Sieglinde Chapter 2

Several centuries ago, the city of Praag had been overrun by the might of Asavar Kur. Asavar had thought himself a mighty Chaos champion, and indeed had succeeded where many others had failed. His armies had crushed the peasants of the winter country and changed the very fabric of the city into something less than normal. Asavar was eventually beheaded by Magnus 'the Pious', but the effects of chaos were never fully removed from the city. The Kislev natives had burned the city to the ground in an attempt to remake it free of chaos taint, but this had little effect. Tainted energies were now as much a part of the city as brick and mortar.

Sieglinde pondered the history of the city, crouched hidden on a balcony. Something was at play here, something wicked and delightful. She could feel a presence, goading her to kill, whispering in her ear to wet her blades yet again on the soft skin of her enemies. And all were her enemies. The presence was unnecessary for her, she was a Maidb, a bride of Khaine, and she dealt in murder as others dealt in silver coin. Sieglinde was curious though what effect this presence would have on those in the city.

She licked her lips, imagining the taste of the warm blood being spilled below. She had just watched a most unnatural set of events, and it was driving her crazy (although some might argue she was well past sanity already) with ecstasy. Bright wizards, shadow warriors, chaos worshipers, even one of the personal guard of Malekith had succumbed to the call. Each cut, each wound, each fiery blast pushed her closer to the edge. Sieglinde wanted to join in, throw herself frantically into the fray, but she held back. She spilled blood because she wanted to please her husband, not to satisfy some chaotic manifestation. Plus, she had gained much this day by doing nothing. Several rivals had already perished, how many more would heed the call and fail? She decided to do something she was very, very bad at. She would wait, patiently, gauging the situation for the most opportune time to strike. She ran the edge of one of her daggers along her thigh, a thin red line forming. Soon though, she thought, soon.