Captain's Log: 19th of Nachenheim, 2514.
Most of my time now is spent training at the barracks of the Order of the Knights of the White Wolf. The knights here are almost indistinguishable from the animals they worship. They seem to never shave and fight with an unnaturally savage ferocity. Our marine Werner claims that sparring with them is reminiscent of that time he fought a bear with only his wits, fists, and teeth. I suppose that's exactly what you need when you live in the Chaos-ridden blizzard of Kislev. You can't just sit down and explain the concept of manners to a bleating, frothing beast man. You need to make the bastards respect your ability to crush their skulls. The White Wolves are still as chivalric, honourable and disciplined as any order back in the Empire. I can guarantee you that their barbaric rage is simply a necessity when dealing with Chaos. I finally have a moment to sit down and recall what has brought me back to a civilization free of undead.
A lingering chill was felt as we stood over the darkness of the trap door. More answers to what exactly was going on in the Temple of the Ancient Allies would be found below. What were they worshiping? A daemon named Necoho and another whose name I don't believe we found. Erm, okay... what about the undead? Where were they coming from? That horrible, ungodly room of tubes and sorcery where they were created and powered by some sort of ritual. Right. What about the... we had the ritual documents that Olvoga wrote. Jim, our trailblazer, was the first to point out that we had gotten everything that we needed to find. We could hear confused and frightened shrieks from the temple monks. Many pairs of scurrying feet were soon to join in the hunt. Reporting the cult to the Temple of Morr and Kislev court wouldn't be too difficult. The cult also isn't going to remove that necromancy room anytime soon...
FORGET THE CATACOMBS! RUN!
Like urchins charmed by the smell of festival pies we ran hurriedly to the secret passage to the south. Stepping outside into the freezing night we could hear a clustering of frenzied voices. The mobs were beginning to form and, like magic, quickly armed themselves with torches, pitchforks and other painful tools. The whole thing brought me back to the village mobs of the Empire for a brief moment. I never thought that I'd feel how a mutant felt, but there we were. No Harbull, there was not that one time in that village where a trade went terrible wrong. That never happened. We will never mention it again... because it obviously never occurred. These mobs each formed in a huge circle of anger and searched in a random direction. Think of them as being like torch bearing schools of fish. It made sneaking around them much easier. Well, we almost mistimed one dash past a crowd but luck made us stop before we hurdled into our doom.
Got to the gate. The portcullis was lowered. Damn. We had seen horrors far beyond what most mortals contend with and, by Sigmar, we were not being stopped by a gate! Werner scaled the wall like Mr. Crumbles on a tree and slew the two guards above. All that we could hear were two small cries as Death Dealer flashed in the moonlight. He chucked down a rope for us all to climb but we realized that four of those damned ghoul guards were soon approaching! I volunteered to go up the rope last as I would stand my ground against those rotting excuses for watchmen. I drew my enchanted blade, Fiendcutter, and waited for the undead to... everyone had gotten up the rope very quickly before the walking corpses could arrive. They really are very slow. I shrugged and followed my crew. We were up on the battlements and I realized that the portcullis was below. We needed to go back down once it was opened...
"Once Werner opens the portcullis, I'll go down and battle those abominations to buy you all time to escape. Then..."
"We still have the rope. We could just use it to get down from the other side and leave."
"Well, The One... that... also works."
Ran downhill in the middle of the night, away from that damned town, and I nearly stumbled into the marsh below. I wouldn't walk out in the wilderness at night, let alone run! Necessity is the mother of acceleration, I suppose. We suddenly stopped and stared in horror. Figures were rising from the marsh. Corpses caked in mud stood upright from their watery beds. How many? Too bloody many! Fighting all of them was absolutely out of the question. I turned to look at The One and saw that she was flying into the night sky, carrying our doctor to safety in her arms. I think I know where the stork and baby story came from now. I wasn't sure whether to be pleased with this or to consider it airborne mutiny. I'm happy to say now that it's the former. Our marine drew his necromancer sword, the gift from that crazed dwarf. He exclaimed that he could see no undead and was highly confused by our fear. I think that the sword had somehow addled him. We dragged him along as we galloped across the driest path in the marsh. The secret was to think of these lying corpses as decayed stepping stones. Especially as they tried to get up and grab you. I stomped in a few teeth on the way to the bridge.
Crossbow bolts came down like rain from the nearby watchtowers. Our good luck, and the time it takes to reload a crossbow, was simply not enough to completely escape the volleys. Loud crackling roars could be heard behind us and I glanced back. Watch towers were completely engulfed in a bright green flame. Screams and smoke were the only things that came from the towers after that. Sigmar bless The One. Jim unfolded his coracle and was ready to jump into the river below the bridge. Jim and Werner landed perfectly. I was also ready to dive but I tripped and fell in instead. It was cold and the currents were strong. Not strong enough for a good swimmer like myself, however. I just then remembered: I forgot to teach the rest of my crew how to swim. Our marine was also wearing a full suit of armour. Shite. I hastily pulled Werner up from the chilling depths, dragged him over to Jim's coracle and we both held on for our dear lives. Harbull and The One soon rejoined us on our journey downriver. We had escaped Bolgasgrad. Good riddance.
The wilderness was perhaps even colder. Miserable is how I would put it. The palace was about three hundred miles away to the south. We needed to think of something and quickly. If the cold didn't get us, the wolves or Chaos would. Wait, I thought to myself, I know exactly how to make a boat! Ever since the
Devil May Care was burned down by the plots of the Chaos gods, I learned every single aspect of boat building and practiced. Etched it into my mind just in case such we were tragically bereft of a vessel again. Jim found a good trail that he believed would lead us to a nearby village. We could get some planks from there and start building a fine boat for the journey. Jim was right, there was a village. It was in ruin.
Standing in the middle of its remnants was exactly what we feared... beastmen and goblins! Nine bloodthirsty warriors of the former and four old shamans of the latter. They had laid their weapons down in a circle around a peculiar lamp. It was covered with many runes I did not recognize. I hope I never recognize any of them, to be honest. I have understood enough. The beastmen bowed, like in a prayer, while the shamans chanted over their ritual object. Werner was very eager to disrupt their daemonic ritual and I couldn't disagree with him. The One summoned a ball of green flame and it engulfed six of our foul foes. The beastmen were injured and the goblins did not survive. The lamp did. It hummed and was lit in an unearthly colour I cannot properly describe. Beastmen are always grueling in combat. A leering mockery of animal and man that has no mercy. I understand the fury of the White Wolves.
I broke one's skull with the handle of my rapier after it took thrusts to both the chest and arm. Werner decapitated one without much effort. One more was slain. Soon Jim, Werner and I had two each to deal with. The lamp was growing louder and brighter. The earth itself began to tremble. Werner killed his share quickly with decapitating swings. The One engaged in a powerful duel of witchery with the lamp. Raw, magical energies swarmed around her and I could have sworn that her head was about to burst. Just as she looked to be on the brink of collapse, the lamp's power gave in and dimmed. Thank Sigmar! I stabbed through the heart of a beastman and ripped open the arm of the other. Jim fought them off valiantly before The One's conjured lightning and Death Dealer helped destroy both of the beasts.
From the circle briefly emerged a truly powerful daemon. Clad in ornate dark armour and a spiked helmet, bearing a whip and an otherworldly, crimson axe, it stood at least thrice the height of the daemon on the mound. A horned, mighty bringer of death resembling a blood-soaked minotaur. This hideous destructor could only bellow uselessly as it faded back to whatever harrowing pit has spawned it. We all gave a collective sigh of relief. All this for some planks of wood...
It goes without saying but the rest of the journey was much easier after we built our boat. They grumbled back in the palace about us not killing Golgol but eh, that was not our quest. The One and Harbull received doctorates and free use of the great libraries of Kislev. Jim was granted the title of Ranger Captain of the Order of the Bear, an incredibly powerful title among the woodsmen of Kislev. Werner and I were dubbed honorary Knights of the White Wolf. Ah, time to get back to training. I shall hopefully be able to dictate again soon.
Perhaps I shall try my hand at becoming a knight errant against Chaos...
- Johann Dasbuut.
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