Alberich Von Korden tossed the last of the cursed books into the cleansing fire and considered his talk with the Averland Fancypants. While they had confirmed that there were still men of great deeds within the empire, they had also revealed that even amongst heros, greed and selfishness comes before piety. Alberich was quick to gather his men in Wurtbad and head eastwards into his homeland Sylvania. This time Helman Ghorst would not escape!
Von Korden and his men reached Konigstein Tower well after nightfall. On the crest of the hill, a ramshackle ruin loomed through the mist, ghostly balefire glimmering in the empty sockets of its windows. The Witch Hunter could feel the evil of the place on his skin. The tracts of land that surrounded it, strewn with headstones and shattered statuary, boasted only open graves that gaped toward the night sky. Nearby, the ancient tower, which von Korden had garrisoned to monitor the township in his stead, stood tall, but there were no sign of life within.
As von Korden grew closer, he would see that the watch’s windows had been smashed open, and the brass sentinel at its top hung dejected and inert. The Witch Hunter spat into the dirt. The men he had left here had likely fallen to Ghorst’s minions, and they had failed to even send a warning from the watch’s signal mechanism.
Irritably, von Korden ordered for his men to spread out into a battle line and unlimber the cannon called The Hammer of the Witches by its crew. “There are Undead here”, he muttered to his men, “sure as those graves are empty”.
The pregnant silence was broken by a sharp should of alarm from one of the The Silver Bullets. In the process of forming up, one of the men had put his foot through the rotten wood of and empty coffin. Nervous laughter and disorder echoed from the ranks as the clumsy fool pulled himself upright, his half-joking apologies echoing uncannily loud in the mist.
Eyes blazing, von Korden stomped towards the gunmen. He pulled up short, sniffing the air. A low moaning was coming from the ramshackle tower up ahead. With the slowness of a dream the bone-white cadavers that had once populated the graveyard stalked through the mist towards them. Degenerate cannibals slink in their wake like dogs hungry for a scrap of meat. A lonely howl sounded, frightening close, and a chorus of mournful wails joined it as slack-skinned monsters that had once been wolves padded out of the mist. Cresting the hill came Ghorst himself, riding hunched upon his grisly carriage, the lonely toll of its bell and invitation for the intruders to join the dead. Von Korden cocked his pistols; there was killing to be done.
The Knights of the Blazing Sun thundered forward to protect the coatching inn. If troops could make it there, they could send a message of warning. The troops were clinging to the last light as they marched forward and gunshots could be heard from the Silver Bullets. Then came the charge. The Knights lowered their lances and undaunted they charged into the large unit of skeletons, killing nearly half the abominations on the charge. With grim resolve their drew their weapons. Man and beasts fought the undeads as ghouls charged into their flanks.
The Sons of Sigmar raised their swords and charged to aid the knights, but they realized the would not make it and confusion settled in their ranks. Dire wolves emerged from the woods and the Silver Bullets frantically turned to face them while struggling to reload their weapons.
As the knights were overwhelmed by ghouls now all over their horses and armor, most of the men injured, they sounded the horn of retreat.
But the Sons of Sigmar would not be denied. This time von Korden led the charge into the ghouls, and it was a blood bath as they methodically cut down the undead. Horror struck as the dire wolves sent fear in the hearts of the Silver Bullets and before they knew what happened, the men was fleeing and the cannon crew was fighting for their lives against the undead beasts.
Von Korden now took matters into his own hands. He left the Sons of Sigmar to hunt down the necromancer Helmut Ghorst on his own. Behind the chapel of Morr he found him riding a horrible corpse cart. Ghorst noticed him and uttered some incantations that caused his cart to move away with unnatural speed. Next thing Ghorst gathered all his power and beems of unholy light from his eyes hit von Korden center chest, and he fell to the ground.
However Ghorst’d display of power had cost him dearly, and he now struggled to maintain the forces he had invoked. In a vortex of necromantic energy Ghorst could be heard yelling “nooooo” before he was sucked halfway into the underworld, leaving his forces to crumble. As he finally made it back, only two Direwolves were left to protect him!
Wounded and in fear of his life, Ghorst is forced to flee before the fury of the Faithful Few, but not before he has severely shaken the Empire soldiery sent to stop him. Little do von Korden and his men know that Ghorst has a mission of his own, and the Mannfred von Carstein is a lot closer than they think…