YE MORDHEIM LEGENDS GAZETTE
18 Angestag, Erntezeit .................................................................................. 2 Groats

Wolves in Mordheim
By Enrique Durand

A chill wind blew back the long white mane of Volkmar Alf-Ulric, Wolf Priest of Ulric, god of winter and wolves. Volkmar sniffed the air, detecting the smells of death and decay, and thought, "Aye, Mordheim 'tis a foul place"

"Over here! I've found something!" Lothar's cry stopped the warband in its tracks. Volkmar stalked over to where Lothar knelt beside a small tuft of brown fur caught on the edge of a sharp paving stone. The priest swept his white wolf's pelt cloak behind him as he knelt with the young hunter. Though barely into his seventeenth winter, the youth had keen sight, and years of hunting boar with his father had sharpened his tracking skills. Gripping his hunting spear tightly, Lothar looked at Volkmar and asked, "Is it...?" The priest cut him off, "Aye, lad, vile rat-men. Their spoor is unmistakable." The boy's skills had alerted them to the presence of the foul vermin. Volkmar looked up as Euric Graubaer, the band's leader, approached. Euric was a huge man with long gray hair and heavy, full beard. Wrapped in a gray wolf cloak he looked more than ever like his name, which meant, "gray bear." "'Tis Skaven," Volkmar hissed, "Of that I am sure, and they were here recently. How many, though, that I cannot tell you." "Never mind," growled Euric, "Our band may be small, but I trust my life to these men. And if the fates conspire against us, then tonight we shall drink in Ulric's hall and tell of our glorious battle. Oh, and Lothar, for your alertness you will fight by my side." Euric strode away, shouting commands to the rest of the warband. Volkmar looked at Lothar, whose wide eyes and white knuckles betrayed his fear. "Fear not, lad. Euric will do all he can to postpone the day of our feasting with our god. If anyone can lead us through this hell that was once a city, it is he."

As he watched the warriors array themselves for battle, Volkmar thought back to their arrival in this accursed city three days ago. Their band had traveled weeks from Middenheim, under their ruler's commission to find the wyrdstone that many now claimed littered the streets of Mordheim. Volkmar had joined the band for reasons of his own. No earthly ruler could command him who had given his life to his god, Ulric. Volkmar saw the comet's strike as Ulric's judgment on the decadent followers of Sigmar. Why would Sigmar strike down his own followers, he reasoned. Certainly this was Ulric's doing, and if so, his place was here, preaching to the survivors, hoping to lead them to the truth. And, while he was at it, bashing the heads of as many Templars of Sigmar as crossed his path. They and the heretical Sisters were his sworn foes, and Volkmar hated them more than any others. Volkmar spat at the thought of the Sisters. There was no telling by what diabolical magics they had protected their stronghold from destruction.

Upon reaching the outskirts of Mordheim, Euric and the others had been amazed at the shantytowns and encampments that had grown around the stricken city. Anything could be bought, for a price. They had found a tavern owned by an immigrant from Middenheim immigrant, and he had allowed them to stay there at something approaching a reasonable price. For two days they had wandered the area, seeking information before venturing into what was left of the city proper. In the end, they found it impossible to sort the truth from the fantasy, and they tired of listening to wild stories of the dead come to life, the bands of mutant Chaos followers, and others who prowled the alleys of Mordheim looking for new victims. "Enough!" Euric had roared, "We know 'tis a dangerous place, but by Ulric's hammer I'll not sit here another day and listen to these weary women spin their tales. Tomorrow we enter the city, and if any seek to oppose us, we shall indulge them with our hammers." Volkmar was also aware of an underlying reason for Euric's impatience - they had not anticipated the high cost of everything, and were rapidly running low on funds. And thus, here they were, barely a half-day's journey into the city, and they had already found signs of Skaven. Euric's voice brought Volkmar back to the present. "Drogo, Grimald," Euric called, "Take the left flank." The two rangers moved to obey. Though the pair were more used to hunting their prey through the thick forests of the Drak Wald, they prepared their longbows for use in a more urban, if less civilized, setting. "Alaric!" The youth startled at his name. "You're with the rangers. Aim true, lad." Alaric grabbed his crossbow and moved towards the rangers, eyeing them nervously. "I won't bite," Drogo laughed, "though I can't speak for Grimald." Grimald humored Drogo with a broad grin, showing his strong teeth. "Enough," said Euric, "Keep an eye on the boy and try not to get him killed. There'll be time enough for teasing later. And remember, as soon as we sight the rats, seek the high ground!"
"Gunnar, Gunthar, take the center." The giant twins glanced up from where they were engaged in a private conversation, then moved to the middle of the battle line. The redheaded pair towered over their fellow Middenheimers, and their matching black wolf cloaks made them difficult to tell apart except for their choice of weapons. While Gunnar preferred a hammer and shield, Gunthar chose to wield a mighty two-handed hammer.
"Hammerers! The right is yours, be sure to hold it." The three men from Lindenheim nodded. They had fought together in many an engagement before entering Euric's service. They would not disappoint him. "Volkmar, Lothar and I will look for a weakness and exploit it. Now let us move forward carefully, and be prepared, for the Skaven often come from an unexpected direction."

The members of the warband advanced, glancing from side to side, waiting for the inevitable. After what seemed only a few heartbeats, Volkmar heard the chittering of the rat-men, though he was uncertain of the direction from which the noise came. A few strides later, Volkmar could tell that all the members of the warband had heard the sounds, as swords were loosened in their scabbards and hammers were swung in practice arcs.
The warband advanced out of the alley, into a larger, more open area that appeared to have once been a market square. Across the way they could see flashes of movement in the upper floors of some ruined
buildings. Suddenly the chittering increased in volume and intensity, and they could see dark shadows moving across the square towards them. "For Ulric!" Euric shouted as he advanced. The men took up the cry as they moved forward to meet the enemy.
Drogo, Grimald and Alaric climbed to the top story of what had been a silk merchant's shop. Taking cover behind bales of fabric, they took aim at the shapes and fired. Drogo's arrow found its mark, and a Skaven warrior went down. Grimald's shot went just wide, and skittered across the paving stones of the square. Both turned as Alaric screamed, to see the boy struggling to pull a crossbow bolt out of his foot where it had pinned him to the floor.
"Ulric's sake, boy," cried Grimald, "Can ye not even point that thing out the window before you shoot!" Alaric got his foot unstuck and reloaded his weapon, vowing to make a better showing with his next shot. Gunthar and Gunnar charged straight down the center of the square, disdaining cover in their zeal to come to grips with the enemy. Osbert, Terric and Warin, the hammerers, advanced more cautiously down the left, not knowing where the enemy might be hidden. Euric looked at Volkmar. "Well, priest, this is why we're here. Let's split some rat skulls!"
But Volkmar did not hear him, for he was lost deep in prayer to his god. "Mighty Ulric, father of wolves, god of the winter storm, show us your blessing today as we battle these foul abominations. If we fall, may it be valiantly, that we may proudly dine with you in your hall." Drogo and Grimald's next arrows both flew true, but they had chosen the same target, and a Skaven warrior fell with a pair of
black-feathered arrows in its chest.
"Got him," cried Drogo.
"Nay, my friend, you are mistaken," replied Grimald, "'Twas my arrow that slew him, for your release was slightly slower."
As the two continued their good-natured bantering, Alaric finally got a shot off. The two archers looked at each other.
"Where in Ulric's name were you aiming, boy?" yelled Grimald, but he grew quiet as the body of a Skaven slinger fell from the upper story of a ruin across the square.
"Well now, Grimald," said Drogo, "Methinks if we survive you owe the lad an apology. He'll have a rat-man's ears hanging from his belt after all." The three continued to search for targets among the ruins, firing at will as Skaven came into their field of vision.
In the center, Gunnar and Gunthar had come to grips with a small group of Skaven carrying spears. Ignoring their adversaries' weapons, the twins charged headlong into the group. One Skaven spear found its mark, gouging a line across Gunthar's chest, but the warrior ignored the cut, and his double-handed hammer came crashing down on the unfortunate rat, crushing its skull in one mighty blow. Gunnar was able to deflect another spear with his shield, getting in close to the Skaven before unleashing his own attack, raining hammer blow after hammer blow on the vile creature's head. Though two Skaven were down, the twins were still engaged in combat with three others. A Skaven managed to get his spear past Gunnar's shield, and the point bit deep into the giant warrior's thigh. Though Gunnar's hammer struck home at the same instant, shattering the face of the rat-man, the warrior fell as his leg buckled. "Gunnar!" Gunthar yelled as he saw his brother collapse. Consumed by rage, he swung his giant hammer effortlessly, smashing the remaining two Skaven to the ground, stunned or slain. "I believe I will be all right brother," Gunnar hissed through clenched teeth, "But I fear you will have to carry on without me for the remainder of this melee."
Gunthar's eyes grew cold as he said, "The rats will pay for this. I swear it!"
Meanwhile, the hammerers on the right had come under fire from Skaven slingers. Unsure of where the stones were coming from, they huddled beneath their shields as they moved from cover to cover in order to come to grips with their unseen adversaries. Before they could reach the buildings opposite them, Osbert fell, stunned by a Skaven's stone. Terric and Warin did not even turn, knowing a single lapse of concentration would be enough for them to join their fallen comrade. Finally, they were across the square, in among the ruined buildings. "There," cried Terric, pointing upwards. "That's where the scum are hiding."
A Skaven had foolishly looked out from its hiding place in search of more targets and been spotted by the mercenary. Climbing a rickety ladder to the building's second level, Terric and Warin moved past some barrels, and charged a pair of Skaven. The rat-men drew swords from beneath their tattered cloaks and faced the mercenaries.
"Die, vermin!" Warin swung his hammer with all his strength, connecting with the arm of the Skaven before him, which the creature had thrown up in a vain attempt to deflect the blow. The arm shattered, and as the rat-man recoiled in pain, Warin followed through with a second blow. The Skaven collapsed.
Terric traded blows with the Skaven in front of him, neither one being able to land a telling strike. Suddenly the Skaven lashed out with its tail, catching Terric just behind his left knee. As Terric fell, the Skaven moved behind him, adding impetus to Terric's momentum, which carried him out the window and onto the bricks below. "Aaaaggggghhhhh!"
The Skaven's victory screech was cut off in mid-cry as Warin caught the creature from behind with his hammer. It followed Terric out the window, landing on top of the unfortunate mercenary. Warin looked out to check on his friend. Terric writhed in pain underneath the carcass of the Skaven.
"Will you get your arse down here and get this smelly pile of rat-fur off of me!" Terric yelled.
Warin laughed at his fellow warrior as he ran to aid him. His laughter died as he saw Terric's leg. Though the light armor had saved Terric's life, his right leg was mangled by the fall, and it was doubtful if he would ever regain his full mobility.
As combat raged across the center and right of the Middenheimers' battle line, Euric kept a close eye out for more Skaven. "Something is wrong, Volkmar, but what?" "Yes," replied the Wolf Priest, "I have not seen the vile rat leader, or his bodyguards."
Suddenly Lothar called out "There!" and pointed to their left. Moving stealthily among the ruins towards the human archers, three Skaven came into view.
"Good," yelled Euric, "I thought we would not enjoy ourselves this battle." As he charged the enemy, he grabbed Lothar by the shoulder. "Come, boy, and let's see if that pig-sticker of yours works on rats." Volkmar saw one of the Skaven slink off as the two larger rat-men squared off against the warriors. "Thank you, Ulric," Volkmar prayed, "That one is mine."
"Take the one with the flail, boy, and I'll get the ugly one with the claws!" Euric shouted as they closed with the Skaven.
The captain and the Skaven circled each other warily, each looking for an opening. At last Euric tired of the game, and charged the rat-man. Though one of the claws raked across his chest, slicing through his leather armor as if it was the finest silk, he was able to land a hammer blow on the Skaven. The rat dodged, and while it was not the killing blow Euric had hoped for, the hammer caught the creature on the shoulder, knocking it down. Not waiting for it to recover, Euric fell upon his downed foe, mercilessly raining blow after blow upon it. He turned to see how Lothar had fared and found the boy kneeling, his spear thrust out in front of him, a Skaven impaled upon it. "Well done, lad," he cried, "Your first kill."
But Lothar was shaking, and said not a word. As he trailed the stealthy Skaven, Volkmar prayed to Ulric for the god's blessing. He felt an aura of power as his prayer was answered. "Thank you," he whispered. Suddenly, he was wracked with an excruciating pain as his body began to change. His cloak flowed around him and became his skin as his hands and feet became paws. His cry of pain turned into a savage wolf's howl as the transformation completed. The Skaven assassin turned at the howl, its eyes wide as it stared at the enormous white wolf that stood where a moment ago there was only a man.
"Ssssoooo," the rat-man sneered, "You are a sssshape-changerrrr. No matter, you are no match for Skree-skit." The wolf pounced, jaws wide, and the Skaven dodged, avoiding the brunt of the blow. As he went past, the wolf turned its head, and snapped its jaws shut on the Skaven's arm. The wolf threw its head back and forth, flailing the hapless Skaven from side to side. The wolf released Skree-skit, sending the rat-man flying through the air and against a wall. Stunned by the blow, the Skaven did not react as the wolf leaped upon it, and tore out its throat with its sharp fangs. As soon as the Skaven was dead, the fury of battle faded in the wolf's mind, and soon another howl tore across the barren ruins as the Wolf Priest regained his human form.

"Well, Volkmar," said Euric later, as the band gathered around a fire, "Not too bad for our first encounter. Hail, Ulric's priest, and hail to your god!" Euric raised a cup in a toast. "Not too bad," thought Volkmar, shaking his head. "What is he thinking? Osbert has lost his wits from the blow of the Skaven's sling stone, and may never be able to do more than drool into a begging bowl." Terric would certainly never fight again, and it was still too early to tell if he would even be able to walk once more. Gunnar was still weak from the loss of blood from the cut on his thigh, and would be unable to join them in their next foray. Lothar was still shaken from his ordeal and stared emptily into the fire. Volkmar had tried to talk to him, but the youth seemed not to hear. The archers had come through the fight unscathed except for the slight wound to Alaric's foot, and had adopted the young crossbowman into their group. Though the boy had gotten off to a rough start he had proven himself in combat, and had received many hearty backslaps for his well-placed shot. Drogo had been correct, and a pair of Skaven ears did indeed hang from his belt.
Volkmar's gaze traveled from Alaric to Lothar, noting the contrast between the smiling, joking youth and the sullen young spearman. It was ever the case that killing from afar was easier than dealing death face-to-face. Volkmar had seen this many times before, and knew that Lothar would recover, and would in all likelihood become a fierce warrior. And in time, Alaric too would see the face of death up close - in Mordheim it was inevitable...