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On an estate in west Reikland, near the Grey Mountains a mansion stood, framed on a lush, grassy plain. It was large, imposing as all grand Empire structures were. It was a residence, but also a fortification with an outer wall leading into a courtyard behind a thick wood and iron gate which could resist cannon fire.
On clear days, one could see the home of the Dwarfs off in the distance, the summits and peaks of the mountains to the west like hazy apparitions on the horizon.
Snaking along the winding path to the front gates of the mansion, bodies lay, of loyal Empire soldiers who had been slain where they marched by an enemy who had ambushed them before slinking back into the tall, shadowy grass of the plain.
The closer one got to the mansion; the terribleness of the deeds conducted within the gilded halls came into focus. Even during the day, the terrible, corrupting, maddening gaze of Morrsleib remained in the sky. It was the time of ending, and the dark moon was more than just a portent of destruction. It turned good men into mad, insane creatures and gave power to dread enemies, whether it be the Skaven, or Chaos who were stalking the land of men.
The sturdy iron and wood of the front gate was no more – forced open by a shattering impact. Whether it was done by beast or siege equipment, it was hard to tell. The rest had been rotted or dissolved away, as if by an acid of some sort. The remains blew in the light breeze sweeping across the plain.
In the courtyard was more corpses, the expressions on the faces painted a bitter picture. Their deaths had not been kind, they had not been clean and fast. They had been agonising, as they tried to crawl away from whatever dark monstrosity dwelled within the dark and damp confines of the once grand mansion. They stank of rotting meat and decaying flesh. A thick swarm of pestilent flies hovered above each of the bodies in the yard like angry storm clouds, magots worming their way through punctured lungs, arteries and orifices. It was best not to look if one wanted to keep their most recent meal inside them. Not that anyone, not even the most hardened veteran could blame anyone for vomiting, not even a Handmaiden of the Everqueen.
She would have sneered when she was younger and surer of the superiority of the Elven race. Not now, not when she was one of the Everqueen’s chosen sent out to aid the humans in the Old World. She had made the mistake of doing in the past, without thinking of the consequences.
She had participated in the ambush at Hogger’s Bridge many months ago. Slaughtering the convoy of Empire soldiers bound for Ubersreik had been a mistake, a grave one and had led to the loss of the city to the Ratmen. After, she had returned back across the Great Ocean to the Court of the Everqueen where she was commanded to return to help the humans as penance for her damning actions. She was to act as a representative and a diplomat to the mad and eccentric Inquitistor Saltzpyre in his vendetta against the Ratmen.
Her companions were just as interesting. The Dwarf from the lost hold, the gun for hire Kruber and the sadistic mage Sienna. They all knew the score, they all knew that she was there at Hogger’s Bridge, she had hinted as much. They didn’t reprimand her though. There was no point. Everything was now a fight against the gods themselves to stop the world – old and new – from burning in the flames of Chaos.
For the last half hour, Kerillian had stood watch in the grand hall where the feasts were held. Just like the rest of the decaying mansion, the space was a pathetic ghost of itself. Once polished metals were rusting away, wood was rotting too and a dark puddle of liquid had formed in a depression in the slick stone flooring beneath.
It was deathly quiet in the chamber. The only sounds were that of the breeze blowing through blown out windows and the steady drip, drip of liquid falling from the ceiling and into the pool on the floor.
She was standing in the centre of the chamber, where the tables and chairs had been pushed – no, thrown aside in haste. Kerillian’s Elven eyes saw much in the dark of the room. She was standing outside a large circle which had been drawn onto the stones with freshly spilled blood. In the middle, a pile of bodies lay, decaying, just like everything else in the place. They were the fresh sacrifices, arms cut off and feet stapled to the floor with sharp steel rods. Those poor souls had probably had the most painful deaths out of all present as their life essence had been extracted to will whatever foul warp being was being summoned into the world of the living. It had not been a demon of Khorne, Tzeentch or Slaanesh, but Nurgle, the lord of decay.
That same decay could still be felt clinging to the air like an unwanted infection. It was stale too, the Winds of Magic needed to fuel the ritual left it devoid of power. Kerillian did not know what to think, other than it was a shame. She would never admit it to her human companions; she was too prideful for that. It was still a shame though. Morrsleib’s reach was undeniable, and to those seeking power and forbidden knowledge, it was like poisoned wine. So sweet, but so deadly.
CRASH
She fell into a defensive stance in an instant, shield and spear up at the ready. It turned out to be nothing. She was still getting used to the clumsiness of the mayflies searching through the other rooms of the mansion above her. She would reprimand their lumberfootedness later once they returned to the keep.
The Handmaiden was patient, but even she was starting to get restless. The day was almost over and they were still no closer to returning to their keep nestled in the impenetrable peaks and overlooks of the Grey Mountains.
She turned to step back outside into the evening sun which was starting to sink ever closer to the mountains in the west. In the courtyard, she saw the Dwarf Ranger, Bardin Goreksson standing watch atop one of the slowly crumbling walls. The entire complex had only been abandoned for a month or so but the fell magics of Nurgle meant that the mansion would likely not stay standing for much longer.
The fields of wheat would burn along with the mansion which would be cleansed in the flames of Imperial gunpowder. Then, they would travel to a small forest where an Elven Waystone lay which would then transport them back to the Keep. That was if it hadn’t been vandalised by the agents of Chaos.
Either way, they were unlikely to make it back before nightfall which meant bad things. The green glow of Morrsleib made many strange things occur in the dark where it outshone its brother, Mannslieb. Damnable creatures rose from their slumber to prey on those foolish enough to not be huddled behind locked and closed doors. There were rumours of a rogue Vampire nearby which lived in the foothills of the Grey Mountains which had been preying on travellers and merchants plying the roads between Altdorf and Marienburg. Empire soldiers were unable to police the arteries of trade and commerce which fuelled the Empire’s war machine in the dark days of the 17th year of Karl Franz’s reign.
Such was life in the Old World and indeed in the New, the time of ending was upon everyone and all that anyone could be sure in was “the honest steel of the Empire” as Kruber liked to fondly say.