By CountRommel
Every night my mind goes back to their graves. The stonework was made masterpiece, a monument to life's end. The moist loose earth beneath my feet a tribute to fresh graves and fresh death. I remember the footfalls coming from behind me, uneven and clumsy like a man unaccustomed to his own body. The first few utterances out of his mouth I could both hear and not hear. I was out of my head and his words were just nonsensical sounds that eventually pulled me back to myself. "Lord Count, I come here to offer you a choice," he says. I knew what that choice was long before he could speak it. An Ultimatum of vengeance. Thanks be praised to my social rank, which gives me numerous choices in life. The choice is an easy one though either option could end in my death. The choice I make will bring me to Morr's gates on my own terms.
I look over the reports on the desk in my tent. Reports of troop morale, death notices, and requisition notices from my engineers. I thank Manann and Sigmar for the fortune I have had with logistics. My supply lines from Altdorf, though extended, have been quite extraordinary. I have a sense that this quest will consume me. But I hope to end it these rumors keep popping up. The Abomination who looks like serenity made flesh. She I shall hunt to the ends of this world.
I barely hear him walk in: the confident strides and large footfalls, I know them anywhere. Captain Oldric Richtoven. He has most likely come to tell me what these reports cannot tell me - the true morale of the men. "My Lord, it is about tomorrow's battle. The... the men do not understand why we are at war with an ally who only just recently helped us weather the Storm of Chaos.""Captain," I reply "the mission was given to me by an Arch-Lector of our glorious Warrior God Sigmar. These people, though they worship an acceptable Goddess, are harbouring an abomination. An abomination which has killed my heirs, an abomination which sprung up multiple cults in our home province, an abomination that if left unchecked could have become just as bad as those marauding heretic invaders which came down to destroy us. I will not rest till that wench of an abomination is put to the SWORD! Do I make my self clear, Captain Rictoven?" He replies in his usual "yes m'lord."
He knows my pain well. His sons used to play with mine. He is a good friend. He has even, with fiery oratory, inspired my men to feel the same pain which has torn out my soul. But then he started to speak again - he has never done this before and his words are words which play over and over in my head. "My lord she is your wife. Are you sure you want to kill her?"
My Justification begins to counter this argument "She is not my wife - my wife died the night that abomination was born into this world. I hope and pray that her soul went with her body to death but did not join her body in unlife. So says this liber, blessed and given to me by the Arch-Lector: a supposed heretical text yet blessed to give me information on how to slay this beast." Captain Richtoven leaves satisfied with my answer. By Sigmar, I have said those words in my head so many times to say them now felt rehearsed like a cheap entertainer’s play.
Tomorrow our allies in Bretonnia will have to feel the wrath of our fire. All on a rumor I commit men to battle. But the pride that duke has in him has made it come to this. Instead of letting me see this lovely mountain damsel he had taken as his bride he has refused. In the name of love and vengeance our blades shall clash. My only solace in this matter is if he dies tomorrow it will be more merciful than to die to her fists. Now if Ranald's luck will be with me my quest shall end and I will return home. Soon. May Sigmar be with me tomorrow.