Doomsday: A Gotrek and Felix adventure.
'Keep up, manling! I want to get to that ridge by sundown.'
Gotrek Gurnisson stomped on, as usual, his rune-encrusted battle-axe strapped across his back. This was a rare occurence, for the Dwarf Slayer was always in the thick of battle, his trusty axe, glittering with glowing symbols and devices, drawing deadly arcs through hordes of enemies.
'If only I had the Dwarven stamina!' was the shouted reply.
Felix Jaegar, who was currently trying to focus on keeping from collapsing, trudged on. His cape, ragged and torn where it had dragged along throughout their travels, billowed about him, as the wind in the high, open-topped valley started to pick up again.
'And if I only had the Dwarven drinking ability, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!' he thought to himself.
Still, at least he could count on Gotrek, his long time travelling partner, to get him through this, with his warm, kind, friendly gestures, and happy, almost-too-perky moods.
Gotrek gave Felix a strange look when he snorted aloud.
The Dwarf Slayer, sworn to seek an honourable death in battle, always had a dark cloud hanging over him, except just before a major battle, when he seemed to adopt a strange mad smile, and a glint in his one remaining eye.
The sun hung low, giving a strange orange glow to the mountain valley. They had been hiking, and in some areas, climbing, for days now. Felix knew only that they were headed north, aiming to go through Kislev, and end up on the edge of the Chaos Wastes. He did not know what for or where exactly, but judging from the enthusiastic demeanour, the strange mad smile and the glint in Gotrek's eye, there was either a big battle about to happen, a large monster to be slain, or a pile of treasure to be had.
Felix, given much past experience, would bet it was all three. Dwarves are Dwarves; they share a universal hate for Elves and Greenskins, they love drink, and all suffer from terrible gold fever.
He was abruptly brought out of his reflective mood as he smacked straight into the back of the dwarf, who had stopped in the middle of the path. It rather hurt, Gotrek's back a rock-hard slab of taut muscle, and left Felix rubbing his shoulder. 'That Dwarf never learnt to relax' he muttered.
'Ssshh manling, I hear something approaching. Sounds like it's either big or there are many of them.'
The same, strange mad smile and glint appeared as Gotrek un-slung his axe. Felix un-sheathed his sword, its blade gleaming as the sun stooped even lower on the horizon. Gotrek had exceptional hearing, another thing Felix had learnt in the company of a Dwarf. Their travels had taken them far and wide, and although they had been companions for many a season, Felix was still learning about the ancient race.
Now Felix was able to hear what the Dwarf was talking about. It almost sounded like a troop of some sort, marching, but it was out of rhythm, discordant, more like a stumbling sound. It sent a shiver down his spine, and vile memories rushed into his head before he had time to block them out. His nerves were balanced on a knife-edge as the noise increased, and the horde of whatever they were came even closer. 'Don't be so easy to scare, Felix,' He thought to himself, 'What would the Undead be doing so far north of their home?'
Gotrek shifted his grip on his mighty axe, the runes glowing with an intense ferocity, fuelled by generations of hatred, and tomes full of grudges waiting to be atoned for. He glanced over at Felix, who seemed to be off in his own world again. As the things drew ever closer, Felix seemed to be getting more and more anxious. Gotrek called out to him.
'Manling, are you ready?'
Felix cursed himself. He had been in many a battle, cut down scores of evil, vile things, but he had encountered these things before, he knew what they were capable of . . . Memories flooded back into his head, over- running the barriers he had tried to construct. Images of whole villages on fire, the screams of the dying . . . A distinct memory of a woman carrying her two children to safety being cut down in cold blood by one of them . . . No remorse, they slaughter whole communities mercilessly burning and killing, the same, impassive glare fixed on their faces, the sockets where their eyes should be giving them a sunken, hollow look . . . Felix pretended to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, hoping that Gotrek didn't see him quickly dab away the tears that had clouded his vision. . .
'I'm as ready as I'll ever need to be.'
Felix snorted aloud again.
Gotrek shot him an inquisitive glance, and swiftly produced a filthy, ragged piece of cloth from about his person, and mutely handed it to Felix. After looking at the blood and snot-encrusted material in his hand for a second, Felix looked back to Gotrek.
'It's for the snotling.'
Felix, even more confused at this, said 'Snotling?' Obviously, he thought, some strange Dwarven tradition, or custom that he didn't know about.
'Yes manling, the snotling! The one that seems to have become lodged in your nose . . .'
Felix laughed aloud nervously. Dwarves have never been known for their sense of humour. Or their understanding of sarcasm. You could never be ready enough when you travel with a Slayer. You could never be prepared to face all the danger and hardship that these people were bound to put themselves through to atone for a real or perceived wrong that lead to their becoming a Slayer in the first place. But maybe Gotrek had learnt a little from him along their travels? Felix had no time to contemplate this, as the first group of their pursuers came into view.
The things collapsed into view over the horizon. With the low sun framing them in the valley's entrance, they looked almost unreal. 'If only' Felix wished, as he readied himself for combat, taking his usual stance, and adjusting his grip on his sword. The sword that he had promised himself to return one day, even though it had become as much a part of his life as Gotrek.
They were a decaying, shambling horde, slowly advancing up the overgrown path Gotrek and himself had conquered just hours before. As they came closer, Felix could see the putrefied flesh, and the missing limbs most common to an Undead group such as this one. What they were doing so far away from their natural home, Felix could only guess, but what was important now was their number. He estimated around thirty, including a skeletal standard bearer, complete with a torn, battle-weary standard, which appeared to have been sewn together with human flesh, and decorated with blood. As he passed his gaze over the regiment, his eyes locked with those of what Felix assumed to be their musician. It had not yet fully decomposed, and it held a small horn, cracked and rusted, bronzed with its exposure to the elements. Felix shuddered, and, as if the thing could sense his fear, it raised the horn to it's bloated, swollen lips, and as the note resonated through the valley's depths, the warriors from beyond the grave started their charge.
Gotrek's orange crest bobbed furiously as he charged into the fray, axe held high. He possessed a speed and strength that no human could ever hope to equal, and he smashed into ranks upon ranks of the Undead collection of beasts, scattering them and slaying them with a ferocity usually only reserved for innkeepers who have run out of ale. His axe, a redeemer of an untold number of grudges, serving him well as always. Its engraved runes sparkled and danced against the bright sliver of the Starmetal, and as day gradually turned to night, it would swiftly grow dull, stained with the black blood of the foul incarnations.
Felix waited for Gotrek to start the charge, and then followed suit. Felix's blade pulled him on, urging him to let it loose in the carnage. Battle-lust began to overtake him, and he started to change the direction of his charge, not wanting to be too close to the Dwarf Slayer when he let his axe slake its thirst for blood. Instead, Felix chose to skirt round the flank of the horde, and charge into the side of it. As he positioned himself for the perfect angle of attack, he sighted Gotrek again, this time moving towards the Undead standard. The standard bearer, although not being able to feel fear, Felix guessed, was rapidly moving away from the orange- haired killing machine. Felix sighted the first of his opponents moving towards him. In life, it looked as if this one had been a great knight, with shining armour and polished sword. Now the armour was rusted and fragmented, and the sword notched and chipped, but still it came on, relentlessly advancing under the command of its master. Felix felt a surge of pity as he watched it shamble towards him, the creature being denied even its own dignity, acting as a puppet with tangled strings would.
The thing broke into a half-run, its legs no longer obeying the rest of it. Felix waited until it got within arms reach. As the creature raised its weapon, he stepped inside its guard, and impaled it on his sword. Pulling the sword free, he kicked it in the chest, and watched it fall to the floor, still twitching. The beast let out a scream as it was finally laid to rest, and he imagined the invisible soul of a once-fine warrior drifting upwards into the night sky.
Felix pulled his blade free, and raised it to parry a blow from the corpse of a dead Elf. The once well fitting chainmail hung limp from the bones and diseased flesh that remained. As Felix glanced into the hollow sockets that served for eyes, he was overcome with a wave of sympathy. It had died, but instead of being released into the afterlife, it was re-incarnated by a dark, evil magic, and made to serve in this world once again, with only one purpose. To serve the wizard who had wrenched them from their eternal rest . . . It stared back, and in the split second between it recovering it's stance, and starting to raise it's weapon, Felix knew he must do the most merciful thing; and, for a second, considered leaving it to a fate worse than death; a half-way point between life and death, forced to serve the every whim of some sick individual . . .
He beheaded it with one stroke, and felt the gratitude directed to him by its spirit. Felix felt the boiling, seething cauldron of rage and hatred build up inside him, and he swore he would seek out and destroy the evil beings that desecrated sacred grave sites to fuel their Undead armies.
Gotrek had flattened what served as the first rank with the force of a steamroller. He just had time to wipe his axe clean of congealed, black blood before the tide of battle turned towards him again, and he moved to find another foe to best in combat. He could sense that they had moved position; the flow of war forcing them to give and gain ground accordingly, but was busy concentrating on hacking the abominations to pieces, not figuring out their location.
Felix heard Gotrek's roar above the din; 'Where are you manling?'
He sounded almost anxious. Almost.
Felix was surprised. He was sure that the Dwarf had never had any attachment to anything or anyone except his axe after he had become a Slayer. He was almost touched. Almost. He just had time to ponder that thought as Gotrek wheeled into view, bringing the rest of the unit of Undead with him. Felix moved to help the Slayer, even though he knew the Dwarf didn't need it. The Slayer ducked, dodged, slashed, and parried his way through to Felix, and there they stood, the two warriors bringing death to the already-dead.
As the pair fought, and the Undead numbers dwindled, the standard bearer signalled with its taloned claw, and the warrior next to him raised a rusted, battered instrument to its pock-marked lips. Ancient powers, granted by a dark, wicked magic, welled up inside the corpse, and it blew through the horn with borrowed energy.
Felix heard a horn sound from somewhere behind the main battleline of Undead. The diminished group started to move away, and fled into the forest beyond the valley entrance, already the magic binding them was weakening; some of them starting to crumble away into powder, adding to the harsh covering of the stuff on the ground. Felix looked down, and wondered just how many of them made up the dust on which they trod as they had worked their way into the valley. He let out a sigh of relief. He was bleeding from dozens of small cuts and bruised all over, his sword arm numb. Gotrek didn't appear any worse for wear, though, as he rounded on Felix with an expression of distinct dissatisfaction on his face.
'We almost had them, the cowards. Manling, did you see the look on what was left of that things face? If that wasn't what passes for fear among their kind, I'll eat my ale tankard!'
Felix, who was glancing around, trying to ascertain their surroundings, merely nodded. The adrenaline was quickly wearing off, and he was feeling very weary all of a sudden.
'Gotrek, where are we?'
The twists and turns of combat had taken them far from the ridge on which they had started. They were now at the entrance of what looked to be a small cave system, off to the side of the mountain valley.
'I have no idea manling, but we best find shelter soon; these caves look promising. I am in need of a warm fire some hot food, and a bucket of that potatoe vodka . . .'
Gotrek stared wistfully into the sky; Felix came to the conclusion he was probably thinking about Snorri Nosebiter, a long-time friend of Gotrek's, and the only person in the world who could match Gotrek drink for drink.
'Me too, but don't you think we should explore a little way into them?' He was thinking about some of the ancient Dwarf-made tunnels he had ventured into, and what lay in the depths . . .
'I smell nothing else in the air, manling.'
Gotrek waited a moment, and proceeded to draw a deep breath. Felixs' hand instantly moved to the hilt of his sword; he could tell there was going to be some trouble . . .
'If there is anything in there, LET IT COME!'
Gotrek's bellowed challenge echoed off the rough walls of the cave entrance. They waited for a while, framed in the entrance by the light of the lands twin moons. Both spherical objects gave off a faint, greenish glow, illuminating the surrounding valley, but at the same time filling it with flickering shadows; illusions of the mind, no doubt, but as Felix stared into the mouth of the cave system, he could swear he saw something move . . .
Something stirred in the depths.
A horrid, high-pitched screeching reached Felixs' ears. Gotrek had already un-slung his axe, but as Felix ripped his sword from it's scabbard, the sound of hundreds of pairs of wings approaching caused him to halt.
At that moment, Felix knew this was the end. They were too far north for this to be anything but bad. Maybe they had stumbled across a secret coven of Harpies, or had awakened an ancient portal, and were now faced with fighting off a group of Nurgle daemons. Inwardly, he cursed the drunken oath that bound him to record the Slayers heroic death on the field of battle. Outwardly, he meekly steadied his sword, and took up a stance in the entrance to the caves, preparing to sell his life as dearly as possible.
Gotrek was almost foaming at the mouth, he could not believe his luck; two big battles in one day. Felix knew that the Dwarf relished a good fight almost as much as he enjoyed his drink. He glanced at the Slayer again. Gotrek was running his thumb along the blade of his axe, eager to see what fate had in store for him next. Felix could feel himself shaking, and had the sudden impulse to run, far, far away. Only the thought of letting his long-time travelling partner, and friend, down made him stay.
'Besides' Thought Felix, 'It might not be that bad. Gotrek certainly is a most formidable opponent for any adversary to consider facing.'
He knew he was only trying to reassure himself, though. As the things in the cave drew ever closer, he wondered who was going to record his heroic death in battle. He had always taken it for granted that the final combat, the one where Gotrek was finally struck down, he, Felix, would live to tell the tale.
Felix did not have time to argue the point in his head, for, at that moment Gotrek held his axe high and charged. Felix was right at his side, both of them swinging their blades ferociously, and screaming battlecries to the heavens. The light from the twin moons reflected off Felixs' armour and sword. Runes from both weapons burned bright, as their owners prepared to face the unknown. Gotrek's Starmetal axe glittered, and their shouts echoed far across the mountainous valley. They reached the mouth of the cave, ready to stare death in the face once again . . .
At that exact moment, their enemies burst forth, spilling out of the cave entrance, enveloping the two heroes in a black cloud. Both Felix and Gotrek fell, slashing and stabbing about them as they went, Gotreks carefully aimed blows visible only by the faint red mist that followed it, and Felixs' wild swipes earning him nothing more than a tired sword-arm. The cloud swept across them, and disappeared into the cold, death-filled night.
Felix got up, and dusted himself off. He looked over at Gotrek, who was examining something on the ground.
'Look, manling, you were scared senseless over a few bats!' Gotrek reached out with the flat of his axe, and flipped one of the objects over. He was right, it was a bat; a big one, but nonetheless a bat. The only details visible in the moonlight were the massive wound in its side; obviously where Gotrek had hewn it with his axe, and the things teeth. They were long, sharp, and had almost a metallic gleam to them . . .
Felix looked to his blade, which was covered in blood. He wiped it clean and sheathed it.
'Well, at least I got one . . .' was the only reply the now-embarrassed Felix could muster.
He felt even more embarrassed when Gotrek pointed to the pile of fur and blood, which had obviously once been quite a few of the bat creatures they had just encountered.
After checking for any other unexpected guests, which involved a lot of Gotrek shouting into the dark tunnels, and the throwing of large rocks into the dank, humid depths, they made a fire, and settled themselves as best as they could against the cave wall. They burned the bodies of the bats, not wanting to eat any of the tainted meat that one would usually find so far north.
'Tonight is a cold one, manling. We killed a lot of those foul cowards.'
Gotrek stared up into the night sky, gazing at the stars and the twin moons.
'Yes, but it's the rest of them that I'm worried about. They're still out there, roaming through those woods. I feel sorry for the poor person who falls underfoot of that lot first. They'll be needing to feed . . . '
Felix took a swig of his drink from the flask hanging at his belt. He would offer some to the Slayer, but he knew that all Dwarves, not just Gotrek, disapprove of human ales. As he stared into the fire, Felix saw his life story among those dancing flames. His expulsion from the college after a duel gone wrong, his swearing a drunken oath to record the Slayers death in an epic poem. Everything else he had known since then had been battle, hunger, freezing cold nights sleeping rough, not a gold piece to his name. He had felt love, but every time he found what seemed like the perfect woman to settle with, everything collapsed around him, and it all went wrong. Besides, it was futile to try anyway. Felix knew that even if he wanted to, he could not break his oath to the Slayer. This feeling was not born out of fear, more a sense of loyalty . . .
He saw Ulrika's face in the flames, melting and smouldering, and he reached out to grasp her, to take her back into his arms, but the image died, and faded away, along with the rest of his vision, in a cloud of tears. He stifled a whimper, and wrapped his cloak even tighter around himself, trying to hide himself away, although knowing that it was impossible. He was hunted by day, and his dreams haunted him by night . . . His last thought before he fell asleep concerned the distance left to the Wastes, which, although was not exactly unachievable, was going to take a while . . .
Gotrek glanced over towards Felix. The human had fallen asleep, lying next to the dying fire. The Slayer thought of all the battles they had fought in together, and all the nights spent in an inn somewhere, at the bar . . .
The Dwarf considered this for a moment. His train of thought continued.
Humans did not last long. The drunken oath made to him by the man, years before did not seem fair. Felix had not had a life; he had had no time for living. He had concluded that to follow Gotrek was to accept death.
The thoughts faded for a moment, but then they came on, even stronger than before.
Felix had known no luxury; he was an outcast, disowned by family and down at heel permanently. Alcohol had fuelled the human's mind and voice when he had made that promise. He did not need to be here, suffering. Gotrek was supposed to be seeking an honourable death in battle. Alone. Of course, he could side with other Slayers; but then again, he did not like sharing glory or treasure. Or anything, for that matter. Felix was different. He was one of the few humans that Gotrek could trust.
Maybe the human did not deserve to be put through all the pain and torment. Maybe he should leave, while the man slept, and put some ground between them to try to convince Felix not to follow him.
Gotrek did not want to leave, but his friendship to the human could not continue while the man was put through so much unnecessary pain and hardship on the part of the Slayer. He took up his axe from it's resting place, always within arms reach, put some more wood on the fire, and moved towards the entrance to the cave.
He paused, re-considering his decision. A large, fat tear dropped from the end of his bulbous nose.
'See you before the gates, manling'
The silhouette of the Dwarf Slayer moved into the night, and was swallowed up by the mist.
When Felix awoke the next morning, he felt strange for some reason. The fire was now a pile of smouldering ash. He looked around. A fog had befallen his head; the realisation that Gotrek was missing finally hitting him after he had taken a drink of water.
His heart skipped a beat. And then another. Where was Gotrek? Had he done something to upset the Dwarf? No. Then had Gotrek been snatched in the night? That was unlikely, Felix surmised, because there would have been a pile of corpses where the attempted captors would have tried to sneak up on him.
Then what?
He spotted the Dwarf's tracks, leading away from the caves, down into the dark forest. He saw no other marks on the damp, dew-filled ground, so Gotrek was alone, at least. He estimated that the Dwarf had got a three hour lead on him. Felix hastily threw on his cloak, grabbed his sword, and started off after Gotrek. Felix's survival depended on being in the company of the Slayer. He could not face the return trip without him. . .
'Keep up, manling! I want to get to that ridge by sundown.'
Gotrek Gurnisson stomped on, as usual, his rune-encrusted battle-axe strapped across his back. This was a rare occurence, for the Dwarf Slayer was always in the thick of battle, his trusty axe, glittering with glowing symbols and devices, drawing deadly arcs through hordes of enemies.
'If only I had the Dwarven stamina!' was the shouted reply.
Felix Jaegar, who was currently trying to focus on keeping from collapsing, trudged on. His cape, ragged and torn where it had dragged along throughout their travels, billowed about him, as the wind in the high, open-topped valley started to pick up again.
'And if I only had the Dwarven drinking ability, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!' he thought to himself.
Still, at least he could count on Gotrek, his long time travelling partner, to get him through this, with his warm, kind, friendly gestures, and happy, almost-too-perky moods.
Gotrek gave Felix a strange look when he snorted aloud.
The Dwarf Slayer, sworn to seek an honourable death in battle, always had a dark cloud hanging over him, except just before a major battle, when he seemed to adopt a strange mad smile, and a glint in his one remaining eye.
The sun hung low, giving a strange orange glow to the mountain valley. They had been hiking, and in some areas, climbing, for days now. Felix knew only that they were headed north, aiming to go through Kislev, and end up on the edge of the Chaos Wastes. He did not know what for or where exactly, but judging from the enthusiastic demeanour, the strange mad smile and the glint in Gotrek's eye, there was either a big battle about to happen, a large monster to be slain, or a pile of treasure to be had.
Felix, given much past experience, would bet it was all three. Dwarves are Dwarves; they share a universal hate for Elves and Greenskins, they love drink, and all suffer from terrible gold fever.
He was abruptly brought out of his reflective mood as he smacked straight into the back of the dwarf, who had stopped in the middle of the path. It rather hurt, Gotrek's back a rock-hard slab of taut muscle, and left Felix rubbing his shoulder. 'That Dwarf never learnt to relax' he muttered.
'Ssshh manling, I hear something approaching. Sounds like it's either big or there are many of them.'
The same, strange mad smile and glint appeared as Gotrek un-slung his axe. Felix un-sheathed his sword, its blade gleaming as the sun stooped even lower on the horizon. Gotrek had exceptional hearing, another thing Felix had learnt in the company of a Dwarf. Their travels had taken them far and wide, and although they had been companions for many a season, Felix was still learning about the ancient race.
Now Felix was able to hear what the Dwarf was talking about. It almost sounded like a troop of some sort, marching, but it was out of rhythm, discordant, more like a stumbling sound. It sent a shiver down his spine, and vile memories rushed into his head before he had time to block them out. His nerves were balanced on a knife-edge as the noise increased, and the horde of whatever they were came even closer. 'Don't be so easy to scare, Felix,' He thought to himself, 'What would the Undead be doing so far north of their home?'
Gotrek shifted his grip on his mighty axe, the runes glowing with an intense ferocity, fuelled by generations of hatred, and tomes full of grudges waiting to be atoned for. He glanced over at Felix, who seemed to be off in his own world again. As the things drew ever closer, Felix seemed to be getting more and more anxious. Gotrek called out to him.
'Manling, are you ready?'
Felix cursed himself. He had been in many a battle, cut down scores of evil, vile things, but he had encountered these things before, he knew what they were capable of . . . Memories flooded back into his head, over- running the barriers he had tried to construct. Images of whole villages on fire, the screams of the dying . . . A distinct memory of a woman carrying her two children to safety being cut down in cold blood by one of them . . . No remorse, they slaughter whole communities mercilessly burning and killing, the same, impassive glare fixed on their faces, the sockets where their eyes should be giving them a sunken, hollow look . . . Felix pretended to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, hoping that Gotrek didn't see him quickly dab away the tears that had clouded his vision. . .
'I'm as ready as I'll ever need to be.'
Felix snorted aloud again.
Gotrek shot him an inquisitive glance, and swiftly produced a filthy, ragged piece of cloth from about his person, and mutely handed it to Felix. After looking at the blood and snot-encrusted material in his hand for a second, Felix looked back to Gotrek.
'It's for the snotling.'
Felix, even more confused at this, said 'Snotling?' Obviously, he thought, some strange Dwarven tradition, or custom that he didn't know about.
'Yes manling, the snotling! The one that seems to have become lodged in your nose . . .'
Felix laughed aloud nervously. Dwarves have never been known for their sense of humour. Or their understanding of sarcasm. You could never be ready enough when you travel with a Slayer. You could never be prepared to face all the danger and hardship that these people were bound to put themselves through to atone for a real or perceived wrong that lead to their becoming a Slayer in the first place. But maybe Gotrek had learnt a little from him along their travels? Felix had no time to contemplate this, as the first group of their pursuers came into view.
The things collapsed into view over the horizon. With the low sun framing them in the valley's entrance, they looked almost unreal. 'If only' Felix wished, as he readied himself for combat, taking his usual stance, and adjusting his grip on his sword. The sword that he had promised himself to return one day, even though it had become as much a part of his life as Gotrek.
They were a decaying, shambling horde, slowly advancing up the overgrown path Gotrek and himself had conquered just hours before. As they came closer, Felix could see the putrefied flesh, and the missing limbs most common to an Undead group such as this one. What they were doing so far away from their natural home, Felix could only guess, but what was important now was their number. He estimated around thirty, including a skeletal standard bearer, complete with a torn, battle-weary standard, which appeared to have been sewn together with human flesh, and decorated with blood. As he passed his gaze over the regiment, his eyes locked with those of what Felix assumed to be their musician. It had not yet fully decomposed, and it held a small horn, cracked and rusted, bronzed with its exposure to the elements. Felix shuddered, and, as if the thing could sense his fear, it raised the horn to it's bloated, swollen lips, and as the note resonated through the valley's depths, the warriors from beyond the grave started their charge.
Gotrek's orange crest bobbed furiously as he charged into the fray, axe held high. He possessed a speed and strength that no human could ever hope to equal, and he smashed into ranks upon ranks of the Undead collection of beasts, scattering them and slaying them with a ferocity usually only reserved for innkeepers who have run out of ale. His axe, a redeemer of an untold number of grudges, serving him well as always. Its engraved runes sparkled and danced against the bright sliver of the Starmetal, and as day gradually turned to night, it would swiftly grow dull, stained with the black blood of the foul incarnations.
Felix waited for Gotrek to start the charge, and then followed suit. Felix's blade pulled him on, urging him to let it loose in the carnage. Battle-lust began to overtake him, and he started to change the direction of his charge, not wanting to be too close to the Dwarf Slayer when he let his axe slake its thirst for blood. Instead, Felix chose to skirt round the flank of the horde, and charge into the side of it. As he positioned himself for the perfect angle of attack, he sighted Gotrek again, this time moving towards the Undead standard. The standard bearer, although not being able to feel fear, Felix guessed, was rapidly moving away from the orange- haired killing machine. Felix sighted the first of his opponents moving towards him. In life, it looked as if this one had been a great knight, with shining armour and polished sword. Now the armour was rusted and fragmented, and the sword notched and chipped, but still it came on, relentlessly advancing under the command of its master. Felix felt a surge of pity as he watched it shamble towards him, the creature being denied even its own dignity, acting as a puppet with tangled strings would.
The thing broke into a half-run, its legs no longer obeying the rest of it. Felix waited until it got within arms reach. As the creature raised its weapon, he stepped inside its guard, and impaled it on his sword. Pulling the sword free, he kicked it in the chest, and watched it fall to the floor, still twitching. The beast let out a scream as it was finally laid to rest, and he imagined the invisible soul of a once-fine warrior drifting upwards into the night sky.
Felix pulled his blade free, and raised it to parry a blow from the corpse of a dead Elf. The once well fitting chainmail hung limp from the bones and diseased flesh that remained. As Felix glanced into the hollow sockets that served for eyes, he was overcome with a wave of sympathy. It had died, but instead of being released into the afterlife, it was re-incarnated by a dark, evil magic, and made to serve in this world once again, with only one purpose. To serve the wizard who had wrenched them from their eternal rest . . . It stared back, and in the split second between it recovering it's stance, and starting to raise it's weapon, Felix knew he must do the most merciful thing; and, for a second, considered leaving it to a fate worse than death; a half-way point between life and death, forced to serve the every whim of some sick individual . . .
He beheaded it with one stroke, and felt the gratitude directed to him by its spirit. Felix felt the boiling, seething cauldron of rage and hatred build up inside him, and he swore he would seek out and destroy the evil beings that desecrated sacred grave sites to fuel their Undead armies.
Gotrek had flattened what served as the first rank with the force of a steamroller. He just had time to wipe his axe clean of congealed, black blood before the tide of battle turned towards him again, and he moved to find another foe to best in combat. He could sense that they had moved position; the flow of war forcing them to give and gain ground accordingly, but was busy concentrating on hacking the abominations to pieces, not figuring out their location.
Felix heard Gotrek's roar above the din; 'Where are you manling?'
He sounded almost anxious. Almost.
Felix was surprised. He was sure that the Dwarf had never had any attachment to anything or anyone except his axe after he had become a Slayer. He was almost touched. Almost. He just had time to ponder that thought as Gotrek wheeled into view, bringing the rest of the unit of Undead with him. Felix moved to help the Slayer, even though he knew the Dwarf didn't need it. The Slayer ducked, dodged, slashed, and parried his way through to Felix, and there they stood, the two warriors bringing death to the already-dead.
As the pair fought, and the Undead numbers dwindled, the standard bearer signalled with its taloned claw, and the warrior next to him raised a rusted, battered instrument to its pock-marked lips. Ancient powers, granted by a dark, wicked magic, welled up inside the corpse, and it blew through the horn with borrowed energy.
Felix heard a horn sound from somewhere behind the main battleline of Undead. The diminished group started to move away, and fled into the forest beyond the valley entrance, already the magic binding them was weakening; some of them starting to crumble away into powder, adding to the harsh covering of the stuff on the ground. Felix looked down, and wondered just how many of them made up the dust on which they trod as they had worked their way into the valley. He let out a sigh of relief. He was bleeding from dozens of small cuts and bruised all over, his sword arm numb. Gotrek didn't appear any worse for wear, though, as he rounded on Felix with an expression of distinct dissatisfaction on his face.
'We almost had them, the cowards. Manling, did you see the look on what was left of that things face? If that wasn't what passes for fear among their kind, I'll eat my ale tankard!'
Felix, who was glancing around, trying to ascertain their surroundings, merely nodded. The adrenaline was quickly wearing off, and he was feeling very weary all of a sudden.
'Gotrek, where are we?'
The twists and turns of combat had taken them far from the ridge on which they had started. They were now at the entrance of what looked to be a small cave system, off to the side of the mountain valley.
'I have no idea manling, but we best find shelter soon; these caves look promising. I am in need of a warm fire some hot food, and a bucket of that potatoe vodka . . .'
Gotrek stared wistfully into the sky; Felix came to the conclusion he was probably thinking about Snorri Nosebiter, a long-time friend of Gotrek's, and the only person in the world who could match Gotrek drink for drink.
'Me too, but don't you think we should explore a little way into them?' He was thinking about some of the ancient Dwarf-made tunnels he had ventured into, and what lay in the depths . . .
'I smell nothing else in the air, manling.'
Gotrek waited a moment, and proceeded to draw a deep breath. Felixs' hand instantly moved to the hilt of his sword; he could tell there was going to be some trouble . . .
'If there is anything in there, LET IT COME!'
Gotrek's bellowed challenge echoed off the rough walls of the cave entrance. They waited for a while, framed in the entrance by the light of the lands twin moons. Both spherical objects gave off a faint, greenish glow, illuminating the surrounding valley, but at the same time filling it with flickering shadows; illusions of the mind, no doubt, but as Felix stared into the mouth of the cave system, he could swear he saw something move . . .
Something stirred in the depths.
A horrid, high-pitched screeching reached Felixs' ears. Gotrek had already un-slung his axe, but as Felix ripped his sword from it's scabbard, the sound of hundreds of pairs of wings approaching caused him to halt.
At that moment, Felix knew this was the end. They were too far north for this to be anything but bad. Maybe they had stumbled across a secret coven of Harpies, or had awakened an ancient portal, and were now faced with fighting off a group of Nurgle daemons. Inwardly, he cursed the drunken oath that bound him to record the Slayers heroic death on the field of battle. Outwardly, he meekly steadied his sword, and took up a stance in the entrance to the caves, preparing to sell his life as dearly as possible.
Gotrek was almost foaming at the mouth, he could not believe his luck; two big battles in one day. Felix knew that the Dwarf relished a good fight almost as much as he enjoyed his drink. He glanced at the Slayer again. Gotrek was running his thumb along the blade of his axe, eager to see what fate had in store for him next. Felix could feel himself shaking, and had the sudden impulse to run, far, far away. Only the thought of letting his long-time travelling partner, and friend, down made him stay.
'Besides' Thought Felix, 'It might not be that bad. Gotrek certainly is a most formidable opponent for any adversary to consider facing.'
He knew he was only trying to reassure himself, though. As the things in the cave drew ever closer, he wondered who was going to record his heroic death in battle. He had always taken it for granted that the final combat, the one where Gotrek was finally struck down, he, Felix, would live to tell the tale.
Felix did not have time to argue the point in his head, for, at that moment Gotrek held his axe high and charged. Felix was right at his side, both of them swinging their blades ferociously, and screaming battlecries to the heavens. The light from the twin moons reflected off Felixs' armour and sword. Runes from both weapons burned bright, as their owners prepared to face the unknown. Gotrek's Starmetal axe glittered, and their shouts echoed far across the mountainous valley. They reached the mouth of the cave, ready to stare death in the face once again . . .
At that exact moment, their enemies burst forth, spilling out of the cave entrance, enveloping the two heroes in a black cloud. Both Felix and Gotrek fell, slashing and stabbing about them as they went, Gotreks carefully aimed blows visible only by the faint red mist that followed it, and Felixs' wild swipes earning him nothing more than a tired sword-arm. The cloud swept across them, and disappeared into the cold, death-filled night.
Felix got up, and dusted himself off. He looked over at Gotrek, who was examining something on the ground.
'Look, manling, you were scared senseless over a few bats!' Gotrek reached out with the flat of his axe, and flipped one of the objects over. He was right, it was a bat; a big one, but nonetheless a bat. The only details visible in the moonlight were the massive wound in its side; obviously where Gotrek had hewn it with his axe, and the things teeth. They were long, sharp, and had almost a metallic gleam to them . . .
Felix looked to his blade, which was covered in blood. He wiped it clean and sheathed it.
'Well, at least I got one . . .' was the only reply the now-embarrassed Felix could muster.
He felt even more embarrassed when Gotrek pointed to the pile of fur and blood, which had obviously once been quite a few of the bat creatures they had just encountered.
After checking for any other unexpected guests, which involved a lot of Gotrek shouting into the dark tunnels, and the throwing of large rocks into the dank, humid depths, they made a fire, and settled themselves as best as they could against the cave wall. They burned the bodies of the bats, not wanting to eat any of the tainted meat that one would usually find so far north.
'Tonight is a cold one, manling. We killed a lot of those foul cowards.'
Gotrek stared up into the night sky, gazing at the stars and the twin moons.
'Yes, but it's the rest of them that I'm worried about. They're still out there, roaming through those woods. I feel sorry for the poor person who falls underfoot of that lot first. They'll be needing to feed . . . '
Felix took a swig of his drink from the flask hanging at his belt. He would offer some to the Slayer, but he knew that all Dwarves, not just Gotrek, disapprove of human ales. As he stared into the fire, Felix saw his life story among those dancing flames. His expulsion from the college after a duel gone wrong, his swearing a drunken oath to record the Slayers death in an epic poem. Everything else he had known since then had been battle, hunger, freezing cold nights sleeping rough, not a gold piece to his name. He had felt love, but every time he found what seemed like the perfect woman to settle with, everything collapsed around him, and it all went wrong. Besides, it was futile to try anyway. Felix knew that even if he wanted to, he could not break his oath to the Slayer. This feeling was not born out of fear, more a sense of loyalty . . .
He saw Ulrika's face in the flames, melting and smouldering, and he reached out to grasp her, to take her back into his arms, but the image died, and faded away, along with the rest of his vision, in a cloud of tears. He stifled a whimper, and wrapped his cloak even tighter around himself, trying to hide himself away, although knowing that it was impossible. He was hunted by day, and his dreams haunted him by night . . . His last thought before he fell asleep concerned the distance left to the Wastes, which, although was not exactly unachievable, was going to take a while . . .
Gotrek glanced over towards Felix. The human had fallen asleep, lying next to the dying fire. The Slayer thought of all the battles they had fought in together, and all the nights spent in an inn somewhere, at the bar . . .
The Dwarf considered this for a moment. His train of thought continued.
Humans did not last long. The drunken oath made to him by the man, years before did not seem fair. Felix had not had a life; he had had no time for living. He had concluded that to follow Gotrek was to accept death.
The thoughts faded for a moment, but then they came on, even stronger than before.
Felix had known no luxury; he was an outcast, disowned by family and down at heel permanently. Alcohol had fuelled the human's mind and voice when he had made that promise. He did not need to be here, suffering. Gotrek was supposed to be seeking an honourable death in battle. Alone. Of course, he could side with other Slayers; but then again, he did not like sharing glory or treasure. Or anything, for that matter. Felix was different. He was one of the few humans that Gotrek could trust.
Maybe the human did not deserve to be put through all the pain and torment. Maybe he should leave, while the man slept, and put some ground between them to try to convince Felix not to follow him.
Gotrek did not want to leave, but his friendship to the human could not continue while the man was put through so much unnecessary pain and hardship on the part of the Slayer. He took up his axe from it's resting place, always within arms reach, put some more wood on the fire, and moved towards the entrance to the cave.
He paused, re-considering his decision. A large, fat tear dropped from the end of his bulbous nose.
'See you before the gates, manling'
The silhouette of the Dwarf Slayer moved into the night, and was swallowed up by the mist.
When Felix awoke the next morning, he felt strange for some reason. The fire was now a pile of smouldering ash. He looked around. A fog had befallen his head; the realisation that Gotrek was missing finally hitting him after he had taken a drink of water.
His heart skipped a beat. And then another. Where was Gotrek? Had he done something to upset the Dwarf? No. Then had Gotrek been snatched in the night? That was unlikely, Felix surmised, because there would have been a pile of corpses where the attempted captors would have tried to sneak up on him.
Then what?
He spotted the Dwarf's tracks, leading away from the caves, down into the dark forest. He saw no other marks on the damp, dew-filled ground, so Gotrek was alone, at least. He estimated that the Dwarf had got a three hour lead on him. Felix hastily threw on his cloak, grabbed his sword, and started off after Gotrek. Felix's survival depended on being in the company of the Slayer. He could not face the return trip without him. . .