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Friday, 20 January 2006
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From the Forge to the Anvil
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Within moments the camp was surrounded by tall curtains of flame. Like a living thing, the flames lept here and there moving along the ground with amazing speed. “To the Smithy!” ordered Jacques de Rochfort. “ Everyone to the Smithy!”

All were inside , warriors, women, knights and horses, children all packed together . Soon the smoke seeped in and the red glow of the firestorm was seen through the cracks in the doors. Screams of dying Skaven deafened many.

Jacques de Rocheforet began to sing. A song from his childhood. He was soon joined by every human voice inside the Smithy and the death cries of the Skaven were but forgotten. Time ceased to exist as the humans sang or prayed or calmed their horses. Some of the more exhausted fell asleep as the clocks ran down. Hours vanished in the waiting and the lack of Skaven presence at the doors sparked a small hope.

It was time to find out. Jacques said “Birkenhead Drill” and as the peasants pressed to the edges, the knights gathered their Great Weapons and lined up in a double column a pied. The door was thrown back to reveal the terrifying form of a monstrous rat ogre! Instinctively Jacques swung and struck the creature splitting it face in two. It was very dead, the back burned to the bones. The dawn’s early light revealed the smoldering bodies of Skaven piled like cordwood throughout the camp and onto the flatlands. They fell where the flames caught them and the smoke hung low to the ground.

The survivors emerged cautiously, with the Questors mounting up and riding in ever widening circles out from the camp. One of the children pointed to the heaven’s and shouted, “It’s going to start raining”. Following the child’s pointing finger, the people noticed the rain clouds coming in from the east.

Last Updated ( Sunday, 22 January 2006 )
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