Soon they were in range proper, and the roar of firepower was impressive, even with the lacking quantity compared to what you might find elsewhere. Tradition warring with practicality and more harshly, the order of The Emperor to maintain a certain level of handguns. The order was given not to force them, but to give them an honourable way to balance the both, as the orders of a superior were held in great regard by the sons of Ulric, and none were superior to The Emperor. While a proper army could field twice as many handgunners and the same in bows, she wouldn’t be as confident in their line infantry than she would here in Middenheim, Home Of The Wolf. Even now the Warrior Priest of Ulric was whipping the men up into a frenzy to match the Norscan’s, and Estaria felt drawn into it, feeling her own zeal for the fight grow as he howled.

"Ulric give me the fangs of the wolf!

Ulric give me the claws of the wolf!

Ulric give me the coat of the wolf!

And I will show your enemies the mercy of the wolf!"

He was echoed by the men on the wall, and Estaria - recognizing the prayer from her own worship and glad it had not changed from North to South - joined her voice to the cacophony. Men bared teeth, howled, screamed and bashed their shields with their swords, a terrible and furious cacophany thrown at the Norscans rushing towards them. The average Altdorf peasant would see little difference between those of Middenheim, and those of Norsca. And maybe the only difference was one’s geographical location, Middenheim's reputation for a hot temper and feral savagery was not unearned, after all. As Estaria finished her prayer, a box popped up in front of her.

Touch of the Wolf - 20% increase in melee damage, +5 to strength, stamina, and constitution

With this buff, she realized he wasn’t just doing this for any morale reason, but was actually working the magic of his god like a true Warrior Priest. Drawing the eye of Ulric, so that all who prayed to him would receive his touch. It would be put to great use very soon, as they beasts closed in, unperturbed by bullets and bolts raining down on them, and then the wall shuddered as the rams that the trolls were wielding smashed into the gate. Chunks of the gate splintered immediately, leaving holes that could be widened to man-sized with some spirited axe-work. The Trolls did not survive long enough to enjoy their victory however, as water was poured down a hatch into them and the ground around them, brought instantly to a boil by the Bright Wizard. Deep, pained roars filled the air and the trolls fled, only to be turned into giant rampaging pyres as the bright wizard lit up the night. Seeing a large amount of their number killed by the hated fire, and seeing the night burning intensely, the remaining Trolls fled, feeling that no food was worth facing their greatest - and only - weakness. Screams fought the roaring fire, and the crack of handgun and cannon filled every space that was left with an efficiency that surprised Estaria. She had thought them to be using such weaponry because they were told to, but maybe their pride made them learn how to use it to the best possible manner. Looking out into the field, Estaria smiled. Only a fool would attack a bastion like Middenheim and not expect to be hit hard from the start, and relentlessly till the finish.

Then a second sound rang out. One that was almost silent against the din of battle. The clunk of wood against stone. The ladders had come. Small piles of rocks were lined up along the wall in anticipation, and Estaria stepped forward, grabbing one, hefting it over her head and tossing it over the walls. The Norscan climbing up the ladder had his head bludgeoned in by the falling rock, and fell from the ladder. More rocks were thrown, but there were many more ladders than piles and rocks, and the rocks themselves were not endless, so soon the first Norscans made it to the top.

The Warrior-Priest of Ulric swung as one of the heads appeared near the walls, the Norscan’s helmet getting split open along with his head in one mighty blow from the man’s axe. Despite a spirited effort to the contrary, the Norscans made it onto the walls, and them melee began. Blood rapidly slicked the floor, and bodies both Empire and Norscan filled the walls, making it a most treacherous foothold to have. And yet Estaria found herself in a state she had not felt in a long time. Each man who fell to her blade invigorated her to further kills. She was a strange woman in her soul. While enjoying the art of precision with her handgun and later pistols, the northern ice could not be shaken and she was always ready to throw down with the screaming masses, blade against blade. And with the unbridled fury of the Middenheimers smashing unyieldingly against the violent howls of the Marauders, it was an easy feeling to get into.

A powerful slam of her shield sent one of the Norscans plummeting down to break his body on the ground below, and at the same time, she saw Borrago cut an armoured man in half with a swing. The horned helmet and superior gear marked him out as better than a simple tribesman, but that mattered not for the Beast Eater. Crashing her way towards him, he gave a non-vocal bellow of acknowledgement and together they fought, back to back against the tide of Norscans coming over the ladders.

Fatigue at 25%

The unintrusive box rang out, and a few moments later the gate was turned to kindling by the warriors hammering on it, exploiting it’s weakened form from the ram. Attacked on two fronts, neither force could assist the other. The Sigmar-led forces on the ground, mostly made up of her Southerners to put the Warrior Priest to best use, got into the thick of the fighting. Neither as ferocious not as skilful as the northern Middenheimers, they had their own zeal when lead by their Warrior Priest. A glance around the walls revealed that it was too chocked full of bodies to see her Priest, but his howl of fury and passion ensured her that he was still alive. She was thankful for the extra Stamina she had built up over the week, and of the buff the Warrior Priest had given, but her fatigue was still climbing with every kill, and the numbers grew as the seconds passed, each unblocked hit lowering her luck.

Near fifty percent, a great horn rang out from the central fortress of Middenheim. The horn signalled a retreat to ground further in the castle. The Walls were not the only place preparations were being made, but separate staging grounds as they pulled back to the main castle, each designed to cost the enemy, to bleed them of men and morale. Designed to keep the advantage and pull back when it was lost. Of course, with nobody fighting on the walls and nobody at the gate, the Norscans would have free rein into Middenheim, but that was a non-issue at this point.

The retreat off the walls was orderly and precise, fighting and snapping at the Norscans every step of the way. Their pursuit was dissuaded of being to close by a group of northern hunters, who used their longbows to harass anyone who tried to get to close. Eventually, there was enough space to properly disengage, at which point the gate fighters also did the same, backed by a fresh unit of Wolf Brothers who held off the Marauders trying to harrow them. Such violence and fervor from the Wolf Brothers that even the Norscans bawked for a moment.

She was then lead through the maze of buildings by the Warrior Priest until they reached a redoubt, a fortified position at the end a narrow corridor of buildings. At first, Estaria thought it would make for great mortar shots, but they weren’t like that here. Maybe it was just to keep them packed together and taunt a few into killing themselves to progress, or something.

In this redoubt, they met a new complement of men, fresh and ready for action, as they were directed to a small area off from the centre opening, which held short rations to recover. A few surgeons were also present to stop the bleeding of any wounds and aid in not dying slowly from an unnoticed wound. She looked back, at the maze of streets she’d never have been able to navigate without the Warrior Priest, and then around herself. The whole of Middenheim had been built not as a city, but as a Fortress. The imposing, sturdy houses that were a far cry from the ramshackle hovels of the South were designed to block off movement, they were placed to confuse and the Middenheimers would take full advantage of that ensuing confusion. It seemed they didn’t just rely on high walls and sturdy men.

Taking a cup of the water and knocking it back, Estaria found that it was fouled somehow. The taste turned her face inside out, and it looked to be thick and black and certainly something far beyond what she'd ever put in her mouth usually.

“Cold does nothing for the taste! But, here’s hoping you’ll forgive us, things being what they are and all” the civilian at the large kettle exclaimed after seeing Estaria’s face. “Proper beans, boiling water, and a bit of goats milk make an experience many times superior to this swill. You should try some after we eject this rabble” he finished, before nodding and getting back to others.

“The confidence he has…truly staggering” Estaria said softly, finishing the foul brew and eating her tack before taking a seat on the ground and relaxing. Only people truly confident and truly born in a Fortress could have the courage to make an area for besieged soldiers to rest. And then the source of this confidence appeared, as a giant man with an equally sized hammer, and bedecked with great plate armour. This man was the Ar-Ulric, most respected man of the Ulric church. The very name meant "Son of Ulric".

From all around her came the sounds of tapping feet and signs of respect towards the great leader of the Ulric Church, and signs made with gauntleted and gloved hands. With a lift of his hammer and a lupine howl, he took to the front lines, backed by his Brothers of the Axe, the greatest of the already great Teutogen Guard. Such a wall would be terrifying for Estaria to try and charge against. But then they did just that. The first Norscans found their way out of the maze and to the redoubt. Not that it would do much for them until they finally came in mass since that first was shot in the head by Estaria.

“Bah, Black Powder is for weeds and cripples!” one of the Middenheimers cried. It's use was not exactly accepted by anyone who didn't use it.

“I dunno, anyone who is willing to wield a weapon they know will explode and kill them with any given use is pretty ballsy in my book. Plus you have to put a few weeks into training just to off-set its inaccuracies. And then another year to be accurate with it. And just because you are training doesn’t mean the whole explosion clause is removed. Imagine if every swing of the sword could make the sword shatter into a thousand shards that then embed themselves in your flesh” Estaria countered, giving a speech while reloading her pistol. It garnered a laugh of appreciation from one of the giant Teutogen Guard, either for the words itself or the way it was presented. Estaria was not quite the fanatic to get so insanely flattered that one of the Brothers of the Axe had laughed at her words, but they did make her blush a little from the recognition. She was a face in the crowd girl, even after becoming a Captain.

With her detractor thoroughly put down, she shot more Norscans, but the drip was becoming a flood as the Norscans guided their fellows through the maze. A small wave of firepower came from the Redoubt, but there was not many of them to begin with, so it was scattered and light, taking merely the stragglers on the flank.

And then they reached the frontlines, and the carnage began. Skulls were split, chests were smashed. Axes bashed against the plate of the men holding the line, it was a whirlwind of carnage. A pile of dead Norscans began to build up in the entrance to the redoubt, and soon Norscans had to climb over their fallen to attack, which put them in the worst position possible and lead to the wall of dead growing. Eventually, Norscans just started to try to push the dead bodies onto the Ar-Ulric and Teutogen Guard. The wall that held off the Norscans fell back a little from the tidal wave of bodies and was supplimented by the men in the Redoubt, turning it into an arena of death that cut the Norscans to shreds. They had numbers in droves, but that was all they had, as there were few champions and it didn’t seem like there were any true-blooded Chaos Warriors in the horde. Eventually, the Redoubt filled with bodies, until there were no more bodies.

Estaria let out a breath as the last Norscan fell to her sword. Casually reloading her pistols, she put them into the holsters, and then stretched her tired arms. With the rest, the buff, and her Stamina, fatigue had dropped enough that it was at 41 now. It was lower, but then the fight put it up again. The jittery nerves and powerful battle adrenaline were felt clearly now in this moment of calmness. And it only made the next part even worse. Striding out to the front of the Redoubt, a mighty Chaos Champion appeared, his name Black to Estaria’s sight. A being so strong it would end her life in a handful of moments. And from behind him came eighty-seven red-clad Chaos Warriors.

From the Redoubt, Estaria could see the orange names and luck bars denoting each one to be an Elite warrior requiring monstrous power to overcome. The Warriors had let the Marauders weaken and exhaust the Middenheimers, and then rolled in to take victory when it was time.

A horn cut through the silence when the Chaos Warriors appeared, and then they charged in. It didn’t seem to be the Chaos’ horn, but rather charging in response to it. Still, that didn’t change the fact that they were charging. Estaria gave the man in front both pistol rounds, but they both glanced off armour, his luck reduced a fair degree from Blackpowder’s damage to luck ability, but still with a sizeable amount left. Whoever was going to face off against him would need to be glorious. Hastily backing up and reloading her pistols, she stuck another two into him before he got to the front line, and a Greatswordsman was cut down in the first swing.

Estaria had no more time to worry about him however because his warriors had arrived and were clashing with the men in the Redoubt. Estaria found herself quickly engaged with one of the giant metal clad monsters, and the fight was rough. Each blows felt like they were delivered by a Troll, her shield-work the only thing between her and a shattered body. And that didn’t stop her shield arm from quickly growing numb from pain. Her sword slowly stripped his luck as her own was taken off with large, worrying bites, but eventually, she was down, drawing blood and stealing health. An act soon repeated by the man as her health bar decreased from a blow. Searing pain from the axe wound in her side and the feel of cold blood on her skin was certainly not something she was enthusiastic about. She felt her body flush with heat and her arms tighten with fury, redoubling her effort and throwing her entire body into the man. She bounced off him, unsurprisingly, but it put him off balance enough that she could throw her shield at his head. And then finally before he could recover from the shield, she shot him in the chest.

The barrage was enough to tip the man over, and with him on the floor Estaria rushed in and slammed her sword into his throat, spilling blood everywhere. Her dear friend The Warrior didn't seem to take the request of "Just die already!" and punched Estaria in the ribs, knocking her off her straddling point and standing up. Though, eventually everyone has to accept reality, and he swayed a bit on the spot before collapsing. But all that....all that, was just one man. One man and he had nearly killed her.

Around her, men piled in to fight the Warriors and were cut down as they cut them down. But the price was too dear, and the men was getting overwhelmed by the skill and staying power of the Chaos Warriors. Piles of dead Wolf Brothers surrounded the Chaos Warriors, pittered more sparingly by the Greatswords of Middenheim. Even the Ar-Ulric’s Teutogen Guard were being felled, though they reaped a far more bloody toll of their foe before falling. The Ar-Ulric himself clashed against the Champion, being the only man not struck down by a matter of course. And just top top it all off, Estaria got a most infuriating popup.

Touch Of The Wolf has Expired

Blooded and stunned, now that she had lost her buff, Estaria tried to climb to her feet but was not able to move as a giant foot slammed her into the ground, forcing the breath from her lungs. The Warrior laughed at her, squirming under his foot and trying to reach for her sword that was still in the other man's throat. The Warrior's blade came up, and then a massive clang filled the air as the helmet deformed with a crumble, and the man fell sideways, freeing Estaria. Coughing and wheezing as she looked at the man who had saved her, and saw a giant in armour. She wondered if the Warriors were fighting among themselves, but that was quickly put to rest.

“Ulric Hunts!” came a pounding roar, as a dozen men rushed into the Redoubt, answering the horn’s call and lending aid to their beleaguered comrades. Estaria recognized their armament and insignia as the Order of the White Wolf, a strong knighthood order who had detachments at every temple to Ulric. Even if it was but a single man watching over a small shrine. Middenheim detachment was by far the largest, as their temple was the greatest. The Knights were a cut above the already high soldiers of Middenheim, and their arrival tipped the balance of power again. But by themselves, they would not guarantee victory, only a more costly defeat for the warriors. However, Ulric would not abandon his people and as Estaria staggered to her feet, a booming roar came from the Al-Ulric. Looking over, he was battered and bloody, his armour dented and cut open in places, one arm slick red with blood. But still, he held aloft the helmeted head of the now-corpse champion at his feet.

“See the Mercy Of The Wolf, Father!” His roar reverberated through the air, and his passion filled every man present with a martial desire unmatched by the earlier Wolf Priest. And Estaria was informed of its superiority by a nice little box popping up.

Howl of Ar-Ulric: 100% to Melee weapon damage. +20 to Strength, Constitution, Stamina

And like that, the rest felt. Chaos Warriors though they were, they could not stand to Knights empowered by the Ar-Ulric. His blessings were the closest one got to being touched by the God Himself, and so their power was undeniable. And with that driving them, the last Norscan was driven to his knees, bleeding and dying. The Siege of Middenheim was finally over.