Roderick was sitting in the mud, his back to the smithy wall, staring at the body of Father Gerwig in front of him with a detached curiosity. It was not as though he hadn't seen death before, there were enough rampaging Beastmen, Greenskins, and Sigmar knew what else, coming and going to leave a trail of death across the land. Life in Lorch was cheap, as it always had been for the race of Man. 

None of that made a difference at that moment, however, as the light rain ran down Roderick's shaved head, collecting on his eyebrows before dripping down onto his cheeks like tears. He did not cry tears of his own. He had never known his parents and Father Gerwig had never treated him as anything other than a servant to clean the Church while the old man got pissed. He never shed a real tear in his life.

A cannonball trundled by overhead, vanishing beyond the rear walls, presumably to splash down in the river somewhere in the distance. The Church alone had burned, though the mortar that fired as irregularly as the cannon had managed to smash the rooves in on a pair of smaller buildings. 

Men crouched in the rain on the walltop and Roderick raised his gaze toward them. They were pitiful things, the fear in their eyes masked by bad jokes and insults screamed across the walls. Everyone pretended not to see when a men had to piss, or vomitted in fear. It was as human as anything else that had happened that day. It made it all the more ridiculous that their enemies were Men when there were so many other enemies to fight.

The Blackbird had remained on the walls and her dressed was drenched now, clinging to her body like a man to a broken spare in a great storm. Her cloak was thrown back over one shoulder and she was busy cranking the handle on her crossbow while every man who could see her stared in open desire. There was no arguing that she a stunning girl.

Shouts from further down the wall brought everyone to their feet, the half dozen handgunners unwrapping the cloth and leather covers from their flints. It seemed that the enemy was coming at last. Roderick didn't know what to do.

The Book of Sigmar and the silver wrapped hammer lay in his lap and he idly traced the engravings on the books cover as he watched the Blackbird take aim with her crossbow, close her eyes, and squeeze the trigger. A roar of approval came from the defenders, she had scored a hit.

"Priest!" Sergeant Hoeffler's voice sounded from the wall and Roderick blinked up at him. "Kindly escort the lady to the Keep."

The Blackbird gave a last wave to the cheering defenders, blew them a kiss, and then quickly descended the stonesteps, her dress trailing in the mud. The Sergeant had always insisted she return to the keep during an assault. Her death would do more damage than good to the garrison morale and none of the defenders begrudged her the safety of the main fortress.

"I don't need your help." The voice was cold as ice when Roderick extended his hand to help her through the mud. She brushed past him, her upper lip drawn back in what might have been a snarl. "I am sure I can manage without the help of a man who has no balls."

Roderick stood dumbfounded in the mud as he watched her walk away, her hips swaying as she went. Someone in the village had started a rumour that all Priests of Sigmar were gelded when they joined the Order and it seemed that rumour easily extended to him. To be fair, he had never given anyone any reason to think otherwise.

A guardsman at the keep entrance bowed as the Blackbird entered and she offered him a dazzling smile. For some reason that made Roderick angry. It was not an emotion he was familiar with as he had been a mild mannered youth, taken into the clergy when he had nothing left, and now he was being treated like scum for no reason other than an accident of birth.

The rage inside of him began to grow and he picked up the silver hammer, slinging the heavy Book over his shoulder by its dull grey chain. He wanted to hit something and it seemed that the enemy intended to oblige him.