In his name

The wind grips the banner, sending it sprawling against the strong winds that seeks to rip it from the lance it is attached to. The very air seems tense with the feel of men preparing to face battle, and the thought that they will live but many will die, by the hands of their fell foes.
Horses snort impatiently as their riders keeps the fiery animals in check with commands and spurs.
A knight clad in armour leads his horse slowly down the line of assembled men, his harsh voice files the cold autumn day with promises of glory and righteous anger.

I sit on my horse, a great charger black as the night. My palms tingle and my throat is parched. But I dare not drink, I know its fear that makes my throat dry out. The long slender lance tipped with a point that can splinter shield and armour and sunder a enemy, rests in my hand.
The other grips my shield that shows my heritage, a white wolf head on a red background with a trim of laurels surrounding it.
This is the day where my ancestors watches on from up high, and this is my chance to prove to my fellow men that I am worthy of a place amongst them.

Alongside me almost a thousand knights are massed up for the coming charge, these are some of the finest men in the realm. And I pray to Sigmar we will be victorious. Alongside us are also the humble state troops, the men who will follow us into the fray once we begin our charge.
I see warrior priests chant and preaching with great fervour to these men who will lay down their life for the Empire soon.
My moment of reflection are shattered by the blaring of horns and a all too familiar call that echoes down the line. "FOR SIGMAR AND THE EMPRIE! TO WAR!" I hear our lord howl as we begin to advance towards our foe.

They sally forth to meet us, these foul mutants that blight the woods of our lands. And who prays upon the weak and the innocent. I feel my blood beginning to boil with rage, now all thoughts of death is gone, only the burning hate I have for my inhuman foe.
But to think these servants of the old nigth stupid or to mistake them for mindless beasts is something I know is to invite a gruesome faith, they are brutal fighters who fears neither steel or shot. They posses great strength and skill of arms, ever how crude these weapons are.

I lower my lance as we draw closer to them, I feel my horse picking up the pace to keep up with its companions that surrounds it. To my left I see the banner of the Reiksguard flutter in the wind as the Emperors own knights ride beside us.
They seem like figures from tales of old as they charge forwards in grim silence unlike we who are their brothers.
The banner of my own order flies to the right of me, the banner shows a great cat reared up on its hind legs, paws clawing at the air. The sight filled my hearth with pride.

Then our line hits the beast men with the force of a hammer striking an anvil. My lance pierces a beast with great spiralling horns and snaps as the hideous creature is tossed aside. My horse wheels around as I draw my sword and urge my brave mount onwards. I let the blade fall down on a great dog like creature who stands over the form of a fallen warrior, blood dripping from its maw.

The beast yelps as the eager blade bites into its flesh, it wails like a infant and slumps down. I turn to find a new foe when a blow fells my horse who dies with a anguished snort. My feet barely get free from its dying form as I get to my feet, there stands my friends killer.
A Gor wielding a pair of axes, it howls and comes at me, I block the first blow with my shield and return the favour with a jab aimed at its legs. But the beast is no stranger to combat and blocks my strike. It tries to punch me with a ham sized fist, for its effort I hack its arm of at the shoulder and drive my blade down its throat.

Around me I see my fellow knights take a heavy and bloody harvest of the enemy, their blades rise and fall almost in unity and the Reiksguard is at the hearth of this swirling male storm of bloodshed and carnage.

Yet again my blade drinks the lifeblood of a foe as a mutant dies shrieking at my hands, another beast gets gutted when I swipe at her abdomen and send her intestines spilling on the ground. She screams for mercy and the salvation from her fate. This is ignored and rewarded by a kick to the head to silence her heretical babble.

I fight for what seems an eternity, then it all seems to stop. I feel my legs failing me and my armour clad body fall to the ground, I gasp as pain grips my body. I look to see a spear embedded in my leg. "By Sigmar.....so dose my days end. Forgive me my lord for I have failed you" I think as the owner of the spear raises a bloodied blade to end my days amongst the living.
But the death blow never comes. Instead the beast is rewarded by a crushing blow that shatters its skull. I hear a voice that belongs to a man, a friend in these final moments of my life.

I see my captain swing his war hammer in fury as beast and mutant die in droves at his hands. A beast that seems like a leader seems to roar a challenge to him but is rewarded by a hammer stroke to the chest, and as is tries to rise a lance guided by unseen hands pierces it mutated form.
Others must have joined my brave lord, I feel hands pick me up and carry me away from the field.
As I struggle to keep my eyes open and I feel a sense of emptiness fill my head I hear someone say
somewhere around me " Hold on lad, don't you dare die on us! You have every reason to be proud of what you did here today. Its an honour to fight beside you".

Moved by these words I feel tears stream down my bloodstained face. I am placed on a soft bed and then I am gone. As I lay there something stirs within me, a will ignited long ago by men who has now passed into the mist of time, men who fought and bled for their loved ones.

As the young knight sleeps in the tent his companions that survived the battle against the beast herd gather outside. Each man is marked by battle and several sport bandages. They look worn and batherd as they stand watch over their wounded companion who proved that even the most humble of knights may rise to glory and honour when his friends stand with him.
They too feel that same inner fire burn away although not all of them know what makes them risk life and limb for ideals such as honour and glory.

In the end all that remains after one has passed into the gardens of Morr is what one achieved in life, and how one spends the time the gods have granted you.

Honour