Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words

***

The thought reminded him of a topic discussed back at the feast. He flicked the bridle, sidling his horse until he trotted aside Von Kessel. The Captain had also been assigned a war horse, though he’d had to be taught how to ride and Edouart was always close by to give him pointers or to take over as needed. Not even in his youth had Von Kessel ever taken to a saddle, Roderick had learned.

“Captain,” he began. “Any word from Wilfred yet?”

“Nothing yet,” Von Kessel replied, turning his gaze skyward. Along with their supplies, a flock of ravens had been put under their care, for both Von Kessel and Edouart to use. Roderick wondered if the Duke was genuinely curious about his son and their progress, or was simply waiting for the letter that said Marienburg was won, and his political favour with it.

Whatever Edouart’s messages, Roderick was more concerned with their own. Von Kessel had sent off a letter as soon as the birds came, tying their plans to its leg and sending it south.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Von Kessel added, noting Roderick’s expression. “It’s a long way for a raven. Gods, it took us near five days to reach Lyonesse.”

“Plenty of time for someone to take an arrow to it,” Roderick muttered. “Perhaps we should send another.”

“I’d caution against that, sers,” Edouart replied, overhearing their conversation. He flicked the reigns of his mount, coming up on their left. “My father entrusted his strongest birds to us, we’d do well not to be frivolous with them.”

“Losing some of Adalhard’s crows is the least of our worries at the moment,” Von Kessel replied. “But you have a point. If we’ve not heard anything back by tomorrow night, we’ll send another.”

“I am curious,” Edouart said. “This wizard of yours, he is out searching the countryside, correct? How can you hope a raven will find him?”

“Wilfred’s more of a druid than a wizard,” Roderick explained. “He has this affinity with animals, never seen anything like it. Whenever we were on the march, any messenger birds flew straight onto his shoulder instead of the handlers. Once, he even intercepted a pigeon that was carrying battle plans for this band of secessionists we were hunting. I don’t know how he does it, but once that raven gets close to him, he’ll find it before it finds him.”

“Like the wood elves,” Edouart mused. “befriending wild beasts through some… mystical coercion. If we had that kind of power, Brettonia would have no lack for good horses.”

“Do you think we will encounter any elves on our path?” Von Kessel asked, his saddle creaking as he shifted.

“I think not,” Edouart replied. “Their forests lie east, while we travel more to the north. That said, I would not be surprised if their rangers are afield. Any large groups that move through our country, they like to know about it. They’ve probably been watching you since you washed up on our shore.”

“And they couldn’t be bothered lending a helping hand,” Von Kessel muttered, glancing at the surrounding fields, as though thinking to see an elf scout at that moment. “Damned elves. I don’t like the thought of being watched by them.”

“I’m more concerned about our less passive foes,” Roderick added in. “Vampires, Chaos warriors, Skaven, and whatever else lays out there.” He paused. “Speaking of which, what’s our approach with the Duke’s… suggestion?”

“The orcs?” Von Kessel asked. “If I hadn’t known Adalhard all these years, I’d have thought he was leading me on with that idea.”

“My Duke makes no jest,” Edouart added. “We have conscripted orcs and ogres alike when our need is great. They make staunch allies, so long as you keep them happy.”

“They’re greenskins,” Von Kessel shot back. “The only time those simple-minded brutes are happy is when they’re bringing destruction to the world.”

“How do you go about recruiting them to your cause?” Roderick asked, his horse dodging round a stone on the path.

“Your Captain has just answered that,” Edouart replied. “Some tribes have a liking of silver, but for most the promise of battle is payment enough.”

“What’s stopping them from doing battle with us the second we approach?” Von Kessel wondered.

“We have a certain rapport with Morgoroth’s tribe. He has partaken in many battles alongside Brettonia’s armies, and he knows his tribe would be decimated if we turned our lances on him. He may thirst for battle, but he has no deathwish.”

“Perhaps we should consider enlisting them, Captain,” Roderick added in, gesturing behind them. “Even with Edouart’s men, we are few in number. Having greenskin auxiliaries will bolster our strength significantly.”

“What a surprise, Roderick wants to enlist help from non-humans,” Von Kessel said, rolling his eyes. “Your Skaven companion was one thing, but we are talking about an entire tribe of brutes this time. These creatures have plagued our homeland since the start of time, and now you want to work with them?”

“We need the numbers,” Roderick replied simply. “I’m not looking forward to marching alongside a greenskin either, but both Edouart here and the Duke himself vouch for their usefulness, then maybe they’re onto something. How certain are you that we can persuade these orcs to our cause?” he asked, addressing the Brettonian.

“I’ve had a few chance encounters with Morgoroth before,” Edouart explained. “Orcs live for combat, you wont win them over through promises of title or land, they want blood, and Morgoroth is no exception. Orcs have this idea that each battle won is a stepping stone to making his tribe into an unconquerable force. And the bigger the fight, the better. Fighting and killing is like an instinct to them. Lean into that when you converse, and you are sure to make him to take up arms with you.”

“It sounds like you won’t be doing the talking with this orc,” Von Kessel mused, giving him a sceptical look.

“You have the command, Captain Kessel. I will advise where able, but if you want him to follow you, it’s your words he needs to hear.”

Von Kessel grumbled under his breath, taking a moment to correct his horse as it veered off to the right. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” he muttered. “but you have a point. Both of you. Where is this… Morgoroth exactly?”

It turned out that the orc tribe had been a short march east of where the peninsula branched from the mainland, only a few rises away from where they’d first met Edouart.

Their camp was as big as a village, a carpet of huts spilling out from a treeline that rolled away into the ranges to the east and south. Not exactly know for their architectural skills, the huts and shacks were shanty-like in their quality, no two alike in size or quality, yet all made from a rough mix of sheet metal and shaved wood. As they drew closer, Roderick saw that the structures were huge, each near the size of a pavilion or larger, scaled up to orc-size.

A curving row of poles with spiked tops circled the encampment, a couple of watchtowers protruding here and there. They were perhaps a mile away from the paved road, but any secrecy of their location was betrayed by a towering column of smoke, rising from its center. There were smaller fumes squiggling above the camp from chimneys or campfires, but this one was twice as large and as thick as a tree. If such a beacon existed in the Empire, every son of Sigmar in the area would come hammering down on its location with artillery and gunpowder, but it seemed the orcs had made themselves quite at home in Lyonesse.

Von Kessel assembled an envoy party to meet with the orcs. Edouart was there, naturally, along with a few of his officers, and Roderick was included. It seemed he’d become a sort of advisor to the Captain, a part of his officer corps in all but name. It seemed his days of being exiled, stripped of command, were coming to an end.

It wouldn’t be just the handful of them approaching the camp, however. Von Kessel had sorted his best marksman into a fireteam armed with handguns and pistols, and they would take up the rear as the envoys approached. Brettonian knights would ride easy to the flanks, while the rest of the band would await on the hill, so they had a vantage. Roderick wasn’t sure about such a show of force being displayed to someone they were trying to recruit, but Edouart had said that this Morgoroth respected strength, so perhaps it wasn’t the worst idea.

When they were ready, they rode down the slope at an easy pace, so the gunners on foot could keep pace, the sound of dozens of creaking guns announcing them like a warhorn. To their left, a knight held up the Lyonesse standard, while to the right, an Imperial officer held the Empire’s banner aloft, the sight of the twin gryphon’s inspiring Roderick. It had survived the wolfship’s sinking to no one’s surprise, and it would fly once more over Marienburg’s walls, he was certain.

As the procession drew closer, Roderick could see movement along the camp’s palisades. Green figures were moving inside the watchtowers, others leaping down from the defences, the sound of shouting reaching his ears. Roderick had to resist the urge to flip down his visor. Even with Edouart’s words of promise, approaching an orc camp so openly was making his skin crawl.

“Weapons lowered, but ready,” Von Kessel called out, perhaps sensing this discomfort among the men. “There will be no attack unless I command it.”

The green figures were soon close enough to make out in detail. There was a post gate built into the palisades, and to one side of it was a crow’s nest, a sniper perched within its basin. The orc was one nasty creature, his arms were as thick as Roderick’s torso, with shoulders the size of cannon balls. Upon his square head rested a metal cap, and a maw filled with tusks poked out from below a pair of beady eyes. His barrel chest was garbed in a leather jerkin, and in his hands was clutched an oversized crossbow, the metal arrowhead catching the sunlight as it angled in their direction.

“Oi!” the orc shouted. “Who’s this now? Introduce yerselfs, or I’ll introduce yers to me arrow!”

Von Kessel trotted his mount forward, his feathered hat rippling out and behind him. “I am Von Kessel, of the Empire. And this is Edouart Adalhard, son of Duke Adalhard. I come to parlay with your leader, Morgoroth.”

“Oh-ho, I remember you’s, Ed!” the orc called back when Edouart reigned up his horse. “Got yerself some new friends then, ay?”

“Quite,” the knight replied plainly. “Is Morgoroth here?”

“Where else would da boss be? Come on in den, Ed, he’ll wants ta see yous. Oi! Open the bloody gate, ya squigs, it’s da Duke’s kid it is!”

The sound of cranking winches followed the parting of the gate, and through the sliver, something small and snivelling appeared, Roderick’s horse and some of the other mounts whickering in startlement. It couldn’t’ have been more than five feet tall at the shoulder, with huge point ears to either side of a tiny head, a long nose forming a kind of snout. Roderick almost thought it was a Skaven, but the bright green colouration of its skin gave it away as something else.

The goblin was putting his back into pushing the giant gate aside, his scrawny arms trembling with effort. He was helped by another of his like, while another pair did the same with the gate’s other half. They were humanoid in appearance, and only wore loincloths, wheezing in high-pitched voices as they worked the hinges.

As the gap parted, they spotted another orc standing just inside, his giant arms folded over his chest. He was just as big and strong as the one up on the nest, he could have opened the gate with a single punch, yet he seemed content to let the little goblins struggle with the effort.

“Come on den,” the orc with the crossbow shouted, waving them inside.

“I would sooner have your leader come to us,” Von Kessel answered. Within those gates, dozens more of the greenskins could be seen, peeking out from their tents to find out what all the commotion was. Ther had to be fifty of them just here at the gate alone, and none went without axe or sword or polearm. Roderick couldn’t blame the Captain for his trepidation.

“You wants ta talk to da boss? You goes to him or you goes away,” the crossbowman chided.

“Best do as they ask, Captain,” Edouart muttered, low enough so as not to be overheard.

“That did not sound like asking to me,” Von Kessel muttered. “Very well. On me, everyone.”