Topic: Broken Swords and Iron Will - A Stirlander's story [Library]

[count von baines]

Please, do continue... I'm rather curious as to how this night unfolds! It certainly kicks the ass of my cruddy story. 

[Lachieo]

Bloody great story! Great work!

[Douchie]

Here is the next part... My personal favorite, so I hope that you will all enjoy it 


.....

IV
Escape   

It was still dark when Corporal Steinman emerged into the gloom of the Court yard. He closed the heavy door behind him and let out a frustrated sigh. He had left the meeting with Henri Frey and that obtuse young noble with orders to rouse the camp. Anton Von Helmburg, He would not forget that name. Even General Von Schroeder never spoke to him like that young upstart had.

'Bloody aristocracy' he muttered to himself. 'How can this state ever regain its old glory with idiots like that in charge?'

He continued to grumble to himself until he reached the far corner of the wide courtyard. There he found the regimental bugler, Hans, sleeping soundly. With his temper at boiling point he kicked the man firmly in the stomach. The man woke with a start. It was just plain bad luck that the bugler was the first subordinate that was to encounter the Corporal after Anton had scolded him. Hans jumped to attention.
 
'Stand too' Steinman ordered loud enough to wake the camp anyway.

Hans knew better than to question why and simply sounded the order. The camp woke quickly with very few groans in protest. In only two minutes the entire regiment, two hundred and forty seven men, stood to attention. All were fully armed and armoured. The regimental standard had been unveiled and now fluttered in the light breeze. Such a feat would have been quite an achievement even for the Counts own Greatswords. The well oiled machine, as Steinman called it.

'A bunch of Ostland Grandmother's could have done that faster!' Boomed Steinman. 'I expect better from sons of Stirland'

He had a voice that would deafen a man in the garden of Morr. Although loud and heavy it had a sharp edge to it that sounded like a yapping dog. His voice suited him for his role as the regiments drill master perfectly.

A soldier in the second rank shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Steinman spotted this immediately and marched over to the unfortunate individual with his arms waving wildly. After a detailed verbal assault, which outlined the finer points of the man's lineage, Steinman had the soldier running laps of the courtyard with sword, shield and pack lifted arms length above his head. He spurred him on faster with threats and the flick of his cane.

'Anton Von Helmburg' he grumbled again.

A number of local Huntsmen stood at the gate and joked among themselves. They had stayed up late drinking and found the agitated corporal to be better entertainment than the game of cards they had just abandoned. One of the Huntsmen, a fat bearded man, started to mimic the Corporal to the amusement of his companions. If Steinman saw them mocking him he made no sign.

Henri Frey emerged from the farmhouse closely followed by a young aristocrat and several pistoliers. His face looked like thunder. The entire courtyard went quiet. Steinman marched the exhausted solider he had punished back to the ranks. Even the jovial huntsmen stood to attention. Frey paced to the centre of the courtyard and turned to face the regiment. He cleared his throat before addressing the men.

'Gentlemen… I bare grave news.' The men murmured for a second before he continued.

 'Our esteemed comrades here are from the Pistolier Corps. They have informed me that an Undead army of thousands has sacked Gablitz and is heading this way. General Von Schroeder himself has charged me with holding my ground here. I will face this threat and triumph. Who amongst you will stand with me?'

'I will!' answered Steinman. Every voice in the courtyard joined him in agreement.

'I warn you now, that the coming fight will be difficult and many of us will fall. But I know of your quality. I know that we will stop these abominations here. Our fine regiment has emerged victorious against such odds before and I know that with Sigmar's help, you will all make this country proud. Victory or Death!' cried Frey drawing his sword and lifting the fine blade above his head.

'Victory or Death!' answered the Iron Skulls as one.


ANTON VON HELMBURG followed the commander of the Iron Skulls through the corridors of the manor house. They turned towards the large study that Henry Frey was using as his office. A swordsman stood guard outside. As Henry Frey approached the sentry proceeded to open the large oak door. He offered a salute as the men passed. Frey nodded his thanks. Anton simply ignored the soldier and followed the commander in. The study was lit by candle light. Huge Suddenland wool curtains were drawn over the bay window on their right. A fire burned dimly opposite. The walls were covered by many bookcases that were filled with a variety of leather bound volumes and parchments. A large varnished oak desk sat in the centre of the room. Documents littered the surface.

'I demand that you give me command of fifty men so that I can conduct a detailed search for my missing troopers.'

Frey did not answer the demand. He kept his back to the disgruntled pistolier and walked around the oak desk. The swordsman let out a sigh as he lowered himself into a red leather chair behind it. Taking up a parchment Frey started to read a correspondence from General Von Schroeder. Anton's forehead wrinkled.

'I said!'

'I heard what you said' answered Frey looking up from the letter.

'Then you will issue the orders immediately!' demanded Anton. His voice was getting louder as he became agitated. Henry Frey was a man of common birth. The fact that he did not give Anton Von Helmburg his full and undivided attention was starting to infuriate the pistolier.

'I will do no such thing sir' answered Frey flatly.

'How dare you deny me! How dare you! Your duty is to…'

'Do not presume to tell me my duty sir!' interrupted the swordsman sharply.

 Anton stood for a moment stunned as Frey continued.

'I have been charged with holding back the spear tip of an Undead invasion. We are not playing soldiers here sir. If the Undead get here before Von Schroeder's column, then we are all that stands between them and Wurtbad. I will not weaken my tenuous hold here so that you can go looking for men that you should have kept a better eye on in the first place. Do you understand me sir!'

Fires burned in the pistoliers eyes. No one had ever spoken to him like this before. Let alone a man of common birth. Frey returned to reading Von Schroeder's letter. A gauntleted hand pulled the script from his eyes.

'You do not seem to understand what I am saying Herr Frey. It was not a request, either you give me the men or I will take them.'

'These men have fought with me for over a decade. Do you really think they will follow some hot headed young fool so he can look for his friends' Henry Frey was past discussing the matter in a civilised fashion. Now he was baiting the pistolier.

'Do not mock me sir. It is not wise to make an enemy of me Herr Frey. I have influential friends at Court'

'And I fear them much less than the legion of Undead that descends from Gablitz. The answer is no Anton. Learn to accept it!.'

Anton cursed the swordsman as he broke into rage. He cleared row after row of books from the shelves with the sweep of his arms. They clattered to the floor in crumpled heaps. Frey was surprised at how quickly he had agitated the pistolier into a rage. The swordsman allowed him his tantrum and simply started to read Von Schroeder's correspondence once more.

When Henry Frey had completed reading the letter he looked up to find that Anton had calmed himself. The irritable pistolier now sat across the table from him with his arms folded tightly across his chest. Anton stared at him with a smirk on his face. Frey raised his eyebrow.

'Are you quite finished milord' he asked the pistolier in condescending a tone that reminded Anton of his nanny.

The Pistolier's response was cold and spiteful. Like one would expect from a scolded youth.

'I will see to it personally that the Elector Count hears of your cowardice and of your treachery. You will hang like the peasant dog you are!' scorned Anton, hammering his fist onto the table.

'Do as you will Anton. If the Elector decides that I have failed in my duty then so be it. I believe it is of little consequence either way. My regiment stands alone against the largest undead incursion into the lands of the Empire since the time of Count Martin himself. In all reality I don't think the Elector Count will be required to judge my actions. It would appear that my fate is already sealed. So you will understand that I hold no fear for your idol threats or insults.' Henry Frey stood up and rested his hand upon the pommel of his sword.

'Now get out of my sight before we have a real… disagreement.'

Henry Frey's tone was quiet but was laced with menace. Years of authority were evident in each syllable. Anton understood that it would be best to leave, even though his temper still boiled intensely.

'The next time I see you Herr Frey. I will delight in seeing you hanged.' Sneered Anton as he toyed with the handle of one of his pistols.

The noble smirked as Frey's gaze followed his hand to the hilt of his weapon. Henri Frey however, was not a man that was easily intimidated.
 
'Let's just hope we both live that long.' He declared calmly. The swordsman drew his own blade about an inch. Candle light reflected from the burnished steel and caught the pistolier in the eyes. Anton blinked away his discomfort before standing up to meet the swordsman's gaze. He held the stare for a few moments before turning sharply.

'The gallows Herr Frey!' He taunted before leaving the room.

Corporal Steinman entered as the pistolier left. He shot Anton a disgruntled look as he passed. The pistolier didn't acknowledge that the swordsman was even there and Steinman was forced to side step around the young nobleman as he stormed past. He shook his head and muttered something to himself before walking over to his commander's desk. Frey knew that the plump corporal had probably eavesdropped on the whole conversation.

'An eventful meeting sir?' enquired the corporal with a salute.

Henry nodded. He silently sifted through a number of other parchments that littered his desk before adding;

'It looks like our esteemed colleagues from the Pistolier Corps are leaving on a most heroic and vitally important mission.'

'I did happen to over hear that part sir'

'I'm sure you did Corporal' answered the commander with a knowing look.

'We are better off without the likes of him anyway sir.'

Henry glanced up from the papers again and smiled at his drillmaster. He knew that he would need every able bodied man he could muster in the coming fight and yet he had just let a unit of pistoliers disappear on some fools errand. 'Well history will judge me' he thought resigning himself to his fate. Despite the all military advantages a unit of pistoliers would have provided him, Henry Frey found it hard to disagree with his corporal.

[wissenlander]

I liked that segment very much.  It'd be hard to pick a favorite so far, but that one's in my top three!

Only word of constructive criticism...There is no Suddenland, that's a WFRP thing.  After debates with historians from this here forum, it seems as though it's no more than a fairy tale, a legend, a down right never was.  At least that's what some say.

[Douchie]

Thanks for the pointer Wissenlander.

I wonder where I picked Suddenland up from? I've never played WFRP.

O well I will have to change that in due course.

Glad you enjoyed the read though

[wissenlander]

Almost all information you pick up online has to do with WFRP, it could've been something small.  Maybe you meant Solland?  That's a confirmed (as of now) extinct county.  It's now apart of Wissenland.

[Douchie]

Come to think of it. I may have picked it up from Gotrex and Felix.

Doesn't Felix wear a Suddenland wool cloak?

[wissenlander]

I'm not totally sure, I've never read much of their story.  I read something on Critical Hit once about Suddenland having a lustrous wool trade that Wissenland's Countess von Liebewitz coveted and quickly snatched up.  Well, I made that up a bit about the coveting, but she did annex it.  I found that here, for clarity sake.www.madalfred.darcore.net/articles/Electors.rtf  Again, this is based on a different game, so it's not condusive to what we're doing here.  It makes for some interesting reading, and some of the stuff fits, just not all of it.

[Douchie]

Thanks for that Wissenlander. Guess I picked it up somewhere along the track.

I've shifted through quite alot of stuff on the tinterweb while researching etc. More than likely I got the Suddenland thing from a WFRP source.

Anyway. Here is the next part.



THE SLEEPING SWORDSMAN was woken suddenly by a loud clatter, pistol fire and raised voices. He was alone in the room lying on a small bed covered in furs. Heinrich sat up and reached for his sword that lay at his side. He shook his head and freed himself from the grip of slumber.

The swordsman hurried to the doorway using a practice swing of his sword to loosen his aching muscles. His shoulders and arms felt like a dead weight, but he knew full well there was more fighting to be done this night. Turning out of the doorway toward the staircase he was met by Kurt coming the other way. The northerner had the unconscious body of Josef slumped over his shoulder. Pistol fire echoed from down stairs.

‘Looks like we’re leaving’ he said flatly.

Sweat glistened on his brow. The blood on his face had crusted. His breathing was heavy. Heinrich followed him to a room at the back of the farm house. The large bedroom was less spartanly furnished then the other rooms of the farmstead, but still it reeked of poverty.

‘They got in?’

‘Aye they did lad. They just keep coming.’ Replied Kurt as he placed Josef on an old rocking chair beside the only window of the room.

‘Keats and your new friend Lucius are holding them off at the bottom of the stairs. They came up through the floor boards, those chaos cursed scum. Sigmar alone knows how they got down there.’

Kurt took hold of an oak bedside cabinet, lifted it easily and launched it through the window. The glass shattered and fell to the ground outside. Josef stirred for a moment but did not wake. Peering out into the darkness the swordsman could see that the way north appeared to be relatively clear of hostile forces. A few wandering Undead littered the field between the farmstead and a wood. They appeared unconcerned by the fighting around the farmstead and simply wandered aimlessly.

‘What about the other pistolier?’ asked Heinrich following the northerner’s gaze across the surrounding landscape.

 Kurt looked up and simply shook his head before moving across the room toward the bed. He lifted the straw mattress from it and threw out of the open window. The pillows and blankets followed soon afterwards.

‘That should cushion our fall’ he said more to himself than to Heinrich. He didn’t sound too convincing either way.

At that moment Martin Keats and Lucius Weiss entered the room. Both men bled from a number of new wounds. Their once gleaming steel breastplates, leg guards and helmets were battered and bloodied remnants of what they had been. Lucius turned aimed his pistol through the open door and fired. Heinrich heard a loud thud as the body of a pursuing zombie crumpled onto the wooden floorboards. He closed the door quickly. Kurt and Keats dragged the remaining furniture to block the wooden door.

‘Are you really going to make a run for it?’ asked Heinrich as he peered out of the window again.

‘Any better ideas?’ asked Lucius sarcastically.

Kurt nudged past the pistolier firmly, knocking him off balance. Lucius held his tongue before he blurted out an insult. Keats was amazed at his comrades’ control.

‘It looks clear enough Heinrich, Anyway even I can out-run the walking dead.’

‘And what about those ghouls or the dire wolves that attacked you earlier’ he replied, now facing Keats.

‘Look, we don’t have any other options! If we run now there is a chance we can escape. Sigmar knows it is a slim one, but it’s all we have. They don’t seem eager to give up any time soon and we can’t hold out here indefinitely. The longer we stay here the more chance there is of something much worse being alerted to our presence.’

Everyone looked uneasy. Keats’ harsh words were of little comfort, but he spoke true enough. With every hour that passed more of the men had died. Heinrich knew he had only escaped the ghouls earlier by the skin of his teeth. Kurt patted him on the shoulder.

‘We’ve got to warn the Iron Skulls anyway lad, let’s just go now.’

 Heinrich nodded his agreement remorsefully. The burly Northerner moved silently past him toward the window. He lowered himself out of it slowly, carefully avoiding the broken shards of glass that still lay on the window sill. He dangled about nine feet from the ground before dropping heavily onto the ground.

 A nearby zombie loitered aimlessly, but was altered by the Northerner’s presence as he crashed to the ground. The living corpse turned its head in his direction as he climbed to his feet. Kurt drew his blade and waited for it to close on him. It moved methodically to within a few silent yards of its intended meal. The zombie’s arms then clicked sickeningly as cartilage cracked against cartilage. Its limbs were now fully outstretched and Kurt’s stomach turned as he caught sight of the rotten flesh hanging loose from the exposed bones of its forearms. It was close now and the Northerner could see the hunger in its dead eyes. Kurt spat before decapitating his unnatural foe. The body remained standing for a few moments headless, arms out stretched, before crumpling into the mud.

Heinrich dropped to the ground behind him and Kurt turned to help him to his feet. Heinrich had landed with most of his weight on his wounded knee. It took all of his strength not to cry out from the pain. He bit down for a few moments and composed himself. Kurt saw him wince and propped him against the wall of the farmstead.

As the burly Northerner looked up he could see that Martin Keats and Lucius were now holding the unconscious form of Josef out of the window. Getting into position he nodded to the pair, who then proceeded to drop their comrade into the swordsman’s waiting arms. He caught the armoured man clumsily, but did not drop him.

Heinrich heard noise from around the left hand corner. He turned and drew his blade. His eyes squinted through the darkness as he stalked silently to the corner of the walled farmstead. Despite the pain in his leg he did this with only the slightest hint of a limp. The young swordsmen peered around the corner. About thirty zombies stood unmoving, still tightly packed together in a group. He could hear the familiar sounds of a large army marching along the Praager Strasse road. Familiar he thought, until he realised that there was none of the usual chatter that accompanied an army of the move. He could not see what made the sound, but the reoccurring click of bone against bone and metal told him that an Undead army of thousands marched by. The zombies did not appear to sense Heinrich’s presence, even through his breathing was heavy. Deciding not to stretch Sigmar’s good will more than he had already Heinrich crept back to his companions silently.

 Martin Keats was the last man to drop from the window. Landing with considerable dexterity as Heinrich approached. The pistolier adjusted his breast plate and drew his sabre. He turned and whispered to his remaining conscious pistolier.

‘Lucius draw your sword and keep your pistols holstered. We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves by using fire arms.’

Lucius Weiss raised his eyebrow, withdrew his helmet for a moment and bowed elegantly. Keats knew he was being mocked but said nothing. Like the Northerner had said earlier, Lucius Weiss would keep.


THE SMALL PARTY made their way across the north facing fields at a steady pace. Heinrich ran side by side with Kurt who carried the armoured form of Josef over his shoulder. The two swordsmen had already started to drop behind the pistoliers when a haunted howl filled the night.  Kurt and Heinrich exchanged worried glances. Keats and Lucius disappeared into the wood about thirty yards ahead of the swordsmen.

Heinrich looked up again as he heard another howl. This one was much closer than before. The two men increased their pace. They broke the tree line only to find that the pistoliers had vanished.

‘Which way now?’ gasped Heinrich now rubbing his swollen knee.

‘North-west. Keats said that he passed a small hamlet of some sort in that direction. We should be able to find the manor house from there at sunrise.’

Heinrich nodded his agreement as Kurt adjusted Josef’s body into a more comfortable position.

The two men struggled on through the dense undergrowth of the wood. Mist still lay at their feet and made the going ever more dangerous. One could easily step into a rabbit whole and break an ankle in this type of weather. The twin moons offered very little light under the canopy. Vision was down to a few feet at most. Heinrich led the way with his sword drawn. He chopped at branches that covered their path. Kurt struggled on behind with Josef now on his back. Minutes stretched into hours as they made very slow progress through the wood. Heinrich knew he had lost all sense of direction, but carried on all the same.

A cry of pain echoed through the night followed by the reply of pistol fire. Heinrich stopped in his tracks but could not tell which direction the noise came from or how far away it was. He looked to Kurt. The northerner was breathing heavily and spat on the ground.

‘We should continue on.’ Suggested the young man.

Kurt nodded his agreement and smiled.
‘Besides we might get lost if we run off chasing the sound of pistol fire.’

The look in Kurt’s eyes told him that the Northerner knew they were desperately lost anyway.  Heinrich turned and chopped at the branches ahead of him. Kurt followed his lead.

[Midaski]

Come to think of it. I may have picked it up from Gotrex and Felix.

Doesn't Felix wear a Suddenland wool cloak?

Yes he does and it is mentioned frequently - it's red and keeps him very warm due to its high quality.

This is becoming a regular daily read Douchie - very good sir. 

[count von baines]

yeah i have to agree... this storys becoming my bread and butter!

[Douchie]

Im glad that your enjoying the 'brief' Army background...

 I've been trying to write more and balance my workload. Im almost done with the next instalement, a concerted effort over my lunch break should be enough.

I will post it once im done.

Thanks for the confirmation on Felix's Suddenland Wool cloak Midaski. It been a while since I read Gotrex and Felix so I wasn't 100% sure thats where it came from.

[Douchie]

WHERE IN SIGMAR’S NAME were those idle swordsmen and Josef? Even the company of commoners would be better than pacing through the woods of the Empire alone at night. Especially with the souls of the dammed stalking the darkness. Somehow he had escaped from the clutches of the dire wolves once again. It was very probable that he had left Martin Keats to his bloody fate when he ran. ‘Better him than me’ he thought as another haunted howl filled the empty night.

The Pistolier’s left arm sang with pain and blood ran freely from it. Lucius Weiss stopped in his tracks and again tightened the make shift tourniquet he had applied to himself. He whimpered from the pain again. His heart pounded and he fought for every strained breath. Sweat glistened on his brow. He wiped it from his eyes with a silken scarf. It was then he realised that he had lost his helmet, but he could not remember how or when.

Another howl started Lucius running again. Warmth in his trousers told him he has soiled himself. He did not dare look behind him, but he could hear the soft sound of padded paws moving through the undergrowth. The sound was getting louder. Branches cut at his exposed face and he stumbled headlong over the roots of a nearby tree. The pistolier landed facedown in a puddle of water. He had never been a religious man and barely remembered what the inside of a Sigmarite church looked like.  Now he prayed to his deity reverently for deliverance. Fear took hold in his heart and as darkness started to consume him. He vaguely remembered hearing someone screaming, but did not realise it was his own voice.


STUMBLING FROM OUT OF the tree line, Heinrich fell to his knees with fatigue. Kurt emerged moments later and lay Josef on the ground. He checked the man’s airways and found that he was still breathing. Although very weakly.

‘I thought we would never get out of that maze.’ gasped the Northerner as he sat down beside his comrade.

 He took a canteen from his belt and offered it to Heinrich. The young man took the flask in both hands and gulped back a mouthful of the liquid. He coughed and spluttered after a few moments as he realised it was not water.

‘Bretonian cognac!’ announced Kurt chuckling to himself.

Heinrich passed the container back and Kurt gulped down a mouthful himself. Sigmar alone knew how the Northerner had obtained the spirit. A flask full of the rare beverage normally went for ten gold crowns in Wurtbad. Heinrich knew enough of what happened to a soldier’s pay packet in the army of Stirland to know that Kurt hadn’t bought it with his salary. 

The twin moons had descended behind the distant hills to the west. Dawn was still an hour or two away. Mist still suffocated the countryside in front of him. A gentle breeze blew in from the east. Heinrich scanned the surrounding landscape in search of the Hamlet Kurt had mentioned earlier. The Northerner had made Josef more comfortable by removing his armour. Blood crusted over a wound on his neck and another around his waste. He had the first signs of fever and trembled continuously.

‘Any sign Heinrich?’

‘Not that I can make out… wait… there’ He raised his hand and pointed his finger westwards. ‘Looks like a dim light from further down the valley.’

‘torch light?’

‘I think so, should we chance moving the pistolier?’

Another howl came from the woods.

   ‘I think we can chance it!’ answered Kurt lifting the prone pistolier swiftly onto his shoulder.

Heinrich picked up the Pistolier’s discarded armour and weapons. Both men set off down the valley with as much pace as their tired bodies could muster.

[Douchie]

I guess I'm on a roll... heres the next part.

I've being looking forward to introducing the Warrior Priest in my army. I just hope this part does him justice.

Now to think of an excuse to give my boss for doing absolutely nothing this afternoon.

V
 Salvation

With sunlight now creeping into the world, the old priest lifted himself from his knees. His aged joints creaked in protest. He had prayed for over an hour before the dawn came, as he did every morning. He gave thanks to Sigmar for many things during his morning prayers. Today he thanked his god especially for the coming of a new day. He had sensed evil magic the previous night and knew that the ruinous powers were again scheming against Sigmar’s heirs. He prayed for the strength to protect his flock. Other prayers were offered in thanks for his health, the food in his belly and his humble quarters.

The Spartan accommodation he was so grateful for was nothing more than a small wooden hut at the rear of his chapel. As Sigmarite priest the old man did not find pleasure in acquiring possessions, so this accommodation was more than adequate for his needs. All that lay inside the hut was his wooden bed and blanket, a clay wash bowl, razor, soap, and his beloved copy of Dieter Von Alicante’s ‘Gospel of Sigmar’.

   He took the razor in his hand and continued with his morning routine. Shaving his head and body for exactly ten minutes insured that his mortal form was free of hair and therefore contamination. The Arch Lector had always told him ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’.

‘Silly man’ he muttered ‘Sigmar told me that a clean soul is more import than clean flesh’

 He nodded to himself, satisfied that he had once again invalidated the Arch Lector’s teachings. Despite his mighty victory he continued to shave. Carefully he avoided the twin tailed comet birthmark that lay in the centre of his forehead. In truth the old priest had been completely bald for over two decades. The process of saving was simply ritual.

He hummed one of his favourite hymns to himself as he shaved. The one that described how Sigmar had saved the Dwarven King from a band of Greenskins. Yes he liked that one especially.

      ‘Sigmar performed well that day. Well done my lord!’ he said with a smile on his face. He started humming the same tune over again.
   

A BLOND HAIRED YOUTH dressed in heavy winter furs ran across the cobblestone town square towards the church. Erik the sheepherder’s son was a little out of breath, but his pace did not slow as he reached the stone staircase that led to the great wooden doors of the church. The youth bounded up the steps two at a time. He sighed a defeated sigh as he tried the doors only to find them  locked.

‘Father!’ he shouted but no answer came.

He scanned the town square for any sign of life, but found none. The town had become more and more deserted over the passing weeks, but surely the priest would not have abandoned his post. Hearing the faint sound of humming from the behind the church Erik bolted back down the steps and around the side of the white stone chapel. He found the old priest in the wooden shack to the rear of the building. The old man was sat contently upon his bed shaving and humming a tune to himself enthusiastically.

‘Father Jonas!’ gasped Erik standing at the open doorway.

He did not enter the old mans quarters, but bowing low, he made the sign of the hammer as he spoke.

‘yes my child’ said the priest looking up at the boy with a toothless smile.

‘Come quickly father. My old man sent me to fetch you. He has seen wolves and soldiers being chased. Come, come father.’

The boy was close to becoming hysterical. Father Jonas calmed him by patting the young lads shoulder and smiling. Erik turned and motioned the old cleric to follow him. Before pursuing the youth the priest leaned to his left and whispered;

‘looks like trouble Sigmar. I must go protect my flock.’   

LED BY THE HAND OF Erik, Father Jonas hurried around to the front of his church and unlocked the heavy doors. Both men kneeled and bowed low before entering the holy place. Father Jonas paced into the church hall leaving Erik standing at the open doorway. The priest’s footsteps echoed loudly inside the shadowed hall of the church.

The first rays of light from the morning sun shone through the stain glass window on the eastern wall. Erik was distracted momentarily by the mosaic reflected onto the floor of the church. It depicted Sigmar standing upon a mountain of dead beastmen holding his hammer aloft triumphantly. Erik had always marvelled at the detail shown in the stain glass windows of Father Jonas’ chapel.

‘Magical’ he whispered making the sign of the hammer across this chest.

Father Jonas reached the far end of the church hall and climbed several steps toward the stone alter. He bowed low and made the sign of a hammer across his chest. He stood with rehearsed familiarity and lifted the ancient hammer gently from its ceremonial place on the stone alter. The priest brought the terrible weapon to his lips and kissed it. He turned following a second bow and headed swiftly toward the door.
 
‘Will you not need your armour father’ asked the youth pointing towards the plate armour displayed behind the dais.

Father Jonas approached shacking his head merrily, wearing nothing more than the red robes of a Sigmarite priest.

‘Fear not my child, my faith is my shield and it will protect me better than any mortal armour ever could.’

Erik nodded; he could well believe the priest’s claim. He was surprised at how much the priest had grown in stature since lifting the hammer. He no longer appeared as the frail old priest Erik had found sitting on his bed humming to himself. Father Jonas, even without his blessed armour, looked every inch the mantel of a Warrior priest.

‘Come child, show me the sons of Sigmar, who require our aid.’

Erik led Father Jonas to the edge of town and pointed to the far hillside. Through the faded light of dawn the priest could make out two figures running towards the town. The smaller was closer than the other, who appeared to be carrying a bundle or something heavy over his shoulder. Looking further up the hill Father Jonas saw broader shapes moving quickly after them. They almost looked like wolves, but were far larger and moved more methodically than a pack of wild animals.

‘Well done my child. Now go and wake Alexi and his band. Sigmar tells me we may need their help today.’

‘But father they scare me’ answered the youth his voice trembled with fear.

‘Nothing to be scared of child. They a children of Sigmar too. Now run along quickly and wake them.’

The boy nodded resolutely and ran off towards the flagellant camp that lay just outside the town. Father Jonas Von Sigismund turned and scanned the hillside. He leaned to his left once more and whispered.

‘Come Sigmar we have work to do.’

[wissenlander]

I like him.  I also liked the way the boy talked about the flagellants.   The story is only getting better and you inspire me to keep going in my own work.  My wife read your story last night and she thought it was really good as well.  That's saying something, cause she's not into this genre at all.  Good work!

[count von baines]

Two in one day.... you spoil us Douchie!

[Douchie]

Thanks for your kind comments Wissenlander. I'm glad your Wife liked the story. Mine keeps promising to read it, but she hasn't yet.

I don't think she wants to encourage me with it at the moment. She already calls the hobby my 'Mistress'.  Sge might have a point.

It took a bit of effort to get two pieces writen yesterday Count Von Baines. Needless to say my work really suffered for it. ahh well 'Thats Life'

[wissenlander]

I don't think she wants to encourage me with it at the moment. She already calls the hobby my 'Mistress'.  Sge might have a point.

Luckily it hasn't come to this point yet for us.

[Captain Tineal]

I would like to point out that since I've been reading this story at work, my work has also suffered. 

[Douchie]

Ok brace yourselves... now it gets messy 


STREAMS OF SWEAT RAN down the swordsman’s reddened face. He panted heavily as he struggled for his next breath. The Northerner attempted to move his comrade’s body into a more comfortable position as he ran. Failing miserably in his attempt he contemplated dropping the nobleman and leaving him to his fate. Kurt knew in his heart of hearts that he could never leave the man to such a bloody death.

Part of him argued for making his last stand here rather than continuing on. All his muscles ached in protest as he ran. At least he would die facing his enemy rather than with his back to them. As if sensing Kurt’s dilemma Heinrich turned his head and looked back at the struggling Northerner. He saw that every footstep Kurt made was laboured. He was almost bent double by the dead weight of the unconscious pistolier.

   ‘Keep going Kurt! Its not far now, just down the hill that’s all’

Kurt threw a thumbs up in Heinrich’s direction. The younger swordsman smiled before turning and continuing on himself. The exhausted northerner found a little more strength and pushed on for a few more yards. His arms, legs and torso ached. All he had done since yesterday morning was run and fight. Right now he was sick of running. Kurt came to a halt and turned to face his pursuers. The dire wolves were closing fast, only twenty yards separated them now. He put Josef down as gently as he could, then drew the pistol Keats had given him. He lined the firearm up with the leading wolf and fired.

The beast went down in shrieking agony. It had been running a full pace when the pistol ball impacted into its chest. Falling to the ground heavily, the wolf’s neck snapped from the impact. A second creature was tripped by the carcass of the leading wolf and fell to the ground at Kurt’s feet.

 He drew his sword silently with his free hand, rotated it in his palm and plunged it deep into the prone creature’s torso. The beast thrashed wildly for a few moments and then went still. Kurt spat to the ground and dropped the smoking pistol. He stared at the surrounding beasts with hatred burning deep within in his eyes. He drew a broad hunting knife from behind his back and pulled his sword free of its latest victim.

   ‘Victory or Death!’ he cried in defiance.


   THE PISTOL SHOT ECHOED down the valley and stopped Heinrich in his tracks. He drew his own blade before even looking back. The soldier had prepared himself for this eventuality. The look that Kurt had given him moments earlier had told him this was coming.

Heinrich knew the Northerner was going to make his stand sooner or later, he just hoped it would be later. He hoped it would take place when they were much closer to the town. There would be some small chance of aid reaching them if Kurt had waited. ‘So close as well’ he thought out loud, throwing one last look at the Hamlet and his salvation. Heinrich willed his tired legs into motion as he started back up the hill.

   The young recruit closed on the ensuing melee swiftly, discovering some untapped resource of energy he had some how saved. Heinrich moved to engage the closest dire wolf. A huge black furred beast that tried to circle the embattled Northerner while he was distracted. With its back to Heinrich it was completely unaware of the swordsman as he approached. 

Heinrich had discarded most of the pistolier’s equipment further down the hillside, but had taken Josef’s sabre in his left hand. The swordsman would have preferred the comforting presence of his large shield. Unfortunately it had been ripped from his arm earlier that evening. Heinrich would have to make do with what he had and hope that it was enough to keep him alive.

He was close now and could smell the rotten, musty and unnatural odour of the undead beast. His nose wrinkled at the invasion of his nostrils. The Dire wolf sensed Heinrich’s presence as he lunged towards it. The beast darted to its left and made to round the swordsman as he committed to his assault. Despite its agility, Heinrich was quicker and he caught the huge beast in its abdomen with his own blade.

The beast frantically attempted to twist free of the blow and made to clamp its canine jaws around Heinrich’s neck. The swordsman held his blade steady, as the wolf’s own motion increased the size of its injury. Blood and Intestines fell from the terrible wound and the creatures attack fell short. The cavalry sabre in Heinrich’s left hand came down swiftly and decapitated the creature in one fluid motion.

More dire wolves bounded down the hillside towards the encircled swordsmen. Kurt stood aside the unconscious pistolier and offered another challenge to his foes. The blood splattered Northerner sported a deep wound to his right arm. His metal breastplate was battered out of shape and the corpses of four Dire wolves lay unmoving at his feet. Both of his blades were covered in blood and gore. Josef lay unconscious behind the towering swordsman. The circling wolves had failed to pull him clear from Kurt’s protection, despite several determined attempts.

Heinrich moved to join his comrades, but fought a deadly game of cat and mouse with another Dire wolf as he edged closer. He was now about twenty yards from his companions, the dire wolf stalking his every footstep, waiting for him to slip or lose focus. The creature was low to the ground, like a wild cat from Araby preparing to pounce on it’s pray. Unlike the wildcats however, the undead beast was far from invisible in the undergrowth. Even though the grass on the hillside was as high as the waist in some parts, the bulk of the undead creature was easily recognisable in the vegetation. Heinrich could see that it was closing with an unnatural swiftness and the swordsman knew that he could not make it to his comrades before it pounced.
 
‘Victory or Death!’ he bellowed, launching himself into a suicidal charge toward the beast.

Adrenaline pumped through his body, lending his limbs extra power as he ran. He had no fear of his own death now. Exhaustion had pushed him far beyond lateral thought and although his breathing was laboured he felt as though he wasn’t breathing at all. It was almost like he did not need to breathe. Heinrich felt like he had detached himself completely from his body and proceeded to watch the spectacle unfold from a vantage point above himself. The young swordsman bounded across the hillside bellowing his war cry, while Kurt stood stoically in defence of Josef.

Heinrich saw the Dire wolf crouch low, preparing to meet his charge as he closed to with in striking distance. At that moment, as he swung both his blades towards his foe, a crack of light flashed before his eyes and he was back in his own body.

 The combat flowed as if in slow motion.

Heinrich lunged desperately with his two blades. The blow was both clumsy and obvious and the beast evaded it easily, leaping out of Heinrich’s killing range and around his unprotected flank. The swordsman turned sharply to meet his opponent as it sprang at him, bringing his blades up hastily to protect his head.

The Dire wolf knocked him off balance, but he evaded it’s lethal bite by parrying wildly with his sword. The blow caught the beast high on its left shoulder, but had little force behind it. The shallow wound failed to even slow Heinrich’s adversary. Within moments wolf launched itself again against the swordsman as he battled to keep his footing.  This time Heinrich failed to raise his blades up in defence and the creature clamped its huge jaws around his chest trapping his left arm. All the air wash pushed from his lungs as the undead creature bit down.

The swordsman battled in vain as the huge wolf dragged him to the ground.
Darkness closed in around the edges of Heinrich’s vision, as his struggled to free himself from the creature’s death grip. He tried in vain to suck in some cool air, but the weight around his unprotected chest prevented him from doing so. There was a sickening crack as one of his ribs broke and he could taste blood in his mouth. He stopped struggling, realising the futility of his situation. Heinrich tried to let the darkness consume him quickly, accepting the release that death would provide. However he was always aware of the wolf’s jaws around his chest and the final release would not come.

A heavy impact lifted the weight from his chest instantly and Heinrich in hailed a desperate deep breath that caused excruciating shooting pains in his chest. Scrambling weakly to his knees, he tried to lift himself to his feet but there was no strength to be found in his arms or legs. The swordsman crumpled heavily to the ground.

Blood flowed freely from a dozen serious wounds, his limbs tingled numbly. Heinrich’s eyes stung when he forced them open and when he did; he could only see faint shapes and changes in light. The young swordsman knew he was near to death, he had been close to it once before, but a Bretonian surgeon had pulled him back from the abyss. Lying in a pool of his own blood he waited for the undead beast to return and finish its work. 

Heinrich silently mouthed the words of Sigmar’s Prayer and waited for death.

[Captain Tineal]

Your best work so far! 

[Douchie]

Thank you Captain Tineal  I was very pround of that last post.

I'm working on the next part at the moment and will try to get it posted before the weekend. Fingers crossed. 

[Douchie]

I've been working flatout on this last piece so be aware that there will more than likely be a number of gramatical errors.

Apologies in advance 

Enjoy!


 THE DIRE WOLF LANDED heavily and reeled from the sheer force of the old mans blow. Its rear quarter was completely limp. The terrible hammer had shattered the creature’s spine on impact and all it could do now was to raise its head and accept the killing blow when it came.

The priest paced towards the creature and cursed its mutated form and the winds of chaos that he created it. The ancient warhammer glowed with sunlight in his hands, as he mouthed the words of a prayer. Father Jonas raised the weapon above his head and brought it down with all his might. The sound of thunder echoed from the impact, as the life force that held the undead creature together was torn apart. The dire wolf slumped to the ground in a pile of bone and rotten flesh.

Father Jonas lifted his hammer on to his shoulder and surveyed the surrounding combat. A thick set swordsman defended the body of a nobleman further up the hill. The man fought with considerable skill and strength. Father Jonas instantly likened the man to the ferocious barbarian forbearers of empire. The corpses of about seven dire wolves lay about him and although clearly wound the soldier looked like he could stand against his adversaries all day.

Looking back down the hill Father Jonas could make out Alexis’ band of around thirty Flagellants moving towards the melee in a frenzy of self abuse. Their dirt and blood covered forms advanced quickly in their ragged clothing, with loud proclamations of the end of the world. Their flails, rusted swords, clubs and whips held high as a challenge to the beasts of chaos. The sound of Alexis’ horse voice could be heard quoting religious passages that further encouraged his crazed followers.

The body a dead swordsman lay a few yards to the left of the priest. Father Jonas advanced solemnly towards the blood drenched corpse. He placed a hand upon the young man chest and closing his eyes, started to offer a prayer to help his passage into the realm of Morr. The priest’s eyes opened wide in surprise as he felt the shallowest of heartbeats in the young mans chest.

‘Well who’d have believed it Sigmar? The young mans alive.’ He exclaimed with a smile.

Alexi and his Flagellants charged past the priest and engaged in combat against the undead. The crazed warriors swung their weapons wildly with smiles upon the scarred faces.

Father Jonas dropped from his crouched posture and knelt beside Heinrich’s body, muttering an incantation of healing. He laid his mighty hammer on the floor beside him and clapped his hands together firmly. A yellow light began to glow inside of his closed hands. It grew quickly in size and brightness making his hands near translucent. He rubbed his palms together in time with his chant and his voice became louder as he neared its end.

The priest clamped both his palms onto the mans chest as the last syllable of his mantra left his mouth. Heinrich’s body convulsed and started to rise from the ground. The priest held the soldier’s form about six inches from the bloodied soil. Heinrich’s wounds slowly closed, his heartbeat became stronger, his breathing more pronounced. 

   Heinrich opened his eyes slowly and saw the face of an old man staring back at him. The daylight stung his eyes and the mans face appeared distorted an bathed in light.

   ‘Am I dead?’ he asked tiredly.

   ‘No my child.’ chuckled the priest ‘Sigmar tells me you are not ready for the Gardens of Morr yet.’

 Heinrich shook his head free from drowsiness and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.  A new sensation of energy pumped through his veins like white heat. Heinrich likened it to birth, not that he could remember what that felt like.

His breathing was not restricted like before, the air fresher than he could ever remember. Everything was much brighter, more defined than before. Sounds were sharper. In fact all his senses seemed heightened. The sensation passed quickly, but Heinrich was left with an awareness he could not quite identify. He looked to the Priest to provide the answers to his silent questions as they rushed through his mind. Father Jonas simply smiled back at the soldier, content that he had saved the youth from realm of Morr.

The Priest lifted Heinrich to his feet slowly and held him steady while he regained his balance. The swordsman checked the wounds on his chest clumsily. Finding that many of the teeth marks had fused with scar tissue, others had disappeared completely. His legs were still like lead and he was again near exhaustion. The rush of energy he felt from the healing ritual having worn off. He looked the old priest in the eye before groggily adding.

‘Didn’t think I was dead… I hurt too much to be dead.’

‘The pain will pass my child and with rest you will soon be as strong as an ogre’ promised the old priest tapping the soldier on his chest with two pointed fingers.

‘Thank you father’ Replied Heinrich as he steadied himself by firmly holding onto the old priests shoulder.

‘It looks like you missed most of the fun’ added the swordsman looking up the hill towards where Kurt and the flagellants brutally finished off the remaining Dire wolves.

The fighting on the hillside had ended with the frenzied charge of the flagellants claiming a score of kills. The maddened Zealots swung flail and blade in a fury with no regard for their own safety. Their blind hatred of the undead creatures further fuelled their primeval assault. Within minutes the last of the undead creatures had been put to the sword.

 Six of the zealots had been killed in return. No remorse was shown by their companions, who pessimistically claimed that the fallen were in fact the lucky ones. They walked back towards the town miserably; many still lashed themselves with their flails as the rush of combat dissipated.

Alexi walked alone solemnly, his head bowed and hood raised. He no longer quoted from his ancient tome, holding it closed in his right hand. He moved past Heinrich and the old priest without comment. Heinrich exchanged a quizzical look with the priest. The swordsman was about to comment upon the Flagellant but the words became jumbled as he spoke them. Despite Father Jonas’ best efforts at providing spiritual strength to the swordsman, exhaustion reached out and took him. Heinrich collapsed into the Priest’s arms and all went black.

[count von baines]

I think that was one of my favorites... although it's pretty hard to choose

Hardly any typos either. Please keep up this most excellent work. 

[Captain Tineal]

Ok, ok, you've had a couple days off, it's time to post some more now.