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So Ends the Cowards

And so the battlefield lay bare and unadorned with the carnage of bloody war. The forces arrayed had maneuvered into their positions; each seeking a tactical advantage. The heavy air of apparent battle lay over the field.
The damned Possessed, servants of the Dark Lord of Mordheim, stood awaiting glorious battle. Ooze and slime dripped from the cancerous wounds that plagued their cursed bodies. Twisted by the Dark Lord�s embrace, his minions formed the epitome of savage lethality as favored by their patron. They plotted with their hated enemies, the Sisters of Sigmar, for an alliance that would shake the foundations of the Damned City.
The criminal refuse that held their ground under the relentless assault of the Chaos cult showed fear in every quiver. Sweat beaded on foreheads and nervous exhaustion weakened limbs. The criminal overlord shouted and threatened his unsavory cohorts but to no avail as they pondered escape.
The mighty Dwarves, renowned for valor and strength, also looked over the field with eyes of cowardice. Descendants of a long, proud tradition of warriors today they had shown the City that they were foes of serious mettle. Amongst them stood the Monsterbane, the slayer of the Chimera, as he readied another bolt for his caster. Their leader, son of a chieftain, wiped blood from his forehead, still dizzy from his brush with death. He gazed out over his proud warrior band and saw the resolve and eager determination to do battle in their eyes.
High above the Dwarves stood the Sisters of Sigmar. Bloodied but standing true, they ranged out over the ruined building�s roof seeking vantage points and targets. The Matriarch cast a fretful glance at her fellow Sisters as she felt their accusing eyes burrowing into her back. Long held as the paragons of virtue and nobility, today this Sister had caused dishonor and infamy to be cast upon the Sisters of Sigmar. She had allied them with the very Beasts of the Pit they had striven to expel from the City. She had earned herself a place in the hells of torment reserved only for traitors and kinslayers.
With the monster slain, the glittering from its horde dazzled in the moonlit square. Each warrior could see the hilts of ancient-forged swords and mithril axes as they protruded from the pile of gold and platinum coins. Greed flickered in the eyes of the Underground, and the dwarves gazed upon treasures forged by their ancestors and wielded by Heroes in days long past...
With a curse, the cowardly Kingpin of the Underground fled the streets. His followers gazed at his fleeing back with scorn. Here was their vaunted leader, the man who had organized them, led them and joined them under the power of fear and greed. The man fled like a milkmaid faced by a vicious cow. His followers stared with hatred as he abandoned them to his fate. Never more, they vowed hands caressing knife handles, no more shall a coward lead them.
The Sisters acted as one; they seized their Matriarch by the hair and removed her shining armor. They held her down as the lead Sister Superior incanted the removal of her spiritual office. With a scream, the Matriarch felt the ripping of holy favor from her soul and became aware of her vulnerability. The other Sisters immediately erected a post to which they nailed her shaking hands above her head. The Matriarch hung her head, hair covering the tears that coursed down her face. The Lead Sister gripped her hair and pulled her face up till they met eye to eye.
�You have disgraced our Order, our Faith and Your Soul.� The Sister spat, � Here you shall be left to be ravaged by the hordes of Chaos which you have so easily embraced!�
The remaining Sisters ripped the ex-Matriarch�s clothes from her body and left her hanging from the pole, naked and awaiting the horrible feel of death.
The lead Sister gathered the remainder of the band together and spoke to them. �We shall never speak of the cowardly harlot that brought such shame to our sisters. No word must ever reach our revered Abbottess.�
With a solemn swear, they turned from their leader and made their way back to the Monastery. Accompanied all the way, by the screams of the damned leader that had betrayed them.
The Magister of the Chaos cult happened upon her first and laughed maniacally, reveling in his new toy. He approached the trembling woman, blood soaking her blond tresses from the nails driven through her hands. Gazing upon her, he felt the tremendous mass of his demon-possessed servant strode up next to him. He turned to the beast.
�Tonight we shall have a worthy sacrifice. One certain to gain the Lord�s favor!� The Magister rubbed his hands together as he spoke to his warband.
�Quickly begin the prayer of Immolation so we can send this holy soul to the depths of darkness!�
From behind him came only silence. The Magister turned, in fury, at his followers to berate them. They stood before him, accusing eyes, sharing their hatred and betrayal. A low moan stretched across the street and echoed from the buildings as the Magister saw a dark form rise from the cobblestones to stand behind his followers. Blazing green eyes, smoking with putrescence and corruption regarded him from the shadows.
The Magister quickly sank to his knees. �Oh great master, I beg of thee, look with favor upon this sacrifice of virtue. Here have you triumphed over the accursed sisters!�
The eyes smoldered upon the deposed matriarch before settling onto the Magister.
�TRIUMPH? I SEE NO TRIUMPH. I SEE ONLY A WEAK, COWARDLY FOOL WHO HAS BETRAYED ME BY TAKING UP ARMS IN CAUSE COMMON WITH THE ENEMIES OF MY SOUL.�
The Magister cringed as the anger from the being slid across his body like a sheet of barbed hooks.
�No, my master it was all a secret plot. It was always my plan to betray them.� The Magister stumbled over his words as he cast about looking for support from his followers.
�THOU ART PATHETIC, LITTLE WORM, FOR THOU HAST BETRAYED THE GIVER OF LIFE AND POWER TO WHOM YOU HAVE ENTRUSTED YOUR SOUL.� From within the shadows enveloping those eyes, appeared a struggling ethereal form clenched in a fist of obsidian. The figure wailed and screamed as the fist closed in upon it. The Magister felt the crushing blow as his soul was gripped into nothingness.
His scream lit the night air with its message of pain. He crumpled to the ground as he realized that he had betrayed his Master and forfeited his immortal soul.
�FALL UPON HIM, MY CHILDREN�, the voice commanded, �DEVOUR HIS BODY AS I FEAST ON HIS SINS.�
With a terrible rush, the faithful warband descended on their crippled leader. The tear of teeth, blunt fingernails and ripping of flesh enveloped the Magister as he fought he his former allies. Bit by bit, chunk by bloody chunk each member of his warband drew from him a pound of flesh. At last, the attack ended as the once great Magister lay crumpled upon the street leaking his life�s blood to fill the cracks in the stones.
A shaking of the ground pried the Magister�s face from its contemplation of the street. He lifted his eyes to gaze upon the wretched visage of his Possessed. Arms lashing, the great mouth snapped open and displayed the rotted gums and serrated teeth in the mouth of the demon/human hybrid. The Magister knew that the end was near. With a sickening crunch, a sharp barb entered his chest and tore a hole of pain through his rib cage. Probing, the barbed insectile stinger hooked within his chest cavity and slowly drew out a wad of oozing matter. The stench of organs normally confined to the airtight body assaulted the failing senses of the Magister. With an explosion of air as his lungs exploded the Magister felt the world go black with a loud rip as the stinger again exited his body.
Leaving the ruined remains of their cowardly leader upon the street, the cultists moved into the fog dragging a long pole. Screaming, the woman nailed to the pole felt her skin skin tear as she was moved away to the sanctuary of the Possessed.
The Dwarf Leader cocked his head as another horrible scream filled the night air. He turned to face his warriors only to see the look of disgust on their bearded frames. They gazed at the ground beneath his feet. He looked down amazed to see growing puddle of wetness originated from his breeches. His warriors looked at one another and turned their backs to their disgraced leader.
Never before had a clan leader wet himself in fear and the dishonor was too great for the Dwarves to bear. As a group they turned their backs on the leader in the ancient practice of Shunning. No more would he be considered one of the Clan and his death was preferable to the disgrace that he had brought to his band.
With a stifled sob, he turned from his compatriots and discarded the family axe. He knew that as long as held it his clan was doomed to cowardice. He removed his torc of command and walked in the direction of the screams. Unarmed he would meet his fate and die in way that might bring favor back to his people.
His warband moved on, their leader already forgotten and his name was never spoken again...