations.

 Avatar 720 wrote:
I think he meant that Harold is cool, as opposed to stating that he's male.

I can't keep up with all the hip lingo of the younger generations.

Really? Well I guess I learn something new each day here on dakka then

And Harald being cool? Well wait and see

I like the little tweeks you have put in to the earlier chapters, loving this epic tale, keep going. can we please find out what morgan's quest/mission is, there has been several references but no explanation.

Thomas and his mother alongside Erik ran as fast as their legs could carry them, their breath heaving and their limbs ached with pain, but they dared not stop for death chased them. Arrows zipped by and howls sounded behind them as their pursuers closed in.
As they burst out of the brush they realized they had only moments to live before they where caught up in a maelstrom of teeth and claws.
“Damnation!” said Erik and gasped for air, his blade bloodied and pistol spent on dead foes that lay behind them.
He knew this was not going to end well, but damn If these brutes would lay a hand on the boy and his mother. He would take as many with as he could before they got him.

Their hunters howled in joy when they realized they prey was about to sub come to fatigue and weariness.

Harald had left Morgan and Andrea behind to scout ahead, even he realized it was only right to share on these duties, although his plat email made it somewhat hard to remain silent and stealthy, but still he pressed on.
He had removed his helmet to hear and see better in the now gradually opening woodland, he still peered cautiously around him and tried to hear any sounds that did not belong in the normal chore of sounds and smells. as he searched for signs of their foes and the prey they hunted.
Suddenly a horn broke the silence, followed by distant howls that was all too familiar to him.
He kicked his horse into a fierce gallop and soon he seemed like a thundering shade speeding along the narrow trails that lead him towards the sounds of distress and mayhem.

Saying soothing words to his horse who weaved in between the trees as he finally reached a large clearing in the woods.
He pulled the reins that controlled his horse and saw what lay ahead.

There a lone swordsman who seemed wounded was surrounded by several dead Gors and a lone hound, he protected a young boy and a woman who both seemed paralysed with fear as the violent struggle unfolded before them.
The man brought his sword down in a swift strike that cleaved a Gor from head to groin before hurling his knife at a another beast who dodged the blade and came at him swinging a great axe, clearly the man would die either by his wounds or by steel.
This show of despair and courage when faced with such hideous foes made Harald almost sick, he hated the vile mutants for causing brave men harm, and the sight of a mother and her child about to die produced memories he thought long gone in his plagued mind.

The normally calm and cold mannered fighter lost all pretences of self control. Blowing the brass horn that hung on his saddle horn he charged.

A deep almost rumbling sound filled the air, again the deep throaty horn signal sounded across the field and into the woods beyond. It was followed by a savage scream for blood and death when the horn blower pressed his mount into a swift pace while lowering his lance that gleamed with a lust for blood.

The union of man and horse slammed into the mass of foes awaiting them. Howling like a mad man the rider struck like a wounded beast as he claimed the life of his opponents. His horse too added to the death toll. Horse hoofs struck like hammer blows and violent kicks shattered bone.
Suddenly the man was knocked from his horse who quickly escaped the chaos to awaits its master.
Harald rose to his feet with a snarl on his face, his gaze seemingly that of someone who no longer could be called sane. His helmet had been torn of and his pale features revealed for all to see.
“YOU DARE VIOLATE THE INCONCENT! YOU DARE HARM THE RIGTHOUS AND PIOUS!” he screamed and swung his long sword in a wide arch and blocked a blow with his dented shield.
“THERE IS ONLY ONE FATE WHO AWAITS HERETICAL BEASTS LIKE YOUR KIN! DEATH! DEATH!” he continued before a blow sent him reeling and landing hard.

Snorting the massive Gor looked at the man who had dared disrupt their sport. Its massive form was covered in iron hard muscles that rivalled that of a Dwarf slayer, its horned head were adorned with totems and a large skull hung from a chain around its bull neck.
Showing its fanged maw it stepped closer and all those who still lived of its followers knew better than to attack its prey.
“man flesh” it said in butchered Reikspeil and raised its two spiked clubs and came charging.

However its opponent was no stranger to fighting such beasts and stood his ground. He saw in the corner of his eye his horse galloping hard towards him and slowly walked backwards with steel ready and his shield ready.
For the first time in ages he felt the surge of adrenaline pass through his cold veins and his senses come alive in a manner he thought lost to him.
He noticed the beast had still to realize his tactic and he smiled like a devil, revealing sharp teeth and pale gums.
His charm hummed quietly beneath his armour and he was grateful for its powerful wards holding.

Suddenly the Gor saw the horse and roared in anger and began to run at full tilt towards him, it lusted for the taste of blood and it would be damned before its prey would escape its hunger now.
However the knight had gained too much room between the two and managed to grab the saddle horn as the horse speed past. He regained his balance and swung around sharply and met the best head on.
The two collided like two great bulls competing while in heat. Steel flashed and blood was spilled, then the pair broke apart. And circled each other, both were wounded but one would soon lie dead as food for the crows.


With a howl the Gor came forth in great speed with its good arm raised to deliver a crushing blow. But before it could strike a loud and thunderous boom rang out from the forest edge and its head exploded in a shower of gore and bone.

Seeing their leader killed and presented with a new foe the Beastmen who remained was gripped by confusion, this proved to be their undoing. The wounded man leapt the chance and ran one trough and slammed into another while pummelling it with blows from his gloved hands.
The knight and his now arrived companions did not waste time either, another long rifle shot rolled out and struck down another Gor while a rider came speeding out from the woods while howling a Kislevite war cry and swinging a scimitar
presented with this the herd scattered, some fled while some stood and fought until they died.

Morgan came walking out of the woods carrying his most valuable possession in his hands.
He knew it would come in handy when he bought it and time and time again its long reach and power proved him right.
His eyes spotted Harald sitting slumped in his saddle clutching his left arm and Andrea trying to get him to dismount, the man who had held the beastmen at bay before help arrived sat on the ground while a woman and what looked like her child tried to tend to his wounded form.
He saw the slain littering the field and his mind imagined the fight that had unfolded here, he saw one lying face down with a lance jutting out its back. He saw the dead that surrounded the lone swordsman and silently congratulated the warrior and saw the dead who had been cut down by a razor sharp Kislevite blade.

Stopping by Harald and Andrea he looked down and spoke in a somewhat angry voice.
“Quite the habit you have of going charging true woods and meeting these lads for a scrap, care to wait next time? Or do we need to make a habit of rescuing your sorry arse idiot!”

Walking onwards he stopped by the trio now resting near the dead.
“Well done sir, well done. I imagine it was quite intense with all these filthy things all about.”
he was suddenly aware of the medallion hanging around the neck of the young boy. Cold that be one they had searched so long for? Lord preserve us all he thought and regained his self control
“I’ll be right back, just need to fetch something for my companions” he said with a friendly smile that hid his inner storm of most likely having found the thing he had hunted for so long.

He almost ran back to his horse and pulled the scroll out of his saddlebag. He stared long and hard at the drawn. His hands almost trembled as he slid it back into its leather casing.
He took and long and hard drink of his water skin filled with brandy and decided time was at a premium, he had to get those three to safety before the storm caught up to them, and all was lost.

"...and its head exploded in a shower of gore and bone."

Love that sentence. Excellently written Trondheim, as per usual.

 Avatar 720 wrote:
I think he meant that Harold is cool, as opposed to stating that he's male.

I can't keep up with all the hip lingo of the younger generations.

I'm 43

And yup, thanks for the clarification - that's exactly what I meant.

Back OT, another storming episode. Well-paced mayhem with nice touches of characterisation. I'm itching for the big reveal!

Chapter 7 No safe haven.

The rain had returned with a vengeance it seemed, perhaps a futile try by nature to wash away the blood spilt. And happiness shattered by blade and claw. Whatever the reason it was not welcomed, the rain made trails muddy and all but impassable and rivers swelled with the added lifeblood they received.

All this made the day very miserable for the now five member of the companionship whole made slow progress through the thankfully opening woodlands, that held a promise of open country and a sense of being out of that green beast infested nightmare.
Three of them rode on war horses while the other two rode smaller but equally sturdy ponies found near a ravaged lumber camp that the Kislevite had stumbled upon while out scouting.
The one who brought up the rearguard was Morgan and his keen eyes who scanned the land around for signs of trouble while Andrea was at the head of the party, but there was one who seemed to have undergone a change of sorts.

Harald sat on his horse and felt the pain flood his form, the burning sensation was almost unbearable but the man made almost no sign of discomfort or suffering. Only his furrowed face and ever dwindling appetite and restless nights hinted at his troubles.
He whispered a silent prayer and clutched his medallion as if afraid to drop it and thus never feel its warmth again. The wounds he had received after his almost berserker charge into the flock of beastmen did not cause him much grief, as always his wounds mended before they could trouble him, or cause him discomfort. He had long ago stopped caring about such things, now he sensed his days would come to a close soon. One way or the other this damned life would end, and Morr claim that woman, he thought and spat on the ground while another wave of pain washed over him.

Erik sat on the pony and felt somewhat dour, his shoulder ached but was coming along nicely but his body still told him that it needed time to rest before he could try anything adventurous again.
He seldom felt afraid or worried when he meet other men that lived by the blade, but these three gave him shivers all over. The woman named Andrea was a pleasant one and not to bad to look at either, but she most likely would run him through with that scimitar of her if he had asked her to partake in anything frivolous, well while sober at least he though and smiled to himself.
But when he thought of the other two his blood ran all but cold, first there was that vulture like Morgan with those wolfish eyes and cold eyes and hands who never strayed far from his weapons.
He would rather marry an Ogre than to cross paths with that one for sure unless he had a detachment of hand gunners or swordsmen with him.

Then there was that knight, at least he seemed to be the least likely to brain you while you slept or shoot you for looking at his horse. But still the man seemed to be locked in a struggle with his inner demons while he was awake and plagued by nightmares when he managed to sleep. He guessed some things you would see as a knight could to that to a man, no mater how brave and righteous one was supposed to be.


The figure emerged from the woods and entered the body strewn field, not breaking the silence he walked amongst the dead and surveying the carnage and remains of broken weaponry and limbs.
His weary eyes saw where the first had fallen and where the last had fallen where their killer had struck them down with cold steel before being unhorsed and forced to fight on foot.
Waving with one had to unseen companions the man walked back, stopping only to pick up and examine a lost piece of clothing and a bloodied rag.
Smiling as he picked them up he handed them over to a inhumane form who ran of into the woods where the baying of hunting hounds soon where heard as a large and well armed hunting party set out.
Ragnar felt the ages weight down on him as he stood there. No mater if you where chosen by the gods one could not escape the limitations of being mortal.
“ Soon my kin, soon they will be no safe haven for our prey! Sharpen your axes, ready your amour and give praise to the ruinous powers! Freedom awaits us all!”
His men howled and slammed their shields with their armored fists and soon they all begun what promised to be their last march.


Thomas felt cold, so very cold. Now he was alone in the world, his mother had not recovered from the blow to the head she had received that gruesome night. One cold and damp morning she had not woken up when he shook her cold and motionless form. That was the first time he had wept in ages, they had buried her in the shadow of a great oak tree where a carpet of red and white flowers covered the ground.
The only memories that remained in this world of her now was her necklace and the time they had had together. He wished that death would claim him when the first chance presented itself.
Alone and surrounded by all but one stranger he imagined life had noting but doom and gloom install for him the next days.
From under his hood he gazed out at the landscape around them, it seemed to have been farmland once now it only resembled a land populated by ghost, a true ghost land indeed he thought.
But as he sat there in his moment of sorrow and being wet he saw something that stirred the inner being of the young boy.
Galloping hard in the rain came Andrea shooting back to them from her scouting venture. She stirred him in ways he never realized a woman could to to someone as him.
But his beginning fantasy was interrupted when she caught up to that somewhat scary man known as Morgan Kane

she felt fear as a dry almost sour thing in her mouth, one thing she feared above else was the hounds kept by the foul beasts that now hunted them. The drooling pack had almost caught her had it not been for a bow shot that layed one of them low and distracted them for her to gain ground and vanish.
She told Morgan about was closing in fast on them and who had stirred the creatures into such a frenzied mindset, that was rare even for their brutal kin.

Read the first part and really enjoyed the great pacing and fantastic plot. Beastmen Vs Empire is for me the coolest match up.

I especially liked the way the beastmen shamans were portrayed, cunning and interested in furthering the needs of their tribe, the true leaders of the beasts. It adds a good element of depth to the beastmen, not just mindless Goat-orks.

My favourite piece of imagery was the way you described the warlord's Bloodthirsty aura as 'Pale'. This evoked a really strong image of a ruthless warmonger. Also how his men were loyal because they had given everything but their lives already. This gives another dimension to the chaos forces, they aren't necessarily just utterly evil, 'yay killing!', dudes, they are just so hardened they have no pity left.

On a side note i really liked the Blurb at the start, got me really looking forward to reading the piece.

Another good read, I await the next chapter with glee.

Excellently written, as per usual. Perkustin pretty much said everything that I was going to say. I really like the portrayal of Shaman and the Beastmen as a whole.

The party drove their mounts hard as they made good speed towards their possible escape , and respite from death. The ever present rain poured down still and the grey skies was broken up by the crack of thunder and lighting.
“We need to reach the ford at Varna! We have friends waiting there” said Kane and looked back over his shoulder once again as if expecting to see the gates of hell open and the daemonic legions march fourth.
He cursed his rotten luck with all this, it was bad enough he had spent years chasing rumours about the last few remains of the bloodline of the count but now.... To be so close and yet so very far away. He felt age momentarily catch up to him, the boy needed to reach safety even if it meant he would not see another day.
He clutched the amulet that portrayed the hammer of Sigmar and rested his hand on the hilt of his sabre.
If it all come down around he would take those bastards with him, he owned all those who had died that much he reckoned, and those yet born.

If someone had told him what his life would be spent on when he was a younger man, he would either have shot them or simply told them that they where stir crazy. It seemed life did not lack a sense if irony, even for men like him who had made a living of hunting other men for whatever reason had made them wanted.
Whatever his finale fate was to be, he hoped and prayed that his message that had been sent from the small town they had stopped in a few days back had reached its destination. If it did the field could perhaps be levelled and the monstrous circus following them cast down.

Harald felt a drop of blood drip from his nose, the nose bleeding was always a sign that he needed rest. But now he could not rest nor allow himself to let his eternal vigilance down. Too much depended upon the boy reaching safety, but he knew afters whatever end this wild and now seemingly doomed party came to he would finally rest his weary bones.
He found himself thinking about the former life he had lived, as the son of a Bretonnian noble had known no worries or shortages. He was surrounded by servants and men at arms who catered to his every need and commands.
But noting lasts forever, not even nobility. His familiy had been all but killed when a flood of undead monsters poured forth from the dark woods that bordered their ancestral estate. That was the first time he had felt terror grip his young soul, riding beside his fellow knights he had taken to the field on a cold autumn day to slay the fell creature commanding this unholy host.
Oh lady preserve their souls he had thought afterwards, all but a handful of knights had been dragged down and killed by the monsters. He had seen his four brothers slain by a pale monster clad in blood red armour only to be impaled upon the lance of his father and hacked apart by a man driven all but insane who himself died at the hands of a gruesome beast that resembled a bat.
When the last shambling dead fell and the day won he had looked around and seen his noble title gone like smoke in the wind. As the youngest he had no claim to the lands and when a neighbour was granted stewardship over the now depopulated land he had sworn vengeance upon the man.



Leaving Bretonnia behind he had sold his sword and lance as a sell sword. Until that fateful day he crossed paths with a woman he would come to see both as a lover and as a mistress in due time.
His face reflected the mix of emotions swelling up inside him when lady Elspeth von Draken occupied his thoughts.
The woman was beyond any doubt a protector of the lands of the Empire but she was no saint, her powers reached far beyond the veil of death. And few who crossed her ever found peace, and then it was her foul wyrm to contend with too.
She had used womanly charms and the veiled promises of redemption and a chance at reclaiming his now lost family honour to bind him to her. Long would he curse his lack of willpower in those young and restless years.

His moments spent thinking about days long gone to the wind was broken when a female voice he had learned to somewhat appreciate caused him to turn his head.
“Your mind Boyar, it seems troubled by storm clouds. Should we all fear the coming storm? And before you brush me of. I like you, I like you quite much actually. When this is all over and if we still both live come and drink with me, gods knows you make for more good company than Morgan ever dose.” the tall Kislevite said and smiled to him.

“I will hold you to that promise then” he said and looked around while removing his sword from its sheath.
Just as he did a long almost mournful howl broke the silence that had for a mere moment set on the party.

“Blasted dogs! RIDE FOR ALL YOUR WORTH! HEAD FOR THE BRIGDE!” Morgan yelled at the top of his lungs as his long rifle roared and a figure toppeld down far away.
The the five riders drove their horses in a mad final dash towards the possible chance at safety a distant and rhythmic choir of voices could be heard mixed the slow and steady blare of horns.
“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! RUIN TO OUR FOES AND PRAISE TO OUR LORD!” countless voices hymned as the ground shook as a army emerged from the last remains of the woodland laying behind them.

The bridge was made of stone and looked like it had stood in this lonely place for ages, as the hooves of horses pounded across it the ones who had awaited the riders emerged from the woods.

“By the balls of Sigmar! “ cursed Erik when he saw movement in the tree line on the side they where headed to. He prayed that this was the friends Morgan had told them about, and not more unwashed heathens baying for their bones.
But when he saw just what the man hunter had described as friends his blood ran cold.



The first figure to emerge was was a giant of its kin, the beast seemed to match the size of the warrior riding it. Dull black armour reflected the few rays of sun and a banner showing the symbol of the warriors who served the god of death fluttered in the wind as the demigriff let out a screech that seemed to make the air vibrate with barely controlled animistic rage.
Its tail flickered from one side to the other as beast snapped its great beak and its claws dug into the ground.
From behind it a score of its equals although none was of the same immense size.
Their riders all clad in the same dark war plate and armed with long cavalry hammers and shields. All wore helmets that hid their no doubt grim faces as they looked at the ragged band of travellers they had been called to aid.
Their leader raised the visor of his helm who resembled a human skull and spoke in a deep voice that seemed to resemble thunder.
“Who calls the servants of Morr to war! We hear rumours of death and foul magic disturbing those who have crossed the veil.” he said and paused to listen to the chant that drew ever closer.

He seemed to gather his thoughts and spoke again.
“The heathens will not survive our wrath, we are the mailed hand of the just. And we will deliver the punishment of our lord unto them. “

Andrea, Erik and the rest felt the cold aura of someone who had accepted death and only awaited their final day as the demigriff riders and their mounts formed a wedge of steel and claw.
It was somewhat unexpectedly Morgan who broke the silence.

“Oh for heavens sake man! There are just a score of you and a bloody horde of Norsemen and their infernal Beastmen allies! You will die and none will be any better of!”
these harsh words seemed to produce noting more than a hint of irritation from the stone faced man.

He answered in kind.
“Keep your heretical tongue behind your fangs man hunter! If we die we die fighting. And the heavens will guard the righteous in the end! Look to the sky when the horn sounds.” was his finale words before he shut the visor and gripped his hammer firmly.
The knights set their mounts into a steady pace and advanced across the bridge and formed up and awaited their foes.

“Kane! Get the boy to Nuln! That is all that matters now, I thank you for your aid in this quest but now we part ways. I will not travel any further on my damned path. I meet my death here this day.” said Harald and turned his great warhorse around.
“Oh not you too! We need every sword arm we can have!” said Kane before realizing the man was already determined to join this collective suicide. Andrea merely nodded while Erik and the boy looked away and seemed ready to drop dead of exhaustion

With a unison war cry the riders pressed their mounts forwards, each man and beats seasoned veterans of many, many battles against the countless minions of evil that treated the Empire from all sides.
They presented a razor sharp point of steel as they hammered into the Norsemen who had stormed forwards to meet them head on.

The first to die was the marauders who wore no or little armour, their bodies were crushed and mangled by both rider and beast as the two sides met.
A man was torn limb from limb as one demigriff pinned him down and raked him with its claws an beak. A rider was pulled down and eaten alive by a slavering pack of mutants while he still swung his hammer. The mount went mad with grief and lashed out like a devil until a warrior buried his pole arm in its head and took it clean of.

Amidst all this mayhem was Harald, he swung his now nicked sword in a sharp arch and took a arm of, another blow killed a Ungor before it buried itself in the neck of a armoured warrior swinging pair of axes in swirling arches. The blood stained the ground in a sicking shade of crimson as the battle grew into a standstill for a short moment in time. He killed and killed again until all he saw was a red mist that obstructed his vision. Once again he saw his brothers fall and the pale beast strike his father down, once again he saw himself take up the curse as a landless outcast and sell sword and once again he saw his own downfall begin on that night many, many years ago.
The two sides once again classed a horn echoed across the fields and up into the steel grey sky overhead.
As the carnage continued one could if gifted with keen eyes pick out a silhouette that seemed to descend down on great leathery wings.
It came soaring down while clouds parted way for its great form. Its millennia old eyes surveyed the scene below and its great fanged maw produced a blood curdling roar that made men and beast stop their wanton slaughter of each other. And gaze up in a mix of terror and awe at the wyrm dropping down towards them.

The rider of the great scaly beast was a woman clad in swirling robes that seemed to glitter with the same intensity as the star filled heaven at night, her pale slender hand grasped a long staff that ended in a curved blade studded with precious stone.
She spoke a single command to her mount and a plume of flame engulfed the fields below.

Lady Elspeth von Draken surved the burnt landscape around her, the sole survivor of the knights of Morr was mounted on his great demigriff and a lone horse mounted warrior was beside him. She recognized the pale aura emitting from the man, and smiled to herself.
Her schemes had bore fruits and now two great threats was eliminated. Both heathens and a foul Beastman clan had been burnt to ashes. And she had regained her most valuable tool, a man who had crossed the veil and seen the world unfold with the eyes of a dead man made living once more.
Even if his memories had come back sooner than she hoped for.

The conclusion to this tale came when the ones who had fled the coming storm reached Nuln, great was the rewards they reaped. But few realized who had sown the seeds of future events and how the spider now sat in the middle of the web spinning her treads and played the mere mortals of against each other like a child plays with dolls.

Liked the dragon coming down at the end that was pretty cool but it did seem like the tale ended one chapter too soon though, nice read all the same.

Damn, Lady Elspeth is a stone cold gangsta.