Camilla gave Cydric a wink and a smile as they were whisked through the gothic architecture of the palace. Unlike the Empire, where a degree of sophistication and the widespread use of gunpowder had turned palaces into something more on the lines of fortified manors, the Kislevite castle was built for defense first and lived in only as an afterthought. Although the walls were hung with rich tapestries, there was no disguising the numerous blind turns, sally ports and chokepoints which would make taking the citadel room by room a bloody business. Camilla didn’t doubt their were murder holes and other defenses that she didn’t recognise.

In Tilea sieges were rare. Few mercenaries, who made up the majority of Tilean armies, were willing to take on such long contracts and few captains wanted to watch their men dwindle away to disease and disorder. Paying for men to sit around wasn’t good business particularly when those men were just as likely to strike a new contract with the besieged and march off to attack their previous employers. Worse still if your mercenaries were off besieging another city, your other rivals, and all Tilean city states were rivals, were liable to seize on the moment to attack you. Other City States might attack the besieger simply to prevent them from gaining an advantage.

For all the brutal austerity of the palace, the throne room certainly had a barbaric splendour. Great fireplaces carved to resemble great stone gargoyles flanked either side of an immense hall. Dozens of pillars, each engraved with images of either history or myth, it was hard to tell in Kislev, reached towards the massive vaulted ceiling. Decorative bunting drooped and fluttered in the erratic breeze. The prince, a very austere looking man with grey hair at his temples sat on a throne which was raised two or three feet above the floor where dozens of nobles mingled around a great table. Although there was no shortage of food, it wasn’t quite the cornucopia Camilla had expected. Roasted geese and vegetables steamed on platters and fresh fruit was laid out as garnish. Clearly the prince was taking the prospect of the siege seriously and was using only the most perishable of fare for his feast.

As Camilla and Cydric stepped onto the floor bells began to chime. Remembering the wizard warning Camilla looked up to find the woman sitting in a corner, she was dressed in a fine ill fitting gown but her hair was frazzled as though she had run her feet through a rug to many times. The Celestial wizard met her eyes and looked immediately relieved, though she made no move to join them or speak to them.

A livered footman stepped forward and lifted a iron shod staff into the air before driving it down onto the stone floor with ceremonial precision.

“The Graf and Gravine of Estabrook,” he announced. Camilla leaned close to Cydric.

“Are those our titles? Im a grapevine?!”

Cyrdic was similarly taken aback. "My question is..." he whispered. "-is Estabrook an Imperial or Kislevite province?"

Cyrdic had traveled far, but he had not been to every corner of the Old World, yet. It sounded Imperial, so he would attempt that and hope for the best. Thankfully marriages can happen across provinces, so Camilla could use her native Tilean, or anything she would like.

A quick glance showed the room had far more variety on the guest-list than he had anticipated. There were plenty of Kislevite noblemen, in their feral furs, curved beards, and strange hats, there wives similarly adorned (bar the beards). However to his surprise, he saw three Dwarf Slayers who spoke to one another in hushed tones at the corner of the throneroom, and even more strangely, five elves of Ulthuan. A young Elf in scholar's robes, flanked by what Cyrdic theorized was his 4 household guard.

The Duke Enrik sat on his throne, trying his best to be approachable, but he still had a severe look about him. A few of the higher ranking Barons mingled about him, drinking wine and speaking in their northern tongue. Complaining and fretting, more like. A few of the taller ones that walked with the same gait as Ivan seemed more apt to silence with sudden bursts of loud boasting, ornate scimitars hanging from their belts.

Cyrdic and Camilla were suddenly greeted by an Imperial Noble and his wife, one of the few Imperials in the room. Judging by the red finery and the griffon on the emblem of the man's resplendent and obviously novelty armor, they were Reiklanders. The man was tall, nearly Cyrdic's height, though less muscled with a face framed by a well groomed mustache. The woman was a sultry blonde who seemed to disdain the fact they were so far north in all things save the wolf fur she fashionably requisitioned that lay across her delicate shoulders.

"Ah, Imperials are you? Or is Estabrook elsewhere Herr..."

"Richter." Cyrdic said, glad these two confirmed his suspicions on Estabrook being an Imperial name. "of Middenland. This is my wife, Gabriella."

They both gave slight bows to Camilla. Cyrdic nearly chortled, for the blonde did not even seem to notice either of them until she lay eyes on Camilla during the bow and suddenly blinked, her jaw slacking. If Cyrdic had to guess, she likely just realized Camilla was perhaps the only woman in the room more attractive than her. "What brings you this far north, my lord?"

"Adolf Lichter." the nobleman introduced himself. "And my wife, Elise of Talabecland. We have a few contacts within Praag, old acquaintences of my father. We were sent to negotiate and meet with them until this bloody Chaos invasion, and we find ourselves trapped here same as many I suppose. An odd thing. If only the wastes were near Tilea or Estalia, perhaps seiges would be far more pleasant." He joked. "And you, what brings you to this...fair city?"

Cyrdic opened his mouth to speak, and suddenly he smelled something. Something only someone with his keen nose would detect. It was not even an out of the ordinary smell, like the musk of beastmen or the stench of Orcs. He smelled the perfume of the room they had barely escaped alive not hours ago, in the Hussars Hooves. Someone who had attended there was in this room.
@Penny

“My father wanted my husband to familiarize himself with our … interests here,” Camilla supplied allowing the slightest catch of embarrassment to stunt the end of her sentence. It was not an uncommon practice for nobles with more family honor than coin to marry wealthy wives from the merchant class, though it wasn’t the sort of thing that one dwelt on. Being sent to check up on business interests in Kislev was a plausible excuse both for their presence and for Camilla’s obvious foreginess. It aslo made people sufficiently reluctant to press for more information.

“Ah,” Adolf said with a curt nod, his wife made a slight simper clearly relieved to have found some class superiority to the gorgeous Tilean.

“Well I dare say we will all be here to the end of the winter, even after these rabble disperse,” Adolf went on, gesturing vaguely at the battlements with his goblet of wine. Cydric frowned his nostrils flaring slightly which made Camilla uneasy. She really wished she had her sword with her but there would have been no way to excuse it at the Hussar’s Hooves nor would she have been allowed to bring it into the presence of the Duke.

“Will they disperse do you think?” Camilla asked her voice timid and concerned. She clung to Cydric’s arm as though terrified, warming to her self appointed role.

“Have no fear my dear, these walls could defy a force five times that size and to attack in winter? Madness, only to be expected from degenerate idiots,” Richter blustered. Camilla didn’t point out the fact that the snow on which the army camped had already melted, clearly whatever else they might fear, the Chaos army didn’t fear the winter.

“My husband says much the same,” Camilla went on with evident relief.

“He was with the Duke of Nordland when they defeated the Norscan raiders at the beginning of the winter,” she said, clutching Cydric proudly. Richter arched an eyebrow.

“Yes there are all sorts of stories going around about that, a desperate last stand, apparently some sell sword named Becker or Booker or some such launched a surprise attack and burned their ships,” Richter said confidentially.

“Cydric Becker!” Camilla asked her voice rising an octave in mock awe.

“I have heard he is the most handsome man in the Empire with the strength of a great wolf!” she whispered with faux giddiness. Elise rolled her eyes at such a comment.

Cyrdic never did well acting the part of a noble, at least how he saw it. He was a bit too ruddy and rough looking, even in this pompous dress. Still, he'd had to guard enough aristocrats to know their general manner of speech. It was when Camilla began to brag about him in front of them that he nearly lost his composure. "I'm surprised you're focused on him, Gabriella." Cyrdic said. "I heard he has a beautiful woman who he chased after...it wasn't for her beauty though."

Cyrdic turned to smile at Camilla, looking into her eyes. "He was in love."

"Sounds like a droll melodrama." Elise scoffed, and Adolf laughed with an arrogance that would make the Elder races in the room envious. It was fortunate, because the look 'Richter' and 'Gabriella' gave one another spoke volumes. Luckily they composed themselves quickly. "Yes, it was uh, bloody business nonetheless." Cyrdic continued. "But the Chaos filth were pushed back, just as they will be here."

"Very well spoken." Adolf commented if only to be polite. "Duke Henrik has faced such odds before, as well. I've never met a man as severe as that. Save for maybe his new regent. A cousin of his I've heard."

"Oh, Rishnekov is simply a darling, I think." Elise said, giving the first genuine look of...appeal? Happiness? Cyrdic couldn't guess. He had even heard a giggle. "A fine man if nothing else. From what I've seen he's done quite well here. Too bad he's absent tonight."

Cyrdic raised an eyebrow. "He's not here? Wouldn't the Vice Regent be at the Duke's Ball?"

"Private business, I heard." Adolf said, and the following pause had Cyrdic wanting to ask what sort of business until...

"Wait no..." Elise said, blinking as she turned around to look at the Duke. "He is here. Oh he simply glides in doesn't he?"

Standing beside the Duke was a tall man. A man that had not been there before. With a mane of dark hair, and a suit of fine wool and bears fur, colored in crimson and purple with the sign of Ursun. He spoke in the Duke's ear as a few of the other Baron's sang a song they had obviously been raised to know by heart. It was then that a scent wafted in the air. A refreshing scent that was akin to the spray of the sea.

Dietrichia, escorted by the Elves (or perhaps the other way around) approached the four humans, poised and clean in a way that had to be magical, even compared to the finery and extravagant nobility that lingered in the great hall. "Ah, herr Richter, there you are." Dietrichia said, placing a hand on Cyrdic's shoulder. "Have you met the Duke?" she asked.
@Penny

Camilla made an elegant curtsey to the Duke and his entourage. Not for the first time, she wished she had some idea what Dietricha was playing it. It had occurred to her that perhaps the wizard was simply insane, but Yantz’s steadfast, if somewhat reluctant, faith in the woman seemed at odds with that interpretation.

“Ah this is the Herr Richter I have heard so much about,” Enrik said, with a slight sardonic humor to his voice. Camilla had the feeling that the Duke knew exactly who his guests were.

“And the lovely Gabriella,” he said, taking Camilla’s hand in his own and kissing it in appropriate Imperial fashion.

“We are honored to have such guests with us tonight. May I introduce, Gilvinus, Coriliene and Indendre, not their real names Im sure but as close as we poor humans might hope to come,” the Duke went on guesturing to the immaculate elves with a wave of his hand. Once again Camilla got the sense that the Duke was mocking, though this time it was the haughty elves who were the target of his subtle humor. The elves all offered graceful bows though they were very slight, perhaps the minimum courtesy dictated. Indendre’s eyes widened slightly as he drew close to Camila, a tiny gesture, noticeable only because of the flawless calm it disturbed. To the surprise of everyone, including, apparently, his companions, the elf leaned forward and kissed her hand as the Duke had done. He pulled back eyes thoughtful and calculating.

“YOu have the look of a military man Herr Richter,” the Duke was saying, apparently oblivious to the byplay, “what is your assessment of the military threat. Need we merely wait of General Winter to win this battle for us?”
@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic would have loved to have spoken military matters, particularly with the Duke. Enrik was known for being an effective tactitian and above all, a fierce soldier. However, Cyrdic's initial attention was on the Elf that had just kissed Camilla's hand. He only afforded a glance in their direction, but his look wasn't exactly one of approval. He really needed to work on his jealousy at some point. This is why most of our Elder friends are Dwarfs, he thought to himself. Then brought his attention back to the Duke who waited expectantly.

"I have served in the Empire for many years." Cyrdic confirmed, squaring his powerful shoulders. The Mercenary could see a few of the courtly ladies gazing at him intently as he spoke, then shooting glances at Camilla. He was a bit too dense to realize he might not the only jealous person in the court. "The winter won't make it easy on them, but I believe we would be foolish to think it would do our work for us. Unless the Tzarina sees fit to aid her magics and make the winter even more harsh, I believe we must attack before they have gained sufficient strength."

"Leave the walls!?" One of the noblemen asked, aghast. One look showed Cyrdic that the man had probably never been a soldier in his life, nor had any job that his father had not offered him. A dark chuckle was heard from Rishnekov, smiling through his black goatee. "I see your strategy is not perceived as wise by some, herr Richter." He said.

"Are the heathens not in bowshot?" Gilvinus the elf asked cooly, obviously attempting to not appear haughty but still giving off that very aura. Indendre's attention was still on Camilla, though whatever he was saying was drowned out by the conversation. Even Cyrdic's hearing could only catch glimpses. Duke Enrik gave a grim smile. "No, High one. Our bows are not like yours. They are powerful, but compact for horseback riding and the like."

Cyrdic had to chuckle himself. He half expected the Elf to think the Duke would simply say their bows were not as good as the Elvish ones, but he gave a practical reason for that, that the Elf accepted gracefully. "However, you could be right, herr Richter." The Duke continued. "Perhaps attacking is of the right course?" He shared a look with Rishnekov, who raised an eyebrow and replied himself with. "You know of my opinion, my lord."

"Well perhaps you could try to convince herr Richter of what you so try to convince me of, eh?"

Rishnekov thought for a moment, hesitating as if unsure. But soon he gained a confidence that was almost menacing. "Certainly. Come herr Richer, let us speak on the Balcony where we can talk without interruption..."
@Penny

In Kislev, as in most places, war was considered business for men and so Camilla had little choice but to watch Rishnekov lead Cydric out onto one of the torch lit balconies. Her attention returned to the elf infront of her. Indendre was the first elf she had met up close and she had to admit he was striking. Elves were legendarily beautiful and this one, with his chiseled features and intense eyes, seemed to bear out the myths. His hair was longer than Imperial fashion and seemed to be so soft as to invite touch. Men often spoke of elves as effeminate or foppish but with his strong jaw and wiry muscles Indendre looked nothing if not masculine. Camilla’s practiced eye could pick out slight swordsman’s calluses on his palms and a number of very faint scars on his forearm which she doubted very much came from anything so civilized as a duel.

“You are a most interesting woman Frauline Richter,” the elf said in oddly accented Reikspiel. The tone of the syllables was perfect but the emphasis was slightly off as though a half beat ahead of where it out to have been.

“You are too kind Master Elf,” Camilla replied with a professional smile. She wasn’t entirely sure why there were elves in the Kislivite court but she knew that there was no reason whatsoever they should be taking an interest in her. Judging from the looks she was getting from the other ladies of the court, she wasn’t the only one who noticed that she seemed to be getting a special treatment.

“Indendre please, there is already more than enough formaillity for my taste,” he added with a conspiratorial smile. Camilla nodded her head.

“I have heard it said that elves find the speech of men unpleasant?” she said. The elf shrugged his shoulders in a motion that at once suggested ‘what can you do’ amusement and a disagreement with the sentiment.

“You seem to have rather a talented tongue, from Tilea I gather?” Indendre pressed. Camilla shrugged a shoulder of her own as though the point were not important. The elf made on the barest contact with her, certainly nothing inappropriate between conversation partners but she felt a slight tingle at the contact which was not unpleasant. She had the impression that the elf was searching for something, some reaction or tell, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was. What in the name of Ranald was Dietricha playing at bringing them here, they should be on their way south already, not stuck in a besieged northern waste with only a few days until the height of the winter.

“You are very beautiful for a human,” Indendre said unexpectedly. Camilla’s attention snapped to the elf and then saw the look of blankness on the faces of those near her. THe other elves were looking at Indendre as though he had lost his mind. Camilla opened her mouth to reply but her brain caught up to her a moment later. Indendre had not been speaking Reikspiel, or any language that she knew of, yet somehow she had understood. The elves dark inscrutable eyes bored into her.

“I… Im sorry I don’t understand,” she lied. Immediately the other elves relaxed though Indendre’s eyes never left her.

“My apologies, Riekspiel is not my native tongue afterall, I was merely noting that the musicians seem about to start playing, would you care to dance?”

The night was cold, colder than even Cyrdic was used to. But crisp. His senses were keen as a knife's edge, much like he often felt when he was in danger. He did not know exactly why, though the Chaos-wrought stone gargoyles mounted at various intervals of the balcony he had stepped on could have been a factor. The snow had stopped falling for now, leaving the outside an almost impenetrable void of darkness beyond the torches on the balcony.

"Leave us," Rishnekov said to the Royal Hussars who framed the doorway. They only hesitated for a moment, and then gave a curt bow before exiting into the Palace, closing the curtains behind them. Cyrdic tried not to think too much on it for his sake. He felt Rishnekov was a brave man, meeting Cyrdic alone without supervision. His voice caught the Ostlander's attention.

"So, Herr Richter, from where do you hail in the Empire?" he inquired, though his eyes were on the gem that was attached to the head of his cane, polishing it idly as he stared into it. The silence after he spoke was near deafening. The wind howled a moment later. It sounded uncomfortably similar to wailing. He tugged his furs closer to his muscled form, recalling he felt the familiar press of his dagger sheath against the side of his leg.

"Nordland."

"Truly? I heard there was an unfortunate incursion as recently as a few scant months ago."

"I was there at the battle." Cyrdic replied. He was lucky Ostlanders and Nordlanders were both terse in their wording. He doubt he could pretend to be a Reiklander unless he was speaking to someone from Cathay. "The barbarians were tough as always, but they were sent back to the realm of Chaos where they were spawned."

"Chaos is never truly defeated." the dark man replied. He spoke to Cyrdic as if he was talking to a hound that had done something ignorantly wrong. "I had thought someone from a region such as Nordland would have understood that."

"Let us not argue semantics, my lord. The Norscans were slaughtered save a paltry few, and I believe we can do the same to the force outside. They have little in the way of provisions for a long campaign, yet they continue to sit there. Would that not suggest they know help is coming?" Cyrdic reasoned. "Better to strike at them now. We need only 7,000 good Lancers and archery support from the walls and they will be routed in a day."

Rishnekov finally halted his inspection of the gem and turned to regard Cyrdic. Somehow, he felt as if a weight had landed upon his body merely by the man's look. His cloak opened with a small sway of his shoulders, and Cyrdic thought he could see a drop of red. "Herr Richter, how long have you been in Praag, may I ask?" The question was rhetorical, he could discern. "You are of noble blood, if I recall correctly. Yes? I have only been to Nordland a few times in my life, but I familiarized myself with the courts there well enough. You know, as I do, that certain politics plague those in charge and threaten to topple what we hold so dear... If Enrik were to attack tomorrow, then he would be overthrown the next day. He has more enemies than you can imagine. And if Praag was without a ruler, we would not be able to hold off what is coming."

"If it is not already here." Cyrdic replied.

"There is always evil in Praag. I suggest you come to terms with that, Herr Richter."

There was something very off, but Cyrdic could not quite understand what. He felt him needing to keep himself from baring his teeth in front of the man, though he made no move to threaten Cyrdic. "Have you eaten yet, Lord Rishnekov? Shall we call for a servant to provide some food as we speak? I had just eaten at a place of very high esteem, the Hussar's Hooves. But I could still eat a bit more." Cyrdic saw all he needed to see when Rishnekov looked at him, the barest whisper of a nameless recognition. "I always grow famished when speaking of killing Chaos worshipers."

Cyrdic flexed his hands behind his furs, gazing at Rishnekov's every move as the man regarded him.
"That is very kind of you..."
@Penny

The band struck up a tune and the couples began the dance. It was a staid Imperial tune with which Camilla was familiar from her time as lover to the Count of Ostland’s son. It seemed strange to be taken back to a time before she had met Cydric and embarked on her present life as a sellsword. It really wasn’t that long ago, perhaps a year and a half, though with all the travel they had done her sense of time was far from certain. It seemed a distant time now and it was hard to imagine that she had been that person, she had been convinced that she would only need spend a few months in the ‘court’ of Ostland before she would attract a lover who would whisk her off to Altdorf or Marienburg and house her in a palace with every comfort. It was hard to imagine that she had gone from that to working as hired help at a besieged city at the edge of the world.

“Does something amuse you,” Indendre’s cultured voice cut in on her reverie. Camilla executed the required spin and moved into the promenade, allowing the elf to lift her hand in his own.

“Lo how the mighty have fallen,” she quoted with an ironic grin. If the elf were confused by the reference he gave no sign of it, gliding through the steps of the dance with grace that was literally inhuman. It seemed strange to her that an elf would be so familiar with Imperial culture as to know a dance by heart but it would have been rude to enquire. She was receiving a number of hostile stares from the other women of the court, clearly envying her the elegant elf as a dance partner. Several of the men were already trying to appear casual in their jostling for the next dance with her.

“Why are you interested in me?” she asked the elf as they made a series of graceful turns and moved from the promenade into the waltz. The other elves were watching Indendre with unreadable expressions as he laughed lightly.

“Well because you are interesting of course,” the elf said easily, avoiding the thrust of the question with grace.

“And why is that?” she pressed, even though she knew it was pressing the bounds of propriety.

“How many famous Tilean sellswords come noblewomen do you see at this dance m’lady,” Indendre replied ironically. Camilla arched any eyebrow but didn’t miss a step of the complicated crescendo of the dance, turning against the elf with hands raised palm to palm without every quite touching. Clearly the elf recognized the pair of them though she couldn’t for the life of her imagine how. Perhaps Dietricha had told him, her eyes sought for the wizard but didn’t find the woman on a casual glance.

“That isn’t it,” she said, sensing the elf wasn’t speaking the whole truth, but before she could press the matter the song concluded with a bow from the men and a curtsey from the women. Before the note finished reverberating people swept in on them. Camilla found herself facing a young hussar who was a little more aggressive than his fellows, but Indendre, despite being besieged by the ladies of the court seemed to glide gracefully out of their reach to rejoin his fellows.
@POOHEAD189

The two men stared at one another, their senses on a knife's edge. If this was a normal circumstance, Cyrdic would be wary but confindent that he could overpower the man. But his Ulric honed instincts made him realize the way he moved, the easy grace in which he smiled, the controlled grip of the man's hand. He was far more dangerous than he appeared. He seemed to be studying Cyrdic as well, though the Ostlander could tell he seemed far too at ease for what was about to occur.

Maybe if Cyrdic could head inside and beat him to the party. No, that wouldn't work. Perhaps if he could-

The music started.

They looked at one another one more time, and then moved. Cyrdic and Rishnekov stepped forward simultaneously. Cyrdic had the feeling that the man wouldn't fall for an easy punch, so he moved forward with his weight but kept his guard up, feinting high then kneeing low. Somehow with a serpent-like grace, the dark man knocked aside Cyrdic's leg with a mere sweep of his hand, his other hand shooting forward faster than the eye could see, grabbing Cyrdic's shoulder. Sigmar he was strong!

The mercenary pushed forward, grabbing the expensive cloak of his adversary and pulling upwards to lift him off the ground, though Rishnekov snarled and slapped Cyrdic so hard across the face, he dropped him and stumbled backward. It was only on instinct that he punched forward, somehow landing a solid blow on Rishnekov's abdomen, though it seemed to faze the man little. As they traded punches, Camilla and Indendre were the object of the court's eye, the music echoing off the chambers as they watched the two dance. Outside, Cyrdic felt nail-like claws puncture his skin beneath his furs. He only just barely caught the wrist, muscling the hand out of his lower stomach before he was eviscerated.

"What the hell are you?" Cyrdic growled.

"You're strong for a human." Rishnekov replied back venomously. "Even stronger than you appear." As if he was savoring the moment of his triumph, Rishnekov opened his mouth to reveal predatory fangs. Horrible realization flooded Cyrdic, and the reason he was fighting an uphill battle became frighteningly clear. They found themselves grappling in a contest of strength. Wolfish ferocity against Unholy might as they each tried to break the other.

Slowly, all too slowly, Rishnekov's unlimited stamina began to win. Cyrdic felt his grip on the Vampire's wrists slipping, and even the strength Ulric had granted him was waning in the face of this monster's will to feed. The dark regent opened his mouth once more, fangs protruding as his face inched toward's Cyrdic's exposed neck. Until Cyrdic felt the warmth of one of the balcony brazier's behind him. He did what Rishnekov did not expect, buckling under the force and using his weight against him, going under and then pressing up with his massive shoulders, sending Rishnekov end over end to fall into the flame.

Rishnekov shrieked, his skin instantly catching fire as if he was laced with black powder, his dark suit lighting up in a parody of oil on water. Cyrdic did not have time, he grabbed the Vampire's kicking feet and pushed them upward, sending him falling to a fire death into the darkness below. Behind Cyrdic the curtains opened a moment later, and the Servant walked out with drinks. "Herr Reiner I..." he began, looking about. "Where is Regent Rishnekov?"

"He went back inside." Cyrdic said, trying not to appear too out of breath, holding a hand on his disheveled mane of hair. "Could you fetch my wife?"
@Penny

The dance was just ending and another crowd of would be partners was jostling for position when a servant, very politely, but very forcefully pushed his way to the front of the group.

“Gravina, your husband requests your company on the balcony,” the servant said with the satisfaction of one whos station allows him to ride roughshod over the group of other wise important dancers. Camilla nodded and stepped clear of the pack heading for the balcony where she had seen Cydric and the Regent repair for there conversation.

With a suddenness that made her jump iron strong fingers grabbed her wrist, squeezing with a painful strength. Dietricha’s eyes were wide and paniced though Camilla could see no cause for such alarm.

“I didn’t see this!” she hissed in a whisper sharp enough to cut glass.

“I didn’t see this!” the wizard repeated as though it were the most important piece of information in the world. Camilla pried her fingers free with some difficultly. It was easily the most animated she had seen the wizard in their short aquaintence.

“Calm down, didn’t see what?” she pressed, half guiding, half dragging the other woman behind one of the large carven columns.

“He was supposed to die!” Dietricha all but wailed. Camilla felt her blood run cold.

“How was supposed to die? Cydric?” Camilla’s own voice began to climb as Dietricha’s panic played upon her own fear for Cydric. Dietricha clasped her hands to her face.

“The architecht! The architect!” she all but sobbed and then turned and fled without another word, leaving a trail of confused party goers as she fled and trailing blue silk from her dress. Camilla hurried to the balcony where she found Cydric. His eyes were wide and his breath rapid, she could see his muscles clenching and unclenching.

“Have you been in a fight?” she asked, partially startled and partially relieved to find him alright after Dietricha’s theatrics. For the hundredth time her hand went to her belt where her sword would normally have hung only to come away empty.

“What happened to Rishnekov?” she asked looking around for the reagent. There didn’t seem to be any other obvious way to leave the balcony.

“I may have set him on fire and thrown him from the castle,” Cydric said leaning forward and placing his palms on his thighs to catch his breath. It took her a moment to realise he wasn’t joking and then they heard it. A scream of rage and pain made by no human thing somewhere far below them, the sound dopplered away faster than a horse should have been able to move.

“What in Ranalds name is…”

Alarm horns began to sound on the walls drawing their attentions to the east. A score of burning fireballs rose in graceful ballistic arcs before plunging down onto the walls and into the city. Smoke began to rise immediately and the screams of wounded men sounded faint on the wind. It seemed that the siege had officially begun.

@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic reached for his sword just like Camilla, and they both looked at one another and cursed. "We need to find the others at the Inn." Cyrdic said, taking charge and thinking outloud. "Get our swords and make our way to the walls."

"No! You have to kill him." Dietrichia declared, grabbing Cyrdic by his furs and doing her best to shake him, though she was about as skinny as Camilla and less athletic so she might as well have been attempting to shake an Oak. "It is paramount! The great eye requires him to live." She seemed thoroughly convinced in Camilla and Cyrdic's ability to do this at the moment.

"How in Ulric's name do you plan on us doing that? And why does it matter, we're under attack." Even now Cyrdic could hear the commotion in the inner hall. No doubt Enrik was now sending his nobles to collect their resources and soldiers to bolster the defenses of the walls. The greater Chaos reinforcements must have made it to the city under cover of dark and began to attack immediately. Cyrdic could only imagine the horrors of what lay out there.

"You harmed him more than you know." She said, her surety compelling belief. "Fire is a Vampire's bane. He could devour the blood of every citizen of Praag and he would still be scarred. I will transport you to him, or where I know he is to go. You must hurry! Here, here," he bade them come over to the balcony and reached into her bodice, producing a vial of unknown powder and pouring it in a star-like pattern along the lined stone of the balcony.

"Forse se potessi evocare un pugnale!" Camilla whispered acidly, and stepped gracefully into the pattern. Cyrdic squared his jaw and stepped into it as well. When the sorceress finished, she began to chant, her words flowing out of her lips as if they were being pulled out by an unknown strength, and the air around the star became opaque with a mystical abstract quality that Cyrdic had a hard time describing. It was as if he was looking out of the window of a different reality. There was a tingling shimmer that enveloped both of them, and in a flash of light that scorched the stone, Cyrdic and Camilla found themselves on the walls.

Not in the heat of battle, however. There was no fire or soldiers. Here it was dark and menacing, the parapets like silent guards themselves, lined up to defend in case of attack amid the chilled night air. But no sign of Rishnekov yet either...yet.

@Penny

“Well we might have some difficulty explaining that if we are ever invited back to the palace,” Camilla said, her breath steaming in the frigid air. Their cloaks were back in the castle the icy northern air bit into their skin.

“Well that and the fact that I apparently killed the Regent,” Cydric muttered. Off in the distance the clamor of battle sounded. The sky was lit with fire as flaming missiles rained down upon the far wall.

“I take it a little more killing is required?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow. Cydric quickly filled her in and Camilla’s blood chilled further even than the temperature required. They had encountered a vampire a few months ago in Marienburg and barely escaped with their lives. There wasn’t much lore about Vampires beyond peasant superstitious but from what Camilla had learned since the fiend they had barely defeated had been one of the weaker varieties.

“We should demand our fees are doubled,,” Camilla muttered as they started walking down the parapet, one direction seeming as good as another.

“We aren’t getting paid at all,” Cydric pointed out.

“In that case, tripled,” Camilla amended, winning a chuckled from Cydric. Suddenly something seemed to tug as her and she froze slipping her hands into her pockets and drawing forth two small concealed knives, one held foregrip, the other reversed. Cydric, long accustomed to working with her paused also. With a curious sense of deja vu she reached a hand forward to one of the barrels that held arrows and torches for defenders. As was the kislivite custom this one was covered with oiled canvas, meant to keep the fetching dry in the frequent inclement weather. She tugged the canvas aside to reveal Cydric’s wolf pommeled bastard sword and her own slender elven weapon. The two swords were bound together with a piece of rough twine and a crudely lettered note that read:

Your Welcome,
Yantz.

“It should be you’re welcome,” Camilla commented after a moments stunned silence.

“Just what in Ranalds name..” With shocking suddenness, the darkness seemed to boil and a figure sprang from pure shadow sending the barrel and the swords flying. The horribly burned corpse thing screamed, baring fangs the size of paring knives in bestial hate. Half of the things skull was revealed under the merest hint of burned flesh and it's fine clothing was charred and filthy with greasy ash. Great red rents appeared in the blackened things skin as it slashed down at her with scythe like talons. Camilla twisted and caught the blow between the crossed blades of her daggers but the impact pitched her into the air. She twisted into an acrobats cartwheel and landed cat swift on her feet, arms stung by the force of the blow. Cydric dived for his sword but the creature was on him before his hand could touch the hilt of the weapon, the tumbling melee sent both weapons clattering to the flagstones below.
@POOHEAD189

Cyrdic was often too amazed at Camilla's grace and acrobatic agility, and it served her well here. He could instead focus on himself and he just barely kept the charred creature that had once been the regent from ripping his stomach open, both of them ending up in a pile of snow on the wall. Cyrdic was tired, but he had a frenzied strength to his limbs. Even damaged however, the Vampire's strength was almost overwhelming. In fact if the contest continued, it would have been. But after a few moment, Cyrdic's grip on the beast's wrist suddenly found nothing but air.

It took the scarred soldier to realize that the Vampire's upper arm had completely disintegrated into ash, though it seemed to care little. Cyrdic's surprise at the collapse of the arm gave it a chance to pin Cyrdic's neck with its free arm as it tried to bite him. Cyrdic barely caught him with a fumbling grip, before Camilla's sword found the Vampire's exposed back and caused it to shriek, weakening its grip. She spoke in rapid, acidic Tilean as she began to hack him to bits with her runic sword, reducing him to little more than blackened pills of weakening ash that her Ostland lover had to brush off of him as the Vampire faded into nothingness.

"Thank you." Cyrdic said, standing up and rubbing his neck. She gave him a peck on the cheek, and he gave her a smile that beamed even in the dark of night. But his brain caught up with him, and he realized the regent's clothing was still there. "We better check it," he said. Camilla went to it, using her lithe and nimble fingers to search for any concealed pockets. As she did so, Cyrdic made his way down the stairs to retrieve his fallen sword. They needed to go back to the Inn and get their armor. That is, if they decided to even fight at the walls. Cyrdic wasn't the kind of man to retreat, but he had friends and a lover to watch out for.

"Ceedrik! He haz ay key!" He heard from above. "But Ido not know where ita goes to!"

As she spoke, he was fastening his sword to his poor excuse for a belt and tying the knot tightly. This area of the city was relatively quiet despite the siege, with only little in the way of light that lingered blocks away like waiting apparitions. The Ostlander turned to go back up the stairs. "I-ll co-!" he began, and then stopped mid sentence, finally noticing where they were. Before him was a great wooden gate bound by iron, and a guard tower that rose into the sky, almost as large as a keep. The gate seemed almost impossible to open or move, and in fact it looked old. But he had seen such designs in gates before. There was a mechanism in the tower to open the gate.

Cyrdic rushed up the stairs, suddenly realizing the danger Camilla was in, and he by extension. If Rishnekov was going to open the gate for a secondary Chaos force, that meant there were forces in wait on the otherside of the wall. Beasts and soldiers of the ruinous powers that likely heard the sing song voice of Camilla calling out, rather than the grinding of an opening gate...
@Penny

Camilla felt momentarily euphoric. It felt really good to have her sword back. Really really good. She tried not to think about it but instead focused on whether she should flay Yantz alive for leaving their weapons where, theoretically, anyone could have found them. Doubtless it was some arcane prognostication by Dietricha but the thought of the Rieklander rifling her few possessions was enough to make her anger blaze.

Without warning ropey tentacles flopped over the wall, landing with flat slapping sounds reminiscent of meat being dropped onto a butcher’s block. Whatever fell bargain had been struck by the recently dispatched vampire and the agents of Chaos evidently hadn’t stopped the Northeners from devising a contingency plan. Before she could draw her blade back t strike at the nearest appendage beastmen scrambled up tentacles of whatever unholy spawn had crept to the bottom of the wall. The bombardment on the western side of the city increased, with dozens of flaming projectiles plunging into the city. The attack there was evidently a feint to allow a small force to take this section of the wall. The fact that it was unguarded was almost certainly Rishnekov’s doing, only by the order of the Regent could an area of the city be so effectively stripped.

A large goat headed beast man leaped from one of the improvised ladders to land atop the battlements, hooves striking sparks as the clattered on the ancient granite. Its bray of triumph choked into a squeal as Camilla pivoted smoothly slashing up through the things guts before it could heft its own axe. The blade exited the thing shoulder and she was already using the momentum of stroke to leap into the air, avoiding the tentacular swipe of the living siege tower. At least a dozen tentacles griped the walls, each allowing a flow of beastmen and barbarians to scale, already there were at least a score on the wall. At the apex of her leap Camilla caught a sconce with her left hand and pivoted around so that she fell onto the back of one of the barbarians, her weight driving the elven sword into his back even before her feet hit him, knees bending to absorb the fall.

“Suona l’allarme!” she yelled forgetting that she was speaking Tilean for a moment and then figuring it didn’t much matter. A sickle arched in at her side and she twisted her wrists and flicked the point aside before delivering a backhanded riposte that sent a gout of arterial blood spraying from the things severe neck. Behind her she heard the distinctive sound of Cydric’s sword hewing into an enemy and she backed towards it, giving ground grudging as her sword wove a ring of steel before her. WIth a flex of her elbow one of her concealed daggers dropped into her hand and she flipped it, caught it by the point and hurled it through the eye of a giant red bearded barbarian.

“We have to get off the wall!” she shouted to Cydric as they were pressed back to back. In a few moments the raiding party would organise and no amount of fancy blade work would save them from being torn to pieces.

“We can’t surrender the parapet!” Cydric shouted back his sword cleaving through the arm of a spear wielding beastman as it drew back for a strike. Camilla ducked an arcing axe blade, snatched up a fallen blade and hacked into the ankles of her assailant, toppling him back into the mass of his fellows. There had to be thirty enemies on the wall now, howling for blood and surrendering all pretense of stealth.

Under the moon, their opponents seemed even more ghastly and horrific had they been concealed by the night or illuminated by the sun. Horns and baleful eyes glowed and their crude iron weapons faintly glinted. Cyrdic caught a look within their ranks and saw a Norscan that was more Crab than man, having absconded with normal weaponry and waving his pincers menacingly. They were surrounded, though Sigmar gave a small blessing and made the enemy party so huge they could not all see what was stopping their progress down the walls.

Cyrdic's blade met a Norscan's shortsword in a loud ring of steel. The Ostlander kicked at the barbarian's shin and buckled his opponent. The Norscan lost his head before he let go of his blade, his neck spurting blood. Cyrdic shoved the body aside and swung wildly, taking an Ungor's snout off and finding purchase into a north man's chest. He felt rough hands grabbing him from behind and a snorting grunt. Tearing away from the grip with a jerk, he lowered himself and grabbed the long knife in his boot, stabbing backwards and eviscerating a beastman. Cyrdic found his way back to Camilla, covered in blood and coughing. Quick inspection of his aching shoulder showed him that he'd been cut there without realizing it.

Camilla's sword whipped about and stabbed like a striking serpent, her long hair hastily tied to keep from obscuring her vision. Cyrdic ducked an Axe that was meant for him, and luckily Camilla was too short for it to hit, and it swung past without finding a target. Needless to say, Cyrdic's blade did not miss. Camilla's dance of death was suddenly halted when Cyrdic scooped her up by the waist and made a leap, making it to the stairway that led down into the City. He did not go down further however, planting Camilla next to him.

"You need to go and get help." He told her, sword out and ready for when the Chaos raider's pursued.

Camilla looked at him as if she would stab him next. "You tink I would LEAVE YOU AGAIN!?" she screeched, hitting Cyrdic with her fist. Cyrdic caught her next fist and pulled her close. "It's not because you're a woman! YOU'RE FASTER THAN ME!" he roared, and the genuine look in his eyes spoke volumes. He was simply being pragmatic. Cyrdic had found the stairwell to get the enemy in a bottleneck, keeping them from being able to fight more than two at a time.

"Go!"
@Penny

Camilla shouted something particularly unpleasant at Cydric and then dashed down the stairs onto the open cobblestone street at the base of the wall. There was a sound like a foundry collapsing as an armored chaos warrior, leaped from the battlements to crash to the stones beside her, shattering the flint bearing rock into powder as he landed. The force would easily have killed a beastman or another lesser creature but the warrior merely rolled sideways sweeping his blade out at ankle level. Camilla leaped the blade and kicked out hard at the things head, nearly spraining her foot with the force of the blow. She swept her own blade around but the chaos warrior exploded out of his croutch batting her weapon away with enough force to numb her arm to the shoulder blade.

Camilla dodged backwards, twisiting to keep herself with her back to an escape route without exposing herself to a sword stroke. The black armored figure rose to nearly seven feet in height, hefting a blade of blackened steel as broad as Cydric farm. Camilla knew she should run, but something stopped her, almost without her concious will her blade rose into a duelists guard. A strange grinding sound issued forth from the armored figure and it took her a moment to recognise that it was laughter. The armor glinted with fresh blood and seemed to flow when the warrior move to raise his own weapon.

“Blood for the Blood God!” it shrieked and launched itself at her. Camilla flicked the blade aside and ducked under the mailed fist that arced at her head. Time almost seemed to slow and she thrust the razor sharp elven blade into the knee joint as the big warrior passed her twisting the point to avoid it catching. The chaos worshiper roared and rounded on her she danced backwards elven steel pressing away the tainted blade with a touch.

“Skulls for the Skull throne!” the warrior roared. Camilla caught him across the wrist as he swung his fist at her again, severing it in a spray of bracking black blood.

“De La Trantio for the Senate!” she shouted in Tillean for want of anything else to say and stabbed at the things visor aiming for the eye slit. The Chaos warrior turned at the last minute and the weapon struck sparks from the helm as Camilla tumbled passed, using her momentum to carry her out of the reach of his good hand.

“You will all die before...:” The creatures breasplate caved in abruptly with a sound so loud that Camilla didn’t register it as a sound. Incredibly the thing stayed on its feet turning towards an alleyway.

Yantz and the dwarf burst from the alley, wreathed in powder smoke. The imperial dropped his heavy pistol and drew the second from his belt. The chaos warrior rushed at him and the snap of the weapon crushed his helm like a beehive hiting a lance point. Black and red motes poured out of it for a moment before a dwarven axe crashed into his ruined chestplate.

It was all Cyrdic could do to hold off the beastmen that were teetering upon the stairway when Camilla fled. He was nearly skewered when he saw the Khornate warrior go after her, and he was honestly contemplating giving up the stairway and allowing these monsters to flow into the city to save Camilla's life. He wondered if such ways were how men turned to Chaos. To give up something morally imperative to save something precious to them. He decided now was not the time to think on such philosophical questions.

It was with a force of will that allowed Cyrdic to remain defending until reinforcements arrived, though they weren't the ones he had thought would come. By Sigmar, Ulric, and Taal, they needed the city guard, not two more mercenaries! No matter how skilled! He realized he had no room to complain however, blocking an axe with a swipe of his longsword and kicking a beastman's shin, causing the monster to topple off and hit the flagstones a dozen feet below, breaking a limb or two.

That beastman wasn't alone, as other marauders or beastmen had already fallen from higher heights and were either broken or unconscious. Yantz went to work dispatching each of them, slitting throats and gutting them while keeping his eye above so none that fell would land on him. Skaldi had not stayed idle, running up the stairwell as fast as his stubby legs could carry him, shield raised and gromril axe ready.

"Right, Ostlander!" Skaldi roared, and Cyrdic sidestepped toward the wall as Skaldi took the left side of the stairwell, taking much pressure off Cyrdic. Anyone looking Cyrdic's way would see he was only moving by sheer force of will at the moment. There was a small fountain of blood dripping from somewhere above his scalp, and his side was lightly ripped open. Still, he moved with a ferocity that befet a warrior or Ulric, matching Beastmen in strength and Norscan's in barbarity as Skaldi hacked and bashed, severing legs and eviscerating chaos spawn.

Camilla had begun to aid Yantz, cutting and slicing those that managed to leap or fall off. It was only by the grace of Sigmar, or perhaps Ursun that they were still alive. But as more Norscans made it up the walls, with larger and stronger opponents on the way, it was only a matter of time before the tired defenders were overwhelmed. Cyrdic cut a Norscan in the collarbone, while receiving a blow to his own shoulder, one that left a nasty gash he knew he needed to worry about.

Suddenly, just as Cyrdic and Skaldi were knocked back by a large Minotaur, arrows and gunshots rang out from the alleyways to the west, and a great cry rose up as men in brigandines and sabers came to the companion's aid. Otto the Greatsword led them, his face cleaned and with a renewed vigor and sense of purpose, charging in to aid his comrades. They rushed forward, causing the Chaos warriors to be distracted for a moment and gave the two on the stairway time to breathe as they rushed in.

As Camilla and Yantz were doing their bloody work, one of the headless Norscan bodies twitched. It was a barely perceptible movement, but neither of the two noticed. Until the Chaos infestation that had been borne within sprang to life, and a horrible face of a serpent with a man's visage sprouted out of the corpse's neck, and its hand grabbed Camilla's ankle. She screamed, turned and stabbed the writhing body with her blade, the elven sword ending its secondary daemonic life. Cyrdic had heard the cry though and turned on instinct, lowering his guard.

A club struck him at the back of his head and sent him hurtling towards the ground, ten feet below. His nerveless fingers let go of his sword, and he felt as if was now falling for eternity. Just as the city watch made it to the stairwell, Cyrdic' world went black, and he knew no more.
@Penny

Camilla pirouetted through the nightmarish attackers, thrusting and parrying with a grace that surprised even her. A strange feeling of waste came over her and she found herself disappointed when she used six inches of steel where three should have done the job. The sensation was both alien and familiar, it reminded her of how her tutor in the art of dance and seduction had scolded her for being too forward, to extravagant. She flicked aside a rusted axe and sliced a beastman across the belly spilling in intestines onto the wall. A great chaos warrior clambered over the wall and drew a great broadsword from his back. There was a thickening thrill that this might be a worthy opponent at last but as the giant locked his baleful red eyes on her he seemed to freeze, for a moment a great statue of wrought iron and brass.

“You,” the Chaos warrior spoke. His vice was like skulls grinding each other to powder, almost unintelligable as human speech.

“Mia!” Camilla declared covering her confusion with bravado and raising her blade to a duelists en garde. She had no idea why a Chaos Worshipper should recognise her and she certainly didn’t know him. They had fought enough of the Northerners that she knew some could be distinctive but most just seemed like hellish suits of armor. Without warning the warrior turned and stepped off the wall, his cape of unidentified fur fluttering behind him. Camilla stood stunned, she had known chaos warriors to do many strange things, but to retreat? Before she could ponder the matter further Skaldi strode along the wall carring a vast cauldron of smoking oil. It must have been unbearabley hot but if so, the dwarf showed no sign of it. He put one vast foot up on the parapet and pitched the sizzling contents over the side.

“Have some soup! Its bloody spoiled anyhow,” the Dwarf called cheerfully. There was a sound like frying bacon and a scream that shook loose rooftiles streets away as the sheet of boiling oil struck the fleshy tentacular monster that had been the attackers seige tower. Vast appendages thrashed and swept about madly snatching chaos worhipers from the walls as the thing went beserk with agony.

“Sorry? Not hot enough far ya!” the capering dwarf called as he siezed a torch from a ring sconce and hurled it down. With a great whooosh a sheet of flame shot skyward. The already soaked spawn screamed even louder but its tentacles whipped back like a child that has touched a hot pot. Still mewling with a sound louder than a cavalry charge it lurched away across the icy landscape, uneven footfalls making the ground shake and Camilla wonder how it had ever gotten so close unnoticed. Skaldi turned cackling madly, both his eyebrows were signed away and his beard was smouldering, but if it discomforted him he wasn’t letting on. Camilla absently thrust her blade to the right catching a lunging beast man in the throat without taking her eyes from the dwarf.

For a moment there as silence as the last of the attackers fell to the blades of the mercenaries. Then Konrad began to laugh, the Yantz, within moments the whole force was roaring with laughter, even Camilla found herself doubled over with tears running from her eyes. It was a moment of perfect mania and their laughter shook the walls. It was only when she turned to find Cydric that Camilla felt her chest tighten. Laying in the starirwell with a pool of blood dribbling from one ear. She shrieked and leaped down to him feeling at his throat. For a moment there was nothing, then a slight thready pulse.

“We need to get him to a … medico… umm a physician!” she shouted, her heart in her throat.

Timeskip