"How about you remember this phrase, Kristoff: Insulting a Sorceresses who's itching to show off a new spell is possibly the worst idea you've ever had?" Alozia replied, clearly rather weary from having enough insults thrown her way. First the High Elf blade from Vacus, then with Kristoff coming up with his choice of words to describe every elf that had joined the company (she'd only consider those words as acceptable for the lighter kind of elf)... It would suffice to say that she wasn't in the best of moods, considering how her recent time had been spent.

Khelandria took a while to choose the perfect cloak, taking some time to listen to the young girl's words about how to care for it. It was all a learning curve for her, all an interesting lesson on how Humans did things. At her age - her relative age, at least - the young Witch Elf was already dreaming of the day she would join the ranks of the true Brides of Khaine. Having been raised in the temple, she was schooled at an early age in the use of weapons and poisons and elixirs. Things would have been quite different here. She did not see this as a missed chance - after all, she was a devoted Bride - but it had a strange fascination all its own. There was quite a lot more to life than one would see on the battlefield. That, of course, was her true place. But Khelandria, whose blood (so far as anyone could tell, but to the best of her mother's somewhat hazy recollection, Witch Elves being quite the celebrants as the adrenaline of battle wore off) was noble, was a cultured Dark Elf. Even if those outside Naggaroth might lack an appreciation of the nuances of that culture.

To her surprise, as she collected the cloak and its comb and thanked the girl, she turned to see a tall, familiar form. It took her a moment to recognise the Black Guard.

"A strange face to see so far from home," she said, walking with Vacus as he introduced himself to the other Dark Elf. She noticed the sword, but she understood it in quite another way.

"Have you been taking trophies from the battlefield, cousin? That's quite a treasure. Did you also take his head?" she enquired, being a Druchii and a Bride of Khaine first at heart.

She listened to Kristoff quietly, as he tried to insult the newcomer, and thought on it for a moment. Her gaze darkened, but she said nothing. Insults were too petty to concern her truly, but the sentiment was troublesome for it meant that she could not rely on the Northerner to act as an ally. And as a Druchii, she was too paranoid to rest easily close to those she believed might stab her in the back.

Of course, as a Druchii back in Naggaroth, that was nearly everyone, so the warband still had much to recommend it.

"An interesting turn of phrase for an ally," she said to Kristoff. "Do you always wait this long to make your feelings known?"

Kristoff gave a stern gaze towards the Elves, holding his fearesome look for a few moments before breaking out into a boisterous laughter. "Phahaha, ah this is why I love prodding at you all, so touchy. Someone says something mean and you're ready to gouge out their eyes."

He wiped away a tear as the laughter died off, giving the new warrior elf a slap on the back. "Well met lad, aye, I'm the Wolf Man. More wolf than man some would say. Hope you ain't as sensitive as these two lovely ladies, Khel's a helluva warrior, and Alozia has some fancy spells, but as you can see taking a joke isn't their strong suit."

He gestured towards the two glaring Druchii, giving Khel a playful nudge in the stomach, if only to see how far he could push her. Elves were such a fun lot to antagonize!

@Valonox @Jorimel @Maleth

"Time to move. " Harold bolted with his club in hand. It wasn't worth trying to fight anything of foot or hoof, the carrion birds though needed a good smacking if they came near. Hearing picking out the sounds of fighting nearby he instantly honed in toward the source. Either he had found himself a distraction to dump his pursuers off on, or a comrade.

<From Darkness into Light aka I like Sigmar> @DeranVendar

Jumping from his spot, Harold ran through the lines of stacked logs towards the sound of combat. The corrupted bodies of the dead humans and Beastmen tried to claw at him but the Badlander proved to be much faster and nimbler than the simple risen dead so the monsters had to satisfy with only catching his scent. Of course, they shambled onward, the puppet-master content with the knowledge that its minions will catch the sneaky human eventually. Or maybe not.

On the other hand, fate seemed to have a nasty sense of humor. For a man who didn't care much about faith or the religious mumbo-jumbo, the first thing he saw once he stumbled through the trees was a church with the sign of the twin-tailed comet, the very same like the one traversing the skies. A small temple to Heldenhammer made out of dark granite located just outside the next village, a perfect place for a weary traveler to come and rest his body and soul.

It was surrounded by low fence which was at the moment crushed under the weight of monsters trying to barge into the building, but were unable to because a singular figure prevented them. In the middle of a doorway stood a monster of a man, his face grim and covered in black blood.

"The wicked will not, cannot endure the light!" he was bald, armored in distinctive half-plate with red robes beneath, hefting a massive two-handed hammer. "They can try to hide, try to flee, try to prosper, but the hand of Sigmar will crush them nonetheless!" he intoned as he swung his hammer around, killing three corpses in one swing before bringing the weapon around and smashing it against a rather big Gor, crushing its skull.

"For we are the faithful, we have the blood of heroes, our strength is the strength of the Empire!" there was a whole mob of creatures coming at the Warrior Priest, but all of them were trying to push past him and into the church, the fact he used quite cunningly by standing at the doorway and basically making their numbers not matter at all. "We are the bane of evil, the candle in the dark, the hammer with which He crushes the corrupt!" Another swing and another two Beastmen died (again). They scratched at Priest's armor but the holy plate held against such attacks.

While that was happening, a number of corpses, those standing near the back of the mob turned their heads towards the direction from which Harold was arriving and started shambling towards him. There were five of them, four humans and one Ungor, all of them looking at him like they would look at a quite delicious steak (OOC you can kill them all). Warrior Priest still haven't spotted Harold, the man still too busy with having to fend off the monsters, and despite his obvious prowess, he would likely need help because there was no way beasts wouldn't overcome him eventually.

OOC 20 Nurgle-corrupted corpses between you and the Warrior Priest\Church + 15 more arriving from behind. You can kill those 5 coming at you and couple of more if you wish ofc

Holy men were always a mixed bag. It was hard to appoint much of a stereotype to them, instead there were a dozen different ones. Harold had faced run ins with the sort who equated vagrancy to heresy before, and those who couldn't of been kinder or more charitable. Seeing that this was a warrior priest of Sigmar the badlander wasn't too concerned, seeing as the present abominations would obviously be a more appropriate target than himself. The opportunities here presented the man with something of a boon, able to easily make an escape thanks to the sluggard pace of the undead and their loud-mouthed slayer. Yet, Harold was not in such a position that he felt self-preservation instincts kicking in, not like back at the party. Crossbow was lifted and sighted.

First to fall was the beastman, being the most repulsive and likely physically strong of the quintet. Silver bolt pierced through its chest and the classic contact effect did its work eating away at whatever dark energies clung to its carcass. Taking a deep breath Harold loosed another shot, more deliberate with his aim as standard bolt needed to plow into the head for a good kill. Two down, three to go. Distinctly aware of the dragging sounds and moans closing in from behind crossbow jolted with a third release and a man wearing a blacksmith's apron toppled forward. Many years ago Harold would have been panicking. Age and experience had raised him above this, or at least taught him that it would get him killed. Bolting off to the side he simply skirted around unholy assailants as he attempted to circle around behind the church and find a window or anything he might be able to squeeze through, preferably something that wouldn't allow the more agility-challenge dead to follow through.

While searching man allows himself time to reload, planting his back against the side wall of the chapel itself for support and security while he works the crank back on his weapon.

"Things probably worth more than most make in several life times, bugger all that it can't reload itself!" Speaking out loud to himself Harold grunts forcing third string back. Another silver bolt and two more loaded for slaughter. There were more bodies than he had ammo on him, and who knows how many more might end up appearing. Leveling his weapon and poking tongue out the corner of his mouth he aims, then holds. Not worth the ammo. Stowing away triple stacked crossbow he goes for sword. Clutching it in both hands, and lamenting the distinct room for such, Harold dives in. Perhaps emboldened by the warrior priest his first blow swings true and lops off a half-eaten arm as it reaches out for him. Bouncing back on his heels a held breath is puffed out. Melee was always anxious work, much better to stick someone when they're at a distance, or looking away, or not a soulless corpse possessed by Papa N.

Zombie lurches and stumbles attempting to grab at Harold with a limb that is writhing on the ground rather than attached to its body. Blade arcs around taking the head while its still recovering from the clumsy strike. Backpedaling away wanderer lures last interceptor into another graceless strike and boots it in the back, putting blade through its head while keeping it pinned face down with his foot. Any relief is short lived as he whirls about and finds the other mob nearing the clearing. That in mind he decides its time to try and find a way into the chapel, whether via alternate entrance or by hacking and slashing toward the war priest.

"OIY! Priest! There any other ways inside or am I choppin' my way in with ya? "

<Temple of Sigmar> @DeranVendar + Warrior Priest

For a moment, the Warrior Priest hesitated for he hadn't seen a living creature for quite some time and the voice he heard now he attributed to the enemy's ploy. However through the pile of limbs and corrupted flesh he glanced at Harold, his blue eyes burying deep in badlander's soul, questing for any traces of taint. "A broken window on the back wall," Sigmarite said, perhaps finding Harold pure of heart or simply having no option than to find help where possible. After all, he prayed and his god delivered, so who was he to question Sigmar's will?

Harold on the other hand would find the window in question to be couple of meters off the ground so he had to climb to get in and do it fast. Once he reached inside the small church he would see an altar still standing in the back with couple of wooden benches arrayed in front of it. He would also see that the Warrior Priest retreated inside and was now trading blows with couple of Nurgle-corrupted Beastmen who were pushing through the doorway.

"Stand with me and let us spill blood together!" the priest shouted, beckoning Harold forward, "No creature of darkness shall exist in this place of holiness while I still draw breath!"

OOC lets say ten undead Gors are pushing in, all out on flavor kills. Also, linking you with the rest now



<Mission 4 - Outskirts of Kutenholz> @Jorimel @Grall_Stonefist @BuriasDempsey @Virgil_Corbec @Valonox @Maleth @matt23 @Keidivh + @DeranVendar & Constantine & Warrior Priest

After the introductions and the signing of contracts were done, and the dinner was over, it was time for the team to rest for the night. That was the general idea until Constantine stood up, holstered his pistols, corrected his hat and gave everyone a signal to get ready. "Harold should've been back by now and he is usually never late, at least not when it comes to scouting work. There is also a foul stench in the wind, I don't like it one bit," he said and indeed, all three of the magic users felt the sharp tingling of primal corruption coming from the forest around them, more than usual anyway, while Vorgen also caught smell of something rotten. Just how Thomas knew about it was anyone's guess but his gaze left no room for questioning - ever since the short but bloody clash with Baron and Bray Shaman, the Employer's mood was as black as his coat while his temper and overall acting left much to be desired for. The man obviously hated to lose, even if the loss was only temporary.

"Let's get going. Every moment we spend not hunting the distance between us and our prey grows larger. The sooner we finish this the better and we can get back to High Rock before the weather turns really foul," a clear statement, given the fact this was the start of November and by the time they get back to their fortress in the Middle Mountains, it'll start snowing in its fullest.

While everyone picked up their stuff and got ready for the journey, Constantine went to the merchant and his four daughters and said thanks for everything while also giving them directions of the path they took to reach this place which should be safe. It would lead the merchant to Talabecland instead of Reikland, but it would also probably save all of their lives so the old man was content with that and thanked Thomas and the rest for their kindness.

After fifteen minutes everyone packed their belongings and the team went deeper into Drakwald, hidden from sight in this dark night. Thankfully, the Beastmen plunged through this area without much regard for secrecy so following the trail, even while it was illuminated by only Mannslieb's pale light and Morrslieb's green gaze was not a problem. Twenty minutes later they reached the Altdorf-Middenheim road, the main artery for moving troops and goods through Middenland's dark forests. The trail moved northwards and soon they reached a broken road sign with crudely-carved letters on it. "Kutenholz. 2 miles".

And then they heard and felt the sounds of battle coming from their right. There was a muddy path moving away from the main road and through the line of trees they saw what looked to be a small temple of Sigmar (the sign of twin-tailed comet was located right above the entrance to the building) currently besieged by all manner of wicked creatures. The stench of rotten corpses riddled with who-knows-what diseases hit their nostrils and, given the fact they had the dubious honor of fighting against undead summoned by Vampire magic which gave them the experience they needed to differentiate a "simple" undead from "corrupted corpse", even those that had no magic felt the stench of Chaos written all over these misbegotten creatures.

Maggots eating their flesh, carrion birds picking at their corpses, leaking green ooze from myriad different holes in their ruined bodies, a mishmash of human and Beastmen alike marched upon the temple, intent on breaking through no matter what and not spotting the newcomers arriving from the back. The team heard sounds of battle coming from the inside the temple and they also saw a number of corpses littering the ground in front of its entrance, but as to who was inside they couldn't say. Not that it mattered for these creatures were affront to nature and as such, only one fate awaited them.

And it was good to vent some steam now and then.

"Seems that we've found some of the Beastmen we were looking for," Constantine grinned as he pulled out two pistols, readying the second pair at the same time, "What do you say we make sure they stay dead this time?" Aligning his weapon, he opened fire and bullet pierced the skull of the closest corpse-walker, blowing its head off. "Now we're talking."


OOC 40+ undead Humans\Beastmen (Gors and Ungors) are marching towards the temple. All of you can kill 5-6 of them or as much as you wish, flavor kills are a go This is just a small skirmish before we tackle the guy behind this corruption and after it, the Bray Shaman who stole our necklace Also, there was no need for a real briefing since the mission remained the same - get the artifact, kill the bad guys, go home for the holidays

As others packed up and made ready to move, Tugg himself kept eating to get a good full before they started walking again, a filling meal was nigh impossible to an ogre, and hunger allways came sooner rather than later, though Tugg remembered to save some of the parts of magick as there was still alot to eat, and now that others had eaten his cooking, and he had saved some sausages, he dident mind the more bloody and raw eating, it was also part of a healthy diet.
By the time they got moving, Tugg looked more like a real butcher than he had ever done while traveling with the warband, the lack of carrying cauldren had just seen him drape himself in offal casings to hang the things he would use for magick in, spines and severed heads and pockets filled with teeth.
During the march Tugg was indeed in a high mood, they dident have to far to walk, he had eaten well, and they where going to fight more beastmen, this good mood ended up having the effect that Tugg started ogre war *chanting* aka yelling very very loud to encourage a good fighting spirit.

As they finally arived it seemed they now had to fight undead beastmen, a bit sad, the living rotting ones dident really taste as good as their not rotting counterparts, no matter they still had a good fight coming in, as Tugg started bounding ahead, brandeshing his oversized cleaver-hammer.
As his crushing charge hit the large group of undead beastmen, the first to re-die was simply crushed beneath Tuggs massive form, as he then continued to flatten the next gor infront of him with an overhead swing.
Now in the mindst of it he heaved his weapon from the ground, the cleaver side cutting through one gor and one un-gor as Tugg kept fighting his way into the melee.

Vacus once upon smelling the infamous smell of the Damned. His demeanor changed and his face got gritty and filled with pain and anger he was ready to murder. Vacus said nothing to no one even they tried to interact with him he utterly hated the dead the ones that came back to this world their need to be released. Upon arriving at the Temple would be covering Tuff's sides, attempting to shield bash his foes and cracking their skulls open as well as slicing a few throats of the beastmen open.

(OOC: Attempting to kill 4 undead and 1 beastman)

Khelandria followed along with the group, silently padding, daggers in hand. She could catch the vile scent on the wind, and knew that it meant two things. One, that the corruption of Chaos was near, and two, that she was about to perform the holy work of Khaine. A grim smile broke out over the Witch Elf's features.

Venoms would be wasted on the monstrosities, but her blades were sharp and her pulse quickened as she glanced over the rabble. Seeing a chance for slaughter, she took the opposite side from Tugg's massive charging form and darted in from the edge of the fight, picking off rotting, shambling enemies here and there before retreating to attack from a new angle. She was quick, and she did not attack deep into the melee, choosing her kills from the edges. Like a well-trained skirmisher, the leashed anger of the Bride of Khaine was far more surgical than a frenzy. She could feel the call of Khaine, but she could also sense the need to keep her wits about her. It was as if her beloved Lord of Murder knew that it would be wise for his devoted Bride, so far from home. She knew in her heart that He was pleased with the blood she shed and the death she rained down. She smiled, calm with an odd serenity as she killed, praising Khaine in the way she knew best.