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Hawkseer: Nordland's finest

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SaintofM:
Chapter 5.

The crafts of priests and iniquitous had the corrupting influence put back in proper order in days. Save for a few beasts that brought a pair of Slayers their desired doom, and a couple more being wagoned off to the Imperial Zoo, everything was good. Everything was clean. Everything was orderly.

“I know I am young, and have not seen enough, but is this normal?” said a highly gilded noble. With his rune encrusted rapier he poked at a dead gore. The owners name embellished in gold gilding on his hilt: Geck Eidechse.

Such thoughts nearly died from the storm of a belly laugh of his companion. “Normal? Chaos? You not been drinking enough, human?” Said a dwarf of sturdy build, even for their people. He chomped on a cigar the nearly the size of a rat, a stamp of the Lizardman City it came from on its side. Besides a jolly good time, the Dwarf also brought the infamous drake gun of his people; a weapon that put the power of a dragon in one’s arms. “Oh, next you’ll tell me all this roasted Bullgors are making you hungry for a good ribeye!”

“I would be fine with Bugman’s Light at this point.” Geck said, the joys of fighting long since drained from his frame. What glory there had been had been brief. The cleanup, on the other hand was taking forever. Though Geck stained his velveteen gloves and his new boots and trousers in the blood of the enemy he piled onto the pyres, his job was to watch the dwarf’s back. Just because the legions of chaos were routed never meant they ever left.

“And I can go for that piss you call Whisky.” Said the dwarf as he lit the pyre and his cigar in one fell swoop. “Tells you how bad this was, right human?”

“Yeah. So how's that family of yours you keep talking about? Your wife has to be on her twelfth month with child?”

“Aye. Dwarf women are a hardy sort, more so than our men, but I tell you pregnancy is pregnancy. Be glad your womenfolk only have to be fat in the belley nine months.”

“I suspect she will need all the help she can then?”

“Pah, my Ma and my kid sisters are helping. If I come back before she delivers, the woman is libel to throw a cleaver at me, yelling: 'You did this to me you fat oaf!’”

Both men let out a good laugh before flagellants brought the dire mood back in order. They tossed a pair of children onto the pyre, one still holding a straw doll. It was butchery.

“I served ten years as a soldier, and another five as an officer. You think I would be used to the horror by now.”

“You never do, human. Never do.” The Irondrake said. He downed a sip of his flask before tossing it to Geck. “I have been doing the Ironbreaker bit for over fifty years now, and I still can’t get over what I see in the eternal dark. Just have to do it so our youngins don’t have to.
”
“Praise the gods to that.” Geck said, returning the flask. “I think they are ready for another pyre.”

“Aye. Hop to it then.”

GamesPoet:
Uh oh, going to have to come back to this for a read. :icon_wink: :::cheers:::

SaintofM:
Chapter 6A (this is bigger than the charecter limit so this will be split in at least 2 posts).

The residents of Harpy tower made it early, as Ronan commanded them. He was the first to dismount, patting his red cold one Flower. The rest of his cavalry did likewise. Most rode in the back of intricately designed carriages. Others took their personal mounts be it the black Pegasus of Dracea, or their own cold ones, or fast paced black horses. The most unique of Tigrarr’s more lupin mount that could keep pace with the dark steeds. With their commands, their riders commanded their mounts to not feed on the slaves as they took them to the stables.
Ronan looked over the newly minted Masters of the Druchii people. There was Recna, dressed clad in the cloak of a sea dragon like others of the Corsair ranks. Daughter of a shipmaster, Ronan still thought she was too young to participate, but must thought the families dedicated to the sea must grow up fast (too fast for even Ronan’s liking).

Nat Madat was another issue. Despite having a lordly level of pride, his family just elevated themselves to the ranks of nobility. As such he had the most to prove, and the most backs to stab.

Ipan was another matter. He modeled himself off of the mystical monks of Far Off Cathay, saying he might not kill as many with his waxwood staff but he would get more slaves brought back. If only his knowledge base allowed him a group of humans closer to the regions; the ones they actually wanted to raid.

That Left Dracea Skyborn. Truth be told it should be her Ronan was following by rank and prestige; the daughter of high nobility and the favored niece or a Supreme Sorceress so potent even Gorindo was frightened to offend her. Despite her skill with the sword and the lance, she was a sweetheart and more puppy in elf form. Just don’t test that kindness she has or you find out even golden retrievers have teeth.

The children of nobles were not the only charges he had. Of the Covens of Sorceresses, he had plenty of headaches and laughs in equal measure. Actus and Acidia were practitioners of the Lore of Metal, with the former also a methodical tinkerer of warmachines and the later a master of the alchemical arts. The former could conjure a war machine from her backpack of loose parts and make it work without a hitch, while the later always had a potion for the job at hand.

The Twins Norka and Morka were on the road to perfecting seership. They always talked as one, as if the same soul was in two bodies. Ronan wondered what would ever happen if one was separated from the other.

The Triplets Nor, Tor, and Zor were healers first and foremost, but they knew the body well enough where to inflict harm. Their skill, almost unheard of in the frigid lands of the Dark Elves, would make them valuable assets to any lord that could see past their obsession with the natural world and the wild plant creatures they produced.

Tigrarr was another story. A woman more wild cat than elf, she covered herself in self-inflicted scars that resembled tiger strikes. Some say her fascination with the wild things, and her desire to create a beast to rival anything chaos has produced stems from perhaps a lineage of beastmasters. Few sorceresses knew their lineage for sure, but beastmaster always kept a close pedigree chart (anything was possible in this world).

That left the two deathly ladies of nocturnal terrors, Ronan thought. Both elicit fear and carnal desire with ease, and knew how to wield them as a knight a lance or sword. Noctorn shrouded herself in a dress of shadows, while Acacna cloaked her being in a webwork of bone and lattice. Both worked the magics of shadow and death with might, and Ronan still wondered why they chose him as their commander.

Others were less complicated. Two dozen corsairs and a handful of shades of the Headhunter clan served him willingly. As did couple dozen crossbow armed dark shards, and a dozen more cold one knights. They saw him fight like a daemon, even risking his life for them. Most lords would do the opposite, grabbing them to soak up an enemy’s arrows. Since his efforts fighting orcs and taking several cities, a handful of Executioners of the Cult of Khaine also applied to serve him for a time.

Others were longer served. Relik, an assassin of Khaine, was assigned to train, protect, and if needs be, Kill Ronan. The young lord knew he was safe around him, but only because he was no threat to the Dark Elves. Sulfura, Relik’s secret lover and apprentice, and Ronan’s servant, would always choose Relik over Ronan but also fought fiercely for her lord. The two swordsmen Kenel and Lustel were worth their gold in protection.

Then there were the women who supposedly shared his bed. Arhedel, his love, his betrothed, his heart’s desire. Once a slave of Woodelf realms, she remained with Ronan long after he freed her, long after she was given a chance to return to her people. She was his and he hers. As beautiful as her short brown hair, round face, and brown eyes were, she was also his deadly captain of the guard. It was thanks to her that his crossbowmen were up to snuff.

Sepacuna was a different story. A sorceress given to him as a pleasure slave by Malekeith after Ronan had stopped a rebellion; she was a failure of one of the final tests of a sorceress. A test that left her flesh blue as oceans, and her womb baron. She hated and respected Ronan with every fiber of her being for his ownership of her; the only reason he did not lie with her. However her restraints were long destroyed by the lord in the making, and like many he promised to aid her in her own quest for vengeance. Thus far his track record for fulfilling these promises were good as silver. For that reason she tolerated his use of her as a weapon and advisor.

That left his two remaining slaves. Yoofina, a high elf scribe that was ternaly scared of Ronan. Given her last owner, he could see why. To have all the horror stories confirmed about your eternal enemy, and then live through it was more than many could handle. Still her skill with the quill and her memory, blessing and curse as it was, was a godsend.

He could could never discuss bedding her. Even his other slaves, save for the rare ones that demanded of it, he could never. He chose the life of a Dark Elf, but enough of his old life forced him to never do such. A request he gladly acquiesced to.

This would be the same with the other equally important member of his inner circle; a girl of the lands of the Empire and his Map expert, Helga. With her such a subject was out of the question. When one of his newer soldiers suggested his take her already, he was tempted to throw him off a balcony. Ronan refrained from it, but the time it takes to choke an elf nearly blue in the face was plenty of time to consider it.
Unlike the others, her scars were more emotional than physical. She was a child when she was brought over in the slave ships; a child of eight. How she endured it was alien to him. He early didn’’t make it and he was a soldier in his old life. Then to be at the craven hands of her last master…the thought flared up his rage even more.

Good thing Asure Stoicism had its perks.

“Are the other guests the Fleetmaster requested here?” Ronan demanded of a door servant.

“Yes, Dreadlord.” Said a well beaten goblin. Half Ear was the name most had given the creature, due to what a beastlord’s hunting hound had done to it. Like most of its kin, it was still a vicious as a badger but the better part of survival meant it knew how to lick boots with gusto. “Dreadlord Gorindo and Dreadlord Lacertus and their retinue have arrived just a few moments ago.

“Take us in then, Half Ear.” Ronan furthered the request with a bag sack of well marinated pheasant meat.

Nearly Skipping with glee, the goblin motioned the elves to keep up. Something most of the eles were willing to put up with in silence. Most.

“Why show such kindness to such a wretched animal?” Nat Madat groaned. The young lord had many of the features of a proud lord. A hawkish vision and eyes, a shoulder length of black hair, even a well-versed sword arm.

Too many for Ronan’s tastes. “Because any of us could be caged like him. And its nice to have all kinds of eyes and ears in these places.” He told the upstart.

“Bagh, only a fool and the weak would allow themselves to becomes slaves.”

“Are you full of old wine?” Ronan asked the young master.

“At this time of day? Of course not.”

“Then why do you forget that came to this land in such a cage? And that of my bride to be?”

Wisdom clamped Nat Madat’s mouth shut as he slunk back into the crowd. The nearest corsairs gently put an elbow into his ribs, and made fun of his lack of etquite

“Sometimes I forget you have a heart in there.” Said Sepacuna. Ronan was also used to her ability to appear where she wanted to, though it was still unwelcome as any. Unlike Nat Madat, she was within arm’s reach, the distance of a plaything and rival. With a little aid of magic, and a final pin, she finished holding her like a pouncing hawk.

“Shh. If word gets out, my reputation will be ruined.” Ronan gently chided. Any of his subordinates in earshot muffled their chuckles at such a reputation. No lord of the dark elves kept their position by being a weakling, but all knew he preferred to be a softy more times than not. “Besides, I think he knows I am out of carrots for him and tiss time for the stick.”

“Can you blame him?” Sepacuna asked. “The peasant born wants to prove to the inbreds his red blood is as worthy as their blue. Surly you dealt with the same in your homelands?”

“Yeah, but I was happy as a tavern boy. The jockeying for position the nobles played at, ugh, it is so tiring.”

“And this isn’t?”

“Vengeance is a wonderful thing to distract oneself of the tedium. That and how easy it is for your problem to fall down a flight of stairs, into a crate of daggers and no one think anything of it! A tragedy of course, but one less headache.”

“Good. Said Relik with a jolly shove to Ronan’s shoulders. “We’re almost there.”

SaintofM:
Chapter 6B

The Dragon’s Tower where the Tricktac Red Tide made his home on the Ark. It was the grandest of the towers on the surface, and the one that was the most heavily defended. It was also the one with the largest room to support the remaining counselor, captains, and Hawkseer participants.

Like Ronan, Lacertus was dressed in royal blacks and purples of Hag Greif, a city perpetually cloaked in a cliff face’s shadow. A Massive glaive he said was model off a weapon of the far east stood firm in his hand, while a pair of swords of his station hung snugly at his waste. Ronan knew under that raiment was a fine set of mail armor for even in times of peace, death was ever present among the dark elves.

Flanking him were his champions and truest of friends Chersyum and Barus. The former was a legendary duelists in the making. The latter a rare sanctioned male magic user with a staff that could turn into any weapon he chose. Closeby was Dea, a woman handcrafted by the Bloody Handed God of Murder Khain himself. She was also Lacertus’ wife, though the two never kept exclusive rights to each other’s bed.  Behind them he could see other lords such as Doromat, a cold woman eager to show the world her worth. Mistresses of the Hunt Armature and Orahanas left few prey not hanging a head on their families’ halls. The last of note was Devex, the Prince of Dark Riders and the finest horseman among the elves many say.

Behind them were plenty of sorceresses, but none Ronan could see if they were going to be of any note in the future, or be like the dozen or so whose miscasts blew themselves up.

That left Gorindo’s pack of animals. There were six of note worth mentioning for the rest died or were little more than toadies looking for a boot to lick. Mundis was a child of nobility with a desire to be the best doctor of the Elves; that way when he went to war, any lord that hired him would want him alive to save their hide. Thanata was another; a charioteer of great renown in the arena but had little in the way or thought or strategy that did not involve swinging a sword or charging headlong with a pair of cold ones. These two flanked their gold armored dreadlord a swordlength away, the space of trusted retainers.

Of his remaining sorceresses there was Ketrog, who always wore a deathmask reserved for High Elf Burials. Ronan had yet to see her in action, but all the stories about her said she fought with an insanity that would make a chaos cultist shudder.

Besides Mundus, if Ronan had any respect for any of them it was a pair of Beastlords that warented it. Ketrog had stared down a feral manticor into submission in the most recent of raids, and claimed it as his own war mount. Effring on the other hand managed to put to the spear a dozen Skaven monstrosities, and the subjection of a scurry of rat ogres. The Hippogriff and three Pegasus were well noted and well worth the trip alone.

All stood at attention, patiently waiting for Blood Tide to shepherd them to their next task. He in turn sat on his humble throne, glaring at the room full of murderous elves with spite and a hint of acceptance. This was as close to high praise they tend to receive.

“Gorindo, Step forward.” Gorindo did, bowing just fifteen sword lengths away from the lord of the ship.

“I want a report of the disaster that befell you outside these halls just a bolt thrower shot away!” All winced at those words. As usual, the Hawkseer participants were incharge of their raids, but as master of the Black Ark, he was master of all on this vessel. It was still his ship, and they all just lived in it, and he wanted to know how his elves, his resources were used.

Like all proper nobles, Gorindo hid his fear better than most elves. A show of weakness was a death sentence in of itself, as all dark elf children are taught. As much of a fool as Ronan thought of him, there was a reason the noble families at home placed good silver on him to survive.

Even his voice showed not of wavering. “We learned from a standard bearer of Ronan’s that he was dead, killed by vampires, and he just survived with his life. We all knew he was a liar and a bad one at that, but sent scouts in both directions just the same. Just as we were to receive word on Ronan’s health, we were informed by a scout that humans were clashing with skeletons just near our ship. I gathered my troops and went for a hunt. Turned out the humans were better fighting men than I thought, and the undead rose as fast as they were beaten down.

“By the time I had reached the center of the hoard, much of my troops were slain, and it was the arrival of another vampire that ended up saving us. I know not why, only it had something to do with Ronan. I must admit this is a second time he has come to my rescue, though I do not know if he intended it to be so.”

“And where is this blood sucking fiend, Ronan?”

Ronan motioned his followers to give him space. Not for the spotlight, but for the potential splash of magic that was aimed his way. Ronan took three steps forward before dropping to a knee, face glaring holes into the floor. “I know not. Only that when he is finished recovering, he will discover us. I suspect he will make himself known soon enough.”

“Come closer and explain what happened.” Red Tide commanded. Ronan obeyed and kneeled next to Gorindo. He told them of the village, the ambush, and the vampire. That he looked like a Nehkrark, a clan of vampires known for their ghastly appearance and magical prowess. How they made a deal, and he followed them to the ark when Devex told them of what was befalling Gorindo.

The hoard of the vampire’s undead followed behind, his own knights riding out to join the fray, while Ronan and his waited on the hill with the vampire. After the vampire’s own forces joined the melee, the vampire dismissed them, telling them what they would conclude their business latter.

“He wishes to recapture his home near the fortress wall of mountains that block out most winds of magic. A place where undead and warp made creatures run rampant.  He wishes us to take him home so he can reclaim his keep from a rival. As I could not speak for the Ark, her Fleetmaster, the Captains, or the others on this Hawkseer, I could not make a promise. However, I suspected in turn, he would be asked to tutor our sorceresses; my only demand being he start with mine.”

“And what makes you think our masters of the dark arts need his tutelage?” Asked a cackling voice that radiated power. Despite her frame and youthful body largely exposed for all to admire, all knew she had to be a powerful sorceress. Why else would every Sorceress on their own journey be on their knees, shivering from her cold stare.

“It is said the necromancy used by the Tomb Kings and the Vampires was first stolen from shipwrecked druchii like ourselves. In the thousands of years, their very survival needed it to be refined, to grow armies by sheer will alone. The Nehkrarks are the masters of this dark art. Humans may have a weak grasp of magic, but how often do you have a being infused with it not from the Chaos Wastes?”

The room grumbled by those that knew nothing about magic save for pew-pew spell make enemy go boom, and the enchantments on their gear. Ronan could do a weak healing spell, making him by default know more than most of the men in the room. “Moreover, many an artifact is taken from beings such as this, as the gleaning of the Tomb Kings taught us. Instead of stealing it, we have one give it to us for a relatively cheap price; all without struggle.

“Second, these sorceresses are all young. No older than most of the lordlings on their Hawkseer. They need someone to make them think outside the box they place themselves in, and one that has lived centuries can give them a perspective without the politics and scheming of teachers with goals that may be counter to their own.

“Amongst those that sought me out, I know two study the darker arts of death and shadows. Clearly one that disdains the sun and welcomes the dead with open arms would have much to teach them. Or those like Actus and Acidia that study the finer arts of the Gold Winds of Magic and how it can be used in our buildings and potions. Surly he has been around or stolen the notes of one that has been around know of such constructive measures? Or Tigrarr, who will bind beasts to her will. She desires to make the greatest creation of magic, something to rival warped created monsters like the manticore. Does not his proximity to the Chaos Wasts, and a vampire’s penchant to making flying hellsteeds not make them a suitable teacher in such things?

“If nothing else, does not the Hag make use of the natural warpstone in her mines to turn dead slaves into undead diggers that need not rest nor food? Should we not find ways to make them last longer so the ore roles freely as heads from Khaine’s temples on Death Night?”

The Supreme Sorceress nodded at Ronan, then turned her frigid gaze to Red Tide and did the same. “Do you trust this…vampire?”

“Dragons below and above, no!” Ronan spat out. “But neither do you, nor do I think he will us. It is not our nature to trust what we cannot control; and when we can control it we trust it as far as we can throw it. The vampire is no different.”

“Also a wise attitude. What do you suggest than?”

Ronan let slip a smile. “I would want experts dealing with his kind tasked with keeping an eye on him. Both from your order and those of the Temple of Khaine. He will need his own laboratory, his own place to teach and study. Frequent slaves to be fodder, maybe some warp stone for experiments or if it is true, to also feed. But to not underestimate him. I have faced vampires in my old life as a high elf soldier. I know even the weakest looking of them can hit an armored knight with the might of a giant’s club. Pale Queens’ doorstep, I saw one take the arm off a giant and beat it to death with it! We must have precaution!”

“Then you shall have it.” Said Red Tide. “I will be at the meeting in which we decide such things as they come. Sisters, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

The three Death Hags stepped forward. They performed Khain’s bloody work with ease and delight, and few dare bother them. Ronan had once rescued two of them from Orcs, but that debt had long since been paid. He, Gorindo, and Lacertus were all just as good on the surficial alters as any captive in war. It was their nature. However in rare cases like this, their minds were lucid enough to be of use in other ways.

“The Asure Born speaks true.” Said the eldest of the three, Eris. She held a sword in her lap that cut through armor and flesh as well as an executioner’s ax through a neck. Unlike most of her kin, she dressed in a way that didn’t rely on Khaine’s furry to keep her warm.  “You filthy Morathi twits need someone not of her depletive mind to teach you. You also need to keep this vampire on a leash. We will offer a pair of assassins and a unit of Executioners to this cause. I hope you are just as willing to send as much, you magical ho….”

“That is enough!” the Fleetmaster yelled, already leaping into a fighting stance; his sword and Kitar out in the air to taste blood.  Any one of sense went to the knee, their hands positioned well away from their weapons. Only the Khainites stood their ground. Only those that lived to kill and little more did.

Tension as tight as a noose, Eris backed down. “My apologies. Seeing one of Morathies’ fickle handmaidens is enough to incense any devotee of Helebron.”

“Part of your Hawkseer is to show you have the restrain of a lord; after all, you already proved battle prowess of one. Keep this in mind when you speak to one with power over you.” Red Tide told them for all to hear in the back. “Yes, Supreme Sorceress Chilrend will supply her own to this; her seers having already foreseen this long before as well as the success of the following:

“These sorceresses have completed this stage of their training and may move on to the next: Years in mercenary service to any that they wish. They may serve them for any amount of time till they are summoned by the Supreme Council of Sorcery for their next phase of their training.” As Gorindo and Ronan were pushed back, a number of sorceresses were told to step forward. Each one accepting a pendent of a twin tailed comet in the shape of a skull; A symbol of their new station.

To an outsider like Ronan, it was just a pretty pendent. To someone the Trio of Life Magic practitioners he had, it was a true measure of success.

The first to hear their names were two of Gorindo’s. Both chose to stay by his side, and each one demanded hefty gold for their service. To the amusement of him and all those next to him, he handed them a pair of coin purses heavy with loot. To Ronan’s confusion none stepped forward from Lacertus’ circle. Of his own, the triplet gladly took their reward.

“We will dictate a new agreement once we are back to the tower.” They said, giving Ronan a hearty hug, before taking their place.

“Of the Beastmasters, I think I can I can talk to them.” Red Sea announced. “Step forward, and take the mantles of your new command!” Once again those that served Gorindo took center stage.

The first to done the scaled mantle of the finest hydra, with a necklace of dragon teeth was the most promising of this year’s lot: Aflictus. He lost an eye to that hydra, but it was worth its capture. The orange and purple stripes would make it a show peace for sure to most lords, but a smart Dreadlord would make it his regiment’s mascot as his sent it after his enemies. The taming of a manticore was another feat, worthy of praise. Just sheer will vs sheer will, it would make him a legend once he returned home.

When he did. Out of the three, only Aflictus chose to stay with Gorindo, and the future prizes he was bound to face. The other two left to gather their things and find the first ship home. They had earned their glory; now it was time to lead elves to retake Ulthuane.

Ronan still held a loyalty enough to these lands to wish it was still a while off, but something as drastic as this ship was proof that was a fool’s wish. He would return home one way or another; maybe then he would achieve his revenge.

A thought that more than evoked such fears when another beastmaster, one of Lacertus,’ took a mantle and left to find a ship.

“The rest of you are dismissed. We shall have a feast on the day this ship is ready to move. There we shall discuss the passage to our next target. Hopefully your vampire is ready to travel with us then.

SaintofM:
Chapter 7.

The Map chosen left little to the imagination on where to go. This didn’t stop the unimaginative from constantly asking the same question:

“Why can’t we just go through that pass? Or that one on the other side?”

Ronan took one glance at Helga, and motioned the trembling girl of sixteen summers to Sepacuna. The sorceress had no more love for humans than she did Ronan, but as a slave that was used and abused by the favorites of Morathi, she knew what the girl had gone through; she knew she had a sister in arms in this, and she would protect her sister.

“Axe Bite Pass is being contested by orcs, goblins, Brettonians, the tree people of Averlorn, and the Empire. Even if we could get through that, we would lose half the ark just from fighting alone, and the use of wild magic would drain her fast. Look what happened just going along side that forest’s borders for a week!”

“Yeah, but can’t we just fly over it?”

“Not high enough.” Said one of the sorceresses inchrge of the ship’s black heart of a core. “A black ark like this needs the power of a bound daemon prince to get through that height. At which point, most of you will have nose bleeds and pass out from the lack of air. Not the most glorious state you wish to be in.”

“Also assuming we don’t have a conjured storm throw us in the middle of it. And Wala: We gifted the humans a brand new fortified city to keep their land safe! Can you imagine how thrilled the Witch King would be at such an event?”

Even Thanata could see that, and Ronan had long since given up on him. As a Denizen of Naggrond, he saw first hand what he did to his favorite chariot team for loosing that year’s championship: Flaying them alive and leaving them for the harpies to pick apart. And the Witch King LIKED them.

There was another problem, one Ronan knew their elvin pride overlook. “Besides, if we cross into it we will be entering the Capital of the Empire. The humans may not be much to us, but this is where their main college of magic is, where many of their greatest knights are, and where they have a dwarven arsenal’s worth of artillery. Even if we can survive it, the damage they would cause would make the Ark useless in retaking our ancient homeland. This is to be our flagship leading the assault. Not in port looking pretty for another hundred years.”

“What of the other pass again?”

“Too narrow.” Said Helga

“If I wanted a wench’s opinion, it be for a bottle of wine!” Yelled out one of the highborn under Gorindo’s command. His riotous laughter echoed though the chamber, along with the sound of his bouncing head. With casual grace, Red Sea’s personal assassin walked pass with a song in his heart and a whistle on his lips, and a bloodied blade in his hands.

“Helga is one of the best map experts we have on the ship. It is the only reason I am letting her speak at all.” Said Red Sea, his hand dancing ever closer to his sword.  With the hint clearly taken, Helga was commanded to continue.

“Its only four hundred paces from cliff to cliff. Enough for an army to march though, but a tight squeeze.” She said. Her breathing steady, even she had to take pride in the high praise from the Fleetmaster; and the power she was given over them. “One of your grander sailing ships could not go through it, much less this floating city.

“Besides, we need to be on the water soon. The Ark can be at full strength on the waves, and the ships heading back to the Land of Chill with cargo can finally set out. My Master says you must make room for, for…”

“For the Empire of Sigmar.” Ronan cut in. Long sword out, he traced a rout with the tip of his blade. “We’ll need to get pass this point between the coasts of Brettonia and Albion. High Ef Cutters patrol these lanes, and it will take just one escaping us to alert the whole fleet of a Black Ark is here, much less a new model. Once we do this, we can raid human and orc settlements along the Marianburg. They just separated from their fellow Sigmarites, and have been having a pissing contest with Brettonia; neither will come to their rescue. Our Destination is this city here: a little city called Waldstein.

Helga let out a gasp. The predatory nature of all the dark elves knew what that could mean, and relished every moment of it. Ronan let out a snarl, knowing full well what all were thinking. “Your seers have been telling you the same thing mine has. A Sea made of clawing creatures crashing upon the shore; of green cackling landslide. Of a thunderous people from the mountains. There is going to be a big battle there. Did any of you hear anything from the scouts and scuttlebutt?”

Devix raised a hand. Like most dark riders he hailed from, is clothing was minimalist, black, and meant for all weather. “I spoke with some of the glade riders of the Asri your lover comes from. They say their cousins in one of the great forests up North, perhaps this region, has been dealing with chaos so much they have not had time to deal with pesky Sigmarites. I suspect a push from chaos may have struck the area. Despite the size and magnitude of damage, they were pushed back too easily they say. There will be another invasion.”

“The Thunderous Denizens from the mountains, I am guessing dwarves or Skaven bringing their artillery.” Said another noble. A true Lord like Gorindo if there ever was one. However to live this long in this Hawkseer meant he had to fight like a daemon like the rest of them. “My family specializes in harvesting dwarven holds for cargo of gold, runes, metal, and flesh. They use black powder like we use magic. Best pay the shades extra to take that out when they arrive.”

“If not already.” Said Devix. “An army’s worthy came in to rescue their human allies. Maybe more are coming, or this is the thunder.”

“That leaves the green rockslide.” Said Gorindo, kicking Half Ear as he went. “I can thin of only one thing that could make that.”

“An Orc Whaagh.” Said Lacertus. “I am sure they say it louder and with more flehm coming out of the throat. And I could use a new pair of orc hide boots.”

“Humans, Chaos, us, Greenskins, Dwarves, and Woodlander kin that my bride says are as violent as a Witch Elf in the Time of Blood. Its risky, but we can probably pick some of them off if we stick to the edges of the conflict.” Said Ronan.

“Or we at more mercurial.” The whole room turned to see if Gorindo had grown a second head saying such things. “Hear me out.”

“Can have bowls of snacks passed around first?” Asked Ronan.

“I am serious, you weak blooded dark blade.”

“Fighting Words after he saved your life?” Asked Mundis. “Do you wish to make this war between the two of you more than a pissing contest?”

Ronan’s fingers danced around his cutless’ hilt. “I can keep this sheathed or we can sheath our blades in in each other. But I will not wait for an answer this time, Gorindo.” 

Every elf in the room was of two minds: To run and to place bets. Those that place bets ignored the danger of two manticores in elvin form stared eachother down. Those that saw the danger for what it was turned tables and braced for impact.

“Keep it sheathed.” Said Gorindo. “Have the Blood Price for my indiscretion paid to his tower.”

“Accepted, in full.” Replied Ronan. “What is your plan?”

“We hire ourselves to one of the parties.”

“Empire or Chaos than.” Said Lacertus. Like most of the elves, he hid behind a century old table, and used a bowl as a helmet. Also like most of the elves, he tossed a handful of coins to a winner of this bet. “Dwarves won’t work with us if it meant gaining a mountain of gold. And the Wood Elves I too have heard are vicious beyond compare. A Expedition a thousand strong from the Hag went in, and the only thing that came back was a mangled corps hung like a scarecrow at its edge. No hydra, no cold one, not an elf, not even the Dreadlord’s Black Dragon came back alive.”

“Given the nature of Rockslides and greenskins, I they may be trigged, but I doubt it will be from us.” Said another child of nobility; a woman of cold demeaner and an ever polished crossbow with her. “Best keep an eye on them.”

“The denizens of this Nordland territory may be desperate for aid. I suspect they may even have our other cousins there.” Said Nat Madat with some leering pride, much of it aimed at Ronan.

“If that is the case, will it be a Armada or simply a token relief force.” Ronan said with a glare of his own. “The latter will hardly be worthy our time to deal with save for the fact they may alert a larger fleet. As for the former, our fleets will loose the surprise a ship like this will have in the coming invation, but we have yet to see it in a true sea battle itself. Even without them to worry about, the Norscans and any other tribers further in Chaos wastes will be numerous.

“Fleet Master, what are your thoughts on such matters?”

Red Tide weighed his options. Ronan knew blood, gold, and glory was to be found in any of the extreams, but what would the coast be? “We will see when we reach them. I prefer not to face a fleet of Asure until the time we can enact true vengeance for our ancestors. I will not runaway from a fight either. Prudence the better part of valor. We will test the Ark’s metal on the forces of chaos. After we weather that storm, we shall know how to improve our tactics with it. Until then, pay your seeresses triple. We will need their sight.

We will be ready to float in three days. In that time my on scryer says we need to have a tower ready for the vampire. Anything else we should know about him?”

“I told you about the church, his surprise, and even rescue of Gorindo. I would not put it past him to have other surprises.” Said Ronan.

“Good. Dismissed.

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