The bitter taste of fear filled Hilde’s throat.  The arrow that felled Captain Hollerman brushed close enough that she felt the wind of its passage. A great gout of blood sprayed from the Captain’s lips and then soldiers were dragging the stricken man back towards the wagons, around which the soldiers instinctively formed. The great wooden shapes were a bastion of civilization, however illusory. 

Hilde looked down the winding forest path. There was just a chance that if she struck her heels to the horse's flanks she might escape the ambush while the beastmen were focused on the other soldiers. Hot disappointment flooded through her mouth as a group of gangling creatures rushed from the trees onto the road in front of her, closing of her escape. The blew a variety of gnarled animal horns, whether signaling or merely for the joy of it, she couldn’t tell.

[b]“Shyalla keep me,”[/b] she whispered, more in desperation than in hope. Somewhere down the line of the caravan a man was shouting orders. It seemed to break the spell of surreal terror that gripped the soldiers. The shrieking chaos took on more order and the heavy sound of shields slapping against shields raised a counterpoint to the screams and howls of the enemy.

Sensing that whatever slender hope of salvation there way lay in that direction, she sawed at the regins hauling the reluctant horse around. The animal screamed as an arrow, fletched with filthy crow's feather, struck it in the haunch. Cursing, she hammered the animal's flank with her heals, sending it racing down the trail in a staggering run. 

Ahead of her a knot of grotesque beastmen broke the treeline, hacking into the stragglers who had not yet been able to form up. She saw a goatfaced beastman slit the throat of a wounded halberdier and lap the blood gushing down the front of his uniform. A dying Reiklander, Franz, a swordsman whom she had always hated, stabbed the creature through the stomach with a long knife. His face was drawn and she realized he was clutching the squirming masses of his own intestines with one hand.

For a second she thought she would reach the temporary safety of the shield wall, but with a suddenness that was shocking even in the whirl of battle, a great axe crashed down on her steed's neck. A shower of hot liquid sprayed her as the ugly iron weapon bound in the horse's flesh. The wielder was a great minotaur with a snake like tounge. Its mass was sufficient to check even a galloping horse and suddenly she was flying forward through the air. Pain exploded through Hilde’s body as she smashed into the ground, the breath expelling from her chest in a dull whump. For long moments she could do little but gasp for air even as she saw the gigantic minotaur rush towards her. With a desperate yelp she pulled a pistol from her belt, pulled back the hammer and fired. The harsh crack-pop of the weapon seemed a faded and washed out thing in the screaming confusion of the battle, but the minotaurs knee exploded in a gout of blood and cartilage. With an oddly bovine scream the beast toppled to the ground, the thud of its impact shaking leaves from the trees. Still it dragged itself towards the defenders intent on murder and feeding.

[b]“Shayalla,”[/b] Hilde moaned and started to crawl towards the wagons, her mind unable to even consider reloading the weapon. 

A black armored hand reached down and seized her by the back of the neck, lifting her into the air like a sack of grain. The chaos warrior laughed like mountains cracking, holding her aloft like a trophy. He called something in his vile language which, thankfully, she didn’t understand. Then he spoke a single word she did recognise. Slaanesh. The blasphemous name of the Chaos Prince of Pleasure. Hilde’s mind seemed to flee her body, though she felt herself screaming. She was back in the covenant, the night the armed men had come. She was praying to Shyalla for mercy, but no mercy came, not that night, or for many more nights until Dieter and his pistoliers had caught the northmen and their captives on the march.

Time seemed to elongate and she was staring down at the intricately designed black armor, its seductive carved runes made her eyes water, it's brass adornments grotesque and baroque. She could even smell the odd musky perfume of the warrior, something like incense mixed with blood and other, less identifiable scents. Then the warrior suddenly staggered back, half a dozen plate sized dents appearing in his armor and he fell to his knees, his grip slackening. Something, not blood, leaked from the joints of his armor. The beast men around the warrior fell like mown wheat, punched from their feet as if by invisible fists.

Her knees hit the ground with a painful crunch and she was suddenly scrambling towards the cloud of stinking smoke around the handgunners. One of the soldiers reached forward and grabbed her as she neared, hauling her into the line of men. He was a slightly older man with a scarred face. She had seen him around but not spoken more than a few words to him.

[b]“There are a dozen Chaos warriors back in the woods,”[/b] she shouted, instinctively raising her voice around the firearms. She pulled her second pistol from her belt and pulled back the hammer.

[b]“And thank you!”[/b]

[@POOHEAD189]