“Curse that wind,†grumbled a weary Reikland soldier as he stopped along their long march into the frozen wastes. “It never stops blowing.â€
“Aye, there’s something just not right about it,†echoed Gilliron a dwarven iron breaker of renown. “They say it’s madness though to dwell about it. Best put it out of your mind laddie.†The clank of his axe rattling against his shield added extra emphasis to the reminder of where they were at and the task that lay before them.
It had been a long march through the ruins of Praag to reach the gates of Charon’s Citadel. Many corpses of friend and foe were strewn across the path they just made and now the wrought iron gate of the keep stood out before them in brash defiance. The allied army of human, dwarf and elf could tell that they would have a fight before them. The ramparts of the keep were arrayed with orcish and dark elven siege weapons poised and ready for the upcoming battle. Just the mere sight of such malevolent bravado caused many of those of fainter hearts to wonder if they had made a foolish choice in coming there.
They would have fled as well if it wasn’t for the clarion voice of the elven swordmaster. There were not many of the Empire that had the skill to utter his true name. Instead in an attempt to honor his ferocity in battle and the wisdom he carried as a High Elf, they called him Old Roar. His mere voice upon the battlefield was like that of a lion before his prey and rallied the men to action.
“Destroy that oil and make room for the ram!†came the call to arms. Soon the forces of Order were in proper battle array and panic spread upon the ramparts. Dark elven magic like fiendish lightening cracked the stolid earth around them while poisonous darts from cackling goblins filled the air. Still the men-at-arms upon the rams followed the cadence of the sword master and beat a dreadful sound upon the iron doors.
“Keep it up! Give them no quarter!†resounded the command once more to which balls of fire rained down upon the ramparts at the behest of the conjurors of Aqshy. Dwarven ballista echoed in kind with a measured report. Confidence grew among the forces of order that soon the Citadel would be in their possession. Hope that the madness of the war would soon come to an end swelled in the hearts of the men.
But the wind never stops blowing.
“The door…. it’s not coming down…†came the report from the men on the ram. “It should have come down by now!â€
“What kind of foul magic is this?! Do our eyes deceive us?†Pondered the elven mage Selessca.
“They are regouping! Old Roar what are we going to do!†questioned the Bright Wizard Gabale.
Reluctant as he was to turn away the Swordmaster gave the command to fall back to the war camp. Hurriedly soldier after soldier retreated to rally around their commander. Many did not make it. Some fell to the earth they fought upon, while others ran into the wastes never to be seen again. Fear and confusion began to spread like a cancerous dissension among the battered soldiers amassed together. Many began to question once again why they had come this far only to falter before the illusion of victory.
The most agitated was the Reikland guardsman to whom the dawi Gilliron had spoken to earlier. “What does this mean!? I’ll tell you what it means! It means that Sigmar has forsaken us! We need to embrace Tzen….â€
His foolish rant was soundly interrupted by the sudden blast of a matchlock. At once every eye turned upon the only now visible hunter as the slumped body of the madman hit like a thud upon the cold dirt.
“Hemdal! Have you lost your mind lad! We need every man if we are gonna ta have any chance of winning!â€
Unmoved, the stoic hunter merely replied from under the shadowy brim of his hat “heresy purged.†And silence fell upon the huddled soldiers as the smoldering wisps of gunpowder were carried off by the ceaseless wind.
» Edited on: 2010-08-24 16:16:54
» Edited on: 2010-08-25 11:35:45