Aaron Rosenberg - Hour of the Daemon

This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and ofsorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the worlds ending. Amidst allof the fire, flame and fury it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.

At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the largestand most powerful of the human realms. Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests and vast cities. And from his throne in Altdorf reigns the Emperor Karl-Franz, sacred descendant of the founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder of his magical warhammer.

But these are far from civilised times. Across the length andbreadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north, come rumblings of war. In the towering Worlds EdgeMountains, the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern lands of the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods. As the time of battle draws ever near, the Empire needs heroes like never before.

How goes it, Ernst?

The sailor spat over the side and glanced up. Alls quiet,capn.

Good, good. The barge captain moved away again, headingback towards his small cabin to the rear of the ship, while Ernst went back to staring out over the water. It was a quiet night, but that didnt mean it wassafe. The Sol River was hardly Black Fire Passit wound its way past Nuln andon, but still there were mutants, skaven, beastmen, and of course bandits. The worst they encountered was the occasional lowlife in a skiff, armed with a crossbow and delusions, and demanding a toll before allowing them past. The river was wide enough to simply ignore any posturing from the shore, but whenever the threat was waterborne, Helmuth deliberately steered towards it instead. He felt that letting such creatures sail the river, and make their demands, without repercussion set a bad precedent, whereas destroying them and their boats left a clear message to other would-be obstacles. They were no warship, but the Battered Eye was a good solid barge, and outside of port no one told her where to go.

Ernst reached down for the wineskin at his side, and frowned when it proved lighter than hed hoped; not a drop left, damn. He wouldnt beable to refill it now, not while on watch. He wasnt supposed to drink at hispost anyway, but the captain didnt mind, as long as it was just the onewineskin and he was still able to answer coherently. Now the rest of his shift would be long, dry and deadly dull.

He was so busy lamenting his lack of drink that he didnthear the faint slosh of water against the barges side, or if he did, he thoughtit was merely the current. Nor did Ernst notice the soft scratching sound against the hull, a sound like an animals claws might make, but louder andslower, and almost cautious somehow. He was shaking his wineskin over his mouth, hoping for a few tiny drops to help assuage his thirst, and failed to see the shadows that rose from the water and slipped over the rails.

Movement close by caught his eye, and Ernst turned, a question half-formed on his lips, but it was too late. The blow caught him full on the neck, shredding his throat, and only a faint gurgle escaped his lips as his lifeblood bubbled out. His body toppled to one side, over the rail and into the water, making a splash louder than any of the sounds he had missed, and the helmsman started at the sudden noise. Then a shadowy figure was upon him, and his torn body struck the deck a second later.

Other sailors were emerging, hearing the sounds, some holding clubs, hooks and knives, but they were still befuddled with sleep and the night was dark, thin clouds hiding Morrslieb and the stars. The men saw only shadows, shadows that tore into them like wild beasts, with hisses and snarls. Throats were carved open, heads were smashed in, limbs were torn from torsos, ribs were laid bare and organs ripped loose, all within seconds. Men were choking on blood and bile, and clutching desperately at their wounds, trying to keep their lives from spilling out, even as they fought off additional attacks. Blood washed across the deck, and panicking sailors slipped in their blood and that of their fallen comrades, sliding and scrambling for purchase. Their attackers had no such difficulty, clattering across the wooden planks with ease. Within minutes, the screams, shouts and curses had stopped, leaving only the sounds of breathing, snuffling and chewing.

Then a new figure appeared from the water, a man dressed in dark robes, climbing carefully over the railing and approaching the victorious attackers. They noticed him, but did not react. They were too busy enjoying the first spoils of their victory.

Enough! the man snapped something in a guttural tongue,pulling one of the shadowy figures away from the body it was gnawing on. A quick cuff to the head and the creature rose, growling, and disappeared into the hold. Several of the others followed, urged on by the mans blows and snarls. After afew minutes the first creature returned, a long wrapped bundle beneath one arm. More bundles followed, and then several small casks and heavy crates. The bundles were lowered onto a small raft floating alongside the barge and stacked across its tar-coated planks.

The man watched all this silently, impatiently, and finally he nodded. He clambered back onto the raft and gestured for the others to grab the casks and crates, saying something short and sharp in that strange language. Shouldering their burdens and casting one last, longing glance towards the fresh meat they were leaving behind, the creatures stepped back over the railings and dropped into the water. The casks and crates floated before them as they swam silently away alongside the raft, the night and the river swallowing any hint of their presence.

The Battered Eye was silent. Bodies lay everywhere, flesh torn as if by wild beasts. The largest pile of them was by the door leading down into the crew quarters, where sailors had been killed before they could even set foot on the main deck. The bodies lay in a jumble of limbs and torsos, blood and darkness making it difficult to see where one corpse ended and another began.

Then a hand moved. It twitched, and then twitched again. It twisted, its fingers feeling around it, recoiling as they felt the shredded torso above them, then pushing against the bodys upper arm, trying desperatelyto break free.

Great, Dietrich Dietz Froebel said, reining in. Afestival.

He glanced around. They had just passed through AltdorfsNorth Gate, still dusty and tired from their long journey, and rode into a scene from someones nightmare. Skulls and strange, leering masks hung from walls andwindows, and across distant bridges, as did ominous cloaked figures, death symbols, and even distorted animals. Streamers hung everywhere, creating a low ceiling to the wide street, hiding the late afternoon sunlight, and giving the city a closed-in feel. The large crowd didnt help, filling the Empire capitalsbroad avenues with a throng of bodies, and adding to the midsummer heat. From the look of things, the streets would be packed right down to where the River Reik cut through the city, and possibly across it. Many of the revellers wore hoods and masks, and Dietz saw a number of beasts and birds, and even fish, cavorting with the rest, masked in bestial visages.