Emmaline attempted to cover herself with the short throw blanket she had stripped from the couch. The attempt was difficult as her figure made it almost impossible to maintain any but the faintest illusion of modesty. She considered a grab for her dress, but the look in the lead bandit's eyes convinced her that it wasn't a good idea. The rest of the motley crew eyed her like half starved dogs, but the leaders eyes were wary and guarded.

"Looking for a crew to tramp with? Well we might be looking at a tramp to screw with," one of the brigands, a wall eyed man with hair the color of dirty straw chuckled lewdly.

"Claus!," the leader snapped, "do what the man says and check their packs."

"Johann..." the blonde, Claus apparently, objected, but Johann gestured with his gun barrels to where their baggage was stacked. Claus scowled and thrust his own weapon, a heavy horse pistol, into his belt without uncocking it. For a miracle it didn't go off as he crabbed over and pulled open Emmaline's pack. Several heavy pouches of gold clinked out, along with a bottle of wine and a piece of chocolate wrapped in grease cloth. There was an audible 'oooh' from the assembled bandits, clearly no strangers to the sound of decent loot. Emmaline attempted to scowl, but it was difficult to appear intimidating when you you could really only manage to cover one boob at a time.

"Looks like they are telling the truth boss," Claus said unnecessarily, his hand still rooting about in Emmaline's pack, intrigued by the clink of glass ware and other odds and ends. With an arched eyebrow he pulled something free. Emmaline's heart sank as she saw it was the wooden case that held the cut warpstone.

"What have we here?" Claus asked, eyes shining with avarice. Emmaline felt her heart rise up into her throat, rather a trick for a naked woman being held at gun point by a half dozen dirty looking thieves.

"Don't..." Emmaline began but Claus was already snapping open the clasps that held the case closed. The wood parted, issuing forth the emerald green glow of the unstable magical stone. The case itself was lined with a thin foil of lead engraved with warding symbols which offered some protection, but if Claus touched the stone with bare flesh...

Emmaline landed on Claus' back at the end of a flying leap, her arms wrapping around his head and her legs around his waist. The thief screamed in anger and surprise reaching back over his shoulder to grab her. As he pulled his hand out of the case the stink of burning keratin came with it, and his eyes widened to see the dirty fingernails burned back nearly to their pads. Her weight, considerable with the leverage she had, over toppled the bandit, and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The pistol in his waistband cracked, and the bullet whined off stone and sparked as it ricochet around the room before blasting into the couch with a puff of down feathers. Emmaline rolled off Claus, who was frantically slapping at his crotch in an attempt to put out the fire the pistol priming had started in his greasy trousers. Stark naked, Emmaline reached out with a long leg and snapped the case shut, the click of the locks engaging cutting off the sickly green glow from within.

Johann's blunderbuss was pointing at her, steady as a rock for several long moments before he lifted it skyward and eased the cocked hammers down. Nervous laughter at Claus' expense issued from the remaining men, as well as several whistles and a marriage proposal as Emmaline crawled across the room and pulled her dress on over her head, wriggling into it with distracting haste.

"Well," Johann said as he thrust the coachgun into a leather baldric that hung over his back. "Seems like the pair of you have a story to tell at least."

Neil had been ready to leap on Johann and try to wring his blunderbuss out of his hands, but luckily Emmaline had managed to wriggle her way out of the situation. The fact that she was gorgeous and naked likely helped her, though Neil was definitely not alright with these guys oggling her.

"First thing's first, Johnson." Neil said.

"Johann." He corrected, displeased. Neil closed his eyes and waved it off as if it were a minor thing.

"Right, Johann. What did I say? We're two enterprising thieves, looking to make some more coin. You boys look like you could use some help, maybe. If not, then we'll be on our way, or you can shoot us, of course." He opened his arms disarmingly, rolling his eyes as if that was the dumbest move one could ever pull. "But I don't think you want to waste shot or rust a knife on two people who can help you out. So if we tell you our story, are you interested because you're here to recruit us, or you just want some entertainment before you spit on Shallya's mercy?"

The gaggle of bandits looked at Neil with a mixture of confusion, amusement, and incredulity. Clause was just then getting up, having slapped his groin long enough to make him groan with every step. Emmaline made her way over to Neil, but she didn't hide behind him or take his hand, as much as both would have liked that. They needed to look more enterprising than two victims with nothing to bargain. Johann pursed his lips, holding the silence for a long few moments before speaking.

"We don't really need more crew... but if you're telling the truth and you two made it out of Nuln, then we might can use your skills." He raised his blunderbuss once more, however, and shook it in their direction for emphasis. "And we might be thieves like you, but we're Gods-fearing ones. That thing you got seemed awfully ruinous to me."

"Just kill 'em and be done with it!" Clause said, taking out a knife in one, swift motion.

"Shut up, Clause!" Johann roared. "I'm talking to our friends here! Anyway, you give us a good reason why you have something like that, and you tell us what it is, and maybe I'll think about you two joining up. Otherwise, I'll bury you both in the garden out back, and take your chocolates and gold for ourselves."

"We're not taking it anyway?" Another man pipped in, a short man with a square jaw and an ill look to him. "It's right there!"

"Oh, they won't join us without divvying it up, anyway." Johann said with an open mouthed grin, a brass tooth shining in the dying firelight. "Now talk, and maybe we'll listen."

Emmaline glanced around, relieved that the thrust of the conversation was moving away from murder and rape. She knew that Neil could handle himself, and she could probably manage something with magic but they were literally caught with their pants down. She held up her hands and shrugged in a very distracting manner to focus the eye on her.

"It's a long story," she began, then cast a remorseful look at the chocolate, "one best told over wine and chocolate I suppose. A cheer went up from the bandits and their group cohesion broke appart as they rushed to tear off chunks of the sweet confection. Johann looked annoyed at this but he stopped actively pointing his blunderbuss even if he didn't put it down.

Emmaline started from the beginning, editing the story as she went. She doubted whether these men would be reassured by their other encounters with the ruinous powers, or the skaven for that matter, and she certainly knew better than to mention their association with the Order of the Fiery heart. Emmaline became acutely aware that she had saved her Justicar outfit for a special occasion and that if these bandits rifled her pack she was in real trouble.

"Things were getting rather chaotic so we just took our chances and looted what we could," Emmaline explained making a gesture to the casket of warpstone.

"I don't know if its magical, but every time we open it we seem to be struck by bad luck," she went on, eager to encourage the thieves not to look too closely.

"I'm from Altdorf and I know some people close to the college," she continued, aware of the irony of the statement. "We are betting they will pay us a pretty penny for it, even if it is just to dispose of it safely." Johann nodded along with her explanation.

"The problem with con women is you don't know if they are conning you," he opined, "but you lad seems to have the bones of a thief."

"I'm not conning you," Emmaline said with deadly earnest, then her expression slowly turned from innocent outrage to sly wickedness, "... or am I..." Johann laughed at this and finally set his weapon down.

"Fine, I suppose there is no harm in at least camping together," he grudgingly admitted.

"I wouldn't mind doing more than camping!" one of the band called with a wolf whistle.

"Sorry boys, already been more of a free show than I intended," Emmaline replied, not quite managing to repress a blush.

The night did not go by without a few hiccups. Despite the newfound camraderie, they were smart enough not to let Neil and Emmaline spent much time alone together. Though Neil insisted on never leaving her side, just in case. Secondly, there was no way they weren't going to pilfer their goods, and while the chocolate and wine was enjoyed, trying to take the gold almost had Emmaline grabbed a handful and leaping out of the window, and Neil wasn't a big fan of it either. There was only a marginal amount of sleep, Neil and Emmaline taking it in turns, and once they woke up, they looked pretty poor, even if they did their best to appear jovial and ready to work.

A strange thing, how an entire horde of beastmen could be repelled by them at the tower, but a group of bandits had them getting up at the crack of dawn, taking all of their gold with a smile.

Still, there was some good news. If the bandits were a solid band, they might actually make a decent wage during their association. Plenty of refugees when a chaos incursion occurred, after all. Hopefully Ranald blessed them with a few rich ones to plunder.

"Oh, you buried him? Right decent of ya," Clause applauded Neil, the two of them and a tough named Hef having gone out back to check the perimeter, the one time Neil was to leave Emmaline alone since they promised it would be a short trip. The three had come upon the servant's grave Neil had dug the day before.

"Yeah, felt like if I was gonna live here, the garden could use a bit of fertilizer." Neil joked.

"He was a mouthy one, got to be honest. Started talking about legacy and his master's honor and all that. Johann got tired of it, and when he didn't tell us where the gold was, well..." He placed a finger to his head and bent his thumb in the manner of a pistol's hammer.

"That's how it goes." Neil said with a shrug. "So, what's the plan for you boys? Or us, I guess? We staying or going off to work."

"Got to ask Johann, but I think he's got something cooking."

Johann did indeed have something cooking. The bandit chief was eating a breakfast of a boiled egg and a length of sausage at a writing desk that was probably worth a months rent in a decent house in Altdorf. If his goal was to look sophisticated the fact that he was eating with a dagger rather than a knife and fork undermined the effort.

"G'mornin'," he said around a mouthful of half chewed meat. He swallowed before going on.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, with a chuckle.

"Tolerably," Emmaline replied, refusing to be drawn by the bandit. Emmaline picked a piece of sausage of the chief's plate and popped it into her mouth without evident embarrassment, earning herself an arched eyebrow from Johann. Neil stepped in before the situation could deteriorate.

"The brains trust back there said you were cooking something up," Neil said, pulling up an upholstered seat which he turned and straddled so he could cross his arms on the top of it. Emmaline leaned back against a side board which had tragically been denuded of alcohol by the bandit gang during the night.

"Aye, aye," Johann said, taking a sip of ale from a tankard. He waved it at Emmaline.

"If you sit on my knee you can have a sip," he wheedled. Reached into a pouch and withdrew a leather flask then popped the cork and took a drink of the cherry brandy within before sticking her tongue out at the bandit who shrugged in a 'you win some you lose some' motion. He gestured with greasy fingers to a cloth map he had unrolled.

"There are a number of noble estates closer to the city," Johann began, gesturing to several marks on his maps. "We looked in on a couple of them and they were already burning. Beast men, local peasants settling grudges, whatever." Emmaline could well imagine peasants setting fire to their masters property in the few moments before they fled, even though it would mean being squeezed even harder when the authorities returned. Vengeance, even small vengeance, was beyond price to the small folk.

"I figure that all the rich and fancy folk bugged out to...." he tapped a finger on the map "Strumburg."

"There will be some on the road, and some in the town, laden down with everything gold and sparkly they own," he breathed all but rubbing his palms together in anticipation.

"Well we can..." Emmaline began but before she could speak there was a sudden smell on the wind. Something reeking and animal, she saw a glint of something brassy off in the woods.

"Down!" she yelled, yanking Neil off his chair as the leaded glass of the window exploded inwards, blasting the chair he had been on to a spray of splinters and goosedown. A half dozen more shots crashed through the window in quick succession. Ale splashed everywere as Johann's tankard shattered. Miraculoulsy the bandit chief was unhit and he threw himself to the ground beside them.

"Ranald's bloody balls..." he breathed as Emmaline crawled to the lip of the window and raised her head to peak over. Hunched rat like figures were emerging from the woods. Some had long brass guns that looked like Araybian jezzails though they glowed with fell energies. More of them were emerging from the trees now, scuttling up to the walls with disgusting rodent like movements.

"Boss!" Hef called from the other room, "whatever these things are they are surrounding the place!"

"I thought we'd have more time," Emmaline whispered to Neil, and he had to agree. The three of them, the two scoundrels and the bandit captain, were hunkered down in the long gallery as bullets and shimmering projectiles flew through the timber, shattering glasses and breaking furniture. Neil grabbed her by the hair and kissed her thoroughly, before saying. "Same, babe." Before he turned to Johann.

"Hey, toss me my bag," he told the bandit. Johann unloaded a shot wildly out the window, smoke and flame erupting before he ducked back down.

"Your bag? Why?" He asked, ears ringing from the gun's loud bang.

"I got a rifle in there!" Neil called, referring to his hochland rifle. Johann blinked, looking at the bag and then back to Neil, suspicion warring with pragmatism. Neil gestured expectantly, but when none came he gave the man a tired look.

"Come on! You think I'm gonna shoot you here? Now?" He asked incredulously. "I mean, I guess that would be silly."

Emmaline poked her head out from behind Neil's shoulder. "He is silly!"

"I am," Neil admitted, but he held out his hand, a stern expression on his face. "But I want to get my girlfriend out of here, and we're Empire men, right? We might be bastards, but when beastmen attack, we work together, right?" He didn't want to admit the ratmen were anything else, and it didn't do to argue over the matter now. Johann regarded him, and then tossed him the bag after a moment's hesitation. Neil caught it, and pulled out his hochland rifle and shot. He handed the rifle to Emmaline, who held it, planting the butt on the ground as Neil loaded the gun quickly and efficiently, before she handed it back to him. A green bullet of warpstone spat through the wall between Neil and Johann, making a hole the size of a ham in the thick wooden barrier.

"Hey, thanks." Neil remarked, as if speaking to the gods themselves. He slid the barrel of his rifle into the hole, using it as a makeshift stand, before aiming down its ironsights. Grey and brown furred shapes roiled in the foliage and behind buildings, but he saw a green flash, and he turned his gun to a skaven hastily reloading a jezzaile. It looked both comical and horrifying to see a man-sized rat working a rifle almost as well as Neil, but just as it shouldered its gun again, Neil pulled the trigger of his weapon. The rifle kicked, and blood spattered on three clan rats as the Skaven marksmen fell down to the ground.

"Ok that's one down. If we keep this up, we'll kill all of them by the end of the day."

Quagar Gutgnawer hissed at his subordinates in fury. He went so far as to strike out with his sword at the nearest jezzial team but the cursed skyre rat managed to jump out of the way with the loss of nothing more than a few whiskers and a squirt of the musk of fear. The cursed Skyre rats must be planning to betray him, that was why they had opened fire, wasting expensive ammunition and alerting the pink skins to their peril. He gnawed on his cheek, visibly frothing, at the mouth as his tail lashed in frustration.

"Stop-stop fool! Waste no more warptokens on these pink things!" Quagar squeaked.

"But great chieftan, the Grey seer..." the marksrat began, closing his mouth quickly as Quagar stepped towards him. The underchief was massive by skaven standards over five feet tall and fit to be a storm vermin if he hadn't been called to the higher duty of driving this pack.

"Silence! Only I speak-speak with the Grey Seer! Quagar squeaked in fury. The Horned one had indeed spoken to him. The dread rat had called him aside and told him that he had sensed the presence of much warpstone at this human burrow. Only for a moment, as though the humans were somehow shielding the blessed substance. Quagar was to seize the precious warpstone and return it to the Grey Seer so that he might use it to advance the cause of the horned rat.

"Great chief I must..." whatever the sharpshooter must do was lost as his head burst apart in a spray of blood and flying bits of bone. The cursed pink skins had jezzails of their own, something that wouldn't have mattered if Skyre treachery hadn't revealed their attack too soon. Well there was nothing to be done about it now. Quagar squirmed back down the slight slope to get out of the line of fire, being too important to risk himself so recklessly. The rock wall and apple trees provided good cover from the house. The Underchief sniffed nervously at the air. He didn't like being outside in the daylight, even on an overcast day like this. Why couldn't these pink skins live in tunnels as the Horned Rat intended? His storm vermin were gathered around the carcass of one of the four legged beasts that carried the pink things into battle, worrying at its delicious entrail with their teeth. Quagar's lips peeled back from his teeth to see such warriors. A thought crossed his mind. How many more could he equip if he took the warpstone for himself...

"Great lord!" the scout squeaked and abased himself, avoiding a decapitating strike from Quagar's sword by a fraction of an inch. Had the scout somehow overheard his plans? No he hadn't spoken aloud, he as sure of it.

"Speak-speak!" Quagar demanded.

"We have found a way into the stone burrow great lord! There is a tunnel into an underground room that stinks of grapes!" the scout squeaked.

"Of course, as I knew there would be," Quagar congratulated himself. This was the skaven way, to attack from below, not to charge across fields against jezails. He suddenly wondered if the Skyre rats were selling the weapons to the pink skins in an effort to undermine his glorious victory. His whiskered bristled with agitation.

"We show the way to your mighty warriors and..."

"What!" Quagar roared, then recovered himself, making calming gestures to the cringing scout.

"No-no, you must go, lead your scouts and the clan rats will follow yes-yes," Quagar crowed. Let the scouts get chewed up by the pink skins before his clan rats swept over them, that would ensure that if they suspected anything it would never be reported.

"At once great lord!" the scout squeaked and skuttled off to chitter at it's shabby company. Quagar flinched as another boom came from the house and a scream of pain came from somewhere among the trees. Yes. Soon all that wrapstone would be his, if he could just keep his subordinates from conspiring to ruin him...

Neil reloaded quickly, grinning wickedly at the skaven scurrying away in fear. But it was a short lived victory. He pulled himself away from the opening to check on Emmaline, who looked none the worse for wear. The slight scuff on her healthy cheek somehow enhancing her beauty. Luckily none of the bandits were relaxed enough to really pay too much attention, their boots stomping on the floors as they ran back and forth, cursing and shouting at each other. It was then Neil noticed that things had grown quieter. Not silent, of course. There was still the occasional glowing bullet slicing through wood, but no clan rats surged forward and the strange firearms the skaven used weren't assailing them quite as horribly.

"We got guys watching our ass?" Neil asked Johann, who had come back into the long gallery and knelt down again, sporting a pistol in one hand and a notched military saber in the other. He peered out of the window before ducking back down, having evidently seen nothing to fire at. There was the faint smell of something rancid in the air.

"I got Clause and Kurt keeping an eye on it, and Brant's barred the doors." He said, and coughed from the dust flying everywhere. He snorted and kicked a piece of fallen wood away from his position. "Hell of a day to join the crew."

"Least we had some fun, beforehand." Neil remarked casually, giving Emmaline a smile that brightened the room. She smiled back, but it was whiped from her face, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening. Neil wasn't sure what the matter was, but he rolled away from the wall just as Emmaline screamed his name, and in a split second he saw her concern. What almost looked like a floating ball of green was hurtling toward the shattered window between them and Johann. Neil tossed his hochland rifle and leaped as best he could from the awkward position, and if he wasn't so blessed by Ranald with quick reflexes and clever fingers, all three of them would have died a most painful death.

He felt the globe of poison glass land heavily in his grasp, and his breath caught when it still 'clunked' against the floor. By Ranald's luck, his hands had halted the momentum just enough to keep it from breaking, and Neil's lips formed a tight 'o' in amazement at how close that was.

"Here, let me take it," Emmaline whispered, but Neil hugged it close to his chest when she reached for it.

"Babe, I love you, but you're kinda clumsy." He said.

She placed her hands on her hips, her knees on the floor. "Someone needs to hold it while you fire, numbskull."

"Oh don't worry, they'll get their globe back." Neil said with a grin, and he hopped to his feet and poked his head out of the window. Even as he did so, he saw a cloaked rat with an ornate mask and a large pack strapped to its back producing another globe. Its eyes couldn't be seen, but the glass coverings made it look almost as if the skaven were part insect. "Johann!"

The bandit boss was already on it, readying a shot. A moment later, a kick and a flash of smoke. The rat fell over, cracking some of the glass with its fall. By Neil's estimation the skaven was twenty meters out, and Neil stood to his full height and tossed the globe he had to land amidst the ever billowing gas. Emmaline yanked at Neil's arm, and he nodded. "Boss, we got to get away from the gallery. We don't know if the gas will come this way." Emphasizing the word 'boss' to keep up the facade they wanted to join the outfit.

"What'll it do?" He asked hoarsely, reloading.

"Bad shit, let's go!" Neil remarked, and he followed Emmaline into the lobby down the corridor. As the two thieves rounded the corner, they heard the sound of screeching and the sound of iron on iron. A man grunted and yelped. Neil flipped his hochland rifle, hefting it as they entered the scene. Two skaven lay dead on the floor, bleeding from heavy cuts. One of the bandits was dead too, a falchion still embedded in his skull. Another bandit furiously defended himself against three skaven as more streamed out of what to Neil appeared to be a closet behind the staircase.

"Sigmar's balls." Neil and Emmaline remarked together, Neil redirecting his rifle and firing into the group hounding the bandit, Neil thought his name was Clause. The bullet punctured the neck of the first and the skull of a second, dropping two at once. Neil spun his brass covered rifle and ran in like it was a club, battering one of the skaven that had decided to sneak up behind the dueling bandit. If they didn't think of something, they might be surrounded again in a matter of moments. Emmaline pulled Neil back with the strength of desperation, and Neil saw her wild look.

He looked back at the other skaven charging in to harass Clause.

Clause hacked and stabbed, but took a cut in his ribs. He kicked the skaven in the head, but more swarmed around him, and Neil saw his eyes sweep over his and Emmaline as the two thieves turned and ran down the corridor. His cries of help followed them, but were muffled when Neil slammed the doors and Emmaline spun and performed a spell that melted the brass on the knobs and locks, fusing the doors together. The two sprinted back the way they had come, Neil holding Emmaline's hand as the lovers ran to a better position.

Emmaline whispered her spell as she allowed the coarse gunpowder to slide through her fingers and down into the barrel of Neil's rifle. She had the thing gripped between her thighs as she lay back on a couch that had been pulled into the drawing room. A barely perceptible shimmer spread across the powder as it trickled in, the spell improving and transmuting it. Once the charge was in Emmaline spat the lead ball, into the barrel, quickly enough that its golden sheen wasn't visible, then stuffed the cartridge paper in after it and plied the rammer to drive it all down to the base.

"That's downright distracting," Brandt, a grizzled looking Middenlander muttered, pulling his eyes away from Emmaline to resume his vigil. The loading completed, Emmaline passed the rifle to Neil who took it from her without taking his eyes from the tree line. He eased the hammer back to full cock with a soft click of oiled metal.

They were in an upstairs drawing room, disheveled and ransacked by the thieves earlier attentions. fine books carpeted the floor where they had been scattered, pages flapping in the breeze that came through the open windows. A portrait of a portly scowling woman hung askew on one wall, the cuts made by throwing knives disfiguring her face. Johann and the majority of the men were downstairs, trying to keep an eye on all the entrances at once, now they had piled enough furniture against the cellar doors that the Skaven couldn't come through without considerable noise and effort.

"Why don't they just rush us?" Brandt muttered, his knuckles tight on the stock of his crossbow. Emmaline risked raising herself on her elbows to take a look at the woods. She could see movement as the skaven skuttled about in the shadows at the limit of visibility. Neil edged his rifle up onto the coffee table he was using as a rest and sighted down the long length of the weapon, mouthing something to himself.

"They don't know how many of us there are?" Emmaline supposed. They had driven back the Skaven twice, though it had been luck and firearms that had turned the tide.

"They are probably waiting for dark," Neil suggested, "rats always prefer to play..." The rifle cracked, crack physically painful to the ears, vomiting a lance of flame that light the late afternoon gloom like a lantern for a half second. There was a thrashing in the trees and then an armored rat staggered out, clutching at a fist sized hole in it's chest. It fell to it's knees, crawled a half pace towards the manor, then expired with a a final thrash of it's tail.

"..at night," Neil concluded, handing the weapon back to Emmaline who bit the top off a fresh cartridge and began to reload again. Brandt looked at Neil's rifle in surprise.

"Never known a gun to make so little smoke," he admitted.

"Nuln powder," Neil explained, pointedly not looking at where Emmaline was once again muttering silently over his weapon.

"Besides, there are more of them now. I think they are just gathering their strength..."

_______________________

'Charge-charge!" Quagar Gutgnawer squeaked, kicking and shoving the clan rats forward as he took the place of honor at the rear. It was an hour after sundown now and the pink things would have trouble seeing. The remaining jezail teams fired, lighting the darkened woodlands with the sickly green flashes of their weapons as they hammered the windows the pink things had been firing from. There were nearly fifty clan rats with him now. More had been trickling in over the last few hours, eager to for the kill and to claim some of the warptokens that the Grey Seer was offering in reward for these particular pink things. Quagar would have liked to have waited for more, but each passing hour increased the likely hood that a more formidable champion would arrive and take over his small war paw. The clan rats lashed their tails and charged, leaping out of the trees and over the small stone wall as they rushed towards the house.

Muzzle flash and powder smoke erupted from the pink thing burrow and a half dozen clan rats went down under the churning feet of their fellows. The air was suddenly thick with the musk of fear but Quagar lashed at the back of his clan rats with his halberd, making sure they realised what would happen to them if they grew more afraid of the pink things than they were of him. All of those warp tokens were going to be his.. assuming no one betrayed him of coarse.

_______________________

Emmaline felt her stomach tighten as the rats reached the house. Glass shattered and wood boomed as the creatures hit the side of the house in a frenzy, trampling the flower beds and thrusting their weapons through the windows. Johann fired his coach gun into them at point blank range killing two and wounding a half dozen more. The other bandits fired their pistols or hacked at their attackers with their weapons. Steel scraped on steel and rats and men screamed and cursed in their own languages. The air was filled with an acrid stink like rotten urine that made Emmaline gag as she furiously tried to reload Neil's rifle.

"No time babe," Neil replied, his voice tight but calm as he took the gun from her hands and slung it, half loaded. As she watched one of the bandits took the point of a spear in the chest, he screamed in pain and staggered back as one of his fellows thrust a pistol into the Skaven's jaw and pulled the trigger. The wounded man staggered back, clutching the bloody rent and swinging an axe one handed.

"They are coming through the back!" Gert, a stocky Rieklander with an evil scar across his face piped in a surprisingly high and panicked voice. The crash of shattered windows and broken doors sounded behind them. Neil shoved her backwards, ducked under a cut from a rusty sword, and thrust upwards through the chest of a rat with his shortsword, backpedaling all the while. Emmaline felt an icy chill wash over her.

"We have to make a run for it!" she whispered to Neil.

"Back! Back!" Johann roared, clubbing one of the rat things with the butt of his coach gun and stumbling backwards. Rats were coming through the windows now, slithering with all the abhorrent grace of their smaller brethren. Emmaline turned and ran, running into the black and white tiled parlor. A pair of massive rats with long rusted swords were coming in from the other side. Screaming in terror she snatched up a bottled of brandy and hurled it at them. One of them cut at it in mid air and the bottle shattered into a thousand pieces spraying a cloud of liquor and glass. Emmaline snapped her fingers and the cloud exploded with a dull whoomph sending both rats to the ground battering at the flames that suddenly engulfed them. The air stank of brandy and burning fur as well as the acrid stink that had assailed her nostrils earlier. Neil grabbed her and dragged her back as more rats charged into the parlor. They fell back, with the remaining bandits forced up the large marble staircase to the second floor by the oncoming tide of rats. The surviving bandits, bloodied and terrified formed a plug, holding off the rats until they got behind the massive wooden doors at the top of the stairs. The doors swung shut with a boom as the bandits closed them in the face of the surging rats, throwing their shoulders against them as impacts from the other side rattled them. Brandt was muscling a heavy book case against the doors and several other bandits were furiously piling furniture up in a makeshift barricade.

"You'll have to go out the window and run for the woods," Neil said, his face grave and spattered with blood. He mopped at his handsome face with his shirt sleeve and grinned at her with confidence he certainly didn't feel.

"What about you?!" Emmaline demanded. Neil's grin grew wider but somehow frozen on his face.

"Well we can't all make it," he pointed out. Emmaline grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, but he merely kissed her and shoved her away.

"Get going, while they are distracted," he advised.

"Neil, this is no time to be struck with a bad case of nobility," she snapped, her voice wild and desperate. Axes were hammering in the doors now, and the bandits were furiously reloading their firearms.

"Caught between an army of skaven and an army of beastmen? Why, it is the text book time for it. It is something right out of a play," he quipped. Emmaline opened her mouth to snap a response then her eyes suddenly went wide.

"Babe you are wasting...."

"Make sure I'm not distracted!" Emmaline shouted as she bolted for the parlor as fast as her legs would carry her. Johann shook his head in wonder as he clapped Neil on the shoulder.

"Make sure she isn't distracted she says," he muttered in wonder.

______

Emmaline ran into the parlor and pulled open the case in which the warpstone was shielded. She could feel the magical energy radiating off it in an instant. The howl of the Skaven outside seemed to intensify though that might just have been her imagination. She gingerly kicked a piece of the faintly glowing green rock free of the case then squatted over it and began to mutter a spell. She worked the words over and over again, racking her brain to remember her spotty lessons on spell craft as she did so. All she had to do was...

Above the manor, out of sight of the battling men and skaven, a giant golden disc exploded into being. It shone like a small sun above the manor house, turning in slow lazy circles. It cast a radiance down on the manor that those inside could see and the Skaven recoiled for a moment, falling back from their attack on the second story as this strange light appeared in the sky.

Quagar Gutgnawer howled in fury, desperately trying to drive his clan rats to finish the attack, the pink skin were trapped, and enough warpstone to start his own clan would soon be his. His stomach growled with hunger and his mouth filled with saliva at the idea of feasting on soft pinkskin flesh. Just a few more minutes...

War horns sounded in the forest. Not the noble brassy sounds of Imperial horns, but the crude bone things that marked the coming of beastmen. Emmaline ran to the window and risked a peek out. As she watched horned figures burst from the woods, shaking their own weapons as they rushed towards the manor. As she watched a gor cut down a skaven, pausing over its body to bray and howl at the golden light above. More and more of the creatures rushed from the forest, and the skaven recoiled, trapped in the manor as the beastman came rushing to the strange beacon.

"What is happening," Neil demanded as Emmaline reemerged, her pack slung on her back and her eyes bright in the odd gold illumination.

"Beastmen, attacking the Skaven," she reported breathlessly.

"And this helps us how?" Neil demanded, he was taking advantage of the slackening fight to reload his rifle once again.

"The first rule of any con is to make them look in the wrong direction," Emmaline explained. The doors were barely holding together, hacked and crazed with blows from axes and polearms. The bandits looked bloodied, terrified, and exhausted. Emmaline could only hope they had enough left in them.

"Heroic last stands are for fools and heroes!" she called out in a loud theatrical voice.

"I for one intend to die fat, happy, and far from here!" Several of the bandits yelled in agreement.

"Ranald would be ashamed of me if I let myself get cut to dog meat in a place that I didn't even get to rob!" she went on, earning chuckles and half hearted cheers from the surviving bandits.

"So what's say we stop playing soldier and get the hell out of here!"

"How are we going to get passed two bloody armies?" Gert demanded, crossing his blood spattered arms. Emmaline's smile lit the room.

"I'm so glad you asked.."

_______

The doors flew open while the Skaven below grappled with the beastmen. Liquor bottles sailed down the stairwell, hunks of burning petticoats stuffed into their necks. They struck the marble floors below and exploded in flames as the bandits came charging down the stairs, forming a tight wedge around Emmaline. Neil fired his rifle at the run, the bullet punching through two Skaven and sending them both spinning to the ground. Pistols cracked and Brandt's crossbow thrummed as they cut their way through the distracted Skaven.

"Kill-kill!" A large skaven was shouting as he decapitated a roaring elkheaded beastman with a swipe of his sword. The Skaven tried to react hacking at the humans as they passed, but the chaos was too complete to allow them to focus their efforts. Emmaline reached the cellar door and touched it, reversing her spell. The doors fell open and the humans half fell half ran down the narrow stairwell into the darkness. Skaven surged after them but the narrow gap hindered their pursuit. They descended into the underground wine cellar, racing past man sized oaken barrels filled with wine and ale.

"There!" Neil yelled pointing to the old drain that the Skaven had used when they first tried to infiltrate the manor. The bandits ran for it, all save Clause, Emmaline and Neil. Clause was furiously swinging his axe, staving in barrel after barrel in sprays of splintered wood. Liquor poured free, spilling onto the floor of the cellar in shining pools. Skaven were pouring down after them now, as much to flee the beastmen as in pursuit, their beady eyes glowing in the darkness.

"That's enough!" Emmaline shouted and Neil grabbed the dim witted Clause and thrust him into the tunnel that the others were already using to flee the manor.

"Come on babe!" he shouted, but Emmaline pulled against him.

"Not quite yet... not quite.."

___________________________________________

Quagar Gutgnawer had been betrayed. Somehow the man-things were in league with the beast things. He lead the retreat from the front, following the humans down into the grape burrow below the building. He could still run them down, perhaps this would even be better. He could kill them himself and claim every single warptoken! The genius of his plan buoyed him, even as he squirted the musk of fear at the sound of what was happening to his warband above him. His feet were splashing through fluid as he pursued the man-things. The fluid stank, its pungent reek burning his nostrils like the aftermath of a gas attack. No matter, he could see one of them now just ahead of the old drainage tunnel. He was no expert but by its long fur it must have been a breeder. Foolish man-things to bring a breeder here. No matter, he would kill her and take the warpstone for himself and then... She raised her hand and made a strange gesture.....

___________________________________________

Emmaline blew a kiss at the onrushing Skaven, her lips pulled back in a grin every bit as savage as the onrushing rats. It checked for a moment in confusion. The spell ignited the spilled brandy that Clause had freed with his axe and a wall of blue flame rushed outwards like a breaking wave. Rats screamed and the smell of burning fur blasted back, overwhelming the sweet alcohol stench of brandy and the musty smell of the tunnel behind them.

"Ranald's balls," she marveled.

"Run now, pray later," Neil advised but he was grinning, even as he half dragged her into the old drain and up towards the surface.

Four days ago, they had been surrounded and assailed at all sides but creature that, by all rights, shouldn't exist. Three had died that night, and the rest had fled hungry, and wounded, and tired. Four days of running, beyond certain they had beastmen or skaven at their heels, and for four days they had barely any sleep or food, and stopped to drink only when they happened to cross by a stream. Fear had kept them in motion, had kept them running as fast as they could. But now, on the fifth day, it was the general consensus that they had evaded the terrors of chaos, if the ruinous monsters had even chased them. It was just as likely they had slaughtered each other and took no notice of the six humans that had slipped away in the night.

Of the seven bandits there had been, there were now just four left. You might count the charming Nuln thief and the voluptuous Altdorf swindler amongst them, but Neil did not, which meant there were the two of them and the four bandits left. It was two days ago when they had found the road, and like as not the news of the great attack on Nuln had swept across the province, because they had yet to meet a single traveler or coach on the road thus far. However, the further they walked, the more recent the signs of activity were. Hoof prints here, an abandoned cloak there, an old campsite that had been used within the week.

But without a map and just the general direction of the sun, they knew they were moving generally west, just not how far west they had gone. Every now and then, when they crested a hill or the trees thinned, however rare either were, they could see the ominous, sweeping silhouette of the Grey Mountains in the distance. Which meant Neil knew they were likely in Riekland.

"I need a bath..." Emmaline complained in his ear.

Johann and a his crossbowmen Kurt strode ahead of them, the leader 'leading,' though Neil would have felt more inspired if he didn't spit constantly and moan about as much as the rest of them. The adulation of survival quickly gave way to hunger pangs and foot aches, and though they did escape with a few supplies and had managed to catch a fish or two after some embarrassing attempts, it still wasn't enough to stifle the mood. Kurt, on the other hand, still kept his eyes peeled, afraid of anything coming out of the forest. Neil was glad of it. Just because they had left the beasts behind didn't mean there wasn't the usual terrors ahead. Even Reikland wasn't completely rid of beastmen or orcs, even wild animals. Behind them, Neil heard the other two muttering and talking. Neil and Emmaline walked in the middle of the party.

Well, Neil walked in the middle. A few miles back Emmaline had come to him about her feet cramping, and so after looking into her big blue eyes, coupled with Johann's insistence they kept moving, Neil had done the only thing a boyfriend could do. He carried her. The front of her against his stooped back, her legs wrapped around his waist with his hands supporting her thighs like a seat, and her arms over his shoulders. He recalled having done the same thing when they first met, after they had narrowly survived being attacked by rampaging greenskins. If it was anyone else, even a pretty girl he did not know, he would have told them to piss off, but alas, he was in love.

"We'll be at a city soon, Emm." Neil assured her, tiredly. "Once we get to Altdorf, I'll bathe you myself."

"Ooo, I like that," She cooed in his ear, sending a shiver up his spine. Suddenly he felt a renewed sen of purpose, energy swelling in his breast. Her nuzzling into his neck also helped immensely, and she giggled as he stood up straighter. It was amazing the magic a woman could bring, and Emmaline had more than most, and Neil did not mean her sorcerous powers.

"Quiet!" Johann whispered suddenly, scrambling for the brush. Neil blinked, and followed Kurt as the crossbowmen too went to a hiding spot. Neil crouched down behind a wide thicket, Emmaline clinging to him tighter as the whole band hid from view. Neil took a deep breath, and soon only heard the beating of his and Emmaline's hearts and his lover's steady breathing. Until they heard something rhythmic. Something solid and minacious. The engineer turned thief realized it was a black coach, being drawn by four coal black horses. He could see Johann's figure tense, but as the coach came into view, there was something unsettling about it. Something unnerving. Even the horses seemed intimidating, their eyes blazing in a way that made them look every vigilant and wild. Neil wondered if Johann would give the signal to attack, but before he knew it, the coach was gone, the horses cantering and taking their cargo gently into the distance.

It had been an easy enough score, and no threat. Why hadn't they gone after it?

And why did he feel such a cold chill down his spine?

"What in the seven Hells Johann?!" Kurt demanded, the disappointment curdling his voice into a snarl. The leader of their little band turned to face his subordinate, lifting himself out of the undergrowth with a drizzle of little leaves. The rest of the band also looked irritated, imagining an easy score, and an end to their walking, racing away.

"Something was wrong," Johann declared, his hand drifting to the horse pistol at his belt as he faced the glares of his men. Emmaline was sitting on a log, resting her feet.

"What is wrong is you chickened out!" Brandt declared, taking a threatening step forward. Johann gripped his pistol and snarled in anger, temper frayed by days on the road.

"No!" Emmaline called out, stilling the impending fight as effectively as throwing cold water over a fire. Of course, that didnt mean it wouldn't flare up again later.

"He is right, there was something... odd about it," she added a little lamely. The thieves rolled their eyes, grumbling about Johann losing his nerve and letting good coin slip through his fingers.

"Well it is out of reach now," Neil declared, "and those horses looked fresh, maybe its not far to a town." Emmaline gave him a sidelong glance, clearly impressed at this new revelation of his skills.

"Maybe we can make it before nightfall?" he suggested, shouldering his pack. Emmaline sighed and stood up. She thrust out her hands towards Neil, the thief sighed and hoisted her up onto his back.

The Buggered Priest was the definition of the word disreputable. The coaching inn stood on a low rise surrounded by a half dozen small hovels that must have served as housing for the owner and staff. All three of its stories, seemed to lean at contrary angles and argue against its continued existence. The plaster of the upper two was discolored and badly in need of painting, the stonework of the lower story so overwhelmed with moss and fungus as to appear organic. Its ancient slate roof looked poxed where tar had replaced the grey stone that wind and lack of maintenance had carried away. A man high wall of stone encircled the whole complex with a wooden gate house large enough to admit such coaches as were desperate or unfortunate enough to have to make use of it. Harvest was over and the stubble covered fields which surrounded it were a lusterless and unhealthy yellow that gave little confidence as to the quality of the horse feed piled in drafty half collapsing barns.

"Did I mention that I had my own Tower before we left Nuln?" Emmaline complained though she was as happy to see rest and a semblance of safety as the rest of them.

"Every chance you get," Brandt remarked, but his heart wasn't in it as they limped up the road towards the Inn. Both sides of the road were flanked with apple orchards, though wild and overgrown they had clearly been harvested recently. If the few surviving apples which hung on the tree were any indication, the crop had not been spectacular. Little poppets made of corn and small sculptures made of browning apple flesh topped the low stones which marked the edge of the road. Night hadn't fallen yet, but light blazed in every window as the approached, the smell of wood and peat fires soothing their noses. A pair of men sat in the gate house drinking ale from a small barrel, they gave the group, and particularly Emmaline, a shifty look as they approached, but they neither greeted them or attempted to bar their passage. Both had coach guns within easy reach.

The interior of the Buggered Priest was in somewhat better repair, and to Emmaline's surprise rather full. Men, women, and children sat around the four long tables which dominated the tap room, chattering and eating meagre meals of stew and dark rye bread. Emmaline felt her stomach rumble at the thought of real food for the first time in days. The walls were covered with decorations of woven wheat and barely. Apples were piled up too and several little cornucopias had been set up on the mantles of the three stone fireplaces which warmed the hall. Around the fringes of the common room were smaller more private tables where what Emmaline presumed to be travelers sat, drinking ale and talking in low hushed voices. They seemed to be mostly merchants or artisans, though Emmaline saw more than one sell sword hunched over an ale tankard. There was even a dwarf sitting alone in the corner, his eyes illuminated by the bowl of a pipe that he was smoking.

"Doing a brisk business for all it looks like its about to fall into the Stir," Johann observed.

"It ain't like this every night, its for Hexennacht," a tired looking barmaid declared, sizing up the party as she passed, her eyes lingering on their weapons.

"You gents just made it, they'll be sealing the door in a few minutes, nervous times with the trouble out east," she confided.

"They're not real works," Neil whispered to Emmaline. She nearly choked on the mead halfway down her throat.

The small band of bandits had found a table near the center of the left room, connected by a large opening to the wider right room where the hearth lay. A few men in hard leathers and armed like them have given them a few looks, ranging from suspicious to a jovial 'cheers.' Within a moment, Johann and his band were seated and mead and ale were swiftly granted to them. Emmaline said she wanted something sweet, and so mead it was. After Neil forked down some links of sausage, he leaned over, elbow on the table, and whispered to her.

When she regained her dignity, coughing a couple of times, she whispered back hoarsely: "Who?"

Neil nodded forward to the armed men across the floor. At her next unspoken question, he elaborated. "They're wearing their swords wrong. Any hard man would keep it in easy reach, and their armor looks castle-made in some places and scrap in others. And that one's helmet, see the ridge at the top? There was a plume there."

"Their looters," She reasoned quickly, and Neil nodded. She liked to pretend she was clueless, but she was smart as a whip. Emmaline glanced at Neil, and he glanced back. Their faces were very close, and he gave her a wink.

"Just keep your valuables close by," he said, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang had begun discussing the past few days, glad the hunger and thirst was over, but still demoralized by the lack of a good score. Neil caught some of it, and he could empathise. But sometimes one's life was good enough, at least for people not blessed by Ranald like he figured he was. How else could he and Emmaline still be alive after all the chaotic messes and near misses they had been through?

"I'm tellin ya, all we need is some food and we can grab a prize tonight," Brandt said a bit too loudly. Neil glanced around, but luckily people were too spooked or too busy in their own conversations to really pay attention. Johann looked grim, looking at Brandt like he was asking him to sacrifice his first born child.

"We just got in here, ya fool. You really want to sleep on the ground tonight? And on Hexennacht? You heard the woman."

"Blind superstition!" Kurt said, banging his fist on the table hard enough to shake the silverware. "But gold is very real."

"We thought the walking talking rats were fake too, didn't we?" Johann remarked, and for a second, no response was forthcoming. Neil thought that simple piece of logic was enough to turn the tide, but Gert spoke through a mouthful of mutton.

"We can't get back in the city like this, boss." He reminded him, chewing loudly as he did so. "If we don't get a score, we'll be on the ground for another few weeks."

Johann deflated at that, and Emmaline's eyes widened at the thought of not sleeping in a bed again. Neil steadied her, but before he could speak, Johann groaned loudly. "Fine, you bloody louts! We're going out, but if by morning we have nothing but sore backs, I'm gutting everyone of ya and finding a new band." He warned. Neil doubted he meant it, but one could never tell with bandits. A few glanced at Neil and Emmaline, who had been just whispering to one another, and by their looks it was clear the two of them were expected to follow.

Emmaline's head fell into her arms, crossed atop the table, hiding her face behind flesh and her waves of blonde hair. Neil rubbed her back, sympathy on his face. "Hey, you can sleep ontop of me, babe." He told her.

Emmaline gave Neil a wicked look and giggled in a manner that made a nearby goodwife kick her wide eyed husband under the table.

"And how much sleep would I actually get then?" she teased in a tone which was definitely not a complaint. In truth she had been looking forward to a bath and following exactly such a course of action, though where they would fine privacy in such a crowded inn was an open question.

"If you two are quite finished," Johann hissed from the edge of the table.

"I haven't even had a chance to start yet!" Emmaline protested, "I had a whole thing with a sausage.." Johann made an impatient gesture with his knife hand and they both stood up reluctantly, Emmaline swallowing down the last of her mead. The bandits had a point that without coin it would be a difficult journey across an Empire in which every bed and scrap of food would soon be commandeered by soldiers. The wyrdstone they had stolen was valuable for certain, but only once they actually reached Altdorf and could find a wizard to sell it to. Out here in the rural marches it was more likely to lead to a pyre than a profit.

"Fine, fine," Neil acquiesced and they stood up and followed the bandit chief from the common room, depositing some of their few remaining coins to cover drinks and food. The locals stared at them in abject amazement, but no one moved to stop them as they headed out into the rapidly deepening twilight.

"So what is the plan boss?" Brandt asked once they were outside and passed the gate wardens.

"You are going to love this," Johann grinned.

_______

Emmaline did not love it. She crouched beside a stone wall a mile east of the Inn. Both moons were in the sky now, reflecting the greenish glow of Morslieb down onto her. It cast shadows in hard and unforgiving light without providing as much illumination as it should. The Winds of Magic, normally little more than a flicker at the edge of her vision, ebbed and flowed in pulsating unhealthy gusts. A lone wolf howled off in the distance making Emmaline shiver as she adjusted her position for the hundredth time.

"I told you," Johan grinned, also for the hundredth time. The bandit had claimed that the coach they had passed earlier would soon realize that it could not make safety in the beast man ravaged east and would be forced to turn back. It seemed he had been right, and Emmaline had the impression that he would not tire of reminding them any time soon. Johann moved on along the wall to whisper the same thing to the rest of the band as they awaited the arrival of the coach. A slight wind had come up, and the willow trees above them rustled unnervingly. Emmaline swallowed back the bitter copper taste of fear as she remembered her earlier impressions of the coach. She couldn't deny that hijacking the coach would not only provide them with gold but with transportation, but her skin prickled and she had to fight the urge to run. Neil reached out and squeezed her thigh in comfort before returning his grip to his rifle. She had whispered her spell as she had loaded it, and hoped that the small infusion of magic to powder and ball might be worth something on a night like tonight.

In the distance the coach came into view, the curvature of the road making it seem to slowly drift towards them despite the fact that the steeds were being driven at a fearful pace. Spurts of dirt flew from the hooves of the unwholesome looking steeds, and sparks flew where steel shood hooves struck flint in the roads metaling. The wolf howled again, but suddenly chocked off as though in pain and the only sounds were the clatter of wheels and the crack of the coachman's whip. Emmaline was assailed by the sudden urge to run. She had no business being out in the cold trying to rob a coach, she was terrible with weapons, and her paltry magical skills had to be kept secret. She tried to balance that feeling of helplessness with the thought that if they pulled this off, she might be back in Altdorf within a fortnight.

With eerie smoothness the coach began to slow as it approached the fallen log which Johann and the others had dragged across the road to impede passage. The coppery taste grew sharper in Emmaline's mouth as the coach came to a stop with the unearthly smoothness of a beer stein being slid across a polished bar. The great black horses pawed and snorted, their breath forming jets of steam in the cooling air. No one emerged from the carriage. Emmaline could see the moons reflected in the polished ebony of its timbers, and in the immaculately oil black coats of the steeds. The dread grew all but unbearable and she prayed for a scream, or a shot, or something to break the tension. With a groan, Gert and Brandt stumbled from their concealment, rushing forward with weapons raised. Their faces were dawn, and Brandt was clearly struggling hard to shout a challenge of a command, Emmaline could see his throat constricting with the effort, but he couldn't make his vocal cords work. The coachman, a figure in black robes turned to regard the approaching bandits without comment.

"Ge..Get...Getttt," Brandt stammered, unable to master what by now was a tension so acute it bordered on terror. Emmaline's hand hurt and she realized she was gripping the hilt of her little knife so had that her knuckles were pale and bloodless. The door of the coach opened, revealing a smooth feminine arm. There was a soft chuckle that curdled the blood and a smell of cinnamon and metal which tickled the sinuses and watered the eyes. The arm made a gesture to the two thieves, an beckoning crook of the finger. Both Gert and Brandt groaned oddly, then slowly lowered their weapons. The figure gestured again, imperious and commanding. Their weapons fell to the ground as both thieves stumbled, as though befuddled, to the coach. They climbed up and vanished into the interior, obscured by the closing door and the heavy red velvet drapes a moment later. Emmaline worked her mouth trying to make a sound but without success. She thought she heard Johann whimper. The coachman raised his whip and cracked it, the sound, louder than a gunshot, made Emmaline flinch and the coach turned and rolled up over a gap in the low wall. Crows exploded from the trees, as though fleeing the awful presence of the coach as it began to pick up speed. Emmaline's breathing came deep and rapid as she realized that it as on a dirt lane heading towards a low hill. She was sure it hadn't been there when they placed the tree across the road. She was pretty sure.

"Ran... Ranald's bloody balls," she gasped finally forcing her paralyzed mouth to speak with a tingling surge of effort.

Kurt fell over on his ass, having lost the ability to even stand as he tried to regain his own humanity. Neil had felt it too. It was like an all encompassing lust, yet the lust was not of the carnal desire for flesh. It was like a mouse being mesmerized by a swaying cobra. Neil felt if he had not such a strong sense of self, he might have been lost in the maelstrom of that pull. He heard Emmaline curse, and his first immediate worry was alleviated. The three of them had been effected, but it was nothing compared to how the entire scene had ravaged Johann.

At first, he seemed merely catatonic. His eyes staring blankly, lips moving in a wordless whisper. But gradually his eyes darted left and right, and he began to breathe more rapidly, his mind rising above the scramble, but not quite being put back together properly. He jerked, as if waking from a falling dream, and he seemed almost confused and appalled he found himself in the woods. The sun was not quite below the horizon, but the trees blocked it, casting an ominous shadow across the bandits. Johann's whispering became audible, an unintelligible muttering that one could occasional decipher the names of 'Brandt' and 'Gert' and 'Coach.' Kurt had risen by that time, clutching his chest as if to still his quickened heart, but very much nominally back to his old self.

"Boss?" He asked Johann tentatively.

Johann twitched, and when Kurt put a gentle hand on his shoulder, Johann pulled away so quickly, it was as if he had suddenly had cold water splashed on his face. The bandit leader pulled out his saber and unholstered his pistol, and though Kurt looked concerned, Johann didn't point either at him. "T-They took our boys." He said breathlessly. "Our boys, we have to get them back."

"Boss, I don't think-"

"We have to get them back!" Johann insisted with a roar, his gaze sweeping over Neil and Emmaline as well. The lovers looked at one another, still shaken but coherent enough to feel a bit awkward at the command. Johann did not wait for them to comply, he began muttering to himself again, stepping over the log they had placed in the road and hurrying into the woods, moving with a purpose Neil did not understand. Perhaps the road curved that way up ahead and there was a short cut. He guessed it was possible the gang had been through here before.

"Wait, I'm coming!" Kurt cried, grabbing the crossbow he had dropped and running after Johann. Neil took Emmaline's hand, and the two followed them, albeit at a safe distance. Despite the fact Neither wanted to see any more of the cursed coach or it's eldritch passenger, they could not go back to the Inn. Either they were alone, or they stayed with their two armed companions, and on a night like Hexennacht, it paid to stay in groups.

"Ranald's bloody balls," Emmaline muttered again. This was why sensible people didn't stay out after dark on Hexennacht. Even in Altdorf itself people huddled in taverns or barred the doors to their houses. The whole Empire was rife with tales of dark riders that galloped the lonely roads, long dead shades let loose from whatever hells they inhabited, and the fell whispers of dark unclean voices. Emmaline held no ill will towards the bandits, but her impulse was to run for the Inn. Not that running there would do much good. No one would open a barred door tonight, not for anything, and they might fetch a few ounces of blessed led for their trouble if they tried. She glanced back over her shoulder at the rapidly darkening horizon, the golden light of day replaced with the sickly green of the Chaos moon as it rose in the sky. The thought of walking better than a mile into the gathering gloom was like ice water on her bones.

"Don't look so nervous," Neil encouraged, slinging his rifle over one shoulder.

"It is a night of witches, and you are a witch afterall," he jested.

"Es gibt Hexen und dann gibt es Hexen," Emmaline muttered in the ancient Unberogen tongue. It was a proverb familiar to ever initiate in the Imperial Colleges, even one as truant as her.

"What?" Neil asked, cocking an eyebrow at the ancient words.

"There are witches, and then there are witches," she repeated.

"Come on, we stand a better chance together!" Johann called. He seemed alive with energy, as though his fear were transmuted into adrenaline. Emmaline supposed there were worse traits in a leader than the stubborn refusal to leave a man behind, though she dearly wished they could do exactly that and find somewhere to weather the ill omened night.

_______

The coach was not difficult to follow. The strange road it had taken meandered through the fields, but was dusty enough that the track marks left by the wheels were obvious. Despite this there was something unnerving about the ruler strait lines in the dust. The road slipped over a hill and down along a chuckling stream before crossing a covered stone bridge into a section of woods. By now it was full dark though there was more than enough moonlight to see by. The putrescent green glow lent everything a sinister air and Emmaline clung close to Neil, her small dagger clutched in her hand.

"Why are you so nervous?" he whispered as they clattered across the bridge, Johann's hobnail boots echoing like drums on the timber cross beams.

"Other than following a cursed coach into the woods on Hexennacht?" Emmaline replied, a touch of acid tinging her voice. Neil chuckled, the sound almost sacrilegious in the gloom.

"Yes, other than that," he pressed on.

"I don't like the sounds," she replied curtly. Neil cocked an ear listening to the sound of wild birds and the chirruping call of small woodland animals. Owls hooted in the distance and insects buzzed in a low sursurence.

"Those are normal sounds for the woods at night," he replied.

"I'm a city girl," Emmaline told him huffily, "I make a point of not being in the woods at night."

"Wait.." Johan said, suddenly stopping in the roadway. The tracks of the coach turned from the road and forced themselves into a narrow gap between trees that led deeper into the forest. Just for a moment Emmaline thought she heard another sound, a distant booming sound like great drums being struck. In the distance there was a scream, like a horse being driven to despair by the spurs.

"They went into the woods... they cant plan to go much further," Neil commented. It was plain even to Emmaline that a coach would not be able to make its way too far without a better path than this to follow. Even this close to the road they could see where branches had been snapped by the coach's passage. They hung in a row like little flags off into the woods. Or like chickens hung by broken necks.

"The tracks..." Emmaline said after a moment. Johann and Neil turned to look at her while Kurt prayed in a low fervent voice.

"What about them?" the bandit chief demanded. Emmaline scraped a shoe along the line of the wheels.

"No hoof prints," she half whispered.

With no tracks or any discernible trail, the group was left without a heading or a means to find it. Per Neil's suggestion, they at least followed what path through the trees they could where they were spaced far enough apart for a coach to travel through. Though eventually, even that plan went sour. The forest grew too thick and laden with stones and fallen boughs. As twilight fell on the forest, it was clear to everyone, even half-crazed Johann, that not only could they not find the coach, but they would have a next to impossible task finding their way back to the road. Neil had fine eyes, but even he was stumbling every now and then, doing his best to keep Emmaline from hurting herself.

Up ahead, Johann and Kurt's figures had returned, cursing. Johann waved his saber about like a child with a rattler, albeit out of frustration rather than enthusiasm.

"We have to make camp, boss. There's nothing left to do here." The crossbowman said reluctantly.

"They couldn't have just up and disappeared!" Johann screamed into his face, daring him to say another word. When Kurt didn't, he waved him off, acquiescing without voicing it aloud. "Go get some firewood!"

Kurt nodded, and Johann pointed at Neil and Emmaline accusingly. "And you two, make the camp!"

Neil gave a nod, followed by a facetious imperial salute while Emmaline stuck her tongue out at him. The darkness, coupled with Johann's blind anger, covered it well. Kurt walked to the east by a dozen paces, holding his crossbow at the ready, until he began to glance at the ground and idly rummaging around on the forest floor. Neil began to clear a space between the trees. Emmaline started to fish through the packs, finding what food they had and nibbling on a bit herself. Up above, Morrslieb loomed bright and green, casting a sickly pall over the forest floor where the shadows did not hold dominion. Neil glanced up at the sky, realizing he was in Reikland, the heartland of the Empire. And still, Chaos and monsters were around every corner. It seemed nowhere was truly safe.

Neil was similar to Emmaline, he was a city boy. But admittedly traveling from Marienburg to Altdorf and Altdorf to Nuln had taught him a few things. He knew how to make a camp without causing too much of a sound. In fact, the silence was so palpable, it caused the next few moments to stand our starkly.

Suddenly there was a rustling, and some inhuman moan that proceeded a cry from a voice. Kurt's voice. The scream rose up sharply, and then was abruptly silence. Emmaline was still chewing on a piece of jerky when Neil tackled her, her 'hrmmm?' barely audible before he planted a hand on her mouth, pulling her into the brush. The leaves cloaked them, but by the green light of the cursed moon, they could still see their immediate surroundings through the diminutive branches and foliage. Emmaline clung to Neil as they watched Johann run into the clearing, yelling for Kurt. He unsheathed his pistol and fired into the gloom, the smoke vomiting from the barrel in a white cloud.

"Thief! Woman!" He screamed next, but Neil did not feel like being a hero with his lover there, and on tonight of all nights. The shadows began to move around the clearing, and soon they separated into black cloaked figures that moved with the grace of hunting cats and the fluidity of serpents. Johann managed to cut into one of them, causing a giggling groan of pain and a splattering of blood, before he was overwhelmed and grabbed, and before Neil and Emmaline's eyes, he was taken, still screaming, into the darkness. Neil held his breath, and Emmaline did as well. They did not move, did not make a sound. The next handful of minutes, they waited there, until they were sure the figures were gone.

"We can't stay here," Emmaline breathed.

"You were always the smart one." He agreed.

Emmaline was certain that even the cannons on the walls of Nuln couldn't have been louder than the thump of her heart. It seemed to leap in her chest like a wild animal thrust into a sack to be drowned. It wasn't like she had never been scared before, facing the Skaven had been no picnic, but the existential helplessness was almost paralyzing. With supreme effort of will she managed to put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself to move and not simply stand waiting for whatever horrors were out there to drag her off. After the first step the second was a little easier, and the third easier still.

"We need to find the road," Emmaline forced herself to whisper, an obvious point but speaking at all seemed to help. Unfortunately, the parlous situation was growing worse. Through the gaps in the trees the green light of Morsliebb was waning, not because the moon was setting, but because thunderheads were beginning to gather and obscure the moons. As the clouds veiled the heavens the wood grew darker and more ominionus, as impossible as that seemed in the later case. Within a quarter hour it had become so dark that Emmaline could only make out a few feet in any direction, the world narrowing to a tangled snarl of old trees, hanging vines, and clawing bushes. Every few seconds lightning would crack across the sky, long arching discharges that flowed from one side of the night to the other with liquid malevolence. The loamy smell of leaf mold and old timber took on a slightly better taste from the electrics overhead.

"We can't see a damned thing," Neil complained as he waited for another burst of lighting to grant them a few moments of illumination, "can you conjure a light."

"I could," Emmaline admitted uneasily, "but anything for miles away would see it in this murk." Neil nodded reluctantly and glanced to the sky. The wind was picking up, rustling the trees above in a sibilant hiss. If there was rain falling, it was whisked away to vapor on he wind before it reached thee canopy. The rush of wind gave the impression of movement in all directions and Emmaline once again had to fight to keep moving, imagining at any moment the spear of a beast man or the slavering jaws of some horror for which there were no names.

"I... I think I see some light," Neil said after a few moments of peering into the gloom. Emmaline followed his gaze and saw what he meant, a smudge of lighter sky.

"Maybe the Inn?" Emmaline thought/prayed. Certainly on Hexennacht every light would be blazing to banish the unwholesome darkness.

"It is our only chance," Neil said with demoralizing finality. Emmaline nodded, privately promising for the thousandth time, that if she got out of this alive she really would put some more effort into her arcane studies.

Emmaline followed Neil towards the distant light. The ground slowly rose and they picked their way around large rocks, and vast thickets of blackberries so tangled with thorns that they had no choice but to skirt them. The light grew steadily brighter as the minutes passed and the climbed the hill. Rain slashed down in irregular burst, spattering them like ice chips for a few seconds before passing on. Emmaline cast glances back over her shoulder every time there was a break in the trees, but even with the elevation the night as to dark to make out out distant villages. On rare occasions Morsliebb would emerge from behind the clouds, casting its odd green radiance down on them. Perversely this was more disorienting than the darkness as the rain spattered vegetation would seem to glow and pulse as though blighted with some strange pox. Neil and Emmaline both hunkered down at such times, fearful of the light, and of the cursed moon itself.

"I don't remember seeing any hills from the road when we came in," Emmaline said as they neared the top of the ridge. Neil paused for a second, casting his mind back.

"I... I don't either but who knows how far we have come," he pointed out reasonably. The thunder pealed overhead drowning out conversation for a moment. Then, suddenly they were atop the hill and looking down into a rocky bowl between eight small hills. The hills themselves were tree covered, though the woods thinned out rapid as one went down into the bowl and the rocks grew more numerous. Runnels of water from the cloud bursts ran down into a larger stream which pooled before gurgling off to the south.

In the center of the bowl they saw the coach. It stood beside a ring of eight stone monoliths, simple upthrusts of granite, though oddly smooth as though polished by unskilled hands. Torches had been thrust into the ground around them and eight bonfires blazed towards the heavens. Around the fires Emmaline could make out figures dancing in counter rotating circles. Some were dressed in finery, others almost nude, some even seemed to be wearing the raw and bloody pelts of animals. In the center of the stone ring was a large stone that looked different from the rest, it glowed with reflected firelight, like quartz or some other crystal. Emmaline queasily realized that this was the light they had been seeing. Infront of the glowing stone prisoners were staked to ground and tied with hawsers around their neck. A figure in a strange headdress was moving between them, dabbing their foreheads with symbols from a bowl which Emmaline hoped was not blood. Thunder crashed overhead, booming and refracting in antiphonal chorus within the hollow. Lightning, white and terrible lanced down and struck one of the monoliths, the bright light leaving a purple after image across Emmaline's vision. It blasted a divot from the top, shards of sharp stone scything down a pair of worshipers. Their companions didn't slow in their dances, stepping on the bodies and howling with laughter.

"We need to get out of here," Emmaline whispered, feeling it was the most unnecessary statement she had ever uttered. Neil was peering at the scene below and nodding slowly. He pointed and she followed his outstretched arm. Beyond the coach on the other side of the bowl was a trail, beside which were staked a half dozen horses. The beasts were neighing and pawing at the earth, large eyes rolling in panic.

"It might be out best bet," he whispered.

"Are those the beasts that don't leave tracks and teleport across logs?!" Emmaline hissed.

"I don't know! Do you have a better idea?" Neil shot back. They both looked at each other, Emmaline a bit more desperate than Neil, but only by a small margin. Neil had always treated life, even deadly situations, with far less care than a sane person would. But being so close to the ruinous powers and having Emmaline to worry about did get him antsy. Lightning lanced downward again, striking the monolith, and Neil had the disturbing thought that it was coming more rapidly as the chants grew more enraptured.

"Ok think, Neil, think..." He said to himself, stroking his chin.

"I fucking hate the woods," Emmaline moaned, and with the release of pressure like a knot being untied, her words unlocked an idea in Neil. He blinked, and a moment later glanced around them. This section of the forest was notably thick with trees, towering oaks and elms that blotted out the sky almost as completely as the obscuring clouds above. The thief pulled back a moment and began to rummage through his pack, praying to Ranald he still had a few sacks of powder. Emmaline peered over his shoulder quizzically. "What are you doing?" She whispered.

In answer, Neil shoved his short sword in her hands. "Babe, don't be mad at me if this is a dumb question, but can you use your magic and make the blade extra sharp?"

"I-..." She started, and peered over the lip of the rise again, before ducking back down. "I think I can, though anything more complicated and they could sense we're here."

"Ok, do it, please." He said to her, and then gave a triumphant 'yes!' a moment later, a few sacks in his hand. Emmaline did as she was bid, slowly and quietly weaving the flows of chamon, the blade now glinting in the pallid light. Neil took the sword back, and crouched. "Ok, stay here and don't move." He told her, and began to skirt down the hill without so much as to a 'why.' She cursed, but did as he bid, knowing he likely had something clever up his sleeve. The time seemed like hours, but in reality it was likely only a handful of minutes, and everytime the lightning struck, it caused Emmaline to jump. She could sense the horrid, corrupted magic in the spells being woven, stuffing her senses with a sickly sensation. She was about to go looking for him when she saw Neil climbing back up the slope like a dog.

"Where were you?" She demanded, but he shook his head.

"Just get ready to run when the signal goes."

"What sig-"

There was a sudden crack, the sound only blackpowder could make. One or two of the cultists turned, but most were too entranced by their ritual to pay it any mind. However, it was an entirely different thing when another snap that reverberated off the trees and the dirt echoed, and drew everyone's attention. The snap dragged, followed by more, and a loud creaking as suddenly, a four foot thick tree with scythe-like branches and the weight of a steam tank fell into the light and struck the very middle of the ritual like a hammer striking an anvil. Immediately, half the cultists were either crushed or smothers by the boughs and leaves, and the other half of them stood stunned. The tree had slammed atop three of the monoliths and covered two more, and as the panic set in, Neil had already set his hochland rifle down, his eye in the scope. He pulled the trigger, and a cultist's head snapped back, half his jaw missing.

"FOR SIGMAR!" Neil roared as loud as his lungs allowed it, and Emmaline screamed like she was a banshee from albion, their cries hitting the confused acolytes like a slap. Neil shot another cultist with his pistol, and Emmaline attempted to do the same, however her gun clicked and a 'shizz!' could be heard above the tumult. More puffs of smoke and flame rose up as the Neil fired and the two of them charged. Even with half the cloaked figures down and three now dead, the rest looked around as if expecting to be surrounded, and Neil took advantage of it, sticking the closest one with over a foot of imperial steel with his shortsword. They just needed to scatter them, and make it to the horses.

Emmaline glared at the misfiring pistol in disgust. The terror still gripped her but action felt better than cowering in fear. Lightning stabbed down in angry flashes, all but blinding them. Leaves exploded upwards from the fallen tree, blazing and burning like incendiary snow. Howling wind whipped the burning leaves around them, embers stinging like insects. The lightning was definitely coming faster now, rolling booms reflecting through the bowl, dazzling blast lighting the smoke in flashes of gold and purple.

A cultist stumbled out of the smoke, an elegant sword raised. Neil chopped down with his blade, the cultist's eyes widened as his torso fell away in two separate pieces, the enchantment laid on the blade not entirely spent. Emmaline stumbled onwards, disoriented by the calamity unfolding around her. She found herself within the circle of the standing stones. Disturbingly the air was clear here, as though a great funnel of wind had cleared it, spiraling upwards like the base of a tornado. Strange stars glittered in the sky above, somehow malevolent and hostile.

The still air stank of blood and burned spices. The source of the first was obvious. Brandt and Gert lay lashed to the stone, bodies daubed with blood in runes that made Emmaline queasy to look at. Jagged slashes tore their throats, emptying their life blood over the stone and into channels cut into the dirt. The hooded figure they had seen from afar stood over Johann, bloody knife raised, an ugly liquid chant spilling from it's lips. Emmaline had the sudden chilling impression that the chanter was speaking to the storm, and the even more chilling realization that the storm was listening, gaping mouths and vast eyes forming in suggestion in the walls of smoke. Johann met her eyes, his face frozen in a rictus of blind terror. Emmaline threw the useless figure at the magister with all her might. The weapon turned awkwardly in the air and the figure turned to face Emmaline. The headdress was a helmet mounted with the skull of some great elk, or perhaps a beastman. Ugly runes had been caved into the ivory and a veil of chainmail, glass beads, and human teeth, hung over the magisters faces. Only the eyes were visible, wide and human, and completely insane. It slashed down with the knife, tearing Johann's throat open and ending his scream in a wet gurgle. The storm boomed as the ritual neared its climax.

"Fuck!!!" Emmaline screamed in very unheroic fashion, and then shouted the words to a short cantrip. THe pistol in the Magister's hand pulsed a gentle gold, and the other spell caster began to laugh in triumph, great tendrils of smoke and congealed rain reaching out of the hellish wall of smoke and burning leaves. Lightning snapped down from the sky, striking the pistol Emmaline had galvanized. The pistol, the Magister's arm, and a fair portion of their shoulder exploded in a spray of bones, hot metal, and burning sizzling blood mist. An arcane backlash hurled Emmaline off her feet, pitching her back into the swirling confusion of smoke and chaos.

Neil was nearly cut by a flailing cultist, but by the skin of his teeth he managed to sidestep a wild slash from a cleaver and stick the cultist in their stomach with an instinctive riposte. He heard a gurgle of blood, and then a giggle that broke through it, followed by the cultist swinging a backhanded strike that nearly took Neil's head. He cursed and ducked just in time, and did the same back to the vile chaos worshiper, taking their head with a swift slice. The sharpened short sword tore through fabric, bone, and flesh easily, and the head went spinning into the tangle of branches left by the fallen tree. Neil was about to wipe the sweat from his brow when Emmaline tumbled into him, sending them both to the ground. Emmaline fell atop him, and he blinked away tears from the smoke. Flames must have caught on the tree.

"You good babe?"

"Yeah, but the others are dead."

"That sucks," he acknowledged, and the two swiftly got to their feet, though they remained close. Both rogues looked around, and what cultists their were left were either on fire or maimed, and the rest had either been crushed or had fled into the wilderness. The horses remained in their spots, however. Neil grabbed Emmaline's hand. "C'mon babe!"

"Wait!" She said, pulling on him. He looked back, and she bit her lip. "Shouldn't we search the bodies?"

Neil paused for a second, and if Emmaline did not know any better, she could hear mechanical cranks whirring in his head as he processed the thought. His eyes then lit up as if a 'bing' sounded, and he shook his head. "I promised you the palace and Ghal Maraz, remember? This is chump change." He reasoned, though of course, he felt it best not to grab more chaos artifacts if they could help it, when there was so much uncursed gold in the largest city of the empire. It was also lucky for them that beasts seemed normal, albeit a bit spooked by the tumult. Perhaps it had been the carriage itself, or the cultists that had caused the steeds their abilities.

Either way, Neil felt assured when their eyes were normal and the allowed Neil and Emmaline to untie their reins and mount them without issue, fleeing off into the night to leave the bodies of the bandits and cultists to burn.