[IC] Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

[POOHEAD189]

The nearest volcano belched forth, spewing magma and ashes into the air. It was horrifying, and yet almost mesmerizing to watch, and it took Skaldi barking at them in Khazalid to get the companions moving again and out of harms way. Konrad tripped over some rock, and Dietrichia fell from the shaking ground, but Ivan and Yantz caught them and set their feet steady, the group moving as quickly as they dared over the uneven ground.

"Where's the closest temple!?" Cyrdic yelled over the tumult of the raging earth. He seemed to be talking to Skaldi. The Dwarf scowled at that. "Why would I know where the next blasted Temple would be!? I don't come here on vacation!" They vaulted over a stone that jutted out of the ground, and it reminded Cyrdic of the ever moving earth within the Chaos wastes, something he desperately wanted to forget.

However, Skaldi spoke up moments later. "Uzkulak!" He spat, as if the very word left a foul taste in his mouth. The volcano roared as well in seemingly mock distaste. "North of us is a dark port the Dawi Zharr use called Uzkulak. It's the only place I could think of. Me kin in the North have to deal with their machinations!"

"Let's hope that there's a temple outside of the city itself," Cyrdic muttered.

"I long for za clear vind of Kislev on my face! And a horse underneath me!" Ivan lamented, clearly growing tired of having to be away from his native land. "Ve should have never taken the sword vith Nordland." Boris said. "I vanted to gain saum loot, not visit all thrice poxed lands within a pair of months!"

"Vear not, ve are almost there." Ivan said, giving a jovial wink even as they passed through a thick cloud of ash. The roars continued however, in a strange, jumping sort of sound. It took Cyrdic a moment to realize those were not noises made by the mountains of fire. He...felt an instinctual connection to them. "Wolves?" He said aloud, only for Skaldi to glance his way, and then curse. "Hobgoblin riders!"

"By Ranalt, look!" Camilla called, pointing down a small valley that lay beneath them. A small ziggarut rose from the earth, the color of the stonework even redder than the earth it rested upon. However, it looked well hidden. "You have fine eyes, indeed." Konrad said to the woman. They merely needed to traverse a few crags and not be caught upon the sabers of their pursuers. Cyrdic also had a distinct feeling even if they made it inside, it would not be a matter of simply walking in...
@Penny

[Penny]

The howls of the wolves were a continual irritation as they moved along the line of craggy hills. The near perptual darkness made the task easier as they wormed their way across the ash shot wasteland. Camilla was trembling with weakness as hunger gnawed at her belly. THey were all hungry of course but she had almost no reserves of body fat and had undergone the rdeal f kidnapping before this latest misery. She tried to keep it to herself although she occasionally caught Cydric looking at her with concern. It wouldn’t be fair to admit to weakness when they were all here because of her. In any case, either they would be out of here soon or it would cease to be of real concern.

“They will catch us certain sure,” Konrad moaned as they took cover amidst an obsidian outcropping. Below them a column of wolves ridden by ragged fur clad goblins padded past, snapping and snarling as their masters hauled at the reins. Camilla pressed herself against the rock and tried think small thoughts but there seemed no immediate danger. THe wolf pack passed them by heading towards the ziggurat. After perhaps a day of walking the red structure was much closer. Large watch towers of black iron rose at its corners and strange geometric designs ringed its walls. It hurt Camilla’s eyes to look at them too long. The column passed through its grim gates at a gentle lope.

“I think… that so long as we move closer to the city we are safer,” Camilla ventured. A slight smile fought its way through her hunger fogged brain.

“After all, who would be stupid enough to try to get in there?” Ivan snorted a laugh at that, blowing ash from his mustache as he did so. Camila felt filthy, her skin covered with ash and grime. They had all suffered on the trek and she was beginning to regret not turning back, mysterious prophecy be damned.

“Ha! I see vat you did there,” Ivan said with a rumbling laugh.

“Speaking of idiots trying to get in,” Yantz put in as he peered over the outcropping to look down at the city.

“Does anyone have any idea of how we get into this place?” the Imperial asked.

“Oh aye,” Skaldi grumbled. The dwarf had been unusually silent and foreboding since they had entered these dark ash stained land. Camilla could only guess at what was going in the dwarfs mind as he went over ancient grudges with these apparently dark dwarves. Camilla hoped he was going to be able to keep a handle on it. Looking down she saw her hand was clasping and unclasping the hilt of her sword. Irritable she pulled it away.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to share that information with the group?” she asked acidly. If Skaldi noticed her tone he didn’t remark it, but merely pointed to an irregular pile of rocks a quater of a mile off.

“The Dawi-zharr might be chaos loving scum, but they still need to breathe. A ventalation shaft like that will serve to get us in, though I’ve heard they often have guards,” he grumbled. Camilla looked skeptically at the pile of rocks. It looked no different to a hundred they had passed to her, but experience had taught her that when a dwarf told you a thing about mines or caves, you could take it to the treasury.

“So what are we waiting for?” Konrad puffed.

“We should rest,” Dietricha put in, the first words she had spoken since her conversation about propecy. Camilla’s stomach grumbled in protest but it was an open question as to whether exhaustion or hunger were bigger problems right now. After a brief discussion the bedded down amongst the great spike of obsidian. She snuggled close to Cydric, her hands trembled slightly from fatigue and weakness.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered to the Ostlander, unable to find the emotional energy to amplify the statement further than that.

[POOHEAD189]

Initially, Cyrdic didn't know what to say. The very air was rough to breathe and cold to the core. He felt a wheezing crackle in his massive chest. The same hunger gnawed at him, yet to perhaps an even greater degree. The blessings of Ulric had its downsides, and Cyrdic's hunger nearly drove him mad. Though he knew Camilla seemed to be wasting away. He had to be strong for her. Even with his respect for her skills, and all they had been through, she had been a courtesan and duelist first. These past weeks had been nothing like she could have ever experienced, and even Cyrdic only had had a taste of it before he had flung himself into the wastes.

"We'll be ok," he told her. Promised her.

He was afraid as well, but his fear was nowhere near as powerful at his anger. Something he had to keep in check far more than usual, with the lack of food and water, and the odd obsession of the world with throwing them into terrible situations. He had the intense urge to find what being had decided to curse them, and bathe in his blood. With a will, he swallowed down the images. No...I will not be lost. The Blood God would not have him.

Instead, he nuzzled into Camilla's hair and held her, even his strong arms tiring. "We just need to go into that temple, and we'll be fine. We can do it, right?" He asked. Cyrdic waited for a long moment, and her muddied hand gripped the back of his. "Right," she said with a conviction. He kissed her head.

Konrad looked every part forlorn, though he gripped his greatsword with a strength born from desperation. Even Ivan seemed somewhat slower and more tired, and Boris looked as if he wished to charge out into the wastes of the Dark Lands and simply end it with his sabre in hand. Yantz seemed on the verge of violence for having to wait any further. Only Dietrichia and Skaldi seemed somewhat calm, though they both had an edge of wariness to them.

"Now is the time." Dietrichia said, standing up. Her red hair fell in waves about her, though the sweat of the day caused it to staick to her shoulders and back. "Lead us on, good Dwarf."

Cyrdic groaned, and helped Camilla up. Konrad had to use his sword to stand up, but down they went. The group hugged the crags and knelt as low as they could behind the rocks. Skaldi glared at the temple constantly, and they were not sure if it was he looking for the ventilation, or simply his hatred for his dark kin. The howls of beasts filled the air in the distance, seemingly carried by the faint wind.

"There," Skaldi called, pointing toward the southern end of the temple. His thick finger aimed at the left side of it. Camilla and Cyrdic would spot a small, square hole that hugged the rocky ground. It took Cyrdic a moment to realize it had been cleverly made to look like a uniform curvature in the deceptively blocky architecture. No matter their differences, these Dwarfs had the same eye for detail as their kin in the World's Edge Mountains.
@Penny

[Penny]

Camilla gave Cydric’s hand a final squeeze before she took her place in the loose line. They crept slowly across the tortured landscape although the lack of speed had more to do with exhaustion and hunger than anything else. Camilla wrapped her hand around the hilt of her blade and tried to pull her mind out of the bleakness that seemed to consume it. She had been tired before, cold exhausted but she had still been able to dance and fight, what was it about this place that affected them all so? She frowned at Ivan, had she ever seen Ivan Petrovich down hearted before. Lack of drink was possibly a factor by was it enough all on its own?

Camilla began to hum to herself. It was an old Imperial marching song that she had picked up during her travels with Cydric. The lyrics ranged from obscene to ridiculously obscene depending on the company. The earth rumbled as though in protest but Camilla kept humming after a moment Cydric and Konrad began to variously hum and sing. Even Yants began to mutter his own versions. They lyrics varied wildly, Cydric used ‘mountaineers’ in place of Yants’ ‘Rieklands spears’ but they all ended on a unified ‘fight like sons of bitches’. By the time they reached the shaft Camilla felt immeasurably cheered, Konrad was even grinning.

The shaft itself was deliberately carved to look random, but close up the marks of tool work were impossible to disguise even for dwarven hands. There was a very slight suction of air every few seconds as though a great bellows were sucking on the far end of the shaft. Skadi picked up a handful of gravel and tossed it into the shaft before cocking an ear. Whatever arcane insight he gained from the ritual must have satisfied him because he nodded his head.

“Alright Manlings, if this madness is our path lets be down it,” he grumbled. They had no rope to string a climbing line so the Dwarf simply began to climb downwards, decending into the darkness hand over hand. Camilla followed close behind, scouting hand and foot holes for the others. They decended perhaps ten feet, crossed a small platform carved into the rock and began to climb down another shaft, far deeper and lit with a volcanic glow from far below. The sucking of the bellows grew more pronouced, each blast of air stiring Camilla’s hair like a tavern door opening in a spring gale. Her arms burned with effort and she became very concious of the very tired, very heavy men climbing down after her. If any of them fell it was a good chance they would take the lot of them down to a messy death. She muttered a prayer to Ranald and tried not to think about it.

Time began to loose meaning as they descended. The world narrowed to the simple activity of finding the next hand hole, placing her foot and the ever present red glow. It came as rather a shock to her when Skaldi stopped moving. She peered down and saw that he was working at a panel of verdigris copper with the edge of a large knife. There was a soft ping and the corner came loose. With the muscules in his massive arms bulging the dwarf twisted the copper sheeting and shoved it into a hole it had been covering. The downward suction of the air drew a cloud of dusty out into his face and the dwarf puffed and spat to clear the dirt from his mouth before swining into the hole and disappearing. Camilla carefully moved down the last hand hole the dwarf had used and swung herself inside, her muscles shrieked in relief when she found herself on another flat platform, this one much more crudely cut. The passage was dusty and had obviously long unused. Cydric clambered through the hole, followed by Ivan and Konrad. Finally Yantz climbed through, to Camilla’s amazement he was carrying Dietricha on his back, clinging around his neck like a child too large for a real horsie ride. Sweat poured down his body and his muscles stood out like corded ropes. As soon as he was clear he gratefully sank to the ground.

“This is a spoil tunnel,” Skaldi said as he brushed dirt from his face and beard.

“It will connect to one of the main tunnels, they would have used it as the ventillation before the main tunnel was finished. Camilla couldn’t imagine how many hundreds of generations of men had passed away before this place was being built. It seemed to her to be part of the mountain rather than built into it.

“Whatever you say,” Camilla croaked hoarsely. After a few minutes rest they climbed down the shallow incline of the spoil tunnel until they came to another copper panel. Skadi pressed his ear to it for a long time before declaring it save. The panel was much easier to remove when they could use the full lenght of their weapons as pry bars and it came away with a slight screetch. Camilla slid through the opening before anyone could object, dropping four feet to the ground and coming up sword in hand. The chamber before her was deserted. Dozens of pillars carved with strange symbols supported the ceiling. Barrels and casks were stacked in rows, iron hoops dulled with age. It was clearly a store room of some kind

“What does that say?” she asked Skaldi as he clambered down, her outstretched finger pointed to a stenciled mark on one of the barrels.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Skaldi dropped out of the opening, and for one so heavy and solid, he made very little noise on his landing. Cyrdic was constantly amazed at Dwarfs. The Elves of Ulthuan were often the ones that were given awe and reverence for their innate skills and abilities, but somehow even after all of this running and lack of food or water, Skaldi still seemed as if he could take more without complaint. He drew himself up, and glanced at what Camilla was pointing at.

As Cyrdic dropped down next, Skaldi spoke in a hushed tone. "The writing is bastardized." He said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, though with obvious distaste. "But it reads 'sacrificial offering' by my reckoning." Behind the two, Cyrdic caught Dietrichia, helping her down to the floor, having been lowered by Yantz. Then Yantz followed, and behind him Konrad. "What do they sacrifice?" Cyrdic asked no one in particular. Briefly he had the fear it was people, but there was too little opportunity actually gather people to cut up. His thoughts were probably darker than the reality.

Skaldi opened the barrel in question, and suddenly an overwhelming smell washed over him. He cringed, and the odor reached Camilla. It smelled like old game, having been chopped up days ago and left to its own devices. That was a bit odd. "I've heard tale they'll sacrifice sentient creatures like you or I, but that must be on special occasions." The Dwarf muttered, and without hesitation he reached into the barrel and pulled out a slab of meat, still somewhat bloodied and smelling like an open wound.

Dietrichia vomited at the smell and sight of Skaldi taking a bit out of it. Meanwhile, Ivan seemed nearly stuck from the top entrance, being the last one above after Boris had descended. It took Cyrdic and Boris to pull him through. Despite his belt being a few notches tighter from their journey, he was still the largest member of the party. "It seems Dwaf tunnels do not suit me, eh?" Ivan exclaimed as quietly as one could exclaim something, trying to be boisterous for the rest.

"Och, stop yer whining, witch!" Skaldi said. "It's better than dust and bone. Now..."

He tossed a few pounds of cut game on the ground. Cyrdic was curious at what exactly the Dwarf was planning. "Be useful and hit them with yer lightning to burn 'em. You, lad," he said to Konrad. The Greatsword had knelt down already, even the four foot fall making him wish to sit. "Aye, good Dwarf?"

"Look around for something to drink. I doubt we'll find Bugman's here. And take a care not to take a drink of whatever you see. They could have barrels of blood. Or worse." The Dwarf tossed some more meat onto the ground. The Witch had regained her dignity, and glared at the slabs of flesh with distaste, though her stomach growled loudly as if on cue. It was with great reluctance that she tried her best to summon her powers.

"What's worse than a barrel of blood?" Cyrdic asked.

Skaldi looked his way. "Dawi Zharr Ale! They get the formula all wrong. Tainted bastards."

Ozone filled the air as Dietrichia shocked the flesh on the ground with as controlled of a blast as possible, though the effort visibly strained her. She suddenly collapsed, Yantz catching her before she fell onto the ground. Steam rose into the air, and though any reiklander would say it was still beyond rare...meat was meat. Cyrdic had already (secretly) felt an intense hunger from the raw meat, but now? He grabbed up a slab and began to gulp down in great bites what looked to be a five pound piece.

"Water!" Konrad whispered excitedly to the group, having uncovered five barrels. One held an odd wine, the others had more meat, though they still had hair and hooves attached. But the fifth had actual water. "It's dirty as Sigmar's balls, but it's water, by the Hammer!"

"Wazakrok!" A cry echoed down the hall, and the clip clop of what sounded like hooves in the distance. An unintelligable exchange was transpiring not 12 paces away down another curve of the hall, but the group couldn't help themselves. They ate and drank at least a bit, as quitely as they could. It was filled with dirt and blood, but it would keep them going for the moment. Cyrdic reluctantly tossed aside what was left of his slab, knowing to fill himself too quickly, even starving, would hamper him more than he would want.

"Dahzah, fur kol naltorkag," one of the gravely voices barked, and soon a slow approach by one of the Dawi Zharr was evident.
@Penny

[Penny]

Camilla felt infinitely better for the few bites of food, she was hungry enough that the dirty water and slightly spoiled meat didn’t phase her for more than a moment. Truthfully she had probably eaten worse at some of the roadside taverns she and Cydric had stayed at when their funds were at their lowest. Already her mind seemed clearer, her thoughts sharper, as though a fog had been pulled back from her senses. Her hand closed around the hilt of her sword and she slid it from her belt without a sound. She guestured to Cydric and flattened herself against the black basalt wall.

Keys rattled in the lock and the door swung open with a curious whir of tumblers. A dark figure, commensurate in size to Skaldi stepped in, a lantern was clutched in its hands but the fingernails were fused into black claw like talons. The figure was dressed in robes of red and brass with a strange tall hat. A full beard, braided with odd geometric ornaments hung beneath glowering red eyes. The dwarf thing stepped into the room and held the lantern high, large nostrils quivering. A questioning voice in the same dark tongue Camilla stepped behind the creature into the doorway.

A second creature, holding a brass and gold rod, stood before her eyes widening with shock. She thrust the point of her blade into its throat with a twist of her wrist. Behind her she heard the sound of Cydric’s blade slicing the thick air followed by a crunch and a wet thump. The creature impaled on her blade gurgled blood for a moment and she eased the body down, using the elven steel as a lever against the things weight. She turned to see Cydric stooping to clean his blade on the tunic of the Chaos Dwarf he had decapitated. Myrmidia, the thing had tusks. Skaldi stepped passed her and seized the one Camilla had slain and dragged it through the doorway. She stooped and picked up the strange rod and followed, careful to close the door only to within a fingers breath in case it locked.

“Neatly done,” Konrad observed, lowering his greatsword.

“We have had plenty of practice,” Camilla said, giving Cydric a fond smile as she crouched and began searching one of the corpses.

“What if there had been more than two?” the greatsword asked.

“I could have taken two, besides the best fighter will generally in the lead, better for Cydric to take him,” Camilla explained. Several pouches were secured on a belt of woven metallic strands. She opened each in turn uncovering a handful of odd black metal coins, an unidentified powder and, amazingly a fist sized block of cheese. She sniffed the cheese and took a bite. It was fearfully dry but otherwise the same as one might find in any village in the Empire. In Tilea it would certainly have been blended with olive oil or wine. She tossed the block to Cydric and tucked the coins into her own pouches.

“I suppose I didn’t think of it that way,” Konrad admitted. Camilla tapped a fingertip against her temple and straightened up.

“You are used to fighting out in the open in formations. Tunnel fighting is something else again,” Skaldi rumbled, peering through the thin sliver of doorway to keep watch.

“You know it seems to me that everytime we go underground, things go poorly for us,” Camilla complained. It did seem that subterranean places were synonymous with misfortune. It wasn’t like there was much choice, but then there never did.

“What are we going to do about her?” Camilla asked, nodding towards Dietricha. Yantz stood up, looking wary. He stepped forward placing himself between the unconscious wizard and the rest of the party.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well I would assume transporting us will be a little more taxing than cooking meat?” Camilla asked, placing a fist on each hip.

“Yeah so?”

Camilla nodded towards the unconscious wizard.

“It doesn't look like she is in shape to light a candle.”
@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Cyrdic gave Camilla a wink when she spoke of them working together, and he caught the block of cheese. It was rough and coarse to the touch, but he greedily bit into it regardless. He felt more like an animal these past few weeks than ever before, yet they were getting closer and closer to civilization. They just needed to awaken Dietrichia and fight off reinforcements if they were discovered, and of course they would be. By the Gods, the Chaos Dwarf's necks had been thick. He wasn't entirely sure if it was his weakened state or the fact they were Dwarfs and thickly muscled.

"We'll need to carry her to wherever the alter is within the temple," Cyrdic said. Yantz was already hoisting her up over his shoulder, and Konrad went to grab a few more bites of meat and cheese for the journey ahead, though everyone in the room hoped they wouldn't have too much of a journey left to them. All except Skaldi. He seemed more vengeful at the owners of this temple than showing any real concern for his safety.

"Ver do ve go?" Ivan said, trying to talk as quiet as he could, though his voice still caused the big man's mustache to flap lightly.

"I'm not sure..." Camilla said, poking her head out into the hallway once more. Cyrdic was across from her, hugging the other wall. After a moment, Cyrdic whispered. "Wait here." to everyone, and he shared a look with Camilla. He could see the courtesan's face fall somewhat at the thought of being separated again, but he gave her a reassuring smile. "One second," he whispered, and stepped into the hallway, keeping low with his sword out.

Camilla was far better at infiltration, but Cyrdic was no stranger to ambush, and his nose might be able to help him. He placed his weight on the balls of his feet and stalked, hearing naught by the crackling of fire in the distance behind some bend. He passed by three more corridors, two of them filled with distant grumblings of the Chaos Dwarfs. It was at the end of the second hallway he heard the fire far closer, and the smell of sulphur in the air.

A small incantation or prayer was being recited however. He dared not look further, for fear of being spotted. "Sigmar, please be the way," he breathed as he turned back. A coarse roar was heard from behind him at that moment, and it caused him to freeze in his tracks. He paused for but a moment, and then continued back, knowing that whatever awaited them was something they would need to deal with regardless of if he looked.

Hugging Camilla, he turned to the others. "I think I found where we should go." he said. "But there's Chaos Dwarfs there. A sorcerer...and something more."
@Penny

[Penny]

Camilla felt her fingertips grow cold at the strange roar. She looked around the group, still mostly dead on thier feet, and wondered if they really had any chance of reaching the altar. Dietricha seemed to be stirring, her eyelids fluttered and a trail of blood ran from her right nostril. It seemed extremely unlikely that the wizard would be able to transport them with her magic. Camilla let out a weary sigh. The odds might be poor, but there was no chance they would remain hidden long enough to regain their strength and for the next few minutes they would at least hold the element of surprise. She squeezed Cydric’s hand.

“Lets go and may Myrmidia be with us.”

They crept out of the passageway Cydric had found and into what seemed to Camilla like an immense amphitheatre. There were scores of tiers each constructed of tesselated black obsidian. At the bottom of the circular chamber, nearly fifty feet below was a floor of black volcanic sand. An altar of brass and red marble was located in the center. Horned dwarf things in long robes stood in a circle. Great brass braziers blazed with fire that seemed to bubble like lava. A great lion headed beast, its dark pelt black with blood stood upon the altar. One of the dark priests painted sigils onto its skin with blood drawn from a bowl. As the bowl emptied it was passed to another priest. A line of prisoners, mostly orcs and goblins, were being lead to the altar. One by one the prisoners were pushed to their knees and their throat slit to fill the bowl. All the while the priests chanted and the crowd roared.

“There are at least a dozen priests on the altar, plus the… monster whatever it is,” Camilla reported. Ivan, with surprising stealth, crept to the portal and peered down. He was shaking his head when he returned.

“Mehbe wan or two handred in ze seat, too many,” he confirmed.

“We could try a rush,” Konrad ventured. Another roar echoed from the chamber and the Imperial’s knuckles tightened on the leather wrapped hilt of his sword. Skaldi scoffed.

“Aye lad, all we have to do is make it down there and its home free, except for the wizards and the monster and several hundred filthy Dawi-zharr at our backs,” Skaldi snapped. Konrad’s face reddened and he took a step towards the dwarf, fist balling.

“I am not afraid master dwarf if you would rather…”

“Are you calling me a coward manling!?”

Cydric stepped between the two holding up a palm to Skaldi, his face stern.

“For Sigmar sake shut up and think!” Cydric snapped. Yantz peeked out into the ampipheter and glanced back at them. His face was pale but he seemed more in control than Konrad. His eyes flickered constantly around, never leaving the drowsy Dietricha for long.

“The slaves,” Yantz declared. The party fell silent and looked at the Imperial mercenary.

“I can see a way into the slave pens. If I know anything its fighting green skins, if we can set them free I’d be my bollocks to a barn dance they tear this place appart or die trying,” he explained. Camilla nodded her head slowly liking the notion.

“Oh aye, they’ll tear the place appart, starting with us the moment we free them,” Skaldi sneered.

“We throw a couple of knives in there,” Camilla decided, rubbing her hands together at the notion of an even partly tenable plan.

“By the time the dwarves realised what is going on, enough of them will be free. We can use the confusion to rush the altar like Herr Konrad suggests.” She looked at Cydric questioningly.

“What do you think?”
@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

"If I know Orcs...even ones driven into slavery will be hard to contain." Cyrdic had to admit, and gave the group and a stoic nod. It was the best idea they had short of redirecting a lava flow to enter the temple valley, and that simply was a bit too hair brained even for this group. Skaldi seemed displeased that they had to use greenskins of all things, but upon imagining the mayhem, he quickly grew satisfied at the thought.

"Hide yourselves, I'll open the pens." Cyrdic said. And he stepped forward before he felt a slim hand on his chest, the knowledge it was Camilla rather than her strength kept him from moving forward.

"No, vado." She said softly. Cyrdic had been around her long enough to know she was telling him she would do it. "Camilla..."

She shut him up with a longing kiss that made his strong legs weak, and she held his face. "I'll be fine. Hide." she told him. He sighed and nodded, and lead the others away. As much as he hated to admit it, Camilla was just as proficient at slipping out of trouble as she was getting into it. If Cyrdic opened those pens, he'd likely be overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of the Orcs, even if he managed to kill a few.

The group began to stagger their formation, hiding behind pillars and stones, likely used for seats for some dark gather, and awaited the chaos that would ensue.
@Penny

[Penny]

Camilla gave Cydric a second passionate kiss, ignoring the taste of ash and scrape of stubble. It seemed more likely than usual that this might be the end and she wanted as many of her last memories to be positive. When they finally pulled away she turned to the party, all of whom were making a point of not looking at the two lovers. She cleared her throat and they turned their attention her.

“Alright gentlemen, I need all the weapons we can spare.”

In retrospect, it might have been the wrong way to phrase the question to a group of mercenaries. Within a minute she had a pile of iron sufficient to arm a small regiment. Cydric contributed his heavy hunting knife and Konrad a dagger and a shorsword he reserved for close in work. Ivan had a pair of small hatchets secreted somewhere on his body as well as a curved knife that pushed the boundary between dagger and sword. Skaldi had a throwing axe, a heavy knife and a strange contraption that seemed to be brass knuckles with a protruding blade. Yant’s produced so any knives that even Camilla was impressed, plucking blade after blade from all sorts of strange places. He even had a pair of Estallian throwing knives that made Camilla briefly jealous.

“Ivan,” she said apologetically, “I’m going to need your coat.” The big Kislivite grumbled and stripped off his bear fur cloak and lay it on the ground. Together they piled the weapons onto the garment and Camilla carefully tied the corners together in an improvised knapsack. The fur was the best choice because it muffled the clink of metal against metal. Carefully she slung the improvised pack over her shoulder.

“You look like Kringel,” Cydric snickered, referring to the Hexensnact legend of a kindly old priest who left presents for children. Camilla couldn’t stifle a giggle.

“Bringing presents to all the good little greenskins,” she agreed. Cydric’s face grew serious.

“Be safe,” he told her. Camilla’s smile broadened.

“Since when?”

The chanting and sacrifices were intensifying when Camilla crept back onto the balcony. The bone chilling monster roared in pain or anger as more runes were drawn on its already soaked pelt. If it had ever been another color it was now a scabrous red black of orc blood. The crowd was intent on the spectacle, chanting or praying in low voices that sounded like rock splitting during an earthquake. She made her way to a large structural pillar carved into the shape of a tusked dwarf and leaped up, seizing one of the beard ornaments, and climbed onto its shoulder. For the first time she was glad that she was filthy, the black coating of volcanic ash was good camouflage against the obsidian structure. Balancing her awkward bundle she leaped to the next pillar, and then the next making her way to the slave pens that Yants had spotted.

It seemed to take her an age, and with every moment she worried that her friends might be discovered, and that it would be to late. Periodically she cast her eyes back to their entry point and caught sight of Cydric watching her. THe slave pens were nearly a hundred and eighty degrees around from where they had entered. The seats ended and a large wedgelike cleft was cut into the cylinder, Below orcs and goblins in their hundreds huddled together. The sheer smooth walls left them nowhere to go but to the narrow exit chute where armored dwarves were waiting to lead them to their deaths. There must have been a hundred of them, tightly packed and stinking of fear. The final pillar allowed her to look directly down on the mass of enslaved greenskins. A vicious looking goblin was graphically relieving himself against the obsidian wall of his pen beneath her. Camilla spat, the fleck of spittle falling thirty feet to hit the diminutive green seen on the top of its bald head. Its glowing red eyes snapped up to spot her. Thankfully it was cunning enough not to roar or snarl. She reached into the pack of weapons and drew out one of the throwing knives. The goblin cocked its head sideways and then glanced around. Neither the jailors nor the things companions seemed to notice. She let the knife fall. It plunged point down into the sand at the goblins feet. The creature sat down with its back to the wall. A moment later Camilla saw the hempen bonds around its wrists fall away. It snarled at another nearby goblin that slunk over to it. A quick stroke of the knife and two of them were free. Camilla withdrew an axe and dropped it to her unlikely ally, sending the weapons down one at a time. The hit the sand with soft crunching sounds not at all obvious.

The Chaos Dwarves on guard tore their eyes from the glorious ritual to drag forth another group of slaves for the offering. A trio of lesser goblins and a scrawny orc lumbered forward. The dwarf approved of their compliance, half the time the beasts had to be dragged physically to the gate. It was only when the creatures were a few feet away that the dwarf realised there was something wrong with their bonds. He opened his mouth to shout a warning but the lead goblin was already leaping, plunging a long knife into the joint between helmet and throat. The second guard swung his shield in bar but a blur of steel streaked from above into the eyesocket of his helmet and he staggered backwards, dark blood pouring from beneath his black steel helmet. The scrawny orc leaped forward and grabbed the axe from the hands of the dying chaos dwarf.

“WAAAAAAAAARGH!” the beast shrieked spraying spittle as its massive hinged jaw distended. The greenskin’s poured forth in a tide climbing over each other to leap to the sand of the amphitheatre floor. The seized any weapon available, grabbing torches and stones. The whole chamber descended into screaming confusions, the great beast rearing back and roaring as it struggled against whatever mystical bonds the dwarves were employing. Camilla watched the swirling melee with satisfaction for a moment and then, belatedly, realised that there was a full scale war between her and the altar she needed to reach.
@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

The sorcerers among the Dawi Zharr recited an unholy incantation that seemed to grow in volume despite none of them raising their voices, engulfing the chamber until one by one they unleashed their spells. Cyrdic and the group had duck further behind cover as walls of flame erupted into the fighting and scorching up into the back of the antechamber. It was no Dragonfire, but it seemed far more dangerous than your average flame.

One of the blasts streaked through four greenskins, utterly incinerating their flesh. The blast cut into the pillar Camilla clung to, charring the stone at its base and causing an ominous creak in the structural integrity of the architecture. Cyrdic stiffened, ready to run headlong and aid her at the first sign of trouble. Simultaneously, the magic that had been unleashed had awoken Dietrichia, the woman groaning and opening her eyes.

"What foul sorcery?" she asked, her cultured accent slow as she tried to figure out where she was. Cyrdic didn't have time to wonder on anything else, simply glad the woman was awake, and painfully aware Camilla's precarious position. "Ivan. Lead them down and flank the Dwarfs-" Skaldi seemed insulted he called them such. "I mean Chaos Dwarfs. I'll follow." Cyrdic charged off as soon as he spoke those last words, not stopping to hear the protests.

Below him, Orc, Goblin, and Dwarf still fought. The Greenskins fought with their typical brutality that was extremely effective in close quarters. But the Chaos Dwarfs were only slightly flimsier than your average Dwarf, and they were clad in black plate and wielding weapons that put Imperial armaments to shame. It was only a matter of time before the Greenskins were destroyed. Cyrdic danced over charred and burning bones as he passed by a pair of Orcs. They looked at him dumbfoundedly, too surprised to see an Empire man to immediately swing at him.

He shoulder rushed one and threw him flat just as the pillar began to crumble. From up above, Cyrdic heard Camilla squawk. He looked upwards and saw her plummeting. The Ostlander dived and just barely caught her, rolling to change her bodies momentum and tossing them both roughly onto the stone floor. Luckily, Cyrdic took the brunt of the impact, and he opened his eyes to see Camilla in his arms. "You ok?" he asked.

She kissed his nose in response.

The two Orcs advanced on them, eyeing them balefully. Cyrdic pulled himself and Camilla up. A great cry echoed from the Greenskins and they chopped at the two mercenaries. Camilla going low and impaling her Orc, whilst Cyrdic blocked the brute swing with his own formidable strength and then hacked the brutes arm off. Within seconds, both Orcs were dead. However, they couldn't stop the bond, and a voice of incredible presence filled the chamber with grunts in the Dawi Zharr tongue, as if it was ordering them about.

A quick look below showed the group having moved, crouching and moving from pillar to stone in a hushed movement. Lights played off of Dietrichia's fingertips as the group held their weapons, Skaldi and Ivan leading them with Konrad and Boris guarding the flanks. They were 7 rows down so far, moving in a slightly sinuous pace to remain hidden.

"We need to go."
@Penny

[Penny]

The melee was beyond brutal. Camilla saw a goblin, perhaps the same one she had first freed, tear a dwarf’s throat out with its needle like teeth, dark blood gouted over its chin as it looked up at her and shouted something in its own tongue before hefting the fallen dwarfs shield to balance the axe it already had. Another dwarf was split from shoulder to hip by a vast overhand strike from a burly orc who held one of the great dwarven axes as if it were a toy. A second chaos dwarf stepped forward while the beast was trying to free his blade and sliced one leg of at the knee. The orc looked surprised as he toppled over and maintained the look of stunned stupefaction as the dwarf stepped and and delivered a beheading coup de grace. The noise was incredible. Weapons clanged over bestial war cries and the swelling chant of the sorcerers. Orc shrieked feral war cries as they smashed their improvised weapons against their dark armored foes. It seemed to Camilla that the very mountain rumbled in accompaniment to the violence.

The Dawi-Zharr were beginning to recover from the sudden assault and in a few moments they would be able to form up into a fighting unit that would be able to repel the nascent slave rebellion with far greater efficiency than the individual dwarves could manage. If there was to be a moment of opportunity, it had to be now. Camilla stood and waved both her arms frantically at their companions, gesturing to the altar. Ivan yelled something and stood fitting an arrow to his recurve bow as he lead the charge down the obsidian steps towards the altar. They were nearly to the ampitheatre floor before the Chaos Dwarves realized their peril. A single spark of light, cold and beautiful as the dawn star leaped from Dietricha’s fingertip and lanced towards the assembled sorcerers. The tiny dart struck something black and monstrous that hung in the air around the altar. Pulsing bands of black energy were suddenly visible hanging in the air like an intricate net. Small cracks of light seemed to be spreading through the sorcery, each pulsing the same pale blue of Dietricha’s spark. One of the sorcerers turned in panic only to be punched off his feet as an arrow struck him between neck and shoulder.

“We need to go!” Camilla yelled over the din and ran forward through the melee. She ducked under the axe swipe of an armored dwarf and thrust the tip of her blade into the gap at the things armpit, it roared in pain and staggered back gurgling as blood began to fill its lungs. Dark steel whistled towards her and she barely managed to parry it downwards, leaping into the air so it swung through the empty air beneath her feet. Cydric stepped forward and delivered a vast overhanded blow that caught the dwarf on the crest of its helmet. A shower of sparks spewed into the air. The helmet deformed like a dished in cooking pot, though the steel didn’t actually break and the dwarf slumped to the ground.

With a crack like all the cannons Camilla had ever seen discharging at once the great black spell weaving shattered in a flash of light so shockingly blue that Camilla fancied she could see through the Dwarves in front of them. The concussion knocked everyone in the room from their feet with a clatter of metal that seemed barely audible after the blast. Rock groaned and a great stalagmite plummeted from the stygian darkness above like a bolt from the heavens. It smashed into the lower tiers and shattered like a morar bursting, shards of rock shredding and crushing chaos dwarves and orcs alike. Camilla lay on the ground across Cydric coughing and gasping for breath. Purple after images of the detonation danced across her eyes. She staggered to her feet, among the first to do so, a few feet in front of her an armored dwarf was pushing itself to its feet. She shoved her blade into the back of its neck feeling bone grate against the point of her weapon.

“Cydric,” she croaked, her throat as dry as the deserts of Araby and reached down to help him to his feet. Dimly she realised that the blast had snuffed every torch and that they were in pitch darkness. Somehow she could still see well enough to move, although just barely. There was a terrifying roar, somewhat attenuated by the ringing in her ears and she saw the beast on the altar bite the top half off one of the sorcerers on the altar and shake the corpse, the legs flying off into the darkness as spine and flesh were shredded by the things maw. It gulped down hungrily even as its great claw disemboweled another of the dwarf things. The creature reared onto its hind legs and sprang into the ranks of combatants still trying to find their feet, scorpion like tail lashing.

Half supporting each other they staggered the twenty remaining feet to the base of the altar platform. Camilla leaped, caught the edge with her finger tips and flipped herself up and over the edge. A moment later Cydric clambered up, breathing hard. Behind her she could hear the screams of dwarves and the roars of orcs only as a counterpoints the furious howls of the monster as it tore into them. There was a sudden flash and a bang to her right and movement behind her. Camilla spun her sword held low to see a sorcerer that had been creeping up behind her stagger backwards with a whole between its beady eyes. Yantz stepped down onto the platform groping blindly, pistol smoking. Dietricha held his hand, like an older sister leading a young sibling in a game of blind man's buff. The altar was carpeted with dead sorcerers, most of them were bleeding from the ears and eyes, heads shattered by the concussion of the blast. Curiously a baleful bull like idol still stood in the center of the altar, apparently untouched by the destruction.

Dietricha raised her hand and spoke a word. A pale blue light, wholly without apparent source, filled the chamber. Combatants, previously blinded, struck at each other with the vigor of terror. A thick pall of dust was falling from the ceiling and it scattered the light like lightning behind a storm cloud. It was a compromise that allowed the humans and orcs to operate, even though it revealed them to their enemies. Ivan stumbled onto the altar, leading Konrad and Skaldi, all of them held bloody weapons and Skaldi’s face was soaked in blood from a scalp wound.

“We need two minutes!” Yantz yelled as Dietricha began to chant. Motes of blue light seemed to suck out of the artificial cloud and coalesce around the wizard. Camilla had a distinct taste of mushrooms at the back of her throat. A green hand appeared at the edge of the platform and she neatly amputated it with a flick of her weapon.

“Are you insane, the whole place will be on us!” she yelled, unnecessarily loud for being half deafened. Yantz was biting one of the oiled cartriges open and pouring the powder into the mouth of his pistol. He shoved the paper after it and spat the ball in.

“It isn’t exactly my idea of a Sigmarzeist Parade either!” he yelled as he pulled a slender ramming rod from the socket and rammed the ball home.

@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Cyrdic took Camilla's hand, and with his other hand they pulled him up to the top of the altar, breathing hard. His huge shoulders rose and fell like waves, and he squared his jaw and stood tall, his sword replenishing his energy with what magic it could spare. Below them, a maelstrom of combat and butchery surged, as the Orcs devolved into their bestial nature and reformed into their culture before Cyrdic's very eyes, all following one of the larger Orcs by some instinct of power.

The Chaos Dwarfs formed units where they could, their black plate shimmering dully in the light of the candles and the fading light of Dietrichia's spell. Many of their weapons thrummed with power, and the greatest of the Dwarfs had armor even more ornate than the others, with glowing red lines along the creases of their armor as if magma was encased within the black iron. A few of them had muskets and handguns, but most of them were too busy fighting their former slaves to pay attention to those on the altar, at least so far.

Skaldi blocked the blow of a Goblin and crushed its skull with his shield bash, kicking the spasming corpse down the stones. He roared and banged his axe upon his shield, challenging any to come and attack. Cyrdic wasn't sure if his call was answered or if the enemies closest happened to notice them guarding the sorceress, or perhaps some had sensed magic being wrought. But a group of Dawi Zhaar charged their position, making their way up the stairs with the clopping of hoofed feet.

A gunshot rang off, and Cyrdic felt a terrible pain in his shoulder as a bullet struck him, but he only staggered. He hoped it was only a bullet and no chaos spawned weapon. He raised his sword in time and blocked the swing of a cruel halberd. The pain in his shoulder flared, not to mention how out of breath he was. The aches of his body had not lessened with the food. But he held his strength and hacked through the weapon with a stroke, knocking the stout fiend off its feet to roll into its comrades.

Camilla shot her pistol into one of the Dawi Zharr, though it bounced off the Chaos Dwarf's armor. She cursed in Tilean, and the next moment they along with the Kislevites engaged the Dawi Zharr in a fierce melee. It was more of a brawl and who had the most brute strength rather than anything with skill, and unfortunately the Chaos Dwarfs still had the Dwarfish strength of arm despite their twisted bodies and pushed the group back, the companions trying to find room to breathe.

It was the mercy of the Gods when some Orcs came from behind and flanked them, and it gave Ivan an opportunity to cut into the exposed neck of his enemy, killing or at least incapacitating his foe and shoulder rushing him off the edge of the altar.

"How much longer!?" Cyrdic cried, engaging an Orc that had climbed the side of the plateau.
@Penny

[Penny]

Camilla’s blade raised a shower of spark as it ground across the black steel armor. The shock of the misaimed stroke jarred her shoulder painfully as the hell forged plate turned the elven blade. She fell back with a cry nearling losing her grip on the weapon. The dwarf drew back its hooked axe to gut her and for a moment she thought she heard an evil chuckle. Konrad’s greatsword sheered down in a might blow, amputating the things arm at the shoulder, slicing it from neck to breast in a spray of blood. Too tired to offer thanks Camilla fell back into her place in the loose diamond the party had formed around Dietricha. The wizard was crouched over the strange bull like altar chanting weird words that seemed to slide from her ears.

“Your guess is as good as mine!” Yantz shouted in response to a question she hadn’t heard. The sandy haired Imperial slashed uselessly at a trio of Chaos Dwarfs, his heavy sword striking like blacksmiths hammer down upon their shields. The orcs ranks were thinning rapidly. The greenskins were unmatched in their rage, but as Imperial armies well knew, discipline was more than a match for brute strength. The Chaos Dwarves were forming into larger ranks and beginning to push on the altar. Only the high ground and the distraction of the remaining orcs kept them from being instantly over run.

“This isn’t going to work!” Camilla yelled over the din, pausing to thrust the point of her weapon through the eyeslit of a dwarf attempting to gain the platform. Another six or seven Dawi-Zarr climbed onto the platform. They instantly locked shield, forming a bulwark which would be impossible for the exhausted group to overcome.

“We can’t…”

The cavern rocked with the war shriek of the monster as it smashed down into the rear of the phalanx, claws slashing like sabres. Whether by natural ferocity or dark sorcery, the creature’s claws tore armor like paper. It snapped and tore with its teeth, rending fresh and snapping bone in a nightmarish orgy of destruction. It’s tail snapped like a cannon, the scorpion like stinger struck Yantz’ sword and shattered it like a mortar ball, pitching the Imperial off his feet with a shout of pain. The beast roared and turned its head to look at Camilla, eyes burning with hateful intelligence. She was out of tricks and clever tactics, she hardly had the energy to dodge, all she could do was grip her sword and await the inevitable. The great beast reared back, muscles bunching like vast steel cables, black wings spreading like a funerial shroud. It screeched like a deamon, great jaws displaying hundreds of dagger like teeth, and launched itself at her like a thunderbolt from heaven. Camilla raised her blade and closed her eyes. She felt the wind of the things approach, smelled the stench of its maw and then…

The world exploded into a billion points of azure light.

_________________________________________________________________

Chapter 7 - Praag

When surveying the many geographic oddities that characterise the land of Kislev one would be remiss not to discuss the unique Karkov Crater of the Black Ice mountains. Located just over a hundred miles from Volksgrad the crater is a perfectly hemispherical gulf that appears to be scooped from the peak of one of the smaller mountains. Approximately two hundred feet in diameter, the crater is unusually smooth and shows no sign of the volcanism which characterises similar craters in the archipelagos south of Araby and the Gulf of Ijan.

As is so often the case, the local Kislivites ascribe all manor of strange superstitions to the crater. Some tales speak of an ancient stronghold of evil dwarves allegedly located beneath the mountain. Others speak of a beautiful woman descending from the heavens. Even more fanciful tales speak of the God Ulric rending the earth and rising from the crater to the great howling of wolves. Needless to say all of these peasant superstitions are ridiculous. The most likely explanation for the Karkov Crater is gradual erosion from a secondary aquifer…

From: Geographical Oddities of the Northern Reaches, Vol IV, Altdorf Press

“Answer me wizardling, lest I cleave your head from your shoulders” Ulkjar the Skull Cleaver demanded. The hulking champions brazen armor steamed in the frigid air of northern Kislev. The camp was located on an a rocky hillock. Though the snows covered the land with a thin film of white the ground for a mile in every direction was clear like a boil thrusting up through clear skin and spreading the red heat of infection. The Kislivites were proud of their harsh winter, long a bar for invaders, but for this army, for this commander, there would be no winter. Already his scouts had reached the outskirts of Praag, driving thousands from their pitiful villages to freeze in the snow. Once the city was taken, they would make fine provisions for the march south.

Around the hillock fires burned. Black armored chaos warriors moved among burly Norscans clustered around the days captives. Men and women screamed in a continual wail of agony as the vile warriors took their varied amusement with them. The weaker ones were already boiling in Norscan cook pots. Thousands of beastmen circled like skavengers, snapping at the bloodied leavings of their betters. Horns blew and weapons clashed in occasional displays of wanton blood lust. That was as it should be in the army of the Skull Cleaver. The weak, friend or foe, had no place here.

The adept of Tzeentch continued his chant, fell magics gathered about him, dancing off his crystalline armor in motes of leprous yellow light. Sarhasis the Neverborne was a powerful wizard and strange even by the standards of his own kind. Strange enough to seek out allies among Khorne’s chosen, a natural enemy of his mercurial master. The alliance the two had made was undeniably effective, they had cut their way across the waste together, gathering men and influence as they went, but neither of them like or trusted the other. Sarhasis spat a serpentine word of power and cast his knuckle bones. The bone, each taken from the index finger of an apostate priest, hung in the air a moment longer than gravity would have dictated and then fell to the earth in what looked like a random jumble.

“Nothing…” the sorcerer rasped, his voice like snake skins coiling and sliding over one and other.

“How can there be nothing?” Ulkjar snapped, his hand gripping and ungripping on the hilt of his axe. In the sunken caves of Uglish, the pair had uncovered an obscure prophecy carved into the living rock of those unhallowed catacombs. It spoke of an army that would march in the heat of the summer, though around them be ice. It also spoke of a twin bane. The Summer Maiden and the Wolf of Winter. Only if the pair stood against them were the omens of victory uncertain. If they did not take the city of Daemons, they did then they would have to seek their daemonhood at Haigh Tarna. Even Sarhashis, who had studied the library of the blind Eater Lygax and walked the scroll forest of Pentafore could find no record of where or what Haigh Tarna might be. Though they had found clues as to whom the Summer Maiden and the Wolf of Winter might be.

Ulkjar had sent his norscan allies to deal with them, though they cursed him for forcing them to sail in such an unprofitable season. Blood oaths and terror had forced the reavers to go, though it seemed they had failed to kill either of the prophesied pair. That such doom should be attached to mere mortal mercenaries was not uncommon. Those who walked the many fold paths knew that fate more often turned on the actions of paupers than princes. Every nine days for the past two months they had cast the bones. Seeking signs and portents of the Banes. The readings had returned captivity, freedom, travel and the Daemon Smiths. It seemed now that the pair must have fallen for what else could explain their absence from the bones. Though it hadn’t been as smooth as Ulkjar had hoped, it seemed that the reavers had done their work. That the death blows came at the hands of Daemon Smiths was of no concern.

“They are dead,” Ulkjar rumbled, his enthusiasim giving his words the buzz of an impending landslide.

“It must be so, if they were upon the face of the earth, the bones would spy them out,” Sarhashis agreed reluctantly. Ulkjar began to laugh and turned from the profane circle to face his assembled chieftans. All four of the Dark Gods were represented as always they were when a great captain arose. He shook his axe in the air.

“We wait no longer!” Ulkjar roared, his shadow, cast by a hundred fires, briefly flickered into that of a vast dog with immense teeth.

“Victory awaits us in the City of Daemons!”

The answering roar shook the very hilltop

[POOHEAD189]

The great walls of Praag towered over them, as the north wind blew across the endless plains of Kislev. The sky, as vast as the plains they had traversed, was overcast and grim, though nothing compared to the darkly carved guard tower, and what Cyrdic suspected to be the Gate of Gargoyles. Even after all he had seen in his travels, the gate made his skin crawl. It fit its nightmarish reputation, with the swelling stonework overlook by hideously mutated statues that had been warped during the last great war against Chaos. Past the gate was an even more imposing wall, and just behind that was the fiendish looking fortress citadel that also served as the count's Palace.

"By Ursun's beart and my fathers horse!" Ivan boomed, holding his arms out as if he was to embrace the very city itself. Boris looked as if he would weep at the sight. Konrad and Yantz shared a look of relief after they had regained their composure from the horrifying gate. Dietrichia had remained very silent throughout their journey out of the World's Edge Mountains. Skaldi had done nothing but mutter about good ale, though occasionally he did speak ill of being brought here by foul sorcery.

However, the gates were closed. Something Ivan found very confusing, for he had ridden to Praag many times in his life and he had always found them open unless they expected an attack from chaos or orcish raids. "Vat is the meaning of this!?" Ivan called up to the Kislevite guards atop the walls, men covered in Lamellar armor and carrying sabers and spears.

"State your name and your purpose in Praag!" a guard called.

"We seek shelter and rest!" Cyrdic called up to him, and the guard surveying the group could tell they were honest. The small convoy looked half starved and covered in week old bloodstains and dirt. "I am Ivan Petrovich, of the Petrov Boyars!" their boisterous companion called up, and the guards were taken aback, discussing among themselves for a moment before the iron rimmed gates slowly opened for the group. Cyrdic let out a breath he had been holding, thanking Sigmar for their luck. He couldn't imagine having to walk back to Ostland of all places if they were not allowed entry here.

The gates revealed what Cyrdic did not expect however. Instead of a few guards or serfs, a group of heavily armed Hussars reared their horses up fiercely, and kicked their steeds forward at a charge that looked to be aimed at the companions. Cyrdic raised his sword defensively and stepped in front of Camilla, only for the cavalry to separate and wheel round the group, galloping toward the north, where fires of what the Ostlander suspected to be burning villages were. A rider stayed behind, waving for them. "Move! Into the city, quick!"

"Go!" Konrad urged, and a horn sounded in the distance behind them.

Cyrdic slipped an arm under Camilla's and pushed inside Praag, too confused and relieved to be behind friendly walls to be any more disturbed at the grim architecture. The gates were closed as soon as the group was clear, and Ivan and Boris were hailed over by a well armored guardsman in a plumed hat. Cyrdic went to go over with them but Ivan kept him at a distance, and began speaking his native tongue to the captain for a few terse moments. Cyrdic shared a look with Camilla, and when Ivan returned he had a stern look on his face. Skaldi raised an eyebrow.

"I go to speak to tha Count, but it looks liek they expect a small incursion of Chaos. Ve should be safe in the valls, do not vorry." He said, giving a forced smile and patting Camilla on the head happily. "Go and fint an inn. I vill kam back shortly."

Dietrichia stepped forward. "I would talk with the Count as well," she said, though Ivan seemed very doubtful that was possible, giving her a shake of his head. "I do naut tink that vould be a goot idea." he said.

"Nevertheless, I must try." she replied passively, and as Yantz stepped to go with her, she waved him away. "No...you've earned your rest. Go with them. As Ivan said, we will be back shortly."
@Penny

[Penny]

The Drunken Mare wasn’t the worst tavern in Praag although that wasn’t as great a compliment as it might have been. The building was three stories with a steep pitched roof in a half timbered Imperial style, but any grandeur it had ever possessed was long since passed. The sign that hung above the door was old and fading but appeared to depict an improbablely voluptuous woman attempting to attract the interest of a very clearly male horse.

The interior smelled of pipe smoke and old ale. There was a large common room with a massive stone fireplace over which a large cauldron of stew bubled. Dark wood framed doors lead back into further smoky back rooms which Camilla imagined were store rooms and kitchens. Two elaborately carved staircases led up to a balcony where tired looking whores chatted with each other, occasionally making the effort to stretch out a leg or shake their bosoms at likely candidates. It was early for their trade but no doubt business would pick up.

For once Camilla was able to enjoy entering a tavern without attracting gasps. She was a long way from her glamorous best. Her face and body were filthy and her hair a tangled mess. Weeks of poor nutrition and exposure to the cold had left her looking almost skeletally thin and malnourished. With her ragged cloak she could probably pass for a young boy. Despite the fact that it wasn’t quite lunch time the tavern was packed. Kislivites and Imperials filled almost every seat. Many of them seemed to be merchants or tradesmen, locals or traders trapped here by the winter snows. There were a fair number of soldiers too. A group of hussars sat at a large corner table, throwing dice and roaring a Kislivite song that Camilla couldn’t follow. They slapped the table at intervals and threw back belts of vodka from a large leather cup that seemed to circle the table according to rules known only to the players.

“Ale?” a handsome woman in late middle age demanded with a harried peremptory air. She wore a stained apron and carried a tray piled dangerously high with empty flagons. She had eyes that were pale blue and Camilla intuited that she must have been very beautiful when she was young. Years of hard work had ground her down. The innkeepers eyes measured them apprehensively, noting the filth, their wounds, and their obvious weaponry.

“Or food, we have beef and barley stew and fresh bread,” she expanded. There was a slight hint of an accent, Brettonian Camilla thought, though long attenuated by living among the Kislivites. Idly she wondered what the woman’s story was. Camilla’s stomach growled audibley at the mention of food. They had found nothing to eat on the day long march besides a few handfuls of bitter berries which Ivan dubiously recommended as ‘sometimes a treat for horses’. Even that faint praise hadn’t been enough to disturb the party from eating all they could find.

“Both,” Camilla said immediately, her voice causing the innkeeper to arch an eyebrow and give her a second glance.

“And rooms,” she added eagerly dong her best to keep her eyes away from the stew. The innkeeper shook her head decisively.

“No rooms honey, we are all full up with people in from the countryside, I doubt you could find a room anywhere in Praag.” Camilla frowned in disappointment, trying to force her hunger fogged brain to function.

“I can clear you a table,” the innkeeper offered, “if you have the coin for it?” It wasn’t quite an accusation but it had the sharp edge of a question that would be answered before the conversation proceeded. Camilla reached into her pouch and fished around digging through the handful of black iron coins for something acceptable. Yantz reached into his tunic and pulled out a purse jingling it significantly. The innkeepers face softened into a warm professional smile at the sound. Camilla felt a surge of relief, they had never been paid for their service in Nordland and funds had been getting pretty tight before that. They would need to find work and soon. The innkeeper turned to one of the corner tables at which a group of sallow looking youths, sons of minor nobles or rich merchants by their dress.

“You lot, settle up your tab and clear out!” she snapped. The popinjays sat up drunkenly and glared at the woman.

“We are done when we say we are done Bretonnian whore!” one of them, a pimpled youth with dirty blonde hair snapped drunkenly. His companions growled in surly agreement, sneering contemptuously. The innkeeper’s back stiffened her posture that of someone about to embark on a confrontation but with no wish to do so. Camilla felt an irrational surge of rage. She was hungry tired and filthy. She had been abducted, terrified, shot at and nearly killed more times than she cared to count and now, when they finally reached safely, these drunken louts were standing between her and a hot meal. Without a word she stalked across the floor towards the group. The leaders eyes widened either recognising her as a woman or merely surprised that someone would approach her. She seized a clay mug from the table and swung it in a broad arc that ended at the blonde mans temple, shattering in a spray of broken pottery. The fellows eyes glazed and he slumped back in his seat, soaked in spilled ale. His companions prepped for a fight by the earlier harsh words, surged out of their chairs and rushed towards the slight Tilean.

@POOHEAD189

[Penny]

[POOHEAD189]

"We'll sleep in a barn, I don't give a damn," Yantz declared, clearly tired of the unfortunate news of no rooms. Cyrdic had to agree with him, but the big Ostlander was a bit too sullen and exhausted to show outrage at the moment. He simply blinked and tried to remain upright, or he felt as if he would topple over. Camilla seemed to take her exhaustion differently, and Cyrdic did a double take when she outright attacked one of the pompous knaves at their table.

"Ach! Damn bitch!" the fallen young man cried, trying his best to regain his footing and composure, grabbing at the table to lift himself back up again. Camilla's knee met his nose and his head snapped back, and he toppled like a pole-axed ox. Cyrdic stepped forward, hoping to halt the fighting if he could, maybe by threatening the lads. However, it took less than three steps for him to realize that he was now running on autopilot, and he was thinking like he would in a normal situation. But this wasn't a normal situation. They'd gone to hell and back and these lot were simply being greedy.

One of the men made his way around the table and punched at Camilla, only for his forearm to be plucked out of the air by a strong grip from Cyrdic. Even exhausted, he outclassed the merchant's son in strength. His other hand grabbed him by the shirt, and with a twist of his powerful back, he launched him over two tables, causing a flirtatious serving wench that had been entertaining a reikland mercenary to squeal and drop her drink. The lad ended up hitting the door and disappearing into the streets. Despite the show of strength, Cyrdic had been slow at the toss and he turned around to get a fist in his gut.

He grimaced, his aching ribs now flaring in pain. But his headbutt brought his opponent low in an instant. Camilla cursed them for fools and wretches in Tilean, challenging them over the table as if it were the last bit of sustenance in this world. Cyrdic stepped over to stand beside her. "Get the fuck out." he said evenly. Yantz appeared beside them, a knife in his callused hand. He seemed on the verge of true violence, and the malice in his eyes along with three of their number down gave the young men pause. It was when Skaldi punched one in the groin and an inhumanly high pitched squeal echoed that the others took their belongings and ran.

"My father will hear of this, scum!" one of them called, and those that couldn't walk were dragged out. Cyrdic actually gave a laugh at Skaldi's surprise attack. He'd been short enough to walk through the tables without being noticed. "Nice punch."

"I'm sure the lad thought so." Skaldi replied, and he hopped up on one of the open chairs. The others sat down with him, and to their surprise a few gold coins had been left in their opponent's hasty retreat. Cyrdic had never been the thieving type, but they weren't coming back for them, and they seemed well off to begin with. He slipped a few into his coinpurse openly. "Vodka," Skaldi told the shaken tavern wench. "A bucket of it." Unhooking a bronzed ring along his fat finger, Skaldi gave it to the wench. She went from frightened to aghast at the payment.

"That should keep us for the night, I think." The Dwarf said.

The Innkeeper approached, warily intrigued by the sheer destruction wrought by them in just a minute of conflict, yet most of the tables and chairs seemed intact. Gaining an idea, she fixed her hair and pulled her bun tighter. "You sure know how to handle yourselves, I'll give you that." She said. "How's about I hire you on as bouncers, if you have no other obligations here?" Cyrdic turned to her, and shared a look with Camilla.

"Need a cook?" Skaldi asked, smiling wide to reveal a few golden teeth between his mustache and beard.

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[Penny]

Camilla sank wearily into one of the evacuated chairs and seized a crust of bread left behind. She stuffed it into her mouth and chewed enthusiastically tearing and ripping with her teeth. Always slender she simply didn’t have the spare body fat to endure long periods of hunger. The innkeeper looked at her in concern.

“We ‘d need a room,” Camilla said around her mouthful of bread. The innkeeper tapped her lips thoughtfully, cocking a hip out in a pose that must have been instinctive.

“I can make space for you in the hayloft of the stables,” she countered, “I have a couple of spare sleeping pallets I can drag out there.” Cydric and Camilla exchanged a look.

“Deal,” Cydric declared, “We can work for food drink and board.” The innkeeper, who must have been worried as a lone woman running such an establishment, broke into a broad smile.

“Very well, I am Rosalie De Courenne,” the innkeeper declared, “and I will bring you food and ale before you fall down.” They all sat down and hot bread and boiling stew appeared as if by magic. A moment later Rosalie appeared with flagons of ale, setting the foaming mugs down before returning to the bar to collect the promised bucket of potato vodka. Rosalie sat down with them and they introduced themselves. Rosalie explained how she had once been the wife of a wealthy Nuln merchant who had traded weapons for the fine furs and amber that the Kislivite trappers gathered in the northern tundras. During one of their trips to Praag, Rosalie had caught her husband in bed with a local whore. In a particularly creative act of vengeance she had sold his cargo of steel to the Prince for half the price her husband had demanded. Once that was done she had sold the horses, the wagons, the pots and pans, the tents, everything down to the last tacking nail. That accomplished she had skipped town with some of the local boyars until poverty had forced her husband to return to Nuln with nothing but his shoes. For lack of a better plan she had bought the Drunken Mare and had been operating it ever since.

To Camilla’s considerable delight the Inn also had a rarely used wash house, and in exchange for a few extra coins, their new employer set the chambermaids to heating the large wooden drums that would allow the weary travellers to bathe.
@POOHEAD189

[POOHEAD189]

Cyrdic nearly fell asleep in the bath. After having washed himself he had decided to lounge and effectively nodded off until he jolted away from the sudden lack of air as he slipped into the tub. But luckily, coughing and sputtering, it showed his body still had the will to live. He just needed a long rest. He'd already received a hearty meal, though truth be told he felt as if he could consume 2 more servings.

Cyrdic took the towel and dried off, glancing at the mirror as he did so. His physique, though still broad, was far more lean and almost wiry compared to what he was. A few days in the Inn with some good meals will fill him right out. "Sigmar's breath, what a journey." he muttered, and pulled on his freshly washed trousers, grabbing his shirt and flinging it over his shoulder as he stalked out of the bath house and made his way into the stables.

He figured Camilla would be there already, but he didn't expect her to have already laid out the blankets in the most comfortable fashion she could, her lithe form already lounging atop a blanket along a shallow pile of hay. "Ceedrik?" she asked softly from within the gloom. He smiled, her voice sending a tingle in his chest. Despite all the horrors, to have ended up here in the stables with Camilla...it was worth it.

"I'm here," he said, his voice a strong contrast to hers, accent and pitch. He made his way past a neighing horse and stepped into the pen they were to sleep in. She was far scrawnier than she was usually, but her dark eyes were as lovely as ever. "I thought you woult not coom back for a long time." she professed, and lifted the blanket she was under to reveal her naked form. Cyrdic gaped, an intense yearning he had forgotten he had stirred within him. Despite being tired as hell...he could take another hour before going to sleep...

---

"It iz the saem as alvays." Boris assured him, patting Ivan on the back as the two Kislevites and the sorceress made their way to the Inn, having recieved word via courier where Cyrdic, Camilla, Skaldi, Konrad, and Yantz now were. The news from the Count was not necessarily welcome. An increasing number of attacks by mutants and Norscans had been occurring the past month, and there was no sign of them stopping anytime soon. "They fight, ve drive them off."

Ivan wasn't so sure, nor was Boris, he could tell, despite the Kislevite's words. Ivan had spent a dozen years fighting chaos raids, and he knew the seasons of when they would attack, and their manner of attack. This seemed different somehow, his fears only increased by the warnings of the seeress, who, though she had been looked at with much disdain, had prophesied a great army coming from the north. One that could swallow up Kislev if the Count himself was not careful.

"Da," Ivan replied without conviction. He and Boris had been given room to sleep in some barracks, and a small amount of pay as long as they had offered their services as scouts for the Count's forces. Knowing the enemy's whereabouts were key, and both Ivan and Boris' reputations preceded them, particularly Ivan's. "Vere vill you go?" He asked Dietrichia, her red mane of hair shadowing her nobles visages.

"I will go the walls. One must make sure the old spells upon them are still strong."
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