The Chill in the Night

Lusien pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, the wind had picked up after the sun set beyond the western mountains and brought with it an unseasonable cold. The boy had an argument with his brothers and decided to leave the safety of the farmhouse and stand watch over the remaining goats of his family's farm.

The family's troubles had started a few weeks before when Lusien and his older brother Mytier had discovered one of the goats slain, at first they assumed that a wolf or some other predator of the night had killed it, but as they looked over the remains they were both dumbstruck. No meat was missing, and while the poor thing was seemingly torn to bits there seemed an unnatural order to it all. The goat's guts had been piled while its legs had been cast in odd directions. Repulsed and frightened the pair had fled back to the farmhouse to tell their father Coldyn, and other brother Ingall of the grim sight.

The family decided to leave one son and their dogs in the pasture with the trip of goats so they could catch the creature that had done such a gruesome thing. Mytier being the oldest and almost a man had decided to take the first few nights watch and for a time there was no loss of livestock. On the fourth night the hounds rose from their rest beside Mytier and bolted into the dark howling and barking, the boy bravely gave chase but soon the dogs fell silently and could not be found, shaken by the loss of the dogs Mytier retreated to his home and roused his family with the news.

In the morning Coldyn gathered all three of his sons, they armed themselves as best they could mustering a brace of long knives and a pitchfork between them. The family set out in the direction the dogs had run beyond the pasture and towards the edge of the woods bordering the farm. In the early light of dawn beneath a large hearthwood tree they found their dogs, both skinned and seemingly bent backwards with their hind legs shoved into their mouths. Somehow the slain animals still stood on their front legs, posed across from one another like guardian statues of a temple. Young Ingall shrieked and buried his face into his father's chest. Coldyn gripped his son with one hand and made the beak sign of Viridia with the other. All four staggered back from the horror, "Back to the house!" the boys and their father fled running across the field the way they had come, the little group barged into their house and bolted the door behind them.

For a long time the family sat in silence, Ingall quietly sobbed while his brother Lusien tried to comfort him, the heartbreaking sight made up Coldyn's mind about what to do. Coldyn bundled up some dry cheese and stale bread, tucked one of the long knives in his belt and then kissed each of his sons on the forehead. "I must go to Northbank, there I can get the aid of some guards, perhaps a priest of Viridia. I will return with help and we can banish this evil. Please my boys, stay in the house. Do not venture out, there is salt meat and cheese in the cellar and I should be back in less than three days. Mytier you are the oldest, watch after your brothers." The oldest boy nodded sternly.

The boys did as they were bade and stayed in the house, during the day Lusien would gaze out of the narrow window by the door, he could see some of the goats when they would venture near the house. At night the three would huddle near the hearth and hope for the dawn to come and banish their fears. They did this for two nights and two days, when Lusien saw something move among the goats in the pasture close to sunset, a man, but not like his father or the other farmers in the vale. The man seemed hunched and yet tall, taller than he should be, clad all in dark cloth that draped about him like a shroud. Lusien watched the man for a time and wondered what he was doing, the goats didn't seemed startled by him even though there was something in the way he moved that made Lusien afraid. Suddenly as if sensing the attention from Lusien the man turned to face the house, frail and overly long fingers seemed to slide from the shadows of the man's sleeves and slowly rose to the dark shade of the hooded man's face. Slowly the hood slid back, in the waning light a pallid face with a wide smile and dark eyes was revealed, but as Lusien looked he realized that wasn't right, the man had no eyes just empty voids and that overly wide smile was just teeth as if the man had no lips. "What are you doing?!" Mytier shouted at his brother. For the first time Lusien was aware of the sound he was making, he had been screaming since the man-thing had turned to look at him. Broken from the spell by his brother's words Lusien had stopped, he looked back through the window but the man-thing had gone. "I saw something... someone... we need to go out there."

Lusien and Mytier argued for an hour or more till Lusien made up his mind to leave the safety of his house, he had grappled with his older brother and snatched up the remaining long knife, his younger brother had pleaded that he stay but Lusien needed to know what the man-thing was, grabbing an old horse blanket for warmth he set out to find out what the man-thing wanted with his family and their farm. Lusien stormed into the dark, wandering till he found the trip of goats. Hours past and the wind picked up, Lusien grew cold and finally decided to rest by the trunk of a small stone fruit tree. The sky was clear but the stars seemed dull, the moon hung low and full in the sky and it lit all the land in an eerie amber. "Did you like my craft?" The voice cut into Lusien thoughts, gone were the feelings of the cold night, replaced with a tight heat deep in his guts that made him instantly sweat, Lusien looked into the moonlit dark till he spotted the source of the words, seemingly wrapped in shadows the man-thing was just a few feet from the boy. Lusien stammered and coughed but couldn't find the ability to make words. "I could teach you. I have yearned for an apprentice who is both brave and curious." The words were like a rasp on the base of Lusien's skull, his eyes watered and his bile rose, just when Lusien thought he would be sick on himself words tumbled out of his mouth, "What are you?" The man-thing made a sound like pebbles falling into a dry well, it took a moment for Lusien to realize that the thing was laughing. "I am all that men of great power wish to be but have not the means to achieve. I am ever-living. I could teach you to be the same." Lusien wanted to weep, to jump up and flee into the dark from this twisted thing, to turn away from it and pray to any of the pantheon that it would leave him alone, but all he could do was quietly agree, he nodded and spoke through the dryness he felt in his throat, "Yes." The man-thing drew closer, its hood falling away from the skull like visage that was its face, it knelt in front of Lusien. "Your first lesson waits for you in that farmhouse." Lusien felt hot tears run down his face as he suddenly understood the nature of his first lesson, but knew he would do exactly what the thing expected of him, and for his obedience he would be rewarded.

Zona Alfa

Sergeant Zubarev slapped a dossier down on the table. "We're being redeployed to Adrosorvik."

The soldiers sitting around groaned, "There's fuck all to do there!" Niminev bleated, "Bunch of stuffy generals already drank all the booze and fucked all the whores!" the assembled soldiers laughed at the unit's clown.

The Sergeant scowled till the laughter died out, "I know you worldly gentlemen don't watch the news, but I'm sure you know that Adrosorvik was the site of a recent attack by the rebels, command has tried to keep a lid on the whole thing, but this was no normal bombing, half the city was wiped off the map by a device of unknown design."

The revelation took the levity out of the bored soldiers, Zubarev surveyed the room gauging the faces of his soldiers. "Listen up, the brass was there, I don't know why, but as of right now General Dovadov is the commander of all Guuseprian forces." A quite murmur of swears rolled through the men. "The Army has set up a perimeter and no one is getting in or out of the Adrosorvik region, they're calling it Zona Alfa. We're the lucky bastards that get to go in first and check it out."

Corporal Vadym Buserev piped up, "No one knows what happened?"

Zubarev picked up the dossier he'd set down and handed it to the Corporal, "We know there was a massive attack, it might have been nuclear..." Goldava kissed the cross he wore around his neck and folded in on himself. "Hey, we're the best recon unit in the Army, that's why we're going in first, the radiation readings are inconsistent..."

"Good, maybe we'll only get a little cancer." Niminev's joke failed to make anyone laugh this time.

"All precautions are being taken on this one, we're getting radiation gear and testing equipment, command is even giving us an armored recce with full contaminant scrubbers. If the site is dirty we'll at least be clean. We have to go in, whatever happened has to be found out and there's no radio or other transmissions coming out of Adrosorvik. Aerial recon is not going to cut it on this."

"Not surprising, when have those fly-boys ever got the job done?" Niminev succeeded in making the squad laugh, "Besides maybe we'll get super powers like the Icredible Hulk." The joker proceeded to flex and growl.

"That's the spirit. Our mission is simple, we go in, collect as much information as we can, command wants video, photos, readings on radiation in the air, soil samples, and if we can connect with survivors of the attack, rescue any of the missing VIP's." Sergeant Zubarev pulled his beret from his pocket and fixed it on his head. "Corporal, go over the particulars with the men. Double check all your gear. I have to head over to the motor-pool and get our special equipment. We leave at 19:00, it's going to be an overnight drive and we should be there in the morning."

Corporal Buserev stood and saluted, "Yes Sergeant."

The Gendarmes of Wallonce

In the Western Kingdom of Wallonce men of means and noble birth serve their lords and King as Gendarmes, armored horsemen able to crush the barbarians and creatures from beyond the Iron Spine mountains with a coordinated charge. To see the glittering armor and fine velvet of the gathered Gendarmes is to witness something both terrible and beautiful in equal measure, and just as there is a dichotomy in their appearance there is also one in the actions of the Gendarmes. For every noble horseman there is a bloodthirsty adventurer, for every paragon of Walloncian virtue there is a swindler of noble birth content to fatten himself on the stipend afforded to him by the King.

The Gendarmes are meant to share a singular purpose but like many things intent is not the same as result. Rather than being an institution with one leader, the King in the case of the Gendarmes, they are instead a loose collective of cliquish nobles, often more loyal to individual lords or in the worst instances loyal to the fattest purse. In the modern age this impulse has been curbed some by strong Lords like High Lord Brathburn of the Western Marches, but the High Lord has a fair number of powerful enemies and those Gendarmes who bristle at his edicts and decrees find ample patronage from those enemies.

Further splintering of the Gendarmes results from the numerous orders of noblemen that gather around certain activities, causes or the authority of influential towns and trades. These "Noble Clubs" do serve a good purpose often, keeping men interested in the arts martial and honing their skills in sport both equestrian and militant. One fine example would be the Order of the Silvered Blade, a militant order whose members pride themselves on skill with swords in full harness, its members often patrol the Western Marches at their own expense with the hope of practicing their craft against the foes of the Medial Kingdoms. Another example would be the Order of the Impassioned Lady, a romantic order whose members practice the courtly arts of dance, poetry, calligraphy and music, while its members may not be the most militant they serve a needed function as courtiers and diplomats.

More controversial orders do exist, orders whose members pursue goals that are not always inline with those of the Kingdom of Wallonce. The Order of the Withheld Guilder is perhaps the most powerful of these and the most dangerous, at odds with almost every other order and despised by many of the most loyal Lords, the Gendarmes of the Withheld Guilder are primarily not of Noble birth, but they have extensive means as merchants, tradesmen, and guild authorities, their only goal seeming to be achieving power through trade and wealth, they have organized and taken up arms so they can refuse to accept certain taxes and edicts. Due to their power over the markets and trade of Wallonce and their ability to muster substantial military force they have not been brought to heel, but it is only a matter of time till there is a reckoning between the Order of the Withheld Guilder and the Throne of Wallonce, whether this will result in a yoking of the merchants or the appointment of a puppet king is uncertain.

Gloomburg

Shrouded in mists, both mundane and mystical, Gloomburg rests as a dim bastion of Sigmar's light in the Realm of Shadow. Its human populace labors daily to eke an existence from a harsh land benighted by the ravages of undeath and the dire machinations of the followers of Chaos. Despite their hardships, the free peoples of Gloomburg thrive in a unique way, they are able to harness useful vapor from the mists and bring light to winding dilapidated streets of their city bringing a measure of safety to the vulnerable citizens who dwell within its walls.

Gloomburg is centered around a once forgotten shrine to Sigmar, the verdigris dome of this structure is much like the people of the city, stained from exposure to the Realm of Shadow but standing defiant with a noble purpose and resolute solidarity. Around this temple mount are clustered the homes and shops of the citizens of Gloomburg, each building is festooned with the curious gas-powered lights and slow burning torches that provide the illumination needed for day to day life. Beyond these structures lies the Great Mausoleum Fields, many square acres of graves and shrines that hold the Sanctified Dead, those who rest quietly after their entombment. The final edifice of the living is the long curtain wall which rings the Great Mausoleum Fields, the garrison of the wall is called the Mystguard, these brave souls stand in defiance of the terrors that would see all the people of Gloomburg slain or worse.

The people of Gloomburg do not stand alone in their struggle however, the Stormcast Eternals, heavenly champions of Sigmar, maintain a small presence in the city; these noble champions buoy the spirits of the suffering people of Gloomburg and fight those threats too dire for the Mystguard to handle by themselves. The Stormcast are not the only allies of the free people of Gloomburg, a small community of duardin live withing the city, and more extraordinarily the Kharadron Overlords operate a trade dock that brings in vital supplies in exchange for the right to exploit the the aether-gold present in the mists around Gloomburg.

The Fallen Hold

Nobran stalked through the damp corridor, the aroma of mildew and squalor overbearing in the dark space, acrid smoke hung in the air made by the dim braziers that dotted the once ornate walls, grime now caked the impressive and continuous etchings that decorated the hold. In its heyday the hold was the pride of the local dwarf lord who owned the mines and trade of the region, now the mine was half filled with water and effluvia, the decaying scraps of those who fell victim to the current residents of the hold, two of those denizens straitened as they heard the approach of their master.

The bulky creatures clutched crude and menacing weapons, their beady eyes glinting in the dim as they spied Nobran, both bowed their heads and one made to speak, a voice like ripping cloth crawled from the crusted lips of the beastly guard.

"We have done as told, the thing is bound, weak it is and ready for breaking, master is pleased?"

Nobran nodded, his lackeys were strong and cruel as all of his ilk should be, but they knew his wrath and feared him as much as they obeyed him.

"Good," Nobran's voice reverberated like a distant avalanche, a thing filled with malice and promise of death, "I will see to the breaking, I will teach the creature fear and pain till it knows nothing else."

The two beasts opened the door they guarded and stepped aside for their master, beyond them in another squalid chamber was the subject of Nobran's attention. Almost twice as large as Nobran, the hill giant knelt between two stone columns, its arms bound by ropes that wrapped around the impressive structures of the room and anchored to iron rings in the floor. A brazier smoldered near the giant's face, a set of irons rested within the guttering flames, the fickle light danced on a crude table covered in the tools of a torturer.

A cruel smile split Nobran's face, his sharp and menacing teeth bared in a display that would curdle the blood of even a hardened warrior, he strode towards the table of implements, his clawed fingers finding purchase on the handles of a large set of pliers, his gaze shifted to the shaggy head of the bound giant, its head bowed and fists clenched, Nobran would see to that, soon it would know only to recoil at his presence, know only to cower at his voice and obey his command without hesitation for fear of his wrath.

The verdigris stained door to the chamber creaked shut, a sound soon forgotten among the muffled howls of a stubborn creature learning the proper order of things, an order ruled by a tyrant bugbear and his minions.

Wrong Turnpike

Lucian was tired and hungry, worse yet his tail ached from riding the pitiful animal he was forced to mount after leaving the garrison at Stonespire. His trading with the quartermaster of Stonespire had been very profitable, but the man had been absolutely miserly with trading supplies. The burly man had eagerly counted out two-score gold guilders and a dozen silver after looking over Lucian's tools, it was a small fortune in coin, but when Lucian had asked for dry rations the quartermaster had refused, when he tried to get a saddle for the swaybacked nag he traded his ox for again the quartermaster claimed none could be spared. Lucian shifted his hips against the rough doubled over blanket that he was making do with, two burlap sacks tied with a length of rope served as saddlebags for the young wanderer. Lucian's guts grumbled with hunger.

"Ungh! Curse this whole land!" Lucian wrung his hands on the rope reigns he had fashioned for his mount, if wasn't wearing the simple clothing of a tradesman he thought he would look just like the impoverished pilgrims that occasionally passed through his old home village of Hedgemire.

Lucian had set off back to the east, there wasn't anything worth his trouble further west beyond Stonespire, though he still didn't know where exactly he was heading, in fact he wasn't sure where he had gotten himself to, the path he was on was different than the road he had traveled, more narrow and with more plant growth, it did not seem disused or overgrown just different than the rocky rutted road he had used. Still his mount clopped along the trail as if she knew the way.

As he climbed a subtle rise in the road a turnpike slowly came into view, he knew for sure now that he had not been on this trail before, or at least the turnpike had not been on the trail before. The closer he approached the more he could make out. the turnpike was just a simple felled tree braced on a few crossed spars, the tops of which were sharpened to deter someone from jumping the road block with their horse, not that Lucian's mount could manage a feat like that. Lucian tried to slow his approach but his nag kept walking on at its leisurely pace.

There was a rustling behind Lucian and he turned his head in time to see a couple men move from behind a particularly dense bush.

"Whoa there goodman, there is a toll to use the road." The pair quickly walked towards Lucian, easily able to outpace the nag he was riding.

Lucian tugged at the reigns and his mount came to a stop, bristling a little while whinnying through the rope harness.

"Sorry, this is the first time I've traveled this road... I can pay the toll..."

Lucian's words trailed off as the men came up on either side of him, they looked different than the men he had seen at the garrison, or the cavalry patrol he had encountered on the road before. They both looked the part of soldiers, but gone was the common blue and white livery of the Stonespire garrison. These men were dressed in dark green and faded black, one man was clad in a dark brigandine and the other wore a breastplate darkened with forge scale, a sign that the man's armor was made in a hurry or bought for cheap skipping the polishing process.

The man in brigandine looked up at Lucian from under his wide brimmed helmet, one hand resting on the pommel of a fine sword hanging at his belt.

"What are you doing on the Baron's road?" The man regarded Lucian with a puzzled expression tinted with disgust, like a man might look at unexpected dung he had stepped in.

"I have just finished some business... and was headed east for someplace to rest... I have to admit I do not know where I am exactly..." Lucian felt uneasy as he started to think on the words the man had said, weren't all the roads the Kingdom's roads, who was this Baron?

The man in the brigandine reached out and gripped the harness of Lucian's horse, "These are dangerous roads for a man who does not know the way. It would be best for you if you came with us. Further up this pass is the village of Verdenvale, we have a garrison there and enforce the Baron's law. You would be welcome to rest there if you can pay for room and board."

Lucian shifted nervously on his mount, "I was warned of bandits by a patrol of horsemen yesterday... and... well..."

The two soldiers shared a look before again regarding Lucian, the man in the darkened plate spoke this time, "Aye, these horsemen, did they wear the blue and white livery of the Marches?"

Lucian nodded and unconsciously shifted one of hands to his belt where he gripped the small purse of coins he had cinched there.

"By Mara's tits! Will those thrice damned Brathburn curs never recognize the Baron's rights?" The soldier spat in the dirt and balled his fists.

The soldier in brigandine tried to calm his comrade, "Easy Goadwyn, there is every chance this man knows nothing of the troubles here in the Marches. We are the law here, the Baron is our lord and we do his bidding. Those other soldiers, the ones setting up in Stonespire are the bandits. They charge taxes and tolls they have no right to claim and they attack us any chance they get. That's why we were hidden when you rode up. They have the gall to call us 'bandits' they are the bandits."

Lucian nodded along in agreement feeling completely lost but at the mercy of the two soldiers. "Well I am glad that I am safe now."

"Aye, we will see to your safety traveler, but there is still the matter of the toll. One silver Guilder for the use of the Baron's road with an animal." The soldier in brigandine held out his free hand.

Lucian fumbled with the tie of his purse and quickly produced the coin, at this rate he would expend all his money on tolls and taxes and would end up begging in the streets of whatever place he finally found himself.

The soldier took the coin and pocketed it, "With that settled the three of us can find some rest and shelter in Verdenvale. First round is on me traveler, and you can tell Goadwyn and I about your journey. Come on we can make it before nightfall if we get going."

The odd trio set off towards Verdenvale, and what Lucian hoped might be a better beginning for his new life.

A Rock and a Hard Place

Lucian cursed his luck for the dozenth time, he should have never sold the family business, he should have never come to the Western Marches and he should have never bought the misserable beast refusing to pull his wagon.

"Go! You stinking flea-bitten brute! This would be faster if I pulled the cart and you rode back here."

 Lucian struck out two more times with his rod at the flanks of the ox hitched to his cart with no result other than a plaintive groan from the over-worked beast. The track was uphill and rutted, large rocks protruded here and there, it was not easy going for a wagon laden with tools, pulled by an ox past its prime, and driven by a man with little experience of such things, but this is where Lucian found himself and he'd come too far to back down.

Lucian had inherited his trade from his father, like most men of Wallonce, but he was never a very good smith, his arms lacked the stamina and his fingers the deftness of a craftsman. Unlike his late brother Fredric, Lucian did not try to make up for a lack of skill with toil, hard work was not for him. Thinking of that now he wondered why he had embarked on his undertaking, but then he remembered the fat sack of Guilders he'd been promised if he could deliver the tools of his forge to the garrison of Stonespire. The plan had been simple, and perhaps that was where it was faulty, gather up the tools, anvil, bellows; load everything into the cart, hitch the last ox up and drive it on for a fortnight or so. Get his payment for the forge supplies, and then trade the ox for any old nag he could ride away on and Lucian could set himself up in River Ford or Almsmarch as a pawn broker, gambler, or scoundrel; live a life of wenches and wine.

He should have known better, it had gone wrong as soon as he tried to pack it all up in his home of Hedgemire. The locals had gathered in a mob and demanded that he not dismantle the forge, they needed it, to mend the tools and implements of farming, it was a necessary thing to everyone's livelihood. They had even scrounged up some Guilders to pay Lucian to leave without the tools, but it was a pittance compared to what he could get from the Lord rebuilding Stonespire, by the Western Hells he could have gotten a better price for the stuff in Almsmarch. Lucian spat into the dirt at the thought, why didn't he just go east to Almsmarch, he'd probably only get half what he could in Stonespire but he'd already have the coin in his purse and likely wine in his belly.

Lucian looked ahead on the road past the groaning ox tugging his cart, he could just make out a noise, hoof beats. The sound grew louder and soon he could make out a rising cloud of dust being kicked up by a dozen or so riders. The cavalrymen slowed as they approached the cart obstructing their path. Lucian could make out more of the approaching riders, they carried two pennants, one blue and white, the other crimson with a tower emblazoned on it in black.

Lucian called out to them. "Ho! Are you from Stonespire?"

The riders halted in the road and a single man on horse approached Lucian. He wore heavy plate harness and a bushy black beard stuck out from under his sallet. The rider had a lance held in his right hand and it rested on a hook on his breast plate, he circled Lucian's wagon and regarded him like a carrion hound might gaze at a wounded lamb.

"What's your business on the Kingdom's road?" The booming voice of the rider had Lucian regretting every decision that had led him to this moment.

"I am a blacksmith... that is I was a blacksmith, but I heard that the garrison at Stonespire was to be rebuilt... and well I thought..."

The rider cocked his head as he looked at Lucian, "We've no need of retired blacksmiths at the garrison." The riders seemed to chuckle and relax their postures a bit. "Besides the place isn't really much to look at so I have no idea why you would want to retire there."

Another of the riders dismounted and made his way to Lucian and his cart, the man yanked back the cover over the wagon and began to rummage through the bundles of tools and supplies, Lucian turned in his seat to see what the man was doing when the first rider spoke again.

"We have had troubles with smugglers on this road, and bandits too, but you don't seem like a bandit, the bandits don't normally stammer and piss themselves when we stop them."

The riders burst into laughter and pitifully Lucian tried to laugh along with them.

"The smugglers tend to sweat a bit though, you wouldn't be a smuggler would you? Trying to evade the Kingdom's taxes?"

 As he asked the question the rider tipped his lance into Lucian's cart and took a few exploratory jabs, seeming to be satisfied with the result the rider raised his lance again hooked it back on its rest. The dismounted rider nodded to the first and made his way back to his mount as Lucian tried to answer the question, "I just wanted to make my way to the garrison and sell my tools... so a smithy could be established there."

The first rider nodded, "Well that should be fine, my Lord has been acquiring quite a bit of the needed materials for the garrison, I'm sure you'll find a market there, but there is the matter of the toll. One guilder per draft animal, you do have a guilder on you don't you?"

Lucian struggled with the drawstring of his purse and quickly produced the single silver coin, he thrust his hand out, "Here... no problem at all."

The rider drew closer and took the proffered coin. "Two of my men will escort you the rest of the way, you should be at the fort before nightfall." The first rider spurred his horse and the rest followed flowing around Lucian and his cart kicking up dust and startling Lucian's ox in the process.

Lucian tugged at the reigns till the beast calmed, as he caught his breath he regarded his new escort. One man looked much like the other, almost fully armored in plate harness but one wore a blue and white livery coat with a red gate on his breast.

The rider in the livery coat spoke "Lets get moving goodman, we still have our trade to practice even if you have given yours up." the other rider snorted with laughter as the trio set off towards Stonespire.