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]