World's Edge Mountains, 100 kilometers from Kalinor
The room was a cross between a cave and an office blasted from solid rock. The noises of a small workshop managed to pierce the room's thick walls. It was lit by lots of lamps that illuminated many spots on the walls and a huge desk. The rest of the room was mostly darkness.
Besides the desk the lit spots were covered with weapons. There were lovingly crafted axes and hammers, a few swords among them. But pride of place went to firearms. There were several submachine guns, huge revolvers, a couple of assault rifles, a pair of light machine guns and a sniper rifle.
Four beings used the room to maybe a tenth of its capacity, they could not have been more different. There were two stout dwarfs, clad in leather armor and German armored vests. They wore a small arsenal of weapons each running from axes to sidearms with both clutching shotguns in their short arms.
Another dwarf sat behind the oaken desk. There were no weapons visible, and he was clad in fine cloth. His hands spoke another story as the oil stains and burn marks spoke of much time spent at forge and lathe.
The final being on the other side of the table was the polar opposite. Slender and tall where the dwarfs were short and stout, with a skin as white and even as porcelain while his hosts were ruddy. He was clad in black leather and mail, with spikes protruding in strategic places. Hair that held the luster of a raven's wing covered a lot of the fine features. If one needed a good example of Druchii here was one. All of them loathed and despised each other with passion that only war over many generations would bring. And yet both had needs of blood and coin that only the other could satisfy.
Currently the dwarf was in mid-rant.
"How I came to make such fine weapons he asks? Well, this is a tale of talent misused, genius misunderstood and of treachery. Your kind should know about such things I gather. I am Furgil Dammnison, of the Dammnison clan of Karaz-al-Karak. Our clan has provided much-needed leadership to the Machinist Guild since there was a Karaz-al-Karak. I was in line to take over from Burlock Drimmnison, damn his eyes. He sent me to Germany, the place where humans believe they can work metal better than Dawi. I stayed at Heckler&Koch, the company that makes a lot of the new weapons. I studied their weapons as the Guild believes we can learn from them. And yes, we can learn from them, but more from their errors than from their so-called genius.
Heckler&Koch made such great weapons in the past. This roller-delayed blowback system was brilliant. It allowed the barrel to float freely, it is just such a beautiful application of pure mechanics . They also used polygonal rifling. All that was needed was some dwarven craftsmanship, cold-hammered barrels and maybe a rune. These would be such weapons, better than anything else. I selflessly shared my thoughts with them and showed them the errors of their new construction. Injection polymers, gas-operation, pah. Easier to make, easier to maintain they said. Since then does a warrior care about the profit of the weapon maker? When does a gunsmith not build the best weapon possible?
I did leave these imbeciles, I would show them. I took over some of the latest machinery delivered to Karak-a-Karaz and made such rifles, the best battle rifles ever made. And then the Goblin-lovers at Heckler&Koch approached Burlock with things like "Patent" and "License". And Burlock Dammnison, who should have remembered he is Dawi Guild Master and not German lawyer, finds I have been making good weapons instead of these abominations called K-47.
And these cowards, these lily-livered tinkerers, these wasters of good steel throw me from the Guild. They dared to do that. So I will show them. I redirected the delivery of some machines to me as rightful compensation and now I make the best weapons that these German fools won't. And I will sell them to all who will pay good coin for them. So how about you, why do you seek me out? Has my reputation already spread to Naggaroth?"
"It has when you are desperate enough, when you are skilled and spend enough of your coin and other`s blood. I am Isfahn Bloodcrest, one of the last Bloodcrests there is. Malekith killed nearly all of us, but he left me alive. My clan`s numbers may be small, but we will have our revenge. And to make the Witch King feel the pain, we need the best weapons there are. This is why I am here."
"A Grudge then, that I can understand. Still you will have to understand that only gold is good here."
"I understand very well Herr Dammnison. It may be that I will have to pay some in precious stones. Is that acceptable too?"
"We have to agree on their value, but yes it will. And if you have German Marks or Imperial Crowns, I`ll take these too, but that is it."
"We will see then. What can you offer me then."
"Well, let me start with this then."
The weapon was very compact by the standards of some in the room. It featured satin black metal parts and wooden furniture. It was superbly made, every part was obviously just so. It was also comparatively small.
"What is this? It seems like a toy?"
"Oh, this is my much improved version of the Machinenpistole 5, the MP5 and a finer submachine gun was never made. I replaced that plastic crap with honest wood and changed the ammunition to 10 mm Auto. You can hit the head of a nail at a hundred meters the first time, every time, with it. And recoil is very controllable, even you Elves should be able to keep a full magazine on a man-sized target at 25 meters at full auto. And especially you will appreciate this."
A thick finger pushed a button and the stock swiveled to the side, exposing a seam so fine it was unseen before.
"Now you have something shorter than a half a meter, you should be able to conceal that well enough. Comes with a suppressor, so you don`t hear nothing but ringing when you use it indoors. Does not make for silent killing though, there are other tools for that."
"Very, very nice weaponsmith. What else can you show me?"
"Well, I have made G3 assault rifles, which are like this but bigger and much more powerful. They are precise enough that you can hit a fellow Elf at 800 meters with them and drop them regardless of armor. I have made two light machine guns with the same receivers and heavier barrels."
"These are undoubtedly works of great art and worth what you ask for them. For my personal retinue and me that will be just right, but if I happen to hire some help?"
"I would not sully my hands with such shoddy work, but I can offer you a shipment of K-47 rifles if you give me a bit of time. I know which hands need greasing."
"Excellent. Last question then: These guns will not work by themselves. They need...how do you call it...ammunition?"
"Oh yes, ammunition. Have you covered there, for coin of course."
"Of course. Don`t take it the wrong way Herr Grimmnison, but your workshop seems a bit small to make all the things needed for ammunition. I have seen the workshops in Neustadt and they were quite extensive."
"You are most perceptive then. Let's just say that there are both Dawi and Germans who care more for gold than "End-User Certificates". I have a good stock of all the basics for making and reloading ammunition and I can acquire more as needed. And with more customers like you I can afford to make these things myself. In a few years this will be the spot where anybody with the coin can obtain the finest firearms in the world, mark my words."
"Yes, I do Herr Dammnison."
The Dark Elf made a gesture that managed to sweep past both Dawi guards. Something made the sound of releasing springs and two tiny arrows sped towards their targets. They were small, inconsequential things with less energy given to a BB fired by an air rifle. One went into an exposed throat, the other missed an eyeball by a finger's breadth and pierced soft skin.
Both guards managed to lift their weapons minutely before the poison smeared on the darts made itself known. A fierce burning sensation made any conscious act impossible while a compound that combined magic and complicated biochemistry ran through their bodies. Each and every synapse in their bodies was forced to emit neurotransmitters at its maximum rate. They died while seeing the brightest lights, hearing the loudest sounds, feeling intense heat, pressure and cold at the same time. All muscles cramped to the point where breathing was impossible. One of the two shot the ceiling in a last unconscious act.
While they were doing so Furgil Dammnison had eyes only for the very sharp, very slender blade that hovered such a short distance before his right eye.
"You should have hired more competent guards weaponsmith. Did they really think that those two daggers were the only weapons I tried to conceal? Do not try anything stupid now, or you will regret that. Be a good boy and hold still for a moment."
There was a pinprick on the Dawi's neck and all feeling went from his body while he dropped to the floor. He was still able to see the damn Druchii block the doors leading into the room and load one of the MP5s as if he had been born to it. There was the sound of fighting from his workshop which ended when the elf opened the doors for an assortment of beings. There were some Norscans, something that might be a Blood Knight and a huge Agshy mage.
Furgil Dammnison would live for a while longer, Aeolus and Ottokar Proktor had many questions for him, many of them he answered of his own free will. Ottokar needed information to shut down the smuggling of chemicals and components, Aeolus liked modern weapons that could not be traced back to Germany much better.
Reiksbund Paladin Gym, at night
Joakim Vos stepped into the bench-press machine. Normally he would have preferred free weights, but at this late hour there was nobody to spot for him. The machine was much better if a cramp happened or he overestimated himself.
He placed the pin about halfway down and started the first set of twelve. Making sure that he did not extend his arms fully to protect his elbows and to stop a bit above chest level he easily made it through the set. It was during the break that his mind started to wander. He was here as his wife was on a trip. The Paladin's ready platoon had to go for a mission today. Despite the post-op briefings and the work needed to get the equipment he had been too keyed up to retire to his quarters and decided to work it off.
It had been one of those situations that could only happen on this world after the Weltensprung. A group of German bikers had made their way all from Berlin to Altdorf. They had partied pretty hard by all that Joakim had heard before they had taken over their hotel. The "Jagdschloss" had been the home of one of Altdorf`s older noble lines, one that had been in decline before the Weltensprung and unable to adapt to the new realities. Their ancestral home now catered to groups who wanted a classy background for whatever event they had planned. Things had obviously gotten out of hand after the first night, so much that the Reiksguard had been called out. The first light had revealed how much things had gone off the rails when they found the drawbridge that led to the "Jagdschloss" up. The flag might have been former bedsheets or a tablecloth, with the additions wrought on it, it was hard to say. That the red color used was blood was quite clear and the biker's new name set the mood.
"Khorne`s Angels."
The heads that rested on the ornamental spikes at the parapet set things in motion. The first assault by the Altdorf city police and the Reiksguard City detachment had been a disaster. Not only had the old Jagdschloss started out as a real fortification, the weapons laws in Germany had changed enough to give the "Angels" real firepower.
The Paladin`s had been called up when the ambulances were shot at.
Joakim felt that his pulse and breathing had slowed to the point where the next set was possible. He redid the pin a few notches lower and started pushing. He mentally swore, he had not added enough. It was well and good to start out light, but this was ridiculous. He still finished, moving faster than he should have.
It was during the next break that he remembered going through the walls. Whatever rifles and other weaponry "Khorne`s Angles" might have brought with them, the power armor was taking it in stride. Flashbangs and CS grenades had not taken the Chaotics down as much as Joakim would have liked, but it allowed for a squad to make their way across the small ditch. They had opened a beachhead that allowed the rest of the platoon to cross. Joakim kept back from it , he was commanding things after all.
The next set was more like it, he had to push hard to get the levers to move and there was a nice burn in his chest when he had finished. He could do better though.
Despite being armed with old assault rifles and some shotguns the bikers had been very fond of melee weapons. Against the Paladins that made some sort of sense as their power armor was practically immune to the Angels' weapons. A well-used crowbar or ax was a different matter and the crowded castle gave opportunity to use them. Still, Joakim`s forces managed to clear them from the outlying buildings quickly enough and only the donjon awaited them.
That was when things went seriously south. Joakim and his aide were just watching two different videos in their helmets and waited for the drone to make another pass when the paneling on the wall behind then burst into splinters. From that ruin a group of bikers emerged, wielding hate, ax and murder.
Joakim had not even stopped for a second. He had not taken up his Mauser, even when it was hanging before his chest. Instead he had taken the sword that was maglocked to the back of his armor to show his elevated status to the Empire`s nobles. There was nothing symbolic or quaint about that weapon now. It descended in an arc that took off an arm right behind that piece of rebar that was going for his faceplate. Before that hand had reached the ground and before the former owner started bleeding the sword`s point went into a gaping mouth and what brain remained behind it.
It had been like a dance or a kata, every move known in advance and executed to the rhythm of mayhem. Before Joakim`s aide had time to do much a half dozen attackers were either dead or on their way. Both men had seen enough death to last a couple of lifetimes, even they blinked.
The next set was what Joakim had been looking for. It was a challenge, he had to fight the weights and he was pretty sure he would fall short of the goal of a dozen repeats. He made it, but barely and had to use the bar that allowed his feet to lower the weights at a decent speed after the last one. The set left him panting, sweating and satisfied. Another set at a lower weight and he would move to another station.
The donjon had not contained as many bikers as he had anticipated and he had a good idea where they had been instead. He was still not sure what to make from that last attack. It should have left him exhausted and drained, instead the opposite happened. He had moved like he had just gotten up from a nap and had no problem concentrating at all on the many things asked from him to sew things up. Joakim had even been able to write a preliminary report while eating a crapload of sandwiches. And he had been going strong after that, so he had come here. Strangely, training had gone well so far.
He went for the pin again and found he had to twist to reach that low. That made him look at the numbers on the plates for the first time since the first set. It froze him in place. The machine was a bit special as several members of the Paladin`s were seriously strong even outside of their suits. The lower plates were far heavier than on an ordinary trainer and he had used most of them on the last sets. Never, ever in his life had he been able to benchpress more than 125 kg and now he had pushed more. A lot more.
And that was when Joakim Vos remembered the cool stream that had gone through him like a mountain spring. He had gotten this much energy when he had killed with his sword, killed in cold blood. There had been no blood lust, no desire for more, just the satisfaction of doing what needed to be done.
The Paladin`s commander did not bother to take a shower, just threw a hoody on before heading for his office. This was something he needed to do himself. He took a pair of heavy-duty gloves with him and used them to handle the sword that had stood besides his desk.
And that was when he found himself on a plain. He had never seen such a thing, it was wide, featureless and seemed to have no horizon. The thing before him was hard to describe, it's closest analogy seemed to be a scale.
"Thought you were an observant one Joakim Vos. Most take much longer to realize, some never do. It is just that you make the wrong conclusion from this observation."
"Do I? You did something and I would guess you took something from the poor schmucks I killed and transferred it to me. What are you, some kind of demon who is bound to this sword?"
"Well, yes to the first, it would have been a waste. Demon, no, not in the way you understand such things. I doubt that any demon would find this weapon a welcome place, Alaric did a good job there."
"Then what are you?"
"In your terms you might call me Balance."
"Balance?"
"A balance between the forces you call Order and Chaos. Neither of the two can be allowed to tip the scales, at least as long as this is possible within any given Universe."
"Why?"
"Pure Chaos will lead to a dissolved mass of particles slowly undergoing heat death. Pure Order is what is approximately found in a crystal. Every thing in its place and no movement is possible. Neither of these states allows life to exist, at least not as you know it. No chance to grow, to multiply, to develop. No place for errors and no possibility to make any meaningful change that sticks around for good. And to the beings that made me life, conscious life, is very important."
"So you try to keep one of the forces from winning ?"
"Yes, that is my goal, as long as that is possible. And in this world and in this place Chaos was about to win. With a little bit of help you and your kind might just keep that from happening. It is important for more reasons than you can know."
"Are there more of your kind?"
"In a given universe there can be only one of me. I use and am used by warriors who further my mission. Some are perceptive enough to learn, others never do. Only a few are able to understand well enough to be willingly recruited to the cause. You will make for an interesting Champion Joakim Vos."
Athel Loren, before the World Oak.
The wind went through the trees of Athel Loren and shook them. The few leaves that still clung to their twigs and branches fell in its wake, dropping on a carpet of virgin snow. It cut through most clothing like a knife and caused a shiver in anything that had muscles and flowing blood.
Winter had arrived in Athel Loren, arrived early, fast and hard. The Asrai usually went around with the clothes modesty demanded. As few outsiders could attest there was little modesty in the Asrai and few things they had to be ashamed about. Now even the hardiest of them covered themselves in tunics, breeches and cloaks. The many spirits that were bound to various pieces of forest were quieting down to the point of being barely animated. Only one was still going around bare-chested and even he felt the cold. The wind went past wrinkled skin and sagging features. Joints creaked when they moved and only the willpower of Orion could still keep himself moving and acting sensibly. The great passions of spring and summer had fallen away from the god, comprehension and compassion had replaced them. The hunger for action, the passion for besting Athel Loren's foes had abated and only a deep tiredness remained.
Orion watched the bustle before him. Under the watchful eye of priests and Spellsingers, Asrai erected an edifice of wood. There were no nails used, no ropes and no fasteners. There were lots of gaps in the construction, pathways for the air so it could reach all parts of it well. Still it was sturdy and had to be so.
Orion, even in his diminished state was nearly 10 feet tall and weighed accordingly. It would not do for his pyre to collapse under his weight when he would make his way on it in a few days. This life was nearly over and a member of his retinue would give his so he could be born anew next spring. His wife would see to that as she always did.
