A song of Ice and Fire and Game Of Thrones are both the property of George R.R. Martin and HBO. Also Warhammer Fantasy is the property of Games Workshop and does not belong with me in any way. Also you'll notice the similarities between my story and A Song of hammers and Twin-Tailed Comets written by Trazyn the Infinite. I am using parts of his story in mine. I Have sent him a PM asking for permission to do so, but haven't received a response back. I will continue my story, although in the future if he responds and is not ok with me using his ideas this story will be removed.

Johannes I

Rain, mud, and a damp chill that sank into your bones was all too common during the first month of Spring. More so in northern Middenland where my companions and I trudged through the leg swallowing muck of the Drakwald. Hard rainy marches through the forest roads were something I had grown accustomed to in my time with the greatsword regiments of Carroburg. But said experience compared little to this miserable week long trek through the dark forest, stopping for a moment to pull a wine skin from my worn and ripped satchel, filled with wine from a particularly expensive looking bottle I had "liberated" from one stingy innkeeper during our stay in Delberz. The bastard tried to sell us moldy bread and rotten meat for rations. He relented only after our leader stared him down. I swear the man pissed himself. Bringing the skin to my lips and taking a deep drink, I was stopped mid swig by a loud thud and shout that sounded like grinding rocks. Turning, I found my dwarf companion on his hands and knees in the mud having just tripped over a thick hidden root.

"Ahh! Damned thingaz! I'll never understand why ya umgi settle in such places," he grumbled.

I made my way over to help him to his feet, but he waved me off just as I arrived. Standing he whipped his mud covered hands on the dark grey cloak he purchased in the last village we stopped in before entering the forest, so as not to further dirty his armor.

"Well we don't normally live in the middle of the woods, and it helps to look where you're walking." I replied.

Laughing at the glare he shot me, I failed to notice the spark in his eye when he spied the wine skin. Moving faster than his build would suggest, he swiped it with his gauntlet covered hand. Quickly downing the contents in three quick gulps. He tossed the skin back to me while chuckling which sounded like falling rocks. Wiping the mud from his braided grey beard, which reached down to his thighs. I sighed while upturning the skin, knowing that the dwarf finished the only thing I had to keep the misery of this Sigmar damned march at bay.

"Was that really necessary Thorik? It was just a jest," I sighed.

"Haha. Aye and I commend ya for it, but I finished your poor excuse of a drink for holding out on me all this time."

Thorik answered back, giving a final laugh. As frustrated as I was, I couldn't stay mad at the dwarf ranger. Almost a year and a half of fighting and traveling together had built the foundation of a strong friendship one can only find between brothers in battle. It also helped that we were both boisterous, quick to laugh and more than happy to share a story over a drink. Well, more like multiple drinks. Thorik Stormforge hadn't changed at all in the time I've spent with the retinue. Same stone hard face with a large nose, bushy eyebrows, and bald head covered by his dark steel helm. As well as an old scar starting from the left side of his nose, traveling down below his ear to his neck.

He was stout like all dwarfs, but taller than most of his kind. Packed with muscles from neck to foot. Wearing a dark blue sleeveless gambeson, twenty layers thick. Which extends to just above his knees covering his black wool pants. A long sleeved coat of mail had been seamlessly sown in between the tenth and eleventh layers of cloth. The mail sleeves covered to half way down the forearms, hooking into steel vambraces. Steel greaves covered his thick dark leather boots, and poleyns with cloth lined interior protected his knees. Strapped to the black leather belt that held his gambeson in place at his waist were two master crafted axes. Each axe had metal shafts lined with dark brown leather at the bottom for handles made for throwing as well as hacking.

The true eye catcher was Thorik's mighty double-faced war hammer resting across his back like my greatsword. it was a sight to behold. Two octagons of silversteel made up the faces of the mighty weapon. With two eight sided necks leading to a massive square head, where the shaft was welded into the eye. The top of the metal shaft was ornately carved leading to a maroon leather wrap with three evenly divided bronze spacers, one of medium width at the top dividing the carved silversteel and the wrap. One thin spacer equally halving the leather for hand placement. The widest one capping the bottom of the shaft, to keep the hammer from slipping out of the hand. Despite how well crafted it was. What truly made it unique were the runes of power glowing brightly on the cheek of the hammer, which were reflected on the other cheek as well.

Someone clearing their throat broke me from my admiring of the silver weapon. That someone being the leader of this merry band of misfits, Brother Ludolf Richter of The Holy Order of the Templars of Sigmar. Or, as he preferred to be called, Richter. He rarely needed to announce what he was since his garb did it for him, donned with the signature brown leather tall hat of his order, though not as tall as his brothers and sisters hats. A vampire had cut the top cleanly off when it tried to take Richter's head while we were in Sylvania. Being pragmatic he simply had it fixed at its existing height.

Along with the hat he wears the brown leather greatcoat of his order, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, He customized it with simple round steel spaulders worn atop the coat. His leather gloved hands and vambrace covered arms were crossed over his two bandoliers which formed an X atop the steel cuirass protecting his chest and back. Said bandoliers were filled with stakes, throwing knives, bombs, and all sorts of alchemical concoctions, the effects of which I didn't know. The handles of two pistols holstered to the lower end of the bandoliers jutted out of the coat with the barrels hidden beneath. I knew he had two more holstered to the back of his hips, with the hilt of his plain bastard sword sheathed on his back peeking over his right shoulder.

His coat also hid the four daggers sheathed in scabbards attached to the thighs of his black wool breeches. Two on each leg pointing down to his steel covered boots which protected his lower legs. A single spike jutting out from the front of each boot. He had short black hair and a full goatee. And three parallel scars running from above his brow down past his right eye to the middle of his cheek. Speaking of his eyes they were grey and hard as stone. When they glared at you it would feel like you were utterly alone and helpless. They instilled a sense of solitary fear that there was no escape from, and no matter how much you wanted to look away you couldn't until he looked away first. And that only happened when Richter got what he wanted, whether it was answers, supplies or your cooperation. Oh yes he was a most unpleasant person to be around when it came to work...well he was just unpleasant to be around all the time.

"Are you two finished? If not then shut up, I would prefer if you did not alert the sorcerer to our presence. As well as all the beastmen that might be in the area."

Richter bit out with tones of restrained anger in his normally cold, calm and collected voice, his glare in full force. I nodded a moment later, but Thorik huffed and simply stared back unfazed. Damn dwarfs and their stubbornness.

"And why should we do that. If the bastard knew we were here he would've attacked us by now, same as those goat fuckers you're talking about. Ya need to relax a little Ludolf. Here, take a drink from Krieger's secret stash," joked Thorik. He was the only one to call Richter by his given name.

"Shut it you stunty bastard," I snapped, "and you drank it all in case you forgot."

I turned back to Richter only to wince slightly, seeing that his glare had hardened even further and was now wholly focused on me. After a moment he turned back to Thorik marching right up to him, and stared down at the dwarf.

"Right you may be, but that does not mean you can walk through here drinking and yapping like some court gossip. When you swore yourself to me, you also swore to follow my orders. As I stated before, shut up and keep moving. Were almost there. That goes for the both of you," ordered Richter.

Richter turned and marched on, Thorik grumbled a curse in his native tongue and followed. Staring at my now emptied wine skin, I sighed while returning it to my satchel. Lamenting my current existence likely for the tenth time today, I made to march on until the voice of the second most recent addition to the group drew my attention behind me.

"It really is astonishing that they have not killed each other yet," commented the voice.

"True, but fighting together for over four years builds a bond of respect, if not friendship despite differing personalities," I replied.

Once fully turned I came face to face with the noble and terrifying visage of a golden red demigryph with a leather saddle and armored barding staring down at me. It tilted it's head slightly and gave a small squawk. Then lowering its head it gave me an exploratory sniff as I stared into its open, blood red beak to spy it's razor sharp teeth. It's leather reins gave a slight tug to its left, rising back up to its impressive height of eight and a half feet. It took a very large step forward with its powerful legs and clawed feet. Nodding to the now revealed rider who struck an equally noble figure, Leonhard von Ritter was a tall noble born Reiksguard knight with deep blues eyes. A handsome face with a jaw like an anvil, charming smile and muscled like a maiden's dream. He was assigned to us by the Reiksmarshel himself during our stay in Altdorf.

Fitted in the dwarf forged steel plate armor of his legendary order. He had removed the red and white plumes that normally adorned his close helm, to draw less attention he had told us. Not that it really did much considering the rest of his armor. A Shining cuirass decorated with a golden wreathed imperial cross, topped by a gorget with a red and bronze twinned tallied comet centered in the middle. Pauldrons with an engraved demigryph on each shoulder, leading down to his couters, vambraces and gauntlets that covered the arms. The tassets, which were attached to his fauld, were both inlaid with a golden skull and hung over his cussies. His poleyns were as plain as his greaves and sabatons he wore over his boots. He was armed with the Drakwald runefang Beast Slayer and a steel enchanted shield adorned with a golden twin tailed comet from the royal armory, the lucky bastard. All covered in a nondescript but expensive cloak to stay dry.

"That is true, I suppose. Though you better hope it lasts, because you always seem to be caught in the middle of their arguments. Well we should catch up with the other two, as I have no desire to draw the witch hunter's ire for falling behind or being out of formation," said the knight.

"Aye you have the right of it," I replied.

With a nod, and taking one last look at his gryph Bloodbeak, I moved to fall in line with Thorik while the knight took up the rear. Leon, as he preferred to be called, wasn't bad for a Reiklander or a noble for that matter. Though growing up in Carroburg I had more chances to interact with our southern neighbors than most other Middenlanders, especially those who lived in the north of my home province and doubly so for those who live in Middenheim. Although he was a gregarious fellow. He was humble for a Reikland noble, still proud of his accomplishments. Being born a third son to a house of low standing, he had a right to be. Leon had risen far above his station by joining the Reiksguard, an honor normally reserved for the most skilled and well connected nobles.

The rain seemed to worsen the closer we got to the tower our quarry took refuge in. I drew my cloak closer around myself trying to keep my armor as dry as possible. By Ulric! I miss my old armor from the regiment. Before I was loaned to Richter I wore armor similar to Leon's though with less ornamentation. Mine was black, instead of the normal shining polished steel and designed to be adjustable to fit men in my size range. As was standard in the regiments of my home.

Alas once assigned to the witch hunter I had to turn my armor over to the quartermaster. After all it wasn't really mine, it belonged to the regiment. And dwarf forged steel plate armor was wildly expensive. No way in hell I could afford it. My new armor was a fine replacement though. The only difference was instead of a cuirass and pauldrons over a short red gambeson, with all the arm and leg armor of full plate armor. Now I was armored with a black front opening brigandine, worn over a long dark grey gambeson. I had black steel spaulders for my shoulders and vambraces with connected couters for my forearms and elbows, as well as thick dark leather gloves for my hands. My legs and knees were protected by greaves and poleyns that buckled to my boots. Finally, I wore a steel sallet with a liftable visor to protect my head. All crafted by Thorik I might add, so I couldn't really complain. Especially since he claimed it was far lighter and protected just as well, if not better than my old armor. And after a year and a half of wear and tear in combat and against the elements he was right. It required less maintenance than my last set. Same for the new greatsword he forged for me. About five feet long and perfectly balanced sword, as wide as my palm. It has short, crescent shaped parrying hooks above the ricasso. With black leather covering the ricasso and handle, a skull shaped pommel and upward curving guard. It was stronger and lighter than its size suggests and rarely lost its edge.

The rain grew colder and harsher as we marched; the wind howling like the banshees found in Sylvania. Richter suddenly stopped, raising his fist, signaling for us to do the same. Throwing his hand down and forward while crouching Thorik and I moved to join him. Taking a knee just behind him, finally laying eyes on our destination, after chasing the heretic all over Reikland and Middenlad for over three months. A five story moss covered, dilapidated tower lay about two hundred yards out in the middle of a perfectly circular clearing. With a slight incline leading up to the tower. Despite it raining so hard that we might as well have been swimming, it was hardly raining in the clearing. Hell it wasn't even raining in there. Yet the storm's dark clouds remained above covering that sky. Though the storm was swirling like a maelstrom with purple lightning flashing through the sky directly above the tower.

"Looks like your source was right Herr Richter, now let's go kill the heretic!" Leon exclaimed.

A wicked grin of anticipation on his face. The constant chase had frustrated him to no end and he was eager to crack some skulls. We all were. But Thorik had stepped in front of the knight as he made his move.

"Hold on there lad. Somethings off, best to wait and watch a little more before we make our move," said Thorik.

"Yes I can see the swirling vortex of clouds and lightning dwarf. No doubt the sorcerer is casting some foul magic. All the more reason to make haste and kill the fiend," Leon replied.

"I'm all for killing the bastard and leaving this place as soon as possible, but Thorik's right. Best to be prepared. And don't forget about the unusual beastmen activity that the local state troops reported. It's surprising that we haven't run into a single ungor," I add my own thoughts in support of Thorik. "It's strange to not run into beastmen this far into the forest, especially in the Drakwald."

Leon made to press his point, when The voice of Richter stopped him.

"Your right," stated Richter.

"Um, who's right Herr Richter?" asked Leon.

"You all are right. We should be as cautious as the situation permits us in case of traps, magical or conventional as Thorik stated. Krieger is also correct about the lack of beastmen. The fact that state troops saw the mutants and were not attacked is beyond strange. I reckon that the sorcerer may be controlling that local mutant population to most likely ambush anyone who enters the clearing," explained Richter.

Leon looked shocked for a moment. Composing himself, he asked how Richter knew this. Richter simply raised his right arm and shook the spyglass in his hand that he kept in one of the innumerable pockets of his great coat.

"While you three were arguing, I was scanning the tree line around the clearing and spotted a group of ungor hiding in a bush on the opposite side of the clearing. There are most probably groups of mutants lying in wait to attack, and because we haven't been attacked yet it means they're waiting for us to enter the clearing," continued Richter.

"So the mage keeps the beast under control so as not to draw attention?" I asked, and Kruger nodded in agreement. He then stood and turned to us

"As I said, all three of you are right, meaning Ritter is correct as well. Judging from the abnormal weather the heretic is casting some foul sorcery and we must stop him as soon as possible. We shall push for the tower at quick march. Ritter you shall lead. Make for the tower with all haste and don't stop until you reach it. Once there, turn back to us and charge any group of beastmen that is gaining on us. Krieger, you and Thorik will follow. Signal Jaeger when the beastmen make their move. Kill any who challenge our approach. I will bring up the rear and cover your backs. Understood?" asked Richter.

We nodded and moved to prepare. Richter cocked the flints of his pistols back. Thorik hefted his hammer from his back while I donned my helmet and pulled a small linstock to light the signal. Giving a silent prayer to Sigmar and Ulric as I lit the slow match. Leon mounted Bloodbeak and moved in line with the rest of us. He looked to Richter who gave a single nod to commence. He leaned forward in the saddle and gave the reins a strong snap and off he charged atop his mount while we followed.

About a fourth of the way in the beastmen made their attack, with bestial war cries. Dozens upon dozens burst from the trees upon the hind legs of goats and cows. Welding crude axes, clubs, cleavers and spears in the hands of men with claw like nails, some covered their human chests with a shoddy patchwork of leather and mail armor looted from the bodies of slain men and raided villages. Luckily the majority of them were the small man sized ungors with human heads and mouths filled with sharp teeth, although I could see a few horned goat heads of the larger stronger gors. Reaching into my satchel and pulling out an arm seized rocket. Lighting the fuse and holding it aloft as I ran, shooting off it exploded in a bright red flash bathing the sky in its light. Ahead of us Leonhard had just reached the tower and lined Bloodbeak up with a pursuing group of beastmen. Shouting his battle cry and giving his mount a kick they were off.

"For the emperor, FOR SIGMAR."

With a mighty screech Bloodbeak raced past me at full speed towards a group of ungors who had made their way behind us during the chase. With a booming thud the gryph toppled and crushed the first three, moving to claw its next victim. I turned my head back to the tower just after Leon had decapitated a gor with a downward slash, no doubt Beast Slayer would live up to its name today. A bestial grunt drew my gaze forward and to the left. A gor snuck up on me, my greatswords still sheathed so to keep my hands free for the signal rocket. I was defenseless, it's axe already raised and ready to cleave my head in two. Giving a roar from its fanged mouth, that was cut short by a thunderous crack, the beast's head snapped back and it crumbled to the ground. Black, corrupted blood poured from the large hole in the back of it's head, with brain and bone covering the once green grass further behind it.

"Focus you fucking fool, get to the damned tower!" yelled Richter.

Acknowledging Richter's order with a nod, I finally drew my greatsword, cursing myself for being distracted like some green militiaman. Finally reaching the tower Richter, Thorik and I formed a half circle in front of its doors. Thorik, guarding our left flank. Richter facing back the way we came, pistols in hand and myself on the right. I could still hear Bloodbeak tearing through the beastmen in horrific ways, going by the death cries of the foul mutants. A wolfish smile worked its way onto my face. The smell of rancid blood and discharged gun powder filled the air, along with the cries of pain from the dying savages. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I can hear it. My enemies' movements slowed to a crawl. My senses sharpen like no other time than in battle. Almost nothing could compare to it,

The first mutant reached with its weapon back in preparation to strike, leaving its chest unprotected. Giving a quick thrust to its heart, killing it instantly. Taking a quick step forward shouldering it off my blade into its comrade behind it. Swinging to the right and opening another ungor's lower stomach spilling its guts on the ground. Stepping back to the knocked over ungor, bringing my sword over my shoulder in a downward slash severing it's head from it's shoulders. Regaining my stance to receive my next foe. A gor charged my front its two handed axe parallel to ground ready to take my head. Ducking under the powerful sweeping attack leaving its back to me. I shouted as I swung my sword with all my strength in return cleaving the savage in two.

An arrow whistled past my ear, I quickly turned to see another gor. It's weapon raised above its head with an arrow in its throat, the fletchings nearly meeting the skin. It collapsed, clutching its neck while choking on its own blood. Turning to where the arrow may have come from. I spied a sight that brought a smile to my face, The dark brown imperial griffon Swiftwing made a dive into the clearing on the opposite side of the tower. He made landfall with a thunderous crash combined with the cries of mangled and crushed beastmen. A moment later the form of a man in a dark green cloak made its way between the three of us from the other side of the tower.

"Haha! Nice of ya' to finally join us Markus! I was afraid you wouldn't make it," greeted Thorik

The now revealed Markus who replied with his own quip after killing two mutants with an arrow each.

"Did ya miss me already already Thorik."

Not wanting to be left out I added my voice to the banter. After cutting my own foe open from its right shoulder down to its left hip.

"What took you so long. Were you just sitting and watching from up there all this time like you Hochlanders are known to do."

I could hear the smirk in his short and to-the-point reply.

"Signal me sooner and I'll be here sooner Middenlander, or did ya forget how to light a fuse."

I gave a quick laugh while parrying the strike from an ungor. It roared in frustration while making another attempt, which I parried again this time knocking it off balance, opening its throat with a riposte before it could regain its footing. Richter, being the man of pragmatism he is, asked the all too important question.

"Did you spot any reinforcements on your flight in Jaeger?"

"No, nothing in the immediate area Templar," replied Jaeger.

He said nothing more. Hearing the information he needed, he refocused his attention to the fight at hand. We all did. Richter, Thorik and I met the charging beastmen while Markus thinned their numbers before they reached us with his bow, which was enchanted by an amber magister, and dealt with any that tried to sneak past our flanks. The fight persisted for what felt like an hour, though in reality it lasted no more than ten minutes. The Clearing was littered with small groups of corpses, a larger pile surrounding the four of us. The stench of blood, shit and piss filled the air. I really wish things wouldn't soil themselves when they die. Thorik had fared nicely with bodies that had their heads crushed or chests caved in laying in front of him. A group of beastmen lay before Richter, all with precise cut and stab wounds to vital areas. I tuned to my own pile of dismembered, decapitated and deeply cut bodies. The rest were feathered by Markus. Further out mid way from the tower to the tree line lay small groups of crushed, dismembered and utterly mangled bodies Swiftwing and Bloodbeak had made. Leon trotted up to us and dismounted, raising his visor and flashing that annoyingly charming smile of his.

"Well gents, it seems like I claim today's win," boasted Leon.

"What are you on about umgi?! You gryph did all the killing out of the two of ya!" Thorik shouted back.

Said gryph was lying down and happily cleaning its feathers and claws without a care in the world.

"Don't be stupid dwarf. I most certainly killed my fair shair and Bloodbeak is my mount so his kills should count as mine!" yelled Leon in return

"No! No! That's not how the game works," Thorik continued shouting. "They must be killed by your own hand! Johannes help me out here."

The game they are talking about is something Thorik and I started shortly after I joined up. Basically who ever kills more foes in a battle wins, and whoever wins the most by the time we reach the next inn gets to have the loser pay for his drinks. Before I could respond Richter Stepped in.

"Enough, we still have a sorcerer to kill in case you all forgot. Jaeger, mount up and watch over the clearing. Sound your horn once if anything approaches the tower. Ritter, have your gryph guard the door. You will enter the tower with Krieger, Stormforge and I," comanded Richter

We all nodded and our faces turned grim knowing this next fight will be far more difficult than the last. The beastmen were relatively easy to deal with despite the numbers advantage they had. They're skillful ambushers. But if they lose the element of surprise they're through, because once they charge the tiny semblance of discipline they have gives way to unrestrained bloodlust. Since we knew they were here we could disrupt the charge of larger groups with the griffon and demigryph, leaving the smaller more manageable groups for us to handle. But it's different when it comes to the sorcerer. Dealing with him would be difficult outside the tower. But inside? Well, I didn't like our chances.

A cry from Swiftwing broke me from my musing. The other two were standing near me wanting for the order from Richter, who was reloading his pistols. Once he was finished he organized us for breaching the doors . Thorik and I would open the door for Leon to enter first with his shield from the royal armory, that was enchanted to repel all attack magic. Followed by Richter covering him with his pistols, while Thorik and I brought up the rear.

We each took a moment to say a final prayer. Thorik, to his ancestor gods, Richter and Leon are most likely begging Sigmar for blessings of strength and fortitude. For myself, I prayed for Ulric to fill me with strength, I prayed to Sigmar for courage and protection against what we may face, and I pleaded to Morr should I fall, for forgiveness of any and all sins I committed in life. I was the last to finish and took my place on the right door, glancing at Thorik who gave a nod of encouragement which I returned in kind. Bracing the doors we looked to Richter who saw we were ready.

"Now!" he commanded.

With a mighty push from Thorik and I we breached.

Author's Note

Hello this is my first attempt at writing. Fanfiction or otherwise, so constructive criticism is welcome. Please if you don't like the story leave a comment explaining why, although please refrain from leaving comments telling me to kill my self and other bullshit like that...Seriously it's just fanfiction.

Language translation

Khazalid is the dwarf language which is rarely ever spoken outside the Karaz Ankor.

Thingaz - Dense forest in Khazalid.

Umgi - Human/Man in Khazalid.

Names of armor pieces from head to toe.

Close helmet - Or close helm was a military helmet worn by knights in the Late Medieval and Renaissance eras.

Sallet - A combat helmet became very popular in Europe during the mid-15th century. Became universal in Germany. Normally worn with a Bevor.

Gorget - A piece of plate armor designed to protect the throat

Pauldrons - A piece of plate armor that protects the shoulders. Larger than spaulders.

Spaulders - A piece of armor that protects the shoulders. Smaller than pauldrons.

Couter - Or cowter is a piece of plate armor that protects the elbow.

Vambrace - A piece of armor that protects the forearm. Can have a connected couter.

Gauntlet - Armor that protects the hands and wrists.

Cuirass - Steel breast and back plate.

Fauld - A piece of armor that protects the waist and hips.

Tassests - Pieces of plate armor that hang from the fauld to protect the upper thighs.

Cuisses - A piece of plate armor that protected the thigh. Think greaves but for you thighs

Polyns - Or genouillere is a piece of armor that protects your knees

Greaves - Armor that protects the legs. Just from the knee or from just under the knee.

Sabaton - Or solleret is a piece of armor that protects the feet. Designed to be worn over shoes or boots.

These pieces all make up a full suit of plate armor of the Late middle ages and Renaissance

Brigandine - Body armor that is made up of either heavy cloth, canvas or leather, lined with small oblong steel plates on the interior riveted to the fabric.

Gambeson - Thick padded armor made up of many layers of linen or wool. More effective than you would think. Gambesons were the light armor of the medieval era, not leather. Think about it, kevlar is a fabric and that shit stops bullets.

Characters

Johannes Krieger - 21 years old at story start, 6ft 3in tall

Born in Carroburg, Middenland. Orphaned while young. Served in the greatsword regiments of Carrouberg

Educated in reading, writing and math.

Ludolf Richter - 36 years old at story start, 6ft 1in tall

Birthplace unknown Parents unknown. Raised by the Holy Order of the Templars of Sigmar. Templar witch hunter

Received a high education from the Order

Leonhard von Ritter - 18 years old at story start, 6ft 2in tall

Born in the von Witten manor outside of Altdorf, Reikland. Second son and a Reiksgaurd knight.

Received a nobles education

Markus Jaeger - 17 years old at story start, 6ft tall

Born in Estorf, Hochland. Hunted his whole life and served in the Drakwald Patrols since he was Fifteen.

Basic education in reading, writing and math.

Thorick Stormforge - Over a century old, 4ft 1in tall.

Born in Karak Azul and is currently a ranger

Can speak, read and write in Reikspeal.