The sewers were just as one would expect: humid, dark and smelly. It was obvious that this route was not unknown to the residents of Sainte Denise since a path was visible where the muck, grime and other filth was either purposely removed or worn away through traffic.

The influx of refugees must have congested the sewage system with more trash and excrement than it could handle since the waterways were very clearly blocked.

 ‘Luckily we brought enough torches to light the way! Wouldn’t want to slip and accidentally fall in there, though I suppose it would please Nurgle quite a bit?’ – Erik thought as he looked at the almost stagnant canals of filth.

Then, softly but loud enough to be heard, Erik spoke to the men:

“Lucky for us the good people of Sainte Denise have left us a clear path to follow! No need to stumble blindly into the maze, we can just chase their steps and find our way in!

Remember men! Once we’re out on the streets, we make straight for the southern gate! You get wounded? Man up and keep going! Shot in the legs or thrown to the ground? Well shit, too bad! If we stop to help the fallen, that’s just more bodies for the pyres!

Follow your leaders, capture the gate, open it and then HOLD it until the army arrives!”

Perhaps a little early, but right now they had the least chance of being discovered. And everyone was already well aware of their plans, so Erik might as well have spared his breath. But it at least gave the men the impression Erik knew what he was doing, even if he was wrecked with nerves on the inside.

‘Let’s hope we appear right near our objective… don’t fancy a street fight with less than 800 men against 100.000…’

Bracing himself, Erik continued deeper into the stinky sewers, a slight grin forming on his face as he heard the ~Bleep! of a notification ring out:

~Bleep! – Player Erik earned Favour! Nurgle enjoys your current surroundings!

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Baron Antoine la Faiblesse led the defence of Sainte Denise. Ever since the Norscans first showed up in sight of the city walls, he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep.

“The mad men don’t know how to quit! They’ve been incessantly assaulting our walls without progress but refuse to just tuck their tails and run back to their damned ships!

And where did that damned harlot of a countess run off to? Why am I dealing with all these nonsense tasks when it’s her responsibility!”

It was evident the man was agitated, dark bags hanging under his eyes as his shoulders drooped down. He angrily stabbed his prettily decorated knife into the flank of beef, continuing his tirade as he stuffed his mouth with rich, juicy meat.

“That woman should never have been made the Comtesse of Sainte Denise. Just look at the place! Because she didn’t refuse anyone entry, the streets are rife with filth, disease and worst of all, PEASANTS!

So many damned peasants! It was still fine when we weren’t besieged, but now we’re already almost out of food because the mindless rabble have no idea how to save food!”

“No, before that! We’ll run out of fresh water before the food runs out! Ugh, the stench is wafting up even here at the command centre! Do those serfs piss and shit on the streets?!” -Another noble interjected.

“I bet that Isabeau ran off with her retinue, all the way back to Couronne after she realised she wasn’t playing house anymore. Truly, what was our King thinking when he gave a woman without reputation such responsibilities?!”

A chorus of curses then erupted from the gathered, feasting noblemen. All of them had taken plenty of food as “tariffs” from the peasants that fled into the city, so none of them would have to fear going hungry. And after seeing the Marauder assaults being repulsed time and time again against the tall bulwark of the fortress’s walls, they had grown a bit complacent.

“Those savages have been attacking multiple times a day but barely make it into range of our archers before running back again… Is it even worth sending the troops over every time this farce repeats?”

“Hah, yes yes. We’ve been over this. We have some people stationed to keep us up to date while peasants are sent to man the walls. The knights have their stuff nearby so if the barbarians ever make a serious attempt, we will be timely informed so we can prepare.”

As if on cue, a messenger entered the large mansion serving as the central command post and drew the men’s attention.

“Lords! The attack is as fruitless as the previous ones, but it’s been going on for far longer than before…”

Bored, the nobles returned to the feast spread out before them, ignoring the hungry looks of the messenger.

*thump-thump-thump

Another messenger storms into the room, startling the people inside but before they could curse at the rude entrant, they were silenced by the man’s desperate message:

“They’re inside! The Norscans are inside the city!”

Silence pervaded the room before all at once, the noblemen sprung up from their seats and began shouting and arguing. Some denied the messengers claim, others turned pale in panic while a select few immediately ordered for their equipment and retinue to be prepared.

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The sludge-free path led Erik straight to a way out. Luckily, it wasn’t a street-side sewer grate but a well-built doorway connecting the sewer to what Erik presumed to be a merchant’s house’s cellar.

‘Perfect! This way we can get a useful unit out of the sewer before we are attacked!’

Softly sneaking his way up to the stairs connecting to the rest of the house, Erik left his Glaive with the men and prepared the Messer. Again, polearms are useless in the confines of a home.

Followed by four others, Erik opened the door and immediately ran into a young boy and his wet-nurse.

“Shit!” – He cursed, but did not hesitate. With such a perfect opportunity, Erik was unwilling to forego stealth just yet.

Erik kicked the boy in the head before plunging his blade deep in the elderly woman’s sternum, silencing them both before they could scream for help.

“Marcel? Marcel, qu’est-ce qu’il y a?” – Another woman’s voice reacted to the thumping sounds as the two bodies hit the floor with loud thumps.

‘…Should’ve caught them.’

Quickly scanning the hallway, Erik discovered there luckily weren’t any glass windows betraying his presence to the outside. Afterwards, the rest was quite simple. They easily took over the house without alerting anyone outside of the commotion and Erik then questioned the captives on their position.

Turns out they were right outside the temporary barracks of a detachment of knights and the home they had invaded belonged to a rich merchant family on friendly terms with one of the local aristocrats. Luckily though, the South gate was a straight line ahead following the main street outside the building. A clear path.

After questioning, the last residents were dispatched with swift axe strikes to the head and fire was prepared to light the place up. With a little luck, it carried over to the adjacent barracks and impeded the knights from chasing after the band of Marauders.

100 of the 800 warriors were crammed in the house. Erik and Scaldar stood at the large door, ready to burst out into the open and begin the mad charge to the gate.

“You ready, old man?” – Erik said jokingly as a mad grin began to form.

“Ooh, I am ready. No better way to appease the Daemons than by shedding a river of blood. These old bones never feel as alive as when my axe hits true!” – The Vikti spoke with an euphoric undertone.

Before entering the sewers, the old shaman had hinted at having something special prepared to set things of when the action began and Erik was curious to see what he would do.

Checking one final time that everyone was ready, Erik then burst through the door, ripping it off its hinges and smashing onto the street beyond.

“Loot, fire & BLOOD!” – Erik let loose his warcry as he swung his Glaive in a wide arc, bisecting any pedestrians that stood shocked still on the street. Not pausing for the Brettonians to react, Erik found the distant towers of the gatehouse and began sprinting towards it. Scaldar and the other Marauders following closely as Erik cleaved a bloody path through the street.

The gatehouse was an approximate 700 meters away, a trifling distance, but Erik was slowed down by the Brettonian refugees that filled the street. Only the centre of the road was clear of people but when the serfs began to panic from the sudden appearance of the bloodthirsty raiders, madness quickly descended on the endless horde of refugees, further impeding Erik’s path.

“Vernietig!” – A shout came from Erik’s side as Scaldar cast his prepared spell. A vortex of blade-shaped energy went forth from the Vikti’s hands, cutting everything in its path to bloody ribbons as it continued towards the gate.

“Nice! That cleaned up the path!” – Erik loudly proclaimed his approval of the Vikti’s display of magical power.

‘Man, I can’t wait to unlock my own magical ability… I wonder what Magic School I have affinity with? Will this raid provide me enough Favour the finally unlock it? What else should I buy with the points, it’s got to be a LOT right?”

With the street cleared and the remaining Brettonians running away into the side streets, Erik now had a mostly clear path to the gatehouse as his warriors continued to spill onto the street behind him.

Sprinting as fast as he could Erik made it to the gate in less than 20 seconds before quickly dispatching the guards with quick cuts and thrusts from his Glaive.

“Up! The control mechanism is up on the wall!”

Once more breaking through a door and running up the wooden stairs to the battlements, Erik made it to the mechanism. Twenty or so Brettonian men-at-arms stood guarding it, ready to intercept the enemy, but Erik and his bodyguards were more powerful than they could hope to contend with.

Letting his men deal with the majority of them, Erik focused on the ones nearest the gate-mechanisms. Not bothering to block the prematurely swung sword, Erik impaled one through the neck before swinging the weapon, body still attached, at the next victim and tossed him over the edge. The wild tug freed the Glaive blade from the thin, fragile neck and was promptly used to cut through a leg. With the swing’s momentum, Erik then used the heavy butt-end to crush the final defender’s skull before focusing on the gate-mechanism itself.

It was a simple affair. Just a double-pulley system made of dense wood on which sturdy metal chains were wound to keep the gate up. The only problem was that there were no keys or ratchets in sight with which to unlock them. The Brettonians had been smart enough to disassemble key parts of the mechanism!

Meanwhile, the other Marauders had mostly caught up at the gate and formed a defensive perimeter. As they had anticipated, angry Brettonian knights and soldiers began to swarm towards them in furious waves to stop the Norscans from opening that gate.

A veritable battle had broken out and Erik had to quickly think of a way to either unlock or destroy the gate mechanism to open the gate and let the waiting Frost Wolf army outside into Sainte Denise. A chunk of Marauders had already fallen to pursuing knights before they reached the gate and now 600 Marauders were faced with thousands of enemies.

Erik’s gaze then fell on the brightly shining ruby ring on his hand and took aim at the furthest mechanism.

“FIREBALL!” – He shouted, hoping it’d work.

*FWOOSH!

Luckily, it did and an enormous fireball obliterated one of the mechanisms. Still, a second remained and Erik could not conjure up another Fireball while Scaldar too had used up most of his magic on clearing the path.

The Frost Wolves must have seen the commotion on the walls, because a dense mass of warriors poured out of the camp and ran towards the still unopened gate. And from other sections of the wall, Brettonian reinforcements were approaching. The biggest threat among them being archers carrying strong longbows, ready to rain death upon every Marauder within 200 meters of the deadly weapons.

“Shit!

Now angry and hurried, Erik swung his Glaive at the chain and managed to chip it, but the incredibly thick links did not break. Then, upon seeing one of the slots for the ratchet to fit in, Erik had an idea. He turned his Glaive and jammed the butt into slot before beginning to turn the mechanism with the makeshift ‘key’.

It worked! The weapon caught onto the cogs and gears and Erik was now slowly opening up the gate with great effort. Soon after, gravity began to aid Erik’s efforts as the incredibly heavy gate (hanging on 1 hinge rather than 2 now) began to fall down over the moat.

*ratatatatatata! – the chain unwound itself

*BOOOOM! – the gate crashed onto the ground, opening up the way into Sainte Denise and letting the hungry Frost Wolves into the Brettonian sheep-pen.

“Waaaaaaaar!” – Came the victorious cry from the Frost Wolves as they witnessed the gate fall and began their charge.

Still, the Frost Wolf army was over 2 kilometres away and would take some precious minutes to relieve Erik and Scaldar’s men. The enemy archers were now in position too and began raining death upon the warriors. Some arrows even punched straight through the thick wooden shields and stung the flesh beneath.

Seeing this, Erik quickly made a decision:

“Scaldar! Take your men here and clear the right side of archers! I’ll do the same to the left! Don’t let these Southerner cowards pick off our men as they fight on the ground!”

Nodding he understood, Scaldar led his men away to do as Erik said. Relieved, Erik made his way over to the left wall.

It was a race against the clock. Every moment the Frost Wolf army was outside and every second those Brettonian longbowmen were allowed to fire unopposed, more of Erik’s own men would fall.

“Gods, I wish I had some way to easily replenish or increase my men!” – Erik cursed as his heart ached for the loss of his personal manpower. And as he charged the tightly packed ranks of archers, he failed to notice the I ~Bleep! of another notification:

~Bleep! – Player Erik expressed his Wish in accordance with target Deity’s domain! Small Wish granted: Suitable candidates will be randomly directed to seek out and join Player Erik’s Warband to replenish and expand Player Erik’s forces!

Still, Erik did not notice as he unleashed another massacre on the walls while his men below steadily dwindled under the relentless Brettonian onslaught.