KRUBER
"Gods spit on you, heretic!" Captain Markus Kruber heaved his greatsword high and struck a Norscan raider's arm just before the heretic could bring it down and cleave the captain's head with his hand-axe. The Norscan stared at his now-bleeding stump, as if in shock.
Kruber wasted no time. He lunged forth and jabbed the pommel of his blade into the one-armed man's abdomen, staggering him. Kruber then reached back and bashed the Norscan's head with his crossguard and hilt, causing him to whirl away in a dazed state, helpless to stop Kruber from plunging the length of his zweihander deep into his back.
"Come get some, goat-man! I'll use your milk for my cheese, your horns for holding my ale, and your bladder to kick across a mountain for my own amusement! Hah-har!" Khoril Rudriksson taunted his gor foe as he twirled his greataxe around theatrically. The beastman, incensed at the insult, roared as it charged the dwarf giantslayer with its head hung low, intending to gore its diminutive foe with its horns. Khoril, in response, merely hefted his weapon and brought it crashing down at the last moment before impact, burying the giant axe deep into the gor's skull and forcing it down on the ground, its head cleaved in two.
"It's just you and me against this horde, Kruber!" The giantslayer jubilantly called out as he extracted his axe from the beastman's corpse. "Just like Gotrek Gurnisson and his pet golden-haired manling! Huh-hah-har!"
Kruber pulled his blade out of another raider's body. One more foe vanquished, he thought. Looking ahead, he saw at least two dozen more Norscans advancing on his position, with more on the way.
Great, the captain, though exhausted and pushed to his breaking point, was not afraid to meet his end. In fact, he relished the challenge. Here I go again...
"Hold it there, azumgi!"
Kruber's eyes widened like saucers at the familiar high-pitched voice. He looked down to his side and found a brown-haired dwarf ranger, bruised and bloodied from hours of continuous fighting, but still raring for a fight. This one, judging from his distinctive voice, equipment and bearing, seemed to be the leader of the other dwarfs.
"Can't let you and the ungrim have all the fun now, do we?" The dwarf laughed as he brought his grudge-raker scattergun to bear, staring intently at the advancing horde of heretics and mutants.
"Watch your tongue around the manlings, ranger." Khoril briefly looked the ranger's way. "In case you've forgotten because of all the fresh air polluting your lungs and rotting your brain, Khazalid is not to be spoken around non-dwarfs!"
The ranger scoffed at that with another laugh. "Hah! Lighten up, ya wazzock! We rangers do what we like!"
"Master Goreksson?" Unconsciously, Kruber mouthed out.
That drew a wary look from the dwarf ranger to him. "Eh? Ye know my cousin Bardin?"
"I'll SWALLOW your SOUL, son of Sigmar!" The first Norscan howled as he advanced on Kruber, causing the captain's next few words to die in his mouth.
Kruber twisted to the side and expertly caught the heretic's blade with one of his zweihander's curved parrying hooks. He twisted his grip and tugged, tearing the Norscan's sword from his grasp. Kruber, feeling he had the upper hand, swung out and tried to decapitate his foe with one swift motion. However, he did not expect the ranger to blast the Norscan away with his grudge-raker before he could land the killing blow.
Kruber grimaced. He turned his body to prepare for the next batch of foes, when suddenly, a bright light engulfed his vision, blinding him completely.
"Ah, my eyes! My eyes, ungrim! I can't bloody well see!"
"Shut up, ranger! Fight without your eyes, if you have to! And stop speaking Khazalid!"
He could still hear the two dwarfs' voices, however. From the shouting and panicked screams coming from all around, the barbarians he was about to face and his nearby Imperial allies seemed to be blinded by the light as well. When his eyes finally started to adjust and recover from their blindness, matters took a turn for the strange.
It was already bitingly cold thanks to Kaldezeit starting, but now, it was downright freezing. Kruber's entire body felt like it was beset by a mild blizzard, not unlike his first time in an expeditionary force to the shores of Norsca. When he rubbed his eyes and beheld his new surroundings for the first time, Kruber was shocked. The Forest of Shadows was as dense was before, but now it was completely covered in snow. He grit his teeth in anger; he was reminded of the deaths of his comrades years ago, in the very same province he was in.
"Foul sorceries!" Kruber was quick to cry out, uttering a string of curses immediately after.
The heretics and barbarians had somehow gained access to Kislevite ice magic, and had transformed the surroundings to suit them better. He turned his head to the foes in question and was just about ready to sever a few heads in his wrath, but all his anger immediately dissipated and gave way to surprise when he took in the sight of his enemies in strangely lethargic states.
"Aruiby..." A bestigor wheezed and snorted uncontrollably before losing its balance and keeling over on the ground like cattle succumbing to a lethal disease.
"Tzeentch... take you..." One of the barbarians lunged at Kruber. His blow was so pathetically executed and slow, Kruber had to actually remind himself to parry it, which he did so with embarrassing ease. The usual feeling of triumph as he wrenched the heretic's weapon from his hands and impaled his head with a thrust of his blade was not there, since there was no challenge to it.
"I'll... strip the flesh... from your bones..." Another Norscan attempted to have a swing at Khoril, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to reach down and strike. The forward momentum he gathered, how little of it, propelled him toward the slayer's feet as he missed his clumsy blow. The orange-haired dwarf, more bemused than anything, heaved his axe and decapitated the heretic before he could push himself up to stand.
"Alright, just what in Taal's name is going on?" Kruber asked out loud in confused frustration. "You heretics are supposed to try and kill us as your despicable gods command, not stumble around, hoping not to fall on your own blades while you're at it! Look at you! Even a bloody gnoblar can strike you down!"
"Asinine... mortal!" A third heretic stared down the captain in defiance despite his difficulty at lifting his halberd, which he used to swing around effortlessly. Visibly, his huge muscled body seemed to sag, and the fiery light of Chaos in his eyes slowly vanished. "You have... severed us! With... with our gods! I can feel it... what have you... what have you done?!"
"Aye, that's just pitiful, that is." The ranger despite being surrounded by heretics, actually felt safe enough to slowly reload his handgun. "Without your gods, you're even more pathetic than cowardly thaggoraki! Bah, certainly not worth my time..."
"Neither mine." Khoril agreed. "I'd rather accidentally die to an elven maiden at this point. I might even get a less embarrassing song out of my death that way."
The dwarfs' comments seemed to drive the Norscans and the beastmen into a rage, albeit an impotent one. They all charged at their three exhausted foes, but the uncoordinated, severely-weakened Norscans proved a poor match compared to a battle-hardened state trooper, a wandering dwarf who regularly killed giants, and a veteran ranger with a scattergun. Within minutes, all around the snowy battlefield, Emperor Franz's force and those of his allies had either killed or taken the rest of the Tzeentchian warhost captive.
"The forest is ours once again, captain! The wounded are being tended to and the prisoners are bound and awaiting Emperor Franz's judgement, as per Graf von Raukov's orders." Much later, after all the fighting had died down, a state trooper sergeant reported to Kruber in one of the more busy parts of the makeshift camp the Imperials set up in the frozen woods.
The man, evidently a low-class Reiklander like Kruber, shivered after delivering his report. "It's still bloody cold, though."
"Reminds you of Norsca, doesn't it?" Kruber jested, thankful for what little insulation his autumn uniform provided. "But this isn't Norsca, though. The heretics didn't seem familiar with this place, which means we're probably still in Ostland... just that winter's come early, it seems."
"Nothing makes sense, sir." The sergeant shook his head. "What was that bright flash of light? Did somebody cast a spell, perhaps some passing Kislevite ice wizard whom had just fled the field? And why did the norsemen fight like drunken Ulricans back then? We were barely holding our ground one moment, and in the next we were decimating them like they weren't nothing."
"Maybe Sigmar intervened, keeping the dark gods from empowering their followers..." Kruber suggested. He wiped his runny nose and sighed. "It doesn't matter, sergeant. They've lost, and we've won. Ostland should be safe now... I hope."
KARL FRANZ
The whiteness eventually subsided, and his vision slowly adjusted. Emperor Karl Franz could feel his control over his own body returning, and when Asvaldsson's head and body hit the ground, the emperor knew time had started to run its course once again. Figuring that he was correct in his assumption that the vision of the impossibly-beautiful elven maiden he just witnessed was merely a meaningless illusion, Franz decided to look around. Everything seemed to be as it was before... save for the mind-numbing cold and the forest now covered in snow.
Experimentally, Franz moved his arms around just to make sure he had full control of his limbs. Once he was satisfied, he wiped the corrupted blood soaking his Runefang before sheathing it by his side. After retrieving Ghal Maraz from the snow, Emperor Franz moved to investigate his environment's inexplicable, wintry shift. He was a few steps forward when his ears picked up the sound of snow being crushed underfoot by feet that weren't his own.
"Where in Lileath's name are we?"
Franz turned to his side and saw the elf cautiously moving toward him, bow and arrow in her hands. This time, she had her hood covering her head, with her ponytail poking out of a large hole she made at the back of the darkened grey cloth. As Franz observed the waystalker take each of her steps, her feet sunk into the thick layer of snow covering the ground, which often reached up to her shins.
The emperor acknowledged the wood elven woman's presence with a nod before turning to look around once more. Most of the trees that provided his surroundings were bare and either dead or simply dormant, having been blanketed by heavy snow. His first thoughts turned to Kislevite ice magic as the source of his new wintry environment, but when he pivoted to where he left Supreme Patriarch Balthasar Gelt, Franz knew something was wrong.
"Did you not leave this idiot with his back to a tree?" The waystalker must have noticed Franz's perplexed expression.
Franz grimaced. "I did."
Without further ado, the emperor walked up next to Gelt and crouched down, examining the gold wizard's wounds. For reasons that yet eluded Franz, Gelt wasn't leaning on a tree anymore; he was on his back to the snow, the tree behind him having vanished out of existence.
"His condition is worsening," The emperor observed. He placed Gelt's arm around his shoulder and hoisted him up. "We need to find a jade wizard. He's not going to last very long with the wounds he sustained and this blasted environment. Come on, let's—"
A griffon's screech was heard, interrupting Franz. Second later, Deathclaw glided down nearby and flattened a few trees to make a clearing large enough for him to land on.
The elf flinched at the sight. "...I can't say I approve of what your beast had just done, human. To fell down trees and leave them wasted and unused is considered a crime to my kind. Had those trees been in Athel Loren, I would not hesitate to—"
"Deathclaw!" A wave of relief washed down Franz as his griffon companion bounded over to him, looking happy as could be to see his master once more. It saddened the emperor to give the noble beast his new directive. "I am loathe to part ways with you again, old friend, but I need you to take Gelt to a healer."
The elf was puzzled at that. "Why do you have to get your beast to do that? I'm sure there is enough room on a griffon's back for two humans." She spoke in a patronising manner. "Take the wizard to a healer yourself; I'll find my path out of this forest on my own."
"I'm not about to let you brave these treacherous woods all by yourself, waystalker." Franz looked behind his shoulder. He spoke in a severe tone that brook no arguments. "I'll have Deathclaw leave this place with Gelt since time is of essence in his condition... but the two of us shall go on foot."
The elf's eyes narrowed at Franz. "You insult me. I can keep myself safe in these woods just fine, short-lifer. I don't want to wait for you to catch up every few minutes."
Franz ignored her. He climbed Deathclaw's back and secured the unconscious supreme patriarch to the saddle. After making sure Gelt wouldn't fall while in the air, Franz climbed back down and stroked the griffon's neck.
"Worry not. I'll be safe, old friend." He said, soothingly. Deathclaw was unhappy with the emperor's decision, but the loyal creature soon turned around and took to the skies, leaving Franz alone with his wood elven "protector".
"This... this is a mistake." She said, plainly annoyed. "There's no need for you to risk yourself coming with me."
"As emperor, I make it a habit to help my allies whenever I can, with whatever I can." Franz smoothly replied. "Now, come on. This way." He started to navigate the woods, and the elf was forced to walk along with him.
Together, the two of them tried to find their path along the white forest. On the way, they encountered frozen bodies of water, unfamiliar-looking trees and wildlife such as elk, foxes, and even bears, but the animals paid them no mind and gave them a wide berth as they passed by. The forest was as dense as ever, but as time passed by, it only seemed to get thicker and thicker.
"I suppose I should thank you for putting an arrow in Asvaldsson's neck before he could cast that spell, waystalker." Karl Franz began as he continued leading the way. "I'd rather die pure than live as a mutant of Chaos."
"As I told you, my duty is to keep you safe... not just alive." The elf coolly responded, trying to sound uninterested in conversation. "I do not intend to fail my queen's command. King Orion's wrath will be... severe."
"I didn't know you elves cared." Franz cast aside a low-hanging branch.
"I certainly don't." She scoffed as she ducked under the same branch. "But my lords do. More than you know, human."
"Hmph." The emperor frowned.
The two of them were silent for a while. Franz expected to come across groups of stragglers from Asvaldsson's warhost, but none came in sight. Perhaps the elf is safe here, after all...
"Tell me this, human..." This time, it was the elf that initiated a conversation. "Do you believe the Everchosen can be stopped; that the End Times can be averted once again?"
Franz did not answer for some time. "Of course. As Magnus the Pious did it once, the Empire shall stand as one and defy the dark gods for a second time."
"Then you are a fool to believe that the forces of the dark gods can be so easily repulsed." The elf bitterly replied. "This Everchosen is much stronger than the previous one. He has already destroyed one nation of barbarians, and he will stop at nothing until all that remained of the Empire are ashes and embers. You are only delaying the inevitable end of your already-dying nation, and unlike you, I do not delude myself with childish optimism and bravado as I fight for your doomed cause. You will be killed in battle one day, human... but before that day comes, I will be dead. I swear it."
Franz's dark mood did not lighten. "Should we fail the Empire, I have no doubts that the rest of this existence would be consumed not long after. Since this is the only world we have, the consequences of the dark gods' victory are simply unthinkable, and I will not stand idle while Archaon burned down everything I cherished around me. I swore to my people that so long as I still draw breath, waystalker, I will never let Chaos win... and it is only right that you forest folk should stop contributing nothing to the ultimate cause and do the same as what we men of the Empire do: fight for our right to live."
"If it's the will of the gods to let the world end, then so be it." The elf did not seem convinced. "Who are we mere mortals to defy the likes of them?"
"The will of your craven gods, perhaps. Unlike them, my gods intend on fighting Chaos until the very end, come what may." Franz said. His temper was starting to rise, keeping him warm.
"Hah! Your barbarian gods are nothing compared to the likes of Lileath and Isha." From the sound of her tone, the elf was getting just as irritated. "Hmph. Barbarian gods for a barbarian people. I'm certain this is no coincidence."
"You might look down on us as barbarians, but do not forget that it is our nation that stands in the path of Chaos to your precious Athel Loren!" Insulted, Franz snapped.
"But that's not all, no. My soldiers also march on wandering brayherds and greenskin raiders before they could ever step foot in your territory, and my diplomats regularly implore the dwarfs of the Karaz Ankor to decide against invading you in retaliation for all the many slights you've carelessly accumulated in the Great Book of Grudges! You accursed elves should be treating the Empire with respect for everything we do in the name of preserving your damnable magic forest, but all you offer us is scorn!"
"You expect something as valuable as respect from the asrai? Don't make me laugh! With each new day, you humans disrespect the forests all around you just to fill your coffers and fuel your meaningless industry! You pollute the lands and scatter your filth, take what you want and give nothing in return, just like the dwarfs! Truly, you short-lifers are every bit as dense as Drycha and Durthu believed! Your wretched species is a blight upon nature! Only Lileath knows what sort of worth Ariel sees in you!"
The two of them continued to argue about a multitude of things as they cut a path through the woods. Time seemed to pass quickly as more heated words and even threats were exchanged.
"You humans are so arrogant and insufferable!"
"Elf, are you even aware of what you just said?!"
"Pfeh! You mistake me for Finubar's self-absorbed ilk!"
Franz's patience had finally worn out. "The only mistake I made is letting an insolent elf in my retinue! From now on, consider yourself—"
"If you don't want my help, then so be it!" The elf shouted. "The gods know there are better uses for my dwindling time! I will—"
"Quiet." The emperor held up a gauntleted hand, cutting off the elf. He took a few careful steps forward, wary of his surroundings. He was just a few more paces to an old, peculiar-looking cluster of similar-looking white trees when he stopped and turned around to glance at his only company.
"I don't think faces belong on those trees..." He gestured at the woods in question.
The waystalker narrowed her eyes. She slowly approached the emperor. "The trees have faces? Human, what sort of game are you... oh."
It was surreal. The cluster of trees were bone-white in colour, and their leaves were the same colour as blood. They looked ominous enough, but the scowling faces carved into their trunks were downright disturbing. They did not look like the work of men, or elves.
"Something is amiss in this forest, elf... I'm starting to have doubts we are even in the Forest of Shadows at all." Franz spoke grimly. "We should keep moving."
The waystalker silently complied, walking after the emperor. Another hour of silence passed between them; the journey they tread had them seeing more and more of the strange carved trees, and even the tattered remnants of human camps, along with skeletons partially buried in the snow, picked clean by animals and bleached white by years of being exposed to the sun's glare.
Franz felt the forest's desolation suffocating, and even the wood elf seemed to find the woods uncomfortable. Even something as familiar as a group of rabid Norscans looking for a fight would lighten the emperor's mood and he'd get some combat practice to boot, but alas, no such thing was in sight. Swallowing his pride, Franz resolved to calm himself by once again... talking.
"Elf," He began, uncertainly.
"What is it now, short-lifer?" She responded, trying to mask her unease with irritation.
"I..." It was surprisingly hard for Franz to speak; he started to regret opening his mouth, but it was too late to turn back now.
"I have worked... so hard, sacrificed so much, saw too many good men die before my own eyes, and made too many promises to lose hope in my cause now... and hearing you speak of how pointless my efforts are in the name of defending the Empire infuriated me. I lost myself. I have forgotten you still are on the side of good — the side of righteousness. I apologise for my words and my improper behaviour. It is... unbecoming of an emperor... a leader."
The elf was silent. Franz shook his head and sighed, resolving to remain quiet from now on.
"...perhaps you're not as insufferable as I previously thought." She suddenly spoke up, surprising the emperor.
"To tell you the truth, I..." The waystalker hesitated. "Never you mind. I accept your apology... though I feel I must apologise as well."
She took in a deep breath before continuing, "You see, human, I have met many of your predecessors during my infrequent visits to your Empire, and I found each and every one of them to be incompetent, vain, cowardly, greedy, slothful, or any combination thereof. With each new emperor's ascension, even a child could see how your Empire weakened more and more. Queen Ariel believes you to be different, but I refused to believe her, thinking you unworthy of my protection. Your nation is doomed, I told her. Why bother with yet another wastrel on the Imperial throne?"
Franz nodded solemnly. "Apology accepted, I suppose. If I may be so bold as to ask, do you still believe the Empire is doomed?"
"Of course I still do." The elf sardonically replied. "But I see now that my queen is right. You are not a wastrel. You are... acceptable... for an emperor."
"I'll assume that's the best praise one would get out of you." Franz sighed in mock-exasperation, detecting the sarcastic, teasing tone she used with him. "One day, waystalker... one day, I will prove you wrong about the Empire, Sigmar willing. But before that day comes, I suggest we start over from the beginning, now that we are resigned with each other's company for the rest of the End Times."
"Me? Resigned with your company? Hardly." The elf, as Franz observed, had an acerbic tongue once she started talking in length. "But I suppose it's for the best. Go on, then. Pointlessly introduce yourself to me."
The emperor suppressed a mocking laugh, took in a deep breath, and exhaled. "I, as you know, was named by my father Emperor Luitpold I as Karl Franz I, of the noble House von Holswig-Schliesten. I am married to a noblewoman from House Steinhäusser by the name of Saskia, and I have two children with her: Prince Luitpold II and Princess Sieghilde IV. I worship Sigmar, but I also revere Verena's justice, and pay homage to Shallya's mercy whenever I can. It is your turn, elf."
The waystalker paused for some time. "... Hmh. It has been decades since I bothered to recall the name I was given, Karl Franz. I believe I am called Aureleth, waystalker of Atylwyth the Winterheart. I have never taken a husband, and I have no children to call my own. I am not a member of the nobility. Lileath is my patron goddess, and I turn to Isha and Morai-heg as well for wisdom and strength."
Franz thought all the new information fascinating, but one piece caught his attention the most. "You "believe" you are called by the name of Aureleth, daughter of Atylwyth?"
Aureleth nodded uncertainly. "As a waystalker, I spend my days secluded in the eternally frozen deepwood, far and away from most of my kin. More often than not, my only company are the birds nesting on the branches above me..." The wood elf said, sounding vaguely wistful. "I have been observing the paths leading to Athel Loren and communing with the forest for a long time... long enough to forget my own name, as I've no uses for it. As a matter of fact, I am unsure if Aureleth is what I am truly called..."
"I'll remind you of it, should you forget again." Franz said. "As for myself, the life of an emperor could be just as lonely. As Magnus once said, emperors have no equals... only subjects to rule, lands to protect, laws to uphold... and an endless sea of petitions to pass or reject."
"You still have your griffon, though."
"...and you had your warhawk. I'm sorry for your loss."
The waystalker looked down for a while. "All things die." She sighed and looked back to the road ahead. "I don't need your pity, Karl Franz."
The emperor nodded, realising that the conversation was at an end. "Of course."
There was another long period of silence. The woods gradually started to thin out, and the sun's rays once again began to shine down on Franz and Aureleth.
"Ho there!" Someone had called out to them in Reikspiel. The emperor and the waystalker both turned to look at a ragged group of humans, consisting of two familiar witch hunter siblings, one tall raven knight of Morr, and at least seven Norscans in chains, handcuffs and mouth-gags.
"Good to see you alive and well, your imperial majesty!" Franz recognized Eloise von Mannstedt as she bounded over to him. Her unusually happy expression soured a bit when she noticed the elf, and it quickly gave over to confusion when she saw no signs of Balthasar Gelt. "If I may ask, what happened to the supreme patriarch?"
"He was severely injured after his altercation with Asvaldsson, so I ordered Deathclaw to fly him over to a jade wizard. Graf von Raukov's force should have one ready to heal our gold wizard back into shape." The emperor nonchalantly replied. "But enough about Gelt," He removed his left gauntleted hand from his warhammer and pointed to the Norscans with it.
"Why are these heretics in chains? I offer no mercy to those who willingly consort with the dark gods of Chaos, von Mannstedt. You should know this well."
The witch huntress nodded. "Of course, my emperor. I'd show these northmen scum the tip of my rapier just as well, had I not found them curiously deprived of all their Chaos-granted strength and abilities. One moment and they were fighting like the fierce warriors Norscans are so known for, but in the next, they fought like children and we easily subdued them. It's as if their connection to the dark gods had been... severed somehow. This warrants investigation, I say."
"Truly?" Emperor Franz looked at the templar dubiously, then to the Norscans in question. "Make room and free one of them."
"Your majesty?" Wolfhard Richter stepped forth, looking confused.
"Do it." Franz pressed. "Your emperor commands it."
With that said, the Black Guard silently herded six of the gagged Norscans away, while von Mannstedt fished out her key from the inside of her coat. She then walked up to the heretic the knight had left behind and nervously started to remove his chains and cuffs. Behind them, Richter propped himself up an elevated position and took aim on the Norscan with his repeater handgun.
"The emperor... had just spared your pathetic, Chaos-worshipping life, heretic." Von Mannstedt's voice trembled with barely-constrained fury as she removed the man's bindings. "You'd do well to—"
"Sigmar's whore!"
As soon as the heretic's cuffs, mouth-gag and chains were removed, predictably, the norseman tried to attack. He pulled his arm back and tried to strike von Mannstedt with the back of his mailed hand, but she saw it coming and grabbed hold of the offending limb before it could hit her. Scowling, the witch huntress twisted her gloved hand and surprisingly, her strength proved enough to break the bones inside the Norscan's arm, judging from the disturbing sounds it made.
The heretic cried out in agony. Von Mannstedt silenced him by jabbing his throat with her plate-armoured elbow, causing him to hobble away before falling down on his rear and emptying the wretched contents of his stomach into his lap. Von Mannstedt stomped over to the Norscan and kicked him a few times with her steel-capped boots, eliciting more than a few pained grunts and squeals from the downed man.
"I have never seen Norscan raiders reduced to such a pitiful state, and I have seen a great many things." Aureleth had said, looking down on the heretic wallowing in his own filth with disdain. "Something had sapped them of their strength indeed... not that I'm complaining."
Franz silently agreed. When von Mannstedt had punished him enough and backed away, the Norscan tried to get back up on his feet. Unfortunately, his clumsy attempts at it only made him trip on his vomit a couple of times before he could finally stand.
"You Sigmarites... will get what's... what's coming to you! This is all... all according to Tzeentch's plan!" Spittle and vomit flew from the Norscan's mouth as he wheezed out his words.
"Save your breath, norseman. Your loathesome gods have abandoned you like the disposable pawn you are, and now there's nothing left for you but oblivion." Franz said, contempt plain in his voice. He looked to the witch huntress. "Von Mannstedt, dispose of this wretch."
The witch huntress said nothing. She pulled out a tiny pistol from her coat sleeve, took aim and fired. The Norscan died instantly, with a new hole through his forehead.
"Let's go." Without a second thought, Franz started moving along his path again. "We must not waste any more time. I believe I'd like to see just how my army fares."
Thus did the two templars, the Black Guard and their captives join the emperor and the elf as they marched forth, seeking their comrades in the Imperial State Army. Thankfully, it was only another kilometre of forest before the first plumes of campfire smoke was spotted. Franz could see Deathclaw darting across the skies, no longer carrying Gelt on his saddle.
"Halt! Who goes there!" The state trooper standing guard near the camp entrance cried out as the mismatched group neared.
"Make way and alert the men of Emperor Franz's return, corporal." Von Mannstedt answered for Franz. "Wolfhard, can you watch over our prisoners for me? I need to fetch my "tools" so we can begin with the interrogations."
Richter grimaced. "Yes, yes. Sure. Be quick about it, I need to get new shot and powder for my guns."
Von Mannstedt dismissively waved her arm as she sauntered away in a different direction in the camp. Franz did not wait for her, rather he continued to walk deeper and deeper into the camp until he found the elector count he was looking for at last.
Graf Boris Todbringer, when not fighting the Empire's foes, was a jolly, gregarious man. Indeed, Franz found the one-eyed elector count drinking ale and laughing with his blue-clad Middenlander soldiers around a large bonfire. Closer inspection of the fire revealed it was kept alive by the corpses of three Norscans, five mutant warhounds and a minotaur.
"Your imperial majesty!" The graf grinned and called the emperor over. "Come sit with us! We've won a great battle this day, aye! Those filthy mutants would think twice attacking Ostland now, har!"
"Hail to the Winter Wolf, Todbringer." Franz greeted back as he approached. "Though we did not anticipate you coming to our aid, I thank you for your timely arrival nonetheless. Tell me, have your men burned every Norscan and beastman body? I don't want their husks persisting to corrupt the soil from under them. And where is von Raukov?"
"Indeed we have! Their weapons and armour, too!" Todbringer nodded as he handed Franz a spare tankard overflowing with Middenlander ale. "The other graf should be to the southwest of the camp, talking with his own men. His men took the most losses and I recall seeing him losing an ear in a mounted fight with a bray-shaman on a tuskgor, but he seems to be in good health otherwise. I was just about to have my men check on— hmh, and who is this now?"
It was then that the graf noticed the unusual appearance of the enigmatic, hooded waystalker standing in silence just behind the emperor. "Heh. Franz, it certainly looks like someone in your retinue needs a bit more meat on her bones, ah-hah-hah-ha!"
Aureleth need only pull down her hood and reveal her unnaturally elegant features and leaf-shaped ears to the graf in order to stun him into silence, his reddened cheeks suddenly losing some of their colour.
"Yes, I have a waystalker in my retinue now." Franz bluntly confirmed Todbringer's fears. He took a sip out of the ale, forced himself not to retch, and looked back to the one-eyed count. "Have a care; she does not take well to staring. As for the Norscans and the goat-men filth, did you find them suddenly weakened in the middle of battle?"
"Aye, strange thing, that..." Todbringer's face adopted a contemplative look. "I had just finished running through one of those mutants, and I was about to shield myself from a Norscan raider's blow, when this bright light took my sight away for a while. When the colours returned, the heretics and their despicable mutant pets were as weak as bloody pups, and I killed hundreds of them with my bare hands."
The graf smirked as he pulled up his gauntleted fists. "Maybe thousands, actually. I lost count. Anyway, one Captain Kruber from Gelt's retinue reported how one of the heretics cried about losing his connection to the dark gods somehow, and indeed it seems likely that this supposed severance to Chaos is the cause of the enemy warband's woes. All the better for us, I say."
Should Todbringer be proven right, Franz knew the tremendous advantages the Empire would receive during battles against Chaos. If the dark gods had truly abandoned their faithful, the main sources of Archaon's unholy strength and power would no longer come to his aid, and his invasion would be considered a pathetic joke when faced with a halfway-decent Imperial State force. While the Norscans would soon regain their considerable natural strength after a few days of Chaos leaving them, one should never forget that the raiders lacked discipline, and discipline alone had proven time and time again that a small force of soldiers could hold out, and even triumph against a veritable horde of warriors.
But Franz also knew that such a thing was very unlikely to truly happen. Nothing was ever easy in this time and age. Doubtless the dark gods had abandoned these Norscans for a specific reason as yet another part of their despicable game, and they would soon return in force, bringing the End Times back into gear.
"I want the men ready to move out again." Franz declared, drawing disappointed moans and looks from the carousing Middenlanders nearby. "We march for Wolfenburg in an hour. We'll draw our next course of action there."
"What about the heretics and barbarians we've taken captive, sire?" Todbringer had asked.
"For all their crimes and heretical acts, by the laws of the Empire, their blood must be spilled," The emperor responded, much to the approval of the men. "But not today. Their condition needs to be examined by the College in Altdorf."
The moans continued. Behind Franz, Aureleth sighed and placed her hood back over her head.
"Emperor Karl Franz! A pleasure to meet the umgi leader at last!"
Franz recognised a dwarf's voice when he heard one. He turned on his side and saw the rangers approaching him. The leader of them, the one wielding a scattergun with two axes behind his back, smiled and stepped forth.
"I've been meaning to find you after the battle was won, but it seems you've gone and disappeared! Some of the younger lads had thought you'd been killed, but no, I didn't think so. You manlings are strong and smart, and I've travelled the Empire well enough to know that you can fight just as well as any of the dawi! When the elector count of Stirland offered coin and drink to any armed group willing to support the emperor as he marches for the north, we took it and here we are now!"
"You've come to aid us, dwarf? Truly?"
The ranger beamed. "Aye, that's right, your imperial majesty! And I've got my Empire citizenship here with me to prove it!" He paused. "Wait. That wasn't what you asked. Yes, we've come here to join you. Now, what do we do next? Fight some more? Set up camp here? Find a place indoors so we could drink to this victory?"
"We're returning to Wolfenburg for now, dwarf." Richter said.
"Drink it is!" The ranger's grin threatened to split his bearded face. "Name's Okri Okrundsson, by the way. Since we're all mates now, you can just call me Cousin Okri!"
End of Chapter I
Author's notes: Beyond the Wall! And three years before Robert kicks it! Plenty of time to establish prominence in the area, with Hardhome as a base! What could possibly go wrong (wildling raids, slaver raids, iron men raids, eventual invasion of the Others, curious black brothers...)?
When the time comes, Franz will essentially do what Archaon's doing in the Old World!
