After formation Lackey approaches Njord, whom is fine tuning his ass-kicking skills on some unlucky other players. "Njord brudder I's gots a new jersey fer joo, tell dis wench ere what name joo want on it. She will put on dere, Make it good.' As lackey walks away he bolts in a dead sprint and spears some men just standing about joking upon standing he looks down at the wreckage. Joo all gota be ready all da time he leaves them in pain laughing heartily.
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“Aye, I am Albrecht Baer, Apprentice of the Bright Order. I am here to serve.”
A blind Farseer, how… archetypical Albrecht thinks to himself. With brief introductions Albrecht and Nicodemus set to their tasks. Based in the Farseer’s home tower, the two begin their preparations. Strange how wizardly folks always seem to favor oddities in their architecture, Albrecht notes as they pass into the archway, guarded by twin bird faced gargoyles.
In magic, it is indeed 90% preparation, and 10% action. Spells are often long, complicated dealings and only the most basic and instinctual of castings are seen on a battlefield. A man can direct a blast, a faint illusion or cause a small explosion; anything more requires time and ingredients. For the expected siege, they would need stronger magicks then that.
The first night Albrecht was ready to turn in rather early; it had been awhile since the group had enjoyed the comforts of any sort. The bed, lumpy, smelled faintly of urine, but it was a bed. As his eyes closed for some much needed rest he was shaken awake by a violent quake.
“Did… You feel that?” Albrecht asked out, not sure if the old man was awake. He got to his feet and walked into a central chamber. He saw in front of him a table, the glowing green stone and for a moment he thought he saw two other orbs of color.
“Ah, young Albrecht! I thought you had gone to bed.” Nicodemus sat at the table studying the orb with his fingertips.
“I was attempting yes, I felt a jolt. Must have been my nerves or something…I see you’ve found the stone.”
“Yes, it was good of you to bring it here. It is not something we would want to fall into the wrong hands. This is not something we want them to have.”
So it was, over the next several days that Albrecht spent most of his time in the tower, preparing ingredients, casting circles, and other protective barriers. They would discuss their thoughts on the Winds, the Colleges, the Empire, all the topics one might expect two men to speak of. Nicodemus had him working on an arcane circle atop the tower, from which the Farseer would throw out his powers across all of Wolfenburg, fending off the coming hordes from any possible angle. It was during the construction of said circle that Albrecht discovered who this Nicodemus really was.
Whilst etching symbols into the stones with the horn of some exotic beast Albrecht made a note of what he was copying. Looking at the parchment it was filled with unfamiliar symbols. It was not that that gave him pause, as Nicodemus was not one of the Bright Order, but rather the ragged, sharp font of them. It took Albrecht aback. A flash of memory.
The vestibule of change is strong indeed!
He stood, knees aching from long hours of work and turned to head into the tower, to speak with Nicodemus about exactly what it was he had Albrecht doing.
Again, a flash.
Walking towards the entrance Nicodemus steps out from the hatch. “I have a feeling I know what you’re to ask me.” A smile spread across his face.
“Perhaps you do… I was curious about the purpose of this circle? I have been tracing it as you instructed but not sure what you mean to do with it.” Albrecht said. His Witchsight flashes, the green stone pulses inside Nicodemus’ robes.
“Be out with it. You know what I plan to do. I suspect you always knew, and were following along anyways. I mean to help the Kurgen wipe out Wolfenburg. These people are fools, they have no idea what it is to know the truth. We know such things Herr Baer, we know! They will fight and fight and fight but CHAOS will take it’s due, always. It is inevitability.”
“They, WE, are the Empire, we fight as we must. If we give up then Man ends. I will not see such a thing happen.” Albrecht could feel the electricity in the air, vibrating with power as Nicodemus brought it into himself.
“Must we?” Holding out the stone, “take it, help me bring ruin to this city. We will be rewarded by the higher powers!”
Not listening to any of this treasonous talk any longer Albrecht throws himself forward. Charging into Nicodemus and stomping him with force. he was a more than powerful wizard, Albrecht could sense, but he may yet prove to be a feeble old man.
Bounding across the tower top, Albrecht is mere inches away from Nicodemus before an invisible force knocks him to the side. He recovers quickly and again attempts to get his hands on the old man, surely a Tzeentchian spy! He feels magical energies trying to restrain him, his body sends out jolts of flame as Albrecht burns through them like spider webs. At last, his hands wrapped around Nicodemus' throat. Reaching down Albrecht finds the horn he had been grinding and plunges it into the evil wizard's throat, blow after blow as the man's blood coated his hands, arm and face in the warm life force.
Flash
Albrecht comes to awareness. He is standing on the tower top. His arms and face warm from the blood, but the body of Nicodemus is not in sight. The circle is completed, finished in blood and horn. He feels the low thrum of the stone clenched in his fist. The preparations are done.
It is time he be reporting back to the Captain.
Albrecht approaches the camp, and who should he see reporting to the Nulner than the shape of Nicodemus, his blind eyes looking up towards him. A smile spreads across his face.
LACKEY:
"What exactly does this mean?" Gretta says, looking up from her stitching as she slowly works the name into Njord's jersey. 'The Wench' lackey had been referencing was none other than the fellowships former camp follower turned Sister of Shallyah.
"It mean He Who Rides Women Like Horse!" Njord replies, grinning broadly. Gretta can't help but laugh, rolling her eyes with a giggle. "No, truth. It is name of blade. Sverð Sigr: Sword of Victory. Think fitting for girl shirt men of Empire have me wear."
"If you'd like I can dye it pink for you as well," Gretta counters, grinning. Njord's jaw drops as she snickers. "What? The men of Norsca don't like pink?"
Both Norseman and Sister bust into a fit of laughter, an echoing chorus that fills the silent halls of the hospice. Nearby Caspar stirs for a moment from his sleepless stare and blinks. Jealousy (or is it something else) twists inside him, and then just like that he is gone once more, his eyes glassing over as he fades away once again into oblivion.
As Albrecht stands looking out across the half ruined city, horn burning in his hand, blood splattered everywhere, he hears a cackling voice.
"Ah-hah ha! Yes, yes! Change has come! Soon they will see, all will see truly before them.
Soft comes the wizard, burning from orange to blue
Large comes the player, changing them through and through
Angry falls the cleric, stifling what's within
Dumb falls the singer, failing now to grin
Strength to dwarven cannons, folly to the drinks
Blinded to the danger, captain beware the lynx
Lackless runs the tinker, to be played the fool
Bloody fights the Fate, let Lord of Chaos rule!"
Flash
Upon seeing the major, one of the serious looking men made a gesture and the gates began to open just enough to permit a single person inside. The mercenaries tensed up as the small crowd of unfortunates seemed to stir slightly when the gate was opened. Major 'Ice' thought he could hear a low rumble like a growl from one of the mercenaries as he passed by. He ignored the rabble and the cutthroat mercenaries and stepped inside. The gate closed swiftly and audibly behind him.
A small man met Major 'Ice' just inside. Thin and short, his stature probably fooled many into not thinking this man was dangerous. Having been in the Imperial Army for a while, Major 'Ice' could recognize the eyes of a killer. The man who greeted him had a very calculating gaze, and Major 'Ice' had no doubt the man probably already knew at least three ways to kill everyone in view if needed.
"Major," the small man said with very poorly hidden disgust and a nod which instead of being respectful came across as challenging. "So when are you going to take care of that." The man's tone was flat making the question a statement. "My men and I have had to deal with their attempts to breach his place many times. I have had to see to some things...personally."
Major 'Ice' didn't need any explanation. He knew very well to what the man referred.
"Pleasant as always to see you, Jaspar," Major 'Ice' said with venom. "And I believe it is you and these brutes who are being paid to protect the Golden Bass. The Army has other concerns." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Besides Jaspar, with the increasing number of illicit and unsolved murders that we keep getting reports of in the citizen districts, I can only imagine, the rabble out there is more interested in getting to you than they are to looting this place." Ignoring the tightening of Jaspar's jaw and the narrowing of those dangerous eyes, Major 'Ice' proceeded through the courtyard garden to the main entrance.
Despite the war raging, the garden was well maintained and the fountains were running with clean water. It was filled with fantastic topiary most of them fish shapes, but in some highlighted areas were bushes shaped like some of the more fantastic creatures the owner Maximillian had encountered and even likenesses of comrades he had journeyed with (if one believed he had only ever traveled with beautiful women) before his gambling and luck had acquired him wealth of a staggering amount. This location was mirrored after the original Golden Bass which Maximillian had essentially taken over after breaking the bank when gambling there. The actual Maximillian was likely in Altdorf, but he required certain standards of appearance for all his properties, and appointed well-paid managers to oversee the casinoes and keep up the reputation of the brand.
The well-dressed and groomed doormen silently opened the large doors and Major 'Ice' stepped inside. A beautiful woman in a long flowing gown with a perfect smile greeted him and gestured for another young woman also beautiful to show the soldier to his 'usual' table. He was led across a large gambling hall which amazingly seemed filled. The destruction of the city across the river had dislodged many of the wealthier merchants and nobles. The Golden Bass offered rooms as well as games, and Maximillian had advised the current manager of the Golden Bass IV to offer the rooms at discounted rates to these dislodged patrons and for some even on credit pending the war's resolution. Always the shrewd one, Maximillian recognized the opportunity to acquire the support of the nobility and the wealthy, and with the debt some of them had acquired for accepting Maximillian's generosity, many people in this room would owe the casino owner much more "support" than others.
The pretty young woman led the Major to a private room where some notably influential individuals sat playing cards. The major took a seat at the table as if there was no other place that he belonged. Being the third son of the most influential noble family in Middenheim certainly brought some respect from those who knew enough. Credit was immediately offered and he was dealed into the next hand. The other members of the game making some small talk amongst themselves, but otherwise left Major 'Ice' to bring up the topic they were waiting for on his own.
The major let himself cool his emotions by focusing on a few hands before breaking the polite talk into the serious.
"The fool is taking that farseer warlock seriously!" Major 'Ice' said coldly despite feeling the anger burning within him. "This so-called 'vision' has blinded Commander Nulner to the truth. He has sent the 'trap maker' down to the creature just as the Farseer directed."
A balding priest threw his hand of cards down in disgust. "How can the colonel not see that if he continues to listen to this Sigmar-damned bastard, we shall all be lost?" He reached into his the folds of his robes and withdrew a Hammer amulet and kissed it. "I think it is time to exercise my influence with the Bishop and demand the mutant destroyed and the Farseer tried for sorcery!"
A man with long gray hair and and a beardless face in an exquisitely embroidered robe, tapped a golden finger on the table surface. "My spies have told me a Bright wizard was amongst the so-called foretold group. If he falls under the spell of the Farseer, this could be problematic. It may be necessary for me to expose myself and intervene. Of course, I will most likely need your assistance, Graven." His gleaming metallic hand gestured to a woman sitting across from his position at the table.
A woman of such stunning appearance that she made the other women look like still budding wildflowers in the presence of a rare orchid in bloom smiled at the suggestion. "I suppose I might do what I can. Though I am not my aunt, I still manage." She laughed softly, the sound like the tittering of beautiful birdsong.
The man sitting next to her wore dark clothing and hadn't removed his hat seemed to ignore tham and remained studying the cards in his hand. The others turned to him as he had yet to say his piece. Very carefully, the man laid four of the cards on the table. They were Cadet of Coins, Initiate of Flags, Apprentice of Crowns and Maid of Swords. Paired with any other card the hand was the lowest possible hand. Any card except...
The man placed the Fool on the top of the others. The Fool on this card was depicted as exaggerated caricature of a witch hunter. It had always amused him to play with this deck and he loved it when he got the Fool.
"Yes, the wizard. One must always start with the wizard..." a deep but raspy voice said. The man lifted his head so the other could see his eyes.
The damned zealous eyes of Harlan Vesh
Lackeys speach to the men several days ago this is what was said that day.
"Winning is not a sometime thing; it's an all the time thing. You don't win once in a while; you don't do things right once in a while; you do them right all the time. Winning is a habit. Unfortunately, so is losing.
"There is no room for second place. There is only one place in my game, and that's first place. I have finished second twice in my time with the Punishers, and I don't ever want to finish second again. There is a second place bowl game, but it is a game for losers played by losers. It is and always has been an Imperial zeal to be first in anything we do, and to win, and to win, and to win.
"Every time a snotball player goes to play his trade he's got to play from the ground up — from the soles of his feet right up to his head. Every inch of him has to play. Some guys play with their heads. That's O.K. You've got to be smart to be number one in any business. But more importantly, you've got to play with your heart, with every fiber of your body. If you're lucky enough to find a guy with a lot of head and a lot of heart, he's never going to come off the field second.
"Running a snotball team is no different than running any other kind of organization — an army, a political party or a business. The principles are the same. The object is to win — to beat the other guy. Maybe that sounds hard or cruel. I don't think it is.
"It is a reality of life that men are competitive and the most competitive games draw the most competitive men. That's why they are there — to compete. To know the rules and objectives when they get in the game. The object is to win fairly, squarely, by the rules — but to win.
"And in truth, I've never known a man worth his salt who in the long run, deep down in his heart, didn't appreciate the grind, the discipline. There is something in good men that really yearns for discipline and the harsh reality of head to head combat.
"I don't say these things because I believe in the "brute" nature of man or that men must be brutalized to be combative. I believe in Gods, and I believe in human decency. But I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle — victorious."
Steps from the bar with his companions, he turns to each of them silently in turn. "Send the Dogs". they all nodded as each of them knew who that meant. This wizard will remember this day forever."
The Lady Gravin Maria-Ulrike von Liebewitz of Ambosstein. The very name was legend and synonymous with a number of things: Great beauty and terrible danger. Perhaps not quite as perilous as her infamous aunt, the Grand Countess Emanuelle von Liebewitz of Nuln, the Lady Gravin was a woman of enormous power, wealth and discipline. Not even the vengeful Harlan Vesh had yet found a way to gain the upper hand over her.
"Overstepping our authority aren't we, Harlen?" The Lady Gravin responds, lifting a black raven sharp eyebrow. "There will be no sending in of the dogs until I say so. Are we clear?"
Harlen Vesh stood from the table, his eyes embers of fire and hate. He'd strike that damnable woman down now if he could, but the black hearted witch had too much control and influence. Destroying her would also mean the end of Harlen and that's something the Witch Hunter simply could not allow. He'd have to be patient.
"Of course, m'lady. Upon your orders. As always." Harlen chokes on the words, retaking his seat like a large (dangerous) sullen child.
"Gentlemen," the Mistress of Ambosstein continues, "There is a great deal unfolding very quickly. It would be unwise to dabble in these affairs until we fully understand the implications. Besides, what is the rush? No matter the outcome of the war for Wolfenburg you've all my promise, here and now, that you'll be safe here in this place. I've recently made certain...arrangements."
The balding priest seems to choke on the words, visibly sweating. Noticing his discomfort, the Lady Gravin taps his hand reassuringly.
"Come come, Brother Pieter. We're all friends here."
As the eye of the raven withdraws from the scene, the view lingers for a moment on a strange statuette carved from the finest jade. For a moment the face of the female (or is it male?) figurine seems to smirk knowingly, but suddenly the view shifts as the raven hastens through the room. Then, darkness...
ALBRECHT:
Albrecht approaches the camp, and who should he see reporting to the Nulner than the shape of Nicodemus, his blind eyes looking up towards him. A smile spreads across his face.
"Ah, and here he is! I'm most pleased you could join us. I was just informing the Commander that we should soon be ready to conduct our ritual. Once complete, it should be nigh impossible for the ruinous powers to cross the great Wolfen Bridge. That alone should buy us the time we need for the Graf to reinforce us from Middenheim..."
For long moments Albrecht remains silent, watching and judging the actions of the Farseer, still haunted and uncertain by the terrible dreams (visions) he had experienced only moments before.
"Magister Baer, are you quite all right?" the Farseer asks, tilting his head to the side. "You act as if you've seen a ghost."
Or the end of the world as we know it Albrecht thinks, fighting back the urge to light the Farseer on fire where he stands. It would be unlikely Commander Nulner would understand the sudden attack on one of his most trusted advisors.
Just then there is a massive blast!
Several buildings a block away explode into molten flame as incandescent lights flash across the sky. There is a soul searing sound of screaming mixed with the bone grinding thump of mortar collapsing. Both Albrecht and the Farseer lose their footing. Somehow Commander Nulner maintains his stance, shouting orders.
"Magisters!" the Commander bellows, "Whatever you do, do it quick. Get that ritual done. That Hellcannon MUST be silenced and I intend to send Herr Baer with the strike team to see it done!"
Another tooth shattering explosion rocks the street as a second building collapses and then explodes into a shower of screeching sparks.
"I don't care what it takes, finish the ritual TONIGHT!"
Albrecht stares at Nicodemus and blinks...
As Harlens step from the Countess Whores residence he make a subtle motion to 2 of his more stealthy killers across the street to proceed with prior plans.
They both head off to the target. Albrect is about today doing basic necessitys unbeknownst to him 2 rather unsavory fellows skulk nearby chomping at the bit for action againt their target. But alas this is a information gathering mission. They watch relenlessly after the poor bright wizard jotting down daily habits and perhaps way to take advantage of the target. They debate poison choices and time of painful death for the fool. The mission almost complete as they skulk from the shadows accidently kicking rubble onto giant snotballers playing dice nearby the giants they disturbed were the last men they ever saw. Dey von't be missed eh Grog? Nein her Njord he responds, But they did have a good amount of coin hehehe.
Sometime later and in private, at the estate of the Lady Gravin...
"M'lady, Harlen Vesh has defied you, again."
The Lady Gravin Maria-Ulrike von Liebewitz of Ambosstein opened her eyes. She had been half sleeping in her chair, half pondering the unfolding events of Wolfenburg.
"What this time, Spymaster?"
The man had no name that anyone knew. He dealt in secrets, and prided himself on the fact. Pacing the room and turning, the Spymaster's long, but well kept gray hair, rippled slightly. In his youth the hair had been his greatest pride, jet black and well oiled. Now, time had taken its toll.
"He has ignored your command to leave the wizard alone. He sent two agents out to track him."
For long moments the Lady Gravin pondered this until at last she spoke, "Very well, Spymaster. I cannot have my subordinates countermanding my every order. I admire initiative, but in the case of Witch Finder Vesh it can be a bit too much. Deal with it."
"As you command, m'lady."
There is a silent splash as Njord and Lackey dump the bloodied bodies of the mysterious men into the Wulfen River.
"Dey von't be missed eh?" Lackey jokes, wiping his hands clean on this tunic.
"Make good practice." Njord replies, grinning from ear to ear.
Side by side the two towering Snotballers march back into Wolfenburg proper, passing a massive walled estate where dangerous looking men guard the walls looking out. Their passing isn't unnoticed or undocumented.
Time passes and events both known and unknown transpire. As we turn our eyes once again upon the Gray Wolves of Middenheim, our story continues once again in the besieged city of Wolfenburg...
Under the cloak and dagger of night you gather, clustered together in a covert huddle in the town square just outside the entrance to The Bloated Dragon. The past week in Wolfenburg has restored your health and some of your sanity, but a new fear is rising in your hearts. Soon, under cover of darkness, you will march through a secret passage beneath The Great Wolfenburg Bridge and deep into the heart of No Man's Land. There, under the command of Captain Biedelmann, you will penetrate the encampment of the enemy, seek out their infernal Hellcannon, and destroy it.
Commander Nulner, always the archetype of Imperial leadership, paces the square looking at each of you as you stand in lose formation.
"Soldiers of the Empire," the Commander begins. "I will not lie to you. These are dangerous times and this is an extremely dangerous mission. But it is one that is vital to our survival here in Wolfenburg."
There is a long pause as each of you take in the inspiring words of Commander Nulner. A moment later, he continues.
"Some among you are the last of the proud Gray Wolf regiment. Your good name and standing was tarnished badly by the Kurgan on the fields of war. I've heard your reports of the ambush and your struggle for survival. Now, I grant each of you the chance to avenge that great disgrace. You do this thing that I ask, and your honor, nay! The honor of all the Gray Wolves will be restored."
You look to one another, conflicting emotions play across the faces of your companions. The Dwarves appear sluggish and too drunk to be paying much attention to anything. Njord and his new Kislevian companion, Lackey Gunterman, appear to be in almost jovial spirits. The men are actually tossing an unmoving (dead) Snotball back and forth, chuckling! A stark contrast to this is the haunted face of Lutke Geshburger. His recent dealings with the captured prisoner seem to have left him unhinged. Maigster Albrecht, your former Captain before Lucas Biedelmann assumed the post, also seems troubled and continues to cast his gaze upwards towards a nearby tower as if expecting something to happen.
"But," Commander Nulner presses on. "You will not be going alone. I have assigned you my finest officer..."
It is here the Commander motions to Captain Biedelmann who promptly steps forward and salutes each of you as one. Commander Nulner wheels on his heel and paces back the other direction, still speaking.
"...and a continent of men. Tough men. Trained men. Killers all. The Warriors of Wolfenburg!"
A small detachment of soldiers step forward wearing numbered jerseys over chain mail tunics. They each carry what appears to be a bomb of some kind, forged to look something like a Snotball, filled with gunpowder from Nuln and affixed with VERY short fuses.
"The enemy has many weapons at their disposal, but none have proven more destructive than their infernal Hellcannon! It must be destroyed. This mission, this objective, falls to you."
Commander Nulner turns once again, and facing each of you with his dread gaze concludes his speech.
"Soldiers of the Empire! Are you ready to do your duty for your honor, your homeland and your Emperor?"
"Sir, yes sir!" the gathered host respond, shouting and saluting as one. Some of you reply more fervently than others.
ALBRECHT:
High above the courtyard in a fragile leaning tower, Farseer Nicodemus watches the events unfold below. He observes the Commander and his men. The speech must be a moving one based on the resulting shouts of Imperial courage and pride.
The fools, Nicodemus thinks, a sound of disgust escaping his throat. They march to their deaths. If only they would open their eyes to see the truth of things...
Scanning the room, the Farseer had to admit he was impressed with the work he saw before him. Magister Baer had proven to be an invaluable tool in the preparation for the coming ritual. The circles were inscribed perfectly, the words of magic etched with just the right amount of finesse and skill. On more than one occasion, Nicodemus had suspected his new friend may have gleaned a bit too much about the true nature of the ritual, but that was impossible! The Farseer had been too careful; too patient.
vs 65 (INT): FAILED!
Yes, yes... the Farseer thinks, his face no longer the jovial smile he displayed while in the company of Commander Nulner. Everything is proceeding exactly as planned...
Previously...
Albrecht had been caught by surprise. To find Nicodemus yet lived was both a blessing and a curse. Surely he was not an agent of Tzeentch! No his visions were false and it had been the inhaling off too much troll horn whilst working on the circle. But no, Albrecht could not shake such a feeling. Nicodemus is an agent of change, whether Nicodemus knew it
himself or not. Albrecht resolved his mind. He would ensure... necessary precautions.
That night, Albrecht waited til Nicodemus had passed into sleep and he crept upwards to the top of the tower. Stopping just below the hatch to the roof he set to work in the darkness guide by a single candle. He began inscribing another circle onto the ceiling. This one, however was a spell familiar to him. Laying in the necessary components and reagents, some hanging from glass bottles and jars, Albrecht put all the powe he could muster into this inert magick, waiting to be tapped. To be positive Albrecht laid down copper wire, a great conductor, even for magick, from the roof to his own circle, winding from the inner glyphs down theough the hatche into the makings of the secret circle.Nicodemus would surely not see it on his possible ascent. The power being held in check on the roof would overglow this modest, hasty work. Should Nicodemus go to the roof and call upon the Winds this second circle would be activated as well. Something Albrecht couldnt hope to
do or cast. But Nicodemus, he had true, terrfying power. Whatever purpose Nicodemus meant for his to circle would be met. By The Conflagration of Doom.
Albrecht retreated downward into the spare room he had been given, hoping to leave no trace of doubt in Nicodemus's dark mind of his purpose. One more night in the mouth of madness, then he should be free. Albrecht took several tomes off the walls of his Chaotic overseer, hoping to save any rarities or potentially useful books from the damage that the tower may suffer. Specifically, Albrecht is looking for any possible tomes of the other 7 Winds he does not currently know. The rest of this man's mad research can burn with him.
The next day, as Albrecht joined the Grey Wolves in the journey under the bridge he looked upward at his last glance on the tower, sitting high, a powder keg waiting for its spark.
ALBRECT:
It amazes you that men in armor could move with such stealth. The soft clinking of chain mail over leather padding, the scuffling of heavy boots on shattered flagstones. Under the cover of night you find yourself ushered along with the others, moving from shadow to shadow as you draw ever closer to the massive stone and wood hulk that looms out in front of you like a bloated spider across the frozen river: The Great Wolfenburg Bridge!
Panting from the exertion of your forced march, you continue to turn your eyes back towards the lone stone tower of Nicodemus. Like a skeletal finger pointing towards the sky, it is back lit by the cool white face of Mannslieb, standing it's silent vigil in the darkness. A single yellow light burns from a lonely window...
The Farseer was no longer a nimble man. It had been difficult to climb onto the roof of the great tower, but here he now stood, looking out over the city of Wolfenburg in all of its fading glory.
This shall be a day long remembered! Nicodemus thought, his dust stained white robes spread wide against the wind; they flowed and snapped about him like great sails on a mighty storm.
And so it was that the ritual began. Slowly at first, the Farseer began to call upon the words, tracing his fingers through the air in ways that he had learned from ancient and forbidden texts. Yes! YES! He could feel the power building. The eight winds of magic were strong here; they flowed across the city in chaos, awaiting the proper conduit to channel them into action.
The confidence of the Farseer began to grow. Everything was indeed unfolding exactly as he had foreseen! The Great Architect would soon reward him with power the likes no mortal man had ever known! Laughing like a brazen child, the hands of Nicodemus sweep high and wide, the ritual now nearly complete. THERE! A PORTAL?!
A great split began to form in the ether of the heavens, visible only by those with the sight. The pulsing, heaving wound in the night sky was beautiful to behold, a nimbus of unknown colors began to pour through the slash and into the world of men. And then, just like that, the wonder became horror.
Nicodemus screamed in terror! There was something there on the other side of the abyss peering back at him; something vast, terrible and large with infinite wisdom and impossible cruelty. But it was too late. The words were now spilling out of the Farseer's like water from a fountain. He could no longer control his lips, could no longer stop the incantations from taking form. In absolute horror, the Farseer watched as some massive avian like thing began to tear its way into the world of men, gnawing and snapping at the fabric of reality like a thin chord of fabric across it's mighty beak!
The final words of power burst from the mouth of Nicodemus the Puppet as he completed the incantation:
"KLAATU BARADA NIKTO!"
ALBRECHT:
You can feel the hairs on your body begin to stand. The fool is really going to do it; he's going through with his mad ritual! Gritting your teeth you fix your eyes on the tower, hoping, praying to whatever mad God would listen that somehow your changes to the tower and the ritual had gone unnoticed.
You could hear it then! Their was no other sound quite like the tearing of the fabric of reality. It was the sound of madness, and howling in horror you drop to your knees, covering your ears, your eyes still locked on the tower.
BEHOLD! Looking up, the heavens begin to rupture and tear apart. Oh Gods, SOMETHING IS THERE, bird like and terrible! You feel your eyes begin to burn, the pulsing flow of impossible magic, the endless howl of a million souls being hammered on the anvil of change...
You scream! The men around you jump and look at you in horror, seeing only a raving madman but not the portal or the true danger. Someone very large restrains you then, slapping a gloved hand over your mouth.
Sweating, biting, driven mad, you look back to the lone tower of the Farseer. He's done it?! He's completed the ritual?! TZEENTCH BE PRAISED!
And then, quite suddenly, the tower of the Farseer explodes!
There is a horrible scream of denial from the sky above you and an ominous whirlpool sound of something vast being sucked back into a pool of impossibility. You dare not look up...
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Lackey steps from his tent dressed to kill, Literally weapons abound armor and bombs. This is war after all and he likes it ALOT. He surveys all that is a bustle in the nearby plaza men scurry like rats to and fro "busy busy little men" he mutters.Suddenely there is a mighty cacophony of explosions and screams the only words to escape the open gape of lackeys mouth," OOOooohhhhhh Fireworks!!!!". He sees the tower explode and giggles thinking stupid wizards. If they return in another life they might know steel is all you need, as he heafts his hammer.
"Bloody hell!" Commander Nulner shouts, crouching for cover as flaming stones and burning bricks fall from the sky like meteors. Looking up, the tower of the Farseer was no longer there; a raging inferno of death!
"Get the fire teams down here, now!" the Commander ordered, staring in abject horror at the ruins before him. Had that been a direct hit from the Hellcannon? Or something else?
Commander Nulner is giving his last speech before the mission is to begin its desperate struggle to destroy the Hellcannon. Lutke seems to hear the Commander through a haze, like his ears are stuffed with cotton. He begins to hear something else...a noise, no...a feeling of something else above him. He looks up and feels the rending of space and time and peers into a void, the Warp. Lutke stares in horror. Colors and sounds and feelings and smells...things which shouldn't exist, that cannot exist are being experienced. He hears a cry, and Albrecht's voice begins to say things Lutke cannot at that moment understand. He can't understand anything as his mind is assaulted by the image of the creature that is coming through through from that place on the other side. The cruel eyes of madness belonging to the enormous birdlike being reach out to him, Lutke feels like he is being ripped apart, reassembled, changed. He wants to scream, but how can he? He no longer has a mouth to make sound or ears to hear it. Every speck of him under assault as he makes the mistake of looking upon a Lord of Change. No! Lutke's mind wails. I never wanted to be able to see this! Why couldn't it have been a lie? Why did you do this to me? Why!? Ulric! Shallyah! Ranald! Sigmar! Morr! Please!
Whether the gods saved him, Lutke will never know as an much more normal and mundane sound ripped through the moment and prevented the change. The heat of a fire hotter than any Lutke had ever felt washed over his skin, and with a scream he would never remember but often torment his dreams, the daemon above him was sucked back into the Warp, with no trace to show there had ever been a tear on the fabric of reality except a single feather as long as Lutke's arm drifting on the shifts of air current created by the super heated air above the fire. Fortunately for Lutke's sanity, he did not see this, and the fate of this feather has yet to be seen.
Lutke staggers and falls to his knees as the force of the explosion hits him from behind. He turns and looks, the raging conflagration burning out the husk of what was the guardtower the Farseer Nicodemus had been granted by Commander Nulner to use as his own. Large pieces of burning rubble fall but fortunately do not pose a threat. The fire is very, very hot, and the debris is mostly consumed before reaching the ground. The rain of fire looked more dangerous than it actually was. Most people respond appropriately and dive for cover. Not surprisingly, the man-giant, Lackey Gunterman laughs and point in glee shouting something about fireworks. Lutke is half-surprised to find himself among the few who are strangely unafraid in the face of the inferno.
Just as it said would happen, Lutke thought wearily. Lutke could see it now, something he never had been able to before. This fire was created from magic. Lutke found himself wondering why he had not always been able to tell, but ever since the interrogation of Rekstahl the Choice-Giver, Lutke seemed to notice things differently. This frightened Lutke. He forced himself to look at the gibbering Albrecht who was being restrained as he had seemingly lost his senses before the explosion occurred. So much rode on the Bright Wizard now. Luke said a prayer to the gods hoping one of them would find the time to watch over the young man full of arcane energy to keep him safe. And keep him sane, a small voice in Lutke's mind whispered. Lutke shivered.
Numbly he heard Commander Nulner and Captain Lucas begin getting control of the situation, giving orders and providing direction to the stunned and terrified soldeirs and nearby citizens. Lutke strode forward and laid a hand on the Albrecht's shoulder who looked at him with wild eyes, seeing him as who knows what at that moment.
"It's okay, Albrecht," Lutke says just loud enough to be heard over the commotion. "You did right. You saved us all." He closes his eyes and shaking his head whispers half to himself, "I just pray we can make good of the gift of more time you have given us."
Lucas only half hears Commander Nulner's speech. He finds his mind wandering to the conversation he had with Nulner privately just a few hours ago.
Commander Nulner had been seated behind the large wooden desk that had been found for him and brought up to the The Bloated Dragon's third floor and placed in the sitting room of the "royal" suite. He was looking at some reports when Lucas had arrived. Lucas had come to attention and saluted. Nulner returned the salute and gestured for Lucas to sit in the chair opposite him.
"Captain, there will be terrible things in the tunnel under the bridge. While it may not be Chaos, there have been rumors of other horrors lurking in these tunnels which intersect and run lower than the sewers themselves. You may also encounter some of the undead comrades who may have wandered down there while being reanimated. There's just no way to know."
Lucas nodded, doing his best not to let the trepidation he felt at this mission take over his resolve. Commander Nulner leaned his elbows on his desk, his calloused fingers rubbing his temples. "Lucas, I know I am asking a lot. I know this mission sounds like a suicide run." Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Nulner looked up at him and laced his fingers together in front of himself. "I know that whether I ask you or command you, your sense of duty will make you try your damnedest to see this through. But trust me, I want you to come back alive. All of you. And I have...reasons...to believe that is possible."
"I never had any doubt of that, sir," Lucas said the lie sounding hollow even to him. Nulner nodded as if it was nothing less than he expected.
"This mission is critical. We will never hold out long enough for the Elector Count's armies to reach us if we don't take out that daemonic Hellcannon. The interrogation of the prisoner called Rekstahl has provided us with intel indicating there is a division in the Chaotic forces. Those worshiping the so-called blood god and the forces of the god of change don't seem to be seeing eye-to-eye and have apparently begun recently to come to blows which is why we have not had an advance from them in some time." Nulner gestured to an elaborately detailed map sitting to one side of his desk with little icons representing the war forces currently in the area. "Rekstahl also indicated that the forces of change are greatly outnumbered by those of the blood on the other side of the river. He seemed to think that if we can accomplish destroying the Hellcannon, it will weaken the appearance of the blood forces' general and allow the forces of change to gain power. I don't really care about the internal politics of Chaos and hope they wipe each other out. If we can help upset the balance a little to cause even more strife between the two and rid ourselves of the Hellcannon, then it sounds like a win-win for the Imperial Army. We might even be able to hold out and survive keeping the remaining citizens safe."
Nulner picked up a rolled leather scroll lying next to the map. "Here's your copy of the map. It shows what we know of the enemy forces' distribution. Our forces are removed of course in case it falls into enemy hands," the unspoken In the event you fail or are dead hangs in the air, "so do your best to remember what you see here."
Lucas looks over the placement of the figures on the map, and feels confident he will remember everything there. Nulner watches him shrewdly, nodding as if he knows that Lucas has it well in hand.
"Is there anything else I should know, sir?" Lucas asked.
Slowly Nulner shook his head. Lucas stood, picked up the rolled map, and saluted sharply. Commander Nulner stood, snapped his heels, and saluted in return. Lucas blinked as Nulner had never givenhim such a proper salute before. Even more shocking was Commander Nulner lowered his salute and held out his hand. "May Sigmar protect you, Captain Biedelmann."
Feeling a little surreal, Lucas reached out and exchanged wrist grips with the colonel. Nulner looked him right in the eye, and nodded. Lucas ducked his head, released the colonel's arm and left the small office.
An explosion ripped Lucas out of his memory. Rocking forward, Lucas' heavy armor helped stabilize him. He whirled and saw to his horror the tower of the Commander Nulner's farseer Nicodemus was nothing but a gutted tube of stone shooting the hottest fire Lucas had ever seen or felt. Was this the power of the Hellcannon? He heard Commander Nulner's begin shouting for the fire teams. Tearing his eyes from this devastating blow, Lucas knew this only proved Commander Nulner's claim. The Hellcannon must be stopped. Lucas' allowed his soldierly instincts to close in around him.
Looking around he spotted some soldiers taking cover behind some barrels in the falling rain of fiery embers. They were staring aghast at the flaming inferno. "Jaeger! Mundst! Pull yourselves together. Get these citizens out of here and clear the way of others for the fire teams that will be coming from Market Garden Street." Lucas saw more of his men. "Corporal Aimes! Sergeant Bryant! Get your details with buckets and sweep the surrounding area for any secondary fires from the debris..." And so Lucas began assisting Commander Nulner with regaining order.
As you draw closer to The Great Wolfenburg Bridge, you can feel the tension in the air as thick as Death Cheese. Deeply entrenched on the west bank can be seen the forces of the Empire: Pikemen, soldiers, mercenaries, riflemen, cannoneers and more. The clink of plate on chain is a constant rattle in the cold night air, offset by the clackity-clack of iron shod hooves as Warhorses trod by.
"Men of Empire strange," Njord jokes, looking around in wonder and excitement. "Wear metal dresses..."
The comments of the Northman go largely unnoticed as you march further into the darkness. Behind you, the burning finger of the Farseer's tower continues to blaze high into the night sky.
"Psssst, there! Gods, look at them!" a soldier hisses.
Far across the river you see them; the baneful forces of Tzeentch and Khorne locked in some kind of bloody stalemate with each other. And while the two armies have not as of yet opted to wage total war, you can see small skirmishes in the night. Red plated armored giants wielding massive two handed axes thunder down burning streets as strange robed figures cast unspeakable spells that rebound across the cobblestones, searing flesh and melting bone.
It dawns on you then that soon enough you'll be on their side of the river. No Man's Land... You do not have much time to ponder the view as you begin to move downwards, round and round, following tight stone steps that hug moss covered walls. To your right, a rusted iron railing is all that stands between you and an icy drop into the Wulfen river far below. Suddenly, you come to a stop.
"Private, bring me those keys!" you hear Captain Biedelmann hiss, extending his gloved hand.
There is a clink from a lock as an old iron door groans and gives way, swinging open into a dark passage beyond. A rank smell of molded wood and stale water swims into your nostrils, gagging you at once.
"Gods, what died down here?" someone exclaims.
"I'm more worried about what's still alive..." another voice answers.
"Enough chatter you two. Stow it and draw short blades." Captain Biedelmann orders, pulling forth a storm lantern, adjusting the shutter so only a sliver of light shines through. "Right then, in we go."
The final sound you hear before passing into the belly of the bridge is the concussive blast from the Imperial Cannon opening fire from their distant position. The ground beneath you shakes and the timbers above you rumble; dust and debris fall everywhere. A moment later you hear the Hellcannon return fire. Your ears nearly melt from the terrible shriek of the weapon! Trembling, but resolute, you press into the darkness, eyes wide.
LUTKE:
The previous night...
You had felt strangely honored to learn the true name of the Champion of Chaos. He had told it to you himself: Rekstahl the Choice-Giver. It was of course not the name he was born with, but that did not matter. It was the title given to him by his master, the Architect of Fate, Tzeentch.
~ It is a great pleasure to meet you at last, Herr Geshburger ~ He had crooned, standing as still as a thousand year old statue, observing you with slow burning linger eyes. ~ Come, have a seat with me. Let us talk. We have much to discuss ~
You had been alarmed by the casual nature of this great Champion, and more so by the fact that you had not yet introduced yourself to him! The room full of guards remained alert, weapons drawn and ready to strike at a moments notice. This did not seem to bother the agent of Tzeentch in the least.
~ You are special, Herr Geshburger. You are different. But perhaps you know this? I knew this of myself, yes. When I was very young ~
You had been shocked at the staggering bluntess Rekstahl the Choice-Giver was displaying! Here he was drawing blatant comparisons between himself and you, and right in front of the guardsmen of the Empire!
You had nearly fainted. Then you realized that Rekstahl the Choice-Giver had actually said nothing! The entire conversation was being held in the vault of your own mind!
"Yea, we didn't expect ya' get much out of him either. Looks real proud, like one of those...what do you call em, Sven?" one of the Soldiers pipes up.
"Peacocks..." the other replies.
"Yea, like a bloody Peacock! We ain't afraid o' the likes of you, spawn of Chaos!"
~ Pay the fools no worry. Let us speak of complex things beyond the scope of their meager minds. Let us talk of mazes and riddles, of locks and of boxes ~
Your eyes had gone wide in shock. Truth be told, after that night, you'd never be the same again.
The raven peers across the the Mouth of Wolves, or as the Nords call the bridge "Munningen av ulv", You could see the two Chaos Lords in a face off having not moved for several hours testing each others steadfastness. On one side you have "Harrgroth, the Blooded One (Champion of Khorne)". Haargroth a goat herd from the Graeling tribe, proved his mettle in combat, and became a Chaos Lord devoted to Khorne, Leads chosen infantry of khorne.
. At his side is the Axe "Foerender"a weapon of disturbing viciousness made from the still living bones and flesh of his old patron, Maloch. Behind him is a massive army of beasts men and creatures left untold ogres trolls and even a giant mill about in the streets awaiting the lords roar of attack.
Facing his on a disk of living magic and metal floats Vilitch"(Champion of Tzeench)The smaller and weaker of two twins, Vilitich was mercilessly beaten and abused by his elder brother, Thomin. After begging Tzeentch to reverse their fates, he awoke to find he and his brother had been fused together. Better still, he had become a sorcerer of phenomenal power, while his brother was now but a shambling automaton. Now Vilitch is master of his tribe, using his brother's strength to kill those his sorcery can't destroy - a rare occurrence indeed. Leads a coven of sorcerers. Behind him a army of magic toteing warriors men from the tribes of the north. They both stand and wait for their Masters Call before laying waste to the far side of the bridge and the pitiful little band.
Krak and Boom are there..grim faced and surprising sober.
You have not seem them for days, but had heard tales about barrooms being cleared by 2 mad dwarves and a wild donkey.
Donkey? Looking around, you see that Donkey did not come with the dwarves.
"Is too bleedin dangerous fo em. Anna hes too loud. Better he stays ere." then he mumbles..."dinna wanna go anyway...
The Dwarves wear proper heavy leather armor, thick leather gloves and are clearly dressed for combat as they both have various weaponry slung from their backpacks and belts.
They also carry a long cylindrical object wrapped in white fur. While fairly large, it sits evenly between them on their left shoulders and it seems they carry it with ease.
Both wear smoked goggles on their heads and hand bombs can be seen from satchels at their hips.
Krak's familiar pick is slung across his back, while across Boom's back is slung their modified long rifle.
Looking at the rifle, you notice something has been added to the barrel. It seems it has been extended with a heavy black tube that is far wider than the barrel it is attached to.
"VELL, zeems like ve vill have an easy time of it, ja?" Boom smiles up at the hulking brute that is Lackey
Lackey Grins down the the 2 Battletank dwarves, He always liked dwarves stout, tough, loud, carousing. He thinks just short versions of him whats not to like. "Aye Krak an Boom, Me and Njord an joo two we vill see blood tonight. Lackey quite excited to go to battle something he has not seen in quite a long time begins to revert to his past life of Norse son. and begins to chant a old Norse poem passed down by his father.
Poem vs Fel 28
The poem:"Baldrs draumar"-
ein-1. Sammen var de esir alle i råd, og de femas alle i konference, og de konsultert, den mektige guder, hvorfor Balder hadde undertrykkende drømmer.
tveir-2. Uprose Odin Herren av menn og på Sleipni han den sal lagt, red derfra ned til Niflhome. En hund han møtte, fra Helhome kommende.
þrír-3. Blodgjerrige han var på brystet før, på den far av magi han howled langt borte, fram red Odin, jorden et inntil den hus så høy av Hel han nådd.
fjórir-4. Da Odin red til øst-døren, det, han visste godt, var det wise-woman 's grav, magi han talte og mektige sjarmen, inntil visuelle-bundet hun stod, og i døden hun talte:
fimm-5. "Hva mannen er dette, til mig ukjente, som har for mig ökade en (emne? Jeg har med snø vært prydet, ved regn uthamret, og med dugg var: lenge har jeg vært død."
sex-6. ODIN: "Vegtam er mitt navn, jeg er Valtam 's sønn. forteller du mig av Hel: fra, jorden jeg kaller på dig.
sjau-7. VOLVA: "Her stativ mjød, for Balder tider, over den lyse potion skjoldbærer er lagt, men de esir 's er i desperasjon. av viljen jeg har talt. Jeg vil nå bli Silent.
átta-8. ODIN: "bli ikke Silent, Volva! Jeg vil frågan dig, inntil jeg vet alle. Jeg vil likevel vet hvem vil Balder 's manndrapere bli, og Odin er sønn av liv føre.
níu-9. VOLVA: "Hód vil hit hans herlighets bror sender, han av Balder vil manndrapere bli, og Odin er sønn av liv føre. av viljen jeg har sagt, jeg vil nå bli Silent."
tíu-10. ODIN: "bli ikke Silent, Volva! Jeg vil frågan dig, inntil jeg vet alle. Jeg vil likevel vet hvem på Hód hevn vil påføre, eller Balder 's manndrapere höja på bålet."
ellifu-11. VOLVA: "Rind bjørner vala i den vestlige saler: han skal drepe Odin 's sønn, når en natt gamle. Han en hånd vil ikke tvette, eller hans hode ikke, før han til bålet har båret Balder er motstander. av viljen jeg har sagt, jeg vil nå bli Silent."
tólf-12. ODIN: "bli ikke Silent, Volva! Jeg vil frågan dig, inntil jeg vet alle. Jeg vil likevel vet hva trælkvinner er de som da skal gråte, og bølger til himmelen de yards av sejler?"
þrettán-13. VOLVA: "Ikke Vegtam er du, som jeg før trodde; heller er du Odin, Herren av menn!" ODIN: "Du er ikke Volva, heller ikke klok kvinne, heller er du mor til tre rimetroll."
fjórtán-14. VOLVA: "Hjem ride du, Odin! Og jubler. Så skal aldri mer mann igjen besök mig, inntil spilltype gratis fra hans bånd der, og gir alle-odelegge kommer."
Njords head turns to face Lackey, He knew he was a northman but not that he was from the tribes like himself and how could he know such words of the old lands. Njord appeared rather proud to be a northman this day. Lackey grimmaces a bit "Today is a guud day to die..... FOR THEM!!.
As a group you file into the dank belly of the Wolfenburg Bridge. The passage beyond is filled with swarthy shadows, lit only by the few storm lanterns you carry, the metal visors on the lanterns mere slits that send stabbing blades of light into the darkness.
"This not good," Njord comments, grumbling as he peers ahead. "I use toothpick."
The massive Norseman has drawn a MUCH shorter Imperial sword. It looks almost comical in his massive hands, but with all the crisscrossing timbers and odd angles beneath the bridge, the larger two handed weapon simply has no space to sing its deadly song.
"Bloody hell, Ranald ain't on our side today I wager," a soldier pipes up, squinting ahead in the gloom. "Looks like the tide is up."
You see before you a flight of stone steps that lead down several paces into a large under-walkway that marches off into the shadows. The tunnel itself is mercifully wide, large enough for two to three people abreast, but the passage is flooded! The cold winter waters of the Wulfen river slosh about ominously, flotsam and jetsam in the form of old crates and ruined barrels bob up and down in the wake like dead men.
Someone makes a joke about the Dwarves likelihood of drowning. Krak and Boom cast dire looks and seem incredibly miserable. With an iron will, Captain Biedelmann once again assumes the mantle of command and shores up the chatter.
"We go in three men across, weapons out. Lanterns in front and in back. Watch your footing and move slowly. We can't risk losing anyone here."
Down the flight of steps you go, CLICK, CLACK, SPLOOSH, SPLOSH! and into the icy waters beyond. The flooded corridor is knee deep here. Krak and Boom stifle howls of impending doom as the frigid waters reach their famed family jewels.
"I never learn swim," Njord says grimly. This sentiment is generally agreed upon with a universal moan of unhappiness from the armored men around you, wading forward like chain mail turtles.
As you press onward, from time to time you are pelted by rains of dust and small stones that sling down from the rafters and sprinkle each of you with a shower of dust. The weight of the gathered hosts above you is straining the architecture. You do not relish the idea of being buried alive should the bridge collapse.
"This kinda reminds me of the Imperial Cup of 2010," a young Wolfenburg Warrior with a numbered red jersey announces. "The entire arena where the teams played was filled with knee deep water just like this. The Game Makers thought it would be amusing to insert electric eels into the water in the second half..."
"Stannis," another soldiers replies, "You've read too many stories. It wasn't electric eels. It was baby bog-octopi from the Swamp of Sorrows."
The banter of your comrades is not improving your morale as you trudge onwards to your fate.
On her lavish balcony overlooking a vast courtyard, the Lady Gravin stood against the railing and pondered schemes known and unknown, her mind working the issues like a thief works a trap. There! The tell-tale sound of the Spymaster arriving. He was could move in total silence, she knew. He was being polite by announcing his presence.
"Is everything in order, Spymaster?" Maria-Ulrike asked, tilting her head like a cat, but never turning her gaze from the view before her.
"Indeed, m'lady. The agent is in place. I shall be receiving regular reports." The Spymaster replied, bowing his head slightly. "The Commander has sent a tactical squad to assault the chaos fortifications and destroy their Hellcannon. Our man is embedded among them."
"Ah, and such a handsome man he is. He was not easy to turn," the Lady Gravin purred, suckling on memories of the past like fruit coming at last to fruition. "Let us hope our efforts are well worth the wait."
"He has the package, m'lady." The Spymaster again replied, "With it, we should be able to turn the entire tide of this ridiculous war in our favor."
"My favor..." the Lady of Ambosstein replied, dangerously.
"Yes, of course your grace. Your favor..."
Lackey tucks the monster away, steps from the privy, After the man had left steps forward kisses the Lady Gravin on full on the mouth and departs.. vs fel 28. The lady says as he's leaving "You heard nothing", even if he wanted to listen he wouldn't he did respect her power. "Aye m'lady nuttin" Lackey muttered. Running past the man on the stairs not even thinking he was the fellow in the Lady's quarters 5 seconds earlier " Dang dey started wifout me" He barrels down the street stopping in his tent to gather gear and a small dingy he liberated weeks earlier. Catching up to the dwarves and Njord he loaded his gear and bombs in dingy, as well as the 2 dwarves. "Don't want choo to drown". He pushes the dingy with the DDS "Dwarvish Death Squad" into the tunnel.
Krak and Boom hesitant to step into the water...not for it's depths and obvious problems for beings of their size, but......"Because owe explosive canna get wet!"
Their faces light up with glee when they see Lackey arrive with the dingy.
"U sir are Vunderba!" exclaims Boom as he shoots a "thumb's up" at Lackey.
The dwarves load their more delicate equipment on the dingy along with the tube in the white fur. Pulling out his pick, Krak moves to one side to hold the dingy in one hand and the pick in the other while Boom holds the other side....A pistol in the other hand.
"RIGHT!, now den, whoos gunna hold der wizard's skirt up?" "HARHARHARHARHARHAR"
Lutke is glad he had acquired some wool lined boots to go with his other wool garments. Being cold wouldn't be something he would have to be too worried about even floundering around in a tunnel full of water. The eels or bog octopi babies would still be a problem however. Damn those soldiers for putting that in his mind! Now every stride forward through the dark and murky water seemed to just be one more step until the inevitable cry of doom from whichever poor fool got attacked first. Lutke wished he had been invited to float in the small boat Lackey had brought.
Lutke looked around at the red jerseys of the tough soldiers who had been recruited for snotball by Lackey. Lutke felt out of place with his very nondescript brown tunic and tan wool coat which he had buttoned all the way. Lutke felt a small stab of jealousy that these men got to wear such nice colors. It quickly passed though as it occurred to Lutke that in the half light of the storm lanterns, it almost made these men look like they were covered in blood. Lutke shivered. He found himself thinking, They all look like they're dead already with those red shirts.
In their current state Albrecht felt mighty useless. He was drained from spending the previous evening making the ritual but more than that was their surroundings. Crossing under a wooden bridge. It would. It do to spark any timbers...or would it? Would it helphakt the incursion? Albrecht ponders to himself, hesitant to speak lest he be responsible for ruining their stealth, what little there was. No, he would keep his fire inward and hope that by the time they find any resistance that they'll be in a more... Conducive environment.
Lucas peered into the darkness ahead. The lights of the storm lanterns, bobbing with each step, pierced through the near pitch black like a wizard's magical fires through ranks of heretics. The water made Lucas uncomfortable. The light skipped across the surface making the water an impenetrable and ever moving thing which gave life to the fears of each man. It could hide almost anything. It made him wish he still had his plate mail, but it wasn't maneuverable enough for this sort of mission, so leather and chain would have to do.
"Stay sharp, men," Lucas said tightly. His voice traveled above the creaking of armor and timbers and the sloshing of waves. Given the tunnel seemed to have been made to be made by dwarf or man, Lucas wondered how it came to become flooded. Had been breached by something else digging its way through? Was it a part of the tunnel's design? Had part of the tunnel collapsed since the last time anyone had traversed it? So many unknowns. Lucas hefted his mace and shield and their weight comforted him. That was one thing about being a soldier that made things simple. Most unknowns always had an answer any soldier could provide.
"Short swords and shields on each side with sword and lantern in the middle," Lucas said further elaborating the three men abreast configuration best suited for any fighting they would need to do. In this environment, the most important thing was light. "Lock up that chatter, Aimes. The only thing we'll find in this water is the s$%# coming out of your mouth." Shallyah, let that be true, Lucas prayed.
"Magister Albrecht, please stand here next to me. Master Lutke you take his other shoulder," Lucas commanded pointing. "Magister, I assume you wouldn't mind holding a lantern? I know it's a little mundane for one of your strength, but I think an open flame might be a little risky in these surrounds."
Lucas knew he needed to keep the Bright Wizard and the lock engineer close. Their skills would probably be needed before this mission was done.
"Gods below, this water is cold, Captain." Aimes mutters, one of the handful of soldiers under the command of Captain Biedelmann. "If I never see another lake again I'll die a happy man..."
"Speaking of which," Stannis pipes up, wading ahead of the group in his bright red tunic, peering this way and that in the darkness, examining the walls. "Last I remember, we had shored up this tunnel. I was on the masonry team myself. Commander Nulner had us tend to it early this year, before the invasion. Strange that it should be flooding this badly already."
You see Stanis motion to the far right side of the passage. It appears that something has damaged the wall from the base to the ceiling. A large crack can be seen that's allowing the river water to slosh into the tunnel unchecked. Wait, is there something moving?
Lutke, it's like watching a really bad play unfold in slow motion. Why must you always be right about everything? You try to open your mouth but the only sound that comes out is a feeble weezing squeak of alarm.
"Hey!" Stannis looks down in alarm. "Something just moved past my leg..."
It happens almost at once...
THE WORLD EXPLODES INTO A SHEET OF TERROR, WATER AND FLAILING LIMBS!
Someone ahead of you screams. Oh, that's Stannis. You see the poor solider back up several paces as something massive rises up from the waters of the tunnel in front of you, all bulbous black skin and gleaming saucer like eyes as dark as pools of oil!
"Ah, SCHEISSE!" Aimes shouts in horror a moment before he and the other Wolfenburg Warriors are knocked backwards and into each other by a surging debris filled wave!
Somewhere in the chaos you can hear Captain Biedelmann shouting orders. You're not sure that anyone is truly listening.
Everywhere you look now, writhing limbs! In the waters beneath you. Gods! In the rafters above?! Weapons flash in the dim light as the squirming hentai tentacles shoot from every angle and every shadow!
"Aieeeeeeeeee!" Stannis shrieks. You see the poor soldier drawn into the air, his weapon spins from his grasp. For a long moment he hangs suspended, his eyes wide with horror. And then, just like that, he is yanked backwards with impossible force into the gaping beak of something terrible. Blood sprays everywhere as the man is broken in half!