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Made in us
Tzeentch Aspiring Sorcerer Riding a Disc






The Claw

Grenzerstadt, the Unconquerable City, survivor of countless sieges and master of the Sea of Claws. Mighty walls, steel, faith, and gunpowder safeguard the Grenzerstadters against the terrors of the night. Not all is well in the frontier city, and the forces of Chaos conspire to tear down this edifice of defiance.

In the dark heart of the city, in the winding and twisting halls of the Underway, an ancient and utterly insane intelligence schemes behind the stone doors that have trapped it, its mortal and daemonic servants taking to the streets to sow the seeds of madness that will sprout into ravishing flowers of corruption. Folk vanish from their homes, their cellars thrown wide, the Labyrinthine claiming yet more victims. Its hunger is eternal, and may never be sated.

Beneath the gardens of Morrshaven, the Truzovik clan of immortal monsters has covertly taken control of the city by ensorcelling the Lord Mayor, ruling from behind the shadows, the countless thousands of dead that lie buried in their "hallowed" groves await the commands of their undead masters if any hero would be fool enough to take a company bearing torch and holy symbol to Morrshaven.

To the north, on the windswept crag known as Hag's Tooth, three fleets have gathered to sack Grenzerstadt; The corsairs of Nelkun Duskwind, the Leper Krewe of Morbus Festerlog, and the teeming rodent horde of Clawcaptain Squee Eyesnatcher, the three captains greedy for blood, glory, and plunder. When they inevitably sail south, the seas will run red with blood.

In the dark woods of the Forest of Shadows, the monstrous Tzaangor known as the Skinchewer has gathered a mighty Warherd intent on burning and defiling the sacred Asrai grove of Udelion, the elves holding out against the inhuman onslaught. It is said that Skinchewer can see the strands of fate with his third eye, and if so, who could best such a foe?

In this uncertain time, Witch Hunters, Dwarfs, and sellswords have converged on the city, seeking salvation, vengeance, and glory. As the Chaos Moon, Morrslieb, shines fat and low in the night sky, tainting the moonlight a sickly green, the Winds of Magic lash Grenzerstadt, enhancing the powers of Wizards and sowing madness and mutating amongst the population. The Unconquerable City stands on a knife's edge, with the wolves howling and snapping at the door. None can say with certainty if the following evil days and weeks will save it, or damn it utterly.


Mael-Dannan Ravenous Angels Tomb Kings Protectorate of Menoth
halonachos wrote:Mordo is evil, the cute walrus wearing a monocle is just a disguise for the evils within the confines of the avatar box.
darksage wrote:And then the darkness approached the computer screen ready to unveil untold horrors on millions of unsuspecting innocents... Some knew him as the bringer of terror...some knew him as the spawn of all things evil...some knew him as the walrus, but then their lives would account for nothing, for they would be dead in seconds of the words leaving their lips.The walrus has posted, prepare for the death of worlds.
 
   
Made in us
Fresh-Faced New User





The tavern was dimly lit and Baldwyn was occupying his normal seat at the bar, the stale taste of sweat and ale hung in the air like a thick fog. The owner of the modest tavern, a big bellied man made his rounds throughout the hall filling mugs and bringing out plates. “Another mug of ale sir?” he started “you're on your 7th mug, one more and you get a free chicken” The deal sounded good to Baldwyn, in hindsight it was probably just to get some food in the stomachs of the more inebriated patrons so they wouldn't start a brawl he thought to himself, still a free chicken was a free chicken.

“Sounds like a deal to me Gurt” He said to the tavern keep with a subtle slur in his voice, “And call me Baldwyn, you're one of my last true friends left I'm afraid, mine as well be familiar”

“I've been meaning to express my condolences Baldwyn sir, what they done to your wife was a terrible traged-” Gurt was cut off sharply by a burly man with long brown hair and heavy stubble sitting at a table with 2 other men who had been harrassing the staff and being rowdy

“Somebody better get my chicken before I piss myself” he growled slamming his fist on the table

“Right away!” Gurt responded not finishing his sentence before scurrying off to the kitchen to attend to the mans request.

"I almost didn't see you there Witched!" The man continued, Baldwyn downed the remainder of the ale and ignored the man, most people who called him Witched only whispered it behind his back as he passed by, it had only been just over two weeks since his wife and daughter's murder and the name had sprung up not long after. "Ohhh, no response aye? What's the matter the witch hunters take your tongue too?" Baldwyn was normally a very cool headed man but his loss had changed him and all he wanted to do was to slice the man's throat open.

"There's enough ale here for everyone, leave me alone or you'll wish you had" He stated solemnly without ever looking at the man. He could hear the sounds of the men standing up at the table behind him and the loud swoosh of their blades leaving their scabbards.

"Wish we had?" He yelled indignantly, "I'll gut you welp" but before Baldwyn had time to turn around he heard the sound of a bow being nocked and when he spun around saw his his son Arlan standing at the entrance of the tavern with an arrow ready and pointed at the big man

"If you threaten my father again I'll put a hole in so big your inbred friends here will be able to play a game of hide the chicken with your corpse" Arlan threatened with eyes gridlocked on the men . They glanced at each other nervously as they sized Arlan up, realizing that he'd be able to put a arrow in at least one or two of the them before they could reach him. A drunk man by himself was one thing but they had to wish for an actual fight where they might lose.

"We was just joking around is all" he said giving a sheepish laugh and sheathing his sword, an action the other men with him mimicked. "Now it's getting a bit crowded in here and and I think we'll make our way to the brothel instead" he said uneasily making their way passed Arlan with the bow still trained on them until they were out of the door.

"I think that's enough drink for the night" Baldwyn stated matter of factly, "Gurt! I'll be needing that chicken to go"

Once they finally returned to the Shack by the docks on the outskirts of the city Baldwyn turned the key and entered the dilapidated house, he had purchased this place after not wanting to return to the house where his family had been torn from their beds and carried to the streets to face execution. The Witch Hunters had called his wife and daughter heretics and accused them of sorcery and sentenced them to death, offering no proof before carrying out the sentence with a whip in the middle of the crowded street right then and there. When he closed his eyes he could still hear the crack of the whip as it laid into his wife's skin, the barbs at the end caught into her flesh and tore it from her bone. They screamed at first but even after the screams turned to whimpers and then to nothing the Templars didn't stop. They cracked the wipe into his wife and daughter until they were nothing more than tenderized meat decorating the street. Bound with ropes and gagged laying next to his sons, he was forced to watch as the horrors unfolded. It was these memories that he was trying to get rid off, but no matter how many mugs of ale he had it couldn't wash away what happened.
   
Made in us
Fresh-Faced New User




The midday sun beamed brilliantly on this cloudless day. The village children were slacking from their chores as they giggled and laugh as they chased one another, some of the older boys were off by themselves pretending to be soldiers or knights fighting fierce battles against foes of the empire. Their brothers who had given up on such fantasies shouldered the youths’ burden as they watched from the corner of their eyes. The merchants and farmers were loud and persistent with their haggling as the stranger weaved through the marketplace. He was polite as he excuse himself through the packed square but his demeanor was unsettling in its intensity. He wore a gentle expression but his eyes were hard and piercing and his voice did little to mask the low boil of anger that has been consuming him for months.


He wore a leather cuirass with a worn down padded cloth shirt underneath, it was hard to tell if it was supposed to be a light blue or grey. His cloak was torn and ragged, thorns and brush stuck to it blending in with the faded moss green fabric. Following his cloaktail were his sole companions on his quest, two wolfhounds. The dogs kept a steady pace behind, following in their masters wake. Around their necks were collars each having their names, Hugo and Brigette, lovingly embroidered by Maiwenn only a few months ago. The hunting dogs drew more attention than their master as children and subsequently their parents stopped to gawk, dogs were common but dogs like these belonged in the hunting pens of nobles. As the Hunter and his companions finished crossing the market square he found a wagon with faded yellow and blue paint.

“Wulfram, is that you?” A raspy voice drifted along the tobacco smoke that escaped from the back. A wrinkled hand grasped the tailgate and began to thrash it until it fell open. A wiry man clambered out, his nose was as large as it was crooked as it heavily favoured the right side of his face. Muttonchops that were mostly white proclaimed his age with confidence.

“Aye” responded the man, throwing off his hood to reveal his hawk like features. His sideburns had been prematurely greyed with stress as was his goatee. His hairline had began to become a widows peak as he kept his brown hair swept back. “ It's been a long time Gui.”

“Lady in the water! Have you seen yourself, in four months a decade has past for you. Are you even bothering to take care of yourself?” The old traveler scolded. Taking a moment he looked at the large hounds for examination. “At least you taking care of them. Looks like their keeping weight.” Gui took a few steps closer and brought his hands on Wulfram, examining his friend like one would do to livestock.

“Gui as much as I appreciate your concern if you're gonna to treat me like cattle I'll break your nose.” Wulfram warned with a hearty dose of joking warmth.

“I gets ya, I gets ya. Wulf it just kills me to see you like this. You're an Esnault! That used to mean something. If your father saw what you're doing to yourself over some quim.” The impact from leather glove to the nose cartilage was a familiar sensation for Gui but the pain always was worse than the previous. The audible crunch told both men that the nose was broken and was ever so much more in the favour to the right.

“She is my wife Gui, do not forget that. I love her and I won't tolerate any disrespect.” Wulfram shouted, the joking warmth of his earlier threat vanished without a trace.

“You brat! You worthless, unappreciative boy. I spent many a fortune and half my life helping your drunkard of a father, you're lucky I didn't lay his debts at your feet. You oughta be a serf working on one of my farms starving and overworked. You're a fething Esnault, you would've been a noble by now, plowing some count’s daughter and continuing the line and repaying me but no! You left, you went out and joined the king's army and fought some animals fethed by the chaos gods. You lived in a tiny practically unheard of hamlet and married some merchant's girl. Hell if you had one or two conversations with the right people while you were off fighting you could've own that fething forgettable piece of land and the people who lived there and your precious little wife would've been in a nice house with proper locks and we'll trained guards. Now she probably been violated by the chaos gods and begging for another round with Slaanesh.” Wulfram's response was simple, he realigned his family's friend’s nose. Gui was on his hands a need trying to regain his bearing and trying to not choke on his blood. Kneeling down so his mouth was close to Gui's ear Wulfram spoke.

“You're a vulture that circles dead or dying houses for a profit. I heard how you sold the only daughter of house livi to a brothel to have some pervert take her virginity for twice of what her house was worth. The only reason why I asked you to help me is because I know how much stock you had put into my father and I. It's your best chance at playing noble maker and not being carrion. If I survive this and have Maiwenn by my side then I promise you that my house will be reborn, that you will have your pride gem in your collection, a noble house that you rebuilt brick by brick, and that we will owe you and your family until either lineage ends.” Nothing was said for a while as Gui tried his hardest to clear his nose of blood. Finally after a solid five minutes of wheezing, sniffling, and spitting the carnivorous merchant looked up with a smile.

“I agree to those terms. I'll rescue your arse when you need it and give you any hint I come across as long as I get what I was promised. Now then” he said standing up looking at his bloodied hands “know where we're headed?” Wulfram paused turning his head to face the square, some onlookers were enjoying the scene and stared him back.

“I've been tracking the ritual killings and if I'm right this town is going to get a message some time today. That the village down the road was attacked.”

“And that means?

“The cult will be at Grenzerstadt within the week.”

“Wait you passed them already? Why not prevent the killing and make a daring rescue?” Gui questioned. Kneeling down to per Hugo and Brigette Wulfram responded

“This is the tail end of the main group, the ones that stole her away. Killing them would end the trail that leads to Maiwenn. If I do that I would be condemning her.”

“Yes I get that but what about the people who are going to be losing their own Maiwenn?” Countered Gui with a touch of concern

“What about them?” Wulf replied coldly. As Gui stared at his meal ticket with concern and a touch of awe the sounds of distressed broke from the market. A rider bloodied from battle had just arrived. Manicked and crazed the messenger screamed and raved about the cultist attacked that all but wiped out the village. Wulfram began to set his things into the wagon and looked at Gui to get ready to leave for the fortress city of Grenzerstadt.
   
Made in us
Lord Commander in a Plush Chair





In your base, ignoring your logic.

Errol and Dieter briskly made their way through the crowded docks after they had taken in some spiritual nourishment at the temple. It was around mid day as the pair's boots hammered down onto the well worn road, people parted their ways upon seeing the duo. Errol had to admit that he disliked how people saw the Sigmarites but he also admitted that there was good reason for it. Witch hunters burning people at the stakes and others turning on their own neighbors for even the slightest of activities that could be deemed as witchcraft. He also knew that he was doing them a great service by trying to keep the streets safe for them, Dieter was also there for reasons only Dieter knew. Errol turned his face, tanned by many days working in the sun, towards a row of houses "Sure enough she lives in one of those." he told his companion.

Dieter, who's visage was much paler in comparison to Errol's due to lack of hard labor, simply nodded. Dieter wasn't a talkative man until he had a few drinks in him and when he started it was very difficult to get him to stop. Errol swore that the man even talked in his sleep after he had too much to drink and wondered why his mouth hadn't fallen off due to overuse. The two vigilants turned down a small street that would give them access to the doors of the residences, their dark caps and leather dusters making them even more conspicuous in such a passageway. They saw children stop playing with their toys just to gawk at them, women closed shutters, and men just simply stared at them. Errol knew it was difficult to gauge these situations and it seemed to be that half the time his fellow citizens were either judging them harshly or just waiting for a good show. He was somewhat dismayed at how well a number of his fellow people had taken to the burnings, they had seen no less than two families set up a small picnic area where they ate while the witch hunters condemned the poor soul tied to the stake and then continued to eat while the flames cleansed the witch.

Errol pulled a small bit of parchment out of his duster's inner pocket and read the directions written on it. "This is the place." he said as he tucked the parchment away.

"Doesn't look like much." Dieter retorted.

"Well either way, let's check it out." Errol walked up to the door and knocked loudly on it, walking a thin line between knocking and banging. He could feel eyes burning into the back of his head. They waited for half a minute before knocking again, this time there was a reply from inside. Errol heard a series of locks being undone as the door opened and an elderly man stood just inside the threshold. "Can I help you two?" he asked with trepidation.

"Sorry to bother you sir," Errol began, "but we just came from the temple and noticed that miss Margeritte wasn't there. She's normally there today and I wanted to make sure everything was alright."

The man searched Errol's face as his mind worked on an answer, "Oh, sorry lads, yes she wasn't at the temple today. My poor wife... she fell yesterday and was told that she's broken her leg and shouldn't leave the house for a bit."

"That's a shame to hear." Errol said as he took off his cap and placed it over his heart, "Would it bother you terribly if we could talk to her then?"

"What for/" the man asked.

"Just to talk, nothing to do with any kind of business I assure you."

"Oh, let them in Harold!" a woman's voice called out from behind them, "That's that Errol boy I've told you about from the temple."

"Oh, you're that Errol! Then yes come in." the man stepped back and swung the door wide open for the pair.

"Miss Margeritte, I am so sorry to hear about your accident." Errol walked up to the woman who was sitting on a chair and knitting. He knelt down beside her to match her eye level, "Had I known I would've come over here much sooner!"

"I'm sorry about my dear Harold." she said while patting Errol's shoulder, "He probably thought you were going to come take me away and burn me at a stake for witchcraft or something like that. But I know better!" she said with a smile baring a few missing teeth.

"Miss Margeritte, if anything your strudel would be the closest thing you have to witchcraft. It is utterly bewitching and I wish my misses could make something half as good!" he reassured her.

"Oh dear, I was making some yesterday when I fell." she put her own hand up to the side of her face in thought, "I would have never guessed that butter could be so bad for one's own health. Sadly I didn't get to finish it and it all sadly went to waste."

"Well, your health is more important than strudel." Errol stood up with a smile on his face, "However we must go, but if you two need anything you just let us know and we can come help you."

"Oh you're just too kind, Errol. It's terrible that most people wouldn't guess it from your outfit, it doesn't suit you."

"Well ma'am, I am working on that." Errol then turned and began walking towards the door, once again turning around to address her before leaving, "And that's why I need to be what I am, maybe I can change the impression we make upon our city.". He opened the door and walked out "You both take care and remember that we're here to help you if you need it." he said with a grin as he shut the door to the house. A few people had gathered outside, across the street. Errol's grin faded and his tone became much more serious "There's nothing to see here, just making sure they're okay. I would like you all to know that she is in good health and that if anyone else knows her recipe for strudel then I ask them to come forward and share it with me because it is absolutely divine.". The crowd muttered and began to disperse "We're here to help!" Errol shouted after them, "If any of you needs assistance then let us know and we'll do our best."

"Or you'll just pitch 'em into a fire." someone replied venomously.

"Sorry to hear you feel that way." Errol said sadly to himself as he reaffixed his cap, "Come on Dieter, I think we owe ourselves a drink."

"Finally," Dieter quipped, "I'm awfully thirsty after this charity work."
   
Made in ie
Nurgle Veteran Marine with the Flu





Cork, Ireland

Crooked crows and mangy ravens flew from branch to branch, singing their songs and observing the lone figure who remained deathly still, so much so that the sinister pines that surrounded him seemed more lively. Flies and other carrion insects clamoured all over the carcass as nurgle claimed another for his own, one of the scuttling little creatures scurried over Marius’ boot and was sent flying as he flicked his boot slightly before removing it from the bestigor altogether, he was done leaning on the corpse anyway. The birds continued to chirp and the insects continued to infest the brayherd that once intended to disrupt the flow of timber in Grenzerstadt. Marius savoured the opportunity to unleash his full powers on the beastfolk, here in the Forest of Shadows he did not have to look over his shoulder or worry about his kills being discovered, for the first time in quite a while he could unshackled himself and indulge in his bloodlust. Taking a moment to admire his recent slaughter, Marius noticed that the birds have stopped singing and have scattered, cocking an ear he heard the familiar sound of Empire troops on the march, feet stomping in unison, playful banter being exchanged quicker than coin in a marketplace.

Darting off the beaten path, Marius awaited his prey, a certain Imperial Captain, one Ludwig Hartig. Tasked with clearing out an isolated brayherd from the Skinchewer that ventured too close to Grenzerstadt’s lumber operations, Ludwig gathered the men under his command and sought to add another accolade under his name. Stalking in the shadows of the Imposing pine trees that made up the Forest of Shadows, Marius waited for the right moment, with a flick of Captain Hartig’s wrist the Empire troopers came to a halt. Crouching down and flicking some of the nestling creatures away he inspected a particularly unlucky ungor, poking the flesh and taking a deep whiff he continued on to some blood splattered over a crude beastman totem. Giving one of the helmets mounted on it a spin, he swiped some of the blood off and rubbed in in between his fingers

“The flesh is fresh and the blood is warm” declared Ludwig as he returned to his awaiting Sergeant

“So this attack was recent then I take it ?” asked Sergeant Janik Von Sydow

Producing a piece of cloth from his satchel, Ludwig wiped the smeared blood from his hands before addressing the hanging question “Of course Sergeant, but a better and more intricate question is by whom”

“Elves most likely” snorted Janik as if the question was foolish

“You think so ?” retorted Ludwig “Show me the arrows then, or the precise cuts, because all I see are butchered slabs of meat”

Janik cast his eyes over the dead again and with Ludwig’s words fresh in his mind he saw what the Captain spoke of, Gors sliced in two, Minotaurs sliced to pieces, ungors ripped open, this was the work of no elf.

“Who then ? Other beastmen ? Perhaps the Skinchewer hasn’t a tight of a grip on his curs then we thought”

Ludwig nodded “That is the likely answer, they are no better than greenskins in that regard” The captain continued to stare expectantly at his Sergeant for a few moments before Janik spoke again

“So shouldn’t we report back to our superior’s now sir ?”

“We certainly should” agreed Ludwig “That is if you are content with our findings”

Janik raised an eyebrow “Why wouldn’t we be ? We found out that the Beastmen slaughtered each other and done the job for us, sounds like a typical story to me”

“You have not noticed the bloodied trail they left behind have you ?” revealed Ludwig as he wandered over to the crimson trail “The assailants, whoever they may be ventured further into the forest”

“Well that is all well and good sir, this will only back up our findings will it not ?”

“There is only one way to find out Janik” Waving his troops on Ludwig resumed his place at the head of the convoy “Grenzerstadt Green Caps, Resume March !”

Marius’ pale lips parted in a malevolent grin as his prey walked right into his trap. Following along and keeping the brave captain in sight at all times Marius crept through the shrubbery of the Forest of Shadows, sidestepping fallen twigs and stepping over kickable rocks as simply as if he were walking down the street. Morrslieb shone brightly in the sky, casting it’s green gaze across the sky and deep in the Forest of Shadows,“an Imperial Captain must be brave or foolhardy to venture as deep as Ludwig has at night” remarked Marius “I hope sparing those Gors will bear fruit”. One moment the Green Caps were wondering about which brothel they would visit on their return to Grenzerstadt and the next they were bracing as rabid beasts charged from the trees, surrounded Ludwig drew his sword and did his best to organise his force, but alas the night was dark and their torches few. Clang of steel and grunts of battle echoed throughout the forest as chaos spread throughout Ludwig’s ranks, his lines broke and his men seperated off into small groups all struggling to hold off the horde of matted hair and muscular mountains of flesh , driving his sword through a bulky gor, Ludwig spun on his heel to come face to face with a lone figure shrouded in darkness

“You should have taken your Sergeants advice Ludwig, your lust for military honor and your keen eye are legendary, That makes this trap all the sweeter”

“Nightspawn” spat Ludwig “You serve these monsters ? Guess you are all cowering before Ulric now”

Marius chuckled “Whom I serve is indifferent, you shouldn’t have meddled in politics Captain, now come here and wet my blade” with that Marius surged forward, drawing his sword. Ludwig parried the first blow, sidestepped the second and even managed to redirect the third strike but Marius tired of the old Captain Ludwig and parried one of his feeble swings before sidestepping and decapitating him in one swift strike felling the captain to his knees as his head rolled downhill into the foliage. Ensuring no witnesses survived Marius slinked back into the shadows, back to the bustling city of Grenzerstadt where much more political maneuvering had yet to transpire.


Sgt. Vanden I bet Irish can do that by flashing his bear chest.
Sgt. Vanden Irish is the definition of a Dutch oven
 
   
Made in us
Fresh-Faced New User




Cyntov and Hailmay rode from fort Freyr up the hills to the gates if Grenzerstadt. The haunting oaks of the forest began thinking out and giving way to stony hills and massive crags. The two elves where about the abandon their forest and enter the city of man. Time spent at the fort helped Cyntov make fellowship with the humans and they awaited to me his cousin Byfel who had lived with the humans for more than ten years now. The humans of the fort were intriged my Cyntov's tattoos and his hair, which his spiked up with grease and dye blue. They would ask frequently if their allies of returned from scouting the woods, Cyntov could offer them no hopeful new.

Hailmay was a adorned with green ceremonial robe, holding a staff of spiralling oak and her red hair was neatly braided up and held together with a crown of branches. She gave Cyntov a stern look as he whistled carelessly yourself while marched with his glaive balanced between his arm and shoulder. Cyntov noticed her gaze "I don't see why you must be so from, we are far from the beastmen and the city is indomitable?"

Hailmay spoke "Beastmen aren't they only abominations that haunt this earth. The city is host to unholy dead underneath its streets. Liec may protect you from fear but not the other wickedness the undead are capable of."

"What threat could a shambling corpse be? Besides humans are always dealing some new infestation. Once we help mess clean this mess they will move their attention to the beastmen."

Their bickering was cut short as soon as they made it past the gates and into the company of Cyntov's cousin Byfel. He was his long brown hair was to his shoulders hiding his pointed ears. He wore workmen shirt with sack trousers held up by suspenders. The two cousins both embraced in a hug. "It is a blessing to finally see you again" Byfel said "I know the town doesn't seem like much but I have a lodge I share with someone workers. You are free to rest there for the time being. Before we talk of the troubles plauging these land we should find something to eat, I'm sure you had long journey, please follow me."
   
Made in us
Tzeentch Aspiring Sorcerer Riding a Disc






The Claw

The Grenzerstadt Town Crier:

Fishermen report diseased catch in troubling numbers. Fish brought on board have been found to be partially liquified or seething with parasites, occasionally both. Fishing houses expect tremendous losses for the season. As a result of such unsellable and inedible catch, many fishermen have resorted to putting their boats up for collateral on new loans. A terrible time for fishermen, but loan sharks and the Reiksbank are making a killing. Food shipments from Salzemund have been increased by necessity, causing grumbling from merchants used to pickling and exporting the typically vast quantities of fish to neighboring cities along the coast. As with all overland trade, the safety of Imperial roads is ever in question, and to make matters worse, the roads near Grenzerstadt are under constant threat of Beastman attack. It's very possible the requested food will never reach its destination, and if the quality of the local catch doesn't improve, Grenzerstadt could potentially face a food crisis.

A swarm of harpies made several passes at guards stationed on the walls of Fort Freyr, but were driven away by gunfire and good Nordlander steel. The swarm dispersed back into the Forest of Shadows without much of a fight, leading some to murmur into their mugs of ale that it was a scouting party, nothing more.


The lightkeepers of the Ring of Light report seeing what appears to be a naval battle further out to sea. Bright flashes and the sound of thunder were observed, which many believe to be cannonfire. No party, official or otherwise has made any statement in regards to the matter, and talk around town is that there's a pirate's war being fought at sea between competing captains. Dead pirates, no matter how they end up as such, is always cause for celebration in the city.

A ring of merchants accused of price fixing have been rounded up by the port authority and currently face trial. If convicted, they face heavy fines and imprisonment.

A collection of hovels near the Docks collapsed in upon themselves late in the night, their inhabitants seemingly vanished without a trace. Long Fangs dispatched from the Cult of Ulric are currently investigating,though the event occurred in a predominantly Sigmarite neighborhood and the locals have instead demanded that the Temple Witch Hunters look into the matter instead. The leader of the investigation, Hugo Rabenfeld, has thus far ignored such requests and forcibly removed gawkers of all faiths who near the site.

Mael-Dannan Ravenous Angels Tomb Kings Protectorate of Menoth
halonachos wrote:Mordo is evil, the cute walrus wearing a monocle is just a disguise for the evils within the confines of the avatar box.
darksage wrote:And then the darkness approached the computer screen ready to unveil untold horrors on millions of unsuspecting innocents... Some knew him as the bringer of terror...some knew him as the spawn of all things evil...some knew him as the walrus, but then their lives would account for nothing, for they would be dead in seconds of the words leaving their lips.The walrus has posted, prepare for the death of worlds.
 
   
Made in us
Lord Commander in a Plush Chair





In your base, ignoring your logic.

It was a brand new day in Grenzerstadt as Errol woke up next to his darling wife. The sun had just entered through a window as he got out of bed and dressed himself for the day, paying careful attention to not wake his slumbering beauty. Leaving the bedroom, Errol found his way into the kitchen where Dieter was already eating some hearty porridge. Errol helped himself to some bread and butter as Dieter wiped his mouth with his hand, "They say some hovels collapsed near the docks last night." Dieter spoke through the thick meal in his mouth.

"What now?" Errol's mouth dropped and his bread was held at bay just out of his mouth, "Structural collapse? They're not built steadfast exactly." he reasoned.

"I was thinking that too, but it seems everyone living there has disappeared as well. One thing I do know about this place is that it's people don't just up and disappear. Long Fangs are looking at it, not letting the Witch Hunters take a gander."

"Bollocks," Errol's head shook and he took a quick bite, "Long Fangs will ignore whatever unholy things are happening in Moorshaven and stick their head into this? Pure bollocks with that lot."

"Aye, the people are even begging them to let the WItch Hunters look into it, It's close to where we went yesterday so you know it's mostly Sigmarites there. I figure we could maybe give it a look before we get turned away."

"No..." Errol trailed as he shook his head thoughtfully, "all that would do is put people even more on edge and we don't need that right now. Was walking home late and heard that something's up with the fish lately, someone said they're littered with bugs or becoming goo. I'd rather check on that."

"You'd rather look at rotting fish than try to find missing people?" Dieter mused.

"No fish means no food and that affects everyone in the city. We can probably look into it seeing as though the Long Fangs, in their infinite wisdom, haven't deemed that off limits to the Witch Hunters. We let them do their paltry investigation of the hovels while we help work on the fish and by the time we finish up business the Long Fangs will have gotten bored of the missing inhabitants." Errol grabbed his duster and cap from a rack.

"I say let the fish rot, chicken is so much better and smells a lot better as well." Dieter quickly finished his porridge and left the bowl on the table. He was begging for scolding later on, but it wasn't unlike him to be scolded.

Near half an hour later, Errol and Dieter found themselves at the docks. The sun glistened off the deep blue water as people conducted their business on the stone and wood docks. Some gawked at the infested catches and whispered among themselves, doomsayers claimed it was a sign of the end times, and disheartened fishermen rubbed their faces distraught over how they would feed their own families. Errol realized that he wasn't a witch hunter and that he couldn't really conduct much of an official investigation, but he could probably help somehow with a bit of legwork. The pair walked around the docks until a boat came in and was tied to the moorings, the stench of rotten fish wafted from the deck as the men on board swore and stormed off the ship.

"I don't want to see the lot of you until things improve!" a burly man with no shirt on shouted after them.

"Sod off Graham," one man replied, "How you expect me to feed me family iffin' you don't pay us?"

"How can I pay you if I have no damn fish to sell?!" the burly man shouted back while shaking his fist at them. "Ingrates..." Errol could hear the man mutter.

"Mr. Graham." Errol called to him, "Could you please speak with me?"

"What for you stupid sod?" Graham replied angrily, "Didn't you see that I've got no fish and therefor no reason to be talking to you?"

"We want to talk about the fish!" Errol insisted as he walked up the gangway, "We simply want to help get fish back into your nets and coin back into your coffer."

"Aye?" Graham's mood softened, "Sadly I don't think there's much you can do, I swear the water's cursed."

"That could be true," Errol agreed, "but it could be a lot of things. I was wondering where you've been casting your nets and if the fish seem better closer to shore or farther out."

"Why would it matter if it was farther out or closer to shore?" Graham cocked his head to the side, "Shore fish are too small to feed the city and make a profit on exports, we have to go into deeper waters."

"Well I was wondering because if it's closer to land, and if the diseased catches are coming closer to land over the days then that means something is getting closer to the port and the city." Errol said plainly.

"Never quite thought of that." Graham rubbed his chin, "Tell the truth been fishing near the same spot the entire month... typically don't rotate spots for another month... that one's slightly more north... but then again there's the pirates battling out there.

"The pirates are fighting?" Dieter chimed in.

"Well nobody's actually seen any ships, just what looks and sounds like cannonfire. You know the saying, if it sounds like an Elf, dresses like an Elf, and acts like an Elf it has to be an Elf."

"But nobody has seen the ship and suddenly we have all these bad fish." Errol crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at the deck of the ship in thought, "... I don't know, it's awfully suspicious. Dieter." Errol looked up at his companion, " wouldn't something magical make bright flashes and sound like a cannon."

"Suppose it very well could, especially the bright flashes." Dieter shrugged his shoulders, "But we'd have to talk to a witch hunter about dealing with anything magical to tell the truth."

"I'm certain the two events are related, they have to be." Errol stated and then looked back at Graham, "Thank you sir for talking with us, for your sake and ours I hope everything is resolved soon."

"Aye, I agree." Graham replied, "Have to put my boat up for sale should it not. I can't lose her, she's the only thing I've got left."

With the story in their minds the two began to work out a theory that they could maybe present to the witch hunters at the temple. It was nothing to really go on, but even a pebble could eventually topple a boulder off of a ledge.
   
Made in us
Tzeentch Aspiring Sorcerer Riding a Disc






The Claw

Captain Louis DeMont pushed himself back up from the deck, his ears still ringing from the roar of cannonfire. his hands cut and bleeding from a dozen tiny wounds caused by wood shrapnel. He hurt all over, like the Bretonnian was composed of nothing but aching bones and bruises. And blood, yes, for what else kept leaking out of his flank and left ear? DeMont steadied himself on the rocking deck, finding his sea legs again, swallowing the rising bile in his throat and tightening his grip on his wing shaped boarding axe. He took stock of his surroundings; his darling ship had taken a beating, ugly, ragged holes had been torn through her by the cannons of the enemy fleet. As the wind and rain lashed the ship, DeMont could make out bits and pieces of his crew scattered over the deck, bloody gobbets sticking to the wood with gruesome tenacity.

Moments earlier, a close blast of grapeshot had raked the deck, blowing a goodly number of pirates to bits and forcing DeMont to hit the deck. The bastards had come out of nowhere and caught DeMont's wrecker fleet wholly by surprise, and the grizzled Bretonnian pirate swore he had seen the blade shaped portion of the enemy fleet rise straight out of the Sea of Claws itself. He faced a strange mix of vessels: angular, dragon-masted black ships with fan-like sales crewed by murderous Druchii, smoke-belching paddle-ships swarming with humanoid rat men, and finally, and perhaps most hideous of all, the vessels made of rotten wood, rusted metal, and crawling with half-man, half-bottom feeder monstrosities. There had been no offer of parley, only the sudden appearance of the unholy fleet and the roar of cannons and flash of spells. The opening moments of the battle had been a living nightmare for the pirates, the Dark Elf ships closing unnaturally fast to close to boarding distance with DeMont's ships, the Druchii witches conjuring strands of darkness which pulled the ships close enough for the scale-caped corsairs to launch themselves onto the human decks. The reavers were inhumanly fast, their sword strokes graceful and unrelentingly savage at the same time. They were cruel as well, seldom settling for a killing blow and instead bleeding and hamstringing their opponents. DeMont had watched through his spyglass as the Wild Lady was overcome, blinded pirates with slashed eyes and cut tendons crawled pitifully on the blood-stained deck as a Dark Elf in a shimmering Sea Drake cloak extended Captain Bordeleau's smile from ear to ear with a clawed gauntlet.

The Dashing Rogue had fallen next, one of the bizarre paddle-ships pulling up alongside it and a crew of Skaven wielding a strange bellows contraption had sent gouts of green fire spitting towards the humans, bathing the ship in blotches of inextinguishable flame. A shipborne drawbridge had been lowered, the heavy pick at the tip burying itself in the burning ship, and a skittering multitude of vermin had flowed onto the Rogue, gnashing, yellowed teeth and sharp blades overwhelming the crew in moments, several Skaven immolating themselves in their eagerness to cross blades and fangs with the pirates. As the Vermintide subsided and returned to their own vessel, DeMont was sickened to see the bloody, neatly-picked bones of the Dashing Rogue's crew lying scattered over the deck, the long bones snapped open for marrow.

His own ship, The Fae Enchantress, was next, and as DeMont steadied himself on the rain-slick deck and gripped his axe, death approached, confidently and with a spring in its step. His eye twitched and the bile he had previously held back once more rose as he took in the sight of the monstrous ship that was now pulling alongside his own. Perhaps "ship" was the wrong word. It was made of the necessary components of such a title, sails, wood, nails, a rudder, and so on. What made it so horribly not a ship was the colossal growth that had spread itself along the hull, a carpet of gangrenous diseased flesh, with several spurs of bone resembling teeth sprouting from the diseased meat. A single, massive eye leered out from the daemon ship, milky and yellow, casting about like a madhouse loon, pus leaking from it like tears. It stank like a plague tent, and DeMont could see schools of dead fish bobbing to the surface in the pus-filled water that surrounded the ship. At last, the bile in his throat won out, and DeMont heaved his guts out, the intensity of the smell worming itself into his brain and settling into the creases of his grey matter.

Clearing his blurry eyes and wiping his mouth with his wet sleeve, the captain watched as a boarding ramp clattered onto the Fae Enchantress, and a gang of crusty mutants clambered onto his beloved ship. They were hideous to behold, fusions of man and marine scavenger. A creature encased in a shrimp's carapace and covered in weeping, oily barnacles wielded a rusty cutlass in one hand, its other appendage ending in a wretched pincer. It chittered and belched mucous from its mandibles as it raced towards DeMont, ambling ape-like towards its target. As it reached striking distance, DeMont swing his axe down in an arch, a scream of disgust wrenching itself out of his diaphragm. The shrimpling attempted to dodge the blow, janking hard to the side, bulbous eyes glittering with wariness. DeMont was too quick and experienced for such a tactic to bear fruit, and his axe wedged itself deeply into the mutant's back, a putrid spray of rotten blood fanning out from the wound. It screamed in a high pitched chittering wail, a foul stench leaking from its carapace. DeMont wrenched the weapon free, the shrimpling falling to the deck to writhe in its death throes.

The next creature to cross the ramp was an avian monstrosity, white feathers matted with pus and blood covering its body, two clawed legs taking it forwards in an almost human gait. It bore no weapons and wore no clothes, the gull creature flexing its talons as it approached. As DeMont turned to face this new threat, the gull thing opened its beak and a bulge rose in its feathered throat. The daemon gagged and choked on its own rising sputum until it released its stinking, steaming stomach contents in a powerful, rancid blast. DeMont raised his axe to block the tide, but it was in vain, and acid and liquified rancid flesh flowed over his face. He was unable to scream, instead dropping his axe and falling to his knees to claw at his burning, sizzling flesh, hoping to scrape away the corruption. To DeMont's ultimate horror, that is exactly what he did, chunks of his face flesh coming away on his fingers like hot taffy, miniscule crustaceans embedded in the ambergris happily played in the wounds he created as he struggled. A terrible sickness oozed inside of DeMont, his innards convulsing and revolting at the touch of Chaos taint. Pitching over on his back, his hands falling away from his face, his fingers taking his eyelids and most of his cheeks with them, the rain pattering against his exposed slick muscle and bone, DeMont, once more, and this time tragically literally, heaved his guts out, the liquid meat spraying out of ruined lips to coat his writhing body. The gull mutant hunched over the captain, sinking its beak into his soft stomach, snaking a toothy tongue into his sloppy organs.

The remainder of the pirates fell easily to the strange alliance that had been forged on Hag's Tooth, the three captains taking their due. Duskwind took his share of slaves, Squee padded out his larder, and jolly, fat Festerlog collected the ruins of the blasted pirate ships and with strange sorceries, bound Nurgle's children to their hulls. Blood, pus, and splintered wood mingled in the sea water as the fleet sailed back to Hag's Tooth. A meeting of the captains was nigh, plans needed to be plotted, schemes needed to be put into motion.

Miles away, the people of Grenzerstadt reported the sound of thunder and flashing lights in the night.

Mael-Dannan Ravenous Angels Tomb Kings Protectorate of Menoth
halonachos wrote:Mordo is evil, the cute walrus wearing a monocle is just a disguise for the evils within the confines of the avatar box.
darksage wrote:And then the darkness approached the computer screen ready to unveil untold horrors on millions of unsuspecting innocents... Some knew him as the bringer of terror...some knew him as the spawn of all things evil...some knew him as the walrus, but then their lives would account for nothing, for they would be dead in seconds of the words leaving their lips.The walrus has posted, prepare for the death of worlds.
 
   
Made in us
Fresh-Faced New User




The Wagon rattled as the road went from slick mud to old worn down cobblestone as Grenzerstadt grew in the distance. Gui was in the front, reigns in one hand, a piece of bread in the other, he ate silently scrolling ahead trying hard to not curl his brow, his nose was still sensitive from the breaks. The ride had been silent after the deal was struck, Wulfram was asleep, something he hadn’t had in quite some time. Both dogs were curled up with him providing warmth as they too rested, Hugo was tight in a ball by his feet while Brigette laid her head on his lap. Wulfram twitch in his sleep, something Maiwenn would tease him about and laugh about how his dreams must be only exciting but only for the swiftest of moments. He has the misfortune of remembering the worst parts of his life when he was exhausted. From the wildest of beasts that had devoured child and hunter alike to watching Bretonnian Pikes bend and break from a beastman charge and finally the frantic search of his home those few months ago. His dreams were not pleasant ones but the fear and panic would melt when he awoke to see her face but as his eyes cracked open he wasn’t in his warm bed with the love of his life to his side but instead he was in an uncomfortable wagon with his dogs peeking at him.

His Axe was still on his belt vibrating with the bumps, looking over he saw his bow still leaning against a trunk of whatever Gui had collected in his travels. The thought of striking a conversation with the old scavenger wasn’t appetizing so he ran his fingers across Brigette’s head, enjoying the fuzzy warmth, she in turn nuzzled deeper in his lap and Hugo was already jealous of the attention. If only by a small bit some emotional relief was given to Wulfram as he enjoyed this moment.

The sound of conversations and laughter broke the warm atmosphere as the wagon slowed and change direction. Gui was already shouting out to fellow merchant and travelers as he settled the wagon with the caravan train. Peering out Wulfram saw the rest station before the final stretch of the journey to Grenzerstadt, a dozen carts and wagons were altogether as everyone shared meals and gossiped about what was happening in and around the city. Greencaps patrolled around the wagons watching out for anything that wished to interrupt trade. Most of them were either too young and inexperienced to handle the grit of the city or were old and on their way to retiring. Hopping out the Wagon with his bow and quiver Wulfram made a beeline to an old sergeant who was enjoying a mug of mead.

“Um Excuse me sir” Wulfram began trying his best to be polite. “ I was wondering if you would let me know what this city is like? See this is my first time to Grenzerstadt.” Sergeant drained the last of his mug as he eyed the foreigner

“Hmph, a Bretonnian aye? We don’t your see lot around these parts often.” the old man responded while placing his mug on the ground. “ Well its true the city is damn good at keeping invaders out, monsters, armies, pirates we’ve kicked their arses too many times to count. However I can’t say we’re too good with cleaning house when it comes to whats inside the walls.” Before he could elaborate another Green Cap approached laughing.

“Sgt. Reysmane you shouldn’t be trying to scare our visitors.” the youth said with the same slimey grin Gui would wear with any easy mark. Wulfram immediately glanced at his nose to see if someone had the chance to break it and to his gratification it had seemed someone had at least once as the faint scar across the bridge of his nose was barely visible in the fading sunlight. “I’m Cornie.” The sly youth said reaching his hand out for a shake. Wulfram gave a polite shake back but his eyes smoldered with irritation. “ The city is perfectly safe for our merchant and traders, you will not have a problem sir” he assured, yet the sergeant matched Wulfram’s irritation although it was much more obvious.

“Oh Cornie, nice to see you’re keeping up with the duty of making sure I don’t embarrass the Greencaps.” The veteran said with a tone that was sarcastically amused. “How long until you realize that they put you out here on these patrols because they don’t want brown nosing every officer you see.” He continued but this time he dropped any semblance of his jokingly light tone.

“Sergeant. I really think you shouldn’t be…” Cornie began to protest but was cut off by Reysmane.

“Just admit it Cornie, whatever you did you fethed up. You did something and got your arse out here babysitting an old man who everybody ignores.” Reysmane menacingly spat in a near whisper, a grin starting to form as he knew his thrust had connected. Wulfram stood there silently, eyebrow cocked as he listened and learned. The younger man looked down and bit his lip. An uncomfortable moment passed as Wulfram and Reysmane watched Cornie to see how he would respond before he turned around and marched towards the camp fires. “He’ll be back nipping at my heels within a hour or two” Reysmane said trying to break the lingering tension.

“What was that about?” Wulfram said as his head turned to continue watching Cornie walked off.

“Ah, the latest of screw ups sent off to exile to watch an old man who was banished for talking hysterical nonsense” the veteran spat out that last word, still bitter. “But enough about that, you were asking if Grenzerstadt is safe. The honest answer is no, plain and simple.”

“How so? Are we talking about criminals, rebels, pirates, or something more sinister.” Wulfram asked as he began to scan the camps to find Gui. Hugo and Brigette were waiting patiently by the wagon, observing the surrounding diligently.

“I don’t know exactly, I can personally attest to the undead and the vampiric bastards that rule them. I’ve helped cleansed my fair share of Chaos from the darker alleys of this city.” The word Chaos seem to echo as Wulfram listened, Reysmane had launched into a monologue of his experiences hunting out the creatures that lived in the shadows but it all got muffled away. It isn’t a surprise that there was chaos worshippers in the city, hell any place can have some disturbed fool praying to monsters. Yet it was all the confirmation that he needed, the subhuman trash that had stolen Maiwenn would find a home with open doors for them here but the question that begin to rise to the top from the storm of emotion was the Cult that attack his home were they from Grenzerstadt or are they coming here for some reason. “Sir? Are you okay?” Reysmane asked when he notice Wulf wasn’t listening.

“Sorry, I just realized I may have some hunting to do.” Wulf said still lost in thought. A wide smirk spread across the Sergeant’s face.

“My advice, don’t bring a torch, just gives those bastards a shadow to hide in. If you want to kill a beast of the night, you gotta let your eyes adjust.” There was a confidence in those words that proved he knew what he was talking about. In this moment that old man looked twenty years younger, he was standing tall and proud. Wulfram looked him over and saw his instructors from years ago teaching bow and sword when he was a ward of a noble house, he saw himself teaching serfs to fire a bow or how to use a pike correctly.

“If I needed some help, who should I talked to.” Wulfram asked, no longer distracted.

“We got a few batches of foreign folk around that I would trust more than the locals. We Green Caps are good but I doubt any captain is gonna lend you their boys to get killed in those dark places. There been some Elves popping up asking for help to fight the Beastmen, got Dwarves commandeering one of the best pubs to try and roster up some fighters to take back one of their strongholds, fuckin’ hell we even got those sigmarite witch hunters, if you want to risk a loved one burning alive. If you can get help from them, you’re hunt may be successful.” There was excitement in his voice, he was truly living in this moment. He began to rub his fingers through his beard as he began to mutter plans. Wulfram indulged with him and talked about which group may be the best to help him rescue Maiwenn.

A hour passed and the caravan began to move, a stream of torches began to move along the road as green cap guard and merchants moved towards their destination. Gui was excitedly chatting about what he could buy and sell here, how the local traders were idiots and could buy his product for thrice the price. Wulfram ignored it all as he thought about the Troll Country Brewery and how he was going to convince the Kraka Drak Rangers to help him.
   
Made in us
Tzeentch Aspiring Sorcerer Riding a Disc






The Claw

Rabenfeld grunted, sucking smoke through the thin paper taper between his teeth, the scent of the burning tobacco mingling with the ever present stink of fish and unwashed humanity that hung over the Niederstadt. The Long Fang stood in the rubble and broken wood the hovels had left behind after their collapse the previous night. Rotten beams and cheap masonry were scattered around the scene, like a giant had simply lifted and then unceremoniously dumped the shacks back onto the street. Or, he mused, stroking his greying beard and puffing on the Lustrian leaves, as if the floors had simply ceased to exist for but a moment and the weight of the roofs had been too much for the structure to bear.

His fellow Ulricans had been combing through the rubble for hours. A dozen dockhands and their families had lived here, and not a single body had been found, living or dead. It was now midday, and as the warm sun beat down overhead, Rabenfeld began to suspect he was wasting his time. The witnesses they had rounded up hadn't had anything interesting to say, just the same story about the hovels suddenly collapsing late in the night, the inhabitants screaming before being silenced utterly. As they had worked, a crowd had begun to form, mostly just gawking fishmongers and their wives, never that unusual in a situation like this. In Rabenfeld's experience, the poor tended to flock to crime scenes, driven by morbid curiosity or seeking to break up the monotony of their days.

In this case, however, it was a little more personal, the vanished had been the friends and neighbors of those present, and it pained the aging inspector to be unable to give them any good news. They were a shabby lot, stinking of fish and grime, dressed in patchy rags and moldy cloaks, keeping to the edge of the rubble, several paces away from the guards Rabenfeld had posted around the circumference of the scene. He paid them little mind, and indeed, he barely registered the rob, focused as he was as the figures that were now shouldering their way through the dirty mass of Grenzerstadters.

They were unmistakable in their broad rimmed hats and the rapiers and pistols strapped to their belts, their severe faces crinkled and weathered by lives of suspicion and righteous paranoia. Their cloaks swirled about them as they moved, their heavy boots clacking on the cobbles as the hobnails met the stone.

"Witch Hunters" grimaced Ætur, "Sigmarite hounds, we don't need their scum here." Rabenfeld shot the subordinate Long Claw a glare, his lips flaring for a second in a warning display of white teeth and Ætur quieted, returning to clearing rubble. Though he has spoken out of turn, Ætur was correct. The Sigmarites had no business here, and Rabenfeld swore as the Witch Hunters began to push through his guards, who stood firm with crossed arms.

"Inspector!" Called the first Sigmarite, his thin hatchet face inlaid with two black eyes wholly devoid of warmth. His equally thin voice, whistling and nasal, betrayed his southern heritage. Rabenfeld spat out the rest of his taper and ambled over the wreckage to the line of guards between himself and the Witch Hunter.

"Aye," he muttered, trying, and failing, to conceal his irritation, "I'm Inspector Rabenfeld, what the hell do you want, witch burner?"

The Witch Hunter curled his lips into a line of a smile, fumbling into his great coat for a scroll case inlaid with, damn it all, the seal of the Grand Theogonist . "By proclamation of the Grand Theogonist Volkmar von Hindenstern, who has imbued Witchfinder General Markus Hochfleischer with the power and authority to seek out all witches, mutants, and-"

Rabenfeld cut the hatchet faced man off with a raised hand, whiskers bristling, "spare me, what do you want?" The other Witch Hunter scowled under his beard, and the thin man visibly twitched at the rebuke, clearly unused to be being interrupted. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. As he spoke, he began to unfurl the contents of the scroll case so that the writ faced Rabenfeld.

"We are taking command of this investigation, Rabenfeld, by order of the Witchfinder General." He sneered through his words, his tongue dropping with contempt. Rabenfeld glowered at the writ, snatching it from skinny fingers. His eyes bulged as he read the scroll, his anger barely restrained. The Hunter had spoken true, the seal of the Office of the Grand Theogonist stamped at the bottom in red wax.

"You have no right-" began Rabenfeld, and this time the Witch Hunter interrupted, "heel, wolf, the Lord Mayor has agreed to cooperate and therefore so must you." The hatchet faced man was smirking, and Rabenfeld, his blood up, took note of how much taller he was than the little thin man, and a primal voice like the biting winds of winter base him to set upon the Witch Hunter and put his fangs to work on the frail, soft throat of the Sigmarite. Rabenfeld breathed in deeply and forced the thoughts down. The Witch Hunter was right, and he loathed the fact.

"Fine," he finally spat, "this hasn't ended yet, not hardly." Rabenfeld ordered his men to move out, grudgingly allowing the Witch Hunters supremacy over their scene. He sulked off sullenly, cramming another taper into his mouth and lighting it, a low growl in his throat. The crowd stared, gawking as the Cult of Ulric was sent off to lick their wounded pride. Rabenfeld was furious. How dare those southern Mangod worshippers humiliate him! Bad enough that Rundstedt had allowed them in the city at all, but now, the Witch Hunters evidently had greater say over the Long Fangs. Rabenfeld swore his blood might boil when he had seen the Lord Mayor's signature next to Hochfleischer's on the writ.

Mael-Dannan Ravenous Angels Tomb Kings Protectorate of Menoth
halonachos wrote:Mordo is evil, the cute walrus wearing a monocle is just a disguise for the evils within the confines of the avatar box.
darksage wrote:And then the darkness approached the computer screen ready to unveil untold horrors on millions of unsuspecting innocents... Some knew him as the bringer of terror...some knew him as the spawn of all things evil...some knew him as the walrus, but then their lives would account for nothing, for they would be dead in seconds of the words leaving their lips.The walrus has posted, prepare for the death of worlds.
 
   
 
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