Alderfen Garrison
Nobody expected Alderfen to be attacked at this point in time, so the garrison was a mismatched motley group of soldiers on the march to somewhere else. Thankfully, one of those troops was an Ostermarker force led by Wolfram Hertwig.
Wolfram Hertwig, Elector Count of Ostermark: Not normally part of the Garrison, he was doing an inspection of the walls when the breach occurred. I'd love to pick the brains of whoever wrote his profile, because it literally says that he's killed by Festek Krann in the profile before the battle even starts. If the book itself spoils it and doesn't give a shit, then neither do I. Oh, and apparently he would normally ride a Griffon into battle but Bloodfeather died two days ago to the plague. Convenient nerf. They couldn't justify his death if he had his Griffon I guess.
Captain Harald Dreist: A serial womanizer from Nordland who cuckolded a bunch of Imperial Nobles including the Elector Count of Nordland and had to run away so he joined the Nordland Seahawks to get away. Surprisingly effective disciplinarian and combatant. His mental health took a down turn around the End Times, and after this battle he was confined to a sanatorium. Understandably so when you see what happened to him.
Valten: "Until Alderfen, no one thought anything special about this man. When the Reikland XIII marched to war, Valten followed them – he had twice attempted to join their ranks, and twice been refused, for reasons that were never sufficiently explained. For weeks before Alderfen, Valten had been the butt of many a joke: he spoke seldom, and was thought a simpleton. The truth of the matter was, of course, that Valten rarely spoke because he had nothing to say. At that time he understood little of his purpose." Page 249.
The Nordland Seahawks: Nordlander regiment. Well equipped.
The Brothers Fleissman: Twin Bright Magisters. Nobody likes these dudes. They like to blackmail people with their Fire Magic (seriously? Magisters going around blackmailing people and setting their houses aflame if they don't pay up?). They're apparently patriots though, so they fought for Alderfen. I think they were mentioned once in the fight so good on them I guess.
The Wolf Brothers: Middenlander regiment. Quite uncouth.
Reikland XIII: Reiklander handgunners. Very quiet.
The Lion's Roar: Nuln battery of six artillery pieces.
The Rotting Horde:
Festak Krann: Nurgle Chaos Lord, one of the first to bash his way through Kislev. Eager to gain glory by breaking through the Auric Bastion.
Gurug'ath of The Endless Rot: Great Unclean One. Baron of the 6th Pestilential Circle. Crafted the plague that ravaged Bretonnia.
The Crowhunger Bretheren: Cannibalistic Nurglite Chaos Warriors.
Daakon Har's Blackshields: Tattooed Marauders.
The Hounds of Khoros: Former Ulrican Cavalry Huntsmen with hunting hounds that have switched to Khornate worship.
The Census Legions: Legions of Plaguebearers made from the remains of pestilence-slain mortals. Hallowshrive, Rotfallow and Ensepsis Brotherhood participated in the Battle of Alderfen.
Aeson the Fallen: Mutalith Vortex Beast, formerly the King of the Baersonlings. He only knows enough to follow his former subordinates and crush his enemies.
The Battle of Alderfen:
We start from the perspective of Balthasar Gelt proving to us why his Pegasus has the name Quicksilver. Working his steed to exhaustion, Gelt makes it to Alderfen. On the way there, Gelt sees undead rising all over the Empire on his way to the breach, and knows with horrified certainty that his wall of faith had failed. He was horrified for two reasons. The first was the loss of life. The second was of course the loss of reputation from his wall failing. Again, Classic Gelt.
Gelt makes it to the breach in the Auric Bastion where hordes of plague-infested Chaos Warriors clash against a worryingly thin line of Imperials. Gelt could hear the beating of drums, the raucous chants to the Dark Gods and the worrying squawks of carrion birds too impatient to wait for their meal. Gelt redirects his pegasus to land at a hilltop holding the banner of Wolfram Hertwig, which held a mismatched group of Middenlanders, Nordlanders, Wissenlanders and beyond. There, Wolfram Hertwig was consumed by shame and rage, having been pulled back from the front line several times as his injuries compounded. Surprisingly, no Ostermarkers aside from Hertwig were present, and Gelt saw where they had made their last stand on the hill's slopes.
Gelt could hear the booming of cannon fire and the sharp cracks of guns, smell and see the acrid gun smoke, the flaming conflagrations of Bright Wizards and the beating and chanting growing louder as Imperial and Northmen lines clashed. He paid all of it little heed, because his focus was on the Stone Circle that was supposed to maintain the Auric Bastion, which was full of unmoving bodies of the ritualists. Gelt knew that no one Wizard, not even one of his skills, could turn the tide of battle, so he moved to the Stone Circle to restore the Auric Bastion with his own rituals.
Gelt could not have known of Wolfram Hertwig's feelings at that moment. He was overwhelmed with a desire for vengeance of his fallen comrades, and knew that his thin line of Halberdiers and Swordsmen would not hold for long in an offensive. His face lined by tears of anger and sorrow, Wolfram ordered an offensive charge into the enemy lines. If it was truly the End Times like the Doomsayers said it was, then at least he would pass into the annals of history. A thousand soldiers alike call out for their God. SIGMAR! Fewer soldiers call out for the Wolf God, but they are no less louder for it. ULRIC! With that, the soldiers charge down the hill to break into the hordes of Northmen.
Within the stone circle, Gelt was quite irritated at Hertwig's charge. The fool couldn't see that their only hope was the restoration of the Auric Bastion, and Gelt could not protect himself while he was performing the ritual. Gelt's eyes were drawn to the corpses he was surrounded by. It would be so easy to raise them and create his own honour guard, but Gelt quickly shook himself out of it. That was forbidden! And for good reason. He would find another way.
The Northmen had expected the Imperials to cower on the hillside, so the Imperial's mad charge down the hill took them by surprise. Steel clashed against steel, and while many Imperials lost their lives in that charge, Hertwig pushed deep into the enemy ranks, slicing to and fro through Chaos enchanted plate and cutting through their armor like hot butter with his Runefang. Only one band of Middenlanders could even keep pace with the maddened Elector Count.
From the side, Festak Krann, the leader of the Rotting Horde, saw a worthy opponent that would bless him with Nurgle's rewards in Wolfram Hertwig. The first that Hertwig saw of the plague encrusted slug-man was his enchanted, rusted axe slamming straight through his plate and into his shoulder, far too fast to parry. Hertwig released a cry of pain, overwhelmed by the agony of one of his arms becoming crippled. Pushing through the haze, Hertwig swung his sword only to splinter Krann's axe. Mustering all of his strength, Hertwig pushes himself into a thrust that plunges deep into Krann's abdomen. Hertwig smiles, only for his head to be split with Festak Kran's axe, ending the Elector Count's life.
The Count was dead, but the battle was not over, and the Imperials were still firing from the hill. Festak Krann removed the Runefang from his abdomen, knowing that it would take but a few moments for his wound to heal. However, as the black blood kept pouring in droves with no end in sight, Krann began to stumble, and then collapse. Little did he know that the Runefang of Ostermark was Troll Cleaver, capable of slowing down if not outright shutting down regeneration to cleave the monster of its namesake. Wolfram Hertwig's corpse on the ground is sky up, and his smile looks almost knowing in its frozen shape. One last victory for the grizzled Count.
Few of the Imperials took note of the Elector Count's death, for they were busy with their own enemies. On the right flank, Captan Harald Dreist was regretting the adulteries he committed that led him to joining the Nordland Seahawks. Cuckolding a bunch of men was not worth the terror he was facing, but he was actually holding out with his skilled swordsmanship. On the left flank, the old frame of Ar-Ulric Emil Valgeir (he didn't get a profile? Really?) was inspiring all of those around him. Despite his age, he was doing just fine, smashing Chaos heads left and right and setting an example for all the Ulricans.
What really changed the tide of battle, however, was the centre of the batleline. There, in the remains of a Talabeclander Regiment, a flaxen haired youth wielding two hammers glowing with holy light was laying all those enemies about him with strikes of immense power. This youth was no warrior or Priest, but a blacksmith's apprentice who wielded the hammers of his trade, pulled north through some sort of compulsion. Around him, a bright halo of power glowed that inspired all the Imperials around him, which only grew stronger with each enemy he slew. The shields and skulls of Northlanders were smashed to fragments as the youth charged into the enemy line. Even large beasts of tentacle and fang were crushed beneath his hammers and holy light.
In that moment, the tide of battle had changed. One of the soldiers called out Valten's name, and others took up the call. Soon enough it spread across the battlefield, and Harald Dreist in the right flank grew inspired and motivated alongside his Sea Hawks. On the right flank, Ar-Ulric Emil frowned as he heard and felt the chant, but stayed quiet as he viewed the young man being embroiled in a halo of golden light.
It is here that the narrative does a thing that I like a lot, so I'll try to mimick the feelings it evokes:
Valten! Valten! Valten! Cried the men of the Empire as they tore down the banner of Festak Krann.
Valten! Valten! Valten! The Crowhunger Bretheren, who had ravaged Ostermark for a generation or more, were crushed to the last beneath Valten's hammers.
Valten! Valten! Valten! The surviving Middenlanders, eager to erase all memories of their earlier cowardice, eagerly ripped their enemies apart. They held none of Valgeir's restraint. If their victory would be at Sigmar's hand, then so be it.
Valten! Valten! Valten! The Northlanders had been pushed back all the way to the breach, and the Imperials could taste victory.
Valten! Valten! Valten! Gelt heard the chant in his ritual circle, and briefly wondered what it meant before going back to work.
Valten! Valten! Valten! The last of the invaders' standards toppled into the mud, and the horde was pushed back beyond the breach to Kislev. The line was held- or at least, so it seemed.
Out from the breach came the Daemons of Nurgle, led by the joyful Great Unclean One by the name of Gurug'ath, and followed by the droning, flyblown chanting hordes of Plaguebearers. Nurgle had sent his Daemons to finish the job. Despite this, however, the Imperials took heart from Valten's presence, and even the Daemons could not demoralise them. They were all determined not to fail Valten, and they formed lines of spears to push back the horde, despite some of those lines being as thin as three or four men deep at some points.
Things went about as well as you'd expect for Valten:
"Valten did not hesitate, but sprang forward to smite the Great Unclean One full in its chest. The daemon, who delighted in the name Gurug'ath of the Endless Rot, made no attempt to defend himself, and indeed looked slightly affronted to be so assailed. His leathery skin smoked and hissed where the hammer blow had landed, but Gurug'ath did not so much as slow his advance. Again Valten struck. There was a flash of golden light; the daemon roared in pain, but he did not fall. Instead, Gurug'ath brought his sword around in a downward arc, his obvious intent to split Valten from stem to stern.
Seeing the danger, the youth thrust his hammers together to block the blow, but he was not strong enough to deny a Greater Daemon of Nurgle. The sword struck the locked hammers with a dull crack, and split them apart. At the same moment, the daemon's skull-headed flail swept out at chest height, and knocked Valten to the ground bloodied. All at once, the chanting faded as the men of the Empire saw their champion felled. The golden light dimmed, and hope faded with it. Soldiers who moments before had been convinced of victory, now recoiled from the daemons that stood before them. The entire easternmost end of the line broke and fled. Captain Dreist ran with them, his honour as ragged as his tunic." Page 263
Gurug'ath's frame shook with laughter as he ordered his horde to slaughter the fleeing enemy. Two Talabeclanders attempted to pull Valten out of the fray, but they were smashed to smithereens as the Great Unclean One's flail tore them apart. Valten rose to his knees to see the Daemon's sword raised high, staring uncomprehending at his oncoming doom.
Then the skies turned black as if it was the dark of night, arriving from the south. Night was still a few hours away, and the air tasted of magic. Gurug'ath could taste the magic in the air, and wondered if it was a Tzeentchian Daemon attempting to steal his prize from him. Then the laughter came, and he knew he was wrong.
The laughter sounded from all over. It was not unpleasant. It was deep, rich and laden with confidence, rendered harsher by a touch of unmistakable malice. It was the sound of one who considered themselves superior to all those around them, and delighted in that knowledge.
WIthin the stone circle, Gelt struggled against the Winds of Magic, which were slipping out of his control. Golden light flashed several times as he desperately grappled against the tug he was feeling, so much so that he missed the cool, chill air passing by him.
Captain Dreist felt the chill on his face and felt fresh terror grip his heart. He fell to his knees, all thought of flight forgotten as he clutched his hands to the side of his head, well aware that his fellow Nordlanders did the same. He could hear other noises join the laughter. The shrieking of steeds, the tremor of invisible hooves, and above all that, terrible war cries in archaic Reikspiel. There was a blur of crimson and gaunt faced knights of bat winged steeds, and Dreist closed his eyes in fear of what he might see, the man's sanity on the verge of breaking.
The first to witness the new arrivals head on were the Plaguebearers. All they saw after feeling the chill wind were Undead Knights on flying steeds before their bodies were impaled and punctured on charging lances. Even Gurug'ath momentarily forgot Valten to grapple with a flying monster's talon that strafed by him before leaving his reach. Enraged, the Great Unclean One swung his sword at Valten since he was close by, and Valten had recovered enough by that time to roll away, doding the swing. Then Gurug'ath was overwhelmed by the recent dead of Alderfen, zombies and skeletons charging and swarming him.
This was all too much for the men of the Empire. Most threw down their weapons and flew, but not all. There were two pockets of resistance. One around the aging priest Emil Valgeir and the other around Valten, now weaponless, but not letting that stop him because he's now bludgeoning Plaguebearers with his fists. Sounds unhygienic.
From the hilltop, Vlad von Carstein watched as warriors of the Empire, living and dead, battled to hold the breach. Of A Harkon and the Blood Dragons there was no sign, the impetus of their charge having carried them far beyond the Auric Bastion.
Harkon is reckless. The speaker stood a short distance to Vlad's left. He was little more than a masked and grotesque shadow in the dark.
'He is a warrior, not a manipulator,' Vlad rejoined. 'You would not understand.'
The Nameless seemed to seethe at the rebuke, his form billowing like smoke in the wind. You know my name, then? You know who I was? Tell me.
Vlad smiled sharply and shook his head. 'Our master would not be pleased, and I need his favour, at least for now. You are not the only one who has lost pieces of his past.'
I could make you tell me, the Nameless hissed.
'You would pit your will against mine?' Vlad snapped, his unblinking gaze falling upon the Nameless' mask. 'Then do so, and let us be done with the matter. Otherwise, the stage before us awaits the arrival of its puppeteer.'
The Nameless hissed in outrage, then flew eastward.
Alone at last, Vlad shook his head in disgust. Isabella, he thought, the things I do for you.
Captain Dreist rose from his kneel. His body moved against his will, the movements mechanical as its new master was no longer used to the limitations of the mortal form. Dreist was full of terror and confusion as he saw his fellow alies also move with the same mechanical efficiency, before they all charged at the enemy. Dreist could hear sonorous whispers in his mind telling him what to do, and he could resist.
Gurug'ath tore himself away from the zombies to see the spirit-thralls being manipulated, and his Daemon sight let him see the source. A floating dark spectral spirit blending with the dark skies as its ethereal tendrils manipulated its thralls like puppets on a string. Gurug'ath could also see the effects of Gelt's ritual taking place, and golden light shining over the Auric Baston as it began to reform. Outraged, the Daemon charges to the Bastion to stop the reconstruction and batters aside a few spirit thralls, before an obstacle slinks out of the shadows to appear in his path. Vlad Von Carstein, the Mortarch of Shadow.
Here we get a little glimpse into Vlad's mind. Vlad knew that Gurug'ath would be a challenging opponent, but he fought his ilk before and knew he could win. Well, that was the plan, but it had been several centuries since he had wandered the mortal plane and he was quite rusty. Ducking under a swing from the Daemon's flail, Gurug'ath released the flail and sealed his meaty hand around Vlad's weapon arm, pulling him up and showering him with spittle as the Daemon laughs and derides the Vampire. The Daemon also has another mouth inside his tongue that does the same. Don't ask me why the book felt the need to clarify that, but there you go.
As Vlad scrabbled, punched and slashed with his free arm alongside the giant Daemon, Valten was charging towards Gurug'ath. Valten didn't know who Vlad was, but he knew that they shared an enemy, and was more than willing to cooperate to defeat Gurug'ath. In Valten Vlad saw an opportunity. Closing his eyes, he focused on one particular corpse and moved it with his necromancy.
On the other side of the field, the smiling corpse of Wolfram Hertwig picks up his Runefang, Troll Cleaver, and passes it along to Valten, who accepts the blade without hesitation and then slices through the Great Unclean One's arm, releasing Vlad. Accompanying this is probably my favorite fight scene so far:
"They fought together on that breach, the youth and the immortal, not as allies in the truest sense, but as warriors who in that moment shared a common foe. Gurug'ath's hide was tough, his diseased flesh all but impervious to pain, but it nonetheless yielded under the twin assaults of the runefang and Vlad's cold blade. The daemon's opponents exchanged no words, shared no plan, but reacted instinctively to the other's actions. As Vlad parried the balesword's strike, Valten went forward to slit Gurug'ath's guts. When the daemon heaved his bulk forward to slam Valten to the ground, Vlad's opportunist blow took one of the plague lord's eyes. An observer might have thought the two fought as brothers, unless he noted that neither Valten nor Vlad expended any effort to preserve the other from harm. Had they worked together – truly trusted one another in that moment – perhaps the daemon could have been vanquished. As it was, their blows served only to enrage Gurug'ath, who slowly drove his foes before him. Yet more plaguebearers came forward in the plague lord's foetid wake, ready to spill across the breach and into the lands beyond." Page 267
Then, in the stone circle to the south, Balthasar Gelt released a cry of triumph as his ritual completes, and the Auric Bastion begins to restore itself. Tumbling and restored rock crushes Plaguebearers or seals them in Kislev, and Valten abandons the fight to jump clear of the breach. Vlad also backs away, but maintains his dignity with a mocking salute followed by a saunter. Gurug'ath lets out a bellow of rage as he attempts to charge the breach, but he gets stuck like a fly caught in amber within the walls of the Auric Bastion.
With that, the Undead withdraw without a word, and the Imperials are left speechless and shellshocked. Few slept well that night, even after Valgeir's blessings over the fields. While Valten and Valgier were odd beneficiaries to a successful battle, it is dark times when the Empire needs Undead working with them to survive.
And with that, we're done with this section. And hoo boy was it a section. This might be my favorite battle purely because of the atmosphere. I reread the Vlad and Valten fight several times, I was genuinely cheering for the Empire at the Valten chant, and I felt chills down my spine at the arrival of the Undead. Vlad is absolutely excellent, and I liked Valten's introduction.
It could have been done better. For example, if they gave us an actual story of where Valten came from or built him up before this battle so it feels as climactic and fantastic as it should be. I think there was a lot of potential that they left unexplored when it comes to the execution, but I still greatly liked what I got. I'm an absolute sucker for the "hero and villain working together to fight a greater villain" trope, and I did love the Valten/Vlad team up.
Also, Vlad immediately jumps to top 5 favorite characters because he's a "Wife Guy". It's really easy to make me like a guy. Just make him love his wife. It's that simple.
Could this have been done better? Probably. The Hertwig section in particular. I still like this section more than any other part. The proof for this is that I reread sections from it several times for my own enjoyment, rather than just for the eventual post I was going to make.
In terms of Valten, I said this in another thread, but he's so refreshingly simple. He gets knocked down, he gets back up again. He doesn't hesitate. He doesn't break. He hasn't even said a single word. I still like him for it. He has a goal, and he goes for it, and he doesn't let things like Undead, Greater Daemons, or losing a weapon slow him down. One might say that he's not relatable and his blessings make him feel detached and inhuman, but I like that in the same way that I like Superman. He's aspirational and inspiring, and that's what the Empire sees in him that gets them to be so motivated. Well, that and the Sigmar juice. I don't have high hopes for where they're taking him, but even if it's downhill from here Valten will still have a place in my heart.
I've liked several characters who were shafted by authors over the years. I can fix him.
