[AAR] M2TW: The Glory of Ostermark

[Saint Nicholas]

Author: Thokran
Original thread: [COW AAR] The Glory of Ostermark

The Glory of Ostermark Part 1

Mode: Call of Warhammer Chaos Storm Campaign
Faction: The League of Ostermark
Campaign Difficulty: Medium
Battle Difficulty: Medium
Unit Size: Small

After having a lot of fun playing Warhammer Online and the recent Call of Warhammer mod for Medieval II, I decided to read up on some lore and get a nice AAR going about my latest campaign. I'm not sure exactly how it'll pan out in comparison to other historical AAR's, but I guess that's what makes writing this so exciting! I hope you all enjoy!


PROLOGUE

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The winter cold was harsh, as per usual. Howling wind whipped through the snow-covered forests that dotted the land for miles on end in every direction. The sky loomed in perpetual gray and snow and sleet came down in sheets upon the hibernating land. Such were the winters that fell upon the gloomy northern expanse of the Empire.

Jutting out of the thick blankets of tree cover and snow were anomalies of stone, giant castles and towns that stubbornly withstood the elements of nature's way. From within one of these large stone edifices, a well-groomed man looked out at the storm that brewed around him. He was a man coming off the prime of his life, with a strong thick beard. His hair was beginning to gray, and wrinkles were beginning to form at the crease of his eyes. Yet his eyes blazed with ambition. His work was not yet done. He was Count Wolfram Hertwig. This land he looked over was his land. And as ruler of what was commonly known as the Ostermark, he knew that there was still much work to be completed.

The Elector Count of Ostermark was one of ten that made up the Council of Electors of the Empire he served. As part of the council responsible for the election of the Emperor, Wolfram was a very important figure in the realm of humanity. The Empire stood as the bastion of human strength, dwarfing all other human kingdoms of the known world. The Empire stood as a beacon of hope that humanity could prevail against all others that wished to sieze that power away from them. All manners of monstrosities - from greenskinnned orcs to barbaric savages from the north - lurked through the outer realms, waiting for the perfect time to strike out against the Empire: to crush and dismantle it, and humanity along with it.

Yet, for all the importance Wolfram held, he and his people were never regarded as such. The League of Ostermark happened to be one of the outlying border provinces of the Empire. It was a rural expanse of land with very fertile soil. This made the Ostermark a prime real estate for farming, thus providing much of the Empire's food reserves. But the League's focus on agriculture over urban development often leads the rest of the Empire to consider Ostermark as little more than a backwater full of simpleton farmers. Wolfram seethed at the thought. How wrong they all were. He would prove to them all that the Tertwig dynasty of Ostermark was one worthy of the history books!


For centuries, the armies of Ostermark had successfully warded off invasion from the Greenskin tribes of the World's Edge Mountains to the east, and the armies of Chaos that often led raiding attacks from the north. Ostermark's armies had time and again come to the aid of its fellow border provinces of Ostland and Nordland, and even provided aid to the stoic defenders of Kislev in the north, who served as the first line of defense against Chaos invasion. These successes had often come at a price for the Ostermark. Their armies were often ravaged from constant war against greenskin and Chaos alike. Their whole southern border was greatly depopulated by the rise of the Vampire Counts in Sylvania to the south. Their former capital Mordheim was absolutely devastated my a meteor of dark material known as warpstone.

Count Wolfram contemplated on these losses. The Ostermark had much to gain if the Count played his cards right. As the ever vigilant watch guards of the Empire's eastern borders, the League of Ostermark would rise to glory, overcoming the trials and tribulations that the enemies of the Empire throw against them to one day rival and surpass the might of the Emperor himself! Yes, there was much work to be done. But the Elector Count was not a fool. Wolfram knew he would need help to complete so much work. His mind drifted to his royal council of advisers and generals. The very thought further reaffirmed his vision for Ostermark's rise to glory.

The Royal Family and Council of Advisers

Count Wolfram Hertwig: A man of ambition, Wolfram is a thinker and a planner. He dreams of bringing greatness to his land, and for most of his life he did so as a veteran military commander. Now as Count of Ostermark, Wolfram puts his authority to use as a way to put his plans and dreams into motion. A pious believer of Morr, rather than Sigmar, he’s often seen as a severe ruler at times, especially when his plans don’t go according to plan. His very position as Count of Ostermark doesn’t do much to help his authority over a land often lauded as a backwater. These notions only further drive his ambition to make Ostermark a place of worthy notice throughout all the Empire.


Prince Gottfried Hertwig: Chivalrous, loyal and eager, Prince Gottfried is everything that a father could want out of a son. Young and vibrant, Gottfried has a talent for commanding the armies, just like his father did years before. As heir to the throne, Gottfried too shares his father’s visions for his land and toils day and night to be the hammer and voice to his father’s dreams and wishes. Unlike his father however, he favors neither Morr nor Sigmar, preferring to focus on the tangible variables in life rather than trying to grasp that which he places no faith in.



Nicholas Hertwig: The younger of Wolfram’s two sons, Nicholas is the less favored of the two, as can be noted by his general lack of title in comparison to his Prince brother. Because of this, Nicholas often holds much contempt for his brother’s eagerness to please a father that never bothered to pay much attention to him. Nicholas often vents out such contempt in battle, making him a dreaded warrior who is merciless to his enemies. He too places his faith in Morr, and leads a large unit of Knights dedicated to the god of death at his personal fortress south of Nagenhof.


General Otto Windeck: A loyal friend and old comrade in arms to the Elector Count, Otto Windeck is Wolfram’s prized general and governor of Nagenhof. Neither a figure of chivalry nor of dread, Otto represents the ideal model of a soldier of Ostermark: experienced, battle-hardened, grim and determined to defend the rural pastures of the province against any and all threats.


Marcos Salier: A man of no great standing, Marcos seeks to prove to his Count that diplomacy could offer a more peaceful alternative path to success than Wolfram’s own visions of conquest and glory.


Dieter Damark: A fine graduate member of the Merchant’s Guild of Bechafen, Dieter knows how to make a profit and where to make a profit. Asessing the dangers of the south, he’s an advocate of Count Wolfram’s plans for a southern campaign, firmly believing that rich resources lie in the lost city of Mordheim.

Wolfram snapped out of his trance as a chill wind blew in through the balcony and ran up his clothes. His eyes shot open in a moment of clarity. It was as if his plan was laid out before him. Immediately he assessed the current situation of his province. Ostermark was composed of countless small farms and villages, of which only two settlements were large enough to be of considerable notion to the rest of the Empire: the capital of Bechafen in the north, and the city of Nagenhof further south towards the River Brunwasser. Another town, Grenzburg, lay just north of Bechafen across the River Talabec, in control of rebel soldiers who refuse to accept the sovereignty of the Elector Count. He would have his son Gottfried show them personally the power the Tertwig dynasty wielded as sovereigns of Ostermark.


Looking on further into the long term, the Count continued to contemplate his plans for the League. For centuries, the southern lands of the Ostermark were devoid of life and prosperity, deprived of such after Mordheim fell into ruin. What better way to reinvigorate the provincial standing of Ostermark than to retake what so many others had failed to do in centuries past? With Mordheim and its adjacent settlements firmly in his hands, Wolfram would be well on his way to achieving his visions for the Ostermark. There was much work to be done.


So much work to be done.

Chapter I: The Siege of Grenzburg

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

As the snow came down on the fields of Bechafen, a young prince and his bodyguard made their way up the road towards the capital city. Prince Gottfried had ridden hard from Nagenhof the night before upon receiving the summons from his father. It was a very unusual summoning, one that would not have occurred during the cold winter chill unless it was of great urgency. Gottfried hopes for the best, but expected the worse as he and his men finally came to a halt at the city gates. His father was waiting for him.


“Father!” Gottfried called out as he dismounted from his steed and ran forward to embrace the Count. “How is everything in Bechafen? What urgent news have you summoned me for?”
“Dire news, I’m afraid.” The Count replied. “Come with me, we have much to discuss.”
And so they went, back into the city and up the sleepy streets to the Royal Palace. Within the palace halls, Count Wolfram went over the plans they held for Ostermark, reviewing them one last time before they would be put into action. At last, they reached the Count’s Royal Office.
“Alas, this is not what I’ve summoned you here for. Before I tell you however, I’d like you to meet a colleague of mine.” With that, he opened the door to his office and welcomed the man waiting inside. He was young, but bald, a clear sign of a clergyman. He donned thick robes with leather padded armor, and heavy fur boots to notify that he too had been traveling for awhile in the north.


“My son Gottfried, may I present you with Karl, Priest of Sigmar.” Gottfried grimaced internally. He was not a pious man. He felt no sense of hope from religion, yet he knew his father was a devout follower of Morr. Why then, would a Priest of Sigmar be here in Bechafen, holding an audience with the Elector Count of Ostermark?
“A pleasure to have finally met you, my Prince.” Karl replied humbly. He was an advisor to the Great Theogonist of the Cult of Sigmar, and as such held a very important role in the affairs of religion. It seemed the Grand Theogonist appointed him to the service of Ostermark to investigate the threats posed against the border-province. Karl however, was often regarded as corrupt for his less than…pious ways of spreading the word of the Grand Theogonist around.
“Karl here has a mission for us from the Great Theogonist himself!” The Count exclaimed in delight. “It seems he wants a chapel built.” Gottfried’s face sank inwardly. Against with the piety babble.
“A chapel? That’s all?” the Prince began.


“A chapel…in Grenzburg.” Wolfram replied. At once Gottfried understood his father’s intentions. The Prince smiled to show his excitement. Finally, their plans were coming to action!
“Of course, father. I will assemble the armies at once to take Grenzburg in the name of Ostermark, and establish this chapel for the Great Theogonist! Though I must ask…what is so dire about this news?”
“What’s dire is that this mission be completed with all due haste.” The Count replied. “For the chill in the wind has grown anomalous, and my scouts have reported the worst. Bechafen is soon to be besieged by the locust swarms of Chaos, and the battlements must be manned and ready for such an attack. But we can’t afford to lose this opportunity either. Ostermark must reassert its hold over the Eastern border of the Empire.”


The Count’s words reverberated throughout the empty halls. Indeed, the taking of Grenzburg would be of great importance. If Chaos were coming from the north, and if they do manage to bypass Kislev, then Grenzburg would be Ostermark’s sole buffer zone between the hordes and the capital city. Ensuring a strong northern border would also do much to help in future efforts of re-consolidating the southern provinces of Ostermark.
“Very well, my Count. It shall be done as fast as I can possibly muster. For the Empire.”
“For Ostermark.” Wolfram corrected him. Prince Gottfried smirked.
“For Ostermark!”

Indeed, the preparations were made with lightning speed. The armies mobilized out of Bechafen and within two days were upon the walls of Grenzburg. Prince Gottfried had his men toil day and night on the battering rams. He was planning for a quick siege.



Meanwhile, as the Prince of Ostermark prepared for battle, Count Wolfram busied himself in Bechafen, utilizing his agents in advancing his will upon the province. He sent the young Marcos Salier on a diplomatic mission east to broker aid from the Dwarves of Karak Kadrin. He also spent many of his days within the city’s merchant guild, brokering a deal with the guild to hire one of their best, Fernando Ehter, in managing the trade resources available in the south. A deal was reached and Fernando was promptly sent south of Nagenhof in search of ivory and other potential export goods to revitalize trade in the southern towns and villages of Ostermark.


January turned out to be a very busy month for the count. Shortly after his successful negotiations with the Merchant’s Guild, General Otto Windeck sent word from the south that the famous Tilean Mercenary Captain Bronzino, had taken up residence along with the rest of his regiment in Nagenhof.


Bronzino and his men were a famous veteran artillery battery, of which Ostermark was greatly lacking. Such cannons would make future sieges much easier and require fewer men than the hundreds that his son had taken with him to Grenzburg, thus lowering each town’s vulnerability to attack during an offensive. If Bronzino was looking for work, he had come to the right place. Sending Otto a healthy sum of the national treasury, he assured that Bronzino would serve in the ranks of Ostermark for years to come. One week and five thousand gold coins later, Bronzino’s service to the League of Ostermark was made official.




January soon gave way to February, by at which time Prince Gottfried was ready to take Grenzburg with the might of his army. The Rebels numbered in the hundreds and refused to come to terms with a peaceful surrender. They stood defiant and leaderless against the Prince. Gottfried would make an example out of them all that the League of Ostermark was not to be trifled with!


The sun rose for what seemed the first time in months. It shined weakly, signaling the beginnings of spring. Winter would end soon, and with it the resistance that the rebels within Grenzburg posed. Gottfried lined up his army in front of the main entrance and began the siege.


The ram moved forward at a steady pace, shrugging off any stray arrows that the rebels fired at it. The snow slowed the ram’s advance, but Gottfried’s infantry pulled through, pushing straight through to the main gate. Within minutes the ram was at the walls, battering down the gates to the city.


It didn’t take long for the gate to give way. The ram tore right through the gate, and Prince Gottfried wasted no time in ordering his infantry through the breach. The infantry regiments mobilized, and hundreds of Empire spearmen and halberdiers poured through the gate, clashing head first against the rebel mainline. The clash of steel rung throughout the town as spear met spear and bodies crumpled to the ground in bloodied heaps.


The fighting was fierce. The rebels posed a better fight than the Prince had expected. But they were ultimately pushed back to the town center. With the gateway breach secured, Gottfried moved in with his cavalry, all of them dreaded Black Riders of Morr. While Gottfried cared little for their devotion to a God that he believed didn’t exist, he did value their reputation in battle as dreaded warriors. The very sight of them riding through the streets of Grenzburg struck terror in the heart of the town’s denizens, making them easy prey for their wicked scythes and blades. Prince Gottfried reveled in the blood frenzy as he partook in the silent killers’ massacre.


Meanwhile, the rest of the infantry begin their forward march on the town plaza. Rows upon rows of steel spears and halberds make their way toward the rebels, stopping at nothing to reach their target. Those who got in their way were trampled and impaled. They were an unstoppable legion, hell-bent on crushing the rebel resistance under the hell of their boots.


Between the Riders of Morr laying waste through the side streets, and the main army marching up the main pass, the rebels’ chance of success grew increasingly hopeless. They tried to muster their courage but failed time and again. Slowly but steadily they were whittled down until their backs were pressed against each other, utterly surrounded and helpless to the fate that awaited them all: death. Prince Gottfried led the final charge, flanking an exposed side with a devastating charge that brought the rebels to their knees. Victory was absolute, and Grenzburg fell to the might of Ostermark!



As he had promised his father, the successful capture of Grenzburg was done with great swiftness. Gottfried wasted no time in clearing the dead out and beginning construction on the chapel that the Great Theogonist had requested. He left a sizeable garrison of his best captains within Grenzburg to help govern the town while he returned with the bulk of the army back to Bechafen. He had to report the news of success to his father personally.
His father was pleased; greatly pleased. He did not fail in rewarding his son for his endeavors. Prince Gottfried returned to Bechafen, hailed as a hero. The people cheered and chanted his name as they celebrated the province’s first successful expansion in over a century. The Elector Count rewarded him well. He held a grand banquet for the young prince to congratulate his efforts, before announcing the big news to all who attended.


For years, the prince had pined over the lovely Lady Geylevif Kniss, daughter to one of Bechafen’s richest families. As a noble of high standing, she and the Prince often along well, but never had the opportunity to connect further due to the Count’s overbearing and severe attitude toward his son. The Elector Count always reminded Gottfried that he would have to earn his wife through service to his country. At last, Count Wolfram could proudly say that his son had done well for Ostermark, and that on such a grand day, he would bask in glory with a beautiful wife at hand. The arrangements were made and the wedding plans commenced with great jubilation!
Ostermark was off to a good start in Wolfram’s eyes. Now to see if everything else would fall into place.

Chapter II: The Price of Ambition

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Spring came quick to the World’s Edge Mountains. Marcos Salier heaved and panted as he lifted himself up the steep slopes of Peak Pass that led to the famous dwarven stronghold of Karak Kadrin. Karak Kadrin was famous for its Slayers, fanatical dwarves who fought in search of glorious death in battle. It’s because of the near suicidal tactics of the Slayers that Karak Kadrin survived to be the Dwarven Kingdom’s northernmost outpost, having withstood centuries of attacks by Orcs and Goblins alike. They were born warriors, and Ostermark was lucky to haver them protecting the Empire’s eastern border. Thus, it was of great importance that Marcos parlay with the Slayer King to maintain healthy relations with their Dwarven allies. Dwarves weren’t the friendliest lot however, especially Slayers. So when Marcos learned of the success at Grenzburg and Prince Gottfried’s marriage celebrations, Marcos was none too happy. He grimaced inwardly, knowing that he would have to spend his days making nice with a host of disgruntled dwarves while the rest of the province celebrated Ostermark’s latest acquisition.



Most of March was dominated by the lavish wedding preparations. At first, the wedding was to take place in Bechafen, but upon the behest of the Elector Count and the Kniss family, it was relocated to Grenzburg to celebrate the inaugural opening of the town’s chapel. The chapel was built at lightning speed under Prince Gottfried’s superbision by the best masons the province had to offer. Gottfried couldn’t help but appreciate the religious fervor of the hardworking craftsmen. Perhaps there was some practical benefit to piety after all. Ostermark’s show of faith seemed to be more than enough to please the Great Theogonist, who sent his congratulations to the Prince for his efforts in taking Grenzburg in the name of Sigmar and the Empire.


The wedding took place on the eve of April. All the noble families were there to attend such a lavish occasion. Spring was in full effect, as was the prosperity of the year’s upcoming harvest. Many expected the Prince’s marriage to be a prosperous one as well. It was a time of jubilation for all, and the Count made sure that everyone who anyone was there to attend such a grand occasion. Even his youngest, Nicholas Tertwig had been summoned for the marriage. The young warrior made his way up Bechafen’s paved roads towards Grenzburg atop his carriage. He had spent many months holed up away in a fortress, and seeing the rich countryside of northern Ostermark was a sight for sore eyes.


Nicholas had never seen such a lavish spectacle. The wedding was fancy in every sense of the word, but the reception afterwards was downright excessive. The celebration seemed to redirect from Gottfried’s marriage to Wolfram’s personal banquet of victory for Ostermark. All sorts of frivolities were spent on the occasion, to the point that even his brother seemed bewildered with the excess pageantries. Wolfram in comparison seemed to bask in the revelry, chatting it up with the noble lords and his royal advisers. Gottfried made his way through the crowds toward his younger brother. Nicholas greeted his brother warmly.
“It’s been awhile, my Prince.” Nicholas began as he shook his elder brother’s hand firmly.
“Please, Nicholas. It’s Gottfried. Shall we see what our father is up to?” Nicholas sighed and tagged along. He did not look forward to having words with the Elector Count.
Count Wolfram laughed jollily alongside his Minister of Finance, Dieter Damark. The wine was flowing freely through their veins now, as could be seen by their faces. Regardless, the brothers remained presentable.
“Ah, my sons!’ The Count exclaimed. “Come, come! Drink some wine, for we have much to celebrate for!” He handed his kin two goblets of wine as he drank down his own in one gulp.
“No thanks, father.” Nicholas respectfully declined. His father paid him no mind as he babbled onto Gottfried, which made the younger Tertwig twitch inwardly. His father was always the type to ignore him in favor of his brother, as was expected. But it irked him nonetheless that such a drunk fool could rule the province of Ostermark to such a degree of success. Surely it must have been Gottfried who held things together. Despite the jealousy he harbored toward his brother, he respected Gottfried for his attitude and was proud to have him as a brother. He snapped back into reality as his brother spoke.
“Thank you.” He began, taking a small sip of the wine before continuing. “But we are already celebrating as is. What else is there to be so joyful about?”
“Do ye not know yet, boy?” Dieter cut in. “My man down south Fernando has done it! He’s gone and made us all rich?”
“Rich? What did he find?” Nicholas asked, intrigued at any news pertaining southern affairs.


“Warpstone, my boy!” Wolfram exclaimed. “Just out of sight of Mordheim. Those skaven rats will pay any price for those hunks of rock! And we’ll make a pretty penny off all of them, haha!” Both brothers hesitated at the news. The Skaven were vile enemies of the empire that lurked in the darkest of tunnels. They were obsessed with warpstone and would do just about anything for it. When Mordheim fell, the Skaven flocked to the city’s ruins to harvest the warpstone before the Empire armies cleared out the place. They had gone into seclusion ever since, at least in Ostermark. To make contact with them seemed like…a dubious business proposition. Nicholas voiced his opinion on the subject
“Consorting with the Skaven doesn’t sound like the wisest idea to me. If the Empire officials found ou-“
“Who asked for your opinion?” Wolfram snapped. The Count was suddenly very aware and sober of his surroundings, and his tone deathly serious. His eyes bore into those of his youngest, and Nicholas couldn’t help but shrink before him. “No Empire official will know of our dealings. All is being taken care of as we speak. And the gold will be well worth the hassle.”
Nicholas remained quiet, as did Gottfried. Despite the great festivities around them, both felt like they were children once again, having been caught sneaking into the armory after curfew, and receiving a stern lecture from their father. Wolfram’s words cut to the bone, his words laced with severity.
“But lucky for you, BOY, you won’t have to be around to stomach such dealings. I have something else planned for you. The Council and I have decided that we must continue expanding our borders. Put that little castle of yours to use and muster me up and army. Take Nachtdorf and don’t speak with me until you bring the results of your labors.” Without another word, the Elector Count turned and left. His sons were left stunned. They knew of their father’s severity, but never did they expect it to come out so violently, especially during such a celebration. Truly, all they could see in their father’s eyes was ambition.



The months following the wedding were relatively uneventful. Prince Gottfried remained in Grenzburg to govern over the nascent town. Count Wolfram returned to Bechafen to brood and plot. Nicholas returned south with a small regiment from Bechafen to help bolster his initial military force. On the way south through Nagenhof, he established a series of watchtowers to look over the main trading routes. He was one too pleased with his father, but begrudgingly accepted the mission he was tasked with. Spring quickly came and went, and with the arrival of summer came Ostermark’s annual fairground, which greatly boosted the province’s trade.


The fairground also brought good news from the north. Traders from Kislev were happy to report that the suspected hordes of Chaos had suffered greatly from infighting, which stalled their warmarch south. Supposedly the followers of Nurgle had all but disintegrated while the armies of Tzeentch waged war against the followers of Khorne. Bechafen would be spared another season, which allowed a further reallocation of troops south to Nagenhof, where Nicholas was busy mustering up his siege force.


The extra troops saved Nicholas two months of levying troops. Perhaps now Nachtdorf would be taken before the winter cold arrived. His plan was to meet with Bronzino and his mercenaries south of his castle near the provincial border. From there, they would strike Nachtdorf and tear down its walls without need of a battering ram. Now all he needed to do was to mobilize the armies south.


However, on the march south to Nachtdorf, Nicholas seemed to have a change of heart. For months he mulled over his father’s words. He couldn’t get over the tone in which Wolfram had sent him off. Nicholas was young, abrasive, and full of contempt for his overbearing father. At last, on the eve of battle, he snapped. Wanting nothing to do with Wolfram, he and his bodyguard rode out of camp back to his castle. He was done taking orders from his father. He would revel in his self-exile and do as he pleased within his own walls. The army woke to find themselves leaderless. But already they had gone too far to return. They continued their march south and soon met with Bronzino. They hoped the Tilean would not abandon them as their general did the night before.


Nachtdorf was overrun with Orc remnants of a Waaagh! That had crossed the Ostermark fifteen years past. They were now rebels, having lost contact with their brethren over the years. Still, the greenskins posed a great threat to Bronzino’s men. They were feared warriors who lived and breathed to kill. The provincial army would have quite a fight on their hands. Bronzino wasted no time in laying siege to the walls. His cannons roared as he fired away at the main gates.


The gate came down with ease. But the orcs were quick to fill in the gap. They poured out of the town in droves, charging straight for the cannons. Bronzino ordered his men to fire at will, and his artillery took out a sizeable portion of the horde. But they were coming in too fast. Franticly, he called out for the infantry. At once, the main line charged forth and met the Orcs in battle. A hellish bloodbath ensued as the Ostermark Greatswords rushed into the fray against the Orcish heavy infantry.


The Knights of Morr began mobilizing. On the open field, they were at their best. With momentum, even the Orcs would cringe at the dreadful might of their charge. Their flank devastated, the Orcs begin to crumble.


The battle outside the gates seemed to rage on for hours. Each step forward was like an eternal agonizing forceful inch that was rightfully earned through blood and sweat. At the head of the Empire main line were the infamous Death’s Heads, pikemen veterans from the Vampire Wars against Sylvania. They more than anyone else knew the lay of the land in the southern Ostermark. They thrust forth in tandem, cutting down their foe with unrelenting force. With their help, the infantry line pushed toward the main gates.


The Orcs were a formidable foe. Time and again they would rout, only to charge fearlessly back into the fray. They hacked and slashed like ravenous dogs, cutting down those who were not wary. As the battle progressed through the main gates, Bronzino and his men decided to join the battle personally. The cannons would be useless in such a clustered battle, and any extra sword would help push the Greenskins back.


“Charge!!” Bronzino cried out. “Cut these mongrels down!” The Tilean mercenaries joined the battle at the flanks and began utilizing their swordplay against the Orcs. Bronzino was known for his namesake, and it was his bronze armor that allowed him to brush off a sideswipe from one of the Orcs as little more than a graze. The veteran captain countered swiftly, driving his blade into the heart of the beastly warrior.


Bronzino was a tenacious leader. He kept up with the rest of the infantry, cutting down his own fair share of greenskin scum. The Tilean went toe to toe with the biggest and baddest the Orcs had to throw against the Empire. The Orc General soon entered the fray as well, his intentions clear: to kill Bronzino.
“Git’ ova here, littl’un! I’m gunna crush you!” Wodenlega barked, swinging a massive runed blade at the Tilean captaIn’s neck. Bronzino ducked the blow and countered with his own attack. He was impressed with the Orc’s prowess in battle. Hard-pressed to counter, Bronzino put all of his skill and experience to use against the massive foe. At last, after what seemed like an eternity, Wodenlega exposed his flank. Bronzino roared with primal fury as he drove his blade deep into the orc’s side, pushing it up into his chest cavity and effectively ending the general’s life. Unable to pull out his blade, Bronzino took the general’s blade as his own and rallied his troops forth. The gateway was secure. Victory was at their fingertips.


The Orcs slowly fall apart. They collapse into the town center, harassed on all sides by the Knights of Morr. All the while, the Ostermark halberdiers push forward, driving back the Orcs with their spear wall. With their general dead, the orcs make a last stand against the army of Ostermark, fighting to the last orc. Led by the Death’s Heads pike men, the Ostermark infantry tear the orcs apart, sparing none of them in the ensuing slaughter.


By sundown, not a single orc was left alive. The mission was a complete success.The rebels were absolutely crushed, and Nachtdorf fell into Ostermark territory. Within six months, the province had nearly done. The Count would be happy to hear the news, even if it didn’t come directly from his insubordinate son.


Bronzino took residence within the town hall and began the proper governance of the town. Nachtdorf would need a new citizenry, as the Orcs had driven out all the humans when they first occupied the town. It would take time to build Nachtdorf to the same level of cities like Nagenhof and Bechafen. But the blade that Bronzino now possessed seemed to grant the Tilean general some sort of authority. The blade was later recognized as the famous Wyrmslayer Sword of Ulfdar the Berserker, a comrade in arms of SIgmar himself. How such an ancient weapon fell into Orcish hands no one knew. What they did know though, was that Bronzino had led them to victory, and that he earned the blade for himself. Ostermark could trust the Tilean to lead them to victory. They trusted him now to lead Nachtdorf to prosperity.

CHAPTER III: Mercenaries

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The capture of Nachtdorf came in the middle of summer, on the eve of Ostermark’s yearly harvest. The harvest was neither plentiful nor scarce, and it provided a sense of economic stability throughout the province. The harvest also brought the great circulation of news amongst the Imperial Provinces. So it came to no surprise that when news reached Altdorf of Ostermark’s latest acquisition, the Great Theogonist made a solid effort to continue spreading the faith throughout the border regions. Karl the Corrupt traveled to Nachtdorf to deliver the message.


“Lord Nicholas Hertwig!” Karl called out at the town gates. “I am here bearing an important message for Lord Nicholas Hertwig!”
“I’m afraid you’ll not find him here, acolyte.” A gruff voice emerged from across the gateway. Donned in his armor, Bronzino walked up to Karl and saluted the servant of Sigmar. “I am Bronzino, the commanding officer in control of Nachtdorf. Is there anything I can do for you?” Karl seemed perturbed. What happened to Nicholas? Why was he speaking with some Tilean merc dog from the military dredges? Had the noble lord fallen in battle?
“May I ask where Lord Hertwig is?”
“The army has reported that he’s holed up in his castle in the north, across the River Blut.” Bronzino replied bluntly. Clearly he was none too happy with the Lord’s decision to abandon him in the siege of Nachtdorf. “He took no part in the siege. Instead, he chose to abandon us in battle in favor of marrying his mistress.”


Karl was left speechless. Could he possibly believe the words of a mercenary? A son of a lord was not allowed to marry without specific consent of the Elector Count, at least under Wolfram’s rule. If the news was true, then the Elector Count would surely see it as a sign of rebellion from his son. He decided to verify it himself.
“I see…I am here merely to pass on the Great Theogonist’s message. He mandates the construction of a chapel within this settlement to help continue spreading the word of Sigmar across the border provinces, especially one so close to the dark hills of Sylvania. I’ll be off now to verify your claim, and I fully expect the chapel to be constructed in all due haste, yes?”
Bronzino smirked.
“Yeah, sure thing. We’re actually trying to rebuild the roads and infrastructure right now, so we can get supplies and reinforcements down here faster, but we’ll consider building your pretty house somewhere along the line too.” The mercenaries chuckled aloud, and even the rest of the provincial army under Bronzino’s command couldn’t help but smile. “You have a good day, now!”
Karl turned and left without another word, grumbling in discontent. He was not fond of Tileans, nor of being made fun of.
“Damn mercs."


The harvest was going well for Ostermark. The fairground was coming to a close and the province and reaped in a solid profit. Count Wolfram chose to expand his military arm further with the profits, training a regiment of pistoliers into his service. They were young and daring soldiers, eager to fulfill the wishes of their lord, just like Wolfram wanted them to be. As he watched them march around the streets of Bechafen with admiration, another man came up to him from behind, interrupting his perpetual plotting.
“Milord.” The servant began. “The acolyte of Sigmar has arrived with important news from the south.”
“Good. Let him in, then.” The Count was shortly reunited with Karl the Corrupt, who looked worse for the wear after a haggard trip up and down the province.
“So what news do you bring me?”
“Dire ones, I regret to admit.” At this the Count became concerned. Had his southern efforts failed him?
“It seems…” Karl continued. “that your son Nicholas Hertwig abandoned his duties to the province in order to marry within his castle without your consent.” Karl could see the Elector Count’s eyes seethe with fury at the knowledge that his plans had not gone perfectly according to plan. He continued his report, in hopes that it would raise the Count’s spirits. “But despite this setback, the siege of Nachtdorf was successful. The Tilean Bronzino and his mercenaries command the troops down there, having led the army to victory.”
“I see…” Wolfram began. “Dismissed. Call in Dieter.” Karl watched warily as the Count paced. Clearly he was mixed over the news. His son’s betrayal of duty surely vexed him, but he seemed pleased enough that Nachtdorf was captured. Following the Count’s demands, Karl left the room, only to be replaced by Dieter. The Elector Count made it a quick meeting.
“I need you to find me Michel der Bar for me. Tell him to rally his Free Company and that I have a healthy sum of coin waiting for him. This summer’s fairground has paid off in dividends, and if my son can’t follow direct orders, then I’ll show him that a sack of gold surely can in his stead. Maybe that’ll put things into perspective that he too is expendable.” The Count’s words were laced with venom, to the point that even his minister of finance seemed perturbed by it. Dieter warily nodded and saluted his lord.
“As you will, milord. It shall be done.”


Michel der Bar was a local captain native to Ostermark. Having lived in the rural farmlands of the province most of his life, he made it his task to defend the rural farmsteads that the provincial armies often neglected, preferring to defend the cities and main causeways of trade. This mustering of defenders, who often were native to Ostermark as well but varied from all over the Empire, came to be known as the Free Company. While many Free Companies existed throughout the Empire, this particular one served as pseudo-mercenaries, always willing to defend their homes from invasion, but also selling their services to the highest bidder. Dieter made it clear to Michel that Count Wolfram was the highest bidder, and the Free Company was assembled. They prepared to march south on Nicholas’ castle. But it seemed other events would soon take priority…



------------------------------------------------------------------------



The waning of summer brought horrific news from the north. An entire Imperial Province had been wiped out by Chaos hordes! Ostermark’s neighboring province was heavily forested, and its defenders well armed and prepared against northern assault. Count Wolfram could scarcely believe that Ostland had fallen. And yet it had. The Count had no time to question how the hordes had managed to slip by Kislev, albeit the Sea of Claws seemed as a viable explanation. He had more pressing concerns to contend with. The Hordes were heading his way, marching on Bechafen.



The Count of Talabecland was quick to respond, however. Where the had failed in Ostland, they planned to make up for in Ostermark by providing a relief army, led by Andreas Steffen. His men marched towards Bechafen from the west, hoping to meet up with Wolfram’s provincial army and intercept the Chaos marauders together.


Wolfram wasn’t prepared to risk his whole army on one battle, however. He swallowed his pride, knowing that the time of reckoning for his wayward son could wait. He ordered Michel de Bar’s Free Company to march west of Bechafen and convene with the armies of Talabec. The heartland had to be defended. The Chaos armies that marched through Ostermark were followers of Khorne, the blood god. Wolfram was sure that if allowed to, the savages would paint the walls of Bechafen red with blood in tribute to Khorne. Their path towards the capital went straight through Grenzburg, where his son resided. He couldn’t afford to lose his one true heir. He ordered Prince Gottfried to return to Bechafen, where they would prepare the defenses and hope that the Free Company could hold off the barbarian swarm of the Khorne general Nasu Unbreakable.


The skies billowed in the darkness as Michel’s men prepare for battle in the thick forests west of Bechafen. Their Talabec allies lie several miles off, but the Free Company is unable to reconvene with them as planned. Nasu’s army had come in full force, marching straight for Michel’s mercenaries. Not wasting anytime, the Free Company fires at will, raining death upon the enemy.


The armies of Khorne seem to delight in the bloodshed of their comrades, watching them fall as Michel leads a charge against the unarmored marauders, cutting down a great slew of them. But the blood only drives the army forth with further determination. Michel is horrified to see Nasu’s men pick up speed rather than slow down against the torrential rain of arrows. He orders a withdrawal of his archers as he and his infantry prepare to hold the line.


They are overrun almost immediately. The Free Company warriors, padded with heavy leather and light chainmail, stand no chance against the bulk mass of the Chaos Chosen, clad in full plate armoring. Nasu’s heavy infantry smash into Michel’s light infantry with deadly force, trampling down many and cutting down many more with all sorts of hatchets and blades. One of Michel’s archer regiments were too late in falling back and were swarmed by Chaos Knight Riders, breaking into a complete rout within seconds.



Michel’s men are rocked by the momentum of Nasu’s shock infantry charge, but recover quickly. Michel himself leads the infantry back into the melees, which begin to slash wildly at their foe, fighting with a fury that even the dauntless Chosen infantry flinch at temporarily.


Michel and his men fight a desperate fight, their line slowly imploding in on itself as the Khorne infantry begin to close in on them. Michel himself found himself alone in an ocean of savages, fighting desperately to regroup with his men. But the marauders envelop him and refuse him escape. They tear him from his steed and rip him to pieces, flinging blood and gore all over their fellow warriors in the chaos. Seeing their leader fall, the infantry collapses and disintegrates under the might of Khorne.


The Free Company continues to fall apart as the Chaos drive at them like madmen possessed. Only the archer regiments remain, guarded by a few stragglers who were wise enough to escape the melee while there was still time. Together they ran through the woods, dodging and weaving barbarians left and right, holding back the inevitable.


All hope seemed lost. There were just too many. They were too fast, too strong, too well-armored. Nothing could hold back such a tide of bloodshed. And then the horn blew. The survivors of the Free Company looked west as if they had reached salvation and were ready to be delivered from the hell in which they found themselves in. The armies of Talabec had arrived in full force.



Fighting with renewed hope, the Free Company rallied up against their foe under the command of a man who went by the faux name of Hernan Hernandez. The mysterious captain fought like a frenzied wolf, retaliating against the marauding brutes with vicious lethality. Nasu Unbreakable soon realized that he was trapped between two armies. His men were caught in a vice, unable to escape. The Ostermark mercenaries cried out in joy as Talabec spearmen flanked the enemy infantry from behind, skewering them without mercy.


General Nasu saw the futility of the battle and decided to retreat with his select Chosen bodyguard. His army was but the vanguard for the true might of Khorne that followed. And he intended to live long enough to see Bechafen bathed in blood. General Andreas Steffen of Talabecland had other ideas. His cavalry quickly isolated Nasu from his bodyguard. Nasu was cornered like a hapless rabbit, and squealed as such when Andreas drove the killing blow into the Khorne general, watching him fall to the ground in a bloody heap before him.


The battle was over, and it was a resounding, if not costly victory for the Empire. The Free Company had lost over half their men and as such fell back to the woods surrounding the capital city. Andreas Steffen and his army reveled in victory. Having provided proper aid to their neighbors, they set up camp several miles away from the battlefield to recover their losses. For now it seemed they had no intention to march their beleaguered armies to Bechafen, where the true danger was yet to come. After all, if the Chaos hordes had managed to get this deep into Empire territory, then they would be well on their way back to their capital of Talabecheim to prepare for an attack there. Let Ostermark fend for itself now.


Count Wolfram was glad to have called his son in. Prince Gottfried had arrived just in time, for the day after he arrived, so too did the armies of Khorne under the command of Segimer Vardek and Vandred of Kvellig. The Free Company mercenaries had done their job well in halting the advance of the horde. The capital’s garrison was completely full and rested, prepared for the siege that was to come. The whole might of the provincial army waited within the city walls, ready to die for their Count. The Chaos Horde’s arrival at Bechafen was inevitable. But at least now, father and son were united and prepared to defend their capital to the last man if need be.

Chapter IV: The Battle for Bechafen

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The sun rose high into the clear blue skies over Bechafen. The sun’s rays shone down upon the verdant fields of grass that surrounded the capital’s walls. Even the typically dank forests nearby seemed to radiate with light. All the signs of another beautifully ordinary September day were present. But it was anything but an ordinary day, and the projected serenity of the capital city was soon to be shattered by the drums of war. No two men knew that grim fact better than Count Wolfram and Prince Gottfried.


Father and son rode side by side through the emptied city streets, the townsfolk having taken shelter within their homes. They discussed preparations for the oncoming assault. Bechafen was under siege, and somewhere within the surrounding forests, Segimer Vardek prepared his siege weaponry to take the city by storm.
“The enemy will most likely try to take the city by two angles. Their numbers allow them to outnumber us even when split in half. Segimer and Vandred will surely find a way to assault the city from both sides simultaneously. What do you suggest we do, father?” Gottfried’s report was grim, and one that the Elector Count considered upon heavily. How was he to man the defenses of the city? His mind wracked back and forth between two possible solutions before he finally replied.
“It may be a gamble, but we simply can’t afford to split our forces. Divert the bulk of our forces to the southern gate. Leave only a single regiment of crossbowmen to man the northern walls. It is Vandred of Kvellig we face first, for my scouts report that he is the first to have completed his siege engines.”
“Are you sure about this, father?”
“No, Gottfried. I’m not.” The Count snapped back bitterly. He did not enjoy being at a disadvantageous position. “But it’s a risk we have to take. Let us hope that Segimer Vardek’s men are not yet ready to assault our northern wall. It may yet give us time to muster a defense at the city square with the remnants of our army, should we survive Vandred’s forces. If not…”
“Then Sigmar help us all.” Gottfried finished. Both father and son knew well the stakes at hand. The consequences of defeat would be dire. Their options were either glorious victory or shameless slaughter at the hands of the blood god.
“Rally the troops to the southern gate, my son. I’ll take our cavalry to the east gate.”
“As you wish, milord. Let us pray that we both make it through this hellish trial. For Ostermark!” Gottfried replied, surprised at his own words. He never expected to hear himself utter the words ‘pray’, and yet he just had. Desperate times called for desperate measures, the prince guessed, and prayer was as desperate as it got. His father seemed pleased with his words however, and nodded with approval.
“Aye, my son. May Sigmar and Morr guide our hand to victory! For the glory of Ostermark!”
They would need it, and all the help they could find. The locusts were already marching upon their walls. Chaos was at their doorstep.


Vandred’s army was out in full force, sporting two massive siege towers which flanked a single battering ram. Each siege tower was at the head of a massive column of infantry, and behind the battering ram were heavy cavalry Chaos Knights that numbered in the hundreds. If they were allowed into the city proper, no amount of spearmen would stop the path of devastation they would leave in their wake. They musn’t enter the city, at any cost. And so with the full force of the provincial army stationed upon the southern walls, the League of Ostermark made the first move, firing at will upon the besieging horde. The oil began pouring freely over the battering ram at the gates, and the sky itself went black by the hailstorm of arrows unleashed by the Empire garrison. The Battle for Bechafen had begun in earnest.


“Steady, men!” cried out the captain of the spear regiments upon the ramparts. The siege tower had successfully reached the wall and it was up to the infantry upon the walls to protect the archers and allow them to fire freely upon the enemy undisturbed. “Let none pass! We will hold them here at whatever cost!”
And that they did. The spearmen surged upon their target as they emerged from the boarding plank. The Khorne marauders jumped off the siege tower into an ocean of jagged spears, ready to skewer them all from every angle imaginable. Blood spilled freely and the bodies began to pile as the Empire Spearmen did their job, successfully defending the ramparts from the first wave of attack.


The captain and his men cheered as the last of the marauders were put down. Their victory was short-lived however. What they held off was but the beginning of the true battle for the walls. At the gates, the burning oil poured down its deadly payload on the infantry manning the ram. It seared and boiled the skin of the enemy. So much of it came down that the wooden ram couldn’t take any more punishment. The siege engine burst into flames and quickly burnt out into a charred husk, demolished before the gates.


The crumbling of the ram served as a double-edged sword. While the gateway’s security ensured that no enemy cavalry would run rampant through Bechafen’s streets, at least for awhile, it also funneled the hundreds of heavy infantry outside into the siege towers and onto the ramparts. The true battle for the southern gate would be fought at the walls, it would seem. Imperial troops at the walls would have their work cut out for them, and they would need all the help they can get from the gate defense forces. Their hearts raced and their palms sweated profusely. The anticipation of battle was beginning to get to them, for the sight before them was truly a horrific one. Legions of savage warriors ran forth toward the towers, disregarding anything that tried to stop them. The very ground trembled before them and some of the spearmen began to lose footing. Still, they had to remain stalwart. They had to be the first line of defense against the behemoth before them.


From the east gate, Gottfried and Wolfram shuddered as the terrible clash of steel rang in their ears. They hoped the infantry would last long enough for them to execute their plan. Wolfram and Gottfried would lead the cavalry out of the eastern gate to flank the enemy cavalry. They were not aware of the ram’s failure to break through the gates and took it upon themselves to neutralize the cavalry at any cost. Theirs was the finest across the province. The Count’s formidable bodyguard supplanted by the infamous Black Guards of Morr under Gottfried’s command made for an imposing force. Rounding off the regiment were the wily pistoliers, who were more than eager to fire hot lead into their targets.
“Charge!!” Wolfram shouted. Under the Elector Count’s lead, the cavalry rounded about the southern edge of the capital and charged forth into the fray. The pistoliers broke off to fire at the enemy flanks while Wolfram and Gottfried led the main force straight at the heart of the Chaos Knights.


The clash that ensued could simply be described as brutal. The dread knights of Chaos went toe to toe with Ostermark’s finest, the Black Guards of Morr. Both imposing figures faced off in a test of strength, will, and skill in mounted combat. Neither side went down quickly, nor did they back off. Their refusal to retreat led to a ferocious brawl between each army’s best men, and it made the bloodletting that much more difficult for either side to achieve. Parry after parry, charge after counter-chartge, neither side flinched as the battle raged on.


The Chaos Chosen Knights reveled in death and bloodshed. But the Black Guards of Morr feared no death. They embraced it. Their god counteracted the fear that the worshippers of Khorne used so often to instill fear in the hearts of their enemies. The Black Guards of Morr, despite being outnumbered, proved to be very hard targets to kill and posed a true challenge to the Chosen Knights. Looking for easier prey, the ravenous Chosen Knights broke off. They held enough in their ranks to keep the Ostermark cavalry occupied while one of their regiments made a mad dash toward the light-armored pistoliers. Some fell to the deadly hail of bullets, but many others shrugged off the pain and finished ther charge strong, wreaking absolute havoc on the young horsemen.


Back on the walls, the savages began to gain the upper hand. The spearmen were slowly losing ground, taking down 3 men for every one they lost. They were pushed back by sheer mass, leaving no breathing room, much less room to fight. The ramparts were cramped and overcrowded, and the floor became slick with blood, thus making the threat of falling off the wall to one’s death that much more of a present reality. Many unfortunate souls from both sides lost their balance and fell to their deaths below. Many others stood firm however, and continued holding back the tide of butchery.


The spear captain, known as Theodoric Gehrden, fought on into exhaustion as never-ending droves of Khorne savages emerged through the siege towers. All around him, his men fell. But he stood resolute, roaring a savage battle cry as he drove his pike through a marauder’s guts, spilling his entrails over the corpses they fought atop. Unable to retrieve his pike, he picked up the great sword of a fallen comrade and swung wildly at the foe, holding them back. The famous Death’s Heads soon surrounded him, replacing his fallen regiment and continuing the fight in their stead.
“Kill them all!” he cried out. “If they wish for blood, then we’ll give them blood. Let us appease their god for them with their corpses!!” Theodoric’s words redoubled the infantry’s efforts, who piled forth and continued to box in the savage hordes from overwhelming them.


Back on the field, the balance of power tipped back and forth. Wolfram and Gottfried fought hard and frantically against the enemy cavalry. They swung and parried back and forth, searching for a weakness in a deadly dance of swordsmanship. At last, Ostermark seemed to be getting the upperhand over the brutality of the enemy’s swings. The pistoliers managed to slink away from the Chosen Knights and resume their barrage on the foe. Gottfried and Wolfram led another charge on the enemy with moderate success. Still, the battle was a desperate fight for survival. Time and again both Count and Prince received nasty wounds from the blunt maces and jagged battle axes the Riders of Khorne brought to battle. Each swing taken was another chance for the enemy to take their life in one fell swoop. But somehow, both survived. The perseverant dread Knights of Morr were determined to let neither fall in battle. Wolfram could only spare a few words in the heat of battle to rally his troops.
“KILL! Let none survive!”


At the walls, Theodoric fought on with valor and might. His face and armor were smattered in blood, as was his blade. But he did not falter at this. The corpses continued to pile on from both sides, and bodies began to spill over the ramparts. But he did not falter. Blood clouded his view and everything was covered in red and black. If the followers of Khorne had come to bathe the walls of Bechafen red, they had surely succeeded. The blood ran freely down the walls, cascading and pooling around the floor. But still he did not falter. He now faced the mighty Champions of Khorne, who reveled in the gore and death around them. They swing like madmen possessed, hacking and slashing at anything in sight, friend or foe. Their blood frenzy was truly a sight to behold. But Theodoric had grown numb to the horrors he faced today. He focused solely on one thing: to swing his blade and kill as many of the enemy as he could before he too would succumb to his wounds like so many of his comrades had.


On the field, Prince Gottfried found himself a temporary moment of respite as his soldiers pressed on against the seeming innumerably amount of Chaos. He assessed the situation around him. The ram lay destroyed at the gates, hence explaining the number of Knights they faced on the field. Moreover, the walls around the siege towers were littered with corpses and matted in red. The fighting there still continued, but t became clear that the Khorne infantry were fighting a losing battle. Their point of entry was a chokehold, and the imperial infantry refused to give them an inch without first losing a score of men. Furthermore, the cavalry battle that raged before them seemed to begin drawing to a close as more of the dread knights of Khorne continued to fall under the persistent might of the Black Guards of Morr. Vandred himself now led his personal bodyguard into the fray in an attempt to push back the imperial cavalry. Gottfried now surged with hope that victory was still attainable. Raising his blade high into the air, he signaled his men to charge and led them back into the melee.
“Fight on, brothers! For your Prince! For your count! FOR OSTERMARK!!!”


Gottfried’s words struck a chord with Wolfram’s men, who rallied behind their Count and joined the Prince in their offensive. No longer were they dancing with the foe. No, now they swung with all their strength, hacking their way towards Vandred of Kvellig. All that stood in their way would be trampled and cut to pieces. The pistoliers too continued their deadly assault on the Riders of Khorne, until their ammunition was spent. They too charged fearlessly into battle, bringing their sabers hard into the enemy rear.


Vandred and his men were boxed in. It was only then that they realized how many they had lost. Scores of their fellow cavalry lay strewn across the battlefield. Many more lay piled up by the siege towers. They were losing the battle. Vandred couldn’t help but wonder where Segimer Vardek was. His siege engine must surely have gone well on the northern wall, given that the bulk of the provincial army fought tooth and nail against them at the southern wall. But Vandred had no more time to think. One powerful thrust from the enemy prince sealed his fate. The imperial blade drove deep into the Khorne general’s neck, through the gap in the armor there. He gurgled out a guttural cry of pain as he tried to reach for the blade in futility. The life in his eyes left him, and he was dead before he hit the ground. The remaining Chaos cavalry, seeing their general fall, break ranks and flee. Count Wolfram and Prince Gottfried give chase. They take pleasure in cutting down the ominous looking dread knights who now fled from them in cowardice.


The death of General Vandred marked the end of the battle at the southern ramparts. The Imperial infantry had lost scores of men, including two whole regiments of spearmen. The cavalry too had suffered many losses, effectively having been halved by Vandred’s horsemen. Wolfram grimaced at his wounds as he looked upon the few survivors of his bodyguard and back toward the southern walls. He knew the battle was far from over.


But yet, when they returned through the southern gates into the town square, they found no enemy to fight. They rendezvoused with the infantry at the city plaza and met with the bloodied mess known as Captain Theodoric. He was battered and bruised and worse for the wear, but he remained alive and battle-ready. Under his leadership, the infantry rallied in the defense of the walls, and he was greatly commended for his efforts by both the Elector Count and the Warrior Prince. They looked back towards the ramparts and grimaced. The casrnage and devastation was beyond measure. Imperial bodies intermixed with those of the savages smattered in gore made for a gruesome sight to behold.



Together they waited in dreaded anticipation for the moment of reckoning. They were spent and exhausted; their strength having left them long ago. Yet they stood resolute to defend the city to the last man. Yet hours passed and still there was no sign of Segimer Vardek’s men. At last, a courier arrived from the northern wall. It was several men of the skeleton crew of crossbowmen left to defend the northern wall. They were still fresh and ready for combat. Beside them was a haggard warrior who had recently seen battle. Wolfram immediately recognized him as one of the Free Company mercenaries.
“You there!” Wolfram called out. “How goes the battle? Is your Company still standing? Have you location of Segimer Vardek’s forces?” The mercenary was slow to respond, his wounds having taken a toll on his health.
“We’ve held… them off for hours. But…they’ve…”
“They’ve what!? Speak, damn you!”
“…they’ve begun to retreat, milord. We’ve successfully sabotaged their siege equipment.” With that, the mercenary forced a weak smile before collapsing in exhaustion.
“Get this man some treatment!” The Prince cried out. Already he was smiling. “And verify this information!” Father and son looked at each other hopefully. Indeed, confirmation by the crossbow regiment assured them all that Segimer was marching north and away from the capital. Everyone rejoiced and cheered out in victory. It was a costly victory. One that was hard-fought and hard won. But it was won nonetheless. The Battle for Bechafen was won!


There was no immediate celebration to be had for the capital city. There was much grief for the heavy losses suffered by the Provinicial Imperial Army of Ostermark. Both Count Wolfram and Prince Gottfried spent many days in repose, tending to their wounds. Many others mourned for their lost ones: brothers, sons, and fathers all lost to the Chaos Horde. They were all given a proper burial, while the savages were burned in a pyre north of the city, where the winds would pick the smell away. No one wished to smell the reeking stank of the barbarians who had tried so dearly to kill them all.
Theodoric was given a special commendation by the Elector Count, and was dutifully promoted to the rank of general. He showed lots of promise as a commander and would serve well for the future of Ostermark. But he too, like everyone else, was simply glad to have survived the onslaught. Together, they had survived the butchery that meant to take Bechafen from their grasp. Bechafen was theirs, and with it, victory.

[Saint Nicholas]

Author: Thokran
Original thread: [COW AAR] The Glory the Ostermark

The Glory of Ostermark Part 2

Chapter V: New Opportunities

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The Battle of Bechafen had been a taxing one. As much as Count Wolfram wished to seek out and destroy Segimer Vardek and his Khorne followers, he simply did not have the manpower ready and able to perform such a task. The first month after the battle was a trying one. Corpses in the hundreds had to be cleaned up and trade had to be re-established. Ever since the arrival of the Chaos Hordes, trade from the north had screeched to a halt. Wolfram worried that it would remain that way unless he had anything to say about it. At least the news in the south was promising. The Great Theogonist yet again sent his thanks for the successful construction of a chapel in Nachtdorf.


The coming of winter brought a reversal of fortune for Ostermark. It was now the north that lay in peril, with the Chaos hordes having established a beachhead somewhere off to the north, having successfully wedged themselves within the borders of Kislev and the Empire. At least in the south, the looming threat of Sylvania has remained dormant, which left the window of opportunity to expand southward a viable option for the Elector Count. Wolfram would have to think wisely on his next plans. The coming winter would mark the end of his profits for the year, thus making each financial and military move to matter that much more.
Ultimately after much deliberation with his son and fellow advisers, he came to a decision. Apparently, Bechafen’s newest champion, Theodoric Ewhren, was a good friend of the late Michel der Bar, having come from the same lands, and thus owing much respect in the Free Company community. The Free Company mercenaries hailed him as a strong leader that they would willingly serve under. Wolfram did not miss up on the opportunity, appointing the young General as governor of Grenzburg and Commander of the Free Company mercenaries, which he would use accordingly to set up a proper garrison in the province’s northernmost town, and establish a new provincial army out of.


Before that however, Theodoric would be taken for a test drive in his command abilities. News surfaced from the west that General Andreas Steffen of Talabecland has come in contact with a Khorne army blocking their path back into the province. They had been skirmishing with the enemies and were in dire need of reinforcements. The Elector Count assigned his newest general to be said reinforcements. It’s the least the Elector Count could do for Talabec’s assistance in slowing down the initial Chaos drive south. Theodoric would not be alone however. With some semblance of the provincial army restored over the month of October, Prince Gottfried would march with the imperial troops of Bechafen to assist Theodoric in his mission.


And so they marched. The cold winter bit down hard into the spirit of the armies, who grudgingly trudged forth through fresh-fallen snow. November was coming fast, and the troops all hoped to make the upcoming battle a quick one. Campaigning in the winter could spell doom for any Empire. Unfortunately for them, the northern savages were well-accustomed to the cold, giving them the advantage in battle. Soon enough, they came upon Andreas’ beleaguered men, who pooled their forces around an abandoned estate, where they planned to make their last stand. The sight of the armies of Ostermark was truly a welcome sight.


“We fight for glory, men!” Theodoric shouted out to his men. “Drag these mongrels out of the forest!”
Not wasting any time, the young general put his men to work. In the cold winter dawn, he ordered his archer regiments to mobilize and engage the enemy. Said archers ran into the forests with a specific mission in mind. Theodoric and Gottfried had gone over the plans the night before and had consented that it was the best plan of action to relieve Steffen’s men. The Free Company archers, masters of guerilla warfare, did what they did best. They fired at will upon the enemy, ambushing them and calling their attention in a general direction. And then without falter, they began retreating east as planned.


The armies of Khorne fell for the bait. Much to the dismay of Gottfried and Theodoric, the savages were not led by Segimer Vardek, but another massive brute known as Arminius Telgberg. A capable commander in his own right, he did not seem to show much foresight in the thick of battle. Eager for blood, he ordered his marauders to give chase after Theodoric’s men. The barbarians were all too eager to comply, rushing forth after their enemy.


This is exactly what Theodoric and Gottfried wanted. The archers fell back to the large estate where Andreas Steffen and his army were stationed. Theodoric too had joined Andreas in battle. Together, their forces would meet the enemy mass head on while Prince Gottfried would come in hard from the back and crush them within their vice. As the archer regiments fell back, their position was replaced by the Talabec Halberdiers, who marched forth to engage the enemy!


Arminius was not as foolish as he initially made himself out to be, however. He craved battle. And he too had a trick up his sleeve. The marauders he sent were but fodder to keep the Imperial forces busy while he came in hard from their flank. Andreas Steffen was too late to realize that Arminius was flanking his men. He called his archer flanks to ball back to the center, but it was too late. Arminius and his heavy cavalry were quickly upon the Tabalec archers, ready to make mincemeat out of them.


“The blood of innocents! How I revel in their anguish!” His words struck chills down Theodoric’s spine as he witnessed the massacre.
Arminius tore through the archers like hot knife through butter, swinging his heavy steel mace into soft Empire flesh. He reveled in the cracking of bones and the splash of blood upon his armor. His cavalry took pleasure in cutting down these vulnerable men. Their joy was cut short however as the blood soon became their own. Theodoric’s archers had reorganized and begun firing deadly volleys of arrows upon the Khorne general.


Joining them in the assault were Steffen’s pistoliers, who made no hesitation in firing freely upon their enemy. They lamented over the loss of the archers, but it only spurred them further to exact vengeance. Handcannons roared through the early morning air, rocketing forth toward Arminius and his bodyguard. One bullet got lucky and penetrated through Arminius’ thick armor, lodging deep inside the Khorne general’s chest. Arminius fell off his mount, where he spent the rest of battle dying a slow and painful death.


Upon seeing their general fall, the marauders hesitated and the Empire capitalized on their moment of weakness. The Free Company warriors charged forth to join the Talabec infantry in battle, quickly overwhelming the Chaos savages. The adrenaline kicked in, rushing otherwise chilled blood quickly through their body and through their blade to drive deep into the enemy, shedding their blood upon the fresh snow in turn.


Theodoric led the charge himself, dismounting to join his mercs in battle. Together, they hacked and slashed their way through waves of enemies. Even the mighty champions of Khorne, Arminius’ heaviest infantry, could not hold long against the fury with which Theodoric fought. The Chaos line was slowly pushed back, and the Imperial troops pressed on, leaving a bloody trail of devastation in their wake.


Hours seemed to pass. Theodoric had to admit, the Khorne savages were resilient. Even when faced with certain defeat, they fought with a fanatical fervor for death and destruction. Still, their fzall would be inevitable. Before Theodoric’s men even realized, they had pushed the enemy back in on themselves, meeting up with Gottfried’s forces who held the enemy rear at bay.


Boxed in, the enemy stood no chance. The marauders fought to the last man but were ultimately cut down like the dogs they were. None were spared. All were slain. All that remained of the chaos was death and blood, just like the followers of Khorne had wanted. Little did they know it would be their own blood being shed. Theodoric yet again found himself covered in gore; he raised his sword high in the air to signal victory to his troops. Together they had routed the enemy into submission!




Andreas Steffen was very thankful for Ostermark’s help, offering a number of blessings to Prince Gottfried and General Theodoric. With winter fast on their heels, they parted quickly and returned to their homes. Theodoric wasted no time in finding shelter in Grenzburg, where he would begin his administerial duties over the winter months. Prince Gottfried returned to his father in Bechafen.
“So how did the battle go, my son?”
“Better than expected. The Khorne fanatics were cut down to the last man. My only regret was that I couldn’t slay Segimer Vardek myself. He was too cowardly to show himself in battle. So he is still lurking about in the woods…”
“I’m sure we’ll all have our chance at him, my son. Something tells me we’re far from done with these zealots.”
“Do you think more of these armies are prowling about? Our armies have destroyed three of them already! Both Theodoric and I stand ready to cut down any more that dare come our way! The General proved himself in our last battle, fighting side by side with his men to achieve victory. I’m sure he is ready to face any more of these abominations of humanity as much as I am!” Wolfram took a moment to reply. He was pleased with his general’s courage in battle, albeit fighting among the infantry was very reckless on his part and foolish from a tactical standpoint. Still, he would be needed for the coming years. He held recently acquired knowledge that his son desperately needed to know.
“I’m afraid we’ve only seen the beginning of these monsters. Dieter has informed me from one of his merchants that all of Ostland, including the provincial capital of Wolfenberg, is occupied by the armies of Khorne. They use Ostland as a beachhead for future assaults. Still, we have dealt them a stinging blow and have bought outrselves time against their next assault.” Indeed, Ostland would soon become a warzone with the provinces of Nordland and Hochland sending their own troops to recapture Wolfenburg and Ferlangen. Kislev too would be in the province, as news had it that they too lost land to the Khorne savages. Wolfram deeply considered sending his own troops in a bid for new land, but thought against it…for now. His borders would have to be consolidated before making a dash for Ostland. Ostermark would come into play only once Nordland, Hochland and Kislev have wasted their armies upon weakening the Khorne beachhead.


“Alas,” Wolfram continued. “We must not fret with our northern border for now. We have many issues to attend to in the south. We must consolidate our provincial borders before we can plan future expansion. Thus I ask you, my son Gottfried, to taking the army to regroup in Nagenhof and continue building up your forces for a new southern campaign in the spring.”
“As you wish, father.” Gottfried bowed his head in respect. “For Ostermark!”
Much to the dismay of the provincial army, they only had a week of rest and respite in Bechafen before they were mobilized south towards Nagenhof. Under Prince Gottfried’s command, the provincial army had been bolstered by fresh recruits to augment his infantry line and supplement the skill of his veteran troops. They arrived in Nagenhof in short order and took shelter from the winter storms of December. They would need to be ready for the spring.
But upon arrival at Nagenhof, Gottfried realized that all was not well. The city was overflowing with dwarves. It was not until he met his father’s old friend Otto Windeck that he realized that the dwarves were refugees. Marcos Salier was at Nagenhof to recount the horrific details of his journey. The Slayers were called off to fight a war against the Greenskins in the south, leaving the Kadrin pass vulnerable. The Night Goblins seized the opportunity, storming the keep and slaughtering all who stood in their way. Marcos was quick to flee the keep with as many refugee civilians as possible, leaving behind the onslaught that the Night Goblins brought upon them.
Prince Gottfried could barely believe it. The Slayer Keep of Karak Kadrin, for the first time in centuries, had fallen to the Night Goblins.

Chapter VI: A Betrayal of Trust

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It seemed as news only got worse as the winter progressed through Ostermark. News reached Bechafen and soon after Nagenhof that the armies of Chaos, in particular the Servants of Slaanesh, have allied themselves with the Dark Elven Expedition. The deadly pirated that scour the Sea of Claws would only prove to be another obstacle for the Empire to overcome. As if they didn’t have enough enemies. At least the news wasn’t all bad in Nagenhof. The success of the past harvest season brought in much trade to the cities of Ostermark, and even allowed the construction of another merchant’s guild in Nagenhof.


The winter made sure that no army would march across the province for months to come. But it didn’t stop Prince Gottfried from settling other more…personal issues at hand. His father Wolfram had informed him of his brother’s lack of initiative in service to the province. However he did not agree with the severity of the consequences. As much of a slacker Nicholas may be, he is still next in line for the throne should either Prince or Count fall in battle, a grim possibility every Hertwig had to accept. For this matter, he appointed Otto Windeck as General and commander of the provincial army stationed at Nagenhof. He would be the one to continue the campaign south while Gottfried remained in Nagenhof to govern.
The Prince knew very well that he couldn’t risk his live so brazenly time and again against the enemy. He had seen enough combat over the past twelve months, and he was sure to see some later, but now more than ever he wished to spend time with his wife and live in relative peace, looking on from an outside view at the ongoing operations to consolidate the south. He was confident in Otto, who in the coming months would renew the campaign by taking the town of Kiel at which to resupply before rendezvousing with Bronzino’s cannon batteries to lay siege to the lost city of Mordheim. To take back their former capital would truly restore Ostermark to its former greatness and break the idea of the province as little more than a rural backwater. Gottfried found it ironic that Ostermark was paving the path to success while the richer province of heartland Talabecland was facing extreme financial and social troubles that put the survival of their province at great and imminent risk.


Not long after his arrival at Nagenhof, Prince Gottfried traveled further south to personally confront his brother with his armed escort. He had to learn the error of his ways and swear fealty to Ostermark, lest he be thrown to rot in the dungeons of Bechafen. Gottfried really didn’t wish such a fate for his own kin, and hoped to strike some reason into his wayward brother.
“Nicholas!” he shouted from the entrance gate of the castle. “Come out to greet your brother!”
“Come to finish me off, eh? Why should I!?” came an exasperate voice. Nicholas was clearly expecting such an arrival. “Has father sent you, my own brother, to do his dirty work?”
“Nicholas, I am not here to detain you. I am only here to remind you of your duties to our glorious province.”
“Glorious? What glory? All I see around me are shacks and endless forests and fields! Where is this glory you speak of!? It’s foolhardy to even think about this backwater as ‘glorious’!” Nicholas spat as he paced back and forth atop the castle ramparts. He held no hope for Ostermark. Where was the glory in serving some no-name province led by a maniacal father hell bent on a fanciful aspiration? Where was the glory in being a lapdog, the grunt lackey of a power hungry Count; left to eek out a living in the dregs while his own brother received all the honorary titles of a fiefdom whose personal value was on par with a Reikland plow? No, Nicholas made sure to make his own fate, even if it defied the wishes of his severe father. That was why he married without his consent, why he abandoned Nachtdorf without his consent. He ruled over the immediate dominion of his walls without question, and that was how he liked it.
Gottfried was dismayed to see his brother fall so far from his father’s expectations. It seemed the pressure to appease the neglectful Elector Count finally got his younger brother, who wanted nothing to do with the crown of Ostermark. He wished only to console him, not as a superior commander, but as a brother. It seemed the only way to reach his senses.
“Brother, please…”
“You are not my brother!” Nicholas retorted, his speech quickly devolving into a jumbled confused blabber of sobbing and venting. Clearly the pressure of trying to maintain appearances for the royal court had gotten to him. He only wished for the heartache, the regret to go away so he could wholly embrace his new life.
“What life do you strive to make here within these cramped walls? Live out your life in self exile? Imprison yourself within the dank grey walls of this dismal place? Do you not hope for something better?”
“There is no hope. This land is hopeless, as are its entire people…”
“And that’s where you’re wrong, damn it!” Gottfried snapped. “I have laid my life on the line time and again to follow a dream. A dream that gives me hope that this god-forsaken land will one day grow into a place truly worth living in. Glory does exist, brother! As does hope! And we can achieve that, together! Please, just let me in so I can explain!”
Something within those words must have struck a nerve in Nicholas. The young noble collapsed in a fit of sobs, unable to control his emotions. Gottfried pitied his brother’s state, only wishing to help him get back up from the depression he had fallen into. Then and only then could Nicholas realize the glory that lay all around them, ripe for the taking.
“Let him in…” Nicholas finally uttered meekly. His guards complied, opening the gates for the Prince of Ostermark. In the next few weeks, the Hertwig brothers would spend their winter reconnecting and mending old wounds. Together they would formulate a plan for consolidating the south to prove to Nicholas that there still was hope for Ostermark.
Fortunately for the Hertwigs, winter was quick to pass, and the eve of spring was already on the rise. Gottfried could scarcely believe that just a year ago he was laying siege to Grenzburg. Now he ordered Otto Windeck to lead the armies west to capture the town of Kiel. Kiel was not a substantial trading center, but it did provide a nice resupply point for the army as they made their way through the thick foliage of the forests surrounding Mordheim. The lost capital was their ultimate objective, but it was imperative that Kiel be neutralized first. Otto’s men were eager for battle, and they marched with hurried vigor, only to find a big surprise upon arrival.


What was a Talabecland provincial army doing laying siege to Kiel? Weren’t they on the eve of defeat just two months prior? It made no sense…unless someone made a false report in an attempt to throw off the Elector Count. But who would do such a thing? And why? Clearly Otto had stumbled upon intricate Imperial politics that was far beyond his control. The provinces constantly warred and competed for extra parcels of land. It was only inevitable that such an event would occur. But regardless, the people of Talabec were their allies, and Otto would honor that alliance by aiding them in battle, offering a join assault to capture the rebel town.


The snow still lingered in the ground despite the coming of spring, making the ground slick and slippery. But no amount of slippery terrain would stop Otto from renewing his campaign to consolidate the south. His army was fresh, well-balanced and ready for battle. To bolster his forces, Otto had recruited a mercenary warband of Ogres. The veteran shock troops would do well to soften the blow to his infantry line while at the same time battering down the enemy’s.


The Talabec and Ostermark armies prepared for the siege in a pincer maneuver. They would attack from both east and west to scatter and weaken the enemy defenses. General Manfred Seubersdorf of Talabec led his siege efforts with cannon, whereas Otto only had a battering ram manned by his famous Death’s Heads. The Talabec cannon were very effective in bringing down Kiel’s small palisade. Not long after, the western gate gave way to the Ostermark ram too.




With the defenses down, Otto began his assault in earnest. Headed by the Ogres and the Death’s Heads, his heaviest infantry marched headfirst in battle to meet the horrendous array of foes that resided within the abandoned town. Kiel was no longer inhabited by common citizens of the Empire, but my monstrous beastmen and straggling marauders from past Chaos incursions into Empire territory. They truly were a desperate and savage lot, one that needed to be culled.




The butchery began in earnest, each side hacking the other into pieces. The resulting bloodbath was one that would be seared into Otto’s memory forever. The rebels had devoted almost all of their men to confront Otto’s army. The Ostermark general only hoped that General Manfred would be quick to intercept and flank the enemy and bring them into full rout.


But they never came. They stood and watched from outside, content with battering down the palisade walls while Otto’s forces tired themselves out. Yet again, Talabec was pleased to sit aside while Ostermark struggled.Their abandonment at Bechafen was barely forgivable. This was outright betrayal. Otto would not soon forget it. But first he had to focus on staying alive. For hours, he and his men hacked and slashed away at the beastmen, pushing them back slowly toward the town square.


Otto took his cavalry and rounded about the town, searching frantically for an alley road that could provide him a suitably exposed flank. At last he and his men reached the empty town square. Before them lay the exposed enemy rear. His men braced themselves for a rear flank charge. The rear was not as exposed as Otto initially thought however. Marauder savages prepared a counter charge, running wildly at the horses with their bloodied axes. Still, Otto had no time to fall back now. He pressed the charge and braced for impact.


The charge was devastatingly effective. Otto’s men tore through the enemy ranks, whose light armor stood no chance against the disciplined steel of his lance. Cornered and hapless, the enemy fought a losing battle, losing men in droves until they all routed in separate directions. Otto’s men took pleasure in chasing down the dogs, cutting them down to the last man.


But all was not well. During the extermination, Manfred’s army had moved in to capture the town square. Otto returned to the plaza expecting to see it vacant. Thus, he was terribly surprised, much to his displeasure, that Manfred had taken Kiel for Talabec. Otto tried to retort, but the arrogant smirk on Manfred’s smug face explained everything. Ostermark had been used. The provincial army of Talabec was still fresh, while his own forces were battered and tired. His infantry had suffered heavy losses at the hands of the town resistance. They would stand no chance against Manfred’s men. And he was not about to risk civil war and possible provincial alienation. Thus, with no other option at hand, Otto led his men out of Kiel to make camp outside the town. There would be no hospitality for the soldiers of Ostermark on this day.


The news reached Nagenhof, where Prince Gottfried stood much displeased at the situation. His campaign was utterly compromised and his army was now stranded without resupply or shelter. Worse yet, he could offer no more reinforcements. Bronzino had already made his way with his cannon batteries west to rendezvous with Otto. Nicholas had finally been snapped into his senses, at least temporarily, and was en route to govern over Nachtdorf. He could only hope that Otto’s men, beleaguered as they were, would be able to persevere and stand strong in the face of adversity. All their hope lay on them now. They, outnumbered and cut off from resupply as they were, would have t fight tooth and nail if they ever hoped to capture the lost capital of Mordheim.

Chapter VII: The Lost City of Mordheim

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General Otto Windeck dreamed. He dreamed of a dark, cloudy sky and of pouring rain. He dreamed of mud, of blood, and of smoke. He dreamed of fearsome beasts that stood in his way, their axes glinting in the light. He dreamed of walls crumbling, and of flames erupting. And he dreamed of glory. Of victory. Of heroism. He dreamed of the fall of Mordheim. Sadly, that was all it was for the moment: a dream.


Windeck took a heavy sigh as woke up to a dismal sight. Around him, his men lay hungry, exhausted, and broken. For days, he had led his men through the muddy trails of the southwestern Ostermark expanse, with no sign of their destination in sight. His men were tried from marching through the dense woodland and murky marshlands that lay between them and their next target. The spring rains made the path all the more trying for the provincial army, who suffered from food and water shortages. Otto had no clue how his men would survive the trek to their next destination and still be battle-ready for the upcoming siege.
Kiel was a complete disaster; a victory without spoils. The two-faced Talabec soldiers took full advantage of Otto’s men, using their blood and sweat to further their own imperial gains. Otto felt nothing but scorn and spite for his supposed allies, but more so toward himself. How could he have fallen so easily for the ploys of imperial trickery? Worse yet, the Duchy of Talabecland still stood as strong allies and supporters of Ostermark. Otto could simply not retaliate as he so wished. To do so would alienate Ostermark from the rest of the Empire. The last thing the province needed was a united imperial front bearing down on them to subjugate them. Otto could only hope that he wasn’t too late to take Mordheim. The last thing he needed was the provincial Talabec army to snatch Ostermark’s former capital from them.
“General Otto!” one of the crossbormwn from the vanguard called out. “Captain Bronzino approaches with his artillery batteries!” At last, a welcomed respite. Bronzino’s men would bring vital resource supplies to help restock the army’s vigor for the upcoming battle. Though they too had a painful westward march from Nachtdorf, seeing the Tileans come to join them in battle was a welcome sight nonetheless.


“It is good to see you, Bronzino. You’re a true sight for sore eyes.” Otto remarked graciously as he extended his hand to the Tilean. Bronzino smirked and shook Otto’s hand in earnest.
“It’s a pleasure to be here. I heard you boys needed some help tearing down these walls up ahead. Well no worries, that’s what me and my boys do best!”
Several days later, the provincial army finally came upon the aged walls of Mordheim. Thankfully, no Talabec forces were spotted in the vicinity. However, they now faced another problem. The journey to Mordheim had been a long and arduous one, and many men had fallen ill or had died on the way there. This left Otto and Bronzino with just over five hundred men in fighting condition to battle. The garrison of Mordheim was beyond sizeable: their numbers dwarfed Otto’s two to one. An assembled motley crew of beastmen, orcs, traitors to the imperial crown and savage barbarians from the north; Mordheim’s defense was truly abominable at best, headed by a fearsome warrior named Johann.


Before Otto and Bronzino, lay a monumental task. Never before had an Ostermark army marched on Mordheim in an honest attempt to recapture the city. The city was cursed from the day the warpstone meteor crashed into its very foundations. For centuries the city was a hive of Skaven activities, before the Reikland Imperial army led a crusade into the former capital and left nothing more than a burnt husk of a city, a hollow shell uninhabited by all but the most unsavory of men. These rejects from the dredges of society transformed Mordheim into a cesspool of banditry, debauchery, and dark magicks. Today, General Otto Windeck would see to it that the lost city of Mordheim be retaken in Ostermark’s honor, and re-established as one of its prime trade cities. Mordheim was a literal mine of warpstone, ready to be exported to the highest bidder. With this victory, Ostermark’s would truly regain its honor and prominence as a beacon of Eastern Imperial power. All of Ostermark would revel in glory. All that remained now was to take the city itself.


The plan was simple. Bronzino was tasked with the bombardment of the walls to offer Otto’s men safe passage into the city. Said bombardment would also weaken the city garrison, making Otto’s job that much easier when they were actually within the city. Johann took quick note of the artillery Ostermark brought to battle however, and quickly sallied his forces to engage the provincial army. Hundreds of beastmen and orcs poured forth from the gates. Though they were the lowest in standing and importance, they were the most numerous of Johann’s forces. Their mission was to overwhelm the imperial troops with sheer mass. Otto ordered his crossbowmen to fire at will at the oncoming horde, aiming to cut down as many foes as he could


Unfortunately, the heavy downpour of spring rain made it very hard to accomplish much. Some arrows struck true, bringing down a score of beastmen. But the horde continued forth undisturbed, crashing into the imperial bulwark at full speed. They aimed to break through Otto’s infantry line and neutralize Bronzino’s artillery, effectively ending the battle. But they were not prepared for the defenses Otto placed around Bronzino’s artillery. The cannons were enveloped by a literal wall of shield and spear from virtually every angle. The bulwark stood stalwart and impenetrable, headed by Otto’s trump card, the Ogre mercenaries, at its head. The beastmen and orcs threw themselves upon the imperial troops like waves upon a rock, trying with all their might to erode it. But the Ogres made quick work of the enemy, tearing them limb from limb and routing them within minutes.


The Ogres had successfully driven back the first wave. But there were many more waves yet to resist. Again the beastmen attacked, this time from the flanks. Otto’s experienced halberdiers stopped them in their tracks, their weapons finding their mark behind the tanned leather shields of their enemy and deep under their fleshy hides.


The Ogres were born for warfare. It was all they knew their whole lives. And Otto rode on that knowledge as the battle progressed, placing his faith in his mercenaries as they held the line against the angry mob. They took on all comers, from beatsmen to orc. Otto marveled at their fighting prowess. Their services did not come cheap, but they were damned good fighters, and well worth the coin. Hopefully with the capture of Mordheim, the imperial treasury’s coffers would be full again, allowing for the hiring of other mercenaries in future conquests.


But even Ogres weren’t invulnerable, and they soon began to tire out against the never ending flow of enemies. At this point, only a dozen or so remained, and Otto wished to preserve what remained of them. The Ogres had done their job well, thinning the ranks enough for Otto call forth an offensive charge from his bulwark. The imperial infantry surged forth to relieve the Ogres from battle, cutting down the tiring rebel forces like a deadly swath of a scythe.


Johann watched in horror as his sally failed. Almost half of his army had been cut down out in the open field, and what remained of them quickly joined the rest of his garrison within the temporary safety of the city walls. Out in the field, the rain began to lighten up as Otto Windeck restructured his bulwark around the artillery, ordering the Tilean Captain to begin his bombardment upon the walls. Bronzino was more than willing to comply, smiling with pride as his cannons roared away, chipping away at the city’s ramparts.


Mordheim’s walls were sturdy for their age. But they were built in a time before the age of conventional gunpowder. These days, any army could field cannon with ease. And no wall could stand up to a sustained assault of cannon fire. Mordheim was no different. All around them, Johann’s men cowered in fear as cannons balls tore into stone walls, bringing down chunks of debris from the towers and ramparts of the walls down upon them. Many more cannon balls flew over the walls, raining down upon abandoned housing. The blackened city of ash began to burn anew as fire sprung out through the city. At last, Bronzino’s cannon fire achieved success in tearing through the main gates, leaving the city ripe for the taking. Otto wasted no time in ordering his infantry forward through the gate.


Johann massed his forces at the breach, using his manpower to patch up the crack in his defenses. The marauders braced themselves for impact now it was they who faced an oncoming horde charging toward them. The resulting sound from the imperial charge was deafening. Cries of pain were drowned out by the clash of steel and the spilling of much blood. The battle for Mordheim raged in full earnest as the crackling roar of fire engulfed everything around the combatants.


Slowly but surely, the imperial troops advanced forth on their offensive, pushing back the marauders at a painstakingly slow pace. The advance was not without its costs. For each inch they gained, Otto’s men paid the price by the loss of their men. Their infantry withered away, succumbing to their wounds as they pushed forth. But at last they established the perimeter at the breach and Johann’s forces began to retreat. The rebel commander sounded the horn for his men to fall back to the city square, where they would make their last stand. For the first time in over a hundred years, the men of Ostermark stepped foot into their great former capital. Granted, what they now walked through was a burning husk of what once was a glorious center of trade, commerce, and culture. But it was still theirs to call their own. Now they needed to take the rest of it back from the usurpers that called it home.


Otto’s men went about securing the city perimeter, taking the tower walls one by one so that no enemy could have the chance to escape the city. Mordheim, former safe haven for all forms of debauchery, would soon become a deathtrap for its inhabitants. The Death’s Heads were resolute in their mission, taking no prisoners on their assault on the city ramparts. They cut down any foe that dared stand in their way.


Back on the ground, the imperial army methodically searched the streets for any stragglers. All around them, Mordheim burned. They remained unfazed. The fire was a cleansing for the city which stood so tainted after so many years of occupation by all sorts of monstrosities. Let it burn to the ground, so it could be rebuilt as a monument to all that Ostermark was capable of. Mordheim would rise from the ashes again as the Empire’s beacon of hope in the east.


The enemy fled like the coward they were to the city square. They still hoped to escape from their predicament alive, unaware of their imminiment entrapment within the city. But not all were as cowardly as Otto expected. The dreaded elite knights of Chaos, the Chosen, bore down upon the imperial army like a freight train, bringing a halt to their advance through the city streets. They, like many others, were remnants of a past Chaos incursion into the south, taking shelter in Mordheim when they had nothing left to plunder or pillage. Still, their exile did not serve to dull their skill in battle, as they proved to be a deadly adversary for the imperial halberdiers.


Elsewhere in the city, General Otto Windeck raced through the city with his cavalry, searching for a suitable alternative path to the city square. Otto had spent many nights reading ancient maps of the city so that when it came to navigating its streets, his men would be quick to capture the city square. But the years had done their work well on Mordheim, and everything seemed unrecognizable. They traversed through a labyrinth of alleys and roads, none leading them to their desired destination. Instead, what the cavalry found was the coward commander Johann and his personal escort of marauding horsemen.
“Charge my brethren! Cut down this mangy mutt before he has a chance to escape!” Otto called out to his men. His cavalry rallied up and charged towards Johann. A vicious cavalry battle ensued as axes were hurled and guns were shot at point blank among the engaged horsemen.


The fighting raged on for hours all across the city, as did the fires. Nothing could be heard but the roaring flame and the wailing cries of agony. Mordheim reeked of death; its stench wafting out in every direction for miles. Yet through the fire and flames, the imperial troops persisted. Standing in the face of adversity, they remained resolute in their cause, and their blades remained true to their mark. Each blow they landed upon the enemy was one step closer to victory. To success. To glory.


With those in mind, they pushed forward. They pushed and pushed until there was nothing left to push. Under their might, the enemy were pushed back to the city square and crushed from all sides until not a single soul remained to tell the tale.


Otto and Bronzino glanced at each other in disbelief. They could barely believe it. Had they truly achieved what they sought out for? Had they truly made history and recaptured Mordheim in the name of Ostermark? Had they really just attain glory with such a heroic victory? Fate would seem it as such. And so it was. General Otto Windeck’s dream had come true! Ostermark was victorious, and Mordheim was once again within its hands!

Chapter VIII: Lotz o’ Gobboz!

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The capture of the ancient capital of MOrdheim was a great success for all of Ostermark. With it safely back in proper hands, the League of Ostermark rose as the Empire’s prime imperial power in the east, dwarfing the previous eastern provincial power of Stirland. The Ostermark now extended from the northern reaches bordering Kislev and Ostland to the foggy hills on the outskirts of Sylvania. Ostermark was growing into its own as a nation, and one of the Emperor’s most favored vassals. But each of their successes in territorial expansions brought them one step closer to the enemies that surround them. The mysterious Sylvania lurked in the shadows near their southern border, while Orcs and Goblins scurried about the World’s Edge Mountains to the east. In the north, barbarian savages busied themselves establishing a beachhead in Ostland; and to the west the scheming Duke of Talabecland plotted away at compromising Ostermark’s continued success. Yet despite all this, for the moment everything seemed to going well for the League of Ostermark. Mordheim was a treasure trove of valuable warpstone, whose export began to have immediate benefits upon the provincial treasury.


Mordheim went under immediate reconstruction by the provincial army. The troops called for their families and friends to help repopulate the city. At first the trickle of new civilians was just that, a trickle. Many were afraid to live in such a tainted city. Still, those that did come provided the foundation for Mordheim’s prosperity. With their help and under the guidance of veteran governor Otto Windeck, Mordheim’s roads were rebuilt at lightning speed.


The razing of Mordheim also turned about many ancient spoils that were long-forgotten until now. Among some of these invaluable trinkets and treasures was the famed Gilded Armour of Magnus the Pious, a magnificent gift to the famous Emperor from the majestic High Elves of Ulthuan. Such a treasure had to be taken to the Elector Count immediately!


With half of the army needing critical replenishment and retraining, Captain Bronzino volunteered to lead the more damaged regiments of the army back towards Nagenhof with the ancient armor, while the other half of the army stayed under General Windeck’s command as he went about establishing a true imperial presence in the former capital. Bronzino was not alone in his journey however. It seemed that Fernando Ehter also had some business to attend to in Nagenhof. The merchant colleague of Dieter Damark had dire news to report that could endanger the whole warpstone export business: a Talabec merchant by the name of Gunter Erlach has been forcefully seizing his merchants’ acquisitions of warpstone! The whole trading operation was under threat of being compromised!


Unfortunately for Fernando, the Prince of Ostermark was far too concerned with other matters to pay this exportation crisis much attention. Dwarves were flooding the streets of Nagenhof, and news emerged from the north that the previously destroyed followers of Nurgle had recently resettled in some far off land to regroup. As if the Empire needed yet another enemy in the north. Gottfried was not willing to provide official aid against the Talabec merchant. The very situation was delicate enough as it stood, and any retaliatory act against Talabecland would undermine their standing among the imperial provinces.


“I’m sorry Fernando, but there is no official sanction that I can place upon this man without facing severe consequences.” Gottfried sighed as he paced back and forth. “I’m afraid we’ll have to resort to shadier tactics to address this growing threat. Contact my agent Wilhelm Otterbach. He should be able to set this right.”


Fernando knew very well who Wilhelm was. A man who works in the shadows, lingering about in brothels and taverns, Wilhelm Otterbach was one of the best Witch Hunters for hire in Ostermark. With a bit of coin, he was also a man willing to adapt himself into an assassin for hire. In a land so rural and superstitious, it didn’t take much to convince the masses of a man’s guilt in committing dark sorcery. Under Ostermark’s financing, Wilhelm would make short work of that Talabec dog Gunter.


“Thank you, milord. I shall seek his aid.” Fernando bowed graciously and exited the royal chambers, leaving Bronzino alone with the Prince. Gottfried took another heavy sigh of exasperation. Bronzino shifted uncomfortably.
“Err…uh…what’s wrong, eh…prince?” the Tilean began awkwardly. He was not used to regarding his superiors as royalty. Gottfried didn’t seem to notice his lack of formality, his mind far too occupied with other matters.
“Too many things, Bronzino.” The prince began. “Nagenhof has become a refugee camp. Day by day, more dwarves reach our walls, fleeing from the mountains. The situation at Karak Kadrin has reached a high point of violence. The Night Goblins are relentless in their methodical slaughter of our allies. Time and again I have sent Marcos Salier in search for the Dwarves of Karaz Ankor for aid, but to no avail. Everything seems to be falling apart for them. For Sigmar’s sake, they’ve lost their capital!”


The news alarmed the Tilean. He was no Ostermark native, but he knew the Dwarven Empire well. They were stout, stubborn, and relentless in the defense of their mountains. They faced a truly fearsome enemy if they were losing their keeps and holds in such rapid succession. If the dwarven barrier failed, then all of Ostermark would be exposed to the swarms of Orcs and goblins lurking beyond the World’s Edge Mountains.
“Worse yet, my fool of a brother has failed us yet again! He receives a simple task from the Great Theogonist to recruit a priest for the local chapel, and he fails to do so almost six months later!”


“My prince…” Bronzino stammered. “He is your brother. Maybe you should cut him some slack?”
“Slack? SLACK!? I’m here trapped in this stuffy palace, suffocating in paperwork while our provincial borders come under threat of attack! I am no governor, but a warrior! I sympathize with our dwarven allies and will do my best to honor our alliance by coming to their aid in battle. My brother has shown no ministerial skill as a governor; perhaps he will show some as a general!”
Bronzino stood speechless. He had never seen this side of the prince’s temper. Perhaps he had acquired some of his father’s traits. The Tilean wouldn’t fault him for that, though. The Prince of Ostermark was under great stress with the streets of Nagenhof cramped with refugees. He understood his desire for action to remedy what no amount of diplomacy can.
“What will you have me do, then?” Bronzino queried. Gottfried turned and smiled, placing a hand on the Tilean Captain’s shoulder.
“You have served us well, Bronzino. I am grateful for having you among our ranks. At times I feel you are everything what Nicholas should have been. You’ve proven your trust to the League, and for that I entrust you with the temporary governance of Nagenhof.” Bronzino was floored, but Gottfried continued before he could reply.
“I know you’re no fan of paperwork, either. But I need to show my brother how to serve this province like you have done thrice over. It’s a great task I do not entrust to anyone. For this you have my eternal gratitude. I also plead forgiveness for my prior bout of anger. My brother does not even know that he has a new sister! My father sent the word over a week ago, and yet Nicholas does not reply. The insolence infuriates me! Alas, this is why I march south. I march south to inform my brother of his newest sibling. I will drag him out of Nachtdorf, and from there we will march on Karak Kadrin!”


And so Bronzino was left to look over the dwarven refuges of Karak Kadrin in Nagenhof, his spent troops sent to Bechafen for resupply, while Prince Gottfried assembled his nascent provincial regiments for battle. This new force was not as large as the provincial army that had set out from Nagenhof towards Mordheim months before, but it was steadily growing day by day. The main infantry line and ranged support were levied from Nagenhof, but many other specialized troops, like Gottfried’s Ogre Mercenaries and his Empire Great Cannons, were transferred from Bechafen. They were fresh and untested, but Gottfried was confident in their skill to succeed.


That confidence would be put to the test. It didn’t take long for Prince Gottfried to reach Nachtdorf, where he found his army’s first test. The Night Goblins of Kadrin Pass were on the offensive, having laid siege to Nachtdorf. Their forces dwarfed the town’s garrison, which lay idle under Nicholas’ command. “Figures.” Gottfried scoffed. He was slowly beginning to understand his father’s exasperation with his brother. How could Nicholas not respond to a threat like this? He sighed inwardly. Prince Gottfried would have to save his brother with the sole strength of his men.


“My men!” Gottfried called out to his troops. “Today marks our first day fighting side by side.” His soldiers rallied at their Prince’s words.
“Today marks our first of many victories!” The troops hurrahed again, banging their weapons upon their shields as they formed the infantry line.


“Today marks our path to GLORY!” Gottfried continued, and the men went wild with excitement. “Are you with me!? Will you fight at my side!? Will you come with me to achieve everlasting glory – to be immortalized in eternal reverence!?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Then prepare for battle! We engage the enemy! We ride on to glory!!”


The men took the immediate offensive, archers marching forth to fire at will upon the Goblin rear. The small-statured greenskins had barely any time to react from the rear flank assault. As they turned to face their new foe, they came under bombardment by the Empire Heavy Cannon. This piece of artillery dwarfed Bronzino’s smaller and more mobile repeater cannons, leaving a deafening boom with each explosion that roared forth toward the enemy.


The ranged assault was devastatingly effective. The tightly packed goblins were obliterated by hails of cannon and arrow fire. Among the casualties was the Goblin general Toothez, who fell flat on his face as a stray cannonball knocked his feet from right under him. The Night Goblins scurried to regroup and charge the enemy, but the withering fire from Gottfried’s ranged troops made their offensive a living hell.


Off alongside the flanks, Gottfried's pistoliers went to work harassing the Goblin infantry. They fired round after round into the enemy before the Goblins responded in kind with a charge form their own cavalry: squigs. The nasty little things were monstrous bulbs of razor sharp teeth and thick hides. Their short feet moved at a lightning pace, able to keep up with any horse. The pistoliers made sure to keep them busy by firing away at them and luring them away from the rest of the battle, effectively neutralizing the Goblins' cavalry, and leaving Prince Gottfried with full command of the battlefield before him.


Gottfried didn't need control of the battlefield to win this battle however. His crossbowmen had done such an effective job raining hell down upon the enemy, that only a paltry force remained by the time they engaged his infantry. The Empire spearmen normally reserved for garrison duties only, took pleasure getting their blood rushing as they held the frontlines with ease against the scattered and broken goblins. Gottfried preserved his valuable shock infantry Ogres in the rear. The spearmen were well in control of the situation today.


The rest of the battle went according as plan. The goblins threw themselves upon imperial spears, skewering themselves like roast pigs. The infantry suffered few casualties and what remained of the enemy collapsed into a full rout. Even the Squig Riders, heavily worn down from gunfire, realized the futility of the situation and fled. Gottfried thought for a moment to let them escape as victory became certain, but he thought otherwise when his eyes gazed off into the distance.


His brother Nicholas had sallied out from Nachtdorf. "Talk about being late." Gottfried thought to himself. No matter. What did matter was that his brother finally decided to take the initiative and attack. Granted, he did this when it was most opportunistic to him, but taking advantage of the enemy's weakness has never been a flaw in military command. Perhaps Gottfried could yet make a good general out of his brother.
"Ride on men! Cut these mongrels down!" Gottfried shouted at the top of his lungs. His cavalry laughed and cheered as they chased down their enemy, slaying many of the cowardly greenskins, and capturing many more. The prince caught sight of his brother engaging in the slaughter and smiled. Nicholas had a glint in his eyes as he indulged in the massacre, as if he enjoyed killing. He would make no friends based off his chivalry, but he did show potential to be a dreadful scourge to his enemies. He would have to see how dreadful Nicholas could truly be in the heat of battle. The captives were grouped up and executed for their insolence, not only in daring to attack the Ostermark, but in taking everything that their Dwarven allies had strived for so long to maintain. Families and homes were shattered by these filthy beasts. They deserved nothing less than death.


Much revelry took place in Nachtdorf that night. Both brothers celebrated the victory against their latest enemy. The Goblins surely outnumbered them, but did not possess the skill or discipline that is inherent among the soldiers of Ostermark. Nicholas was quick to isolate his brother from the festivities and speak to him up on the balcony of his villa.
"Brother, I beg of you, forgive my prior insolence. I will not lie when I say that cowardice befell me when the goblins marched upon these walls." Gottfried maintained a stern face of slight disapproval at his brother's idleness, but he was thankful nonetheless for his safety and his show of courage to sally out towards the end of the battle.
"But when I was out there on the field, cutting down those hideous fiends, I felt something course through my body. My adrenaline shot up higher than ever. It was a joyous feeling of glee. One I could not overcome. It's as if I embrace the coming of battle. I feel as if I have so much to owe up for, and I believe I finally found the way to repay my debts: out on the field of battle!" Gottfried's frown turned upside down and he embraced his brother. Just as the prince had expected to hear from Nicholas.
"I am so pleased to hear that, Nicholas..." Gottfried began. "…for we have many battles ahead of us. The Dwarven nation of Karaz Ankor is in great plight. Karak Kadrin was but the beginning. The Orcs mass in the south, taking their capital of Karaz-a-Karak. Refugees fill our streets in Nagenhof, begging for aid. For retribution. For vengeance. We will be that hand of vengeance. Already a pilgrimage of these dwarves set out from Nagenhof, east toward the Kadrin Pass. We will be there to meet them. We will be there join them as they besiege their former hold. We will strike at these greenskins like a hammer upon an anvil. No remorse, only perfection. Together, we honor our ancient alliance to Karaz Ankor and liberate Karak Kadrin for all to know that we of the Ostermark are true heralds of honor, trust, and glorious victory!"

Chapter IX: Killing at the Kadrin Pass

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The sun shone bright and high in the sky as summer wore on. It had been weeks since the Hertwig brothers had set out from Nachtdorf on their warpath. Many miles of harsh, mountainous terrain still lay before them as they made the long and arduous journey to the fabled Kadrin Pass, otherwise known as the Peak Pass. The ancient mountain pass of the dwarves was always renowned for its Slayers, fanatical dwarves having sworn an oath to Grimnir to seek death on the battlefield; to fight relentlessly until the shadow of death came over them. Those Slayers were absent these days, having gone off to fight war in far off lands and leaving their base of Karak Kadrin vulnerable to attack. The Night Goblins were quick to take the Keep, thus depriving the allies of Ostermark of a proper home. For that injustice, both Nicholas and Gottfried marched east to rectify that situation and retake the Peak Pass for their dwarven allies.


Back at the capital, summer meant that the harvest season had arrived at Ostermark again. Unfortunately, the harvest was nothing like the good harvest of the previous year. As a result, the price of grain shot up across the provincial markets, and food shortages became prevalent in the poorer sections of Bechafen. But regardless of the bad harvest, the economy did not suffer. Ostermark was not the same agrarian province that it was the year before. The acquisition of warpstone and the recapture of Mordheim ensured that 2524 would be a profitable year for the League of Ostermark.


Count Wolfram was in a pleasant mood as he made his way toward the royal barracks. His men had done well in reconsolidating the south. The loss of Kiel was a shame, but the Count was sure that through the proper scheming, the town would fall into the hands of Ostermark. The Talabec weren’t the only ones who could play dirty. Ostermark too had the shadow resources necessary to uphold the chivalrous and honorable front of the province. Wilhelm Otterbach was one such resource. The merchant guild was substantially pleased with the Witch Hunter’s work, his mission to eliminate the Talabec merchant Gunter Erlach having been a resounding success.


The guards bowed and saluted their leader as he entered the barracks and took post by a nearby column to observe the combatants upon the training ground. This barrack was unlike other barracks. The city barracks of Bechafen was responsible for recruiting and training the troops that made up the bulk of the army. But his barracks went beyond that. His barracks trained generals and governors in the making. In a unique twist, Wolfram made all potential governing candidates go through the proper training within these barracks before they could prove themselves as loyal servants to the crown. His course was rigorous, extreme, and not for the faint of heart. Because of that, only a very few number of candidates survive the training to become a general of Ostermark. For this year’s class, only three prospects remained.




Bernhard Ritter and Dietrich Giskar sparred away while the young son of Otto Windeck watched on from the sidelines. Bernard took the initiative and parried one of Dietrich’s overhead swings when the Elector Count intervened.
“Enough!” Wolfram bellowed. At once his students stood at attention in a line before their Count.
“I have an announcement to make: Zifrid, I’m happy to congratulate you on a new baby sister. She was born in Mordheim just days ago.” The young cadet did not flinch but did allow a smile to creep up on his face, knowing that his father was doing well in Mordheim, enough to father another child with Zifrid’s mother.


“You’ve all progressed well since last I met with you.” Wolfram continued. “But do not get comfortable. As a general, you must always remain alert and adapt to any situation posed upon you. Only through ingenuity will you be able to reap success and take a piece of the glory we are all destined to as your own. Remember, more than anything, you are the future of this province. Do not fail me.”
“Aye, milord!” they replied simultaneously. “Permission to continue training?”
“Permission granted.” Wolfram turned and walked away, leaving his students to continue their sparring. Seeing them train night and day put a smile on his face. It felt good to be the guiding hand of the League’s future. Wolfram could only hope that they prove themselves to be as capable as the current generation. Over the past two years, Ostermark had faced all sorts of attacks by rebels and barbarians alike. Yet despite all this, the perseverance of his generals brought them all success. The south was consolidated, and the northern front was firmly established for a future assault into occupied Ostland. Now, a looming threat of green-skinned savages threatened their eastern borders. These goblins took pleasure in battle and killing, almost as if it was a game to them. Already they had torn through the ancient hold of Karak Kadrin, having taken the keep for their own uses. They had to be properly dealt with. Wolfram could only hope that in doing so he doesn’t lose his two sons in the process.


Back in the east, more fathering was to be had. During his stay in Nachtdorf, Nicholas had been hard at work trying to conceive an heir to his line. He was successful when he heard months later while on the road that his beautiful wife had given birth to a son! He was named Godwin after his mother’s father’s name. Gottfried was so happy for his brother, who felt a new wave of pride and inspiration course through him upon hearing the news.


He couldn’t help but envy his brother. He had been campaigning for so long that he had not bothered to spend time with his own wife. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart at the thought of leaving Geylevif without a child, cramped up within the walls of Nagenhof. That feeling wore away though when he reminded himself of the pressing mission. Their allies were in peril of losing their sovereignty, and their borders were at risk of being invaded from all sides. Karak Kadrin had to be taken!


Karak Kadrin had evolved quite a bit over the last few centuries. Initially, the fortress composed of nothing more than the Keep itself built into the face of a mountain, and a sole bridge over a crag leading into the hold. Since then, the dwarven hold had seen several additions to its defenses. With the burgeoning population of humans ever spreading farther out beyond the empire, Karak Kadrin had to adjust to accommodate these new settlers, all along the slope leading to the bridge, a human settlement was founded, forming the base entrance to the Keep. Walled up in solid stone, the border settlement was meant to act as a buffer zone for the real target deep within the halls of the Mountain Keep. It was also an imitation of dwarven defenses. Though nowhere near as stalwart as the ancient stone fortifications of the dwarves, the walls of the border town were imposing nonetheless. Together, they made Karak Kadrin nigh impregnable from a frontal assault. How the Night Goblins managed to take the city was a marvel in itself. How the men of Ostermark would take it back was another question all together, one that did not yet have a solution.
At long last, after many weeks of trekking, the provincial army of Ostermark had come across the fabled gates of the Peak Pass. This gate was meant specifically to deny access west to eastern invaders. Now it was occupied by the very same invaders it was meant to keep out. Goblins crawled and scurried about its ramparts like ants. The gates of Peak Pass would be the first of many hurdles for Gottfried and Nicholas to overcome. As they approached, the goblins came to acknowledge their presence and panicked.
“Dem fleshiez are here wit’ da stunties! Alert da Boss Gobbo! Fall backz! FALL BACKZ!!”


Gottfried and Nicholas found no resistance at the gates, which greatly perplexed and worried them. Why were the Goblins so willing to retreat? Perhaps they had an ambush in store for them. Nonetheless, neither sibling held any qualms over the bloodless victory. After establishing a suitable garrison to help restore the gates into functioning order, the Hertwigs prepared to mobilize the army for the assault on Karak Kadrin. Before they could depart though, they were visited by old friends.


Slayers! One of Gottfried’s pistolier scout forces came across them wandering in the mountains. They were haggard and few in number, but they were still alive. Both Gottfried and Nicholas tuned in to hear their tragic story. They had marched out of Karak Kadrin under the command of Slayer King Ungrim Ironfist to relieve Karaz-A-Karak from the Orc ‘Waaaagh!’ besieging it. They were not prepared for the wholesale slaughter that awaited them. Many Slayers fulfilled their oaths in the defense of Karaz-A-Karak, dying in glorious battle against an innumerable foe. But the Orcs were too many. It was as if every greenskin from the Badlands had marched upon the Mountain Capital. Slayer King Ungrim was one of the last to die, holding off the Orcs from storming through the royal chambers of the Dwarven King Thorgrim Grudgebearer. Those who survived helped escort what remained of the royal family to safety. Last they heard of, the remnants of the Grudgebearer line had made a beeline for refuge in Zhufbar. The Slayers though, did not follow them. They made their way back to the Kadrin Valley only to find their own keep occupied by greenskins: the Night Goblins. Since then, they had lurked in hiding in the many small goat trails of the pass, keeping hidden from the occupying army. It was a miracle itself that they were found at all by Gottfried’s men.
“I hold great sympathy for your plight, great warriors. We will not forsake you in your time of need. Please, upon your behest, allow us to avenge your loss by taking the fight to these monsters!” The Slayers had no qualms or protests. They remained at the gates to help siphon the refugee pilgrimage of dwarves flow back into the Kadrin Valley while the provincial army marched forth to lay siege to Karak Kadrin itself.


Prince Gottfried took command of the cavalry while Nicholas took command of the infantry and artillery and made his preparations before the gates of the border walls. They would have to break though the human fortifications before ascending the high slopes that led to the plaza that bridged over the deep chasm into the actual dwarven hold. His cannon waste no time in bombarding away at the gates.


The Night Goblins come out in full force to meet their enemy. They swarm out of the Keep and over the ridge like locusts. Seeing them cascade down the slopes to the outer walls put everyone’s nerves at edge. The gates did not take long to fall. The march through the gates began, and before anyone could register it fully the imperial troops of Ostermark were upon the Night Goblins!


Yet just as fast as they had come out of the woodwork, they fell into another full retreat. What were these goblins up to? The sight of thousands of goblins scurrying up the slopes of Karak Kadrin was wholly unnerving. Something was wrong. Outnumbered, the imperial forces could not possibly pose such a threat worthy of warranting a full retreat.


The only logical answer that remained was that an ambush lay ahead. What made it all the more disconcerting was that the army had no other option but to walk into that ambush if they hoped to capture Karak Kadrin. The men of Ostermark marched up the slopes, expecting nothing but the worst.


The worst was quick upon them. Prince Gottfried led the charge with his cavalry up into the plaza. The infamous Black Guards of Morr rode into an empty plaza and a dwarven bridge before them. Further on, the Riders of Morr had a moment to take a fleeting glance at the great stone keep built into the mountain before they were beset by all sides. Within moments, Gottfried and his cavalry were sloshing about in a sea of goblins. The Night Goblins had played their ambush well. By neutralizing the Ostermark cavalry, they forces Nicholas to engage in a drawn out infantry engagement, where the goblins outnumber the imperial troops five to one.


Gottfried and his men fight frantically to break out of the ambush, trudging through waves of jagged spears and blades, all the while hacking away with reckless abandon. The Imperial Halberdiers move up to meet the enemy head on at the bridge square. A literal wall of shield and spear slammed into the heavy line of goblin infantry with authority. They had to make each kill count. Heavily outnumbered as they were, they needed to make sure that each casualty they suffered was a hard-fought kill.


The drawn out battle dragged on for hours late into the afternoon. At last, Gottfried and the remnants of his heavy cavalry rendezvoused with Nicholas and his bodyguard. Together, they fell back from the frontlines in search of an alternate route for his men to take. There was none.


Instead, they came across something far worse. Dozens of squigs were rushing up the slopes to flank Nicholas’ infantry from the rear. The Hertwigs had to do something to stop them! They readied their withered forces for a strong frontal charge, but were stopped upon the sound of gunfire. The pistoliers of Ostermark came galloping up the slopes, firing without pause at the squigs they chased down. Under the vice of cavalry from both front and behind, the ravenous beasts were quick to be put down.


There was no rest for the men of Ostermark. They fought for what seemed an eternity into exhaustion. Slowly the seams of the halberd front line began to unravel. One by one, the halberdiers fell until nothing remained of them. In their stead were the imperial crossbowmen, which fired point blank into their enemy. They fired away volley after volley until they too had expended their strength and quivers. Even the Imperial Heavy Cannon was deployed atop the slopes to fire at close range when the crossbowmen had dispersed out of the way. Accuracy was not an issue when the Goblins were so tightly packed. The enemy erupted in flames and died in scores from the cannon fire.


Still the goblins fought on. The crossbowmen threw themselves desperately into battle, joined by brothers Hertwig, who rallied them to fight on. The haze of blood rose high into the air as bodies crumpled to the floor in droves on both sides. The very sky seemed to go red as the sun set, making it all the more difficult to breath and see. When the horses were expended, the Hertwigs continued their fight on foot, fighting tooth and nail against the never-ending waves of goblins. Their efforts finally began coming to fruition with the coming of dusk. The whole of the Night Goblins’ forces were spent upon holding the bridge square. As the day wore on, more and more of those goblins were slowly pushed back, many falling off the square into the chasm to their doom. Many more tripped on the slippery corpses of their allies, they too meeting a grim fate under the heel of Imperial steel. The very cobbled stone floor was no longer to be seen, having been paved over by fresh greenskin corpses. By the end of the day, only death remained.


The battle was hard-fought but hard won. Over a thousand goblins died before they fell into a full rout into the Keep. Once inside the ancient halls of the dwarves, victory was assured for Ostermark. The goblins continued to retreat, funneling into a dank tunnel that they likely had bored through to invade from within in the first place. By midnight, all of the Goblins that had not escaped from Karak Kadrin were lying dead on the floor. Even better, despite heavy injuries, the eastern provincial army of Ostermark suffered fewer casualties than initially expected. Whether it was sheer luck or just good fortune, Nicholas and Gottfried were thankful for the victory. They had many wounded to tend to, but at least they would live to fight another day.


The brothers Hertwig took no chances with Karak Kadrin. The place was exterminated of any and all Night Goblin presence. They systematically rounded up and burned any remaining goblin trinkets they left lying around within the Keep and repaired the gates of the outer walls. They filled in the tunnel that the goblins fled through and left a sizeable garrison to guard the cave-in. The goblin corpses were shoveled off into the chasm, never to be seen again.


The harvest season had come to an end and winter was quick on its way to the World’s Edge Mountains. The imperial troops would have to spend the winter within dwarven confines before diplomacy could reach the royal family and grant the Keep back to the hands of Karaz Ankor. Until then, control of the Kadrin Pass belonged to the League of Ostermark. Another great victory indeed!

[Saint Nicholas]

Author: Thokran
Original thread: [COW AAR] The Glory the Ostermark

The Glory of Ostermark Part 3

Chapter X: 15 Minutes of Fame

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Winter was quick upon the empire in the year 2524. The wide open plains of Ostermark were blanketed with snow, and the forests of its eastern and western borders turned white from snowfall. Yet despite the sleepy atmosphere of the winter snow, Ostermark was anything but. Even through the end of the harvest season, the province remained active as ever. Trade continued, as did military movements against the dwindling presence of bandits in the region. The province continued to prosper on through the end of the year, and nothing evidenced this prosperity more than the renovation of Nagenhof’s city walls. The city was ready to upgrade into a large city, and as such its walls needed to expand outward. Such an achievement of growth was rarely seen throughout the Empire, much less in one of its border provinces!


At the center of all this growth and prosperity was none other than Bronzino. The mercenary captain had a fine taste for politics, having lived much of his life in the tumultuous city-states of Tilea. He was anything but idle during his stay in Nagenhof, approving all manners of construction projects under dwarven labor. He compensated the refugees with excess clothing and food as they made their journey back to the Peak Pass. He actively took part in the founding of a siege foundry within the city, and also worked hard to keep the lands surrounding the city free of bandits and rebels. He was seen as a brave, strategically sound expert in siege warfare, and an aspiring commander all around. He was cultured, trustworthy, chivalrous and devoutly pious. For this, the Elector Count took notice of Bronzino, and declared him as the man of the hour. Wolfram himself journeyed to Nagenhof to personally greet and congratulate the man for his efforts, before offering him his personal gratitude and adoption into the royal family.


Bronzino was shocked. He was simply doing his job as contracted by his payroll with the Count. He never expected to receive such an honor. Yet he couldn’t deny that over the years, he and his men had grown attached to the fields and forests of Ostermark. It was a far cry from the warm shores of Tilea, but its people conveyed a sense of pride they had rarely seen in the corrupt city-states of Miragliano and Tobaro, among others. Ostermark was on the cusp of success, and Bronzino had been a vital part of the tide that had brought it to this point. Bronzino was now part of the province, and the province was now part of him. More than ever, he felt that Ostermark and not TIlea was his home now. He humbly accepted the generous offer with dutiful honor.


Bronzino was now an official member of the royal family. Son of the Count and brother to the prince, Bronzino stood as one of three heirs to the crown. Better yet, he was getting ready to sire his own heirs with the upcoming marriage to Kristina Cotrez. The woman was a gorgeous blonde of Estalian decent, who migrated to Ostermark to start a new living away from the fierce rivalries between the cities of Magritta and Bilbali. The two met in Nagenhof shortly after his appointment to govern the city, and their romance has blossomed ever since. Engaged and now of royalty, Bronzino felt like the luckiest man alive.


Otto Windeck made it his personal mission to help the newly-minted lord celebrate his good fortune. He invited Bronzino and his closest cohorts to Mordheim, where they would revel in great festivities in his honor. A great feast was held in the renovated palace hall of Mordheim, and the celebrations ran on late into the night. Soon the sun was on the rise again, and only Bronzino and Otto were awake to see its rays begin to shine over the horizon. Both were quite jolly and inebriated. The two had grown to be close friends since their united efforts in taking Mordheim almost a year prior. Otto more than anyone else could understand Bronzino’s elation, for Otto too had once been called a brother by the Count.
“Ahh, I can’t say enough how proud I am of you. You are like a brother to me, Bronzino. And I’m like a brother to the Count, so I guess that’s makes us family, haha!”
“Hah! Trying to get into the good graces of royalty I see!” Bronzino barked back in laughter.
“Cheers, mate!” Otto exclaimed, and the two clinked their mugs of beer together. They fell into a pause of silence as the sun slowly crept over the horizon, its rays sobering them to reality.
“So how goes everything in Mordheim, Otto?” Bronzino queried.
“Everything has been holding steady here, friend. The army has kept order intact, and the immediate border is secure. The royal council has deemed the area secure enough for expansion.”
“Expansion? So soon?” Bronzino was surprised. “Where to?”
“Eh…some backwater town called Vorderbergen across the river.” Otto muttered. “My men are stretched thin enough as it is here, I don’t see the point of stretching them any further. Let those rebels from Sylvania have their stupid place to call home!”


Bronzino stayed quiet and contemplated. To him, a mission as simple as that seemed more like an opportunity to further appease his new family. He didn’t want to seem idle now that he had received such praise. No, he needed to show Ostermark that he was here to stay, and that he would help bring the vision of everlasting glory come to life!
“Perhaps I can help?” Bronzino asked. “I have a pretty sizeable army of spearmen and archers that escorted me to Mordheim, and I know they’re itching for battle after being cramped in the relative peace of Nagenhof for so long. Perhaps with the supplement of some of your troops, I can settle this issue for you while you keep the borders secure here.”
“No, Bronzino. I couldn’t possibly ask that of-“
“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”
“It’s my mission to take though!”
“And I’m relieving you of it! Let me do this, friend! Not only for you, but for all of Ostermark! Let me show them that we are bound for success!” Otto could tell that Bronzino was not going to relent. His confidence was peaking, and there was little the general could do to topple it. He sighed in resignment.
“Fine…please be safe out there. The winter cold is not a pleasant time to be marching armies about.”
Bronzino simply laughed the comment off. “Do not worry, friend. I’ll be back by the end of the week!”
And that was the last time General Otto Windeck ever saw Bronzino Hertwig alive.



The march to Vorderbergen wasn’t necessarily a long one, but the harsh winter storms made the trek all the more arduous. Bronzino’s army consisted of garrison spearmen and archers from Nagenhof, used to defending walls from minimal threats, and in no way trained for a determined assault on an enemy settlement. Alongside them were veteran troops from Mordheim: handgunners sporting arquebus and gunpowder, and a depleted regiment of Black Guards of Morr. Together, this motley crew of imperial arms would set out to take Vorderbergen from the insurgent Sylvanian rebels. Sylvania had no sovereignty as an imperial vassal of Stirland, so the acquisition of the town in any name other than Stirland was an outright sign of treason and disrespect to the imperial sovereignty of the province. The Council clearly chose this mission for Otto to eventually gift Vorderbergen to Stirland and thus improve Ostermark’s relations with the southern provinces of the Empire. Bronzino was confident that he wouldn’t fail the council’s wishes. He had no idea what he was walking into.


The siege of Vorderbergen went as planned. Bronzino chose to attack in the night to catch the rebels off guard and to lower the possibility of any casualties throughout the engagement. The Tilean’s cannon fired at will, tearing down the palisade gates with ease. His bombardment continued all across the palisade walls to allow multiple access points of entrance for the invading force.


“Charge forth, men of Ostermark! Show these rebels the strength of our arms!” Bronzino shouted out to his men. All at once, his spearmen surged forth, storming the main gates and taking control of the palisade walls.


With a basic perimeter established, all that was left to do was to close in on the town center, a feat easier said than done in most cases. But Bronzino was sure that the rebels would be unprepared to set up a proper resistance given the time of night it was. He thought wrong. His men came across a small regiment of the Sylvanians, donned in fashioned plate with draconic embellishment. They sported blood red capes and massive, black great swords. All of them donned dark helms that masked most of their face to their enemy. Intimidation and dread are all that emanated from these imposing figures. As one, they counter charged the men of Ostermark and held the line against their foe.


Any hopes Bronzino had of minimizing his own casualties quickly vanished upon initial impact with the Sylvanian troops. Their blades were flawless in execution, parrying every attack the spearmen had to give with perfection, and countering them with their own deadly swings that landed with lethal precision. Scores of imperial men fell before these men, who had yet to suffer a single scrape, much less a casualty. They fought with superhuman skills unlike anything Bronzino had ever seen before. When one of his scouts was sent to survey the nature of these unfaltering shock troops, he could barely believe what news he returned with.
“Vampires, milord!” the scout cries out in agony as blood ran frelly down his side from a grazing wound. “They’re vampires!” Indeed, it was hard to believe at first. But Bronzino was made a believer once he and the rest of his men made their way through the gate entrance. The pale complexion, the fangs, the blood red armor and glowing eyes: all were present among them. Indeed, as much as he didn’t want to believe it, Bronzino was faced with the ancient Sylvanian vampires of yore. And unbeknownst to the Tilean, that was not all in store for the imperial troops. Further ahead, Mannfred von Carstein awaited with his elite forces, ready to rise up once again against the Empire that had defeated him so long ago.


“But how?” the Tilean pondered. Bronzino thought they had all perished alongside their leader Manfred von Carstein at the Battle of Hel Fenn ages ago. Whatever the case was that could explain their sudden reappearance; Bronzino had no time to dwell upon. His men were being demolished by the elite vampire infantry, and he needed to do something about it FAST. He ordered his archers forth to secure thw town square and offer ranged support. His heavy cavalry, the Black Guards of Morr, followed suit behind them, in search of a way around the enemy infantry.
Their plans were dashed almost immediately. His archers were beset by the dead! They rose from the ground, skeletal soldiers of undeath, and proceeded to hack the regiment to pieces. Within minutes, all that remained of the archers were a trail of corpses and a couple of straggling survivors, fighting a desperate skirmish against the undead.


Worse yet, Bronzino’s trump card was neutralized as a unit of heavy cavalry intercepted the Riders of Morr. They too were vampires like the Blood Dragons that were slaughtering his infantry. At their head was none other than Mannfred von Carstein! The Riders of Morr were accustomed to facing death, but nothing could prepare them for the ghastly sight of a vampire who should have been dead for well over a hundred years. Mannfred’s cavalry, like his infantry, were flawless in execution, overpowering the Black Guards as if they were little more than rag dolls.


Thankfully, the Riders of Morr were quick to recover and managed to disengage before suffering any more casualties. They had a lost a good deal of their cavalry, but still had enough to deal a significant blow to the enemy. At last they rounded the corner and came upon the exposed rear of the Blood Dragon infantry. Without pause, they charged at full gallop upon their foe. Their wicked scythes and blades bore down upon the vampires, catching them all off guard. Black steel sliced into pale skin and red plate, leaving a bloodbath in their wake. The Blood Dragons were ultimately crushed after much fighting and many lost lives. It ensured Bronzino that these monsters were not invincible.


“Do not relent!” Bronzino cried out. “They can die just like the rest of us! Unleash hell upon them!!” Bronzino had flirted with the thought of retreat prior to his cavalry’s deadly effect on the Sylvanian infantry. Now though, he was sure that this battle could still be won. He ordered his gunners forth to the front line. Under his command, they got into formation and fired at will upon the skeletal warriors that now made their way toward the rest of Bronzino’s army. Round after round of lead fired ceaselessly into the enemy, but they did not waver. What little hope Bronzino had victory was beginning to wane; and with Mannfred von Castein still lurking within the town, that flare of hope could be snuffed out at a moment’s notice.


The skeletal soldiers continued to march forth, unhindered by the hail of bullets that rained upon them. The bullets smashed into all sorts of arms and skulls, tearing limbs at a solid pace. Still they advanced forward. Seeing the futility og the situation, Bronzino ordered his gunners to fall back behind what remained of his infantry. They managed to do so just in time, for the skeletal onslaught of undeath was fast upon them, leading to a desperate clash of life and death.


The battle raged on throughout the night, with neither side gaining an advantage over the other. But ultimately, the untiring dead had the advantage over the mortal imperial troops of Ostermark. It was not long before the spearmen fell into exhaustion and their attacks grew sluggish. The end was near for them. All that was needed now was a final blow to seal defeat for Bronzino’s men.
Mannfred von Carstei would be that final nail in the coffin. His cavalry charged down upon the frail imperial frontline and utterly shattered it with the weight of momentum and steel. Everything devolved into pure chaos at that point. Gunners fired at point blank, spearmen broke ranks and fought their own personal duels with the enemy. Even Bronzino’s artillery were deployed and fired at close range as a last ditch effort to drive off the enemy.


The Black Riders countercharged in return in hopes of driving back the enemy. Their efforts wsere in vain, as their confidence was waning while their enemy’s was further bolstered with each fallen imperial soldier. They fought desperately to hold back the tide of vampiric assault, but ultimately they too fell to the overwhelming might of Mannfred von Carstein.


The imperial forces collapsed upon each other, struggling desperately to survive against the vampires and skeletons that slowly surrounded them. There was no hope of escape now. They had to fight to the death now if they had any hopes of living to see the sun rise once again. Bronzino and his unit gave up their cannons and brandished their rapiers, entering the melee in a bid to rally their men. It failed. What few men he had left routed. Those who didn’t were already dead.


Bronzino fought ferociously as his soldiers died around him. The undead surrounded him, threatening to drown him in their dreaded presence. But still he kept on fighting, swinging wildly at his untiring foe. His blade entered the skeletal fray in a furious flurry of attacks that dismembered many of the skeletal soldiers around him. He may have not known how to kill those who were already dead, but he did know how to neutralize their fighting capabilities. Alas, his moment of glory was short-lived. Count Mannfred von Carstein led a personal attack upon the Tilean general, who found himself too immersed in the battle to counter.


A sickening crunch was heard as Mannfred’s blade tore into the back of Bronzino’s neck. The blade ripped through flesh and bone alike before exiting out by Bronzino’s right shoulder, leaving the newest son of Ostermark fatally wounded. Nearly beheaded, the Tilean commander collapsed to the ground in an extravagant fountain of his own blood. No doubt the vampires would feast on him later. But for the few survivors of the failed assault, his death was a horrific sight to behold: one that would be seared into their minds for the rest of their lives.






Bronzino’s death ensured imperial defeat. What little remained of his besieging force laid down their arms and surrendered to the ghastly vampires, who took pleasure in tying them up and letting them watch as they feasted on the blood of their fallen allies. Once they were done, they released the prisoners and pointed them in the direction of Mordheim. They would send a message that Sylvania was not to be trifled with, and that Ostermark’s defeat at Vorderbergen would be but the beginning of a new age for all vampires.


Bronzino lay in a bloody heap among the many corpses that littered the streets of Vorderbergen. His last thoughts as he collapses into darkness were solely of regret. Regret that he had grown overconfident. Regret that he had underestimated his foe. Regret that he had failed the province that had privileged him so much. Still, Ostermark would recover from the stinging blow of defeat. Glory was still in reach for the prosperous province. But for Bronzino at least, his moment of glory was at an end.

Chapter XI: Retribution

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The shocking news echoed across the province like ripples in a lake. The news spread from Mordheim to Nachtdorf, and from there to Nagenhof and Bechafen. All of Ostermark mourned the loss of their newest herald of royalty. Even the typically cold Count Wolfram held a memorial and a moment of silence in prayer for the loss of his adopted son. Ostermark lost a fine general and commander in Bronzino.
Still, life went on for the people of Ostermark. The bad harvest did little to stop the tide of people surging into the capital city. People from all over the Empire flocked to the eastern city in hopes of starting a new in a province full of promise and potential. The influx of new faces brought upon a productive boon to the capital in a time of year when production was all but nonexistent. In the midst of winter, Bechafen grew into an imperial metropolis, fast becoming acknowledged as the Jewel of the East.


News from the east came that the re-entry of dwarves into Karak Kadrin was stable and going according to plan. Wolfram was pleased to hear that his youngest son had proved himself in battle. He would serve as a great buffer out in those cold mountains against the inevitable greenskin horde that would come their way. The Elector Count still held ill will for his wayward son, and wanted nothing more to hear that at least his failure of a son had died a heroic death in defense of the Peak Pass. News from Marcos Salier’s journeys through Sylvania to Zhufbar boded poorly for Ostermark’s dwarven allies. The hold was occupied by a large host of Orcs, making the task of reestablishing official dwarven presence in the Kadrin Valley that much more difficult. Marcos would have to rest in Mordheim before continuing his westward journey in search of the exiled royal house of the Karaz Ankor. Wolfram had other things to attend to first.


The end of 2524 also heralded the graduation of three of Ostermark’s finest generals-to-be. Zifrid Windeck had finally come of age, and with him were his colleagues Bernhard Ritter and Dietrich Giskar. Together, they received a grand assembly in honor of their inauguration into royal service. Bestowed with governance over the various towns of Ostermark, they went on their way to answer the call of duty. Bernhard traveled north to relieve Theodoric Gerhwen and his Free Company Army of their post in Grenzburg, and Dietrich made the long trip south to govern the outpost of Nachtdorf. Zifrid Windeck took the journey south to meet with his father Otto in Mordheim. The son would eventually replace the father in governance of the recently reclaimed capital city, thus freeing Otto to further serve Ostermark in future campaigns.


But Otto was not in the joyous mood he should have been. The news of his son coming to Mordheim should have been a delight after so many months without seeing him. But all he could do was brood over the death of Bronzino. Rage welled up within him, both toward himself and toward the devils that had committed such an atrocity. He knew he shouldn’t have allowed him to go! He should have gone himself! He should committed more troops to the mission! Damnit, Bronzino shouldn’t have died!
The situation cried out for vengeance, for revenge, for retribution. Otto felt obliged to honor the heroic death of his fallen brethren by meeting the bastards who took them away out in open battle. Otto Wickdeck would bring down a hell storm upon them, may SIgmar protect their souls! Those damned fiends would pay the ultimate price for such an injustice! Otto would ride out to that forsaken place and retrieve Bronzino’s corpse to give him a proper burial. Then he would cull them all to the last vampire and cleanse that damned place in the fires of retribution!
“Men!! WE GO TO WAR!”


General Otto Windeck took no chances with this enemy. He left a skeleton crew of depleted crossbowmen to keep watch over Mordheim. The rest of his forces went along for the short jaunt across the river to Vorderbergen. Bronzino was not one to fall easy in battle. Whatever these Sylvanians were, vampires based on the accounts of the survivors of the prior battle, they posed a great threat to Ostermark’s security. Because of the threat they posed, he brought the brutish Ogre mercenaries with him to help balance the odds. Perhaps the infamous warriors of Cathay could pose an equal challenge for these champions of undeath.


The trip did not take long. Otto ordered a forced march through the thick blankets of snow that covered the ground. They reached the town two days after their departure from Mordheim. Like Mordheim, and for that matter many of the towns scattered across the southeastern limits of the Empire, Vorderbergen was mostly abandoned and in disrepair. Crumbling buildings on the verge of collapse made up the majority of the housing within the corroded palisade walls. General Otto wasted no time in assaulting the town. He attacked in the late morning, hoping the sunlight would play a factor against their vampiric enemy.


Bronzino had done his job well. His cannons had left several gaping holes in the palisade walls. No siege equipment would be needed today. Otto and his men could get right to the slaughter. He ordered his men to storm the town, his shock infantry leading the charge. The possibilities of undeath meant that Otto could very be well outnumbered against the corpses of his fallen comrades. He had to make sure to minimize his losses at all costs.


Again as before, the streets seemed deserted. No enemy was to be found. But Otto had studied the reports of the few survivors that had escaped the first slaughter at Vorderbergen. He knew that his enemy preferred to lurk and ambush from the shadows. He would not divide his forces unless he absolutely had to. Tightly packed and organized, his halberdiers marched forth toward the town square as an impenetrable wall of shields and spears.


“Show yourself, coward!” Otto challenged. “Come and face the fate you deserve!”
“I have eluded my fate many times before, mortal.” A ghastly voice materialized from thin air. The voice seemed to permeate from every corner of the town. “I have met death so many times that it no longer affects me. I control death now. I am death itself. And I will bring you all death, for that is what you have come here for.”
At that, they appeared. The dead rose from the ground and the vampires emerged from the shadows. Mannfred von Carstein rode atop his dread steed, a horde of skeletal servents at his command. They ran forth to meet the imperial halberds in battle. At the rear, the Blood Dragons of Sylvania led a similar assault upon Otto’s Ogres of Cathay, which led to a fierce melee.


The battle was vicious and ferocious in all aspects. The Sylvanian forces portrayed great skill and expertise in combat, which was met by the vengeful fury that Otto instilled in his forces. The imperial halberds were not the undisciplined town guards that Bronzino’s spearmen were. These men did not guard walls. They were forged in the flames of war, and they brought total war upon the supernatural soldiers. Even Mannfred’s crack troops found themselves hard-pressed against such rage.


The men of Ostermark fought with purpose and with meaning that the vampires simply did not have the capacity to understand. They fought not for glory today, but to commemorate the honorable memory of Bronzino. Bronzino, despite being of Tilean descent, was more a man of Ostermark than most who were born and raised in the province. His warm and confident nature, in conjunction with his veteran command skills, helped bring Ostermark into a new age of glory, success, and prosperity. Without him, Ostermark wouldn’t have been half the marvel it was today. And thus in his honor, Ostermark would exact proper vengeance for his loss. Retribution was to be had!
“For Bronzino!!!” Otto cried out to his men as he joined the fray. He rode right up to the front lines and hacked away furiously at the skeletal infantry below him. Dried bones were crushed under the hooves of his armored steed as he challenged the Vampire Count to meet him in battle. “Face me, you dog! Come bring your blade against my neck, I dare you!”
Mannfred was content to accept the challenge. The venerated vampire met the frantic general in battle, meeting Otto’s wild swings with his own graceful arcs of his greatsword. The blows came down with swift precision, cutting through Otto’s plate armoring. But the Ostermark general felt nothing but seething rage well up inside of him. Pure hate and spite was all he had for the Vampire Count who dug his blade into his arm. With a guttural roar, almost animalistic, Otto drove the blade deeper into his arm, bringing the Vampire Count into his reach. With his halberdiers preventing Mannfred’s escape, he drove his own blade down the vampire’s neck into his chest cavity. Count Mannfred writhed and wailed in horrific agony as the blade tore at his innards, forcefully ripping the life out the monster who claimed to have such a strong dominion over death. The Vampire lord fell from his steed, to be lost in the chaos of battle.


With their general dead, the Sylvanians began to fall apart. The skeletal soldiers were overwhelmed and tramped by an ocean of plate-armored halberdiers. The remaining vampire cavalry that guarded Mannfred fled the town and made south toward their other holdings. All that remained were the Blood Dragons, who were still engaged in combat with the Ogres of Cathay. Even the brute force of the Ogres was not a match for the vampires, who had trained all their life in aspiration of slaying a dragon, hence their namesake. The Ogres had suffered heavy casualties, but still managed to leave a good dent in the best of Sylvania’s troops. Now the full weight of Otto’s imperial halberdiers closed in on the vampires. Trapped by the mass of Ogres on one side and the weight of shield and spear on the other, the Blood Dragons began to crumble under the burden of imperial might.


One by one the vampires fell. Whether it was the sunlight that naturally weakened them or the burning resolve of Windeck’s men to exact vengeance upon them, the vampires faces a grim defeat at the hands of Ostermark arms. Yet again the imperial province proved itself to its enemies that it was not to be trifled with. Ostermark would take no prisoners in this battle. General Otto Windeck made sure that every vampire that remained was beheaded and torn to pieces before being set aflame in a giant pyre.


Otto suffered heavy losses in the battle, but the mission was a success.. Outnumbered and wakened as they were, the vampires of Sylvania were still a worthy opponent for the Ostermark soldiers. It put into perspective how dangerous the lands of Sylvania really were. Mordheim would surely have to be reinforced soon, lest the vampires decide to take the city for themselves. General Windeck would have no time to march his men back anytime soon though. The winter winds were picking up, and the threat of blizzards were fast becoming a grim reality. Otto and his men would have to dig in for the rest of the month within Vorderbergen’s walls, repairing the palisade and giving Bronzino and his men a proper burial just outside the outskirts of town.


Otto hated Vorderbergen. It stood as a grim reminder of the tragedy that occurred here. Bronzino laid his life on the line for the glory of Ostermark, and he paid the ultimate price in preserving that honor and glory. Otto felt some solace in the fact that he had properly avenged those who had so swiftly taken his life, but it still did not stop him from feeling bothered by the very act of walking through the town streets. Alas, he would have to spend his days here for now. Here he would contemplate in silence over the attributes of retribution, while his men would revel in the victory of the day. Victory was assured, yes. But at what price?

Chapter XII: A Mountain of Trouble

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

While Bronzino’s death was being avenged in the southwestern reaches of the province, the rest of Ostermark endured harsh winter storms that stopped all trade throughout the Empire for days at a time. It was during these times that the people of Ostermark hunkered down in their homes and waited out the blizzards that raged outside, ever anticipating the eventual warmth of spring. It was also during these months that Prince Gottfried finally managed to spend time with his beloved wife. The news that Prince Gottfried would be the father of a beautiful daughter to be named Demuth Hertwig followed shortly after. Karak Kadrin literally roared in joy and happiness in celebration of the joyous new!


Trade slowed through the cold winter months, but it did not stop wholly. The Merchant Guild of Ostermark was hard at work finding new resources to further bolster the province’s export profits. Dieter Damark made the long trip east to Peak Pass in search of salt, which was highly desired back in the west. In the south, one of Dieter’s colleagues Lothar Merode brought in shipments of fish from the shores of Black Water Lake. Fish from the lake was a delicacy in the eastern expanses of the Empire, where small rivers were the only source of fish to be had, much smaller and insignificant than the large trout that were caught near Zhufbar.



But all was not well along the World’s Edge Mountains. Zhufbar was still occupied by Orcs. From Lothar’s reports, the greenskins made it their mission to defile everything dwarven about the hold, making it as homely as can be for their winter stay there. Worse yet, news crept up through bars and taverns of a far more dangerous threat lurking behind the thousands of orcs that worked their way into the fringes of imperial land. The followers of Tzeentch had been on their own war march over the past year, separate from the other warbands of northern barbarians. In the panic that ensued after the fall of Karaz-A-Karak, Lord Vardek Crom and his Chaos Legion seized their opportunity and took control of the former dwarven capital, driving out the Orcs that had taken the city just weeks before. Now they were on the march again, making their way north through the lands of Sylvania.


Vardek Crom would pose no immediate threat to the province for now. If anything, Crom could serve to weaken the Orcs and Vampires that lurked just outside Ostermark’s borders. Sylvania in particular posed a great threat to Ostermark’s security. But a curious turn of events occurred that would seem to lessen that immediate threat. Immune as they were to the cold, a host of vampires were quick to march upon the ruins of Vorderbergen. General Otto Windeck could not believe that the enemy had retuned so soon! Yet these vampires did not come in search of war. Rather, the malicious beings had a business proposition for the men of Ostermark.


Regicide of all things! Apparently ever since the death of Count Mannfred, the Vampires of Sylvania had fallen into some sort of civil war. That Prince Jobst would come to Ostermark of all places to help dispose of the new Count Marcos was a sign of the great internal strife that plagued Sylvania, much to Ostermark’s benefit. Their proposal would buy Ostermark much needed time to rid itself of the sore thumb Vorderbergen now posed for the province.
Marcos Salier was there at Vorderbergen to witness the proposition. Vampires were deceitful beings whose tongues were laced with lies. Yet both Otto and Marcos could not let an opportunity such as this pass up. They played along with the vampires for now, keeping them in wait for their decision to oblige. While they waited for an answer, Marcos made haste toward Talabecland on an urgent diplomatic mission. Ostermark’s treasury was overflowing with gold. It was about to time some of it was put to strategic use. Talabecland was in desperate need of money and land, and Ostermark was in desperate need of a certain settlement closer to home. Marcos reached Talabheim within the week and proposed the offer to the poverty-stricken duke. Count Helmut was quick to agree to the settlement. With a hefty sum of gold on the table, the trade was made: Kiel for Vorderbergen. In this manner, both provinces would benefit at the expense of the idle Sylvanians to the south.



Diplomacy was successful, and before the vampires could notice, General Otto and his men had vacated Vorderbergen and had made headway towards Kiel. The town was in the same state that it was left in when the Talabec soldiers had first occupied it; an unsurprising fact given the dire financial situation Ostermark’s western neighbor was in. Still, it provided Otto with a respectable place to rest and it sheltered his men from the elements of nature.
General Otto paced about impatiently within his cabin. He yearned for the end of winter. It had been too long since he had last seen his son Zifrid, and the comfort of Mordheim’s stone walls was a luxury he didn’t enjoy in Kiel. He now heard that his son was even getting married! Spring couldn’t come any sooner now: Otto needed to be at Mordheim at the start of spring to be at his son’s side for the wedding.



But elsewhere, the provincial borders of Ostermark were not as peaceful as they were at Kiel and Mordheim. At Karak Kadrin, the New Year brought a temporary pause in the blizzards that had raged on for months throughout the World’s Edge Mountains. Prince Gottfried knew that his men would be needed for a future campaign back at Bechafen, and that the mountains were no place to father a child. Thus after much thought, Prince Gottfried decided to take the risky journey west toward Nagenhof with his wife and future child. With him would go a large portion of the provincial army, leaving only the troops best suited to defend against a siege at Karak Kadrin.
“Stay safe, brother. I have the highest hopes your continued success here.” Gottfried reassured his brother. Nicholas was gracious for the words of encouragement and embraced his brother in return.
“And you as well, Gottfried. Be the best father you can be to your daughter.” And with that, the brothers Hertwig parted ways.
The Kadrin Pass would remain undefended for the next few months while reinforcements from the west were in transit. Until then, Nicholas would have to work with the few men he had left in his command and hope that the Orcs and Goblins wouldn’t capitalize on this moment of weakness. Unfortunately for Nicholas, that was exactly what they did. Not a week after Prince Gottfried had parted ways with his brother; a host of Orcs had entered the Kadrin Valley and laid siege to the Dwarven Keep!


They numbered in the thousands. The greenskins had at least for orcs for each of Nicholas’ men. Greatly outnumbered and without the guiding hand of his older brother, Nicholas stood alone in the defense of Karak Kadrin. He would have to count on his wits and the proper use of the fortress defenses to prevail!


He poised his heaviest infantry atop the border walls. This would be the first line of defense the Orcs would have to go through. The Dwarves still diminished in numbers as they were, opted to defend the inner sanctum of the keep should the men of Ostermark fail in holding the outer defenses. Ogres and Halberdiers make their stand atop the stone ramparts, awaiting the oncoming horde. The Orcs reply by sending in their heaviest infantry to take the walls.


What follows is a titanic clash of brute force. Black Orcs meet Cathay Ogres in a vicious maelstrom of muscle, mass and steel. Their strength was equally matched, as was their brutality. But the Orcs were forced to scale the walls on ladders, reaching the ramparts in a slow but steady trickle that immediately put them at a disadvantage to the surrounding Ogres. One by one the Ogres picked them off before they could establish a decent foothold atop the walls.


Despite this short-lived victory, the Orcs still held a great numerical advantage over the imperial soldiers. Both their siege tower and battering ram manage to successfully reach the walls. And unlike the trickle of Orcs coming up from the ladders, the Black Orcs that stormed out of the siege tower washed over the rampart like a flood of blackened steel. They tore through the imperial ranks, breaking the shield wall formation of the Ostermark halberdiers.


As chaos erupted atop the ramparts, a more pressing issue manifested at the gate. The Orcs battered away at the steel grate as searing hot oil poured down on them. Yet they did not flinch. For each orc that burned, another was willing to take his place. At the rate they were going, it didn’t take long for the gate to give way.


The Orcs surged forth like a swarm of locusts, pouring through the gate into the fortress. The few men Nicholas had left to guard the gates were quickly overwhelmed. The situation seemed bleak for the men of Ostermark. Surrounded on all sides, the imperial troops fought a desperate battle for survival. Against such numbers, Nicholas and his troops would have to rely on the sheer discipline of their arms to stymie the green tide of death that washed upon their walls.


One thing Nicholas did take note of was that the Orcs were brutes in every sense of the word. They reveled in battle and yearned for glory almost as much as the men of Ostermark did. But these orcs were blinded by their lust for battle, forgoing their self-awareness and safety for a chance at cracking skulls. As such, hundreds of Orcs piled up around the gateway, impatiently waiting for their comrades to die so they too could get a piece of the action. Nicholas did not waste time in capitalizing upon such a tactical blunder. Oil poured down upon the orcs, searing their green skin black and red. A great plethora of them died painful deaths at the gate.


Back up on the walls, the Black Orcs showed no signs of tiring. Their bloodlust was in full effect and their axes were swinging about in wide arcs with deadly consequences. The imperial troops withered away under the unrelenting assault. Nicholas hastily ordered his Ogres to fight in their stead. They matched up the Black Orcs and kept them in place. With the forward thinking Orcs thinking solely of breaking through the line of Ogres now, their backs were exposed to the imperial archers stationed further down the walls. They took aim and fired away at the juggernauts, brining a great many of them down.


Nicholas Hertwig took a moment to assess the situation. His men had suffered some casualties, but for the most part they were doing well in holding the line. The sight of the grisly slaughter that raged all around began to get the blood pumping in Nicholas’ veins. Like before at Nachtdorf, he felt the urge for battle overcome him once again. He never felt as alive as he did in the heat of battle.
“Come men! We go to kill some mongrels!”


Nicholas and his bodyguard charged into the fray, coming down hard on the orcish flank. He could feel his blade slice through body after body as momentum drove him further into the mob of orcs. Like the goblins before them, the Orcs paid the price of their deadly offense with their general lack of armor and defense. Nicholas couldn’t help but feel like a champion of old as he and his men slew the orcs by the dozen. They charged into the Orcs over and over again, harassing them from every corner, which only further disoriented the already disorganized force.


The tide of battle was finally beginning to turn in favor of the Empire. Heroism ran through the spirits of men as they steadily pushed back the line of Orcs, paving the ground under them with their corpses. The cold winter winds had taken its toll on the besieging greenskins. They had marched for days on end in the cold, and as a result their offence was sluggish and weak in comparison to what it could have been. The horde began to falter.


“Fight on! Let none live lest they come back to take out wives and children in the future!”
Nicholas’ words rallied the troops. Redoubling their efforts, the men of Ostermark pushed forth, taking the battle to the Orcs outside the walls. With no solid leadership to keep them steady, the besiegers fell into a mass rout. They fled for their lives back down the Kadrin Valley, trying to escape the wrath of Ostermark that chased them down.




At the end of it all, Lord Nicholas Hertwig had won a heroic and decisive victory over the Orcs of the World’s Edge Mountains! For the first time, the youngest son of Wolfram could feel the rush of victory and glory course through him. For on that day, it was his determination and skill that had granted them all another few months of peace and prosperity. Let it be a lesson to all fools who would dare test the fury of the elements high up in the World’s Edge Mountains!


But while the winter had brought its own share of problems to the Ostermark, it would pale in comparison to the bloodshed that awaited come spring. Count Wolfram still had fresh memories of barbarian savages laying siege to his capital, and he would not be quick to forget their shameful offense. For years he had planned this great offensive, and soon enough it would come to fruition. All that he needed now was the arrival of spring and with it the start of a new campaigning season.

Chapter XIV: Bloody Summer

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The moon hung out high in the sky in the middle of the night. The Chaos convoy moved under the cover of darkness, scouting out the forests surrounding Wolfenburg. Their reconnaissance was vital to thhheir superiors, who needed solid knowledge on the lay of the land and the enemy troops before committing any forces to an assault on Wolfenburg. The scouts hoped that the cover of night would obscure them from the prying eyes of the empire. Boy, were they wrong.


Arrows rained down on them from every corner in a blistering hail. Dozens were brought down within seconds. Those that did manage to avoid the deadly hail scattered in hopes of escaping alive. They too were cut down by the swordsmen lying in wait in the brush around them. Only the Chaos Knight Commander managed to brush off the ambush and charge his foe head on. His heavy horse chased down the light-armored archers, only to run into a much larger obstruction.


The Ogres that fought under the flag of Ostermark manhandled the unsuspecting Chaos Knights, dismounting them from their armored steeds and ripping them apart like the vicious nomadic warriors they were. Meanwhile, the imperial archers continued to fire relentlessly into the remnants of the scout force. The unarmored marauders abandoned hope and fled, their backs making fine targets for the veteran archers of the Empire. None survived the attack.



It was just another night for Prince Gottfried and his border patrol. For weeks, they had busied themselves securing the borders and dispatching of these nuisances that dared stepping foot into newly recaptured imperial land. All the while, his father Wolfram stayed in Wolfenburg, attempting to maintain the peace. The men of Ostermark had decided to occupy the city rather than sack or exterminate it, making civil unrest a stark reality for Wolfram and his administration. Thankfully, keeping the peace was what the Elector Count excelled in.


Wolfenburg, like Bechafen, was also stricken with plague. This unnatural malaise was deadly if allowed to run rampant, and only further exacerbated the civil unrest within the city walls. The Elector Count had his hands full with the former capital of Ostland. Wolfram could only hope that General Otto Windeck could hold the peace in Bechafen. The general had just fathered another son, Ricco Windeck. Perhaps his newborn son would spur him to redouble his efforts and maintain peace at the capital.

Wolfram paced back and forth within the former residence of the late Elector Count of Ostland. As always, he was in perpetual thought, plotting out the future of the province. Summer was in full effect, but it seemed that the harvest from last year only seemed to worsen. People were now suffering from starvation all throughout the province, and Wolfram could do little to solve it. He was in the middle of a campaign, and to abandon it only to address the needs of his people would be folly. No, Ostermark would have to suffer some in order to achieve the glory it was destined for.


Turning his mind back to the matter at hand, Wolfram began to plot out the next step in the campaign. The Elector Count was sure that the dread general of Khorne Segimer Vardek was still at large, lurking in the forests to the north. Wolfenburg was now established well enough that it would not fall into revolt should Wolfram and the provincial armies mobilize northward. To make sure of this, he had ordered his son to construct a watch post to the south and east of the city to help maintain steady vigil over the dark forests surrounding the city.


Wolfram knew very well that Ostermark could not tarry any longer on this campaign. His men had to move on Ferlangen, their next target, with great haste if they hoped to keep the barbarian horde on the run. If the servants of Khorne weren’t driven out into the ocean by the end of the year, then surely they would be able to regroup and Ostland never again would be safe with those parasites lurking within its forests. Wolfenburg’s proud walls of blackened stone would be perpetually nuanced by the leeches of Khorne. Not wasting any more time, he mobilized the armies of Ostermark and made north toward Ferlangen, where he would rendezvous with his son and provide another joint effort against the Chaos horde.


The journey did not take long, even with the siege train following in tow behind the army. Within days, Wolfram and his troops had come upon Prince Gottfried’s camp, which overlooked the expanse of territory belonging to the town of Ferlangen. Gottfried and his men had been scouting the area, and the news they bore was anything but good. A Khorne General by the name of Eric Slingebeard was the Commander of the troops garrisoned at Ferlangen. His men numbered in the hundreds, and were bolstered by another contingent of warriors under the command of one of his captains, General Etelgis. Worse yet, they had become aware of their position and were on the move to intercept them! Battle would be upon them by dusk!


Count Wolfram could not believe how fast the enemy was upon them. He had barely any time to array his tired troops in proper formation before the red swarm poured over the horizon towards them. They ran down the hill in tight formation, a stark difference from the usual unorganized mob they were. Eric Slingebeard must have taught them well. Wolfram’s disciplined troops stood in formation, at the ready for the bloody melee that was to come while both sides exchanged fierce artillery fire.




Archers were ordered to fire at will at the marauding enemy. Their hands worked at lightning speed, firing volley after volley into the savages. But nothing seemed to stop the momentum and bloodlust which fueled the barbarians forward. They came down the slope with unmatched fury and met the discipline and valor of the imperial troops with their own primal savagery and brutality.


Several of the marauders bypassed the Death’s Heads that held the frontlines and made a beeline toward Wolfram’s archers. They had no time to establish stakes before the battle and thus were left vulnerable against the deadly light infantry. The marauders came down upon them with hatchet, axe, and bloodied steel, hacking the regiment to pieces.


The loss of his archers was a heavy blow to the effectiveness of Wolfram’s fighting force. His men were now facing a two front battle from front and rear with no ranged support. The Count knew that his infantry would not last long against such odds. Something had to be done. Sounding off on his royal battle horn, Wolfram rallied his bodyguard to him and rode out to find a weakpoint in SLingebeard’s army and exploit it.


His plans were foiled almost immediately. Eric Slingebeard and his bodyguard were quick to come down on the Elector Count. In their blitz, they successfully managed to isolate the Count from the rest of his bodyguard. Prince Gottfired could only watch in horror as his father suffered blow after blow from mace, axe, and sword alike. Blood spurted from his arms and shoulders, as deep gashes formed across those areas. His injuries were severe, but still he did not fall. Wolfram fought like a man with a purpose; like a man destined for something greater. He would not die so easily. He cut and sweung his way back toward his bodyguard, his body running on sheer adrenaline and hate toward his enemy.


While father and son fought for their lives, the imperial troops at the frontline wavered. Only the veteran Death’s Head pikemen held a firm line against the Champions of Khorne. Many others of lesser skill and experience fell swiftly to the flurry of slashes which these dual-wielding behemoths brought down upon the men of Ostermark. Blood spilled freely upon the verdant slopes of Ferlangen. The Champions of Khorne reveled in the gore, taking pleasure in painting the ground red. Even Eric Slingebeard himself could not resist the tanatalizing allure of blood and death that permeated from the frontlines, and he too joined his men in battle, rallying the against the waning strength of imperial arms. All seemed lost.


But all was not lost.
“Charge!!” Gottfried and Wolfram cried out simultaneously. The imperial hose thundered down the high slopes from which the barbarians had come down from not long before. The momentum which they gained from such height and speed was overwhelming. Price and Count alike both almost lost balance as their steeds bore down upon the occupied warriors of Khorne, impaling rank after rank with their long steel-tipped lances, and trampling all others who were unfortunate enough not to be instantly skewered.


Wolfram and Gottfried’s cavalry were so effective in their attack that almost every man that was just moments before pressing down on the imperial line towards victory now lay among hundreds of other corpses. Only Eric Slingebeard and his bodyguard remained as a cohesive force against the provincial army of Ostrmark. But now it was they who were surrounded by pressing infantry. The imperial troops close in on them like a clamp, crushing them between walls of spears and halberds. Eric Slingebeard and his captain were one of the last to fall, but they too eventually succumbed to the weight of Wolfram’s men pressing in on them.





Victory was at hand with Eric’s death. The way to Ferlangen was now clear for the men of Ostermark to take. But at what price? Prince Gottfried reared his horse to survey the battlefield. So many had died to achieve this victory. So much blood was shed on this bloody summer day. How could Ostermark continue against this foe that not only greatly outnumbered them, but reveled in death in a way that no worshipper of Morr could possibly compare with? His eyes then set on his father and all other thoughts now left his mind. Count Wolfram was grievously injured, and only now did he begin to feel the effects. He collapsed from his steed in a bloody heap, much to the horror of his troops. Had their ruler really fallen?


Gottfried had to get his father to a place of shelter where he could be attended to. Time was off the essence, and Wolfenburg was too far away for them to return to now, lest they wanted to return with a dead Count. The only option that remained was Ferlangen. It was an uncertain route, but one Gottfried was willing to take if it meant saving his father’s life.
Unfortunately, things only got worse as they marched further north. The plague seemed to stem from Ferlangen, which put Wolfram at even greater risk. Should the plague enter his body, only Sigmar himself would be able to save him then. What they found at town was even worse.
Ferlangen was a den of heresy and iniquity. All sorts of heretics and blasphemers engaged in deplorable acts of demonic sorcery and sexual exploitation. Most of all, the townsfolk’s reverence for blood was without comparison. Ferlangen was culturally lost to the empire. All of these people had the potential to be new recruits for Segimer Vardek’s forces. All of them had to be put to the sword.
The task proved to be easier said than done. The townsfolk were feral and vicious. They did not die without a fight, raking at the imperial troops with their bare hands like the savages they were. The heretics still were harder to bring to justice. In a land so forsaken, so lost to heresy and evil, the blasphemers ruled supreme and no Priest of Sigmar, not even the pious Herman, was able to successfully bring them down. For now the heretics ran rampant.


Ferlangen proved to be a hellhole for the men of Ostermark. Their Count’s health waned, and all around them debauchery and sorcery ran amok. Even when the town was put to the sword, the plague still ran rampant throughout its streets. Rats and flies and all other sorts of animals spread the plague in their own manners. Their infection was inevitable. Within the rotting halls of Ferlangen’s town hall, pestilence sank into the men of Ostermark like a creeping malaise, bringing down the proud strong men. Among the enfeebled were Prince Gottfried…and Count Wolfram. Both ruler and heir now stared down the possibility of death. With the Orcs pressing down on Nicholas at Karak Kadrin, the Royal Family stood the chance of being completely wiped out by the end of the year. The bloody summer would give way to a pestilent autumn and a future of uncertainty.

[Saint Nicholas]

Author: Thokran
Original thread: [COW AAR] The Glory the Ostermark

The Glory of Ostermark Part 4

Chapter XV: The Eroding East

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

While war raged on in the northern reaches of the Empire, another front was also under constant assault. In the east, Nicholas Hertwig found himself fighting tooth and nail to maintain control of the Kadrin Pass. The World’s Edge Mountains were teeming with orcs and goblins who thought nothing of throwing away their lives en masse to retake the Dwarven hold of Karak Kadrin. To meet them in battle when every loss that he suffered was a heavy blow to his waning fighting force would be folly. They numbered in the thousands while, Nicholas commanded no more than three hundred souls tasked with the defense of such a vital pass. Hopelessly outnumbered, Nicholas was forces to resort to less-conventional tactics to keep the greenskins at bay. This is where Theodoric Gerhden came into play.


The Free Company General had enjoyed relative peace for months during his stay in Grenzburg the past year. But with the coming of plague and the graduation of new generals at Bechafen, Theodoric and his Free Company were reassigned to the east. Theodoric was not pleased to say the least. He had waited months for the Count’s plans to come to fruition and for he and his men to play a vital role in the Ostland campaign. Instead, he now fought in the labyrinthine goat trails of the World’s Edge Mountains, much to all their dismay. They were unfamiliar with both the land and the enemy. They lacked the inspiration and desire to fight for a cause they were wrongly entitled to. Their fight lay in the north, not in these dry, steep and dreary mountains.


Alas, this is where they were forced to fight. And fight they would over the coming months. Theodoric and Nicholas engaged in a series of hit and run ambushes to keep the Orcs in disarray and prevent them from massing in a concentrated effort to besiege Karak Kadrin. For the most part their skirmishes had been successful. Never since the early winter months of the year had the Orcs come together as a horde against the imperial garrison guarding the Kadrin Pass. But neither Nicholas nor Theodoric were expecting the blindside coming to them.


Goblins! The fiendish creeps had once again found a way to crawl from the holes they were pushed back into the year before! Nicholas and Theodoric had to abandon their defensive stations across the Kadrin Pass to face this new threat that had manages to sneak behind their undermanned front lines of defense. Even with their armies fighting side by side, Nicholas and Theodoric’s imperial troops were dwarfed by the vast ranks of Goblins that stood before them in the Kadrin Valley.


Dark stormy clouds billowed over the war torn valley as the Goblins made their way across the Pass toward Karak Kadrin. Nicholas watched on as the goblins marched like a herd, paying no heed to his small force of men at his command. He was infuriated at their insolence. He and his men were the defenders of this pass! Who were they to ignore him as they marched upon his fortress to defend!?


Nicholas would teach the scoundrels a lesson in respect. Though his men were few, they were well-versed in the art of killing Greenskins. They were all that stood between the goblins and an undermanned fortress filled with unarmed dwarven citizens and a token force of Slayers. He raised his sword high in the air to signal his men.
“Kill them all!” he shouted. At that moment the skies opened up in a torrential hail of rain and the battle commenced in a stormy fashion.


Together, Theodoric and Nicholas focused their assault on the Goblin rear. The greenskins composed completely of archers and infantry. The Free Company archers fired at will upon their enemy. The heavy downpour of rain greatly affected their accuracy, but it mattered naught since the goblins were so numerous and densely packed that the arrows landed true to their mark, bringing scores of greenskins down. Still the goblins ignored them as little more than a pesky fly.
“Send in the Ogres!” Nicholas’ commands were followed without question and the veteran Ogres of Cathay smashed into the Goblin rear, sending many greenskins flying. At last, the imperial troops had caught their attention. Whether this would be advantageous to their success still remained to be determined.


The goblin war machine now lurched forth toward the imperial troops. The Free Company continued to fire away at the goblin horde, unable to significantly slow them down on their march towards Nicholas and his men. They too were forced to skirmish and retreat as several mobs of greenskins broke off to give chase after the annoyance of archer fire.
The rest of the goblins continued forth. Nicholas called out to his men to stand strong. They braced for impact. But no amount of resoluteness could prepare them for the sheer numbers the goblins boasted. Almost immediately they were engulfed by the vicious green warriors. Their sharpened dirks and daggers had deadly effect when mixed with their small stature and speed in comparison to the larger and slower humans of Ostermark. It was the speed of their blades that brought down the cumbersome Ogres and many of the less-experienced spearmen under Nicholas’ command. As the battle progressed, only Nicholas’ halberdiers and Theodoric’s archers remained as a cohesive fighting force against the goblin swarm.


Surrounded and under constant threat of being overwhelmed, the men of Ostermark fought for their lives against the never ending waves of goblins. The rock of imperial power Nicholas had established with his brother at Karak Kadrin was beginning to erode under constant attack, as was the morale of the troops still alive. They no longer fought for victory or glory, but rather their very survival. Thrust after thrust, jab after jab, slash after block after thrust after slash, they fought on in a chaotic melee struggle.


Yet despite the odds, the men of Ostermark continued to fight. They dug down into the muddy soil and stood their ground, like an impenetrable bulwark. All of them knew that the loss of a comrade could very well mean the loss of their own life. Thus, they never broke rank. They never abandoned a still-standing brother in arms. They fought and fought and fought until they wore themselves into exhaustion, and yet still they continued to fight. Nicholas lost all sense of his surroundings during that epic battle. He no longer could see Theodoric from atop his steed as he too was entrenched in the brawl. He once again felt the blood rush through his veins as his blade hacked away. But his battle frenzy was cut short as one lucky goblin scores a deep gash on the back of his leg, bringing the royal lord down to one knee. Only the intervention of a wayward halberdier prevented Nicholas from facing a grisly death.


At the end of it all, Nicholas remembered little. All he remembered was that the rain gave way, but the downpour still came down. These raindrops were not made of water, but of wooden shafts and steel tips, and through divine intervention these raindrops veered away from him and his men and instead came down and smited his foes. Hundreds died before his eyes as the battle raged on into the night, until at last the goblins retreated back into the mountains from whence they came. The battle was theirs, but again at what price? Many had died, but at least they died a heroic death that contributed to their heroic victory!


What remained of the army grouped together and retreated back into the generally safe confines of Karak Kadrin. They suffered heavy losses, to the point that their numbers could no longer field two armies. Together, the Free Company and the imperial troops only made up a paltry force of three hundred souls. Among the souls lost was Theodoric Gerhden. He had given his life to allow the invaluable Ogres of Cathay a retreat from complete obliteration. That an Ostermark general would give his life to protect a band of mercenaries is a testament to how much the Ogres of Cathay had been integrated into the military arm of the province. Theodoric would be given a proper burial for his courage.


Nicholas had suffered a deep leg wound, but thanks to the skill of his physicians and the selfless bravery of one of his own men, he would live to fight another day. Nicholas summoned his savior to his chambers and was surprised to learn that his life was saved by Helmut de Lannoy. Captain Helmut was one of his favored captains as he too was a disenfranchised son of a biased father. Helmut also possessed a myriad of flaws. Helmut was a veteran of many wars, having previously fought under the banner of Stirland and Averland. This put his loyalty in question; which only further weakened and discredited his already meager resume. A man of little command skill but much dreaded potential, he was the last person normally considered for adoption to the royal family. But these were not normal circumstances. The death of Theodoric meant that Nicholas would need fresh troops and a new commander to help relieve his own beleaguered forces. He wasted no time in sending the request for new troops and the inauguration of Helmut as a man of the hour general towards Bechafen.


The men of Ostermark spent the next few weeks in repose within Karak Kadrin, licking their wounds. But there was no rest for the wicked men damned to protect this barren earth. Summer brought no food, and the men began to starve. Even worse, the goblins served to be the perfect distraction, allowing the orcs to come together under the banner of General Grom. Now it was they who marched upon Karak Kadrin!


Was there no end to these monsters!? Nicholas could not even begin to fathom how these greenskins bred, but the fact still stood that there were a hell of a lot of them in these mountains. For every one that falls under his blade, four more appear in its place. The Greenskin horde was proving to be a worthy challenge to Ostermark’s military might. What they lacked in quality they made up in quantity. The hydra was truly a fearsome foe indeed.


The Orcs arrived at Karak Kadrin with their siege engines already built. They seemed prepared this time, but again they had repeated their own mistakes. Like several months prior, the sisge engines came forth with only a token force of Orcs, while the remainder of the Horde marched far behind, likely to avoid any unnecessary deaths. It was an unnecessary precaution when the odds were so much in their favor, and it gave the men of Ostermark a small shred of hope that they could persevere.


Scattered along the outer wall were all that remained of the Free Company and the Eastern Provincial Army of Ostermark. Only a dozen or so troops manned each rampart. Only the ramparts where the orcs were likely to attack were manned, and thus many other sections of the wall remained empty. Nicholas’ forces were stretched far too thin. Should any part of his paper-thin defensive front collapse, all would be lost.


It did not take long for the Orcs to reach the walls and gate with their ladders, towers and ram. The ram in particular made quick work of steel grate, breaking through it within minutes. Nicholas had no infantry to spare for the gate, and thus made a daring move. Having masses his cavalry at the gate, he charged forth with reckless abandon into the greenskin infantry, bypassing their spears with his heavy infantry and forcing his way out of the fortress. His pistoliers were not as unfortunate, many of the unarmored steeds succumbing to the spears that dug into their flesh. Gunfire went astray at point blank, and the gunners went down guns blazing, taking a good deal of the orcs out with collateral damage.


At the ramparts, Helmut de Lannoy led the halberdiers in the defense of the walls. He coordinated the men to focus in on where the ladders and towers were stationed. The Free Company archers at his command were very effective at picking off the Orcs manning one of the ladders. None of them made it to the wall. The others that did inside the siege towers were met by a stalwart defense of halberds and swords.


Meanwhile, Nicholas and his bodyguard rode out to meet the rest of the Orcs marching up the steep slopes of the Kadrin Pass. His cavalry were vastly outnumbered, but they held the high ground. Nicholas didn’t plan to lose it. He led charge after charge into the front ranks of the marching mob, aiming not so much to kill the greenskin warriors, but use the mass of their armored steeds to throw the orcs off balance. Gravity did the rest of the work as one orc fell back on another, which fell back on another. What began as the slip and fall of a few orcs quickly snowballed into a rolling rock slide of greenskin bodies. The speed at which they went down the rocky slopes of the Pass was sure to inflict heavy casualties.


Nicholas could barely believe that his ideas were coming to fruition in the heat of battle. Not a year ago, he was cramped up in his castle north of Nachtdorf, dreaming up imaginative ways of defeating his enemies. Now said dreams were finally being put to work, with deadly effect. Still, the enemy was not about to cease their assault. Those that survived were quick to recover from their fall and rush up the mountain to meet them. The field battle would continue for many more hours, pushing Nicholas and his few men to the very limits of their physical and mental prowess in battle.
Back at the walls, the struggle for control continued. Both sides were tired. Apparently General Grom had to go through whatever remained of the goblins that were defeated weeks before in order to reach Karak Kadrin. Helmut was thankful for their infighting and hoped to see more of it in the coming months should he survive to the end of the day. But now Grom himself lent his fury to the battle, wielding his battle axe with savage force. The men of Ostermark knew better than to fall so easily to such ferocity. They dodged and weaved the slow wide arcing swings of Grom’s Axe, trying to cut the general down in his prime.
“DIE, SCUM!” Grom bellowed.
Helmut granted him just that as he let out his own battle cry and lunged forth under another axe swing, driving his halberd into Grom’s chest. As he rose from his knees, the shaft dug deeper and deeper until it tore right through the greenskin general’s back. Grom was dead, and with him any chance of victory the orcs were aiming for.


Already they had lost so many, and yet the outer walls still hadn’t been breached. With their general dead, the vanguard of Orcs retreated from the walls and regrouped with the rest of the Horde coming up the slope. Their routing caused the rest of the orcs to fall into panic, and they too began a mass rout. Nicholas could not believe it! He seized the opportunity and rode down the orcs. The momentum of his horse coming down the slopes was almost too much to handle. His blade cut through the greenskins with speed never before witnessed! They tripped and fell over each other and steel ripped across their backs and hooved crushed them into jagged rocks.


Again the men of Ostermark had prevailed. Their heroic victory would go down in the history books as one of the Empire’s famed defenses against the greenskin horde. The defense of the Kadrin Pass would rival that of the Black Fire Pass to the South. Hundreds died, and many more hundreds were captured. All were put to the sword. None could be allowed to fight another day. Victory and glory truly blessed the soldiers of Ostermark!
Still, Nicholas knew very well that he and his men were not invincible. He was tired, battered and broken. His leg wound was reopened and it became difficult to walk. He was in desperate need of reinforcements. The victories could only last for so long. Ostermark was being stretched to its limits. The question now stood: how much more could Ostermark be stretched until it eventually tears apart? How much longer could Ostermark last in this moment of glory?

Chapter XVI: On Edge

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Ostermark now bore the honorary title of being the largest province in all the land. Over the past several years, Wolfram and his generals had almost tripled their territorial holdings. It was hard to believe that at one time, Ostermark was little more than a rural backwater of farmers and peasants. The Empire would forever recognize Elector Count Wolfram as a man of repute and great leadership. But at what price did such expansion come? Now more than ever their enemies encroached upon their territory, and worse yet, most of their newly won territory was riddled with plague!


One for in particular was beginning to lose its patience. Prince Jobst of Sylvania grew impatient with Ostermark’s ambivalence. It had been months since he had proposed to Mordheim an offer of non-aggression in return for the death of Count Marcos. Yet still they had not replied. At Mordheim, Zifrid began to receive cryptic threats from the Vampire Prince. Knowing full well that Ostermark could not afford another front of battle, Zifrid swallowed his pride and called in Wilhelm Otterbach. He was not proud in aiding these monsters, but if it meant securing his borders, then so shall it be done. The fanatical witch hunter was overjoyed at the prospect of purifying the tainted lands of Sylvania of a tyrant like Marcos. He completed his job with deadly effectiveness.


The newly crowned Count Jobst sent his thanks and called his troops back from Ostermark’s border. But although Ostermark may have temporarily been spared of Sylvania’s wrath, there was nothing it could do to escape the decaying malaise of plague in the north. Prince Gottfried was in a constant state of panic as his troops rested in Ferlangen. The place was damned and it needed to be burnt to the ground. But it was the only shelter for miles, and to sleep out in the winter cold would spell doom for his tired troops. Then again, so would remaining idle within these cramped walls. Already his men were beginning to feel the effects of plague, and his father showed no signs of getting better. The plague continued to seep into his body, eating away at it like termite on wood.
It was during this time that he received the report from his brother of the situation in the east. Things there were also grim. He was glad to hear that Nicholas was still alive albeit worse for the wear. Still, the numbers worried him. Gottfried made sure that his brother would receive reinforcements from Nagenhof soon.
Nicholas other request was now read. It seemed his brother wished to promote Helmut de Lannoy as a royal general of the provincial army. Gottfried was unsure of this. Helmut was a man of mixed loyalties, having fought in other provinces prior to his service under Ostermark. Yet he thought back to brave Bronzino, a foreigner from Tilea, who was more of a patriot to Ostermark than half of the generals he knew! Indeed, perhaps Helmut’s loyalties could be forged in the bond for survival against those damned greenskins. Not to mention Theodoric’s death, which was a harsh blow to take. Nicholas would need someone he could trust up in the Kadrin Pass.


Now the issue came about how to approve him. Gottfried was entrenched in a warzone. He had no time to write up a letter of recommendation to the Council for his general-hood. No, it would have to be made immediately official. And so, Gottfried sent to Bechafen the formal adoption of Helmut de Lannoy as his son. It was an unexpected move and a risky one as well. But Gottfried didn’t have many choices, and he had many plans with this Helmut for the future of the province. He couldn’t help but realize how much he plotted like his father.
Count Wolfram lay comatose in his bed, and Gottfried felt useless to aid him. At this point he was desperate. There had to be a cure for this pestilence! It was at this point that one of his advisors approached him with some news that could very well change their fortunes.
“Beastmen!? Are you sure?” Gottfried was incredulous, but his advisor seemed sure himself.
“Yes, milord. The beastmen show an astounding resistance to the plague. Perhaps they have a cure or some sort of humor that can speed up our lord’s recovery. At the very least it should increase his resistance to his ailing symptoms.”
It was a long shot. The Beastmen were just that – beasts: savage, growling animals that cared in little more than preying on the weak for an easy feast. If left alone these feral animals would normally leave the men of Ostermark alone. But now it was Gottfried who was considering the thought of encroaching upon their territory. Such an attack could cost the lives of many of his beleaguered troops. But ultimately, iy was a risk he was willing to take if it meant bringing his father a swift recovery. Gottfried sighed heavily before turning to his advisors and captains.
“Rally the troops. We march on their camp in search of a remedy to this malaise.”
No one was enthusiastic about marching out into the cold winter, much less into a den of feces and rotting meat that the beastmen surely made their home in. The mean were weak and tired, their joints stiff from cold and their reactions dulled by the enfeebling plague. Still, they marched with purpose. For now, their Count’s life lay in their hands. Success could very well determine if their great leader would live to see the warmth of spring. Gottfried’s scouts had pinpointed the location of the enemy camp the day before, and so it did not take long for the Prince’s troops to come across the camp. As expected, it was a festering pit of feces and gore. The flea-ridden beats sure liked to wallow in their own excrement.


Their leader was an exceptionally large bestigor known as Azrog. Gottfried was sure that his rank was only granted to him for his size and not his skill in battle. Not wanting to spend any more time out in the dreary cold then needed, Gottfried ordered his battering ram forth. These monsters now faced imperial wrath upon their shoddy palisades.


As expected, the sorry excuse for walls did not take long to crack under pressure. The gates gave way after several swings, and in their place stood a veritable ocean of beastmen to greet them. It seemed Azrog was pleased to throw in his lightest fodder into the fray, with the miniscule ungors manning the frontlines, followed shortly after by the moderate-sized gors, and finally the heavily armored bestigors. Gottfried cared little. Azrog and his cronies were little more than trapped animals, lashing out in desperation. They stood no chance against the strength and discipline of the imperial troops, no matter how tired or sick they may be. Gottfried ordered the bulk of his infantry forth to engage the enemy at the gates. Let the butchery commence.


And indeed, the battle was less of a battle and more of a butchery. Prince Gottfried’s veteran halberdiers tore through the ungors like a grinding machine. Unarmored and armed only with the most basic of weaponry, Azrog’s gors and ungors stood no chance against the heavily armored men of Ostermark. Gottfried’s men tore through the ranks until all that remained were the bestigor elites who protected Azrog.


In contrast to the other beast men, the bestigors a challenge to the imperial troops. They wore thick scraps metal for armor and wielded freakishly large axes. They charged into the fray and swung away like the frenzied beasts they were. It took the already exhausted halberdiers completely off-guard. Many good men died that day, more so due to the effects of plague and cold rather than battle skill. Thankfully, all that remained of the camp garrison were the bestigors. Prince Gottfried was able to easily maneuver through the encampment and flank what remained of the bestigors. His cavalry charge tore into the exposed flanks of Azrog and his men, running them through like a hot knife through butter. Azrog in particular met a gruesome fate, taking the brunt of the sharp end of an imperial lance straight to the face, leaving little left to recognize him by other than his size. With his death, victory was secured.


“Ransack this place! These mongrels must have something that makes them resistant to this pestilence!” Gottfried’s troops summarily pillaged the place, looking for some sort of chemicals or humors rather than gold and loot. They found nothing. His best physicians tried to make best of the materials within the camp, but their efforts were in vain. Without the presence of a gor bray-shaman, who held control of the winds of magic, none of the ingredients found could be put to any restorative use. Gottfried was dismayed and downtrodden. He had given up the lives of over a hundred of his men for nothing. This battle was little more than a wild goose hunt. He cursed aloud at his own foolishery and desperation. He had failed his father. Wolfram’s life now lay in the hands of Sigmar and fate.


Thankfully, the grim tidings of the northern front were not mirrored back in the east. For the first time in months, Karak Kadrin enjoyed a small respite of peace. A weary Nicholas Hertwig felt rejuvenated upon hearing his brother’s answer. He may not have been able to see eye to eye with his father, but in his brother he could always confide his trust. Alas, he pitied the sorry situation of his northern campaigning, but he could feel no remorse for his dying father. ‘Good riddance.’ He thought. He had other things to occupy his time, now – such as Helmut’s marriage celebrations.


The wedding was a humble affair within the halls of Karak Kadrin, but other news soon overshadowed the news of Helmut’s marriage: he was now a royal member! Helmut’s adoption into the royal family was a complete shock the province; even more so because it was Prince Gottfried who adopted him. The Prince had never even met with Helmut. While such news spawned some doubt upon the royal administration, many others reveled at the splendid news. The people of Karak Kadrin in particular celebrated more than anyone else, for it was they who would receive another capable general to help hold the line against the treacherous green skins that lurk the mountains.
Nicholas himself had mixed feelings about the issue. He had hoped that Gottfried had granted him permission to adopt Helmut rather than have the Prince adopt the man himself. In the long-term, his stake at the crown was now in peril to a man that was now the son of the Prince. Moreover, by having a royal member directly under his patronage, Gottfried further bolstered his already significant political power. Nicholas hoped dirty politics wouldn’t stifle Ostermark’s success – the province was already being stretched to its limits!
Regardless of the political implications behind the adoption, Nicholas was glad to have another capable field commander out in the frontier with him. Helmut would take command over the remnants of Theodoric’s Free Company along with several of the new recruits from Nagenhof in manning the fortress garrison. Nicholas on the other hand would take the remnant of his own army and link them up with the new infantry regiments being churned out daily from Nagenhof and command the field army. It would be his job to keep Karak Kadrin free from siege as long as he possibly could.
The green skins didn’t take long to attack. Not a week after taking to the field, scouts reported to Nicholas of a Night Goblin vanguard sneaking through the mountain passes. Nicholas sought out to destroy them. His scouts led the army to the vanguard and soon learned that the leader of the vanguard was General Bigsleepa, the same general whose forces had taken Theodoric’s life not several months before.


Nicholas and his men came upon a high cliff that overlooked Bigsleepa’s position. He would take pleasure in crushing this dastardly fiend. A clear winter day assured that his men wouldn’t suffer from the blistering cold of the all-too common snowstorms that racked the World’s Edge Mountains during the winter months.


Nicholas ordered his pistoliers to harass Bigsleepa’s vanguard, thinking that all was going according to plan. But all was not well. Little to Nicholas’ knowing, he and his men had just positioned themselves between the vanguard of a formidable goblin army and a very high precipice. Nicholas heard the tremble of footsteps and turned around to gaze upon a terrifying sight. Legions of goblins marched towards them, intent on pushing them off the cliff!


“Sigmar preserve us!” he cried out as he made a hasty reformation of his infantry line. His halberdiers and Death’s Head pike men moved up off the ledge to form the front line, whilst his great sword heavy infantry manned the flanks. In the rear, his Free Company Archers took position right on the ledge, where they would fire at will upon the enemy. In comparison to the numbers the goblins boasted, his line was pitiful. But it would have to make do, lest they wanted to their deaths. The goblins surged forth like a tidal wave and crashed into Nicholas’ men in a thunderous clash!


The green skins swarmed the imperial infantry line, using their sheer numbers to push them back. Nicholas and his cavalry were hard-pressed to escape the vicious melee. At last they made their way up a slope where they took vantage of the battle at hand. All around, the men of Ostermark fought for their lives. For many, this was their first taste of battle. For some of them, it would also be their last. No man was left idle; each one fought frantically to hold the line against the ever persistent goblins.



The battle raged on for hours. Time and time again Nicholas and his cavalry threw themselves into the fray, picking off and harassing the enemy flanks. Time and time again the Free Company archers released their shafts into the enemy rear. Time and time again the valorous infantry blocked, parried, and swung away so as to maintain their footing on the precipice. It was a bloody affair, but one that turned in Ostermark’s favor. So many of Nicholas men were seriously injured from the myriad of wounds they sustained from fighting wave after wave of goblins. Their mettle was tested to the fullest against the short but vicious fiends. But in the end, victory was at hand. Like so many times before, the unorganized mob of goblins broke rank upon throwing enough of their lives away, and retreated in a full rout from Nicholas and his men.


At the end of the day, Nicholas could barely believe how fortunate he had been this year. Time and again he had thwarted off certain defeats and had defied impossible odds. Still he stood alice and well. His leg was still healing, but the recovery was coming along well. Sure he was scathed in the marks of perpetual war, but he and his veterans still drank from the goblet of success. He could scarcely remember the idle days back at his castle and at Nachtdorf. Finally, he had found his calling and his service to the empire. Here in these dreary mountains, atop the bleak peaks of the World’s Edge Mountains, he was being forged in the flames of battle into an imperial war machine. Here his presence would be etched into eternity. He could only thank Sigmar for the blessings bestowed upon him. And yet despite his gratitude, he wished nothing of the sort toward his father in Ferlangen. May Sigmar forsake his soul and abandon him in his time of need, for he is neither worthy of praise nor of the glory he dreams so much about.


But alas, Sigmar was with Wolfram. Back at Ferlangen, Herman the Unorthodox and Karl the Corrupt looked on as Wolfram turned restlessly in his sleep. For days they had been in intense prayer and meditation, attempting to focus their healing powers to restore the Count’s ailing health. Things looked grim, until all of a sudden the Count shot up from bed in a cold sweat, wide alert! The priests were shocked: it was the first time he had arisen since arriving at Ferlangen.
“Milord!” Herman exclaimed as he came to his side. “Are you okay?”
“WHERE IS HE!?” Wolfram demanded. Both priests looked perplexed.
“Who, your majesty?”
“That monster! I know he’s here somewhere! He’s the one who did this! He’s the one who needs to pay!” Whatever lucid dream Wolfram had just experienced must have been extremely vivid. All Wolfram could see was excessive amounts of blood and smoke all around him and the horrific silhouette of the man that had now haunted him for years: the man who was culpable for all the tragedy that had occurred over the past several months.
“I’m sorry, my great Count, but I have little knowledge of who you’re talking about.” Herman was sympathetic to the panicked Count. He was likely suffering from delusions and hallucinations, a sure side effect of the sickness that gripped him. But Count Wolfram was incensed. He was convinced of the source of his misery. He rose up with great difficulty and searched for his sword.
“Milord! You shouldn’t be doing that! I implore you to rest!” Herman continued to plead. Karl lay back and continued to watch with mild amusement the ravings of a madman. But Wolfram was no mad man. He was a man possessed with new purpose and resolve. Now more than ever his goal was clear. His epiphany, his revelations would be fulfilled. At last, the answer was clear – the source of their misery finally exposed. His voice boomed and resonated throughout all of Ferlangen.


“SEGIMER VARDEK! We must find Segimer Vardek!”

Chapter XVII: In Search of Segimer Vardek

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Prince Gottfried was in disbelief upon his return to Ferlangen. Could it possibly be? There before his very eyes stood his once-ailing father, now miraculously cured of the symptoms that once brought the great Count to the brink of death. Gottfried didn’t know whether to remain paralyzed in shock or erupt in jubilance. His father cut off any response the Prince of Ostermark was about to make.

“You shame me with your absence!”
Gottfried looked utterly startled. Did his father not know the intentions upon which he set out to war with?
“What are you doing throwing the lives of our men away in a wild goose chase for some concoction that would have likely finished me off!?” Gottfried remained silent in shock, unable to keep up with the Count’s frenzied ranting. Some of the things he said did sink in: it was foolish of him to seek war in winter. It was foolish of him to pick a fight with the local beastmen population. He had constantly reminded himself on the journey back to Ferlangen how his efforts to save his father were in vain. Now more than ever, that thought resonated loud and clear in his head as his father scolded him with renewed vigor.

“But how did you get better?” Gottfried thought aloud, which finally interrupted the old man’s banter. Wolfram took a pause. How did he recover from his ailments? He had no recollection of his suffering. All he could remember was the burning image of Segimer Vardek forever branded into his present thoughts.
“Divine will. Sigmar himself is with me, and with this campaign. It matters not how I recovered, but what we do to sieze this blessing and use it to our advantage to capitalize on the weakness or our enemies!” Gottfried maintained his composure, but rolled his eyes inwardly. Again, his father ranted about divine intervention. While Gottfried may have learned to place some faith in Sigmar and Morr through constant exposure to the chapel of Grenzburg and the Riders of Morr, he still did not believe that faith alone healed his father to full health. And now he was spouting off again about their next move. Chasing Segimer Vardek in the winter cold could very well be just as disastrous, if not moreso, than the costly trip into beastmen territory.
“Segimer Vardek is our top priority now, Gottfried. Already I have Herman, Karl and the other clergy scouring the northern wastes in search of this criminal. And when we find him, we will crush him under our mighty hammer of justice!” his eyes narrowed as he turned his full attention to his prattling son. “I pray you don’t let your foolish tendencies overtake your decisions again. I already have one failure of a son. I don’t need another.”


Gottfried remained silent. Surely his mistake didn’t warrant this amount of punishment. Perhaps the disease left some residual effects upon the aging Count. He knew his father to be stern, strict, and politically ruthless – but never to be as erratic, prone to rage, and incensed with war as he was now. Wolfram’s obsession with Segimer Vardek – what the Count would call divine possession – was risky business altogether. The troops were depleted from war, their movements slowed by the winter cold and their wits dulled by the festering rot that permeated around them. It was the harshest winter any of them faced.

But there was little to be done about it. His father was sure of himself more than ever now that Segimer Vardek was their immediate priority, and he was willing to sacrifice any number of men to achieve that goal. Gottfried could barely stand for the hypocrisy: he too had committed his troops to save Wolfram at any cost, and in return all he received was a harsh remanding. Yet here he goes and does the same and instead he is praised by the very men he plans to sacrifice as fodder to this reveler of blood. But alas, such was the power of an Elector Count. The decision was made. The campaign would make a northern detour in search of Segimer Vardek. The man that had eluded Wolfram’s grasp for years now would soon pay for his crimes!


The council seemed to be in accord with the Count’s wishes. They declared Segimer Vardek an enemy of the state, and recalled their favored Witch Hunter Wilhelm Otterbach from his station in Nachtdorf. They had a new mission for the fabled vampire-slayer: eliminate Segimer Vardek. But Count Wolfram was going to make sure that his blade would not be needed. Vardek was his target, and it would be he alone that would drive the killing blow into that soulless bastard.
At last, after many weeks of scouring the land, his scouts had come up with something. Segimer Vardek was leading a sizeable army through the tundra wastes bordering Kislev. At once he began mobilizing the troops. He cared not how tired or rested they may have been. All of them were prepared for the coming battle. All that mattered now was that Segimer Vardek die a painful death for all the atrocities he has committed.


Wolfram led the main army against Segimer Vardek whilst Gottfried trailed behind with the depleted cavalry. The men of Ostermark were all veterans of many battles and campaigns, but their ranks were depleted. They stood against Segimer’s Champions of Khorne, veterans in their own right of many incursions into Empire lands, but with more of them left around to outnumber Wolfram’s infantry. They prided themselves in bloodshed and full offensive force. Still, their reckless nature left their defenses something to be desired. It is there where Wolfram would have to capitalize in order to bring about success. As such, he positioned his infantry in a defensive bulwark pressed against an abandoned Kislev estate. His archers would be at the nucleus of his defensive line. There, the forces of Khorne would have to break if they held any hope for achieving victory.


Segimer Vardek was not like the foolish generals that Wolfram and Gottfried had faced in their previous battles, however. Segimer was the same general who single-handedly planned the fall of Bechafen years before. Had the Free Company not stalled his approach, Bechafen would surely not be the Empire’s “Jewel of the East”. This man was dangerous. And more so, he was also very cunning and cruel. Segimer was more than happy to allow Wolfram to form his defensive position. He brought forth his axe-throwing marauders to harass the imperial infantry while the rest of his men readied to fell the imperial army in one fel shot.

Count Wolfram’s eyes widened in horror at the sight of the Hellcannon that slowly bore forth toward his army. One shot from that cannon could very well spell the end of his campaign. Such a threat had to be neutralized! It wouldn’t be easy, though. All of Segimer’s heavy cavalry were committed to the defense of the Hellcannon. With his son still miles away from the battlefield, the Count would have to rely on his own bodyguard to deny that cannon any opportunity to fire upon his men. He brazenly charged forth out from the flanks, seeking to round about behind the enemy lines and come in hard with a beeline charge that sought to penetrate Segimer’s cavalry and cut down the Hellcannon operators all in one fell swoop. Vardek in turn ordered the counter charge. His Chaos Knights surged forth like toward the Count, seeking to engulf the leader of Ostermark in their shadowy embrace.


The resulting impact was tremendous. The clash of steel and the wild neighing or horses deafened the battlefield as Count Wolfram barreled his way toward the Hellcannon. Once again, he endured a myriad of wounds from the blade storm he raced through. His heavy plate was all that saved him from being beheaded, and his adrenaline was all that kept him fighting on. Many of his bodyguards were not as fortunate. Of the thirty or so bodyguards that rode with him, only twelve survived that initial charge, and only four remained after he and his men had successfully cut down the Chaos dwarves manning the piece of artillery. Having suffered heavy losses to the hammer of his army, the Count was forced to retreat away from the battlefield, in hopes of regrouping with Gottfried’s cavalry. The anvil of his army now stood alone against the full might of Segimer’s barbarians.

The imperial archers went to work at cutting down the axe-throwers once they got in range. The marauders showed a great resilience to pain. Arrow after arrow landed into their chest, legs, and arms, and yet still they did not die. Worse yet, the army was forced to watch their leader barely scrape through a suicidal charge that all but ruined the army’s offensive capabilities. Their only hope of success now was to wear out the enemy: an unlikely scenario given the superior numbers the enemy possessed. Nonetheless, the Ogres of Cathay were deployed to personally take care of the axe throwers.


They did not last long. The Ogres left themselves vulnerable when they charged forth to engage the axe-throwers. Segimer took advantage of this vulnerability, sending forth the full weight of his cavalry against the Ogres now that Wolfram’s cavalry were dealt with. The whole army now surged forth like a tidal wave toward the men of Ostermark with full intent to completely overwhelm their defensive line.
The Ogres were utterly destroyed by the enemy cavalry. Not a single one survived the onslaught. But they did not die without a fight. The Ogres had spent their whole lives fighting for a moment like this. In their glorious last stand, they butchered away in their dying breaths and sword, mace and lance ripped through their bodies. In their final hurrah, the Ogres took down many of the black horses that sought to trample them. Segimer Vardek survived the charge with only half of his cavalry, and fell back with them to the flanks, hoping to find a weak point in the Ostermark defense to exploit. He found none.
But although their sacrifice softened the inevitable blow, it did not stop the war machine that charged toward them at full speed. The men of Ostermark braced themselves for impact against the frenzied Champions of Khorne, who sprinted forth to meet them in battle. The true hell storm was now upon them!


The battle was the fiercest one they had yet experienced. The Champions of Khorne were warriors of a caliber above their own. Their ferocity was morale-shattering, and their blows life-ending. Over the next several hours, the defensive line withered and imploded in on itself as Segimer Vardek pressed in on all sides. Soon enough, the imperial gunners found themselves firing away at the enemy at point-blank range, and the archers found themselves reinforcing the infantry at the frontlines.


The Death’s Head pike men led the primary defense of the frontline. It was they who fought hardest against the Champions of Khorne. Their years of experience, some of which included the defense of Bechafen against Segimer Vardek years before, helped turn the tide against the blood thirst which the savages displayed in exemplary force. They fought defensively, seeking to counter upon any weakness the Champions exposed. Many of the dual-wielding savages fell to the well-aimed pike thrusts of these soldiers, imperial champions in their own right.


Moreover, it was the Death’s Head pike men who also coordinated the recovery of the wounded. As the battle progressed, many imperial soldiers were grievously wounded, but not outright killed. These men were dragged back into the safety of the abandoned estate, where field medics worked frantically to keep them alive. They could no longer fight on this day, but that did not mean that they couldn’t be of use in future campaign battles. However, their absence from the battle at hand only further exacerbated the already weakened defensive line.


The battle dragged on in tiring fashion. The men of Ostermark were utterly exhausted, their morale broken. At long last, the defensive line collapsed and the remaining troops fell in on each other in schiltrom formation, surrounded on all sides. There they planned to make their last stand against what remained of Segimer’s men. No surrender, no compromise. Every one of them would fight to death.


But that would not be necessary.
“Ride on to GLORY!!”

Gottfried’s battle cry resonated across the empty plains of Kislev, piercing through the wind’s icy howl. His voice cut through the deafening roar of battle and gave the men of Ostermark hope. They fought with renewed vigor as his voice gave way to the trembling roar of hooves. The hammer had finally arrived to strike down upon the anvil. Prince Gottfried’s cavalry bore down on Segimer Vardek, tearing through their rear lines with great momentum and speed.


Scythes and blades of all swords cut into the exposed rear of the Khorne infantry horde, mowing down droves of marauders and barbarians alike. Even the Champions of Khorne were felled in the unrelenting assault. Within moments the tide of battle swung in Ostermark’s favor. Victory was once again within grasp.
Segimer Vardek could not believe his misfortune. Yet again, as in Bechafen, his plans had been foiled. His summary slaughter of Wolfram’s men was interrupted by that prodigal son of his. Segimer would see to it that the prodigal son would not survive to receive the glory he so desperately sought. The Khorne general rode through the chaos of battle to meet the Prince in open combat.

The young prince turned out to be a true challenge, a product of many years of discipline and training within the Empire’s best military academies. But no amount of training could trump over the experience, and more importantly, the unfairness with which Segimer fought. Axe met blade in a ritual dance of steel, composed of parries, thrusts, and arcing swings from every angle imaginable.
Gottfried could barely keep up with this behemoth. Segimer outclassed him in almost every aspect. The Khorne general fought with unnatural strength, speed, and cruelty. Gottfried was brought to the ground as his horse’s legs were cut from beneath him. He rolled around in the bloodied muck of snow and gore to dodge the storm of axes that came swinging down upon him. Segimer was absolutely relentless in his assault. He came in time and again for the killing blow without pause or hesitation. Gottfried finally got to his knees, only to eat a face full of snow that Segimer kicked into his face, followed shortly by a swift kick to the chin, knocking the prince back down onto the ground. Bloodied and broken, Gottfried was helpess to defend himself against the Khorne general, who came down for the kill. Gottfried closed his eyes shut and accepted his fate, bracing himself for the axe that would split his head in two and end his life.

But it did not come. For another had come to take his place in the fighting. Gottfried opened his eyes to gaze upon his wounded father swinging away at Segimer Vardek’s side. The Khorne general cried out in agony as the Count’s blade dug deep through his armor and into his flesh. Wolfram’s blade cut to the bone, maiming the general’s right arm. Though his wounds had drained much of his blood and energy, Wolfram still fought with a ferocity rarely seen by any among the empire. It was fanatical zeal that fueled him on, not so much to save his son as to bring about an end to the Khorne general’s miserable excuse of a life.

“Die, you senile fool!” Segimer bellowed in guttural rage, spinning around to backhand the Elector Count with the shaft of his axe. The shaft broke the old man’s face, knocking the Count outcold with a shattered nose. Segimer Vardek now turned to finish the wounded Count, and Gottfried finally saw his opportunity. He kicked his leg up and his steel-toed greave smashed into the general’s crotch, causing him to clutch over in pain. As he did, Gottfried, swept out Segimer’s feet from under him. Segimer Vardek fell back on top of the Prince and was thus impaled by Gottfried’s blade. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, but what little life remained in him quickly escaped as the Prince of Ostermark twisted his blade through the wretched bastard’s heart.

Segimer Vardek was finally dead.

As Gottfried forced himself up from under Segimer’s corpse, he took a note of his surroundings. The battle was beginning to wane, though individual battles still raged across some parts of the battlefield. He helped raise his unconscious father back up on his feet and together trudged toward the abandoned estate that now served as the army’s makeshift infirmary. Without Segimer Vardek to lead them, the followers of Khorne lost all sense of cohesion and began to fall apart. What little remained of Wolfram’s standing infantry now stood alone among a sea of corpses. Victory was earned at a high price, all for the whim of Ostermark’s great Elector Count.


There was some contest among the soldiers about whether the victory was really that, or more of a draw. Count Wolfram personally argued that the general lack of high casualties due to the valor and wit of the Death’s Head pike warranted the battle a victory in itself. Never before had the Empire lost so few to so many Chaos warriors. Many were injured, maimed, and otherwise unable to fight on, but they survived nonetheless. And most importantly, they had prevailed in their mission. Segimer Vardek was dead. Wilhelm Otterbach’s services would not be needed out in the bleak and dreary wastes of the winter tundra.


Gottfried and Wolfram spent the rest of the winter months within the abandoned estate. Within they found stores of food, water, and medical supplies that would last him and his men until the coming of spring. As much as Wolfram yearned to continue marching on, he was tied down to the estate by necessity, as were all the other injured soldiers. They needed to regain their strength and energy for the coming final push against the Khorne invasion. More importantly, they needed reinforcements. Many of the wounded could no longer fight, having lost one limb or another over the course of the battle. They were sent back to join their families in early retirement within the cramped, plague-addled streets of Bechafen. Alas, being back at home was far better than staying in the freezing hell they were at now: many who left were glad to have paid a limb to escape such miserable conditions.

Prince Gottfried had sent word to General Otto Windeck to send reinforcements from Bechafen. Windeck had amassed a large force of reserves for the situation, and sent them west toward Ferlangen. At their head was the young governor of Grenzburg, Bernhard Ritter. He would escort the troops to Ferlangen before taking station of governance over the city of Wolfenburg, which was in dire need of public order control.


The Prince was pleased to hear the news. He would have preferred Windeck himself to make haste toward Ferlangen, but understood Otto’s need to stay in Bechafen, lest the people begin to riot. Bernhard was better than no one, and such a journey could prove to test the young governor’s wits out in the open field. Gottfried was curious to see the results of his father’s intense academy training.

He turned to his father to see him lying in bed in deep slumber. He had yet again suffered grievous wounds to arms and chest, and also had a broken nose to add to all of that. Worse yet, now that Segimer Vardek was dead, his father’s zeal for glory seemed to have left him, allowing the effects of plague take effect again. By this point, everyone in the arm was infested with some degree of pestilence. Even Gottfried himself was forced to shrug off the lingering feebleness in his joints. But the disease seemed to have other effects on the Count. His mind was not what it was before embarking on this cursed campaign. Sure, he continued to plot. But his plotting was no longer calculated. It was frantic, and full of passion and emotion that skewed his judgments. The Count could no longer be soundly trusted with the leadership of the province. It pained Gottfried to distrust his father so, but he knew well that in precarious times as these, well-thought out decisions would win the day, not the capricious spur of the moment commands his father had displayed since his health was restored.


By killing Segimer Vardek, the League of Ostermark had finally cut off the head of the bloodied serpent that had once writhed its way to the very walls of Bechafen, taking all of Ostland in the process. Now more than ever, the men of Ostermark were at the precipice of achieving final victory over the forces of Khorne by driving them out of imperial lands. The armies of Khorne now clung to their last bastion in imperial territory. They took up defensive positions in and all around the initial beachhead upon which they first stormed the land. Erengrad was originally Kislev’s main port before the initial Chaos Storm. Now it stood as the lion’s den of debauchery and vile evil. This former port, now the enemy’s headquarters, was all that stood between Ostermark and the history books. If Erengrad were to fall in their hands, then Ostermark would forever be etched into eternity as the Empire’s greatest defender of glory!

Chapter XVIII: The Final Stretch

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Father and son sighed in unison as they led their tired troops through snowy boughs north of Ferlangen. In the distance, they could see a bridge. Crossing that bridge would bring them to the fables port of Erengrad and to their final destination in this bloody campaign.
The turn of the year came and went, and winter still reigned across the realm for at least another month before it would begin to give way to spring. Normally this would be a time of peace for the Empire, who refrain their military campaigns to the warmer months of the year. But such was not the case for the League of Ostermark. Winter offered no respite from war for these hardened veterans of combat; especially not now, when they were so close to achieving victory. The enemy now only had the city of Erengrad to call their own, and Count Wolfram would see to it that their last hold on imperial lands would be forcefully ripped from their dead hands. Victory was in sight, and Ostermark would achieve it at any cost!


That cost was beginning to reveal itself back on the homefront. Not long after Bernhard’s departure, the townsfolk of Grenzburg, sick of war and plague, revolted in open rioting. Much chaos ensued and the small garrison stationed there was unable to do anything to quell the riots. Alas, that would be an issue General Windeck would have to deal with from Bechafen. Grenzburg’s rioting was a small price to pay for the promised reinforcements making the hard trip north. Wolfram and Gottfried made haste from their camp towards Erengrad, reaching the city limits within the week. Both were quite surprised by the lack of enemy resistance on the journey along. Alas, they paid it no mind and kept a wary eye as they prepared the siege weapons necessary to storm the city.


Unfortunately for them, reinforcements would not come in time. Reports flooded in from Ferlangen that the Khorne savages were on the offensive again, and that they marched on the town! Bernhard Ritter and the reinforcements he led north were no faced with a red legion hell-bent on destroying anything in their path. Together with the town garrison of Ferlangen, Bernhard and his men would have to stop this red tide before it is allowed to spread its death and destruction any further into Ostermark’s provincial holdings.


The sun was high in the clear blue sky, and the snow was fresh from the night before. It was perfect fighting conditions for both sides, but it was the Khorne forces that held the territorial advantage. The savages, led by a particularly cruel general known as Geyrnrik, held the high ground. They maintained a defensive position near their siege weaponry, allowing the Ostermark troops to tire themselves out on the high slopes leading to their position.


Bernard decided to march forth in standard formation, with his heavy line of spearmen at the center, and his lighter infantry swordsmen at the flanks. Geyrnrik took pleasure in knowing that he had superior troops in terms of armor and weaponry, and likely skill as well. These reinforcements were fresh recruits. They would bathe in their blood by the day’s end. Once they were close enough, he orders his own heavy infantry to engage. The Chaos Knights took to the flanks to cut down the imperial swordsmen while the dreaded Champions of Khorne engaged the main spear line.




Suffice to say, Bernhard was not prepared for the fighting prowess of these barbarians. They ripped through his men with ease, slaughtering them to pieces. Those that did survive the initial onslaught were hard pressed to stay alive, fighting frantically to avoid the wide arcing blows that aimed to tear off their heads. Bernhard was trained by the very best at Bechafen’s Royal Academy, but he had never seen live combat before: he never expected it to be so…visceral.


Something Bernhard did have in his favor was sheer manpower. They may not have been the most experienced soldiers, but their numbers did count for something. The battle wore on throughout the day, as Bernhard always had someone to replace any of his casualties. Soon enough Geyrnrik’s Champions began to tire and grow sluggish in their assault.


Bernhard saw his opportunity. He blew on his war horn to rally his fresh reserves at the rear of his line, and they surged forth, pushing the beleaguered servants of Chaos back. Though this manner, Bernhard secured himself victory. Geyrnrik was too short-righted to find a counter and continued to press his men forward to their deaths. Eventually, Geyrnrik too fell alongside his champions to Bernhard’s wave of soldiers. It was a costly victory, the warriors of Khorne having taken two lives for each one of their own, but it was a victory nonetheless.


The news brought mixed reactions among the veterans besieging Erengrad. Count Wolfram was content that Bernhard and his men had stopped Geyrnrik in his tracks before he was able to deal any substantial damage. Gottfried on the other was not pleased. His men had suffered in the cold for months now. Fighting these savage raiders had become a daily routine for them. They were all tired and eagerly looking forward to the arrival of reinforcements. Most of those reinforcements were now dead, all because Bernhard’s training was not up to par in live combat.
“So much for your top of the line training, father.” Gottfried scoffed in quiet disgust. He didn’t dare say this to his father’s face, as the Elector Count was unstable enough from the weary effects of plague and war. Still, it took all of his patience to control the rage the burned within him. He was normally much more level-headed. But the effects of cold weather and the ever-present pestilence that lingered about him and his men was beginning to take its toll. He wanted more than anything else for spring to come and for this campaign to finally be over.
Alas, they were now at the final stretch. The loss of the reinforcements assured Gottfried that they would have one less army to deal with when the siege was at hand. They would have to go it alone without reinforcements, but morale was still high among the troops. They were on the precipice of success. All that remained of these savage mongrels now lay within the ancient walls of Erengrad.
Or so they thought. The sun had not yet risen when they were attacked! It seemed the followers of Khorne had one last trick up their sleeve. The city garrison had sallied out to meet them in battle! Their forces marched on Gottfried’s men! Worse yet, another army emerged from the forests to the north, bearing down on Wolfram’s position several hundred yards away. These men were led by Khorne’s last surviving general in imperial lands, Torarin Eygod.


A veteran of many slaughters, his skill in commanding his butchers was quite impressive and comparative to the way father and son led their own troops. Together, the forces of Khorne matched the men of Ostermark almost equally. This final battle would not be won by numbers, but by bravery and skill.
The battle commenced at the first sight of light. The garrison warriors, under command of a General Lucas, brought force their axe throwing marauders to harass Prince Gottfried’s camp of troops as they hastily formed an offensive line. A good number of his infantry were cut down before even having the opportunity to fight back. Gottfried knew he had to do something. He cried out toward his cavalry, who were among the first to saddle up for the coming battle. Together with his dreaded Riders of Morr, Prince Gottfried and his cavalry charged forth to engage the marauders head on. The lightly armored savages didn’t stand a chance against obsidian plate and steel.


The marauding skirmishers were cut down the last man, but General Lucas seemed to have other plans in motion. He had the rest of his infantry detachment make haste into the forest to flank Count Wolfram’s forces, who were preoccupied fighting Torarin’s army which seemingly came out of nowhere. Gottfried’s own infantry mobilized to counter, but Lucas had other plans. The Prince of Ostermark had busied himself taking the bait the skirmishers offered. Their sacrifice bought Lucas valuable time for his Chaos Dwarves to set up. From the very rear of his formation, a mighty Hellcannon arose and erupted its payload in a fiery belch of absolute destruction. The cannon fired with deadly effect.


Gottfried’s head snapped back toward his infantry, where he bore witness to a hellish sight. Dozens of his men burned alike as the Hellcannon did its work. Comrades were forced to watch each other die in agonizing pain as the flames consumed their corporeal forms. Their cries could be heard for miles. The Prince shuddered, knowing that those cries would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he could not give up now, not when they were so close. This was it. This was their final hurrah towards victory. So many had given their lives for this opportunity; it could not be wasted now!
“FIGHT ON, MEN OF OSTERMARK! GLORY IS AT OUR DOORSTEP AND WE WILL SIEZE IT!!!”
The Prince of Ostermark cried out these words at the top of his lungs until his throat was sore. It was a desperate plea from a desperate prince, and the desperate men he led responded in kind. They had all suffered so much. But they now knew for what. Their suffering was almost at an end. True victory was in sight! And so they marched on!


General Lucas could only watch in shock as these resilient men continued to march forth. It was as if the hellfire had not even fazed them! He was helpless in defending his troops, who were caught off-guard by these survivors of flame and summarily slaughtered within the snowy thickets surrounding the city. So entranced was he by their resilience that he did not even notice the cavalry charge that swept him and his artillery away in a storm of hooves and steel.


Prince Gottfried felt the rush of adrenaline pump through his veins as he and his men trampled the garrison commander. Momentum was now on his side, and he would not hesitate in using it to his advantage. He and his cavalry raced onward to intercept Torarin Eygod and his Champions of Khorne. Meanwhile, Count Wolfram and his men were already entrenched in the midst of battle, as regiments spread out all over to stave off Torarin’s strong offensive.




The fighting was bloody and the battle chaotic. But throughout all this, Prince Gottfried kept a steady mind. He could no longer count on his father’s ailing ability to command. If victory was to be secured, it would be by his hands. His men sped forth like a bolt of lightning, making a beeline straight for Torarin Eygod. He was surrounded by his finest troops, the Champions of Khorne. Only by his death would the rest of the warriors lose heart and rout. Only by his death could Ostermark finally achieve the glory it sought out so dearly.


Ostermark’s finest met head on with Khorne’s finest, and the resulting clash trembled the very earth they fought upon. Steel met against steel, will against will, and fury met against discipline and determination. The melee was vicious beyond comparison. Men of such caliber had not faced off against each other in decades! Both sides fought to exhaustion and pushed themselves to the limits. Prince Gottfried could feel his arms go numb from pain and strain as he fought, having been dismounted in the initial charge. Still he pressed on the assault. His sword sung as it cut through the air, striking blow after blow upon Torarin’s blood-red armor. Victory all depended on this last-ditch effort to behead the last of the red hydra’s heads.
At last, one of his thrusts made a significant landmark. Prince Gottfried reveled in the sickening incision his blade made in Torarin’s gut as he ran him through. Torarin hacked and spat up blood over the Prince’s face as the blade entered his body. He laughed morbidly as the blood ran freely from his midsection, grasping Gottfried’s blade and driving it even deeper into his body, through his gut and out by his back. The gesture captured the Prince’s attention, and Torarin seized his opportunity. He headbutted Gottfried and knocked him back on the ground. Ripping the blade out from his gut, Torarin shrilled out a maddening battle cry as he lunged upon the Prince.
“Damnit, die already!” Gottfried cried out in frustration as he kicked out, the steel end of his boot connected with Torarin’s opened mid-section. The kick knocked the wind out of Torarin, who literally flipped over the Prince with his gut wide open now. Gottfried covered his face from the trail of innards that spilled over his face as Torarain fell behind him. He rolled over on to one knee and drew out a dagger from his belt. In one fell swoop he thrust the dagger down and planted it firmly between Torarin’s eyes. Whatever life Torarin had left in him immediately vanished as his skull cracked in two and his brains were skewered by the Prince’s dirk. And as Torarin’s life was extinguished, so too was Khorne’s presence and influence in imperial territory. What little remained of Torarin’s men fled north into Norsca and the Sea of Claws.
At long last, victory!


It was not how Gottfried expected to win, but he was glad it was finally over with. He gathered his men and rendezvoused with the Elector Count, who reveled and basked in the sun’s rays as if it were the golden shine of eternal glory itself!
“Come men, let us purify this city from the vile stain that has for so long tainted it!”


The razing of Erengrad stood for much more than simple territorial gain for the Empire. For the first time in centuries, the Empire had successfully managed to repel a Chaos incursion into imperial territory within the span of a year. This victory marked the first time that Ostermark, always traditionally known as an agricultural backwater province, single-handedly pushed back a legion of Chaos Warriors back into the Sea of Claws from whence they came. Within the span of a single campaign season, Ostermark had retaken the lost province of Ostland from barbaric hands. Where Nordland, Talabecland, and Hochland all failed, the League of Ostermark had succeeded.
Already the Elector Count went about setting up a great celebratory fest within the halls of Erengrad. In his eyes, he alone achieved what no other Elector Count could achieve! Let Emperor Karl Franz know, nay, let all the world know, that a new era of prosperity was upon the Empire! Ann era defined not by the Emperor, nor by meddling Counts in court, but by his sole will and might! Let them all know that a new golden age was upon them, forever to be defined by the Glory of Ostermark!

[Saint Nicholas]

Author: Thokran
Original thread: [COW AAR] The Glory the Ostermark

The Glory of Ostermark Part 5

Here is the final update of this chapter in Ostermark's history. The tale of Wolfram and Gottfried will be continued later on, as their successes have warranted them some well-earned time to rest and bask in their own glory. The story is far from being completely over, but for now the Glory of Ostermark has come full circle, and will come to a close, patiently waiting for its successor to follow in its footsteps!

EPILOGUE: Coming Full Circle

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Count Wolfram once again felt at home as he looked out from his royal balcony atop Bechafen Palace to the populace below. Several months had passed since the successful taking of Erengrad, and it felt good to be back within the royal palace once again. His son remained in Erengrad to maintain control over the recently captured city, for the place was still rank with blasphemy. He could only hope that Gottfried could keep things under control over there.

The League of Ostermark was now more powerful than ever before. It dwarfed the other provinces in sheer size and power. Only Wissenburg far to the south stood as a distant second in imperial power, and even then it was only because they snatched up the abandoned outposts of the long-defeated Karaz Ankor dwarves. In comparison, the men of Ostermark had given their blood, sweat and tears to earn the League such a glorious honor and title, having fought for every inch of land gained. And for such effort, the League of Ostermark was now one of the greatest powers across the Empire.


However, there were still other powers that dwarfed Ostermark in both size and manpower. In particular, the Orcs and Goblins had managed to establish an almost-complete monopoly of the World’s Edge Mountains over the past years. Their aggressive advances have no doubt set the precursors for a future Waagh! Only the Kadrin Pass remains out of their reach, firmly held in imperial hands. Their continued encroachment upon imperial lands actually benefited Ostermark, as their constant assaults upon Sylvanian holdings has done well in keeping the vampires at bay, leaving Ostermark relatively untouched with a secure southern border.


Apparently they had done their job too well, as their military might finally broke the back of the Sylvanian Vampire Counts. Sylvania, once riddled by intrigue, infighting and undeath, now stood as little more than a barren, haunted wasteland; its leadership utterly destroyed. What few vampires remained hold themselves up in their cities as rebels, waiting the day of reckoning that would soon be upon them by Greenskin hands.


Wolfram saw the fall of Sylvania as a great opportunity for expansion. His forces were still spent from the past year’s campaign, but the treasury was overflowing with gold, and the levies continued to pour from every corner. Soon, he would have enough fresh recruits to forge a new provincial army out of. Already some of those recruits were being trained at Nagenhof, from where they would be employed into Zifrid Windeck ‘s service at Mordheim. Better for Ostermark to take these lands and establish a buffer zone with them, than allow the Orcs another staging point for a full-out assault.

Wolfram was pleased to hear that Ostermark’s rise to glory did not go unnoticed. At the imperial capital of Altdorf, Emperor Karl Franz himself made a public announcement congratulating the League of Ostermark for their continued duty and service to the Empire, and their great success against the savage beasts of Khorne. To show his gratitude, the Emperor sent some of the Empire’s best engineers to round out Wolfram’s army. These engineers sported some of the Empire’s best siege artillery. To have them on the field of battle was to bear a personal banner of the Emperor’s favor. It was truly a humbling gift from so powerful a man.



Indeed, the past several years had been nothing more than a humbling gift for all of Ostermark. Yet of all the people of the newly crowned Jewel of the East, Count Wolfram stood as the least humbled of them all. He had single-handedly achieved every single goal since he began this campaign in 2523. He sought out to consolidate the south, and that he did by recapturing the lost capital of Mordheim. He vowed to honor the alliance the Empire held with the dwarves of Karaz Ankor, and that he did by saving the Kadrin Pass from the savage Greenskins, giving the dwarves a place of refuge under imperial establishment .He swore to drive out the barbarian hordes of Khorne out of imperial lands, and that he did at Erengrad. At long last, he was seen among the other Elector Counts as the man of high repute and skill he was.

Yet despite it all, he still ached for more. His ambition only grew with each success. He craved for more power, more repute, and more glory. He sought to expand further along the coast and once again re-establish trade within the Sea of Claws by dismantling the Dark Elf Corsairs that plagued its shipping lanes. He aimed to expand into ripe-for-the-taking Sylvania, and used those cursed lands as another staging point to continue the ongoing struggle to push the Greenskin Horde back across the World’s Edge Mountain. He dreamed of becoming the most powerful Elector Count the Empire had ever seen! His province alone would dwarf all the others and be seen as a en empire in itself! There would be a day when the Emperor himself would cower and surrender his throne in humble respect of the true ruler of these lands!


These dreams and goals were fanciful fantasies at best to others. But they lacked the foresight that he held. Already he felt the whispers of dout linger across his court. Even his own son, the Prince of Ostermark, doubted his skill and expertise. They went on about how the plague’s deteriorating effects had seeped into their Count’s mind, filling it with fruitless endeavors that simply could not be achieved. Well they were wrong! All of them! They could all burn for all he cared! Had they never heard of Magnus the Pious? Or of Sigmar himself! What they did not see was that he, Count Wolfram, would one day rise to above them all! He would be Lord of all Imperial Holdings! Vanquisher of Chaos! Slayer of Greenskins! His legacy would one day rise to dwarf all others! The Glory of Ostermark would one day be the Glory of Wolfram: the future of this Empire!

I want to sincerely thank everyone who read and supported this AAR. It was a blast writing it up, and an absolute honor having you guys enjoy my work. I feel greatly satisfied in finally finishing up an AAR, and I'm eager to write more. It's always a pleasure sharing my work on these forums, and your continued support always spurs me to write at my highest levels. So for that, I thank you all.