Karaz-a-Karak, side tunnel
Bruglemier looked at the abomination with horror. The clay pipe before him had been laid down centuries ago, probably when his grandfather was his age. It had been the means of providing clean, cool air that allowed the tunnels below it more than the minimum of activity. Even the hard-burned clay had suffered with time and weakened. When a few stones dropped from the ceiling, they had cracked the pipe in two places. Air that had been pumped from (so far above had whistled and shrieked into a tunnel that needed none of it.
It had to be repaired, that was for sure. But before he and the lads had the chance to remove at least three lengths of heavy pipe and replace the one in the middle someone had desecrated the work of the ancients. Crisscrossed over the leaks were many, many layers of silver tape, bulging under the pressure from behind them, but holding firm for the moment. His anger needed a way out and he bellowed it at the youngling who was busy laying a power cord down the tunnel.
"Latr Bornmeister, you stupid kilmin. What evil spirit took hold of your tiny mind and told you that this..this duck tape is any way to repair an air pipe? This will not hold any length of time you waster of good metal."
It might have been a figment of Bruglemier's imagination, but he could have sworn he had heard an exasperated sigh.
"Nice of you to show up Bruglemier. No, that tape will not hold until my beard is as long as yours, but it does not need to do so. Next month the pipe will be replaced by a metal air conditioning duct. That will allow air through for real and we can finally make good use of the lower levels. I say there is no need to work two days to fully repair something that will be gone by Pflugzeit and the Guild will not pay us for such work."
Bruglemier spat at the ground.
"Duck tape here, duck tape there. If we would let you younglings do it, you would build the next Karak from duct tape. It is a bungler's aid, nothing but."
"It is a new tool, and has its uses in the right places Bruglemier, like all tools. There are so many new opportunities, time you oldsters wrap your heads about them."
Both Dawi grumbled and refused to speak to each other while they drilled the holes needed for a cable run that was to run along the tunnel's ceiling. It was when Bruglemier could not extract a worn drill bit from his hammer drill that Latr was there with a small blue and silver bottle.
"Want some help Bruglemier or is this also a bungler's aid?"
"Oh no, that is the good stuff, I feel even Valaya would bless WD40. This shows real respect for your tools."
The older and the younger Dawi had always been at loggerheads, the Weltensprung had put a lot of additional pressure on the conflict. But even when the Dawi argued harder than ever before, they could all agree on the many blessings of WD-40.
Office of the President of the Bundestag, Berlin
The German Bundestag is normally an orderly place, still somebody needed to lay down the law and make sure the rules were followed. The most important task is to head all and any parliamentary debate and votes. This job is given to the President of the Bundestag, one of the highest offices the German government has. The president is elected for the full legislative period of four years and usually from the largest party in parliament. It is seen as the crowning achievement of a politician who does not reach the highest levels of government and calls for somebody level-headed and respected by all sides.
In the Year of Sigmar 2536 Volker Rühe filled this office. He had been a secretary of defense long before the Weltensprung and had tried to become Schleswig-Holstein's Prime Minister. That bid had failed and he had been a Member of the Bundestag ever since. He had convened a meeting of the vice presidents, one of each party, and Germany's Bundespraesident as the resolution which had just passed the Bundestag was highly unusual and at least one party was extremely unhappy with it.
He might not be the most successful member of the CDU ever, but experience, age, and office lent him a certain gravitas. Rühe was not used to being yelled at and resented it, a lot. He had stood the verbal abuse for about two minutes, saw the faces of the other party elders in the room becoming stonier by the minute and decided it was time to stop the nonsense.
When his opponent took a breath to continue his rant he spoke up, loud and clear enough to be heard, but certainly not shouting.
"Herr Junge, we can continue this in two ways. Either you calm down and we talk like adults, then I am willing to answer your questions and address your grievances. Or you continue to scream at me like you believe me a stupid recruit, in this case I will ask the police to escort you from the Bundestag and will fine you. What will it be?"
Uwe Junge's skin color was red before, now it changed alarmingly. It set off the hematoma around his eye markedly. He tried to choke down a reply which would hurt his standing even further. When he was finally able to talk sensibly again he was drawing the words out as if under great pressure.
"I will not excuse my exasperation at the travesty that you allowed to happen in the very halls of the Bundestag, but I will try to remain calm. Still, I cannot believe that you allow this so-called resolution to stand. The proportions were not kept in attendance, the vote was not announced and no white paper for the resolution circulated. Party discipline was not kept and I was not consulted on a matter of defense…."
Volker Rühe used the next break for air to insert himself with a much calmer voice.
"It would behoove you to brush up your knowledge about the laws and regulations about voting in parliament.
First off: That the attendants in the Bundestag keep the proportions between parties when it comes to voting and that a white paper is circulated before a vote is called is a gentleman's agreement, not law. And while I agree that these agreements have proven themselves time and time again: They are not the law of the land. I cannot and will not invalid a resolution voted on by elected members of the Bundestag in a regular session because the niceties were not followed. As for you not being consulted: This is the parliament, not the government. While the members of the Bundestag can and probably should consult you in such matters they have no obligation to do so.
If you would have bothered to attend this session you could have presented your arguments, you chose to be absent.
As for party discipline: Each and every elected member of the Bundestag is bound by his or her conscience, nothing more. This is within your party to solve, certainly not for me to do so.. It is up to the Kaiserlichen to remove the members who voted for this resolution from your faction in the Bundestag. We would no longer have a majority in the Bundestag, but that is up to you.
The best way to heal this, if you think you really must, is to have another resolution and to vote for that too. If every member of the Bundestag who was not at that session would vote your way you'd have a majority, otherwise the results will stand."
Uwe Junge was about to explode again when a voice as dry as skeleton hands shifting dead leaves stopped him cold. Thomas Oppermann of the SPD looked like death warmed over and without major magical help he would have been dead for quite some time already.
"And you will not have them Herr Junge. The SPD has chosen to support this resolution. Put it up again in the Bundestag and the result will be the same. Fail to act on it and we will initiate the vote from our side."
"The Freisinnigen will release their members from party discipline on this one. I do not see many of our members voting against the resolution to intervene."
Sabine Leutheuser-Schnarrenberger was the old lady in the room, the defense secretary glared at her regardless.
His voice carried venom and ridicule in equal measure.
"So, you want this government to fail Sabine? Do you really think the Freisinnigen would be in the next government? Or do you open the gates to the hordes of the unwashed?"
"I am not sure if the Freisinnigen will profit if they shackle their destiny to the likes of you Herr Junge. And may I ask how you got that beautiful shiner?"
Junge lowered his voice markedly.
"I do not know how that pertains to this discussion."
Sabine's laugh was somewhat brittle with age, it still stung.
"Oh come on Herr Junge. What did you do to Damian Lohr?"
"Nobody calls me a coward, nobody"
Frank Walter Steinmeier was the only person in the room who was not a member of the Bundestag. He was Germany's President, the Head of State and held, in theory, the highest office in government. In practice his job was mostly ceremonial, but he had to countersign all of Germany's laws. He did not speak loudly and still everybody listened.
"Looks like you do not have your house in order Herr Junge. I would not recommend another round of voting, but that is up to you."
Uwe Junge shook his head and balled his fists a couple of times before he answered.
"Can none of you see what these young idiots will push us into? We will have to send our prime Quick Reaction Forces into a situation where they might well be wiped out or might suffer crippling losses before we can reinforce them. And even if that pans out: Then what? Do we send thousands of German soldiers there? This is not Former Yugoslavia we are talking about, the parties up there worship gods of fire and murder. Afghanistan was no joke, but this will be ten times worse."
Uwe Junge was surprised as anybody else in the room when Steinmeier started laughing.
"Am I the only one old enough here to see what is happening Uwe? We are just seeing the rebirth of the 68's, that's what this is."
Uwe Junge regained some of his belligerence.
"Nobody calls my guys long-haired hippies you…"
"Uwe Junge, you are an idiot. Of course, these ones are no hippies, quite the contrary. But they are a new generation, who grew up in a very different world then the one that formed us. And they think we still live in the old one, trying to tackle the new problems with the old answers. They might even be right for all I know, I am an old fart. They demand that we change, that we adapt to the new realities and sooner or later they will shape that change. The only choice we have is if we try to suppress them or try to inject a bit of caution and common sense. What will it be for you Herr Junge?"
"If you are so wise about this, what do you propose to do if we indeed save the sla..sorry former slaves?"
"We can only cross that bridge when we come to it Uwe. We might have something cooking by now if you had started that at least as contingency planning, but you did not. Now we cannot take that time, or there will be no one to save. Worst comes to worst we can evacuate, I can guarantee that several states will take technically minded persons in if we do not want to. We ask the Chaos Stumpies nicely to leave and have Malekith sort his icy hell himself. He won't like it without slaves, for sure. Now I can certainly not give any orders, but if I were you I would not step in front of that train, but make sure it runs well."
"I still think this is a folly."
"I did not serve Uwe, but even I know that one does not have to like the orders one is given, just follow them if they are legal. And while I am not part of the security cabinet I am very sure that these orders will be given soon. The Bundestag has voted on them, remember?"
Eagle`s Nest, Imperial Air Force Base at von-Liebwitz Airport, Nuln
Andreas Hoppe and a small group of officers listened to the briefing given by the Young Eagles XO, Eberhard von Roon.
"The tech shop has taken the hints we received from command well and has started generating frames early. From Wellentag morning we are looking at 18 operational Jagdfalke Mk1 and 2. This number includes the QRF flight and I would be loath to poach them. If we wait till Bäckertag we have been promised two flights of Luftwaffe Jagdfalke T2s.
Given that we need to scrounge both our arsenal and Rammstein for additional guided missiles and that von Schiller won't be ready before Bezahltag it seems better to launch on Königstag. That gives us a bit of reserve if Murphy shows up early. The Graf herself is in a good shape, apart from our additional supplies the old lady could launch on Markttag, Aubentag if we are pushing it."
Colonel Hoppe's hand drummed a tattoo on the table before him.
"Any other day I would be more than happy with that readiness and the speed of mobilization. Please give my compliments to Captain Heim and the tech shop, this is good work. Still, we should try everything to accelerate the launch."
Eberhard von Roon's eyebrows rose imperceptibly.
"Sir, what is the bleeding hurry here? We will cross the ocean, will be as far from quick resupply as possible, and should not go half-cocked. And while I want to kick the Spitzohren and the Chaos Stumpies as much as any other man, it is not that the Reiksbund itself is threatened. Neustadt has held for a couple of months, they will make do for an additional week."
"You won't hear an argument from me Eberhard. It is just that the Reiksmarschall has made this his very own cause and has pushed all troops we share with the Germans in the Reiksbund towards higher readiness. When the Bundestag passed that resolution he offered his aid. I can't say for sure, but it could be that the defense secretary wanted to wash his hands of this and gave Valten himself operational command. So, the prince activated all QRF forces: The 2nd armored paratroopers, the Cave Raiders, and the Paladins and told them to get cracking."
Eberhard von Roon blinked a couple of times.
"So, when do they launch?"
"Yesterday."
"Fuck me sideways."
"In-bleeding-deed. This is not how things are done, and Valten did it."
"Sir, even if we launch on Bezahltag, which would be pushing it, we need a week for the transit. The Graf and the others need to travel by their Rune drives only, we need the gas for when we are in Indian country."
"You know that and I know that, I made very sure that the Reichsmarschall knows it too. Valten probably thinks the troops are hard enough and Malekith knows better than to attack Reiksbund troops. I hope very, very much that he is right. So, what can we do to speed up?"
Ghrond, Naggaroth
The perfect teeth bit into the next morsel of food, beautiful lips drained it of any moisture before she ground it to a paste that ran smoothly down her gullet. Morathi gave off a small sigh of pleasure before choosing another tidbit. The eyeball popped like a fruit when she applied the right amount of pressure and allowed her to suck its contents. Looking at her arm she saw the wrinkles disappearing and a mirror revealed that the popped blood vessels in her right eye had receded. A few more delicacies and she would be hale again, at least for a couple of weeks.
Her nourishment needed to be young, about to bloom into the flower of life. When slaughtered just right, and treated with a magical lore known to very few, their essence would restore her youth and beauty forever. Such a shame, it would be better to have used slaves that were unable to perform their duties any longer. In the lost days of past glory such considerations would have been moot, given the glut of available victims. These days docile, healthy slaves were a valuable resource indeed and not to be wasted. Not that anybody would think sustaining the Witch King's mother as anything but the most important task, lest they become part of the menu.
Morathi dabbed her lips with a new silken cloth that would be burned at the earliest convenience and rose elegantly from her table.
Her voice never rose and still everybody ran to fulfill her needs. Her majordomo knelt at her feet before she had taken more than a handful of steps.
Dropping the napkin on her back she stepped by her servant.
"Alert my entourage and ready Sulephet. My son needs to see the light."
An hour later the pale winter sky saw a swarm of Dark Pegasi rise from Ghrond's highest tower, making for the Gulf of Naggrond.
Ottokar Proktor's office, BKA building, Berlin
The office was as nondescript as ever, the fake wooden furniture had acquired a few more dings and a new potted plant was slowly dying in the corner. The laptop was a new model though and had a few modifications that would raise more than a few eyebrows if known in the right circles.
Ottokar Proktor did not look at it, he had just ended a phone call with a Celestial Mage whose services he used at times. Staring straight ahead, looking at nothing in his field of view, the agent did not move a muscle for a minute at least. A small tic started at his jaw, breaking the reverie.
Ottokar pulled a bundle of keys from his pockets and opened a drawer that had remained closed for several years.
He extracted a bottle of high-grade Schnapps from it and a glass with a faded cartouche on it. He filled it and drank the clear fluid in one go. Breathing deeply, he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his most important project had attracted the attention of another god, this one on the side of order. And said god had probably pushed the apple cart till it went downhill at a speed that even Ottokar had not foreseen.
The question was: now what? What had really changed and how to make sure the cart crashed at the desired spot?
Gulf of Naggrond, Naggaroth, at night
The kayak's slender hull slid through the black waters of the Gulf with nothing but a quiet hiss. It was accentuated by a rhythmic, very quiet gurgling of water when the paddles were pushed through it. A small flotilla of them was making their way up the gulf in loose formation. The kayaks were meant for two people and most carried exactly that, the few others held equipment instead of a second crewmember. The boats and their rowers were clad in dark colors, offering very little contrast against the water. They had paddled for a few kilometers already from the point where the landing craft had released them. They had quite a few kilometers to go before they could make landfall. None of the paddlers showed signs of exhaustion, they would not be members of the Night Shift if they did.
Ivil Bloodcrest was in the second boat that made it for Naggaroth's shore. His night vision was good enough that he could make out his warriors and had a glimpse of the shoreline. The operator before him used a device that looked like a very fat gun with a monitor on its back. He treated it like a human might treat a newborn and justly so, as there were only a few of these in the Wild Geese. According to the Geese's technical staff these were normally used by fire brigades to look for people inside smoke and worked with infrared. This set saved lives in a different way, by spotting for any DawiZharr that might hide in the sparse brushwork that bordered the Gulf. So far neither that device nor Ivil's fine senses had spotted anything. Hardly surprising, given that the Night Shift detachment would land a dozen kilometers from the nearest known enemy forces. It was a good thing that Naggaroth's winter nights were so long, they could make it to their target in two of them easily.
The assassin had been taught to use many weapons besides his daggers when he was still at the hell called Khaine's temple. He had expected to gain deadlier ones when he joined the Wild Geese, and he had not been disappointed. It had taken him a while to learn that the most powerful of them all was the wireless.
Prince Aenarion Airport, Lothern, Ulthuan
The Asur would not allow the Reiksbund to station or even cycle combat planes through their airports. The seven A 400 M that were currently fueled up were quite common on this airport, as Lufthansa, Deutsche Luftfracht SRL, and a few others were flying quite a few civilian models of the plane. It could land on anything strong enough to support cows, as long as things were agreeably flat and had quite a long range due to their efficient turboprops and their Rune of Flying.
Whether the camouflage gave the planes away was an open question, a single look at the passengers proved beyond doubt that they were not on a mission of mercy. The High Elven officials who cleared the planes transit pointedly ignored the power armors or the vehicles and equipment and made a show of checking documents before leaving the Reiksbunders alone.
There was a small, informal meeting in the leftmost plane, where the commanding officers of all the units in the task force found a place behind the cockpit. Everybody had a steaming mug in hand or close by. All looked at their tablets, looking at various reports.
It was Joakim Vos who spoke up first.
"Nothing broke on the way in, and no one puked more than usual. The Paladins are ready to roll. How about your people?"
Thorgrimm Steinier was the shortest of those attending, but the broadest across the shoulders. His voice was a deep rumble, showing enthusiasm not mirrored by the third member of the group.
"The lads are not sure whose teeth they'd like to kick in most, the Frundarr or the Spitzohren. And none of them would fuck that chance up."
"If that happens we have failed already."
The tallest officer present was a picture of a soldier's soldier. From the buzz-cut hair, the strong chin to a meticulous and probably starched BDU he looked like a career soldier from the world the Germans had left behind. Lt. Colonel Heiko von der Marwitz led the 2nd Armored Parachute Battalion, one of the two Power Armored units suited for airborne operations. One of the units had to have at least one company ready to go within an hour, a tall order if there ever was one. It was also the only purely German unit in the task force, the other two drew personnel from all Reiksbund members. It made for a different outlook for sure.
"Any day I get to shoot Spitzohren who want to enslave the people in Neustadt again is a good day, not a failure. These former slaves earned a chance they fight well."
"I am sure you think so Captain Steinier, but I would still prefer if we can separate the two parties peacefully. It will be much easier to protect the former slaves and to negotiate with the Druchii. Otherwise we learn if this drop is the next Citadel of Lead or a rerun of Dien Bien Phu."
Steinier looked cross at von der Marwitz.
„When Joakim jumped on the Citadel of Lead he did not know if he would win, he just gave it his best shot. Some things are just worth the fight even when you are not sure you will win."
There was a moment of silence while the German took a deep breath.
"I am not sure what you want to say Captain Steinier. I am a German officer, and so the thing that concerns me most is fulfilling the bloody mission. I will do whatever is necessary to do so as long as it is mostly legal. Acknowledging that we are very, very far from support is not a sign of a yellow liver, it is realism. And while I am sure that our lads and laddettes can kick Druchii and DawiZharr butts all day long it is not the bloody mission. We have to protect Neustadt, nothing more. If we can get this done by asking the Spitzohren nicely I am all for it. At the very least it is less dangerous for the soldiers under my command. And if they don't, then I am more than willing to show them why messing with the Reiksbund is a very bad idea."
Thorgrimm Steinier's hand was huge and hard as rock, von der Marwitz swayed only minutely when it hit his shoulder.
"I can live with that lad, and no mistake. Now, I have seen videos of your new toys, but not the real thing. Are they any good?"
Gulf of Naggrond, two days later
Areta Bane had been a Druchii warrior long before she joined the Wild Geese and maritime raiding was nothing new to her in any way, shape or form. Still she had never thought much about specialized landing craft in the old days. It had taken the Geese's return to Naggaroth to appreciate them and the many details that differentiated them from their simpler relatives. They were not fast, even when one wished them to be. The flat bottom that their mission asked for and the flat bow made that impossible. They had armor in many places as they went into harm's way and at least a few crew-served weapons to suppress the enemy if necessary. There was a huge ramp at the bow, so that vehicles and personal could unass quickly.
The Wild Geese and the Imperial Dragon's shipyard had bought a couple of barges usually ferrying cargo between ships and too-small harbors and had used them as parts donors to build a few of the specialized craft. 80% of these were just making their way up the Gulf of Naggrond, past the point where Leviathan could go. They were under cover of the night and so far nobody was shooting at them. Which was a good thing as the Geese had loaded every combat Unimog and their Lastergrenadiere they had on them. They would make landfall between the DawiZharr and Naggrond. That would put the Chaos Stumpies between a rock and a hard place for sure and should put an end to this campaign.
Cantina, Neustadt, same time
Neustadt had always been a loud place. Given that it was given to refining and shaping metals and its factories ran around the clock it was unavoidable. From the deep thumps made by the drop forges, the shrill keen of the lathes to the dragon's roar of the furnaces, Neustadt's air had always been shifted by sound waves. Its inhabitants had gotten used to it while they slowly developed deafness and were able to talk, sleep, and work in the din.
Now the town was mostly silent. The furnaces were cold and the lathes still for a lack of raw materials. No siren called the workers to their shifts as none were to be had.
The Cantina was usually a lively place in the morning as the workers were chatting while they waited in line for their meals or in small groups when they munched on the food. The food had always been good, feasts by the standards of former slaves, and if one spent a few credits such nice treats could be had. Now the gruel served was enough to still hungry stomachs and provide fuel for the day ahead. It was just that few of those in the room were looking forward to those tasks. They were boring, dangerous, and often seen as staving off the inevitable for one more day. Nearly everybody had lost a friend or family during the last several weeks and too many asked themselves if that was the best future they could realistically expect.
Torsten Breitkop made the rounds through the cantinas, trying to shore up morale. It was hard, so very hard to think he had brought his people to this position. The question what he could have done differently kept him awake many a night and lines appeared in his face where none had been before.
Wherever he went his clients became ever so much more alive, it was a marvel to see. But when they asked him if everything would be alright there was a desperation in their eyes for an answer that would soothe their fears and that they could believe.
It turned his stomach that they indeed brightened up when he promised them something would come up, that the Druchii had shot their bolt and that help would arrive. This might indeed be so, but he did not know and he felt like a liar every time he told his people what they wanted to hear.
He was on his way to the next one when he heard a commotion behind him and the walkie-talkie on his hip vibrated to gain his attention. While he unclipped it from his belt he saw more and more people coming from barracks and cantinas, hospitals, and even some trenches. Everybody was looking at the sky and some of the more sharp-eyed pointed at small spots in the sky.
Torsten Breitkop heard none of the excited voices, Anja's voice held his attention fully.
"They are coming Torsten, the Germans are finally coming. I have told Air Defense to stand down, they will jump into the marshalling yard in a few minutes. Oh my god Torsten, we did it."
DawiZharr camp, Gulf of Naggrond coast
Lord Mordred's tent was still the ever-opulent edifice. Many would go into that tent, beautiful in diverse ways, alluring and willing to overload their senses with all manners of debauchery. Not all of them came back alive from that tent, others had lost what went for their minds in the extreme experiences that could be had within. There was never a lack of volunteers for the entrance, it was seen as an high honor except for most of those who entered the tent bound. The latter were rarely seen alive and in command of their senses again.
Mordred sat amid the detritus of last night's orgy in a lotus seat, beautiful and unmoving like a marble statue. The sight was just enhanced by the thin trickle of blood that seeped from the corners of his mouth and painted eerie lines on his perfect marble chest.
Others might have to work hard for intelligence, had to send spies and scouts, build complicated machines and analyzed the info received for every scrap of intelligence. He was the Avatar of the Prince of Pleasure, he could avail himself of the senses of those who had touched his liege in any way as well as the morsels given to him by the Neverborn.
His mind was as intricate and beautiful as his body, and like his body capable of giving brilliant insights and setting the stage for terrible cruelty. He could see the picture behind all these brilliant pixels provided to him. It was just that he did not like the picture. His enemies had blocked the path to his real target, and there was no way he could see how he could best or avoid them. He needed to change plans again, and there was only one left, a very long shot which needed others, not under his direct control, to play their part perfectly.
And he needed to ask his liege for more of his Neverborn, many more. Too bad, he had enjoyed some of those in his tent. Their final acts of pleasure would be the payment his liege would ask for. And he would need to get the situation in Zarr-Naggrund sorted. Time to set the things planted so long before into motion.
Haltdorf, Empire
Karl Hermsdorf had been a Sergeant before he had become a teacher. One of the things he learned as a noncom was that it paid off not to show fear and nervousness. First off it would not infect those around him and second it helped with dealing with one's own fears. So he made a conscious effort not to flinch when those sounds managed to bypass his ears and drilled themselves directly into his brain. He held his head high, his upper lip remained stiff and he spoke clearly and slowly when the time came.
He could not be prouder of his students, they managed to do the same despite the place, the time and the ordeal before them. They had assembled in orderly rows and waited their turn. He could see their fear and that they would so much like to be in a different place. Still they stood and waited their turn to enter the dark entrance before them. He saw an older girl extend a calming hand on the shoulder of a younger student. He saw that the boys were not much better off, but did not want to show that in front of the girls.
Nervous they might be, but they were all here, none tried to shirk and all went with their heads held high when the time came. Karl Hermsdorf was the last one to enter the railcar, having made sure that his students went where they needed to go. He could let his mask slip a bit once he was past the curtain that separated the far end from the rest and concealed the instruments of terror.
The man in the white apron smiled when he did.
"Welcome to my humble abode Herr Hermsdorf, I have been expecting you. Your students did well so far, seems that they take brushing their teeth seriously. I hardly had to drill this time."
Karl Hermsdorf was hit by the insight a few minutes later, when he was already seated in the dentist's chair. He had to chuckle and earned a frown from the mobile doctor. It was still worth it.
His current students had never learned that any kind of dental work hurt like hell and left bloody ruin and gaps in your smile. They were already used to the blessed Novocain and the lore that repaired teeth instead of pulling their remains. They were probably looking forward to the small gifts they received if their teeth were cleaned well. No wonder they had behaved so well.
His teeth were a different matter, he had learned about toothpaste and brush when he was already an adult and was unable to shake his smoking habit. He would feel the prick and the drill for sure…..
Before Neustadt, Naggaroth
Joakim Vos walked through a desolation under a pale winter sun. It exposed the ravages war had inflicted on the landscape and the remains of the people that had fought over it. A thin layer of snow barely covered the corpses that lay brokenly in the detritus of war. His boots crunched though bloody snow and ashen bones. Joakim Vos' mood was as least as ugly as the landscape around him.
Nobody who had come with Germany to the Warhammer World could ignore the Druchii's crimes and cruelty. Joakim thought it one of Germany's better accomplishments to have curbed their raids to a nuisance. Unfortunately that had allowed the Reiksbund to ignore the evils the Dark Elves routinely performed in their own icebox. They might exceed anything done by human slave-owners on Earth by a large margin, but they were also very far away.
Now they were not and Neustadt's citizens had given the Druchii's victims faces and voices to care for. The Reiksbund Paladins' CO was fully aware that he and his fellow soldiers were the one thing that stood between the former slaves and oblivion. The weight of that responsibility weighted him down like a mountain. His hate for those who placed that burden there had reached the point where he had to consciously reign it in, lest it interfere with his duties.
As agreed upon four power-armoured soldiers followed him a dozen paces behind. He had spotted the Druchii a while ago, a lone figure leaning on a huge halberd while a few rifle-armed ones hung back a bit. His optics allowed him to study the Druchii at a distance. At first glance he seemed to be the epitome of a Spitzohren warrior, all slender figure and elegant aggression. Closer inspection revealed the recently mended parts in armour and clothing, the fine lines of wounds healed quickly by magic, and the leg that was held at an angle. Neustadt's denizens had gotten their licks in it seemed, good for them.
Stopping three meters before the Druchii he allowed his armour to open his visor and tried to ignore the stench of death that wafted all over the place. The wireless negotiation had worked in Reiksspiel, that was certainly easier than trying his hand at Dominating Sperenthiel.
"I am Lieutenant Colonel Joakim Vos of the Reiksbund Paladins. I am here as agreed to negotiate a ceasefire."
The voice that answered did not hide the disdain at having to use a language for slaves and negotiating with mere humans.
"I am Kouran Darkhand, Master of the Black Guard. Why do you trespass on the lands of the Witch King?"
Joakim's voice was toneless, even and colder than Naggaroth's winter.
"The Reiksbund desires a ceasefire between your forces and Neustadt's citizens so that a more permanent solution to this problem can be negotiated. To ensure that no accidents endanger such a ceasefire we will enforce a demilitarized zone five kilometres from Neustadt's borders. No armed forces from either side are allowed to enter, but for such events agreed upon by both parties."
Mocking and curiosity mixed themselves in Kouran's voice.
"So what do you want from these slaves? Do you think they will work better in your factories? Or do you want to steal the Witch King's property and deny him the arms he need to fight the Chaos Dwarfs?"
"You cannot own people Darkhand and neither can the Witch King. We seek an end to the cruelties that you inflict on your slaves and have no truck in your war with the DawiZharr. You can remove your camp and your warriors from the demilitarized zone during the next 48 hours, any Druchii or former slave presence in this zone will be removed by force."
Kouran's answer was hoarse from anger.
"Do you believe we need protecting from slaves?"
"They seemed to do that quite well by themselves. No matter, the Reiksbund wants a ceasefire and it will receive it."
It was Joakim's sword that guided his arm, it had fought for millennia and knew the signs. Kouran was trying to kill its Champion where he stood, he would not have reacted int time. The halberd's blade moved with inhuman speed and even Stormbringer's response and the suit's power could just move the arm in its way. Joakim's limb was protected by layers of titanium deposited in a ceramic matrix and spidersilk. Even that armour could barely stop the blade that struck obliquely and it left a deep scar in the vambrace. By that time Vos was in charge of his limbs again and his left hand clamped on the halberd's shaft.
The muscles of a strong man combined forces with high-tech actuators and Technici magic to fix the shaft as if it had been struck in concrete. Kouran's muscles swelled when he tried to dislodge it and failed.
Joakim's adrenaline surge burned through his self-control and his voice mocked Darkhand's efforts.
"That is not how civilized people conduct negotiations, really now. Can we behave like adults, or do I need to take that away?"
"Who do you do believe you are that you deny the will of Malekith himself?"
"My beliefs are…
Kouran's left hand released the halberd and made for the revolver at his hip. It touched the weapon's grip when Joakim's right fist smashed squarely into Kouran's helmet. The armoured glove was driven by muscles, hate and a power armour, it dished the helmet in, broke an aquiline nose and smashed a dozen perfect teeth from the Druchii's mouth.
Kouran's guards looked at four assault rifles levelled at them and decided that this was not the day to die gloriously for the Witch King.
Joakim watched the Druchii dropping on the ground and bent over the fallen leader.
"Let kings and demons tremble, I am a German citizen."
He turned and walked away without looking back.
Tower of Cold Naggrond
The legends of the Warhammer World and the fears of every Naggaroth denizen said that Malekith watched everyone at any time, being able to kill anybody who displeased the Witch King. Malekith and his mother had done their level best to spread the rumors. They had demonstrated the ability often enough to make it stick and gruesome enough to avoid too many people asking the obvious question: How could a single being, even such a capable one, watch everybody at the same time, make sense of what he saw and react to it? The answer to that was that he could not. Malekith could see nearly any place in his realm at a time of his choosing and could kill unprotected individuals at his whim. He could not see everybody at any time and did not try.
The Witch King had watched the negotiations between Kouran Darkhand and that insufferable German though, given that the Germans were potentially the biggest threat to him and his realm.
At first he had been somewhat relieved when the Germans did not try to claim more than the small piece of Naggaroth denied to him anyway. He was not too happy when the Darkhand snapped and tried to kill the German soldier, this Vos. It would have been a quick, painless death, and Malekith needed more information about the German intentions.
He had been aghast how easily the soldier managed to defeat one of his very best fighters. And then came the moment when his mind, always under pressure from the hate Malekith harbored for anything and everybody broke from the bounds the Witch King maintained so carefully.
"Let kings and demons tremble, I am a German citizen."
That was too much, that was such an arrogance thrown in Malekith's face and such an accurate description of the new times that he flew into a terrible rage. A wordless scream silenced every voice in the Tower of Cold and eldritch lightning broke from the tower's pinnacle.
The rage pushed a decision the Witch King had postponed for some time now. As long as there was some hope that Kouran Darkhand could recapture Neustadt and save at least some of the manufacturing there he could stay his hand. Now all such hopes were gone and the Germans decided to interfere. Did they believe that he would cower in fear of their warriors and their sun bombs? Oh no, he would not. He would show them why he was feared by all and why he was called the Witch King. He would put that fear into their hearts and show every slave in Naggaroth that revolts could end in just one way. one way. He would wreck such a desolation that the Germans would not dare to use their sun bombs out of fear of his retaliation.
Retrieving a key held inside a pocket in his armor the Witch King opened a chest that had been closed for more than a century. A casket inside opened when claw-like fingers pressed the right places and words of power soothed wards that would consume anybody who tried to open it otherwise. A small bag inside held a gem of purest black, etched with runes in a language forgotten by the world around it. It contained the souls of so many male mages that Malekith had sacrificed when he learned of the prophesy that a male Druchii mage would kill him. Stepping into the elaborate circle of warding that was etched into the tower's floor Malekith aligned his mind with the forces of the Empyrean. The words and sounds that came from his mouth would have seared the ears of any mortal listener, the flames that rose from the circles sigils burned the very air they touched. The Tower of Cold lit up like a torch that burned Wytchfire and screams could be heard by every living being in Naggrond, but would fail to show up on any electronic listening device.
Malekith did not hesitate a second before he crushed the crystal in his armored glove. The souls captured within emerged from their prison and were forced to enhance the powers of the being called the Witch King a hundredfold.
The town itself seemed to hold its collective breath when a beam of blackness rose from the Tower of Cold, pierced the clouds above and ripped the sky asunder.
Neustadt, Naggaroth
Thorgrimm Steinier was outnumbered, out of his depth, and surrounded. The threats were of a kind he had not dealt with before and used underhand tactics. He was out of allies too. Joakim Vos was about to explain the new realities of life to the dandelion eaters and von der Marwitz supervised strengthening Neustadt's defences.
So it had fallen to the stout Dawi to shore up the former slave's morale and this Anja had brought him here. Here being one of Neustadt's largest cantinas, where he found himself surrounded by children. Children of all ages and sexes , joyous children, children who were afraid and the others. The others who tried to pull his beard at every occasion, who shouted questions or who tried to offer him something to eat. Some of them tried to climb his power armour before their minders pulled them off.
There was one reason and one reason only why he tolerated this circus: The Dawi were not a very fertile race and those children who were born often did not survive the harsh life in the Karaks. Children were a treasure, cherished and to be protected at all costs. And here were so very many of them, threatened by the Druchii who would work them close to death before using them as sacrifices. If he had needed another reason to see this mission through he had found it in spades.
The kid before him had eyes the size of saucers and was simply overwhelmed by it all. Tears ran down her face and she was unable to say anything comprehensible. She stood rooted in his way and would not move.
Thorgrimm grabbed her and lifted her into the crook of his arm, the power armor stabilizing her nicely.
"No need to fash yourself lassie, we are here now. Nobody will harm you now."
And for a short moment of eternal beauty the girl smiled.
That was when the alarms went off.
The Empyrean
The cave seemed endless, with a ceiling so high up that it was mostly hidden in the smoke that filled the upper levels. The walls were so far away that their features were a bit blurred. The denizens of the cave knew them to be of deepest black, with jags and protrusions of infinite sharpness. The ground beneath their hooves and claws was a mix of sharp gravel and coarse sand that would flay the skin of any mortal. The air was unbearably hot and stank of heated blood. There were red puddles and a river of blood that ran through the cave's middle. It stank from the heat and the things that lurked within. Magic kept the red liquid from congealing and magic kept the beings in the cave alive. They liked it just fine, when they did not fight themselves in an endless orgy of duels and battles. They had no need for a cause, fighting was the goal, not the means.
As all denizens of the Warp they were sustained by the emotional and mental exertions of the mortals. Like all entities of the Empyrean they were specialized, they were best fed by a limited set of emotions and deeds. These ran on violence, on killing and combat. They did not care who fought whom, who died, and whose blood was spilled, all that mattered was that it happened.
They were Khorne's children and they lusted for the next fight.
It was the mighty Bloodthirsters who felt something first. Bestial visages turned this way and that, giant lungs inhaled deeply so that they might get a scent of what had drawn their attention. The Bloodletters became even more agitated, even more willing to hurt those closest to them, eager for any chance to sate their eternal hunger. The hounds gnashed their teeth and looked for the source of the ozone that suddenly suffused the air. A ball of lightning formed above the cave's floor, burning anything below it. It grew into a ring, showing a field of stars inside. When the ring finally touched the ground the picture inside moved rapidly, until it showed a mortal city. A strange one, covered in soot and with many boxy, unadorned buildings. It did not matter to the demons, the many humans and the promise of a fight in the real world did. For far too long they had not rendered mortal bodies, had not heard human cries, and smelled their blood.
They were many, they lusted for battle and blood, and they did not care whom they had the chance to fight. They knew that their time in the mundane world would be limited, they would make the most of it. Hooves tore into the ground and claws fought for purchase on the otherworldly floor of the tunnel that led to a massacre.
