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Hello dakka

I've spent the last few months with absolutely nothing to do, so I had a go at writing some WFB fan-fiction, hope you like it


The wind blew harshly over the dark sea, showering the Endeavour with icy spray. The crew were used to the harsh conditions of the northern seas and continued their tasks, un-phased by the icy spray. Phillipe was not. Each spray stung his face like a thousand glass needles, forcing him to hide his face under his hooded cloak, every movement taking enormous effort, the icy winds that blew over him seemed to freeze his very bones together.
"Phillipe my friend! What are you doing out here on deck?" came the enthusiastic voice of the ship’s captain, barely audible above the crashing of the sea against the ship’s hull. "You should be inside with the others, enjoying yourself in the warm comfort and company that is mine!"
"I cannot my friend" He replied calmly as he turned to face him. "I cannot enjoy myself while my people fight for survival, I have no right" he spoke softly as he turned to once again face the stormy seas.
"Do not worry my friend, we will find what it is your are looking for, then your people will be free of the horrors they are forced to endure" The captain said solemnly, gently placing a hand on Philippe’s shoulder.
"Thank you captain, but it is not finding the object that is my concern, it is those whom are following us" he replied, a distraught look on his face as he looked up at the captain. "They know what I am seeking, and they know what will happen to them if I am successful in my search. I am afraid captain that I have put your ship and the lives of yourself and your crew in terrible danger. They will catch us, and when they do so they will show no mercy" Spoke Phillipe quietly, gripping the edge of the ship tightly.
"How can they catch us Phillipe, when they do not know where we are heading? When we do not know where we are heading? We are safe Phillipe, even if they knew where we were, they could not catch us in this storm" The captain replied, a slight chuckle in his voice.
Phillipe wanted to believe him, truly he did, but inside he knew this was not true. They would catch them, he could sense it. He could sense the evil in their hearts, and he was terrified. Not for himself, but for his people. If he was caught he would be killed where he stood as a traitor, but his people, they would be subject to horrors unimaginable, tortures too terrifying to even think about.
Suddenly a scream seemed to fill his head, one of such ferocity he fell to his knees clutching his ears, he screamed for the noise to stop, writhing in agony as it grew louder and louder.
The Captain was confused, Phillipe was on the deck, clutching his ears screaming that he could here an agonising scream, yet he could hear nothing. He looked around him and saw no reaction in any of his crew.
He looked over the prow of the ship, and then he understood. There in front of them, the black silhouette of a warship broke through the storm, he knew the instant he saw it that it was them, Phillipe was right, they knew where they were heading, and they had caught them.
As if by some unnatural force the storm seemed to move around the two ships, the moonlight illuminating the ships as they closed towards each other. The Endeavour was outmatched in every way, she was a small, sleek trading vessel, designed to make long, essential trading runs to the north in a matter of weeks, and the enemy ship was 5 times her size. As she drew closer the disgusting decayed symbols of the chaos god of plague became visible, torn into the sails of the Imperial warship, a great cloud of flies hung around the chaos ship like a fog around the coast, filling the air with the sound of flies. Even though she was much larger than the Endeavour, she was still able to match her in speed and manoeuvrability, as if she was being carried upon the waves by some magical force.
The Captain prepared his ship and crew for a battle he knew he could not win, but he would not go down without a fight. If he could damage the enemy in any way possible then some other unlucky trading ship might just have a chance to escape. He looked down at his friend Phillipe who still lie screaming, he knew there was nothing he could do for him, they were inside his head, and they were tearing him apart from the inside.
"Prepare to defend the ship!" he roared as he drew his sword. "This will be our last fight, there is no doubt. But we will not sit like wounded cattle and wait for death, we shall charge towards her, fighting like true warriors of the white wolf! Dyeing like true warriors of the Empire!" He bellowed into the night. His crew gave an almighty roar as they drew their weapons, every one of the knew they would not see the light of day again, but they were safe in the knowledge that they would die as they lived, screaming into the face of adversity.
Suddenly the smell hit them, the smell of unholy decay, of a thousand dead bodies rotting where they stood. Every sailor and soldier doubled over as they grew closer to the plagued ship, not a single man could stand the smell. Now the imperial ships fate was sealed, if the chaos warriors that were onboard the unholy atrocity of a ship that faced them, then the many diseases that they carried would. The slightest touch would cause their skin to break out in boils and pustules of every size and colour, the diseases pulsing round their bodies, killing them within seconds, if they were lucky. If they were not they would be cursed to live their life as a servant to the chaos god of plague and corruption, the chaos god Nurgle.
Suddenly a light shone brightly from behind them, splitting a passage through the flies, removing the stench and decay of the enemy.
The Captain turned to see Phillipe standing behind them, his eyes shining with a holy flame as he chanted words in an incomprehensible language. Relief spread across his face as he turned back towards the chaotic vessel, now they had a chance, with a wizard on their side the chaotic diseases and corruption could not harm them, and even the toughest armour was not able to stop the power of one versed in the arts of magic.