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Post by Cali on Nov 8, 2016 11:23:58 GMT 1
"The year is 21 N.A., and only in the bloody, tragic, pyrrhic victory of the Empire of Man and its allies against the Hordes of Chaos did the drums of war become quieter than ever. A great silence falling over the Old World, the joy of cease and peace. What was to be unrefined Armageddon turned into a hopeful future for mankind. Though every man knew that evil always abides in some way, from every mountaintop to a subterranean grotto. Karl Franz, aging, hardened, and scarred by many years of brutal warfare leads his people in an age of rusted gold splattered with mud and viscera.
The militaries of humanity are ever vigilant, and wars, though significantly smaller in size continue to be fought on the surface of the world, are still prevalent. Old hatreds thrive, the greenskins and beastmen still attempting invasions of the human kingdoms and nations, and the Empire's unusual and short lived alliance with the Vampire Counts of Sylvania did not take long to wane. New tensions arise, as Marienburg and Middenland seek to merge to create their own confederation separate from the Empire. Many of the Holds of Dwarfkind are finding their once brotherly relations to the Empire and Bretonnia, to be either dwindling, or ill tempered.
The province of Wissenland, plagued by a small myriad of meteors from the moon of Mordlieb, is under constant siege. Many seek the precious Wyrdstone that fell with the fragments of the moon, whether it be warbands of renegade imperial mercenaries, vicious skaven, inquisitive dwarves, or curious orcs. Assisted by the armies of Averland, headed by General Klaus von Fromme, invaders are warded off and order kept.
The esoteric colleges of magic within the Empire are utterly entranced and giddy with arrival of the valuable and dangerous Wyrdstone. The dwarves of Karak Norn quickly become of its major traders, and the armies of Wissenland its reluctant protectors and regulators...
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Post by Cali on Nov 8, 2016 11:28:56 GMT 1
Chapter 1 – Along Came an Emissary
The stag fell over as the bodkin tipped arrow dug under its arm and into his heart. A perfect shot. The ground around him heaved up large wisps of snow resembling smoke, carried away in the soft wind of the near calm winter night. A sextet of footsteps approached from the northwest, one masculine and two feminine persons forming a circle around the deceased lug of game. The lady knelt to one of her armored patellas, grasping the arrow from the vanquished deer, licking the haft and tip free of gore and returning it to her quiver. “He's a stocky one, fellows.” The woman removed the hood from her brow and temples, revealing dagger tipped ears, among other obviously elven features. “The venison is all yours.”
“I suppose I could ask where you learned to shoot like that, Katri...” One of the men inquired, a round, double threaded feathered hat camped upon his head, shaped like a mushroom top. “But that'd be asking either moon why they insist on cycling.” He wore a jacket of one by eight stitched leather strips coloured black and bright orange. He wore a pair of cured leather trousers and high jackboots.
“An elf knows best. I'll venture to find another. The tracks imply there are many more.” She turned and stalked away, longbow brandished.
“Don't stray too far.” The man yawned, turning to the woman with the shaved head that stood at his left flank. “Sister Jacoba... I'm guessing you'd rather field dress this deer.”
“And you know it because you need to look after your regiments, like any general with an army.” The woman replied. She wore dark steel plate armor, that was generously separated between the bodily joints of the wearer to allow for mobility, as well as a faded yellow tabard bearing the sigil of a twin-tailed comet. She carried a large flail which hang on her belt, as well as a buckler. “Away with you, captain. Taal and Ulric bare their toothy smiles upon us all, today.”
“We'll eat well, tonight, won't we?” The captain joked, nodding and returning to his imperial stallion. “I'll send somebody back in a few minutes to help you transport the venison back.”
Captain Benjamin Erwin rode back to mustering camp, his hunting spear in hand. Three slain winter hares were tied onto the flanks of the horse's saddlebag, dangling during the gallop. A face he deemed familiar rushed toward him.
“Herr Captain!” A man he knew, Master Engineer Geoff Holtz sprinted hell bent for leather, for some reason dressed in his civilian attire. “Sergeant-At-Arms Gambinder is furious that you go hunting without proper escort!”
Erwin smiled, holding back roaring laughter as he steadied the pace of his steed and rode alongside Holtz, who was on foot. “I'd venture the old man wasn't too keen on complaining about cozying in his tent on a night such as this.”
“Dammit, Captain, permission to speak freely!” Holtz huffed.
“Granted... I guess...?” Erwin reached for his flask of Averland red wine, pouring it into his cone shaped hunting cup that hung from his belt and gulping it entirely, issued widely to the soldiers under his command to warm them during the winter nights.
“I'm actually rather irked at your carelessness as well, captain! It's not protocol!”
“Says the man out of uniform...”
Holtz stifled the urge to gripe further as he looked down to his common buttoned down shirt and brown trousers and cattleman jackboots. He felt it best to change the subject entirely. “I've received word from the engineering school at Nuln, herr captain.”
“Ah, yes, what are those powder festooned poindexters up to?” Captain Erwin teased.
Engineer Holtz noted the man's infamous pining of the older ways of combat, with sword and shield, rather than the modern weapons and engines of war he deemed gaudy and excessive. “Well, apparently much of the information was omitted, even I was not allowed to know the full details of the letter. But it seems a miraculous discovery was declassified four years after its creation.”
“You can't be serious...” Erwin shook his head as he head into the massive camp, patrols and minglings numbering at least in trios strutting around. Or in some cases, drunkenly staggering while on liberty. Erwin began to climb off his horse and hitch it near the canteen to give the rabbits to his division's culinary staff. “They declassify information that's mostly still classified. I thought this was Averland's military, not the Tilean Army.”
“Nuln is home to the most celestially talented engineers in the world, captain.” He added. “Whatever they found, they said they may issue several to your army.”
“Oh, I'm giddy with anticipation.” Erwin replied without any morsel of sincerity in his voice as he hitched the reins of his horse to a nearby post. “I'll be overjoyed once we get another siege engine I have to read fifteen manuals about to learn how to properly field it.”
Holtz did not seem frustrated, but he was staring at his commander expecting him to say something else. Captain Erwin gathered the rabbit carcasses and smiled at his chief engineer, patting him on the shoulder. “Just kidding.” The captain said. “Thanks for the news. I'm grateful for Nuln's support... well... a bit...”
Holtz shook his head and laughed. “Thank you sir.”
“Wear your goddamn uniform. And save your appetite, we're gonna eat good tonight.” He disappeared into the tent, the soldiers near it standing upright and saluting as he entered.
The four men stood under a lit torch in the near ruined stony watchtower. They were smoking pipes on lookout. One sat near a halberd, the other brandished a broadsword and a shield, and the other two carried imperial muskets.
“...and so the orc comes out, covered in shit, and says 'what we're done already'?!” Jan, one of the handgunners exclaimed, the swordsman laughing and halbadier laughing, the other gunner scratching his head.
“I don't get it.” Adolf, the gunner without the helmet shrugged. “Oh wait... ha!”
“Yeahhh!” Marcel, the swordsman pointed at him. “Alright I got one.” He began. “So the Cult of Sigmar is recruiting 'round the Empire.”
“Oh, this is gonna be blasphemous.” Leopold, the bespectacled halberdier chuckled while drawing something in his sketchbook. “Do go on.”
Jockel continued. “So they're looking for candidates for the witch hunters! They go to Middenheim and pick out the most experienced, skilled, and pious soldier from one of its greatsword regiments. They take him to a secluded house they rented, give him a pistol, and tell him his wife is upstairs and that he has to kill her with it to show his loyalty. The man utterly refuses, and doesn't join. The recruiters then travel to Talabachland and ask the most religious and decorated halberdier in his regiment if he's interested in becoming witch-hunter.”
Jan's eye picked up something in the distance, he then grabbed a spyglass that sat on the nearmost edge of the turret, grabbing it and looking through it.
”So they take him to a farmhouse, same routine. Give him a pistol and tell him that his wife's upstairs and that he has to kill her if he's to become a full member. Like the Middenheimer, he refuses, and is sent back to active duty in the Talabach state troops. They then travel to Stirland, go to a regiment of swords and pick out their soldier most devoutly Sigmarite and experienced in battle...”
The man adjusted his helmet and cleared his throat, taking a sip of water from his flask. “So the same routine. They go to a house in Wurtbad, and tell him his wife's upstairs and give him a pistol, telling him to kill her if he wants to join. He takes the dagger, runs upstairs, they hear signs of struggle.”
Jan still couldn't make out what it was, probably a horseman or a wagon. He did seem to see a white flag being waved, however. Strangely, no torch was carried.
“...so the Stirlander comes back down and yells 'You son of a bitch! There was a blank in this pistol, so I had to strangle her to death!”
Three of them except Jan laughed heartily, Jan then handing a spyglass to Leopold. “Sergeant there's something approaching. Whoever it is, they ain't carrying no torches.”
Leopold closed his book and dropped it beside him, standing up, removing his spectacles and grasping the spyglass to look through it. “The white evident enough. Everything else is buggered all in this night.”
“Should we pop off a flare, sarge?” Adolf inquired, readying his musket, Jan doing the same with his.
“Nah, sod it. Would cause too much of a panic we don't need for such a measly... what... what is...” Leopold lowered his spyglass, then looked through it again.
“Who the bloody fuck is it, sarge?” Marcel asked. “You're scarin' us.”
“WHAT THE SHIT?!” He lowered the spyglass again, grasping the signal pistol from Jan's belt, pointing it at a ten degree angle from the sky and firing it off. “Jan, Adolf, you two stay here. Marcel, on me. Now!” He put his glasses back on, grabbing his halberd and rushed down the worn steps of the ruined watch tower.
“Gimme the spyglass!” Adolf told his fellow handgunner.
Averland army musicians furiously drummed to alert its army to an approaching force. As with every drill, they falling out of their recreational stupors and into formations. Captain Erwin stomped out of his tent, adjusting the side straps of his breastplate before placing his helmet atop his head. “Any idea what the flare was for?”
“Don't rightly know, captain.” Sergeant-at-Arms Gambinder huffed, brandishing his massive “zwei-hander” greatsword with the flat of the blade over his shoulder, his hand scratching the splendid, greying mustache and goatee that festooned his aging face. His armor was far more polished and in better condition than any of the soldiers around him, implying an extraordinary amount of maintenance. “Probably a raiding party. I don't hear any chaos warhorns.”
Erwin called over two regimental lieutenants, pointing at the fore of the camp. “Handgunners in the front. I want spears flanking them to make an arch shaped column. Wittle whatever's down with the guns, and pinch whatever's left to death with the spears.”
“Ja wohl captain!” They both saluted and began to quickly muster their men.
Less than two minutes later they heard a collection of commotion and sounds of disgust and concern from the sentries ahead. “Captain! You'd better come see this!”
“I'm just everybody's mum today, eh?” The armored captain strode forth, a war axe made of Reikland steel and a shield bearing gold painted cross and a skull in the center to see what was going on.
They all came about, it would appear they had two visitors. Both were waving white flags. At least one at any rate. The other had the white flag waving around what appeared to be a still slightly animated skeleton with bits of tendon and sinew left inside and around, with one healthy looking arm sticking from where the stomach would be on the skeleton. This part was part of a bigger lump of flesh and skin, shaped like a large top heavy cloud, a few yellow and purple eyes peering in completely unreasoning formations without discernible pattern. At the fore of the abomination was a mouth resembling that of a morbid, hairless goat with razor sharp teeth, flanked by four thin tentacles, blacker than the night sky.
A large appendage, which resembled an extremely large and bloodied human spine, bookended with a crude looking claw as black as death, swayed from its left side, waving ever so slightly. At its right, were two gangly arms that looked to be out of every child's nightmare. The “body” of the aberration was essentially shaped like a lopsided oval of flesh and sinew, supported by two human legs, a single human arm, and a fourth leg that looked like an elephant's. At his rear was an assortment of swaying thin black tentacles. This manifestation smelled like a mixture of heavy body odor and hot honey, though strangely, no stench of rotting flesh. The mere sight of this piece of biological ruination disgusted and terrified every Averland soldier around it, some vomiting at the mere sight of it.
“Sigmar preserve us.” He heard a lieutenant softly croak.
“All that's holy!” Sister Jacoba stammered, apparently having returned from the hunting grounds. “Slay it!”
“Hold, sister!” Erwin shouted, holding his hand behind him and standing in her way.
“It's a chaos spawn, captain! A mutant in which every fiber of morality and sanity begs for its death!” She yelled.
“Calm yourself sister.” A man, looking no older than seventeen summers, brandishing short platinum blond hair, a clean shaven face, and splendid scale mail armor that shined like diamonds. He was unarmed, carrying only a white flag. “Old Hugo is a coy fellow.” He pat the side of the abomination beside him, smiling. The creature didn't react. “He's harmless as long as you are...?”
“Who are you?” Erwin inquired, bravely, though cautiously stepping forward, Jacoba and Gambinder grasping each of his arms and trying to reel him back. He broke free as the two got the message that he did not want to be restrained and stepped forth.
“You can call me Caspar. Many refer to me as Caspar the Modest, probably as a joke.” He laughed, one hand on his armored him and lowering the flag. “I've come to negotiate with General von Fromme. Would that be you?”
“Von Fromme isn't here.” Erwin responded, looking the man dead in his blue eyes.
“Well. Our intelligence seems to be worse off than we thought.” Caspar chuckled. “I suppose the ranking officer of this fine detachment will suffice. Would that be you?”
“It's not like warriors and abominations of Chaos to parley.” Erwin replied.
“But it's been done before, has it not?” Caspar nodded. “Sure, the hordes and warriors of Chaos seem to discourage any sort of organized and nonviolent stipulation, not excluding the late Everchosen, may the Four rest his awesome and terrible soul.” He made a fist and pounded into his chest once, and held it there, looking toward the sky.
“What do you want, you forlorn piece of shit?”
“Ah, not good diplomacy to call me names, good sir.” Caspar waved a finger. “But I suppose it would not hurt to skip to the point.” He cleared his throat, the eyes of nearly every soldier on them. “Lord Elof the Heinous has chosen to spare and not engage the armies of Averland and Wissenland in combat, on the condition that they permit our forces passage and unrestrained pursuit of the dwarves in the Karak Norn expeditionary force, where we may meet them in combat.”
“This is about the wyrdstone isn't it?” Erwin groaned. “Nobody is going to give it to you or any of your cohorts. We may not be on the best of terms with Karak Norn, but we're not going to allow you to try to take it from them.”
“Well... that's highly unfortunate...” Caspar somberly replied, looking at his feet. “Well, luckily, Lord Elof instructed me to double check with those of higher rank. Who better than General von Fromme? As soon as he returns, that is... until then, the final terms and result are in recess. I must take my leave in that case...” The elegant looking man of chaos cleared his throat, and bowed his head. “For an avid follower of Khorne, Elof the Heinous is a patient fellow! Come now, Hugo!”
The princely looking man, as well as the hideous mass of formless flesh and bone left the camp's premises. “We should have killed them...” Jacoba snapped, fighting back rage.
“I wish.” Erwin continued to stare at the two chaos beings as they returned to wherever they camped. “We still don't know how many this Elof has under his banners. Could be hundreds, could be thousands. Better to play it safe.”
Jacoba and Gambinder turned and attempted to leave in a huff. “I was wrong about one thing...” They both turned. “We're not gonna eat good tonight. Appetites are probably in short supply now...” He turned and followed them back to the tents.
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