"When the day is done, and the battle is over, and we crush the heads of our fallen enemies beneath our boots, then I will satisfy your curiosity, Coralyn," Sebastian said in a low growl. His pale, lupine blue eyes looked out across the snow towards the marching hoard approaching the small town of Karlsberg. What really drew his attention, though, was not the mass of Northmen advancing on the small town, but the banner they flew above their small army. At the head was three hands, each taken from a fallen Elf Blade Master. Beneath that was a large white wolf head, mounted over the head of a female Elf. The cross bar flew the standard of Khorne, and streaming from that was eight white wolf tails. Sebastian felt a burning rage building inside him, a fury like he had never known even in the midst of battle. His left hand gripped the haft of his hammer tightly as he silently offered his prayers up to Ulric, his god and patron. The White Wolf who had plucked him from his previous life and brought him to the winter lands.
Without another word, he turned and walked from the wall, leaving Coralyn looking out towards the advancing army. His boots crunched on partially frozen snow as he made his way to street level, looking around at the preparations for war that had been made. Pits and ditches had been dug, arrow catches strung along behind the walls, berms built up to funnel the invading marauders into traps set by the townsfolk and their meager militia. All had been done in the town to at least survive the first wave, but beyond the burning anger deep within Sebastian's chest, he felt the gnawing of impending failure upon him. Karlsberg would fall, though not today. He grimaced again as he walked the street. His right arm hung useless at his side, Ulric's price for bringing healing to the Elven General, a being who had lived more centuries than the combined populace, living and dead, of the region could number. A being who could turn utter destruction into something else. Survival, certainly not, not entirely, but better than complete destruction. Sebastian would fight, none the less, with his sinister arm, until that too was taken from him.
His wolf fur trimmed cloak billowed out behind him as he turned a corner and found a group of militiamen scraping whetstones across their blades. They looked up to him, knowing he had seen more war than they, and waited silently.
"Ulric's blessings upon you," he growled, raising his hammer in salute to the men. Soldiers they were not, but they had courage and strength, and perhaps that would be enough for Ulric to show favore upon them this day. His few words seemed to have an effect upon the men, and he walked passed them. There was nothing else to say at this point, nothing he could tell them that would set them at ease. If the plan worked, they would live to patch their walls and search for their dead loved ones. If it did not, then they would not live to worry for their families. His keen ears caught a shout from the top of the wall, and then the horrible sound of Hell Bore cannons firing. The horrid balls of chaos energy they cast arced through the sky, casting a sickly purplish glow to the air before they fell. The first overshot the wall, crashing into a building not far behind Sebastian, and he heard the shouts of fear and pain from the militiamen he had just passed. Ulric had not smiled upon them, after all. The next fell short, casting a blanket of snow and earth into the sky. The last two fell into the wall, shaking it, but it held. Archers and men at arms filed from the wall, removing individual targets for the cannoneers. The men huddled near the wall, seeking shelter from the missiles that over shot, and staying near where they could make the top of the wall should they be needed again.
With barely a thought, Sebastian sprang up onto the wall, looking north again at the massed army. A far bow shot, and he glanced over at Coralyn as she drew back her long bow, a flaming arrow nocked. A sigh, a breath, and the arrow was released. The missile arced through the air, trailing smoke and fire. Heads turned to follow its flight, until it terminated in the head of one of the Magus manning the cannons. For a moment it looked as though the Magus' helm might have stopped the arrow, then the flames could be seen licking from the eye slits, and the body fell to the snow. Further down the wall, Sebastian could see Glorantrys Shadowstar, Coralyn's mother and Elven Archmage. The air between her and the army seemed to shimmer as she cast her will onto the aethyric winds, enjoining battle betwixt herself and the remaining Magus. The lines of Chaos soldiers began moving as fire rained down near the cannon, powerful spells flung from both sides, tearing at the bodies and sanities of both sides. Between Coralyn and Glorantrys, the Magus' lives where cut short, the Hell Bore cannons laid to waist, and their tender carts, filled with corpses to fuel the foul Chaos machines, brought to ruin by the fires of Magik.
The standard, having been shot and broken by Gimdok Skoragson, had been picked up by another of the Chaos warriors and was being carried forward. Sebastian's lips peeled back in a snarl of anger at the profanity of that banner, of the mockery they made of Ulric by their display of the wolf head and tails. He leapt from the wall, landing in the deep snow beneath, and crouched there for a moment, feeling the rage flow over him, the frenzy unleashed by the profanity before. A frenzy that not even his father could call forth when Sebastian had been presented to Khorne. He stood, shaking the snow from his cloak and scale armor, hooking his useless right arm into his belt and drawing his hammed from the thong that secured it to his belt. He started with a slow, purposeful stride, but quickly built to a run, a snarl on his lips, and a roar of rage spilling out
Drums beat about him in the darkness. His father stood before him by the bonfire, holding the chalice of blood, the sacrifice to Khorne. Slowly, another sound began to pick up a counterpoint to the drums, the sound of steel swords beat against wooden and metal shields. He knew they stood there in the darkness, the warriors of his clan, his brothers and cousins, warriors for the Blood god, each of them calling for Sebastian to join them, to be chosen by Khorne.
"Drink, son, that Khorne might grant his blessing upon you," his father said, offering him the chalice fashioned from the skulls of their fallen enemies. Tall at 14, he already stood shoulder high to his father. His chest and arms were broad and muscled, already trained in the arts of killing and death. Sebastian brushed back his black hair, looking up at his father with gray flecked amber eyes. His father nodded, but Sebastian couldn't help taking a look around, seeing the warriors around him, highlighted by the balefires beyond their circle. He faced his father again and took the chalice, looking deep into the crimson fluid, unaware of his father taking a step back. "Drink, and let the fury of Khorne baptize you. Become one of the Blood god's chosen, son."
Sebastian raised the chalice to his lips, drinking deep of the salty, coppery blood within….
Battle had been joined, the lines of marauders reaching the gates of Karlsberg. One side had been blasted free of its hinges, and hung open, and easy path for the raiders to enter the town. Sebastian cared not, as he crashed into the flank of the first line, a roar of rage on his lips as his mighty hammer swung down. The first warrior seemed almost oblivious to him, focused on the open gate and the promise of plunder and rape inside. Too late, he realized the danger and tried to swing his shield into position to block the mighty blow. Sebastian's hammer clipped the edge, deflecting the blow from his intended target, but not enough to save the man before him. Flesh and bone gave way beneath the force of the blow, and the raider fell dead at Sebastian's feet. Another turned, hearing the roar. He broke his headlong charge and faced the warrior priest, lunging in with his sword. Sebastian stepped to the side, swinging his hammer to bring the sword further out, then turning the swing into a thrust.
The raider turned, letting the blow deflect off his shield, and brought his sword around and under, chopping at Sebastian's legs. Fear already washed away by his rage, Sebastian stepped into the blow, stealing the strength from it by closing quicker than the raider anticipated. His hammer recoiled from the shield, and Sebastian brought it back to his left, catching the top of the shield with the full strength of his blow. The metal squealed in protest, but gave before the fury of the blow, bowing inwards. The raider staggered in the snow, nearly losing his footing. Sebastian gave him no time to recover. He swung in with his hammer, coming under the shield and crushing the raider's knee, spinning through the strike, and bringing his hammer down in an overhead smash onto the man's chest. Blood spurted from the raider's mouth and nose, splattering onto Sebastian, but the priest was beyond noticing. More raiders came on, part of the second line of marauders intent on destruction. A sword flashed towards Sebastian's head, and he ducked away, a second stroke coming at his legs. The blow connected, but did not penetrate his scale armor. Still, his leg nearly buckled from the fierceness of the blow, and he turned with it, counting on his armor, his faith, and his rage to protect him.
Another blade slashed across his back, and he hissed in pain, but swung his hammer around with all his might, connecting with a raider's head. The skull caved around the hammer, splattering gore across the snow. Sebastian yanked his hammer free as two other raiders swung at him. He turned his lame arm into one of the blows, barely feeling the blade slice into the flesh as he jerked the hammer free in time to parry the other blow. He quickly twisted the hammer around and jerked the sword from the raider's hand.
"Ulric!" he roared as he stepped closer to the marauder and brought his head in to smash against the face of the raider. His victim staggered back, shaking spots from his vision and spraying blood from his shattered nose. He drew a dagger from his belt and leapt in at the priest again as his comrade slashed with his sword towards Sebastian's head. Sebastian swept his hammer around and smashed it into the arm of the swordsman, sending the deadly blade wobbling through the air. He felt the dagger bite into his flesh just above his belt, but paid it no mind. He turned towards the pain, bringing his hammer down with a sickening crunch onto the top of the marauder's head.
Pain flashed through his body, liquid fire pouring down his throat. His eyes clamped shut from the pain, and when they opened he saw….
Snow. Driving white, blindingly clean snow blowing across a landscape. This wasn't the image he had expected, the image his father and uncles had told him he would see. Where was Khorne? Where were the blood thirsters? A shape formed in the snow, pale and insubstantial, but gaining strength. Closer, it padded through the snow, its fur white and pure. Pale blue eyes flashed from the furred face, and he found himself standing eye to eye with the beast, a beast that stood nearly 6 foot at the shoulder. In the distance, he could hear something, a scream of rage and pain, but here, he stood before a magnificent, horrifying wolf with pale blue eyes.
"Choose you must," the Wolf growled. "Choose ye this day whom you will serve. Will ye fall to madness and destruction, or will ye stand for what is good and right? Thy dame has taught ye well, and now ye must choose."
He warred within himself between his parents. His mother, a gentle woman held in bondage here, his father a destroyer, a warrior. His blood called to both, but he lusted for battle, to see his enemies fall beneath his axe and to see their blood upon the snow beneath him. But what else? There must be more; more to this life than blood and death and war. Love? A mate? Children? Surely there must be room for these as well. The roar sounded again, and there was a sound like large sheets of cloth catching the wind. He looked up and saw a form in the driving snow, huge with wings as wide as his family's long house.
"Choose ye NOW!" the Wolf growled. Sebastian looked from the approaching daemon at the Wolf, into the pale blue eyes, and nodded.
Blood flowed from the wound as Sebastian pulled the dagger from his side. He turned his attention towards the standard bearer again, and began running. Arrows began falling around him as the archers near the standard saw him approaching. Thank Ulric none found there mark as the men from the town returned fire. He smashed into the line of marauders with a roar, his hammer rising and falling, trailing blood and gore with every swing. He fought as a man possessed, possessed by daemons, or possessed by his god, he cared not. He was dimly aware of an arrow striking his leg, just above the knee, but he pushed on, shattering the shield of a warrior before him, then stomping on the man's throat as he pressed towards the standard. A giant of a man held it aloft, turning his helmeted head to look at the priest as he approached.
"Betrayer!" a gravelly voice came from the helm, a voice Sebastian had not heard in a lifetime. "You turned your back upon us, upon the Blood god!" Around them the gathered warriors whooped and hollered, oblivious to the arrows that still fell around them. One took an arrow to the neck, staggered and fell before Sebastian's boots.
"I was called out of the darkness that you fell into, father," Sebastian growled in reply. His heart hammered in his chest, the terrible heat of his rage building inside him.
"Repent and turn back. Khorne may yet be merciful to you," his father replied. With a grunt, he planted the banner into the snow and ground, reaching up and taking the helm from his head to look upon the man before him. "Repent, and I will make your death quick, and painless."
Sebastian tried to look for an answer, tried to hold his rage in check, but that standard, the man before him, they fueled his rage beyond any measure of control. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the part that was still rational, he knew that he did not have long before the wounds he had suffered would take their toll, and he would fall dead upon the snow. He was determined not to let that happen. With a roar of rage, he ran forward, his hammer rising. The old man smiled, dodging backwards and just stepping out of the arc of the deadly weapon. He stepped to his left, drawing a wicked looking, black steel blade with pulsing red runes down the length. He lunged with the dire blade, but Sebastian was faster, turning and sweeping the blade away with the haft of his hammer. He stepped closer to the man, charging with his shoulder, and his father fell back a few steps.
"Yes! That's it! Let Khorne's strength fill you! Become one of his!" the old man called, taunting the Wolf Priest.
"I! AM! OF! ULRIC!" Sebastian cried in response, punctuating each word with a mighty swing of his hammer. The old man parried the blows, stepping backwards, drawing Sebastian after him. With a sudden burst of speed, he parried the hammer to his right, spinning around to his left and swept the mighty black blade up under Sebastian's out stretched arm. In that moment, Sebastian saw the Wolf again, tall and proud, pale blue eyes looking down at him. He knew his death was to come, and that Ulric was there to carry his soul to rest. He smiled. He felt the strength return to his right arm, and he smiled broader.
The old man laughed as he swung his sword under Sebastian's left arm, knowing that the right was useless. Suddenly his arm met resistance, and he stopped laughing, looking down to see what had happened.
"What? By Khorne!" he howled. His howl was cut short as Sebastian swung his hammer up into the side of the man's head. His father staggered, arm still held fast, evil blade held away from the priest's body, his eyes still wild. Another blow from the hammer, and another, and finally the old marauder staggered and fell to his knees. He looked up as Sebastian raised his hammer over his head in both hands, the sun seeming to glint right behind him.
"Ulric have mercy upon your soul," the Wolf priest said quietly, almost sadly, then brought his hammer down with all the might in his powerful body. The marauder's head came apart like a watermelon beneath a sledge, brains, blood, and skull spraying in all directions. It was done. The marauders fell away from their fallen leader, turning and running away, back to the north, and away from this town that bristled with arrows, and this priest who fought like a savage wolf.
Sebastian turned and watched them go, feeling the cold beginning to creep into his wounds. The people were safe now, at least from the marauders. His mate was safe. He smiled and looked towards the White Wolf.
"I am ready to go home," he said.
"Ye are nay done yet, Priest," the Wolf replied. With that he turned and padded away into the snow and gathering darkness, leaving Sebastian standing upon the battlefield. Around the young priest, a pack of wolves seemed to rise from the bloodied snow, moving to support him, and carry him off into the encroaching darkness.
Karlsberg lay behind him, and below. How far, Sebastian was not sure, nor, for that matter, did he care at the moment. His wounds burned and bled, and his fingers ached from the cold as he reached over his head and felt for the next hand hold that would carry him further up the unforgiving mountain face. The wolf pack had lead him as far as the base of the mountain, up the foot hills to this wall, and there they had stayed, watching. Above him, Sebastian could catch glimpses of a large white wolf, pacing a ledge and looking down at him on occasion. Weariness washed over the battered priest, and he paused for a long moment, long form stretched across the wall. What was he fighting for? Was Coralyn still alive? Was anybody else in the town? One charge of Chaos had been broken, but had that been the only one? Sebastian didn't know the answers, and it took a paramount effort to will his limbs back into motion.
The wind snatched at him, plucking at his hair and cloak, attempting to pull him from the mountainside and deliver him to the wolves who waited below. A grim smile broke across his face. Yes, wolves were predictable. They would feast where they could, even if it was upon the corpse of a Wolf Priest of Ulric. A deep growl rose in his throat as he reached up and pulled himself up to the next set of foot holds, then pushed himself up with his legs.
Finally, his fingers felt the cold snow and ice that had accumulated on the ledge above him. He could smell the wolf above him, as well, wild and untamed. Sebastian pulled himself up, sliding his body over the edge and finding himself face to face with the great white beast that had stalked the ledge. Have I made it all this way just to be a meal for this beast? he wondered briefly, then shook the thought away. Ulric had brought him here, of that he was sure, and no matter the result, he would face it as one of Ulric's chosen. Slowly, on wavering limbs, he pushed himself to his feet and looked at the wolf, no fear in his eyes, and none showing in his form.
"Lead on, Wolf," he said finally when he had caught enough breath. The wolf looked at him for a moment, its gaze deep and thoughtful as though it contemplated Sebastian's very existence. Without a sound, the wolf turned and walked into an alcove in the wall, leading into a tall, shallow cave. A natural arch formed the only obvious path, and Sebastian followed it, feeling the bone deep exhaustion as he walked. The wolf stopped, watching him as he walked further into the darkness.
Ahead, Sebastian saw the glow of a fire, could feel the warmth of it radiating through the air. He rounded a corner and saw a small room, a fire blazing in a carved fireplace. A table was set off to the side, and a pallet of furs lay near the fireplace. A slight figure stood before the fireplace clad in a long cloak, and she turned to gaze upon Sebastian as he stepped into the room.
"You are wounded, Brother," she said softly as she stepped towards the Wolf Priest. The cloak parted slightly as she walked, showing flashes of bared legs. Tis no wonder, Sebastian thought as he began to feel the warmth of the room. "Come, Brother, let me tend thy wounds."
Sebastian took the offered hand, slight and delicate, yet strong, and allowed her to lead him further into the room. She unlaced his pauldrons, setting the heavy steel aside, then went to work on his bracers. She was sure in her movements, and in a few minutes had Sebastian stripped down to his breeches. His wounds ached and bled. She lead him to the pallet and helped him down, then retrieved a basin of cool, clean water from the table, as well as linen bandages.
"You must be very strong to have survived all these wounds, Brother," she said softly as she soaked a cloth and began to clean the blood from him. Sebastian said nothing, letting her tend to his wounds. Her hands were soft and warm as she bandaged him, spreading pungent salve on the worst of them before wrapping them in linen and pinning the bandages in place. Finished with that, she gently lay him back on the pallet, her warm hand trailing down his chest.
"Now that I have tended thy wounds, Brother, allow me to tend thy other needs." So saying, she unfastened the cloak and let it fall from her body, revealing a lithe, naked form beneath. Her body was well muscled, yet soft and curved, and her breasts hung heavy before Sebastian's gaze. The woman slowly settled herself astride Sebastian's hips, leaning down to brush dark hair over his chest, one warm hand stroking his bearded cheek and down to his neck. Her scent was intoxicating, and Sebastian could feel himself rousing towards her. With a smile she leaned back and reached down between them to unlace his breeches. Having her hand that close caused him to stir, and she smiled, reaching into his breeches to cup his manhood in her warm, strong hand. She stroked him gently, working his length free and nestling against her warm, moist sex.
This isn't right, Sebastian thought distantly. I shouldn't be doing this. There's something wrong here. A groan escaped his lips as the woman pressed herself against him, her lips slightly parted, a look of pure pleasure on her face. She angled her hips and sank slowly onto Sebastian's manhood, moaning as she took his length into her. Sebastian closed his eyes as he felt her heat and wetness surround him, but in that moment he heard something else. As she moaned, he could hear others around them, other couples mated together, moaning their pleasures. His eyes snapped open and he looked around quickly, seeing the writhing bodies in the shadows around them, partaking in perversities too numerous to name. The woman above him still smiled, rocking her hips slowly as she savored the feel of him deep inside her, but she had changed. Her ears were longer, sharper, and there was the faintest hint of a ridge on her forehead. Her mouth opened wider, and Sebastian saw fangs and sharp teeth. With a cry of rage, he shoved her away from him.
"Leave me be, she-devil!" he roared, rolling to his side and pushing himself to his feet.
"Ye have no need to fear me, Brother," the she-daemon crooned seductively, rising easily to her feet. "I give myself to ye, all ye need do is accept."
Sebastian could feel something else, now. A dark, foul presence moving in the background somewhere, reveling in the debauchery that surrounded him. Slaanesh! The name burned in his mind.
"I'll nay join thee!" Sebastian roared. The woman's smile faltered, but only for a moment. Her fingers extended into wicked looking claws, and her fangs became more prominent.
"You already have, son of Ulric! You have given yourself to the Lord of Pleasure every time you have lain with your Elven slut!" Sebastian lunged to the side, grasping for his hammer as the woman fell on him, clawing and biting. His hand closed around the haft of his hammer, and he swung backwards with it, feeling it connect with something, he didn't stop to think. He rolled over, looking for the she-demon, and found her standing by the pallet, looking down at her misshapen arm. As Sebastian watched, the arm twisted and righted itself. With a terrifying grin, the woman launched at him again. Accepting his death, the Wolf Priest vowed not to leave the bitch untouched, and he swung his hammer with all his might, the name of his god on his lips.
Darkness fell around him, and he braced himself for the impact of the demon, but it never came. His eyes adjusted slowly, and he found himself in a small cave. Behind him was the arch he had come in, and beyond was another archway. He paused, his chest heaving with each breath. Had the demon spoken truly? Was that even possible? He shuddered at the thought, then put it aside, pressing on into the darkness.
Tests followed, more images, visions, Sebastian could not name them all. In one he found himself upon a bloodied battlefield, tempted to give into his rage and slaughter everything around him. Another brought him face to face with the twisted, mutated followers of the Changer of Ways, and another before Khorne. More and more they passed, until Sebastian was unsure of how long he had been there. Had it only been a matter of hours? Days or even weeks, maybe? Unsure he pressed on until he found himself in a small room.
Before him on an altar of rock stood a golden chalice. On either side of the chalice stood a man, and a third stood behind the alter. Each was taller than Sebastian, broadly built, and each cloaked and hooded so that the only features the Wolf Priest could see where their stark white beards and the symbol of Ulric upon their chests.
"You have done well, Son of Ulric," the man behind the altar said in a voice that was at once ancient and powerful. "You have passed the tests of the cave, and now stand before the Chalice of Ulric."
"Decide you must," the man on the right spoke next. "The Chalice is not for all who follow the Wolf god, but for those who are brave enough and strong enough to pass his tests, Ulric offers his blessings."
"Drink from the Chalice," the final man spoke, "and take upon ye the Marks of Ulric, or ye may pass beyond the arch, and be returned as you were."
Silence fell in the chamber, so profound Sebastian could hear his heart beating in his chest, his breath rumbling in his ears. He clenched his hammer tightly in his hand, eyes darting from man to man. With a deep breath, he hooked his hammer onto the holder on his belt and stepped towards the altar, reaching out to the Chalice.
"Beware, Wolf Priest, that if Ulric finds displeasure upon you, you would become a ravening beast, with no remains of the man you were," the man behind the altar spoke slowly. Sebastian hesitated as he looked at the man, then slowly nodded and took the chalice in his hands. He drank deeply of the liquid within, unsure of what it was, unsure of what it tasted of, only that it was fiery and cold as it crossed his tongue and poured down his throat. His body felt as though it was catching ablaze from within, and yet felt icy cold at the same time. With a howl of pain, darkness surrounded Sebastian, and took him in.
Sebastian came awake slowly, his senses slowly returning. He was laying on furs, wrapped in them, and there was a warm weight on his chest, not heavy, but pleasant. He could hear the sound of a hard wind blowing, of heavy flakes of snow striking the sides of a tent and sliding down. His own heartbeat, and the heartbeat of someone else, slow, regular. Her breathing, he paused as he sought out the conclusion, yes it was female, he could tell by the scent, was slow and even. As he became fully awake and aware, he realized that he was not clothed, nor was the woman laying on him, and he felt his heart pound in his chest. His eyes snapped open and he looked around, trying to discern where he was, how he had gotten there.
He was in a small tent, barely long enough for him to lay inside of it, and just wide enough for a small walk way next to him. Clothes lay carefully folded on a small table, and he saw his hammer lying on the top of them. It took him a moment to realize there was something wrong with his vision, that the steel of his hammer looked flat and white. He looked down, catching sight of hair that looked dark gray over pale skin, caught up in a thick braid that disappeared beneath the furs. A slight shoulder peaked out, marred by a deep, savage scar, but the rest remained hidden. The head on his chest moved suddenly, turning to look up at him.
"You're awake," she gasped quietly, shifting to completely cover herself with the furs. Sebastian felt himself react to the movement, his manhood twitching at the contact of her bare flesh against him. She seemed not to notice, her eyes locked on his.
"Aye, I'm awake," he said quietly, his voice sounding guttural and rough to his own ears, and his mouth feeling strange. He reached up and felt over his face, feeling the long, sharp fangs in his mouth. "What happened?"
"I do not know. I found you laying in the snow, with a bundle next to you. There was a storm moving in, and I could not move you by myself, so I set up my tent and wrapped you in my furs," she said, trying desperately to hold still on him. "I… I knew you would succumb to the cold if I could not warm you, but I had nothing to make a fire with, so I…" her cheeks must have flamed because the pale skin turned a slightly different shade. "Forgive me for this, Wolf Priest, but I had no other way to warm you, than to lay with you like this," she said in a voice so quiet Sebastian nearly had to strain to hear.
"The storm, it still blows," he said quietly, cocking his ear to listen to the howling wind outside the tent. "How did ye know I was of Ulric?" he asked, his eyes narrowing at her.
"I recognized the symbol that was with your clothes, Wolf Priest, and I have seen Marks of Ulric before, though someone with so many, I have ne'er seen," she replied.
"Was I like this when ye found me?" Sebastian asked, gesturing towards his body.
"Aye, naked as they day ye entered this world, Wolf Priest." Sebastian lay his head back and tried to concentrate, tried to piece the bits of memory floating around inside his head, but it wasn't easy with her scent so close, the feel of her skin against his. She was strong, and something deep inside him called for him to take her, to fill her with his manhood and plant his seed in her womb. It was some dark, bestial part of his mind and body that craved to hear her crying out in pleasure, or even in fear, but he fought it down. This wasn't Coralyn. This was not his chosen mate. The woman must have sensed the struggle somehow. "If ye will close your eyes, Wolf Priest, I will dress," she said quietly.
"Nay, I will not," Sebastian replied. "And it is still bitterly cold, even inside this tent. We would freeze before ye ever got your coat on." He was stuck with her there, his body demanding to be sated in her, and his heart reminding him she was not the one he wanted. "Do ye have a name, woman?"
"I am called Angel," she said softly, trying to ignore the feel of Sebastian's body against hers. The hair of his chest was thick and coarse, and it teased across her scarred skin, sending chills throughout her body. She had not intended to fall asleep, indeed, had intended to be up and dressed before he ever awoke, but here she lay, naked on him, torn between the shame of her scarred body, and a desire to feel his arms wrapped around her. To feel him take her as a man would take a woman.
It was a late autumn day, the air was just beginning to get the crisp cool feel to it, and already the smell of the falling leaves was thick in the air. Angel smiled at her father as he closed their stall in the market place. They had been there since just before dawn, and the sun would soon begin to set. It had been a good day for them, already her father had a purse full of silver and copper pieces, and they would have what they needed to survive the wet winter that was to come.
"Here, little Angel," her papa said with a smile, holding out three copper pennies. "Go and buy yourself a sweet roll, then come straight home." In her fourteen years, Angel had always lived for the market days. Especially the good days when papa or mama would make enough that they could spare a few pennies. Angel took the coins with a smile and a curtsy to her father, then ran across the market to the bakery on the corner.
The smell of baked bread always permeated the building, and Angel stopped to savor the smell. Maureen, the old baker, stood behind the counter, moving loaves of bread from one basket to another, and covering them with a cloth.
"Well, look what the wind has blown in," she said with a kind smile. "'Tis a wee waif looking for bread." She reached into a smaller basket and pulled out a roll with candied walnuts coating the top and offered it to Angel who took it with a smile. "Now, you just put those coppers away, wee girl, and save them for a rainy day." For as long as Angel could remember, Maureen had been giving her little treats whenever she was in the market. Sigmar knew the woman was hard pressed for money at times, but she always had a kind smile and a sweet roll for near any child who wondered into her shop.
"Thank you, Ma'am," Angel said with a curtsy before taking a bite of the delicious roll. Maureen smiled, but shooed her out the door.
"You are most welcome, Angel, but ye best hurry home now," she said, her friendly smile slowly fading. "An ill wind blows tonight, and you had best be in your house before too much longer."
Angel knew better than to argue with the old baker. Maureen had been in the town for longer than anyone alive could remember, and her ability to predict the weather and foretell dire events was near legendary. Even the priests of Sigmar would come to her for sage advice, though it was all done discreetly. Angel had every intention of doing just as the old woman said, eating her sweet roll as she hurried down the street towards her family's small house on the outskirts. As she passed by an alley, though, a rough hand grabbed her arm and pulled her into the darkness.
Angel had never been a weak girl, she had always helped her parents with the farm and the chores, but the arms that wrapped around her felt like bands of steel, and no amount of struggling or kicking could get her free. There were others there, she realized at least one or two, and they all looked at her, as though she were a sheep being brought to the slaughter.
"She'll do," one finally spoke, and then they carried her into the darkness.
Angel found herself tied to a pole, her clothes ripped away, and her arms stretched up above her. All around her she could see figures in robes chanting, invoking the vile names of one of the dark gods. A man stepped up, letting his robe fall to the ground. He was bare-chested, but wore a leather hood over his face, hiding his features. In his hand he carried a cruel looking cat-o'nine tails, and a curved knife at his belt. His arms were thick and corded with muscle, as was his chest, and he raised one massive arm, letting the tails of the scourge swing around so the jagged metal imbedded in the leather reflected the firelight. Angel screamed in fear, begging for help, but none moved to save her. The leather stung her skin, weights causing the leather to wrap around her body, and the jagged metal biting into her flesh. With a twist and a pull, the tails were ripped away from her, and she screamed again at the pain, the feel of hot blood spilling down her body.
She knew not how long the beating continued, or even why. She had committed no, no sin against Sigmar or any of the other gods of Good, and yet none came to her aid, to stop the beating. Finally, though, it stopped, and she hung limply by her wrists. She felt as though no shred of skin remained untouched from her neck down. So much blood covered the ground beneath her, Angel wasn't even sure how she was still alive, and she prayed to Sigmar to take her from this, to spare her any more pain, but no answer came. Not even when the man turned her around and grabbed her small breast, squeezing and pulling and slicing it off with his wicked looking knife. The gathered people cheered, chanting "blood for the blood god," as the man mutilated her, tossing the flesh into the fire.
Suddenly a sound caught their attention, and Angel wept in relief as soldiers poured into the room, lead by priests of Sigmar. The heretics resisted, but the fight was over quickly and bloodily.
By the time Angel awoke, several days had passed. Her parents had been found murdered in their home, and the church had taken her in, teaching her the ways of the Priesthood. Her body eventually healed, though the deep scars left by that scourge never completely faded, nor did her breasts develop. In time, Angel took this as a small blessing, being able to pass herself off as a young boy when she needed to infiltrate the secret cults of the dark gods, or just wanting to avoid notice as her infamy spread throughout the Empire. The priest had taught her well, and she used their teachings and the blessings of Sigmar to battle the forces of Chaos that lived and bread in the heart of the Empire.