The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Ranald's Luck

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Angestag 24th Kaldezeit 2522~

I don’t know why I write my memoirs anymore. They seem a silly thing now. Though everything in my past seems silly and childish. The trappings of a sheltered fool of a girl who would not follow the gentle supplicant path of a lady of these times. I could not play the loving daughter who’d kiss the hand of her father, and marry the wondrous husband he had been able to convince to marry an unlucky aging bride as myself.

Luck: another joke of life, or Ranald, depending on how you think.

Speaking of life I almost died today. You could say that this is an occurrence that happens with alarming regularity in my city, but I think I am fooling myself if I believe the sun shines brighter beyond the Vloedmuur. It certainly doesn’t shine in this ‘city of gold’. City of Gold. The only thing golden about Marienburg is the fabrics we dress ourselves in as we stride through and over the muck. It’s a city of filth if you ask me. Rotten to the core with a shiny bright sweet skin like an apple (be careful not to bite) - can’t have your dinner and eat it.

By Morr’s breath I thought I was gone. I’ve been improving on my bumbled first attempts at picking pockets now I don’t have my old ‘brother in crime’. ~How I miss him.~ Passing through some of the hawkers and others on the street a man piqued my interest. Tall with a black buckled hat, long coat with big pockets and a shadowed face; I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try (certainly not on an obvious visitor). Might even cheer me up a bit to see what I could win from a fish. I pulled the old stumble trick and quickly found myself a side alley to check my winnings.

A scrap of parchment. Parchment! I risked a fumble for some parchment that talks about scrolls, and a name I’m not permitted to use on pain of a swift pistol to the head if I’m lucky, guts if I’m not.

Yes. Parchment. 

A few seconds later there’s a cold pistol cocked at the back of my head and I surrender up my hard won ‘prize’. The man pistol marches me some distance through the freezing shady back alleys. By this point I have seen him up close, far too close. He’s tall and armed like you would not believe. I won’t even try describe the look he gave me lest it make me cry. Foolish girl. The thoughts that ran through my head ranged from a quick shot to the head, to being sold into slavery, or stripped for the enjoyment of lesser men before being beaten to death. At that point I would have offered anything to Manann to take me back to the temple and my new husband; life with him might be better than death after-all.

We quickly came to the door of a townhouse and I was shoved inside. I was trying so hard to remain calm and composed. My teeth and hands wanted to betray me with the ice shakes, my eyes stung. 

In the warmth of the house I came face to face with three more strangers- a priest of Morr with his silver raven pendant, the house obviously his own from the items and belongings there; a moustachioed dwarf wearing a tricorne hat, he just as terrifying as the pistol pointer; and a very loud and talkative woman about age with myself. There was talk and the woman seemed to win me a visit to the less intimidating back room with it’s stove where she gave me my first hot meal of the day. She fussed over me like my old nurse maid. Though very common in her demeanor I found her to have a sharp mind and a likable nature. This one, Danielle, I believe she has a good heart. Like a sister from the other side of the city so to speak. It seems odd but she has a strangely calming influence with her confidence.

Very quickly the tall one with the pistol came back and dismissed the servant from the room. I wished he hadn’t. He took a chair at the small table and removed his wide hat to reveal an unshaven grizzled face with the serious humorless eyes I imagine my father would have if crossed in his dealings. The pit of my stomach dropped into nothing. He could ask me anything and I would answer. No guile here.

My heart stopped. I watched as he silently placed his cocked weapon lightly on the table, pointing it in my direction. I could smell the leather of his coat, the smell of unwashed clothing, gunpowder and streetmuck. Carried on the air of his close breath was the musk of man, intimidation, a whole other world from that of sweet boy. This was a man who would not be messed with. Thoughts raced. Oh how I wished I had kept my fingers to myself. Ranald was having his fun. This was far from reappropriating a ladies coin purse or taking my lunch from the busy market trader’s cart. This man would kill me.

I breathed out. My heart beat again, so fast I could barely hear anything else. My palms were clammy. Lightning in my veins. He asked me about what I had done. What I had understood. He told me why a piece of information that was essentially meaningless to me had the importance to bring the entire Empire to it’s knees. He presented his options to me, all with the continued unrelentless look of a man who was judging my very soul. I would either take a shot to the head and spend the rest of my earthly remains in the garden of Morr; or I would be taken against my will, with himself and his companions on their quest, to use my skills when required and be a loyal attendant, paid for my services, and never to breath a word of the parchment again. It was down to my decision. I chose life.

There was moment of a moment where my heart whispered what luck it was that I was being presented with an adventure beyond measure that would take me from the gilded cage of Marienburg to a future unknown. The next heartbeat faltered and brought me back to the grim reality of the presence before me. I naturally chose service. He removed his pistol from my line of sight and left coins on the table, with the closing warning of what would happen if I failed any of the clauses. I would not fail this man.

Danielle bustled back bringing the warmth and life back to a room where the shadow of death had passed through. She continued to chatter and coo over me. It was soothing.

Back in the first room the others discussed what they would and wouldn’t need to venture out on this quest. The young priest reminded me a little of my brother, except he was thinner, much much paler with ingrained inky fingers; I learned this is Stefan, initiate of Morr. The dwarf had the a similar aura to the other man, a being not to be messed with, possibly less charitable or reasonable than the other would be. He was a sight to behold with his wide black mustache lively and animated as it occupied the breadth of his serious face, marred by the deep crease of an scar over his left eye. This one is Grunnd, and gruff. Pieter is the one who could well end my days. At least my last will be brightened by the humour and warmth of Danielle, Stefan’s servant through her mother’s canny deathbed request. 

The talk was that we were to leave with the night and the turn of the tide. There wasn’t enough coinage to buy us all passage up river. Stefan was arguing over the selling of some of his belongings. I felt a little lighter, this was something I could manage. I stepped forward and offered my services to gain the finances needed. Stefan looked disgraced, offended at the idea of a spot of wealth liberation. I explained that I merely knew where to exchange his goods for a fine price. Danielle offered her expertise too as she had her contacts as well. It was with this we were grudgingly freed into the quickly dimming crisp afternoon air. Winter days are short and cold here in the North. 


For a moment I watched Danielle's back and considered my chances of escape and what I would do. This was swept away as she turned and smiled at me, I remembered my promise and the spark of excitement in the unknown future. I felt like I had been given a purpose, the first in a long time. I also now had a 'friend' to keep me company.

We quickly made our way with Danielle in the lead. She took us to the backdoor of one of the more up-town inns; she had a friend in the kitchen and knew the lady of the house. The land lord answered. With as much polishing of his ego, and selling of the benefits the fine silver cutlery and pewter wares could bring to his business, we in the end had to resort to the card of the woman- a heart felt story and tearful plea - to bring the price up to an acceptable standard. Yes. My poor grandmother was on her sickbed and closer to death each day, I needed the funds to reach her far-away-in-whatever-place-we-made-up before she dies. Luckily it worked. Men don’t like strange women crying in their presence. Sometimes.

On our way back we swung by the wharf to find a riverman heading up river. If we brought our own food and caused no fuss we could have passage for 25 shillings each, which was very good considering we had charmed a crowne and half from the innkeeper. We accepted and said we would be back before the tide turned. I gave the coinage to Danielle, not wanting to get close to the buckled hat again. Danielle cheerily talked about her life and derided her pale and wan master as much as possible. I think there may be affection there, somewhere.

We, all five of us, made it in time for the cast-off. The barge carried potatoes and other grown goods for the markets upstream. I made a point before leaving the ‘death house’ to change into the grubbiest of all my clothing and cover my hair, hands and face as much as possible. Travel at night is cold. Travel with more strange men is best not done when tempting Ranald more. I didn’t appear to attract any unwanted attention. Danielle has gained the familiar surreptitious looks and words that superstitious sailors give to women. Stefan tried to look, what I imagine he was trying to, dignified as he threw up not long after setting sail. The sailors quietly kept their amusement to themselves, that was good of them. The dwarf however showed his jovial side in his mockery of the poor creature’s shaky legs and grey skin, pale even the lamplight. I have avoided any more close contact with Pieter. I just want to observe these people, try to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into here and how to survive. I do not wish to anger any of them. Least alone Grunnd or Pieter.

My eyes are tired and my fingers are sore now from so much writing. I said I don’t know why I write my memoirs here in this journal anymore. Maybe because it’s the only familiar thing I have left from the frivolous life of a merchants daughter. The cage has opened and the bird has taken wing. I wonder where my little wings will take me? What hunters and hawks wait to tear me from the skies? 

Good night my silent friend. You may be the only one I have. 

~ A ~

[Next Entry - fish out of water]