"Manling, you need to get yer wits about ye!" Skaldi declared, shaking Cyrdic with a rough, Dwarfish grip. But the Ostlander couldn't find the will. His mind left the battlefield, even as Ivan called to him that the left flank needed his help. But for the moment, he was gone.

He remembered. 

He remembered when they had first met at the Baron's court. He'd been similarly attracted to her lithe, curvaceous form and her beauty as the other men. But he was intrigued by the intelligence in her eyes and the wry smile on her lips. He remembered when his conscience overtook his sense of duty when he smuggled her out, questioning himself the entire way on betraying his liege. He recalled the first few awkward nights they spent in the woods, where he could barely understand her even when she spoke his language. He remembered finding out she had a penchant for getting them into mortal danger, and to his horror he actually looked forward to such danger as long as it was with her. He remembered her at the court of Boris Todbringer, both fighting for their lives and her delight at Cyrdic's speechless expression at her courtly attire. And he recalled when he thought she was dying, and he realized he had fallen in love with her. 

He remembered every adventure from then until now, and he decide it would not end this way. 

The images had flashed through his mind for only a moment, but it brought back a resolve. His sword had been growling in his consciousness the entire battle, but its howl now filled his senses, and the runic sword glowed visibly. The Ostland sergeant stood to his full height, and gave Skaldi and Ivan a reassuring nod. They both grinned. 

"I'm khaming vith you." Ivan said, the loss of his men not keeping him from going back for the little dove. Skaldi spat on the ground and said the same. "Stay close," Cyrdic said. He raised his sword, glowing like a beacon. The closer mutants shuddered.

"Pikeman, lower and advance!" Cyrdic roared Around him, the reserve pikemen advanced and provided a wall of bristling polearms for their allies to retreat behind. Norscans cut down a few swordsmen that tried to flee, but the rest made it and reformed. The Greatswords were thinning in numbers, but they paid for their lives dearly in barbarian souls. Gristle and blood spewing from severed limbs and cuts that opened chest cavities, just as the Greatsword's helms were rent by Norscan axeman. 

"Crossbows and Handgunners!" He cried, and the order was echoed across the line. "Reload!" There was almost a lull in the battlefield as Cyrdic counted to 8, the amount of time it took a basic handgunner to reload, before he roared. "Fire!" The air was split with shot and quarrels, hammering into the Chaos line. A few beastmen that had managed to tag along with the raiders was riddled with missiles and killed along with their front line. "Pikemen thrust! Swordsmen! ...Charge! Greatswords with me!" 

As the army followed his orders, there was a resurgence in the Imperial army's initiative, and slowly the Chaos advance was ground to a halt and even pushed back slightly. Cyrdic and his Greatswords, fifty men, hacked and cut through the throng of enemies with Ivan and his two Kislevites in tow, along with Skaldi. Within minutes, they burst out of the battle and towards the flanks, where the Imperial pistoliers and knights fought furiously and desperately against enlarged warhounds. Even fifty Greatswords was not a significant force against such beasts, but catching them by surprise and stuck in a melee was a different story. 

As the hounds fed upon the corpses of horses and men, they were beheaded and cut apart by the flanking Greatswords that barreled into their midst. Cyrdic dodged a leaping beast and thrust his sword down the throat of another advancing hound. He held his Norscan shield up to block the next one, its claws scraping along the shield as Cyrdic withdrew his sword. His arm muscles tightened, and with immense strength, he shoved the beast back with his shield and then hacked off its front left leg, before cutting at its thick neck thrice to behead it. 

The pistols and lances of the cavalry, along with the Greatsword's attack had reduced the warhounds significantly, and the whimpering beasts fled into the woods. Cheers arose at the sight. As Cyrdic cleaned his blade, a Knight rode up to him, recognizing the Ostland mercenary as one of the Commanders the Count had promoted. 

"Well fought, herr Cyrdic," he said, sticking his bloodied lance into the ground and raising his helmet. He had a severe look about him, and he sported a muttonchop beard. "My thanks. But the battle is not over yet." 

"I'm going to make sure the Longboats are burned." Cyrdic half-lied, breathing heavily and wiping his brow. A change of clothes would be preferable at the moment. Sweat in snow meant death often enough, but the noon sun would be up soon. He hoped it would be enough. "I need you to wheel round and flank the bastards from Kronstad. The army needs a flanking attack. The Greatswords will join you." 

"What!?" The Knight balked, wondering if the Count had ordered Cyrdic to relay him such a message or if the man was deserting. No, he couldn't be fleeing. He just saw the Ostlander charge through blasted Norscans and cut down mutated warhounds. If he had wanted to desert, he wouldn't have helped the Cavalry. After a moment to consider, he also realized they did have the perfect opportunity to perform a hammer and anvil strategy maneuver with their Cavalry. "Very well." 

"I need two horses." Cyrdic said, as he and Skaldi were without and he intended to make it to the shore with all haste. Ivan and his two friends were now trodding over, sabres slaked with blood.

"Five." Someone corrected, and a Greatsword Cyrdic knew as Olaf stepped forward, flanked by two others named Otto and Konrad. "We go with you." Cyrdic was a bit touched, for the Greatsword must have known what he was getting himself into.

"Done." the Knight said, calling over the steeds. "Sigmar knows we have spares now. So many good men have died today."
[hr] 

Ulkjar's twin swords cut men in half and sent them screaming to their false Gods. The Warrior reveled in the bloodshed and butchered whatever man challenged him. But at the edge of his mind, he knew the one he sought was here. And when he saw the sword rise above the battle, he knew it was him. The Sword of Ulric...he remembered it from the visions. The man holding it was one of the two he had been looking for. One of the few his master's sought. The Ostlander would not get away from Ulkjar's sight, even if he rode to the very southern tip of Lustria. 
[@Penny]