Soon they were in range proper, and the roar of firepower was impressive, even with the lacking quantity compared to what you might find elsewhere, tradition warring with practicality and more harshly, the order of The Emperor to maintain a certain level of handguns. The order was given not to force them, but to give them an honourable way to balance the both, as the orders of a superior were held in great regard by the sons of Ulric, and none were superior to The Emperor. While a proper army could field twice as many handgunners and the same in bows, she wouldn’t be as confident in their line infantry than she would here in Middenheim, Home Of The Wolf. Even now the Warrior Priest of Ulric was whipping the men up into a frenzy to match the Norscan’s, and Estaria felt drawn into it, feeling her own zeal for the fight grow as he howled.

"Ulric give me the fangs of the wolf!
Ulric give me the claws of the wolf!
Ulric give me the coat of the wolf!
And I will show your enemies the mercy of the wolf!"

He was echoed by the men on the wall, and Estaria - recognizing the prayer from her own worship and glad it had not changed from North to South - joined her voice to the cacophony. Men bared teeth, howled, screamed and bashed their shields. And that was the men of The Empire. The average Altdorf peasant would see little difference between those of Middenhiem, and those of Norsca. And maybe the only difference was one’s geographical location. As Estaria finished her prayer, a box popped up in front of her.

Touch of the Wolf - 20% increase in melee damage, +5 to strength, stamina, and constitution

With this buff, she realized he wasn’t doing this for any morale reason, but was actually working the magic of his god like a true Warrior Priest. Drawing the eye of Ulric, so that all who prayed to him would receive his touch. It would be put to great use very soon, as they beasts closed in, unperturbed by fire raining down on them, and then the wall shuddered as the rams that the trolls were wielding smashed into the gate. Chunks of the gate splintered immediately, leaving holes that could be widened to man-sized with some spirited axe-work. The Trolls did not survive long enough to enjoy their victory however, as oil was poured down a hatch into them and the ground around them, brought instantly to a boil by the Bright Wizard. Deep, pained roars filled the air and the trolls fled, only to be turned into giant rampaging pyres as the bright wizard lit up the night, igniting the oil that covered the trolls. Seeing a large amount of their number killed by the hated fire, and seeing the night burning intensely, the remaining Trolls fled, feeling that no food was worth facing their greatest - and only - weakness. Screams fought the roaring fire, cries of eminent victory filled the air from the burning trolls, and the crack of handgun and cannon filled every space that was left with an efficiency that surprised Estaria. She had thought them to be using such weaponry because they were told to, but maybe their pride made them learn how to use it to the best possible manner. Looking out into the field, Estaria smiled. Only a fool would attack a bastion like Middenheim and not expect to be hit hard from the start, and relentlessly till the finish.

Then a second sound rang out. One that was almost silent against the din of battle. The clunk of wood against stone. The ladders had come. Small piles of rocks were lined up along the wall in anticipation, and Estaria stepped forward, grabbing one and hefting it over her head and tossing it over the walls. The Norscan climbing up the ladder had his head bludgeoned in by the falling rock, and fell from the ladder. More rocks were thrown, but there were many more ladders than piles and rocks, and the rocks themselves were not endless, so soon the first Norscans made it to the top.

The Warrior-Priest of Ulric swung as one of the heads appeared near the walls, the Norscan’s helmet getting split open along with his head in one might swing from the man’s axe. Despite a spirited effort to the contrary, the Norscans made it onto the walls, and them melee began. Blood rapidly slicked the floor, and bodies both Empire and Norscan filled the walls, making it a most treacherous foothold to have. And yet Estaria found herself in a state she had not felt in a long time. Each man who fell to her blade invigorated her to further kills. She was a strange woman in her soul. While enjoying the art of precision with her handgun and later pistols, the northern ice could not be shaken and she was always ready to throw down with the screaming masses, blade against blade. A powerful slam of her shield sent one of the Norscans plummeting down to break his body on the ground below, and at the same time, she saw Borrago cut an armoured man in half with a swing. The horned helmet and superior gear marked him out as better than a simple tribesman, but that mattered not for the Beast Eater. Crashing her way towards him, he gave a non-vocal bellow of acknowledgement and together they fought, back to back against the tide of Norscans coming over the ladders.

Fatigue at 25%

The unintrusive box rang out, and a few moments later the gate was turned to kindling by the warriors hammering on it, exploiting it’s weakened form from the ram. Attacked on two fronts, neither force could assist the other. The Sigmar-led forces on the ground, mostly made up of her Southerners to put the Warrior Priest to best use, got into the thick of the fighting. Neither as ferocious not as skilful as the northern Middenhiemers, they had their own zeal when lead by their Warrior Priest. A glance around the walls revealed that it was too chocked full of bodies to see her Priest, but his howl of fury and passion ensured her that he was still alive. She was thankful for the extra Stamina she had built up over the week, and of the buff the Warrior Priest had given, but her fatigue was still climbing with every kill, and the numbers grew as the seconds passed, each unblocked hit lowering her luck. Near fifty percent, a great horn rang out from the central fortress of Middenheim. The horn signalled a retreat to ground further in the castle. The Walls were not the only place preparations were being made, but separate staging grounds as they pulled back to the main castle, each designed to cost the enemy, to bleed them of men and morale. Designed to keep the advantage and pull back when it was lost. Of course, with nobody fighting on the walls and nobody at the gate, the Norscans would have free rein into Middenhiem, but that was a non-issue at this point.

The retreat off the walls was orderly and precise, fighting and snapping at the Norscans every step of the way. Their pursuit was dissuaded of being to close by a group of northern hunters, who used their longbows to harass anyone who tried to get to close. The fight back was rough but eventually, there was enough space to properly disengage, at which point the gate fighters also did the same. She was then lead through the maze of buildings by the Warrior Priest until they reached a redoubt, a fortified position at the end a narrow corridor of buildings. At first, Estaria thought it would make for great mortar shots, but they weren’t like that here. Maybe it was just to keep them packed together and taunt a few into killing themselves to progress, or something.

In this redoubt, they met a new complement of men, fresh and ready for action, as they were directed to a small area off from the centre opening, which held short rations. Water and tacks to get your breath back from the fight. A few surgeons to stop the bleeding of any wounds. She looked back, at the maze of streets she’d never have been able to navigate without the Warrior Priest, and then around herself. The whole of Middenheim had been built not as a city, but as a Fortress. The imposing, sturdy houses that were a far cry from the ramshackle hovels of the South were designed to block off movement, they were placed to confuse and the Middenheimers would take full advantage of that ensuing confusion. They didn’t just rely on high walls and sturdy men.

The water was fouled somehow though because it looked and tasted enough to turn your face inside out.
“Cold does nothing for the taste! But, here’s hoping you’ll forgive us, things being what they are and all” the civilian at the large kettle exclaimed after seeing Estaria’s face. “Proper beans, boiling water, and a bit of goats milk make an experience many times superior to this swill. You should try some after we eject this rabble” he finished, before nodding and getting back to others.
“The confidence he has…truly staggering” Estaria said softly, finishing the foul brew and eating her tack before taking a seat on the ground and relaxing. Only people truly confident and truly born in a Fortress could have the courage to make an area for besieged soldiers to rest. And then the source of this confidence appeared, as a giant man with an equally sized hammer, and bedecked with great plate armour. The Ar-Ulric, most respected man of the Ulric church. From all around her came the sounds of tapping feet and signs of respect towards the great leader of the Ulric Church, and signs made with gauntleted and gloved hands. With a lift of his hammer and a lupine howl, he took to the front lines, backed by his full-plate wearing guards and Greatswordsman besides them. Such a wall would be terrifying for Estaria to try and charge against. But then they did just that. The first Norscans found their way out of the maze and to the redoubt. Not that it would do much for them until they finally came in mass since that first was shot in the head by Estaria.

“Black powder is a coward’s weapon!” one of the Middenhiemers cried.
“I dunno, anyone who is willing to wield a weapon they know will explode and kill them with any given use is pretty ballsy in my book. Plus you have to put a few weeks into training just to off-set its inaccuracies. And then another year to be accurate with it. And just because you are training doesn’t mean the whole explosion clause is removed. Imagine if every swing of the sword could make the sword shatter into a thousand shards that then embed themselves in your flesh” Estaria countered, giving a speech while reloading her pistol. It garnered a laugh of appreciation from the giant Ar-Ulric, either for the words itself or the way it was presented. Estaria was not quite the fanatic to get so insanely flattered that the Ar-Ulric had laughed at her words, but they did make her blush a little from the recognition. She was a face in the crowd girl, even after becoming a Captain.

With respite gained from her guns, she shot more Norscans, but the drip was becoming a flood as the Norscans guided their fellows through the maze. A small wave of firepower came from the Redoubt, but there was not many of them, to begin with, so it was scattered and light, taking merely the stragglers on the flank. And then they reached the wall, and the carnage began. Skulls were split, chests were smashed. Axes bashed against the plate of the men holding the line and were repulsed. A pile of dead Norscans began to build up in the entrance to the redoubt, and soon Norscans had to climb over their fallen to attack, which put them in the worst position possible and lead to the wall of dead growing. Eventually, Norscans just started to try to push the dead bodies onto the Ar-Ulric and Teutogen Guard. The wall that held off the Norscans then folded and became a ring, supplemented with the soldiers gathered in the redoubt proper. An arena of death that cut the Norscans to shreds. They had numbers in droves, but that was all they had, as there were few champions and it didn’t seem like there were any true-blooded Chaos Warriors in the horde. Eventually, the Redoubt filled with bodies, until there were no more bodies.

Estaria, who had been one of them drawn into the circle, let out a breath as the last Norscan fell to her sword. Casually reloading her pistols, she put them into the holsters, and then stretched her tired arms. With the rest, the buff, and her Stamina, fatigue had dropped enough that it was at 39 now. The jittery nerves and powerful battle adrenaline were felt clearly now in this moment of calmness. And it only made the next part even worse. Striding out to the front of the Redoubt, a mighty Chaos Champion appeared his name Black to Estaria’s sight. A being so strong it would end her life in a handful of moments. And from behind him came eighty-seven red-clad Chaos Warriors. From the Redoubt, Estaria could see the orange names and luck bars denoting them to be Elite enemies. The fight they were in for was a fight that was going to smash through the front lines and roll into the Redoubt itself, the fury and force of the Middenheimers being the only thing to keep them from razing the city.

A horn rent the air when the Chaos Warriors appeared, and then they charged in. It didn’t seem to be the Chaos’ horn, but rather charging in response to it. Still, that didn’t change the fact that they were charging. Estaria gave the man in front both pistol rounds, but they both glanced off armour, his luck reduced a fair degree from Blackpowder’s damage to luck ability, but still with a sizeable amount left. Whoever was going to face off against him would need to be glorious. Hastily backing up and reloading her pistols, she stuck another two into him before he got to the front line, and a Greatswordsman was cut down in the first swing. Estaria had no more time to worry about him however because his warriors had arrived and were clashing with the men in the Redoubt. Estaria found herself quickly engaged with one of the giant metal clad monsters, and the fight was rough. Each blows felt like they were delivered by a Troll, her shield-work the only thing between her and a shattered body. And that didn’t stop her shield arm from quickly growing numb from pain. Her sword slowly stripped his luck as her own was taken off with large, worrying bites, but eventually, she was down, drawing blood and stealing health. An act soon repeated by the man as her health bar decreased from a blow. One final leaping strike slid her blade under his helmet and spilt his blood on the ground, but that was one man. Just one, and it had nearly killed her.

Around her, men piled in to fight the Warriors and were cut down as they cut them down. But the price was too dear, and the soldiery was getting overwhelmed by the skill and staying power of the Chaos Warriors. Small pockets of resistance struck, Greatswordsmen and Warrior Priests matching blow for blow, but the ground was littered with the heroic men of the Greatswords. Even the Ar-Ulric’s Teutogen Guard were being felled, though they reaped a far more bloody toll of their foe before falling. The Ar-Ulric himself clashed against the Champion, being the only man not struck down by a matter of course. And then Estaria was in combat again. She swung and then got a pop-up box.

Touch Of The Wolf has Expired

Which came at a terrible time, the sword of the Chaos Warrior smashing her to the ground and stealing a chunk of her health. Blooded and stunned, Estaria tried to climb to her feet but was not able to move as a giant foot slammed her into the ground, forcing the breath from her lungs. She defiantly flailed her sword, but lacking a good angle and without the buff to her stats, it did little more than chip his luck stat. The blade came up, and then a massive clang filled the air as the helmet deformed with a crumble, and the man fell sideways, freeing Estaria, and giving her a chance to take the hand offered by the man, a large Middenhiemer in full plate and wielding a great hammer.

“Ulric Hunts!” came a pounding roar, as a dozen such armed and armoured men rushed into the Redoubt, answering the horn’s call and lending aid to their beleaguered comrades. Estaria recognized their armament and insignia as the Order of the White Wolf, a strong knighthood order who had detachments at every temple to Ulric. Even if it was but a single man watching over a small shrine. Middenheim detachment was by far the largest, as their temple was the greatest. The Knights were a cut above the already high soldiers of Middenheim, and their arrival tipped victory away from the arriving warriors. But by themselves, they would not guarantee victory, only a more costly defeat for the warriors. But then, as Estaria staggered to her feet, a boom came from the Al-Ulric. Looking over, he held aloft the helmeted head of the now-corpse at his feet.

“See the Mercy Of The Wolf, Father!” His roar reverberated through the air, and his passion filled every man present with a martial desire unmatched by the earlier Wolf Priest. And Estaria was informed of its superiority by a nice little box popping up.

Howl of Ar-Ulric: 100% to Melee weapon damage. +20 to Strength, Constitution, Stamina

And like that, the rest felt. Chaos Warriors though they were, they could not stand to a divine boon granted to the men by the head of the church of Ulric himself. His blessings were the closest one got to being touched by the God Himself, and so their power was undeniable. And with that driving them, the last man was driven to his knees, bleeding and dying. The Siege of Middenheim was finally over.