literature

The Word of a Traveller

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Jorgenio Myigi forced himself out of the crude shelter the copse of trees had provided him with, and back into the windswept road and the pouring rain. Jorgenio cursed himself for the hundredth time as he stumbled over a pothole in the rugged road, what in the names of Manann, Morr and Myrmidia had persuaded him to attempt such a foolish mission, a pilgrimage to Talabheim to the shrine of Myrmidia? The shrine was fabled for its glory, it had been established by the Knights of the Blazing Sun, after, as the story goes, they had fought a great battle in the Temple of Myrmidia in Estalia against Emir Wazir the Cruel and his Black Scimitar Guard, during the fight, an earthquake dislodged a statue of Myrmidia and crushed the Emir and several of his guards. The remnants quickly routed and the Knights of the Blazing Sun returned home to Talabheim and built the wondrous shrine to Myrmidia which Jorgenio was now on his way to see. Mrymidia was the goddess of war, the patron of the arts and the sciences of battle. Although Jorgenio was old, he had been a soldier for most of his life and felt as he was drawing near to that precious time when a man had all but spent his life, and could spend the last few years sitting in front of a fire, drinking, and telling old war stories, that it was time to make peace with the goddess he had tried to serve during his younger years.
Jorgenio was olive skinned and wrapped in a thick hooded cloak, in all the years since he had joined the mercenary company back in far southern Bilbali, part of Estalia, he had still not gotten used to the fact that the weather in the Empire was reliably awful. He shivered and shook himself, trying to rid some of water droplets that had begun to pool themselves together in dips and crevasses in his hood.
He had set off from Bergsburg two days earlier, and would have made a much greater progress, but for the cursed rain. The Middenheim-Talabheim road may have been quite a major road, but that didn’t seem to have had any sort of impact upon its upkeep. Jorgenio spat as he stumbled in yet another pothole, and cursed all of the Empire’s road builders. Jorgenio rubbed his weary eyes free of the blur of rainwater and gazed southwards down the road, he thought he could just make out the figure of another traveller. Jorgenio smiled, he was getting a little bored of sausage and cheese, perhaps this other traveller may have a wider selection of food with him, and be interested in a trade. Jorgenio took the precaution of checking that his sword was loose in his scabbard and could be removed with ease, he had been a crossbowman when he had served with the ragged band of mercenaries, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t slice a man open with his neatly polished blade. Jorgenio sighed, in Estalia you had never need worry about highwaymen, in Estalia only brawls being fought against ones brother man where for ale, not for gold! Jorgenio thought hard and tried to remember the marching routine that Sergeant Tidrino had drilled into them, the Sergeant hadn’t been a bad sort, he had taught them all quite a lot, pity one of the lads had decided to stick a knife in his back one night after he banned them from drinking after they had been late to the battlefield one morning, but hey thought Jorgenio, that was Estalian way.
It took him nearly half the day to catch up with the figure he had seen in the distance, Jorgenio puffed and panted, he hadn’t realised how unfit he had become.
“No more Halfing cuisine for you Jorgi ey” He muttered to himself trying to get his breath back enough to hail the other traveller who was now only a few horse lengths away.
“Hoi! I saida Hoi! Youa there, waita minute sirah!” He shouted out down the road, desperately struggling to get level with the man who had stopped and was looking behind him to see what the commotion was. Jorgenio raced down the road and managed to catch his foot in yet another pothole, as he fell to the floor, he burst into a fit of colourful curses in his own native language.
“Is there a problem my good Sir?” The other traveller, an old morose man, with deep set features was looking bemusedly at the rather fat and short red faced Estalian who was dancing about in front of him. “Highwaymen maybe? Bandits? By Sigmar, you tell me where they are my good man and I shall take my sword to them immediately!”
Jorgenio sighed inwardly to himself, of all the people he could have met upon the road, it had to have been a doddery old ex-warrior priest of Sigmar. Jorgenio cared little for the patron god of the Empire, of course, he would never say that to any of Sigmar’s followers, they all carried gigantic warhammers that would crush a man’s skull with one blow.
“Ah, no, no, no sirah sir, no, no, me travela to ah Talabheim yah”
“Well by Sigmar, is that not a coincidence, for my southern friend, I too make my way to city of Talabheim, and great it shall be when I get there, for it truly is a city of the Empire, our wondrous Empire founded all those many hundreds of years ago by the great Sigmar Heldenhammer himself, oh how great those days would have been to have stood by the Heldenhammer and fought by his side, why, it prides me to be a part of this marvellous Empire, and whenever I enter a city of the Empire, I say to myself, I say, by Sigmar, what a wondrous land it is I live in, and you know what my friend? I thank Sigmar for giving us these lands, free from Orc and Goblin”
Jorgenio disliked the man already, and had the idea of knifing him on the spot, just to shut him up, Jorgenio wasn’t ashamed that the idea had come to his head, he was Estalian! It was natural! Jorgenio had to give it to the old man though, he could really talk! It had surprised him that he hadn’t collapsed from lack of air, the length of the speech he had made.
“Oh indeed sirah yah, yah! I don’t be supposing that you would have any victuals ah with you ah sirah? Hm? Yah? No? “
“Why of course my good friend, Sigmar has provided for me, and if it is his will that I in turn, provide for one of our esteemed Estalian friends, then it is my honour my good friend, come, let us make camp over there, the rain is nearly ending, thank Sigmar, I believe that with Sigmar’s will, we could even get a fire going! Why yes, I do believe I spy some kindle over yonder, praise Sigmar, he has provided once again! Come friend, soon we will dine upon the food Sigmar has provided us with, I have with me portions of sausage and cheese, indeed, it is great that Sigmar provides for his people!”
Jorgenio concentrated very hard on the floor to prevent himself from succumbing to the urge to hit the old man.
After several more bouts of longwinded, Sigmar-praising exclamations by Jorgenio’s new travelling companion, they finally got around to making the fire, and eventually eating. After the meal, Jorgenio stood up to leave, grabbing his pack.
“Ah, I thank you sirah for your kind gift, it will always be in ah my memory and I ah will tell my childrena and they will tella theirs, this willa never be forgotten” Jorgenio bluffed, hoping to make a quick exit. “But now sirah, I musta depart, I thanka you once more sirah”
“My good man, I will hear nothing of it, I simply cannot let you leave on your own, no by Sigmar I cannot! It seems that Sigmar in his ineffable wisdom has drawn the two of us together for some yet unseen purpose, so that we may travel these long and unknown roads together, and by Sigmars beard, we shall stick together like true travelling companions, Sigmar hear me, this I swear!”
Jorgenio gulped.
“Ah no, no no, sirah, ‘tis noa problem, yah, honest sirah, no, no, no, fine I be, yah!”
“My good man, I have sworn an oath to Sigmar, do you take me for an oath-breaker!”
Jorgenio gulped again as a fiery anger began to blaze in the old warrior-priest’s eyes.
“Ah, ‘tis as you say sirah, oath, yah, oath, yah indeed”
So the two travelling companions made their way upon the Middenheim-Talabheim road, with the warrior-priest babbling on about Sigmar all the way. The warrior-priest was called Falbathuas, one of the few facts worth taking in that Jorgenio managed to glean from the warrior. They had spent about three hours travelling, when Falbathuas decided he would keep his new ‘friend’ entertained with an old war story.
“I say, I should have thought of this idea sooner, why, it is such a fabulous idea that it is probably straight from Sigmar himself, why what a splendid idea, it must have been, you see my Estalian friend, while the tales of the Heldenhammer are indeed the greatest ever told, they are not exactly new material, no blasphemy upon my half I assure you, but they do not make interesting travelling tales, so I have decided to reveal to you, one of my own battle tales, it is a story of great deeds, of evil vanquished, and the glory of Sigmar!”
Jorgenio rolled his eyes, he could have guessed that it would contain the glory of Sigmar. He was once again contemplating getting rid of Falbathuas when the skies once again began to poor. He whispered quiet thanks to whichever deity happened to be responsible as Falbathuas stopped abruptly with his prospects of story-telling to look for shelter.
“By Sigmar! What accursed demon was it that sent these rains to the lands of Sigmar? Show yourself demon! Come face me, a true champion of Sigmars might and glory!”
Jorgenio stepped a few feet away of Falbathuas, just incase some angry demon or deity decided to smite Falbathuas with a bolt of lightning.
“Come friend Jorgenio, we must find shelter seeing as this cowardly demon will not reveal himself, by Sigmar, if it did, I would rip it apart with the might of Sigmar rushing through my blood! I say, I do believe I spot a cave of sorts over there, past those trees, indeed, that will provide us with just the sort of shelter I was looking for, you see my Estalian friend, Sigmar provides! Thanks to Sigmar! I believe that if we settle in there for a few hours, these rains will pass, and we can be on our way again. Why, this will be the perfect opportunity for me to tell you my tale!”
Jorgenio, whose spirits had risen greatly at the prospect of Falbathuas being turned into a pile of ash on the floor, now fell again, as he realised that he would still have to endure the warrior-priest’s story, despite the change of events. He considered leaving Falbathuas to totter off to the cave himself, but even Falbathuas and his story seemed a more agreeable situation than the torrential downpour.
As Jorgenio walked into the cave, he noticed its darkness, maybe the rain wasn’t such a bad idea afterall. Just as he was thinking of leaving, Falbathuas lit a torch, which flooded the cave with light.
“Ah, this torch reminds me of the light of Sigmar, his light fills the world, reveals to us the heretic and the mutant, the orc and the goblin, it shows the flaws of any man, it is pure and fulfilling, ah, but I am getting away with myself, I promised you a story of battle, and that is what I shall give you, here it is my friend, enjoy!”
Jorgenio slumped against the cave wall, and closed his eyes, hoping to get a bit of shut-eye while the old fool rambled on.
“I was younger then, when this happened, not a young laddie though, about your age my friend, me being a good few winters older than you of course, aye, warriors of Sigmar never put down their weapons truly y’know. Anyway, we where, now where was it, ah of course, down below the Black Mountains. Do ye know the Black Mountains laddie? South of our fair lands of the Empire, west of your country though. They ain’t a nice place I’ll tell ye that, swarming with goblins and orcs and all manner of foul scum. One time, when Sigmar was alive, he went there and he slayed so many of them, that they all went fleeing, aye, that would have been a grand day to have been alive, many tribes swore fealty to Sigmar resulting in the founding of our Empire. Anyway, down by there, near Winters Teeth Pass, there was a town there, Mortensholm I believe they called it” Jorgenio’s eyes immediately snapped open, he had heard of Mortensholm before, in fact, he had sworn to Myrmidia that he would never forget the name of that accursed place. “Yes, Mortensholm, that was it, not much really, but they where innocent Sigmar-fearing people, and so when I heard that an army of Orcs had amassed in the north-east of the place, I said a prayer to Sigmar, and I rode as hard as I could, with many of my men behind me, aye, I used to be a grand leader of one of Sigmar’s many armies, we devoted ourselves to him, every battle we won was for him, our glorious god and patron. There where other’s who had rallied to the call of Mortensholm’s need that where awaiting our arrival when we got there, dogs of war, thieving mercenary scum, charging the good people of Mortensholm extortionate fees for protection! So we all took our places in a great battle line, and just in time too, for the orcs came at us furiously, charging and roaring, but we where men of Sigmar! We stood our ground and prepared to receive the charge. Oh what a battle! I cannot tell you how glorious it was, it was going well, as if orchestrated by Sigmar himself, when…”
“When youra unit be running after fleeing group of orcs exposing our flanka!” Jorgenio had stood up now and was advancing on Falbathuas with his sword drawn. “You foola Sigmar-worshippers, youa all think you be so good yah, and then make some mistake like boy general! Oh yah you say about glory and a slaying dem goblins yah, but you leave gap! Orcs walk straight through, and a slaughter marksmen boys! dieciséis of my friends been dead on a floor coz a you! I swear oath to Myrmida that I woulda killa you fool who make my friendsa die!”
“You would draw your sword upon me Estalian? Me a follower of the great lord Sigmar? Then it is time to meet your end fool!” Falbathuas roared drawing his own sword from his belt. Falbathuas kicked out at Jorgenio, sending the short Estalian sprawling across the floor of the cave, Jorgenio knocked the torch over as he struggled to get up, the dieing flame lit the cave for the last few seconds before plunging the two combatants into darkness. An awful smell floated by Jorgenio’s nose, he screwed his face up in disgust as the smell got stronger. Jorgenio scurried around the cave blindly, trying to find Falbathuas.
“Ey a come out Sigmar man!” The only reply Jorgenio received was a sound of snapping bone and the sound of something hitting the stone floor of the cave. Jorgenio fumbled in his pocket for a match, and struck it, providing a small light which prevailed against the darkness of the cave to allow Jorgenio to see what was happening. What Jorgenio saw, was not what he wanted to see. He saw a nine foot tall cave troll standing over the broken corpse of Falbathuas, vacantly scratching its armpit with one arm, while the other arm was occupied with picking its nose. The troll seemed to notice Jorgenio vaguely, and as if nothing was happening, inanely swatted Jorgenio with a fist that was still partially covered with troll snot. Jorgenio’s neck broke as he hit the wall of the cave and he slumped lifelessly to the floor. The troll slowly wandered to where it had come from, further into the cave, happy now that the disturbance had been dealt with.
a short-story based in the Warhammer World (à la Black Library),
© 2006 - 2024 LeifHawk
Comments2
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Ron1649's avatar
d'oh! How couldn't I see i before *slaps self*

Really great Leif! I've enjoyed reading it a lot. Well, ending is a bit sad, but more realistic :)