Warhammer Fantasy:Steel and gunpowder

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Sommerzeit 2th ,2488 IC

"Hold your ground and stay in formation! The beastmen are no match for the brave men of the Empire!" I shouted as another horde of those abominations emerged from the trees, howling like rabid dogs.

With a mix of pikes at the front, swordsmen on the flanks, and crossbowmen at the rear, we pushed slowly but steadily through the forest, always choosing clearings where we could maneuver and maintain discipline.

So far, we had slaughtered several small groups of gors and ungors hunting in the woods. Some wore tattered Imperial armor stained with mud and dried blood. Others still had strips of human skin hanging from their leather belts. One even wore an Imperial helmet, poorly fitted over his deformed snout.

In one clearing, a group of fifteen beastmen charged us at once. They bellowed with rage, frothing at the mouth, raising rusted axes and splintered swords high above their heads. The pikemen, perfectly formed, braced their pikes into the ground. The line didn't move.

There was only the sound of steel meeting flesh.

Several ungors were impaled completely, skewered from gut to spine in a single blow. Their flesh tore as they struggled to pull free, only to drive the shafts deeper. A larger gor was caught with one pike through his thigh and another between his ribs, squealing like a slaughtered pig as he tried to bite through the shaft.

Those who didn't die on impact were left hanging like butchered animals—grotesquely impaled, convulsing as blood poured from their mouths. Some of my men-at-arms flanked and finished them with thrusts to the heart or the base of the skull.

One of my soldiers, covered in viscera, raised his sword after slicing open a gor's belly. The entrails spilled out with a wet, sickening splatter, the stench so foul that a few younger troops vomited on the spot.

We kept moving. The vibration of iron through my senses led me to an even denser concentration. After crossing a muddy slope, we found what looked like their main camp: an open hollow before a cave.

It was an infernal sty.

Piles of human and animal bones were scattered across the ground, mixed with excrement, feathers, dried blood, and knife marks carved into opened skulls. Human skin had been stretched like leather over rotten wooden frames. A cow's head with several knives stuck in it served as a makeshift altar. The stench was unbearable.

Several of my men covered their noses. Others stared with grim expressions.

I quickly noticed most of the camp's population had already fallen in the earlier clashes. Only a handful of gors and ungors remained—clearly younger than those who had ambushed us. Many still lacked chest hair or bore no ritual scars.

"Form up in the center of the camp! Crossbowmen, ready your weapons!" I ordered without hesitation.

As one, my troops moved into position. The men-at-arms formed a compact wall of shields and pikes, while the crossbowmen took position behind with bolts loaded.

The remaining beastmen, desperate and furious, charged mindlessly. One after another, they fell—impaled by pikes or shot through the skull or gut. One tried to dodge and got tangled in the bodies of his kin, earning a clean stab to the throat. His blood sprayed the face of the man-at-arms who finished him, who didn't even flinch.

The ground turned into a mix of mud and black blood. The air grew thick with the scent of rusted iron and torn flesh.

We advanced toward the center of the camp, maintaining formation. Each step left behind deformed corpses, disemboweled bodies, and the remnants of profane rituals. The screaming stopped. Silence fell suddenly. An uneasy silence—as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Then came the roar.

I turned toward the sound—and saw him.

A massive gor, nearly three meters tall, emerged from the cave entrance. His body was covered in scars, skin stretched over muscles taut as cables. He wielded two enormous axes, one in each hand, still dripping with old blood. Hanging from his belt were human skulls, some with tufts of hair and skin still attached. Across his chest, he wore a dented, rusted plate armor, marked with the sigil of Khorne.

The creature stared at us with eyes red as burning coals.

"Scheiße..." I muttered, pistol already in hand. That cursed spawn was the leader.

"PIKEMEN, PIVOT! CROSSBOWMEN, ON MY MARK!" I shouted, just as the monster let out another savage roar and began its charge. The creature hurled itself toward us with inhuman speed, roaring as if driven by the unholy god himself.

The beast smashed into the pike wall like a demonic ram. With its axes, it shattered several pikes in the first swing, splintering wood and cracking iron through brute strength. But broken shafts were quickly replaced, and the soldiers held the line, pushing forward.

"Flank him! Don't give him a second to breathe!" I yelled at Rudolf, who was already moving on the left.

The massive gor, now soaked in his own blood, kept fighting—cleaving through spears, driving his axes into shields, closing the distance more and more. Shallow cuts crisscrossed his flesh; deep wounds bled from his shoulders and thighs, but still he pressed on.

We surrounded him, closed ranks around him—but still he did not yield.

From the rear, I kept trying to reload and fire my arquebus whenever I had the chance. One bullet hit his head… and bounced. Another struck his chest… the armor cracked, but held.

At last, I managed to shoot him in the neck, ripping out a deeper, guttural howl that made nearby horses rear in fright.

But then everything fell apart.

The beast, still bleeding from hundreds of cuts, finally closed the distance. With a violent swing of its axe, it decapitated a soldier—his head flew like a ripe melon. The next was cleaved from shoulder to hip, a stream of hot blood drenching the three pikemen beside him. Terror nearly broke the formation.

"HOLD THE LINE!!" I roared.

Then, a spear—thrust from a blind angle and pierced just behind the gor's knee, tearing through tendons. The monster dropped to its knees with a guttural, furious roar.

"REFORM THE LINE!! KILL IT!!" I shouted immediately.

Like a net of steel, the soldiers surrounded the creature. Pikes and spears jabbed from all angles, sinking into its tough flesh, piercing ribs, shoulders, back. The beast kept swinging, trying to kill with its last breath, but it had no strength left. Every movement slowed. Every roar faded.

At last, what felt like an eternity ended when the monstrous bestman collapsed, a final breath escaping as a dull grunt before its body trembled… and went still.

"Don't touch anything!" I barked, seeing a few men step forward to finish it off. Silence fell instantly.

"Just burn the body. And secure the area… I don't want anyone setting foot near that corpse until a priest is brought in. This reeks of a site of unholy worship," I said, pointing my spear toward the cave entrance from which the leader had emerged.

I dismounted. The smell from inside was damp… and rotting. With a dozen men-at-arms, I advanced toward the entrance. My senses—sharpened from practice with the winds of Chamon—immediately alerted me: irregular iron vibrations, faint movements… someone was inside.

One of my men lit a torch. We stepped into the cave without a word. Each step echoed off the stone, and the stench grew more unbearable with every breath.

As we advanced, the floor became uneven and slick. The walls bore marks of dried blood, bone fetishes, human skin stretched like trophies. In a wider chamber, a pile of human skulls rose against one wall.

"How quaint," I said coldly, raising an eyebrow at the carefully stacked white skulls.

We pushed deeper, until at the very end we found them: a small group of beastwomen, hunched and cowardly… and human women. All of them visibly pregnant.

"These abominations nourish the ranks of the filth that plagues our lands," I murmured, observing them. Some of the human women already bore signs of corruption—evident in their eyes and skin. The beastwomen tried to hide, retreating into the darkness, whimpering like wounded animals.

But I didn't see victims. I saw incubators of future horrors.

"Kill them all. Then burn the bodies. Leave nothing standing," I ordered, turning sharply and walking out of the cave. Behind me, the echo of steel against flesh rang out briefly—followed by muffled screams… and then, only silence.

Once the hunt at this location was complete, we felled trees to start burning all the beasts' corpses.

It took us a couple of hours to gather all the bodies. The pile was grotesque: twisted limbs, broken horns, splintered ribs. Black flesh slick with drying blood, still warm. The pyre rose like a monument to extermination. We kept tossing logs onto the flames, and soon the fat from the corpses began to feed the fire on its own.

"Seems you've done a fine job, honorable baron," said a voice… that voice.

I turned sharply. It was the priest of Sigmar. I hadn't seen him arrive.

My left hand flew to the amulet hidden beneath my armor, brushing the small pendant that contained my magical signature. My right moved to the runic bracelet that masked the same.

"Uh… ah… well…" I stammered, evaluating every possibility. Silence him. Make him disappear. Fabricate an accusation.

"I believe so… servant of Sigmar. The beasts that haunted these lands have fallen… though not without the blood of righteous men," I finally said, trying to sound solemn while my mind coldly calculated scenarios.

"There's no need to be nervous." The priest smiled. He placed his hand on my shoulder. "Your father would be proud of what you've done today. With the death of a wargor, this forest may know peace for a while… if you continue to act under Sigmar's will."

Then he withdrew his hand and nodded with respect.

"Now it's my turn. I'll perform the rituals to purify this land, if you'll allow it, baron."

I nodded silently, saying nothing. I watched him walk toward the pyre with his prayer book and censer.

"He didn't notice?" I murmured. "I think not… this elven trinket works," I whispered, touching my chest. I stood still as the priest began his litany.

I took a deep breath. I hadn't felt fear like that since I heard the drone buzz that claimed my life and brought me here.

Much more confident now—knowing my amulets could shield me from the priest's detection magic or Chaos-sensing charms—I remained a silent observer as everything was burned. The beastmen's bodies, their totems, tents… all was consumed in fire, leaving nothing behind.

Once the camp had been broken down and rest began for the day, as I waited for the priest to ride back to the village, I released my magic and began to sense more of these beasts' camps.

The iron's vibration stirred again… not far from here.

"Well, looks like this little cleansing is going to become a full-scale purge," I said with a smile.

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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.

Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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