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Warp Token 2 Word Update
🕑 Added 2025-09-15 11:15:31 +0000 UTC2k words
***
There were wayfarers, a few groups horseman, pilgrims and wanderers, all heading towards the capital. Some looked upon the Imperial band with curiosity, some with intrigue, some fear, but the worst was none of these. Those on foot watched their mules and horses with covetous eyes, but any thoughts of robbery were quelled under their sheer number. The crew may not be very well armed, or all that home without their ship, but their numbers were a relative safety that few could overcome.
Their interactions remained within the bounds of distant caution, and none dared to get too close. On the fourth day of their march, that all changed.
The Imperial band were settling in for the evening, pitching what canvas they had to the side of the marble road. As Roderick laid his head down on his back, he felt thick vibrations rise up from the dirt beneath his makeshift pillow, translating into this arms and legs as he sat up in alarm.
Much to the displeasure of his dozing bunkmates, he tossed open the flap of the tent. At first all he heard was the breeze whispering through the trees above, but then there was something else. A call of thunder, as though a strike of lightning had pierced the sky, yet there was barely an overcast.
The sound was muffled, as though heard from far-off, but it persisted between heartbeats, growing stronger, harder. The thrumming was no longer just effect in his legs, but now his stomach. It was coming closer.
Roerick roused the men, and at first they sought the comfort of their sheets. When they saw him draw his greatsword, they knew he was serious, and they piled out of the tent after him, clad half-naked in undergarments but brandishing steel.
Calls were thrown out, drowning out against the distant thunder… yet it wasn’t so distant anymore. Roerick could tell its direction, yet when he peered up the road, the growing night obscuring the patches of woods surrounding the camp.
The darkness was suddenly peeled back by the glow of torches, the red flames rising over a distant crest, where the paved road curved up and out of sight, perhaps a two hundred meters away. From beyond the rise, two dozen brandished torches braved the crest, and the source of the thunder revealed. Riders raced across the rise like an ocean tide, hundreds of hooves pounding like drums of war.
Roderick was used to being on the giving end of a cavalry charge than the receiving one, but that didn’t mean he was out of his element. The same could not be said for his fellows. He glanced behind him, his comrades exchanging glances as they posed between the tents. These were sailors, they fought with bodies of water between them and their enemies, they didn’t know how to face mounted foes.
“Don’t just stand there, get the guns!” Roderrick cried out. “Load up any rifle or pistol you can find. Make it so!”
Roderick rushed about the camp, repeating the order. More equipment than men had survived the shipwreck, there was plenty of firearms to go around. The cavalry was bearing down on them, maybe two hundred meters away, covering dozens of meters in the span of seconds.
Roderick urged the men to the edge of camp, arranging rows of firing teams. Long barrels rose up across the meagre barricades on the camp’s edge. A few meagre defenses had been set up, a trench or two here, a barricade there, but nothing that could do much to so many coming riders. There had to be maybe fifty or more that he could see.
“Aim for the horses!” Roderick ordered. “Easier to hit them than the riders. Knock down as many of them as you can, our lives depend on it!”
Roderick drew his pistol, joining the readying volley. He could see a few officers to his sides, taking his example and coordinating the defence. He wondered where Von Kessel was.
Roderick’s heart was beating as hard as the oncoming parade of hooves, his eye narrowing as he drew a bead on one of the riders. They were a hundred meters and closing now, Roderick calling out an order to hold. It wouldn’t do well to shoot too early.
In those following heartbeats, the unthinkable happened. The cavalry turned about, gloved hands seizing up on reigns, the horses veering off to the east and west in two clumps of whipping mane. They all slowed to a meagre trot, as though they were pacing out for an afternoon ride. They closed to within perhaps eighty meters, but no more, creating a concentric circle to the camp’s direct north, lining up like a parade.
Now that they had stopped, Roderick noticed their armaments. They hoisted lances and spears, each taller than two men. They wore moon-silver suits of armour, with steel visors camped shut beyond rounded helmets. Even their horses were caparisoned, the padded quilts decorated with blue and white checker patterns. These men were too well armed to be common brigands.
A tense moment of silenced preluded one of the horseman trotting forward on his warhorse. He rode straight up to the camp, unfaltering even as dozens of black powder guns trained over his helm.
He opened his visor with a gauntleted hand, a face covered in a trimmed beard peering out at them.
“Who speaks for this rabble?” the rider demanded. He had the flowing accent of a Brettonian, and from the way he dressed and the colours he wore, this must be one of their knights errant.
Roderick considered filling the pause, but from his side, he saw Von Kessel emerge from round of the tents.
“I do,” he announced. “And we are no rabble, ser.”
“Then you have missed your calling,” the rider scoffed, turning to glare at the others. The fact they were all putting weight on their triggers didn’t’ seem to bother the man. “Armed men breaking camp just beyond the busiest road in Lyonesse. A perfect place to ambush the unwary, some would say.”
“We are no bandits either,” Von Kessel called back. “I am Arnulf Von Kessel, and we are men of the Empire.”
“Imperials, is it?” the rider asked, stifling a chuckle. “All I see are a bunch of starved dogs camping by the wayside, eating poached meat with nary a pavilion in sight. The sons of Sigmar do not care for standards, but even they treat themselves better than your lot.”
A couple of the other horseman chuckled, voices muffled by their helmets. The disbelief was as thick as the tension.
“I ask you this: who are you people? Do not spare me another lie, I will not tolerate it a second time.”
Roderick noted a couple of the riders lowering their lances into the couch position. The men behind him replied by shouldering their guns. Von Kessel refused to answer, Roderick’s heart pounding as hard as the riders had galloped earlier. Even with all their guns, few could withstand the charge of Brettonian knights.
Roderick came forward, dropping his pistol into the holster on his belt. “Captain Von Kessel speaks the truth,” he called. “We are all Sigmar’s heirs, each and all of us, banditry is beneath us.”
“And you are you?” the rider demanded.
“Roderick Erdmann, of Altdorf, and I don’t make a habit of explaining myself to strangers. Who are you to accuse of these things?”
The rider regarded him for a long while, then made his judgement.
“You may call me Edouart. So then, Roderick,” he added. “You say you are of the Empire, but what proof do you have of this? Why should I believe you are who you say?”
“We are our proof,” Roderick said. “Look around you. We wield the finest black powder guns, and wear Imperial steel. Surely you cannot hear our accents and claim we that we are locals?”
“Hm,” the rider mused, considering him. “You mannerisms are certainly different. I can believe one or two Imperials could wander into our lands, but how many of you are there? Sixty? What brings so many of you to the Lady’s lands?”
“Bad fortune,” Roderick explained. “Our ship was waylaid, and we ended up stranded on the coast, not far from here. Few survived, and most of us are wounded, and need aid. We camp on this road of yours because we are on our way to Lyonesse for help.”
“That’s right,” Von Kesssel called, walking a little closer and putting himself back in the conversation. “Your Duke, Adalhard, is a friend of mine, we were on our way to port in his city before we were attacked.”
“You claim to know the Duke?” Edouart asked, cocking a brow.
“Yes. He can vouch for my identity, and my men’s as well.”
“As it happens, I too am counted among Duke Adalhard’s closest friends and family,” Edouart commented, not very kindly. “Perhaps an explanation from the royal noble himself is in order? If that is truly your claim, then give me your word of honour.”
Roderick couldn’t help but feel uneasy about that last bit, as though the rider was giving them a second chance to back down. Try as he might, Roderick couldn’t detect a trick question, even if it felt like one.
“You have it,” Von Kessel agreed.
“Then it is settled. You may continue on your way to Lyonesse, my men and I will even escort you there, come morning. A day of riding should see us to the gates.”
Edouart turned, and gestured with his hand. The order put the rest of his cavalry at ease, and with a clop of hooves, the mounts turned in the direction they’d come. Were they just going to leave?
“Shall we wait for your return before setting off?” Von Kessel asked.
“No need. My scouts warn me whenever you make and break camp. Keep to the road as you were, you have nothing to fear of us, for we are allies, if you are indeed Imperials.” Edouart made to leave. “Oh, another thing,” he added, turning in his saddle to look down on them. “The punishment for impersonating the Duke’s friends is death by hanging, and this extends to the liar’s retinue, as well. Farewell for now.”
And there it was, Roderick thought, watching the rider slip back into his retinue. Once the cavalry fade into the night, the men lowered their weapons, sighs of relief passing between them.
“He seemed like he had you outwitted there,” Roderick mused, turning to the Captain. “When you have him your word, he grinned. You see that?”
“Best if he keeps thinking like that for a while yet,” Von Kessel replied. “It makes me glad the Brettonians are on our side. This would have been the last night on this world for all of us if that were not the case.”
He left that for Roderick to muse on as he turned in for the night, but he found sleep harder to come by after Edouart’s surprise visit. He instead went about arranging for night watchers and proper defences, using whatever tools they had on hand to dig trenches and chop wood. He managed to convince a few of the sailors to help him, and it was past midnight before a somewhat acceptable perimeter had been established.
It had been embarrassing to have a camp be caught out like that, but Roderick would be damned if he was going to let another pompous Brettonian get the better of them again, even if he broke his back building the defences.
That next morning, true to their word, the knight errant and his procession were there to greet the band when they broke camp. Wherever their scouts were, they were quick and very quiet. If only Skyseeker had been here, she could use those magical goggles of hers and give them a run for their money.
Implied threats aside, it felt good to have an escort follow in their stead, even if they made for poor conversation. Von Kessel had tried to engage with Edouart, but the knight would say very little.
