Division, Empire At War.

Many had forseen this day was going to come. The simple folk in Talabecland all knew this day was destined. Civil war had broken out in the empire.
There had been so many wars but this one was different, this one was internal. It wasnt unheard of for the elector counts to have political skirmishes but a fully blown civil war? Something was evidently wrong.

Johan Velds had always known his destiny was not to be in a simple life. Though having been promoted from a simple peasant to a Talabec guard was not a grandeur change.
He would retrieve his uniform, a cross stiched suit of two colourings, imperial red and fine gold. His hat was no different nor was the shield he was given to guard his beloved homeland.
He brooded in morr's name, the god of death, that he might be spaired today. It was a sad sight going to war, sadder still to do so against your own kin.
He approached the armoury, retreiving the nearest weapon available. Having woke early, he managed to be one of the luckier to pick, choosing a fine longsword clearly intent on the task of ending lives. The silver steel of the blade shone bright dawn light from the turret behind him, causing his short cut golden hair to shine in its light reflectivly.
He gazed into his reflection, two brown eyes gazing back. He was a young man, hardly reaching his mid twenties but he had the look of a guard. His stubbled appearence was rough for its youth and he knew that that face was going to recieve a few more scars today, ones not recieved from a training sparr either.
He approached the line, where the guards stood primed together as they began to march in collumns. The Talabec army was fighting for the emperor's name against the rebels of the Ostermark. Those who had hailed from Ostermark had a history of chaos invasion and constantanious warfare, this tiring cycle lead the elector to make a rational decision to turn his back to the emperor. While it was a rational choice, it was also unwise considering the rest of the provinces, had they not agree'd with the elector.
Now Nordland and Ostland had joined the rebellion, noted for being other provinces under continuing strain. Rallied together, these men formed a fully fledged internal rebellion, one that was about to get quite, ugly.
Blood of a good empire man was going to be on Johan's sword tonight, alot of widows would not see their husbands return. He felt a strong and brooding sense of guilt, Talabechiem's finest guards now joining the ranks of the growing army.
They were only one nation, with no allies and forces of darkness everywhere, this was true anarchy. This was exactly what chaos wanted, a scenerio where the empire would tear itself apart. By the time the brooding war was going to be over, there was going to be no one left to stop a proper chaos invasion.
Maybe it was better to just wonder if surrendering to the dark gods was a bad thing? Maybe they would show mercy.
Yes Johan and the pigs of the empire grow wings too! He reminded himself with a dry sense of humor, the many legends of chaos and the reason those legends were made famous. The monsterous savages of Norsca and far beyond into the chaos wastes were feral at best.
But those border situations were not the current problem, the current problem was that he was now standing in the middle of an open plain, with two armies either side, one nation, against three.
Things were about to get, very nasty.

On the opposite side of the continent, Ostermark soldiers rallied in the throng, along with Ostland, Nordland and even Nuln.
There was no sentimental peace about the place. Ironically, despite the rebellion being against the empire their choice of faith remained ever strong.
Demonstrating this was Warrior Priest Marcus Deiter. He was not the most renown member of the order, but he had stressed that a war waged on the empire had to be in the name of Sigmar. For if it was not, it did not feel appropriate and would only become a catalyst for Chaos.
Despite this, Marcus was not a proud man of the deed he was about to commite. He had wondered rather sceptically what caused this, some assumed the simple peasantry rumors that the lands were fed up of constant chaos raids, he knew to suspect more.
Chaos itself was here, somehow, he had to find a way to root it out, hopefully, before the damage of the empire became irreprable.
For now he would play the fool, the man lead by another cause. In his possition, he had no status despite being a priest, Sigmar was one faith, but weaker men had others. Chaos gods had ways of reaching the tallest citadel and the deepest dungeon.
Marcus was a rugged man, in his early sixties, he had seen many battles and his face was flat nosed and stone. He did not make any attempt to hide his baldness, the golden crown of the twin comet laid neatly upon his head to demonstrate it.
His look was typical of his clergy and in both hands he wielded a mighty golden warhammer. The beautiful weapon, decorative but deadly. It was a marvel of work, but a threat to anyone foolish enough to come too close.
No one was that foolish, because he was still a priest of Sigmar, a man of some status. Symbolically it made him untouchable, but politically, he was just a lower part of a food chain.
Marcus wanted nothing more than to see the war end, he would investigate the real source of this civil conflict soon, but first, he had to end the rising tension.
He was one man in the middle of an army, this was going to be no easy task, Sigmar blessed, he could only hope that he was up to the challange.

Benedict stood above the amassed Talabecland looking down into the thrall of men, bustling nervously at the thought of fighting their own kinsmen. He sighed as his long golden robes flapped in the cold silent winds. His pure gold mask covered his entire head leaving him with a metallic emotionless face that looked down from the hill, it only added to the cold grimness of this day.

Benedict raised his golden staff into the air summoning the Wind of Chamon to his staff, empowering his magical abilities as he flicked through his tome looking for appropriate spells for the battle, he closed his tome hard and ran his hand over the hilt of his magic blade, with the power of metal he was able to shape his weapon how he wanted it.

He looked at the other huge forces of rebelling nations, there were no wizards within their ranks as the colleges of magic had stayed loyal to the empire, the only soldiers of magic the other armies had managed to acquire were rogue wizards who constantly lived in fear of Witch Hunters or the Colleges of Magic hunting them down. Ironically that was the task Benedict had been set and he was here to do such, assist the armies of Talabecland and kill the rogue wizards that stood along side the rebelling forces.

He let out a long drawn out sigh as he rubbed his eyes through the gap in his mask, this was going to be a long and brutal day for all on the field of battle, brother against brother, friend against friend.

"There will be no joy this day" a man spoke beside Benedict. His face was rugged and round, a long scar ran across his right eye, an eyepatch of pure black covering it.
The round faced man wore a clad of captain's armour, he stood on horseback but he was no tall man. However, he looked like a man who no one would want to cross the wrong side of, a face of stern pride, his bulging lip stood outwards as he stared right at the foe.

His steed was a stallion breed, pure as silver and a mane of fine white, plumed in a grand talabec armour.
Upon the side of the mans waist a mighty sword glimmered with dwarven runes, though it was no runefang, this man had seen battle, this was likley a prize more than a reward.

He turned to Benedict, sternly awaiting response as he spoke sharply.

"My name is Orgnar Rimes, Master of arms, if I die today, you, will remember me." He spoke in a manner that even a wizard would know not to question, he was authority incarnate.

Benedict looked up at the man smiling beneth his golden mask and nodded slightly. "My friend this day will live on in the history books forever, as will the names of those who fought here. But for all the wrong reasons. This day will not be remembered for the valour of the men who fight here, nor for the courage of the leaders who guide the men, but for the foolishness that on this day fought men and only men." Benedict played with a coin in his hand spinning it across his fingers and making it change shape as he spoke. "May this day live on in infamy throughout the history of man as the day our world began to destroy its self." He looked at the men knowing many would die, knowing he might perish.

He looked back at the captain, "Do you really want to be remembered for this day my friend? Would it make you feel heroic, knowing that your name lived because men killed men?" He sighed and rubbed his eyes through his mask again, the cold metal face of his mask still showing no emotion.

Orgnar did not appear a caring man for morals, his stern honor to the emperor was clear, his single eye showed it all.
"I am not concerned for the lives of one man or one city, but those who even remotley dare spit on the emperor, those who dare to say Sigmar is with them, they must perish." With that he drew his sword and raised it high as the cannoners stood by him, guns primed as the first line was prepairing itself for the begining of the end.
"Blood will be spilled in the honor of Sigmar, all will be forgiven, the Emperor protects the faithful, and smites the traitor." His eye sternly gazed back at the foe as the cannons primed their shot, ready at the word to unleash the mightiest volley of all time.

Johan knew that his time had come, a simple man in a large army, he rue'd the day that a war had to be fought now where he would die first before any other man. He stood at the very front too, the literal first row to charge, if he survived this day, only Sigmar himself could be there to proove it so.
Alas, poor Johan could only beleive so much in Sigmar, before he came to terms with cruel reality, he was not going to survive this, nor were many a man on either side of the field.

Upon the opposite bank, they gathered in their throng, the field was set as an opening amoung the large forests of the land. Talabec had but one advantage, the upper ground, cliff-side and small hills provided perfect highland for an advantagious defence, but that was not what their commanders had planned.
They were not so wise to think of terrain advantages, for they saw an army that overpowered its opposition. Foolhardy Captains beleived their moment to shine had come, and their glory would be remembered spilling the blood of rebels.

This was a fools war and as the trumpets sounded on either side of the field, Johan knew now, Morr was the only god he could pray for any mercy from.

"You are a fool to believe such things, Sigmar forgives the righteous. Killing your own brothers with fool hardy tactics will be the end of you and this army, and even myself." Benedict said bringing up his staff and calling out to the wind of Chamon. He ran his finger across a line in his tome and spoke the words of the "Bane of Forged Steel" casting it upon the enemy cannons, causing them all to rust and crumble as the crews loaded them. The less good men that died today the better. He strode out closer to the battle walking through the ranks of men.

He left the captain behind saying nothing more to him and not rising to any reaction he may have to the wizards statement, this was probably the day he would meet his maker and he did not fear the reaper, he would welcome him with open arms, knowing what he did was not right nor was it wrong it was nothing. This civil war was nothing to Benedict, he couldn't help but try to save mens lives but to do that he had to kill me, such a novel conundrum.

He continued walking towards the enemy as the men of the empire became ready to rush forward. He held his tome by his side, and readied him self for the clash of men and the beginning of the end of mankind its self.

Drake sighed, his disdain for the events unfolding evident on his harsh features. He pulled his hat down further, shading his face from the harsh sunlight with it's wide brim. Why must the human race bring such suffering on itself? Are the horrors of chaos not enough? The cruel affections of druchii?

Drake sighed again. Evidently not. He watched the horror unfolding from afar, wishing there was something he could do. Gripping the butt of his pistol tightly, he felt every blow that was struck. Are the elector counts so petty that they would willingly sacrifice the might of the empire for the sake of their quarrels. His coat fluttered gently in the breeze, a complete contrast to the sight before him. Such a pity, he thought absent mindedly. These are the kind of days that should be spent with families, with friends. He chuckled to himself. There were days where he wished he could have a family, a normal job... but then reality would drag him harshly back to the truth. After all, what would be the point of having a normal life, when such a thing is what would get you dragged into a stupid civil war, or ripped apart by chaos beasts?

No, a normal life was not for him.

"Witch Hunter?". A timid voice from behind him asked?
Drake motioned for him to speak, gripping his pistol tighter, the silver worn from use. He had really begun to hope that his scribe would meet an unfortunate end soon. Were it not for the master witch hunters suspicions about his unorthodox methods he would of killed the man himself. The path of the hunter is treacherous, it only takes one false step to plunge you into the life of a heretic. And for that reason only he allowed this scribe to live. He would not be branded a heretic. He would not bring that dishonour to his name.
"If you don't mind me asking, what are we going to do?"
"What do you expect me to do? The work of a witch hunter is not out in the open. It is not charging into battle screaming the name of Sigmar." Drake gripped his hammer pendant as he said this, making the appropriate gestures as he mentioned the name of the god of mankind. "My job is to work in the shadows, to root out the evil at the heart of the situation, and rip it out, make it bleed to discover it's innermost secrets... and then what do we do Nathaniel?"
To Drakes delight, the scribe had turned a delicate shade of green, as he remembered the torture of the witch he had been forced to watch. "w..w..we rip it's h..h...heart out?" he stuttered, choking down the bile that has risen in his throat.

The Witch Hunter smiled."Indeed we do.".

Feirce bloodshead arose on either side of the field as the battle had now offically begun. Stained sword and flashing powder crackled bright sparks on either side of the plane.
Johan noticed the man to his left downed by a well aimed shot, blood splattering from his comrades jugular all over his face. Blinded, he now wondered how long it would be before a stray sword found him.
Desperate to escape his fate, he bashed shield bludgeoningly forwards, like a blind heard so did many around him, wanting nothing more than to put down the sword, not to raise it against brother.
Alas, it was a sad day for the Empire.

Orgnar however polished a medal to his plated chest and raised his arm as another volley of shot was launched at the foe, great cannonades blasted outwards mighty fumes of black powder.
Shells loitered the field as they exploded or shreaded through men, a pistolier regiment was decimated and a cavalry unit ripped in half by the sudden movement of swift speedy cannon shell airborne from either side.
Orgnar smirked, as he retrieved his helmet from his bannerboy, the child shakily held it up to him as he plated his helmet to his body.
The runefang had been borrowed to his grasp from the elector himself, he would not fail the emperor as duty demanded he did a better job than any simple man.
With the weapon held high, he would find the man foolish enough to raise a flag against the empire, and have his head this day.
None would evade the wrath of Sigmar's blissful command, driven by zeal, the fanatic man was now assured of his aim and hesitated not, to smite thy foe.

"So if you're not intending on intervening, why are you here?"
"We're here to watch Nathanial", Drake paused briefly for effect, "I thought you might benefit from a quick lesson. Now, I want you to answer me a question, which of these men is the most pious, the most true to his faith and cause?". Immediately Nathanial pointed to a captain in full plate, medals gleaming on his armoured chest. He brandished a runefang and was shouting orders. There was a godly fire in his eyes, like a divine power was guiding him. "Ahh of course, the captain, with the runefang? Now why exactly do you think it would be him?".

Drake might hear the rustling of the local wildlife, a sign something or someone more likley was close, from behind he heard the scream of a battle ready man, silenced by the sound of a blunt object connecting with his cranium.
A moment of silence passed as some movement could be heard behind the foilage, a black clad warpriest approached, he was not on their side, though he did not appear initially hostile. Despite this, he was armed and his weapon blooded.
"This foolish battle has to end before more lives are taken, Sigmar forbid this herecy go on any longer." Marcus looked at the two gentlemen with a solid stare, it seemed even a warpriest on the other side of the field agree'd how mad this lost cause was.
He paused a moment to approached them, before resting his hammer on the ground, sitting calmly upon a stone. "I am Marcus, Sigmar's blessed and chosen to guide his people against the forces of chaos and in times of war. Alas this should be such a time."
The man paused, he would not be surprised if either man drew arms, but he continued.
"I am not here to seek war however, I am here to end it, I have spent months traveling with the men to realise only one evident truth. A most unholy chaos has taken hold of the elector count of ostermark. Even as we speak, its actions weave into his mind and enthrall him under the sadistic pleasures of the dark gods."
With hammer primed and heart steeled, he knew there was going to be an event where somewhere, weather this man, his accomplice, or one of the more fanatic warriors of Sigmar would claim he were a heretic.
It would not surprise him in the least, he was ready to proove otherwise, even if it meant violence.

Not long after the Warrior Priest, a Wizard of the Golden Order stumbled from the forest, he would look tired if not for the emotionless golden mask that covered his face, seeing the men he brushed himself off and stood upright. "I came up here to search for a vantage point, where I could better cast my spells." Benedict used his staff as an aid to walk up the incline towards the two men, as he got closer he began to sense hostility between the two. Benedict looked at the two, he was a wise wizard, and one of the closest followers of Balthazar Gelt, master of Alchemy and high wizard. He hated conflict and had hardly done anything all battle apart from melt weaponry so that some may be spared.

"If you two start to fight I promise you, I will destroy both of your armour and weaponry then slap you silly. There is no need for war between men, nevermind challenges up here on a hill that no-one cares about. I swear to Sigmar I ought to bang your heads together for even thinking you might fight each other." Benedict looked solidly at the Warrior Priest as he spoke, his eyes being the only thing revealed from beneath the mask, watched for a reaction.

A loud bang came from the direction of the Witch Hunter. The lead pellet flew towards the wizard, catching his metal mask on the edge and tearing it from his face. For an instant his visage could be seen, before he covered it with his cloak, falling as he reached for his mask.
"The winds of magic are a very complex thing wizard, as I am sure you will know. However, what you may not of realised is that they have little effect on an object blessed by the Grand Theoligist himself.". Drake motioned with the gun in his hand, the barrel still smoking. It's silver inlay was covered in etchings, if Benedict was close enough he would of been able to see the words engraved upon it's surface. By this point the wizard had retrieved his mask, the metal reshaping and reforming itself. Even Drake had to admire it's beauty; it was like a broken mirror putting itself back together, and the way the light danced as it did this was quite mesmerising. Reaching down to help the wizard up, he growled in his ear, "Never threaten a Witch Hunter. The next time you do your life might not be sparred."
Drake pondered for a moment, knowing that all eyes were on him. Without looking he knew that Nathanial would have a look of horror on his face, no doubt already deciding how to word this in his report to the masters of his order. something along the lines of "assualted a wizard of the golden order and threatened his life" was most probable, although no doubt it would be worded much for fancifully. Looking at the wizard, now hidden once again behind his mask, Drake began to devise a plan...
"Congratulations Benedict, you have just been conscripted to my warband. Feel free to write a formal complaint to my masters, but i'm afriad untill they write back, refusing me is an automatic death penatly. Isn't that correct Nathanial?", Before waiting for a reply from the stuttering scribe behind him Drake continued,"Now, allow me to introduce myself, I am Draconius Etain, you may of heard of me?" his eyes now staring into the warrior priests, he awaited a response. The tense atmosphere grew to a cresendo. Things might just turn ugly yet.

Marcus smiled with a surpisingly warm response, rather glad to see there was still a chance to redeem the situation in some smaller manner.
"Marcus Deiter, Warpriest of Sigmar, raised in the Ostermark but undeniably loyal to the Emperor." He offered a warm hand, offering no ressistance as he seemed only intent upon showing a friendly hand shake.
There were many priests tainted by chaos, but something about Marcus absolved him of this, he simply looked to honest and honourable to be any form of villian. There was no sent of chaos, no feeling, surpisingly, he came only with the warmness of a Sigmarite priest, offering what could be seen as typical.
However, regardless of if a shake was given in response, he later placed his hand down resting it to his mighty warhammer.
"I must confess, I wish there were better circumstances to meet, but as I have told you, the situation is unfortunate and dire."
He spoke his next comment rather commandingly.
"No matter what you think, you must trust me. I came here to find one who might be willing to put an end to this madness less another chaotic event like this one form. As I have told you, there is chaos influence behind this incident and I desire to root it out... However..."
He paused enough for you to wonder, before he continued.
"The complex part is that it comes not from a single side but both. Chaos is infact instigating both the rebellion and encouraging the emperor to respond to it. From within both circles, a dangerous situation is rising, and somewhere in the highest command of both sides, we are in a most vicious circle of doom. The solution however lies in trust, compramise between both forces..."
He did not expect you to give trust, he did not expect anyone to, but he seemed to be a man worthy of it none the less.
"I must be allowed to cross to the forces of Talabecland, there, I might use Sigmars blessed power to locate the usurpers and end this foolery before it escalates. On the other hand, allow me to pass and I in turn will give you the means to enter Ostermark unseen and from there root out those who command the elector to his doom."
His offer was fair.
"Now the question is, will you cooperate?"