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Nachhexen-5-2493
"Fire!" shouted one of my captains as thousands of muskets fired at once into a wave of beastmen pouring out of the forest. The creatures fell by the dozens as rank after rank of musketeers unleashed volleys without pause. The mutants had crashed headlong into the first traps we had set, and their advance turned into a slaughter.
"Advance and finish off the fallen, they're already in retreat," I commanded, raising my runic mace high as I watched the beastmen begin to pull back after their futile assault against our forces.
"My lord, orders?" asked one of my captains, scanning the battlefield now carpeted with twisted corpses.
"We don't have time to build lasting fortifications. We'll make do with palisades and trenches. Send scouts to search for beastmen monoliths and keep watch for any movement of another warband," I replied, riding toward the rear to check on the supplies.
We had marched quickly. The forests near Altdorf were surprisingly clean —surely thanks to the frequent patrols of the Reiksguard— but the lands in the domains of the margraves and other nobles were another story. Since I had built the railway, my rail guards had grown accustomed to exterminating anything that crawled out of the woods. But now the time had come to scour the region entirely, leaving it secure for cultivation.
This would not only strengthen the people of Altdorf and its surroundings, it would bring peace. And where there is peace in Reikland, there is prosperity: if we wiped out the internal enemies —beastmen and greenskins— the population could grow without fear.
Time, however, was my greatest enemy. I had set myself a limit, and unlike Middenland, here I could not linger to raise fortresses or lure the herds against them. Here I could only fight in the open field, overwhelm them with superior fire, and keep moving forward. Fortunately, it was feasible: tens of thousands of musketeers, cannon batteries repositioning swiftly, and officers well-drilled in Ostermark for these maneuvers.
The only dilemma was that I was almost blind. With Katarin present, I could not use my magic freely, forcing me to step aside whenever I needed to sense the herds' movements. And the forests of Reikland were far more infested than I had expected, much worse than what the local nobility usually reported, preferring ceremonial hunts over true purges. Their numbers had grown dangerously.
But with nearly forty-five thousand men under my command, the task was simplified. I had split my forces into three armies, each responsible for a zone, and thus far all reports were favorable. The forests fell beneath the axes of locals and our lumbermen, while we ensured their safety.
"So this is the famed system that has earned you so many victories against this problem," said Katarin, watching as the snowy woods turned red while peasants and woodcutters felled trees under the protection of my soldiers.
"You could say so… though it's not my usual method. Here it's simpler: numbers are on our side. In Drakwald, for example, this would be impossible. There, the herds outnumber any human army, but here my men can fight them even on equal terms, and that allows us to advance quickly," I replied while giving orders to my captains to keep the purge going.
"And what do you normally do?" she asked, intrigued.
"I build fortresses," I explained. "Beastmen are creatures of habit, slaves to instinct. If you know those patterns, you can control them. The key are their monoliths: when you destroy and purify one, you send a signal that draws every nearby herd. They come seeking vengeance, believing they're defending their own, and crash headlong into your walls, where you wait with artillery and steel. That's how you turn them into victims of their own impulses."
"Why did you ask me to come? I thought you needed my magic above all, but here I am only watching," Katarin said, extending her hands as an icy aura began to seep from them.
"You need to be here because the Cult of Sigmar is annoyingly strict with wizards. They must see you fighting for the Empire. It is vital that you are present in these smaller victories, so that with the Emperor's and the Grand Theogonist's support we can request the Colleges of Magic to issue you a license to practice within the Empire. That will keep you safe from witch hunters, as well as your sorceresses. Otherwise, if I am not nearby, they might try to throw you into the flames of a pyre," I replied calmly, adjusting my steel gauntlet.
"In Kislev too, there are many who mistrust magic, especially among the boyars. Many oppose our circle of witches. But in the Empire… it seems the fear of mages runs far deeper," Katarin said, lowering her voice slightly.
"Yes. For centuries, too many catastrophes were caused by wizards who lost control —or simply turned to serve the Ruinous Powers. Even after the great archmage Teclis helped establish the Colleges of Magic to bring order, the stigma never faded. While nobles may appreciate a good spellcaster in their armies, it is still common for those who show the arcane gift to end up on the pyre before they can even reach Altdorf," I said, my eyes fixed on the horizon.
"General! We found one of the beastmen monoliths. Your men have already cleared the area. Shall we send for the priests to carry out the purification?" one of my captains called, galloping up with his horse dripping with sweat.
"Yes. Send the order and prepare the men. When that monolith burns, we'll have a great wave of beasts upon us. I want the lines steady and the cannons ready," I commanded firmly.
Then I turned to Katarin. "Be ready. We'll have hordes of beastmen upon us, and I will need you to cover me if anything happens. Without solid walls, we depend on mere palisades, and that could mean a breach in our defenses. I need you to use your gifts without restraint if the line begins to break."
Katarin nodded silently as the icy aura grew around her hands. I fastened my helmet, spurred my griffon forward, and moved to the front line, where my men were already preparing for the inevitable clash.
It wasn't long before the priests of Sigmar entered the forest, and after a few minutes dozens of my soldiers emerged from the trees with the priests behind them, having successfully completed the rituals required to purify one of the monoliths.
I didn't need to use my magic to sense what would come; it was only a matter of time before a great wave of beastmen appeared.
Barely minutes passed before the first of them began pouring out of the woods.
Musket fire thundered in perfect unison as soon as they came into range. The white snow was soon stained crimson with the blood of the beasts, which fell in great numbers the moment they set foot outside the treeline.
I remained watchful, prepared to intervene if my presence was needed, while receiving constant reports on horseback from my commanders, who relayed the movements of the warherds spilling out of the forest. For the moment, the situation was stable: as soon as they emerged, they were cut down mercilessly. I noted with a measure of calm that the forests of Reikland were far safer than the perpetual nightmare of Middenland.
Thus began a slow but steady fight. Every so often, hundreds of beastmen rushed out of the forest, only to be met with disciplined volleys of shot. From time to time minotaurs appeared, but concentrated fire brought their massive bodies crashing to the earth, shaking the ground beneath them. Occasionally wargors emerged —warherd leaders, many clad in armor consecrated to Khorne, while others bore the marks of different Dark Gods.
One in particular was consecrated to Nurgle. His stench was unbearable, and his armor was an abomination, a grotesque fusion of corroded metal and pulsating flesh that continued to throb even after its bearer was slain. The priests of Sigmar were forced to purify the armor and burn it immediately, for the risk of it spreading disease was far too high. Nurgle delighted in testing his creations in environments like this, where thousands of men lived crowded together in camps and trenches.
I found myself thinking. Without doubt, Nurgle was the most dangerous of them all to the cities of men. Khorne's devotees at least could not resist their bloodlust and hurled themselves into combat without strategy; Slaanesh's lost themselves in excess and depravity; Tzeentch, always hidden, wove plans that took decades or centuries to unfold. But Nurgle… Nurgle needed only to release a single plague to doom a city in days, against which nothing could be done by the very nature of the infection.
Though I had given the Cult of Shallya tools to fight disease —spreading the use of soap and promoting high-grade alcohol for cleaning wounds— I wondered if I should go further. What if I tried to create, for example, penicillin? Wouldn't it simply become an endless war of medicine against the bacteria?
Nurgle would learn from everything. Each cure would only give him a new challenge, a new excuse to create stronger plagues, testing our ability to adapt again and again.
But at least it had to be attempted. If Nurgle devoted himself to learning, then so must we. Better to fight uphill than surrender without resistance in a war that seemed lost from the start against the Lord of Plagues.
While lost in thought, I suddenly felt the presence of dhar in the air. It wasn't long before hundreds of beastmen, dozens of minotaurs, and numerous wargors poured from the forest, charging at our infantry lines. The cannons roared without pause, blasting showers of grapeshot that shredded bodies and hurled chunks of corrupted flesh into the air, yet the largest of them still advanced, unstoppable in their fury.
I moved to the front of my men, mace held high, ready to meet them. At my side, my griffon snorted in fury, wings half-spread, eager to tear apart anything that came too close.
And then, from our rear, a great storm of ice spikes began to rain down, driving through the bodies of the beastmen with brutal force. The shards were so vast they skewered several enemies at once. The ice witches were channeling the Winds of Magic, reciting their incantations, their frozen chant rising above the thunder of battle.
The air turned frigid. Many of the smaller beastmen froze where they stood, transformed into grotesque statues of ice before shattering into fragments. The battlefield became a terrifying spectacle: the fire of powder and cannon mingling with bursts of frozen sorcery.
While they held back the lesser beasts, I sought the source of that dark energy. It did not take long to spot three clear signals: shamans channeling dhar to keep the herds together and force them to ignore their fear. They were the key; they had to die.
I spurred my griffon, who spread his wings and soared in a mighty leap. We flew over the battlefield, dodging smoke columns and clumsy volleys of arrows. When I caught sight of the shamans, my mount dove in a furious plunge with an earth-shaking roar.
The first never had a chance: my beast's claws ripped him apart in an instant, reducing him to a mangled heap of flesh. The second tried to conjure a spell, but my griffon caught him in its beak, tearing his head off with a single savage jerk. A spray of blood drenched us both, and I heard the terrified cries of the nearby beastmen.
The third tried to flee. I did not allow it. My griffon dove savagely toward him, landing close enough for me to swing my mace. I heard every bone shatter under its force, the Dwarfen runes along my weapon flaring with lethal light in that instant.
With the three shamans slain, the herd lost cohesion. Many beastmen fled at once, overcome by panic. Others, however, tried to encircle us, hurling themselves desperately at my griffon.
"Fly!" I ordered, and my mount spread its wings, soaring violently above the treetops, leaving those that surrounded us behind.
When we returned over the camp, the scene had changed: heaps of beastmen lay impaled on enormous shards of ice, others frozen mid-stride, grotesque statues shattered by the ice witches. The rest were falling beneath the relentless volleys of my musketeers.
At the very least, it seemed this campaign would be swift. With a cadre of witches no longer forced to hide their gifts, the enemy had become far easier to destroy.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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