The bestial onslaught faltered at the door, each horned, fanged, hooved monstrosity falling to the report of some form of ranged weapon. Two diminutive, almost human things were rent apart by Schimmel’s blunderbuss, a large, muscle-bound brute with the head of a goat, clad in dark, rusty metal plates, fell prey to two bolts striking his throat and armpit respectively, while Adebar fired his pistol at a monstrosity with the head of a carnivorous deer, sending the chaos-spawned thing to be trampled down by more of its misshapen brethren as they forced their way in through the shattered door, stopped by arrows to their legs and chests, trampled, in turn, by yet more of the armoured brutes, charging in with their horns lowered. Though a handful of them were felled by missiles, the same amount reached the barricade. There would be no second volley. Only steel and ferocity would save them now.

The thing was a head taller than he was, its head that of some form of misshapen bulldog, its shoulders and chest were covered by crude, rust-red plate. It attacked with strength and dexterity that belied its ponderous and dim appearance. Two axes flashed through the air, one fended off with a backhand strike of the rapier, the other narrowly avoided by an awkward duck, that sent some pain through the, by now weeks old, wound von Bolstedt had suffered at Diesdorf. He had no time for pain now, not if he wanted to make it through this alive!

The rapier’s point swung around, he tried to stab at the monster’s furry thigh, where it wasn’t covered by a stained loincloth and scraps of chainmail. The thing bawled and barked, falling back a pace, long enough for Adebar to reverse the grip of his pistol, grabbing it by the still warm barrel, charging after the beastman brute, using the gun as an impromptu club, swinging it from above to crack the things skull.

The brass pommel at its end hit the thing’s snout, drawing a snarl from it, that only prompted the mangled jaws to snap at von Bolstedt’s hand. The nobleman recoiled, only to once be charged down by the brute, blocking left, right, trying a jab at the shoulder, cursing as one of the axes broke through his guard and scraped its way across his doublet, leaving a long line of blood on his chest. Adebar felt no pain, no, only the unending indignity of dying here, the righteous wrath of man when faced with the unnatural. The beast’s next blow followed right after the first, but was caught on its opponent’s blade, bounced back, Adebar’s wrist flicked, he twisted his body with the motion, delivering a jab at the hound-man’s face. The silvery point of the blade was stained with dark, vile blood, he pressed in far more than he should have, the steel sank into the monster’s skull through the eye-cavity.

Adebar’s gloating sneer was wiped off his face when he was hit from the side by another of the twisted beasts. Its curved horns hammered into his ribcage, he felt something pop and shift as he was carried through the air for a moment that seemed to stretch on for eternity. It was a strange feeling, so very strange…

The impact tore him from his short eternity, his head hit the floor painfully, and he lay sprawled on the floor, like a toppled bug. He forced his eyes open, tried to force away the sobering pain, tried to regain his combat fury. The fight was grim, five of the men already lay dead, more seemed to be losing their fights. The women of the house beat at the bestial despoilers with pans and clubs,

It all seemed hopeless, desperate and futile.

His own attacker stood above him now, a thing so shaggy he couldn’t even make out what manner of hybrid it was. In its hand it held a great spear, or halberd, raised high so it could end him.

“Go on you ugly, heathen thing.” He was ready. If he would die here, abandoned by Sigmar, then so would it be.

He glared up at it, goading it to end his life, when the thing suddenly sported a new, rather large hole in its chest, before tipping away to the side.

His heart beat once more, he drew in a blood-tainted breath.

“Come on then, don’t have time forever y’know!”

He took Schimmel’s hand, his bones creaked, pain stabbed through his chest, but he would need to make do. His penance was not at an end.

The men fought back to back, trying their best to fend off the ever onrushing tide of furred, scaled, feathered horrors. Technique suffered, poise was broken, weapons lost and taken up. Soon more of the defenders lay dead or maimed, the rest fell back to the stairs, up to the second storey of the building. The innkeep himself tripped on the stairs, slick with blood, dragged down and gored by the bestial assailants. The youngest daughter, shrieking in terror, trying, so irrationally, to save her sire, nearly charged into the fray on her own. Adebar had acted out of instinct, not love, when he’d grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her back while his blade danced down to cut off a hand that reached out to grab her. Then they stumbled through the door to the second floor. Five people pressed to force it shut, von Bolstedt tried to keep back the baying horde. It was another of Schimmel’s shots that gave them enough breathing room to close and bar the thick door.