Something quick I whipped up in an hour because I was bored. Let me know what you think.
The midnight rain came down hard over the small village of Dietnestadt as the riders entered. No horns announced their arrival, no heralds to proclaim their intentions. The riders entered in silence, with only the dimmest flickers of moonlight glinting off their crimson livery.
The riders turned with a surprising grace that was completely at odds with their steed’s unsubtle barding, proceeding off the village’s main road an down a back alley. There were 4 of them in total, all of them broad shouldered and clad in curious armouring. Horned beats and screaming mouths were etched into the suit’s plates, giving their bearers an almost…otherworldly appearance. Fortunate then, mused the lead rider briefly, that they had arrived after dusk; even such a pitiful collection of hovels such as this would possess a garrison, which whilst presenting no sport would cost them time. Time was not something that he possessed a vast quantity of currently.
As though his previous consideration had been almost portentous, from out of the gloom stepped a lone militiaman. He was clad in typical Imperial watchmen garb; a mud-encrusted yellow and purple jerkin, ragged legging, a filthy cloak, and clutching a battered sword and a flickering torch that was clearly suffering in the downpour. Hearing the sound of hooves upon the cobbles, he moved to observe these new arrivals. His expression changed from one of confusion to abject terror within moments as he identified the riders for what they were, and the lead rider reasoned that though he presented no threat himself he could warn other guards within the settlement. At an almost imperceptible nod from his leader, the rider closest to the hapless man drew his sword and before his victim could let out a cry split him clean in twain without breaking his steed’s stride. As the two halves of the corpse fell into the mud, the lead rider did not turn round to regard them but merely shook his head sadly. There was no glory in that kill, he decided. The fool’s blood was thin and weak. No, nothing to offer there. That came later.
After ten more minutes of riding through the twilight, the horsemen reached their destination, almost skidding to a halt as they regarded the dwelling they had arrived at. It seemed an unremarkable dwelling; a stereotypical house on the Imperial border, one might say, with visibly rotting timbers and small piles of broken glass around the base of the windows. Yes, completely unremarkable. Which made it little wonder that the quarry had chosen to hide their.
The lead rider dismounted, stalking forward towards the house’s door. As he stepped into a beam of moonlight, an onlooker would have been able to make out his features more clearly. They would have been able to have seen the heavy cloak he wore around his shoulders, covering the back of his scarlet and brass armour in a layer of warm black fur. They would have noticed the multitude of axes and knives that hung around his belt, all of them etched with runes that caused the eye to ache by simply looking at them, not to mention the cleanly picked skulls attached by chains to his pauldrons that clattered together in the night’s cool breeze. They could have made out his helmet, the same gore-red colour as the rest of his armour but fashioned into the image of a leering skull that constantly seemed to search for another soul to reap. Yes, they would have seen all of this. More than likely it would have been the last thing they ever saw.
“Kore.”
The voice of his companion hurtled the leader out of his reverie and back into the present, and he turned to regard the speaker. Another of the riders had dismounted, and like Kore he was clad in thick scarlet plate and was festooned with weaponry of a fell nature.
“Is this the place, my lord? Are they here?”
Kore nodded, making sure to keep his voice down with visible effort. “They are, Balech. However, they will not be for long if you continue to make such a noise.”
Balech nodded, his voice now barely above a whisper. “Apologies, my lord.” He paused a moment, allowing the two other knights to dismount and fall in next to him. “What’s our plan?”
Kore tilted his head; as if it had never occurred to him before that a plan might be needed. This was a foolish notion of course; strategy was always important when fighting a war, Kore knew, and war was the one aspect in which he excelled. This, it stood to reason that tactics were as natural to him as breathing.
Finally, he looked back to his men, allowing himself a small smile under his helmet. “This is what we shall do. Cynreg, you shall go through the front door. You have the only shield of our group; it shall be your task to guard against any direct assault. You have permission to slay if we are attacked, but leave enough of them alive so we can get what we need.” Cynreg nodded, clearly disgruntled at having to show such restraint. Kore frowned. Cynreg had always been the most…’unstable’ of the group, and whilst such qualities were often lauded amongst his contempories Kore had no need of them. After all, how could a raving madman ever truly appreciate the art of death?
Kore dismissed the notion, and turned to the next knight. “Wulfus, brother, you must go around the back to cut off their escape. If they make any attempt to leave it will be your task to prevent them from doing so. However, please try not to kill ALL of them.”
Wulfus chuckled. “If you say so my lord.” He said, unsheathing his colossal double handed axe from where it was slung across his back. Satisfied Wulfus would do his job, Kore turned back to Balech.
“Balech, you will accompany me and Cynreg through the front door. Restrain them if they try to leave. Apart from that, simply do what I order. Remember we need these people alive.” Kore paused again. “For now.” Balech did not nod, but moved a clenched fist over his heart in salute, though he was careful not to make any sound as he did so. Nodding, Kore turned to address all three of them once more.
“Remember. These wretches are weak, as are all who practice
sorcery-“ Kore practically spat the word “But we must not underestimate them. We have a duty to our patron to see this through, and the harvest must for today come from elsewhere.” Subconsciously, Kore tapped the brass rune emblazoned on his chest plate. It was a skull, though stylised beyond almost all recognition, replete with harsh barbed edges. The symbol of his lord, the gore-drenched dog. A lust to slay indiscriminately and take the skulls of the fallen threatened to overtake him momentarily. He quelled it. There was a time for holy slaughter, but now was not it. His warriors nodded their assent as they moved to their positions. Cynreg raised his sword and quietly snickered to himself. “Blood for the blood god”, he muttered, before kicking in the door with incredible ferocity.
No sooner had he entered the house’s dilapidated hallway Cynreg raised his shield to cover him and his companions. It was well he did, for a burst of flame rolled over it, causing the metal to glow in his hand. Ignoring the burning, and not pausing to regard his foe, Cynreg swung his blade in a wide arc and with a crunch impacted with bone. He kept pulling, carving straight through the assailant’s neck and causing the now headless body to topple to the ground unceremoniously. A gasp went up from the other inhabitants of the room, but this was soon drowned out as Wulfus crashed through the back door and lowered his axe at the Knight’s quarry. Some spat, some sobbed, and many just stood in silence shaking their heads. Kore stalked into the room, flanked by Balech, taking care not to slip in the pool of blood that ran from the body at his feet. Again, weak blood, unworthy to offer to the prince of battle. Tonight had been less than successful so far.
He looked at the scum as he entered the room, meeting all of their eyes in turn. Hedge wizards, Kore thought, his features twisting into a disdainful sneer that no one else could see. Even in the Empire they were loathed, but the followed of the prince of skulls reserved a special contempt for them and their ilk. The fact he would actually have to speak to one made his stomach turn. Spotting what appeared to be the leader, a withered crone glaring at him with vigour despite his physical frailty, he approached her.
“Mortal. You will tell me what I wish to know, or you will be sacrificed to the Blood Prince. Are we clear?” She did not answer. Kore considered killing her there, but decided against it. He had hardly been expecting a warm reception after all. Unfastening a pouch from his belt, he dropped its contents onto a battered table. They were small chunks of animal bones, cut with runes and giving off a pungent aroma. Kore did not know what purpose they served, but he did not care. They were a witch’s tool, that was enough. Upon seeing them the woman’s eyes widened, but she maintained her composure.
“We ran down a group of your companions at the old waterfall, not far from here. They were carrying these, as well as documents that led us straight to you. Now, we know that you do not possess the skill to create these-“ Kore paused, and gestured to the bones “Abominations, but we know you know who did. So you will tell me who gifted you them and where I may find them.” Nothing.
Kore growled and moved towards his sword. The crone remained defiant. Spotting someone in the crowd, however, Kore stopped. He motioned to Balech, who moved and dragged a scrawny girl to the front and held his blade to her neck. The young woman thrashed desperately, but glared at the warriors with pure hatred. Kore smiled, and turned back to the older lady.
“Such a likeness. A daughter perhaps. And I’m sure you are aware my lord cares not from whence the blood flows, merely that it does. So, I will ask you again. Where did you get these runestones?” Balech tightened his grip and pressed the knife closer to her flesh. Upon seeing this, the woman finally cracked, and looked own shaking her head.
“Elves.” She muttered. “Outside the ruins of Khabidorf. They came out of the woods and gave us these. Told us to use them well. The cannot have got far.” Kore nodded, and Balech pushed to scrawny girl back into the ground. The four warriors turned to leave, and were halfway to the door when Kore turned his head thoughtfully. Spinning round with alarming speed, he tossed a knife. It planted itself in the old woman’s chest and she collapsed into the arms of her fellows. The girl gave out a bleating cry, but its words were lost. The crone looked up at Kore as she gargled up blood, surprise etched across her face. He shrugged.
“Because I had to ask you twice.”
