I like to write (I’m sure it hasn’t at all been obvious on here that I’m quite verbose).
So I started writing some short (~500 words each) stories about each career, just delving into some of their thoughts and feelings and maybe my own conjecture about how some things came about for them.
I thought I’d share the first three, see what people think. These might have typoes or minor mistakes, I just kind of did a stream-of-consciousness type thing. I am gonna reply to myself here for the other two.
Witch Hunter Captain
This should have been a proud day for him.
It was a shock, to be sure. He had long ago given up on his aspiration to advance within the Order. He did not struggle for accolades or rewards, so it had never truly upset him that he had become so overlooked for advancement.
Though, that wasn’t entirely true, Saltzpyre admitted to himself. It had upset him some - not out of hubris, of course not. It had been because of the injustice.
Had others who were worthier than he been promoted, it would have been a non-issue. But he had seen fools and sycophants raised to higher status over himself. They were not pious, devout men. They were cruel men who followed the path of a holy warrior to be able to indulge their twisted sensibilities. Or at least, he had seen that spark within them.
And why had he been looked over for so long? For daring to speak the truth - that the rat-men were real, that they lived under their feet.
They could no longer truly deny it, not after Ubersreik. Yet they were trying. In the Grand Theogonist’s letter duly granting him the title of Captain, the lettering had been terse, at best. Even with what he had done, what he had stopped, they were grudging. It was not for worthiness they tardily granted him this deserved title, it was pure pragmatism.
And even within it, there had been a terse warning, hidden between the lines.
‘. . . for your great service in repelling the foul Beastman attack upon the city of Ubersreik . . .’
Do not make waves over the rat-men.
They still refused to accept reality, to see the truth. The Skaven could be gnawing upon their flesh and they’d not be willing to accept it. And why . . . ? Were they so scared that they couldn’t even consider it?
The Witch Hunter sighed, and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. He felt a burning pain in his dead eye, a phantom pain. The mocking phantom pain of the cursed god of the Skaven. He felt it sometimes, but it was not real.
If he confronted his superiors about their cowardice in the face of reality, the outcome . . . could be dramatic. In the end, it would avail nothing; they would not change their ways.
Taking his hat up, he set it upon his head. There had been no great ceremony with his promotion. Only the letter, and a metal badge to show his new rank, a symbol of the order that marked him as a captain. He put the badge in the pocket of his coat, then strapped his sword belt on. A brace of pistols, into the deep pockets of his coats.
They needed him now - the Empire needed him. As much as the Skaven were a threat, the current threat seemed to be from without, and they were many. The rumors worried him, and he had heard as well that the Order had suffered losses already. They were tested with dark times, indeed. If half of the rumours were true, perhaps the darkest.
But he had his faith. Sigmar was with them, and if he proved himself worthy, if the people of the Empire kept their faith and were strong, then nothing was impossible.
The Skaven would need time to regroup, even their numbers were not truly limitless . . . But a worm of doubt squirmed in his mind, telling him to not rest easy. Certainly, this was only prelude, the Skaven attack upon Ubersreik.
He might be down one eye, but he could still see.