Just a quick little something showing the way of life on the roads of the Empire. I'll continue this story-line soonish. And for that matter, I'll have a few others on here too.
"Hold!" The shout carried along the small stretch of the great Taal-runner Road that separated the road-warden and the approaching company. The hoof beats from the riders cease as they pulled to a halt. A single rider detached from the group, arm held up in a gesture of peace, armour glinting in the obscured sunlight and most disturbingly, a sheathed arming sword at his belt. The road-warden, Matthias Brecht, swallowed nervously. He carried only a dagger and in his haste to meet the oncoming company had left his crossbow in the way-station. If these men meant ill, he would be defenceless.
Sir Einhardt Volkbech, Preceptor of the Order of the Stag made his way towards the waiting road-warden, hand held out in a non-threatening manner so as not to startle the man. From his fidgeting and the way he sat his horse, it was clear to see he was nervous. As well he might be, for he was unarmoured and on the roads of the Empire, particularly those which run through the forests, it is well to be careful. Nevertheless, he would have no trouble from Einhardt this day. The knights were merely on their way through to Kislev to join the Tzarina's forces as part of the pact between Kislev's ruler and the Ottillian Count. The squadron of knights were some of the best Talabecland had to offer, veteran guards of the Elector of Talabecland, Count Helmut Feurbach himself. They were ten mighty warriors, heroes each and every one of them and yet on the icy fields of Kislev, ten amongst thousands in a war between Gods and mortals.
"No need to come any further. Not till I get a name and a purpose!" The road-warden's slightly shrill call rang out in the late afternoon air. "Well met road-warden, I am Sir Volkbech of the Order of the Stag. As you have my name, I expect yours in return." Letting loose a pent-up breath, the man answered. "The name's Matthias Brecht, my lord. I am sorry to have accosted you. Would you like me to escort you to the way-station
to rest before you continue?" Smiling faintly at the changed manner of the road-warden, the knight replied. "That would suit me well Matthias. My men and I have been riding for three days now and we would appreciate your hospitality for the night." Nodding in gracious agreement, Matthias led the knights back towards the way-station.
Talabecland? For me mister Beauregard? Oh, I do declare...
So... what did you think?
Sounds interesting. Please continue this story.
Part 2 of On the Taal-Runner Road
The ram-shackle building came into view just as the scant sunlight faded. A high wooden palisade surrounded the construction, protecting its inhabitants from the perils of the night. The way-station itself was made up of a small tower, adjoined to this was a meagre stable and a fortified manor which the road-wardens used as a residence. In places, the way-station looked as old as the forest that surrounded it, crafted from the woods themselves. In others however, the building showed signs of conflict. The small tower that made up the eastern wing of the structure was missing several merlons from the carefully laid crenellations and there were numerous scorch marks around the base of the manor itself.
Volkbech and his knights rode through the small wooden gate set into the palisade and onwards into the courtyard. "Hansen!" Matthias called out to the young lad who served as a stable-hand for the road-wardens. The blonde boy hurried over to the company as the men dismounted. "Yes sir?" The road-warden passed his reins to the boy, "Take the horses into the stable. Be careful with them, they're the property of the Count himself." Turning back to the knights he took in their travel-worn appearance and bone-deep weariness, two details that escaped him before while they towered over him on their chargers. It was indeed indicative of the times when the future of the Sigmar's Empire rested upon the shoulders of such tired old men. Surreptitiously, he made the sign of the twin-tailed comet to ward off bad luck should it be attracted to his thoughts and ushered them inside.
Part 3 of On the Taal-Runner Road
The weak light of the moon fought to pierce the thick cloud cover as the men took to their meals. Strong winds howled through the towering tree trunks, tearing brittle leaves from the grey branches. Inside the way-station, the hearth-fire burned bright, beating back the gathering darkness within the room, aided by the lively music being played by the boys at the end of the table. As the final note of the pipes drifted into the warm air to the general cheers of those seated, the shrill whinny of a horse in distress cut across the revelry. Silence descended upon the crowd. Matthias licked his suddenly dry lips before calling to Hansen. "Check on those horses boy! If somewhat happens to them on our watch there'll be nine hells to pay!"
As soon as Hansen closed the reinforced wooden door, the oppressive gloom finally made itself apparent. He quickly made his way to the stable, thinking that, apart from inside, the safest place would be with the trained warhorses. It suddenly occurred to him that he wanted to hide from something. It seemed strange. After all he had no reason to think there would be any danger. A loud crash suddenly split the frigid night air and the horses' screaming started anew. Now there was something to worry about. The boy ran to the stable door and flung it open. A sight from his worst nightmares greeted him, fangs glistening with blood in the faint moonlight and massive horns upon its head. Slamming the door shut, Hansen bolted for the door of the manor.
As the boy reached the manor's entrance, the door to the stable began to open. "Let me in!" Hansen cried as his fist struck again and again at the wood in desperation. "Please, you've got to let me in!" A dark shape left the stable, huge axe in hand, its gait stumbling and awkward as that of a man who has eaten too much or one in pain. The lad continued to pound upon the door even as his knuckles became bruised and began to bleed. The shape was barely ten feet behind him now and the boy began to weep, "Let me in." The door opened a crack and Hansen wrenched it open and dashed inside, just out of reach of the ominous figure. The doorman looked at the stable-hand and took in his horrified countenance, "What's your problem lad? You're shaking like a leaf." Hansen was too petrified with fear to reply. "Speak boy!" the man barked. Shaking his head, Hansen huddled into the corner of the entry hall, not even the glow of the torches or the wailing of the pipes consoling him. Exasperated now, the doorman turned and opened the door. A bestial roar greeted him as an axe scythed down into the man's shoulder. The fierce blow carved right through the man's collarbone and several ribs. The axe-blade was wrenched free and the man fell to his knees as a huge creature walked into the hallway.
The foul amalgamation of beast and man stood just under seven feet tall and was thickly muscled with shaggy, dog-like fur covering the majority of its body. Spiralled horns crowned its viciously fanged maw, a sight which Hansen was only just able to discern before. The cloven hooves stepped forward, producing the awkward gait Hansen had noticed earlier. The huge axe within the beast's hand dripped with gore. Horrified by the sight, Hansen was helpless as he cowered at the end of the hallway while the creature prowled towards him. The thought ran through the boy's mind that the beast was savouring his terror, enjoying every tremble that coursed through him.
The door to the feast-hall suddenly opened and one of the old knights stepped out and into the hallway. The beast turned around and advanced on the virtually unarmed man, leaving Hansen for the while. Taken by surprise, the knight immediately steeled himself and reached for the dagger at his belt. Next to the beast's massive axe, it looked woefully inadequate. The creature pawed at the ground with its hoof, preparing to ram the man, but with a mighty roar the knight charged the beast, driving his shoulder into its stomach and bringing it to the ground. The massive axe swung up and the knight ducked beneath its arc, bringing his own dagger to bear on his fallen foe. The steel blade punched into the beast's throat before the knight ripped it free and slammed the dagger home once more. Over and again, the knight tore into the beast until the horrible jaws stopped snapping and the wild eyes grew dull and lifeless.
Now that's what I'm talking about. ;)
Hehe I wrote that whole piece tonight while listening to uileann pipes. Over and over again. Sorry if it seems a little disjointed, I'll fix that up soon. Probably.
Conrad Harbach stood over the corpse of the beast, breathing hard and trying to ignore his stinging hand from where the black blood had splashed on him. Reaching down, he ripped a patch of cloth from the dead creature and ran it along the blade of his dagger, cleaning off the corrupt blood which stained it. Looking up from his task, he strode quickly over to the corner of the hall where Hansen was cowering. "Get up lad," the knight said, reaching his hand down to help the boy up.
Hansen stared at the black fluid that coated the hand held down to him. He could see his reflection in it, distorted wildly in the flickering torchlight. Steeling himself, the boy grasped the knight's hand and was pulled to his feet. The knight placed a comforting arm around the boy's shoulders, "Come on lad, we've got work to do."
Conrad opened the door into the feast-hall with both hands held up, the black gore coating them clearly visible. As he did so, the general noise of merry-making in the room seemed to have been drawn out of the door. Einhardt stood at the table and gestured for the rest of the men to follow suit. The old knight took in the mere score of faces around him, his steely gaze meeting their own, knights and road-wardens alike. "Get your harnesses lads, we've got a heavy task this night."
The ten knights stood at the door of the entrance hallway, fully clad in their plate harnesses, forged by the Dwarven master smiths of Talabheim, black shields adorned with the antlered tree of Taal, the Comet of Talabheim and the white hart's head of the Order of the Stag. Their blades glittered in the warm torchlight as they prepared to receive the beasts out in the night. Silent now, they could clearly hear the sounds of an altogether more bestial revelry occurring in the stables, a stark contrast to their own meal. "Sounds like there are a lot of them out there," Brecht remarked. Armed with his crossbow and a small hatchet and clad in a stout leather jerkin, the road-warden was naturally ill at ease. Einhardt looked back at the road-warden, "There always are."
Try as he might, Einhardt could never remember his next words to the men. All he could remember was the laughter being drowned out by a primal roar as the walls of the way-station shook. An axe-blade smashed a rent in the door, allowing the stench of the bests outside to seep through. Einhardt turned and snatched a spear from the grasp of one of the road-wardens before thrusting the weapon through the newly made hole, slamming the blade into whatever unnatural creature was wielding the axe. The scream which followed set the defender's teeth on edge as Einhardt withdrew the spear and handed it back to the man he took it from. "Keep a tighter grip on that weapon," he admonished before drawing his sword once more. The road-warden nodded in agreement.
More axes began to smash into the door. The knights stood at the ready, unwavering in resolve. By comparison, the road-wardens flinched with every impact. Another roar blasted out from the night and the walls shook once more. "What in Sigmar's name could that be?" a terrified road-warden called out as more and more blows slammed into the door. Einhardt was about to respond, but Conrad beat him to it. "With the beasts of the woods, that could be anything and it will still want to rip you to shreds." The old knight shook his head. Conrad was a fine warrior, but his skills with people were all too lacking. Admittedly, he had told the truth, but the truth was not what these people needed to hear, as was apparent by the horrified expressions they showed. "What is wrong with these men?" Einhardt thought to himself. "They live in the forest, they should know of their foe."
Getting better and better... :D
Thanks mate. :)
So any requests in regards to topics for new stories? Commissions if you will. ;)
Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow
See, I told you that you were good XD Thats really good. Well done mate.
Quote from: Phoenixguard09 on September 16, 2011, 03:52:29 PM
So any requests in regards to topics for new stories? Commissions if you will. ;)
As long as it's Talabecland I'm more than happy. :D
Only one thing... Why not Panther knights?
As in why Knights of the Stag instead of Panthers? Or why not do a stroy about Panthers?
The reason I chose Stag Knights were many:
1. They're the guard of the Talabecland Count.
2. They're pretty unknown so I could have a bit of leeway on what I was writing.
3. What an awesome name! My family's coat of arms is a gules stag rampant on a sable field so I do have a connection with the creatures. What can I say, I just like stags. :D
But I may do a story about Panthers in the future.
The devastating strikes continued to smash into the door, the hard oak barrier beginning to splinter under the punishment. Gaps in the wood allowed the men to view the snarling creatures outside, each large, shaggy body crowned by massive, spiralled horns. Finally, with a great shudder, the doors literally fell apart and the first of the beasts fell upon the clump of knights with animalistic savagery. It was cut down almost immediately as Caspar put his blade through its throat. The dead beast hit the floor and was replaced instantaneously by another of its kin, fanged maw bellowing its defiance and axe striking wildly into shield and wooden wall alike. The knights met the furious assault with steadfast courage and skill as Einhardt pushed forward to intercept the monstrosity's weapon with his shield, using it to push the weapon out wide before scything his own blade into the beast's ribs. The cut itself was not life-threatening but that mattered not to the old knight as he pressed onwards into the braying herd. He knew he could rely on his knights to watch his back.
Conrad slammed his sword home into the beast his Preceptor had already wounded. The blade scraped along the vertebrae of the dying creature's neck, the jolt travelling up Conrad's arm telling him the strike was good. Though almost in his forty-third year, Conrad knew his skills were still as good as they had ever been as he drove out into the night, following in Einhardt's wake.
An axe-blade to Conrad's left glittered in the guttering torchlight. Instinctively he threw his shield up, feeling the satisfying impact even as he turned the blow aside and used the very tip of his own blade to clip an artery in the beast's throat. There was no time to think, only the split-second acknowledgement of danger before reacting to it in the best way possible. It required instinct that only the best possessed and the luckiest retained. As Conrad knew all too well, those who did not have what was required died. The corpses of friends who hadn't made it were testament to that truth.
Similarly melancholy thoughts were running through the minds of all the knights as the taste of combat brought back the memories of those comrades who had fallen. One and all they were too old to take joy in warfare anymore, too experienced and worn by the years to feel anything but muted relief when they killed. Still, they butchered the beasts, never relenting, for to cease would be to die.
Brilliant, as always... :D
Hehe thanks. I notice that your remarks are getting more and more praising.
Thanks mate, I'm gonna be starting the second story arc as well. It will have Knights Panther and some sort of large enemy critter. So does anyone have a preference for the story's colour? Something easy to read but contrasting well enough with the red Taal-Runner Road.
Cheers,
At Silver's request (I think) here's the first installment of a new story arc. This one's about Knights Panther. Please enjoy...
The weak rain droplets pinged against the fluted panels of my armour as my squadron and I made our slow and weary way back to Talabheim. The Baron Gaulbach's forces had been resoundingly crushed by the emergent Necromancer Lord Volk's horde deep in the Kolsa Hills. We were the only survivors. Our ride back to the capital had been fraught with danger as we finally reached the River Waldharz, outrunning the spectral horrors that chased us. All four of us felt the shame of having fled deeply, made worse by the knowledge that the bodies of our friends were back in that damned place, rotting and bereft of a proper burial. Or worse, perhaps they had been defiled and had risen to join the fiend's horde, forced to serve it in death. The thoughts chilled me to the bone as they had done for the three days since we had abandoned them.
"Rudolf, how far do you think we are from Talabheim?" Alden asked me. Since that fateful day, the others had looked to me for guidance. I had no idea why for I was not significantly older than the others and I certainly did not possess any more knowledge. For Sigmar's sake, I wasn't even a Talabeclander. I was a Kislevite by blood and a Stirlander by birth, explaining both my love of horses and my family's impoverished background. Thinking of my family brought back painful memories. Procuring my entry into the Order of the Panther had almost broken them financially as my father's gradually deteriorating health proved. Within a year of my induction, my father's soul had passed into Morr's keeping and my mother followed him almost a month later.
Alden's worried look snapped my thoughts back to the present as I recalled his question. "I don't know, but we have just reached the tail of the river. We must be about halfway by now." Alden nodded in agreement and we all sank back into silence with only our haunting memories to keep us occupied. One cannot escape one's own mind.
Yes, Panther knights! Loving the style too... It's a bit different tan the last one, with 1st person narrator and stuff.
Thanks mate. And yeah, I'm really pushing myself to write differently, hence why this one's a bit more introspective and thoughtful. Worry not, for it will be punctuated by spontaneous bouts of senseless violence! :D
The knot of fighting around the doorway began to lose intensity after the initial conflict as the beasts held back from the skill and controlled ferocity of the old knights. Wary now, they prowled in the darkness, waiting for a weakness in the line. Brecht saw this and ran forward with his crossbow, as he did so bringing the wooden stock up to his shoulder. He sighted down the length of the bolt, exhaled and pulled the trigger. The bolt leapt from the string, slamming into one of the slinking shadows and spinning the beast off its hooves. The other road-wardens moved up and opened fire, protected by the thin line of knights, their bolts cutting more of the hulking creatures down. With a final snarl, the beasts backed away into the night.
Einhardt breathed heavily through the thick visor of his helm. He was weary after his exertions, conscious of the fact that he was no youngster any more. Chest heaving, the old knight scanned the darkness, sword held loosely in his fist. The road-wardens began to cheer, obviously under the impression that the nightmare was over. The knights remained on guard. "Silence!" Einhardt barked over the din of the celebrations. The men slowly ceased their shouts, the good humour replaced by the beat of primitive drums. "Stand ready men," Einhardt called. "By Taal this isn't over yet!"
An earthshaking roar reverberated through the forest, joined by the thundering of hooves as something stirred in the darkness. Suddenly the palisade shattered, a massive horned head rising from the carnage caused by the impact with the wall. With slow, ominous steps, the great beast stood forward. "Minotaur!" Caspar called, sending shivers of fear down the spines of all the men. They all knew what a minotaur did with its prey. Playing with its food was not even close. "Well," Einhardt thought, "Now we know what the noises were before."
Well it took me almost a year, but here you go Silver, the end of a Tale of Shame.
The horses were nervous as we walked them alongside the slow-running water. The banks were steep and muddy, bad ground for cavalry. We all knew that. The mud would pull at the hooves of our horses, siphoning speed from the charge that was our greatest strength. So as our horses were nervous, so were we.
The trees surrounded us on all sides, pressing in close, their dark boughs filling us with nameless dread. The forests of Sigmar's Empire were full of unwholesome creatures, the beasts of the deep woods always hungry for blood and carnage. Greenskins too made their homes in the shadowy forests but they seldom appeared this far north. All the same, we were on guard, the further we rode north, the more nervous we became.
A gust of wind, the snap of dry branch, the creaking of branches in the wind and the ambush was sprung. Whoops and cries filled the still, forest air as spiders began to glide down from the canopy upon gossamer lines of silk. Shiny and black with designs painted upon them in bright colours, these spiders were no natural creature but were as large as wolves and upon each rode a goblin armed with an assortment of crude spears and blades. "Swords!" I bellowed, drawing my own blade from the scabbard hanging from my saddle, urging the other knights to do the same. Taken by surprise, the knights reacted swiftly, baring steel and roaring challenges but the sudden appearance of the enemy left the horses baulking and fearful.
The first greenskin to come near me was crushed under the flailing hoof of my steed as the horse attempted to back away from the spider bearing down on it. Pouncing up at me, the now riderless spider took my blade in its thorax, spewing forth viscous liquid as it fell back to the ground, foul legs twitching in agony as it died. Beside me Alden fell to the ground as his horse was swarmed by three spiders, the creatures biting it many times until the noble creature's strength gave out, venom coursing through its veins. Alden stood with some difficulty, the mud clinging to his heavy plate harness as the greenskins and their mounts turned their attention to him. I urged my horse towards them, depriving one goblin of its head before the others bore Alden to the ground, stabbing him with spears until eventually they found a gap in his armour.
Around me my squadron was being destroyed, knights and horses killed by the swarming greenskins and their vile mounts. Turning my steed's head away from the slaughter, I abandoned my brothers once more.
For the second time within a week, I had forsaken my vows. I could only hope that my family would not learn of this dishonour.
An unexpected ending, I must say...
Ah good. They're the best ones. :D
I wish to finish off Taal-Runner Road at some stage soon, but does anyone have any ideas regarding a new story? Perhaps something out of the Empire.
Cheers,