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...
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