The Rite of Passage - part two

Day 3:
Totem inhaled the fresh morning air, the taste was fresh and salty. The drizzling rain and the grey autumn sky made the world beautiful to his eyes. They were near the great ocean now, and the sounds it made mixed with the sounds of the rain and the life in the woods around them.
This was how the world was supposed to be. No man had tried to civilize this place. Not yet.

He was the only one of his kind, who had been deemed ready for the rite. The minutaurs were not as plentiful in numbers as the gor, and other then Totem, there where only two braves in the tribe. For him it was a great honour to be chosen for the rite of passage. Unlike the gors who where sent out when they reached their tenth winter, or the ungor who where unworthy of rites in general, the minutaurs had to wait for the Doombulls decision to send them.

He looked around at the smaller beings who squatted around him. Stargazer, the young bray sat next to him. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be taking in the beauty of the morning just as Totem did. Talespinner had placed himself a few meters away from the others. His grim expression told of his impatience. Both he, and Pathfinder who were scouting ahead at the moment, had been very zealous from the very start of their journey. They badly wanted to prove themselves in combat and had little interest in the more spiritual parts of the rite. Totem respected their ability as warriors, but disliked their lack of interest in anything else. With Little Hoof it was different. The way the minutaur saw it, the young leader combined the best qualities from the rest of the group. He was brave, strong and skilled in combat, but he also respected the ancestors and the traditions of the tribe in the same way as Stargazer did.
The rest of the gor failed to stand out in his observation. They were even smaller creatures and all looked the same to him. He did however prefer them to the pestering ungors. Totem was glad the tiny beastmen weren't allowed to take part in the rite. It was bad enough that he had to injure the company of the centigor. Newmoon had been getting on his nerves from day one. Drinking the humans nasty liquids whenever the opportunity arose and behaving like a crazed hobgoblin for hours afterwords.

The return of Pathfinder put an end to Totems pondering.
The bestigor emerged from the forest without a sound and moved over to Little Hoof.
“A boat.” he growled in a low rough voice, “a boat full of manlings.”
The leader snorted a short responds and turned to the others.
“We strike at once!” he snarled, “we take them by surprise, we take their skulls for the blood god!”
Without waiting for a reaction Little Hoof got up and sprinted through the terrain, towards the beach.
Totem waited a bit. Not because he didn't want to join in the slaughter, but the element of surprise would be ruined if he tried to approach along with the others.

He cleared his mind, breathed out and stood completely still for a few moments. Then he heard Little Hoof's warcry and started forward with a trampling force. Surprisingly enough, he didn't hear the usual screams of fear and panic that would follow the warcry under normal circumstances.
Instead the air filled with commands, yelled in a weird human language and soon after followed the sound of steel weapons and armour.
Totem stormed forward even faster as it became clear that, whatever was on that beach, they where giving the raiding party a real fight.

He cleared the last few meters with a vast jump and landed on the sandy shore.
At first he thought their enemy where another group of beastmen, for men he saw were almost as big as the gors fighting them, and some of them wore enormous horns on their helmets. They where covered in fur and huge suits of plate mail and carried gigantic axes and maces. Totem scanned the beach, trying to figure out how he could best help the others.
Most of the gors, including Stargazer were fighting one on one with sailors, evenly spread out across the area. Pathfinder were enclosed in a desperate melee with a group of the less armoured humans and Talespinner have had his wooden club shattered by one of the axeweilders weapons and now attempted to fend for himself with claws and horns. He couldn't see Newmoon anywhere. The stupid creature properly charged in the wrong direction and were now lost in the woods.
Little Hoof had left a trail of dead men in the sand and had now charged, what appeared to be the chief of the sailors. The man was a mountain, red plate armour covered him from head to toe and he was wielding a weapon even larger and more brutal looking then the rest.

The battle was clearly not going well. Several of the gors were already wounded and their wooden clubs and bone daggers did little to harm their opponents.
Totem noticed movement by the longboat, lying a few meters out in the still dark water. It was the centigor. The crazy beastman seemed to be attempting to tip the vessel. The minutaur gave a snorting laughter.
“today isanity is our weapon” he growled and leapt over the beach, crushing one of the armored men with ease, and contenuing out into the water. With a joined efford the two large beings managed to turn the ship over, and for good order Totem began to punch holde in the hull. The wood was hard and strong, but so was he, and soon after it gave in.

The centigor had joined the battle as soon as the ship fell and now Totem too turned and ran towards the combatants. Just as he reached land one of the smaller gors bleated a death rattle and dropped to the sand with a greatsword burried in his stomach. Totem grabbed the responsible human, lifted him from the ground and bit his head off. He tossed the corpse aside and looked around for more enemies. The taste of blood were shutting out all other impressions and a layer of red covered his eyes. Soon all thoughts were lost to the bloodgreed.

The Hunting Party - part three

Part three

In Krugenheim Matthew took Thomas to the fletcher's for supplies. Looking very much like a monk returning to the Great Cathedral of Sigmar after a pilgrimage, the eyes of the hunting master filled with tears of joy. He treated every piece of craftmanship as either a rare relic or an old friend.

- You knew I needed one more war, Thomas said, slowly caressing a hunting arrow.
Matthew smiled.
- And the blacksmith. What did you give him?
The seneschal looked somewhat affronted.
- Don't give me that look, old friend. I know you too well. You're still doing their dirty work, and you'd never offer anyone gold.
- Very few people really want gold, Matthew said in a soft voice.
Thomas looked amused and Matthew sighed.
- Purpose. I gave him a purpose.
- That easy, huh? Thomas chuckled, but halted seeing Matthew's dejected looks.
- They need someone to follow, Thomas, the seneschal said.
- And so they follow you, old friend. Even I, even though I know your trade. I followed you when you were the Mouth of the his father, I follow you now. I've always wondered how you got out, though. But a man who can talk people into war, can probably talk himself out of one.
- I struck a deal with the Lord. And it took his son to dishonour it.
They both laughed. Thomas shook his head.
- Trust the beggar, you said. Trust the beggar, never the Noble. That was the first lesson you taught me.
Matthew sighed.
- And I was right, wasn't I? The beggar, the whore, the thief on the scaffold. They may not speak the truth, but their lies hurt no man.
- Matthew the Mouth, Thomas muttered.
- Thomas the Falconeer, Matthew replied.

The Rite of Passage - part one

I have decided to write up a background story for my beastmen to go along with the assembling, modding and modelling. The story takes off on the evening of their first day out on the Rite of Passage and should, if everything goes as planned, take them all the way to the city of Mordheim.

Day 1:

Little Hoof looked around at the others. Pathfinder and Talespinner where tending their weapons as usual, while the younger Gors where fighting over the leftovers from the meal. The women had been alone in the woods, silly humans.

He turned his attention to Totem, the minotaur had barely moved since they lit the camp fire. He just sad there and stared into the flames. Little Hoof often wondered about what was going on in the gigantic horned head.

A sudden sound caught his attention. It was Newmoon, the centigor. The clumsy monster had found a little bottle on their victim and had spend most of the evening trying to open the thing. The sound that had disturbed the young leader of the raiding party where a growl of victory as the top of the metal bottle gave in and some ill smelling wine poured out over Newmoon's face. The centigor consumed the liquor in an instant and barfed loudly.

Little Hoof shook his head and got up. He walked from the fire and allowed his eyes to get used to the dark. A soft sound of hoofs followed him, he did not turn, didn't need to.

“What do you make of all this Stargazer” He snarled. The shaman moved to his side and stared into the thick forest.

“The Blood God will show us a battle, and we will decorate the ground with skulls and blood in his honour” Stargazer replied.

This was the first day away from the tribe. This was their rite of passage, their chance to prove themselves or die in dishonour. Little Hoof looked at the beastman beside him. Stargazer where a little older then he, but not as big.

“There will be blood” he said, “and I will gain a name worthy of my power.”

The Hunting Party - part two

Part two

John looked as crestfallen as ever.
- You are not alone, Matthew said.
They had just crossed the River Kolpin and the lights of Welleborn served as their benchmark. The blacksmith gazed at him and snorted.
- No? Right you are, old man. There is Robin the Lean, Crazed Sir Nicholas, Old Grump Thomas - and we are all following the same path to the Netherworld. Not alone. You've been watching me for days and that's what you came up with?
Matthew smiled.
- I know what you left behind, he added. He wanted the boy to talk - wanted him to spill his rage.
- You do, do you? So you know of my father. You know we've received word of his death. Not an honourable death, no no. He died trying to stop a fight among his own.
- I know of your father, yes. He was an honourable man, and the honourable men are always the first to go. There is no honour in war. A good Captain is a man who can make decisions worthy of villains and still have the heart of his men. He can command you to commit an atrocity and you will do it - for brotherhood, for your country, for the loved ones you left behind. Doing wrong in the name of something doesn't make it right, son.

John laughed and looked almost as mad as their Captain.
- So a good man is a dead man?
- No, Matthew replied thoughtfully. - A dead man is a dead man. And the deaths of good men are the casualties of war.
- You are wrong, old man. The casualties of war are the loved ones, you speak of. The wives and children unable to support themselves, when men are forced to fight the wars of others. My father could be spared. His son had learned the trade and could have supported her. If it wasn't for you, that is!
- Your mother will eat with the womenfolk at the castle. I saw to that before our departure.
John opened and closed his mouth several times and looked very much like a fish.
- I didn't know, he finally said. - Thank you.
Matthew patted him on the back.
- It's my trade, son. I'm payed to be one step ahead. I know what... Crazed Sir Nicholas wants, before he does. Tell me - what does that make me?
They both laughed.
- But that was not what I meant. Robin, Thomas and I - we all served Sir Nicholas. But take a look at the henchmen. They are like you. Common men forced to leave their trade and families. They were chosen because they participated in a shooting contest on the grounds this Spring. They know how to handle a longbow, but they are farmers, nothing more. And they were deemed too old to fight in the war. Thomas and I are veterans, but it's been ages since I last killed a man. Robin has never laid hand on a weapon. And Sir Nicholas - he's the greatest shot around, but you'll never know what he will shoot at. You are neither unfamiliar with weapons not too old to use one. You are our ticket home, son. You will save us.
He watched John look at the henchmen. The features of the young boy softened, and Matthew knew his words had hit their target. Words had always served him better than steel. Commands, he thought to himself, commands too are made up of words.

The Hunting Party - part one

Louise, my lovely fiancee, is writing a nice and thrilling background story for her Reiklander warband.
Here follows part one of the story that takes the group of men, either too old or to young to join the army, all the way to Mordheim.


Part One

- Mordheim?!
Matthew looked at his young master in dismay.
- Why in Sigmar's name would we go to Mordheim?
Sir Nicholas yawned and looked out the window. Autumn was drawing to its close. The sky was grey and the smell of wet leaves clung to their clothes like a scent of decay. He was bored. Bored with the castle and its fainted tapestries, bored with the feasts and endless toasts in his honor, bored with the village and its plain girls. It was all so trivial. The young master looked at his seneschal.
- Bigger prey, he said and smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile and he wasn't a nice man. Matthew knew this, but through the years he had come to accept the flaws of his master. He had known him from child. He had seen him molest animals, bully his peers, and mistreat women. He had done his best to do what the noble's father had failed to do, but his endeavors had come to nothing. Bad blood ran in the family - poor inbred bastards! Even the Lord himself had a streak of madness and his late Mistress had done herself in as a result of his perverted cruelty.
Five months ago the first rumors of war reached the castle and soon after the Noble and his two oldest sons joined the Empirial forces - leaving the youngest with an empty castle and little less to do but hunt and drink and whore.
- Prey? he asked, looking confused. - But there is nothing in Mordheim. Nothing but...
A sudden thought made him hold his tongue. He couldn't mean...
- Wyrdstone.
The smile grew bigger.
- And where there is wyrdstone...
Matthew's face turned pale and even in the warm light from the fireplace, he looked like a man facing death.
- But Sir! They are people!
Sir Nicholas laughed.
- People, eh? They are villains, fanatics, beasts, and monsters. They are far less innocent than the cute little rabbits we returned with this afternoon. While dear dad is fighting equals who's only fault is being born on the wrong side of the border, we will go to Mordheim. Assemble the men!
- There are no one left, my Lord. Your father took them all with him. You know this, he added with a wry smile.
- Right, said the nobleman. He looked thoughtful. - Whoever you can find, then. The son of the blacksmith. He has come of age, hasn't he? And Thomas, the hunting master. You can even take my valet, though he won't be of much use, I'm afraid. He has been a great disappointment.
Matthew sighed and reluctantly went to do as told.

---

Matthew looked apologetic at Robin. The boyish girl had uttered no word of objection when he had passed over the commands of their master. She had managed a weak smile and began packing at once.
As often before he felt the regrets of getting her the place. It had seemed such an innocent lie. With little men left in the village, the housewives could do without help, and she had been unable to make a living. Futile attempts to make it as a bawd in the camps outside the city had left her starving and even less womanly. Only her eyes still held the warmth of a women - her body was that of a lad. And as such she had pleaded him for help, and he had yield. The former valet had just lost his place to one of Sir Nicholas' whims and it had all seemed so simple.
But then he had seen her eyes when the master was about, and he knew she would have been better off starving.
- We will die, you know, he said.
She looked at him and nodded.
- I know. But if only I can get him to see me first..
He sighed and only hoped she would meet her death before that happened.

----

- I won't go! the boy shouted in a weak attempt to drown the sound of hammer against steel. He looked furious and a sword-in-progress suffered from his misplaced wrath. - I won't!
Matthew smiled.
- You will. We all will. We have no choice and you know it. Going to Mordheim is our only chance, if we want to live. It's a slim chance, but a chance never the less. Get ready, lad. We'll leave in the morning.
John watched the seneschal leave the blacksmith. He then removed a treacherous tear with his dirty sleeve, leaving his face even more sooty. It could have been sweat, he thought to himself, it could have been sweat. Then he threw the sword into the hearth with a roar and sparks filled the air. The sword turned white and then friable - a waste of steel, a waste of life.

---

An arrow passed him and almost nicked his cheek.
- Be reasonable, Thomas!
The hunting master never removed his eyes from the target.
- Move, he said. His voice steady as his hand.
- We have no choice! Matthew cried.
- They told me I was too old for war. I'm definitely too old for suicidal missions.
Another arrow passed close by and hit its target. Matthew stubbornly stayed where he was.
- You are too old to die? he snorted.
His old friend laughed derisively.
- He can fight his own fights. No more, and that is my final word. I taught him to shoot. I should have taught him to be a man, but that was your job, wasn't it?
Another arrow. Matthew sighed and finally moved.
- I'm sorry, he said in a low voice and left.
The hunting master lowered his crossbow.
- Me too, old friend, me too. His voice was barely audible.
Then he gathered his vast amounts of hunting bows. They would need them.

---

They left in the morning. Sir Nicholas was in fine feather and whistled a well known tune. Something rather sultry, if Matthew weren't mistaken. Robin looked almost happy. Madly in love with a madman, Matthew thought. John didn't mutter a word. He looked at every tree, every stone, as if seeing it for the very last time. And perhaps he was. Thomas looked as grumpy as a dwarf, righteous as an elf, and fierce as a mercenary, and Matthew thought it best not to look twice. Instead he turned his eyes to the sky. A storm was coming.