Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words

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She tried to drum up the name, but couldn’t get it beyond the tip of her tongue. Damn it, if only she’d paid attention during all their meetings, when she, Roderick, and Wilfred had gathered to discuss their plans once they reached the Empire. If only she hadn’t painted eyes on her goggles and napped, and actually paid attention to the names of all these places they talked about.

She did know that the Empire was North and East of Brettonia, so at least she knew which way to go. The idea of travelling across yet another man-thing territory al on her lonesome was not an attractive prospect, but what other choice did she have?

She was still out of energy, so she took an inventory check. She had a pouch of warp-stars, some stolen parcels of salted fish (she’d been itching for some dessert before the clanships had come,. a cup of ink and a quill, in case she ever learned how to write, her winnings from the crew brawls, her warp dagger, her goggles, and Von Kessel’s rapier.

She drew this latter out of her belt, marvelling at how she’d managed to keep a hold on it all this time. Kessel must be feeling rather silly now, without his flashy sword to complement his colourful garbs. Maybe she’d sell it off for a tidy sum. Maybe she’d jam it into his buttocks when she found him.

It was a little oversized for her taste, and its long blade was only sharpened at the end, it wouldn’t be good for slashing, but it would be perfect for stabbing. She gave it a practice swing, and the point flicked without a hint of weight. Nothing could replace her lost weeping blade, but this would do nicely.

The lonely call of a wolfpack reminded her that she had idled enough. She rose to her full height, sliding the rapier into her belt with one smooth motion. She scampered out of her cover, ready to face the hunting Skaven, and the journey that lay ahead.

-xXx-

They marched from dawn to dusk, roughing it across harsh terrain. Fields packed with neat beds of flowers stretched to all sides. The constant rise and fall of the meadows brought a number of twisted ankles, but by midday they had come upon the first sign of civilisation in these parts.

The road swept its way across the fields like a silver streak, the cobbles contrasting against the green, wide enough to allow two carriages to walk astride with room to spare. The stones were cut neatly, the road a perfect mosaic of square tiles, reminding Roderick of the gilded cathedrals of Altdorf, the seat of his Emperor. Even the grass had been trimmed, the weeds and grass filed away on the road’s direct flanks, leaving two clean divots that ensured nothing lived within three inches of the path.

Even the stones felt smooth and safe beneath his boots, despite the cobbles being harder than the grass. The road was well-built, and thoroughly maintained to thrive in the wilderness, yet they saw no travellers that day.

The seventy men took frequent rests, and many had to be carried due to their injuries. It was early in the evening when they reached the village. One the horizon, it was a cluster of brown blocks, and that was exactly what it was up close. The road paved its way down its guts, separating it into clean halves.

The architecture of the buildings were unfamiliar. Angles stretched in eccentric directions, the ramshackle houses built two or three storeys tall, each made from overlaid planks. He couldn’t see a chunk of stone anywhere, only the road had reserved that material.

Roderick heard that Brettonia prided themselves on their cleanliness, but the village was rather desolate. There were perhaps two dozen buildings in total, with a town hall and a couple inns being the biggest, but each gave off a feeling of isolation, as though each foundation was a little too far apart from one another.

The villagers watched the procession of Imperials from the safety of their windows and porches, ogling the group in equal parts surprise and suspicion. It was only when the crew had reached the centre of the village that the locals decided to approach. Most asked who they were, where they were headed, all in that strange, melodic accent that was the Brettonian dialect.

One of them, a gentleman a little on the older side, perhaps fifty or sixty, his thin body clad in brown and blue robes, was the boldest among the locals. He approached Von Kessel with a hat clutched in his hands, bowing his head as he presented it.

“Change, traveller?” the old man mumbled. “A copper or two, it is all I ask.”

The Captain turned, the rest of his bodyguards doing likewise, continuing up the path. The old man worked down the column, resuming his pleas. Some were answered, others were not. By the time it was Roderick’s turn, his hat was weighed with a few coin pieces.

“Please, good ser knight,” the man began. “You wouldn’t bereft a broken man a slice of pity, would you?”

“I am no knight,” Roderick answered. “but I can spare you some chivalry.”

He reached into his purse, and dropped a handful of gold into the hat. They were still a little damp from the sinking of the ship, but tender was tender. The old man looked just about ready to embrace him, glancing down at his hat with big eyes.

“Oh, Gods bless you a thousand times, ser,” he said, bowing low enough that Roderick could hear it crack. “You are Imperial, are you not?” he added, gesturing at him. “I can tell from the accent, it is hard to miss.”

“Aye, we are,” Roderick replied, wondering how much information he should share.

“I had not heard of an Imperial army travelling through these parts,” the man continued, falling in beside him as Roderick walked. “And I hear all the gossip that travels from here to Bordeleaux. How long have you been in our fine lands?”

“Only a few days,” Roderick answered. “We were… turned around.”

The old man seemed to pick up on his abruptness. “So it is, so it is. Well, as one militaryman to another, I wish you well on wherever the path takes you.”

“You are a soldier?” Roderick asked, cocking a sceptical eyebrow.

“Man-at-arms Jehan Cordelier, faithful servant of Duke Adalhard and the Lady,” the old man announced, tipping Roderick a prim salute. “Or rather, that is who I was, until an accursed beastman’s arrow fell upon my leg.

Roderick noted the slight limp Jeran made with his left foot, this man was a veteran.

“Why do you beg, Cordelier?” Roderick asked. “Did your liege lord not compensate you for your service?”

“His doctors took the thing out, but I was as lame as an old horse. And an old horse I became,” Joren chuckled. “I was compensated by being faithfully released from my vows to servitude. That is a thing few infantryman can match here in Brettonia. Now, I serve the Lady through spreading stories. It is all I can do to keep myself occupied.”

“What news do you have, then?” Roderick asked. “What goes on in Brettonia these days?”

“The Lady’s enemies grow ever more bolder,” the old man replied ominously. “The elvenfolk stir restless to the east, gathering great hosts of all manner of creatures, yet they only ever seem to wait… but for what? The orcish tribes pillage the fields, always to return no matter how many times the knights drive them off. There’s even talk of a dragon lurking in the mountains, and it razes everything west of the sannez river to the ground! I hear it ha already turned three castle garrisons into ashes. It has gotten so bad that the dukedom has resorted to hiring mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries?” Roderick asked. “What kind? Tilean’s?”

“Would that we were so lucky! No. The Duke has taken to bringing beasts into his service, Orcs and Ogres. The fetid creatures fly his banners over their camps, right beside their great bonfires of manflesh. Ogres, ser knight, can you believe it? Those savages are as like to eat you as soon as look at you.”

“I’ve never seen one of them before,” Roderick mused, remembering tales of giants the size of three men, with hungers so insatiable they almost matched Skyseeker’s diet.

“And pray to the Lady that never changes,” Jeran warned. “Tell your men to give their camps a wide berth, no good can come from befriending the beasts, mark my words.”

The crew took their chance to rest at the inn, and while it was the biggest building in the village, there wouldn’t be enough room to house even half of them.

Roderick excused himself from Jeran’s stories, slipping inside the inn’s front door. It was as quiet inside as it was on the street, with nary but a handful of patrons eating their lunch inside. There wasn’t even a singer or musician to provide a hint of ambience, the village was as desolate as they came.

The inn wasn’t without its owners, however. A pair of bar maids tended to the few drinkers, one of them stopping her work to talk to one of Von Kessel’s officers. His men weren’t wasting any time, and Roderick couldn’t blame them. They had not seen any women since setting off from the Empire on Wilfred’s behest, and that had been over a two months ago.

The Captain himself didn’t waste any time, calling the owner over and demanding question after question. The plump man in the apron was welcoming enough, and was very talkative once Von Kessel slapped down a bag of coins and hired out every room available.

Once the innkeep scooped up his money, he sauntered off to get his inn cleaned. Roderick took the moment to approach, leaning on the bar to the Captain’s side.

“What news, Von Kessel?” Roderick asked. “You find out where we’ve ended up.”

“This lovely little place is called Langiers, the finest hole in Lyonesse, allegedly,” the Captain replied. “The Capital is about three days’ march north of here. I’ve already sent men to look around for horses, but it seems we have long road ahead of us.”

“We should take the opportunity to rest up while we can,” Roderick said. “I don’t think many of us can stand another march like that.”

“Agreed, we can spend a night or two tending to the wounded. I doubt any of these yokels are trained in medicine, but a fresh bed can do miracles for a wounded sailor. If only our wizard had come with us,” he added, shaking his head pointedly. “His magics could save my men a lot of pain and effort.”

“He’ll save more by sending any survivors our way,” Roderick pointed out. “Your men, Skyseeker, they could still be out there.”

“I pray he sends me swords rather than that rat’s blade,” Von Kessel scoffed.

“Don’t be so hard on her,” Roderick replied, leaning his hands on the counter. “She’s done her best ever since she switched sides. She’s not perfect, the lass has a habit of not quite thinking before she speaks, but no one’s perfect. Besides, she’s never hurt anyone, has she?”

“Do you really believe that?” Von Kessel said, glaring at him. “That the Skaven switched sides?”

“Of course,” Roderick said without missing a beat. “don’t you?”

“All I believe was that it was saying what you wanted it to say. You showed it mercy, so it pretended to be your friend so you wouldn’t kill it. Wilfred was curious, so it told him it had so much information to share. It knew we had its live in our hands, so it did everything in its power to appease us.”

“What of it?” Roderick asked. “She helped us in our quest for the relic, she fought and bled alongside us. If she did that just to preserve her own life, what difference does that make?”

“Come now, Roderick. If you do not understand the difference, then your follower may very well be a saboteur, or a spy. You once commanded armies, surely you should understand the importance of knowing the ones who follow you.”

Roderick was about to protest, but what could he say that he hadn’t already? The Captain’s opinion of Skyseeker had not changed since day one. Even after they’d come back from the desert with the relic, the stubborn fool just didn’t trust her.

“Bah, but enough of this,” Von Kessel said, waving a hand. “The day has been long and arduous, let’s not sour the mood with arguments. The inn keep’s opening up all his rooms for us tonight. I’ve reserved most of them for the walking wounded, but I’ve arranged rooms for me and the other officers. There’s a bunk for you, if you’ll have it.”

“What about the rest of the crew?” Roderick asked. “Where will they sleep?”

“He’ll clear these tables and chairs after dinner. It won’t be enough room for everyone, but there’s bound to be spare cloth in this village somewhere. We’ll set up tents outside.”

“I saw a man at the back of the column with his leg cut off from the ankle down,” Roderick answered. “Give my room to him.”

Von Kessel gave him an odd look. “Suit yourself. Technically you are counted among the wounded too, Roderick…”

“This is nothing,” Roderick replied, reaching up to touch at his head. The scar was all but faded, Wilfred’s magic had worked like a charm. “I’ll feel better once I’ve got a cold drink in my hand.”

“In that case, allow me to fetch you your medicine,” Von Kessel chuckled.

He ordered a round of ale, Roderick and the officers gathering for a toast. One of the maids poured their beers, Roderick’s tankard filled to the brim with wonderful froth that passed cooly down his throat.