Before Neustadt

The drone followed the wake of the storm. It was an unnatural, very brief and localized storm, forced on nature by several mages in order to dispel a DawiZharr made fog. The drone was small, with a wingspan of scarcely more than a meter and an engine with barely more power than a moped. It did not carry the slightest bit of armor and no weapons. The sensors mounted on its underside were very good though and it provided one of the most valuable commodities on the battlefield: information.

It had been launched from Wolf One, Ulrich Stoiber's tank and the tank commander watched the drone's pictures on his monitor intently.
He saw the marching blocks of Chaos Dwarf infantry and was not worried. His tanks were well equipped against footsloggers and the infantry on his side were in a very different league as soldiers and equipment-wise than their DawiZharr counterparts. There were more of the Battlemechs that he had seen at the World's Edge Mountains before. They were dangerous to infantry and thinly-armored light vehicles, but not against main battle tanks. They used low-velocity cannon and autocannon, unguided missiles and machine guns. His tanks outranged all of them comfortably, he could destroy them before they ever became dangerous. He marked the Warhammers and Marauders spotted by the drone, they had to go first. He was about to commit a fire plan to his battle management system when the fog revealed more.
Very bushy eyebrows contracted when Stoiber had a look at the newly revealed units. They were quite different. Eight-legged and closer to the ground they would present a much smaller profile to the front that might even be decently armored. What concerned him much more was the artillery piece that rode on the back of those mechs.

He shared the view with his gunner before using the intercom.
"Frank, what do you think about that gun on those multi-legged golems?"
The answer was a deep growl.
"Looks like six inch or up to me skipper. If they are good and get line-of-sight it might get dicey."
Ulrich's face contorted to something that would be a smile on somebody not touched by the God of War. Here and now it just exposed a lot of very sharp teeth.
"Seems we have a real fight on our hands then, let's see if we still remember how to handle it the old-fashioned way."
He ended that sentence by punching the first button on commo panel.
"Paladin Actual, this is Wolfpack Actual. We just received new intel on the OPFOR, their bigger units carry heavy artillery. I don't believe they can penetrate our frontal armor, but they'll have enough explosive filler to blow major parts off our tanks if they hit. Power-armored or not, you do not want to be close when these fraggers open up. I propose I take the Wolfpack out and make it a moving engagement. If they can hit us when we are evasive, they have earned their kill."
Digital communications meant the answer was a (as not a) clear as if Joakim Vos had been sitting in the seat beside him.
"Wolfpack Actual, this is Paladin Actual. Make it so, we will defend this ridgeline. I have some missile teams on standby, so do try not to look too much like a battlemech, will ya?"
"Paladin One, solid copy."

Stoiber switched channels before speaking again.
"Wolfpack four, this is Wolfpack actual. Keep back from the ridgeline and kill anything flying that does not have wings. The rest of us, we close with the enemy and take them out. Wolf two, you take left, three right, I'll go to the center. The multi-legged mechs are priority. Make it a waving approach, don't let them hit you. Wolfpack, up and at them."
And with that three engines went from a deep rumble to a threatening roar. Even more powerful than those which drove Leopard 2s they allowed the three tanks to accelerate like sports cars. Making huge rooster tails of snow they emerged from concealment and charged the mass of Battlemechs before them.

On top of Goliath Battlemech, before Neustadt

Ernutan Doomshackler was worried sick, to the point where he had to consciously work on keeping it from his subordinates. The news of his former army, the one burning their way to Naggarond, had finally reached him. Those stout DawiZharr warriors had succumbed to the mercenary's perfidy and been bombarded into oblivion without any chance to fight back.
There was an ominous silence from ZharrNaggrund as well, he had no idea what that meant. Well, the capital could not just disappear, that had to be a communications problem.

Much, much worse was that he had no news of his one and only love, Lord Mordred. He would not know what to do if he received confirmation of Mordred's death. He just knew that his Lord was not an ordinary mortal, he was as cunning, strong, and wise as he was beautiful. He would have escaped Malekith's treachery in ways that a simple DawiZharr like himself could never fathom.
And he had appeared in Ernutan's dreams every night, had told him how much Mordred trusted him, loved him for his dedication and counted on him seeing the Lord's orders through. And that he would or die trying.
He was not too worried about the battle ahead though. From his howdah he could see several rows of his golems, heavily armored and equipped with the newest weapons forged in ZharrNaggrund. They rose far above the ground, striding over the battlefield like demigods of warfare. Most were the same that had fought at that cursed pass in the World Edge Mountains, but there were two new types. One was a Mech Lord Mordred's pet Germans called Locust. Very fast it was armed with machine guns only they were supreme spotters. They would dance around the enemy and mark them for his Goliaths. He had seen what their heavy howitzer could do and he was convinced that the eight of them would reduce the enemy to the point where his infantry could handle them with ease.
So far, they had not spotted the enemy, they were likely cowering behind that ridgeline, awaiting their doom.
The roar was loud enough to penetrate the clamor by Ernutan's Mechs. It came from the front and was accompanied by three tanks that raced towards his army. Only three of them, barely reaching the knee height of his Golems. They might be the match of the older Golems, but against so many and his Goliaths they would surely lose.

Wolf One MBT, before Neustadt

A long time ago on a different world the West German Bundeswehr faced what many thought an impossible mission. Their potential enemy had more modern tanks than they had. The older German tanks were considered glass cannons, able to kill any tank from nearly any angle, but unable to take hits themselves. So, they developed tactics to defy these odds.
Lying in ambush and destroying a few T-somethings from afar with their better rangefinders was well enough, but sooner or later they would have to counterattack. They had a drill for that too, maximizing the strengths of their Leopard 1 tanks while hiding its weakness. The old Ulrich Stoiber would not have drilled his unit in tactics against enemies that they would conceivably never face. The one in the commander's seat had been gestated before Middenheim, born in the worst hours of Skavenblight and baptized in the blood of a Chaos-mutated Aurochs he had slain himself. That Ulrich Stoiber would drill himself and his people in all and any ways they could fight their iron steeds. It was a fitting indicator about the state of this world that they now needed to use the tactics meant to win against a potentially superior foe.

The huge diesel in Wolf One's front pulled at the tracks with more than 2000 horsepower, propelling the heavy tank at breakneck speed. They did not approach the enemy head-on, but closed at a 45-degree angle. The shortening range and the ever-changing azimuth would challenge any but the most advanced fire control systems. Yet Ulrich did not try to run circles around his enemy, the tank changed tack every so often. That threw the enemy's aim off sufficiently that none of the tanks had been hit so far.
They were quite the sight, roaring over the battlefield, in bright sunlight followed by huge rooster tails of snow, and surrounded by the fiery poplar shapes of artillery impacts.

And yet they were not just trying not to be hit. Ulrich Stoiber designated targets on the monitor before him, transferring them to his gunner. Frank used his stabilized optics to establish a range and obtain a solution while his commander looked for the next target. When the MBT changed course the huge muzzle of their gun swept past the intended target. The gunner could have taken the shot himself, but the fire control gear did it a little better. Even the 60 tons of Wolf One shook when the 140 mm gun roared. A fat, tubular round left the barrel at nearly two kilometers per second. A few meters past the muzzle the aluminum sabot broke away, releasing a slender stainless-steel dart that sliced through the air guided by thin fins. The dart's flight was a short one, ending in the broad chest of a Warhammer. The steel jacket penetrated the thin armor with ease, breaking apart in several pieces and heating up to the point where the metal itself started to burn. In doing so it released the dart's payload into the Mech and activated the pound of Warpstone at the same time. The Warhammer's torso was filled with a green, magical fire that leaked out from any gap. It was immediately followed by the explosion of whatever ammunition the Battlemech had stored within. Its head and arms were tossed for many meters, the torso ripped itself apart into many unrecognizable parts. The legs and the hip that joined them tumbled for a second before they dropped into the deep snow. By the time they came to rest Wolf One had claimed another victim, killing a Crusader before he even fired a single missile.

Despite having an autoloader Wolf One still had a four-person crew. Ulrich had found it difficult to operate a drone and command his tank at the same time, let alone a platoon of MBT when he still commanded a Leo 2. So, the new tank had gained a drone operator. Dirk had sent the small plane-like drone to land at Neustadt, which freed him to take over the remote weapons station on top of the turret. Like all good footsloggers the Chaos Stumpies had gone to ground when the big boys came out to play. They white smocks did hide them reasonably well from being spotted by Mk1 eyeballs. They still stood out like sore thumbs on the infrared though, and that was a very bad place to be. The RWS sported both a machine gun and a 40 mm grenade launcher.
He applied both liberally on any cluster of hot spots where infantry might hide. The results were beyond ugly as the snow they tried to hide themselves in did not stop a single bullet or fragment. Being under effective fire from an enemy they could not see and without any weapons with which they could fight back they were living a soldier's nightmare.

Killing several Mechs allowed Wolf One a clear shot at one of the multilegged artillery platforms for the first time. It was an easy shot by Ulrich's standard, with a range of no more than a kilometer, at a target that was about to hunker down and good visibility on the thermal imager. The shot shook the heavy tank, punctured by Frank's "On the way". He had not finished when the round hit the belly of the beast, causing a green flash. The release of raw magical energies was enough to push the demon powering the Golem into the warp and the machine dropped back to the ground. The green fire burned fiercely for a few seconds more, causing flickering shadows to appear even in broad daylight, before something inside caused a series of explosions.
Stoiber saw none of this as his attention was taken by a quartet of hulking Battlemechs that looked positively hunchbacked with their huge shoulder-mounted missile launchers. A part of his brain calmly identified them as Archers while he shouted orders to evade to his driver and his hand slammed down on a switch before him. He realized a second later that evading was not really going to do any good when 160 missiles rained down all over his tank. Something was going to hit. No matter how fast and skillful his driver moved the heavy vehicle about. Shockwaves and fragments hammered Wolf One's sides and an almighty bang announced the direct hit of a missile at the same time when several screens around him went black as night.

He pushed the same switch again while he engaged the intercom.
"Everybody ok in here?"
His screens started showing something but black when their armored shutters opened again. His earphones were filled with the growls of acknowledgements.
The only answer that contained more than wordless, angry affirmation was Frank's
"The fuckers blew the crosswind sensor. I have the wind down pat, I'll dial it in by hand and teach them."
Wolf One's autoloader would ram a 140 mm round into the smoking breach every six seconds, and that was pretty much the time the tank's crew took between each Archer kill. Weaving like mad, underrunning consecutive missile salvos and surrounded by near misses the MBT charged the Mechs, killing one every time their gun aligned on one. The crew sounded off in something that sounded a bit like cheering wolves before passing the Archer's position. They were still doing so when the fist of God lifted the back of their ride up and slammed it down again, hammering the suspension to the stops. Even Ulrich's enhanced physique would not have saved him from injury, but for the fact that his seat resembled a swing that actually hung from the tank's roof. Carefully designed suspensions dropped the tanker by 30 cm, spreading the shock till its peak was survivable for an ordinary human.

Ulrich's crews were no mere mortals and growled. The driver kept the tank straight for a few seconds to stabilize the tracks on their wheels, then slowed the right one considerably. Everybody on board braced themselves and held their breath. If the track broke or slipped off the wheels they would be immobile on a battlefield where standing still was just another phrase meaning about to die.
Wolf One was driving on Diehl tracks, made by the company who arguably made the best in two worlds and their steed charged like nothing had ever happened. The tank's turn brought another Goliath in view. This time the tank was so close that they could see mechanical arms and Stumpie loaders struggling to reload the huge gun. They would never finish as Wolf One's gun sent a round directly into the Mech's right leg. The latter practically disintegrated, dropping mechanical parts and DawiZharr into the blackened snow while the very steel of their former ride started to burn. There was another Goliath right behind the first one, its cannon turning towards them.
Ulrich Stoiber's reaction was as instinctive as it was immediate.

"Robert, circle to the left, step on it. Frank, take this fragger from my sight."
Again, the tank changed course rapidly, in fact so fast that the gun on the Goliath had trouble following them. The chase did not last long, just long enough for another round to be loaded.
The computer's synthetic "Up" was followed by Frank's "on the way" that blended into the roar of the gun. When the tank had cleared the dust thrown up by the muzzle blast the Mech was already dropping into the ground like a puppet bereft of its strings.
Try as they might Wolf One's crew failed to find any functional Mech after that kill. Making their way through the columns of fire and smoke they set a course towards Neustadt.

In the snow before Goliath Battlemech, close to Neustadt

Ernutan Doomshackler woke up to a nightmare. His head might hurt, his ears might detect only muted sounds and the world might turn, but he could hardly miss that his army had been smashed. The mighty Golems had been toppled and ripped apart, the demons that powered them ejected into the Warp. He could not see any of the soldiers that had accompanied them. Even his diminished hearing would have detected the orders shouted by the true dwarven leaders, but none could be heard. Instead there were the screams of the wounded, the heavy breathing of the dying, and the roar of burning Golems. It was the sound of his failure to carry out Lord Mordred's orders.
He nearly choked at the thought of having to tell his beloved Lord that he had not secured the supplies to carry out his great crusade. The mere inkling that his leader would doubt Ernutan's devotion was bringing taears to the DawiZharr's eyes. And it was not to be, he would caout those orders he had been given. He vomited on his first attempt to get up, on his second he levered himself up on some debris. Turning his head so very slowly to avoid another bout of puking he found the enemy battle line. He drew his revolver, the very one presented to him by Mordred himself and shouted hoarsely.

"Lord Mordred and no quarter. Follow me true dwarves."
And with that he forced his legs to run towards the enemy that was so far off and hard to see. He was short of breath and the snow slowed every step. Ernutan never looked back, too afraid to check how few warriors had survived his bungling. He simply drew burning breath after burning breath and forced his rubbery legs to make one more step. And with every meter he made it forward he screamed his undying love to Lord Mordred till something that felt like a glowing hammer hit his chest.
The sniper who got him called it a mercy killing.

Tower of Cold Naggarond

The being at the other end of the hall, the one occupying the place that belonged to Malekith and Malekith only was usurped by a being that was a beautiful in the real as it was ugly in the Empyrean. The body was like poetry given shape and graceful motion, the soul that resided in it displayed that the wishes and desires of its owner were the only yardstick it would ever apply to its actions. In that regard it was quite similar to the Witch King's own, but this one added an infinite appetite for lust and sensations to Malekith's iron resolve to rule, not be ruled. And while Malekith had long forgotten how he had looked when he was still hale the soul bore traces that he recognized. Son? Maybe, but far more importantly the being that masqueraded as a true elf was a powerful male mage, the very being prophesized to kill the Witch King.
It was distracting enough that Malekith had no eyes for his guards who stood as if rooted to their spots, gazing at the scene before them with eyes of the purest white. The Witch King was not wasting a single thought on them, he was about to unleash hell. Ever since he had been robbed of his birthright, the Phoenix Throne, and had burned in the oh-so-holy flame his mind had been a cesspool of burning pain and hatred that wanted to consume his mind at every given moment. Only his willpower kept these titanic emotions in check and over the years he had learned to use them. Strong emotions always had a connection to the Empyrean and it had allowed him to become the Witch King.
All the hatred, all the pain screeched for an outlet and for a brief moment he allowed them one. Channeled into the Warp they ripped a hole in the real that allowed black lighting to race down Malekith's arms, arcing through the air, grounding at the very spot this son stood.
The lighting would have burned any mortal who dared to use them to ash just from the effort to create and control them. They heated Malekith's vambraces to the point where they smoked and burned the scary skin fused to them.

Their very passing killed many of the guards who lined the path between the Witch King and his target. Even more burned to a cinder when a multicolored shield surrounded his target, seemingly as solid as a soap bubble. It reflected a lot of the energy that hit it, burning age-old mosaics and veteran Druchii with equal ease. Others expanded the bubble surrounding Mordred and making its colors swirl faster and brighter. Their smallest part went through and touched the beautiful body. It contorted as if in the depths of an orgasm and a scream of pure joy echoed through the Tower of Cold.

The fires of Malekith's hatred were stoked by the wanton display and he poured more of himself into the onslaught. The sigils on his armor started to glow an evil red, his eyes turned into fiery pits of hatred. Mordred's shield expanded even more, becoming flimsier by the moment. The many banners of regiments serving the Witch King, the skins of those who had recently displeased him, priceless relics of the old home in Ulthuan, they all burned to ashes before Malekith's limitless hate. Flames licked up the walls and smoke darkened the high ceiling. Mordred was on his knees by now, his skin blistering in the heat that bypassed his defenses. Sweat marred the perfect brow and flaxen hair was matted down. Silken cloth started to smolder and real pain, the unwanted kind, disfigured a lovely face.

Moredred's shield would fail, fail soon and then one of the very few things that Malekith had feared for so long would be g…
There was no pain, not as such. It was a bit like the coldest ice that had ever touched the Witch King's skin, but only for the briefest of moments. From the point where it had touched Malekith's back the cold radiated out, leaving simply nothing behind. No pain, no cold, no sensation at all. From the point of impact something consumed any feeling and any control Malekith had over his own body. He lost control over his limbs, so the black lighting played over walls and ceiling, sending obsidian shards all over the place while he dropped on the ground. He came to rest on his back, only able to look up. Then he saw his assailant, despite the smoke, and the awkward perspective.
The legs that were so close to his face were encased in tightly fitting boots, there was a great deal of perfect skin to see above them. He knew the face that looked down at him better than any other, Morathi was his mother after all.
Her voice was cold and full of disdain.

"You really should have listened when I told you of other powers that vied for our attention. I hinted, I allowed you great insights, I gave valuable advice and what did you do? Threaten to kill me, your own mother. And now look at you, helpless as a kitten, without an ally in this world. Don't despair, you won't suffer long here, I cannot speak about the one behind the veil though. You have disappointed the Prince so much and Khaine does not care for failures."
Morathi went from his sight, only appearing in the periphery of his vision now and then. He heard the scratching of chalk on the floor, smelled the burned bone that made it up, and knew she was preparing a ritual.
Any other mage would have needed to concentrate on every sigil written on the ground, on every step and every incantation. Morathi had invented or discovered most of the spells used by Druchii mages, she could prattle on while she worked.

"I am around for longer than any other true elf in Naggaroth, I have left my seeds in every lineage of any importance in Naggarond, and I have tasted members from every family there is or ever was. And that gives me power over them Malekith, a power you could have used instead of brute force and intimidation. But that would not be Khaine, wouldn't it? Oh no, why would you bind someone with the promise of a few moments of joy when you can just threaten to murder him and anyone he ever knew?
We could have used the Hung, not fought them. They are beholden to the Prince of Pleasure and I am high in his favor, though not as high as I will be when we are done here. You could have used Malus Darkblade's army against the DawiZharr. I could have enticed this Torsten Breitkop to do your bidding, he has already accepted one of my playthings into his house. But no, you had to send Kouran Darkhand, who knew just one way to solve all and any problems, with that bloody halberd he loved so much.
You would have lost our realm to the Germans Malekith and that will not do. Them we cannot frighten, we need to entice them and you cannot do that, it is not you. After five millennia of grooming I have given you up as a lost cause, I will need to find another to rule for me. And the Prince has provided me with a suitable candidate.
So, I allowed the citizens of your city to loosen up a little, to finally give in to their very nature that they had to suppress for so long under your rule. And lo and behold it brought you from your precious tower, so I could lay the groundwork for a change of the guard. Give Khaine my kindest regards my son, it has been an interesting time."

As if summoned by that Mordred hobbled into the Witch Kings field of view. In all the hatred, the confusion, frustration and helplessness Malekith could feel a measure of vindication from the wounds his son had suffered at his hands.
The voice from the formerly beautiful face was hoarse and belied pain.
"You could have taken better care of that body father, I will use that thing for a while you know."
Malekith's rage was always a power to behold, now it consumed every conscious thought the Witch King might form. As he had no command of his body it was a silent rage, a firestorm that blazed through his mind. His eyes saw that he was moved about a bit, he smelled the burned blood and heard incantations alien even to him. Sigils glowing the deepest black rose from the ground and started to circle in his field of view. Their dance meant something, but his rage kept him from deciphering their meaning.

And then he felt the first thoughts and memories that were not his when more and more of Mordred entered his mind.. The first ones were of the recent past, he saw his mother in orgies with the being who called himself his son. He saw pacts made and sealed in ways that would have turned even his stomach if he still commanded his intestines. There was a vision of a strange German, first man, then woman. He/she was set up to be very unstable and others were enticed to gang-rape her as a trigger. He/She had responded as planned and killed many of the DawiZharr who might object to Mordred's/Malekith's plans to remake the Druchii in Slaaneshe's image. He saw the visions of the future, one where not-Malekith would greet the mercenaries who were finally on their way to rescue him. He would use them to regain control over Naggarond and the rest of his realm with the exception of Neustadt. He would placate the Germans while suborning the Mercenaries like only an Avatar of Slaanesh could. And all the while the special children Mordred had ordered breeding would grow into their places into the new and improved true elven society, one given to the Prince of Pleasure.

What was left of Malekith saw Moredred's plans and his rage turned cold. He knew that these were his last moments in the real, that he would be with Khaine shortly. He would not leave his mother and son with the fruits of their treason, not when he was capable of thwarting them. Summoning the last vestiges of his once great magic he unleashed a last gout of Warpfire, one meant to consume his very body, and with a little luck Morathi and Mordred with him. His last thought in this world was the wonder that the pain could still increase.

Unimog Truck, before Naggarond

The walls before Areta Bane were of the sheerest obsidian, crowned by spikes, and drenched in the blood of thousands. Their very sight had taken any hope from the slaves that passed them and frightened all enemies so much that there had never been a serious siege of Malekith's capital. They would have been far more impressive if the mercenary officer would not know how hideously vulnerable they were to modern weapons, or if the gates to the city would have been guarded. No once (one not once) challenged the truck-mounted column when it made its way into the city.

They were greeted by what seemed to be the aftermath of an unending orgy crossed with a civil war. There were Druchii bodies everywhere, and their corpses bore testimony of horrible tortures. The drainage ditch alongside the road was colored by dried blood and the stench of rotting meat filled the air. The few Druchii spotted that were still alive moved listlessly, as if in the depths of a nasty hangover. Whatever had brought them to the depth of madness was gone and they looked lost in their own city.

Areta's trucks made their way between the dead, the huge tires rolling over those in the way when no other route was to be had. The columns of infantry that secured the trucks on both sides stopped bayoneting every putative corpse after the first hundred or so, there was no need. All around them burned-out buildings could hide a million threats and did not, whatever survivors they met lacked even the energy to run away.
The entrance to the Tower of Cold mimicked the city gates, bereft of defenses and beckoning them into the darkness. A platoon from the Night Shift entered Malekith's seat of power first and Areta used the time they needed to scout the place to establish a defensive perimeter.
It was Ivil Bloodcrest who made his way to the trucks that held Areta and Wolfgang Böhler. The normally taciturn leader of the Wild Geese Special Forces Battalion looked unsettled and his voice reflected that.

"General Böhler, there is no threat I can detect, but for Malekith and his mother. And they look seriously singed, they must have had a hell of a fight in the Tower. They managed to kill Lord Mordred and some guards he managed to turn. The Witch King orders you to come before him with all haste, he wants to discuss safeguarding his realm. He seems to be in as good a mood as can be expected from him, but he is as likely to kill you as to commend you. And I cannot protect you if he decides to off you, even in as bad a shape as he looks to be in now."
He saw his General's shoulders sag for a moment before Böhler straightened up again.
"He will be even more dangerous if we decline his invitation. And his displeasure at me might bleed over to you people, so no dice. Let's meet our employer, shall we?"

Areta knew Wolfgang Böhler for over a decade now, knew that she would not budge him once he had decided. That this would go double if he thought the safety of his people were in question was just one more reason why she was that loyal to him. If madness was the order of the day she should do it by the numbers still.
"Ivil, do you have a squad ready to protect the General?"
The former assassin's shrug told her how much he thought that protection was worth.
"Third squad is prepared and I will attach myself to it. How about you?"
"I'll have my people keep the perimeter and prepare some nice, fat charges if things go south. If the Witch King kills us my people will bring the Tower of Cold down on his head. Might give us a bargaining chip, who knows. I'll be with you as well."
Ivil Bloodcrest gave an appreciative nod at that.
Wolfgang Böhler looked at them, smiled, shook his head and saluted them both.
"Let's get to it then."
And with that, in the center of a dozen killers, the Wild Geese command entered the Tower of Cold.

The Tower had been an impressive and frightening edifice a few days before. It had been of a sparse, lethal beauty, with few decorations and embellishments. Smooth, seamless walls of obsidian, perfectly forged lamp holders and mosaics in gray and black had been fused into a perfect stage for the Witch King. Now that walls were marred by deep scars, slabs of black stone lay on the floor, scattered into razor-sharp pieces. Whatever lighting there was, was spotty and flickering, creating shadows that raced here and there.
There were more than a few corpses there, but nearly no guards and those who were present looked as if they had just arrived.
Malekith sat on his throne, a slab of stone that even the recent battle had been unable to damage, Morathi stood to his right, leaning heavily on its back. What flesh of both showed was red and swollen where it did not sport the baby-like pink delicacy of being magically healed in a great hurry. Their features were pale and drawn, hinting at their exhausted state.

Areta tried to be a bit before her general, as if that could shield him if Malekith thought he needed to make his displeasure known.
Slowly, as if in great pain, the Witch King straightened himself on his throne and faced the mercenaries.
"We would bid you a hero's welcome Wolfgang, son of Böhler, if you had not been so late. Your tardiness allowed this Mordred to attack us and we and our beloved mother suffered gravely at his hands. Indeed he nearly killed us by burning us to death. We are…
Areta stumbled all of a sudden and took half a second to understand why. Her own general had pushed her to the side with a hand that joined the other on the grip of his pistol. The first shot broke so close to her ear that she lost all sense for a second. She could just watch the impacts walking up Malekith's with the last one hitting the bridge of his nose. Before she could even think on why Böhler had shot the Witch King Wolfgang had changed targets and went for Morathi who had just lifted her staff in preparation for a spell that would kill them all. Her beautiful chest spouted blood and green flame when two rounds hit slightly lMalekith's helmet was filled with a green, flickering flame that consumed the Witch King's hateful features. More fire came from the holes in his armor, and he jerked when the former sniper emptied the rest of his magazine into his corpse.

By that time several short bursts from Ivil Bloodcrest's submachine went for the few guards left in Malekith's throne room. His squad was fast, but not as fast as their leader, and so a few guards could actually take a few steps in their direction before they died.
And then it was done, the throne room was filled with the Wild Geese and the dead.
Wolfgang Böhler was seen to drop the empty magazine from his pistol and kick it to the far end of the room. Nobody sane wants Warpstone close to them, especially when shielded by so little steel.
By now Areta had regained her wits enough to look at her general and connect a few dots.

"So, was this about the threat to your family or your mysterious orders?"
When she looked at Böhler's eyes she saw something that had not been there for quite a while. The eyes were dead, showing no emotion at all for a moment. They were a sniper's eyes, knowing neither good nor evil, neither friend nor foe, but targets. Wolfgang simply stared at her for a second, then blinked a few times and her commanding officer was back.
"We all follow our orders Brigade Leader. Some we like more than others, and these managed to kill two birds with one stone. Naggaroth will become stable and probably positively inclined to Reiksbund influence and my family is safe from this idiot. Threatening the family of a sniper, really now. "

Ivil Bloodcrest had finally given the orders to secure the rest of the Tower and turned to Böhler and Bane.
"And here I thought myself the master assassin, needing to protect you. Just to find out who the really dangerous one is. Khaine's blood, do you have any idea how many have tried to kill the Witch King? I would have appreciated a bit of a heads-up though."
Wolfgang Böhler shrugged before answering.
"Hellebane was pretty sure that no Druchii could really hide such intent from Malekith, while I might have had a chance by her reckoning. Seems the old hag was right once more."
"Whoever gets the kill is right as they say in the temple. So now that you have offed the bloody Witch King and his mother in one go, what is next for us?"

There was a smile on Böhler's face that made Areta uneasy, as it was aimed at her.
"Areta Bane, the last time I used my pistol on a Druchii Lord it was on your behalf. You said I could ask anything of you, as long as you lived. Is that still good?"
Bane's answer was fast, keeping her word was hardwired into her by her by now.
"Yes Sir, it is."
"Good to hear. Well the ritual is a bit out of date and I have not practiced it much, so you have to make allowances.
Areta Bane was totally bewildered when her commanding officer took one knee before her and stretched out his hands as if in supplication.
"Ave Imperatrix Bane, Ave."

Bundeskanzleramt, Berlin

Uwe Junge faced the Security Council and shook his head. This was not what he had expected for his time in the highest circles of German government. He had intended to refocus the German government on Germany's interests while looking good doing it. He had warned the amateurs around him that sending his best troops to Naggaroth might lead to disaster and how narrowly had they avoided it.
And now he had to ask for more of the same. This world really liked to show mortal men what their plans were worth. He took another look at his notes and addressed his colleagues.

"I have asked for this meeting as we have to decide on a matter of grave importance. I have received the intelligence reports about the latest developments in the Dark Lands. No matter whether gathered by satellite, drone, or teams on the ground, they paint a daunting picture. And these reports say that we have to decide if the DawiZharr will exist in the future or if we let them die.

The loss of most of their population and the greatest part of their industry in ZharrNaggrund have hit them hard. Most of their transportation net ran through their capital. Now that this hub is gone the remaining parts of their agriculture, their mines, and their remaining industry are disconnected from each other. That strongly limits output and hampers any effort to reduce the effects of the series of disasters that followed the detonation in ZharrNaggrund.

We see at least two Waaghs forming outside of DawiZharr territory, one of them consisting mostly of Black Orcs. That the Chaos Dwarfs kept them as slaves for so long will have motivated the Greenskins even more than usual. During the last several years the DawiZharr could keep them under control by their improved armament, communications, logistics, and doctrine. Given the loss of their capital and their troops in Naggaroth they are extremely vulnerable. The staff at Geltow believes that without our intervention there will be no DawiZharr by this time next year.

There is only one power on this world which can influence this outcome, and that is us. Nobody else could intervene in time and frankly speaking practically every other player on this world either does not care or would love for the Chaos Dwarves to perish. I severely doubt that this can be made into a Reiksbund mission, if we decide to do something about this it will be on us and us alone. The question is: should we? It is not that the DawiZharr did not do their best to make every one of their neighbors hate their guts. Still, letting a whole race die when we had the chance to do something about it is a heavy burden. Also, I am not happy to leave the Dark Lands to the Greenskins, any surviving Chaos Skaven and their ilk. These are resource-rich lands and who knows what could develop there. I would like us to be able to influence things."
There was a moment of awkward silence as the cabinet tried to digest what they had just heard.

It was Markus Söder who answered.
"Thank you for the report Uwe and you are right that this is a difficult decision. Still, this does not seem to be you. A few weeks ago, you were the staunchest enemy of intervention in Naggaroth and now this? Who are you and what did you do to the real Uwe Junge?"
Junge seemed annoyed by a joke he had anticipated.

"Ha, effing ha. The difference here is that I propose a limited intervention specifically at two places where we can land comparatively heavy troops and give them naval fire support. The DawiZharr have two harbors, one called Cold Harbor at the Frozen Sea, the other close to Pig Batter at the Dead Sea. These harbors lack any defenses that could challenge our armed forces, so we should be able to occupy them without too much effort. I propose we do just that and declare a non-militarized zone around them. The DawiZharr survivors can move there and we can support them with aid there. If the Greenskins or anybody else gets frisky, we can use a Bayern-Class cruiser to discourage them. That does not put German servicemen in great danger, gives us an operation with limited scope and clear lines of retreat if things go badly. So this is the question we have to discuss this evening: Will the DawiZharr live or die? We do have the means to decide the issue so it is our duty to do so."

The Warp

The goddess was usually perceived as a dove by former mortals who gravitated to her corner of the Empyrean. Normally she radiated a deeply melancholic, careworn and loving aura, mirroring the never-ending struggle to reduce the suffering in the world. She had been less melancholic the last several years, as her mortal followers had gained such new means to combat sickness, hunger, and misery. Now she was worried sick to the point where she could hardly focus on the duties she had taken up and helped her followers with. There was no sense in healing the sick and feeding the hungry when all of them would be dead in a few years.

Yes, she saw what the Germans, Lord Kroak, and so many others did. And while they were clever about it, they needed to win every time, when Hashut needed to win only once. Even worse, the push and counter push of unfathomable energies deeply within the Warhammer World threatened to upset the balance of forces that kept the thin eggshell of solid surface afloat and relatively stable. Sooner or later that balance would be upset terminally and the Bull God would win. In the end the mortal attempts to thwart Hashut were as futile as those of her fellow gods who battered at the walls Hashut had erected around him. They might succeed in taking them down, but by then it would be far too late.
Shallya was a goddess, she knew how to deal with efforts which were futile in the end since that was the very core of her existence. And still she despaired, as she was not looking at the next disaster that she would help to mitigate, she was looking at the end of all things she cared about.

The call was innocuous at first, a plea for help like her followers were apt to make at any moment on this mortal world. It sounded like it came from one the new ones, the ones that came from a different universe. And yet something was wrong about it, very subtly so and thus so intriguing. Deciding having a look instead of feeling sorry was a better use of her time she followed the siren's call. And when she concentrated more of her being on that call she felt the pull. Like an undertow that ripped an unwary child into deeper waters it did not harm her by itself, it brought her to places where she did not want to be.

The plain was vast and shifting, with unseen things moving through ever-mutating foliage. The sky was a flowing rainbow of colors lit by an ever-changing amount of celestial bodies. She saw all of that, heard the whispering of the wind that promised such secrets if she just listened and felt the ground below her shift under her claws. She saw none of that, as she focused on the being before her. If she was a dove with wings the size of mountains the one before her had a ship-sized beak, feathers with more colors than an oil slick and kaleidoscope eyes.

She was a goddess of mercy and the one who's Sisters could frighten wards full of veterans. Her tone reflected that.
"What is the meaning of this, Lord of Lies?"
The voice that answered eschewed crutches as sound waves and reverberated through Shallya's mind. It mixed amusement with resignation in equal measure.
"These new humans you have embraced so much, they have such wonderful expressions. I happen to like "When a good man goes to war the gods tremble." And I wonder who and what will shiver when a good goddess goes?"

Tower of Cold, Naggarond

One corner of the room still held an extremely well-made rack, now serving to present a variety of maps. A pillory held Wolfgang Böhler's coat and the rifle that was never far from him. A field bed and a collapsible desk stood in stark contrast to the well-made instruments of torture, as did the laptop, the battery-power lamps, and the human residing in it. The room had two advantages: it was close to Imperatrix Bane's quarters while not giving the impression Böhler had an equal or better standing than her. And it had its own balcony, which allowed the mercenary general to erect a satcom antenna.

He had opened a seemingly innocuous chat program that ran a one-time-only-use encryption key from a memory stick slotted into the computer.
Before starting to type he had a look at another file, given the date he would be Bob and Ottokar Proktor would go by Stuart. The former sniper shook his head, did Sektion 31's mastermind really watch Minions and Augsburger Puppenkiste or did he have a random name generator?
No matter, the allotted time was now and it would certainly not to do to mess this up, far too many depended on the outcome.

Bob: "Hi Stuart, are you available?"
Stuart: "Hi Bob, yes I am. Congrats on another job well done, you are a legend now."
Bob: I really could do without that, and it was an effing risk to boot. I still wonder how I pulled that off, Malekith must have been injured even worse than he looked. And he was a poster boy for death warmed over even before I killed him. Still, they were the bleeding Witch King and his mother. I ended some ten millennia of combined assholery, feels unreal."
Stuart: "Would not have ordered you to gank them if Malekith had not lost the plot shortly after the Paladins explained the realities of life to Kouran Darkhand. No way could we have done business with somebody who thought it a good idea to let Khorne's worst loose on this world unchecked. A loose cannon, had to go."
Bob:" Normally I'd say all is well that ends well, but this is just the beginning of the next stage of nastiness. And the more Intel I receive the more I am convinced the hard part of the job is ahead of us. Stuart, we either move quickly or there will be very few Druchii to remake into good allies by spring."

Stuart: "That bad?"
Bob: "Worse. The Druchii had a two-front war at roughly WW One tech level with combatants at SS-levels of bloodthirstiness. Both armies confiscated whatever foodstuffs and draft animals they could lay their hands on. Often enough they destroyed or poisoned anything that they could not carry themselves to deny it to the other side. There is very little left and the Spitzohren who do not have enough try to take what they need from those who still have a little. And they are not above murdering a few former neighbors who were too close to the victuals they needed, less mouths to feed and all that. I seriously doubt there is much seed stock left in all of Naggaroth, restarting agriculture next spring will be a nightmare. Both sides treated the Druchii slaves the same as draft animals and we really have to hustle if we want to save any of them. And god help any true Elf if he does not secure his slaves well enough, they taught them how to torture for long enough. If they manage to overcome the few Druchii left in a holding the results are really spectacular. We have a food-for-slaves program running in Naggrond, but we need supplies to expand that to the rest of this murderous icebox."

Stuart: "I see you need a lot of help and soon, no surprises there. There is just that one little problem, the Druchii are mud in the eyes of the German public. It is not that they had any sort of good rep before, but this "Save the slaves" and "Rescue Neustadt" campaign hammered things home. No German government could suggest aid for you without causing a shitstorm of epic proportions. Things will calm down in the coming years when the next villain of the month will appear, but by then it will be too late."

Bob: "Karma is a bitch and it is not that they did not have it coming. Still, if we want a stable Naggaroth we need to do something. So, we are not asking for help, we want to sell something. We plan to offer Karond Kar as a Free Harbor to Germany, with all territorial rights and the waters around it. It has quite the location, there are no local Druchii left to dispute the sale and it will allow the Reiksbund to control things in Naggaroth quite nicely. There are several interesting mineral deposits here, the mining rights should bring more than a little cash. With that we should be able to cover the most urgent needs and sort something out."

Stuart: "Now that sounds like a plan, but I do not believe that those sales will happen quickly, the cash could take years to arrive."
Bob: "Yes, but I think we can use those sales as a collateral for loans with some banks. This and some fast transport of provisions bought with them is where I'd like you to help with most. We'd like to give fishing rights to anybody who can professionally work these waters. They are fantastically rich in fish and have never been harvested for real. For starters we'd be willing to accept payment in specie, we need the proteins if we want to keep this icebox a going concern. There is even a bonus we did not exactly expect and that might interest you."

Stuart: "And that might be?"
Bob: "The Witch King's personal notes. Remember, that guy could watch nearly anything and anybody he chose to. Even Malekith could not memorize everything, so he kept copious notes. Most of them, at least as far as we sorted them so far, are about dead Druchii, but some of them are not. Would make for interesting background material, provided you can stomach them."

Stuart: "Now that sounds somewhat useful to have…whom am I kidding, this is a bleeding motherlode. You give me a copy and I find loans, boats, and food for you, promise. So how are you going to handle Neustadt?"
Bob: "I do not think they will trust us for a long time and understandably so. We will grant them the complete Neustadt valley and a 500-kilometer strip from there to the sea as a sovereign nation. That should give us both some breathing room. We are willing to cede Hag Graef to them, so they have a decent harbor. They need one and soon, so they might be willing to produce semi modern agricultural equipment for us in exchange. Somebody has to feed them, might as well be us."

Stuart: "Somehow I do not see Druchii on tractors, hauling in the wheat."
Bob: I have a hard time imagining that too. But as they say: adaption is not necessary, survival is not mandatory. Areta is probably no longer plotting how to kill me in some gruesome manner and will give her first public speech tomorrow. She promised a surprise, sorry I do not know myself."

Stuart: "I am not sure I will like it, but as long as you can keep a lid on things. Talking about surprises, may I ask what you did in Cathay? I do like surprises much better if they happen to the other guy."

Bob: "We talked about the need for some insurance after we blackmailed JinJin into allowing her son to grant us the use of the Cathayan Expeditionary Corps. They have taken losses, but so did we and they outnumber us three to one. The real ruler of Cathay was really pissed at our research into her son's genealogy I would not have been surprised if her troops would have turned against us when we were done here. I remember having raised this point with you at several occasions and it seemed to have dropped down on your priority list.

If I were not such a trusting guy, I would think that you thought you might control her at least as well as us and did not see the need for an insurance policy. No matter whether that is true, the no-longer-so-little shit on the Celestial Throne happens to adore Areta from she was still in Weijin. And when she introduced a good friend of her lover to him he took her as a concubine before JinJin could say no. Said concubine injected a little spine in the flightless dragon, especially where his mother was concerned. Looks like she indeed proposed to let the Cathayan Expeditionary Corps loose on us. The Emperor saw that as a sign that she was unduly stressed and gave her time at a monastery to regain her health.

We will sell him an island or two on the western coast of Naggaroth,that will give him an oar in the local waters here. I hear that a lot of the Cathayan soldiers might try for a new start here or in Neustadt, let's see how that plays out. We certainly have a lot of real estate to go around, I prefer to settle it with people I am somewhat familiar with."
Stuart: "So that was what it was about. I really would have appreciated some warning there, this should have been cleared with me and the committee first."
Bob: "If you would have shown a greater interest in the continued existence of the Wild Geese and me that would have been an option. If you are looking for an apology, you are out of luck."
Stuart: "Not looking for any, data is sufficient. So what are your plans for the Wild Geese then?"
Bob: "We will be hired by the new government to provide stability and clean up this ghastly mess Malekith, Malus Darkblade, and the Chaos Stumpies left. We will rebuild our numbers and tech up a bit during that time. And when we are ready we will be available for contracts again, bringing in some cash to us and what remains of Druchii Naggaroth. You will have the right of first refusal, of course."
Stuart: "Of course. I did not foresee that outcome when I proposed hiring you and your reformed Spitzohren to the committee all those years ago I'll admit, but all what ends well is well. Good job Bob, mission accomplished."