"It was at that time, when the battle was surely lost, that he stepped to the front and defiantly raised the Standard of Ostland. From that moment, the day was ours."

-From The Chronicles of Captain Schweisteigger by Christophe von Peache

Marius Schwarz had always liked that quote. He had always been an avid reader of adventure books and military expeditions in far off lands. As a child he had dreamed of sailing the coasts of Lustria or rescuing Brettonian damsels, perhaps performing wonders in front of an Arabyan sultan and being gifted with his most beautiful daughter and a palace of his own. When he had gotten his first sword, he had practiced every day on how he would kill a beastman or behead one of the foul greenskins that plagued the empire. Every trip with his father on a river barge, he wondered if he would see mermaids or have to defend himself from rampaging river trolls.

Growing up, after so many day-dreams and books, he almost felt like a veteran of adventure. It was now time to settle down, enjoy a taste of the business world. Money was the grease that kept the empire flowing afterall, more than even faith in sigmar or good manufacturing. The men of the old world were all in it together, and Nuln seemed like the pinnacle of human development. The booms of the famous gunnery school and the fierce debates over literature in the university were the talk of all Wissenland, and even in the times he had visited Altdorf, he did not feel inferior to the Rieklanders, but a peer in knowledge and sophistication.

The world was his oyster, as they say. And if that was the case...

How the fuck did he end up here, pinned to the ground by footpads that smelled about as good as an autopsy where the subject had shat themselves? Marius had struggled, and for his troubles he had the wind knocked out of him. He could have given them his gold and went on his merry way, but he had to try and talk his way out of the situation, and then had the model idea to cut his way out. His sidesword had been knocked out of his hand from his blindspot and one of the bandits had been a bit over zealous in tackling him to the ground.

"Herr bandit, you don't have to do this. That's the last of my money. The roadwardens will not stand for this. I saw one just this morning!" Marius said in a tone he tried to keep neutral, but it sounded very pathetic on the ground. Marius was never one to be deterred, however. "Sir, plea-"

"Shut up, southern git!" A boot was planted atop his head and grounded his face further into the sludge of both snow and frozen dirt. He felt his dried lip crack and there was a spot of red on the slush. Marius gasped for breath. Around him were four highwaymen, wearing makeshift coats and extravagantly striped pants like they were middenlanders or fops in a play. The air was frigidly cold, and Marius realized he had made a mistake. He should have gone to Tilea or Estalia, not to Ostland of all places.

"I'm just trying to get to Wolfenburg!" Marius cried through the snow shoved into his mouth. It was muffled, but they heard him. He expected them to mock him, but the laugh that came was harder than he would have expected. One of them looked confused, and it only made the others laugh more uproariously. Marius lifted his head up, spitting out dirt and snow. "What is so funny!?"

One of the men with a goatee and an easy smile knelt down in front of the poor waylaid merchant. He gave a smile that showed his teeth, and in his hands was a dagger that looked freshly sharpened. He snickered before he spoke. "This is the north road, you idiot. Wolfenburg is half a day the other way. You passed it." He remarked, and barked a laugh when he saw Marius's confusion. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I'm not." Marius admitted, downtrodden by the information. He could have been in a warm tavern right now, making business inquiries.

"So what do you do, other than cartography?" The bandit asked the pinned fellow.

"I'm from Nuln. I'm just looking to make my fortune up north. Starting a business, perhaps. You gentlemen wouldn't be interested?" He asked hopefully.

The bandit made a show of thinking about it. He scratched his chin and raised his eyebrow, looking up at the sky as he let out his best 'hmmm'. Once he was bored of the act, he showed the sack of coins they had procured from Marius's belt and jingled it before him. "No, I think we'll just take the money."

"It's cold, It's barren, It's overrun with beastmen. The food is bad, the wine is worse, and that vodka they make will dissolve the teeth right out of your head, and if the winter don't kill ya, the women will."

Konrad Bitchen- Imperial Diplomat

"We will leave you here Boyarina," Ivan said lifting his fist to his chest in a formal salute. Ivan Kariska was typical of his breed, a landless kossak adventure, bandit, trapper or herdsman as the season and lady luck required. He rode upon a sturdy Kislivte steed, wiry looking and good for many days without rest. He wore leathers over a suit of chainmail that was old when Ursus was Tzar and had grown no younger since. For all that it was in good condition, oiled and well cared for.

"Tor go vith you and your rviders Ivan Kariska," Natasha Andropolovskya replied. Clashing her own hand to her chest. She was a slender woman, shorter and lighter than Kariska by a considerable margin, but she had a quickness about her that manifested in the way her ice blue eyes darted constantly across the landscape. Her black hair was drawn back into a long braid that swung behind her like a tail. In contrast to Kariska her chainmail shone with the recent polish of sand and vinegar, and her leather and cloth gamberson was embroided with galloping horses, and wrestling bears. An expensive but well used cavalry saber hung from her waist and a plain looking cavalry musket was tucked barrel down against her saddle. Her horse was a glossy black mare with a blaze of white across her nose and fetlocks, and she pranced with eagerness despite a week of hard riding.

"Peace Konya," Natasha crooned, rubbing the impatient steeds neck with a gloved hand. She adjusted the short spear in her stirup cup, rattling it against the buckler strapped over the top. The steed stilled, though still quivered with restive energy.

"Remember us to your father Boyarina, in case we ever have cause to call," Kariska said.

"He vill give you the good vodka befar he hangs you," Natasha promised, and all five Kislivites laughed as thought his were not a literal truth.

"Tor go with you too Natasha Andropolovskya," Kariska called, and then wheeled his mount around and trotted away towards the north. Kariska and his kossaks were probably wanted by the local road wardens, but they had been more than willing to escort her this far after she had encountered them to the north. Bandits and killers they might be but they respected their countrymen. The horse bristled beneath Natasha. She laughed and patted the beast again.

"Yes Konya, now ve are free of zem, I vink ve can manage a gallop."

_____

The bandits were just reaching for Marius' purse when the galloping of hooves was heard. All six of the bandits froze. Even in this rural district, Marius threat of the roadwarden's was not idle.

"Might be a courier, often have gold," one of them said hopefully.

"It might be the law, we should kill this one and get off the road," another argued.

"If you kill me you wont have time to deal with my body," Marius stuck in. Further conversation was interrupted as a rider rounded the switchback and reigned in her horse to avoid over running the band.

"Blimey, its a bleeding woman," one of them gasped. Natasha stared at them with surprise, having not expected to met anyone on the road this far north and this late in the evening.

"Geyet out of my vay," Natasha said haughtily, her eyes scanning the scene in front of her. Six men in leathers, all armed, two with bows. One holding a shiny sword that must have belonged to the well dressed young man on the ground. Ivan Kariska could have eaten the whole lot for breakfast dead drunk, as he was most of the time.

"Who are you to give us orders on our own road!" one of the demanded.

"You haven't even paid our tax yet! You got any money girly?" the leader called.

"Vy vould I give you mahney?" Natasha scoffed.

"If you've got no money, there are other vays a pretty girly can pay the tax," one of the others suggested, thrusting his hips lewdly and taking a step towards the horse, grubby hand reaching for the bridle.

"I see," Natasha said and quick as lightning pulled the spear from her stirrup. In a smooth motion she reversed the weapon and cast it overhand. It sunk into the throat of one of the bowman with a sound like a butchers cleaver hitting a bone. The man nearest the horse screamed and started to turn, but the Kislivite war steed needed no encouragement. It reared back and delivered a bone shattering kick that sent rotten teeth, blood and spittle spraying from the mans shattered jaw before bounding forward in a graceful leap that caried it directly over Marius. Before the horse could straighten, Natasha whipped the cavalry saber free, riding the horses leap with bent knees as she neatly severed the sword hand of one of the stunned highwaymen. With a spray of blood she swung the sword around and sabered the man to her other side, striking a deep cut between shoulder and collarbone that spurted arterial spray as he dropped screaming to the ground. The remaining two men bolted in terror, one ran down the road and went down under the horses hooves with a crack of bone and moan of pain. The last bandit, lucky rather than smart, took off through the trees to the side of the road. Natasha unshipped her carbine and fitted it to her shoulder, aiming through the crude sights. She lowered the weapon without firing and then turned. The handless man was sobbing and clutching at his stump. Natasha slid from her saddle and retrieved her spear. Without a pause she stabbed the weeping man through the heart, twisting the blade and pulling it free before it could stick in his flesh. The man with the maimed face was crawling away, blood pouring from his ruined jaw. Natasha stabbed him through the neck just behind the skull. The road was suddenly quiet save for the increasingly distant crashing of the lucky bandit as he struggled through the woods. The fine layer of dust kicked up by the charging horse settled onto the corpses. The whole place stank of blood, bad hygiene, and the voided bowels of the dead bandits. Natasha stooped down and picked up the shiny sword, extending it pommel first to the youth still laying on the ground.

"Zeez bandeets, zey stink vorse than za cesspool da?" she said conversationally.

Marius was dumbfounded.

Sigmar had actually come to his aid, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine it would be from some dark haired warrior woman out of the tales. He could smell the blood even above the unwashed, soiled clothing of the dead bandits. It smelled strange, like rust. He saw steam wafting from the wounds, but his eyes did not linger on the bodies. The woman spoke to him and presented his sword before his face. Marius was a smart man, but he felt particularly dumb at this moment. For once he didn't know what to say.

She shook the sword before him, and it spurred him to movement. "Yes, they uh, they smell like shit." It brought a curt nod and a small smile from the woman. He got to his feet and took the sword, a ribaldo his tilean fencing teacher had called it. Too bad the lessons never did stick. Oh, he was a passing swordsman, but anyone with military or real combat experience was a dangerous opponent to him. He tended to like his chances better than a coin flip every time he crossed blades with someone. He grabbed his scabbard and re-strapped it to his belt, before sliding the blade into it again.

"Thank you. I honestly thought I was dead or worse."

"You szought they vould cook or eat you?" She asked with her strange accent again. She was obviously kislevite, and though Marius had never been so far north, he had met one or two of her countrymen before as tradesman on river barges.

"No, but I would be broke. And I would rather be dead than broke." Marius mentioned, taking his coinpurse and tying back onto his belt. At that, he began searching the men with one hand, holding his nose with the other. Sigmar smiled on him again, for he found a few more krowns. As he pocketed the coins, he turned back to regard her. "If I have no money, then I can never go back home or make a living in Wolfenburg. By the way, I did not catch your name fraulien...?"

"Natasha Andropolovskya, daughter of the march warden and boyar Adrov of the troll country." She said proudly, her head rearing up like a stallion. Marius was suitably impressed, and any other circumstance would have irked him because she was one of the few people who had a pedigree higher than his own.

"Marius Schwarz, son of Ludewig Swarchz of Nuln. Of the Gold and Kettle company." He said. "We ship goods reliably and swiftly across the breadth of the Empire." He said with a bow, one hand placed upon his chest. She saluted with her sword in a queer fashion, and he really wondered what had led this valkyrie so far south.

"Did you szay you ver going to Wvulfenburg?" She asked.

"Yes."

"Isz that noot szouth oof here?"

"...yes."

The last thing he expected was for her to offer him a ride, but he accepted wholeheartedly.

Konya whickered in disapproval as they headed south, along the dusty road. The warhorse was offended by a second rider and she kept pinning its ears back and baring its teeth to communicate her displeasure with this insult to her lofty station. Marius was in a fury of indecision, apparently having never ridden two to a horse before. He seemed unwilling to put his arms around her waist and was trying instead to grip the saddle with his hands and hang on to Konya with her knees. Natasha patted the warhorses neck. She sympathized but she couldn't leave the boy in the dirt with night falling.

By the time the reached the gates of the city faubourg the moon had risen. Cheery fires glowed in the windows of the neat houses that clustered outside the walls.

"Are zey not vwaried about rayders?" Natasha asked in surprise. This was her first time south to the Empire and to see so many houses beyond the protection of the walls seemed strange. In Kislev farmers fortified their homes and townsfolk lived inside palisaded ramparts. Marius shrugged and nearly fell of the horse for his troubles.

"Do not' do zat," Natasha advised.

"They take their chances I guess, this close to the city there aren't likely to be beastmen, if that's what you meant," the youth replied. It wasn't quite what she had meant but it conveyed the point. These Imperial's were crazy.

"Even' missus," a man said from beside one of the cottages. Natasha's hand went to the butt of the cavalry musket but she pulled it away before it was more than mildly embarassing.

"Dorrby v...ah gut avening," Natasha replied, getting a confused look from the man. He appeared to have been answering natures call against a tree stump when they road past. He peered back at her in shock.

"She says good evening," Marius translated having had time to make the mental shift to her accent at least somewhat. It amazed Natasha that people spoke such bad Riekspiel here. Perhaps when you got down to Riek it was better.

"If your looking to head into the city, they close the gates at sundown, ain't nothing short of the Reikmarshall himself that will get em to open up," the helpful man provided. Natasha frowned.

"Ve mast hav ladgings," she replied.

"What?" said the old man at the exact same moment as Marius. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut and then tried again.

"Loudgings," she said, drawing out both syllables.

"Oh, lodging," Marius said brightly.

"Is vat I sayed," Natasha replied.

"There is an in just before the walls yar ladyship," the man supplied helpfully. "Called the Last Stop!"

"Da, thank you," Natasha told him and road on.

"Well piss on you then!" the man shouted angrily.

"Why he want piss an may?" Natasha asked. She could see the inn ahead, a battered sign depicting what might have been a stagecoach hanging before a stone walled courtyard with a couple of sad looking pear trees in it.

"He probably wanted you to pay him for the information," Marius explained. Natasha shook her head, why would she pay for information she would have discovered herself in a matter of seconds.

"Vat you say, we drink, you vil tell me about about Golden Kettles da?" she told Marius, feeling expansive now that she had reached the end of her long ride. In the morning she could see to her fathers business in the city.

"Gold AND Kettle company," Marius corrected.

"Da, vat I say," Natasha agreed.

"Vodka," Natasha ordered. She was a slender woman, but every movement she made had a confidence behind it that had men treating her like she was thrice her mass in pure muscle. Marius had never seen someone like her, particularly a noblewoman. All of the nobles he knew were posh and stuck up or damsels to be saved.

"Vodka's expensive." The innkeeper Jurgen said, crossing his meaty arms.

"Vodka, for the both of us." Marius insisted, holding out the krowns he had taken from the bandits. Jurgen had been standoffish at first, as it had taken them a good ten minutes to get her proud horse into the stable with the other mares, and not only just because of the accent. Luckily the glint of gold changed his stance. It was communication that passed all barriers of both nation and faith. The Last Stop wasn't extravagant, but it was warm and had drink. The oil lamps and torches blazed brightly and the two intrepid meeters by fate's hand had found a comfortable spot in the back to talk.

"So, zis Golden Kettle. Tell me oof it." She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Now that Marius was out of harms way, he noticed how pretty she was. Her face was well formed, her hair was as black as midnight and her body had some curves to accompany that muscle. Even the birthmar-... no wait.

"Uh, you have something..." Marius started, pointing at his cheek. She cocked her head to the side, and wiped her hand across her cheek. It was a bead of blood from the slaughter. To his utter surprise she licked her finger and then brushed away the rest of it.

"Tank you." She said.

"No problem. Uh, yes, the business. My father owns one of the biggest shipping companies in the empire. We load goods and had outposts all across the reik and the river talabec. In fact, Wolfenburg is one of the three major cities in the empire that doesn't have one. The others being Middenheim and and Salzenmund in Nordland."

"Boot kettle...?"

"We started as a shipping company for tea, but it quickly blew up. Now we're known across the land. My father has even shaken the hands of Karl Franz, if you could believe that."

"Szo, you are heer to make new outpost?"

That had Marius hesitating, and he sighed. "No. My father is a great businessman, but he's also an asshole. He banished me, and I came up here to start my own business to prove I can do what he does without any handouts." The suave man was usually less forthcoming, but he felt the woman would understand being blunt to a fault, and he liked to imagine he saw approval in the manner in her eyes. Marius smiled, and just then Jurgen placed down two mugs of vodka and a bottle with more. "So... why is a boyarina coming south to the lands of the empire? If you're looking for mercenary work, that was a good audition. I'd vouche for you."

Marius took a long drink of Vodka, and it stung his senses something fierce. Still, he wanted to celebrate and what better way than to drink an entire bottle of vodka with a woman from troll country?

“I have job to do,” Natasha said expansively as she tossed off the mug of vodka. She made a face but forebore to comment on the quality as she splashed some more of the fiery liquor into her cup. Natasha was familiar with the machinations of merchants, albeit on a much smaller scale than in the Empire. She had sat in her fathers hall while he haggled with the caravan masters who traded steel and cloth for horses and yak hides often enough to dislike the breed. Kislivite’s prided themselves on being hard bargainers, it was something of a sport, but haggling over a few pelts either side of what everyone knew was going to be the price did not interest Natasha.



“My father is also..how ye sai..arshaul… but not so much,” she admitted. Marius had clearly grown up in the business world his family operated in. Just as clearly he wanted to strike out on his own, the calluses on his palms suggested that he had trained with the fancy sword that he carried. It was an endearing trait, and she supposed she couldn’t fault him for being caught when he was outnumbered six to one.



“He seyends me to Vulfenbarg, to reqwest gahnpiwder,” she explained.



“Gahnpiw… gunpowder?” Marius translated. Pausing as a blonde serving maid set a bowl of stew before each of them along with a crust of bread. Marius seemed to stiffen as she approached and then relaxed.



“You no lyk garl?” Natasha asked, gesturing at the departing maid with her crust of bread. She dipped it into her stew and took a bite. It was salty and a little on the oily side but the onion gravy was thick and piquent.



“Wha…” Marius began, “ah yes, I mean, no, I mean…”



“I do nat knaw vat you mean,” Natasha admitted around a mouthful of bread. She swallowed and took a smaller pull of vodka.



“I like girls, just she reminds me of someone in Altdorf is all. You were talking about gun powder?” he said, redirecting the conversations.



“Dah, gahnpiwder. My father, he send me to aysk for more piwider for za forts. Ve fit them out vith Imperial caynon, from Nuln. But many raiders this sayson, need more piwder to keep them in action,” she explained. Traditionally Kislivites had fought as horse archers, indeed some still refused to adopt the newer Imperial technologies, but the steppe was not a place where you could afford to be impractical. Natasha like many others had learned to fire a handgun from the saddle as well as use a bow. A bestigor could still charge with a half dozen arrows through it, but a single heavy caliber musket ball would shatter bone and organs both. The advantage was doubled in the fortified holds of the north, where grapeshot could sweep the walls clear better than thirty trained archers could.



“Ve have, what you say, fyktor in the ceety, he make arrangements for uas,” she explained.

“Fictor?” Marius asked, then he brightened as he realised what she was saying.



“Factor, you have a factor in the city who will arrange for shipments of gunpowder,” he summarized.



“Da, vat I say,” Natasha confirmed. She reached into her gamberson and withdrew a piece of folded parchment and showed it to Marius.



Grunwald and Sons

Outfitters

Ulricstrasse - Wolfenburg



“Grunwald and Sons?” Marius asked, his expression troubled. Natasha was mildly surprised he could read, though she shouldn’t have been given he was form a merchant family and anyway many in the Empire could read.



“Da, vat I say,” she repeated, “is problem?”

"Who told you to buy from Grunwald and Sons?" Marius asked, stroking his fine chin.

"No vaun? De sell gahnpiwder, da?" She asked as if it were that simple. To the common man it often was, or the foreigner. She had saved Marius's life, the least he could do would be to give her some advice.

"Yes, but Grunwald has recently passed away. His sons control the business now and there are rumors that they're very cutthroat in their business. They lack the honor of their late sire and might not get the best price for you. You don't want to pay top dollar for subpar gunpowder. You would be better off with longbows and trebuchets like the frogs."

"Vrogs?" She inquired, hiccuping from drinking too much vodka too swiftly. She held it better than Marius at least. He had yet to finish his first cup and she was on her second. He drained it hurriedly before he answered, and felt like he had been shot for the trouble. Still, as the seconds passed he felt quite good.

"Brettonians." Marius explained. He poured himself the second glass and blinked, trying to regain his sensibilities. An idea suddenly popped into his head, perhaps influenced by the drink but a solid thought none the less. He did need an 'in' in the business world of Ostland. Maybe having an association with this barbarian death-maiden and speaking to an agent from Grunwald and gaining a relationship there would be fortuitous to gain. "If you would like, I could come with you and help inspect the stock."

"I can guarantee I could sort through the bullshit for you," Marius boasted, finding his tongue was getting looser by the second. "Plus a lot people here would take advantage of an attractive foreigner. You could kill someone but that won't help you get gunpowder..."

Marius hiccuped himself, patting his chest with his fist. He was quickly forgetting what he was saying, but the drink was good and the company was different so he wasn't going to complain. "You are quite good with that spear and blade and...all of it. You know I'm a duelist myself." He said, half forgetting he wasn't nearly as good as most of his peers. "My trainer was a bravo from Tilea, famous for erm... swords."

"Vel, iyif you vish," Natasha said, feeling the warm burn of the vodka in her belly. It was pour stuff compared to what her fathers kossards brewed in their battered copper stills, but it was warming. Overall it had been a very good day. Tomorrow she would complete her task, and if Marius wished to come and translate into the excrable Riekspiel they spoke here, so much the better. And if he thought the Grunwald's could be cut throat. A dark grin spread across her face. Her people had a rather more elemental view of the term.

"You have train with sword," Natasha said approvingly, "dis good."

"Not so close to trul kantry but not so far da?" she laughed. It could not be more than a generation since raiders had swept through these lands, but no one knew better than a Kislivite that the minions of the ruinous powers could spring from anywhere. Rumor had it that the Empire was riddled with cults that worshiped the dark ones also. Such things were not unknown in Kislev of course, but the filth found it harder to hide in family and clan groupings that brought people into constant contact to survive.

"You vil have to show me how you vight. I'af never been in a dyel befare," she admitted. She had heard of the practice, occasionally to kossads would settle a discussion with knives, or by riding horses around a paddock and firing arrows at each other from the saddle, but such things lacked the formality these southerners seemed to adore.

Marius was looking at her as though he was trying to puzzle out what she was saying. She frowned and topped up both their mugs with the fiery spirit.

"But not tonight da," she ammened, noticing that Marius was a bit under the weather and she had an appropriately rosy feeling in her cheeks herself.

______

They woke in the morning somewhat bleary eyed. They had slept in the tap room rather than paying for the rooms which were small cramped, and only marginally more comfortable than sleeping on a bench under a cloak. The stable hand was in a foul mood, Konya having bitten him when he tried to inspect her teeth. The fine steed was worth more than everything else Natasha owned and the boy might have been tempted to try to sell her and flee with the coin. Konya evidently felt such notions were worth dissuading.

"Khoroshaya loshad," Natasha said to the horse as she shooed the irate groom away. She produced an apple she had taken from the kitchen and held it out. Konya snorted in approval and took the fruit from Natasha's hand crunching on it greedily and whickering with obvious enjoyment. She lifted an equine eyebrow at Marius and gave Natasha a disapproving snort.

"Ve valk, not far da," she told the horse and took her by the reigns leading her out onto the road. By now the gates were open and the road was busy. Wagons laden with timber or with ore from the mines rumbled across its rutted surface. Farmers pulled rickshaws laden with potatoes, sheaves of wheat and barely, and baskets full of the first crop of apples. All were headed through the stone gate where men in tabards so stained the colors were lost leaned on rusty pikes, sipping at wine skins and smoking pipes. Like most pedestrians they were able to skirt the carts moving quickly up through the gates. The guards gave Natasha a glance, but Kislivites were not uncommon here and whatever she was she was no kossard bandit.

The offices of Grunwald and Sons was a sturdy building a street back from the market place. Its first floor was stone with half timbered construction providing two additional floors. While it might have once been fine, it showed signs of wear and tear, cracks in the plaster and patches of thatch which had blown away in recent winds. The interior had the same air about it. A timber desk seperated the public area which had several worn looking chairs, from the rear, where ink spotted clerks were busily copying and blotting. Natasha walked to the desk where a clerk with a lazy eye stood watching her. Reaching into her gamberson she produced the letter and slapped it down on the table.

"I am Natasha Adropolovskya," she declared, "I have come on byisnish of my father Boyar Androv Andropolovskya." If he was impressed he clerk didn't show it. He produced a battered set of spectacles from his ink blotched coat and set them on his nose. He read the letter once, and seemed to start, then he read it again.

"Is dere problem?" Natasha asked.

"I will... fetch master Grunwald for you ma'dam," he said and scurried back to a set of stairs at the rear of the clerk area and scrambled up them with a look of pinched concern on his face. Natasha beamed.

"Zis vil be asay," she told Marius confidently.

"That sounds a bit overzealous," Marius chuckled, though his face showed no mirth. Meeting Frederich Grunwald would have normally been an honor if he did not see the man was trying to swindle Natasha. Without preamble, Marius held his hand out to see the papers Frederich had in flowing script that indicated the formulae of the prices. Ars Dictaminis was a learned art that few could really become literate in. A full five years of schooling was served to learn how to doublespeak and converse in what they called the tradesman's tongue.

"I assure you it is all in order, herr...?" Frederich was the second son out of the three, master of the Wolfenburg branch, and he looked the part. His coat ended just above his knees in the merchant fashion, but it was purple and gold to display his station. He sported a much fuller beard than Marius's goatee and it likely hid varying levels of multiple chins. Even with a bulk order such as this, Marius was surprised he showed up so readily. The clerk had likely informed him of the accent and the sexist fact Natasha was a woman and thought it was an easy mark they could make good on if the master himself addressed her. There was a reason Marius had not spoken until he had laid out that every barrel of gunpowder was twice the going rate at the Nuln university.

"The assets here do not include the correct amount of saltpeter for the cannons, and we will only pay these rates for the first four barrels. After that we expect the price to lower by two hundred and thirty seven Krowns for every shipment after that. In these documents you have failed to tell us what ships would be utilized to transport it and by what metric we are insured."

"That is ludicrous! It is the standard rate of saltpeter for the imperial military regulation forms out of altdorf, and-"

"Altdorf does not know blackpowder from cigar smoke." Marius laughed, slamming the letter down and pointing at the sheet with an accusatory manner, poking it as he spoke. "Heinrich Falkhammer of Nuln has the Gunnery School's blackpowder mixture statement of military excellence at 75/100 and it used throughout the Empire as the standard for every major contingent of gun batteries since they were implemented in 2469 during the year of the Red Sky. We wouldn't want to give subpar powder and shot to our dear allies up north, do we herr Grunwald? I'm surprised your prices are so high with such little oversight on the quality of your merchandise." By Sigmar, at least when the letters of business were written by the clergy they were more often than not honest! Marius sighed.

"We follow the standards writ on the reik marque dictandi and have yet to be questioned in any such manner by any official of customs. And you must not know that black powder is in high demand currently and our stocks are low during the winter seasons. Perhaps if you and the fraulien here waited another season you would be granted better terms."

"Who would have such a high need of gunpowder more than the Kislevites who guard the Troll country from the ruinous powers and barbarians of the north?" The Nuln merchant scoffed. The Empire was ever at war, it was true, but from all the gossip Marius had heard there were very few conflicts that would warrant a nation-wide need of gunpowder save for greedy purchasing by a rebel group attempting a bloody coup. "Do not patronize my friend here. If you cannot give us a fair deal we can go to Middenheim or perhaps see if the Golden Kettle outpost in Talabhiem would be more accommadating."

"Wait wait...!" Frederich said, holding his fat hands out. He was around Marius's age but he seemed to have had more than a touch of good living. One of the benefits of being an unfavorite without a home was that Marius did not have enough time to devour so many delectable pastries. The rival merchant dismissed his clerk with a wave, the man leaving the spectacles and disappearing into the back. He sighed.

"The reason we do not have what we need in stock is that one of our silos was waylaid." He admitted softly, eyes darting back and forth. "We don't know if it was beastman or greenskins or bloody bandits, but something has taken half my stock and everyone I have sent out there has not returned."

Marius raised a questioning eyebrow to Natasha.

Marius' raised eyebrow brought Natasha back from the daze where lay people go when points of high theology are being discussed in her presence. Had she been alone she would simply have signed the bill of sale and been on her way. Perhaps Marius had gone a way to repaying her for sparing him the embarrassment of having his throat cut on the road to nowhere. Her mind replayed the last few seconds of the conversation and her attention sharpened noticeably.

"If he has not piwdir, he has not piwdir, perhaps ze Tzarina's coin vould be velcome vith ze Golden Pot," she suggested. Both Marius and Frederich winced, though in Marius' case it was with sympathy. Both men knew that losing Kislivite business would be a severe and perhaps fatal blow. The Andropolovskya were an important clan, if distant but the effect of gossip and tale spreading would be telling, particularly as other merchants smelled blood and tried to pry away more and more bussiness.

"No! no...Frauline that wont be necessary," he added hastily.

"If you were able to investigate our silo, we would be able to offer you the powder at..." he glanced at Marius and gave a defeated shrug.

"Cost." The word was bitten out as though it were the sourest lemon in existence. Selling something at cost meant all the wastage and transport were eaten up. Marius scoffed openly.

"You couldn't afford that, Sigmar's Hammer, half the merchant houses in the Empire would grow lean selling that much powder at cost. Grow lean if they didn't go bust," he sneered. Frederich was sweating now. He reached into his coat and made a credible effort of swabbing his fatty face.

"Insurance sir, if the powder in question was destroyed by bandits or greenskins, the treasury will make us whole, or at least advance us loans to cover the loss. We can use that money to fulfill our other obligations by buying from other merchants, perhaps even the Gold and Kettle Company?" He asked with a sly wink.

"Insurance sir

Marius took a moment to think, looking at the elm tabletop contemplatively. The last thing he wanted was for his father to receive a big payoff. He still held resentment burning in his breast and he wasn't going to let that go so easily. It would be the greatest irony to make it to Wolfenburg and then throw his father a fortune as a thank-you for banishment. But a part of him did want his father to also know he could be a boon for the company. Maybe this was a way he could prove himself?

He knew he would change his mind. But he felt in that moment that it was the right thing to do, at least for his own future.

"If you buy it from the Golden Kettle company, you'll tell them it was a purchase made courtesy of Marius the Merchant." He said, and Frederich gazed at him with a queer, curious look.

"Marius the Merchant, very well." He said, placing his hands together, the rings on his finger clinking from the gesture. "Please, check on my powder and report back here..."

"I also wish to be paid the same as your agents when going out to the Silo, both full payment for myself and the fraulien." Marius demanded, crossing his arms. He felt Frederick Grunwald might refuse, might point out if they did not, they wouldn't be able to get the powder anyway. But wisely the Wolfenburg merchant prince thought better of it, and acquiesced with a nod of his head.

"It will be done."

"Good, then we'll leave immediately." Marius said, taking up a small walking staff he had purchased that morning. He had his sword for dangerous encounters, but a staff was the usual mode of self-defense for a traveling tradesman and he wanted to at least look the part, even if he couldn't wield it worth a damn unless he needed a club. Marius glanced at Natasha, who pursed her lips and nodded her agreement. "Have the powder ready. We'll be back in a few days."

The two stepped out of Grunwald and Sons, and it was when the midday sun hit him that he realized he had just volunteered to go out into the wilderness and risk his neck for a woman he had just met. Yes, she had saved his life, but damn he wasn't here to start a charity! Sigmar guide me, Marius thought. Perhaps this was still the right thing to do. He wasn't beholden to her but this would at least give him a name to some extent, and she did have an important job to do he would be remiss if he did not see through. He had promised, after all.

"Into danger then?" He asked her rhetorically. "We'll need some supplies..."

"Not zat vun," Natasha said shaking her head. The horse dealer all but audibly ground his teeth. This was the fourth horse she had rejected since they came to the horse trader to find Marius an appropriate mount. The trader, Gert by name, spat into the churned up practice yard he had been leading the nag around.

"And what the bloody hell is wrong with this one?" he demanded belligerently.

"Do you rally vant me to tell you?" she asked in a serious tone. Gert checked a little but didn't reply.

"Because, iyif I did have to tell you zat is puupils are dilated from chewing Shylia's bloom, I'd hav to no you vere trying to chiat me," Natasha explained. She pulled a small knife from her belt and began to clean her fingernails. Gert began to sweat at the mention (or meiention) of Shyalla's bloom, a common herb used to deaden pain in animals. Judging by the slight hesitation the one time Gert had turned the animial to the right, he it was going lame in its right forehoof, a pain the stallion remembered even if he couldn't currently feel it. Without treatment the horse would be down within a week, crippled beyond repair.

"Ah, in that case I suppose, I don't want to tell you that?" Gert replied looking nervous.

"A vise choice," Natasha assured him. She crossed to the horse and leaned up against it, bending down to lift its right hoof. The horse neighed restively but Natasha leaned her weight against his flank. The horse side stepped and then calmed. Carefully she inserted the point of the knife into the hoof. There was a gentle pop as the shoe came away and then the horse whinnied in distress as Natasha dug the point into its hoof. There was a sudden spurt of blood and pus as she lanced the abcess. With no particular concern for the mess she pulled something from the wound and held it up.

"Stone betveen shoe and hoof, two more deyz and vil be ciptic," she pronounced, letting the hoof down to the ground. The stallion made huffing sound that might have been relief.

"Bathe in salt vater and ...how you say... veenigar, in bucket so covers da?" she explained, wiping the blood and pus onto the flank of the horse and returning her knife to her belt.

"Pack vound vith honyeah and gurlick, no exercise for two days, then seal vound vith vax and valk only few minutes. More each dey after zat da. Vash vith veenigar every dey," she instructed.

"Inside of month, be good day, no more marcy veed, bad for da blood," Natasha continued to the amazed horse seller. He glanced from the woman to the stallion in amazement.

"He will really get better? I thought..." he trailed of clearly unwilling to admit that he thought the horse was doomed and hoped to fob him of on a couple of rubes.

"Veery lickly da, if infeection not in blood, if blood infeected no gut," she expounded. Gert nodded eagerly.

"It shall be as you say," Gert bowed thankfully, "I don't suppose you are looking for work are you?" Natasha shook her head.

"Have job. Need horse for boy to ride da," Natasha explained. Marius, who had been watching proceedings with as much amazement as she had back at the factor's office started.

"Hey!" he objected, clearly not wanting to be referred to as a boy.

"Feen, need horse for beg barley man to ride," she corrected. Gert covered a snicker with his hand and then glanced around as though looking for an observer.

"I think I may have something in your price range, for someone how knows horseflesh," he told her. It took him a minute to return the now slightly limping stallion to his stall and to relay Natasha's instructions to one of the stable hands. He then went to a disused part of the stable and returned with a roan stallion with a glossy black mane. Natasha and Gert shared a look that was impenetrable to Marius, and then the horse master lead the stallion on a circuit of the yard. Natasha nodded in evident approval as he returned to where they stood. She inspected the horses teeth and then circled around behind it, stopping to examine a darker spot on its flank before returning.

"Ve take, feefty gelt," she said. They haggled for a few minutes and settled on sixty including a saddle and tackle.

"Vat do you theenk," Natasha said to Marius, brushing the stallions mane.

"This horse is cheaper than the nag he tried to sell you the first time," Marius said with a skeptical look on his face.

"Da," Natasha agreed as she began to saddle the stallion with practiced ease.

"But he is clearly a better horse, I'm no expert but easily the best of what we saw," he continued. Natasha settled the bit between the horse's teeth, stroking its muzzle comfortingly as it began to prance slightly.

"Da, is mooch beitter," she agreed.

"Then why is it so cheap?" he demanded. Natasha looked at him as though he were blind then beckoned him over. When he joined her she pointed to the dark spot on its flank. Marius gave her a look of blank incomprehension. She sighed and took his hand, placing it palm down on the horse and running it over the spot.

"It's rough..." he observed, "why is that important?"

"Is Imperial brand," Natasha explained as though telling a child that the sky is blue. Marius yanked his hand away.

"You mean it's stolen?" he demanded in a shocked whisper. Natasha nodded her head. In Kislev horse thief was an ancient and honorable profession.

"Stolen da. Ze brand is raabed vith send end leethar. Zen carvered with a di," she explained. The explanation was delivered in such a thick accent as to be nearly incomprehensible. She sucked her thumb for a moment and rubbed it against the edge of the spot. It came away slightly brown with dye.

"I cant ride a stolen horse, what if I'm caught?" Marius demanded.

"Dent git caught, or get commission in Reeksguard and then ride any horse you pleese," she suggested, then shrugged.

"When ve have teem, I make up new brand. By coincideence marny Kislev brands look alot like Imperial brand," she told him, grinning broadly to make it clear that it was by no 'coincideence' at all.

"Horse good, not as good as Konya of course but good," she beamed.

Her confidence rubbed off on Marius and he returned the smile. The horse was a stallion, ungelded. Perhaps it was arrogance on his part, but he felt the beast needed a proper name. Something he could boast about at parties. "I'll call him Dagbhert," Marius decided suddenly, brushing the horse's mane with approval.

"Daegburt? Vhy?" She asked with an incredulous look. No doubt it did sound funny to a foreigner. It was strange how dissimilar imperials and kislevites were in language when they lived as neighbors. Then again, even the provinces had somewhat different dialects and naming conventions. He supposed it made some sense.

"It means bright day." Marius said, taking one of the sugar cubes he had been given and letting the beast eat it leisurely. It's tongue felt odd and its teeth were hard and snapping, but it did not wound him despite his nervousness.

"Boot iz derk color." Natasha pointed out.

"It's meant to be ironic." He explained, and she shrugged. They had already gotten what supplies they needed, though Marius was feeling a tad peckish. They had jerky, nuts, and dried fruits to last them almost a week, and water with it. Natasha handed Marius his stash of the goods so he could strap it to Dabhert and secure his own stock.

"So when do we go?" The merchant asked dubiously, changing the topic to something less savory. He was clearly feeling more than an inkling of trepidation on the journey. If he had known he was going to rough it in the woods, he might have brought a dueling buckler or a soldier's shield for the trip. Defense was key, not offense. Particularly when going into areas where one might be overwhelmed. His mind was filled with scenarious of rampaging, goat headed beastmen pulling him off his new horse and hacking him to pieces.

"You said ve leef immediately, da? Szo ve go now." She remarked as if it were set in stone. Marius grunted in reply, realizing if he spoke he might have a crack in his voice. Taking a deep breath, he placed his foot in the stirrup and hiked his other leg over atop the saddle. The horse, Dagbhert, sidestepped and let out a drolling whinny, but Marius gathered it under control after a few moments with the reins. The horsemaster watched them curiously, wiping his hands on his cloth. He likely did not quite know what to make of the pair.

"Well, I can't argue with your logic. The sooner the better." He told her, and then mumbled under his breath. "_{If I die I die}..."

Most gunpowder in the Empire was manufactured in the vast workings around the great city of Nuln but the works at Nuln were under an Imperial charter. The Charter meant that, in effect, the Emperor and his armies had first contract on all powder, after Karl Franz took what he needed, the various electors and merchants who gained Imperial sanction took their fill, finally nobles and towns who themselves held Imperial patents were able to place their own requests. The reality was that even an operation on the scale of the Imperial Arms Works usually ran dry somewhere between the Elector's and the towns. That meant that regional mills were able to make money supplying the lack and exporting to foreign buyers like Kislev.

The powder mills of Grunwald and Sons were located to the north west of the city, well into the foothills of the Middle Mountains. On the forested fringe of the mountains there was plenty of timber for charcoal, as well as caves filled with guano for the provision of saltpeter. Most fortuitously there were several good sources of sulfur. Unfortunately for Natasha and Marius, the River Eishalt also provided ready transport, but owing to the presence of several waterfalls, only down river. They road along the rutted cart track into the tag end of a rainy afternoon. Natasha pushed them harder than she might have under normal circumstances, taking the opportunity to put Marius and his new steed to the test. She had to admit he wasn't a total failure in the saddle, although if he kept gripping with his knees like that his saddle would have pounded his ass raw by the time they reached the mills.

Civilization fell away quickly, even on the road. As night approached they reached one of the small cataracts. A small walled compound had been constructed around the falls. A network of cranes protruded from inside like trees stripped of bark. Here barges coming down river were unloaded, their cargo portaged across the falls and onto new barges for the final stage to Wolfenburg. It was an impressive undertaking, serving the powder miles, the mines and some lumber interests. The lumber wasn't barged. Instead it was floated down river with marks carved into it to show who had cut it. When they reached the portage they were directed onto a channeled section of the falls where they crashed to the river below. Occasionally a trunk would stick and a crane would remove it, the workmen adding an extra mark for the additional payment of a poorly stripped tree.

The spent a warm night in the corner of the alehouse that served the workmen, though the fish stew being served was so unappealing that both Marius and Natasha preferred their own trail rations. They rose early the next day and rode on, moving into increasingly wild land as the hills began. The passed a group of cursing waggoneers who were hauling some kind of equipment to heavy to be portaged on an eight ox team. The teamsters sweating and cursing up a storm as they tried to get their wheel free of a mud hole. They stayed the night in a fortified inn, where the emaciated old innkeeper told them they would reach Gunstat, as the locals called the small hamlet around the mills, late the following day.

The weather had finally turned fair as they moved along the road. True to Natasha's prediction Marius looked to be in some discomfort. It wasn't that he was a bad rider exactly, in fact he was moderately skilled, but it was clear he hadn't ridden warhorses in the past and the violent movement of their hyper developed muscles was something he would have to get used to. Konya bristled with pleasure in the cooler air as they climbed over a low ridge to find a stream running in the shallow valley on the other side. It had no bridge but looked easily fordable, the roadway dipping to the water and reemerging on the other side.

"Saumthings not right," Natasha said as they descended the trail towards the water. She resisted the urge to reach for her sword as she tried to figure out what had disturbed her.

"There aren't any birds," Marius said and he was right. The low burbling of birdsong was gone, replaced only by quiet and the rustling of leaves in the gentle mountain wind.

"No birds?" Marius asked dubiously, looking up at the overcast sky and squinting as he gazed around. The land was sparser here in a sense, though the forest was thick on all sides, the riverway left them in a relatively open space. "Perhaps there are just less birds near the mountains?"

He asked in a fashion that was more hopeful than sound in logic. She did not look his way, gripping the haft of her lance more tightly. Marius suddenly felt Dagbhert stepp with agitation, and he felt a quickening pace in his pulse. Somehow even he knew there was something wrong with where they were, and it for once it wasn't a dissatisfied customer.

"Should we turn back?" The merchant asked, but even as he spoke the brush behind them exploded in movement as mutants with the heads and feet and fur of beasts appeared. Their eyes were white and wide, with lolling tongues and frothing, fanged mouths. Marius almost vomited from the sight of their twisted forms, swallowing his disgust to gird himself. Even as he and Natasha spun their steeds around, another dozen beastmen appeared across the river. With antlered heads and wicked axes in their hands, they charged out of the treeline with roars and undulating cries to their false gods.

"We should have turned back!" The merchant screamed, fear gripping him even as Natasha spurred her mount toward the closer warband, crying out like an amazon out of legend and holding her lance out as she bore down on them. Marius did not quite know what to do. He was a better fighter on foot but he didn't want to be caught without his horse in case he was overwhelmed.

When it doubt? Charge. That had been the advice a Reiksgard had once told him when Marius had asked him how the man had survived so many years of combat. Bravado and the bulk of your horse would never fail you. So the merchant paid heed to it and drew his ribaldo, the sharpened sword gleaming as he set Dagbhert into a gallop just to the flank left of the screaming Natasha. Her black braid flowed in the wind as she rushed headlong into the throng.

Her warhose leaped to surprise the first spear wielder, reaching the goat-headed beastman and crushing it under its great weight before the thing could bring its short pole arm to bear. Natasha's lance skewered another elk-headed beast, pinioning its tall neck and ripping the spear point out to enhance the wound, blood spurting. Even as she spun her lance to strike a glancing blow against another, Konya kicked out with its rear legs and sent a smaller beastman flying.

"Sigmar!" Marius cried out desperately, hoping beyond hope the lord of men watched over him. Had Natasha not been so ferocious, they might have easily cut the legs off of Dagbhert, but as it were most of their attention was on her except for a smaller beast with the head of a dog-creature, its little sword and wooden shield pitifully small compared to Marius's new stallion. It dropped the shield it carried and ran, but it was trampled by the dark haired horse, Marius managing to stab the shoulder blade of another distracted mutant in the process. It bleated madly and swung its mace wildly, but Marius stabbed a second time and pierced its chest, ending its life before it could strike him with a true hit.

The horses plunged down into the stream as the melee evolved, hooves kicking up sprays of cool mountain water. Natasha thrust her spear into a boar headed monstosity with four sets of disturbingly human arms. The spear buried in the things chest too deeply to recover and Natasha let it go. She pulled the carbine from her saddle, and fired it point blank into a human headed beastman with enormous porupine like quills instead of hair. It rocked back, skull split and quills blazing from the muzzle flash, filling the air with the stink of burning keratin. Screaming a kislivite battlecry she reversed the weapon in her hand and stove in the skull of a beastman with the butt before thrusting it back into its saddle tie.

"Up! up!" she yelled to Marius, the whirl of combat had slowed them and a stag headed beast, braying like an angry bellows, tried to grab Konya's bridle. The warhorse bit down on its hand with bone grunching force, the stag realing back and screaming in paine. Whether Marius understood her or Dagbhert was experienced enough a warhorse to do it for him, they both splashed through the river and up the other side of the bank. The second wave of beastman was almost upon them, rushing down to finish what the shattered first wave had begun. Konya didn't need to be encouraged with anything so crude as spurs. She bounded up the bank and into the second wave as Natasha unshipped her buckler and saber. She flicked aside a rusty pitchfork and crashed into the second line, cutting down another beastman as she passed through. An arrow flicked past from somewhere out of her sight but there was no time to worry about that.

"Go, go, go!" she shouted as Marius crashed through the beastmen in her wake. The horses thundered up the rise and away from the braying beastment. She turned and scanned for the archer but it was lost in the mass of beastmen surging up behind them. There was no time to worry if Marius could keep his seat on the rough road. They charged down the road at full speed, headless of the risk. They rushed down the wood flanked trail, opening the distance between their pursuers.

"Whoah, whoah," called after ten minutes at a flat gallop. Marius almost barrled past her but she reached out and grabbed his bridle, helping to slow him down. The horses slowed, breathing hard and shivering with ammoniac sweat. They weren't spent but they had to preserve them against the need for later action.

"Is dengerus road da?" Natasha observed, wiping the blood off her saber and resheathing it. She pulled the carbine from her her saddle and methodically began to reload it.

"First baytel da? You ok?" she asked Marius.

Marius felt like his head was made of lead. The adrenaline having long since faded away to just paranoid fear, he didn't know exactly how he should feel but it wasn't the exhilaration he had been told he might. Oh, at the time during the fight he did feel an excitement. An edge that one might delve into were they so inclined, but it didn't justify the sheer sobriety and hangover of anxiety that preceded and followed the experience.

"Yes," He breathed in a nervous sigh. "It was my first."

At least he no longer felt like he needed to lose his lunch. Initially after they had fled the movement of the horse and the sheer brutality of the experience had made him feel queasy, but now he wanted nothing more than to go back home and sleep for eighteen years, and he realized again that he had no home to go back to save some inn at Wolfenburg.

"I am alive. Whether I am ok is a deeper question, but I can settle for the former for now. Are you?"

"Da. Small skirmish compared to vhat I haf escaped before." She said, though clearly she had the frame of mind not to make so little of the encounter. "Yhou do gud. Many die furst coombat. If yhou beyeter dooler than horseman, perheps you eh...f... formedbal?"

"Formidable." Marius asked.

"Da, is what I meant to sey." She said, hooking her carbine over her shoulder and taking the reins of Konya. Once they had established that Marius could ride Dagbhert without crashing him through a copse of trees. "Now leet us go. Beatmahn stubborn like boor. Maybe dey still follow."

"They might have been the bloody things that destroyed the silo." Marius thought aloud and kicked his mount into a trot alongside Natasha and her mount.

"Mehbe," Natasha conceeded. Rampaging beastmen would explain the destruction of the silos, but she didn't see how word of it would not have reached Wolfenburg via the river. Perhaps things were different in the Empire. They rode on at a trot, the forest thining as they climbed a range of low hills. The sun was just begining to sink towards the horizon when they reached the powdermills. A small village was constructed on a culdesac where the river curvetted around a small outcropping. A pallisade fence topped a wall of mortared riverstone with two timber guardhouses atop two story ston bastions that mounted a pair of small cannons. Houses with steep shale roofs clustered around a trio of brick mills. A long interior stone wall seperated three stuckoed silos, one side faced with earth and gambions in whicker baskets in case of fire. A pair of long jettys projected into the river and workmen could be seen loading a pair of barges.

"Gunstat," Marius supplied.

"Vat?" Natasha asked in surprise.

"That's what they call the settlment," he explained.

They road down to the gatehouse. Unlike at Wolfenburg, the guards here were alert and their equipment was plain but in good order. The gate was closed as they approached but opened without comment. Inside the gate was a blind wall that was overlooked by two small block houses. The wall was covered with paper notices. Rules about open flames and trespassing near the silos were prominently posted.

"I sapose ve find samone to spake vith?" she suggested.

"That would seem the most prudent action..." Marius agreed, gazing around. The walls were made with heavy cuts of timber and well connected, but the lack of activity was concerning. Of course, he didn't know if he should expect to see anyone here, but it did send a chill up his spine to see a small piece of civilization now devoid of life after the encounter with the beastmen.

Marius dismounted from his new steed, keeping a hand on the hilt of his sidesword just in case but trying to keep his visage serene.

He approached one of the service doors near the silo and knocked with no small measure of trepidation. He winced when he heard the noise the knocking made. It sounded unnecessarily loud in the deep silence of the silo. He waited a few moments but heard no answer in reply. Well, so much for that plan. Still, they needed to get inside in order to check the shipment. The fact that there were guards here showed that nothing had ransacked the place. Perhaps it was just the roads that had led the shipments to stop operating.

"Excuse me..." A voice began, but was cut off abruptly as Marius heard an added kislevite curse. Marius turned and saw a man, having apparently come out from the back of one of the houses, sporting a brown goatee and a foppish hat holding his hands up disarmingly, Natasha's spearpoint at his throat. Marius saw the fear in his eyes and he couldn't blame him. If he had a blade to his own throat, he might have made less than masculine sounds.

"Who are you?" Marius asked, indicating for Natasha to lower her weapon. She did so after a moment of thought. The man swallowed and rubbed his neck, attempting to regain what composure he could.

"Wilbrecht Coureham. I'm one of the sub-supervisors for this location. Are you an agent of Grunwalk and Sons? We've been waiting for word from wolfenburg but have heard nothing in a fortnight. You have to be, yes?"

"We were hired to make certain the gunpowder was safe to be transported back." The merchant said, holding the reins of his horse to calm his steed.

"Oh, erm... yes, of course." He said, sounding like he just remembered something unpleasant. He glanced at the guards, who looked their way under their visored helms. Marius thought this was a strange encounter, but he wasn't going to strike any alarms and sic Natasha on someone without seeing things for himself. He decided to say as much.

"May we inspect the blackpowder?" Marius asked.

Wilbrecht shrugged his shoulders and gave a curt nod, leading them through the small hamlet to where a ramp of stone and earth humped up to the retaining wall. They climbed up over it and then moved down the otherside on a similar construction thirty paces down the wall. Men in smocks and leather slippers were wheeling a cart stacked with carefully lashed barrel into one of the adobe silos.

“Ve vere seyent to kinfyrm zat za seelos hayd beyen runsucked,” Natasha explained. Both Wilbrecht and Marius stared at her as though she had suddenly sprouted an additional head.

“Um we were sent to authenticate Herr Grunwald’s account that one of his silos had been looted,” Marius said with a gentle shrug of his shoulders to the other Imperial. Despite the request being in his own language this seemed to discomfort Wilbrecht further.

“There has been no looting sir and madam,” he said with offended dignity. He pushed open the door and led them inside. Barrels of powder were stacked in neat pyramids reaching up towards the ceilings.

“Security is very tight, and as you can see the silos are close to full owing to a dispute with the stevedores in Wolfenburg, now resolved I’m pleased to say,” he went on.

“Herr Grunwald’s pigeon merely noted he was sending a pair of agents to inspect the works,” Wilbrecht said with a hopeless shrug.

“No runsucking? Seyem mirchant trick?” Natasha asked, her cold eyes narrowing.

“I can only assume that you misunderstood Herr Grunwald,” Wilbrecht simpered. Natasha’s eyes grew more arctic.

“I assure you she did not,” Marius interjected. Wilbrecht crossed his arms.

“I shall send a pigeon to Wolfenburg to request clarification,” he said at last, leading them out of the powder mill and back towards the town, scratching his head in confusion.

“I doubt a reply shall be forthcoming by morning though, so in the mean time, make yourselves at home in the tavern, eat and rest, and in the morning we will sort it out.”