A.N: Feel free to comment on the story, of course. That goes for every chapter. While I have a basic plan in my head, there will be parts that are made up spontaneously in order to tie my basic plot together, and there might be things that aren't interesting, or don't make sense, etc.
Feel free to tell me if you find any flaws like that, or if you have anything else you notice that you'd like me to know about.
The city was in turmoil now. A thick fog, bending and changing colours in impossible ways, settled over the roads and paved streets so that seeing your fingers when you outstretched your arm was more luck than focus. The sky was a swirling mist of luminous green, forming an eye like that of a hurricane where the comet itself had punched through the clouds and extending in a maelstrom across the sky.
Periodically, a lash of lightning would fall like a lance from this whirlpool, and the effect it had on whatever it touched was seemingly random; when this force hit a rooftop, it blew through it and sent chalk and brick flying like an explosive, but when it engulfed a cart of fruits, melting away the cart and letting them spill out, the apples and pears grew long, slender legs and maws rimmed with teeth and attacked anything nearby.
Naturally, the streets were almost empty. Those who had not succumbed to the madness and taint fled to their homes and hid behind closed doors, and any who were taken by the mutative forces were surely hidden in the darkest crevices, making sure the society they had once called their own could not see them in their sorry state. That did not stop four men from braving this chaos, however; a head of a torch crackled proudly in the fog, which was now a light pink-red mist, and three men followed behind it. The leader stepped into the light.
He was an old man, maybe in his fifties, with a jawline that looked to be crafted by a sculptor. He had a pair of smooth chalk-grey sideburns which were coated in dust and debris – probably from some destruction from somewhere in the city proper. He wore the maroon-and-dark-green garb of Hochland and held up a long-barrelled pistol, all moving cogs and gears, which probed the fog tentatively.
The two men that followed him were both well-built; a few hundred pounds of muscle, without a doubt. They walked through the fog, each holding a shield close, each bringing their swords to bear in terror against whatever shadow, creak or squeal of an animal that they thought might've been a danger to them. The man reached a large wooden building, rectangular and with two huge, red doors; enough to fit a cart inside. It was the size of an old barn, but in the upper-class district of the city it couldn't be, no. This was the Olde Lucky Lot, an inn and bar before the calamity, and the group used it as a safe-haven both because it was large and easy to escape from, but also because it reminded them of a better time… and in such a situation, the mind needs to be defended as vehemently as the body. The leader looked up at the sign that hung in an arch above the doors, shed a small smile, and turned to one of the bodyguards, and spoke with a crudeness:
"Bring up Little Lady!"
The bodyguard nodded, turned and whistled. A small, wiry figure stumbled out of the fog, breathing so heavily that his lungs could've blown right there as he dragged a large satchel behind him.
"Open the gate." The head of the party called. The small man struggled further on with the bag until he reached the door, dropped it, and fumbled nervously with a chain around his neck for a big, bronze key. He opened the padlock that sealed the gate and let it swing open.
"How much did we get our hands on, boy?" The leader called again, with a certain disregard. The man stumbled over his words, and the leader grumbled impatiently and raised a backhand. Little Lady recoiled back, yelping:
"I don't know, sir! Fifteen blocks, maybe twenty!" He bleated, "I haven't had the chance to weigh it!"
The leader shook his head and beckoned the three inside, before closing the door and having Little Lady seal it shut. Then the leader strolled off out of sight, up a set of stairs. Little Lady and the two others followed him into the building.
Inside, the building was poorly-lit, so as to not attract attention. There were two tables, each with a small oil-lamp, but nothing special. On one table, a checkers board lay unattended, with black and white pieces coating the floor beneath. On the other, a mug of beer was sat. The group had no chance to make their own, of course, and this was so old and so exposed to the elements that it no longer frothed at all, and had long since settled so that it looked like…
Little Lady sat down, and lifted it for inspection. He strained his narrow eyes even further in order to see it, and with hesitation took a sniff with two small nostrils.
Piss. It smelt of piss.
He drank from it anyway, breathing out deeply. He rarely got the chance to rest, only when the two bodyguards went through the process of storing their looted wyrdstone with the rest, in the cellar beneath the building. Every piece of furniture that wasn't vital was broken up and used as a blockade to keep the tainted energy out…
Little Lady sighed, placing his rifle on the table and stroking his pale, bony limbs. He knew it wouldn't work, even as he stared at the splintered chair legs here and the half-a-table there. He saw the bodyguards taking two handfuls of the stones each, using their shields as platters to avoid touching it directly. Then they shovelled it into the cellar, like workers shovelling coal into a furnace.
Little Lady spun around on the chair, so that he was facing the outside. He stared through the gap in one of the windows, where light seeped in between the curtains. Then he spoke, with a young and tender voice:
"Why do we even bother? That stuff messes with people, man."
"We're told'ta!" One of the bodyguards declared with pride. "We're gonna be rich, don't you know? Rich like all of them lords and somesuch!"
Little Lady got up, waddling over to the wall opposite the tables and next to the cellar trap-door. He could smell… well, whatever the stone wanted him to smell, and he spat in disgust. He leant against the wall, bringing his knife up to a blackboard which, in some other time, would display the meal of the day. Indeed, "Fresh-cooked Clam with spinach – only 3 marks!" was still engraved in it. Beneath this was a set of crosses, each one with a name above it. Little Lady bent over with a wince, carving two more crosses and then, with delicacy and precision, the names "Fegar" and "Roddenhoff." He sniffled in sadness, wiping his eyes with a finger and licking it.
He tasted the salt of a tear, and turned to glance at the bodyguards. They had finished their task and now sat on either end of the checkers board, struggling in vain to figure out what they were supposed to do.
By Sigmar… don't cry, don't cry.
He stood and slid out through the open door, smirking at the frustrated grunts and moaning from behind him. He sat down on the edge of an upturned cart, holding his rifle by the end of the barrel with the stock planted into the ground. He breathed in. The air tasted of sugar. He sniffed, and a strong scent of elderflower caught him off-guard.
Then, he looked around, and could've sworn he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He glanced around with wide eyes. He saw the edge of a robe sliding around the corner of one building, then the back of a hood, hanging out of a doorway before being pulled up by some hand. He lifted his rifle, standing up in a panic. He couldn't see anything.
There was a snap behind him; a twig, It must've been. He turned with a yelp, firing off a shot that went wide…
It hit the bodyguard's round-top helmet at an angle, ricocheting off and casting sparks into the air. The bodyguard snorted like a bull, enraged. Then his glare melted into a cocky smile.
"You're losin' your edge, Li'l Lady. I thought you could shoot straight!" He laughed heartily, trying to dissolve the fear of death that was in his brutish voice.
It was true. He could shoot straight – very well in fact. Little Lady was a handgunner at heart, and even though he was young the Captain had brought him along for that skill. There were rumours going around among those he worked with; that he was trained by Dwarves; that he could shear the tip off a goblin's ear at two hundred yards. He dismissed them all.
"What do you want, Rorik?"
"Boss wants us all inside. He's gon' reveal the plan'ta us."
"The plan?" He found himself grinning… finally they could get their job done and leave this hell. He followed Rorik inside.
Inside, the Captain and the other bodyguard were stood around the table. The checkers-board had been replaced by a map, painstakingly drawn up with quill. Its corners were curled from frequent use. It was a map of the layout of Mordheim, and a thick red circle highlighted something in the north-west quadrant. It looked to be a chapel. Little Lady looked on as the Captain spoke.
"Time has come, boys." He declared. "The pigeon's come back in with a message from our Count. We're getting reinforced, and we're going to hit the biggest stock of Wyrdstone this side of the Chaos Wastes!" He planted his pistol down so that the barrel was pointing into the red circle. "Our count's gonna get enough money to buy out the whole Empire – let alone fight for it! For Reikland!"
He raised a fist into the air and the bodyguards did too. Little Lady followed suit with hesitance, before murmuring tentatively:
"That's where the Sisterhood is based…"
"A good observation!" The Captain laughed at the boy's expense. "What of it?"
"We're on the same side, aren't we?" He pointed at the Imperial insignia on the map with renewed passion. "We can't hurt them. Why should we? It only hurts our cause!"
"Nonsense, lad. The Sisterhood has not only failed," he gestured about him, at the ruined insides of the inn; at the outside, where the mist had turned a deep sea-green and the smell of the air had tried its hardest to mimic a pile of sewage. "But they are corrupt, it is to be assumed, by the Chaos that has taken hold. We do a kindness to each one we kill."
Little Lady began to speak again, but the glare of the Captain blunted his offensive.
"The men arrive within the next two days! Clean your armour, and your weapons; we're going to use the sewers to get in." The bodyguards exchanged bewildered glances. "You see, my intellectually challenged friends, the sewers have long since been abandoned."
Little Lady watched the Captain's fingers run along the path of the sewers as he spoke. It ran all the way from the central market-square to beneath the chapel, before splitting into a fan that snaked throughout the city and beyond. It was the fastest, and safest, means of travel since the calamity, and a fine place from which to spring an ambush…
10/04/2016 A/N
Sorry anyone reading this, but I've got exams coming up in just over a month, so I doubt I'll be able to add more to this for quite some time. I might get an update out at some point, but just assume I won't for the next month or so. I'll start writing again when exams are over. Thanks.