Session Fourteen: The Cook’s Tale

Battle In the Brothel

One of the Myriad Forms of Amelia

The daemon that was once Amelia grows in size and stature. They duel Sir Jean-Marc at the end of the corridor, leaving their guards to deal with the rest of the company. 

The sight of the daemon is so unsettling (and perhaps arousing) that full half the company turns and flees out into the hallway. Sabina, however, forces herself to recall her shame during the battle with the deadship, and this causes her to grit her teeth, curse Chaos, and turn around.

Pierre, unafraid, leaves the battle anyway. He rushes upstairs, screaming a warning at Monsieur Corentin and his guards. He demands that the guards come and aid the company with the dreadful battle against the daemon. Corentin allows the guards to go with Pierre.

As Pierre descends, he remembers that he has the cylindrical container which was bequeathed to them by the Reverend Father. Realizing that any aid—especially that of a divine nature—would be useful now, he opens it and sees Echarde, the blade of Saint Maxence, contained within. He holds it aloft dramatically as he returns to the battle, and the sight of it causes those in the company to regain their courage and turn back to the fight.

The Holy Blade Echarde

It does very little, alas, to aid the contingent of guards that come with him. They take one look at the daemon, turn, and flee.

Pierre passes the dagger to Magnus, who does not immediately recognize that he is now in possession of a saintly relic. Nevertheless, he zigzags between Amelia’s guards to reach Sir Jean-Marc’s side, ready to aid the badly wounded knight in the continuing battle.

The rest of the company wield blade, staff, and bow to whittle away at Amelia’s guards. The guards have been utterly hollowed out by being too long in her presence, and seem to feel neither wounds nor fear as they lock shields and relentlessly press their attack. Wounds are exchanged on both sides, including one that should have—at the very least—struck off Renee’s arm at the shoulder. Those in the company who are wise in the ways of martial combat know how implausible this is, but they are too busy defending themselves to give thought as to why this is so.

Pierre does his best to tend to the wounded and to keep the battle line intact.

At the far end of the corridor, knight and mercenary strike true, mortally injuring the daemon and causing them to decrease rapidly back to human size. Sabina, seeing this, prays that this is the opening that she has long been waiting for. Throwing aside her bow, she draws her pistol and shoots the daemon in the heart. It dissolves into purplish slime and smoke, leaving only the horrid whip behind.

The daemon’s defeat does not do anything to halt the guards’ attacks. Magnus and Sir Jean-Marc try to muster their flagging strength and limp back to the battle to aid their friends. A furious strike from Sabina gains the blessing of the Lord of all Bears, and one of the guards goes down.

And then…from a side stairwell comes a woman’s voice, “Für Sigmar! Für das Imperium! Tod dem Chaos!”

Frieda to the Rescue!

At that moment, Frieda, Jules, and Jim burst into the hallway armed with bows. They let fly a volley of arrows, one of which nearly skewers Sir Henri. Frieda is much luckier, though, catching one of the guards in the throat and sending him swiftly into Morr’s keeping.

The battle ends shortly thereafter, and the exhausted company counts their blessings, gives thanks to various powers, and strips the guards of their equipment to keep as the spoils of war.

Magnus eyes the daemonic whip with some concern, especially since Renee voices her desire to possess it for herself. Realizing at last that he has a blessed weapon, he uses it to slice the whip in two. This causes him a brief moment of shame and discomfort as his body unwillingly convulses in sexual release.

As the whip blackens and rots away, a young, hairless woman, bisected by a raw, red scar that runs encircles her front to back appears. The company, suspecting that she is also a daemon of Slaanesh, moves to strike her down, but she bids them to pause.

“You have killed my sister and freed me from her weapon,” she says. “According to the rules of the ritual that bound me, I must tell you that you may call upon me for one favor, which I must grant. If you refuse, I will leave you in peace.”

A Most Unholy Whip

As Magnus lunges to thrust Echarde into the woman’s midsection, she laughs and vanishes in a cloud of purple smoke.