Of Monsters an Men

  Jonathan recited his prayers yet once more.

  “There is peace in suffering; I won’t be done until I’m undone”.

  He cautiously glanced over to the fireplace, where Squire Alfred was talking to Ser Gehrman. He averted his gaze and took up his prayers again, but was interrupted by Rob. He reeked of ale and smoke.

  “Rob, the Lady judges you every day…,” Jonathan started, but Rob cut him off.

  “Fuck ya, Jonathan, wadda you know…” Rob spat at him as he gave Jonathan a two fingered salute, his palm turned inward.

  “You’ll shite ya pants, when ya hear what I just told Alfred…,” Rob paused, getting uncomfortably close, “… there’s rumour of a dragon”.

  Jonathan could not believe his ears as panic took hold of him. He whispered a prayer as the Order prepared to hunt a dragon.

  It had not taken them long to find the creature’s lair. Bellowing sounds had echoed through the streets of Mordheim, acting as a beacon. Jonathan felt anxiety swelling up in him, but quenched the feeling, reciting another prayer,

  “The Lady looks not at the faltering, so we will not falter.”

  A strange smell of rotting eggs reached Jonathan’s nose as they closed in on a collapsed building. He cautiously looked about, as he heard a low rumbling noise and the sound of claws scraping on stone.

  Arrows flew over Jonathan’s head into the ruins ahead. The roaring noise stopped for an instant and was replaced by crackling sound and suddenly the sky was ablaze. A pillar of fire erupted into the sky, answered by more arrows flying into the ruin.

  Jonathan realised the warband had already begun to engage the building. One by one, they climbed up the ridge of the platform, on which the den of the beast was resting. Jonathan made haste, overtaking some of his companions.

  The air blistered from the heat of the fiery breath. Jonathan could feel sweat forming on his brow, his tunic began to cling to his body.

  Ser Gehrman was next to him, breathing heavily, his great axe resting in his hands. Jonathan muttered a prayer, “The Lady sees our suffering, the Lady sees …. “. A screeching sound disrupted him.

  Jonathan covered his ears, his vision blurring. Inside the den he heard scales on stone. Seconds later, a fiery pillar erupted - but not towards the sky. The flames licked past Jonathan. The heat burned his robe. His skin blistered as the smell of burnt hair stung in his nose.

  Jonathan started to clank his maces together, again and again. He saw Gehrman reaching out for him, but it was too late. A smile curled around Jonathan’s lips, and from the depth of his soul a song erupted, loud against the roaring of the beast ahead:

  “On the fair fields Bretonnia, we heed the Lady’s call. Through suffering we march as one, until we all will fall! Her will be done, her voice be heard, by lance and sword and shield, we might stumble, we might fall, but our faith will never yield.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  And with that, Jonathan ran into the den, without even looking at his companions.

  He was met by a stench that drove tears to his eyes. Before him was a swirling mass of scales and claws. The stench was only surpassed by the sheer terror the sight induced. But Jonathan cared not for it.

  The den was a collapsed chamber, the ceiling partially crumbled. He charged the monster headlong. He swung his maces, but his blows were deflected by the creature’s scales.

  The beast turned at him immediately - a wide swipe with its claws sent Jonathan flying against the left side wall of the chamber. He tasted blood, ears ringing, his vision blurring, as the monster pinned him against the wall.

  Somewhere to his right he heard Adalhard’s new squire, Geoffrey shout a battle cry and the sound of steel meeting flesh.

  The monster recoiled, just enough for Jonathan to get back up. He charged again, while his companions were thrashed about like rag dolls. Until suddenly he heard the cracking sound of metal meeting bone. When Jonathan looked up, it was already over.

  Jonathan saw Brother Gilbert, davoid of any emotion, smashing his maces into the creature’s skull.

  The rushing of blood deafened Jonathan, but his vision started to clear. Looking at the slain beast, he realised it was smaller than it had seemed in combat yet even more grotesque and dangerous. And with it came the realisation that he had survived. A single tear ran down his face as he fell to his knees. “Lady, oh fair Lady, what else must I endure, until you find me worthy of your recognition?”

  Slowly the rushing sound subsided, and Jonathan looked past the carnage. The sudden realisation hit him hard, they were not alone. Behind the carcass, he saw a menacing man, pale as death himself, with strangely elaborate features, surrounded by the walking dead. He looked like a predator, ready to pounce at his prey. In the other corner of the lair stood a red-haired woman, clad in chainmail and fur, surrounded by a group of pagans, wearing horned helms and long beards.

  Jonathan felt the man’s voice rather than hearing it, as if blades were cutting his bones. “It seems we have a conundrum at hand,” he said with a dry, rusty, yet arrogant voice. “We shall parley”. And with that, he turned around and went into a side chamber, leaving his accursed creatures behind, twitching, snarling.

  The brutish lady barked some commands at the men and followed suit.

  Jonathan looked for Ser Gehrman and found the knight lowering his axe and looking at his exhausted and battered companions. Hesitantly he turned and went after the two others.

  Time crawled to a halt, as they waited. Jonathan started performing the rites on the wounded, who lay battered and bruised in the den. The creature’s carcass formed a small wall between them and the others. But Jonathan could feel their gaze upon them.

  He was about to pray as he heard heavy footsteps. Ser Gehrman had returned. The knight took off his helmet without looking anyone in the eye. “We …” he started and exhaled. Ser Gehrman drew in a deep breath and started again, “We take the beasts head and this axe of dwarven making and a handful of gold each and we leave.” And with that he left the chamber.

  Jonathan looked back at the others, before leaving the chamber himself. They did not follow.

  That was the worst of it.

  Jonathan could feel their presence beyond the walls, patient and unhurried, as if the hunt had merely been postponed.

  Some time later they returned to camp, for the first time as one. Yet Jonathan did not feel joy, and neither did he see it in his companions faces. It was until later, when a small fire lit up against the dark of the night, when Rob and Peter started singing a song of knightly bravery in the face of a dragon. The knights started boasting and retelling the story of the fight and young Geoffrey was dubbed “Sang de Dragon” for drawing first blood in combat.

  Jonathan turned his back to the fire wanting to pray, but for the first time could not find the right words. He turned towards Ser Gehrmans tent and found the knight sitting in front of a dimly lit brazier.

  Upon reaching him, the knight looked at Jonathan with tired eyes. “Good Ser, may I ask you to pray with me?” Jonathan asked. He got no answer as Gehrman averted his gaze and looked into the embers.