A haunting short...

Good evening,  Viewers (in my best Hitchcock voice)

The following was a short written by Jason Mallory, one of the Cygnar players in our fold. Jason has a knack of turning battle reports into really well-put together narratives that really capture the essence of the played factions. While the following is not based on a battle report, it certainly gives you a taste of his style...

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The acrid stench of mud, burning coal and gunpowder filled Kieran's nostrils.  He absently wiped his forehead with back of his hand, merely streaking the mud that was there with more mud from his hand.  His regiment had been stationed on Cygnar's eastern borders for weeks.  While they had been moved here to counter the Skorne menace, it was now incursions by the Menites that had seen him calling these muddy trenches home for the past three days.

“How's it looking out there?”

Kieran slid back down into the trench and shook his head.  “Can't see much out there between the darkness and the smoke.  No signs of any of those damned Menites.”

A fellow Trencher, James strode over to Kieran and pulled his helmet off.  Breathing a sigh of relief, he absent his stubble-covered jaw with his hand and reached into a pocket, pulling out a hand-rolled cigarette.  Using flint from his jacket James lit his cigarette and took a long drag.  The cigarette accented his sunken features and scars that showed just how long James had fought in the trenches.

“I guess we've earned a break,” James said.  “Bout time.  Was starting to think that they emptied their precious Protectorate...”

Plucking the cigarette from James' lips, Kieran took a long pull before handing it back to its owner.  “Break or no break, I'm leaving the helmet on.  You think they've retreated?”

“Not likely.  Probably just redeploying.  Enjoy the silence while it lasts, my friend.  Morrow only knows when they'll push in again.”

“Ever the optimist, huh?  I hope that they've had enough for...”

The ground shook beneath their feet, subtly at first, but each tremor was heavier and louder than the last.  James threw his helmet back on and readied his rifle.  “Incoming warjack!” he called out.  “Any idea whose it is?”

Kieran stepped up to the trench's edge and peered out over the darkened landscape.  He made out the eyes burning in the distance first, but couldn't make out any other details.  “It's a heavy jack... can't tell anything yet...”

The smell reached him first... coal, oil and the nearly saccharine sweetness of incense that clung to all things Menite.  “It's a Menoth jack!  Take up defensive positions!”

Striding out of the smoke and darkness was a Crusader.  It had seen battle already, but its Inferno Mace was still tightly clenched in its hand as it neared the trenches.

“We can't take down something like that,” James said under his breath.  “We need to get out of here.”

Kieran was realizing the same thing and was about to give the order to withdraw when another large shadow barrelled out of the smoke and through a blue armored shoulder into the Crusader.  The trenchers cheered as the Ironclad knocked the Crusader off balance and kept up its momentum with a swing of the Quake Hammer.  The air filled with a shockwave as the hammer let out a seismic blast that knocked the Cygnaran soldiers back into the trench and drove the Crusader to its knee.  With a massive overhead swing, the hammer fell again, tearing off the boiler on the back of the warjack and sending it face down into the dirt.

A cheer of victory rose from the filthy men and women in the mud as the Ironclad scanned the horizon and moved off to engage other threats.

“Never been so glad to see one of those hunks-of-junk,” James said with a lopsided grin.

Kieran smiled and nodded, but paused and turned back toward the field of battle.  He could see less now than before with the smoldering wreck of the Crusader not far away, but he felt he could see something out in the darkness beyond.

“Something up?” James asked, the celebration instantly dropped from his voice.

“Not sure.  I think there's more inbound.”

Cheers turned to cries of agony to Kieran's right and he instantly shouldered his rifle.  Pouring over the edge of the trench came the Knights Exemplar.  The white armor was streaked with dirt and the blood of previous opponents as they came down on the Cynaran line.  There was no war cry, only the sound of death wrought by the enforcers of their merciless God.

Kieran side stepped the knight that came down on him blade first and struck the Menite with the butt of his rifle, pushing him away just far enough to bring the gun up and get a shot off, sending the Menoth soldier into the dirt.

Readying his rifle, he tried to quickly reload as James struggled with another Exemplar.  James was driven to the ground, using his rifle to parry the incoming swings.  The relic blade spit the barrel in half in one swing and with another swing, the sword came down on James' chest.

“James!” Kieran yelled, forgetting trying to reload his rifle.  He charged in, raising his bayonet.  The knight turned, with his blade at the ready.  The relic blade came around and Kieran attempted to dodge.    The two soldiers collided and Kieran felt a smug satisfaction as he saw his bayonet slide under the helmet of the knight, puncturing the Menite's neck, but felt the sharp bite of the Exemplar's sword cutting his flesh.  They collapsed to the floor of the trench and Kieran passed out from the pain, listening to the Menoth soldier's gurgling last breath.

***

Kieran came to to find the field of battle silent.  He was cold and weak and his uniform clung to him like a second skin, thanks to the drying blood clinging to his injury.  The bodies of Cygnarans and Mintes alike lined the trench.  It was unclear by the body count whether either side could have claimed victory.

Cluthing his side where the Exemplar cut him, Kieran limped to the side of the trench and tried to climb out of the damp hole in the ground.  He could see dawn's light over the edge and he was eager to get out of the wet earth.  As he pulled himself up onto the grass, he felt even colder than when he had been standing ankle deep in rainwater.  Standing at the center of the battlefield, as a figured wrapped in tattered robes, his iron skeleton standing with arms wide.  A green glow seemed to ooze from his frame, as the souls of the fallen were extracted and absorbed by the lich lord that had found his way to the bloodstained ground.

Kieran's eyes shot open, as he felt the cold steel of a bayonet pierce his back.  Gasping for air, he fell to his knees.  He turned back to see James looming overhead, his intestines visible through the slash in his body, his eyes glowing with a dull green light, as he was puppeted by his new Cryxian masters.  James wrenched the bayonet free and Kieran fell onto the grass.  The pain he had felt a moment before was rapidly fading away to numbness and cold.

As the daylight faded from his eyes, he was filled with new purpose.  No longer encumbered by something as mortal as pain, Kieran stood and turned to his new master, ready to serve.