Foreword:
As of November 2014, I set up a poll regarding which Warhammer group I should do a crossover about and it ended with a tie between The Empire and The Bretonnians. So here it is, a tale which will involve two heroes from both major human nations of Warhammer Fantasy.
A chill wind blew across the eaves of the Drakwald and the mournful howls of wolves echoed in the distance as the Chaos Moon of Morrslieb hung high in the night sky. Within the depths of a natural cave, a low orange glow could be seen as a fire raged. Upon the walls of the cave's interior, there were ancient and crude paintings depicting men, wolves and bloody hands.
This was a holy place, dedicated to a god whose faithful taught that Men should be strong and capable of taking care of themselves. It was a place consecrated in the name of Ulric, God of Winter, Wolves and Battle. Within the cave, seated by the raging fire was a single figure, a Warrior Priest of the Wolf God who whispered a series of mantras and prayers to his deity.
Clad in an old, simply designed but well maintained suit of full plate armour, the Warrior Priest's wore a fur cloak made from the pelt of a grey wolf, the skull of the same beast formed into a mask which concealed the face of the holy man. A mighty war hammer lay next to the priest, a light mist of cold air rose from the weapon as the head of it was surrounded by a cold mist. In the hands of the Warrior Priest, he held a small cloth pouch which contained a powdered mixture of herbs and various substances which he poured onto one hand before casting it into flames which suddenly flared more brightly.
The fires soon began to shift in colour, from its natural orange light, it became white as snow and the heat it had once generated became waves of cold. The Warrior Priest's eyes rolled up no longer looked upon the world of flesh and material but rather upon the world of the spirit as he was lost in the throes of a vision once more. He knew that the Storm was drawing closer, a great tempest from the dark north which would engulf the world in destruction and ruin.
The slaves of the Dark Gods were on the march yet again, but this time there was something different about it. In his vision, the Warrior Priest did not see the cold lands of Kislev or his homeland of the Empire, but rather, he saw a place not quite known to him. The vision showed him a strange, foreign land of sand and stone where ancient towers of iron stood, it was not the desolate realm of the Land of the Dead, rather it was where life still flourished.
The vision then changed, he saw an ever-shifting landscape of madness and nightmares where the children of the Ruinous Powers resided. Amid this place of horrors, there floated a city of shifting architecture with designs which should simply be impossible to exist and yet it did in that realm where the natural laws of the material universe held no meaning. The City had a name which even the Warrior Priest dared not to speak of for even one such as he had right cause to fear it.
The City drifted across the endless void where the daemons resided and soon it came to a stop near another City of sheer blackness. The two cities floated near one another and the Warrior Priest remained uncertain of what he saw but in his heart, he knew that there was something important about this second city of darkness. The vision then began to fade from his mind's eye as his spirit was tugged back into its mortal coil and in that last failing moment he saw one last thing.
He saw a woman, a pretty young lady with hair of raven black and yellow eyes that gleamed with a wicked intellect. Dressed in barbaric garments which revealed too much flesh to be modest but what truly drew the attention of the Warrior Priest was that which lay within her. He saw life, stirring within the woman's womb, one filled with a power which even he could feel and the shadow she cast was not one of a human being, but that of a wyrm.
This woman and the life which grew or will grow was somehow important to the designs of the Ruinous Powers and the Warrior Priest knew that the Dark Gods could not succeed in whatever they sought. The return to his mortal form left the Warrior Priest momentarily disoriented as it always did but he simply shrugged off the effects with a mere shake of his head. Still having many questions about what he had seen, the holy man who was named Albrecht Krieger reached for the handle of his blessed war hammer.
Feeling the comforting weight of his weapon as he placed the shaft upon his lap, the former Knight of the White Wolf knew of a place which could answer the meanings of his vision.
'Onwards men! Onwards!' roared Lothaire du Gisoreux as he plunged his lance into the chest of a Gor and continued to shout 'For the Lady! For the King! For the Duke! For Bretonnia!' Foul ichor spattered the Knight's armour as he felt the tip of his weapon explode from the back of the beastman he had impaled before skewering another of the poor bastards. His mighty steed crushed another of the beastmen as the charge of his fellow Knights trampled all that stood in their way.
Lothaire's heart sang with a feral joy for this was what it meant to be a Knight of Bretonnia! To oppose the might of Chaos, the greatest of all evils, to stare down the unholy abominations of the Dark Gods and stab them in the face! The fields of war was the crucible of a Knight's existence, it was here where honour and glory could be claimed in the name of the Lady.
His plate armour was masterfully crafted with the edges of each section of the set being well detailed with gilded rose vines. The Fleur-de-lys insignia of the Lady was proudly borne upon both of his pauldrons, knee plates and the front section of his Armet helmet covering his forehead. What was most striking about his equipment was the pair of ornate white ivory antlers which rose up from the top of his helmet as a magnificent cloak and tabard of red and black with the hart symbol of his home dukedom was emblazoned upon both pieces of cloth.
More Beastmen were trampled under the charge of the Bretonnians, their screams of terror and pain were music to Lothaire's ears. It mattered little that the cursed Chaos Moon glared balefully down at them, in fact, Lothaire hoped that the eyes of the Dark Gods were upon them just so that the Ruinous Powers could see their minions die in droves against the tide of righteous fury. The ground underneath them began to rise up in inclination and Lothaire knew that they would soon be ascending the hillside.
It was rather unusual though that the beastmen were gathering up here near the Iranna Mountains at this time of the year when normally they should be fighting greenskins, something was drawing the creatures here and he did not know why. Again, It mattered little to Lothaire for a monster was a monster, whether it was some dumb brutish orc, a freakish hybrid of man and beast or a walking corpse that needed to be kicked back into Morr's realms and for men like him, problems with such creatures were easily solved with the pointy end of a lance or sword. Speaking of which as his steed began have some difficulty climbing up the rocky terrain, the Bretonnian Paladin called for his Knights of the Realm to slow their advance.
Horns were soon being sounded as the Knights reluctantly slowed their steeds and soon each of the armoured warriors dismounted for the terrain would be unfavorable for the horses. Looking back to see the carnage his Knights had caused while the Men at Arms followed after them, Lothaire smiled underneath the plates of his bloodied helmet for a warrior of the Fay had once told him that each dead servant of Chaos would be a dagger in the Dark Gods. Dismounting his armoured steed, Lothaire left his lance in the side of his horse's saddle and he unsheathed his favorite weapon, a Heavy Flanged Mace of such size that it would require both hands to use.
He always liked the feel of crushing bones, shattering skulls and reducing the brains of his foes to jelly. As he gripped the haft of his weapon he felt a comforting sense of warmth from the weapon as the blessing placed upon it caused the head of the mace to generate a soft, cyan glow. Looking up to the mountains where he could see the campfires of the beastmen army, Lothaire gently stretched his neck left and right while hearing the gentle cracks from where the spine connected to the skull.
He was going to go up there with his brothers in arms and he was going to beat those overgrown, mutated goats so hard that even the Dark Gods would feel it. Further grinning underneath his helmet as he felt a sense of feral anticipation for the coming battle, Lothaire ordered his fellow Knights to advance.
'Come on men!' shouted Lothaire with the same sort of enthusiasm which he would also show before feasts and holidays 'Ten Ecu to the man that kills the Beastlord!' And with that, the men around Lothaire could not help but share his enthusiasm as well.
The journey through the forest was always one which filled Albrecht Krieger with a sense of wariness for the woods of the Drakwald was the haunt of Beastmen, Greenskins Giant Spiders, Mutants and Bandits. His breath misted in the cold air as he held up a lantern in hand to light his way while in the other hand, he carried his war hammer. The vision Albrecht had seen filled him with many questions as the image of the raven haired woman with the shadow of a dragon was etched into his memory.
The animal sounds of the forest surrounded him and thankfully, he had neither heard nor smelled any trace of beastmen or the greenskins. His travel would soon prove uneventful until he finally arrived at his destination. Unlike the cave which was something of a shrine for the ancient and mortal followers of Ulric, this place he went to was entirely something else.
Standing amidst a lonely glade was a series of ancient, moss covered menhirs which were positioned in a perfect circle, each one depicted men and wolves battling against beastmen. At the center of the circle was a stone cauldron which was filled with water blessed by the ancient priests of the Old Faith. Many times had Albrecht Krieger been to this place and each time, it appeared in different places across Middenland.
Certain rites and rituals were needed to be preformed first before Albrecht could make use of the shimmering water within the Stone Cauldron and Warrior Priest quickly began as soon as possible. Intoning the name of his patron god, Ulric, Albrecht then began to whisper prayers to other deities such as Taal, Rhya and Morr. Ripples began to appear within the waters of the Cauldron and Albrecht knew that his prayers were heard.
Setting his lantern down and propping his hammer by the Cauldron, he then began to remove his wolf skull mask and he pulled down the part of the fur pelt which covered his head. Ancient, wizened and scarred features were revealed for Albrecht Krieger was a man who had lived for almost six decades. A single good eye which was green in colour was looking at the reflection of himself while the other eye was a milky white orb, his beard had grown longer and even more unkempt as the graying hair upon his chin and scalp were now mostly white with age.
Taking a deep breath while steeling himself for what was to come next, Albrecht then leaned forward and dunked his head into the cauldron. Daggers of cold pierced into the nerves of his face as the Warrior Priest was forced to maintain his consciousness while focusing on his last image of the woman. Soon he began to feel the tug of the spirit world again and with it, he left his mortal coil to see what it was the gods had meant for him to see.
He saw a city, a rather mundane and normal looking place clearly built by the hands of Men. Its architecture was unknown to Albrecht Krieger for it did not bear any designs he was familiar with. The vision then shifted and he saw a mighty wyrm with blood red scales and flames of deep purple which flew over the city while an army of darkness and corruption laid siege to the city.
At first, he had believed the wyrm to be one of the Encarmine Dragons which haunted the places of old death but he was quick note the corruption that lay within the beast. The creatures which swarmed the city were somewhat akin to the Damned of Chaos; each was a horrible parody of mortal beings and filled with nothing but the desire to bring slaughter and bloodshed. The city was doomed, thought Albrecht Krieger for in the many wars he had fought, he had learned how to tell the flow of a battle, until he heard a loud screech in the winds.
To horizon, away from the city, three griffons with feathers of grey flew over a mighty army which sought to vanquish the corrupted creatures. Drawn from many lands and different races, they each stood as united as the armies of the Empire did during the Great War when Men, Dwarfs and Elves fought against the Hordes of Asavar Kul in Kislev. Among the army, he saw that raven haired woman again.
The Griffons and the army charged headlong into the besieging force with a mighty crash of flesh and steel. Acts of heroism and valor were played out as among them there also stood out, a company of men and women, each marked for greatness. He saw a bronze skinned giant of a man cleaving swarms of the corrupted things alongside a red bearded dwarf who was as fearsome as a Daemon Slayer, a swarthy elf whose movements were difficult to follow and another woman who wielded a bow while singing a song in a tongue which sounded similar to Breton.
There were others in their company as well; other heroes of whom Albrecht Krieger knew had a part to play in this. The vision then began to become less clear as his lungs burned with the demand for precious air. Quickly returning to his physical form once more, the Warrior Priest suddenly rose up from the cauldron with a deep gasp of air.
Filling his lungs with the cold night air, Albrecht felt ill at ease for his vision answered none of his questions. What was he meant to see? He thought, what was this foreign place and the army which attacked it? As ever, such mysteries remained unclear to the Warrior Priest who placed his skull mask back on and he retrieved his hammer and lantern.
As he turned around, he noticed something unsettling and off about his surroundings. Glancing left and right, he saw that nothing was out of the ordinary and yet his instincts told him otherwise. Having learned long ago to be mindful of what he could not see, he set his lantern down again and pulled out a horn from the side of his belt.
Ancient sigils and prayers dedicated to Ulric were inscribed into the horn and the Warrior Priest placed his lips upon the bottom of it and he let out a loud note which almost sounded like the howl of a wolf. Nothing happened at first but after a few seconds, the temperature around him drastically dropped as the night clouds further darkened above him and snow began to fall from the sky. The snow that fell began to increase in quantity until it practically became a blizzard which began to cover the glade in a bed of snow.
Throughout this time, Albrecht Krieger kept a watchful eye on his surroundings until he saw movement among the trees around him. He saw that the trees themselves moved with each one taking an almost humanoid shape. Dryads he realized as he gripped his hammer with both hands and the cold mist which surrounded his hammer became a thick coating of ice.
Stomping his booted foot down upon the skull of a beastman, Lothaire felt the satisfying snap of the creature's spine as he swung his heavy mace into the chest of another and pulverizing the thing's ribcage and guts. The Knight began to hum a rather bawdy but catchy song he had once heard from Peasant Men at Arms sing at a tavern as he crushed the skulls of more beastmen. Blocking the thrust of a Bestigor's glaive by bringing up the haft of his mace, Lothaire swiftly followed up with a knee kick to the beastman's exposed stomach and the creature bent over as the breath was knocked out of its lungs.
The Paladin then swiftly brought his mace down in a murderous overhead arc which crumpled the thing's skull and the crude helmet that protected it. The mystic light which emanated from his mace shined as bright as the beacon of a lighthouse, he could feel the loathing of his weapon towards such unclean creatures and its desire to purge them from the land. He sometimes wondered if perhaps the magic within his mace may sometimes affect his mind for he had heard stories of such dire weapons existing, he supposed that as long as it made him feel a bit bloodthirsty only towards monsters and Chaos-worshipers, he would be happy enough to oblige it.
Lothaire's fellow knights must have been a glorious sight to behold as each man fought with courage and valor. He saw a trio of his comrades fighting back to back in a triangular formation with swords and shields as each man protected the other's back and flank while lashing out with precise stabs and slashes. Another group of Knights had formed a shield wall which the beastmen battered against while two more groups flanked the beasts from the sides.
Surveying the foe to see if their leader was about, Lothaire saw one particularly large and shaggy looking Beastman who was holding back while protecting a wizened looking creature. Quickly he deduced that the former was leader for he noted how much better armed it was and much to his disdain, he noted that the latter was a shaman of sorts. The two leaders were standing close to a pillar of white stone which he recognized as of being one of the Waystones used by the Fay.
'There is their leader men!' roared the boisterous Paladin as he pointed towards the enemy chieftain who spotted Lothaire and it hefted a mighty axe which looked like it may have once belonged to an orc.
The Chieftain bellowed a roar of challenge and the Paladin noted the way the shaman looked to their leader and it laid a clawed hand on the chieftain's arm while speaking in their debased tongue. Judging from his own experience, it seemed that Lothaire and his men had interrupted something which the beastmen had been in the middle of, probably some nefarious ritual of black magic. Can't be having none of that now, thought Paladin as he mimicked the Chieftain's movement and pointed his mace at it.
The shaman tugged at the Chieftain's arm again and the leader quickly delivered a powerful backhanded slap to the shaman, knocking the withered thing to the ground and it bellowed again while roaring a praise to the Blood God, Khorne. If that overgrown goat wanted to offer his skull to its foul god then it would have to work for it, thought Lothaire as the Bestigors parted before their leader. The Knights of the Realm understood the challenge that was issued and each man stepped aside to watch this moment of glorious, single combat.
Striding forward to meet this foe, Lothaire then planted the head of his bloodied mace to the ground and he knelt while offering a prayer to the Lady of the Lake. The Chieftain stood its ground as it allowed Lothaire to make his prayers and in turn, it shouted foul blasphemies to the sky in honour of the Blood god once more. Rising up to his feet as soon as his prayer was finished, Lothaire felt a comforting sensation within his soul as if the Lady had imparted a small blessing upon him.
Studying his opponent for a moment, Lothaire could see that despite the gloom, his foe was quite fearsome looking indeed. Clad in armour which also looked like it may have once belonged to a Knight, glowing dark crimson runes were etched upon the blade of its axe. It looked like he would be facing a an enemy with an ensorcelled weapon thought the Paladin with a bit of eagerness for the greater the foe, the greater amount of glory would be attained.
Its fur was of a dark colour, black or perhaps a deep red he thought as eyes filled with hell-fire looked at him with hate and rage. The Chieftain was probably as tall as a Kurgan with a physique which would match one of the barbarians from the Wastes and what was also notable was the impressive set of horns it had. What started as two blackened trunks of bone-like material rose and spread out as magnificently as that of a hart's, a fine trophy its horns would make thought Lothaire, he would probably have to aim low then.
The Chieftain scraped its right hoof upon the soil and it let loose another loud roar before charging at the paladin with the strength and speed of a bull. Roaring a war cry of his own, Lothaire sprinted towards his foe with one his mace held in one hand. The Chieftain then brought its axe up for an overhead chop and the Paladin saw the dark runes upon his foe's weapon glow even brighter as if it were anticipating the kill.
Lothaire then thrust his mace forward, he loosened his grip a little to allow the handle to slide between his armoured fingers and was rewarded with the satisfying impact as the head of the mace connected with a loud crash against the armour of the Chieftain. His foe staggered back from the unexpected strike, a trick Lothaire had picked up from a great warrior he recently had made the acquaintance of. Pulling the mace back and quickly stepping to the side while shifting his grip so that both of his hands could hold on to the weapon, he heard the Chieftain take deep gasps of air and the Paladin was quick to take advantage of this.
Swinging his mace low and aiming for the knees of the Chieftain, he struck the mutant on the side of its left knee cap and he heard the loud snap of bone as the creature shrieked in pain and agony. The brutish hybrid toppled to its side and as it fell, Lothaire quickly brought his mace crashing down upon its spine before it even hit the ground. Again, he heard the loud snap of bone as he shattered the thing's spinal cord and he thought with disappointment that it had been a bit too easy.
With a shrug, he then turned his gaze upon the shaman who had an almost stunned looked upon its goat face. The creature then pointed a clawed finger at him while holding up a crude wooden staff which was adorned with pieces of bone and small dark green stones he recognized to be wyrdstone. The air around them suddenly began to become much colder as the shaman enacted a foul spell and Lothaire was forced to sprint towards the beastman spell-caster.
Roaring the name of Bretonnia while bringing his mace up again in and preparing to unleash a horizontal swing which would crush the shaman's skull he suddenly then heard a rattling sound akin to the metal links of chains. Lothaire then began to feel something wrap tightly against his limbs as he was about to smash the shaman and he looked back to see a gaping maw of azure light dragging him closer to it. He saw his fellow knights quickly move to help them but one loud bleat from the shaman came and the Bestigors which had been watching the duel were swift to charge into the ranks of Bretonnian Knights.
Lothaire struggled with all of his might as he shouted curses and insults at the foul shaman. More and more chain links began to lash out from the glowing maw with each one latching on to him while further restricting his own movements. The mad shaman capered and danced with a maddened energy and Lothaire began to hear a horrible series of whispers into his ears.
Not like this! Desperately thought the Paladin as he continued to struggle against the chains for the first in a very long time, he began to feel a sense of terror creep into his heart. The last thing which Lothaire saw before being thrown into the Realm of Chaos was the Waystone pillar glowing ever brighter and he heard the cackling shaman's voice turn into a shriek of anguish as a singularly loud bestial roar echoed from behind the foe.
The Dryads kept their distance from Albrecht Krieger as he carefully watched them while adopting a defensive stance. Although such creatures were very rare to find outside of the haunted forest known as Athel Loren, the Warrior Priest had faced the things before, back when he was still a Knight of the White Wolf. Why they were here was a mystery to him but one which would have to be answered later for the Dryads were dangerous and malevolent things.
He saw one creatures shift its form and adopt the image of a comely elf maiden whose beauty almost made Albrecht wish to lower his guard, almost. Gritting his teeth and steeling his mind from its insidious charm, he quickly broke its beguiling power in same way as he would with the daemonic handmaidens of Slaanesh. Albrecht loudly howled like the wolves of the forest, an ancient war cry used by the faithful of Ulric and he felt the strength of his god imbue him with a measure of more power.
The Dryads angrily hissed and shifted back to their hideous forms as they charged the Warrior Priest with arms which ended in sharpened claws. One of the Dryads swung its right arm in a backhanded sweep which would have snapped the neck of Albrecht had it connected but he managed to step back in time to allow the wooden limb to pass over his masked face and he swung his hammer upwards. The Dryad shrieked in pain as he felt the impact of his weapon connect with its arm, wood and sap from the creature exploded in a shower of frozen splinters.
The hammer which had faithfully served Albrecht Krieger for so many decades was blessed by the Wolf God in his aspect of Winter. Each time the Warrior Priest struck an opponent, their bodies would be wracked with agony as the imbuement upon the weapon would cause wounds to freeze and blacken with frostbite. Sometimes though, when a strike is particularly mighty indeed, the hammer's power would instantly freeze a target before the very impact of his weapon would cause the foe to shatter like glass.
Ducking under the strike of another and smashing the trunk-like legs of one of his attackers, Albrecht was thankful for the divine magic within the Horn for creatures such as the Dryads were greatly slowed by winter's chill. Despite his advanced years, Albrecht proved to still be quite fast and strong as he smashed the chest of a Dryad and shattered the head of another with an overhead slam. The creatures of course fought back with both savagery and ferocity but their movements slowed even further as the cold wind grew stronger.
'Enough!' roared deep, booming voice which shook the trees and the earth, causing Albrecht to stumble for a moment before recovering and taking a step back. He saw the Dryads look behind them for a long moment before they cast their gazes back to him, he could see the hate in the eyes of the creatures and their desire to rend him limb from limb. The Warrior Priest gave them a challenging look for he had no fear of them, the Dryads reluctantly began to back away and Albrecht realized that there was a cold mist which partly obscured his vision.
From the mist he saw two figures slowly draw closer to him with both making not a single sound with each step. Albrecht Krieger narrowed his eyes as he soon came face to face with a pair of tall, slender and pale skinned beings he knew well enough were elves. One was clearly a male with cloud white hair and eyes of green while the other was a female with eyes that were also of a similar colour but hair of midnight black.
Both of the elves were garbed in garments of dark brown and green with each one carrying a wooden staff which was topped with a jewel like that of an emerald. The female elf looked to Albrecht with a cold, disdainful expression as if he were nothing more than a particularly loathsome vermin while the male elf looked to him with a more neutral one. The elf woman then muttered something in a song-like tongue which Albrecht could detect the spiteful tone within while the other elf said something to her before casting his gaze towards Albrecht.
'Lower your weapon, human for we wish only to speak' said the male elf in a thickly accented but understandable Reikspiel and Albrecht only lowered his hammer by a slight inch.
'We are not your enemies, Kegh-mon!' spat the female elf with disdain as she spoke every word.
'Then why do you bring these… creatures here into the Drakwald' replied the Warrior Priest as glanced towards the Dryads who still eyed him with murderous intent.
'They are here for our protection from the Great Enemy, human' spoke the male elf in a cold yet calm manner. At closer look Albrecht realized, they had a somewhat similar look and he guessed that both elves were siblings.
'And it is quite obvious that we should have brought more had we expected your savage barbarism' added the female elf whose attitude was beginning to grate on Albrecht's nerves as he tightened the grip on his hammer.
'Savage barbarism?' asked the Warrior Priest with barely concealed hostility for if he had his Wolf-Kin with him, he would order them to rush these elves and he would break their hands and teeth for such impudence. 'I am not the one whose people launch massacres into Bretonnia every spring!' countered Alberecht as he took a step forwards with his hands tightly gripped around his hammer and the Dryads themselves hissed in anger.
'I said enough!' roared the male elf in a commanding tone as he slammed the bottom of his staff to the ground which caused a slight tremor of the earth and he then gave a hard look to his companion who responded with a defiant look of her own while remaining silent. The male elf then returned his attention to Albrecht and continued 'there is no need for us to be enemies on this day for we have come bearing a message'
'And what would this message be then, elf?' questioned Albrecht rather suspiciously for he had no particular fondness for most elves of whom he found to be overly arrogant, imperious and having a rather condescending, smug sense of superiority when dealing with Men. There were perhaps a few he had respect for, but most of his dealing with the Elder Race were alliances of convenience against the beastmen or battles against murderous corsairs.
'The Storm is coming' replied the elf in a foreboding manner 'the Dark Gods prepare their inevitable march and their armies seek to sweep across the world'.Have these elves also seen what he had seen? Thought Albrecht Krieger with surprise. Had they seen the strange land besieged by darkness, the black city, the red dragon and the raven haired woman? Albrecht's silence must have been telling for he saw a look of recognition in the elf's eyes as he then continued 'the Dark Gods will prove victorious if we do not act'.
'Why tell me then?' asked Albrecht for such information should go to someone like Graff Toddbringer or to Emperor Karl Franz himself.
'Because you are marked, Albrecht Krieger' said the elf whose use of his name further surprised the Warrior Priest 'the gods have placed their mark on you, just as they have with so many others.'
'Come with us human' spoke the female elf 'for if we are to deny Chaos its victory in the coming war, then we will need to gather as many of us as we can'
'What do mean "us"?' questioned the Warrior Priest for he still had his duties within Middenland.
'Just as Vaul forged the Ninety-Nine Blades for the War in Heaven, the Gods will forge Ninety-Nine Champions' was the rather cryptic reply of the male elf which further confused Albrecht.
'Just come with us human and we will explain on the way!' hissed the female elf in a more urgent manner.
As Albrecht was about to argue again, he noticed that out from the mist from which the elves had stepped out, a grey furred wolf with one eye which was icy blue and the other which was dark yellow. The Grey Wolf quietly walked up between the elves and it simply sat there like an obedient domesticated hound waiting for its master. Sighing with resignation for he knew what the appearance of the Grey Wolf meant, Albrecht lowered his weapon and he walked towards the waiting elves.
As the grey mist began to close in around them and Albrecht thought he could hear the voices of both men and women speaking in a variety of different languages as well as Reikspiel. He glanced about to see who else was in the mist and he saw a warrior dressed in the armour of Kislev's Gryphon Legion. Calling to the Gryphon Legionnaire, he received no reaction from the warrior and at the corner of his eye, he noted more figures.
Albrecht looked around him and see men, dwarfs, elves and even a halfling who each were concealed by the mist. Looking back to the Legionnaire, he saw that the warrior was gone and as he heard the voice of a woman speaking somewhat fearfully in Estalian from behind him. Looking back, he saw a woman dressed in the armour of a Myrmidian Sister of Fury who looked about with confusion. As Albrecht tried to catch her attention the mists surrounded the Estalian and she disappeared from his sight.
What sorcery was this he thought and suddenly he began to feel that dreadfully familiar sensation which was followed by a sickly sweet stench. 'Dum!' shouted the deep voice of a dwarf and Albrecht Krieger heard the loud roars and screeches as several Daemons broke through the mists. Red Skinned Bloodletters wielding swords which burned with hell-fire strode alongside the diseased cyclopean minions of the Plague God while the lithe handmaidens of Slaanesh cavorted alongside the cackling Horrors of Tzeentch.
A gods-damned trap, thought Albrecht as he lifted his war hammer and was ready to face the Daemons. 'Ulric!' roared the Warrior Priest as he charged headlong into the daemons and he saw that many of the others within the mist did the same. The Daemons were suddenly then engulfed by white flames which reduced them to ashes and a new voice called out them.
Wreathed in a brilliant, shining light, Albrecht saw another elf whose garbs mirrored those of the High Elves of Ulthuan. The newcomer shouted with a voice imbued by sorcery and something began to compel Albrecht to follow the this elf, despite absolutely having no idea on what he was saying. The shining elf then pointed to something near him, a glimmering disc of light leading to some unknown place.
The High Elf then spoke again and Albrecht found that his body rebelled against his will. He found himself to be running towards the glimmering disc, he looked towards the shining elf and for a moment he was able to catch a glimpse of him. Unlike other elves he had seen, this one looked ancient and decrepit with a receding hairline, translucent skin and skeletal features.
Albrecht saw as the others who were in the mists ran straight into the shimmering disc, seemingly against their will as well. As he ran, he heard the shouts of rage from the Chaos Daemons before an intense heat and the force of an explosion like that of a black powder bomb going off. Such was the force of the explosion that Albrecht Krieger was knocked off of his feet and all he began to feel was the chill which seeped into his very soul as darkness clouded his vision.
Looking up to the clear, starry sky Nicolas d'Val Royeaux watched with great interest as he took down notes regarding the constellations and the movements of the heavens above. For years now, he had studied astronomy within The University of Orlais and things seemed to be going well for him so far. As he continued to record his observations, he noticed an unusual object in the sky and he quickly placed his right eye upon the section of his telescope which would allow him to catch a closer look.
What he saw was perhaps the most extraordinary sight he had ever seen. It was a comet to be sure, one which was moving rather slowly in the heavens but what was most distinguishing about its appearance was that it ended with two burning tails. How unusual he thought with curiosity and he resolved to take further note of this stupendous sighting.
Author's Note: If you wish to know more about the character, Albrecht Krieger, you can read my previous stories, Knight of Khaine: The White Hunter & Howl of Winter. The character Lothaire on the other hand I originally intended to introduce him as a major supporting character in a future story-arc of my non-crossover stories when the main cast's adventures take them from the Empire and into Bretonnia.