Roderick hurried through the muddy streets of Lorch, a fitting name for a pimple of a town on the banks of the Talabec River, his long brown robes trailing in the filth. The streets were mostly empty save for a few children scavenging for food and a party of soldiers trying to repair the garrisons only cannon after it had been blasted from the wall. He nodded to them as he hurried past but none paid him any heed except to spit in his direction.

The Priests of Sigmar were nominally neutral in this fight between Imperial subjects. As a result the small chapel he called home still had a few pieces of wood furniture and a small stockpile of bread. He could understand why they would resent him as their friends and family died on the walls and in the streets while he sheltered behind the chapel walls.

His hurried steps carried him past the smithy, now cold and disconsolate since they had run out of coal. It was sad, he had always enjoyed finding his way into the warmth during happier times to listen to the village gossip and enjoy an ale with the farmers visiting town. He thought he saw Brandt's shadow in the darkness but did not veer from his path to visit. Even here he might not be welcome.

He rounded the corner and felt himself relax slightly as he caught sight of the chapel door. He pushed the heavy wood open and stepped inside. It was a small building, large enough to fit the full time residents of the keep. Today it only had a pair of women praying to Sigmar for salvation. He privately thought it was a waste of time, why would Sigmar chose one side or the other in this fight? It wasn't as though they were besieged by Chaos or Beastmen. 

There was a single window at the rear of the chapel that looked out over the river, a weak light shining down on a plain white altare adorned with only two items. The first was a silver hammer with a red stone fitted into the side. Roderick knew that it was a simple war hammer tricked out with silver and a blood stone to look like it was something impressive. The second item was a Book of Sigmar, the holy book of his order. He had been permitted to leaf through it once or twice before when Father Gerwig was to drunk to read it himself. 

He bowed to the altar and was headed for his small room at the rear of the chapel when he heard the bell. It was a small one, mounted atop the walls to sound a warning, and it was ringing as though it could repel an attack by the noise alone. He turned and hurried back to where his own bellrope hung from the high ceiling, throwing his considerable weight on the cord so that the heavy bell above him thundreded out its warning.

The enemy was coming.