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| Durant's Yellow Jackets |
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| Episode One: In the Wilds of Sylvania |
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| Part Two of Two Inside the tunnel, the air hung heavy with the scent of death. The scant light of the torch did little to illuminate their treacherous path. From the squelching and slithering around the mercenaries’ boots, most of the men were quite content not to see what they were stepping on or in. The narrow corridor meant the Yellow Jackets had to walk onwards in single file. Heinz took the lead, though the torch was held by Torval who came next. The injured Jakob followed on behind Durant, the youngster’s arm dressed with a blood-stained piece of cloth. He’d reluctantly torn a piece from his own tunic, knowing that loss of blood was probably more important than his new outfit. Besides, thought Jakob, if the mission was successful, he’d get more than enough to afford a replacement. Perhaps a more pressing concern was the pain in his left arm which made it painful to wield his second sword. It was his weaker hand admittedly, but he’d need every advantage to make it out of Sylvania alive. The corridor descended gradually, winding left and right in an apparently random pattern. Heinz strained to keep himself alert to the signs of danger. After their encounter with the zombies, every member of the Yellow Jackets was on his guard. In the gloom it seemed that assailants could spring from every misshaped rock, every blind corner. At length, Heinz saw a bolted door. The mercenaries worked their way down to it as stealthily as possible. Torval held the torch to the door, illuminating a heft iron padlock. Whatever this place was now, there was still somebody keen to keep unwanted visitors out. Karl Ulrich, the lumbering one-eyed champion, surveyed the lock with his remaining eye, well-trained in such constructions. He whispered a word to Durant, who nodded immediately. Durant handed a small package to Karl, who took it up to the lock. Tearing open the paper, Karl poured the contents inside the iron casing of the lock. He then attached a short piece of cord and took the flintlock from his belt. Heinz and the others knew it was time to distance themselves. They backed up the corridor, crouching low while Karl lit the cord. He then scurried to join his comrades, taking his place next to Durant. “There goes our stealthy approach,” Durant whispered, as he watched the cord burn down. As it reached the lock, it ignited the black powder, some of Nuln’s finest, igniting it with a loud explosion. The blast echoed in the confined space, making Durant wince at who might hear the noise. He had accepted there was little other choice, and as the smoke and dust cleared, he led his men through the ruined door. The other side of the splintered door frame opened out in a smoky cavern. At first Durant thought the smoke was from the explosion, but he soon saw he was mistaken. In the far corner of the cavern, a hole in the rocky floor billowed thick smoke, which lighted up a deep red. The mercenaries gagged at the overwhelming stench of sulphur in the air. “What is this place?” Wilhelm muttered, more to himself than expecting a response. Torval at his shoulder heard the comment and provided a possible answer. “Most likely it’s an opening deep into the world, perhaps all the way to the centre,” Torval commented. “Steer clear of that opening or you’ll burn in the hellfire beneath.” Wilhelm sucked in a frightened breath, but did his best to conceal the trembling. He tightened his grip around his pistol, and walked onward. The light from the opening in the cavern’s floor provided much more illumination than that from the torch. Wilhelm could actually see all of the mercenaries instead of just a dark shape in front of him. He flicked his eyes between each of the men, seeing how the more experienced soldiers were handling the tension. Karl, as usual, was apparently oblivious, and could just have easily been striding down the streets of Marienburg as though a smoke-filled cavern beneath the haunted lands of Sylvania. Wilhelm’s father was similarly nonchalant. The rest of the group was perhaps more tentative, casting furtive glances at shadows moving, imagining enemies wherever their looked.. Yet for a moment, Wilhelm felt something was amiss. At first Wilhelm couldn’t place it. Just a shiver running down his back. He glanced around nervously, but it was difficult to see much through the smoke. A darkness flitted past the corner of his eye, but when it turned to confront it, the darkness had gone. “Wilhelm, keep up,” called Torval. Wilhelm didn’t realise he’d fallen behind. With a final uncertain look around, he hurried to join the rear of the column. Heinz carefully led the Yellow Jackets past the chasm and out of the cavern. They soon came upon another broadening of the passageway. Slightly smaller than the first, this cavern had no illumination whatsoever, save for the feeble light of Torval’s torch. When he held the burning wood aloft, the mercenaries could see a high-backed wooden chair at the far side. At its feet was a large chest. Durant saw the chest and smiled briefly to himself. Approaching the chest cautiously, Durant noticed scattered pieces of armour and broken weapons lying on the cavern floor. A battered breastplate bearing a long forgotten symbol. A rusted sword broken off at the tip. He eyes the remains warily, as he came to stand before the chest. It had once carried a strong-looking padlock, but that now lay in pieces on the rocky floor. Karl came to stand beside his captain. The big man almost seemed disappointed when he saw the broken lock. Karl muttered something under his breath, but Durant’s attention was fixed on the chest. There were symbols carved into the wood, and they seemed to be a kind of language. Durant could read the scripts of the Empire, Bretonnia, and even a smattering of Elven. He couldn’t even begin to decipher the writing on the chest. With the eyes of the Yellow Jackets upon him, Durant knelt and gingerly opened the chest. Wilhelm had been half-expecting a gribbly monster to suck his father into the chest, or at least some kind of explosion. The hinges, worn and rusted, creaked painfully, but nothing untoward happened. Wilhelm held his breath and craned his neck to get a better view. Durant looked into the darkness inside the chest, and was pleased to see a dull red glow. He tentatively reached inside the musty interior and plucked the fire jewel from its embrace. “This is it boys, this is what we came for.” Durant’s comments had barely left his mouth when a fell shrieking split the air. Jakob fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding ears. The other mercenaries were also toppling to the ground in agony. Durant turned round and saw an unearthly glow sweep the chamber. As the shrieking subsided, it was replaced by a low chanting. The air in the cavern suddenly became very chill, as blue mist crept up from the rocky floor. The mist swirled around, before coalescing around the discarded weapons and armour. From these points, figures began to form, figures of long-dead warriors. The chanting stopped as two dozen spectral warriors bore down on the Yellow Jackets. Durant threw the fire jewel into his belt pouch, and drew his pistols. “By Sigmar, get out of this place!” he yelled, firing at a spectre coming towards him. The shot passed through the being’s face, and impacted on the wall behind. Cursing, Durant fired again. He met with a similar result. Thrusting his pistols back in his belt, he drew his sword just in time to parry his assailant’ s swing. A void existed where the spectre’s face should have been, and its vacuous countenance chilled the mercenary captain’s heart. Despite their ethereal nature, the spectral warriors’ weapons were quite real. Jurgen was the first t feel this as a rusty blade pierced his thigh. He screamed in pain, and then in frustration as his return thrust passed through the spectre’s body. Caught off-balance by the lunge, Jurgen was impaled on the warrior’s sword. He stared into the nothingness of his attacker’s face before he crumpled to the ground. Karl roared with fury as he swung his flail at the spectre. While it passed straight through the thing’s body, it connected with its sword, shattering the weapon into a hundred rusty shards. The being froze for a second, unleashed an unearthly scream, then exploded in a halo of blue light. “Destroy their weapons,” Karl shouted. “That’s what binds them here.” Most of the mercenaries heard Karl’s instructions. Heinz had his hand gun levelled at an onrushing spectre. He quickly changed his aim and sent the shot straight for the thing’s mace. As the hot steel sliced through the rusted metal, the weapon disintegrated in the spectre’s hand. With a howl, a few seconds later the thing disappeared. Shouldering his hand gun, Heinz drew a pair of knives, and joined the orderly retreat out of the cavern. With the spectres in close pursuit, the Yellow Jackets reached the glowing fire of the chasm. There they formed into a defensive line and braced themselves for the assault. Johnus was the last mercenary to make it through into the second chamber. With his comrades screaming at him to hurry, he lost his footing on a loose stone. His sword clattered down a hair’s breadth out of his reach. He strained to reclaim the weapon, only to have it kicked away from him. A spectre stared down at him with the emptiness of the grave. Johnus tried to move, but he was pierced through the heart. The remaining spectres crowded around his body, and the mercenaries recoiled in horror as they realised the undead beings were feeding off Johnus’ fading life force. “Get out of here!” Durant screamed, finally reaching his senses. Torval led the retreat as the mercenaries hurried along the corridors until they returned to the sacrificial chamber. The air was heavy with the scent of decayed flesh, but the zombies remained motionless. Finally the Yellow Jackets emerged into the fresh, chill night air. They gasped for breath as they were met by the moon’s bloody visage. All around were the howls of ravenous wolves. Fierce red eyes surrounded the mercenaries. Snarling and growling, the fetid breath of the wolves filled the air with evil clouds. The Yellow Jackets formed into a tight group, with Durant at the centre. He fumbled for a moment in his belt pouch. Finally his hand closed around a circular coin. It bore the description of Arbach Kompanie, and was stamped on one side with a likeness of the merchant’s portrait. Durant held the coin tight and chanted the mantra as he’d been instructed. The wolves unleashed a raucous howl, then began to charge. As they came to the mercenaries position, they collided with each other. Snarling in fury, the wolves began to fight amongst themselves. They Yellow Jackets had disappeared in a nimbus of orange light. At the entrance of the ruined building, a dark shape watched the animals in quiet frustration. Vlad von Carstein would not easily forget such a slight to his honour. He would discover who had invaded his domain, and would not rest until their debt had been collected. With a final brooding stare, he melted away into the dark night. The wilds of Sylvania gradually fell silent under a blood red moon. Franz Arbach leaned back in his favourite leather arm chair, and by the light of the roaring fire in his study, examined the red jewel. Turning the stone over in his chubby fingers, the merchant’s corpulent frame moved with his mirth. “It’s much more magnificent in reality, don’t you think Durant?” Arbach said, looking up at the mercenary captain with a beaming smile. Durant’s face remained impassive. “Magnificent enough to be worth the deaths of two of my men? Good men too.” Arbach’s expression changed immediately. “And the rest of you will be suitably compensated. More to go around eh?” His tone was mildly threatening, as it often became when the subject of money was broached. “There’ll be more of this when you complete the next assignment.” Arbach handed over a leather bag. The familiar chink of coins could be heard as he passed it to Durant. “And what makes you think I’ll accept another ‘assignment’ from you?” Arbach’s face hardened further, the shrewd businessman supplanting the jolly exterior. “If you were to refuse, Durant, let’s just say you and your Yellow Jackets might find it difficult to secure future employment. This side of the Chaos Wastes anyhow. You don’t seem to understand, I own you Durant. You’re just another employee.” Durant’s blood was up, and he reached almost instinctively for his weapons. At that moment, a side door opened and in rushed half a dozen burly men with clubs. They surrounded Durant and walked him back towards the door. “Can’t thank you enough Durant, hope you’ll be as successful on your next trip. Might want to pack an extra water bottle or two though. I hear the desert can be quite a dangerous place. For the unprepared of course.” Durant’s last glimpse of Arbach was the rotund merchant smiling as he admired the fire jewel. The merchant’s heavies pushed Durant out onto the Marienburg street. Durant dusted himself down, picked up the bag of coins and started ono the road to the Flying Pig Inn. He hoped the rest of the band would be more interested in spending this cash, rather than thinking about the next mission for Durant’s Yellow Jackets. TO BE CONTINUED… |
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| Episode Two: Desert Raiders |
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