Fiction Spawning of Bob - The Great War Against Chaos - Book 1 Finished

[spawning of Bob]

Chapter 18 The Black Company


Captain Mahrlecht’s company was only one of many units of soldiers who were marching the streets that night. There were other companies dressed in the traditional mercenary black, but most were state troops, adorned with the bi-coloured uniforms of their states. The red and yellow of Talabecland, red and green of Hochland and purple and yellow of Ostermark were apparent, but the majority of troops wore the red and blue of the Grand Duchy of Reikland. The soldiers wore their colours either as doublet and hose, or else in some token form such as shield decoration or feathers. They may have looked like court jesters, albeit heavily armed ones, but they did not laugh, joke or sing as they marched.

The varied troops flowed together in a kind of military migration until they bottlenecked before the nearby Marienburg gate. Mahrlecht somehow managed to keep the lizardmen quiet until his company finally made it through the gate and onto the open pasture to the north west of the city. It was still night, but there was a faint promise of dawn in the sky above the brooding mass of Altdorf. A river fog was beginning to loom over the right side of the field.

Once the mixture of troops were clear of the gate they fanned out to either side and formed a multi coloured hedge of steel, parallel to the walls. Mahrlecht marched with a completely different group of men to the ones he had led across the Dark Lands. This time his men were Estalian crossbowmen supported by a spiky row of pikemen. The captain led his company to an insignificant hillock near the middle of the line and there they readied their weapons. When Mahrlecht had finished inspecting them, he turned his attention to the disguised lizardmen.

He expressed his concern that they were not yet safely out of the Empire. “What idiotic whim did you follow to Altdorf of all places? You were to travel to the nearest border and leave the Empire by the safest possible route, not take an extended tour of the state capitals like some witless troop of lost circus performers. Why did you take none of my advice?”

“We did blend in, like you said,” Mahtis protested, flapping his apron to prove the point. “See?”

“But why are you here?”

“If we are being sneaky,” whispered Bob, “should we be talking openly in front of your men?”

“They are Estalians, they won’t understand. Isn’t that so, Capitan Manuel?”

The squad’s diminutive officer looked up with bafflement on his face. “¿Que?” he bleated.

“He’s from Barcelona,” Mahrlecht explained.



The four lizardmen told their unlikely stories, beginning with the farewell at the River Stir and ending with Joe saying, "...and did you know there is a coven of Chaos worshippers in the city?"

The last piece of information struck a chord with Mahrlecht.

"That is ill news. The taint of chaos is everywhere, it seems. Your adventures seem scarcely credible, but I have tall tales of my own, 'Brother Jakob.’

"As you know, my plan was to ride with my Ungols and the cameleers to Praag in the north part of the nation of Kislev. When we arrived in Kislev’s more southerly capital, we found it to be bursting with refugees. They were fleeing the attacks of Chaos marauders and fell beasts from the mountain passes.

"The scum often raid the north of Kislev, but they usually withdraw after a time. This time they were attacking in greater numbers and holding their gains. Their attacks were probing deeper each day, hence the exodus of northerners.

"The cameleers chose to remain in the city of Kislev, but I accompanied my Ungols further north. When we reached Praag we found that city to be preparing for siege. The commanders had also bolstered the forts protecting the bridges over the River Lynsk hoping that the enemy might at least held there for a time.

"I had expected to find the Kislevite forces to be supported by numerous Ungol horsemen, but my comrades’ kin were curiously absent. For this reason I asked my riders to seek the Khagan, their over-chieftain, and plead for him to send the aid of the steppe tribes before it became redundant. I still don’t know why they were absent.

"Maybe they were defending their own cities," ventured Bob.

"Ha! The highest of Ungol architecture is made of goat skin, troll bones and pony dung. The Khagan’s ‘palace’ can be collapsed and bundled up in a half-hour and he calls the entire open steppe his home. Finding him in that wasteland will no doubt be a challenge even for my excellent scouts.

"Anyway, having made my proud Ungols into humble couriers, I made the same of myself and I hastened back to the court of Tzar Alexis Vassilivitch of Kislev with word of the dire situation in the north of his domain. He kindly received me, but did not believe that he could both support Praag and defend Kislev with the troops he had at his disposal.

"Instead he sent me with a Kislevite delegation to the counts of the Empire to entreat them for aid. Of course, on my return, I found that the counts were all away playing at war. Of the fools I spoke to on my way to Altdorf, only the Warden of Wolfenburg in Ostland understood the threat at his doorstep, and he could only spare two battalions of archers to bolster Kislev's forces.

Captain Mahrlecht finished his tale and turned his eyes towards the benighted north, as if he could see the Aurora Chaotica spreading down from the pole to consume the sky above the civilized world.

Bob was uncomfortable with the silence and cleared his throat loudly. "So then. What of the battle we find ourselves in today? What evil comes? Are there Beastmen? Daemons? Green skins?"

"Our foes are the greatest threat to the Empire that has ever existed,” Mahrlecht snorted. “Today we face men of the Empire."

"What?” spluttered Joe. “That makes no sense!"

"Indeed not, but it seems a man will cut his brother's throat for reasons of politics or religion. Bah! I have no interest in either!" He held up the palm of his hand to forestall the question which was on Mahtis’ lips. "Nor am I interested in silken underwear.

"This proud army with which we shall slay our brother men is under the command of Grand Duke Waldorf. He claims right to the Imperial crown by dint of the transient popularity of his great, great, great grandfather. Also, the city of Altdorf houses the Imperial Citadel, which the old fool has never stepped inside because the Imperial guard will not accept any claimant who cannot demonstrate support of a simple majority of elector counts and the blessing of the religious orders.

"Count Roland of Marienburg intends to take the Imperial city by force in order to add legitimacy to his own spurious claim. He is backed by the northern provinces because he controls their sea trade and they fear starvation if they do not raise their banners alongside his. Roland has drawn up his lines between the Marienburg road and the river. You will see them, ere the sun rises.

"Graf Stadtler of Stirland has been hot on your heels, coming up from the south with the electors of Wissenland and Averland following like dogs. He cannot risk Roland claiming Altdorf, for his own claim is thinnest of them all - he states that some mad fortune teller dreamt of a twin tailed comet in the sky marking the onset of a new age of Imperial glory. Naturally the egoistic dotard could not conceive of anyone other than himself on the throne.

"The southern provinces' army is expected to arrive here soon after dawn. Fortunately the artillery of Nuln will be some hours behind. Their cannon could decimate the armies here, or destroy the city walls. If fortune smiles, the battle will be resolved before they emplace their guns."

"If the two armies that come are opposed to each other, why are we not waiting safe behind the walls?" asked Rychek. "Surely it is better if they weaken each other before your Waldorf’s army engages them."

"Indeed, but Waldorf cannot assume that all factions will stay by their allegiances. History shows that the level of intrigue increases with each additional count present. If Stadtler and Roland were to choose to ally with each other instead, the troubles at Waldorf's doorstep would double. Of even greater concern to him is that the seven electors outside his camp are soon to be within hailing distance of each other. So many have not gathered in one place for a century, and should a miracle happen and they agree with one another, they could elect a legitimate emperor among themselves. Waldorf's flimsy claim would collapse entirely."

"Which army is the strongest?"

"They are all strongest, and all weakest at the same time. All state troops are well drilled and equipped. The pikemen of Stirland can weather any cavalry charge. The knightly cavalry of the Reiksguard can outmanoeuvre any company of foot soldiers. The hunters of Hochland can make any forested hill into a fortress with their long bows. From Nuln come rows of arquebusiers who can spit enough thunder and lead to stop any charge in its tracks."

"How then can any be considered weak?"

“You are as inquisitive as a child, Rychek.”

“You told me to blend in.”

"A valid point, Rychek junior. Now attend to your uniform – your cute little bow is untied. As for which troops are weak; great swords and halberdiers can cut through pikes like they are hay for harvest. The Cavalry are but meat for pikes. The hunters, at range, are deadly, but are of no use at all once battle lines engage. The arquebusiers are so slow to reload their hand cannons that a second charge will scatter them, even if it be of house wives. No offence intended to you, Mistress Kroxigor."

"The state troops are too rigid in their doctrine, and each province can field but a few different classes of troops. The reason you see the black companies under my command is that they give some flexibility to the state armies. When the state troops find themselves overmatched, the black troops respond with the appropriate tools."

“So, you are going command these Estalians in the battle, then?”

"No. They know their business and I won't impede them. My role with the black companies is as a broker and paymaster. In fact, I am over-commander of all of the black companies attachd to the Reikland army.”

“We thought that you were just were a jumped up guard,” remarked Joe. “How did you raise an army in the months since we saw you last.”

Mahrlecht gave him a long, hard look. “I have a reputation, some connections and a grasp of simple maths. And being a mercenary commander is a far simpler task than negotiating with a gaggle of merchants, or attempting to get them safely across the wilderness while trying to keep an eye on a band of mutinous lizards.

“My place in the battle ahead is to ride with the house company of Reikland where I will keep an eye on my investment, Count Waldorf. His survival is a condition of my payment. I believe that clause is included in the contract to blunt my desire to stick a dagger between his duplicitous ribs. There he is now - do you see his standard, blue and red? I fear you must accompany me as I tail the coward and his retinue of sycophants around the battlefield."


Edit 23/8/15 - change of Mahrlecht's scope of command.

 

[spawning of Bob]

Chapter 19 The Battle of Altdorf


The first rays of sunlight slanted over Altdorf’s mighty wall and illuminated the field. The River Reik demarcated the northern edge, but it was invisible under a blanket of early morning fog which was reaching with ethereal fingers across the open plain. Bright flashes reflected from the spear heads and armour of the army under Count Roland of Marienburg towards the west as the host of Stirland arrived on cue and set their lines to the south.

Each army had a similar organisation, with the troops loyal to their pretender on the flanks, and those of the allies and mercenaries toward the centre. This arrangement was to make it harder for fair-weather friends to defect mid battle for reasons of political or material gain, and as much as the mercenary commanders wished to keep their precious employers in sight, so also did the electors wish to supervise their hirelings. A hastily negotiated 'battlefield contract' could be arranged whenever someone had their foot on another's throat. The sudden withdrawal or mutiny of a significant tactical element could turn the outcome of a battle in the blink of an eye.

Mahrlect's troops wore blue and red ribbons to match Reikland's heraldry. He had even found spares for Rychek to tie into a new bow. However, it was no secret that each mercenary trooper had a rainbow of extra ribbons in a pouch at his waist. These could be exchanged to match the prevailing winds of fortune at a moment's notice.

The southern provinces’ army, having marched through the night had no desire to open the account. The commanders of the other two armies saw advantage in the exhaustion of the southerners and advanced toward them with the rattle of drums and the bray of bugles. They had no desire to wait until the cannons arrived to give Graf Stadtler the upper hand. Thus the host of Stirland met an army on each flank. Clashing steel, orders and war cries rose in a gradual crescendo. The two attacking forces turned around the pivots on their southern flanks and met each other at the opposite ends of their lines, forming a rough triangle with strife at each vertex.

The battle of Altdorf had begun.



Although each force was engaged on its flanks, the centre of the field was paradoxically clear. No company commander in the centre wished to rush his troops forward to be the first to engage two enemies at once. Even if he had desired such, he would possibly have fallen over the banner carriers and retinues of the elector counts who choked the centre of the field, but seemed incapable of closing beyond sword waving and taunting range.

Practically all battles eventually degenerate into a mad chaos where survival for each individual soldier becomes their only priority. It happened a lot earlier than usual on this day.

The first volley from the arquebusiers of Nuln sent clouds of acrid smoke drifting across the field towards the river fog. The fog and smoke embraced and formed a trist. Under their combined onslaught, the entire field of battle was soon blanketed with curling mists. Each soldier's world was confined to the compatriots at his shoulders and spectral foes who danced at the point of his spear. Their commanders were little better off; they could see the pennants of their allies and foes waving above the murk, but little of their own forces, let alone those of enemy. Almost by chance, the house companies of Reikland and Stirland met astride the Marienburg road. In the disorganized melee, two comrades spied each other.

"Priest Heimlich! What chance brings you here?"

"An ill chance for you, Captain Mahrlect! I see by your colours that we are sworn enemies. Stirland has bought the support of the Cult of Ulric. I was directed to ride with Graf Stadtler, in order to draw the war god's favour upon him. I would prefer that the vile pig drew Morr's attention, but such is life, so to speak."

"I see. As you are on a holy duty, I will spare you your life this day."

Heimlich grinned and held up his fists. Clenched in each was a wolf claw. The curved blades sprouted from between his knuckles, dripping with blood. "And as I know you to be devout, I shall spare you until such time as we can discuss the upstart Sigmar's status as a false god over a tankard of ale, despite your lack of interest in such things."

"You slander me! I have a deep and abiding interest in ale!"

"Begone! Ulric is not known for mercy!"

Mahrlecht laughed. "Friend, I give you this warning in return: You should beware four fierce lizardmen which I seem to have lost hereabouts. I would hate for Ulric to lose his most zealous priest to those cold blooded heathens."

He wheeled his horse and charged into the gloom towards a green and yellow banner which was wobbling nearby.




Despite courting the Wolf God’s blessing, Graf Stadtler had somehow become isolated from his house guard in the fog. The noble was not greatly concerned. He may have been past his prime and horribly overweight, but he trusted his dwarf crafted armour to turn all but the most powerful of blows. In addition, he was armed with the Runefang, 'Orc Hewer' and no armour wrought by man offered protection from the perfect blade. In any case, his house guard would soon rally to his banner. He just needed to find it.

As he cantered blindly through the fog, a vision loomed in front of his horse. It was dressed like unto a fishwife in apron and bonnet, but much larger. Its mouth was wide and studded with gleaming fangs, each as long as a finger. The look in its eyes suggested she was as startled as the graf. Stadtler swore an oath and lunged with his blade. The fishwife monster dodged and responded with the only weapon it had. It flapped its apron.

"Shoo! Shoo!" she cried.

The graf's horse had been trained to hold steady in any battlefield circumstance, but giant lizard women with flapping aprons were beyond its ken. It shied and threw its rider to the ground.

Stadtler grunted and heaved his armoured bulk off the ground. He had only just regained his feet when another horse surged out of the murk. This steed was as baffled by stumbling over an armoured walrus as his own had been at the sight of the lizard lady. It reared, and its black clad rider had no time to control his mount before he too joined the count on the ground.

The graf squinted at the newcomer until a stray sunbeam revealed his colours. He was clad from head to toe in black, aside from his steel cuirass and the ribbons which tied him loosely to Count Waldorf’s camp.

"For Stirland!" Stadtler cried as he clanked towards his foe.

The mercenary shrugged. "For money.” He raised his duelling sword into a fencer's guard.

As the pair clashed it was clear that the mercenary was the superior swordsman, but the count had the upper hand nonetheless. Stadtler barely bothered to parry the man in black’s strikes. Beyond gouging the dark green enamel, the count’s ornate armour suffered no harm. His own blows were slower, but the man in black had no effective protection. A single glancing hit from the runefang would be enough to end the fight.

The man in black quickly switched to probing the joints of Stadtler's armour, whirling in and out of the runefang's reach with his fencer's blade flickering like a snake’s tongue. Fine chainmail lined every chink - there were no weaknesses for a light blade to exploit.

Step by implacable step the count advanced and the mercenary was forced to give ground. The man in black stumbled and Stadtler unleashed a powerful diagonal curving stroke which swept down from above his right shoulder, scored the turf and followed through to above his left. To his surprise, his target was not sliced in two. Indeed the man was a yard further away than where he was meant to be.

Stadtler initiated another wild slice, similar to the last, but this time with his bulky arms locked out at their full reach. The man was in the wrong place again – this time a yard closer than desired. The fencer’s blade intercepted the runefang above head height. Instead of the lighter sword meeting the strength of the graf’s blow with strength, the teasing rapier gave way. It drew the runefang with it, across the line of combat.

As the swords crossed the midline, the man in black pivoted, turning side-on to the graf. He grabbed the bound blades at the point where they crossed with his gloved left hand. With the blades now pinned together and his own hands wide apart he used his superior leverage and rotated the hilt of his own sword forwards and over Stadtler’s forearms. With a final movement he used the leverage of the blades to painfully cross and twist the graf’s wrists. Stadtler was unable to maintain his grip on the runefang's hilt.

Thus did Graf Stadtler of Stirland find himself to be disarmed and at the point of two swords which were held in the hands of a professional killer. A southerly breeze finally arose and began shredding the veil of fog. Stadtler's banner carrier and retinue were near, but not near enough to intervene.

"You have bested me, sir!” Stadtler panted. “As you are clearly a combatant of great worth, I offer double Waldorf's price for your sword... and I would appreciate my own back."

"Double? Surely you jest, Stadtler!" Grand Duke Waldorf and his body guard were also within earshot. As they rode closer the old noble mocked, "My spies have seen inside your treasury, you fat fool. You don’t have enough to pay your arse wiper!"

"What?" A small man wearing a crisp blue uniform shouldered his horse through the contingent of Stirlanders.

A larger black-dressed warrior joined him. "Is this so?"

The graf ignored him. "Waldorf you are a snake! I know you to be no better off. And I know that every one of the electors have bankrupted their provinces to pay for this campaign. This battle is for the Imperial Treasury - it is the last gambit."

"What? Bankrupted?" The black clad fencer wove a rich and textured tapestry of curses and turned away from his captive, tossing the runefang carelessly on the ground. "Run up a flag of truce!" he shouted to no one in particular.

The sullen counts made no objection, but not a stitch of white cloth was to be found among the harlequin like state troopers or a pair of nearby flagellant monks.

"You!" The mercenary captain stabbed a finger at a priest of Ulrik who hung back among Stadtler's guard. "Give them over."

"No! You can't have them! They are of finest Cathayese silk. They cost a pretty penny too!"

“Give them over!”

“I won't. It...it is undignified for one of my station to-"

The swordsman waved his blade menacingly. "I will remove them myself, dog, and possibly neuter you in the process!"

The priest had no option but to sullenly capitulate. "Turn away, you degenerates!" he growled as he coyly removed a pair of silken underhose from beneath his long grey jerkin. They were travel stained and dishevelled, but undeniably white. He snarled as he snatched a lance from a gawping cavalier and skewered them. The improvised pennant was hoisted aloft.

The sun chose this moment to declare victory over the fog and gun smoke. Radiant beams lit the flag and it glowed like a beacon. Had Signor Marcio, the Tilean silk underwear trader, seen it, he would no doubt have wept. With either pride or shame.

No part of the battlefield could miss the signal and its meaning. The lines broke apart and withdrew to a comfortable distance. The state troops had been reluctant combatants anyway, knowing that today's foe may well have become the next day's ally. It didn't make a lot of sense to shed excessive amounts of one’s own blood for a duplicitous count, even if he did style himself to be a ‘noble’. Particularly not when he couldn’t see you shirking on account of a heavy fog.

 

[Scalenex]

This forces me into 3rd person omniscient point of view which I don't want. (I prefer tight 3rd
person even if the PoV jumps around a bit - tight 3rd conveys emotion better IMHO.)

If you really want to do exposition without doing third person omniscient, switch to third person limited on a minor character. For instance, you could switch to third person limited for an advisor to one of the three crown contenders despairing of his master's limited resources and his two powerful rivals. That way you can exposition the three emperors issue while developing and interesting side character.

EDIT: Though chapter 18 does an adequate job. I wrote that comment before reading chapter 18. You've been posting a lot lately. I'll give chapter 19 a looksee later today. Also, there are a few minor typos that need to be polished out of the last few chapters, I'll PM you what I can find at some point.

 

[spawning of Bob]

Thanks Scalenex. If you find all of the typos and respond before anyone else, does that make you First Person Omniscient?

 

[Rednax]

It's almost to good for my brain, it's a close second to bacon?,!!

 

[spawning of Bob]

Chapter 20 The Second Battle of Altdorf


The eleven elector counts, their household guards and their mercenary commanders converged on the radiant under garments. There they found a fuming swordsman, a disgruntled Wolf Priest, two flagellants, and a large scaly fishwife. Her ugly child loitered close by.

Mahrlecht knew all of the commanders of the black companies, some of whom he counted as friends. He took them aside for a moment to inform them of Graf Stadtler’s revelation, then each of them advanced on their employers to confirm their bankruptcy.

The captains were no fools. Despite the nobles’ obfuscations, they perceived that the state of their treasuries must indeed be dire. They withdrew again to discuss their options.

The little man in the blue uniform was the first of the huddle to speak.

“I cannot imagine a greater indignity! They should be put to the sword!”

“Otto, desist. You have no part in this.” The broad mercenary who had heretofore fought under Stirland’s colours gently chided the little man.

“No part, Captain Arnulf? No part? My claim is equal to any of yours, if not greater! I demand recompense in blood for what cannot be paid in gold!”

“Arnulf, who is this fellow?” enquired Captain Mahrlect.

“He is Stadtler’s arse wiper."

Joe ignored the startling revelation and uncharacteristically asked Mahrlecht a relevant question. “What normally happens when mercenaries do not get paid?"

"Normally, brother flagellant, the black companies sack the nearest town, deduct their expenses from their plunder, and donate the rest to local charities. The circumstances are a little exceptional this time, in that our employers seem to have large armies at their disposal, and the nearest town has walls which are thirty feet thick."

"And while you argue over this folly, the tide of Chaos rises. Perhaps you could you could come to another arrangement,” Bob suggested. “Payment in kind, perhaps? Then we can all get back to killing each other.”

The thunder clouds on Captain Mahrlect's brow suddenly cleared and he addressed his fellows. "Brother captains, I have a proposal which might end all of our woes, one way or the other. Back me if it pleases you, but keep your hands close to your swords. Guildsman Otto, with your permission, we will quickly settle the simple matter of three hundred years of civil war first, before moving onto the far more vexing matter of Graf Stadtler’s arse.”

The little man grudgingly acquiesced.

In the meantime, the elector counts had dismounted and were exchanging small talk and faux pleasantries. Despite the awkwardness they felt at their sudden proximity and the anger they felt towards the mercenaries, even they dared not defy the sacred underpants of truce.

Mahrlect strode back to face his debtor, with the other captains and Otto in a row at his back.

"Grand Duke Waldorf, Your Grace does not have enough coin to pay your debt to me. Is that so?"

The old man could not meet Mahrlect's steely grey eyes. "In a manner of speaking, possibly-"

"If I forgave the entire debt, would you yield to me just one item from the entire possession of Reikland?"

"My wife....?" began Waldorf hopefully.

"Not one person, your grace. One item."

Waldorf's face fell then brightened again. Not one single jewel left in his coffers equalled the value of the debt he had accrued. "Gladly! Name your price."

"First, your graces, do you all agree to these terms? I remind that each of you owes a prince's ransom to the creditors who stand before you."

The other electors did their calculations and murmured among themselves.

"Aye," spoke the first. Each of the eleven followed, in order of their mastery of arithmetic.

"Unconditionally?"

The electors impatiently chorused, "Aye!"

"Your graces are wise beyond all expectation. Each creditor's price is the sword that you bear."

Grand Duke Waldorf spluttered, "The Runefang, Dragon-Tooth is an heirloom of my house!"

"No, your grace, it is an heirloom of Reikland and symbol of its rule. Yield it, if you please. I wager I will be a better custodian of it than you."

"And I claim the Orc-Hewer, Graf Stadtler," Arnulf affirmed his claim.

"And I, the Crow-Feeder."

The rest of the black clad officers followed in like fashion.

In a show of unity not seen for over a millennium, the electors scoffed as one. Grand Duke Waldorf of Reikland spoke for them all.

"It is time for your silly prank to end. See that our house guards outnumber you five to one, and that your men are far away."

The electors drew their swords and advanced on the free commanders. Their mounted escorts were poised to assist.

"An interesting gambit..." Arnulf grunted as an aside to Mahrlect, "... which would have worked if any of those reptiles had any honour."

"Careful what you say, warm-blood!"

Arnulf gave the flagellant who had spoken a queer look as he closed ranks with his fellows. He was then surprised to find an adorable baby lizard-thing by his elbow. The creature contradicted its cute appearance by brandishing a pikeman's falchion that it had salvaged from somewhere on the battle field. Its enormous mother stood behind the line and cracked her knuckles with a sound like a fusillade of musketry.

There was no chance that the mercenary commanders and their allies could prevail against the might and number of the electors and their escort. With their backs to the city wall there would be no escape for them either.

Grand Duke Waldorf spoke for the electors again. "As you sell-swords and bandits have demanded payment by the sword, so you shall receive it. Prepare to die like beasts."

The lizard child jumped. "Beasts? Joe, did you relock the zoo cages last night?"

"I don't think so, why do you..."

The infant grinned and emitted a curious warbling whistle. Within seconds he was answered by an uproar from behind the city walls. All manner of exotic winged creatures suddenly burst into view above the parapet before swooping like hawks toward the electors and their house troops.

A moment later, four footed beasts poured from the open city gate, eliciting cries of alarm from the guards positioned there. Fleet wolves joined the melee first, but they were soon joined by leopards, lions, hyenas, stags, ibex, wild boar and aurochs. Smaller creatures such as porcupine and ferrets scurried frantically to stay out from under the feet of those and other creatures far less mundane.

A wing of wild pegasi thundered under the gate arch, finally finding the space to spread their vast wings, while a cow rhinox shouldered through a clutch of demigryphs in its eagerness to scatter the house guards’ horses. Even before the charge crashed home, the knights were already routed.

The child waved his claws like a maestro leading a musical ensemble. The wolves especially were adept at splitting weak animals from a herd. The beastmaster merely redirected their abilities to splitting unmounted electors from their guard. The other beasts and birds drove the house guard horses into a hysterical panic and they irretrievably fled the field.

The isolated counts still fancied their chances against the lightly armoured mercenaries until the late arrival of the imperial gryphon. Its bronze wings overshadowed the group of counts and, as it swooped to the ground, its downdraft knocked some of them off their feet.

Grand Duke Waldorf found himself face down in the turf. As it was a struggle for the old man to rise under the weight of his armour he eventually accepted assistance from a black gloved hand. However, the hand let go prematurely, leaving the duke on his knees. It did not, however, withdraw fully. Instead it hovered in front of Waldorf’s face, palm upwards.

With a snarl, the Grand Duke raised his runefang sword. He intended to strike the hand from Captain Mahrlect's arm until a low rumble gave him pause.

Upon raising his visor and looking around he discovered that his fellow nobles were disarmed and kneeling in a row. Around them patrolled the clutch of feisty demigryphs. Whenever any of the counts stirred or raised his voice, one of the monsters would whirl and screech at him with displeasure.

The wolf pack was nearby, panting and reclining on the cool grass. Herbivorous animals were ravenously cropping grass and the rest were merely enjoying the feel of sunshine on their hides. The devil baby who had commanded the beasts was basking in the sun chewing on a grass stalk. Further back, his enormous mother was ineffectually trying to shoo away a pair of skunks with her apron.

In front of the humbled peers, ten black clad and freshly elevated elector counts admired their new weapons.

Grand Duke Waldorf looked up in appeal at Mahrlect, but the captain had nothing but steel in his grey eyes. The mercenary was flanked by two cowled flagellant monks, one of whom swung a smoking chain mace hypnotically back and forth, like the pendulum of a clock ticking off the remaining seconds of a man's life.

The real reason that the grand duke was now measuring his life in seconds rather than years was because of the imperial gryphon which was awfully close by. It had resumed its usual business of grooming, with one claw lifted so it could nibble at the feathers on the inside of its raised forelimb. Perhaps it tickled, or it may have been a reflex of some sort, but the thing's scything talons reflexively opened and shut with a sound like an enormous set of shears.

Grand Duke Waldorf, Elector of Reikland reversed his grip on the sword and gracelessly proffered the hilt to Captain Mahrlect.

The captain's lock on Waldorf's eyes did not waver. "I am pleased that this business is concluded, citizen."

Elector Count Mahrlect stepped away to consult with his brother electors, but the gryphon stayed in place. It shifted its overweening attention to a troublesome bronze pinion.

A Wolf Priest of Ulrik, still bearing the fluttering underpants of truce, jogged over to join the new electors. He had no fear of the beasts, least of all the wolf pack which yawned and lolled lazy pink tongues at him.

"Well met, Your Graces. This is a pretty row of birds for your aviaries! I wish to inform you that your new officers have bravely elected to stand over yonder. It seems that some have an allergy to fur and feathers."

The officers that Heimlich referred to were the command and signal companies of the state armies.

Waldorf risked an outburst. "My faithful troops will not stand for this! Once they learn of this mutiny they will throw you down like the commoner filth you are!" He would have added more, had not a huge taloned claw languidly swished over his head. All of his ostentatious helmet feathers were snicked off and they fluttered to the ground around him.

Mahrlect responded in mock affront. "Commoner filth? I am of an ancient and noble family. My elder brother, Arschloch, chose to take up the cloth of priesthood and ceded me his title. I am therefore the Graf, Mahrlecht von Bildhoven of Nuln, and I deem it likely that your loyal troops may lose interest in your welfare when they learn that you cannot afford to pay their wage."

He turned his back on the old man. “Come fellows,” he addressed the new electors, “let us find our generals and put an end to this pointless war."

 

[Slanputin]

You've posted far too much to read in a few days...

 

[spawning of Bob]

It's about priorities.

 

[Slanputin]

Re: Ch 18.

“He’s from Barcelona,” Mahrlecht explained.

Needs to be more 'warhammery'. Perhaps, "Barsellonya" or given the bleating, "Baacelona", or, looking at current game trends, "Sigmarona".

. As for which troops are weak; great swords and halberdiers can cut through pikes like they are hay for harvest. The Cavalry are but meat for pikes. The hunters, at range, are deadly, but are of no use at all once battle lines engage. The arquebusiers are so slow to reload their hand cannons that a second charge will scatter them, even if it be of house wives

Oh, so it's like Pokemon then? Does that explain you hat?

 

[spawning of Bob]

Troglodon, I CHOOSE YOU!

 

[spawning of Bob]

Chapter 21 The Silver Fleet


The generals of the various state armies had worked alongside, if a little aloof from the new elector counts, so at least introductions for their new overlords weren’t required. Foprtunately, what was likely to be a long and complicated explanation of the reason for their sudden elevation from bastard sell-swords to commanders-in-chief was cut short by the appearance of an exhausted rider.

He had galloped in from the from the direction of Marienburg. As Heimlich's pennant was the only flag visible, he spurred his foam flecked horse to the cluster of commanders and electors. He didn’t see Count Roland therefore he gave his report to all present.

"Sirs, A fleet of war comprising ninety-four sloops and fifty-eight larger vessels sailed through Marienburg harbour early on the morn two days ago. Relay riders of the Imperial Fast Courier Service have raced them all the way up the Reik. I myself saw them at dawn, passing Frederheim. The silver ships are fast. I only beat them here because the road cuts off a loop of the river.”

“Who are they?” one of the new counts demanded. “What colours do they fly?”

“They sail under a blue dragon on a silver field. The vessels did not respond when hailed.”

“Did they attack the city... Erm, my city, Marienburg?” asked Oswin, new elector of the Westerland.

“No sir, they passed through the Neck without incident. They have not made landfall since.”

“Where were the fire arrows of the Reik’s Port Sea Guard in all of this?” he thundered.

“They are over yonder, sir - I passed the Sea Guard not two minutes ago. I believe they were placing bets on the duration of this peace. Only the town watch and veterans guard remain in Marienburg."

“Thank you, courier.” One of the other electors forestalled further interrogation. “You must be weary. Return to the Altdorf courier depot with my commendation.”

“Mahrlecht! Now we have trouble.” One of the monks tugged the graf’s sleeve.

“Bob - Brother Bob, kindly cease misusing my name.”

“No I mean, captain... Graf Mahrlecht, look!”

A triangular silver sail had appeared around the river bend, barely four miles distant. The sail was soon joined by a flotilla of upthrust argent shards.

“A fleet that size – what did he say? Over six score ships - it could hold ten thousand men,” grunted Elector Arnulf of Stirland. “We should fortify the river bank before they can debark.”

Graf Mahrlecht shook his head. “Apart from my reluctance to fight in three separate battles before luncheon, if we secure the south bank, they could choose to disembark on the north and assault the city from there. Or they could simply sail past us and into Altdorf itself. We must withdraw into the city else they cut us off and leave us here twiddling our thumbs while the city burns. Who could they be? Norscans?”

“I think not, Mahrlecht. The Norscans run a square rig. They would need to use their oars to make way this close to the wind.” Oswin had plenty of knowledge of sea warfare from his pirate days. He also now commanded the Empire’s navy, given that Marienburg was the only sea port of significance. “I’ve never seen the like of their tackle. I’ve heard that the Druchii of Naggaroth run a similar lateen-rig, but their sails are said to be made from the skin of prisoners, dyed black.”

“We can’t stand about and speculate. You,” Mahrlecht singled out a man with a white healer’s skull cap from amongst the Reikland command group. “Attend our wounded.”

“Your Grace.” The healer nodded and ambled off, followed by two orderlies who strained to carry his field dressings and tools of trade in two large cases. As he looked about for wounded troops from Reikland, he stepped over the moaning form of a knight of Averland. The injured man had fallen heavily before being trampled by a savage and deranged red panda in the earlier engagement.

“Healer! Come back here!”

The man stepped back over the knight and returned to Graf Mahrlecht. “Yes, your Grace?”

The graf rattled the healer’s teeth with a stinging slap on the cheek. “Attend all of our wounded.”

“Y... Your Grace,” the healer blinked away the water that welled in his eyes and fled to the knight’s side.

“What are we to do now?” asked Elector Arnulf into the air.

Mahrlecht replied without hesitation and at some length, pacing rapidly back and forth as he did so.

“Detach three companies of heavy cavalry. They are to be a mobile rear-guard. They must not engage the enemy unless it is to defend our retiring infantry from imminent attack.
“All wounded are to be evacuated immediately to the Reiks Barracks. Once they are clear of the field, we will perform an orderly withdrawal. The forces nearest the river will enter the Marienburg gate first, and then those progressively nearer the gate with the Reikland contingent entering last.
"Please convey my apologies to the troops of the southern provinces. I appreciate that they have marched through the night, but they must march a little further to enter via the southern gate, else we cause a bottle neck here. The Arquebusiers of Nuln, however, are the exception. After the wounded, they must have priority of entry by the Marienburg gate.”

Mahrlecht paused. “Have we any word yet of the cannon?”

"No sir."

“Captain Bauernretter of Wissenland, isn’t it? Commandeer some mule teams from the city and go hurry them along. I want cannonade on these walls by nightfall, if not sooner.

Bauernretter saluted and went to find his horse and his squadron of medium cavalry. Mahrlecht continued to lay out his plans.

“The Hochland Wald-Jaegers are to be deployed as scouts in the forest at the river bend. They are to give half hourly reports on the composition and disposition of our mysterious visitors. Light cavalry will secure their rear and act as couriers. Messages are to be ridden through the south gate and to a command point which we will establish on Heldenhammer Grand Allee. The scouts should withdraw immediately if they are at risk of being surrounded, and they must loose no stray arrows. Their mission is intelligence gathering not harassment.
“Now, to the defence of the city. For a start, the river gates must be raised. Set the flags of the signals corps above each gate, and at intervals around the walls and on prominent buildings in the city. Any intelligence is to be relayed to the command point.
“The north bank of the river is rocky and forested. Our guests will have trouble deploying a sizeable force there. The civil guard can man the north wall with reinforcement by three companies of crossbowmen from Ostermark. If the north comes under serious assault we can ferry reserves across the river as needed. It is more likely that they will assemble their formations on the greensward where we now stand.
“I want a triple line of arquebusiers over the gates, then position crossbow and longbow companies between the remaining gunners until the cannons arrive. Gunnery Sergeant Burkhart of Nuln is to direct the fields of fire from atop the wall. He will require a loosener as he has a terrible fear of heights. Strong brandy is best.
“All of the remaining heavy cavalry, and half of the light are to marshal outside the south gate. They are to be ready to sortie into the opponent's flank on my signal. After the withdrawal from the field is complete, the three rear-guard companies of heavy cavalry should retire through this gate to be held in reserve. After the gate is closed behind them, the Reiks-battalion will set their halberds behind the gate for two hours, after which we shall rotate in other heavy infantry companies at two hour intervals to be the next layer of defense if the gate falls.”

Elector Mahrlecht stopped pacing and looked around. Decorated generals, field marshals and elector counts all regarded him in awestruck silence. Arnulf closed his gaping mouth with an audible clop.

"Or at least, I think that might be a good thing to do... just a suggestion really. What do you think, good sirs?"

The commanders all broke their silence at once, assuring him that the plan would be adequate. They hurried to relay every detail of his orders.

"Excuse me..."

Mahrlecht tracked the tentative voice to a row of dethroned electors who were kneeling in the midst pack of wild beasts.

"What is to become of us?"

"Why citizens, you are free to return to your estates. You have no business here."

The humiliated noblemen staggered to their wobbly legs and ran the gauntlet of hungry eyes back towards the city.

This left the new elector of Reikland standing alone on the field of the first victory of his reign. Alone, apart from a preening gryphon, a menagerie of wild beasts and four disguised lizardmen.

“What just happened?” asked Joe. “First you were a jumped up guard, then an army commander and now a prince or something. Empire politics is complicated.”

“No no, Brother Joe. It is quite simple…” Mahrlecht paused for a bit. “Actually, it is very complicated and in need of reform. When the first Emperor led the tribes to the aid of the dwarfs, the dwarfs gave he and the other chiefs runed swords. These were a symbol of their eternal alliance. From that time, the rightful owner of a runefang is also the rightful ruler of the corresponding province. This is the Dragon-Tooth, forged by Alaric the Mad and gifted to the first Emperor himself.

He stopped and looked at his new sword for the first time. The jewelled pommel and beautifully tooled two-handed hilt were the least extraordinary parts of it. The broad, forty five inch blade showed no evidence of the passage of time. Indeed, not a single nick or blemish from the last two thousand years marred the surface. On casual inspection, it seemed that the flats of the blade were an unembellished mirror finish, but when the sunlight caught them, dwarfish runes shimmered with a silver fire. Despite the runefang’s great length, it felt lighter, better balanced and more lively in his hand than his much smaller duelling sword.

Joe doggedly continued in his quest for slightly reduced ignorance. “So, who was this first Emperor?”

“Joe, did you learn nothing in three months of blending in with Order of Purity, the harshest sect of God-Emperor Sigmar. He was the first emperor and his symbol is the twin tailed comet, which is represented at the end of your flail.”

Joe examined the brass orb with its two smoke emitting ports. “I was wondering what that was about.”

“You were wondering what that was about? Did you not also wonder about the beatings, the ascetism, the chanting - Pié Sigmar dominé, dona éis requiem?”

Joe and Bob both automatically lashed themselves at the sound of the prayer.

“This is going to be a hard habit to break if you keep saying that,” said Bob through clenched teeth, “and blending in does go a lot easier if you don’t ask too many questions.”

“I have a question,” piped Rychek.

“Naturally,” sighed Mahrlecht.

“What is to become of them?" Rychek indicated the liberated animals. "They can't stay here if we are going to get invaded, and they can’t return to the zoo. It is like a dungeon."

Mahrlecht considered the options. “Take them into the city to Locanda Park, near the Imperial Plaza. The gardens are large and there are some out-buildings to provide shelter. Settle your terrifying brood there, but keep them away from the lake: the geese are a menace."

"My thanks, that should do nicely. What are you going to do about the eagles?" Rychek pointed up.

The noonday sun dazzled Mahrlecht's eyes. "Eagles?"

"Large eagles have been circling over us since the fog lifted. They fly near to the sun so they can't be seen easily. Every now and then - there - one breaks away. It will descend behind that hill and then fly low to the biggest boat. All of your movements are being observed by whoever is in charge over there. I wouldn't trust to surprise if you are considering a counter attack or something sneaky."

The graf squinted at the birds. “If we are to have an audience, I hope the grand army of the Empire will put on a convincing performance.”

Mahrlecht needn’t have been concerned. The incident with the healer, and the apparent competence of the new electors had a galvanising effect on the state troops. They stood taller and prouder than before. If he had hoped for an orderly withdrawal, he was in for a surprise.

What he got instead was drill and manoeuvre worthy of a state occasion.

In the meantime, the silver ships continued to slide silently around the river bend. The figures aboard gleamed white and silver, but Mahrlecht could make out no further details. At a point equidistant between the city walls and the forest bounds, the ships dropped anchor.

The unknown army began to put ashore.

 

[Scolenex]

Really like that you added High Elves into chapter 21.

After chapter 20, I was worried that you were getting ready to give this novel a swift and conclusive ending...

 

[spawning of Bob]

High Elves?. Is that what they are? I was in a state of suspense for a while there.

How can one panda be so handsome and intelligent at the same time?

Or was that Scalenex?

 

[spawning of Bob]

Chapter 22 The Ersatz Gambit


By the second watch of the afternoon all of the defenders of Altdorf were in place, with the exception of the cannons of Nuln. The eleven black clad elector counts watched the cavalry rearguard through the Marienburg gate and were themselves the last to enter. The tall gates closed and a team of swearing navvies hefted three huge oaken bars into their cradles. Once they were in place, other men soaked the timbers of the gates with buckets of water. The city was sealed and ready for a siege.

The unknown force had used the time they had been permitted to establish a beachhead. Even though barely a third of the ships had emptied there were already two thousand infantry and three hundred horse ashore. They no longer made a secret of the great eagles and even larger birds which circled lazily over the city like vultures over a dying Arabyan.

The command of Altdorf's defence defaulted to Graf Mahrlecht as he was the Elector of Reikland. The other electors and their commanders stood grimly by and offered no challenge to his recently assumed authority. Overall, the Graf had been pleased by the orderly withdrawal and adherence to his orders. He had never seen state troops move with such purpose and discipline. The arquebusiers and archers found their positions and defined their fields of fire with equal efficiency. When he examined the courtyard behind the gates he was less pleased.

"What are these doing here?" he demanded of the gate captain. He pointed at a row of long metal cylinders lining the roadway.

"They are pipes, Your Grace. The sewers under the street are under repair."

"I can see they are pipes," replied Mahrlecht caustically. "Why are they endangering the footing of our soldiers and horses? Get them moved to one side."

The captain barked orders and the gate navvies found they had more to swear about.

"Your Honour?" A grizzled veteran wearing the turquoise of Marienburg had broken away from his squad and stood to his version of attention, wringing his cap nervously in his hands.

"To whom do I speak?"

"Corporal Salzenpfeffer of the Rijkspoort Marines, your excellentness." The discomfited corporal attempted a salute.

"Report, marine."

"I've seen a ship like those before, your honour. As a lad I stowed away on an Estalian galley and we were blown far out into the Great Ocean and ended up being pursued by a Naggarothi Corsair. Even under oars, we couldn't pull away. The black raiders were making ready to board. All of a sudden, one of these silver ships swept in like it was racing a gale, but it was making way against the wind. It sliced right through the beam of the corsair and kept sailing. High Elves, they were. Out of their port on ‘Elfuan’, according to the mate."

"These are High Elves, and their ships have battering rams?"

"More like battering blades, your honour. Your river gates may not withstand them."

The river gates were not gates, as such. They were spiked logs linked by chains to massive capstans which were built into the city wall on each side of the river. Usually the chains were slackened off and the barrier rested on the river bottom. When the chains were hauled in, the logs rose to be just below the water line. Any vessel attempting to force passage would either run aground on them or pierce its hull on the spikes.

"Thank-you, Corporal Salzenpfeffer. Hasten back to your commanding officer and request him to detach three sections for your command. Go then to the western docks and commandeer some river barges. Prepare them as fire ships and stand by for further orders. Do you think three will suffice to protect the span of the river?"

"Aye, your honour." The corporal trotted away with the broad based gait of an inveterate sailor.

"Signaller!"

The signal corps had set up a post directly above the gate, and a network of others around the city. Communication was by means of semaphore flags by day and coloured lanterns by night. The signaller and his spotter leaned over the parapet.

"Yes , Sir?"

"Inform the command companies that we face elves. If they are like their woodland kin, they will be excellent marksmen and they will have battle mages among them. For the former have the companies reconfigure with shields to the front, for the latter… where are the cannon?"

A dispatch rider who had been lurking close by stepped forwards anxiously.

"Word has come back to the Nuln gate. The Artillery Brigadier ordered his men to save time by taking his cannon on a short cut through the Reikwald Forest. The last report is that the gun carriages became bogged, and the guns were being unlimbered to be dragged out by hand. Artillery Lieutenant Bullenscheisse, who was in charge of the munitions wagons ignored the brigadier's orders and continued the longer way along the road. The powder and shot are at the Reiksdepot as we speak."

"What use are powder and shot without the cannon?"

The dispatcher licked his lips nervously and pretended he had not heard the question.

"Bah! How near are the elves?"

He directed this last question to a signaller on the gate tower above.

"The elf front line has stopped at six hundred paces, Sir. A score of ballistae have been dragged to the front."

"Gunnery Sergeant Burkhart! Are we within range of their ballistae?"

Another face peeked over the parapet beside the signaller, then pulled back quickly with an oath.

"Verena's Swinging Scales! Let me come down, you villain."

The Graf ignored the outburst. "Are we in range of their ballistae?"

"They wouldn't have bothered elevating them if we weren't in range, now would they? For the sake of Morr's Hoary Balls let me down." The sergeant continued with other blasphemous and inventive oaths.

The Graf did not allow him to leave his post, but he did send a junior officer to replenish the sergeant's brandy flask.

Arnulf muttered, "They are too close. They could pick us off the walls, or set the city aflame. We've nothing to answer them."

"Aye. They are too close." Graf Mahrlecht's eyes lit on the dispatcher, still standing at attention.

"Where is this Artillery Lieutenant Bullenscheisse now?"

"In the Reiks' Barracks brig, sir. He's on a charge for disobeying his commanding officer, mutiny, desertion, and general scruffiness in uniform."

"Have him brought to me. I wish to use the undisciplined wretch as an example and a deterrent. Elector Wesslich,” Mahrlecht turned towards a man in black, “did you get Wissenland? I can't remember."

"I think so. Why do you ask?"

"May I have permission to deal with this wretched officer as I see fit?"

"As you wish." Wesslich bowed.




The Artillery Lieutenant was dragged before the Graf a short time later. He shook his arms free of his escort and stood to attention, swallowing nervously. He was a tall young and gangly young man and he looked as if he had been dragged through a hedge. His grey and white pied tunic was unbuttoned, his boots were scuffed and his cap had been lost. A mop of black hair trailed across his eyes and his Adam's apple bobbled up and down like a childs toy on a string.

Mahrlecht circled him like a wolf, noting every blemish.

"Why did you disobey a direct order?"

"It was a foolish order. Sir."

"Look at you. You are a disgrace to the Empire." The Graf did up the Lieutenant’s top button. "Do you even have a clean pocket handkerchief?"

The artilleryman began to look genuinely anxious. He withdrew a rag from the pocket of his hose. "I needed to clean a cannon touch-hole..."

Mahrlecht snarled and dashed the filthy cloth out of his hand. "What would mother say?"

The Lieutenant shuddered. "I dread to think."

The Graf took a clean handkerchief from his own tunic and pressed it furtively into the gunnery officer’s hand. "Take mine."

In a louder voice he declared, "Artillery Lieutenant Bullenscheisse, you are seconded to the Reiks' Guard. Your new rank is Ersatz Artillery Brigadier."

“What? Doesn't ersatz mean fake?”

Graf Mahrlecht indicated the cast iron sewer pipes which were now stacked neatly against the wall.

"Here are your ersatz cannons. Get them emplaced on the wall on blocks of wood, sacks of flour, whatever you can find. Plug the ends, then make a great show of filling them with powder and shot."

Bullenscheisse gasped. "That is madness. If I fire them, their mouths will spit flames and the plug and most of the charge will be blasted back into the city!"

"If you need to fire them, the city is already lost." The Graf pointed upwards. "Make it convincing. Observation is not the same as intelligence."

The Ersatz Artillery Brigadier peered upwards at an eagle that flew low enough that its elven rider could be seen. He then snapped off a salute which was blemished only by the handkerchief that he still had clutched in his grubby hand.




As soon as the first of the ersatz cannon were positioned on the battlements, a large shadow swept low over the wall. The creature banked sharply west and beat its huge wings all the way back to the Elven lines.

Mahrlecht turned to Heimlich, who still possessively guarded his precious, white-ish pennant.

"That wasn't an eagle, was it?"

"No," the Wolf Priest sulked, "It was a dragon with rider."
"That is not encouraging."



The dragon rider must have given a report of the sudden appearance of the Bullenscheisse Cannon. The elves immediately drew their lines back by three hundred paces. The ballistae were also dragged back, beyond their effective range.

A short time later the signaller called down with a new report.

"Three elves are coming towards the gate."

"Are they under a flag of truce?" Mahrlecht demanded.

"They carry no banner. Their weapons are sheathed, but all three carry staves. They wear silver and gold scale-and-plate armour and cloaks of blue, gold and red."

"Do not hail them. I would have them declare their intent. Also, spread this word along the wall. Any fool who discharges his weapon without my explicit order will have his guts decorating all five gates of the city before night fall."

 

[Scalenex]

Corporal Salzenpfeffer

As someone moderately fluent in German. I can see what you are trying to do. I believe puns lose power when they have to be translated.

I really liked the ersatz commander bit. It carried the chapter.

 

[spawning of Bob]

They are just names, because characters need names. If you decipher a deeper meaning, it is an Easter Egg just for you, but the name gags aren't meant to carry the story (with three exceptions)

 

[spawning of Bob]

On the Use of Ersatz and other such Bullenscheisse, I am of course aware that fluent and native German speakers are among the potential audience. If there is one of you out there, I would like your opinion about whether the joke names are still jokey, or if they give away too much of the plot (I have a character whose name means "betrayer" - guess how he will turn out....)

 

[Scalenex]

(I have a character whose name means "betrayer" - guess how he will turn out....)

He will be a staunch loyalist?

 

[Scolenex]

On the Use of Ersatz and other such Bullenscheisse, I am of course aware that fluent and native German speakers are among the potential audience. If there is one of you out there, I would like your opinion about whether the joke names are still jokey, or if they give away too much of the plot (I have a character whose name means "betrayer" - guess how he will turn out....)

He will be a staunch loyalist?

Come on you two! Stop talking about the craft of fiction, and start writing fiction.

 

[spawning of Bob]

You are an impatient panda - I have been fictioning 'til my fingers bleed this last two weeks.

It is with bloody stumps that I post the next chapter of... what was I going on about this time?