I’ve been thinking all about Games Workshop’s old (and joint tied with Inquisitor and Necromunda for best) game Mordheim.
Thinking of getting the old band back together, so I’ve come up with a short based in the setting.
Young Thom steadily pushed his oar into the river waters as guided The Blackwater Captain along the Canal. Calling the Blackwater a ship was a long jest of the crews, based on too many promises and too few successes by their leader “Captain” Jack Strovenhaim.
Those lack of successes were what had brought them to the City of the Dammed, desperation to strike success making them abandon plying the safer routes to seek Wyrdstone. Attempting to peer through the mists to spot any dangers, Thom wished they were anywhere else right now.
To the aft of their small boat was Volf, a heavyset Kislevite whose muscle had saved them so many times they no longer minded his words being incomprehensible and Captain Jack himself, trying to look inspiring in a hat three sizes too large for him. There were other men on board, but they were new hires, so Thom paid them no heed. If they survived the half dozen skirmishes he had, then they became worth knowing the Captain said. That was a few dozen skirmishes ago and Young Thom had decided the Captain’s words were mostly horsewater. But until a better offer turned up, he was loyal as they come.
Peering ahead of the river he saw black shapes running alongside the bank. One of them threw something and two of the new hired fell down screaming, some sort of throwing star embedded in them. In a second utter chaos erupted. The Captain shouted orders for the men to defend themselves just as one of the black shapes leapt onto the boat slashing left and right with glowing green daggers.
Volf rushed it and battered it aside leaving a stunned ratman to be hacked down by the survivors. Thom panicked. He had heard of the mutants and beastmen that apparently ran amok in Mordheim but nothing like this.
He started to try and steer the boat to the shore where they crew would be able to mount a better defense against the ratman. At that point a ratman the size of an ogre burst from the river with a mighty roar. The boat hit it side on, splintering the wood and eliciting pain from the giant. But it clung on and started to open up the gap in the side, letting the water of the Stir pour in.
As more black clad ratmen leapt on board and attacked the crew, Thom decided to hedge his bets and jumped overboard, swimming for shore. He pulled himself up onto a stone jetty and ran for the dubious safety of a nearby ruined shop.
Once inside he hid behind the store counter to catch his breath. He heard footsteps and looked up to see a man discharging a pistol in his direction. A high pitched squeal rang through the air and Thom opened eyes he had instinctively closed.
The man stood in front of him, loading his pistol with a fresh pellet. Almost absent minded he offered a hand and pulled Thom up too close, letting him see that the stare of the man was cold and unflinching.
“What’s your name Lad?” barked the man. “Young Thom Sir” he stammered back.
“Well then Young Thom,” muttered the man, as he kicked over the ratman corpse, scanning for nearby threats
“I’m guessing it was your lot who caused the nearby ruckus. Just as well too. I still haven’t figured out how we were going to get past those Skaven”
“You the only one left?”. Thom nodded a head, still slightly stunned.
“Well good” replied the other man “I only accept survivors into my warband. No time for deadweight”
The man stuck out a hand “Druthers the name. Me and my band will look after you. Who knows, if our luck carries on like this, we may even get out alive!”