The bittersweet news of my impending arrival took a heavy toll on my mother. Her prayers of thanks to Shallya (whom she served as an initiate for a number of years) for my conception were tinged with sorrow for the meagre existence she would be bringing me into. Already a mother of three, Frida Gruber, wife of Carlsen Sr. scraped what she could through a small chandlery in Nuln. Business was never good and the family very much relied on the income generated by Carlsen's job in the mews of a local nobleman. Indeed, throughout my early years, my father groomed me to eventually take over his role. I didn't have his innate affinity with the birds though and my apathy only succeeded in frustrating my father, who saw me as the only hope for him to carry on the family tradition that his father and his before him had passed down.

My three sisters doted on me. The eldest, Mara, was 11 years my senior and delighted in taking me for long walks in the farmlands surrounding the city in my rickety pram (essentially a tiny cart with handles). When I was seven years old, Mara, following in my mothers footsteps, set out on an ill-fated pilgrimage to Couronne, to the great Temple of Shallya located there. Her party was attacked not far from Axe Bite Pass by a band of marauding greenskins. Or so the rumours say. For neither her body, nor that of any of the others in the party was ever recovered. All that remained were a few smashed carts and the steaming corpses of their mules.

My other sisters, Anna and Jenna - identical twins only 3 years older than I - were both blessed with the ability to turn a man's eye as well as the ability to charm even the most confrontational soul. Accordingly, they both married above their station, into affluent families of the lower orders of Nuln nobility. I have not set eyes on either for years. It is an arrangement that suits us all, for they soon developed the blind arrogance of others of their new class.

As soon as it became evident to my father that the life of a hawksman was not in my career path, I was dispatched, at the age of 12, to the residence of the local lord my father worked for, to be trained in the rudimentary martial arts that would allow me to enlist in the Imperial Army as soon as I had reached the age of conscription. This development was not entirely to my liking, but, having no predilection to follow any other career path, I threw myself into the training with an exuberance that only youth can bring.

It was during this time that I came to revere Sigmar. My weapons tutor, Alaric, a venerable man with a patch over one eye and a gravely voice that one could not ignore, was devoted to the First Emperor and had mastered both the one and two handed warhammer. Once, only once, we spoke about his time as a youth. Fuelled, no doubt, by Tilean brandy, he told me of his time as an initiate of Sigmar in the Great Temple in Altdorf. He told me how he left in disgust at the corruption he found there. He left the details out of the story and the morning after, Alaric made no reference to our discussion and the matter was never raised again.

In return for the training and my accommodation, I was expected to fulfil a number of roles around the keep. Some days I would be nothing more than a kitchen boy, scampering around the expansive larder easily escaping the lunging swipes of the head cook, a man so bereft of self-esteem that ordering around youths gave him his only satisfaction. Other days, I would act as a messenger, ferrying tightly rolled parchments around the locale, a gnawing curiosity sometimes causing me to open the scrolls, regardless of my illiteracy. I even managed to serve as an outlet for my mother's candle works, a fact frowned upon by my father but welcomed all the same.

It soon became clear that I had an affinity with the bow. As my sixteenth summer dawned I found myself on a hunt with my Lord. I was nothing more than a tree-beater but I took along my trusty bow out of habit. It proved to be a fortuitous decision. The boar, finally cornered after hours of relentless hunting, summoned its last ounces of strength and turned to face its pursuers. The Lord's steed, surprised by this sudden turn of events reared, and threw its rider, sending the Lord sprawling into the heavy undergrowth not ten feet from the crazed wildpig. The beast sprung forward, its wicked tusks angling towards the exposed flank of the Lord. A calm descended on me as I notched an arrow. It flew from my bow straight and true and impaled the beast in its heaving side. The shaft buried deep and the impact seemed to stun the boar out of its flight. It collapsed dead at the Lords feet. From that day forth, my reputation as an archer grew. I would earn a few pennies by performing basic tricks. Due to my natural ambidexterity, I would marvel onlookers with "off-handed" displays of archery. The Lord, who earlier expressed his eternal gratitude and promised me the earth for my valiant effort soon forgot about the incident, tied up as he was with the growing unpleasantness not far to the south of the city. Of course.

Strangely, for a boy of my age, I enjoyed singing immensely. Too shy to perform in public though, I much preferred to sing either for my mother, who often wept when I sang ancient folk songs, or to myself, when all was quiet late at night. I used to love listening to the travelling troubadours and bards who would occasionally frequent the keep, sneaking in to the great hall to listen to their lilting renditions of famous poems and songs. This was how I learned much of my knowledge of history. Indeed, much of what I know to be historical fact is nothing more than the hyperbolic versions of the tales of heroes sung by these wandering minstrels. Of course, later in life, alcohol would lower my inhibitions about performing in public and often I would sing a vast range of lewd songs with my fellow outlaws.

The turning point in my life came in the winter of my seventeenth year. A visiting nobleman and his entourage wintered at the Lord's Keep. The Von Kasselheins of Bogenhafen, heading back from an autumn visit to Averland. The head of the family, Johann Von Kasselhein, was a wealthy merchant dealing in the trade of exotic items from shores as far flung as Albion, Araby and even Cathay. What interested me most about Johann Von Kasselhein was not the range of bizarre fabrics that he brought, nor the wild tales he had to tell about his journeys to Araby. No. It was his daughter. Wendell Von Kasselhein. The instant I set eyes upon her my heart seemed to melt. Everything about her excited and intrigued me. From her regal bearing, many would assume that, like most of her ilk, she was arrogant, aloof, above talking to the commoners. But many times over the winter, I noticed her take the hand of a servant when her father wasn't looking, and press into the palm a single gold crown, accompanied by a few words of thanks. Many of the servants soon came to regard her very fondly indeed, myself included. We only spoke on two occasions during that winter. Both times were in the stables when she had come to brush down her elegant steed. The first time we merely exchanged pleasantries before I, feeling my face burning, my heart beating and my hands trembling, made a pathetic excuse and ran for the solace of my chamber.

The second time was planned out meticulously. I watched the stables for a few nights after and was almost ready to give up when finally she returned. I had planned to enter the stables and offer her a small gift, a simple candle my mother had made that was scented with crushed rose petals. She was almost ready to leave before I realised that I had been staring at her from my hidden position for many minutes. Spurred into action I snuck out from my hidey-hole and cleared my throat loudly as I strolled nonchalantly through the big double doors. As she turned to face me, I almost swayed as the radiance of her angelic face struck me like a training iron.

"Oh, hello there. We met a few nights ago, did we not?" She remembered...

"Ahh... Yes... we... umm... did." Don't blow it now Carlsen! I cursed myself inwardly while trying to maintain what must have appeared to be an inane grin.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, again." She smiled, almost craftily, before extending her hand. I looked stupidly at her hand for a few seconds before tentatively reaching out and taking hold. I moved to draw it to my lips to kiss the ring there, as would be the norm, but I was surprised as she clenched my hand firmly and shook it much more vigorously than I would have expected.

"Carlsen Gruber", I mouthed. My words sounded strained. 'Get a grip of yourself Carlsen!'

"Wendell Von Kasselhein". She released my hand. It remained there, seemingly of its own accord, before I realised and snapped it back to my side.

"What's that you have there, Carlsen Gruber?" she inquired, indicating the linen wrapped parcel I held in my other hand.

"Wha..?" I stared at the purposeless lump of matter in my hand. "Oh, this? It's nothing." I suddenly realised that my paltry gift would seem ridiculous in comparison to the finery that she would be used to.

"Oh, come on. Let me see" She eyed me and her upper lip lifted in a semi-smile. I couldn't resist even if I had wanted to. Carefully unwrapping the linen cloth I lifted out the candle and the featureless holder I had brought along.

"It's a... a gift. For you. My mother made it." She looked down at the candle and for a terrible moment I could almost hear her mockery. She took a step back and placed a hand across her chest.

"For me? Oh, Carlsen. Thank you!" I don't know who was more surprised. The next instant was to be the focus of most of my thoughts and dreams over the next few months. Leaning forward, she took my hand and brushed her lips against my cheek in a fleeting kiss that caused starbursts to explode behind my eyes. Instantly, I felt my face redden and I turned away.

"It's beautiful Carlsen. Again, thank you!" I regained the ability to speak.

"Oh, it's nothing much, just..."

"No, it's perfect. Shall we light it?" Moving to the wall she lifted off a hooded lantern set there and placed the wick over the flame. It sparked ever so slightly before settling into a blue/orange flame that sent shadows dancing across her face. I dragged over a closed chest containing some tack and Wendell, setting the candle in the holder, laid it down on the chest. We watched it in silence for a few moments before I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Wendell sat down in the hay close to the chest. I sat a respectful distance away and for a minute or so we enjoyed the silence.

"It's rose petals, Miss Kasselhein", I said more to break the silence than anything else.

"Wendy", she said, taking my hand, "Call me Wendy".

We talked long into the early hours, at one point having to hide from one of Wendy's handmaids who had been forced to come out of her warm chambers to look for her. We giggled like children as we watched the unfortunate maid go about the stables calling for Wendy. When the maid had retreated in defeat, we resumed our conversations about everything and anything. I even sang her a simple song my mother had taught me. A ballad of adventuring heroes and fantastical creatures which, when one read between the lines, was a perceptive description of ones struggle against the chains of fate.

It was clear there was an attraction, not just for me, but for both of us. She was of similar age and it would not be long before her father would be hunting for suitable suitors. She seemed very dismayed by the whole situation. I couldn't offer her much support. I could only listen.

She left the very next day. As I stood with the rest of the locals, who had gathered to watch the caravan depart, Wendy briefly caught my eye. The sorrow in her eyes tore at my heart and I almost went to her then and there. Her father, however, called to her to spur her horse forward and she mouthed the word 'goodbye' to me before turning and riding out through the gates. I felt as though part of me had been wrenched from me.

For three months I plodded around the keep in a permanent state of melancholy. My duties went undone, a fact noticed by my superiors who punished me accordingly. I took the lashings stoically. No external pain could ever hope to compete with the soul-hurt I felt inside. My mother, concerned about my gradually declining condition, often quizzed me as to the cause of my reverie. I resisted explaining the situation until one day I could hold my secret no longer. I broke down and told her everything. I told her how stupid I felt. I asked her how I could feel this way after one night of simple conversation. I also told her how our relationship had no hope of ever coming to fruition, being, as I was, a lowly commoner, a servant to a nobleman who wasn't even of equal station to the Von Kasselhein family. My mother reminded me first of my twin sisters, both of who had married above their station. We could both see through her kind words, however. We both knew that men marrying above their station almost never happened. Eventually, my mother merely took my hand and said "You must follow your heart Carlsen. Your fate has already been written and it is up to you to read through the pages." Confused, slightly, by her vague prophecies, I promised her I would try to come to terms with the whole situation and would get back to work immediately. Of course, inside, I felt no better off but I realised that I could no longer spend my days moping around. I returned to my duties, discovering that the harder I worked and the more time I spent training and running errands meant that I had less time to think about Wendy. Slowly, I started to push memories of her to the back of my mind.

A year passed in a similar vein to the last three or four. One night, while out in the private woods of the Lord, collecting deadwood for the massive fireplace in the great hall I became aware of the sound of metal clashing against metal not too far away. Having spent many years in this area and knowing the land like the back of my hand, I worked out that the sounds were coming from a small clearing on the banks of the shallow river that flowed through the area, at the bottom of a gorge. Realising that the terrain would shield the noise from the guards at the keep and also that the direction of the prevailing wind would snuff out any cries of mine, I dropped the bundle of firewood I was carrying and sprinted through the trees, not in the direction of the clearing but in the direction of the top of the gorge, a place where I would have the best vantage point for both spotting what was going on and also the best position to shoot from. As I reached the crest of the gorge, it became clear that the sounds were those of a hand to hand combat. I could hear clearly now the sound of a male human voice, cursing loudly to Sigmar and a guttural, rasping sound (voice?) that was alien to my ears. As I peered over the edge I could see the origins of both the sounds. A man, dressed in travel-stained winter clothes and a flowing cloak clasped at the shoulder with a magnificent brooch was fending off a pair of nightmarish creatures with an impressive looking longsword. The creatures could only be described as giant, humanoid rats - a fact that my brain decided to ignore in the interests of sanity. Quickly realising that these creatures would soon get the better of the man, I unslung my bow and notched an arrow in one fluid motion. Taking aim at the nearest beast, I let the arrow fly. And fly it did, straight and true to bury itself in the creature's neck. It squealed in surprise and pain as black blood spurted out of the wound, matting its filthy fur. It dropped the wicked blade it held in its hand and toppled over, the lower half of its body writhing in spasmodic shock. The other creature momentarily lost its concentration as it stared at its fallen comrade, a moment that the human took full advantage of, lunging forward with practiced ease and sheathing his sword in the creature's gut. Slick, black blood ran down the length of the blade, flowing through the grooves of the hilt and almost running onto the gauntleted hand of the human before he released his weapon. The creature, eyes wide staggered for a few seconds. It looked down at the weapon embedded in its belly before falling backwards into the river. The human cursed loudly and ran to the bank, lifting as he did so a nearby fallen branch. Using the piece of deadwood, he manoeuvred the corpse closer to the bank and grabbed it by the head, yanking it up and out of the water. As I scrabbled down the side of the gorge, he placed a booted foot on the creature's chest and drew out his weapon. He lifted it in one hand and studied it carefully before proceeding to wipe the blade on the fur of the corpse at his feet. By this point I had reached the bank.

"Damn rat-men, stain yer damn blade if you're not careful!" He looked more annoyed at the colour of his weapon than at the fact that he had been inches from death at the hands of these foul creatures. He stood and sheathed his semi clean blade before wiping his hand on his right thigh. He extended the bloody gauntlet in my direction. "Thank you lad, a fine shot. The name's Harn. Harn Goldbaek." I stared at the filthy hand before me before grasping it tentatively.

"Gruber, Carlsen Gruber. What in Sigmars name are the..."

"Gruber? Carlsen Gruber? By Sigmars beard, this is a stroke of luck!" My look of bewilderment changed to one of surprise as the man, Harn wasn't it, knelt before me.

"Harn Goldbaek at your service, sir". I merely stared at him in utter astonishment. He rose and placed his left hand on my shoulder, his right grabbing mine and shaking it vigorously, again.

"I'm here to deliver you a message from my Mistress, the Lady Wendell Von Kasselhein of Bogenhafen." My look of astonishment turned to one of utter disbelief. Harn grinned before turning to the two corpses. "But first, let us bury these bodies, we don't want the local wildlife to get corrupted now do we?"

We spent an hour or so thoroughly disposing of the corpses. He told me about the Skaven and the dark underworld writhing beneath my feet. it sent shivers up my spine. I decided never to go underground unless it was absolutely necessary. No, I'd stay where it was nice and airy, at least that way I'd have somewhere to run.

I listened to Harn as he told me the reason for his visit. Apparently, Wendy's father, Johann, had found a husband for her. It would be a marriage of convenience. The prospective husband, a powerful warehouse owner in Middenheim was twice her age, a fact that Johann Von Kasselhein seemed to care little about. Securing family ties with this man would greatly boost business in the Middenheim area and mercantile expansion was very much on his agenda.

I was aggrieved to hear that this latest development had upset Wendy greatly. She had dispatched her most trusted agent, Harn, without telling her father, to come and find me. But what could I do? My only option was to go to her. I would think of something on the way there.

I returned briefly, to bid my mother farewell. She smiled when I told her of my destination. "Carlsen my dear, at last you've turned the page. What will this chapter have in store for you eh?" I planned to return eventually, after all, Bogenhafen was hardly the other side of the world so I told my mother to ask my father to make excuses for me while I was gone. It would be a simple matter for him to say that I was ill in bed. Sicknesses often lasted for many weeks among the poor. That excuse should allow me enough time to go and do whatever it was that had to be done. Grabbing what little I had - a heavy cloak, a pouch containing the few shillings I had saved and my bow, quiver and sword - I set out with Harn immediately.

The journey took a little over a week and during it, I talked at length with Harn about the situation in Bogenhafen. I was surprised to learn that for a few months after returning home, Wendy had been almost as melancholic as I had, a fact which her shrewd father had noticed. Assuming that she was fretting about some minor nobleman from either Averland or Nuln, Johann took little notice. He also assumed that Wendy would soon grow up and no longer have these child-like emotions. Harn had overheard him talking with his advisers and it was clear that Johann saw Wendy as nothing more than a politically useful pawn. 'Surely she must see that she would be used as a tool to further the family wealth. After all, it was her duty.' This only served to dismay me further. I was already developing an intense dislike for Wendy's father. A fact which I realised could hardly help our relationship.

Harn also told me a little about himself. He was in his early forties now and had served the Von Kasselhein family for over twenty years. Entrusted with Wendy’s care when she was little more than a baby, Harn had spent more time with her than anyone else, including her father. Both of them treated each other like father and daughter, in fact. Harn was a tall man, broad of shoulder and set in a way that made it obvious to anyone who approached him that he meant business. In many ways, he was similar to Alaric, my training master. They both had mastered the art of swordplay. They both were a little rough around the edges. Indeed, Harn would easily have been a successful officer in the army, such was his bearing. I grew to like him very quickly.

We camped up a few miles outside of Bogenhafen and Harn headed back to the town to tell Wendy that he had found me and that I was here. I awaited her with anticipation…

End of Part 1.