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[DemonSlayer]

The center

'Onward, brave Chevaliers! Death to those who worship the Lady, while not being worthy of doing so! Death to those who worship Manann, rather than the Lady! Such heretics may not be allowed to live!' Sir Guy the Trabuchet, was pleased. His brother in arms, Sir Gaspard, had arrived earlier that week, and together, they were making good progress in finally driving out the UTC forces. The cowardly Al-Mubarak Hasim had fled the church ward, and now only coach Dihenydd and his Bust Loose! players were left. They had met with these savages before. Many knights had died at their hands, and the Chevaliers agreed that it was time to return the favour.

Unfortunately for the knights, they had not anticipated the arrival of Bust Loose's fans- and when they did, clad in old, spiky Blood Bowl uniforms they never believed that this bunch of angry peasants would pose much of a threat.

They were mistaken. The fans had all spent time learning skills from the Amazon team, and found that passing a ball was much like passing sharp rocks and burning bottles of alcohol, while tackling an opposing player was little different from tackling a man-at-arms. Only now, fouls weren't only allowed, they were encouraged.

At the end of the day, the Chevaliers de Saint Leon once again did not succeed at capturing the church ward, and neither did the Unified Trade Council. But all the fans agreed it had been a good game.

Al-Mubarak Haseem had not fled the church ward, as the knights believed. Instead, he had moved on to the Palace ward, venting his rage at the atrocities commited by the Arabyan Reclamation Pact in his homeland. He was opposed there by Bertrand de Fries, who attempted to retake the Palace ward after the Chevalier's onslaught. Neither were able to hold on to the palace, and as evening fell, the palace ward was divided in two sections, both accomodating one of the armies.

South of Nez

When Gareth and Arlex arrived at the Military ward, they found nothing but ashes and ruined buildings. Whatever the Sons of Exile were doing, they were being thorough. Charred bodies littered the streets, the scent of ozone and burnt flesh everywhere. The Sons, however, where nowhere to be found.

No, the Sons did not stay to wait for the brotherhood. Their main force had moved on to the Peasant district, slaughtering the innocent folk that lived here. The fires they started spread quickly from thatched roofs to wooden buildings. The carnage wrought here was worse than anything they had done so far.

Meanwhile, Snikkit had moved to the Lyonesse road. There, he ambushed and elminated a small caravan on its way to Lyonesse, crushing Nez's hope that the Duke there would ever hear of the city's plight.

The Grail Companion

The undead form of Thierulf walked the streets of the Church ward, slaying as many as he could. But amidst the slaughter, he looked up. There, he saw a sight that would drive most mortals mad.

Arrayed at the end of the street, half a dozen four-legged, brass horrors stood snarling, steam blowing from their mouth and nostrils. Mounted on top of the behemoths were red-skinned daemons carrying dangerous black weapons.

The biggest of the daemon spoke. 'I, Warmonger, have come to end you, foul thing! Your skull has evaded my master's throne for far too long!'

He raised his sword, and screamed his rage at the skies. 'Blood for the blood god!'

Two of the bloodseekers charged ahead of Warmonger, eager to prove themselves before their master. Thierulf stood still, waiting patiently, and when the daemons were near him he struck. His blade carved a pattern in the air, and nimbly he decapitated the first bloodletter's juggernaut, and dismounted the second bloodletter by impaling him on his blade. While the first bloodletter was still getting up, Thierulf sprung on toop of the juggernaut, steadied himself, and drove his massive sword through the beast's neck. Jumping off, he planted his sword in the stunned bloodletter, sending it screaming back to the warp.

Two more bloodseekers came, aiming their black lances at the undead grail companion. Thierulf simply dropped his sword, grabbed the lances with his skeletal fingers, and snapped the lances in twain as the juggernauts passed. Turning around he hurled the pieces of the broken lances at the two daemons, killing them instantly. Then he kicked up his weapon again, caught it with one hand, and jumped on top of one of the juggernauts. His blade immediately found the flank of the daemonic beast, and dug deep. Then his skeletal fingers slit the thick brass throat of the juggernaut he rode.

Warmonger halted his own juggernaut, and dismounted. Clearly this was not an opponent to fight with fericous haste. He held out his long, black blade in a challenge, and Thierulf responded. Jumping over an impossible distance, his first strike knocked the blade aside. His follow-up move would have cut the Herald in twain, had it not been for the daemon's reflexes, quickly parrying the massive blow of Thierulf.

Bright green lights flashed in the undead's eyes, and with a scream not of this world, Thierulf punched Warmonger in his chest. Through his chest. He ripped out the daemon's heart, squeazing it until it popped. Warmonger slunk to the ground, and disappeared in a huff of smoke and fire.

Tossing the daemon's heart away, Thierulf turned away, and continued his slaughter. Meanwhile, his body began to emanate a bright green and white light. With each kill, the light shone brighter, and winds of energy twisted around him faster and faster, pulsating ever stronger and faster. Soon, it would be time.

Leaving

'But sir-master, we can't just leave-go, can we? Where will we live-hide?'

The skaven squeaked nervously, his whispers trembling. His master had decided to pack, leaving Nez for what it was.

'Of course we kan! Do you think moi iz gunna stay ici? Ya said yerself que le cité is lost!' The elderly goblin scolded. Nez had been a prosperous home, but it was getting too dangerous. Especially with a grail knight walking around. True, the git might be dead, but he was still dangerous as hell. 'sides, the Sons of Exile had burnt down a large part of the city. There wasn't enough potential profit to risk staying.

'Look, we ez headed to la cité de Mousillon. Thanks to a little deal I made, mon rivale there is dead. Bankrupt, an' killed himself outta shame. Stabbed himself inna back thirteen fois, savvy?'

The skaven swallowed hard. He liked his cushy position here. In Mousillon, things would change. they'd have to get more involved in the Grand Game, something he did not look forward to...

That night, Grish Toebita left town via one of his secret tunnels, leaving the war torn city to the warriors. He chuckled as he saw his small caravan of the goods he had gathered. He hadn't been able to bring everything, but his cache of warpstone, gromril and arcane reagents was safely with him, at least. And he had enough more mundane equipment to start a low profile underground market in Mousillon...


Note: Warmonger is killed, and therefore no longer available for contact. Grish, too, is no longer available as he has fled town.

[MyrmidianMan]

Guess I should have mentioned that I was heading for the Palace district, eh?
_________________
Now Andre, how am I related to these people?
-a phrase spoken at least once a day by Bertrand de Fries