Mordheim 2019 – I dream of violence yet uncommitted

They set out from Altdorf full of pride full of mania and blood thirst an expedition to reclaim that which belonged to their prince and to drive back the heathen and the renegade brother electors. They rode east into the crimson sunrise to filibuster for Reikland and they fought and bleed and dried until only a few hundred men remained when they crossed into the frozen wasteland of Kislev and they were no longer soldiers they were marauders, border reivers and scalp hunters. This was the end of them as men of doubtful honours and their rebirth as deranged killers.


His eyes were like dried grapes ready to implode into his hollow skull. He could barely breath and his heart would not commit to a steady beat. Yet he tried to move his body beneath what felt like an age worth of dust and ash. His god was not there, this was not an age of Sigmar but an age of Darkness. Tears carved canyons down his dirt cheeks as he once more grabbed his crossbow and pulled himself from the ground and hardened the remnants of his heart. Death was not the end merely an other step in an endless march.


His comrades would not meet his raving glance they would not eat with him nor would they share his shelter. They envied him and they feared the angels that walked with him ever since the frigid hills. Ever since the petty gods had descended upon the company in atavistic fury. Now he was blessed among men the Lion of Sigmar king in a vermilion kingdom of claw and fang and he would have his meat.


The Reikmarshall looked upon his men as they shrugged of years of dust and cobweb to follow him. They were behind life and death as they walked through the valleys of death and found them empty and deserted. Mordheim was their home now and it was a silent tomb filled with ghosts and the echoes of crying. How had he ever fallen this far from the light of Altdorf. He should lead armies not scavenger cannibals that were barely human in any sense of the word. He was doomed and he did not even know his greatest sin.


Who knew what had driven them to join the doomed filibuster expedition. Greed and hatred and old debt and the cold iron of the press gang’s manacles. Men and women forced to leave their half lives behind and cast themselves into the meat grinder of the eternal civil war. They prayed to their gods but their cries were cast into the silent abyss and if something noticed their petty begging it paid them no heed.

The Empire is burning in the strange fires of war conquest pestilences and death is never far away. This is the final years of mankind. Soon the world will drown in Chaos.








-Alexander Winberg-

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