Thread: They Who Thirst (Dr. Nibbles & SomethingEsoteric)

The road on which she walked was a peaceful vista that lead to a killing field of carnage, death, destruction, the screams of the innocent and cackling chuffs of the wicked the air was thick with blood and ash and sinister deeds carried out with calculated abandon for all things pure and with virtue, the air was thick with regret and sin, the air was thick with righteous indignation. A great many men, women and children died needlessly on this road and where it lead and the thought of such events sickened Hilde to her very core not like a young woman with stomach turned by the stench of death but like a hardening priestess growing spiteful of a world that could allow for such horrible and pervasive sin. Cruvan once looked upon her with a slanted grin, almost ruefully endearing when she spoke of ridding the world of such blights for all time. Cruven was not so ambitious, Cruven knew without Chaos order would cease and without order Chaos would appear serene in the most twisted of creeping normalcies, he knew a lone priest or priestess of Sigmar could never hope to purge the world over but rather be a buffer to the wicked and a beacon of inspiration for the righteous few who took up arms no matter the odds. Cruven understood the brighter a light cast by the empires of man the more putrid a shadows depth could fester and mount it was not his or her purpose to raze the chaotic shadow of the enemies of man but to offer torch to The Empire such as he saw it. Sigmar grants us the strength to both smite the wicked and protect the righteous, alone we cannot take it upon ourselves to rid the land of evil only we The Empire are capable of such greatness Sigmar himself did not defeat Morkar alone but with the entirety of our great Empire behind him. This was no a history lesson, those words that rung through her head, they were not reminders of pilgrimage or how she should live her life, no they were warnings gilded in both hope and grandeur like most words from her wise mentors lips before his untimely demise a warning shed nearly forgotten till the sounds of foot falls in slop and laboured breaths occupied her mind rather than the ramblings of a once great, now dead priest of Sigmar. While the boy, wrapped in tabard, scrolled maps, a brass telescopic eye and chipped sword of poor forged iron could never know it to Hilde this was a sign of great import from her god, from the front lines of the eternal battle Sigmar still waged beyond the edge of the earth against the torpid storm of chaos Cruvan now amongst his holinesss ranks. Priestess! Priestess! The boy cried waving his arms as she turned to face him with incredulous expression to meet his most desperate. She afforded the boy a second to catch his breath before he retrieved a scrolled map and slid it open for her, The township shed left emboldened, the hamlet of ash and death crossed out with a messy black x and several arrows drawn converging upon Stirland The knights of Theamoor march, we, the militia of Oalstead received pigeon requesting aid and assurance others would march under the banner of Theamoor to meet the TagothUr upon the ruins of Stirr. Please, the sergeant of our free companies sent me in hopes you would rally with us and meet the knights in Stirr! She could not say no, she would not say no, not long ago shed been of aid to the people of Oal and they to her, a desperate conflict between their free company and a rambling pack of green skins had made them all brothers and sisters in battle and victory both and she would not turn her back on them while they were no knights Sigmar himself had once been a lowly tribesman with only a birthmark to set him apart from his kinsfolk. The Free Companies of Oalstead were no different from most, several ranks of fighters simple iron blades forged in lowly blacksmith stands of their streets, leather cured from local game more for day-to-day function than the heat of battle, cudgels hewn from felled trees that obstructed fields for tilling only adorned in nails and steaks for a killing blow, bow and arrows meant for killing game, some, maybe most couldnt even hope to heft the great hammer slung across her back, the kite that held it in place or the plates that hugged her ample chest, could never ascend to the rites of that birthed the bright red emblazoned tabard her and others like her wore but they were warriors at heart and vetted in blood shed spilled along their side they had the tenacity of the Empire flowing proudly through their veins without the bulwark of a keep to bar it from invasion. The Free Company of Oalstead was not an ideal force to meet the horde of TagothUr but in this moment there seemed no better for the task in her righteous heart. As the midnight chill began to nip at their backs the band and their priestess collected in the ditches of the farmland around the hamlet, obscured by the dark of night and raging of fires, the screams of dying and deafening silence of dead. Hilde and not more than forty men charged with shrill cries of their indignation as a volley of arrows blotted the night sky screaming through the air as they reached apex and in turn fell upon where they believe the TagothUr to rest The Knights of Shaemoors drums of war pounded off in the distance barely audible over the foot falls of many men and the batting of simple hand weapons on shields improvised with barrel caps and storm hatches For the Empire, for the dead, for Sigmar! Hilde would shout with booming determination as the first poor forged sword met crude battle axe, the sky opened and from it a black downpour spilled.