"Roderick, come with me!" Father Gerwig roared the words as he stumbled through the Chapel, bottle of only Sigmar knew what in one hand, and a dagger in the other. Roderick, who was in the middle of sweeping the aisle between the pews stared dumbfounded at the man. Gerwig hadn't been out of his bed for nearly a week now, drinking everything he could lay his hands on since the enemy siege gun had begun firing.

Roderick leaned his broom against the chapel wall and, with a quick bow to the altar of Sigmar, he hurried after the older man  out into the cold drizzle of the late afternoon. The bell above him no longer tolled and he could see the helmets of the assembled townsfolk and garrison on the high walls above. They were all silent as they stared across the marsh lands toward the enemy.

Gerwig led him up a set of stone stairs made slick by the rain so that he stumbled and nearly slipped into the mud below. He only managed to save himself by grabbing onto the cloak of a man on the wall who cursed him out and yanked the cloth away. Roderick made small apologies and stumbled again on the top step, almost crashing into Father Gerwig who had found a place at the wall. Roderick glanced around but no one was paying them any mind, all eyes were fixed on a thin figure standing nearby, a crossbow aimed flat across the parapet. The archers hair was long and fell like black velvet to the small curve of the back, extenuating the flair of a very feminine set of buttocks. The blue dress that the archer wore fitted well enough to confirm that it was indeed a woman, a woman they had all come to call the Blackbird. 

Her real name was Maria Fosdick, she was the only child of a merchant couple who had died of the plague some years before. They had left her their estates and a fine house by the river. The arrival of the Hochland forces had seen to the destruction of all of her property beyond the walls and she now sought to take some form of revenge against her detractors by firing at them from the walls. At this very moment she was taking aim at a tall man with a large plume on the top of his helmet. She closed her eyes as she squeezed the trigger and the crossbow gave a satisfying "click" as the bolt hurtled across the empty ground between the town walls and the besiegers. 

It buried itself in the earth just short of the man but caused him to jump back in surprise, causing a roar of jeers and catcalls from the defenders who lined the walls. He shook his fist and then turned to yell back toward his own lines. At that moment Gerwig leapt up onto the battlements, bottle disappeared somewhere, and began to scream curses at the enemy lines.

Roderick wasn't sure what drew his eye but at that moment he saw several bales of hay being dragged aside and the muzzle of a cannon seemed to be pointed directly at him. He opened his mouth to shout a warning but in that instant flame erupted from the cannon muzzle.

His world exploded into a mixture of dust, flying stone, tumbling weapons, and screaming bodies. The blast heaved him off the wall and tossed him like some ragged thing into the muddy roadway beneath the wall. It was this mud that probably saved him from injury as it cushioned his fall. He hit the ground with a heavy "splat", mud sloping itself across his face and robes. His ears were ringing, something he had never experienced before, and he tried banging on the side of his head to make it stop.

Something clawed at his sleeve and he jerked in surprise, turning to find himself staring into Father Gerwigs face, a face blanched of all colour. The old priest wasn't looking at him, but at the chapel behind them. He was shouting and pointing. Roderick could just make out at the words "The Book!".

Roderick followed his gaze and saw to his horror that flames were shooting up from the chapel. He staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the building, staggering on his overly long robes, tripping on a corpse to fall face first in the mud. Through sheer will be managed to clamber to his feet again and rushed to the door. The flames had already engulfed the sleeping quarters and were now devouring the roofbeams.

His gaze went instantly to the altar where the Book of Sigmar sat beneath the silver hammer. It glinted in the fire light, its ancient leather pages a strange reddish colour. Without a further thought he plunged into the heat, holding a sleeve to his face as the smoke tried to choke his lungs. He grabbed the heavy book and then, with a last glance toward his bed chamber, he also grabbed the silver hammer.

He burst back into the clear air, greedily drinking in great gasping breaths before doubling over in a coughing fit. Behind him the chapel gave a rumbling sigh and the roof caved in, sending sparks and smoke billowing into the sky. He gazed up at the pillar as it rose into the heavens, mixing with the grey rainclouds until it vanished. Rain drops hissed on the fire, sizzling with some angry energy and he looked down at the Book and hammer in his hands. 

Roderick knew Father Gerwig was dead before he returned to him. He could see that the mans belly had been eviscerated by the cannonball, or the stones thrown up by it. The old face, oddly enough, finally looked as if it were at peace. As he knelt in the rain next to the body, Roderick realized that he didn't really know anything about Gerwig. They had never really spoken and the old man had always done his best to shield Roderick from the true evils of the world. He wouldn't be able to do that anymore.