Warhammer competiton, STORY entries

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Old and short, no wonder I'm grumpy!
Staff member
FH Subscriber
Dec 14, 2003
Please post your story entries in this thread, not forgetting the rules

Contest is only open to European residents
Entrants must be over 18
All submissions must be your own work and must not have been published
elsewhere previously
You agree that by submitting your entry that Goa has the right to
republish it and reuse it however they choose
There are two categories, stories and art. You may not enter the same
category more than once per site.
No piece may be submitted to more than one site
To receive your prize you must have an account on the European beta
centre (Warhammer Online : Age of Reckoning)
Members of the gaming press or games industry professionals may not enter
Last date for entries is noon GMT on the 17th March 2008, entries
submitted after this time will not be considered
Judging will take place by a panel of fansite admins and Goa staff
across all sites.
Each site has 6 guaranteed beta spots to give away (three in each
category). There are 10 additional beta spots in total for the best
runners up.
In case of any dispute, the decision of the organisers (Goa) is final.


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 3, 2008
My Short Story

Short Story by Andrew Redmond

Lost winds bellowed through the soaking planes and marshes, littering them with the stench of defeat and bloodshed. The distant calls for relinquishment would no longer fall on hero's ears but too only those already cursed to never breath again.

No shields, swords or majesty could restore this ever more likely graveyard, as hordes continued to march forward swaying in the breeze to the sound of wooden drums and roars, they were finished here.... nothing was left, not even a single tear of blood to roll from an open wound, these grounds would echo in silence forever more.

These hordes I speak of were like no other, tales of armies larger than the eye could see, vaster than one man ever could imagine, those who felt brave enough to speak of them would no longer be known as brave, a much more adapt name would be fell to those men.... dead.

As time grew older the people of order started to misplace their lands moving further and further from what they once knew, where they once lived. No miracles could save these men and women, not even the gods themselves would attempt to stop such a relentless force of nature, these were hard times, with even worse times to come.

I can only hope the Order are prepared for what can only described as hell on earth, pray now young Order as you're time is ever nearer.

The Hordes of green and black will soon be upon you're every breath, there shall be no place to hide, no place to confide, run you shall, but be found you will.

WAR is Coming....

Are You Prepared?....


A story I hope you'll all enjoy reading

Improbable Assult

Karak Eight Peaks. It rose with his vision and silhouetted the darkening sky, a brilliant flash of steel, iron and stone. A fortress, swelled with the ranks of more Dwarves than you could care to count if you had the time. An impenetrable stronghold. Or so they had thought
Throak Anvilsplitter stared from across the valley at the behemoth twin peaks that jutted from the structure, a towering monument to Dwarven achievement and culture which should have invoked pride, left only a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Filthy green rats…it ain’t right what’s happened… dy’e ken?’

Dalim. Throak was only dimly aware of his words; they seemed to be drowned in the endless chasm which separated him from his home, lost on the bitter Northern wind which swept about their ragged cloaks and bit at their exposed faces.

‘Oy, you listenin’…?’

‘Aye I hear ye, ye ginger bastard’ Throak shot back.

‘Oh aye, getting offensive are we? I happen to ken fer a fact yer wife loves me beard…’ Dalim’s serious expression cracked into a mischievous grin, Throak had seen it before.

They joked. It helped, he supposed, before battle.

Dalim, himself and a score of other younger lads had made it this far, conquering the surrounding mountain ranges, rife with dangers themselves. They had faced relentless opposition from the start; scouts, devious goblins and fearsome orcs standing three times as high as any of his tallest kinsmen. How many of these Greenskin he had killed, Throak knew not; only that he was sure it was not enough

He inspected his hammer. It had lost some of its shine since they had set out from Karaz-a-Karak; bloodied by the skulls of Greenskins who’d had the gall to stand in his way. Nevermind, he mused, it didn’t need to be shiny, just heavy; which it was. He allowed himself a smile. There was a certain charm to his weapon of choice; intricately designed patterns snaked their way across the handle towards his hands. The solid block of steel set atop it reflected his grizzled features, scarred from many years of his favourite hobby- grudge resolving.

From the corner of his eye, still focused upon the stronghold of Karak Eight Peaks, he saw Dalim draw his weapon from his back, checking the balance, meticulously inspecting the keen edge of his axe. Slightly obsessive over his weapons, Throak thought, then again, your weapon was the only thing that separated you from your death...that and your wits.

Throak glanced at Dalim up and down, geared in finest Gromril armour, ornate and dazzling; he was a useful bugger on the battlefield, worth at least five of his own with an uncanny ability to take a knock over the head and still smash the offending Orc’s head in.

‘What you starin’ at then, boy?’ Dalim said as he noticed Throak admiring the impressive stature the armour gave him.

‘I can hardly help but look at ye, ye shiny bugger’

‘Smart arse…what do ye say we settle some grudges then, Anvilsplitter?’

‘Ye've got Oath’s to settle Dalim? Now that’s a keen surprise; I didn’t think yer even write 'em down...'

Dalim cracked into deep, throaty laughter the joking definitely helped, but then fell silent as his gaze, like Throak’s, settled again on the majestic fortress.

Though neither showed it, nor did their kinsmen, yet they realised the near-impossible scale of their proposed assault. The darkening sky cast deep shadows across Karak Eight Peaks which stretched across the valley, dimming the remaining sunlight; even now the ready glint of Orcish blades reflected from the high walls of their once proud city, debased by Greenskin presences, foul and coarse. The darkness which now enveloped them, cast a cold aura of uncertainness around the band of Dwarves, standing rebelliously against the arctic winds.

‘ALRIGHT YE BASTARDS! GET DOWN THERE, KILL SOME GREENSKIN, AND SETTLE SOME O' YER GRUDGES!’ Dalim yelled into the wind, not once looking back as he charged down the valley; a roar building in his throat.

With a deafening roar, which Throak found his own voice lost within, the rest of the band followed him down; their steely resolve set against the flashing glints of Orcish steel. Only one thought ran through Throak’s mind as he rushed headlong into the sea of green and grey brandished with keen edges; he’d at least settle a lot of Grudges…or die trying.

Binky the Bomb

Fledgling Freddie
Jan 31, 2004
Story Submission: A Tale of Old
Told by Kharis Durak of the 'Blazing Hammer' Guild.

"Sat in the middle of Black Fire Pass, I sat, exposed and huddled near the fire I had made, as the dark, cold night had closed in around me. The bitter cold was like a knife across my skin, so it was useful that I wore my leather and chain mail armour. My hammer was ice cold, its mere touch was almost unbearable, but I held it close regardless.

"I had wrapped its head in dry grasses, as my father had instructed me many years ago, it kept it warm, after a fashion, and would become a fine torch should I need it. I had set out with others, but was now alone in the night, vulnerable and worried, nursing my hammer like I would a child."

Snickering from those sat around the fire snapped Kharis out of his memory. At least a dozen humans, dwarfs and three elves sat, huddled together for extra warmth against the bitter cold. It was daytime, but the pass still looked imposing and out of place. The vegetation was too dense, huddled towards the sides of the pass, only the most basic of grass dared grow here. Legends had it as a regular route for giants, when their kingdom spread across the face of the world, before their fall and decline, the greenery would take thousands of years to regrow, if ever.

"I've done many jobs over my life, I've killed in the wastelands, mined in the mountains to the north, braved darker place than this, and even delivered two babies during the siege of Middenheim. Stop giving me that look, it was a task that needed doing, I was tasked to hold the temple and guard the people huddled their. A woman was in labour, and the mid-wife had been injured, she needed help, and I was the only one available to assist. As swordsmen fought in the doorways, I helped deliver the... twins I think the woman called them. I tell you, holding both of those boys as they came out, I felt pride and a warm feeling inside. Was a good feeling mind you, strange, but good... holding my warhammer that first night in the pass, it felt the same.

"It was close to midnight when I heard the war horns, and the inevitable thuds of the heavy green skinned brutes approaching from the darkness. The guttural grunts of the foul beasts could be heard as they moved along the pass, and they moved in closer, their foul stench could be detected long before they came into view.

"Course, I couldn't see them too well, as the blindfold I was wearing cut out all the light. Old dwarf trick, blind fighting. My Da had trained me well, sparing in the deep caves of Barak-Varr, devoid of light and with deep booming echo's, perfect for honing your skills for night fighting. As they walked up right to the fire, they had lost their night vision, and lost any advantage in numbers they may have had against my group.

"Aye, I said group... I volunteered to sit out an be bait for an ambush. The plan is as old as the guild, draw out the wandering orc's with a bright fire, and lure them to their deaths. Whilst I sat waiting, my mates and my Da sat in the undergrowth, waiting for the foul beasts, and circling around their rear. Aye it was a grand slaughter, I PLUNGED my hammer deep into the fire, turning my weapon into the symbol of our guild, swinging it in upwards, breaking their leaders jaw, whilst my second swing dug deep into his throat, crushing his wind-pipe and breaking his thick neck.

"I ducked down, as I had been told to, and several dozen bolts and arrows flew through the air, digging deep into their flesh and killing many at the back instantly. As the beasts turned to meet the new enemy, I got up and swung again and again, maybe slaying at least three or four of them.

More snickering, and from an elf, drew him out of the happy memory. "What!?"

"A mere three or four? Surely you had taken down three of four score of them surely? You are, after all, the great warrior." From one of the three elves, one of the two males he assumed.

"Now then lass." The smirk drained from the elf's face "Oh, sorry, one of the blokes then? Its so hard to tell, what with you being a member of a traitorous, beardless race. At least the humans can grow some fuzz, and have some dress sense about them, much better that the white frocks your wearing." Laughter from those sat around, and a high pitched giggle from the only female present, the third elf. She was the one with the axe, and the giant white cat, he'd have to remember that in future.

"Now then, If I wish to embellish a story, I'll be drinking heavily, and the tale will be a damn site taller, mark my words. No, that night, I killed only a few of them, as my group loosed one last volley into the orc ranks, before charging in, hammers swinging and digging deep into their targets, breaking bones and tearing muscles. A luck few managed to break open the thick orc skulls and showering themselves with gore and what littel brains the green skins had to offer.

"It was grand carnage, and in less than ten minutes, we stood victorious over the dead,and dying, as well as one prisoner. He had no kneecaps left, and one arm was broken in three places, but he was alive. We then built the funeral pyre and shoved the dead bodies inside, I tell you orcs may not burn easy, but they do burn. Can't use em for kindling, but that's what pure alcohol is for, which is why your all sitting on bails of wood. The wood round here isn't great for building bonfires, so its best to bring your own, as experience has taught me.

"Once the pyre was set, we laid out old Thorbreks body, and placed him on the top, carefully making sure he had his hammer with him. He was the previous leader of the guild, and it was his right to be sent beyond in the traditional manner, on the field of battle that bonded our two races, and the birthplace of our guild. Once he was set, we doused the bodies in fire, and set light to it, sending him on his way to what lays beyond.

"Every fire years, recruits get blooded right here, on this field of battle. Our families have made up the guild for over two thousand years, and aside from our pointy eared fellows here, our ancestors have always served with honour against the dark hordes, whoever they may have been. And tonight, you finish your training. Glory or death awaits, you survive, your worthy, you die, your not. However, if you do die here, you WILL burn atop the fire, I guarantee that.

He waited whilst his words sank in, and the bitter wind picked up speed, making everyone shiver.

"Right, Get that wood stashed, except that small pile I hauled up, were using that as our signal fire. Once were set-up, we'll find some good spots to bunk down in the brush, and then we'll wait till night fall. If anyone wants to volunteer for being bait, then make yourself known BEFORE night is upon us, as you'll be sat out for a few hours on your own. Okay then, bums up and get moving. NOW."

As the now slightly panicked group began to hastily move about, stepping on each others toes and tripping over each other, Kharis marvelled at the last three times he had taken new recruits out to the pass for initiation. The way the recruits always managed to look like some copper piece comedy performance act as they tried to deal with what lay ahead, the words he had spoken, and the tasks at hand. Add the elves into the mix and it was all he could do to not laugh out loud in joy, especially as the loud mouth tripped over the giant cat that belonged to the female, and it bit him in the backside.

Elves in the guild, he thought, what had the world come to. Mind you, we did aid them during the raids on the shipping lanes, sinking several dark elf raiders and corsairs. Those had been good years as a sailor, he mused, as he had set forth on-board the guild Ironclad, the "Valayas Wrath" and put the fear of the dwarfs back into the dark heart of chaos. His chest swelled with pride at the memory of many a dark elf drowning, or blasted apart by cannon fire, or shot as he feebly tried to cling to the metal hull of the proud ship.

These were the sons and daughter of some of the captains of ships they had saved. And these three has pledged to join the ranks of the guild, so far managing to live long enough to make it here, to this hallowed place. If they survived the night, then they would be fully fledge members of the Blazing Hammers, which would be a problem within itself. Many viewed the elves with mistrust, and he had been amongst their number at first. They had been with them only a few weeks, and had been trained well, despite having no real life experience in war and combat.

Still, If they joined, the guild would be split, divided for the first time in its history, and all because there race had not been present to fend off the green skinned menaces, and held firm against the hordes of chaos, instead running away to their island paradise to suck on their thumbs. Their membership would be a insult in the eye's of many, and most believed they would turn tail and run at the first suicidal defence against impossible odds. Kharis remembered browning his leather slacks the first time he'd done so, he could and would forgive anyone for doing so their first time out.

Still it worried him, Eikinskaldi, the current leader of the guild would be under pressure by the rest of the guild to do something with them, preferably far away. That meant the Empire, as the chaos forces once more marched upon the lands of men, which also meant he would be stuck with them once more. He had planned to take a battle force north, and aid the humans against the foul taint of chaos that blew in from the northern wastes. If the elves had to join him, he'd be stuck for further volunteers, but if that was the way the winds of fate blew, then he'd have to make do... he always had done in the past.

"Sir, we're ready." Said the youngest recruit, a teenage human called Barrus. To work then.


The trip back to Barak-Varr took at least a week of hard marching, having first to board a merchant barge, as the hold only entrance was through the docks, its cavernous opening dwarfing any and all ships that entered, from the steel ships of the dwarfs to the massive war galleons of the empire. As they disembarked, they were met by the elders of the guild, and by his old friend, the current leader, Eikinskaldi. He remained silent till the recruits, elves and all, left the boat and headed inside before speaking.

"They all survived?" Asked Eikinskaldi.



More silence.

"Did well, killed a nice size of group. Pyre went well."

More silence, as all looked to their leader expectantly.

"We'll be setting out for the Empire in two days time, have the recruits and any volunteers ready by then." He said, reluctantly.


"I'll be leading the expedition. Your coming with me, as are a few of the guild masters. We'll be aiding our brothers up north, and we'll need our best equipment. Bring your tools with you."

He left, taking several of the guild heads with him, and he guessed they were his supporters on the council, and therefore heading north with them. Those that remained had yet more to say.

"The recruits you take with you are YOUR responsibility. They are yours to train further, to guide, and to lead to there deaths." The pause couldn't have been more pregnant without a woman present "Make sure they DO die well." From Hadrid Copperforge, chief artisan of the guild.

"Were my Da here, you would not treat them with such disrespect, and you certainly would not be requesting that, like some silver tongued Envoy. And lets not split hairs here, your asking to be rid of them, despite the fact they passed out trials and tests. They are Hammers now... don't forge that. If they die, they still go into the book of the fallen, I'll see to it."

"They are elves, they will betray you!"

"Like your doing to them, no doubt. Sure their brash and cocky, and will probably get killed in some stupid way, as is the way of all youth. But if they do, then so do we all, together. Your name is now a grudge upon my lips." He let the words sink in, and the look on Hadrid's face changed instantly "I will meet my fate on the field of battle, may you meet your in your bed."

He left the group as they began to bicker. It was a sad fact that he was now the Lore keeper of the guild, and the principal trainer for the last thirty years. he had much support, and all he had to do was mention the grudge aloud to the guild, and Hadrid's days were numbered on the council. He would not however, he'd let the words stew and let them eat away at the elder. It would be disrespectful to confront him, despite his actions, he was still an elder, and his fathers closest friend. No, he'd let it stew, and let him retire, honour intact, the other council members would not dare breath a word of this.

Now he had just one last task to perform. Deep in the bowels f the ancient hold, he sat in front of the Great Book of the Blazing Hammer.

Let he who is recorded here be now and forever more be honoured and remembered. May they be the eternal light in the darkness, may evil know fear before them.

Thousands of names adorned the pages of the great tome, and it took him many minutes to find the most recent pages. He carefully marked down each and every name carefully, placing his mark against each entry, before coming to his three elven recruits. He paused for a few moments, as the magnitude of what he was about to do suddenly weighed upon him. He only hoped his ancestors understood and forgave him, or at least understood what he now did, and prayed he was doing the right thing.

With a careful and practised hand, he entered his name against theirs, as witness to there initiation. It was done, from here on in, there fates were his. He only hoped he could do right by them. He left the chamber, and sealed it with the heavy iron key, turning to be greeted by his friend and leader.

"Hadrid will join us up north, he'll be bringing some of our veterans with him." And before he could reply, Eikinskaldi turned and left, a sly smile upon his lips. It seemed his ancestors approved after all.



One of Freddy's beloved
Feb 25, 2004
Story Title : For WAR
Author : Panagiotis Patestos "nicknamed" wutae/kynoko/beelzeboul

This story begins many years before, at the dark ages of a world unknown to us. There, two little friends, playing around inside a cave have a little argument. Both of them are from the race of orcs.

The first one with a skin as green as the grass, and dirty as much as it can be , is complaining to the other one.

“It can’t be! These filthy humans, coming to our lands, killing our families, stealing our gold” pointing his right hand towards his friend.

At the very end of his hand, there is another orc, used to his friend reactions pushes away gently his friend’s hand .

“Get used to it, they are humans, they like to grow , even if they are claiming that they are coming here to our lands to clear it from the barbaric hordes of orcs, the very true reason is that they need that experience so they can grow up and win this three way fight they have at their homelands.”

Anxiety feeling his friend, he laughs.

“You will see! Time shall change, there will be a time where their enemy shall be us!”

Years has passed, the Age of reckoning came, the orcs rebelled against humans, and mostly against Dwarves. Orcs managed to develop their own language, and even if it is very close to the human language they are happy for their development .

At the middle of the battlefield the two friends meet again after many years of combat training.

The dirty full of anxiety orc greets with a great voice his friend .

“’ello me old friend! Long time no see. HA! you see? Afta all dese yearz we managed to be da onez to fight!” says, holding a dull sword at his right hand ready to cut a rope, that holds a strange wooden structure that his friend is on it.

“yeah, you were right, but i still don’t get it, why i am on dis catapult, ready to get launched towardz da ’umie wall.”

After two seconds of silence, the orc swings and cuts the rope activating the catapult, and with a roar both of them yell.



Fledgling Freddie
Sep 20, 2006
First Day of Training

Story submission: First day of training
A tale by Pieter Tack

The dry sound of an arrow burying itself into wood filled the morning air of the training ground. Aragnafor had only yesterday gotten his first bow. Behind Aragnafor his trainer was watching the progress of his pupil.
‘A Shadow Warrior never misses, he cannot afford to do so!’ the trainer said. ‘When the time comes, you’ll most likely only have the time to shoot one arrow at Malekith!’
Aragnafor had been training since the sun had risen, which wasn’t all too long ago, but he lost count on how many times he had heard that phrase already.
‘Miss an arrow at that time, and the shame of our people will live on still, just because you didn’t train hard enough!’
There was no fibre in Aragnafor’s body that doubted that sentence. The honour of his people, it was after all the main reason Aragnafor chose to become a Shadow Warrior.
‘Do not ever think though, youngling, that the bow alone will keep you alive! The bow is the weapon that will restore our honour, but it is no magical horse that will bring us right in front of Malekith!’
Aragnafor felt like turning around and scream ‘I’m not dense, you know?!’, but he knew all too well such an act of disrespect would make sure he could never become a Shadow Warrior. Even though his trainer had been repeating the same sentences over and over and Aragnafor’s head felt like bursting, such a risk was just not worth it.
‘No, you’ll need other skills besides the bow too! You need to be stealthy at all times! The shadows are your friends – raise that elbow!’
Quickly Aragnafor brought his elbow up. This constant firing of arrows was tiring, especially because the bowstring was so tense, but he well knew that was necessary to be able to pierce the heavy armour the enemy was using.
‘You’ll also need your sword skill, for when the somewhat more intelligent enemy – rare as they may be – closes distance with you and chooses to fight toe to toe your bow won’t cut it – literally.’
That had always been a concern for Aragnafor. Sure, he knew how to hold a sword, but he was no hero at it. More likely he would just run away when an enemy tried to reach him, seeking cover in the shadows, only to bring that enemy down later.
‘Another skill you’ll need is, quite obvious, skill in battle! You need to know where to strike when in order to tip a fight in our advantage. If you bring that elbow down again you’ll feel the flat of my blade!’
Startled Aragnafor shook his body into the correct stance. This time he hadn’t even noticed his elbow dropping. His muscles were also starting to burn, some rest would be welcome. Off course, he knew all too well what his trainer would think of that.
‘You’ll also need perseverance! In the heat of the battle there is no rest! There is only blood, pain and death! Only you, your allies and the enemy!’
It was almost as if his trainer had simply read Aragnafor’s mind, which only made sure Aragnafor gained even more respect for his veteran trainer.
‘Another thing you’ll need to learn is how to craft a bow! Many Shadow Warriors think it’s unnecessary, but they’ve most likely never set foot on a big battleground!’
Aragnafor had heard the story of his trainer, whose bow got crushed once by a magic attack in the heat of battle. Quickly his trainer had crafted a new bow from materials he found in a small forest not too far from the battlefield, only to return shortly after to shoot an arrow through the enemy’s leader’s head.
The sound of iron touching iron, a bright light filled Aragnafor’s eyes.
‘I told you what would happen if you lowered that elbow again!’ He heard some disappointment in his trainer’s voice, but also a lot of understanding.
‘Fix up that wound underneath your helmet, which is, by the way, also a skill you’ll need: first aid. We’ll continue your training when the sun is at the south-east.’ After that his trainer walked away. Aragnafor shrugged. It’s not as if anybody ever said becoming a Shadow Warrior was easy. Moaning he took off his helmet, noticed some blood on his fingers after he touched his hair.
‘Ugh. And how exactly is it possible Malekith is still alive, with badass trainers like this?’ Aragnafor silently asked himself, wandering off to find some bandages and rest.


Fledgling Freddie
Feb 10, 2008
The Ceremony

I woke up to the sound of the drums, knowing that I was in trouble.
I stood up and carefully I started to hobble silently through the crowd.
Some of them were looking at me but I tried to avoid looking in their eyes.
Suddenly, I heard voices, they were talking about me.
I started to walk faster but still I tried to remain unseen by the guards.
In my head I spoke to my self and I said: “Soon, soon I’ll be home”.
After a while I was getting close to the guard towers on the left side of the arena.
I broke out in a cold sweat, this was it, everything or nothing.
I grabbed my amulet and walked straight towards the exit.
But then an orc , one of my “friends” from the past, came close from behind, he was wielding a great sword.
Since I was behind the crowd I held my dagger close to my waist and hoped for the best.
I prayed to the gods for strength but then the orc went past me, my knees were still shaking.
I was right next to the exit and I had to get out without having the guards attention.
I took a final look at the “stage”, the enormous axe wielded by the terrifying executioner gave me chills.
This was my act, so I had to flee before it was show time.
I started to walk through the exit and I kept walking faster and faster until I heard loud voices far from behind.
I stopped to see what it was that those awful creatures had done.
I looked and I saw that the whole crowd had seen me, the guards started to walk slowly towards me.
I got scared, really scared, so I started to run as fast as I could but then I felt something hitting me harder and harder from behind.
I tripped and then everything went black.
I was free, free from this pain and sorrow.
So now I’m here where I truly belong, among the people I’ve slaughtered.
Where I shall seek forgiveness.


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 4, 2008
A dwarf commander preparing his troops for battle.

“There will be blood” says a commander to his men. “But the blood that will be shed, will be of those who do not fight for justice.” “It will be the blood of those wretched Orcs who have been fighting with our ancestors for centuries!” “But this, soldiers is the final battle.” “And yes it is true, we are far outnumbered.” “The Orcs have an estimated 560,000 men.” “However we have 370,000 devoted dwarves who will fight until the bitter end!” “The Orcs believe they have completely destroyed the dwarf race, and that this is simply the final touch of their victory.” “Many of our men will die but we will not surrender our lives, we die with honor!” “We will fight until our hearts beat no more!” “Then you shall truly rest in peace.” “And those of you who do come out alive, it is your job to lead the new generation, to take back the land that the Greenskins have stolen from our people.” “It is your job to create the new empire, to lead our people to prosperity.” “Good luck men and may the gods be with you.”

thank you for reading.


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 4, 2008
A dwarf commander preparing his troops for battle.

“There will be blood” says a commander to his men. “But the blood that will be shed, will be of those who do not fight for justice.” “It will be the blood of those wretched Orcs who have been fighting with our ancestors for centuries!” “But this, soldiers is the final battle.” “And yes it is true, we are far outnumbered.” “The Orcs have an estimated 560,000 men.” “However we have 370,000 devoted dwarves who will fight until the bitter end!” “The Orcs believe they have completely destroyed the dwarf race, and that this is simply the final touch of their victory.” “Many of our men will die but we will not surrender our lives, we die with honor!” “We will fight until our hearts beat no more!” “Then you shall truly rest in peace.” “And those of you who do come out alive, it is your job to lead the new generation, to take back the land that the Greenskins have stolen from our people.” “It is your job to create the new empire, to lead our people to prosperity.” “Good luck men and may the gods be with you.”

thank you for reading.


Fledgling Freddie
Sep 16, 2007
Two Orcs are sitting on a treelog in the forest.

"Zab-zab." says one Orc to the other.

"Dabu!" replies the other Orc.

"Kek!!" they both screamed while rolling over the floor.



Fledgling Freddie
Mar 4, 2008
Peaceful Chaos

Silence. Where had they gone? Rain smashed against my breastplate and diluted my tattered, blood-stained boots. Sun light pierced the gray clouds, shining spot lights onto no more than carnage, sorrow and death. The once grassy high lands now littered with the burdens of war, scarring the region. A mixture of blood and sweat rolled down my cheeks, i was injured, a blow to the head left me in no shape to fight. I looked around for any sign of life, my squad, my comrades, my friends. Who won the battle? Thoughts raced at a thousand miles an hour, crashing against the inside of my concussed brain. Blurred vision. Nothing was defined, just hazy. Colors clashed, confusing my eyes. When I took a deep gulp of air, smoke choked my lungs leaving me breathless, spluttering and gasping for oxygen. The unwanted burning stench refused to leave my sense of smell, at least it covered the scent of rotting flesh. It was hard to tell the difference between the flies and the bits of ash dancing through the air, landing softly without sound. I tried to get to my feet, using my arm to prop myself up, only for it to buckle underneath the sheer weight of my armor. I started to lose my bearings. Was this it? The end? I mumbled my final words of prayer to Sigmar, he would guide me to the light, my faith gave me hope. I lay back onto the blood spattered ground and closed my eyes. "I'm done" i thought. The rain stopped, the wind no longer blew, divine peace... at last.

Thanks for reading.


Gorkus - The Flood

Gorkus - The Flood

The sun is out at its highest peek and the land around looks so lushes and green, the where a bouts are unknown and the time hardly remembered but still the birds sing and the wind blows. Yet within the distance the sounds of barbaric aggression are getting stronger.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!" shouted the thousands of rampaging orcs charging towards the Empire dock like a green flood. Sounding like a herd of giants the orcs shook the ground as they charged without fear.
"Move out me way" Gorkus shouted as he pushed the Orc in front of him to floor in an attempt to gain speed only to watch him get crushed under the feet of everyone else.

The Dock was made up of several large buildings a harbour with several fisher boats and some out of service military ships. By this stage all of the Civilians had ether got away by boat or where left to hide in there homes hoping to be saved.

But the humans where ready and had been given a short warning of this attack, several hundred empire musket men held the line ready to open fire with a few hundred more spear men kneeled down in front of them.
"When I give the Orders" shouts out A Warrior Priest who is stood right behind the Musket men. The Priests armour was expertly crafted and had a hammer symbol indented into his harness. He held a Large Hammer which he rose high in the air, so polished that the glare from the sun could be seen by the orcs as they charged in.

"Gorkus dats im, I wants is skull" Mobrilock shouts to Gorkus as he points towards the Hammers flash.
"Not if I beat ya to im" Gorkus replied as he started to pick up speed within the ranks.
As there erg for a fight builds up inside them Gorkus and Mobrilock could be seen pushing through the Orc ranks not caring in the slightest for those in front of them.

Patiently the Humans waited as they picked their targets each hoping that their shot would kill something, "Fire!" the Priest shouted with a prolonged tone as he pulled down his hammer and, from that the bullets from hundreds of guns came shooting towards the orcs ripping through the front ranks killing most hit and wounding others. One bullet hit Gorkus in the left shoulder but not causing him to stop or even slow down, Gorkus's anger started to fuel more as his rage showed he Roared to the top of his voice.

"Reload" the Priest shouted to the men, with in seconds they had reloaded their Muskets and where ready again. Waiting for their leaders command they patiently looked down the sights and aimed at the Orcs.
"Fire" the men shot for a second time again taking out multiple ranks of Orcs, but yet they seemed to pick up speed and where getting closer by the second. "Take arms" the Priest shouted and the men chucked their muskets to the floor pulling out their swords. The spear men tightened up the ranks and stood their shields strongly together with the swords men behind them pushing on them for balance.

With a loud clash the front ranks of the Orcs smashed amongst the Empire shields and the men struggled to keep balance, with that Empire spears came out of small holes within the shields straight through the Orcs on the other side. This continued for several minutes as Orcs continued to get skewered. Seeing this Gorkus had other plans he linked with Mobrilock and when he got to the front ranks he climbed on top of the Orcs and jumped over straight into the middle of the Empire.

Crunch, this was the sounds of the unlucky men beneath Gorkus and Mobrilock as their body’s were crushed by the weight. Standing up they turned and now looked to the back of the spear men "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh" Gorkus screamed and a Empire soldier turned in fear only to receive a vicious blow to the face with Gorkus's axe. The Empire men, scared to death broke their ranks and the Greenskin flood was let to smash straight through it. Chaos had broken out and the Empire stood no chance, men where getting chucked about like rag dolls by the Strength of the Orcs.

A few meters back the Warrior Priest could be seen chanting words of old "Aliquam delenit enim nostrud duis vulputate vel aliquip suscipit amet eum erat at autem eros". After shouting these words aloud the Priest went into some sort of frenzied attack running towards the Orcs with many of his men running in the other direction towards the Harbour. Straight into the Flood he ran, with a smash of his hammer straight into a large orcs face killing him outright. Orc after Orc challenged the Priest and each in turn was seen out of this life and forced into the next. Mobrilock went with most of the Orcs straight towards the Harbour chasseing those who retreated, but Gorkus waited and watched the Priest smash through all those who apposed his precious Sigma.

Stood their in the middle of what was the battlefield Gorkus and this Priest stared at each other uneasily, "Meze gunna rip of ya head and wear it for all to see" Gorkus taunted only to hear the Priest start to chant once more. "Lorem hendrerit eu vero augue......" Not letting him finish Gorkus ran and smashed the Priest in the stomach with his shoulder, raising him into the air only to come crashing down on his back. Then waiting no time at all Gorkus turned and jumped on him, ripping his head off his shoulders with his teeth tearing through his thought.

As Gorkus stood up with the Priests head in his hands he could see flames rise from the Dock and the screams of men and women fill the air.
"Ize aint missing all da fun" Gorkus said to him self as he shoved the head on a spike and began to run swiftly off towards the Dock.


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 4, 2008
The Captain

- Gloooryyy!, the captain shouted out so loud the men in the first rank
felt the hair raise on their arms and blood run warm in their veins.
- Eternal glory awaits today!, the captain continued as she got the
attention from all who could hear her.
- If you see the horde of corrupted souls amassing on the hill do not tell
me you feel fear!, the captains scream pierced even the men shielded by
layer after layer of steel.
- Fear is something we do not feel today, fear is something we left
behind, something we have forgotten all about!, she could see the men
believe. She felt their belief vibrate more than the ground she stood on.
- Now! Show these abominations what the Empire is capable of!
Make them remember this day!, she turned and faced the doom
that waited. She knew what would come this day, she knew stable
boys and tavern keepers couldn’t win today. But she also believed.
- Forward! For the Empire!


Resident Freddy
Jan 27, 2004
I cant win since im in beta but thought id enter just for fun:)

A Cruel Fate

Keeping low to the ground he darted from shadow to shadow as he weaved his way deeper into the forest. Desperation and fear were all that had kept him ahead of the pack of creatures that doggedly stalked him. Breath began to come in short sharp gasps as his lungs almost screamed in protest. He knew he had to stop soon but images of his mother being torn apart by the smaller louder creatures in the pack filled his mind and told him simply.. to stop is to die. Seeing heavy foliage ahead he knew he had almost reached the denser and deep part of the forest. To reach the safer part of the woods he would need to cross a large empty space of ground and that would risk being seen. As if sensing his dilemma silence descended upon the forest. Knowing his time was short and that indecision could prove fatal he leaped up and across the clearing, pushing himself hard he sprinted for the beckoning shadows of safety. A smile began to form on his face, only to be wiped off as something heavy crashed into his back and knocked him to the floor.
Sharp teeth tore into his flesh as he screamed in agony and struggled to get free. Cruel laughter alerted him to the presence of a group of the larger creatures as they watched with cruel sinister smiles on their faces. Talking to each other in their own foul bestial language making wild gestures at him as he lay there being torn to shreds.
What God could create such monsters and let them do this?
He would never find an answer to this or any question as he died there alone surrounded by monsters in a world he never understood.

Whistling for his dog to stop Omar the ranger walked forward to examine the small beastman they had finally caught. The world would be a safer place now this evil and foul beast had been slain.


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 5, 2008

A day day in the greenskins city.
One greenskin spots a dwarf skelleton on the wall and starts to "KeK!"
Other greenskin:
- Yer, Wha's so funny?
The other greenskin:
- Look , an dwarf , KEK!
The other greenskin says:
- That was your ansester!


Dark whisper

From the diary of Phillip Scorn (Priest of Sigmar) found near the ruins of Hailstorm keep

Page 73

I was stationed in a little place called Hunchwille in northern parts of the Empire. There I cared of people and their faith. It started same as any other morning. I got up just before down, got ready and went to local temple. The mass gathered as did every morning before they went to work the fields. But as soon as I started the service I was interrupted by thunder of footsteps. As we got out of the temple we saw that it was an army. There was about one thousand of Empire's soldiers on the march through our village. Their commander, High Priest Esenkiel, came to the steps of the temple and said in loud voice "any one of you that is able to carry a weapon is to get ready to come with us in moments notice". He just looked at me and I knew it was up to me to decide if I'm going with them or staying here to care for the rest of the people. It was a hard decision but the grater good prevailed so I went with them.
We were two days on march from Hunchwille when we set our eyes on Hailstorm keep already surrounded by the forces of Chaos, they numbered only about three hundred and our victory was quick, but it lasted enough so I could taste battle and see that my life in Hunchwille did not numb my fighting skills.
Two days after our arrival started a real siege of the keep. We numbered close to three thousand soldiers but Chaos forces were almost four times this number. The battle was long and we saw that we'll emerge victorious only an our before sunset, but it never came. Just as it started to get dark there was another army of Chaos warriors descending upon us. I got separated from our main force and fear started to creep his way to me. It was in that moment that I lost contact with Sigmar, I couldn't reach He's blessing anymore. That only draw fear closer to me. When I saw a chosen coming at me I lost last of my nerve and I bolted toward the wood. As I came to the first trees something hit my head and everything went black.

Page 74

It was still dark when I evoke. The sight of Hailstorm was horrible, great fires were burning everywhere and the screams..., ohh those screams froze my blood. I turned away from the keep and fled into the night.
I do not know how far I managed to get before I stumbled and fell. What I do know is that it wasn't far enough. There was a zealot standing over me, I did not have any strenght in me left and fear was still holding me tight, so I just waited for death to come. He griped me with his bony fists and started to drag me. When I got some of my strenght back he lifted me up and told me to follow him. I don't know why I followed, just that I had to follow him. After a while we arrived to his camp, a Chaos camp. Everyone was looking at me until a Chosen with armor painted in red came. Everything went quiet. After few long moments my captor spoke. Chosen only laughed and nodded.
It was until nightfall that Nargul (my captor) told me he vouched for me, that I'm to be he's apprentice.
It seems that Nargul thinks my fear and hatred could be mould to make me a weapon of Chaos. I don't think he'll manage in that plan, but what's the point of telling him that. For now I'll go with it maybe the opportunity will arise so I can escape.

Page 75

There are „voices“ in my head. I do not know what they are but I
No It can't be, it is not possible I passed the training in the temple, it can't be.

Page 76

Six weeks have past since my capture. Those „voices“ are getting stronger and more regular. I must be getting mad. It must be that, ohh let it be just that.
A letter arrived today and commander announced that in four weeks hence we will attempt to capture Hailstorm keep. As until now I believed it was captured that night. I asked Nargul about it and he said that the fires I saw were bonfires, screams were not screams but shouts of victory. Ohh the fate. This gave me some hope. But now I know I have to disrupt this attack somehow. But how?
In this six weeks I have learned that not all of them believed in Chaos as it is. Yes to be sure they all believe in Chaos Gods, but I found out that marauders don't even know who they are fighting or why, they just like fighting and killing. It seems to me that Chaos should be just that Chaos, and here they got hierarchy very much like ours.
I tried this theory on Nargul. Hah it earned me two mounts of serving food to marauders. This is no easy job to do, you never know if they are going to eat food of the plate or you. But first diner was over and I'm still alive and I won't serve more then those four weeks.

Page 77

I got it, I know how to disrupt this attack, maybe even something more. My theory did not work with Nargul but I think that with marauders I have a chance. Will see.

Page 78

I managed to speak to marauders while serving them, well not directly, it seams that those „voices“ are thoughts of other around me,and not what I originally thought. And what's even better I learned how to put thoughts into somebody's mind. After few well planted ideas they started to plan. It didn't take long for them to work it out, they were just waiting for one of them to stand up and say that they are the true Chaos, that only they do what their Gods demand of them. It just goes to my advantage that they keep to them self, speak only to their kind.
Before the day was over I learned that marauders send a messenger to other camps as well.
The seed is planted and now I just have to wait to erupt it in best possible time.

Page 79

The attack is in three days hence. I'm going to „erupt“ the marauders i thick of battle to create confusion among Chaos forces. This will have to be enough for Empire's solders to defeat the forces of Chaos.
Reinforcements should be arriving tomorrow, there are going to be more then two thousands of marauders in camp then. It should be enough to turn the scales against Chaos victory.

Page 80

My plan fell into the water yesterday.
It all started when the reinforcements arrived, or better to say when only a part of reinforcements arrived. Only the marauders arrived.
Everyone gathered, one marauder came forward and gave a latter to the commander. It took only three seconds until he burst in rage and killed the marauder. It took only three seconds for my plans to fall apart. The rest of marauders burst and started killing everyone that was not a marauder. How I managed to get away I do not know, but before long I was hiding in a small thicket. I couldn't moved from there or they would spot me, so I waited.
Marauders were up all night cleaning the camp of bodies and blood, only commanders head was left on the table in his tent.
The rest of reinforcements arrived early this morning, they did not suspect anything until it was to late. Marauders butchered every last one. After it was done they picked up and left. I got my belongings and started towards Hailstorm keep.

Page 81

When I arrived to the Hailstorm keep I saw that marauders have already breached the keep. Now I'm sure that the keep is lost and it is my doing. It did not help that marauders killed every other Chaos worshippers. It only made it worse, the keep, thanks to me, was attacked by more then twenty thousand marauders. They gathered from every camp that was close enough. And being what they are they started to destroy and kill everything in their path.
After this sight I do not know where to go or what to do. There is that voice in my head again and now I know that he is my new master.


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 5, 2008
The End of a blood line.

Namrod Goldbeard knew that he would be dead long before the sun set that day. He had known that he would die from the moment that he had awoken from that terrible nightmare, the echoes of the Orcish weapons banging on shields and armour still fresh in his mind. Now here he was, trapped in this clearing in these god forsaken woods and surrounded on all sides by an Orcish war party. Every Orc banging their weapons on shields and breastplates, exactly the way his nightmare had foretold it. His men lay dead, or dying, from the mortal wounds that the Orcs had inflicted in mere minutes afer they had ambushed the Dwarven skirmishing team. Though the Orcs themselves had suffered considerable losses themselves, only a small fraction of their numbers lay dead, the majority of them at the Iron clad boots of Namrod. Namrod himself was gravely injured, he had received a large wound from a Greenskin in his left shoulder. The arm now lay limp at his side, useless to him due to the torn tendons and muscles from the wound, he had clumsily removed what remained of his chainmail armour to clog the wound with dirt from the forest floor to try and prevent at least some of his blood from eascaping that terrible wound. He had begun to feel light headed from the blood loss, thus his mind began to wonder...

That nightmare, it had been the most vivid thing he had ever dreamt of. He had heard of such things before but scoffed at them as being nothing but pure fancy, yet that dream..it had been TOO real. He had dreamt that a small village on the border between the Dwarven and Greenskin lands had been raided and sacked by a large Greenskin war party, the same village that his sister Grendal Goldbeard had been tasked with defending. She had been the Captain of the kings Royal bodyguard, and in his dream she had led a brave defence, though the chances of repelling this large force of Orcs and Goblins became slimmer and slimmer as more and more of them had come running out of the tree line, yelling that dreadful battle cry of theirs that inspired them to greater amounts of blood lust. She had been a mother to him since childhood, She had taken care of him since he was the age of two, After a crazed Goblin Shaman, mad from the swampy gasses of the Swamp of Madness, had blundered into their house (Which was in the same village that Grendal had been tasked with defending) in search of food, and had instead found a woman intent on defending her brood of Children. Their mother had picked up their recently deceased fathers battle hammer and had charged the Goblin on the spot, taking off half of the Shamans head in a single stroke. The Shaman, though nearly dead, had lashed out at his mothers throat, tearing it clean out, leaving her to bleed to death on the floor of her home. Now his sister was also dead, slain by the leader of the Greenskin war party. He had taken her head and her hammer (the same hammer that had belonged to their father, and the hammer that their mother had used to kill the Shaman intruder) as trophies, and the Greenskins had retreated once the sacking had finished.

Namrod was the Captain of the Royal reserves, a group of hammerers and runepriests tasked with patrolling the streets of the Dwarven capital and keeping the peace. Namrod had gone directly to the King himself when he had awoken from his nightmare, he had to tell the King what he had dreamt of! Not knowing whether the king would believe him, or have him sent to the stocks under accusation of being insane. His family had always held a high position of power within the Dwarven empire due to the colour of their hair. In all of the empire, Theirs was the only family with hair the colour of the purest form of gold. They were looked upon with great respect when brother and sister were out in the streets of the capital city. So it was only natural that they would both hold high positions of military power and have the favour of the king. When he had arrived in the royal throne room, he had found the King pacing along the floor below his throne, brows creased in what he had presumed to be worry. "My leige! I bring terrible news! The village of Kolaz lays burning at the hands of the Greenskins!", Nomrad waited for the kings response, expecting the king to call for what remained of his Royal bodyguards to have him taken to the stocks. "Namrod? Is that you? Ye' look terrible me boy! And yes, I know of the terrible news of Kolaz, a messenger from the front lines reported it to me not more than ten minutes ago. Though how do you know of this terrible news?" The king looked at Namrod with an air of suspicion. "My leige, I dreamt of a terrible battle at the gates at Kolaz! The sky burned with the colour of fresh Dwarven blood! The most terrible omen a Dwarf knows of" "And my sister..my sister has been slain at the hands of the vile Greenskin horde that attacked the town! I request that you let me follow them up with the Royal reserves! I wish to exact my revenge on those bastards and.."

Namrod was brought out of his daze by the sudden change in tempo of the Orcish war drumming. It had reached an unco-ordinated tempo of banging weapons and shields, the orcs had reached a new height in their battle frenzy and he knew his end would come soon. Scanning the orcs that had encircled him in what the Dwarves had named "The ring of death", Namrod tightened the grip on his right hand, preparing himself for the rush of Orcs and Goblins that was sure to come. Instead, the circle opened before him, and in stepped the biggest Orc he had ever seen. This was the war party leader for sure! Only an Orc as big and ugly as this brute could lead a war party and keep it in check. His armour was the colour of rust and the stylised skull of bloody sun boyz was emblazoned across his chest. In one hand he held what appeared to be a large piece of metal, hammed into the shape of a sword, surely that weapon must have weighed half a tonne! And in his other hand...No! It couldn't be! In the war party leaders right hand was his sisters hammer! This was the bastard that had taken his sisters head as a trophy! "YOU BASTARD" Namrod screamed at the Orc. "YOU FILTHY MURDERING BASTARD! I'LL KILL YE! I'LL KILL YE AND EVERY ORC HERE TO AVENGE MY SISTER!". The Orc stood there, blinking in surprise at the Dwarf who he had assumed to be all but dead, then he started to laugh. The drumming from the Orcs and Goblins had stopped now and the woods echoed with that awful laughter. Still laughing, the Orc started banging the side of his sword against his chest, then pointed it at Namrod. Namrod, half crazed with grieff for his sister, charged at the Orc with only one weapon and one good arm. The Orc swung his sword over head, aiming to cleave Namrod in two with a single stroke, the stroke ended in the sound of a rifle shot as Namrod caught the blow on guard with this hammer, the Orc went straight at Namrod with the hammer in his other hand, hitting Namrod in his already crippled arm.

The blow from the hammer shattered the bone of Namrods left arm turning it into shattered glass, and broke several of his ribs. Namrod dropped his hammer in surprise, fell to his knees and doubled over in pain, clutching at the agonizing pain in his chest. "I'm sorry sis'" Whispered Namrod, "I tried to avenge ye', but I failed..I'm so sorry". As the Orc stepped over him to deliver the final blow, it dropped his sisters hammer infront of him so that it could take up its massive sword in two hands and deliver the final stroke. Namrod reached out and touched the hammer, "I'll be with ye soon sis', just wait for me, ok?". He blacked out before the orc delivered the stroke that cleaved his head from the trunk of his neck.


The life of a Squig Herder

"Little did he know, that his superior was in the tent right behind him, hearing every word."

Da Big Boss said, dat me Squiggy ain’t goood enought.
Zooba Zooba!"%¤# HE! is no good enoughty!

Yellin’ screamin’, at me, when h’av I eva done anythin’ wronggy? Big bad boss!

Good is me Squiggy, now I teach Squiggy, ’ow to bite Big bad Bossez neck when he sleepz.

Thenz he see, no more, Scream no more,

Me Squigggy both happy, whenz big bad bossy´z neck is crappy.

The End....


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 6, 2008
by Toby Steel

Behind the shattered bar the tiny greenskin cowered, shivering with fear in the cold night air. Given the position the creature was in this was perfectly understandable. With a filthy green finger he explored the iron collar around his neck and traced the heavy chain up towards the bar. With his pathetic grip he found no give in the chain and slumped back down in a dishevelled heap. He could barely hear the voices that were coming from the other side of his hiding place but he tried to shut them out anyway.

“Ah’m tellin’ yeh, there was no need ta make such a mess..."

“And Ah’m tellin’ you, there was no other way ta bust up this ruckus. There was greenies evra’where and we needed tha element o’ surprise.”

The voices were gruff and belonged to his captors. He wasn’t bright or particularly perceptive and he didn’t understand a word they were saying but he knew they were dangerous and he was certain he didn’t have long to live. With his limited mental capacity he wondered if he would survive long enough for his mates to get here, if indeed they could be bothered.

“Aye, right enuff, brother, but if yeh consider tha entrance we made thanks ta yer widget there’s no’ much left ta repatriate in tha name of tha King, is there?”

“Widget?! Och, thas’ rich! Father always said yeh lacked imagination, Mallin, and that’s proof enough. Mah “widget”, as yeh call it, won us this fight in tha firs’ few seconds.”

The snotling closed his eyes and tried to imagine being back where he belonged. Although the beatings he received at the hands of his boss were unpleasant, they were infinitely preferable to this current predicament.

“Don’t bring father inta this, y’whelk. He donned tha armour same as me. He was’ne inta this whizzin’ and whirrin’ foolishness that befuddles your judgment. Mah ears are still ringin’ from that last fight.”

The captive choked as the chain tightened, hauling him to his feet to see the bearded faces of his captors. The one holding his makeshift leash turned to face him.

“What do you think, Giblet? Do yeh feel in your capacity as a neutral-ish observer that Ah used excessive force in tha line o’ duty? Or do yeh think, as Ah do, that mah well timed and ingenious device saved us a lot o’ trouble and mah brother’s just nettled cos thanks to mah wee explosion there was’ne enuff left to bury his axe inta?”

Naturally, as Giblet didn’t speak dwarf, he didn’t really know what was being said to him but this was academic given his bleeding ears. He stared at the one whom he had decided must be his new master, a dwarf whose detached, friendly ambivalence seemed to scare him far more than the open hostility he would have expected. The armoured one looked at him in disgust.

“Grit, it can’t hear you, look at its ears. Besides which, it’ll no’ be understandin’ our language. Can’t yeh jus’ kill the filthy wretch instead o’ haulin’ it around with us? It stinks and it’s givin’ it’s mates a scent ta follow.”

They were quite different from one another, these two, yet still oddly similar. Of course, all dwarves look the same to a greenskin but after spending two days being hauled around by them his tiny brain had begun to notice things. Like how they always argued, yet still managed to agree.

He had noticed other things too, like how the one who didn’t speak to him wore heavy armour and carried a shield like a boss, and how the other one carried a smokestick that made a lot of noise and seemed to make holes in stuff. In fact, that one carried all sorts of weird and wonderful things that seemed to make a lot of noise and smoke and then when the smoke settled most would be dead or dying. He’d witnessed this a couple of times now and was getting used to the ringing in his ears, but it still terrified him rigid, especially as it seemed to give this dwarf so much pleasure.

“That’s tha point. Ah want them ta smell him. Ah want them ta follow us. Ah want them ta stay on this beastie’s trail until they come down on us an’ we can finish tha job.”

“Yer cracked, they won’t track us ta rescue a tiny wretch like this, they’d sooner abandon it than risk chasing us ta retrieve it.”

Giblet’s master smiled.

“That’s where yer wrong, brother. That big streak of an orc, tha black one, it took a shine ta you. You toe-to-toed it and the bugger barely touched you. Ah saw it, the thing was beside itself wi’ rage. It could’ne hurt you and it wanted ta, badly. Ah’m no thinkin’ it’ll give up so easily, he wants you dead. Ah reckon they licked their wounds for a bit and then got themselves regrouped. Ever since then they’ve been onta us. They should be up with us any moment, wi’ a bit o’ luck and Ah’m hopin’ it’s sooner rather than later.”

A couple of days earlier Giblet had been part of a greenskin raiding party. There weren’t many of them but they were lead by a fearful boss who beat them senseless most days and spent the rest of it furiously searching for stunties to kill. Being beaten didn’t really register, this is the natural state for a smaller greenskin, but the bloodlust was unnaturally high on this Black Orc and his beatings were savage. They’d had a fruitful time destroying caravans and causing havoc in the area. He wasn’t much use with a spear or even a choppa but he was there to make up the numbers and cause as much trouble as possible. However, if the party went more than a few days without action they started turning on one another and the little ones like Giblet ended up bearing the brunt of it.

These two had descended on them like the fury of Gork and Mork themselves. The noise and smoke had been terrible, half the party had been wiped out and the seemingly invincible one had grabbed the attention of the boss and dared him to try and kill him. Giblet could still hear the screams of rage as the giant orc flailed ineffectually at this wall of iron...

“Well, fair enough. But mind you kill him once we’re done. We’ll be tha laughing stock if word gets out we’ve a pet greenie and yeh’ve bloody well named him. Remember, our mission was ta destroy the group holdin’ this village. His gang are a bonus.” He took a swig from the tankard he was holding and nodded. “Well at least the ale’s still good."

“Of course! I did’ne want ta wreck the cellar. No point in wastin’ good ale.”

The bar was virtually all that was left of the building. Great piles of wreckage lay about the place, much of it still smouldering, and they sat with their ales beneath a clear night sky. Beyond the ruin the tiny village sat, deserted and quiet, everyone having fled or been killed once the greenskins had arrived. Above them, the dark mountain peaks loomed as though watching the events unfurl.

They sat in silence, sipping their tankards of ale, occassionally grunting in satisfaction. Giblet looked around the ruins at the bodies of the dead greenskins and tried not to think about what might happen next. As the nearby forest whispered with the breeze a hush descended on the village, but the calm did little to settle the dwarve’s wary expectation or Giblet’s anxiety.

A guttural yell in the near distance broke the silence and from slightly to the north, a deep, rasping shout echoed in reply. The dwarves put their tankards down slowly and stood, indicating that they knew what those sounds meant as much as Giblet did. His mates were coming...

The armoured one reached out and took his ornate helm from the bar and placed it over his head. Giblet cowered away from him, the sight of that helm, that armour, so programmed into his race that he knew from deep in his tattered ancestry he had reason to fear that ancient visage. He knew what it meant. An enemy you cannot kill, and death to all those who tried.

The dwarf turned towards the tiny greenskin, the black eyeholes and great beard still visible in the dark. His new master had forgotten him, busy with his trinkets and traps as he prepared himself for battle, and he did nothing to stand between him and this vision. A massive gauntlet reached out and hoisted him over the bar by the iron collar until he was face to armoured face with the dwarf. From deep within the helm the voice had turned cold and determined.

“Know this, as I will’ne get the chance ta explain this ta yer mates, yer travesties shall not be forgotten. This is vengeance for acts committed at will upon our people now an’ over tha many centuries. Tonight I bear that grudge for all. Ah am Mallin Siegebearer and this is mah brother Grit. May the sad remains of yer bitter race forever know that we will never forget what’s owed...”


Some forty paces away, across the abandoned settlement, the giant Black Orc had emerged from the gloom of the forest. Both dwarves turned to look at him, one now armed and shielded, the other hefting his massive blunderbuss. Giblet, dropped and forgotten, skittered across the village towards his mates, trying to pay no mind to the ominous stillness of the Ironbreaker or the glittering anticipation in the eyes of the Engineer. The others appeared around the huge figure, all that was left of them, flanking the great orc. The boss was angry, great gouts of steam issuing from beneath the helm as the orc panted in the frosty air, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort.

The two groups stood, poised, sizing each other up across the ruins. The tension built to an unbearable level as each waited for the other to make the first move. No longer able to contain his rage, the Black Orc threw back his head and bellowed, it’s ferocity echoing in the valley.


A tankard, empty of course, interrupted the orc by sailing across the village and hitting him square in the face.


Fledgling Freddie
Aug 3, 2004
Lightly stepping over a small pile of dry leaves Dras Silverhair continued to follow the trail of his prey, this cat and mouse game had been going on since the sun was at its zenith but now dusk was beginning to settle over the lush green forest of Chrace.

Dras checked the strap holding his woodsman’s axe making sure it was loose and ready to be drawn, his prey was close, his elven sense told him so. This was the culmination of several years of training, all throughout his younger years growing up in Tor Achare he had been held spellbound by the tales of the fabled White Lions of Chrace, stories of their heroic deeds, done whilst protecting the lands of Ulthuan from invaders and monsters alike. Now, soon, Dras would join their ranks, but one test remained, he must find and best a White Lion, the proudest and most dangerous beast to roam the surrounding lands.

Dras followed the trail to a small clearing, hazy light scattered the area where it penetrated the thick canopy above giving a sleepy, peaceful feeling to the grove. Searching around for any sign of the trail Dras was unable to find anything, muttering a small curse under his breath he relaxed, it seems he would have to make camp for the night and try again tomorrow.

Dras’s only warning was a small rustle as the undergrowth off to his right parted, instinct honed by years of training was all that saved him as he fell into a roll only to see a streak of white fly past where his head had just been. Coming into a low crouch Dras pulled the large axe from his back and regarded his new foe. The lion was powerfully built; the size of a small horse with a thick white main crowning its head. Beautiful yet deadly at the same time Dras couldn’t help but admire it’s perfect combination of strength and grace, it was obvious now why this lion had become such a meaning full part of his heritage.

Circling each other the elf and the beast looked for a weakness in the others defence, assessing the best way to survive; this was no contest with practice weapons but a real battle, Dras’s first, he could hear his heart thumping in his ears, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he had never felt more alive.

The standoff was broken as the lion lunged; swiping a great paw at Dras’s chest, sliding to the side he avoided the blow and brought down his axe only to have it turned aside by the lion’s thick hide. The lion turned and leapt at Dras its massive jaws biting trying to get a hold of the elf but Dras was to quick, yet his counter attack was deftly dodged as the lion twisted to the side out of reach, and so on the fight went, both elf and lion an equal match, a constant back and forth between the two combatants.

What seemed like hours past, Dras was beginning to tire, and the light was beginning to fade fast, throwing a defensive swing with his axe Dras backed off, strangely instead of pressing the attack the lion paused, its ears pricking up and it began to sniff the air. It was then that Dras felt it too, something was wrong, all the sounds of the forest had died, there was no birdsong, no chattering of small animals, even the air felt unnaturally cold. Reaching out with his elven senses he strained to find the source of the unrest.

There… just off to the east, voices!!

The lion moved, but not towards Dras, instead slinked off into the woods, heading towards the sound. Dras followed but soon lost track of the lion, although he continued to follow using his ears to guide him, the voices were becoming clearer now, definitely elven but the accent was strange.

Soon he found himself looking out over a strange clearing, trying to remain hidden Dras concealed himself behind a large clump of undergrowth, pausing he surveyed the area. In the centre was a large stone, it looked ancient, elven runes he didn’t recognize where inscribed upon the sides, he had heard the scholars talk of such an obelisk, this must be one of the two fabled Menhir Stones. Surrounding the stone stood several elves, wicked spiked armour adorned some of them, others wore robes embroidered with strange symbols. Dark elves!! These must be dark elves, but what are they doing here so far from the front lines and what is their interest in the Menhir Stone?

As Dras collected his thoughts the white lion he had been battling burst from cover nearby and sprang at one of the elves, a loud crack rang out as the beasts massive jaws clamped down on the unsuspecting elf’s neck. Dropping the dead elf like a discarded toy the lion begin to attack the others. Breaking from cover Dras pulled his axe from its holster and charged the nearest elf splitting its skull open with a mighty swing. Chaos broke out as Dras and the lion fell upon the remaining dark elves, caught off guard they were easy prey, and were falling quickly.

As the battle continued something began to rise up inside Dras, a power unlike any he had felt before, his axe felt different, lighter somehow, not a weapon but more an extension of his arm, more like a claw! He heard a growl escape his lips as he cleaved another elf’s head from his shoulders, dropping to all fours he pounced at the last remaining elf burying his axe deep into its midriff almost splitting it in two.

Blood covered him, the ground around him was littered with the limbs and bodies of the fallen, clearing his eyes of their blood he felt his head clear, what had happened, it was almost as if he had been possessed, and what of the lion? Scanning around he found the beast sitting looking at him in contemplation, its tail swinging from side to side in what seemed like quite approval. Dras approached the creature sure in his steps, he understood now, this is what his instructor had meant, simply killing a lion wasn’t enough to become a White Lion you had to understand the lion, become the lion, during that battle they had fought together, two beasts fighting side by side, that strength had come from the bond they now shared. Kneeling next to the great beast Dras put his hand reassuringly into the lion’s thick main and met the noble beast’s eyes.

“I understand now my friend, I was not sent here to kill you, but to learn from you.”

“Come, let us head to Fort Blackwood, Captain Korhil will want to know about this, whatever these Dark Elves wanted here it can’t be good for the realm.”

With that they both stood and started off through the forest, brothers forged by battle and equals by mutual respect. As night fell across the forest a new chapter in the tales of the White Lions of Chrace was about to begin.


Fledgling Freddie
Dec 27, 2003
Title: The Gift

Each year, the Lord of Chaos grants a wish to each of his faithful subject races. Three were selected as representatives of their respective races to present their petition to the Tzeentch, Changer of the Ways.

Ulg, the Orc, Czare, the Dark Elf and Riposte, the Skaven.

Ulg presents himself to Sokrjorli the Chosen of Tzeentch:


"You Greenskins have served Tzeentch well over the last year, as is customary the Changer of the Ways will grant your people one favour"

"Wee iz 'onord, we wantz flamin' ballz for our catapultz...we wanna' make dorfiez burn as well as go squish"

"This is your request, Tzeentch will see it done"

"Cheerz geez." and with that he ambles away.

Czare presents himself next:

"Come forth Dark Elf"

"Noble Lord of Change, you hour us with this audience"

"You Dark Elves have served Tzeentch well over the last year, as is customary the Changer of the Ways will grant your people one favour"

"We seek a massive impregnable, unbreachable defensive wall, 50feet high completely surrounding our entire land without exception to keep the armies of the Empire out leaving us free to attack without having to concern ourselves with the defence of our realm"

"This is your request, Tzeentch will see it done"

"You have our thanks"

All this time Riposte, lord of the Skaven, has been sat patiently in his chair listening to the conversation, contemplating his request.

"You Skaven have served Tzeentch reasonably well over the last year, as is customary the Changer of the Ways will grant your people one favour"

"What is your request of the Changer of the Ways noble Skaven"

Riposte sits quietly for a few seconds, then a huge grin spreads across his face revealing a row of sharp teeth. He lounges back in his chair, puts his hands behind his head and says:

"Fill that wall with water please mate, right to the top"


Acerbus Fundo

-Acerbus Fundo-

Overpowered By The Kings of Men, He Whom Walks In The Precense of Chaos Spoke His Final Lament:

Bring The Pain He Said, And With A Sigh He Bended Hell, For They Will Know His Name Is Death..


Outcast :

Twin swords of the dawn
Break the silence of night
Pale flowing blades
Shatter a world into light

Marching alone, the road his one companion
The path is long and the way is hard
Can't escape from the battle scar
Shining forth as the one bright star

Whirling blades defend the cause
Outcast, the rogue, rejected by a bitter world
Fights on
Though he's been cast from every gate
Catch a fleeting glimpse of his pride
A light he takes care to hide
For few will walk beside him

A blazing soul fights the enemy
Through silence and evil night, still he can see
Through the mask he wears, behind a curtain of flick'ring steel
And the years of sacrifice he's made
That he might win the right to feel

Within darkland wastes and lands afar
He walks with those who see his star
His light deep within

Still he fights for those who wrong him
Protects them from terrors unknown
Wandering years may bring a homeland
Trails may lead to a better land
Even blades may forge a new land
That peace may reign as king

Of these lands near and far
Swordmaster of any realm
No one knows where dragon-heart goes
Warrior of his faith
For good and not for glory
Protector, defender
Innocent shall hear his battle-call
And flashing blades
And disappear when all is said


The Plauge

Altdorf is infested.

The once gleaming gem of the Empire has become dim under the thick, putrid fog of the Chaos Plague; the greatest civilisation of man brought to its knees by the short comings and arrogance of its own leaders. Several months after initial reports from the outskirts of the far reaching borders were dismissed, the outstretched hand of Chaos is grasping the last fortification of the Empire by the throat.

Millions have flooded into the streets of the capital seeking refuge under the protection of the great leader, Karl Franz. However, the silence of its leaders and brutality of containment creates massive civil uproar within the great city. Amidst the confusion, stories and rumours become almost as deadly as the plague itself; many innocent victims falling woe to the crazed hands of men ravaged by frenzies of fear and anger. Order is restrained at a great cost, the guard act with swift vengeance against those who fail to honour the word of the Emperor, many have been slaughtered to set an example to the masses.

Yet there are still those that stand against the chaos, the virtuous fire of the Empire, proudest of all legions of men, coursing hot through their veins. Those with an arm strong enough to wield a shield and sword are called to service, however, oppertunity is rife for those who display the right characteristics. Altdorf, you must understand, has become a battleground like none other, one where tactics of stealth and subtlety are all but one hope of sparing many more civilian casualties; those who stand to protect it know and understand this.

At the cusp of dusk there begins a stir. Long hats embroidered with buckles and golden emblems cover the faces of men and women as they march from the cobblestone streets into homes and pull away those who have been sick for the forth and final week. The heavy thud of their large, buckled boots muffling the yells of hysterical family members crying out as their loved ones are dragged away. They move with a quick march through the emptied streets of dusk to a segregated part of the city. A dark arch bridges over the large doors of one of the citadels of Sigmar. It has become a solemn place most dare not speak of, gruesome deeds are echoed by the blood curling screams piercing through the silence of night. Here, the greatest minds in the whole of the Empire work tirelessly on a cure; perhaps the last glimpse of hope for this once proud city.

Ideals and morals have become compromised, a heavy price, yet, a necessary one. Inside, Men and woman on the edge of transformation lie chained to heavy wooden tables, the Wizards of the Bright Tower using their most potent flames in attempts to cleanse the body; the glaring white lights illuminating the entire of the great halls. In another corner, solutions of ill looking liquids are applied to the leathery purple hides of Chaos flesh forming upon its victims, becoming a hissing white fizz as it melts the skin away Men wearing scratched and chipped goggles with long black coats, completely devoid of emotion, arch over the screaming victims to analyse the results. Those who are soon to become fully consumed by the Chaos Plague are dragged to the final chapter of their lives, greeted by these grizzled scenes of their own inevitable fates. Up to fifty victims are led through a small passageway just to the side of the large menacing entrance of the citadel at a time, leading to a courtyard outside. As they pass through the grim, dark halls a priest offers them one final blessing of Sigmar. They are followed by two men baring the wax stamp of the Emperor, their hands slide to their belts, unleashing the buckle from their pistol holsters as the door slams shut behind them.

Altdorf is infested. The Age of Reckoning has begun.

Danny Goggles

The Darkest Evening of the Year

The Darkest Evening of the Year

The girl slipped quietly from her home, easing the heavy wooden door closed with barely a sound. As the latch settled into place with the faintest of clicks, she quickly glanced up and down the darkened street. Satisfied that no-one was around to see her, the girl padded silently down the pitch black streets, her light cloak of purple silk billowing out as she sharply turned a corner. A symbol upon the cloak was pratically invisible in the darkness and the girl did not waste time by stopping to conceal it. The young woman travelled light, encumbered only by her cloak and a few items necesarry for her task tonight. With her footsteps muffled by more silk bound around her bare feet, the girl wove her way through narrow passages and broad streets until she finally stopped in a dank alley, a stone's throw from the City's main gate. Throwing back the hood of her cloak, the girl revealed pink eyes and pure white hair tied back by a light chain. A metal emblem hung from the chain, though in the darkness it's shape could not be discerned. The young albino waited patiently in the gloom, fingers tracing several objects that were secured in the belt about her slim waist.

After several minutes, a second figure entered from the same direction from which the albino had entered. She was similarly garbed in purple silk and her cloak was the twin of the young albino's. Though she wore no emblem in her hair, which was ebon in colour and not tied back, she instead sported a bracelet adorned with the very same pendant. The albino did not bother to turn as the second figure approached and removed her hood, she instead gazed in the direction of the city gate. "Are they are ready?" The newcomer enquired as she removed a pair of bottles from a satchel slung over her shoulder. "We must assume they are." The albino said quietly in a smooth tone and accepted one of the bottles from her companion.

Exiting the small alleyway, the two women calmly approached the towering gates that were set into the colossal stone walls. A small guard post was set up off to one side of the gates. A roaring fire burned in an iron brazier and a trio of guardsmen stood warming their hands about it, shields and spears leant forgotten against the nearby wall. Due to the light shed by the brazier, the women could not approach unnoticed. The guardsmen turned to stare at them as they approached, not being used to late night visits at their post... especially from young girls.

The albino, followed closely by her partner, walked boldly up to the guards and procured the bottles the dark haired girl had brought. "Good evening sirs," She said, smiling sweetly at one of the men, "We thought it might get lonely, standing guard out here by yourselves, so we decided to bring you some ale and company.". The guards began to grin and nudge one another, this was their lucky night it seemed. "Here you are..." The ebon haired girl said as she pressed the bottle into one of the men's hands, "This will help you... sleep..." Even as the words left her lips, she was drawing a long, slim blade from her belt and sliding it into the man's ribs. As she did this, the albino had placed her arm around the first guard's neck in an almost loving gesture and slid a knife delicately in between his shoulder blades. Both men let out a little sigh of surprise and sank to the floor, disbelief etched into their eyes. The bottles of ale toppled from weakening grasps and crashed to the stone cobbles, shattering and spilling their contents. The third guardsman was staring in horror at the girls' smiling faces as they approached him gracefully. Momentarily, the firelight flashed across the metal of both emblems, revealing what appeared to be a pair of sickle moons attached to a circle. He let forth a whimper and did not even reach for his sword as their blades sank softly into his flesh. A choking gurgle escaped his lips as he crumpled slowly to the floor.

The albino breathed in deeply, savouring the delectable pain she caused. The ebon haired girl was likewise enthralled, her eyes closed as she felt the man's life slip from his body.

Leaving the corpses where they lay, the albino glanced at her partner, "You know what to do..." She said in almost a whisper before moving off to the right of the gates. The dark haired woman nodded, smiling slightly and took a seperate direction, heading for the left side of the gates. Their goals were the guard rooms, situated in the towers that were set at each side of the gates. Removing ropes and spikes from their belts, the young women slowly began to ascend the sheer wall with unnatural agility, the stairways being too well guarded to use. With ropes secured about their waists, the girls inserted a spike every few feet and used them as hand and foot holds, attaching the rope to each as they went. The albino mounted the walltop first, vaulting the parapet and landing, catlike, on the walkway. A few seconds later, the ebon haired girl completed her ascent, several hundred metres away from the albino. A single soldier patrolled the wall in each direction and were fast approaching the women, who lay concealed in shadow.

The albino girl stood up in the path of the patroller, catching him off guard. Simultaneously, the dark haired woman revealed herself. Once again, slim knives sank slowly and deliberately into soft flesh and, with a final gasp, both men fell lifeless to the damp stone. All that remained now was to enter the towers and perform the task which they had set out that evening to complete. A heavy wooden door secured the entrance to each tower and these remained locked until the guard changed at dawn. Not having the time or strength to forcibly open the doors, the lithe girls exploited the small windows set into the side of each tower. The wall did not extend to these windows and empty space hung below them, no normal human could hope to reach them.

But these girls were not normal. Their pendants and the emblems splashed across their cloaks declared them as followers of Slaanesh, the Dark Prince. Gifted they were, with strong, agile movements that belied the bodies they occupied. With unerring grace that shamed the most talented acrobat, the albino swung through the tiny window and into the guard chamber within, not pausing to watch her companion perform a similar feat. So surprised were the men inside by the appearance of their assailant and the means by which she had entered, that they sat stunned in their chairs, mugs of ale and playing cards held frozen in their hands. For but a few precious moments they did not move, and this cost them their lives.

With a disturbing finesse, the albino procured twin knives and slashed open the throat of the first soldier in her path. She welcomed the spray of blood that spurted from the dying man, immersing her face and turning her beautiful features into a horrifying countenance. Licking blood from dripping lips and smiling seductively, she turned to the other men. They suddenly unfroze and yelled an alarm, wrestling their swords from their scabbards. But in the tiny room with her small blades, the lithe albino had the advantage. She ducked a swinging sword and planted her knives firmly into the chest of her attacker. Tearing the weapons loose she laughed with genuine pleasure and severed the hand of a soldier who was trying to behead her.

Only two guards remained, and they rushed her together, swords raised above their heads and yelling the name of their emperor. From where she crouched, the albino sprang, somersaulting over the heads of the stunned men. She landed behind them and, without turning to face them, plunged her blades into their backs. Each soldier fell to his knees, sword slipping from failing grasp and clanging to the cold floor.

The albino girl paused for a few moments to listen to the sounds of combat echoing from the other tower. They soon ceased and her ebon haired partner appeared at the window. Wiping her blades clean on her silken tunic, the albino acknowledged her companion. Stepping away from the window, she turned her attention to the mechanism set into the wall of the room. Kicking a wooden bar aside gracefully, she pushed the huge lever that she had been instructed would be there. A deafening grinding sound echoed throughout the tower as massive cogs begun to turn and operate the gate mechanism. A similar grinding sound issued from the other tower and the albino smiled languidly in success.

Alarms and shouts of confusion sounded along the length of the walltop as soldiers were roused by the opening of their city gates. The men could not understand what was happening and rushed about in panic.

Soon the yells of confusion turned to yells of terror as movement was spotted outside the walls. The albino laughed softly to herself, her master's army had camped nearby, concealed in the darkened forest, waiting for the albino and her partner to open the way for them. At this very moment, legions of Chaos warriors devoted to Slaanesh and adorned in armour of gold and purple would be marching freely through the open gates.

The soldiers would be the lucky ones, they would be killed fighting in defense of the city. The citizenry, however, would be the ones to suffer boundless agony at the hands of her master. They would rounded up and captured for her master's perverted pleasures in the name of Slaanesh.

A moan sounded behind her. Turning slowly, she regarded the soldier whose hand she had removed in the fighting. The man was miraculously still alive, huddled in a corner and clutching his bleeding stump close to his chest.

The albino girl ran her tongue along the cold steel of her blade and decided to indulge herself before her master arrived...


Can't get enough of FH
Jan 15, 2004
the winds of war are blowing

the thunder sounded like 10,000 war drums beating in the heavens above almost as if it was cheering him on,
Kren swung the sword low hoping to sever the beasts legs but met thin air as the beast leapt 5 feet into the air, the beast let out a shrill of delight as it came down with its dagger aimed straight at his heart, certain of victory. Kren realised his mistake too late and only just managed to deflect the blade which dug deep into his shoulder. He fell to his knees with the beast upon him its needle like teeth snapping at his throat, he threw his injured arm up to keep the beast away from him white dots flashing in his eyes Kren knew he was seconds away from death, he dropped his arm to his belt and drew the dagger and with a cry to deafen the gods buried it deep into the beasts neck with such power he heard the bones snap in its neck it didnt let out a sound just a look of pure hatred and as the life faded from the beast it smiled and spoke with such malice "war is coming human we wont stop" then the beast rattled its last fetid breath and went limp.
Kren threw the carcass off his battered body and lay there in the mud breathing deeply he reached over and pulled the dagger from his shoulder and threw it, lighting flashed and reflected off the dagger before dissapearing into the muddy field the rain started to fall Kren got to his feet and started laughing as he continued his journey onto altdorf war was coming he relished it!.


Fledgling Freddie
Mar 11, 2008
short one
by janhansen
I went born to a mauve city nearly Empirical boundary.
My mother and father went smitte from the extensive Chaos Afflict that took a lot of from where they. I took to a city to Empirical and bid me to the army , i become Witch Hunter that shall brake Chaos the army where ferocity mutanter cheer up and butcher they to extensive calm.
Destruction unites tea armies of tea Greenskins went noted dense at us and therefore took a part from us sedate against that army , a lot of went killed the day and a lot of several went the injured and lemleste.
I myself went the injured amid action and be at liberty to to bear tall age at sygehuset. My housewife intended that i was shapes away however when said i that certain there no were some that did anything ville vi dead all between them so there were the ought decent can bear. Some månder after went my housewife and a lot of others women killed when a section mutanter and witch aggressions my mauve city. After that beluttede i me to kill all mutanter and chaos so all can be be alive to peace and peace.


Dawn of war!

It was a dark gloomy night, torrential rain and fog covering the area of the battleground, black clouds in the sky, bright flashes of light and roaring thunder that could be heard from milesand miles....but the thunder wasn't all that it seemed.

In the thickness of the fog, shadows were emerging. the sound of drums and chanting was coming from each side of the battleground. the thunder was getting louder and louder, in the flashes of light you could see flags of war but nothing more.​

The flashes of light was becoming more frequent. you could see warriors marching with flags in the sky and banging drums in the distance. holding their weapons up high and the sound of chanting could be heard. it was coming from each side of the hilltops as the warriors were marching closer and closer.​

after a few moments the roaring thunder stopped, the fog started to dim on the battleground and all you could see was warriors lined side by side going back for miles. As the fog cleared you could see the chaos army and the empire standing almost 100 metres apart from one another.​

The rain was dripping from the black armour of the tormented chaos warriors with their eyes glowing in the flashes of light as lightning struck around them. Their army had chosen in the frontlines with thier giant shields glinching to their chest and behind them more chosen with their gigantic axes chanting to the heavens with the mauraders watching and waiting behind the lines.​

The empire weary of the battle ahead playing their war drums and preparing their swordmasters with songs of victory were standing strong watching...waiting. both armies waiting for the right moment to engage in battle. The lightning became stronger as the rain was dripping of their armour and weapons.​

The armies were staring eachother down and in a bright flash lightning had struck the middle of the battlefield and the sounds of horns with a roar of thunder could be heard. in the flash of light you could see chaos and the empire running towards one another with a flurry of spells and arrows in the sky above them.​

The Dawn of War had begun​


Short Story

- Gather around, Child! – Howled an old man with his battle weary and frumpish voice. - Gather around! – echoed among the narrow streets of Altdorf.
Most of the children stopped playing, and sat all around the old man, others just kept playing.

They knew well the old buffer who had no home, no family, nobody and nothing, but his stories. The children listened wholeheartedly to every single sentence that came out from the old man’s mouth.

-This northern wind…it comes from Umbra Chaotica, this brings the kind of cold chills that keeps us away from sleeping. The wind which is compund of coldness and rotting blood.
-I once knew a man – continued the old man – who had enough bravery and hate in his heart to march against the wind. Who threw his life without fear or hesitation at the very face of death.
-But why’d somebody do that? – asked a boy

The old man stood up, looked deep in the eyes of his trembling audience, then he replied:

-When you lose everybody you love, your life will be the last thing you’ll care about. Cold and ruthless we were, but slowly over the years our pride and dignity began to crumble at the feet of Khrone. Our race began to dwindle, and so our bays. This man was the same as we were thousands of years ago. Some say he was the rebirth of Sigmar Heldenhammer himself! Streets were filled with people as they watched him leaving the city. Some people followed him, but most of them came back soon. Scouts informed that they climbed up High Pass and marched deep into the Chaos Wastes. They say every step you take there are steps that gets you closer to your death. The wastes, filled with enemy and dangers soon consumed the group, except our champion and one of his followers. At dawn they encountered with a band of chosens. The sons of Sigmar were tired, thirsty, but they were more bloodthirsty, so they did not give up that easy:

-Who dare to step on the stones of Umbra Chaotica? – said the chosen leader
-Judgement. As you took away lives, I’ll took away yours. The bloodline of the man will be purified again. Blood washes blood. – replied our man with shadows of chaos warriors on his face.
-Fool! I’m gonna crush your bones, and throw your ragged body into the wind! The smell of your blood will fulfill the plains of Tzeentch, and your skull will beautify my mace. Chosens of Tzeentch, prepare for breakfast!

The chosens attacked their foes without hesitation. Our hero drew his sword and raised it high. When the first chosen arrived he howled and swept through the neck of it. The head didn’t reached the ground and another chosen tried to end my story, but he suffered the same fate as his mate. It contuined. More of them came, more of them fell. When it turned incountable how many heads and dead bodies were on the ground the chosen leader stepped forward. There were no more chosens to slay, only this one. Surely it was a champion straight from the chaos elite. Our hero took one of his last breat, and turned to his follower:

-My fellow soldier, go and tell every single souls left in the empire that it’s time to realise that we are in war. No one else will fence our war, but we. – he said.

Then he turned round and raised his sword once more. Now he knew that his tale will be told. With smile on his face he hurtled onto the chosen leader. He swept so strongt that his sword broke into hundreds of pieces on his opponent’s armor. But that wasn’t his last blow. He contuined the attack with his bare hands. The chosen leader easily smote back. Our hero felt onto his knees and whispered:
-Watch the mighty fall, chaos scum – this was his last words before the chosen leader crushed his skull. We have to fight our battles, even if it leads to our doom. The path of the dread shall fall before the path of salvation

… with this words, the old man finished his tale.


Fledgling Freddie
Jan 4, 2004
The true story of Mizfyre Pass

The true story of Mizfyre Pass

The force of the explosion rustled the fabric of commander Combs’ tent, the light from the torches flickered and the resounding boom echoed through the pass. He drew in a deep sigh, and rested his face in both of his strong, work hardened hands.
It had seemed like a great idea, taking in a group of bright wizards to bolster the small battalion.
However, the idea had literally backfired… The tempestuous wizards had caused more damage than the damned greenskins, and he was starting to wonder if he would even have a force able to resist the onslaught, once the orcs and goblins began their assault.
For a few minutes he sat, lost in his own thoughts. But looked up, as captain Vesely entered. The ever present smile on his face, beaming brightly as ever. He wasn’t a big man, only reaching to around Combs’ shoulders. But he was an extremely capable fighter, young, energetic and invaluable when it came to keeping morale up. No matter what happened, Corey Vesely, had an uncanny ability to feel things took place around his world, and not actually in it. So not even the most hopeless of situations appeared to have any negative effects on his mood.
`So, how bad is it this time captain?´ asked Combs’ letting his fingers run over the richly adorned shield, he had laying on the table in front of him.
`Well Sir, two people are presumed dead. Ohh, and a field tent.´ Vesely answered, with a crooked smile.
`Yes Sir, we haven’t actually been able find anybody…´
`No, of course not. Even though I rounded them up, and gave them a quite detailed, not to mention strict speech on the intriquisies of camp life. They can’t be expected to even leave a part of their luckless comrades, for us to send home to the grieving families.´ The commanders lips tightened, and he removed his hands from the shield.
`To be perfectly honest Sir, I believe this particular wizard actually did listen to your little… pep talk.´ The captain was obviously choosing his words carefully.
`Is that so, captain? I would say that I have heard, and felt evidence to the contrary, not five minutes ago. I assume you have witnesses, ready to back up that claim?´
`Apparently Sir, the wizard known as Pyrrhus Raskoph, was having some bad luck with the dice. My men told me he showed surprising restraint. Despite being obviously aggravated.´ Vesely put his hands up to his hair, and let his fingers do a wavy motion, imitating the strange properties of the bright wizards’ hair.
`He held his anger in. Right up to the point where he exploded.´
`Excuse me? He exploded? I was under the impression that they had been trained to control the magic.´ Combs said incredulously.
Vesely leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper.
`Sir, I happen to have spent some time with a bright wizard a while back. And he was nothing like the members of this group. His self control was worlds apart from that of our friends here.´
Surprised by the sudden serious tone in the young mans voice. The commander looked intensely at his trusted advisor.
`Do you happen to have a way of contacting the order, captain?´
`Sure do, Sir´ he replied as he straightened up, flashed a conspiratorial smile at Combs and left the tent.
That was another strange thing about Corey Vesely. He seemed to know people everywhere.
Once Combs had asked him about the sword he carried around, slung over his back. An elaborate, high level dark elf officers’ blade, that seemed to shine with a bluish tint at times. That type of blade was basically non-existent among the races of the old world.
He had been surprised to learn that; in Vesely’s own words, he had "spent some time in Ulthuan".
`I have a friend there, who came to owe me a BIG favour. So he… acquired the sword for me.´
He had answered with a wink.
Combs had learned it was best not to ask why, with who, where and in some cases how, the young human fighter had 'spent time' the way he had.
There had been some general uneasiness among the mix of dwarven and human soldiers that made up the battalion, when they had first seen the sword. But the captain had managed to calm even the harshest critics with tales of his journeys and its treasures, around the campfire. He was always vague about who he travelled with, and why he was there. But he described his battles with great enthusiasm, as he animatedly jumped around the camp, swinging an imaginary version of the gradually more, and with the passing weeks, fully accepted sword on his back.
Shaking his head, leader of the 7’th battalion; Commander Leon Combs got up from his chair, and drawing another one of the deep sighs he had become so familiar with over the last fortnight, picked up his shield.
Placing it gingerly in its place on the armour rack, he proceeded to ready himself for another night of restless sleep on the tiny field cot.

`WAAAGH!´ Combs woke from his shallow uneasy sleep with a jolt, and sat bolt upright, fumbling for a weapon that wasn’t there. He jerked his head to the side, and saw, through sleep-encrusted eyes… not and angry, homicidal orc, but the smiling face of captain Vesely.
`What in name of the Empire do you think you are doing?!´
He yelled, his heart pounding furiously.
`Sorry Sir. I thought you would find it funny.´ Vesely answered cheerfully. Not a hint of apology in his voice.
`Has anything, anything at all.´ Combs started, exercising all the self control he had from years of training. `I have done in the 30 days we have been together, even remotely hinted at the possibility, that I would enjoy such a joke?´
`Who knows Sir? I mean; No one would know I enjoyed the time I spent with those two double-jointed street performers, and their third sister who-´
`Yes, captain. That is quite enough. Just, never do it again.´ He had gotten his heart rate somewhat under control, and regained his composure. There was no point in scolding a man impervious to shame. And he had the feeling he was going to need all his energy, just to get through the day.
`I won’t Sir. Ready to expect the troops today?´ Vesely waved the roster scroll in front of him.
`What’s left of them.´ Combs muttered to himself.
`What, Sir?´
`Nothing, nothing. How is the morale holding up after yesterdays’, incident?´
`Not too bad Sir. I managed to calm hot tempers, by posing the question. If that is what the wizards do to us, their allies. Imagine what they can do to the enemy.´
`And they fell for that?!´ Combs asked. Disbelief painted in every feature on his face.
`Well, they are fighters, not thinkers Sir.´
`I’d say. Well captain, line them up. I’ll be ready soon.´
`Oki doki Commander Combs.´ Vesely pulled off a textbook salute, but somehow made it feel like he was making a joke at the military's expense, and walked out of the tent, into chill morning air.

When he finally stepped out in the bright shining light of the early summer sunrise, breastplate gleaming and sword rattling at his side, he found the captain had managed to line up all the soldiers in their respective companies. You had the dwarfs, heavy metal armour only outdone by the equally heavy weapons.
Next to them, the human warriors. Generally lighter armoured, there were no knights, but instead what seemed to be old mercenaries and long time foot soldiers. And at the end, looking distinctly out of place, the group of 10 or so bright wizards.
Combs hadn’t been given any kind of magic users when the battalion was assigned to him. So when a group of wandering wizards had come across their camp and offered their assistance, he jumped at the chance to even the odds against the greenskin army lurking about half a day’s march away on the plains. But so far, he had lost two men, several carts and tents, not to mention four of the actual wizards themselves, to their utter incompetence.
He inspected the ranks critically. He was impressed. No deserters. Reaching the end of the line, he doubled back to stand directly in front, next to captain Vesely. The young man had done a fantastic job keeping the unit together. However, judging from the expression on many of the faces, it was time for a good old Blazing Sun morale boost. He drew in a deep breath.
`Men!' he started
`Commander! Commander!´ A watchman was yelling and gesturing from his spot on the makeshift battlements.
Combs swore under his breath.
`For the love of Myrmidia. What?!´ He yelled back.
`The greenskins, Sir. They are on the move.´
In a few bounding leaps, Vesely covered the ground between the parade ground and the crudely constructed wood barricades. Using a parked cart, loaded with grain, he launched himself up to grip the edge of the walkway, and quickly swung himself up to look over the barren plains.
After a moments intense staring, he let himself drop back down to the cart, and walked calmly over to Combs.
`They’ll be here by nightfall.´ He said, wiggling eyebrows as if he had just said he had a date that night, and then took off to do whatever it was he did to keep things running.
Alright, so be it. The tired commander thought to himself. At least they don’t have to suffer the fearful, sleepless night that comes before a battle.
He seamlessly altered the speech he had been about to give, drew in breath again, and started.

He was proud of himself; it had been a great speech, one for the ages. Walking around the camp, he observed the soldiers packing the tents away. It had been his first order after taking a look at the advancing greenskins. The last thing they needed was more flammable materials behind them, when trying to defend the pass. His eye fell on a single person sitting on packed up tent, looking intensely at a piece of paper. Combs walked over, and saw that the piece of paper was in fact a painting, portraying a middle-aged woman with faded red hair.
`You wife?´ he asked the sitting soldier, who looked up, surprised at the appearance of his commander.
`Yes, Sir´
`You must really love her.´
`Is that so?´ he snorted
`Why else would you carry that painting around?´ Combs asked, surprised.
`Every time I feel like running away, I look at it this, and it reminds me of the alternative. No, I think I prefer the orcs. Damn she-dragon. Threw an iron skillet at me once.´ He said gruffly. After a seconds’ pause the knight wisely chose not to add anything more to the conversation, but set off back to his tent, the only one not being packed away. I guess war is everywhere. He thought, looking back at the man, before throwing open the flaps to what would now become the command centre until the battle.
He lay out the roster scroll next to the drawn tactical rendition of the fortifications on the table, and began planning.

Where the hell was he? Vesely had been missing for hours, and Combs was starting to worry.
The sun had gone down, and the pale moonlight illuminated the greenskin army rolling towards them. The plan was solid, spread the wizards out on the battlements, and have them concentrate on the shamans. Surround them with heavily armoured dwarfs, and fill out the gaps with fighters to keep orcs out. The pounding of shields was getting louder, and he cast a glance over his shoulder.
He had gone quite a way out in front, to show the men he wasn’t scared, to stiffen their resolve.
He might have to run inside, if he stayed much longer.
The gate blew open with a loud thud, and Corey Vesely came blasting through on a greyish white horse. He led it, galloping full speed towards Combs.
The commander raised his arm, the sign for the ranged fighters to ready themselves. The battlements lit up, as the bright wizards started emitting an orange fiery glow.
The captain reached him, the horse sliding on the sandy surface as it was forced to a sudden halt.
`News from Altdorf Sir, my contacts at the bright wizards’ college told me that the group we have with us are renegades. They broke with the order before their training was complete. I was told they are very, very dangerous.´
Combs sighed. Of course he had picked up a group of walking bombs with dodgy fuses. The enemy was now close enough for him to hear the battle frenzied screams of the massive orcs.
`Back inside captain, get those wizards off my line!´
`Yes Sir!´ Vesely said while turning his horse around.
`Are you ok?´
`Yes, I’ll be fine captain. I’m right behind you.´
The captain had reached the halfway point between the fortifications and the now jogging Combs, before the first explosion rocked the ground. The entire left part of the wooden rampart was ripped apart, scattering shrapnel and body parts. Another, then another in rapid succession the pyromancers disintegrated, taking wall and soldiers with them.
Combs stood frozen, looking in horrid fascination at the giant blasts that lit up the night sky. Vesely was fighting to keep his mount under control, the frightened horse was doing it’s best to throw him off. But he held the reins tight and hung on for dear life.
The devastation was total. The 7’th battalion lay in ruin, and the entire wooden construction either gone, or on fire. Orange yellow flames casting a flickering light on the gruesome scene.
He looked over his shoulder, all sounds seemed to have been extinguished and the wall of teeth, axes and shields was moving as if time itself had slowed. Looking back he caught the eye of his young captain, who formed a silent question.
But Combs was a realist, he knew Vesely was the only one with a chance to get away from this mess.
He shook his head, and mouthed the word `Go.´ Corey smiled at him, the same smile you would see on someone who just lost a friendly round of kick-the-rat. He put his heels to the horses’ flanks and bounded away, jumping a shallow piece of fallen wall before disappearing out of view behind the flames. Dropping to his knees with a metallic clank, Combs looked up at the starry night sky `Guess I have just become “time spent”, haven’t I Mr. Vesely?´ He said to himself, unable to suppress smile, as the green wave washed over him.

Wish i had decided to enter earlier, given myself some time to polish it. That is where procrastination gets you :p
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