Cyrdic's eyes opened, revealing Camilla's beautiful face, wariness and worry evident in her features. The Ostlander's vision had grown quite accustomed to the dark ever since he had found his sword, something he tried dismiss as his mind playing tricks on him. Still, he was glad for it when it proved useful. The man nodded and sat up, pulling off the heavy furs he had atop him and silently reaching for his sword.

The Ulrican sword howled through his mind when he grabbed it, and once he gazed out of the window he couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat. "Ulric and Sigmar..." he breathed, the spectral figures as bright as torches to him in the dark of the night, even with the white snow beneath them. He was simply glad they had the lake between them, which gave them some time and distance. "Chaos Wraiths," he breathed in Camilla's ear. She shook her head as if she didn't understand, but they both knew there was no time for explanations.

Cyrdic had never seen such creatures before, but he had heard stories. What's more, he now recalled a small contingent of men having been lost within these very woods the last time he had been on campaign. There was no blood or footprints leading out of their small campsite come morning. Most were missing, and a few corpses were found. No marks upon them. Simply dead as if they had never had the spark of life, staring into the sky through glazed eyes.

"Justicar" Cyrdic whispered, nudging Thaddeus. The man took a few good shakes before he began to stir. "What's all th-" Cyrdic placed a hand on his mouth and a finger to his own lips. "We have to go. Quietly..."

As the party gathered their meager belongings, the Justicar having almost cried aloud at the sight of the wraiths, Cyrdic tried to look at the brightside. From the stories he had heard, restless spectars were often able to be raised when there was a high concentration of chaos within the vicinity, which meant the Tomb of Theodric, Tzeentch's Chosen, was close.

The group made their way out of one of the tumbled walls, and crouched as they tried to make it to the tree line on the opposite side of the windmill. That is, until they heard the same mad laughter upon the wind, and a sense of dread filling their hearts.
@Penny

Fear was as good as a cloak and Camilla no longer felt cold as they stumbled through the darkened snowfields. Morsliebb was swollen overhead and cast a sickly greenish light down on the ice, giving the whole spectacle a greenish nightmare gloss. There was no where to go now except to the tomb itself and so the presed onwards, hoping against hope not to stumble across more beastmen or worse horrors that haunted the night.

Cydric had a vauge notion of where the tomb was located from his previous visit but in the dark, even with the eerie moonlight, it was difficult to get ones bearing. Eventually the settled on climbing one of the small hills to see if they could place themselves. Once they got atop the rocky knoll they immediately saw wan light flashing in the distance. Several hundred yards away the chaos wraiths stood brandishing weapons and shouting silent warcries but their attention was not on the party. Opposite them, a few hundred meters distance stood a group of what were unmistakably Imperial soldiers. The Imperials were composed of the same pale witch-light as their northern adversaries. Ranks of pikeman stood in neat blocks that any drill sergeant would be proud of. There was even a small field gun, which belched a cloud of ethereal smoke.

"That Is Baron Brunwald's banner," Von Eikenhouser breathed in what was probably meant for no ears but his own but carried in the frozen silence. Camilla cut her eyes across to the Justicar. He started when he sensed her eyes on him.

"There was a battle here a year before your friend came, or rather there was an army sent, no word ever returned of them save for a single raving madman." As the watched the Chaos warriors began a silent charge towards the ghostly Imperials. Camilla managed to tear her eyes away from the scene. Beyond them stood a lowering hill. The side of it was pierced with a vast stone portico. PIllars of twisting rock rose twenty feet into the sky framing a funerial crypt sunk deep into the hillside.

Cyrdic watched in rapt fascination as the Chaos wraiths crashed into the pike wall of the Imperial spectars, huge Chosen hacking apart southern armor with weapons he could only guess were enchanted with foul magics from beyond the wastes. The pikemen made a good accounting for themselves, shifting ranks and keeping their distance. Many of the northmen were spitted on the pikes, and the cannon battery silently belched into the air, the greenish smoke wafting from it so very real.

"Cyrdic," Camilla whispered, grabbing his attention with a shake. The Ostlander turned, reluctantly looking away from the battle to see the hill that stood so very close to their rise. The stone column that loomed over the wooden structure... "That has to be it." He whispered. He knew of no barrows within the northern Wastelands.

"Let's get this over with." The Justicar said, pushing past Cyrdic brazenly and stomping down their small rise, the snow crunching beneath his feet audibly. Cyrdic could clearly tell this whole trek unnerved him, and the Ostlander found couldn't blame him. However they needed to be smart about this.

"Hold." Cyrdic ordered, his hand up to halt the Justicar. Thaddeus Von Eikenhouser shot the ex-sergeant a look. "I will not. We're here for your friend. If we can't find him at the entrance to this thrice damned tomb, we're leaving and a warrant will be put out for his execution should he be found again. I made no vow to enter the tomb."

"No one told you to come." Cyrdic growled.

"I was not-!" The Justicar snapped back, or tried to before a low cracking beneath their feet interrupted him. Suddenly, the two men felt weightless, and darkness swallowed them up, followed by a hillside of snow. Camilla would suddenly hear further cracking approaching her position not a pace away, and the ground giving way. It was a short drop, but a hard one. The tilean courtesan landed on something a bit softer than granite. In the moonlight that filtered in, she would see she had landed on Cyrdic's chest.

"Sigmar damn this place!" The Justicar cursed, rising from the snow and beating the wet and the debris off of him. Cyrdic sat up, giving a nod to Camilla. Both of them rose and did likewise, though the Ostlander seemed to stiffen. His sword pulsed with a wild energy. He had not felt it so strongly since Middenheim, when he had been within the vicinity of such a vast amount of warpstone that Camilla had collapsed. The memory and the howling of the sword sobered him from his fall, and he was as keen as a knife's edge once more.

"Does anyone have a torch?" Thaddeus asked.

As Camilla fished in her pack for one, Cyrdic could see the room they were in quite clearly. It was a dark catacomb, with two skeletons having been hung by their necks still swaying upon the eastern edge of the room. Behind the fallen hillside and the companions, stood an elaborate throne upon a curious three sided dias that curled upwards. In fact, the entirety of the architecture felt wrong. The throne was clean but unnatural, the back of it ended at a razor point and its arms were curved in disturbing fashions, the end of each held orbs that glowed a murky purple that burned the retina to gaze upon. The sign of the Crow was at the center of its back, and the bottom was clad with what Cyrdic knew to be mammoth furs.

For once, he agreed with Thaddeus. "Let's get this over with."
@Penny

Camilla held the torch high so that it illuminated the strange throne. The flickering torch light woke disconcerting flashes in the purplish orbs, like heat lightning above the plains of Atranto in the summertime. Instinctively she looked up to the collapsed ceiling to see if it might be possible to climb out. Terror froze her for a moment.

“Cydric..” she breathed. The mercenary turned to regard her as she lifted the torch towards the ceiling. Or the lack of one. The roof of the catacomb and the entire hillside was gone, replaced by a semitransucent ghost of its present form. Instead the sky winked with wan alien looking stars. A vast plain of ice spread out before them. Somehow Camilla knew she as looking at the entrance to the tomb as it had appared thousands of years ago. The throne still seemed real, it shone with a sharpness that was unpleasant to the mind.

In a moment of searing clarity Camilla saw the throne being forged. A great Chaos warrior lay on a beir of bones. A pair of what looked strangely like dwarves but twisted and wrong stood over him. They raised vast hammers and bought them down in blows that could have shattered stone. The helmet split and something dark and nameless rushed from within. One of the dwarf things reached into the helmet with a ring studded hand and withdrew two bloody but otherwise human eyeball. Camilla’s stomach twisted and she would have vomited if her body hadn’t been frozen between one moment and the next. Desperately she willed her heart to beat or eyes to blink, anything at all to prove she was alive.

The dwarf thing began to chant in some foul language that sounded like rocks screaming. The darkness which had escaped the helmet rushed back into the bloody eyes, congealing around them like nacre around a sangrain in the formation of a pearl. A moment, a millenia, later the dwarf held two glowing purple orbs. Behind him his companions hammer rose and fell with the rhythm of the moons wheeling in the sky. The body of the chaos warrior was hammered blow by blow into the shape of the throne, black iron running like water against the hammer.

Reality snapped back into focus and Camilla felt her pulse thunder in her temple like a distant but immense drum.

“It is him…” Camilla breathed but before she could clarify to the confused men beside her a horrifyingly familiar skittering came from on of the side passage. Camilla snatched her rapier free a moment before a horde of grotesque rat creatures burst from the subterranean tunnel, preceded by the miasimic tide of musk and sweat. The stink of the skaven as unforgettable. There must have been fifty of them, dressed in tattered mockeries of clothing, clutching rusty kines and improvised spears. Chisel like fangs dripped foetid spit as leather and steel rasped over fur and flesh.

The skaven were not focused on them. From a tunnel opposite the skaven a massie figure in black and bronze arm strode into the room. The baroque steel giant was covered in twisting runes which seered the eyes and carried a sword of blue crystal which must have been as tall as Camilla herself. Wordlessly the giant hewed into the throng, sending a spray of dark blood gouting onto the wall behind the throne. The stink of the horde intensified as they hurled themselves onto the chaos champion stabbing and cutting and raising a shower of sparks from the demon forged armor.

@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic's lips parted as reality shimmered and shaped before his eyes. What occurred was a hellish ritual he felt instinctively repulsed by. A ritual of chaos over the course of time immemorial. Briefly a mental recollection sparked in his mind. Something that Thraggi had mentioned on one of their adventures. Uzkul-Dhrazh-Zharr he had said on one of their drinking binges. The Chaos Dwarfs.

Cloven hoofed and horned, muttering a language archaic yet fouler than rot. He felt it a mercy that the vision faded, the corruption sending a shiver up his spine to his traditional, Imperial sensibilities. The sight of the Chosen of Chaos before him, while daunting, was far more familiar. It was something he could kill. And he was all too eager. However, wading through a sea of Skaven was not something he had expected. If he hadn't caught their stench he would have been overwhelmed. Even if they simply attacked what he knew to be Theodric the Cursed, their scrabbling claws rent at his traveling cloak and shield in order to get at the Champion.

For his part, Thaddeus Von Eikenhouser was stricken by the sheer weight of his sanity from the warp corruption that overwhelmed him. He was not a weak man, but he was not so used to fighting the unbridaled servants of Chaos like the other two. He waved his sword wildly to cut across the ratmen whom not moments ago he believed to be myth. Cyrdic tried to call to him, but he was wild eyed and unresponsive.

"Why do you disturb me?" The Champion asked, his voice echoing in their minds, perfectly discernible even above the chittering and screeches. For some strange reason, Cyrdic could tell he was speaking directly to he and Camilla. "The thread of your fates do not end with me. Slaanesh shall thirst upon you for eternity/Khorne has blood and brass in your future." The two distinct prophecies were imparted between Camilla and Cyrdic, respectively.

Cyrdic clove through Skaven left and right, splitting skulls and shattering spines with his large, runic blade. It howled with a savagery. "Where is Karl!?" Cyrdic demanded of the ruinous champion. "Tell me you thrice poxed bastard!"

The situation was quickly devolving into madness. A Skaven died every other second, and yet there were still dozens. Theodric of Tzeentch glowed with power, moving as inexorable as the ending of time. Cyrdic cut his way toward him, too enraged to know fear, as Thaddeus was cut and bitten while he waved his large sword.

"He is apart of fate, as all are." Theodric the Ruinous declared. "Izch ackna al khul Tzeentch."

The phrase was whispered across the room as if from a thousand voices chanting. As the Skaven were sheared through by one last sweep of his massive sword, a figure rose from among the bodies. Cloaked and hooded. A torque of bronze and silver glinted with witch-light. "Servants of the Horned Rat cannot gain the power that is here. It is only through submission to the Changer that one gains sight beyond sight."

The voice was altered and snake-like, but familiar. Cyrdic stopped midswing, seeing into the hood, his friend.
@Penny

Camilla’s mind went blank as the psychic prophecy echoed in her mind. The name of the Prince of Pleasure had long had an unreasonable effect on her she staggered against Cydric as her teeth clacked together. Contact with the big swordsman seemed to disperse the iron shot mist of a moment before and she was once again in control of her faculties. There was no way for her to know why the name affected her so. It wasn’t the sort of thing one mentioned to a witchhunter or a priest after all.

A black furred skaven in armor of rusted steel, shoved a spear at her. Twisting her lithe body she pushed the tip away with the light blade of her rapier and then slashed a riposted at the things head. The beast jerked its head back but as fractionaly to slow the razor sharp tip slashed through the things snout at eye level in a spray of blood and less identifiable fluids. The big rat let out a chittering scream and dropped its halberd, staggering backwards. Camilla followed it with a neat thrust between neck and collarbone.

Across the hall she saw the Justicar go down in a pile of thrashing tails and clacking teeth. An impressive pile of severed arms and heads lay about him. With flick of her wrist she sent her dagger flying across the room and into the eye of one of the creatures as it raised a rusty shortsword for the deathblow. She sprang across the room in three long strides, thrusting with the weight of her body into the back of a patchy furred skaven with no weapon save its teeth and claws. She stamped down had on the tail of another and punched the hilt of her fencing blade into its face as it whirled to confront is tormener sending it sprawling with a crack of breaking facial bone. With her free hand she gripped the hilt of her dagger and twisted ripping it from the eye socket of her earlier victim in time to catch a clumsy sword thrust. Pivoting her body in a tight arc she slammed her elbow back into the rats face and then reversed her grip to bury it in the back of its neck while it staggered. Von Eikenhausen lay on the floor covered in blood that might or might not be his own. Though his face was torn open to the skull and his left cheek as entirely torn away, Thaddeus still gripped a skaven by the throat. Huge muscles bulged and the terrified creature scrabbled at the imperial with its claws tearing fresh furrows in his skin. With a roar of effort Thaddeus closed his hand convulsively and the creatures throat gave with a crunch of cartridge that as audible even over the din of battle.

Silence fell over th ancient hall. If any of the skaven were still alive they were making certain to pretend otherwise. The eerie figure that rose from the corpses spoke some garbled words. Thaddeus gurgled something that might have been ‘traitor’ before subsiding into a groaning paroxysm.

“Here we three stand once more, as the Changer has ordained,” the cloaked figure said graneligently.

“And on the eve of the invasion we have laboured so long to engineer, it is fate my friends,” the cowled speaker enthused. Camilla’s hand slipped to her belt and she began to ease one of her dueling pistols free of her arming belt.

“I am Gunter Hessman no longer,” the armored giant boomed, his voice somehow echoing inside of her mind as well as within the cavern.

“They told me I would see you again old friend,” the cowled figure chuckled.

“I AM THEDORIC!” the thing boomed, as though the fact were as primal and indisputable as a mountain.
@POOHEAD189

A conviction wracked Cyrdic, and an anger of fiery proportions filled his very soul. It was stark contrast to Camilla's reaction to the prophetic echoes of what had once been an encased Gunter. The sight of his friend Karl, now hideously mutated. His smile impossibly wide, with teeth not unlike the Skaven, glinting in the moonlight. It drove him to a state he couldn't quite control, so full of emotion and rage at their quest having come to naught, and Gunter as well...

His mind was filled with an unearthly howl that drowned out any whisperings the Chaotic energies within the Tomb might use, and even to Camilla's eyes, she would see a glow of silver along the fuller of his blade. "By Ulric and Sigmar..." he said, as Camilla dispatched the last of the Skaven. His voice did not have any magical enhancement, but the sheer determination nearly matched Theodric's pronouncement in weight. "I will tear the corruption off of you, if I have to use my own two hands."

Karl giggled impishly, his cloaked form wriggling within as if his body was that of a snake, or he had acquired new limbs. Either was possible, Cyrdic realized. If he wasn't so angry and encouraged to wrath by his sentient, Ulrican blade, he would have felt a sudden disgust at the thought. But instead it only fueled him. Thaddeus croaked a breath, blood spurting out of his mouth. But somehow Cyrdic knew he would live.

"You think you can save this one's body?" the former Gunter asked rhetorically, his voice a deep booming. The pits of black within his visor suddenly glowed, and two bronze irises appeared before fading away once more. "Your dead Gods will not aid you. Even with your sword, you cannot kill me. Neither shall I kill you. You are fated to die fighting one greater than I. But I can rend your soul and present you before the followers of the Blood God to do as he wills..."

"But not your little pet," Karl slithered, moving with a paradox of sluggishness accompanied with preternatural speed, gliding over dead ratmen towards Camilla. Her pistol trained upon him. "Oh, she is far too good looking for you, Cyrdic. Does she tire of you as you fear? Perhaps I could have a taste before the he who thirsts consumes her..."

Cyrdic slashed his blade across Karl's path. Almost effortlessly, Karl dodged the blow with a dance, though he backed away from Camilla. "Stubborn as usual I see," the figure mocked, a forked tongue slithering out into the light to lick scarred, broken lips. "When will you realize your souls do not belong to you."

"Karl," Cyrdic said, shaking. "I'm sorry..."

As Karl laughed, Cyrdic lunged at him with a ferocious leap. Karl widened his smile, opening his robed sleeves to reveal where he once had hands, they were now fingers of bladed ivory. Cyrdic missed with his first swipe, and with his next thrust as well. Theodric himself strode forward, hefting his runic blade. It looked as if Theodric would flank Cyrdic and kill him. However, a loud crack sounded from behind Cyrdic, the bullet of Camilla's pistol rang out and struck Karl. Though no normal bullet could kill him, it staggered him, giving Cyrdic the time to lop off his old friend's head. He hoped by his patron Gods that Karl's soul was now saved.

Cyrdic spun, meeting Theodric in a guard, blocking the hellmetal blade with his Urlican sword. Both blades glowed in a contest of strength, one God against another. "Feel your fate crashing upon you, mortal." Theodric/Gunter laughed. "Upon the throne of Skulls, you shall be sacrificed."

Cyrdic exchanged blows with Theodric. He sidestepped a swing that would have ripped him in half. He had fought Chaos Chosen before, but even now he was still in awe at their speed in such impregnable armor. The mercenary backpedaled in a feint, then suddenly leaped and crashed his blade down onto Theodric, who blocked it without a second thought and shot his metallic fist out. Cyrdic barely gave way with a twist of his body. If he hadn't dodged, even his granite musculature would have been knocked away like so much chaff. Cyrdic did not stop however, meeting Theodric's blade again, knocking it wide and take a swing at his midsection. He managed it, but could not trade it with a similar blow and did not press with strength, so as to dodge the riposte. Theodric's blade tore off Cyrdic's armor like so much paper, leaving a gash along his abdomen. Cyrdic would not stop. He-

"Upon the throne of Skulls, you shall be sacrificed."

Sigmar's Hammer. "Camilla!" He cried, and began to press the attack. Left, up, feinting low and attacking from the left once more. His stamina enhanced by his sword. "The throne! Hack at its wooden frame! Destroy it!"
@Penny

Camilla dropped the smoking pistol and tried to dash across the chamber. The feat was easier said then done however. The floor was slick with blood an spilled intestines from the slain skaven and she nearly lost her footing when her foot came down on a severed head. Unsure how she would damage the throne she thrust her rapier back into its scabbard and tried to pick up the halberd of a slain storm vermin. The course wood twisted in her hands as she tried to pull it free. The blade was pinned beneath the body of another skaven and it took all her strength to yank the thing clear. It was heavy and unbalanced by she took a few more steps towards the throne.

With a contemptuous flick of his wrist the brazen armored chaos warrior sent a triple headed whip of queasy light flashing towards her. With a scream she tossed the halberd and tried to leap aside but it was too late. The whip curled around her waist with a snap and lifted her into the air as though the was a straw doll. The energy coiled around her like a living thing constricting and tightening with each passing moment. Her leather armor smoked and charred although the thing gave of no heat. Desperately she reached for her second dueling pistol but just as her hand brushed the but one of the whip fingers coiled around her wrist like an iron manacle.

Theodric laughed his mad laugh as Cydric redoubled his attack. Rune encrusted blade flicking the Ulrician sword aside with almost mocking easy. Pain burned from Camilla’s wrist and midsectoin as she tried to reach the pistol inspite of her bindings. It was useless. Fear and terror filled her and she began to thrash uselessly against the arcane bonds, knowing that anything she did would be too late.

With a roar like a mortally wounded bear, Thaddeus crashed across the room. Blood covered his mangled face and neck and his veins stood out like cables against his iron hard musculature. He lifted the massive greatsword above his head and bought it down like a giant driving a fencepost. The heavy Riekland steel smashed into one of the purplish crystals. The world exploded in a flash of light so bright that Camila could clearly see the outline of the Justicar even though her eyes were squeezed shut. Thing grew confusing for a moment and she found herself laying against a wall of the chamber. Dust rained from an open sky and her ears rang like Election bells.

Theodric was screaming in agony. One side of his helmet had been dished in as though struck by a warhammer and a single bronze eye blazed balefully from the undamaged portion. Of Von Eikenhausen there was no sign, though Camilla supposed the Justicar might be lying amidst the pile of bodies. The Chaos champion drove Cydric back, his pain had given him he fury of desperation and it was all the Ostlander could do to avoid being disemboweled. It was clear Cydric couldnt last much longer.

Camilla tried to rise but found her muscles wouldn’t obey her with much more than spastic twitching. The remaining purple stone still blazed forth its hateful light. With shaking fingers she pulled her remaining dueling pistol free of her belt. It was a miracle the weapons was still their given the force of the blast. It would be a further miracle if the thing still worked. Shakily, she raised the weapon towards the throne. Half of it was crumpled and warped, the sconce that held the first crystal wide and gaping as hell.

“Ranald, aid of beggars, whores and theives,” she mumbled, her hand shaking so much she was worried she would shake the priming powder from the frizzon. Theodric’s head snapped around as though alerted by the prayer his copper eye blazing with hate and his wrist pulling back, flashing with light. Camilla pulled the trigger and the pistol barked, filling the air with noise and powder smoke.
@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic's blade slammed against the hellmetal sword in a parry, and shoved it to the side with all of his immense strength. He then grabbed the black iron arm of Theodric with his free arm, gripping it in his cable-like muscles in an attempt to disarm the Chaos champion. The servant of Tzeentch pulled his own free fist back, a guantlet with embedded spikes for tearing through armor. It was aimed straight for Cyrdic's exposed face, and the Ostland man knew he was about to die.

Crack.

Cyrdic was certain that was the sound of his skull breaking, but after a moment he realized the crushing blow hadn't come. It had been the crack of a pistol shot... He opened his eyes, and saw the Chaos warrior's visor filling with an ethereal, purplish light that held as much madness as the previous visions he and Camilla had seen. Even the seams in his black plate began to glow, and Cyrdic let go of the Chosen. He stumbled back, bleeding and wheezing.

Theodric cried out in a bellow of inhuman suffering. Within moments, Theodric was gripped by an unseen force, his form taut and rigid. Slowly, he was dragged back toward the throne, his form growing softer, almost transparent. The Chosen tried to halt the force, but his body was inexorably drawn to the throne.



The pronouncement dropped atop Cyrdic's sensibilities like an anvil, breaking the last of his resolve. "Cyrdic!" he heard Camilla cough, getting to her feet. The ex-sergeant fell to his knees, catching himself on his hands. Camilla practically skidded to him and wrapped her arms around him as best as her bruised form could. Before them, Theodric's armor was now encased upon the throne, and a whisper followed.

"They come."
@Penny

Camilla tried to pull Cydric to his feet but it was beyond her ability. The rents in his armor scratched at the leather bracers and her hands were slicked with skaven blood. The illusion of the open hillside was gone as though it had never been. The winter sky was open above the cave in, though the mounded icefall was far to slumped to climb. Snow flakes swirled down into the cavern in silent reminder of the worsening night above. Steam rose from the corpses that littered the ground.

Camilla pushed herself to her feet and staggered to where Von Eikenhausen lay. The Justicar lay amidst the carnage. His body was shattered, both forearms were broken, clearly evident by the unatural angle that they splayed. The arcane discharge of the eye’s destruction had blasted his armor to scrap, shredding the front of his stomach and the top of his thighs. Blood welled lazily from a thousand small wounds, staining his trousers and shirt crimson. Incredibly the Justicar still drew breath, slow wracking gasps that grew rapidly shallower. Shakily he reached out and took her wrist.

“Justice…” the mortally wounded man managed, words distorted by his shattered jaw. The grip slackened and Thaddeus’ sighed into stillness.

“Dovremmo andarcene da qui,” she hissed. A distant chittering sound, as familiar as it was horrifying began to sound from one of the side passages. Slipping Cydric’s arm over her slender shoulder and heaved. There was no way she could have lifted Cydric unaided but the big Imperial managed to get his legs under himself, pressing his weight against his sword like a cane. The scrabble of claws and the lashing of great whips grew louder by the moment. Camilla cast a glance at the sky above, the lip of the cave in unreachablely high, and staggered towards the side passage from which Theodric had come. She could only hope the Skaven would delay long enough in the throne room to give them a head start.
@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic thanked the hammer that his sword was magically crafted, for only runic blades could be unaffected by such rough treatment. He stabbed it into the stone as he moved, his bulk and treatment would have ruined any other sword.

He and Camilla stumbled into the left hall, the only illumination guiding their way through the rustic, crudely carved passageways was broken bits of ceiling that held starlight. Apart from passing an archaic sealed ossuary every few paces, the halls were closer to barrows. Cyrdic remembered exploring some small ones not unlike this in his childhood, his early exploits giving him a sense of pride. Of course now he realized they were small and for old locals, and they were within a mile of Hasselhund. He would not dare disturb these tombs.

The hall abruptly ended, with the paths splitting left and right. On a hunch, Cyrdic went left, practically dragging Camilla with him. Dust filled the air, and though he didn't cough loudly, it echoed down the corridor. They took another right, and this hallway was nearly pitch dark before they made it to the next, which held scattered, ubiquitous light. As they turned into it, they saw a deadend, with small hole, dug at an angle at the end of the hallway. Camilla tugged him forward. "Ve can go, Cydric." She breathed.

But the sergeant saw that the hole was small, and it would require some time to climb. As she pulled on his arm again, Cyrdic held himself still. He lifted himself up to his own two feet, though it took a consieerable force of will. He could feel his body ache like it was made of scar tissue. He shook his head.

"You go." He said. He didn't even look at her to see her expression, whether angry or confused. The chittering echoed across the halls, as well as a bestial roar that shook the two mercenaries, though due to the architecture, there was no telling how close they were. But Cyrdic had just slain one of his oldest friends, and saw another fuse with an warrior of Chaos. The chaos visions he had received... he'd rather die a different way. And though he knew what he wanted to say, the words stuck in his mouth.

With a shake of his head. "Climb out, Camilla." He told her, hefting his sword as he turned to face where they had come. "Flee southwards. Go as far as you can and find somewhere you'll be happy. Just go." Cyrdic's breathing was labored. He wouldn't last a minute against a horde of the vermin. Even if he was in prime health, the chittering sounded overwhelming. He turned his head and gave her a stoic look. But his eyes glistened.
@Penny

"If you think I'm going to leave you.." Camilla demanded, her voice heating at the suggestion. Cydric grabbed her and kissed her fiercly and then shoved her towards the hole.

"Go I'll follow!" he yelled but she could taste the lie in the words. With tears stinging her eyes she stumbled towards the shaft. An alpine down draft rushing over her like a chimney. Her body resisted her efforts and she turned back again. There had to be some other way, some path they hadn't seen.

"GO!" Cydric roared in a voice that could have been heard across a battle field. With tears stinging her eyes she scrambled up the narrow shaft, cursing herself with each inch. SHe could hardly see at all by the time she pulled herself out onto the thin rind of new fallen snow. Her heart lurched in her chest and she turned to see, as she had imagined, that Cydric wasn't following.

"Climb curse you!" she yelled her voice echoing in the shaft.

"I'll never make it," came his reply filled with grim resignation. Fury like she had never known blazed in her breast.

"Climb you wooden headed northern idiot!" she screamed. It would not end this way, she would not allow it to there had to be something she could do. Desperately she looked around her, without even a notion of what she might be looking for. She was on a low hill not unlike the terrain they had covered on the way in. It was lightly forrested with pine trees, though several of those nearby were sick and dead as though poisoned by exposure to the wound in the earth. A pair of them were fallen not far from her limb brown and dead like skeletal...

Her thoughts trailed off in a sudden burst of insane hope she scrabbled across the snow and sized the nearest tree. It was taller than her but not larger than the trees northerners decorated thier homes with for mid winter. She heaved against the tree with all her might, it gave with a snap and she fell on her rump in the snow. A moment later she was on her feet dragging the tree towards the hole. Desperation and rage gave her energy she could not normally have called upon and with a Tilean curse she shoved the tree into the hole. It fell part way down and bound but she was already gone ignoring the startled shout from Cydric. THe second tree was smaller and moved easily and within moments she shoved it into the hole as well and then leaped into the air like an acrobat, bringing her weight down on the strong boughs at the bottom of the tree. The whole structure gave and she plunged into the earth at the top of an avalanche of desiccated pine needles and snapping tree limbs.

She landed with a crunch atop a pile of pine bough a few feet from Cydric. The Ostlander's face was a ricktus of horror at what she had done.

"What are you.." he began but she cut him off with a snarl.

"Shut up!" she snapped the same hot fury burning through her at the thought of Cydric sending her away while he made some self adsorbed last stand. The chittering was nearly overwhelming and she could see red eyes at the end of the passage way. Springing too her feet she pulled a flask of lamp oil from her belt and spread it across the dry pine needles. Without a second thought she pulled her pistol free and pressed it to the brown leaf matter and pulled the trigger. THe pistol barked and the spark from the pan set the oil ablaze, the dry needles igniting like naptha and illuminating the onrushing skaven. Within moments it would be a wall of flame.
'
@POOHEAD189

"You damned stubborn woman!" He roared at her, advancing toward her until his face was inches from hers. The Skaven were merely a backdrop to the scene as he glared at Camilla. What the hell did she think she was doing? He should have expected this. She'd grown as obstinate and stubborn as he was. By the hammer, he was going to make sure the death of his friends wouldn't be completed by the death of his lover and closest companion. "I'm trying to save your life! You-"

She slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Even for someone as tough as Cyrdic, it sent a stinging pain that brought him back to his senses. "Non lo provi mai più, stupido stronzo!" she yelled at him, and then slapped him again multiple times and punched him in the gut for good measure. In fact she didn't seem to want to stop until Cyrdic dropped his weapon and grabbed at her hands, the two flailing a bit before he managed to hold onto her wrists and pressed her against the wall.

While they were having their pat, the Skaven were not idle. The slaves and clan rats had halted and idly poked the now bonfire that lay between them and their prey. Skaven were cowards, first and foremost. But the vile ratmen were oftentimes more afraid of their task masters than anything, and a few of them scrambled onto the blazing tree only to be consumed by the fire. The Grey Seer at the back chittered and squeek. "RatOgre! Quick-quick!" Meanwhile...

"Stop it! Stop!" He said, and she struggled for another few moments as he held her. They were both breathing heavily, sweat beading down their faces. Cyrdic shook his head, but Camilla could see he had hope and life return to him again. There was a fire in his eyes, and he looked at her as he always did. Like he was mad for loving someone like her, but he couldn't help it and did not want to.

They couldn't really speak more when the Skaven had found a solution to their little predicament, and a Rat Ogre crushed the front ranks of clan rats and leaped over the brazier-like obstacle to land in their small enclosure. If Cyrdic had been well, he might have been able to slay it himself at great risk. But even with his second wind, their chances of survival were slim to none...
@Penny

Camilla’s heart thudded in terror as the great beast thundered across her improvised barrier. It burst from the burning pine tree trailing great tendrils of smoke. The shaggy tufts of fur coating it smouldered in stinking wispy patches. If the creature had been any more intelligent than a boulder it could have scattered the flames enough to let its smaller brethren through to finish the job but instead the wind of its passage merely fanned the flames to new and alarming heights.

There was no time to appreciate the reprieve though. A fist with knuckles the size of Reikland hams sailed over Camilla’s head and smashed into the stone wall with a spray of dust and gravel. The quarters were too tight for her rapier so she pulled her dagger from her belt and another knife from her leather boot. With a shriek she drove one of the blades into the brutes upper tight, burying it to the hilt. The ogre didn’t even slow, merely whirled around and snapped at her with a mouth full of foot long incisors.

Cydric’s sword came down in an over handed slash which sliced six inches into the cable like tendons of the thins arm and it whirled away from the Tiean courtesan. Behind her spears lurched blindly through the flames, hurled by opportunistic skaven on the other side. Gripping the edge of her cloak see fanned the flames back towards the rats and was rewarded with inhuman screams as the flames caught several who had strayed too close. The stink of skaven musk and burning fur was indescribable.

With a prayer to Myrmidia Camilla leaped onto the things back driving a knife into the corded muscle around its shoulders. The ogre roared in irritation as Camilla clung to the knives using the weapons as improvised hand holds as she rode on the ogres back. It tried to smash her against the wall but she twisted acrobatically up onto the things shoulders. Rage burned inside of her, she wasn’t going to give Cydric the satisfaction of being right about the need to flee!
@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic ducked under a spear, while giving a riposte that bit into the Rat Ogre's bicep. He did very little damage with the strike though, and the Ostlander needed to help Camilla. The Tilean had survived worse, before. But he could tell she was taking risks she shouldn't. When was she going to get it in her head he didn't underestimate her? He remembered when they were in the Drakwald and she accused him of treating her like a doll. He didn't know why. This wasn't about her!

Cyrdic wasn't a man that was in tune with his emotions. He'd been a capable sergeant and he knew how to keep morale. He also felt as if he and Camilla had an uncommonly good relationship for two people who lived the hard life of a mercenary. But sometimes he couldn't understand her and it caused dangerous things, and dammit did he have bad habits because this was one of the things he liked about her.

"Camilla, now!" Cyrdic cried, and the woman knew just what he meant. Poised upon the Rat Ogre's massive shoulders, she flourished her dagger and stabbed it into the beast's collarbone, snarling as she did so. Cyrdic knew that anger was aimed at him. They would talk about it later, and the Rat Ogre reared upwards. Cyrdic didn't hesitate, and he rushed forward like the bull that represented his province. The next moment, his runic sword ran the Rat Ogre through, two feet deep.

Camilla vaulted off the mutant as it began to spasm in pain. The male mercenary ripped his sword out of the beast, but not before it flailed and struck him with the back of its fist. Cyrdic was too tired to dodge, and the strike sent him flying into the opposite wall of the small enclosure. Like a cannon ball, he tore through the mortar that had weakened from old age, sending crumbling bricks and stone.

With a bestial bellow, the Rat Ogre fell forward and vomited blood. It gave a futile attempt to hold in its spilling entrails, but the monster weakened by the second. A shriek was heard from past the fire; the Grey Seer howling at its bodyguard being slain.
@Penny

amilla felt her hackles begin to rise as the grey seer began to chant in his wirdly warbling squeak. The burning pines sank to almost nothing giving Camilla a momentary view of the horde of panicky skaven beyond and then sprang up with redoubled vigour. The fire began to flow into the visage of a monstrous rat like face, the flames themselves taking on an oddly green tinge.

Cydrics sword had drank sorcery in the past but this was no time to take chances. With a cry Camilla flung herself at Cydric. It almost backfired as the big Ostlander was nearly twice her meager mass but he was tired and off balance. With a staggering step they fell through the opening the rat ogre had smashed in the ancient masonry. For a heart stopping moment there was the sensation of free fall and then they plunged into a torrent of icy water.

The water swept them from the meagre light of the ensorcelled fire in seconds and they were plunged into darkness so complete that it woke purple phantoms in Camilla’s eyes. She thrust herself above the water and gasped for air before the current sucked her back under again. Cydric was still close by and she caught him by what must have been a strap attached to his rent armor. A rocky mass slammed across her legs and she tried to yelp in pain, icy water filled her mouth for a terrifying instant before Cydric pulled her above the water level. She tried to curl herself into a ball as best she could weathering the occasional rocky blow in the pitch dark.

The cold itself sapped her energy, and she found herself fading into grey black haze periodically he flesh brushed against something that seemed to radiate warmth into her shivering body. The torrent grew slower, though not enough to allow movement or quiet enough to allow speech even if Camilla could have made her blue lips form words. With a shocking suddenness they burst into sunlight and the world fell away beneath them. Camilla tried to scream but no sound came from her lips as they plunged twenty feet and smashed into another body of water.

They had fallen from a waterfall Camilla realised as her eyes adjusted to the wan winter sunlight. Above her tumbled a waterfall which poured from a rent in the limestone, carrying an underground river towards the sea. A pool ringed on both sides by sandy if snow covered sand rippled beneath the thunder of the waterfall. Cydric, less hampered by the cold than she, pushed himself to his feet and half dragged half carried her to the shore, wading through the waist deep pool like a ferryman.

"Idiota," she murmured before the world narrowed into a black tunnel and then winked out.

@POOHEAD189

Dear Eloise,

Inside the letter is a few coins and a recommendation by the office of Elector Count Gausser for your employment as a midwife and lady of the court to the Baroness Von Eisenbruke. It was the best I could do under such short circumstances, but it will give you a nice place to live and a fair wage. I am sorry but Karl was dead when we found him, but his spirit is now with Sigmar. I made sure of that. I wish you the best, but Camilla and I are now in the service of the Grand Barony of Nordland. We're traveling eastward, but don't trouble yourself with worry. You know how I am. I'll be fine. Sigmar and Taal watch over you, El.

-Cyrdic

---

The Ostlander's fist buried itself into the paunch of the soldier who'd tried to touch Camilla. Fat and balding, he wheezed and fell to his knees, sweat beading on him despite the cold wind whistling past the campsite. He knew full well Camilla could have probably taken him, but Cyrdic felt like letting off some steam. They'd traveled for a week through the wilderness before hearing word of mercenaries being hired out to the local baron for Norsca's raiding season. Unfortunately, the Baron and his levied forces were now close to a fortnight late themselves, and the mercenaries were growing restless and concerned. The camp was vast, almost a forest within a forest, with at least five hundred campfires dotted within the trees and rocks of the rendezvous. Those that weren't leaving were letting their urges get the better of them, be it violent or otherwise.

As usual, Camilla had received more than a few looks from the men in the vast camp. But Cyrdic beside her and how she carried herself had kept most at a distance until the past few days. This was the third man to try and grab her, and the fourth man to try and steal some coin along with her.

After Cyrdic felled the fat one, a few jeers and cries rose from the milling crowd, and a brawl in and of itself erupted among them. The ex-sergeant was shoved by a falling man, and nearly struck in the nose from a launched fist. He knocked the body aside and ducked the blow, hammering back with his elbow. The soldier collapsed forward, and Cyrdic caught him and tossed him to the side. If the mercenaries got closer they would have trampled over Camilla and Cyrdic's breakfast, but as it were, the brawl slowly drifted to other parts of the camp. Cyrdic stood over the man he'd struck, who was just getting to his senses. He definitely had the cut of a soldier.

"Where are you from?"

"Ostermark." The man coughed, spitting blood through his mustache. "4th halberdiers."

"Ostland, of the 8th." Cyrdic replied, reaching out to help the man up. The downed soldier eyed him for a moment, before accepting the offered help and getting to his feet. Cyrdic saw him look at Camilla, and then back at Cyrdic. The Ostlander could tell he was weighing several options. Some of them violent, and others more cordial depending. Cyrdic stared at him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch.

"Sigmar knows we have enough enemies already." Cyrdic said, and he gave a nod. The man nodded back, unable to not agree with the logic.
@Penny

The atmosphere of the camp was claustrophobic. Camilla found moving around without unwanted male attention to be difficult to say the least. Under normal circumstances a camp like this would attract its share of professional prostitutes but mid winter as not the normal season for such a gathering. There were a few other women in the camp, wives or girlfriends many of whom were of an entrepreneurial bent whatever their attachments, but it wasn’t exactly meeting market demand.

She tried to keep to the tent she and Cydric had bartered for with some of their few remaining coins as best she could but boredom and the call of nature forced her to emerge occasionally. Food consisted of simple stew made with whatever was to hand but even poor rations were growing prohibitively expensive in the frozen season. Fortunately a dwarf by the name of Glecki Torbadson, a scruffy looking youth with scarcely a beard to speak of, had decided in typical dwarven fashion that ice and snow were no impediment to beer. Once every few days he drove a cart drawn by tired plow horses into the camp and sold a weak local ale by the barrel. The stuff was terrible but it made up or both the boredom and lack of nutrition as well as anything could.

“Goin’ my way sweetheart?” a scabberous looking imperial with yellowed teeth an an eyepatch asked as she headed back towards the camp. She had taken a turn to check the snares they had set in the woods and was returning with a brace of scrawny hares. Camilla sighed and pulled back her cloak to reveal one of her dueling pistols.

“Aww don’t be like that,” the man went on in a wheedling tone. He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled. A half dozen mercenaries melted out of the trees, all grinning with the same loathsome intent as the one eyed man.

“You can mayb shoot one of us, but the rest of us are going to have a nice evening,” the fellow went on conversationally.

“After that I bet we can clean the silver out of the camp renting you out.” Camilla measured the distance to the camp in her mind, a hint of fear began to enter her mind. If they really didn’t mind losing one or two of their number…

“You like bet da?!” boomed a voice that sounded like glaciers grinding.

“I bet da lytal dove feed you all your balls no problem!” Camilla turned to see a trio of Kislivites tramping out of the woods. Two of them had a stag strung to a pole though she doubted that would have stopped them from drawing their curved swords in a heartbeat. The speaker wasn’t encumbered, he had an axe and a sword at his belt and a vast recurve bow slung over his shoulder. He was a mountain of a man, two hundred and fifty pounds at least of pure muscle. His features were craggy but drawn back into a vicious grin more at home on a wolf than a man.

“We have no quarrel with you friend,” the Imperial began suddenly less sure of himself than he had been a moment before.

“Da but meybe we have karrel with you, maybe if lytal dove don’t hack of balls we finish job!” The thick kislevite accent made the words hard to understand, his tone was hopeful rather than threatening but the mercenaries were already backing away from the wicked gleam in the man’s ice blue eyes.

Camilla drew her pistol from her waist band and leveled it at the leader.

“Now now there is no cause for…” the man looked back over his shoulder to check on the uncertain support of his comrades. The men were already edging back, snow crunching under their boots. The Imperials resolve melted like butter in a blast furnace.

“This is all…” Camilla shot the fellow in the upper thigh. He screamed in agony and dropped to the snow clawing at his bloody trousers. The Kislivites booming laughter drowned out the screams and sent to other mercenaries running for the treeline.

“Dats right and if Norscan pig don’t kil you maybe Ivan Petrovich some dark night da!” All three Kislivites howled with laughter as the ringleader staggered away in a stumbling half crawl. Ivan Petrovich wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes as Camilla threw her arms around their old friend.

“Now lytal dove, let find Cytric and we eat dis fa-king deer da!”
@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic spun the two coneys he had caught above their small campfire, singing the flesh slowly. He was surprised he had found the two in his trap. A week ago, what mercenaries that decided to stay at the camp had run out of supplies and had gone to hunting or stealing for their food. He'd heard rumors a few had turned to banditry along the southern roads near the edges of Laurelorn Forest. To find these two rabbits here was a blessing from Sigmar. He knew Camilla would be overjoyed at the food.

"CEERDIK"

The Ostlander gave a start, and he turned just in time to smell vodka and sweat musk before he was engulfed in a hug by none other than Ivan Petrovich of Kislev. Behind Ivan, Camilla gave a helpless smile, and Cyrdic could see two Kislevite companions drop a bleeding deer next to the fire.

"By Ulric's balls!" Cyrdic cried in surprise.

"Ah, Ayve meesed you! We vound za leetle dov in trouble and help. Hav deer too."

"Good." Cyrdic wheezed, and hugged back despite the sudden appearance. He'd missed Ivan too, truth be told. Mustache and all. With his considerable strength Cyrdic tore out of the hug a moment later, then slapped Ivan on the back. Ivan returned the slap, jovial as ever. The two Kislevites next to Ivan were smaller men than Ivan, though they still had the size and look of formidable kossack soldiers. Cyrdic gave them an Imperial salute, and they bowed in the traditional Kislevite fashion.

"What are you doing here?" asked Cyrdic, bewildered.

"We vere on our vey to Kislev vhen we met vith the Count and his men. Zey ver in need of scouts, und it seemed like good verk. But ve were met vith trouble..." Ivan abruptly paused, and he shook his head. Cyrdic was a bit disturbed at his sudden mannerisms. If something could bring Ivan down, it must have been horrible. "What is it?"

"Za Norscans attacked and killed many Nordman soldiers. Za Count will be here soon vith vat forces are left." Ivan explained. "Nat many levt. Maybe 2 Rotas."

It took Cyrdic a moment to understand his meaning, but from what he knew of Kislevite terms, he meant five hundred men. Cyrdic's mind began to consider very quickly. He would be considered a learned man in the library of Altdorf, but he knew warfare. If 500 men was not many compared to what the Count had summoned, then this was more than a normal Norscan raid. There were maybe 400 mercenaries left in camp, compared to over twice that many a fortnight ago. And about every merc and field soldier was probably hungry or tired.

As the men trickled in, Cyrdic could see it was much worse than that. It seemed most men that had lived through the attack were heavily wounded. They began to trickle in by the dozens, with bandaged heads and rent armor, carrying their comrades that could no longer walk. Their eyes were set and hardened, as if all they thought about was moving forward inch by inch. At the center of the army was none other than Count Theodric Gausser, riding atop his fabled Griffon. The Nordlanders were a hardy folk, and even as wounded as they were, they moved. Cyrdic had heard the Nordlanders shared some blood with the Norscans from across the Sea of Claws. If the Count's name was no indication, being the same name as the ancient Norscan champion Cyrdic and Camilla had defeated less than a month ago.

Count Gausser reined his Griffon in when he spotted Ivan, and turned the beast about to approach. It was massive. A few hands taller than a horse, and one of its legs looked stronger than both Cyrdic and Ivan combined. Its beak looked as if it could pierce mail, and its claws were close to small daggers in size. Yet the Griffon's eyes had an intelligence to it, and its mane, bloodied though it was, was beautiful. Theodric Gausser sat atop it, every bit the noble his title suggested. He had glorious golden facial hair, and a face that looked as hard as iron.

"I see you've made it, herr Petrovich."

"Da, but my horse vas lost in za vighting." Ivan said, looking somewhat grim at having to relay the news. The Kislevites truly loved their steeds. His footsteps within the rocky snow were oddly placed, as all Kislevite soldiers walked with an odd gait. The Count gave a nod. "We'll see if we can fetch you a new one. Who are these? Friends of yours?"

The Count looked Cyrdic and Camilla up and down. He raised an eyebrow at Camilla, an obviously slim beauty with weapons to spare. But he spoke nothing against her. His eyes met Cyrdics, and he weighed Cyrdic as if he didn't know whether to conscript him or fight him for some slight Cyrdic could not guess.

"Zey are olt friends. Zey kno var as I do. You will be happy zey are here."

"You a soldier?" The Count asked Cyrdic.

The Ostlander nodded. "Cyrdic Becker. I served in Ostland as a swordsman and halberdier. I spent two campaigns on your shores. Four and six years ago."

"Becker you say?" The Count echoed, and then he gave a grim laugh that even a Sylvanian count couldn't match in ferociousness. "And that means this one here is Camilla, yes?" Cyrdic and Camilla shared looked, as the Count continued. "Same names and an Ulrican sword, it must be you. I heard you beat your Baron in single combat and saved old Boris Todbringer from a right scandal. It's good to meet you both. If you're as formidable as I've heard, I'll see to it you're both set in charge of a regiment if I can get this rabble back into fighting shape. Damned if the Norscans did not attack off season. Half my troops cannot be deployed and I was sent this paltry force to face them."
@Penny

Camilla and Cydric spent the afternoon with the count and his surviving captains. A tent was stuck from the little surviving bagage to serve as housing for the count and his retainers. She couldn’t hear all of the whispered conversations but it was clear the butcher's bill was fearfully high. The grim mood was underscored by the groaning of the wounded and the curses of the barber surgeons as they plied their bloody trade.The coun’ts retinue included a single priest of morr and the acolyte had a haggard and exhausted look the few times Camilla saw him.

Most of the discussion revolved around what the new strategy would be. The consensus among the captains was that they should fall back to Salzenmund and preserve what was left of the force in the formidable defences there. The Count steadfastly refused arguing that to do so was to abandon his people to the reavers and that more tribesmen would flock to the banners of the invaders as word of their success spread. Despite this conviction the Count could offer little in the way of practical suggestion.

For her part Camilla watched the map and tried to fit the information together in her mind. Something tugged at the corners of her mind and she frowned trying to find the thread that would pull the dissociated ideas together. Cydric handed her a bowl of thick venison stew which she drank greedily nearly burning herself in her haste to satiate the hunger that had been growing this past few days.

“My Count, I appreicate your zeal we simply cannot risk it, the winds of war may…”

“Wait!” Camilla interjected the bowl paused halfway to her lips. All eyes in the sparsely furnished tent swiviled to face her. Most were dismissive and some were openly contemptuous. The count, eager for anything that might support his own desire arched an eyebrow at the Tilean.

“Venti…” she mused in Tilean, setting the wooden bowl down beside Cydric and sashaying her way over to the map on the improvised table. She tapped a finger to a small notation on the map a few miles from the sea.

“What is this place?” she demanded. There was a long silence before the count glared.

“Well answer her damn your eyes,” Gaussen snapped, his patience with a seemingly impossible task evidently well worn. One of the younger officers, an artilleryman judging by the powderburns which pocked his hands, stepped close and peered down at the faded leather map.

“It is Kronsdtat..mmm.. My lady,” he said stumbling over what to address her. Camila placed both hands on her hips with some asperity.

“I can read,” she informed the man tartly and the young canonner blushed at the uninteded insult he had given.

“Uh.. of course… what I meant to say is that it is a small town far enough from the coast for folk to flee too when raiders are sighted,” the man expanded. The coast of Nordland was littered with such settlements. Not an obstacle to raiders really but enough of a deterrent to dissuade every roving captain from trying his luck.

“This is preposterous we cant defend Kronsdtat or any other such place!” one of the more seasoned officer objected, earning a murmur of approval from his fellows.

“My Count I appreciate that these mercenaries have helped…” the objection was cut off by a thunderous belch which would have shaken the slate if they had been inside. Ivan Petrovich stood up and set his empty ale mug down. He glanced around the shocked silence with the kind of calm that usually preceded a berserker rage.

“We Listden to vat da Laydee hast to say da?” he said pleasantly, his eyes cowing the murmuring crowd. Camila nodded her thanks growing excited as a plan began to coalesce in her mind. She caught Cydric’s eye and saw the glimmer of understanding beginning to kindle there. The veterans approval was enough to spur her own.

“What will the Norscan’s do if we go to Kronsdtat?” she asked. There was a moments silence that was broken by the count himself.

“They will follow us there, half of them are blood cultists more interested in slaughter than plunder and the other half are too smart to miss the chance to wipe out what is left of my force.” The Count was polite enough, interested even though he clearly struggled to see what point she was making. Camilla snapped her fingers.

“Yes but HOW will they follow us?” she pressed. The cannoneer tapped a finger to a large inlet maked as Windbighter’s Bay, the closest such inlet to Kronsdtat.

“They will sail their ships into the bay and march overland to the town.” Camila smiled triumphantly.

“And what will they do if, while they are attacking the town, a small group of mercenaries slips in and sets their ships on fire?” she asked directing a sweet smile at those who had been detractors of the plan. The Count stood suddenly straigher, his eyes very bright as he looked at the map.

“By the Hammer,” the Count breathed, “They’ll run for the ships, try to save their only way home. Then we can sally and catch them between two forces.” The Count seemed a new man afire with purpose and possibility.

“Fetch ink and paper, it will take some doing but by Sigmar and Taal we will crush their balls like chestnuts! Begging the ladys pardon.”