Mordheim

Sisters and Ogres
By Todd

Sister Superior Amalthea stode through the dingy marketplace, taking no heed of the furtive stares and hushed whispers that accompanied her passage. The novices with her, however, were extremely disturbed by the market-goers. Most of the girls were noblewomen, and servants had always handled market duties. They eyed the riff-raff that surrounded them, and kept their hands upon the reasuring bulk of their warhammers. "Sister, how will you know when you find the one we seek?" said the youngest novice, Sara, as she looked up at Amalthea. The massive woman looked down at the slender girl at her side: "Sigmar guides, child. Have faith." The novices all nodded.

A loud roar caused the group of Sisters to turn, Amalthea's twinned warhammers already in her hands. 4 stalls away a group of mangy cut-throats swiftly retreated from a massive figure. Mis-matched plates and old stips of chains lined its hulking torso. Tusks emerged from a mis-happened head that resembled an unfinished granite bust more than a living being. "Oye, you slim! You nicked me purse ya cheeky brunch plate! Right!" A warhammer with a head a full 4 feet wide whipped up from the ogre's [for it could be nothing else] side. In an impressive display of carnaged, the ogre smashed the would-be thieves into the muddy street, literally in several cases. Sister Amalthea nodded her thanks to her patron lord and diety as she put her warhammers away. "That's our boy, girls."

A pouch of gold, and a keg of stout ale later, Kromarg the Fist found himself in the employ of the Sister's of Sigmar.