Parador Gym, Berlin, next evening

The Cross-trainer showed "249 Watts" as it had for the last 5 minutes-this supposedly simulated an incline leading to some sort of plateau where Joakim Vos would be required to spend the next 5 minutes at a leisurely 180 Watts. It was the last stretch of a 45 minute Cardio session that capped of an hour-long iron-bending stint.
Joakim was still a fair bit from his top shape, but given the extent of his injuries he was happy to have achieved so much already. He was especially happy that his ankle no longer acted up at any chance it got. Still, like for any good training session the cool down could not come soon enough and he watched his pulse come down from a lofty 170 to a more acceptable 130 before he was done. Feeling quite happy he went to the showers. Thinking about Sophie he promptly missed the huge patch of soapy water that had accumulated and his foot accelerated forward for nearly half a meter before running out of lubrication and stopping as quickly as it had started.

The white-hot pain that went through his foot and lower leg was indescribable and left him cold-seated and nauseous on one of the benches. Half of the strong reaction was due to the pain, the rest were the doubts that he ever would heal right again-and then what would he do with his life?
Hobbling back to his locker he extracted his smartphone. It indicated a few new E-Mails which he scanned while getting his stuff together. Only one caught his eye for real.
"We should meet to discuss a matter of possible common interest. Best regards-Fräulein Meikle"
What the fuck?

Furaustrandir, Norsca, later the next day

Paul Müller had imagined a lot of things about his meeting with Sliv Ormsdottir-from cold rejection to hot accusations, but being invited to a good meal and something that resembled a rational discussion had not been on the menu. He realized he should have expected it, this was no wee maiden he had seduced and disgraced but a hard-as-nails warrior who had pulled him into the sleeping sack at least as hard as he had pushed.

"Now I really appreciate that you want to acknowledge them-yes they are twins-as your children and support them-but do you really believe I would stand for educating them as pampered, soft southern pansies?"
"No, I would not believe that. At the same time do you want your children to become illiterate barbarians who are not fit for much better than subsidence farming or being somebodies bouncers? And if they live to the ripe old age hope they will that will be all they will be useful for if they do not learn things like reading, writing and something about what you call magic and I call science and engineering."
The light in Sliv`s eyes spoke of her wounded pride. "We have lived like we do for more than a thousand years and nobody, not the effete Bretons, the oh-so noble Elves nor the Imperials could keep us from living as we would. And do not tell me that you Germans want to come over here and conquer us all."

"Certainly not-but the environment is about to change. You make your livelihood in 3 ways: Hunting/fishing, raiding and trade. Now, most of the raiding is out, you know better to raid the Empire or Germany. And if I am not off by too much Kislev will join the Reiksbund rather sooner than later-so they will be out too. And Ulthuan and Naggaroth are too far to be profitable.
And trade is also getting iffy-many Imperial shipping lines now buy modern ships in Germany or us Germans carry the freight. And again-you cannot raid these ships either. Hunting will not change, but fishing is similar-German and Imperials have better methods or will adopt them soon and then the price of fish will drop like a stone. So either our Children learn different ways, not necessarily German ones, or they will simply not count in the larger scale of things. What is it going to be?
"So you want them to become pansies after all"
"If you let me I will teach them how to shoot an assault rifle as soon as they can hold it. But yes, I want them protected from certain diseases so they have a better than one-in-five chance of becoming 4 years old. And they need to be able to read, write, navigate and have an inkling about a computer. I want them to be mighty and wise Chieftains who can make a mark in this world."
"Uff-you want to teach them your ways and mine at the same time then. Neither fish nor fowl, hm"
"If you bring them up as warriors of your clan it will mean they will remain obscure at best. If I take them to Germany they will not fit in-this is their best chance."

"I need to think more about that, but it makes sense-you better hope so. But there was this thing about the Site of the Gate-and something about your Government."
"Yes, we need to make sure this Gate remains out of Chaos hands-and the German scientists want to study it. Frankly speaking-they are willing to pay for that provided that there is political stability in this region. If we can swing that we will have much better access to German markets and goods."
"We are not the only clan here, you know. How are we going to do it-fight them with German aid?"
"If it comes to that-yes. But the guys and gals from the Foreign Office have another idea I want to mull through with you."
"Ok, this is the crazy prepositions day anyway, I am game. Anything else?"
"Yes, one thing: Will you marry me?"
"Yes it is a crazy preposition, what are you thinking, I can whip you any day of the week you soft southerner."
"As if I were to fight the women pregnant with my children."
It was probably not the only marriage proposal ever decided by arm wrestling, but it is a rare thing even among Norscans. Paul was never totally sure whether Sliv had let him win or whether he really was strong enough on that day.

It was quite some time later, a lot of it spent in something that resembled the wrestling match that Paul had wanted to avoid that Sliv was curious enough to come back to the original question.
"So now what has you government in mind?"
"Oh it was something to get all the clans of the Skraelings that are close to the gate involved. A long time ago on my world a people called the Iroquis had something they called the "Confederation of the 5 tribes"-and there are people in Germany who think that this could be a model for this area."
"Uh, tell me more."
"Tomorrow love, ok"
"Told you you are a soft southerner-err what are you doing there….."

Ulthuan Embassy to the Reiksbund, Altdorf, same evening

Aeolus watched the "Party" that his master had offered in the rooms of his embassy with interest. Aurelius` newfound respect for humans had opened doors and connections that had definitely not been available before. Given how much parts of this world had changed in the last 2,5 years that was a good thing-probably.
From where he stood he could make out several German staff officers attached to the Reiksbund headquarters, several Reiksguard and Landwehr officers and their civilian counterparts. The Ambassadors from Kislev and several Tilean ones were present as were several Traders from the various states.
The elegance and class of the High Elves Party arrangements, as well as the novelty of an Elven Ambassador who did not look down his nose at everyone had made the Embassy into an in-place everybody who was something just had to go. It also made a convenient spot for the talks and the feeling out of positions that should not be too public.

Adding to the Elven décor of the place were the high-end sound system and the tasteful LED lighting that was hidden behind chandeliers and crystals. The cuisine did not exactly suffer for several fridges and electric appliances. A very wide range of drinks, some of them very much non-eleven in origin added to the comfort of the guests. Aeolus was asking himself how the esteemed guests would feel if they know most of this was paid for by horse sperm.
Laws so old that they predated the elven civil war forbid the sale of Elven horses to anybody not of the Asur. Only in very special occasions were horses granted as gifts by the Phoenix King, but that was exceedingly rare. Somehow these laws had never mentioned the sperm or the ova of these horses and when Aurelius had learned what German horse breeders were willing to pay for that he had gone for it to raise the funds needed.
From what he had learned it was very very unlikely that Ulthuan would be threatened more if the Germans had access to better horses.

Aeolus watched one of guests leave the room for the washrooms-they were among the first things renovated with the horse money. The nondescript balding man was supposed to be some sort of mid-level functionary at the German mission to the Reiksbund. Aeolus might have been a stripling youth of 112 years, but a look into the German`s eyes had shown him that that was no more than a façade. It took him far longer to realize that the German had wanted him to see just that.
Aeolus went after the man when he could be reasonably sure that nobody would think the events related. He went into the room besides the men`s room marked as "staff" where the "functionary" already waited for him.

"Well met Ottokar Proktor. I did not think you would react so fast to my invitation."
"Actually I planned to pay homage to the Asur anyway-I have a little gift for you."
"Nice-and what might that be?"
"Oh, nothing much, just a printout of our last "Kondor" and "Hammer Hawk" overflights above the Druchii occupation zone in Ulthuan. It shows their troop deployments and their probable plans. There is also a summary of our findings attached. From what I saw their supply convoys now reach the Bay of Drusilla again and so the Darkies are gearing up for a mayor offensive."
"That will surely be a boon to our planning. Is there more?"
"Oh one of my Bundeswehr contacts remarked how much this terrain and the general situation reminded him of a campaign on Earth. He gave me this book and mentioned that you should have a look at the pages 240 and following."
"Oh, what have we done to deserve this?"
"Some of my associates think Germany should support the Asur against the Druchii-time that somebody tells the bleeding torturers to stay on their icebox. Unfortunately my government sees things differently. But still…"
"Who would I be to say no, I accept the gift with the appropriate thanks in the spirit it is given"
The small smile Elf and Man exchanged spoke of the many motives that both suspected the other harbored, like Aeolus who was pretty sure that Germany gave just enough help so the Asur could bleed themselves dry and Proktor who tried to prop up the Asur so that German help was not necessary-at least not for now.

"You told me you have something for me too?"
"Well, two things actually. Our cousins are now employing explosive bolts for their reaper bolt throwers, at least at sea. They are able to sink wooden ships in a heartbeat-that makes your imperial allies vulnerable as well."
"How do you know?"
"They used them to sink some of our ships."
"Ok. Magic explosion?"
"No, chemical-we had several of our mages present and the survivors are sure that there was no magic involved."
"That is strange, they do not run that direction so far."
"Indeed-and then there is this." Aeolus handed 5 sharp, metal fletched bolts to the German
"I take it these are crossbow bolts, right? So what is so special about them?"
"We dug them out of our wounded or dead in several battles. The special thing about them is this."
"What"
"Ah sorry, I forgot about your eyes. Well, if you take a magnifying glass you will find all of them have an identical small "C" shaped dent close to the point where the fletching is. From what I know this is a mark of industrial production, some small fault in the mold used to make them-and our cousins are not know for that."
"That is quite interesting-I`ll look into that for sure."
"Thanks-now let`s get back to the party before tongues start waggling."
"Indeed"

Several hours later Ottokar Proktor was back at the German Embassy in his office. Taking the package with the crossbow bolts from his pocket he had a long look at them before throwing them into the trashcan.
At the same time Aeolus was wondering what value a biography of Wellington might have for the Asur, but kept reading nether the less.

Hurikan II, another Universe, another time

Warsmith Spep`tukan wondered what he had done to anger the four gods. He had it made-securing a star system that was heavily defended enough to fend off all but the most determined assaults and at the same time usually not being interesting enough to get serious attention.
That had made for a secure base from which raids were possible and where he could further the cause of Chaos-and his own of course-from relative safety. This in turn had attracted pirate fleets and other Warlords who used this system as a base of operations-for a cut of course.

And then a fleet nobody had seen the likes of since the Vandire or so invaded full throttle-and of all possible enemies it had to be the bleeding cogboys. He really did not have them on the radar for such an undertaking. Currently a horde of Titans was running rampant roughly a thousand kilometers from here and making a hash of his best defense plans by plowing fortifications under as a tank would do with so many foxholes.
He had released his remaining bombers and most of his interceptors to make sure then arrived intact. These had the best chance to stop the towering war machines from his remaining options. Now he had to have a look again at the resupply of his artillery assets in that area and "Whoop Whoop Whoop"
Looking up from his cogitator the first time in hours he realized the frenzied activity inside his command center. Hololiths that were rimmed by gargoyles that moved and mouthed information to those of not too much sanity, Servitors and demon-possessed humans compiled maps and Champions tried to contact their commands via wireless or more arcane ways.
He was sufficiently connected to the hustle of this headquarters that he did not need the reports of his underlings-this fortress was about to come under attack. The hololith showed a gaggle of red icons that had changed vector towards the center. At the same time there were the indicators that announced that several somethings were entering the atmosphere at speeds that were only considered sane when under fire.

He looked through his available forces: Very few interceptors were ready to launch in a timeframe that made sense. His short-range air-defense was mostly intact and would play an important role in the coming battle but he already knew that they would be unable to stop them all-this fortress was about to come under attack.
Good-this was far better, far more rewarding than fighting by proxy, than managing the flows of reinforcements and supplies and listening to the voices who told him what he could not do.
He would fight inside his own fortress. In a Legion known for shrewd fortifications this one stood out for the ingenuity and the resources poured into it. He would fight the very design of the Bunkers and ways like a master-crafted weapon wielded by a warrior and when the enemy was sufficiently divided and weakened he would relish partaking in their killing.

Close to him-at least close for flyers-Adept Koniev 2-S did a last check on his crew and craft. Both answered in holy binary, which was fitting as several of his crewmembers were so integrated into the Marauder bomber that they would not be alive outside of it without special equipment that replaced the support given by their steed.
The crafts cogitator was good enough to handle navigation on its own which was a good thing as there was no navigator on board, instead a dedicated EW specialist took his place. Slightly above and to his left a couple of Lightning fighters peeled off to intercept some Chaos Craft approaching. From what the auspex was telling him that should not be too difficult-there were only a few of the enemy and quite a lot of the escorts.
The real problem was up ahead. His screens were superimposing a number of amber and red colored domes over the landscape, denoting the tracking systems of gun, laser and missile anti-air batteries. All the other craft were taking pains to avoid these domes if at all possible-he and his squadron made right to them.

His EW officer spoke up.
"I have a Hell Hound radar at 11 at 233 degree, emission strength make it 28 klicks distance. It is still scanning-pulse rate increasing-got us now."
"New course 233 degree. Spool up Hellstrike 2 and 5. Can we track them when the music is still on?" Both his Marauder and several more specialized variants emitted radiation an the same frequency as the radars that wanted to guide harm at Koniev`s craft in order to confuse them.
"The machine spirit of the holy missiles will not like it, he seeks clear and pure emissions from its targets."
"All Iron Hand and Gamma elements cease K-band jamming till further notice."
"Acknowledged Iron Hand 6"
Unfortunately these emissions would also make his task difficult to impossible. That turning the jamming off would make his squadron even better targets was par for the course.
And the enemy promptly showed that he was aware of that. Both his augurs and visuals showed the takeoff of several powerful anti-air missiles that streaked up vertically before bending their flight path into his direction.

"Any minute now bombardier."
"One more second, steady-now now now"
Koniev engaged the filters that protected the optics replacing his fallible biological eyes so he was not blinded by the launch of several missiles that were streaking off both his craft and the ones from several squadron mates. Their tiny computers were drawn by the emissions of the guidance radars used by the Chaos to guide the missiles to them.
This became a race between the Hellstikes used by Koniev and the weapons closing in for the kill. As soon as the ARM`s had cleared his Marauder sufficiently Koniev pulled his craft into a series of S-bends. It made the missiles maneuver and loose energy once their boosters were burned out.
"Hell Hound radar went offline-too early"

The enemy had switched the radar off to save it, that was good and bad-good as the missiles inbound now had to rely on their small cogitators, bad as his own missiles now had to look for their target in the infrared-that might work or not. Speculating there was not useful and he turned the Marauder back directly into the course of the incoming missiles.
The missiles that flew towards him were not yet locked in by his radar so he had to estimate speed and distance by estimation-something he was good in from long experience. At the last possible moment he released a cloud of chaff, IR Flares and two active decoys and pulled the tightest turn that the Bomber was capable of. Both missiles lost track momentarily and then, bereft of the guidance of their ground crew, choose the juicy active decoys as their new targets. The pilot turned again to see that his wingman had managed to do the same but a greasy smoke trail arching downwards indicated not all had done as well.
His EW officer use this time to chime in. "One missile has successfully destroyed enemy radar. Other radars currently shut down.
Koniev pulled a reverse Immelmann maneuver and sped towards the laser and autocannon emplacement. The bomb bay of his machine still contained unexploded ordnance and he was not going to take it home.

The Thunderhawk transport was and ungainly piece of machinery. With all the aerodynamics of a brick it needed a lot of brute power to stay aloft or move, power it had plenty of. Said aerodynamics were the result of an armor that made it as though as said brick and they were not helped at all at their cargo that was underslung them with magnetic grapples.
The transports were escorted by Thunderhawk gunships that pelted the Landing Zone with their Turbo Lasers and firing off the occasional Hellstrike missile.

Björn the Fell Handed saw this but did register it only peripherally. He was the oldest living being in the Empire with very few exceptions like the Emperor himself. Being a member of Leman Rus original company he had been left behind when the Primarch departed on his last mission.
He had always wondered what flaw Leman had seen in him to leave him behind and he would have died wondering if he had not been so grievously wondered a century later. Lauded a great hero his smashed body had been interred in the Sarcophagus of a dreadnaught. Woken up only for combat and correcting the Skalds sagas from firsthand account he had passed the millennia since the his transformation. Still the question lingered and was a part of what made him. Still, he longed for the answer even when he dreaded the outcome.
It had taken him a couple of days to screw up the courage to confront the Primarch in something that resembled privacy. When he finally did he was more than a little surprised by the results.

"Ah Björn, that, don`t fash yourself. Not taking you was never an insult to you and it was not easy to leave you behind. You were to follow me-until Ingif the Wise, you remember that Rune Priest don`t ya-told me to leave you at the fang. Told me it was a dire necessity and that I was not to tell you about it, otherwise it would jinx his vision of the future, he did."
The only being in the Fang that towered over the Primarch took his time for the answer. "Why"

"Till today I have no idea-and I had a long time to think on it as you all other things, believe me. Best guess is he saw you would become, well-this. He probably saw that you would keep the Great Lords and the Skalds straight-and a mighty fine job you did lad. I was away an awfully long time-and I still recognize my Wolves. I gather that most of my brothers would be quite unhappy if they saw their erstwhile legions now-you kept mine on the straight and narrow, thanks Björn. So, I won`t say sorry but I`d like to invite you to a hunt of you feel up to it your old age and all."
Björn the Fell-Handed had replayed the recording 89 times so far, could still not believe that the nightmare was over and glad that it was. And now he could enjoy the combat to come with an open mind and not second-guess himself.

The ground in front of the Thunderhawk was clouded in smoke and flame from the hits already did not look like anything could be left alive in there but that was an illusion as always. Switching to infrared and MM-wave radar he could make out a landing area covered by many low slung bunkers and unmanned turrets. They had multiple overlapping fields of fire and would be death even for the Space Wolves were they to land there-tie to change that. Spotting a patch of well destroyed fortifications he voxed the crew of the transport.
"Drop us at Blue 42-we`ll take it from there."
"Acknowledged Trueclaw-good hunting"
The four Dreadnoughts that hung under the Thunderhawks might not have seen their real hands for centuries and had not used their own voices for at least as long, but the howls that emerged from their speakers and through the wireless fazed even the normally unflappable Iron Warriors.

The Thunderhawk dropped to tree-top attitude and slowed to a little more than the speed of a walking man when the fighting machines released their holds. Dropping in to the destroyed plascrete they broke the momentum by flexing hydraulically powered legs. Immediately they were assaulted by Bolter shells and laser beams which would have been deadly to their Brothers but ore of a nuisance to them. Björn fired his autocannon at one of the closer automated turrets, was awarded an explosion for his pains and switched to the slit in one of the nearby bunkers were a heavy bolter peeked out and shot at the Space Wolves. Following a zigg-zagg course he avoided the fire best as he could accepted the hits he could not and searched for any weapon emplacement that could really harm his brothers. A laser cannon missed his venerable hide and made him ran parallel to a wall. Doubling back and emerging from the flank the enemy was not expecting him to come from he was able to close with the weapons pit before the Iron Warriors could slew the weapon around in time. One of the crew shot at him with his bolt pistol-he could have used a water pistol for all his efforts were worth, another was fumbling at his belt, probably for a krak or melta grenade. Björn`s lightning claw shot forward and the energy-sheathed blades cut the Chaos Marine in two before he got something done. Björn`s foot came down on the laser itself while his assault cannon took care of the rest of its crew.

Taking a quick peek the Dreadnaught saw that his antics had the desired effect-his three brothers were able to close with their targets comparatively unscathed. By now they had reached the fire lee of the bunkers that were covering this part of the landing zone. They pushed lumpy-looking arms forward against the walls facing them and even the din of battle could not drown the sound of the drills that penetrated the bunkers walls with ease.
Björn saw the sally of the fortifications crew in time and closed with them, firing his ranged weapon all the time. It bought the Siege Dreadnaughts enough time to trigger the heavy flamers integrated into their drill arms and flood the fortifications with liquid flaming death.
This part of the LZ was cleared-time to take the rest of the defenses out and there seemed to be a convenient gap in the enemy`s fire to the left..

wiki/Bjorn#.U10XY1clmkw
wiki/Iron...s#.U10hElclmkw
wiki/Thun...wk_Transporter

12000 Meters AGL, aboard Airbus A320, several days later

Nathan Alpers was deeply afraid-afraid of his own treacherous body. He was on board of a modified airliner used to simulate microgravity by flying parabolic trajectories. This plane had inherited its nickname "Kotzkomet" (Vomit Comet) from its US role model for a reason and as far as he was concerned it had earned that name with a vengeance. On both preceding flights he had spilled his stomach as there were no tomorrow.
He was only granted another chance as he and the other candidate had been the last ones to join the party. But if he were to fail again he would wash out of the program-something which he really did not want to think about.
Standing in the middle of the empty section of the fuselage with the well-padded walls and secured with nylon straps both candidates and the helpers laid down for the first part of the maneuver-the dive. Taking on enough speed for the parabolic part of the flight they pressed everybody deep into the padding. Nathan tried to breathe easily and through the nose and visualize himself going into Zero-G with no problems, but always the memory of the puking session came up.

And then with little warning his weight was reduced and reduced, convincing his inner ear that he was falling and making the reflexes he had acquired during flying an enemy. He was about to feel his stomach crawl up and then-nothing. Instead he lifted of the padding with the lightest of pushes and extended arms and legs as if flying by his own. His rebel yell would have done any Confederate proud. He was flying for real and he would not be washed out-not now and not in future-or so he hoped.
He did not puke, not in this flight parabola and not during the next 11. The docs wrote it down to him not having stood the smell of the others vomiting, he had a different idea. Ermine had invited Father Hark to Berlin and the Jade mage had done his best.
How he loved that woman.

C53 Helicopter, 300 meters AGL, above the Great Forest, same time

The Helicopter was quite clearly a military machine-foldable net benches for seating which would be useful for "enhanced interrogations" when used for any length of time, green color and warning labels throughout and noise and vibration enough to raise the dead. It was escorted by smaller combat helicopters-Mil 24 variants equipped for anti-infantry operations.
Likewise its occupants were clearly armed forces, wearing the camouflage armor with a rigid carapace and spidersilk softer parts that became more common with front line soldiers every day. They carried a wide range of small arms, from G62 assault rifles, Heckler&Koch shotguns to a light machine gun or two. The armor usually had individual modifications-an additional webbing here, a bottle opener there and the soldiers were all veterans and by the looks on their faces and the off-color jokes that masked the tension of experienced soldiers on the way to combat.

All of them-nearly so. Looking like a child in adult clothing a slim, red haired woman clad in civilian hiking clothing and an armored vest seated at the extreme end of one folding bench, oblivious to the discomfort she held her head in her hands.
As she had done a lot during the last days she thought about the joke and the fanatic. The joke had been played on her by Frank-Walter Steinmeier, the German foreign secretary. When she had decried the many wars that Germany fought in this brave new world instead of establishing peace and understanding he had asked her to be an envoy to the beastmen. While her core voters had been up in arms against this the rest of the Republic had a good laugh at her expense.

The fanatic was one Oswald Krieger, an acclaimed Witch Hunter and general arsehole who had seen the opportunity to "cleanse" the Great Forest of the Beastmen and even went so far to promote camps for "their confinement and eventual disposal". It had both been reported in German newspapers as generally discussed-as in discussed as a real possibility-inside the Empire.
That had been the point when she could no longer ignore it and the joke became reality. Petra Pau was on her way to the Beastmen to negotiate. Like the soldiers around her she saw the realistic chance for a fight-and that would threaten disaster far beyond the small group of humans that risked their lives together with her. Both the possibility that she might be badly injured or killed and that others might be as well for a fool`s errand she had instigated weighted heavily on her, but the genocide that was pretty sure to follow by her estimation was even worse.

She was so much in her own world that she registered the pat on her shoulder only at the second try. She looked up into the face of a young Paratrooper who bent close to her so that she could hear him.
"We are approaching the Landing Zone Frau Pau, we should arrive in 15 minutes. Time for the last minute preparations to make us more appealing to the Beastmen I gather."
"Err, sorry what?"
"You should apply this to any exposed skin, it will help with the Beastmen"
It took Petra Pau a couple of seconds till she registered what the bottle presented to her really was and what this meant.
"Heinz BBQ Sauce, Sweet&Spicy"
Time seemed to stop. The individual sniggers were lost in the din of the helicopter but she could hear them-everybody was thinking her "loco" and was angry at her for making them risking their lives for a forlorn hope. And now this-what should she do for fucks sake?
"Ah thank you soldier. But I have it from reliable sources that the Children of Chaos insist on good Bautzen mustard I am afraid. Do you have some of that?"
Everybody laughed-with her. And for 10 glorious minutes she was no longer afraid.

Astur the Touched bend over the speaking box again. The voice from it was tinny and spoke only Reiksspiel-but he still could understand it. Many such boxes had rained down on this part of the Great Forest during the last weeks.
It was one of the few the young bucks had not destroyed-and it had only escaped that fate as there were so few young bucks alive any more. The vast majority of them had heard the call of Garek when he had roused them for the Great Storm-and now they did not hear anything anymore.
Others had gone to smaller raids against the humans or tried their luck with the great Army that was said to assault Middenheim-gone all gone. The few that remained were usually those who had tried their luck attacking other herds-but even that meant that there would be few Children of Chaos. How empty the woods seemed now without the challenges and triumphs of its former masters sounding over hills and valleys.

Like the other boxes this one spoke of an approaching envoy who wanted to meet him-if he would press a prominent red button. He had taken some deliberations-and then he had pressed it. Since this morning the box would announce the approach of the humans-so he was here.
Astur was the shaman who had pledged his life to the upkeep of the shrine-the terrible, the glorious, the all-powerful shrine that had been so far hidden from the humans. Or so he thought until speaking boxes rained from the sky in a near-perfect circle around it.
Now he could only pledge the life of his followers against whatever assault the humans might attempt and then die-die in shame of having failed his task. Or he could do what the talking box tried to seduce him to do-talk to them. Hear them out.
However useless the talks might be in the end-it pushed the inevitable for a little more time. That in itself was a worthy goal-he doubted that the true gods would be merciful with him once he had died in failure.

And then it was time to stop pondering and gawk like the remaining Gors in awe. The strange throbbing sound that some warriors reported to have heard only faintly before, and usually before some raiding party vanished, intensified until its source could be perceived.
Several flying machines appeared above the treetops –most of them were of one size. They showed two humans under transparent bubbles and more of them behind doors in their side. Some of them circles the site-others watched his party. A much bigger machine held station. Two of the smaller machines landed just for seconds and disgorged 4 humans each who started to search the woods surrounding the Glade, not taking any notice of Astur and his party.
Only then did the big machine land and a dozen humans emerged into the glade. Most were armored warriors-one one was smaller, a red-haired female.
Astur started to see why so many raiding parties had been killed inside the Great Forest recently-if the humans could plonk their warriors wherever they choose from such machines the Beastmen`s choses realm was no longer a safe refuge.
Oh joy, that would make the talks so much worse-and they had not even started.

Petra Pau stood on her side of the table erected for this purpose. Nobody was sitting-the Beastmen would not do sit down and if they did not the humans would look even smaller if they did. The politician tried very hard not to be intimidated by the Beastmen-they towered above the German soldiers and under their fur sported immense muscles. Even with their totally different faces and gestures it was hard to miss the violence that was the core of their personality. They would kill her as soon as talk with her. Combat and war was not an emergency for them-it was their way of life.
Pau had been told by a great many people that "living peacefully together" with the Children of Chaos was not going to work-the question was whether there was another way that not killed them all.
The preliminaries were already over and now it was time to get to the gist of things.
Putting her 15" Siemens tablet on the table she showed an aerial picture of the Glade they were in. She did not need to ask whether the beasts recognized the location-their low grumbles showed they did well enough.
She then zoomed out to show the larger part of the Great Forest until it showed both the Forest and the surrounding features.

"This is where we are at present. This Is Middenheim, this the Castle Wolfenfels, this is the Railroad, this is the Quarry" here the grumbling became much more threatening.
"The Empire is willing to grant you the parts of the Forest from this river here-to that mountain range-to that river-to this railroad line. Can you live with that?"
"Man or Chaos Child-you only command your guts and the ground under your feet, all other is human thinking"
She had expected that and did not like the answer she had to give, yet it was the only one the Empire was willing to accept-but after seeing the Beastmen in the flesh she was pretty sure it was the only answer possible-besides wholesale killing.
"You are of course right. But the parts of the Forest that I just showed you are the only parts where humans will not kill you outright on sight. In here you are safe-except for any raiding parties into the Empire-these we will follow wherever they go."
One of the Gors to the left of Pau roared a challenge and pulled his copper-sheathed claws back for a strike. The politician jumped backwards and several weapons began to bear on the enraged Beast when its head exploded. Everybody looked at Astur who ended the gesture he just made and finished the words of power.
"Truth there, talk about this."

Astur the Touched watched the Helicopters leave much later and was surprised to be alive. He had gotten his first personal look at the new humans and had now an idea why they had defeated the Children of Chaos so well. They relied on their machines, their order and the magic they called science.
They could indeed not best them but if they would grant them a place to live for whatever reasons he would take it.
The ruins that made up part of this holy place were proof enough that such order could not last, yet the Children of Chaos were forever.