Commander Dolohev Stonheim III raised his glass to General Helstrom’s toast and nodded in approval as his fellow commanders let out a cheer of victory. The ale was as refreshing as water from a mountain spring and it tasted of home. Within the walls of the Great Hall of Bogenhafen, general Helstrom had gathered the victorious Commanders of Helstrom’s 4th. All were exhausted from the campaign and the week long march from the depths of the Great Forest but tonight, they celebrated their defense of the Empire and received a hero’s welcome. The Nemesis Crown had been found at the last possible hour by the Dwarven High King and it was said that Karl Franz himself held off the enemy while the dwarves secured their treasure. The forces of evil retreated to the shadows from whence they came and the Empire’s “allies” had also boarded ships or marched to their lands, leaving the heart of the forest quiet once more.
“All is quiet to the dead”, thought the Commander as he stepped from the room and through an archway that led to the battlement. The air was warmer than that which he had become accustomed to throughout the campaign and he closed his eyes and took in the sweet, earthy smell of the orchards and fields. The sounds of the simple celebrations of the peasants caught his ear and the music of the lute and fife echoed a familiar tune in the quiet twilight. Tomorrow, he would begin the journey home with what remained of his army. One hundred fifty miles north of Bogenhafen lay the lands of his family, nestled between the cliffs of the Grey Mountains and the gentle flow of the River Shilder. Within those lands, in the castle of his ancestors, his aging father anxiously awaited news of his return and prayed to Sigmar that the horrors of this war would soon be forgotten by his people. As Dolohev stared at the mountains on the horizon, a presence stepped out onto the battlement and interrupted his thoughts with the muffled clank of steel on stone and the familiar smell of sweat, blood, incense and pungent herbs. The comforting baritone of Brother Thabeus of Sigmar began to rumble.
“You have often dreamt of home my liege and now you are here; yet your heart is troubled by the ones that you have lost along the way”.
“Yes, Brother”, he replied, “my heart is heavy because I have lost so many good men in this…fruitless war. How can I stand before my father and our people knowing that I might have done something different, anything that might have saved their lives?”
Thabeus stared hard at the young Commander and replied with an icy tone. “My liege, Sigmar has given you strength according to your purpose. It is your fate to lead them - to the very realm of Chaos if need be. You must not falter in your duty. You feel responsible for those who have fallen under your watch but it is by your actions and their sacrifice that you can return to a home that stands unaffected and idyllic; a home that is not ravaged by fire and the sword, tainted by Chaos and evil.”
Thabeus’s tone softened as he continued. “Your men died bravely and they too had a purpose. To protect our lands and guard this great Empire of ours against those who would see it lie in ruin. Do not be troubled by their sacrifice but rather celebrate their courage, for Sigmar will see them through to Morr’s Garden where they will be hailed as heroes forever.”
Thabeus’s words struck down Dolohev’s doubts and washed away his sorrows like a swim in the headwaters of the Reik. Behind him, the sounds of celebration in the hall became a comfort, for there were his brothers in arms who had fought with him for the Empire and Karl Franz, against unspeakable odds. Tonight they would celebrate and tomorrow they would part ways to whatever fate awaited them. Dolohev turned towards the archway and paused, taking one last look at the horizon.
“For Sigmar, for Reikland,” he spoke, staring into Thabeus's eyes with newfound determination.
Brother Thabeus nodded in approval, then turned and disappeared into the calm of the night.
