Victory for the God of Murder

The Warrior Priest named Nathasius stood looking out a window in a chamber, high in a tower, overlooking the ruined realm of Reikland. From the window, he could see the encampments of the evil followers of the Raven God. The Chaos warhost host was here. the city of Praag was burning. He could see the smoke from his window. He could hear the relentless screams of agony. He could smell the blood and the fire. Reikland was falling. Praag was the last line of defense before Altdorf, the capital, the shining beacon of light and hope. A beacon of justice under the blessings of Sigmar. But the warhost had come and was now within miles of Altdorf.

Nathasius was getting old. Like most of the priests, he was bald, but his short beard was white with age. His eyes were wizened and worry had wrinkled his brow. But he wasn't useless. Over his bloodred robes, he wore a steal breastplate and pauldrons. His ornate warhammer leaned against the wall, ready for his calloused and war-hardened hands

Nathasius left the window and returned to his desk. He consulted scripture, desperately seeking away to turn back these vile Chaos cultists. The power of Sigmar could not be undone by the Raven god! It could not be undone! He opened the book and then caught movement out of the corner of his eye. With reflexes like a cat, he had his hands on his warhammer, and he caught the blow of two sharp, bloodstained swords with its metal handle. Nathasius and his assailant were locked together for a short moment that lasted an eternity.

She was a dark elf. She was tall and pale, taller than Nathasius and Nathasius was considered tall by human standards. She was chillingly beautiful. Her white hair flowed down to the small of her back. Some of it was tied up into a ponytail. Two thin braids hung down past her pointed ears. Her eyes were a chilling yellow. She wore dark blue robes, stained with blood, and her steel swords, cruel instruments of torture, dripped onto the wooden floor. Nathasius could actually see the blood haze in the elf's eyes. Those yellow eyes that branded her as a Disciple of Khaine, the dark god of murder.

He pushed back. She stepped back. He swung. She parried with one sword and he dodged as she struck out with the other. She swung again and again they were locked together, holy warhammer against twin blasphemous blades. Her foot shot out and caught Nathasius in the stomach. The man smashed through the walls of the chamber, bricks and mortar collapsed and Nathasius fell, the ground below him hundreds of feet away. He cried a quick plea to Sigmar and then felt a gentle breeze that let him down. He landed on his feet in a courtyard, where a Raven zealot still hung from the gallows. He looked in horror at the bodies of the dead lying strewn about the courtyard. The stones were slick with red blood. She had killed them all.

From the hole in the wall, he saw her standing, her swords at her side. Furious to see that her quarry was still alive, she jumped. By some evil grace, she landed like a cat.

"Sigmar always saves those who have faith," the priest said, almost in a whisper.
"He won't save you," the disciple replied in a snarl.

She assaulted. Her savage blows came one after another, her speed and agility was almost too much for Nathasius. But still he held on. He jumped onto the stone steps leading back into the tower and swung at her head, but she ducked out of the way. One of her swords ripped into his thigh. He cried out as blood poored from the wounds. The jagged weapon ripped into more flesh as she yanked it out. He collapsed and toppled down the steps. She stood over him triumphantly, about to make the killing blow. He blocked it with his warhammer. Calling for Sigmar's grace, he hit her, square in the chest and she flew into a daze against the gallows. The gallows cracked and collapsed, bringing the dead cultist down with it.

She cursed and invoked Khaine's wrath and struggled up. Nathasius was there. He took a mighty swing at her. But then stopped as her sword entered his stomach. The warhammer dropped with a thud.

"Khaine!" she shrieked victoriously. She yanked her sword out hard. Nathasius collapsed, his eyes widening to the excrutiating pain ripped into him. One bloodied hand clutched his entrails as he lie on the courtyard dying. As his vision faded, he watched the Disciple of Khaine leave the courtyard, as if she was on a summer stroll. Sigmar would not save Altdorf.

Nothing would save Altdorf.

At least the pain had ceased.

Author's note: This event was inspired by a quest in Warhammer. I was tasked to kill this computer-controlled guy in a tower on my character, a Disciple of Khaine, which I did. As I was doing it, I was wondering about Nathasius (the guy I was tasked to kill) and what his perspective would be if some evil dark elf had come into the door intent on killing him. Unfortunately, the game's physics didn't allow me to kick him through a wall.

The Disciple of Khaine and the Warrior Priest are mirror classes for Destruction and Order factions in the game. They both are front line, melee/healer types with a few variations on the theme that make them unique. As such, you'll notice they both pray/invoke to their respective gods to help them during during the fight, they both have similar abilities and yet at the same time are opposites. Nathasius is good, the Disciple is evil. Sigmar is benevolent, Khaine, malevolent. Nathasius stands for justice and light, the disciple stands for death and darkness.