Fiction

Immerse yourself in the Iron Kingdoms with these fantastic tales from Privateer Press authors. Discover ancient evils, forgotten mysteries, and the brave adventurers who inhabit this world of steam and magic.



—by Douglas Seacat
(This story first appeared in Gaming Frontiers magazine.)

The lurker scurried up the wall, clawed gloves finding purchase between packed stones, his spiked boots doing the same. He leapt atop the roof with little noise, and hunkered down into the shadows, his dark garments blending into the surface easily. He was a lean dwarf, but had wiry strength. He crept to the edge and peered over, then got comfortable against the nearby chimney. From here he had good vantage on the back gates of the nearby fortress, which opened onto a narrow alleyway. He settled himself down for a long watch, and rummaged in his rags to find an apple he'd stowed for breakfast.

City of Corvis, The Longest Night, 593 AR

He knew if he waited long enough for it, the shot would come, but the rapidly diminishing daylight was threatening to make his task ever more difficult.

He could smell the fragrant smoke of the incense burning in the chapel downstairs, as it wafted up to his precarious perch in the belfry of Morrow's cathedral. It reminded him of how much he'd invested in this affair. Gods, how he'd grown to hate that smell! But, alas, the job required it--at least if it were to be done properly.

There it was; the opening he'd been looking for. To most, it looked like a small window in one carriage in a nigh endless procession of carriages that were slowly making their way up Still Street during the inaugural hours of the Longest Night festival. To the marksman, it was a yawning chasm, wide enough to fire a cannonball through, much less a single bullet.

—by Douglas Seacat

This story serves as an epilogue to the "Witchfire Trilogy," and refers to certain events taking place in The Legion of Lost Souls. Those who plan on playing the "Witchfire Trilogy" or who have not yet completed its adventures may want to wait before reading "Pieces on a Map"

Taking place in Caspia, capital of the Kingdom of Cygnar, —2 weeks following the Battle of Corvis…

King Leto Raelthorne glanced at himself briefly in the mirror, adjusting his royal garments, ensuring his crown was seated properly upon his brow, and allowed his page to strap the sword of his ancestors to his waist. The heavy scepter of rulership was then handed to him, a gaudy symbol King Leto preferred to leave behind except at the most formal of occasions. This war council qualified, barely, as one such occasion.