Snow whipped across the Waldbach Road. It had been falling since dusk the night before. It had been a hard winter in Wissenland, but this seemed to come from nowhere. Men shivered and horses stamped to keep warm as the grey-clad army took their positions.
Graf Olenbay pulled his horse up alongside the swordsmen, looking towards the tower across the way. One of its walls had been completely ruined, the rest of the structure was not in much better shape. But it was what was happening at the base of the tower that had his attention. Through the sleet he could make out the figure of a huge man, arms raised, cloak whipping in the wind and a skull-topped staff extended to the sky.
He looked across to the wizard, Norbert Totenkrantz, who stood with the spearmen and the fire mage returned his gaze with a troubled look.
“There are dark and forbidden magics at work here,” the wizard said. “Do not be surprised to see the newly dead rising today.” With that he raised his high collar and turned back to focus his concentration.
Olenbay felt a pang of doubt. The chaos powers were one thing. But the troops he had expected to face here were still men after all, albeit corrupted and warped men. He had not factored in this new threat though. He could not afford to split his army in two, there had been not enough time to muster the troops he would have liked. The call had gone out, but with the chaos attacks on local settlements the response was muted at best. Most of his army consisted of his own personal guard, greatswords, swordsmen, spears and a few halberdiers. He had hoped to wield greater numbers and outflank the enemy.
At that moment there were braying horns and the sound of wild dogs howling and the chaos host emerged from the forest. The army was noticeably smaller than he had expected, the reports must have been true that the weaker marauders had been mostly killed off in the first attack. But that made what stepped from the trees no less fearsome.
Armoured giants with cruel, huge axes and swords strode beside a regiment of their mounted brothers. They were armoured from head to foot and rode horses twice the size of an imperial steed. Their movements were slow and considered, disciplined and precise. At their head rode a mountain of a man, through the slit in his helm Olenbay could see red glowing eyes turn his way. He looked entirely unbeatable and the Graf knew he had never faced an opponent of his skill.
Olafsson stared mercilessly at the Imperials on the hill across from his warband. The wind he felt on his face was not just that of a freezing winter though. Dark and chaotic magic was whistling through the air and he turned his head to where he felt its epicenter. There he saw a man big enough to be one of his own warriors conjuring necromantic spells. He appeared to be standing in the middle of a freshly dug mass grave. Recently dead hands shot up from the earth and were soon followed by heads and shoulders.
So, there were others who wished to make a claim for glory this day. For now he would ignore the necromancer, they had a common foe in the Empire scum, but once the greycoats were put down, he may have more work on his hands than he thought.
He had chaotic powers at his disposal too. The shrine, carried from the warband’s village, pulsed with dark powers, shooting out the blessings of their heretic gods and bestowing unnatural gifts upon his army. Many had been the time that they had cut down numbers far beyond their own with its help.
He looked over to Knut Mycklebust, champion of his knights. “Signal Moe, we mar…”
His words died away momentarily as a new horn pierced the swirling skies, from behind the village to the east. Did the Wissenlanders have reinforcements? Well what matter. He feared none that he had ever met. More bodies for the fires.
“Onwards!”
Jan Kesslereich spurred the horses of his altar to a gallop. Alongside him ride a large regiment of the Knights Sanguine, led by his personal champion Wilhelm der Scheuslich. The snow whipped into his eyes but he hardly noticed. He felt the blood run hot through his veins, a symbol of all that was good and right. His army may be small, but they would not roll over and let this chaos champion roam the country unchallenged.
The knight’s musician blew out a pure ringing note as they sped out the far side of the village and onto the battlefield. Kesslereich assessed that battle had yet to be joined by either side and signaled the cavalry to a trot to let the infantry catch up and keep a unified battle-line.
He spied the chaos scum opposite the ruined tower from them, but two things he saw he had not expected. To the west of his army, a force of Wissenlanders stood in battle formation, ready to receive the chaos charge. Was he mistaken, or were those the same colours that he had fought side by side against the unholy alliance barely a year ago?
He scanned their lines and, yes, he recognized the proud bearing of their general that day, young Sebastian Drauwulf. It was hard to believe that once again he would be fighting for his life alongside those who had usurped Solland’s lands. But if there was one thing worse than Wissenlanders, it was chaos, barely.
The second thing he noticed was not such a good omen. Under the tower there was a small army of skeletons and zombies, almost melting out of the ground, though more marched from the trees, at their head a figure with purple billowing robes, hovering above the ground, hollow eyes staring into nothing. It could only be a Vampire, and a powerful one if he was the judge. A year ago they had killed that vampire, but as he stood there, he knew that this one had a power far beyond anything they had faced that day.
Beside the ranks of skeletons trotted a unit of knights, dark as the night itself, in bronzed armour and tattered cloaks. It was as if they were not entirely on this plane, but also not in the next. He shuddered at the sight of them but quickly got a hold of himself as the rest of his army pulled up alongside.
The foot-knights of the Sanguine Temple marched alongside the fanatical zealots who always followed Kesslereich around. Overhead, out of the dark clouds, Helmut Meerschweinchenfutter swooped down on his Pegasus. The Warrior Priest carried a huge hammer and was ready to lend his hand wherever it was needed on the battlefield.
Kesslereich saluted stiffly to Drauwulf, who returned the gesture. Whatever their differences, they were men of the Empire and they would face this danger together. The High Priest just hoped that the Brennenburgers weren’t as keen as he was to secure the old watchtower once battle was done…
