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Made in gb
Mighty Vampire Count






UK

Chapter One – A race through dark places

Mordhiem, former “Poor Quarter”

“So what do we do now?” Her voice was soft, worry seeded through every word.

Viktor snarled at her, his handsome features twisted and transformed, “Be silent!”

She flinched back and dropped her head submissively, hiding the sudden hurt in her eyes behind strands of her long dark hair, streaked and matted with still drying blood.

He turned his attention back to the scene below them, his crimson eyes piercing through the darkness and the curling strands of unnatural mist that caressed and danced around the hunters whose own flaming torches fought against them to illuminate their search.

The bio-luminesce fungi that stained the walls of the decaying building illuminated the large room in which the two fugitives crouched with a sickly emerald glow, reminiscent of the wyrdstone that so many sought in the ruined city.

Unknowingly, as he followed the men’s careful movements, Viktor’s right hand squeezed the snakeskin hilt of his beautifully crafted sword, its crosspiece unsubtly curved into darkly gilded bats wings. The ornate crimson breastplate he wore had several large rents hacked into its side and a neat hole punched into the back from which black blood still oozed reluctantly.

There were still too many to fight and they had not dispersed themselves as he had hoped in their pursuit, clear commands had sounded through the mist whenever they had begun to do so. Viktor had begun to hate that voice, its clarity and determination, the lack of urgency.

He was definitely going to kill that man.

Xx

“They are close.”

The captain warned his men, his eyes constantly moving as he strode down the street, his hard, blade scared face only partially illuminated by the blazing torch in his left hand. He was clad in dark leather and like his quarry his body was protected by a metal breastplate, a bright golden hammer inscribed upon its surface, itself wreathed in fading gilded fire.

In his belt were thrust a pair of dwarf made pistols and he held a hammer in his right hand, its heavy head plated with silver like the gleaming spikes hammered into the metal collar about his thick neck. At his left heel, pacing him exactly as he moved was a huge mastiff, armoured with the same style of collar, slobbering anticipation dripping in its wake.

Flanking but a half dozen paces behind him were a man and a woman, both garbed in battered leather armour, a crossbow held steadily by each, shifting their aim as they moved, just like the captains eyes. The woman limped a little, an old wound that burned coldly in the night air, both of them had short cropped black hair under their leather skull caps.

Ahead of the captain was a huge man, his great beard shot with grey like the straggly thinning hair on his head. Deceptively easily he hefted a woodsman’s axe in his right hand, its notched but lethally sharp blade gleaming in the inconsistent moonlight. Like his master, a burning torch was held in his left hand.

Alongside him was a brutalised zealot, his near naked body and head a mass of scars and piercings, his right hand hacked off and replaced with a short double edged sword blade. The legend “Sigmar” was crudely etched into his chest in large and heavy gothic letters.

Six other warriors were spread out in the surrounding buildings, moving from room to room in pairs as they had been instructed. One of each duo had a torch to both illuminate and as a weapon against their inhuman prey, after all did not even the most fearsome of animals fear fire!

Even had they doubted the potential effectiveness of the flame, no one disobeyed Captain Lapzig, at least not more than once.

Xx

“Where are they….” The vampire rasped, his eyes roaming across the ruined houses below and the fire lit figures growing ever closer, his fingers drumming lightly on the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly he turned back to the woman at his side and flashed his teeth in a not completely reassuring grin, his mood evidently shifting.

“The last time I ventured into this gods-forsaken district, it was overrun by evil smelling, chanting fools, in fact it was safe to say you could not swing a cat without hitting one of those idiots. A very small cat.”

He paused and raised a thick dark eyebrow at her and she smiled nervously in response, unsure of what to do or say.

Viktor’s sigh was theatrically heavy, “It seems I cannot rely on the minions of Chaos, my sweet. Perhaps they are all asleep or too busy chanting or engaging in bestial rituals in the semi-darkness. No matter.”

He drew his sword with a lightning fast movement that caused his companion to flinch backwards.

“Wish me luck…. and them damnation!”

She did not reply but his smile broadened as she slowly extracted a glittering blade from within her dress and raised her chin defiantly.

“You won’t fight them alone.” She spoke quietly but her eyes did not leave his.

“Ah my dear, you do inspire me!” Swiftly he pulled her to him and kissed her firmly before further proclaiming…..

“Yet I did not blaze a bloody trail through those slavers, decapitate the very wretch whose dagger you now hold…….. to allow you to fall into the filthy hands of witch hunters. No! I……”

He paused in his speech as bloodcurdling, depraved shouts and screeches sounded through the ruins, echoing unnaturally around the room.

“Ah Ha,” A fang filled smile and a wink followed, “Well then, better late than never!”

Xx

He had no name for he was but an instrument of the gods, their power surging through his twisted form as he screamed their fury at the intruders from each of his five mouths. He felt the impact of a steel bolt in his feather shrouded chest but it was nothing to one who heralded the new age of chaos.

Blood fountained high as he tore off the arm of a man who had slashed at him with his sword, he pulled the now sobbing victim closer with all three of his heavily muscled arms and savaged him further with his hungry maws, tearing through leather, cloth and flesh and gulping down bloody morsels.

His latest victim slipped from his grasp, collapsing to the ground, twitching and grasping at his mortal wounds. The weapons of his foes were but pin pricks as he stood defiantly.

He had no name for he was fury incarnate, the chosen of the gods and with their favour unstoppable, invincible…..

A noise behind him, a shouted word that was briefly painful and then the world went black.

Captain Lapzig wrenched his gore slick hammer from the ruin of the huge mutants back and spine, allowing the creature to crash to the crimson smeared cobbles. He took a moment to spit on the foul corpse before moving to the next enemy. As he stepped past a wild spear thrust he nodding approvingly at the spectacle of his hound savaging the throat of another fallen heretic, its arms flailing uselessly at the body and shoulders of the powerful beast.

Xx

The followers of Chaos had boiled out of the mist and ruins like malformed insects from a shattered hive. Bellowing and screeching, they charging uncaring onto the blades of their foes, lashing out with weapon and claw alike, tearing down men even as they themselves were cut down.

The conflict was brutal and noisy, blood of several hues quickly coating the already damp walls and floors of the ruined buildings in which they fought. Here a cultist clad in rags slipped and had his throat stamped into oblivion by a cold eyed woman who then barely managed to parry the notched axe of a wide eyed madman as he leapt at her.

There a skulking reptilian thing fell upon the back of a hapless man from a savaged rooftop, clawing through his leather and clothes to get at the tasty organs. He tore free his prize - a still beating heart, only to be decapitated by the precise swing of a great axe.

“Clever bastard.” The axeman rasped at his captain fighting nearby. At first he did not respond, too busy ramming his burning torch into the face of another cultist, pushing forward to force the brand down her throat before stepping back and smashing his hammer into her skull, crushing it and sending the cultist crashing to the ground.

“What?” Lapzig shouted back at his second, his eyes assessing the skirmish. The ranks of the damned were thinning and no new enemies were emerging as his veterans began to show their superiority to such cursed fools.

“Our Prey, Captain, is no fool.”

His commander grunted in response then whistled for his hound who immediately raised its bloody jowls from the still twitching corpse and began to bound obediently towards him.

“It will still burn.” The words were like iron,

The axe man nodded but his eyes were troubled, only clearing when he hefted his weapon to hack down a charging mutant with lethal speed, stepping to one side to take its head with a powerful reverse swing.

The captain raised his voice to a roar, “Finish these scum and burn the bodies, we continue the hunt.”

Xx

“Hmm it seems we are running out of distractions,”

Having sheathed his sword, Viktor extended a courteous hand to his companion, “Time to go, my dear.” He looked meaningfully at the building opposite, quite a distance away.

Gizela hesitated only a moment before allowing him to enfold her in his arms, the cool of his metal armour unpleasant through her thin dress, her heart pounding fiercely. Then they were moving, a single powerful stride and they were flying through the air and landing heavily on the flat floor of the second story, sending evil eyed crows flying from their roost, crying out their irritation.

The floorboards held, groaning and protesting at the strain, large malformed insects scuttling further into the shadows and an ominous buzzing noise resounded from a huge hanging nest swaying gently in the partial darkness of the next room.

Viktor did not pause or relinquish his hold on his prize already pounding down the dissenting staircase and into the street.

Xx

East of Mordheim

“I am Disappointed.” The woman’s voice was redolent, powerful and could immediately command attention even in a crowded room. It was not needed here, the room was small and empty save for two walking corpses standing by the door and the man she addressed but on hearing her voice he dropped as swiftly as possible to one knee, pain shooting through his twisted back.

“My Lady?” the slight tremor in his voice drew no smile from the woman as she swept her eyes across his misshapen form. He was heavily built despite the obvious deformity, clad in dull grey and black clothing and patched leather armour, a hefty mace at his belt.

“I am here to speak to your master…..and yet I find him absent.”

She stalked closer, the soft silk of her ebony dress swishing as it revealed and concealed almost the entirety of her long ivory legs and the naked stiletto strapped to her left thigh. Fine jewels glittered from her ears, necklace, the diadem that proclaimed her rank as baroness and the glittering hairnet that partially cloaked her night-black hair.

“Where is your Viktor? I require his attendance upon me………Immediately… if not sooner.”

Claudiu Surdul had been serving undead lords and ladies all of his life so fear was nothing new to him, he had seen men, women and children devoured, torn apart and drained, sometimes all three. He had seen loyalty both rewarded and spurned, but the lessons his parents had beaten into him held true, he remained steadfast.

“He has business in Black Pit, My Lady.”

“Indeed?” Her eyes bored into the top of his still lowered head, letting the silence grow more uncomfortable.

“Then I shall wait….”

Xx

Black Pit

“I am surprised to see you here,” the man drawled around his pipe, his sweat stained crimson doublet scarcely concealing his bulk, the candles within the tent flickering off the tawdry gold rings that decorated his fat fingers.

“At least not so soon after that bloodbath in the slave market!”

Dieter grimaced, running a slender fingered hand over his bald pate.

“Perhaps you are surprised Helmut, perhaps you are……..but needs must….” His voice was low and scratchy, the words intoned precisely but with an unnerving lack of variation in tone.

Unlike the merchant he was thin, painfully so, his skin pale and clammy. Again in contrast he was dressed in a simple dark robe, its hem frayed and filthy from the journey to the trading settlement lurking on the edge of the ruined city. Against the central tent post, within easy reach, rested a hefty wooden staff, the metal hinge on the top betraying the blade embedded in the shaft that could quickly snap into place should he need it.

“Hmm.” The merchant slurped at a dirty pewter mug as he considered his customers words.

“Do you have what I require?”

“I am not sure it’s that simple.” The eyes of the merchant flickered briefly past the seated man towards the doorway.

“Really?”

“Uh Huh.”

“Helmut, I can speak a single word and flense your putrid stinking flesh from your bones, strip your shoddy misbegotten soul from what’s left and bind it to my service for eternity. If your men take one more step towards me I shall do so.”

No one moved.

“I have the wyrdstone and luckily for you I will overlook the insult to myself and more importantly my associates if you can conclude our business in the manner of an actual merchant. Now, do you have the items I asked you to obtain?”

The hefty jowls of the merchant jostled as he nodded, his tongue licking suddenly dry lips.

“Good.”

From inside his robe Dieter extracted a small bag, the material of its make uncertain to the eyes of the merchant, its surface criss-crossed with faintly glowing runes. Carefully Dieter placed it on the table and waited.

His eyes still fixed on the bag, Helmut grunted and opened a nearby chest, extracting a larger cloth bag that he too placed on the table between the two men.

“You have something suitable to put these in I assume?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Helmut reached down below the table for a small, evidently heavy chest. Heaving it onto the table he clicked open the lock, revealing the empty, lead lined interior.

Without haste, Dieter opened the bag and tipped the contents into the chest. A sickly green radiance instantly filled the tent as the two wyrdstone shards were revealed and all those present could taste copper in their mouths, one of the two hefty thugs in the doorway gasped as blood began pouring from his nose and he staggered out to vomit uncontrollably into the street.

In a smooth movement, the dark clad man was already standing as he shut the chest and took the cloth bag.

“Are you not going to check it?”

He shook his head impatiently, “Helmut, if you have cheated me then that’s your problem….or it will be.”

Retrieving his staff he was already striding out of the tent.

Xx

“We have lost them.”

Heike hefted her crossbow on her shoulder as captain Lapzig scowled at the empty streets around them.

Kurt shrugged, his own heavy axe held at rest. “Sneaky bastard this one, but we will get him next time, Captain.”

IT, Not Him - don’t make the mistake of thinking we hunt a mere man, we are tracking a monster.” The captain did not turn round but continued his glowering vigilance, mirrored by his mastiff.

“…..You should know better than that!”

The recipient of the rebuke scowled at the back of his commander and the woman nearby raised an eyebrow at the big axeman who shook his head silently. They stood silently waiting with the rest of the warband, torches still blazing – holding back the still swirling mist.

Xx

The two ran swiftly through the shattered streets, dodging ruined carts and patches of pulsating, glowing and sobbing flesh that were all that remained of once proud inhabitants of the city. Crimson eyed crows perched atop torn open roofs and huge rats with sickly green orbs for eyes both watched their passage hungrily.

As they passed, a hairless dog with six legs stood growling at the entrance to its lair, gnawed bones scattered at its feet. Behind it were a clutch of yelping and yowling pups, their own deformities only partially hidden by the shadows.

Viktor and Gizela rounded a crumbling street corner, the walls crawling with vast pulsating maggots and were then confronted by the unnaturally preserved corpse of a huge horse, tied atop the roof of an overturned, once proud carriage – it was evident that not even the roaming scavengers would touch it.

They circumvented the macabre sight and pressed on but shortly after Gizela staggered to a halt in the rough shelter of a ransacked and ruined cobblers shop, coughing and gasping in turn. Her guardian too paused, not ceasing to scan the surrounding area as he waited for her to catch her breath.

“We must be going. This is not a place to linger even if were not pursued.”

She did not respond beyond dropping to her knees and vomiting.

“My dear……….I am so sorry.” His voice softened as he shifted his full attention to her, her slim form was only partially covered in the now filthy and torn dress in which she had been displayed. Legs stained with mud and worse, her feet were now bare, torn and raw, her battered shoes long since discarded. He noted she was not complaining but her exhaustion was beyond doubt.

“I had forgotten that mortality was such an affliction.” He dropped to his knees beside her, gently pulling her head back as he tore open his wrist, feeding her his blood.

“Fear not - it will not be your burden for much longer.”

xx

The clock ticked on, dusty and battered, it’s once proud gilding was flaking and the delicate tortoiseshell inlay peeling but it persevered.

The baroness stood gazing through what had once been a fine window, now only ragged shards of glass remaining in the rotting frame. Dried, dead plants in cracked pots sat on either side of the equally denuded doorway into the ravaged gardens beyond, starkly illuminated by the light of the two moons, pale and emerald respectively.

Claudiu waited, listening to the time piece marking the seconds, before he considered it was safe to speak.

“Perhaps you would require some refreshment, I could send for a servant – there are a few remaining….

“Or I could drain you dry, mortal.” Waiting was evidently not improving her mood.

“As you wish, Milady.” His voice was carefully flat.

“You have served a long time I take it?”

“I have. The young master directly for several years and his family all my life. Seven generations of us have attended upon the family, Milady.”

A hint of pride entered his voice as he continued, “There were Surdul’s at Drakenhof when He married the Lady Isabella and became our liege.”

The Baroness remained gazing at the ruin of the once proud grounds, but she glanced down at the glittering ring on her left hand, its seal catching the moonlight.

“Many lives changed on that night, mortal. Your family choose wisely….” She paused as she turned back to face the man.

“Now tell me again where Viktor is and what exactly he is doing…..”

xx

I AM A MARINE PLAYER

"Unimaginably ancient xenos artefact somewhere on the planet, hive fleet poised above our heads, hidden 'stealer broods making an early start....and now a bloody Chaos cult crawling out of the woodwork just in case we were bored. Welcome to my world, Ciaphas."
Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos

"I will admit that some Primachs like Russ or Horus could have a chance against an unarmed 12 year old novice but, a full Battle Sister??!! One to one? In close combat? Perhaps three Primarchs fighting together... but just one Primarch?" da001

www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/528517.page

A Bloody Road - my Warhammer Fantasy Fiction 
   
Made in gb
Mighty Vampire Count






UK

Chapter Two – Homeward Bound

Strange noises echoed around the hovels and badly damaged buildings that made up much of what once had been the poor quarter as they headed east, deeper into the domain of the Shadowlord – the daemonic entity that claimed Mordheim as its own very own realm.

Small fragments of Wyrdstone embedded were in the earth and broken cobbles, they glistened and tempted, the goal of many who came to the city in search of wealth and power for the stones could provide both. That they could also twist and corrupt both body and soul was for most, more than worth the risk.

Viktor had his blade drawn now, his movements were cautious rather than rapid, and his voice never more than a whisper as they headed towards the tallest building in the city, the still intact Clock Tower. Gizela could still feel the warmth of his blood coursing through her, banishing her wounds and pains as she followed him through the moonlit streets and alleys.

One of the resplendent wonders of the city that was, the Clock Tower could be seen by those approaching from many miles away. At its gilded summit was not only the Great Lady, a vast brass bell created in tribute to the honour of the Countess Steinhardt, but also a telescope where astronomers might gaze up at the heavens. They had seen the comet as it approached but had not understood that it spelled their doom.

The tower complex still stood on solid dwarf crafted foundations but now as it rose towards the moons it was twisted and entwined with great fleshy growths and undulating tendrils that on some nights bloomed with a multitude of vast flowers, drawing in turn swarms of the uncanny insects that now plagued the ruins.

It did however still provide a useful landmark to those who ventured into the city, standing near the south-eastern walls. Occasionally the mighty bell would sound out across the city and beyond, but only the insane could see any pattern or reason to the mournful intonations.

As the two travellers approached they could see that lights burned on various floors of the overgrown building, flickering lamps or fires looking to entice the unwary with promises of warmth. Occasionally grim shadows passed in front of the light, jerky inhuman movements and unnatural protuberances betraying their corrupted nature. As a further warning impaled on posts outside the huge building were skeletons and still decaying corpses - the remnants of previous interlopers.

As the two fugitives paused within a shattered building a heavily built and partially clad figure shambled out of the shadows, dragging a mutilated torso by one already gnawed upon leg and heading for the tower. The creature had a heavy club in in its other massive hand which like its arm and upper body was covered in a mass of barbed thorns.

Then it stopped, its nostrils flared as its malformed head swung round to face where the couple were hiding, snorting loudly. A low rumbling growl issued from its barrel like chest and it dropped the corpse remnant as it raised its club now in both hands.

Viktor did not hesitate or attempt to conceal himself further but rather stepped into full view, his sword to one side in a proscribed ready position. Gizela kept the crumbling wall between her and the monster as she watched her lover square up to it.

“Well my friend, you shouldn’t worry, we are not here to steal your meal.”

A heavy snort and a pace forwards was all he received in response.

“You can be on your way now.” The vampire gestured towards the massive building, although his eyes remained focussed on the creature.

It stared at him for a long moment, assessing the confident stance, the moonlight glittering off the length of his blade and the scent of both of the potential prey. The female stank of blood, sweat and fear but the male, although equally clad in a sanguine odour was evidently without fear and something of the grave clung to his armoured form. It knew that scent and knew that it would be in for a hard fight.

So it retrieved its food and with a final warning snarl it continued on its way.

Viktor smiled and bowed to his companion, “You see…..even monsters can choose wisely it seems.”

She nodded but did not return the smile, “…..but maybe we should leave in case he has hungry friends….”

A hearty laugh and he was reaching for her hand – “You do speak wisely my dear, let us depart.”

Xx

The door creaked heavily on its worn and rusty hinges as Dieter entered the once proud great hall, the sole guard, in life a fine swordsman, moaned softly as he shuffled to face him, sword in hand, his hollow eye sockets glowing slightly as the walking corpse recognised its master.

“Hello Borys,” Dieter patted him on the head as he went past.

Most of the furniture had been long since stolen or burnt as fuel but a battered table had been dragged in, scratching the filthy marble floor rather badly and it now served as a desk for the hunchback who had various unfurled scrolls in front of him, dimly lit by several ill smelling candles. A few worn chairs squatted nearby, their once fine crimson covers torn and stained.

Claudi had looked up from the documents as the gaunt necromancer entered and stalked towards him and now forced a polite smile onto his face.

“Good morning, Dieter.”

“Claudi.” Barely a nod in recognition. “Where is Viktor?”

“Urghh, you as well.”

“Explain?”

“The Baroness Katherina von Dernsbach has only recently left, she was hoping to meet the young master.”

He returned his gaze to the fire damaged scroll, squinting in the half-light. “She left disappointed.”

“I take it he has not returned since then?”

Claudi paused but did not bother raising his eyes to his visitor as he drawled, “Not that I am aware of, no.”
Ignoring the scowl in response, he continued, “So did you obtain what you needed?”

An irritated wave of the hand, “Of course!”

Not receiving any further response, Dieter seated himself with a heavy sigh, placed his staff on the floor and began to clean and trim his nails with a gleaming bone handled pocket knife.

“Do you know what Viktor was actually doing in Black Pit?”

“The young Master does as he pleases, we are not here to question him but rather to facilitate and assist as required.”

“I see - were you required to learn that by rote?”

Claudi did not respond.

“Five slavers, about a dozen mercenary scum, three or four others – it was a bloodbath.”

“Hmm, indeed – was that so very surprising to you – he is a vampire?”

“Over a Woman!”

“The young Master likes women.” A slight smile, “This woman in particular.”

“We are not here to indulge him in such matters.”

Now the hunchback leaned back in the chair with only a small wince of pain. “Careful Dieter, I have found that our lords are seldom receptive to mere mortals dictating such things.”

“I am not talking to Viktor.”

“Ah, you believe I will not communicate your words to him, that we are such good friends?” He shook his head, “how curious…..”

“My talents are not easily replaced, tell him whatever you wish, I will not be slow in expressing my own concerns to him directly.”

“Your funeral….”

“A poor choice of words I think.” Dieter rose to his feet and continued as he walked.

“I do not have time for this, I have rituals to complete.” He strode from the room.

Xx

Mordheim had stood as the capital of the state of Ostermark and in its vanity competed with Marienburg, Nuln and Middenheim to be the second city of the Empire. The great wealth of the city had drawn avaricious eyes, not only from the rampaging Orcs of the World’s Edge Mountains but also the rulers of the other states of the Empire.

Consequently like most cities within the Empire (and indeed the world) Mordheim had been surrounded by tall, hefty walls and was defended further by formidable gate fortresses and defiant turrets dotted along its length. Although many Dwarves found a home in the city away from the wars in their home holds, the wall was almost exclusively the work of human engineers and workers.

When the Hammer of Sigmar struck the city these bastions generally held firm despite some being battered and burned, the curtain wall also remained intact for the most part but small sections collapsed during or shortly after the event. These damaged sections provided yet another way into the ruined city for those who would dare its dangers and they also allowed others to escape its horror’s with the treasure they sought.

However some did not themselves venture into the city, instead they preferred to lurk at such egress points ready to relieve the unwary or injured of their good and often their lives.

Xx

Viktor glanced up at the cloud laden sky, conscious that the morning could not be more than a few hours away and they still had far to go before they could rest in safety. Ahead of them was a break in the city wall, the great blocks of masonry tumbled asunder as they had collapsed along with most of a once proud tower.

“There are, I think, four dangerous men lurking in the rubble near the wall – but this is not a threat, but rather an opportunity.”

Gizela looked at him askance.

He drew her close, whispering softly, conspiratorially in her ear. “You will need their blood, my dear.”

The woman’s eyes went wide, then her features were transformed by a feral grin and he knew he had chosen well.

“This is a hunt and I need a lure…” He looked deep into her eyes and saw she understood.

Slowly she stepped back and deliberately, provocatively, ripped her already ragged dress, fully exposing one pert pale breast and met his eyes through a curtain of her hair.

Her voice was soft. “Are you sure I will serve, my lord….?”

Viktor actually growled as his gaze dropped down and then swept back up to lock with her now amused eyes. He suddenly stepped intimately close to her again, his right hand slowly, oh so slowly tracing down her cheek, over her jaw and down her throat, feeling the rapid pulse of her blood.

“We are going to do such wonderful things together.” He breathed before pushing her away and slapping her rump lightly with the flat of his blade.

“Off with you now.”

She laughed and emerging from the ruined alehouse in which they had sheltered began to pick her way towards the mound of rubble, her movements becoming purposefully less assured as she got closer. Viktor watched her appreciatively then began to move himself, swiftly and almost silently as he gave the breech a wide berth before approaching the still solid walls to its left.

He leapt upwards with a barely suppressed snarl, his blood afire with lust and anticipation of the blood feast to come.

Xx

Following an extensive rummage around his left nostril, Wilhelm had been examining the results with great diligence before he yawned and wiped the digit relatively clean on his trouser leg and returned his gaze back to the gap in the wall.

It remained the same as it had been for the last few hours, empty save for the tumbled stone, scraps of discoloured and faded material and the odd cracked skull or length of well gnawed bone. Still at least they were not stalking through the deadly ruins of the city beyond, there were far too many ways to die in that accursed place.

He glanced over at the other members of the warband, Karl was apparently asleep but given his explosive temper it was unlikely anyone would take him to task any time soon and certainly Wilhelm was not going to exert himself to do so.

Oleg and Hans were engrossed in some quiet debate, seemingly about the relative merits of bow and crossbow from the gesticulations towards the appropriate weapons that each had in their hands. Reluctantly Wilhelm shifted to a slightly more comfortable seating position and lazily refocused on the gap he was supposed to be watching.

Then he saw her and immediately sat up straight, drinking in the vision of dishevelled beauty that was staggering into view, apparently unaware or uncaring about who was nearby. He let out a low whistle to alert his compatriots and stood up.

Quickly he began moving forward towards her, eager to stake his claim.

Xx

Gizela bit her lip as she stubbed her toe again on an unyielding slap of fallen stone. She had seated herself on a larger piece of debris and began to massage it when she heard the men moving towards her. She ignored them, she had no wish to see the lust and brutality in their eyes having already experienced similar when she had been dragged off by the slavers men.

Approaching twenty years of age, she had been aware of her beauty for nearly half a decade. She had enjoyed some of the attention, but when her father gleefully proclaimed it like any other good or asset he was trying to sell, she had been less impressed. Especially when she saw the sort of buyer he had in mind for her!

Dragging her away from the city to accompany him on his latest trading expedition to the east had been equally unwelcome, but her mother and her elder sister had both warned her repeatedly about the admittedly unwise affair she had begun with a gallant young cavalry officer.

“Wait until your safely married before you start that sort of thing you little idiot!” had been expressed in a variety of ways. She had been quite shocked at some of the words her mother had used in their last conversation about it.

Distressed but conscious that her quality of life was still dictated by her father, she had acquiesced to his orders and they had travelled to the devastated city. They were not alone, where thousands had perished or fled the aftermath of the comets impact – so now multitudes were equally drawn by the tales of magical rocks that could be found there – wyrdstone – it could turn lead into gold, grant immortality or bring back the dead. Or so the stories went.

Not all who found their way to the city would venture inside to search for the wrydstone themselves, there was need not only for intrepid hunters of the unnatural stones but also those who would provide food, weapons, clothing and even luxuries to those encamped around the outskirts.

Furthermore those who saw the devastation as a direct intervention by their god, Sigmar also made their way in large numbers – eager to experience this manifestation of his power and also to atone themselves by cleansing the ruins of all the unbelievers, heretics and mutants.

Several small settlements quickly arose, dangerous and unstable places without formal rulers or lawgivers except for those with the most power – be they heavily armed mercenaries or fanatical witch hunters and priests of Sigmar. The Empire was still torn between the various contenders for the throne and none of them had the resources or will to police the area, although of course all three sent their own forces to try and claim the wrydstone from themselves.

Protection for providers was limited to their own sword arm or those they could hire and keep. Mercenaries quickly found that robbing unarmed merchants could be just as lucrative as and significantly less dangerous than actually guarding them.

At first distressed by being dragged away from the city (and her lover), Gizela’s mood was not improved by the increasing danger, the squalor of the encampment and the prospect that at some point her father would marry her off to one of the most disgusting of his clients…..

……and it was then that Viktor had strode into her life.

Xx

Below him the four men were advancing on Gizela. They swaggering towards her, weapons mostly sheathed or held loosely. At the front was a thin dishevelled swordsman, his relatively handsome face transformed by an anticipatory leer, followed by a pair of slightly overweight men who obviously considered themselves marksmen from their chosen weapons.

The Vampires eyes narrowed as he assessed the man bringing up the rear, apparently unconcerned but his own eyes were sweeping the terrain and his grip on his gleaming axe was firm but not tense. On his left arm he had hefted a large shield – again well maintained. He at least was anticipating trouble.

In truth, Viktor had no actual need for her to act as bait, but it did give him another opportunity to impress.

xx

“Hello darling, you looking for us?” Wilhelm drawled, provoking harsh laughter from two of his companions as the girl looked up at the men.

She slowly got to her feet and backed away a little as she stammered out an enquiry.

“What do you want?”

The inevitable reply was forestalled as a heavy form landed behind him and the screaming began.

Xx

Viktor rammed his sword through the throat of one man, simply in order to get the blood flowing, withdrawing and pivoting smoothly to flick the resultant ichor on his blade into the eyes of the turning swordsman, whose own hand was only just reaching for the hilt of his sword.

He turned again and stepped forward with a precise strike that took both hands off the crossbowman, enjoying the hot blood fountaining across his face and armour, the screaming that erupted as quickly as the blood from the mortal wounds.

The bowman dropped to his knees trying to stem the flow of his lifeblood from his throat, eyes bulging out as he failed and suddenly there was only a single man that stood ready to fight. He roared with anger and came in swinging high, his shield held firmly before him.

Impulsively the vampire laughed and caught the axe hand on the down swing and began to squeeze. Still bellowing Karl rammed his shield into his armoured opponent who barely staggered under the impact and merely increased the pressure on the wrist until the bone cracked, blood and flesh beginning to seep out of the wound. With disdain and unnatural strength Karl was then flung aside landing hard face first onto a large pile of debris, the stone lacerating his face, shattering teeth and crushing his nose as he impacted.

He groaned and tried to rise again but a heavy foot slammed him down again hard, knocking the wind from him. Before he could react, he was lifted up by the scruff of the neck and his head yanked backwards, exposing his neck.

The last thing he felt was sharp teeth at his throat as his strength drained away with his lifeblood.

xx

Wilhelm was still wiping the blood from his eyes when he felt hands spin him round and sharp nails raked across his face as a screaming banshee began to assault him with slaps, kicks and vicious slashes with her nails.

Disorientated he flailed back at her, trying to push her away long enough to clear his vision and get his sword out. She was cursing and swearing at him, something about her father, he was not sure, at this point he really did not care. As he stepped backwards and raised his fist to strike her something hard and metal clad slammed into his leg and he was falling, still suffering under the onslaught of the madwoman.

Xx

Gizela had never felt anything like it, she let lose all her anger, her disappointments, her recent loss and terror in wave of fury. She screamed foul words at the man, words that she had learned recently from her captors and old curses she and her friends had whispered and giggled about in the darkness.

The man fell back and she did not hesitate, following him down and punching, tearing, slapping at him until she began to feel exhaustion overtake her. Panting, his face coated with his own and his friend’s blood he managed to throw her off him, only to find a blood slick sword blade at his throat.

Viktor glanced down at the battered man at his feet and leaned a little closer, his crimson eyes boring into him.

“Be still, be silent and you will live a little longer.”


I AM A MARINE PLAYER

"Unimaginably ancient xenos artefact somewhere on the planet, hive fleet poised above our heads, hidden 'stealer broods making an early start....and now a bloody Chaos cult crawling out of the woodwork just in case we were bored. Welcome to my world, Ciaphas."
Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos

"I will admit that some Primachs like Russ or Horus could have a chance against an unarmed 12 year old novice but, a full Battle Sister??!! One to one? In close combat? Perhaps three Primarchs fighting together... but just one Primarch?" da001

www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/528517.page

A Bloody Road - my Warhammer Fantasy Fiction 
   
Made in no
Terrifying Doombull





Hefnaheim

I enjoyed that, nice to see a few stories from Mordheim
   
 
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