Brandt’s Return

“It was with great reticence and a tangible sense of unease that Albertus Brandt returned to the town of Stadtheim. His last visit, some two years ago, had ended in the death of his good friend and trusted sword Richter at the hands of the the vile skaven filth.

Stadtheim, a small port on the River Aver, was a fairly innocuous little town until a few years back. After the well documented events in Mordheim, many miles to the north, illicit wyrdstone trade routes sprang up right across the eastern Empire. Many tried their luck travelling down the River Stir, which passed through Mordheim itself. However the ‘Stir Run’ proved fateful for all who attempted it. Local militia and like-minded competition watched eagle-eyed day and night, slaughtering and dispossessing any who came to their grasp.

And so by strange misfortune it was to the gates of Stadtheim that the major southern route fell. Crossing Stirland on foot was no mean task, but from here the wyrdrunners could ride the river to Nuln and beyond in relative safety.

The flowing trade had changed Stadtheim from an unassuming burg to a bustling merchant haven. The Mayor expanded the city watch three fold to deal with the rising robbery crime, but otherwise did little to stop the flow of wyrdstone through his town’s limits. The local nobility benefited greatly from the growth, increasing their power and status through canny trade and careful employ of less tasteful methods.

It was in the purse of one such noble that Albertus had last served in Stadtheim. He’d been hired to track down a band of giant rats that had followed a trade convoy to the town. His mission had been a success, destroying the skaven to the last and acquiring a large haul of wyrdstone in the process. The loss of Richter had stung Brandt deeply though, and he left the town vowing never to return.

Yet two years later he was once again stood at the town gates, his new warband in tow ready to tackle another mission. The missive from Baron Ritter had been too tempting to ignore. An enormous cache of wyrdstone was discovered to be within the town, and warriors and mercenaries from all across the Empire were flocking to Stadtheim to contend for riches and glory. The Baron had made Brandt a hefty proposition if he would champion Ritter’s stake in the treasure hunt. The chance to re-equip his warband and maybe make one last run at Mordheim itself couldn’t be passed over.

“Lost in reverie, Captain?” said Brother Furlong, the man who had so adequately filled Richter’s shoes.

“Hardly, padre. This town holds nothing for me now but the big pile of coin that’s headed our way,” replied Brandt.

The rest of the warband, dubbed “Brandt’s Brigands” by one of the youngbloods, filed past up the street toward the nearest tavern. The journey from Altdorf had been a long one, but once rested up they’d be hot on the trail of the apparent fortune.

And they weren’t the only ones. Already in the town were many bands of mercenaries from Marienburg, Middenheim, Ostland and of course Averland itself. Dwarf treasure hunters had come out of the World’s Edge Mountains. Even bands of Halflings had travelled from the nearby Mootland. Rumours of pirates of every creed and colour (including green) were spreading like wildfire around the town. Who knows what other vile creatures were also a party to the hunt in the dark of night?

Stadtheim, for the time being at least, was about to pay host to the Empires largest brawl. To the victor, untold spoils and riches. To the losers, ignominy and desperation. If they were very lucky.

So it begins.”