Author Topic: Warrior Priest Story  (Read 3312 times)

Offline Firestarter

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Warrior Priest Story
« on: March 06, 2004, 01:44:58 PM »
[A story-form fluff for my Warrior Priest]

Brother Gothard released his hands from their holy prayer and glanced back across the river where the Beast army was forming.  The alarm had been sounded in the morning; the town guard was still waking up, peasants being grouped together into combat units and archers.  The Priest and the Town Guard Captain were the only fully experienced men they had.  

His hands grasped the large hammer and he got up from the dusty ground.  Balancing it across his shoulder, he squinted his eyes to see his enemies fully.  Hundreds of the mutations stood facing him, growling and taunting from the edge of the wood, some few hundred yards between them, but a full flowing river prevented them from attacking.  There was only one passage – a small stone bridge directly in front of the rookie Priest.  Why hadn’t they assaulted already? Surely now was the time – the town was in disarray, soldiers barking orders, women and children screaming, bewildered and scared.  Nothing was preventing them crossing apart from a lonely Priest.

Maybe they were waiting for something?  It didn’t matter now.  He looked to his left and saw the tall Captain emerging out of the Barracks along with the rest of the town guard.  All in all perhaps 30 men, at least half armed with swords and shields, the rest with the primitive arquebus gun.  He watched as they ranked up, but turned as the Captain approached him.

“Welcome Brother, to the last day of a fine town.  You have transport? You must leave quickly.  We cannot hold them off for long…” he spoke quickly, almost mindlessly, grabbing the Priest’s bag and giving it to one of his aides.

“No, I must stay.  This is where I must learn.  I can help you today in this battle against the unholy forces,” he retorted desperately, “Surely we can repel the threat?  Isn’t it a bit hasty to admit defeat in the circumstances?”

“Look, Priest,” he said mockingly, “Reinforcements are leagues away and we cannot hold them for that time.  We just need to hold them off for long enough so all the town can evacuate and escape.  That is our job.”

“And it’s mine too.” He answered commandingly, seizing the bag from the aide, who looked quite intimidated by the large Priest, and let go, “I’m staying.”  And he walked off leaving the Captain stunned and muttering something about people knowing their place.

As the swordsmen ranked up alongside a terrified group of town men, and the handgunners took aim carefully, and as Brother Gothard mounted his horse in the nearby stable, there was a small rumble.  From the dark woods there appeared a horrifying beast, tall and mighty, strong and large, slumped across the ground in front of his troops dogged in his footsteps by a few powerful Minotaurs.  The first Gors started to move forwards.  It had begun.  

The first sounds of battles were the discharge of handguns and the familiar vibration of bowstring.  Only a few Beasts dropped at such long range, but it was enough to stumble the advance.  A large block of Swordsmen, led by the Captain, quickly and efficiently wheeled into position at the exit of the bridge, with archers and militia to their left on the riverbank, and handgunners to their right. Not being commanded to do anything particular, Brother Gothard positioned himself at the rear casting his watchful eye over the oncoming forces.  

They were a hundred paces away now, and the size of the forces was imminent now.  It struck Gothard that they were at least outnumbered 3-1.  Up to two hundred beasts were charging head-on, supported by the slow moving Minotaur Lord and his two bodyguards.  Surely there was more? He knew that lower Beasts fled easily on their own so they were invariably supported by something larger and terrifying.  But he didn’t have time to dwell on that thought.  The first Gors had reached the Bridge.

The powerful thump of the hooves on the grass reached to a louder note as they clapped against the stone of the bridge.

“First rank, fire!”

A burst of handguns, and several dropped dead.  The Archers were firing without discipline, panicking and killing few beasts.  

“Prepare to receive charge! Raise shields!”

Upon the command of their Captain, they raised their eagle shields.  Gothard started to trot towards the rear of the Swordsmen.

And then they hit.  The front rank of the Swordsmen was thrown a good few feet backwards by the force of the charge, and with these gaps more beats piled through.  The first that appeared were larger than the rest, with large curling horns and brandishing two weapons each, axes, clubs and swords.  After them piled in smaller beasts, armed with a long spear and a buckler, cowering at the back.

But the Empire soldiers fought back.  As soon as the Gors rushed in, the Militia was ordered to hit their flank.  With such little space to manoeuvre and the shock of hundreds of Gors piling into such a small space, the many peasants faltered.  But Gothard rode behind them, and as if the power of Sigmar beckoned them forward, they charged.

The better armour and training of the Swordsmen was punishing the first charge of the Gors.  They had killed at least a score of them for only a couple of their own and the subsequent flanking by the militia had shaken the chaotic beasts. Eager to get his hands dirty, Gothard screamed a prayer to Sigmar and beckoned his armoured horse forward.  Several Swordsmen darted to the side as he came through.

He had picked his first casualty.  Raising his great hammer too early, Gothard was caught off balance by a heavy hit at his side.  It catapulted him sideways into the heavy mud.  Just as he prepared to be killed by his initial attacker, a large figure appeared and chopped the beast’s head off with ease.  As he did, the last of the beasts wavered and galloped backwards towards the cover of the trees.

“They’ll be back,” spitted the Captain bitterly, before offering his hand to the Priest, “Like I said, Brother, this is no place for a religious man as yourself.”

“Like I said, I’m staying,” ignoring he hand and dragging himself up, “With the power of Sigmar I shall smite these unholy beasts back to the place where they were born.  You’ll see.”

He went over to where his horse had galloped off too in the ensuing battle.  He quickly mounted it before casting his eyes over the regrouping beasts.  The herd had hardly been damaged, even with the score that had dropped in the initial charge.  Compared to the damage that the Town Guard had suffered, it seemed like too little.

And then it hit him.  It was as if Sigmar himself had spoken to him.  Throwing his head sideways, he heard a glimmer of hooves and smelt the burning.  His eyes agreed as they saw smoke bellowing upwards from the unfortunate house.  They were a little than two hundred years away, carrying torches and wielding heavy weapons.

“Militia, to me!”

He waited as the men nervously formed up in behind him.

“With your permission, Captain, assault the flanking forces?”

“Granted, Priest, but bring back some of the men, I don’t think we can hold here without them.”

At that last word, the herd at the woods began to trot slowly forwards, and the eyes and movement of the swordsmen showed fear.  It was only a matter of time.

“Sergeant, form up in a wedge formation.  I will take point; form up the men to follow me.  We will punch a hole in their units, confusing them and then slaughter them. Ready?”

The young sergeant nodded and set about forming them up.  It took only seconds, as the rest of the men had been keenly listening.  They looked neither hesitant nor scared; in fact they looked positively bloodthirsty.  How dare some mutation burn their homes that they had worked and toiled for?


They sprinted forward trying to keep tabs with the might horse powering forward.  They were only feet away.

Gothard knocked the first large Gor down with a heavy smash on the skull with his hammer.  But he didn’t stop; he kept bolting forward, knocking over more of the beasts as they stood before him.  The gap was further opened as scores of angry militiamen piled in, slicing throats with daggers and knocking heads with clubs.  

But the massive Gors were fighting back, swinging their weapons with immense force.  Several of the men flew a good few fee backwards.  However the opening charge had separated the unit of Beasts and Gothard was happily cutting down Gor after Gor until his hammer as bloodied beyond recognition.  The young sergeant now looked like he had been through a thousand wars, and his men the same.  They were killing like they hunted food in the winter, with no mercy and no thought.

The Beasts were fighting hard but even their wooden shields held no bar to the slaughter.  Gothard’s horse slammed one backwards and his hammer took its head off.  The Sergeant discharged a pistol into a particularly large Gor and then stabbed it with a long dagger, before dodging an oncoming blow from another.  The Gors were now outnumbered.  And they ran, pursued by the jeering men, and Gothard.  But he paused as he saw them gallop away.

“Leave them! We must get back to the real fighting!” he shouted and untiringly they turned round and sprinted back.

What they were to see wasn’t anything good.  Little over half-a-dozen swordsmen were still alive, along with a few archers and handgunners.  The Captain’s armour was stained red and they were just about keeping them back.  Gor upon Gor smashed through their raised shields and swords, ignoring casualties.  Suddenly they stopped.  They withdrew, leaving a bloodied bridge and a few hardened veterans left to watch in amazement.  But it was not over.

The Bridge shook.  On came the Doombull and his two bodyguards.  They were gigantic, dwarfing the men and shaking their faith in Sigmar.  The Lord himself carried a huge axe, about the size of two men put together.  Its massive head looked like it could cut through stone and brick without a thought.  His fur was dark brown, his eyes a bright gleaming red and he was angry.

The three of them screamed and started to charge forwards, shaking the bridge and its foundations, unleashing dust into the eyes of the town guard.  A few bullets and arrows found their mark but they were brushed off easily and found no good mark in the massive beasts.  

“Make ready!” screamed the Captain, “Sigmar is watching….”

But what exactly was Sigmar watching we would never know because the huge axe swung down and cleaved the Captain in two, throwing the halves of his body into a mangled heap.  Two other men flew sideways, knocked down by the force of the other Minotaurs.  It looked like nothing could stop them.  If it wasn’t for the perfectly timed charge of one Warrior Priest.

“Sigmar protect me!” he roared as he swung his great hammer in anticipation.

And it connected flawlessly into one of the Minotaurs bewildered face.  Crack! His neck broke and his body collapsed to the ground with a shake to the bridge.    His horse turned as he reached the end of the bridge and he stared deeply into the Lords head that had also turned to meet his new enemy.  An enemy he believed who was worthy of him at last.  As the two watched each other expectantly, the other Minotaur fell to several arrows and well-timed sword stabs.  At this the remaining beasts fled into the relative safety of the wood.

No movement between the two, just the continuing eye contact.  Brother Gothard locked his hand together in silent prayer, wishing for the strength to wound his mighty enemy and save the people of the town.  The Minotaur Lord rubbed his hands along the axe.  It looked like he was smiling – if he could actually smile at all.  It disappeared automatically as a nervous archer unleashed an arrow into his back.  He screamed in agony and ripped it out of is flesh before swinging his head round and snarling at the men, making them edge slowing backwards.

The Priest now had his chance.  Galloping forward he swung back the hammer and it slammed heavily into the unbalanced Minotaur, leaving him gasping in pain.  But his reactions were something supernatural, as the Priest galloped past, the axe shattered into the barding of the horse and both rider and mount collapsed onto the stone bridge.  Gothard was completely unhurt, it was just the small problem of a horse lying on top of him, and it wouldn’t move.  As he struggled to find enough strength to move the horse, the sun was taken away and a large shadow overcame him.  The Minotaur Lord was stood above, anticipating the kill.

But he didn’t foresee the brave actions of a young battered militia Sergeant.  The man had charged out as he saw Gothard fall and raised the pistol to the Minotaur’s head and fired, shaking the beast and leaving its head ringing.  It still found enough thought to kick out at the man and launch his body onto the stonewall, knocking him unconscious.

In that time, Gothard was still struggling with the heavy horse.  The Minotaur Lord stumbled backwards and fell, the pistol sound still ringing in his head.  He couldn’t move it.  It was just impossible.  But then several tough swordsmen surrounded him and dragged the dead steed off his body.

“Thank you,” he gasped.

But there wasn’t enough time for small talk as the enormous Minotaur had recovered as well and stood only feet away from the Priest.  His weapon was lying out of arms reach.  Both of their eyes flicked towards it and as Gothard shot up, the Minotaur roared and charged.  Brother Gothard had to roll sideways to dodge a crashing axe blow, which opened up a hole in the now flimsy bridge.  He then easily grabbed his hammer and readied himself against the Lord.  He doubted he could kill him.  But could he destroy him in another way? The river was rushing undeterred beneath them.

He had no time to think further as he ducked against another axe blow and thanked Sigmar as he blocked another with his hammer.  He may have been unscathed but the hammer now lay in ruins next to him.  But the Minotaur had made a mistake.  He stood foolishly above the large crack in the bridge, and seizing his chance, Gothard threw himself through the beasts legs, and heard the might smash of a hammer hit the stone behind him.  As the Minotaur turned to face him, it sank almost comically and disappeared.  The Priest ran to the other side and watched as the mighty thing was pulled away, along with the cheering men of the town guard.

Just one last thing to do.  He put his hands on the young sergeant’s body, and prayed to Sigmar.  Nothing happened, and just as he closed his eyes and was ready to move, a gasp was emitted and two blue eyes were opened.  He pulled the young man up.

“Thank you for saving my life, I will never forget it.” said Brother Gothard.

The Sergeant didn’t know what to say.

“You command these men now, Captain,” he said, leaving the man shocked, “Now find those women and children.  The town is free again.”

He nodded and watched tentatively as the bloodied Priest wandered off into the distance.

Offline EC.Sylvania

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Warrior Priest Story
« Reply #1 on: March 06, 2004, 09:10:38 PM »
It's a good story and held my attention the entire time. I thought the character of the green priest was particularly unique and charming. I hope he makes an appearance in your next story as well.

I times I felt that some of the descriptions were lifted entirely from game specs. Some people may like that, and maybe I'm just too cynical, but every time I came across something that screamed "game stat" I was a bit disappointed.  Don't feel bound to describe every aspect of the game rules in your descriptions. Take liberties and express yourself a bit more freely. You definitely have it in you.

I'd recommend that you spend some extra time copy editing your stories before you publish them next time. Some of the sentence ran on a bit much and there were quite a few grammatical and spelling errors. A careful edit probably would have caught most of them.

Offline Firestarter

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Warrior Priest Story
« Reply #2 on: March 07, 2004, 04:25:57 PM »
Yeh the end bit was a bit rushed.  Thanks for reading and the comments, I'll try and edit it later.

Offline WARRIOR2006

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Warrior Priest Story
« Reply #3 on: March 07, 2004, 04:38:03 PM »
i liked the story fine job! Only thing i didnt like is the enemy beast leader survives to fight or terrorize another day! :(  Bu tyou could throw a twist on line their was a water fall down the way a little :)
A man that fights his own battles, and licks his own wounds, is a man that chooses his own fate, and lives his own doom!