The most recent siege of Templehof was going better than expected given the Empire’s superior numbers as the Grand Marshal and the others continued to eliminate strategic targets personally and the Count and his other agents did the hard part of making their fighting retreat further and further into the city which was quickly being ruined. But as the zealots overextended further and further into the city their forces became ever more splintered. The Grand Theogonist, Volkmar the Grim, stood in pompous arrogance upon the ridiculously gaudy altar of his god. Bereft of his Sunmaker to clear the skies and his Luminark to destroy the Count’s monsters the haughty fool should have feared an attack by the unit which had ambushed his Magister of the White Order but instead he welcomed them and, as a clear symbol of the madness of his entire Crusade, he ordered his attendants to retreat as he would face the vampire lords alone.

Seconds later the old fool was groveling in the dirt, crawling about as the Viscount applied his fine boots to Volkmar’s ribs. The Grand Theogonist was entrapped in the Von Carstein’s glamour and acquiesced to his will crawling this way and that. It was pathetic.

Almost as pathetic as what happened next. After returning the unconscious windbag to join the Sunscryer and other hostages of note the Grand Marshal’s unit returned to the night skies to hunt for further prey. The Count had entirely abandoned the city gates at this point and was demolishing all invaders with powerful spells that decimated their numbers as well as the homes of the evacuated peasantry. Flying overhead the vampires spotted several members of Rollo’s former Chapter, the Order of the Blazing Sun. While the Warden recommended ambushing the knights from every direction the Grand Marshal wanted to test their mettle and see how far he himself had grown.

The entire gesture was a farce. While he challenged them and they swore to destroy him, not a one could muster the courage to charge the Blackguard. The Dread Master of Liches made them dance on puppet strings of their own blood separating horse from rider and turning brother on brother. The Grand Marshal ran the cowards down, one after the other after submitting the one who identified himself as their leader.

And the Baron-Regent of Fort Oberstyre summoned forth a sea serpent.

The twisted treant Blackroot made good on his word and came when summoned to aid the vampires but seemed largely irrelevant as the knights of the Order of the Blazing Sun were brilliant horseman and tremendously skilled with the blade but were cowardly, disorganized, and routed entirely. The Grand Marshal despised the battle brothers of his former order, the derision on his face as cold as his heart.

Curiously, the Warden detected a hint of resentment in the Viscount as he magically transported himself here and there and attacked with a savage ferocity the other noble regarded jealously. Somewhere in the back of Heinrich’s mind the mad whispers of the chained Firelord laughed, “OF COURSE HE ENVIES YOUR POWER. MY SEED IN YOU GROWS, SOON YOU SHALL APOTHEOSIZE AND ALL SHALL FEEL MY FLAME!” Heinrich gritted his teeth through the mad titan’s ranting, enduring it as a means to an end. The Count turned to the artifacts of Nagash, Isabella to Kyuss, the Dread Master to ancient tomes and scrolls, the Grand Marshal to Bane, everyone was someone’s tool or trying to make someone else’s there’s. What did the cost matter on the eve of the world’s destruction?

Of all the things to remember clearly from my former existence, my mind chose their horrible tongue. I can hear them shouting across the battlefield like strutting peacocks in that horrible speak they call a language. As we fly across the newly ever-dark sky, I see a standard that brings the ice cold blood in my veins to a boil. As reported, The Bastards of the Blazing Sun have dared to journey into my lands. A rage I have not felt since my turning overcomes my existence. Mannfred’s order to “capture” Lupio are quickly becoming a fading afterthought. Revenge. That is the mantra coursing through my mind. I hear Heinrich espousing the tactically wise course of action, a multi-front ambush, but not today. These hypocrites will face me head on, and if not, we will run the entire lot of self-righteous impostors straight into hell…

The war machines of Luminark are no more. The Sunmaker is a pile of ash giving us back an untainted night sky. The pathetic head of the White Wizards is wishing she had never entered our territory and all in all things are going well. But there is something tugging at my soul, if that’s what it’s still called. My orders are specific. The Grand Theogonist and the Grand Marshall of the Knights of the Blazing Sun are to be acquired and taken to Drakenhof presently. What must happen presently is I must choose a side. Follow and support Mannfred? Follow the path Bane has laid before me? Follow and support Isabella? Follow my comrades in saving Templehof? Say fuck off to following anyone and carve a path of my own, giving the finger to conventional wisdom? I would say the choice is obvious…

The night erupted in starlight. Too close. The felsteeds neighed, bucked, and nearly rocked the group out of their saddles as their tight formation was sundered by the explosions. Though the flying steeds were black against the drop of the starless sky behind them, the Empire’s Bright Wizards far below were panicked and firing their artillery blindly into the air. Eventually they were going to hit something.

Another magical explosion ripped the sky apart near them, sending white lights cascading like a shower of blistering hail around them. Their black forms thus silhouetted against the speckled sky, crossbowmen far below took aim.

And yet the Dread Master of Liches heeded none of this. His mount only followed Rollo’s up ahead in the sky. To the Dread Master, there was only one sensation…

THUUUUUM

Rhythmic, tantalizing, immeasurably powerful. Somehow he knew that this echo was only the end of a great entity’s expansive reach, that far beyond the horizon there worked great powers against them all. This power dwarfed their own.

The question of ‘What’ was useless to him. They’d find out soon enough and were impotent to stop it. The question of ‘How’ was foremost on his mind. Mannfred knew…surely? Yet despite all his prior studies, their constant errands and crises had allowed the Count to gain yet another step on the Dread Master’s expertise.

THUUUUUM

None of the others sensed it. They pressed through the flights of quarrels, their mounts pierced and writhing against the burning infusions of bright magic in the tips, ever onward toward the source of the sky’s rebellion against the night. When the device came into view, it was suddenly clear how desperate their gamble was.

Chaos pressed on them. The Empire pressed on them. Their own agents conspired against them. Power was a dangerous game in this Age when the world itself hung in the balance.

Could a Knight destroy a King? Could a Pawn?

THUUUUUM

They’d find out soon enough. But first, they had to reclaim the night as their own.

The evacuated citizens of Templehof had enjoyed an uneventful passage to Waldenhof. That is until their march was halted by a host of witch hunters and holy fanatics that suddenly appeared in front of them. There were over a hundred of them. Were they a scouting party that had stumbled across their path or were they purposefully sent to track them down? In either case, it seemed doubtful that small escort Templehof had assigned them could prevail in battle. Seized with fear the poor townsfolk huddled together.

Only one figure move forward instead, Frigobert, Curator of Templehof. He positioned himself about halfway between the two groups and stopped, waiting for a reaction from the enemy. The vampire was an imposing figure clad in heavy armor with a great sword held on his back. A witch hunter stepped up and began to speak. “You will all…” But he never finished as Frigobert quickly decapitated the witch hunter with his great sword.

Within a few minutes all sense of fear had the left the people of Templehof. It had instead been replaced by pure shock at what they had just witnessed. Where once stood dozens of armed men intent on their death was now a field of disembowel organs and body parts. Frigobert turned to them to with a small smile on his face. “Be careful you do not slip on the blood. It is still rather wet on the road,” he said as he cleaned his blade.

Meanwhile, Ziegfrend returned to Castle Templehof with his latest “recruit” still unconsciousness on his flying felsteed. As the castle guards took her off the beast one servant came up to the Viscount with a thick stack of papers. “Here is the battle intelligence you requested, Viscount,” the servant began. “All of the enemy forces’ female officers of note evaluated per your instructions on a scale of one to eighteen.”

Ziegfried motioned for the servant to stop with his hand. “If they aren’t at least a thirteen don’t even show me the report,” he said.

“Well then the honorable Baron-Regent of Fort Oberstyre can fuck right the hell off. The Warden of Templehof will continue to decide how best to protect the people of Templehof and if the Viscount takes issue he is welcome to come make his will known. I have not worked this long and hard cultivating a self-policing, productive people to have them immediately thrown to the wolves the moment it becomes convenient. I have heard the Wight King’s antiquated beliefs of masses and hordes and vampires and I am sure through the lens of a thousand years peoples’ lives seem indistinguishable and interchangeable but they are not. Nor are they so easily replaced with others who can survive or will follow in this now even more dark and cursed land. There are some ancient sayings among my people too, one of them is ‘You can shear a sheep many times, but you can only skin it once.’”

The Warden slammed his seal down on the papers finalizing the evacuation of non-essential townsfolk and castle servitors before dispatching orders to his Watch Commanders. They were to raise up what they could of a militia to aid in protecting the refugees as they made their way Northeast to Waldenhof. Finally he turned to the legend, Frigobert. “Take a small force of Black Knights and Fell Bats to scout and ride support for the evacuees. Avoid conflict where possible but see that they make it unharmed to Waldenhof. Here is a missive for the Viscountess.” The Warden held out the sealed message. “Get them there alive and unharmed then return with all haste.”

After he had gone, the Warden headed out once more to oversee bringing more towers online and increasing the level of firepower they could output. The more forces the towers could fell before the enemy reached the walls, the better. That idiotic emphasis on honorable hand-to-hand combat was one of the most hypocritical lessons Mitzi had drilled into them and it was among the first Heinrich intended to abandon. ‘Let them climb over the corpses of their brothers,’ he grumbled, ‘They shall need the practice for when the legions of Chaos are decimating their rear.’

“He’s very….”

“Aloof. Yes. Moreso now than before, even. Your chambers are just through here. Servants will attend to your things.”

“I can arrange for new undead servants, don’t you worry Dannon.”

“Oliver. Yes, I know.”

“Oliver. Right. That will take some getting used to,” the older necromancer scratched his chin.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think he’ll make you change your name. You’re not his apprentice, you’re just… what, working on horses or something?”

“Great magical beasts, thank you very much! And I’m supposed to just call him the…”

“Dread Mas-”

“Dread Master of Liches… just… all the time? The whole bloody title? Like that?”

The younger, red-haired necromancer nodded then said, “Keeps to himself studying mostly, same as anyone except…”

“Go on.”

“The Count expects a lot of him. So don’t be too surprised if he wants you do things. And then more things. It’ll have you wishing you were a vampire just so you wouldn’t have to sleep as much and could get more done!”

“A dreadful thought! I quite like my humanity.”

Oliver shrugged, “I’m warming to the idea. Now don’t look at me like that, Necrarchs don’t have to drink blood if they don’t want to. He’s got it all figured out with the necromancy. He’s even showed me the Grimoire a few times.”

“Surely you don’t mean Grimoire Necronium?!” asked the older necromancer as he began to unstack a pillar of books and arrange them on a shelf with the bindings facing out.

“The very one,” Oliver responded with no small tinge of pride, “Being undead is really the natural way of things, see. The way he describes it, the gods were the ones that tied our energies to their realms. We just take them back.”

“It all seems rather grotesque in the end though,” the older man said.

“Bah, you’re just stodgy. Who decides what’s grotesque anyway? You know what the most disgusting thing of all is? Being dead. I’m telling you, the Dread Master has it figured out. He’s going to show us all how to live forever.”

“And go insane.”

“Nah. He’s got that figured out too! You’ll see. I suspect he’s going to turn me soon.”

The old necromancer scoffed and pushed a book into its shelf with a bit too much force. “Careful what you wish for, boy. I may be stodgy but I still have my wits enough about me to know a scam when I see one. Chaos and magic… they only take. Oh they might seem to give at first, but the price is always paid. In the end, you cannot deny Chaos its penance.”

Flying combat is always such a pain. This thing seems more intent on keeping its distance than actually fighting us. What a bore….

Let’s see when we get back to Templehof I still need to find a competent and willing caster to create shiny new toys for us to kill things with. The rank and file necromancers just can’t keep up with what’s needed. Then I need to create some sort of “spy network” since what’s her name died. What do I know about staying out of sight and going unnoticed? Maybe I can delegate it to some introvert to figure out…

Did Heinrich just knock out that brass dragon with the back of his hand? Well, what less could be expected of Templehof’s very own Warden! The bards will have to write a song about that feat; it’ll be hilarious. Time to swoop in and kick this poor lizard repeatedly while it’s down. At least I get to have a little fun tonight.

I haven’t been back 10 seconds and I’m already being summoned by Mannfred. I was hoping to get in and out of Drakenhof quickly and relatively quietly, but obviously that isn’t happening. Mannfred is waiting for me with Frideger and the other Wight Kings. After some minor complimentary bullshit about how well we did recovering the Crown of Sorcery, Mannfred gives me my next set of orders. He proceeds to tell me that the crusade marching against us is massive. I am to gather the Darkh Stalkers and our combined forces and wait for him in Templehof. Once he arrives, I am to lead the Darkh Stalkers on a mission to capture the Grand Theogonist and Lupio Blaze aka the Grand Marshall of the Order of the Blazing Sun. Once we have them we are to immediately take them to Drakenhof and wait for Mannfred’s return. I tell Mannfred easy enough and he chuckles. With no questions on my part and no further orders from Mannfred I am free to depart. I pay my respect to Mannfred and on the way out I give a nod to Frideger. Not that he didn’t have my respect before, but knowing he was an Exarch of Bane in his past life has caused me to regard him that much more.

I move quickly. I find the Necro Gustave and tell him he is being relocated to Templehof. He is to bring all the Felsteeds he has completed and his research on the mounts with him. He begins to whine and moan the way these bookish types always do, so I make it clear we are leaving in twenty minutes and he better be at the teleportation circle on time with his shit together. He does. Oliver’s Necrach apprentice, Wigalf, activates the circle for us and we arrive in Oliver’s tower. I let Gustave know, as if he didn’t know already, that Oliver is his boss. He is to expedite the Felsteed project so the Templars can be properly outfitted with new mounts. With that, I leave the bookworm in the charge of the Dread Master of Liches…

“I’m quite sure I don’t know, Madam. I deliver the Post. I don’t rummage through it.” The courier groused impatiently.

Trudy nodded again and accepted the sack. The courier nodded and walked back out into the night leaving Gertrude to open the long letter that accompanied came with her package. It was addressed to her; her late husband had taught her to read and while it had seemed frivolous as a shepherd’s wife, it was proving a practical gift for her new life in the city. But there was no indication of the identity of the sender. She skipped immediately to the end of the letter and it was signed only RH in large elaborate script.

She sighed and glanced about once more before heading back inside. Regardless of the Watch, one did not tempt fate by staying in the open at night. The sack was of medium size; it couldn’t have weighed more than a pound or so but it gave no indication what was inside. She set it aside for now and sat down to read the letter by the light of an oily candle.

‘Dearest Gertrude,

I was grieved to learn of the passing of your late husband. He may have mentioned to you the fanciful tales of the bedraggled man he dragged from the bog and you may or may not have dismissed them as he did. But I assure you as I did your late husband, I would have died were it not for his timely aid and I do intend to repay my debt. I regret it was not in time that he might enjoy it himself but I pray you will accept repayment in his stead. It does not begin to cover all that I owe and I apologize but I may also have inadvertently brought trouble to your doorstep in addition to this token. I will explain, but first, the more pleasant news.

The bag I have paid to have delivered to you is ensorcelled. It will hold far more than it should and never grow any heavier that it is now. Fascinating objects, and terribly convenient both for logistics and for keeping private what you carry. Within you will find a sum of finances. You will observe that they are in the form of multiple currencies as it is intended to be expended in travel. I thought it terribly sad that your husband who seemed to have worked so long and hard in such a foul land (no offense intended) had never even been beyond Stirland. I told him that when I returned to my family lands I would fix this oversight and he would see with his own eyes the sights he had only read of. I will not repeat what he said in response but incredulity might be a genteel way of expressing it.

I have included below an itinerary you and your new husband may find enchanting and spectacular and encourage you to take flight and enjoy what the world outside of your swamps has to offer. I have also included travel papers identifying you as the Lord and Lady von Schirach of Kiel. A sleepy little town west of Krugenheim, quite lovely, but tiny and unlikely anyone should know of it. I invite you to look upon this as a grand adventure but regret to inform you it may be of necessity as well. I now come to the ill tidings and encourage you to destroy this part of the letter hence you have read it.

The Grand Theogonist Volkmar the Grim has been goaded into declaring a Crusade and is coming with a host from Altdorf to sack Templehof. I’m sure as a loyal subject of the Empire you welcome the Inquisition especially given Templehof’s recently shall we say tempestuous political climate. Unfortunately, the Grand Theogonist and his zealots can be a bit fanatical and they may go a smidge over the line in their exterminatus. I would encourage you to be enjoying warmer climes prior to their arrival just in case. As for the aliases, it is exciting to be someone else, I frequently find the time to mingle among the common folk under various guises and it is simply invigorating. Alas it has come to my attention that some personages have entered into the knowledge of my indebtedness to you and I fear they may wish you harm knowing it would offend my honor and draw me into their clutches. Again, I am so terribly sorry that any of this has gotten back to you but when you first see the many-colored banners of Bretonnia or walk the sandy shores of Estalia I assure you whatever troubles you have left behind will disappear entirely from your mind.

Know that I understand my suggested itinerary can seem quite daunting but there really is so much to see out there and the—I say fortunate—repercussion of this vast abundance of beautiful vistas is that it takes a considerable amount of time to journey between them. And thus we come to the sum of finances I have included and its special conveyance. I hope you not think me to extravagant but a large and lengthy journey will require considerable resources and there are always those who prey upon the well-endowed. You will find it simple to withdraw what you need privately and securely from the bag I have provided without revealing the extent of your largess to hungry eyes.

I do hope you and your esteemed new husband will enjoy the journey ahead of you and the grand adventure it represents. My condolences again on your late husband, he was a fine man and shall be missed. Be safe and travel soon, I would recommend you tell no one of your journey however as the aforementioned personages I have the baleful chance of being acquainted with might espy to involve you in matters that are entirely too bothersome to contemplate.

My best to you both, bon chance!

RH’