Status Updates From Cursed City

Emelda recovered her sword and rushed back to the attack. She was desperate to get the vargskyr away from Loew. Not simply because of the monster’s savagery, but because Morrvahl was ready to cast the horrible dust over the brute. Death from the monster was better than dying the way the wizard was planning.

‘We can’t win this,’ Gustaf declared. Slow as they were, the Nightguard and remaining deadwalkers were still advancing towards them. Even if they could hold their own against the undead, the creatures had a powerful reserve in the person of Radukar himself. The vampire had yet to commit himself to the fray, content to leave the fighting to his slaves.

‘You’ll answer for what you’ve done to my people!’
Radukar fixed Loew with his fiery gaze. ‘Little man,’ he snarled, ‘I’ve not even started with your people.’
He extended his arm, and from behind the largest of the stone spires three Nightguard lumbered into view. Loew felt his heart sicken with dread.
‘I am, however,’ the vampire continued, ‘almost finished with you.’

‘What will you do, eminence?’ Arno wondered.
Radukar’s visage curled into the semblance of his namesake, all refinement subdued beneath the primordial savagery of the Wolf. His fingers tightened about the mask he held, the bronze groaning as it was twisted out of shape.
‘I’m going hunting,’ the Wolf growled.

The cultists turned from their grisly altar and from them there rose an answering roar. Devotees of the murderous Khorne, these mortals showed no fear before the undead onslaught. They raised ancient axes and swords, bludgeons and flails, weapons left behind by Slaughn’s vanquished invaders centuries ago.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’ the madmen shrieked. ‘Skulls for the Skull Throne!’

His friend urged him down the deserted passageways, moving from streets to alleys and from alleys to narrow runs barely wide enough for a dog. Karlion took comfort in the circuitous, difficult course. It would make tracking him difficult for the Volkshaufen. Then he frowned. The militia might be lost, but their masters had more occult methods of finding their prey.

‘Hold, Karlion!’ he called out. ‘What’s this about?’
Karlion answered Gustaf’s hail by spitting on the floor. ‘There they are!’ he shouted to the mob behind him. He pointed at Morr­vahl in his chair. ‘Baron Grin!’ he denounced the sleeping wizard. Then his finger swung around and gestured to Gustaf and Emelda. ‘And his accomplices!’
Emelda whipped her sword from its sheath. Gustaf took aim with his horse pistol.

The Wolf started to walk away. As he did, the charred husk wailed in anguish. Arno stared down at the corpse in disgust.
‘Eminence, what about this?’ he asked, pointing at the crying body.
‘Leave it,’ Radukar said. ‘It’s of no further use. Leave it to rot. Its moans will be a reminder to others that for those who defy me, even the grave is no refuge from my vengeance.’

‘The double patrols the Volkshaufen have been doing are already being called off,’ Vladrik said. ‘You’ll probably see fewer Ulfenwatch around too. Yes, things will return to what passes for normality here.’
‘That means the Wolf will keep to his lair,’ Emelda snapped. Gustaf gripped her hand, trying to reassure her.
‘There’ll be other chances,’ he said. ‘Sigmar won’t allow this evil to endure.’

Horacy was dead when excited hands flipped him onto his back. A vicious countenance glared down at the corpse. Sadistic glee blazed in the killer’s eyes. The bloodied knife flashed again and again, slashing away at the thief’s head. A maniacal titter rose from the murderer as he descended into a frenzy of mutilation. Ribbons of flesh were sent flying in every direction as the blade slashed down over and over.

‘While there’s life, there has to be hope,’ Gustaf said. ‘Hope is the gift Sigmar has given to the Mortal Realms. No matter how dark the shadows, you must remember that the light is out there and that before the light the darkness will be driven away.’
‘Tell that to these people.’ Emelda shook her head. ‘Tell them to cherish hope while every day the claws of despair tighten around them.’

‘You go too far, wizard,’ Gustaf snapped.
‘No, I merely try to impress on you that if we’re to succeed then there can be no room for compassion,’ Morrvahl said. ‘That is a luxury for the victorious. Until the Wolf is gone, it’s simply something we can’t afford. If we keep working together, then we have an opportunity to make that happen.’

‘They’ll be allowed to speak all they want,’ Radukar told Arno. ‘But their words will never leave the Ebon Citadel. Neither will they.’
Radukar noted the shudder that passed through Arno’s body as he spoke. It pleased the vampire. Fear was ever the surest way to guaran­tee obedience.

A strange agitation vexed Radukar the Wolf. In all his centuries of unlife, the vampire lord had felt its like only a few times. Always it had presaged some great conflict, a preternatural omen forewarning him that a formidable foe was near. Far from being intimidated, Radukar savoured the prospect. Eternity became tedium without the occasional diversion.

‘Easy,’ he said. ‘I’m Gustaf Voss. The man you rescued just now.’
‘I know who you are,’ the woman said. ‘I’ve been observing you for a week now.’
The explanation escalated Gustaf’s suspicions. ‘So that swine was right. You are after my scalp. What are you? Bounty hunter? Assassin?’
The blade was withdrawn. The woman took a step forwards and drew back her hood.
‘Neither. I’ve nothing to do with such scum.’

Once the sun had set and night ruled the streets, only desperation could make the mortal inhabitants of the city stray abroad. For they were no longer alone. The old nobility had been cast down and new masters now ruled over them. An aristocracy of the night.