Depths

[Evz22]

The Waystation of the Vanguard-rangers was built upon a hill, from a mixture of Sigmarite and stone. It was black, as was the armor of the Sons of Mallus. Purple banners flowed silently in the cold winds of Shyish,  beneath the ever-gray skies of the region. Fritz found himself within at a table much too large for him, sitting in a throne-like chair of leather that caused his lumbar area to ache. He was eating stew that the local waystation serfs had cooked up. The rangers were eating beef jerky and eggs. Gregor and Torn were the only Stormcast present at the moment.

"So," spoke Gregor between mouthfuls of egg, "you say that these duardin seek to conquer the local region? Blasted dwarves. It's suicide. The undead are everywhere here, it's hard enough just to keep back waves of ghouls and zombies."

"And not to mention," Fritz responded, finally tired of his back's pain and standing to his feet. "That zombies had been gathering outside of Anvilfort for months, and the vampire attacks as well."

"Alas, those are the beasts. The mindless ones, no one has sent them save for their own drive to feed." Torn tore a chunk of turkey from the drumstick he held in his gauntleted fist. "I have fought my fair share of the beasts."

"Tell me," Fritz said, finishing his bowl. "Is there anywhere you could think of? Anywhere that these attacks might be sent from? Hypothetically speaking, of course. You must know..."

"There is..." Gregor left into the shadows of one corridor and returned after a minute with a scroll of canvas that he unfurled and rolled out upon the marble table. "This is the region we occupy. There are waystations here and here," he pointed. "Anvilfort of which you speak is back this way," he moved his finger across the canvas. "Here," he moved the subject to a large mountain. "This was once a mighty Duardin hold, over half a century ago. It held steadfast against the tides of undead yet as of that time, none have heard from it." He crossed his arms. "We have sent scout parties into the fortress, alas nothing could be found. It would be a worthy beginning to your hunt, hunter." He took a step back. "You may keep the map, we will also have one of our assistants prepare a gryph-hide cloak, as it is much too cold this time of year.  Our place is here, at the frontier in the wilds. We shall not aid the duardin in their foolish quest for revenge, as it may not even exist. I pity you, Fritz of Middenfryd. If you return to that king empty-handed, you will be cut down before you can reach the stables."

"And that is what I am afraid of, mein herr..." he paused. "May I rest? I haven't had a proper human bed in weeks." The stormcasts laughed.

"Of course. You may leave in the morning."

[Evz22]

Fritz left with naught but the clothes on his back, a warm cloak and his weapons. His silver greatsword dangled behind him as he climbed a black cold cliff face. Wrapping his fur cloak tighter about him, he continued through the dark wood, eyes twitching in his direction from the shadows. He heard screams, shrills, shrieks and roars every five minutes. He was afraid. He dared not show it, as he was trained not to.

"Manling!" Varig Blackfoot called from behind him. The duardin stomped up the leaf-covered trail, using an enormous wrench as a walking stick. "Yer goin' to the hold that was found derelict, aye?" The merchant was shivering slightly.

"Aye, that I am. How long have you been following, might I ask?" The human turned back to the road.

"I left half an hour after you. Figured you probably would've headed to the waystation. I've been there with them rangers. Was with an escort that time, but er-"

"How did you make it here by your lonesome??" He asked curiously, hiking up a steep hill. They were already on the mountain, wandering up the dead forest that only barely clung to its side like a balding man's scalp.

"I am a soldier as much as I am a blacksmith and a merchant, manling!" the duardin exclaimed. It is tough growing up amongst the dispossessed in the slums of your free cities." They were quiet from some time. It was ice-cold and at this altitude it was important to limit speech to save oxygen. The nearest entrance was a cavern mouth surrounded by statues overgrown with weeds and thorns. A low fog rose from the dead earth, they had entered the cloud cover. "None have heard from this place in centuries, manling," Varig spoke, breaking the eerie silence. Fritz did not blame him, this place was too scary. It was important to keep occupied. The duo entered the cave. It was obviously once a mine shaft. They were most likely just beneath the actual city proper. Fritz wanted to use the back door, as going in through the front gates might get him noticed.

"I work alone, just so you know."

"Do you really?" The merchant scratched his rear as they crept into the dark. Fritz pulled up a small lantern-like device that hung from his belt and a low orange glow lit the cave around them. Insects and arachnids of which species he had never seen before scattered before the light. 

"Have you been there before?" he asked.

"Aye, once was with a Kahadron expedition sent from Aldaz-Got. Was nothing a ghost city., you could say. No pun intended." he scratched his rear again. The mineshaft was quite high for being constructed by duardin, this was one of the first things Fritz had noticed. They reached a wide chamber littered with mining equipment.

"Has anyone been through these tunnels?"

"Nay, not that I know of. Just the city above. Maybe some maddened treasure-seekings. But that is all I could think of who would risk coming this far out." He sat down. Fritz sat down too, on a box. It was slightly warmer now.

"We rest here, eat if you must. In some time we shall continue to explore. I will scout ahead, see if I can find anything." The two sat in silence for a bitter minute before Fritz stood, drawing his rapier, and stepped down the shaft.

[Evz22]

The hunter followed the tunnel, then a stone stairwell, and found himself in a flooded tunnel. The water was not deep, just up to his ankles. He wandered a bit through the damp dark and realized why it was so shallow. He squatted down and reached into the water with a gloved hand and pulled out a bone. "Duardin rib cage..." he sighed. He was getting closer, alright he knew he did not want to. he dropped the shattered bone back into the pond, which he discovered was full of bones. It got less and less shallow. Mounds of ancient, decayed bone rose from the flooded tunnel. Eventually he was walking on just old, dirty bones. A few shattered, a few intact. Ironbreaker armor was everywhere, rusted with time. Such was Shyish. Fritz followed them. Here was a skull with a beard thinned out through time, still clinging onto the strong jawbones of the duardin owner. There was a powerful, fully-intact arm bone, licked clean of any muscle and covered in a strange mould. He sighed, carrying on. Water was dripping on his head, he was getting more and more tired. At least he would figure out what happened to the former inhabitants. None probably desired to seek out this place, even the Stormcast, as it was much too cramped for one so huge. The most startling thing he noticed, was some of these bones were too long, the proportions too different to belong to a duardin. And they were cleaner as well.

The tunnel opened into a wide pit, full of bones. Within the center was a single zombie dragon, just sitting unmoving, staring at him with cold, dead eyeless sockets. He did not even notice the fell bats that dropped down from the ceiling. He made quick work of the creatures, hitting them with the tip of his silver blade, cutting tendons, tearing wings. Sending them to the bones below. He returned his gaze to the dragon, which sat still. It had been staring at him for some time, he thought. He moved, but it did not turn its gaze. "Must... actually be dead.." he spoke to himself aloud. Another bat flew at him which be bisected easily enough. He fell to his knees and began digging through the bones. He found gold coins several feet down. The chamber was possibly the treasury. Upon further inspection, he could see a skull and crossbones printed upon each face. He dropped it. A duardin may not be able to resist the cursed gold of the wraith fleet that had once come to steal back its gold, but he had been trained since he was young to resist such damned things. "The duardin of the hold found the gold, brought it here. They remained, every person in the city. They all came down here to protect it. They had managed to defeat the dragon of the Vampire lord who had come with the Wraith fleet to collect their treasure, but the rider escaped. The entire hold died possibly of mania and starvation. The flooding was caused by a breach in the rock from the initial siege, and many living in the corridor leading to the treasury had simply drowned."

This is the explanation he gave to Varig after he climbed from the darkened filth. The duardin sighed sadly. "I wanted to help you, manling. I did all I could. We could not find the one responsible for the "assassins"."

"Oh, but we did." He walked out into the pale, cold sunlight. "The Wraith Fleet has been trying to reclaim its treasure for the past several years. They are taking out anyone who dares build anything around the hold keeping their gold. I've dropped some explosives that will bring the lower tunnels down, no one will be able to disturb this tomb again unless they have the proper equipment..." he flipped a switch and the ground rumbled.

"Aye, but proof?"

"I have all the proof I need. Come. We shall make it back to the Way Station, and have the Sons of Mallus escort us back to Anvilfort by carriage. I could use a good long sit."

"As you say so..."

* * *

The main longhall of Anvilfort was warm. Snow was falling outside heavily. The Sons of Mallus waiting outside, around their carriage, their raptor mounts calling out to one another in parody of birdsong. Strigat sat upon an oaken throne, resting his beardling head upon his balled ham-sized fist. "Aye, manling? You have not run. That is good as I am no fan of cowards. You have discovered the assassins then?"

"Aye." Fritz slowly approached the throne, undoing a bag from his belt. The Hammerers on each side of the throne took a cautious step forward before Strigat ordered them to hold. Fritz opened the bag to reveal the bearded skull. The duardin in the chamber grew red-faced at the desecration of their own.

"You dare bring this insult to me, human??" The king growled under his breath.

"Allow me to explain..." Fritz said slowly, sweating under the pressure. Axes, picks and hammers were raised all around the hall. Quarrels were loaded into crossbows, Guns were raised. They were going to kill him. Varig was now outside, smoking his pipe to at least try to relax. It was now that Fritz told his tale of his journey into the depths of the abandoned duardin hold. He spoke that the entirety of the mountain city had died defending it to the last against the Wraith fleet and its allies, and now they come to them, angry that anyone would dare build a hut so close to that which they hold dear. He explained he had to destroy the entrances to those tunnels and the treasury. He went deeper into detail to explain the nature of the cursed gold and why they should not go seeking it, and that the hold is completely, one hundred percent, utterly lost to time itself. There was no way to get the gold or retake the dark place without everyone of Anvilfort dying. The king sighed and nodded slowly, sitting back against the throne. 

"So what do we do?" Asked the beardling.

"We send an assassin to kill their captain, their leader, their necromancer. Whomever is conducting these beasts in our direction."

"Aye, that would be good." Strigat dabbed his sweaty red forehead with a rag. He was obviously shaken with rage and the thought of a whole entire hold and its treasury and doomed populace, lost. "I need rest. Human, come back tomorrow. We shall talk then." Fritz walked out, very fast. Varig peered up at him. Before the duardin could speak the man said:

"He is calling me human instead of manling now. I think I made him angry. Goodnight."

[Evz22]

Fritz stood within the hall. It was cold, winter had squeezed what little life was left in Shyish. The duardin remained in their homes and burrows. The hall was bustling with feasting. The human had waited anxiously for many minutes before the new king beardling took his seat. "Manling, come hither." The hunter obliged and took a step closer. A private audience, he guessed. "You are to leave. At once. A Fyreslayer cadre has entered the realm via airship, we have no need of your services. A bag of gold is being placed upon your saddle as we speak." Fritz nodded. "I have personally counted every crown. As have my guards. The Fyreslayers will hunt whatever beast dares send its minions to my hold. You will leave at once. Good luck on your path." Fritz nodded, half-confused but left.

The air was frigid. Something felt amiss. Dense fog rolled along the snow-covered pathway. He sighed, pulling out a skin of rum and took a sip. He did not notice the men chasing his steed through the gnarled, pale trees. It was not a moment later that a giant hatchet buried its blade deep within the flesh of his horse's neck. The creature released a shrill, catapulting the rider from its saddle onto the snowy path. Fritz climbed to all hours, wiping the blood from his face. Laughter echoed, he was surrounded. The barbarian marauders approached from all sides. He drew his pistol, firing a shot at the one who ran at him first. As the warrior fell, he chucked the weight of the pistol at the next assailant, who fell, clutching his broken face while screaming. Four more men that he could see came at him with flails and axes. He drew the silver greatsword from his back. It was the longest blade he had and wanted them at a distance.

"Come!" he shouted, challenging them all. One warrior, a head taller than he, was murdered by the slitting of his jugular by the tip of Fritz's blade. The marauder gurgled his final breaths and fell to the red snow. An axe blade cut down into his shoulder, he felt the ripples in the chainmail under his leather jacket. He pulled away, performing a half-turn and slit the belly of the man. Gore and entrails spilled out. A woman charged him screaming with a hammer. She swung. Fritz screamed, now covered in the blood of the foe as he swung wildly at her. She blocked with her hammer and Fritz knocked it upward. This move would have finished her, had another rogue not tossed a knife at the hunter's thigh. He grunted, biting through the scream and kicked the woman away. He tore the knife free and threw the knife into the throat of the man hiding in the trees, sending him to the dead earth.

The woman and two other men charged him, swords and hammer in-hand. Fritz knocked one away, with his tip, cutting down into his skull and brain. The woman finally came close enough once more, swinging her hammer. It hit his leg, the one hit by the knife. He fell. She brought the hammer up to left it fall on him, but he tore open her stomach from naval to throat. The final warrior was about to swing before three others tossed a net on him. "What is this?" cried the swordsman, hairy grip tightening around the hilt of his shortsword. The marauders began to drag Fritz away, who was both confused and feeling himself getting more tired. The knife must have been coated with something, that was the only explanation.

"Leave the corpses for the crows and corpses, Glimm!" Shouted another woman warrior, gathering up the greatsword and pistol. He woke next to a tree, tied with thick hemp rope and steel chord. The warriors sat around a fire, eating what Fritz assumed to be his horse. His sacks of gold and equipment lay by their side.

"We leave to the river in twenty minutes, brothers and sisters." Said one of the marauders. "The rest of Vata's fleet has caught up and finally we have found living food to return with! I have heard one of the ships bares mead from a Sigmarite temple not far upriver."

"Why would the Azyrites build in such a place? We must leave at once." growled the woman, obviously cold. A man draped a fur cloak about her shoulders.

"No Trel," the man said to her. "news travels quickly, a darkoath warqueen has come. She has rallied many clans across the Realms. They all come to Shyish. I am not sure what, but alas we are already here, damn it! We have plundered the neighboring aelfin midden for so long, we have forgotten what the warpath is like! We can now get more plunder! More loot! We are here first, we have first pickings!"

"And what," said Trel, "is there to plunder and loot besides the pitiful weaklings? The bones of the walking dead? I have seen many zombies wandering as we ventured upriver. I do not seek to get any closer to the creatures."

"Aye. Well, look. The dog is up! Drom, go see to him!" Drom, the largest of them, carrying a greataxe across his back, stomped through the high snow before Fritz, who was still in a daze. He grabbed him by the chin and turned his face left and right, opened his eyelids, opened his mouth. Fritz did not fight, he was still out of it.

"The runt seems to still be alive. Afkol's knives didn't do him in." Drom wiped snot from his nose, obviously unused to this weather.

"Well, that is impressive..." the man stood, wandering over. "Hail, man. I am Vad. That is Trel, Drom and Khuf. The living members of our warband and hunting party. You were impressive. Our chieftain may like to speak with you." he cocked his head.

"Vad!!" cried Khuf, "just leave the man to the corpses, let's bring the loot home!" 

"Shut up, or we'll have him gut you like a fish." he held up Fritz's greatsword to the hunter. "This is silver, aye? It is fantastic, so light. Lighter even so than the longsword over yonder. I have held many a Freeguild greatsword after a battle. They are somewhat light but this is another kind of light. It is like swinging a feather. Who are you, warrior?" he blinked. Snow began to drift down. Vad stabbed the blade's tip into the earth. "Grab the man, grab his gear. We bring him to Vata!" the others, with less enthusiasm, began picking up camp as the snow continued to fall.