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[Story] The Sword Is Forged

Feel like burning like a bright wizard? Being as green as a gobbo? Robust like an Ironbreaker? Bloodthirsty like a witch elf? Feel free to speak as them here.
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Dageca
Posts: 17

[Story] The Sword Is Forged

Post#1 » Tue Jul 09, 2019 3:41 pm

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"Kleinmann, bring up your shield!" Regina Seibolt shouted. "Bring up your..." She winced as the young novice took a wooden sword across the ear and howled. "Ah well, you'll remember next time, eh? Come on, stop blubbing. Back to guard."

Regina sighed and looked across the chapter house's practice yard to the chapel of Myrmidia as Kleinmann and Pfaller squared off again. She wasn't giving the lesson the attention she should and she knew it. She was too anxious for what was to come.
Tonight, after four years of training, she was to begin her fasting and meditation in preparation for her knighthood ceremony the next morning. Tonight she would take the ritual bath and don the robe and kneel on the bare floor of the chapel before the altar of Myrmidia until dawn, contemplating the divinity of the warrior goddess and opening her mind to her wisdom and guidance.

Then in the morning, if Chapter Master Veicht and the other templars of the Order of the Blazing Sun found her still on her knees and awake, she would be deemed worthy, and they would dress her in her new armor, spurs, and the black and gold surcoat. Kneeling again at the altar, she would recite the holy vows and answer the sixteen questions. If her replies were satisfactory, she would be given the chalice to drink from, and the master would then strike her sharply on each shoulder with the blade of the ceremonial spear and bid her rise.

When she stood, and they strapped on her sword and presented her with the spear and shield that were the symbols of the goddess, she would no longer be just Regina Seibolt of Carroburg. She would be Madam Regina Seibolt, Knight Assumptive of the Order of the Blazing Sun, a member of the most elite fighting force in all the old world. Then her life could truly begin. Then she would embark on her quest to win honor and full status in the--

"That's it, fat-head! You're for it!"

Regina spun to see Kleinmann throw down his shield and wooden sword and tackle Pfaller to the ground.

"You hit me in the ear one more time and I'll--"

With a curse Regina grabbed the young men by their collars and hauled them to their feet. "Enough! If you can't fight properly, I'll send you both to the kitchens! Now--"

"Initiate Seibolt," said a voice behind her. "May I have a word?"

Regina turned. Knight Sergeant Augustus Hollweg stood under the shaded portico, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. On most days the crag-faced veteran was as blunt and direct as a brick. Now he looked like he'd just broken the silence in chapel.

Regina pushed the two novices away. "Shields at arms' length until I return. And if they droop so much as an inch you'll be cleaning the stables until Vorhexen."

She turned back to Hollweg as the novices groaned, then followed him as he walked slowly across the yard toward the chapel.

"Yes, Sir Hollweg?" she asked. "How may I serve?"

Hollweg looked at the ground for a long moment. "I... I don't know how to begin."

Regina's heart dropped. This was something about her initiation. She knew it. She had done something wrong. They weren't going to knight her after all.
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"Chapter Master Veicht..." began Hollweg at last. "He is sick."

Regina's heart dropped another few floors. "Sick?" she said, barely breathing. "With... the plague?"

"I don't know," said Hollweg. "But he is too ill to leave his bed."

"So... so the ceremony will be postponed?" It felt terrible to ask it. She should be offering good wishes for Sir Veicht's health, but she couldn't help herself.

Hollweg shook his head as they reached the chapel. "Master Veicht has ordered that the chapterhouse be closed until... until further notice. All the novices will be sent home - the knights, the priests, the teachers too."

He pushed open the chapel doors and Regina followed him into the cool, echoey interior, with its gilded statue of Myrmidia rising naked behind the altar. Two squires were piling some garments before it. They stepped back as Hollweg and Regina approached.

"Master Veicht is aware that this would be a hardship on you," Sir Hollweg continued. "To have your knighthood indefinitely deferred, so he had deputized me to perform the ceremony for him."

Regina's heart sank a little more. The ritual wouldn't be the same without Master Veicht presiding over it. The ancient Templar had been a second father to her, looking after her when everyone else had forsaken her, keeping her on the path of honor when she had been tempted to stray. It was crushing that he wouldn't be there to see her win her spurs.

"So..." she began miserably. "So, shall I bathe and begin my fasting now?"

Hollweg shook his head again. "There's no time for that." He indicated the pile of garments on the floor. "There's your armor. Put it on and we'll begin."

"But... but the ritual," said Regina, her voice climbing. "I must be cleansed. I must meditate. The order requires it! I can't be a knight without--"

"There's no time, I tell you!" barked Hollweg, and Regina was shocked to see the grizzled knight's eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You will either do this today or...." He turned away. "Just put on the armor."

Suddenly Regina was fighting back tears herself, but she took a deep breath and stepped to the armor. It felt wrong, all of it. She was dusty and hot from the practice yard. She hadn't prayed. She hadn't prepared, but there was nothing for it. With the help of the two squires, she donned her breastplate and pauldrons, her vambraces and orobraces, and finally her close-fitting helm.

Sir Hollweg stood before her and nodded. "Kneel, then."

She knelt and began reciting the holy vows.

Hollweg stopped her before she got to the third one. "That's enough. You know them. I see that."

"But...."

He cut her off. "Do you swear to uphold the name and honor of the Order of the Blazing Sun, and to keep Myrmidia and her teachings always in your heart?"

"I... I do."

"Good. Then rise, knight, and...."

"There are sixteen questions, Sir Hollweg," said Regina between her teeth.

"Not today, initiate," said the old knight. "Now rise, and...."

"Sir Hollweg!" cried Regina, her anger flaring. "I will take the blow!"

Hollweg grunted. "Very well."

As she bowed her head she heard him pick up the spear, then there was a swish and a hard smack on her left shoulder, followed by another on her right.

"Rise, Madam Regina," said Hollweg. "Rise a knight of the Blazing Sun and wear its insignia with pride."

Regina stood and squared her shoulders, though she felt like curling up and weeping. This was to have been the greatest day of her life. Instead it was a rushed, botched mess. She clamped her teeth to keep her lips from quivering.

Sir Hollweg held out the spear and shield to her as the squires belted her new sword around her waist. He looked her in the eye for the first time.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There is war in the north. Go there and seek honor. There will be plenty to be found."

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As she rode her new horse through the streets of Carroburg, Regina realized that living in the chapterhouse had sheltered her. She had heard tales of the terrible plague that had swept through the Empire, and the panic that had followed it, but she hadn't seen it. It was worse than she could have imagined.

The stench of death was everywhere, and priests of Morr in beak-like masks trudged through the town, piling the dead on carts, while black smoke rose over the rooftops from mass pyres burning on the banks of the river. On every street red Xs were painted on the doors of houses, indicating that plague was present. Other houses had wards scrawled on them - Sigmar's Hammer or Shallya's Dove - in hopes that they would keep the sickness away. Except for the priests, the streets were deserted, the townsfolk apparently hiding in their houses.

Down an alley, Regina heard horrible wails and the sounds of a fight, but when she went to investigate, as was her knightly duty, the noise had stopped and she couldn't find its source. She rode on.

Though her ceremony of knighthood had been less than she might have wished, Sir Hollweg had given her good advice. She would go north and seek honor. With the Marauders pressing south into Nordland, there would be plenty of opportunities to prove her valor. But before she left Carroburg there was one last thing she must do.

Her mother had never wanted Regina to be a knight. Regina had never wanted anything else. While her sisters had grown up dainty and beautiful like their mother, Regina had grown up tall and strong-boned like her father. While her sisters had laughed and flirted with boys, Regina had knocked them down and beat them in foot races.

It wasn't that Regina hadn't tried. She had put on dresses and practiced her dancing, but it hadn't been any use. Any dress she wore looked like a sack, she had broken Abel Stengler's big toe while dancing with him, and nobody ever talked to her at parties. She only ever showed any grace when she held a sword, and only ever felt comfortable speaking to boys when she was sparring with them.

When Regina's father had been alive, he had humored her strange passions because he had no son, but when he died fighting orcs in the south in the Emperor's service, her mother had forbidden her hoyden pursuits and tried to find her a husband. It was then that Regina had run away to kneel before the steps of the chapterhouse of the Order of the Blazing Sun. She had stayed there for five days and nights before they finally relented and took her in.

Now, before she went north, before she died in battle and followed her father to the grave, she wanted to try once more to win her mother's blessing. Surely now that she had become a knight, her mother would admit that she had made the right choice.

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"You can't come in," said Dorothea, looking around the door of the country house that had once been Regina's home.

"Why?" asked Regina. "Will she not see me?"

Dorothea bit her lip. She looked gaunt and frightened, nothing like the laughing little sister Regina remembered.

"It isn't that," said Dorothea at last. "She's... she's ill."

A sliver of dread stabbed Regina's spine. "Not...."

"No no," said Dorothea quickly. "Not that. Just... just a cold."

"Then I will see her," said Regina and stepped forward.

"No! You can't!" cried Dorothea, and tried to hold shut the door, but Regina was taller by a foot and stronger by dint of four years of constant sword-work.

She pushed her sister back with ease and shouldered into the entry hall. The smell made her wrinkle her nose. Her mother had been a fastidious housekeeper, but now the house stank of stale laundry and old food. There was dust on everything, and it looked like Dorothea had been living entirely in the parlor. A pile of bedclothes lay rumpled by the cold fire. The Book of Sigmar was open on the table.

"Please, sister," Dorothea pleaded. "Just go away."

Regina started up the stairs. Dorothea stumbled up after her, whimpering. Their mother's room was at the back of the house. The fusty smell was worse there, and combined with a reek of sickness and rot.

Regina knocked on the bedroom door. "Mother?"

There was a thud from the room beyond, and then angry hissing.

"Leave her be," Dorothea sobbed. "The sickness will pass. All will be well again."

Regina knocked again. "Mother, are you there?"

Another thud, and then a loud smashing and shrieking.

"Mother!" Regina tried the door. It was locked. She stepped back and raised a booted foot.

"No!" cried Dorothea. "Don't!"

Regina drove her heel into the latch-plate and the door splintered open. She shoved in, then gagged.

The smell was horrible, like a sewer full of meat, but it was the thing in the corner that froze Regina in her tracks. Its lumpy head pulsed like a bag full of rats, and glossy black tentacles sprouted from its shoulders in place of arms. And yet, for all that, it was still recognizably her mother.

The thing screeched and leapt at her, flailing with its tentacles. "Don't look at me! Don't look at me!"

Regina threw herself backwards through the door and grabbed for her sword. Dorothea fled to the end of the hall, weeping.

Regina held out her sword as the thing pushed out the door after her. It batted at the blade with a tentacle.

"For shame, Regina!" it said from a mouth like a sphincter. "Would you attack your own mother?"

Regina shuddered, for despite the hideous transformation, her mother's voice was unchanged - as snooty and cultured as it had ever been.

"And look what you've become," the mutant continued, swiping again as Regina backed toward the stairs, too horrified to attack. "Dressed in sword and armor like a man. You bring shame upon our name."

"Mother!" cried Regina. "I am a knight of the Blazing Sun! There is no more honorable--"

The thing sprang, knocking her sword aside with one tentacle and knocking her flat at the top of the stairs.

"You are an abomination!" it shrieked as it pinned her to the floor. "An unnatural child!"

Repulsed, Regina bucked convulsively and heaved the thing off. It bounced down the stairs in a jumble of tentacles and slammed hard on the parlor floor.

Regina pushed painfully to her feet, then looked down at it. The misshapen head was bent at an odd angle, and its various limbs twitched spasmodically. It looked up at her with pleading eyes, its fury gone.

"Help me, daughter. I... I've hurt my legs."

Regina started slowly down the stairs, her sword white-knuckled in her hand.

The thing reached out trembling tentacles. "Regina. Help me."

Regina stood over it, then swallowed. "I'm sorry, mother. This is the only help I can give you."

She stabbed it through the heart.

Dorothea shrieked from the top of the stairs as the thing shuddered and died. "You killed mother! You killed our mother!"

Regina shook her head. "The plague killed her." She knelt by the dead thing and prayed to Myrmidia and Sigmar for wisdom and strength, and to Shallya and Morr for mercy on her mother's soul, then stood again and looked up at her sister, who had slumped against the newel post. "I vow, by my name and by the honor of the Order of the Blazing Sun, that I will take vengeance for this terrible tragedy upon those who I am certain are its cause, the vile hordes that spill from the Chaos Wastes."
Brenand, Engineer - Bilkhir, IronBreaker - Oligir, Slayer 6x
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Dageca
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Re: [Story] The Sword Is Forged

Post#2 » Tue Jul 09, 2019 3:43 pm

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Regina smelled smoke and heard the muffled thunder of distant cannon fire as she strode through the little village of Grimmenhagen. She walked because she'd left her horse with Dorothea, so she could sell it and bribe the priests of Morr to bury their mother in a proper cemetery, even though she had changed.

The Averland spear company she had marched with on her trip north bustled off to their new billet and left her alone in the town square, looking around and feeling a bit lost. She'd made it to the war. Now what was she supposed to do? Who did she report to?
The village seemed in a state of complete confusion. Half the houses were burnt to the ground, and some on the edge of town were still on fire. Peasants ran by with buckets of water, while others dragged away smoke-crippled victims. Knights and soldiers hurried past in every direction, shouting out to one another. At command posts set up in open yards, captains in the colors of various companies issued orders to runners and squads of men who ran off again immediately. Perhaps she should speak to one of them.

"You there! Sir knight!"

It wasn't until the man grabbed her elbow that she realized he was talking to her. After so many years of being addressed as squire or initiate she still wasn't used to her new title.

She turned. "Uh, yes?"

A mutton-chopped captain in the blue and white of Middenheim was smiling at her. "Captain Riesling, at yer service. Are ye attached to a company, sir? Can ye spare--" The man cut off, blinking. "Yer a girl! Well, then, never mind. I'll ask somebody else..."

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Regina caught his shoulder as he turned away. "I am a knight first, sir," she said stiffly. "If you have some noble deed that will allow me to prove my honor, then tell me of it."

Riesling chewed his moustache uncertainly for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, yer big enough anyway, and there don't seem to be anyone else I can ask. Right then, come on."

He started toward the village inn. In the yard, a motley assortment of people was waiting, all surrounding a frail old warrior priest who sat slumped on a empty keg. There were two men in leather coats with the fanatical gleam of the witch hunter in their eyes, a broad-shouldered, black-bearded dwarf who leaned upon the hilt of an enormous axe, and a slim young wizard in red robes with spiky hair the color of flame. They eyed her warily as Captain Riesling led her to them.

"Right, he said. "I've no time to recruit more, so you lot will have to do. Here's what needs doing. The filthy marauders have set up one of their unholy cannons inside the temple of Sigmar in Neues Emskrank, and they're pounding away at our lines with it. General Breuer is planning a push to retake the town, but that cannon will cut our advance to pieces. We've got to put it out of commission."

"It's behind enemy lines?" asked the young wizard, swallowing nervously.

"Of course it is," rasped the dwarf. "Where else would it be?"

Riesling nodded. "Well behind," he said. "But ye won't have to fight to get to it. At least I hope not. One of our elven allies says he's found a way to get through unnoticed. He'll be yer leader. Fiandar his name is."

"An elf?" said the dwarf. "I'd not follow one of those pointy-eared beard cutters to market, let alone--"

"If you want out, dwarf," snapped Riesling. "Go now. But you said you were looking for glory against impossible odds."

The dwarf opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again and just grunted.

Riesling smirked, then turned back to the others. "Right. Now Fiandar says the cannon isn't guarded except for its crew. You lot should be able to take them with no trouble. The hard part comes after. Those cursed cannons can't just be smashed. They're daemonic things that feed on the souls of the dead, and the daemon inside 'em has to be banished back to the hell it came from." He turned to the old warrior priest, who raised his head slowly. Regina saw that the old man's right arm ended in a stump. "That's where Grigorius comes in," he said.

"I can quell the cannon," said the old priest in a quavering voice. "But the ceremony takes time. You will have to hold the temple until I complete it. Otherwise another crew could man the gun and we would be no better off than before." He sighed and held up his handless arm. "And unfortunately, I will not be able to help you fight."

"Can you walk my lord?" asked Regina.

The warrior priest nodded. "Slowly."

"Sigmar will give him speed!" declared the younger of the witch hunters.
"Aye," said the elder, who looked like the first's older twin. "Sigmar will not let him fail!"

"Sigmar didn't keep him from losing his hand," muttered the dwarf.

Riesling stepped to the warrior priest and helped him up. "You've got to go. Fiandar will meet you at Breuer's war camp. The general's advance will begin as soon as he signals that the cannon crew is dead."

"And what do we do once the ceremony is done?" asked the young wizard.

Riesling blinked at him, then turned away. "Pray."

***

"You certainly took your time," sniffed the elf, as Regina and the others joined him

near the towering steam-tank in the center of General Breuer's war camp. "We should have been away an hour ago."

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Fiandar was as tall as Regina, but much thinner-boned, with a haughty look in his

ice blue eyes, and a regal bearing despite his simple forester's clothes. She almost gasped at his beauty. He was the most handsome man she had ever met, but also the most unnerving. There was no humanity in his gaze. He looked at her as she would look at a sword, sizing up whether it could do the job required of it - nothing more.

The dwarf didn't seem impressed. "Stow it, long ears. We got here as soon as we could."

"It was I who slowed us down," said Grigorius. He was breathing heavily. "My apologies, high one."

"None are necessary," said Fiandar, then turned away. "Come. Follow me, and tell me your names as we go, so that I do not confuse you."

He took Grigorius's arm and led the party through the camp and behind the lookouts who observed the fishing village of Neues Emskrank, the rooftops of which could be seen over the intervening trees. Regina could smell salt on the wind that blew from the beach.

"Curt Werner is my name," said the older of the witch hunters. "From Altdorf, may Sigmar keep it safe from heathen."

"And I am Leopold Werner," said the younger.

Regina nodded to herself. As she suspected, father and son.

"Roki Orrinsson," growled the dwarf. "Of Barak Varr. Not that it's any of your business."

"Osvalt Creutzfeldt," said the young wizard. "Also of Altdorf, and the colleges of magic."

The two witch hunters slanted suspicious glances at him at this, but said nothing.
"Regina Seibolt," said Regina. "Of Carroburg."

"Well met, friends," said Fiandar. "And I am Fiandar Duskborne, late of Naggarythe and the house of Alith Anar."

Regina smiled to herself. Even when he was being polite, the elf sounded like he was looking down his nose at them.

Fiandar came to a guard post and spoke to a sergeant there, then led them on, beyond the Empire lines and down toward a stream that meandered toward the town. As they descended toward it, they passed in front of the earthen ramparts that held General Breuer's cannons.

Young Osvalt looked up at them, frowning. "Why don't they just blast that hellcannon to pieces?" he pointed toward the town. "I can see the temple from here."

Curt and Leopold turned on him, their hands dropping to the hilts of their rapiers.

"You would destroy a temple of Sigmar, warlock?" snarled Curt.

"Only a servant of the dark powers would suggest such a thing!" hissed his son.

"I'm not a warlock!" protested Osvalt. "I am a fully accredited graduate of the Bright College. I just--"

"It would be a blow to morale, my son," said Grigorius, soothingly. "The men would not stand for it."

"Instead we must die to preserve bricks and stones," muttered Osvalt.

"Consecrated bricks and stones, witch," said Leopold.

"Quiet," said Fiandar as they came to the stream. "We must go silently from here." He nodded toward the village, now completely hidden. "This stream goes through the center of Neues Emskrank. The marauders do not guard it, but they are close, and will hear a heavy footfall or splash." He shot a meaningful look at Roki, then continued before the dwarf could respond. "We will follow it under the bridge, then leave it at the back of the forge. The temple is directly across from the forge. Crossing the street will be the most dangerous part of our journey. It is well traveled. We will have to wait until it is clear."

Fiandar turned to Regina. "Madam Seibolt, you and the dwarf will be first through the door, and you will attack immediately, with Curt and Leopold directly behind you." He looked at the witch hunters. "Gentlemen, you will not use your pistols. We must be as silent as possible." He touched his chest. "I and Magus Osvalt will follow, laying covering fire, while Grigorius abides until the battle is done. Do you understand?"

"Just like an elf to lead from the rear," muttered Roki as the others nodded.

Fiandar smiled coolly. "More glory for you, then, dwarf. Now, follow me."

As they set off, Regina looked at Fiandar, impressed. For all his condescending ways, the elf was a good leader. He was calm, gave clear and precise orders, and played to the strengths and character of those under his command. Myrmidia would approve.

***

It was nearly sun-set by the time Regina crouched with the others in a patch of tall reeds, knee-deep in the freezing water of the stream. They had made it to the center of Neues Emskrank without incident, though there had been some tense moments along the way, and now they were ready to make their final approach. The ruined forge smoked on the bank above them, and just visible beyond its blackened timbers, the south wall of the temple of Sigmar.

What she saw there made her stomach turn. One of the high clerestory windows had been smashed out, and through it stuck the wide snout of the hellcannon. And snout was the right word, for the thing seemed as much animal as machine. As she watched, a fanged mouth of bone, red flesh and iron gaped open and a shrieking blast of purple fire shot from it and arched toward the Empire lines.

"Myrmidia's Spear," she choked. "What does it fire?"

"Souls," wheezed Grigorius beside her.

The old warrior priest looked ready to drop after their journey, and was breathing so heavily she feared the whole village would hear. She hoped he would be able to run when the time came.

Fiandar put a finger to his lips and motioned them forward. Regina drew her shield off her back, then crept up the bank with the others to the back of the forge, then waited as the elf scouted the corner. After a moment, he beckoned to them again, and they followed him along the charred side wall.

As they neared the street, Fiandar suddenly drew back. Regina craned her neck and saw why. Four filthy paint-daubed marauders were pulling bodies off a slave-drawn cart in front of the shattered temple door and dragging them inside. Regina grimaced as she saw that the bodies all wore Imperial uniforms.

"What are they doing with them?" asked Osvalt.

"I told you," rasped Grigorius. "The cannon feeds on souls."

The two witch hunters swore, and Roki spat, disgusted. Osvalt shivered.

Fiandar slipped back to them. "I fear we haven't time to let them move on. We will have to fight through them into the temple, though it loses us our surprise." He looked at the weary priest, concerned. "Magus Osvalt, you and I will assist Grigorius when the others charge. Yes?"

Osvalt nodded, though he looked as nervous as a rabbit.

"Good," said Fiandar. "On my signal, then."

They readied their weapons as the elf crept again to the front of the forge and looked left and right. Regina swallowed, suddenly certain that she was going to die. At least it would be in battle, and not from the plague, and she would be fighting the foul fiends that had killed her mother and likely Chapter Master Veicht as well.

She kissed the insignia of the blazing sun on the hilt of her longsword and offered up a brief prayer to Myrmidia that she wouldn't embarrass herself.

Fiandar raised his hand, then dropped it. "Now! Swift and silent!"

As one, Regina and Roki surged from their crouches and charged across the street toward the temple with the others following behind. The high sides of the slave-cart hid them from the marauders for a few crucial seconds, but then one heard Roki's heavy steps and looked up.

The savage shouted just as Regina was rounding the tailgate. She hacked him down instantly, but the others heard and turned, drawing weapons. Roki barreled into them, slashing left and right with his double-headed axe. The first went down in a shower of blood, still fumbling for his sword, but the second dodged and swung at the dwarf with a rusty mace.

Regina bounded past them at the last man. She bashed his sword aside with her shield and ran him through. He clutched at her arm in his death throes. She shook him off and turned.

The Marauder with the mace was toppling, impaled by the Witch Hunters' rapiers, while Roki staggered aside, a dent creasing his helmet.

"In!" whispered Fiandar, as he and Osvalt helped Grigorius around the cart. "Hurry!"

Roki recovered, and he and Regina shouldered into the temple together. It was dark inside, for though there were tall clerestory windows set high on both side walls, the twilight sky cast only a weak light through them. The massive bulk of the hellcannon squatted in the gloom at the back of the nave like some huge daemonic toad. A hellish red glow from what appeared to be a furnace at its nether end cast looming shadows on the stone walls as three Marauders charged toward them, howling for their blood. It seemed Fiandar's prediction had been correct. They had lost the element of surprise.

Regina choked in horror as the men ran into the light, for their bodies were mutating as they came, their left arms stretching and twisting into weird serrated appendages of bone and gristle. One grew pincers, like a crab. Another extruded a fleshy whip with barbs at the end. And behind them rose another nightmare - a mad-eyed Magus in blue and gold robes, floating on a rippling purple disk and shrieking some arcane incantation.

Strange whispers filled Regina's mind as she crossed swords with a Marauder and blocked its crab claw with her shield. Swirls of blue and gold danced in the corners of her vision and her limbs felt heavy. The whispers were telling her to lower her shield, to drop her sword, to submit. The Marauder's claw grabbed her shield as she tried to force the voices from her mind. She staggered back, as weak as a babe, as his sword smashed into her vambrace.

"Sigmar's Light and Glory, banish these corrupting shadows!" roared a powerful voice from behind her.

With a crash like a hammer striking an anvil, an explosion of golden light filled the room and the Magus toppled, screaming and clutching his eyes.

Immediately Regina's strength returned and she twisted her shield from the Marauder's claw, then chopped through the chitonous carapace with her sword. As the mutant retreated, she cast a quick glance around. Roki was toe-to-toe with another Marauder, while Werner father and son fenced with the third. Behind them, Osvalt and Fiandar were lowering Father Grigorius to the floor. Had it truly been the old priest who had cried out, she wondered, as she returned her attention to her fight. It had to have been, but where had he found the strength?

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Then, in the space of two breaths, the combat was over. As she was raising her sword for another slash at her opponent, a white arrow sprouted from his forehead and he went down on one knee. She killed him with a decapitating strike, then turned to help Roki, but his Marauder was stumbling too, an arrow in his neck, and the same had happened to the mutant Curt and Leopold faced.

Regina turned as the Dwarf and the Witch Hunters finished off their wounded foes, to find Fiandar returning his long bow to its place on his back.

"Well fought, friends," the Elf said. "Now guard the door while Grigorius attends to the cannon. I shall signal General Breuer."

The Elf walked the old priest to the monstrous weapon, and Grigorius lifted the heavy Book of Sigmar that he wore chained to his belt, rested it on his handless arm, and began flipping through its pages.

The hellcannon roared and shook, and Regina gasped. It was alive, just as Captain Riesling had said it was! It was only then that she noticed that the thing was chained down to the flagstones - huge iron fetters that it strained against like a mad dog, trying to break free. She could feel the waves of alien hate pulsing from it like the heat from a forge.

Fiandar stepped fastidiously around the cannon to the shattered window as it lurched toward him, then drew his bow again and pulled a gauze-tipped arrow from his quiver. He held the cloth tip to a torch, then set the flaming arrow on his string and aimed his bow out and up toward the sky. He let fly.

"Now Riesling knows we have taken the gun," he said as he turned from the window. "Now the advance may--"

With a shriek and a squealing of tortured metal, the hellcannon snapped one of its chains and lunged forward, crushing Fiandar's skull like an egg. The elf dropped like a stringless marionette, dead before he hit the ground. Grigorius staggered back from the daemon gun, raising his left hand and shouting a prayer of Sigmar, before charging at the Daemon engine. The gun wailed and shivered.

Regina and the others stared in shock. But before they could speak, there was a cry from the temple door.

Regina turned. A Marauder was backing from the entrance, his eyes wide. Then he turned and fled, crying out in his foreign tongue.

Roki cursed and trundled to the door. Regina and the others followed. The Marauder was halfway down the street, pointing behind him and calling to a big mob of his comrades who were just setting up camp in the village square.

"We're doomed!" whimpered Osvalt. "We've got to run!"

"And leave the possessed cannon?" snarled Curt.

"Never!" cried his son.

"But we'll never hold out long enough for the priest to quell the gun!" said Osvalt. He pointed to the heavy temple doors, which lay shattered and torn from their hinges outside the entrance. "We can't even lock them out! We'll die here!"

"Aye," said Roki, grinning and slapping the haft of his axe into his palm. "But it will be a great death."

"Aye," said the Witch Hunters in unison. "A grand and glorious death."

Regina looked around, thinking hard.

"No," she said quietly. "There is a way we can win."
Brenand, Engineer - Bilkhir, IronBreaker - Oligir, Slayer 6x
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Dageca
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Re: [Story] The Sword Is Forged

Post#3 » Tue Jul 09, 2019 3:44 pm

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Roki, Osvalt and the Witch Hunters turned to her, staring.

"What's this, woman?" growled Curt.

"We can hold the temple," she said. "And we can survive."

"But the Elf is dead and the Warrior Priest is busy with the cannon," stuttered

Osvalt. "What can we do?"

"Aye," said Roki. "There's five of us and scores of them." He chuckled. "I'm good, but not that good."

"Have you never studied the Myrmidian Book of War? It isn't how strong we are individually. It is how strong we are together!" Far in the distance, a rally horn blew and hundreds of voices raised in unison. "For Sigmar! For the Empire!"

They all looked up.

Regina shot another look out the door. The Marauders were swarming toward the temple. In a moment it would be too late. "You hear the horn?" she asked. "The advance has begun. General Breuer is coming. If we work together we will be here to welcome him. But we must act now!"

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The others hesitated, then Roki nodded. "What's your plan, girl?"

Regina flashed a relieved smile at the Dwarf. "First," she said. "We must block the entrance."

She turned and stepped outside. The mob of Marauders roared when they saw her and increased their speed. She ignored them. The cart was where it had been, the four miserable slaves who were yoked to it - all captured Nordland peasants - hunched and hardly conscious.

Regina raised her voice as she did when drilling novitiates. "You men! Turn the cart about! Come to the Temple!"

Only a few of them even looked around. They blinked stupidly at her, defeated in body and spirit.

"Hurry!" she cried. "Turn the cart! Save yourselves and your comrades on the front lines!"

One of the men seemed to wake, his eyes coming alive. He nudged his fellows and strained against his yoke. The others slowly followed his lead, seemingly as much out of habit as intent. They were going too slow. They wouldn't make it.

Regina looked over her shoulder. "Wizard! Herrs Werner! Give our friends something to think about. Quickly!"

The young wizard hesitated, but as the two Witch Hunters stepped to the door, he followed.

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Calling on Sigmar to guide their aim, the father and son fired into the mob of advancing Marauders, dropping two. Osvalt raised his flame-tipped staff and barked

a strange syllable. A rain of fire fell down upon the raiders. The flames were no more than candle wisps, but they made the raiders dance and swat at themselves. Their advance slowed.

"Good!" Regina cried. "Again!" Then to the cart slaves. "Faster!"

With a curse she ran out and joined them, pushing as they angled the heavy vehicle around to face the door. Roki fell in beside her.

"Yes!" she cried. "In! Wedge it tight!"

As fire and pistol shots flashed over their heads, she and Roki and the slaves marched through the door into the temple, pulling the cart after them. The high sides ground and splintered against the door posts, and then they could pull no further. It was stuck.

And not a moment too soon. The first Marauders had reached the temple and were swarming trying to shove past it.

Regina drew her dagger, then called out to Osvalt as she started to cut the slaves free. "Wizard, set the temple doors alight."

Osvalt blinked, surprised, then nodded. He whirled his staff around and cried out, and a sudden 'whump' of fire came from outside, followed by the alarmed cries of the Marauders. Regina smiled as she freed the last of the men. The entrance was now flanked with flame as the broken doors blazed.

"Excellent!" She turned to the freed slaves. "Friends, if you are able, find weapons among the dead and help us. If you cannot, please fall back."

"They're still coming!" yelped Osvalt.

Regina looked up. Marauders were climbing the mound of bodies in the back of the cart, trying to get over it and through the door. She backed away, readying her sword and shield as the freed slaves scattered.

"Gentlemen," she called to Curt and Leopold. "You and the Wizard will stay back and shoot any who attempt to enter. Any that make it through your fire will face the Dwarf and I. Am I understood?"

For an answer the two Witch Hunters fired their pistols at the first Marauders over the cart, the bullets punching them back into their savage brethren. Young Osvalt stepped forward and blew a stream of fire. The Marauders fell back, screaming, their hair and fur-lined armor blazing.

Regina stole a look at Grigorius as she took her position to the left of the cart. The ancient warrior priest was valiantly trying to purge the daemon. The gun continued to howl and fight against its chains, but it seemed - or perhaps Regina just hoped - that its struggles were getting weaker.

"On your left!" shouted Roki.

Regina spun back as a marauder leapt down at her from the cart. She threw up her shield and blocked as he slashed at her with an axe. The blow shivered her arm, but she held firm and gutted him with her sword. One the right side of the cart, Roki was fighting a raider with a carapaced arm. Another lay dead at his feet.

"Come on, y'ugly clot!" the Dwarf shouted. "Did yer mother mate with a lobster?"
Two more Marauders leapt at Regina. One spun screaming in mid-air, his jaw exploding as a bullet from the Witch Hunters knocked him back, but the other crashed down full upon her, knocking her back.

The northerner howled and swung an iron-banded club at her as she recovered, knocking her shield aside. A spiked boot kicked at her midsection. With an awkward twist she turned her sword and blocked, cutting though leather and gashing the Marauder's leg to the bone.

He swung again, apparently immune to pain, but before he could connect, a pale form leapt on his back and stabbed at him with a dagger. The Marauder bellowed and staggered. It was all Regina needed. She hacked through his arm at the elbow, then smashed him to the floor with her shield.

The knife wielder cut the Marauder's throat, then bowed to her. It was one of the cart slaves.

"Sigmar bless you for saving us, Madam," he said. "Though we die here, at least we die free."

"I thank you for your help, friend," said Regina, then turned as more Marauders clambered over the cart, screaming and frothing at the mouth.

After that there was no time for conversation. Though raider after raider fell to Osvalt's flames and the Witch Hunters' bullets, more still broke through, and Roki and Regina soon found themselves standing on a carpet of bodies as they battled on.

A small portion of Regina's mind marveled at how calm she was. She had never been in a real melee before, only the mock battles of the practice yard, and she had never faced enemies like this - reeking, mutated half-men with filed teeth and weapons caked with blood and filth. She should have been terrified. She should have been retching at the smell and the sight of the horrors she faced, and yet she wasn't. Instead she fought with the quiet precision that Master Veicht had always praised her for. Nothing mattered except the dance and shift of weapons and bodies and where she must move her shield and sword to counter them. She felt in a trance, a dream of trajectories and collisions, of move and response, of block and cut and step to the next as her enemies fell around her.

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It was glorious.

And then the trance was shattered.

A crash of broken glass brought her head up. Shards were falling from one of the windows on the north side of the temple, and bloody hands were clutching the sill.

Leopold spun as a Marauder in a horned helm pulled himself up into the window and tried to climb through. The Witch Hunter's bullet smashed through the man's sternum and knocked him back through the window, his helm flying. Curt turned and fired too, and another raider dropped out of sight. But then a third, bigger than the others, jumped up and perched in the window, a throwing axe in his hand.

The Witch Hunters were busy reloading. Osvalt was sending another stream of flame at the door. Regina was fighting two men. Roki was fighting three. The freed slaves were helping where they could. There was no-one to stop the big Marauder as he hurled the axe.

"Look out!" Regina shouted.

It was too late.

Leopold looked up just in time to take the spinning blade in the face. He fell back with a cry, the axe buried between his eyes, and his gun and rapier clattered across the temple's floor.

"My son!" cried Curt. "Leopold!"

The big Marauder sprang down from the window and drew a sword like an enormous cleaver as more raiders clawed into the window behind him.

Curt strode toward the killer, raising his rapier. "Foul heathen!" he roared. "You will die for this!"

Regina cursed. With Leopold down, their defense would collapse without the support of Curt's pistol. She needed him firing, not fighting.

"Dwarf!" she called, knocking one of her opponents down and leaping back from the other. "Hold the door!" She looked to the freed slaves, who hung at the edges of the combat. "Help him!"

"Aye, go," said Roki, grinning. "More for me!"

Regina raced across the temple toward the big marauder, shouting at Curt. "No, Witch Hunter! Leave him to me. Cover the door!"

Curt did not turn. "He killed my son!"

"And his brave sacrifice will be meaningless if you let the fiends retake their cannon!" Regina shoved past the witch hunter, getting between him and the marauder. "Use your pistol," she said over her shoulder. "Use Leopold's. Keep them out."

The big Marauder attacked, and Curt's response was lost as the huge cleaver clanged down on her shield and smashed it into kindling. Regina stumbled back as the shield disintegrated, her left arm numb to the shoulder. This one was strong - too strong! He stood a head taller than her, and his pustule-covered body was muscled like a prize bull. His face was hidden in a full helm that had - disturbingly - four eye-holes, and he laughed like a rusty gate as he slashed at her again.

The force of the blow stung her hand and nearly knocked her sword away. She dodged back. How was she to fight such a monster? The crack and snap of pistols behind her told her that Curt had heeded her and returned to covering the door. She almost wished now he had disobeyed her. She needed help.

"They send girls to face us now?" echoed a guttural voice from inside the marauder's helmet. "Have we killed so many? Or are Empire men just cowards?"
Regina smiled to herself. She knew how to defeat him. Did not Myrmidia teach that when faced with a stronger opponent, one must use guile?

"They only send girls to face the weakest," she said, and forced a laugh.

"What?" roared the Marauder. "I am weak? I will show you my strength!"

He charged forward, raising his ponderous weapon. Regina dodged aside and slashed him in the ribs. Her arms jolted at the contact. Though he wore no armor, the fiber of his muscle was so dense it felt like she was chopping into a tree. Perhaps this wouldn't work after all.

His cleaver came down like a drawbridge falling, and cracked the flagstones as she dove away.

"Ha!" she laughed shakily as she stood again. "I've seen fishwives hit harder than that!" The heat of the hellcannon's furnace was hot on her back, and she could hear its angry groaning and Father Grigorius's furious work directly behind her.

"Your fishwives will be my brides!" snarled the marauder. "You will be my bride!"

Regina snorted, though what he was suggesting made her nauseous. "And will you be as weak in the bedchamber as you are in battle?"

The Marauder howled with rage, and red glowed from his helmet's four eye sockets. He lowered his head and charged, slashing wide.

Regina dropped flat, ducking the cleaver and praying. One of his massive boots stomped down on her back as he tripped over her. The other caught her in the head.
She rolled, dizzy and bruised, trying to get clear before he turned and chopped at her again, but a sudden shrieking made her look up.

The big Marauder had tripped and fallen chest-first against the red-hot iron of the hellcannon's furnace chamber. His flesh sizzled and she smelled a sickening roast pork stench.

Regina lurched up and stabbed him in the back. Even now his muscles resisted, but she leaned on the pommel of the sword with all her strength and felt it push through his ribs and into his heart.

"No!" cried Grigorius, breaking off his prayers. "Get him away! Do not let it feed!"

Regina grabbed the dying marauder by the belt and pulled. His cooked flesh peeled away in strips as he fell from the cannon. The evil gun lurched after him like a hungry dog lunging for meat. A chain snapped and a huge studded wheel rumbled toward her.

She threw herself aside, pulling the Marauder with her. The iron wheel rolled over his legs, pulping them, then jolted short as the rest of its chains stopped it. Regina tried to crab back, but she was pinned by the dead Marauder. The hellcannon loomed above her, inches from crushing her as it strained at its bonds.

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Grigorius staggered after it, his raised Warhammer glowing with holy energies as his chanting climbed to a fever pitch. Regina's eyes swept the room as she fought to

free herself. Her comrades were faring no better. At the door, Roki and the few remaining slaves fought a crowd of marauders as more clambered over the burning cart. Osvalt shot fire at those, but his flames were weak. At the smashed window, Curt had abandoned his guns and fought hand to hand with three more Marauders, trying to stem the tide.

Then, with a final shout, a stream of blinding light poured from Grigorius and his Warhammer as he blasted the hellcannon, bathing it in a golden corona. The gun shook and wailed like a hurricane. Its chains broke and lashed around like whips, and Regina was certain she was dead, but then, with a final desolate cry, the wailing ceased and the cannon rocked to a stop, its unearthly sentience, gone as if it had never been. What had been a terrifying monster was now just a lifeless construction of iron and bone.

All around the temple the combatants froze. The Marauders stared, fearful, to see their great machine destroyed. Regina's comrades too were stopped, shocked that the frail old warrior priest had been successful. The only movement was Grigorius, sinking unconscious to the floor, utterly sapped.

Regina pulled herself out from under the dead Marauder and pushed to her feet. "Don't stand there, you fools!" she shouted, snatching up her longsword. "Fight them! Press the advantage!"

She charged toward the Marauders at the window, aiming to assist Curt. Awakened by her shout, he and Roki and Osvalt lashed out at their stunned opponents, dropping a handful in a matter of seconds, but it was futile. As Regina joined Curt the rest recovered and swarmed in again.

There were just too many, and more were climbing in over the cart and through the window every moment, pressing in on them from all sides. Soon, Regina found herself fighting in a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder with Roki and Curt as Osvalt hid in the middle, shooting licks of flame over their heads.

"I apologize, sirs," said Regina. "I have led you to this."

"You did your best, girl," said Roki, blocking a club. "We stopped the gun."

"We die for the glory of Sigmar," said Curt. "I join my son."

Osvalt just whimpered.

Regina took a cut to the leg. She stumbled and recovered, but knew it was the end. The blows were coming faster and she was getting slower. "Goddess of battle," she whispered. "Into your arms--"

A blast of trumpets blared right outside the temple, and hundreds of voices roared as one. "For Sigmar! For the Empire!"

The Marauders climbing over the cart screamed as a fusillade of crossbow bolts whistled through the temple door and cut them down.

Regina exchanged a wide-eyed look with her comrades. Breuer's army had arrived! Suddenly they found new strength to fight.

"For Sigmar!" they cried. "For the Empire!"

***

A bloody and brutal quarter of an hour later, Captain Riesling walked through the temple door and picked his way around the piles of dead Marauders to where Regina, Curt, Roki and Osvalt were helping Grigorius to sit up and drink from a canteen.

He stopped and shook his head as they looked up at him. "I'm ashamed to say that when I gave ye this mission, I didn't think ye'd survive it."

Curt scowled. "Some of us didn't survive."

Riesling nodded. "Aye, Witch Hunter. Yer son will be given full honors. As will High One Fiandar. Ye've helped us win a great victory today, and the Empire thanks ye."
Regina and the others murmured their thanks, but Riesling wasn't done. He coughed, embarrassed, then spoke again.

"Yer all proven warriors now, and there is more work that need doing, if yer willing. Who leads ye now that Fiandar is dead?"

Regina looked to Father Grigorius, but paused as she felt eyes upon her. She turned. Roki, Curt and Osvalt were nodding at her.

"The girl kept us alive," said Roki.

"We'd be dead without her," said Osvalt.

"Aye," said Curt, gruffly. "She leads."

Captain Riesling raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well then, knight, are you ready for new orders?"

Regina looked around at the piles of dead marauders who filled the temple and thought it only a small vengeance for the evil that had happened to her mother and Chapter Master Veicht. She would not rest until the fiends were destroyed utterly.

She rose and turned to Riesling. "Aye, sir. So long as you send us against these plague-ridden barbarians, we are at your service."

THE END

[Story] The Sword Is Forged by Nathan Long
Brenand, Engineer - Bilkhir, IronBreaker - Oligir, Slayer 6x
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