Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

AN: This was inspired by the description of what would happen with the placement of the first Waystone in Praag. Comments and critiques are welcome.

Few nights had been peaceful in Praag since the witches came and put that stone in the river. Tonight was going to be no different according to the Z'ra's magical advisor.

"Keep together and those points down." Came the growling voice over Ruprecht's shoulder, his Kovnik had answered the Tzar's call for volunteers amongst the guard, to go to Praag and fight the Za.

The bridge of Death would earn its name once more, only this time it would be the mutants doing the bleeding. The cry came from the archers atop the wagons behind them, their shots streaming out into the mass of mutants charging their line. Dozens fell with arrows sticking from their forms, too horrible to think about, even as dozens of cultists bearing the marks of their dark gods followed, screaming battlecries and promising death to the defenders.

"SLAVA KISLEV!" Came the roaring response from the twenty members of the Kreml Guard behind the line of spearmen, charging from the kossar's cover that gave the damned the courage to try for the bridge once more. Axes and swords lashed out as Ruprecht shoulder checked a mutant so hard his body burst like a maggot, his axe swinging to bite deeply into the side of a heavily tattooed woman who's empty eye sockets blazed with a cursed fire. No member of the mob bore weapons heavy enough to truly pierce their armor and each swing promised death to them. Soon they were pushing forward as the cultists and mutants saw only death in front of them and each arrow fired into their ranks sapped what little spirit they had left. Behind them came Praag's warriors wielding flame and spear; they took care of each body making sure the tainted bodies were purged from Kislev's soil.

The cultists who maintained some level of sanity quickly melted back to the cursed and damned streets beyond their range, hurried along as arrows struck down any who remained in sight. At least one hundred bodies lay strewn across the area considered safe, luckily no Kislevite had died although several of Ruprecht's battle brothers bore wounds, none looked serious enough to leave their post.

"That should be it for the night, sentries twenty paces out, medium readiness along the line. Guard withdraw." Kovnik Karl stood unbloodied atop the war wagons, his sharp eyes and drooping mustache marked him of Ungol heritage. "A good fight." He nodded as his men streamed back over the wagons and barricade, placed at the entrance to Newtown.

Many citizens still muttered at their presence, yet the Z'ra himself had asked the Tzar to send them and each strike against the Za saw the mutters grow quieter. The Kreml Guard served Kislev, all of Kislev and they were here to prove it.

Ruprecht didn't regret his decision saying yes to the Tsarevich after the battle of Shirokij. A humble woodcutter becoming a member of the Kreml Guard? How could he say no? But he certainly didn't expect to be in Praag actually pushing the Za back. Even less expected was the fact that this turn of fortune was from the Grey witch he saw there. He had asked around and she was said to have been the push that saw this great opportunity blessing Kislev.

He, like many of his brothers in the Guard, believed in Tzar Boris's dream of a united Kislev and would do whatever he asked to make it reality. Each day saw progress from the stone that the witches had put in the river. The wall's closest to the bridge no longer spilled pus, the symbols scrawled in blood that had once hurt their eyes to look at were washed off and stayed off. The bodies who had lain on the streets since the Great War no longer released clouds of insects and instead decayed before their eyes. One body at a time, one street at a time, one cobblestone at a time it did not matter to Rupercht. The Za was being pushed back, Kislev would be cleansed of Chaos's taint.

One of the kossars of Praag came over to the Guard's fire, "Your Kovnik, where is he from?" His voice betrayed a quiet nervousness, understandable considering the history between the rulers of Kislev and the primarily Ungol city.

"One of the Southern Oblasts." Rupercht shrugged, few talked about their past outside the guard and he certainly wasn't going to spill the dumplings on his Kovnik to a stranger.

The man visibly steadied himself and let the silence stretch for a moment, broken only by the crackling fires that consumed the bodies beyond the barricade and the muttered conversations of their comrades along the line. "The Guard… Open to anyone?"

Ruprecht turned fully away from the fire to face the man, his battle brothers turning their heads to observe. His face was scarred by battle, likely full Ungol blood based on his features. "You want to join?"

He nodded, fingering an amulet of Dazh hanging from his neck. "The Tzar." His voice was steady. "He calls for united Kislev, aids my home in one of his first acts, fights the Za. I would serve if he would have me."

Rupercht stared for a moment, remembering his own recruitment standing amongst trees that had come to life as the Tsarevich praised their actions and offered them the chance to fight for Kislev. A glance at the Kovnik saw his nod, good enough for him. He extended his scarred and callused hand towards the man. "Slava Kislev." He spoke quietly even as his voice lost none of its intensity.

The Ungol man nodded, his own hand missing his little finger from frostbite reached forward and clasped it firmly. "Slava Kislev." His voice was equally intense. A new brother, ready to spill blood for Kislev, Old allegiances didn't matter in these times. Kislev called them to Glory and Battle.