By wissenlander
Part 1
“What are you going to do my lord?” A deep voice echoed from the darkness of the shadow.
“It is not my choice, Gregor.” The chamber fell silent for a brief moment before the lord of Brennenburg spoke again. “I am sick of all this bickering. All of the provinces squabble like children, weakening everyone as they go.”
The Graf rubbed his head slightly as he stopped speaking and looked over to his friend who sought reassurance. Silence again fell upon the room, the only sound coming from the fire crackling in the hearth. Graf Wolfgard leaned forward over the table in front of him looking at papers scattered about, squinting due to the lack of light. He slowly closed his eyes as the pain became a little more intense, leaning heavily on the table in front of him.
“Are you alright my lord?” asked a concerned Gregor as he poured a small amount of brandy into a chalice.
“Yes, I am fine,” the Graf commented as he opened his eyes seeing Gregor offering the chalice. “Thank you. I did not receive much sleep last night. Lukas was reminding me yet again why we should fight by Martin’s side.”
The Graf’s servant smiled, knowing all too well the priest of Sigmar’s passion and speeches. He had been heard by many in public and private proclaiming that Brennenburg should support Martin no matter Wissenland’s decision. This had been causing Wolfgard some trouble as his people were devout Sigmarites and he feared they may be riled into a frenzy.
“That man is driving me mad,” spoke Wolfgard as he tipped back his chalice. “And if the Count in Wissenburg chooses to side with the Ottilia or Severin he may incite a rebellion.”
“Do you think the Count will do that, sire?” asked Gregor with a hint of concern in his voice.
“I am not sure. I do not think so, but politics is a fickle game.”
“Well, what do you desire my lord?”
“My wishes matter little in this matter, Gregor. Of that I assure you,” he said quietly as he leaned back in his plush chair. “I long for peace in the Empire, however, and I believe that the best hope to unite the land may lie with Martin.”
“Lukas would be pleased to hear those words,” smiled Gregor. “And I think you under appreciate your value, my lord. Your counsel is highly sought after, for the Count himself has asked for it.”
“I trust you will not tell him,” Wolfgard chuckled. “And thank you. Your loyalty and friendship has steadied me for many years. Now, if you will take your leave my friend, I must get some rest. The journey to Wissenburg is long and I shall need my strength for the trials ahead.”
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Part 2
Confrontation in the Rain
The rain fell steadily on the landscape making life miserable for the people. Luckily the streets were cobbled or else they would be impossible to traverse. No one would be out on a day like that unless there was a need. Unfortunately for many, there is always a need. The streets were somewhat crowded with individuals coming and going, and at this time of day, it was travel to inns or home to obtain a mid-day’s meal. Nothing troublesome was about at this hour usually. An occasional discrepancy or scuffle would occur but nothing to worry about. The real worries came after dark. Many things happened at night, and the patrols were always out, but eyes and ears work but so well and the darkness hides much.
Captain Schaufelein walked the streets with his small patrol, keeping an eye out for any foul play, although he really did not concern himself with that so much. He was bothered more about trying to stay dry, which was utterly impossible. As he passed the townspeople he would receive greetings as a man of respect often does and he graciously returned them with a smile. As he and his few men continued onward down towards the central market area, the sound of a man’s booming voice could be heard over the rain and the random noises of the town.
“Not again,” Schaufelein muttered to himself as he stopped in his tracks. His men quickly halted behind him, spears held expertly over their right shoulders.
“Pardon me, sir,” spoke one of the men behind Schaufelein.
“Yes, Rolf. What is it?”
“Sir, is that Father Lukas?” the young man questioned as he strode up next to his commander.
“Indeed. I believe it to be lad,” he responded as he ran his gloved hand over his dark beard. “Let’s go take a look and see what he has to say today.”
The patrol marched out of sync into the plaza where a statue of Rhinehard, the first great leader of Brennenburg, stood. Beyond the effigy the voice of Father Lukas was heard again, him speaking to a crowd that was slowly gathering. This was a testament to the man, for few could hold an audience of any magnitude in a steady rain.
“The time has come to unite the Empire!” shouted Lukas. “We have been given a great opportunity to do this. With our never ending trust in Sigmar we shall achieve victory over the heretic Ulricians!” The warrior priest stood in the open on top of a cart to where all those in the crowd could plainly see him. No one ever doubted his piety, but often his means were questioned. He had been noted for bravery in battle several times, but it had been shown on many occasions that he liked to fight, no matter who it was with. This is what worried many in the higher rungs of the town’s hierarchy.
“All right, Lukas, that’s enough,” bellowed the Captain as he and his patrol exited the plaza into the market area. He had heard all he could handle, and that was not much anymore, at least from the priest. “Let the people go about their business. You wouldn’t want to be the reason they become ill now would you?”
“Ahhh, Anton! Have you come to try and quash my devotion to Sigmar yet again?!”
“Lukas, you do not even know how the Count votes. He may yet, and probably will side with the Stirlanders. So let us end this now. Move along,” Schaufelein moved towards the back of the crowd and gently nudged a few telling them to proceed and to get out of the rain before they caught their death.
“I never thought I would see this from you Anton!” the priest shouted from atop his makeshift pulpit. “How you lose faith in Sigmar and show sympathy towards the Ulricians disgusts me!”
“I said that’s enough!” replied the Captain, now very angered. “Do not ever call my devotion to Sigmar into question! It was Sigmar who stood by my side when I received this wound,” he pointed to a huge gaping scar that ran across the left side of his face. “And this limp that I walk with now,” pointing down towards his right leg where he took an arrow that lodged into his bone, the arrowhead still remained. “I have prayed to Sigmar many a night and day and he has guided me through countless engagements. Be wary of whose honor you question Lukas,” he now said more quietly as he made his way through the crowd. “It may bring about your demise. Now move along!”
The crowd murmured quietly amongst themselves and began to disperse. The priest’s tactic to discredit Captain Schaufelein upset many, for they knew what a great warrior and patron of Sigmar he was. Father Lukas jumped down from the cart and gave the Captain a long stare before proceeding down a small alley, retreating back to the temple to lick his wounds.
“That’s it folks, move along,” said Schaufelein, his tone much less angered and in his normal friendly manner. “Get inside out of this rain.” Looking around at the nearly empty market he turned to his men saying, “Alright boys, now let’s do the same. Back to the barracks.”
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Part 3
Devotion
Running quickly through the back alleyways of Brennenburg, Father Sebald pondered to himself what he had gotten himself into. As he came to an opening in the alley he quickly stopped, crouched down and cautiously peered out into the larger street. As he was ready to dash across the intersection he heard footsteps. He slammed himself into the wall at his back and hid there in the shadows. Soon, a patrol of the town’s guard passed by casually laughing and talking in order to pass the time on what seemed to be a rather dull night. As they turned the corner down the street Sebald breathed easily and ran across the street to the entrance of the temple.
“Where have you been?” questioned Lukas, as he gazed at the young priest in front of him.
Sebald’s heart leapt inside him as he was frightened by the words. He slowly closed the door and turned to face the head priest of the temple. “I had to avoid the patrols, I…I apologize for my lateness.”
“Excuses,” Lukas spat as he turned his back and walked quickly away from Sebald. The young priest walked hurriedly to catch up to him and finally did once reaching the small library in the back of the temple. As Sebald began to close the door to the room, Lukas spoke once again, “Well, do you need to be told to light a candle?”
“No, I am sorry Brother Lukas,” he replied scrambling to light a few candles on a table at the middle of the room.
“That is more like it,” Lukas stared with distaste upon the young man who was the newest edition to his order. “Now what news do you carry?”
“Well,” Sebald hesitated for a moment but noticed Lukas’ impatience growing with each passing second. “Jakob is not willing,” is all he could manage to say as he cringed in anticipation of the tongue lashing he would receive.
“What did you say?”
Again Sebald hesitated, his fear growing vastly inside him. “Jakob is unwilling to support your cause, Brother. He feels as though we should at least wait until Lord Wolfgard returns from Wissenburg before any further dialogue is continued.”
“The fool!” Lukas erupted, banging his fists upon the table. “He looses faith along with the rest!”
Sebald remained silent as his infuriated Brother paced in front of him, before finally summoning the courage to speak. “Maybe Jakob has a point, Brother.”
Before the time it takes an arrow to strike a foe from a hundred paces, Lukas turned and back handed the young Sebald. “How dare you,” he spoke callously and calmly. “I knew you were not worthy of being a priest of our Father Sigmar. You lack the faith, as does everyone else in this forsaken town.”
The young man held his face where his Brother had struck him, looking away tears welled up in his eyes from the words that he had just heard which hurt far worse than any physical wound. He slowly looked up to see Lukas pacing back and forth, with his hand on his brow muttering words softly to himself.
“Jakob can not be trusted anymore,” Lukas began. “It looks as though we shall have to deal with him. And it looks as though I shall have to take my plea to the people with a renewed vigor.”
“Jakob has much to lose Brother,” commented Sebald, shocked at the words that escaped his mouth. “As a member of the town council it would be almost foolhardy to act.”
Lukas turned to hit the youthful priest again but held himself. “Get out of my sight,” he said lowering his hand. “Get out of my sight!” he shouted as Sebald paused. “You are just like the rest! You are all unworthy of Sigmar’s grace! Get out damn you!”
Sebald ran out of the room as Lukas turned around and pulled a rather elegant looking chair from beneath the table. He fell hard into the lush cushions and leaned back fully covering his eyes with his hand, his many gold rings gleaming from the small light in the room. “This lack of devotion sickens me,” he spoke softly to himself. “I shall make sure that all these heretics burn for their treason to Sigmar.”
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Part 4
The Homefront
The rain had started yet again. It had paused for a short time during the night, but as dawn broke the clouds answered with a downpour. There was already more rainfall at this point in the year than was normal, and this caused obvious concern amongst the people who feared the crops would be ruined. This concern was magnified by the increased talk of the men marching north to Ostermark and fighting alongside one of the three great powers. The rain seemed to symbolize the mood of the people, who like their lord, tired of warfare with their kinsmen. Warfare with orcs, goblins, and even the occasional skirmish with the Bretons to the east was expected, but stability in the Empire was craved in Brennenburg..
Rolf could see this in the eyes of the people as he walked from the barracks to his home on the fringes of the town, near the south gate. He moved at a quick pace down the main street eager to get home and enjoy a little time off which was granted him by Captain Schaufelein. As the young sergeant moved closer to his home, cries could be heard from the inside which made him smile. He hurried along and entered his modest home, unhooking his sword from his belt and placing it on the table by the door, soon followed by his drenched cloak.
As he set down his weapon, his young wife, Lucia, called out. “Rolf,” she came towards him opening her arms. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she smiled as they embraced.
“I’m happy as well, my love,” Rolf replied as he pulled back holding her at arms length, admiring her beauty. “Once Captain Schaufelein heard, he insisted I take some time to be with you.”
“I am thankful he did. Sigmar has blessed him in many ways. You thank him for me when you return to the barracks,” the whole time she spoke she gazed deeply into his eyes.
“I will,” he said embracing her again. As he did he heard cries come from the back of his small home. He looked over his wife’s shoulder to see a small basinet relatively close to the fire, but not too close. Taking his wife’s hand, Rolf walked over to the basinet and looked down and beamed with pride and love as he looked down upon his small daughter, only a few days old.
“She’s as beautiful as her mother,” he smiled as he reached down to pick up his first child. “She’ll be the fancy of many lads as she grows.”
“She’ll need her father then, to guide and protect her,” Lucia stated softly as she put her hand on Rolf’s shoulder.
“I will do everything in my power to do so,” he replied, his voice shaking with emotion.
There was a short silence that seemed like an eternity as the loving parents looked down upon their child. Rolf knew that his wife was trying to build up the courage to ask him the question they both feared.
“Will you march north to Ostermark?” she asked. The words nearly seemed to shatter the silence though they were spoken gently.
“It is not certain yet, my love” he replied as he sat on the bed in the corner. “But unfortunately, it looks as though we might. All regiments have been called up. Captain says the town militia will be called up soon for extra training for home guard,” he paused looking at his daughter rubbing her cheek gently with his finger before he spoke again. “For whose banner we fight for, I do not know. That is still to be determined.”
“I trust in Lord Wolfgard to make the right decision,” she said as she sat down next to Rolf, leaning her head onto his shoulder. “Sigmar will guide him. Now come,” she said as she took their daughter into her arms. “Let’s rest.”
As they laid there, Lucia feeding their little daughter, Rolf’s arm wrapped gently around them, protecting the two loves of his life, they all slowly fell into slumber. For a short time, at least, they could be happy.