Editing Story:ROAD TRIP! (Warhammer High)/Part Four (section)

===Tour Guides===


Her eyes settled on a clear red stain on the stone of the stage.  An execution site, then.  How macabre, she thought to herself.
“Coming through!” a rough voice from behind her said.  Freya looked to see a man carrying a massive stone block moving quickly across the street.  She stepped aside and let him pass, wondering what was up.

An entire procession of men with bricks, stone, and mortar followed.  Freya watched them go, then discreetly followed.  Her thick cloak let her blend into the general crowd as she indulged her curiosity.

She wrinkled her nose in concern as she took a more careful appraisal of her surroundings.  The people around her were a mess, by their scents and sounds.  Diseases, injuries, all manner of defects.  Even hiver Terrans didn’t sound that bad, and neither had Nocturneans.  Then, those worlds had hospitals.

The convoy of construction material ended at a large square depression at the outside of town, where a deep pit had already been dug.  A basement with at least two floors had been built there, and the builders were assembling a ground floor now.

Freya stopped at the edge of the build site, mindful of traffic.  “What’s going in here?” she asked one worker.

The rough man turned to her and snorted.  “Haven’t you heard, woman?  Eisker’s place burned down.  He’s building another.”  He peered at her under her hood.  “The hell are you, anyway?”

Freya blinked, taken aback at his rudeness.  “Just a traveler.”

He snorted again, swaggering a bit.  “Sure you’re not here to take the edge off our labors?” he leered.

“In your fondest dreams,” Freya said darkly, turning and walking away.

Once he was out of earshot, she allowed herself a grimace.  “If that’s how my people greet strangers, this isn’t going to be a fun vacation,” she muttered.

As she left, another man stepped to her side.  “Did the thralls bother you, lassie?” he asked sternly.

“Thralls?” Freya asked.  She glanced back at the men, and noted with some distaste that they all had thick scars around their wrists.  The men were slaves.  “No, that’s fine.  I’m leaving anyway.”

“Mmm.”  The man turned away and cracked a whip over the offender’s head.  “Back to work, you lazy sodomite!”


Remilia snuggled into the thick blankets on her bed and closed her eyes, listening to the music on her slate play in the background.  She had made the requisite noises of approval at the puppy pictures and watched a few movies with Alex before Jake and Venus returned from the observation deck.  The two had both been a bit weepy, but Venus especially was also beatifically happy about something, so Remilia took it as a good sign.

Now, with lunch behind her and a lazy afternoon ahead, she relaxed on the bed and listened to the slow music linger in the room.  She read the messages on the slate – a delighted response from the Mechanicus station and routine announcements in the Fang – and opened an orbital map of the planet.

She scrolled around the 3D map, staring at the endless fields of snow and waters fifty times deeper than mountains on her homeworld.  Remilia tapped a rune on the side of the slate, and the view drew closer to the surface.  The Fang looked like a spike, emerging from the ground to impale the sky.  It stood alone on their continent, with no other settlements nearby.  A blurred spot on the map looked like it was probably a Wolves training camp, though.
Remilia noted the basalt pillars they had climbed the day before with a smile.  “They look even taller from here,” she chuckled.


Freya ducked into the place with the bread symbol over the door with a shake of her hood.  She pulled it back and let her red hair escape as she glanced about, taking in the smells, sounds, and sights of the place in an instant.

The place had a few open stone ovens at the back, where sizzling meat was cooking over wood and coal.  A rowdy gang of men with matching tattoos were squabbling over a large map on a table in the corner.  Small groups of well-muscled women and older children were picking through wooden and metal bins of uncooked foods around the edges of the room.

Freya walked through the large room, earning a few lingering stares with her appearance.  As she reached the back of the room near the stoves, she spotted what looked like a menu hanging from the ceiling.  She eyed it quickly, matching the amounts to the coins in her pouch.  She was in no danger.

A man with his sleeves rolled up to his biceps stood beneath the sign.  “What’ll you be having, lass?” he asked.

Freya shook her head.  “Just looking, friend, I’ll be back for an actual meal tonight.”

“No, you won’t,” the man said curtly.  “Not in that,” he added, gesturing at her clothes.

Freya narrowed her eyes.  “Explain.”

The man snorted in annoyance at her naïveté.  “You a traveler?” he asked.

“I am.”

“Then you’ll not be seen tonight,” the man warned.  “The warbands will be coming home tonight, and no pretty lass like yourself will be seen on the streets if she wishes to be safe.”

Freya reached down to the two-foot-thick stone countertop between them and pressed down, with most of her superhuman strength.  The mortaring audibly creaked.  “I’ll be all right,” she promised coldly.  She turned to leave after committing the menu to memory.  “See you tonight,” she said.