Chapter 8. Life in Middenland
This chapter will focus on other characters aside from the main couple, hope you enjoy, and I have more to say at the end!
*Nathiqe*
Her eyes opened, the familiar scent of a certain farm building vaguely hitting her. Eyes focusing in, a moment of clarity hits, and grief sets in. She's in the barn again! Head swiveling, her sights look at any and everything to try and see a way out. Or at least distract until the inevitable. However, this time around, all felt different. No pain in her abdomen this time, it was eerily calm to boot. The hellish orange tint was also not present, instead a pale blue light of night filled the building. Serenity filling in for the previous hellscape.
No devilish chants, no creeping doom she could see. However, the sound that stood out amongst the wild birds and bugs, was the taps of steps approaching her. Every pace taken sank her heart lower, her body backing further into the pen wall. But the figure that came around this time had more details to them, a vague face she could almost recognize. She had the feeling she knew just who was moving to her.
"Han's?"
The shadowed figure didn't speak, only opting to walk up and sit beside her. As it planted itself to the ground, his head rested against her shoulder, a distorted sigh escaping its lack of lips. With every action, a memory of him was triggered, easing her into comfort. The noises of night echoed as she sat next to the warming body of the familiar specter beside her.
It was a pleasant daze, her senses drowning out and eyes crossing as she rested alongside this apparition. Her ears filled with a cacophony of sounds, ranging from the animals snoozing in the nearby stalls, to the continuous chatter of the wildlife outside the building.
But every so often, she would hear it. The distorted cries of her "kin", and the bloodlust they desired filled her head. But when the noise started, her grip tightened around his shadowed hands. Warmth was felt from the apparition's palm, its digits wrapping tightly around her own as it pressed against her further. It put her mind at ease and seemed to push those horrid chants back as she settled back into her relaxed state.
This was all she could have hoped for, an escape from the nightmares that plagued her. But now, even with just his image, Han's gave her a window out of it! How this would translate to her actual life, she could not possibly know at this point. But whatever lets her feel this level of comfortable ease is worth putting the bad thoughts on full hold for now.
So there she lay, in the barn of their first meeting, being the start of these wonderous dreams of hers. Eyes lidding in her unconscious world, her sleep falls even deeper, a giddy grin on her chops as her head cranes down. Her head atop his once more, her tongue lolling out to reach for his face. Inching closer, and closer until-
"Wha huh!?"
Her consciousness is pulled back to the real world, her head swiveling and gorging the covers that blanketed her head. Unstabbing the sheets from her set piece of a skull, her eyes focus back in, scanning the room trying to piece together even a single coherent thought.
"Hmm, soft."
The voice of the man cradled in her embrace breaks the confusion and grounds her in the moment, reminding her exactly where she is. Looking at Han's, all last night's events replay in her head, the violent parts skimming over as she recalls the exact details of what led her into his bed. The carrying, the confession, the "unintentional touching". It all flashed, and she recalled her reasoning.
He seemed to be so content with her at his side, even if he couldn't consciously react to the sight of her tucked away in bed with him, he huddled together as if to avoid freezing. Though the sun calls for the day to start, she defies its will, cuddling up closer to Hans, determined to enjoy sleeping in as much as possible with him in her arms. Forgot about the world outside this room, here is the safest, warmest spot to be so to hell will all else!
*Kothek*
As the sun's bright shine pierces the canopy, its rays illuminate the everyday paths of the townsfolk and stray travelers who cross through this weary place. He marches merrily down the paths of the street in search of an interaction to be had, that's when he finds his first mark. Two of the Middenland guards rest against a shaded building, chatting about the various "this and that's" of the times. Deciding to break the gloom of the moment, he approaches with a pip in his step.
"AYY lads how goes the garrisoning of this fine town?"
Voice booming louder than one could think from one of his size. A bit taken aback, they eye the bearded fellow with skepticism, assuming he's some local drunkard. Now while he may have had a mug or 3 of ale with his breakfast, that hardly counts as drunk for a dwarf of his stature.
"We was just talking about work; do you have something to report?"
The younger man's mouth has a rather high number of missing teeth, making pronunciation a trial of its own as he treated the Dwarf like an annoyed customer. The other letting him lead seemed to be older by at least a few years, having a decent level of facial hair compared to the boy, but missing a finger instead of teeth.
"Nahh just seeing how the defenders of this lovely town are doing. What, don't have time for a chat with the Dawi?" Followed by a hearty chuckle.
"Not a matter of time, only patience." The older of the two guards opted to speak instead. His brow furrowed tightly as his eyes never left the Dwarf.
"Now now lads, no need to get testy, simply trying to make conversation. I get it, things have been rough, and everyone is a little on edge around here lately." This seemed to click ever so slightly as the men eased back a little.
"But I know just the thing that'll lift some spirits round here!" He wagged his finger to the younger of the two, the lad looking to his senior to see what the protocol for Dwarfen secrets is. The older gentleman simply shrugged, letting the lad decide for himself.
With a sigh, he leans in to hear what the Kothek must tell him that's so bloody important to be whispered. Leaning in, he listens. "There is nothing that a solid drink won't solve. Take this."
And suddenly, his empty hand goes behind the soldier's ear, emerging with a gold coin he places in the soldier's hands. Looking down at the shining disc, the two guardsmen start to grin, chuckles escaping them as they try to rationalize this strange interaction. "You know what Dwarf- "
"Kothek, lads."
"Right, Kothek. Thanks for the laugh, hope we can see you tonight as we spend this bounty of yours. Maybe some more of this "magic" of yours aye?" The older man's tone was laden with cheerful sarcasm. "Ay, you two bet! Maybe then you'll get your state-issued sticks out your asses and we can have a proper good time!"
A shared laugh amongst the three was had, the younger man still having his focus on how shiny the coin was. Kothek must have put some of that "Dwarfen pride" he's heard so much about into it, his features reflected at him ever so slightly.
"Good talking with you lads, I'll see you tonight! This Dawi's still got sights to see."
"Aye, and a good one to you too. We ought to get moving now as well, still must do the rounds."
With a solid handshake and a potent wave goodbye, Kothek continued his way down the ever-stretching dirt road, taking in the sounds of the songbirds and skittering critters. Passing by several other folks going about their drab business, his attempts at lightening moods seemed not too welcome here, no level of coin trickery would get these slumps smoothed.
That was until he saw a small band of men gathered around a slouched wagon. Getting a closer look as he crosses the dirt road, it's made glaringly obvious what the hub up's about as he can see the wagon is crooked to hell and back. Its wheels barely holding it up and the men try every ritual of maintenance to get it held up safely for repairs.
"Have you tried rocks?"
"We don't have enough to hold it up!"
"A log?"
"It would roll off then, you stupid bitch!"
"What's about tall ways?"
"It'd go through the chassis with that weight! I'm surrounded by CLODS!"
"Whas a clod?"
The Dwarf could swear steam was blasting from the ears of the man at the front. Though they all had good intentions, it was clear this party of formed strangers didn't know how to jack this thing up for repairs with the tools at hand. However, Kothek was formulating the perfect plan.
Brushing aside the riffraff, the Dawi makes his presence known, his throat clearing shaking everyone from their stupor. "What seems to be the problem fellows?"
Most of the men looked vaguely confused, one of them asking "who said that?" to the voice that brought all the attention. They all turn to the Dwarf, confused as to why he's here in the first place.
The presumed owner of this vehicle was sat down, looking around for various solutions to the problem and paying the Dwarf very *little* mind.
"This sodden town got nothing that can hold my wagon up to replace the wheel. Guess they've just been trotting along like apes since they have NOTHING FOR WAGON MAINTENANCE!"
Before he can turn any deeper shade of red, the Dwarf simply examines the wagon with a hand to the beard, pretending as if he doesn't already have a plan formed.
"You got your cargo off already. Correct?"
"Course, otherwise, she would have dropped dead already."
It was mostly dried goods and clothing, but the crates off to the side still alleviated enough weight to work with. Though Kothek had given no reason to be despised yet, the man's opinion of all in this area was of similar standing to his thoughts on primates. Something along the lines of, *useless, hairy smelly creatures that don't deserve to be living indoors*.
Kothek gives the old carriage a few test shakes, trying to judge its weight to the best of his ability. "Alright, I think I've figured it out. YOU LADS SURROUND THE WAGON!"
His voice bellowed, shaking the locals as they scurried around the cart to obey this loud dwarf. Not out of fear but looking to see what this confident command could bring as they planted their hands on all sides.
"What you think you're doing to my cart?!" His head whipped around to see just how many blokes had their mitts on his property.
"We're fixing it for ya, what does it look like manling?" As he dusted his hands, he slumped to fit under the chassis. Wobbling ever so slightly, he readies his hands, slamming them into the chassis underside once he reaches the middle.
"LIFT ON 3 LADS, 1, 2 ,3 HEEVE, HO!" With the iron-clad muscles of the Dawi at the center, and the strength of the varied farm hands and locals lifting, the wagon went up in a breeze, the suspended wheels creaking with relief as it was freed from its previous weight. The owner of the cart was sitting stunned at the living wagon jack that called itself a Dwarf.
"Well, you gonna change the wheel or do you want us to strike poses while we're here for your viewing pleasure?" His tone came off as severely irked, but he wasn't too mad, just in a hurry before the men around him gave in.
"Y-yes of course! Gimme just a few minutes!"
With his problems relieved of how to set up the wagon for repairs, the owner swiftly starts the tedious process of removing his wheels for some fresh replacements, cranks, and thuds being heard by the dwarf as he worked. Minutes go by as the wood is creaked and croaked out of place, sweats breaking on all those involved.
As Kothek held the center mass up, he felt the weight shifting consistently around the cart, the arms of the rallied men threatening to give in. He felt he needed to do something to lift this party's morale as much as the cart.
"AY LADS, HOW'S ABOUT A SONG TO LIFT OUR SPIRITS?"
Before any had an answer, he began without them to get the mood flowing and spirits raised.
"WHERE DID WE COME FROM? OVER THE MOUNTAINS! WHERE ARE WE GOING? OVER THE MOUNTAINS!"
His pipes opened and the notes rang as he shouted out the surprisingly clear song. His fingers tapped on the wooden cart to help create a rhythm as he sang the Dwarfen tune. The cart holders were still a little unsure of what to make of it but weren't against the idea of some work time tunes.
"COME NOW, EVERYBODY! WHERE DID WE COME FROM?"
Though they were physically strained, the men couldn't help but join in to help distract them from the stress at hand, picking up the simple lyrics quickly as they let out their own voices to mingle.
"OVER THE MOUNTAIN!" The group of human helpers called as they began to get into it with Kothek. Their expressions go from one of exertion to one of blossoming joy as they lean into the invigorating jingle.
"WHERE DID WE COME FROM?"
"OVER THE MOUNTAIN!"
"WHERE ARE WE GOING?"
"OVER THE MOUNTAIN!"
Between each verse the men shared laughs, the Dwarf in the center having a similar sentiment with his newfound choir. Even the owner who was fuming at this whole thing a few minutes ago couldn't help but nod his head to the music, humming the tune to himself as he picked up the pace of the work. Kothek was ecstatic to have so many singing a favored song of his people, his heartwarming past the physical stress it felt from being a jack.
After a few more verses of the Dwarfen tune, the main man interrupted their merriment with a booming call.
"She's all fixed lads, let her down gently now!"
And with that, the music ceased as the crew slowly let her down to the ground, Kothek scurrying from beneath to avoid getting crushed. With a dust-blowing THUD, she landed on the dirt, wobbling slightly before settling good as new. The squad formed for this task was all caked in fresh sweat, cheering at the simple task turned eventful thanks to the Dwarfen spirit!
"You lot are something else, here, take this." As the men assisted in loading the cargo back in, Kothek was given a jingling bag of coins from the owner. Looking inside the pouch, thoughts of all the drinks he could get this crew instantly made the choice for him on what to spend it on.
"Ay lads, drinks are on me! Let's say we celebrate with another song with our ale!"
A resounding round of cheers boomed from the crowd as they all began to make their way to the tavern, Kothek staying behind to make sure the wagon was all set and ready to roll. But, not before sliding a few extra coins into his own pouch, gotta save some for his favorite manling of course!
"You take care now, careful with these roads, never know what's out there." With a pet to the horses and a mutual salute between him and the carriage rider, they finish up their exchange.
"Same to you master Dwarf, don't drink yourself to death, I'd like to come back through here for a mug when I'm on a less stressful time crunch."
"Ay, I'll be here for it. I expect you to come back soon, drinks are on me after all."
Kothek ends with a jingle of the newly acquired coin.
"What's your name anyway lad, tonight's toast will be in your honor after all."
"Ay, fair enough. Eustace, Eustace Higgs. It was a pleasure meeting you, take care until next time mate!" With a whip of the reins, his beasts of burden made their way rushing down the trodden dirt path, leaving the Dwarf with high hopes to see the man again for a proper drink.
As he marches his way over to the tavern to enjoy his spoils of labor, he sees one last person of interest near the entrance. The man was a large, armored wall of a soldier, his damaged gear shining dimly. With a fresh pep in his step, he approaches the captain before he can fully mount his steed.
"Moring Valmire, Glatz to see you this fine day!"
Every soldier has at least one moment of contemplating their suicide, a moment that has them rationalize if their death by their own hand this instant would be for the best.
Right now, Valmire was having that moment after hearing that joke once more from the Dwarf.
"And a good morning to you too Kothek, still haven't dropped dead from drinking?"
"Nah, manling liquor isn't nearly strong enough to bring down the Dwarfen walls of endurance! Though the taste may send me over one of these days."
"Ay, it does that sometimes. Need directions to the nearest hovel or can I go about my business?"
Their expressions weren't ones of strain or anger but of a mutual understanding. They both had skin thickened for battle and blood, so a little hostile banter was the speed they were most comfortable with in their interactions. Though they wouldn't even really think of each other in a heated manner.
"Well, I thought I would offer you a drink this fine day, what with my freshly acquired bounty. What say you, got time to indulge in some "Dwarfen festivity"?"
Followed by the repeated bouncing of the clicking coin bag. The human soldier waves his hand and mounts his towering horse, the beast of burden being unusually large to support his bulky frame.
"As much as I'd love to forget my name and dirty my armor tavern style, I have a lead to follow now. Some rumors and reports I must check up on. I'm sure you understand."
"Are ya sure? I can guarantee a good time shall be had!"
"And I don't doubt that for a second. Maybe after I check what's going on around the areas, I'll get back to you and put that famed Dwarf drinking habit to shame!"
"I'll bet on that one! Best prepare to be put firmly in your place!"
"Haha, you take care now Dwarf, don't make a mess of the place whilst I'm gone, ya hear?"
"If I do, would you be back sooner?"
"Ay, I would. With an entire regiment of beast handlers to throw that bearded ass of yours in the slammer."
"HAH, best get out there then, I won't go out without a rumble boyo!"
With their salutes, Valmire whipped the reins and bolted off onto the wooded trail, quickly vanishing in a dust cloud left in his wake. As he finished his farewell, Kothek wandered back towards the waiting tavern, the men inside giving a cheer to the buyer of the upcoming drinks.
"LET'S GET DRINKING LADS, HUZZAH!"
The doors close behind him as he enters for a winddown, ready to show all manlings what a Dwarfen constitution is truly capable of.
*Grot and Gunter*
If this dolt in front of him didn't learn what reading was in the next few minutes, lords have mercy on whatever patience Gunter had left in his soul. Every day was a trial of trying to explain to folks what all the effects of these potions meant. Sure, some of them may have used fancy talk like "transmogrify" or "hemostasis", but "enhancement" isn't that hard to figure out! For every dozen normal, literate customers he had, it almost felt like he had as many ass-headed clientele.
"So mate, what do you think? This poison the pick for you?"
Followed by a politely mustached smile of the humble potion seller behind the counter, trying to nudge the illiterate fellow in front of him into buying or scramming. The man reading the bottle in front of the shop was barely able to decipher the label, let alone the social cue of the ever-frustrated seller watching patiently.
"Whas an "increased, Increments"? That a magic thing? "
If he were not so invested in the labels of the lightly glowing glass bottle, he would have noticed the popping vein on Gunter's brow.
"No dear sir, that is merely a term for increasing the amount taken to achieve maximum-."
He could see the potential customer's eyes glossing over with every word he spoke over 2 syllables, a change in selling strategy is clearly needed. Sighing beneath his breath, he refreshes his grin as he readies the dumbed-down pitch.
"Take more per day to feel like a new man! Extra sip each day and you'll become a legend like a sigmar himself!"
The customer's eye started to un-lid, life filling him as the prospect of legendary status was within his grasp for a surprisingly reasonable price. He fishes the coins needed from his trouser pocket, the various clinks and squelches of his hand digging in worrying Gunter about the state of his coins. Slamming the currency onto the countertop, he pops the top off and starts to swig.
"Oi not like that, you'll make yourself- "Stopping himself to grab the greasy coins, he continues the warning.
"It's not gonna work like that."
But the man had already put his drinking skills to work, downing the bottle as Gunter's jaw slacks a little. With a belch and a drop of the bottle, he wipes his mouth clean and looks down at himself, expecting an instant change.
"How long till I become great?" A giddy grin on his face as he waits like a child on Festag for results.
"Just, give it some time to kick in, go on now, and enjoy your newfound potential friend." Followed by a gentle smile and wave as he tries to motion the man away.
He just hopes the customer is near a bed soon, the potion offers vigor and energy, that much at once and he'll be seeing God's alright. God rest him when his body will make him see the unfathomable when that stuff all hits at once. If he comes back winging, he'll just have to spin some tale about how he must not have been worthy of such a potent concoction.
Though that's if the halfwit could put together that the potions the problem. But as Gunter busies himself with wiping the counter off, he spots a cloaked figure at the edge of his vision, trying to seem casual, not being self-aware that the cloak ruins those chances. But instead of calling attention to the obviously private, potential customer, he waits.
It's like hunting almost, isn't it? Waiting for the prey to get close enough to spring the trap and claim your bounty. In this case, the prey is whatever this hooded lad has got in their pockets. Considering how cautiously he creeps up to the shop, looking every which way, it is safe to say he wants something important. Perhaps even expensive, a smile creeping onto Gunter's face as he readies his pitch for whatever needs to be thrown his way.
After several minutes of stalking, however, it was clear this wouldn't be a socially adept fellow once more. The thought of this apparition-looking fellow scaring the potential customers away spurred the salesman to make the first move.
"Afternoon mate, anything I can get ya? We have quite the selection."
Jumping from his skin, the cloaked stranger scurries forth as he checks every direction before reaching the counter hurriedly. Through the cloak, Gunter saw the features of a middle-aged gentleman, his hair short and features hardened. He recognized this blond fellow, one of the guards of the area garrison. Now he's wondering what a soldier could need that has him in such a fright.
"H-hi, need a potion for a friend, alright?" His tone trying to assert control, but comes off as skittish, as if trying to convince himself as he remains slightly hunched.
Ah, poor guy must be embarrassed, need to handle this one with a tender touch. Gunter leans back, smile relaxed to help ease the worried soldier's mood, and to hopefully get him on his way with lighter pockets.
"Of course, good on you for helping a friend out. Now, what does he need? I'm sure I have whatever it is he's looking for."
The Secret shopper smiled, not realizing the seller had already caught onto the fib. But he is left none the wiser as the merchant convinces him with his naïve strategy.
"Right, so this friend of mine is having some…physical troubles. Got anything for it?"
Gunter has a gut feeling he knows what's to be asked for with a get-up and story like this but won't risk sending him off with the wrong brew. Furring the brow, he asks for a little more clarification.
"You mean like some stomach issues? Muscle aches? I have a decent selection of creams and tonics for it, let me-"
"NO, like, *Physical*, activities. Ya know?" The buyer looked borderline mad about ready to leap away at the first sign of danger as his second guesses almost pushed him away.
As much as he fancied this little game of confession, it was getting a little annoying having to hear him tiptoe around it so hard.
"Look sir, I'm unsure what it is you want. Don't feel embarrassed, this is medicine for your friend after all, right? What's got him bogged down? Don't you wanna get him the help he needs?"
Leaning heavily into the ignorant route and guilting the paranoid fellow with his made-up mate forces him to go along with it so as to not ruin the cover he still thinks is protecting his dignity. With a sigh of exasperation that almost sounded like he was winded, he leans in to spill the details as he gestures for an audience with Gunter's ear. Leaning in with feigned curiosity, it was revealed what he already suspected.
"He can't get his pecker up for the ladies at the inn, alright? Got anything or is he gonna spend his nights woodless?"
"Ahh, you should have said so! Course I have something for such an easy-to-solve problem." Clapping his hands with fresh enthusiasm, the mood lightens as the buyer starts to get reeled in.
"Really? Easy?! You saying I'll be- HE'LL be cured right?!" His teeth showing as he tries to hide the blunder.
"But of course! I had the same problem my friend, quite the pesky thing when trying to swoon the lasses, am I right?" Whilst Gunter laughed at his barest-faced lie, a nervous chuckle followed from the soldier as he didn't know how to respond at this point without outing himself.
"Ahem, yeah, real hard, or, not hard, I guess. Hasn't had a shag in a while, he hasn't."
"Right, right, stiffness jokes aside, I'll fetch the brew for purchase. Best count your coin though, this stuff doesn't come easy in terms of price."
"Yes, he'll pay any price!" A clattering of metal onto the countertop as he dumps his pouch onto the countertop, the gold and silver pieces shining dimly as he counts them out and prays the god of wealth will let him be content this day. Eyeing up the puddle of coins on his countertop, the seller is satisfied and reaches for the shiny pile.
His grab for cash however was interrupted by a distinct "Knock, Knock knock knock" From below. The customer raised a brow at the sound of thumping from below, Gunter quickly needing to work up a reason for such a strange sound from his basement.
"Sounds like the new batch of potions is done. Just the sound of my ingenious system alerting me the brew is complete." The thumping continues, even harder now as it makes the floorboards shake. Gunter tries to keep up a grin as the goblin below makes him look strange with their continued slamming.
Wandering around back with a fake smile, he quickly tries to attend to the headache beneath his foundation.
"But what abo-" "I'm fetching it now, don't you worry!" Gunter yells back to the concerned customer, standing idly as he looks around to make sure no one spots him waiting for his cure.
Reaching the cellar door, Gunter opens it with one hand, the other in a catching position as he awaits what he knows is coming when he opens this crypt. As the door swings open, his free hand catches the blur of red that is Chewa as the squig makes its usual mad dash when it knows Gunter's coming.
Grabbing the ball of angst and energy in one hand, he pelts it back down the stairs, a resounding crash and squeak as it slams into whatever lies at the bottom of the cellar. Entering swiftly whilst closing the door behind him, he walks cautiously down to the den of Grot.
"Stop hitting it after the first round, I heard ya!"
The goblin was stirring a viscous red slop, and dumping in various squishy bits to the mix as he looked back at the Gunter.
"Waz makin sure youze heard me umie. Carefuls wif Chewa, might scrape em up tossing him like that!"
Grot scooped up the grinning maw and dropped him in the slop bowl, then dropped the bowl onto the floor, a splatter of blood red moisture coating the ground as the squig dug into the apparent kibble goop.
"Potions iz done, take em! I gots a shedule to keep!"
Tossing the crate of various brews and elixirs to Gunter, he stumbles over the goblin's mess trying to make sure this crate of valued goodies doesn't smash as he swipes it in the nick of time. His face grew redder than the squig kibble mess that stained his shoes as he caught the crate, the clattering of the elixirs and potions echoing in the cellar.
"Be fucking careful you wretched snot goon! These things are worth more than the clothes on either of our backs!"
"I aint wearing much on me back, silly cunter."
The mixture of Grot not understanding the expression, and not knowing if the name mispronunciation was intentional, Gunter simply sighs as he places the crate down momentarily. Taking a deep breath and calming himself. He needs to be the responsible one here after all.
As he steadies himself, with a precise and swift movement, he picks up a stray pot of water that had been off to the side, waiting to be brewed into something more enchanting. In a moment, the full pot was flipped and dropped onto Grot's head, a startled gasp and gargling as the tub soaked him, the tub resting on his head as he wandered aimlessly with the pot being an eyeless helm. Walking face-first into a table leg, the pot rings as he tumbles back with a growl. Just as his footing was getting solid and he was figuring out where he was again, Gunter slammed a ladle into the side of the pot, further ringing the ears and disorienting the goblin as the potion seller laughed.
Even the squig had a larger smile than normal, making sloppy sounds of what could be seen as laughter as it went back to chowing down on its snack.
"That's for getting your creature kibble on my shoes!"
Satisfied with the goblin dizzy and on the floor, Gunter takes his crate of pots and makes his way upstairs, humming as he takes the day's anger out on Grot. But just as he made it up the halfway point, something wet thudded on his back, something that filled his nostrils with a wretched stench. It couldn't be…
Looking back, his shirt had a splotched patch of brown-green stain to it, looking back further to see the shit-eating (now throwing) grin of Grot, pleased with his aim.
"Thanks for the prateece, aim iz still golden!"
Gunter had the burning urge to grab the throttling stick, but had a customer waiting and they'd be here all day if he indulged in the scrappy and taunting nature of the goblin.
"Keep it up and I'll stop bringing food, you cretin!"
Slamming the cellar door shut, the goblin laughs as he returns to brewing, stirring the large bubbling boiling pot over the fireplace.
"What a fun one he iz, alwayz bringin a scrap! Right Chewa?"
The squig let off a bellowing belch, moist droplets further staining the greenskin cellar. Followed by a giddy giggle from Grot.
"That's what I thot! Get over ere,"
Grot grips his squig, laying it on his lap as they continue their afternoon of brewing and toiling. Making a mess of the cellar, just the way greenskins is meant to be making things.
As Gunter reaches the counter with the fresh batch of potions, the waiting customer looks more concerned than anything else as he sees the sweat the seller has broken on his return.
"You al-"
Quickly Gunter puts a rounded bottle of brewed sludge into the customer's palm, the soldier looking at it curiously as he flips it around to eye the purple goo.
"This will fix your impotency." A tense smile was on Gunter's face as he raked the coins into a pouch, tying up the newly acquired wealth aggressively as the soldier was taking a whiff of his now-open bottle.
"Well my friend thanks you si-"
His nose wrinkles as he catches the scent of the mess the goblin left on his back, wondering what wild brewing techniques could bring him his cure in such a messy state. Pocketing the bottle and trying to express his thanks, the shutters of the shop slam close, the "on lunch" sign on full display as the man stood there dumbfounded.
Not wanting to waste time, he dashed away from the stand, heading over to the tavern with glee as he readied to use his new "cure", forgetting to prod for instructions as the storefront was left temporarily empty. Gunter was inside swapping his shit-stained clothes out for a fresh batch as his swearing could be heard through the walls, like an angry apparition cursing the store with its rage.
Another successful morning of business for the brewing duo.
*Valmire*
With an abrupt, wide swing of his dirtied long sword, another malnourished beast lay cleaved into two uneven sections on the ground before him. His ears perked up as his gauntlet-covered wrist swung wide, cracking the arm of a side-rushing beast, its limb flailing limp from the blow as its spear skirted across the human's chest piece. Quickly the blow was met with a heavy-handed slam down of the opposite hand, the impact caving its skull in as the creature crumbled to the ground.
The soldier looks around at the small massacre around him. Taking some deep but not urgent breaths.
"That makes about, 6, 7, 8, almost done I reckon."
Valmire scanned the desecrated corpses of the beasts he'd ambushed, taking prideful joy in flipping the strategy on the ungors. Dusting the dinginess of today's conflict, his eyes lock onto the last two beasts huddling back, both trying to get behind the other as he casually struts to them. The scouting party had set up under a cozy little overhang. A natural cover from the beaten path that acted as a bare minimum cover for the scouts of this area.
"This is empire land you know, not supposed to have, what's the word?" Just as quickly as he forgot, it came back to him as he began raising the grim blade. "Abominations, that was it. Like you here." With a pleased grin, he raises the sword once more, shining dimly as the beasts prepare in that split second. One opted to raise his spear in a panic, hoping the wood would cushion the blow, maybe even throw it off. While the other scurried wide to try and ditch his partner for a chance to escape. The latter was the unknowing wiser of them, the one on guard quickly having his rickety spear snapped into kindling.
Though the spear was the least of its problems, for his head now was without its lower half, his jaw now a spray misting the soil as the sheer force of the blade pulverized his underbite. As the ungor squealed and writhed, gushing fatally onto the ground, Valmire did not waste a moment. With a heaved sigh, his swing kept going, circling back around as he cleaved the hoof of the fleeing beast.
The ungor squealed, quickly plummeting to the muddy soil as it clutched at its missing shin. The creature cursing and shouting for aid to the pile of dead around it. Before it could recover or even process its newly impaired state, it screeched loudly at the heaving weight forced onto its back. The wind was gone from its lungs, struggling not to die from sheer shock and bodily trauma as the plate-covered knight used its back as a seat.
"Nothing like a good rest after an honest day's work, what say you?" He took the time to gingerly sip from his waterskin, the creature beneath struggling to breathe under the sheer weight of the armored man. Using what little breath it had to curse at Valmire as he deliberately took his time properly putting the waterskin away. With the creature under him verging on passing out, he gave it relief in getting off it. Crouching to be face to face with the ungor, he begins to prod for info.
"Been clearing a lot of your scouting parties out recently, wanna give me tip me off on where you lot are coming from? Then you won't have to worry about your kind having to live without you. Isn't that a nice thought?"
Though his tone was sarcastic, his grin was genuine as the ungor merely groaned and began to bleed from the mouth. It wasn't long for this world with the red current flowing from its severed leg. What little breath it had, it used to curse Valmire's kind. Though he didn't understand its guttural, foreign speech, he knew it couldn't have been saying anything too polite.
Valmire presented a pouch of gold from his belt, dangling the jingling bag of wealth to the creature as it stared in bitter resentment.
"What say I give you a little trade? You lot love gold, right? You're always taking it from ruined homes anyway, must hold some value to you." The ungor snapped its jaws at the knight, defying him until the end as its last moments were drawing closer, soon to meet with whichever god it worshipped.
"Come on, I'm sure with this much coin you could even get a human woman to bed your disfigured, revolting ass. Sigmar knows a runt like you weren't getting any mates with a build like that." As Valmire briefly focused on the beast he was ridiculing, his smile was fading as he realized it had already bled out, without a lick of info to be shared as he sighed.
"Oh well, let's see if you can help me anyway. Even if my haggling skills ain't the sharpest." He fished through the varying pouches and satchels on the barebones kit, only finding various bobbles and plant bits. He began cursing under every breath when met with another dead-end pocket. However, after searching several more compartments on the pile of dead in this camp, he finally found something that could help. Something in the pouch of the first one he slayed this day. A darker-furred, slightly bigger (than grunts anyway) scout whom Valmire got the drop on, slicing into its back like paper as its spine was spread in two.
What he found was a map remnant, vaguely connecting to something greater as it showed a fragmented version of the land, somewhere southbound of the current area. Over time, he had a small collection of varying fragments. They began to form into a twisted, maddening layout of scribbled beast scrawlings and sloppy writing in their strange, uncouth language. Though it showed the areas of Middenland itself, it also showed the varying hidden paths and stashes the creatures used to supply and hide amongst the wild.
Valmire has been slaying these parties for some weeks now, getting tidbits of enough info to find the next, but not enough to find where they all keep coming from. The location of this herd's base of operations was a frustrating mystery as he groaned, trying to see what he could learn from the messy scribbles.
Sitting by the raided camp's fire, he sets to work deciphering. As he sat there, the ambient sounds of the forest chittering and blowing winds filled him with a mix of unease and withheld tranquility. He prays for a day when his homeland is safe enough to enjoy the beauty of nature, without risking the rotten schemes of those aligned with chaos. Whether it be beast or man.
With his focus on the map fragment, he reaches for the meat spit on the fire, deciding to help himself to the spoils of the slain beasts. But as he brings the meat near to his mouth, his nose wrinkles, disgust on his face as the familiar smell hits him. Tossing the meat hunk back in the fire, he wipes its leaked juices from his gauntlet as he stares at it turning to ash in the blaze.
"Sorry you had to go that way mate, I'm making sure you're one of the last we'll need to honor. Even if I don't have a name to remember." With that, he returns to reading the note in the somber ambiance of the forest, working towards a plan to cleanse his lands.
*Jurgen*
Worship was everything. For if there is no faith, then what is there to begin with? Foundation is needed for belief to be firm, unyielding, and immortal. This was one of many varying mantras the priest repeated to himself as he made the rounds. Spreading the good word of the lord, Sigmar smiled down on him as he dedicated himself tirelessly.
That was the dream looping in his head all hours of the day, his mind a one-way track to eventual salvation. However, for now, he must reaffirm these beliefs of those around him. He opens his eyes, knelt before a bronze likeness of Sigmar as her concludes his morning prayer. The dimly lit rooms of the church were dreary, the walls varying shades of dusky wood.
"Almost done there?"
A quiet voice called from behind, a sigh emanating from Jurgen as he rose on aching knees.
"Why, am I needed?" Meeting face to face, Jurgen stares at the similarly dressed robed figure at the door. A younger man, (at least compared to Jurgen) stood in annoyed wait. Jurgen approached him with suspicious glances.
"My tasks are done; I'm going to rest now if that's quite alright." But as he goes to leave, he is swiftly brought back into the room by the older priest.
"Hold, I have one more task for you." He stated cautiously.
"Oh for the love of- I already spread the word and bugged decent folk, what more-"Jurgen slips a letter into his robe, hushing the younger follower up as he gave very deliberate instruction. His face is dead serious with intent.
"Make sure this heads to the nearest city, and don't let anyone know what it says. It is addressed to the church. Understand?"
The younger man was puzzled, his face squinting with perplexion. Though Jurgen always gave him odd vibes, his own faith and position here were enough to bear with it. Though he seemed more suspicious than usual.
"What's this about Jurgen? Something the matter?" Genuine dread formed as Jurgen's mood seemed to sour.
"You don't need to know, and if you read what's inside, and let curiosity get the better of you. Then you may kiss your lodging and devotion here goodbye."
Though he wanted to bite back and see what was so important in this letter, he did not wish to tempt Jurgen when he knew what his hand was hovering over beneath his robe. Instead opting to bear with it and take the letter, faking a humble grin as he set to find a courier at the lodge.
"Yes sir, I'll see that Sigmar's will is carried out."
"Sure you will." Jurgen stated with no amusement, taking note of his younger compatriots' placating tone. Knowing he still holds great suspicion. It matters not what he thinks of Jurgen, only that he does as asked in the name of Sigmar.
With the younger man now vacated, Jurgen goes back to his plotting. Putting the pieces together, his grand plan comes into motion once his letter reaches those who need to see it.
"Mark my words, Hans. You will be rooted out, and the empire will be a better place when righteousness comes crashing down." But for now, he resumes his prayers, wishing for strength from Sigmar to do his bidding with fervor, waiting for when mortal laws will no longer be an issue.
*Krant Schwart, a member of the mortar crew*
His heart was in his throat, pulsing loudly in his ears as spittle flew from his face. The recruit was mad dashing through the chaos, the soldiers around him being swarmed and overwhelmed as the minutes ticked by from the ambush. His ripped sleeve was soaked in red, a wound on his arm leaking heavily as his sprint continued. His eyes were glued on the tree line that didn't have arrows nor beasts emerging from it, every few feet another scream howled near him, another soldier fallen as he tried to save his own hide.
It all started so suddenly; he was chatting with an older gent whom he ran the mortar reloads with. But in a blur of movement, his fellow mortar loader was knocked to the ground, arrows perforating his torso as he writhed and struggled to stand. The cacophony of defensive orders was instantly drowned out by the chilling roar of beasts that drowned them out. Arrows were flying from the tree lines like an angry swarm, flowing constantly as the shields were raised late, several of the men stabbed or weakened from the rusted metal digging into their kits and flesh.
The crossbows and hand gunners were hit the worst, receiving the most injuries and having the highest focus from the sustained arrow rain as they fired into the woods with fearful panic. Their shots rang out and made things even more overwhelming as the powdered weapons blasted with dangerous inaccuracy. Despite the sudden volley, the scarce cries from the trees indicated the beasts were less injured than the soldiers in this trading of volleys.
Then came the true horror, a seemingly endless flood of beasts of varying sizes emerging from the deeper woodland areas as they rushed the struggling to form front line. The soldiers held as best as they could, a handful of ones trying to fit into formation getting trampled and eviscerated as the flood of ambushers filled the path. The beasts were rabid and viscous, though, against the now solidifying front line, they were starting to lose the edge. Most of the beasts sent in were malnourished looking, swinging rotten-handled spears as they tried to force gaps into the now enraged lines the men held.
The woods were too cramped, the canopy too thick for the mortars to be of use right now, leaving the artillery crew to try and help bolster the line as best as they could with their swords, lining up with the spearmen to fill gaps the wounded were struggling to hold. Though a rather small, Wiley beast managed to fit into the gaps of the line, rushing for the mortar men since they were comparatively softer targets. Its jaws snapped and its legs kicked the earth out beneath it as it rushed right at Krant.
In a panic, his sword fell from his hand as he tried to back away, nearly tripping on the ammo wagon. With a sudden burst of thought, he gripped one of the thick metal rounds of artillery ammo, holding the ball with a strained look as he raised it overhead. With a violent shout, he slammed it down on the approaching feral beast, caving its head in with a splatter of red on his clothes as the fresh body twitched.
Before he could get his bearings or even register his first kill in melee, the waves of beasts were crashing into the infantrymen as they held, shouts of aggressive defiance aimed at the horde as they began to strike back. Krant grabbed his now muddied blade and stumbled over the corpse as he went to reinforce the front, stepping over several struggling and groaning comrades caught in the initial fire. As he stood close to the front, his world was one of terrified focus as the beasts kept coming in.
Though when he got a better look, he started to see a glimmer of hope, the smaller critters not able to stand up to the better-geared men of Middenland. The smaller satyr creatures started to pile as the line held, Krant even getting to take a stab at some of the wilder ones trying to crawl beneath the line, unsuccessfully of course. Though that's when a fresh wave came in, this round was more of a concern as there were taller, more properly equipped ones in the mix.
Their horns are bigger, standing taller than most men here, and bearing actual steel on their weapon tips. These broader beasts began to make up the numbers as the smaller beasts' fodder role was running its use here. Soon the line struggled as both sides fought for their survival, the men shouting curses at the chaos creatures. The enemy spoke in its cursed, bestial speech as they rushed the front line of empire men. Now with the bigger beasts up to the plate, Krant found himself backing up more and more. He had to be saved by his brother in arms shields more often as the swarm battered the ranks, wearing it down indefinitely.
Despite slaying a decent number of small and bigger beasts, the men of the empire were not immortal, slowly more and more of the line being shaved away and killed under the cloven horde. Things seemed to be lightening up, despite the exhaustion setting in from the constant cleaving and withstanding of the ambush.
A blood-chilling roar boomed through the trees, scaring what few tidbits of wildlife were hiding nearby into a full-fledged sprint as the ranks of men and beast alike prepared for what was next. The sounds of cloven footfalls were like that of a bull. The sounds sped up as the crashing stomps were nearing the tree line, the formation feeling doubt as the visible beasts fanned out, making way for *something* coming. In a rushing blur of movement, the hellish beast's bull rushed in, several Minotaur's spread out as they focused their horned heads on the men trying to hold strong against the massive monsters approaching.
The forest filled with the roars of the taurs, the screams of man, and the cries of the lower-ranking creatures caught in the charge. In an instant, the lines had massive gaps, men flung far and trampled deep as the Minotaur's broke the line with ease. This decisive hit was the final nail in this regiment's coffin. Their snarling, foaming mouths in a constant expression of feral rage.
Some men tried to circle and cleave the giant bovids, only to be cleaved to gore as they lacked the proper numbers to tarpit the monstrous mountains. The broken line, mixed with the lower ranks of beasts rushing back in, Krant did the one thing most men there could do. Run, run, and hope they were the ones to avoid the horde ire.
With a terrified yell, he dashed for the stretch of trees with the least beasts emerging. Some pockets of soldiers trying to form up shouted for him to turn back and "Serve your state, you cowards!" Before getting flooded by the enemy, crushed beneath gnashing jaws and jagged weapons. Each step made, another soldier would fall, regardless of guarding or fleeing like himself. Pinned to the ground and getting chopped to bits, being pulled down by the twisted-headed hounds as they were made into chaos kibble. The fates were varying, but all brutal as Krant was mere feet from his supposed safety, gashing his arm from a spear he failed to fully dodge aimed his way.
With a dive, he lands off the path, hiding in the depression of the soil that was alongside the path. Quickly he covered his bloodied uniform and dirt and twigs, trying to obscure himself as the shouting was starting to be predominantly that of the beasts compared to man. Holding the breath from his burning lungs, he tried to keep still and quiet as the variety of gors passed by meters away from his buried body.
It's been minutes, his heart in his ears as he listens for any sign of the battle being over. Though he was terrified to not hear the regiments sounding off anymore, there were the sounds of fighting of at least one man left. Only one he could think of still standing against this threat. "C-commander Klaus." He muttered quietly, scolding himself for speaking aloud as his hands covered his mouth on instinct. However, when he saw none of the enemy near him and the sounds of a man cursing followed by weapons clashing, fearful curiosity got the best of him.
Crawling at a snail's pace, he shimmied up the small hill in a prone position as he put one sore arm in front of the other. Reaching the visible point of the hill, he stared in awe as he saw one man piling the bodies around him with seeming ease.
There stood the leader of the regiment, his armor dented and gnarled to hell and back, streaks of red plastered over the arms and midsection like it was painted on by a greenskin. He watched in fearful awe as he swung the two-handed blade with abandon, flinging the now wounded chaff beasts back as he bared his teeth. It wasn't until looking at the bodies that the watching soldier noticed the behemoth of a corpse of one of the Minotaur's, a clean pierce through the chest where a heart would be in any man.
It was almost wonderous, watching the last-stand commander chopping the seemingly endless horde with growls as feral as their own, a chance could be had that they would live another day. But as the waves thinned and the commander hurled more profanity at the dead, something was seemingly shifting. The ambushers began circling, the chaff no longer entering striking range of the commander. The larger of the gors no longer pushing the smaller ones into peril as they all snarled and barked from a distance.
"What's the matter? you mangy, filthy curs can't take on a single son of the empire!? YOU'LL ALL DIE IN ULRIC'S NAME!" He managed to reach one of the smaller ungors trying to back away, severing the screeching creature's arm as it fled into the narrow crowd. But soon, the sea of beasts split, a Minotaur of even rougher appearance trudging through to confront the seemingly final survivor. Its broad build stood above the chanting crowd like a moving monument as it pushed through the underlings in its path. Its limbs and torso were covered in a surprising amount of scrap armor for a beastmen savage, standing out both in size, rank, and kit.
The young mortar loader's eyes were drawn to the missing horn and gouged, festering eye socket. Personal marks of whatever horrible ordeals it survived until now, a myriad of other markings on its body as it stood steadily against the lone man. The commander took note as he sized up the gargantuan monster of a Minotaur. The man broke into a crooked grin, daydreaming as he raised his sword to the leader of this herd.
"That leftover horn of yours would fashion for the perfect cup for mead. It's gonna be so sweet when I wrench it from your rotten skull you tribal abomination!" The knight sured up his stance, waiting for the monster to charge so he may counter. It felt like an eternity as he waited for the stone-faced bovine to rush him like the rest, but it didn't come.
"Come now, avenge your plagued kin so I can leave these horrid woods. BRING IT YOU UGLY FUCKING CUR!" His provoking and raised blade did little to draw the Minotaur in, merely making the cow blow steam from its flared nostrils as it began to circle the lone man. Uneased at the calm the "supposed to be rage-filled monster" was showing, he entered the circling dance with it as they paced around and round, waiting for one to strike.
They both were growing eager, running out of patience for the other to strike as the bellowing, chanting mob around them grew restless. But before any more profanity was able to be flung by the commander, the Minotaur lowered its head, readying for its rampant charge as the knight smiled. Breaking into a charging sprint, the bovid released a blood-chilling roar that echoed through the forest as it stomping shook the earth beneath them.
The man readied his blade, the blood of its previous foes beginning to dry as he readied to paint it red once more. He would aim for the vitals, even if he gets knocked off his feet, the combined power of the rush and his mighty jab will topple the creature. Then he may set to purging the rest of the lesser foes, avenging his fallen troop before reporting back.
The bull rush drew them closer by the millisecond, the bull almost within reach now as he readied his swing. (I'VE GOT YOU NOW SWINE, NOWS YOUR TIME TO-) His thoughts were cut short as the wind was forced from his lungs, his armor crumpling inwards in his torso as he was sent hurdling backward.
Just as it was a clear lineup with where the beast leader would be, and his sword would meet, the creature pivoted in a way he wouldn't expect a being of its caliber and weight would be capable of. It stopped nearly on a dime as its hooves anchored themselves into the dirt, where the captain's blade now met with the monster's armored greave as it parried his attack with an armored arm. In a split second, the beast's second arm delivered its full weight into a soul-shattering, armor-crumpling blow as it hit the captain's unguarded chest.
The painful sound of armor and bone breaking as he was sent meters away was heard all around. The herd cheers the decisive blow dealt as Krant watched in terror as the last warrior on his side fell. Crashing into the dirt and indenting the soil, the commander howled in agony as he clutched his gashed chest, trying to work his body back up to stand against the mob.
Despite the blow he held onto his sword, angling it up at the rapidly approaching beast as it focused solely on the sword aimed at it.
"S-STAY BACK YOU *COUGH COUGH* HELLSPAWN!" His mouth was leaking blood as the Minotaur ripped the blade from his hand, throwing it aside with a loud CLANG. Which was followed by its wide hoof being planted into the knight's chest. Aggravating the now spewing chest wound as the knight's hands tried their damdest to pry it off, the creature not budging as it pinned him down.
"G-go on then, do it! Men of the empire will never t-truly die, we will be reve- GHAGHH!"
The beast put more weight on its heel, the blood now flowing from the mess of armor and flesh that was now embedded into the commander's chest. His struggle grew weaker and weaker, his threats becoming shorter and brisker as the life was juiced from him.
"You know, I think it will be nice when we meet again…" The Minotaur pulled its hoof from the now gaping wound in the commander's torso, more blood cascading down his armor than flowing in his body at this point. The dripping hoof is raised above the dying man's head, his bitter expression looking up at the beast that bested him with draining spite.
"…in HELL!" In an instant, his head was smashed into the soil, his arm jittering to a stop as it was midway to grabbing his dagger for a retaliatory strike. Krant's tears begin to shed, both in the grief of being the last man standing, and the horror of knowing it won't be that way for long. The Minotaur takes the comparatively clean blade of the slain human leader, the large two-handed sword looking like a rather normal-sized short sword for the bovid as it collected it as a trophy of another slain regiment.
The winning beast let off a deep, heinous roar that carried through the woods like a cursed wind, followed by his follower's feral cries of victory as they began to enjoy the spoils of victory. Stripping the men of their gear before feasting on the fresh flesh of their foes, a bloody feast on the trail as their leader disappeared back into the tree line. Taking his trophy, he left his followers to have their fun as he trudged back to camp, picking up a couple of corpses for the road as he was soon out of sight.
Krant was hyperventilating, in a panic about what to do now that he had nothing to rely on but his fresh-faced wits. Hiding back at the bottom of the hill he was perched on, his mouth is dry as he is no longer alone in his hiding spot. Several feral growls drowned out his thoughts as he looked back to see he was surrounded. He counted about 6 of the disfigured, mutated hounds closed in on him slowly. Each one a mismatched mess of spikes and stretched razor-fang-filled maws. All of them dripped with drool and other bile as they circled their prey, ready to dig into the freshest piece of meat left on the field.
"Sigmar, Ulric, m-mother, someone PLEASE, I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE!" His prayer goes unanswered as his cries are drowned out by the wet ripping of flesh, and the crunching of bones as the hounds have their feast. Another regiment lost to the woods; their fates not confirmed but known by those who await their return.
HEY EVERYBODY! LONG TIME NO SEE, SORRY FOR MY INACTIVITY!
A lot has been going on in my life, going through several different jobs and lots of stress from life in general. That and having the issue of how I want this story paced made me take a long time to get back into it. Don't you worry I have not given up and I still want to keep this going! I thank you to all who have waited for this, and a extra thank you to the folks who messaged me to make sure everything was okay, you all are the best followers one could ask for!
Shortly after my last chapter, I and some other authors (Jake the narrator, SCBM, TheChimeranHybrid, to name a few) started a discord server for story stuff and general chilling! Here is a link to that and I would love to see you there and see what you think of things!
/jCJgcjEwxe
Please do check them out, jake the narrator has a really nice xenomorph story about specimen 6.
SCBM's The Boy and the Queen, and the Dragons Games are both amazing stories that I can't recommend enough!
And The TheChimeranHybrid has a ton of lovely short stories of various settings (helldivers, scp, evolve, etc) that cover a wide range of settings!
I also have some other story ideas I wanna try. Namely: An Xcom Viper story, and a halo post-war one involving a human dude with jackal and elite neighbors. Let me know your thoughts on these ideas!
And as always I hope you enjoy the current chapter and feedback is appreciated! Wishing you all the best!