I'm going to upload another one, but from the perspective of rchants, guilds, and a director from Marienburg.
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POV of a musketeer
Brauzeit-25,2490 IC
"There goes another one!" I shouted in annoyance, as three musketeers fired their weapons and the beastman charging at the dwarf workers collapsed with a shrill scream.
The creature kicked and thrashed in the wet earth, mud up to its knees like everything else in this cursed place. I trudged forward, muttering, drove the bayonet into its throat, and twisted the blade hard—more out of spite than necessity.
"Damn creatures… uglier every day," I growled, shaking the steel clean before returning to the line.
"They're few," said one of the musketeers as he reloaded with stiff, frozen hands. "Twenty at most, and the sun's still high."
"You're too used to Middenland," I replied, ramming a fresh ball into the barrel. "Over there, you've got fortresses and cannons. Here we've got none of that. Here we're just flesh with gunpowder, making sure the dwarfs keep hamring away at their damned iron."
"And wasn't the Graf's army supposed to be clearing out the forests?" asked another, his voice heavy with fatigue.
"Yes, but this isn't Middenland, Ulrican. Here the cold isn't the problem—it's the season. The mud swallows boots whole, and the forests never seem to end. Instead of waiting for them to strike, we have to wade into those rotting trees and drag them out by the throat. And anwhile, where the hell are the n working on the palisade?" I snapped, glancing south.
"They're still back with the supply wagons. Ground's too soft for digging. They say they need to reach the bedrock before they can keep building," one of them answered, sweat running down under his cloak despite the icy wind, pickaxe in hand as he jabbed holes into the muck.
The Graf had sent us out in a season when no one in their right mind would march. Autumn was fading, and winter already bit at our faces. But this ti he hadn't just dispatched small patrols—he'd mobilized far more n to guard that damned long, tal work the dwarfs were raising. Huge beams of iron and planks of wood were joined by colossal nails their stone-like arms hamred down, as if the cold didn't even exist.
The ground, though, punished us. Half-felled forests, clearings turned to swamps, beasts lunging from nowhere every couple of hours. Ahead lay the woods of Holthusen, stinking of rot and crawling with beastn, and we had to keep advancing with frozen feet and stiff hands, while the dwarfs labored as if it were midsumr.
Blessed Sigmar… I'd agreed to this for the easy pay, when most jobs barely took us beyond Reinsfeld. At most, we'd march as far as Middenland, and always in sumr, when the sun ward your back and the nights didn't leave your bones numb. For that, we were paid well—better than any peasant could dream of earning in a lifeti. But now… now this was a frozen hell itself. They expected us to risk our lives against beasts and brigands, with no walls, no fortifications, and all for the sa coin as always.
I couldn't fathom how the dwarfs could keep working in this cold—let alone so fast. Together they hauled those massive steel bars, set them on the ground like they were re planks, and hamred those monstrous nails into the prepared earth, one after the other, without rest, as if winter didn't exist. I could hardly feel my fingers in this wind, and they carried on sweating beneath their beards.
Sigmar willing, may this madness end soon. Let them hamr their iron, raise their road of steel, and may the gods grant us winter under a roof and blanket—not frozen like abandoned dogs in this mire.
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POV army trainer
Kaldezeit-17,2490 IC
"After firing, you must take a powder bag and load it from the front of the weapon, like this," I explained, raising the musket. I tore off the top of the cartridge with my teeth and poured the powder into the barrel. "Then pack it down with the ramrod, firm and tight, and only then place the shot. One last strike with the ramrod, and you're ready to fire again."
Many began to imitate —so clumsily, others with eager hands. The field filled with the echo of shots and explosions, a constant roar that made the air tremble. Thousands of recruits practiced at once, and the burned powder left that sharp, heavy sll hanging in the wind.
"Good! Repeat the process over and over again," I urged in a firm voice. "Learn the correct procedure first—the aim will co later. Don't worry if you miss, what matters is being ready when the day of battle cos."
I watched the lads under my charge as they struggled to reload quickly. So cursed when the ramrod jamd, others grinned as if they were playing at a fair. I, however, felt proud of them all.
For reasons only the Graf and Sigmar Himself know, he had decided this ti to recruit an unprecedented number of n. It was not as before, when one or two thousand would arrive every so often to bolster our ranks. No. After the last campaign, three thousand had joined us, and now suddenly another ten thousand ca to our banner—n of Altdorf, Carroburg, peasants… all called to serve sothing greater than themselves.
The Graf did it for the Empire—for order, for the peace Sigmar demanded of His children. My duty was simple, yet sacred: to teach them the basics, to give them the discipline they would need when the great day ca. Then we would defend the railway the dwarfs were building. And when that day arrived, all would see that the Graf had been right—that Sigmar guided his hand—and that every drop of sweat and powder had been worth it.
Ti was scarce. I had to train them as quickly as possible and distribute weapons among them. But there weren't enough muskets for every recruit, so we had to rotate. One group fired and reloaded while another waited their turn to practice. It wasn't ideal, but as long as everyone learned the fundantals, I considered it enough.
I would like to say it was the sa training the Graf had given us the first ti, when he drilled us with patience and discipline—running us over hills in full armor, teaching us to endure exhaustion. But it wasn't. Now I could only show them how to use a weapon, reload under pressure, and march in line. Nothing more. The urgency pressed on all of us.
Before long, the days were consud and they had to march west. Their true training would continue there, where it had all begun, but in far harsher conditions. Many of these n—more laborers than soldiers—would also be used as manpower, for there was much to be done. The Graf had secured an agreent with Marienburg: a vast, almost unbelievable deal.
The negotiations ended in triumph: lowering the costs of transporting Imperial goods, a masterstroke ensuring profit and stability. But in return, part of the pact demanded labor. The Graf pledged to employ his dwarf allies, together with thousands of Imperial arms, to build dikes, dig drainage canals, and raise dwarf pumps to drain the swamps. Cursed, waterlogged land would beco solid, fertile ground—for the benefit of Marienburg.
So that was where we marched. The recruits—half soldiers, half workers, for there was much to do. And I, to take up the role of guard while they kept laying down the rails.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let know.
Leave a comnt; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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