A Templar's Hunt for Information

Written by Burning Templar

From out jagged cliffs, the Sariant warriors came, crashing into hastily arranged defenders. They were uniformed, and their shields were emblazoned with Sigmarite Emblems - this were no usual caravan guards. It was obvious to the High Templar, who was observing hidden by chaotic sorcery, that they thought this was a normal raid by a feral Tzaangor tribe. Even the Stormcast left their positions to assist their humans comrades in beating back the attack. They were not vigilant, just as he had hoped.
This was when he gave the order to attack. The Sariants fought fiercely, but they stood no chance against the Stormcast when left alone - luckily, they weren't.
With thunderous hooves and cries of "Glory to the Flame!" the resplendent golden-armoured Templar Cavalry charged, crashing into the defenders backs with their lances, bringing them down and trampling them with their steeds. The defenders changed their focus, tried to hold fast, to beat the cavalry back - one of the Stormcast dismounted a Templar with a powerful blow of his hammer, before being struck in his shoulder and neck with hallowed lances. The High Templar's Karkadrak gored a group of pikemen in an instant, as its rider smashed a Stormcasts helmet in with his blessed long mace.
Templars on foot joined the fray from all directions, brutally overpowering the resistance with vicious blows from their swords.
The minions of the false god were surprised, too surprised by the ambush. Under the circumstances, the Stormcast had sold their lives expensively, but still, it was a slaughter.
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The survivors were brought before the High Templar, and made to kneel in the mud by unceremonious kicks to their knees.
None of the Stormcast. This was not surprising to the High Templar who surveyed the humans before him from atop his armoured Karkadrak.
His gaze wandered over the corpses strewn about on the ground, their silver armour pierced by sacred lances and swords,empty deathmasks staring. They had fallen to a man, of course, in defence of this caravan, where the strands of fate had led them.
The Tzaangor doubted a common caravan would be this heavily guarded; it was bound to hold something interesting. He did not expect the artifact Lord Aichmos sought, no - but information that brought them closer to it. If they didn't find it in the wagons, maybe Cruciator Saralos could extract something of worth. The rest, well… they could join Lord Aichmos' cattle. The High Templar's gaze returned to the cowering humans before him. Nine survivors. Four men and five women. Outwardly, it was only a cursory glance over each of them before he addressed his prisoners, but in truth, he tried to assess their relationships to each other. This could prove useful soon.
"Rejoice! For you have been chosen for a life of worship to the True Gods!"