Cleansing the Weak

[Teej]

The town of Rittersburg lies in the farthest southern reaches of the Border Princes, within a stone’s throw of the World’s End Mountains. It is surrounded by substantial stone walls, heavily fortified with cannon emplacements, and quite formidably garrisoned. Its ruler, the self proclaimed Prince Hans Branndtman, is feared throughout the region for his cruelty and expansionist mindset, and every village within twenty miles is under his control.

As darkness falls on the mercenary caravan you’re travelling with, however, none of this really matters. The town represents safety, a warm bed, and a decent meal for the first time in almost three weeks. You set off from your last campaign working for the disgraced Brettonian nobleman, the Compte de la Marais, coffers full of gold, to join with the Prince’s armies to aid him in his attempts to cleanse the Ritterwald, the nearby forest, of Beastmen. You may have been with the company for months, or you may have joined them only in the past couple of days; Captain Guntram “Krieghund” Hartmann is not picky in his troops, taking anyone with a weapon who proves they can use it, and as a result has a respectable force under his command. Most of them are marching on foot, but those rich, lucky or skilled enough to own a horse ride alongside the wagons, which are carrying food, ale, gold, and the few injured or noncombatants with the company.

You are not fifteen minutes from the gate when, from the oppressive woodland still surrounding you, sounds the very recognisable, blood-curdling braying of horns. Beastmen horns.

The Captain immediately bellows. "Infantry! Form up a defensive line! Cavalry! Escort the wagons to the town, then return to aid us!"

[Blockhead]

Grub Fiahslinger

Grub Fiahslinger, Orcy Shaman, hopped out of a wagon, staff in hands, to see what all the fuss was about. "What's all dis den?" He said. "Beastmen? Haha, I'll set em all on fiah!" He cackled, raising his staff to the sky, red sparks flying from it.

Grub was a thin, tall Orc who was quite bony, which was mainly due to the unstable nature of the magical winds. His greeny brown skin was clothed with a stitched together black cloak that included a hood which rested it's tip upon Grub's large nose. His feet were covered by two straw sacks, strapped to his feet with a wooden board and some string. His staff was a light brown, spirally piece of wood with a glowing red tip, which he had 'liberated' off a human mage. All he knew was the it allowed him to burn things easily, which gave him much glee. His voice was slightly croaky, but possessed all other traces of his Orcy kin.

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Not a fantastic first post, but hey!

[Lord_Asmodeus]

Tik Tik

After quickly gobbling down whatever he had been eating, Tik Tik hurried into the seeming protection of the mercenaries lines. He drew his sword and shield. His sword, a fairly standard short sword, but coated in a thin layer of... something, gleemed in the sunlight. The shield on his other arm was little more than some boards crudely nailed together, with an even cruder painting of what appeared to be a large open mouth on it. He wears a leather shirt and breeches, with some wood, metal, and bone stitched into the shirt's chest to help protect him. The helmet on his head was little more than a banged up piece of metal that vaguely resembled the shape of his head. Tik Tik grimaced, his long sharp teeth glinting in the sun. His gray skin and large nose, combined with his short stubby form and long pointed ears marked him out as a Gnoblar, from the Ogre Kingdoms, but Tik Tik seemed larger than any Gnoblar, and was even bigger than most other Goblinoids. He had a big paunch that attested to the frequency of his meals, and despite his small size and somewhat wirey frame, he was thicker set than other goblin kind. He was still small, and fairly weak though.

[WhiteKnight777]

Vorash

He had used many names over the years, but on this occasion, it had suited him to use the one that was his - or at least, a name taken, if not one given. Vorash rode atop his steed, a massive, coal-black beast with eyes that held a light as red as the dragon on it's master's shield, moved easily, even under the weight of the vampire's plate. Darkness came as a relief, and red pinpoints flared in his eyes as he scented the night-air, smelling the stench of the beastmen. He could see the winds of magic that swirled and eddied, drawn to the Chaos host - perhaps there were shamans within their ranks, or perhaps it was simply the caress of the Dark Gods that drew the winds forward.

A necromancer or another vampire might have used those winds to pry the dead from their rest and augment the mercenary host with a screen of the restless dead. Vorash, however, had little skill with necromancy - his undeath let him see the winds, particularly the winds of Death, and those of Beasts, and he could feel them, caressing his skin and calling to the darkness within him - but his talents ended there. But his blade, his speed, his strength of arm - these were all the weapons he needed.

He was reluctant to leave the infrantry to the glory of first blood, but he reluctantly acknowledged the order, and moved to escort the wagons into town, looking out at the lines of the warped monstrosities one more time as he waited for the last of the wagons to pass him on the road. Pathetic things, these beasts. All savagery and little skill - and their blood's too tainted to sup. I shall return momentarily to the slaughter.

[Illiterate Scribe]

Sankissen Koganusanner

Clanking far too little for comfort, Sankissen Koganusanner - at least, they assumed it was him in there - advanced.

So, it had come to this. Here they were, as they had been so many times before.

They would burn.

Hefting his crossbow, he counted. There they went, one two three into the hopper, clicking into direct alignment with a small fluid reservoir.

They would burn.

[Venom]

Ravandil

Walking along side the wagons for the simple reason he didn't have his old mount with him, as it was surely on its way back to Naggarond, and Ravandil would hardly lower himself to riding anything but his prized steed. With his hooded cloak pulled over his face he had kept his eyes on this motley group of what he could only assume were outcasts. None of them alone could hope to match me alone in a fight, or so he thought, but they're sure to have their uses.

With the captain and his band of mercenaries for only a few days, and the men still couldn't hazard a guess as to what kind of Elf Ravandil was, and he'd be damned if he was going to answer their unasked question. There were a few times when it took all of his will power to stay his blades, but to kill any of the captains men openly was what a fool would have chosen. No, to get to the captain would take too much effort for such an unworthy target. He would live for now, and Ravandil wouldn't be the one to kill him, but if the opportunity ever were to present itself...

Suddenly he was brought to the here and now with the braying of Beastmen horns. Almost smiling he reflexively brought his hands to his swords hilts as Captain Hartmann barked his order. Idiots, warning foes of their impending doom. If they were led by anything halfway competent they would just strike. Whispering a soft prayer to Khaine he drew his blades and did what the captain ordered by forming into the ranks and hiding as best he could among the rabble. "Let them come to their death", he said to no one in particular.

[Teej]

Bellowing incomprehensible warcries, deveral dozen heavily armed and armoured beastmen charged from the treeline, their massive weapons crushing men where they stood or throwing them several feet clear of the battle line to lie broken on the floor. Though powerful, such a small force would never attack an entire mercenary company unsupported. Of course, there was plenty of support. Seeing as how the favourite tactics of beastmen were ambush and misdirection, the unruly mob of ungors suddenly attacking the wagons should not have been a particular surprise, nor should the bolts of multihued fire lancing into the soldiers, twisting them into unholy shapes, or melting them into puddles of goo.

The charge of the centigors to reinforce the initial attack was also rather unexpected, but the line still held. For how long is anyone's guess, especially since the first beatmen to attack were all still standing.

[WhiteKnight777]

Vorash

Vorash at the wagons, Vorash moved through the Ungors, his blade slashing left and right as the pitiful creatures tried to surround him, or were crushed beneath his steed's steel-shod hooves as they tried to flee in terror. Mount and warrior moved as one, and Vorash's strokes were fluid, practiced - he deflected the blows of crudely made shields, each stroke of his blade cleaving a malformed head from lumpy shoulders, or else sliding into the unclean heart of one of the chaos creatures.

But Vorash took no pleasure from this fight - the creature's only strength was in numbers, and a warrior like him longed for an individual challenge. Even as he fought, he kept his eye out for something to try his skills.

[Venom]

Ravandil

The Beastmen closed the gap between they and the mercenary line far too quickly for his liking. He had to get free of the mercenary formation since he did far better where he was free to move and set his blades along their whirling dance of death. But the Gors were already upon them. Ravandil stepped into the gaps between the Beastmens charge and the fallen mercenaries. With the greatweapons the Beastmen wielded he didn't dare try to block or even parry the heavy blows, so he ducked and side stepped while he poked and sliced his scimitars into the areas their heavy armor didn't cover. Lungs punctured, tendons sliced, arteries severed. Individually each of these wounds weren't life threatening per se, but in the heat of battle and blood pumping onto the battlefield from grievous wounds they were just as deadly as losing your head at the shoulders, just not as immediate.

Dancing his macabre dance against such beasts was a challenge, but not challenging enough. "Perhaps if they were capable of thought they might prove more worthy of Khaine". Ravandil knew what he was doing appeased his master, but it didn't please Khaine. Beastmen were dieing to his scimitars, but the blood spilled wasn't that of the high elf, so it was hardly worth it in his masters eyes.

[Lord_Asmodeus]

Tik Tik

The overlarge Gnoblar gnashed his teeth. Though not as bloodthirsty a warrior as Ogres or Orcs, like all his kin he was malicious and cruel. Less cowardly than most, however, he would enjoy the fight to come. In typical Goblin fashion he ducked between the buckling lines of mercenaries, keeping low and out of sight, hiding in the shadows when he could. His shortsword lashed out, and cuts, stabs and sweeps of his sword killed Beastmen wherever it struck. Thanks to his knowledge of herbs, and more importantly, poisons, even the lightest nick with his poison coated blades could prove fatal if it wasn't treated properly and immediately, but with the kind of blows Tik Tik landed it's fatality became all the more potent. Cuts to the legs or arms, a hamstring or a stab through the shoulder were as fatal with his blade as the slash through the jugular or a blade in the heart. As the mercenaries in his area thinned however, the shield he wielded came into use as well. He glanced blows from mighty axes and rusty bent swords. He looked from side to side, and he spotted a particularly dangerous looking fellow, his charger carving a hole in Beastmen lines... yes, if Tik Tik could find his way over the "safety" of that mans shadows and wake, he should find his quick work a bit easier... and so, darting from shadow to shadow cutting at Beastmen as he went, Tik Tik "closed ranks" with Vorash...

[Blockhead]

Grub Fiahslinger

Grub laughed as he stood atop a retreating wagon, his need for better visability had caused him to seek higher ground, which in this case was a wagon. Picking out targets at random, Grub pointed his staff at them and muttered magical words. A small fire ball burst from the red orb atop the wooden staff and made it's fiery way over to a small, but ferocious looking beastman holding two axes. The fire ball struck the man in torso and by some form of luck or horror, the fire ball burnt off the flesh holding the top half of him to the bottom half. The two halves of the now dead beastman crumpled to the floor as Grub selected another victim. Upon seeing a rather large beastman with a mace he fired another fire ball in his direction. This time, the fire ball hit the beastman in the face, causing it to catch alight. The beastman screamed, dropped his weapon and began slapping his face in a futile attempt to put the fire out. After several seconds of paniced slapping, the beastman fell to his knees and toppled over, his head now a smoking black skull. "HAHA! Let em burn! For Gork and Mork!" He yelled, raising his magical staff high.