Chapter 1.
Introductions
A moonless night over the township of Dudok. The streets were deserted save for an single shape, slowly but silently pacing through the streets, staying away from the light of the lit torches. At the corner of one street he halted and silently called out, to someone he knew was there. ‘Come out of the shadows my friend and tell me what you have found.’ An shape detached itself from the shadows. He could have been tall, were it not for the fact that he was bent and diseased. ‘My liege, I have found an supple target, fresh and juicy.’ The leper rasped, a dirty smile of rotting teeth playing. ‘Show me.’ The pair stalked through the streets, heading for an small manor. A single light was burning on the main floor. The leper beckoned his master to the window. ‘Look and see.’ The leper whispered with joy. A young woman was cheerfully humming an tune as she undressed herself and pulled on her night garments. A fine young girl, worthy of the attention of lords and knights. ‘Yes…’ The leader hissed. ‘Her sweet blood and innards will do just nicely.’ He was already gleefully thinking of the upcoming bloodbath.
Her guts splayed were across the altar, her blood flowing into pools on the floor. The group continued their chanting, repeating the same mantra over and over again: ‘Ice baby ice.’ Their leader rose from the corpse, his purple robes slick with blood. ‘Yes!’ He exclaimed, his hands held outwards. ‘We have come closer to ascension!’ The group erupted into woops and cheers, some drinking the spilled blood. ‘Soon our god will return and we shall rule these lands!’ The leader backed over, only to snap backwards in an instant, insane laughter bubbling from his lips, laughing into the night.
The next day the town guard made an frantic search for the missing girl, finding her remains somewhere down the river. ‘Not another one.’ One of the guards remarked, feeling his guts churn at the sight. ‘That’s the way things go lad.’ The captain remarked, prodding the corpse with his sword. ‘Right, send word to our’ He spat the words. ‘glorious leaders and tell them another corpse has been found.’ As the runner scurried away the captain turned to his assembled guards. ‘Search the area, don’t miss a single spot. We MUST find the culprit. We don’t want anybody else around here poking their noses into our business now do we?’ The other guards agreed with their captain and redoubled their efforts in finding a clue. Attention from the outside would be very bad for the future.
+ + +
Being an witch hunter was never my choice of profession. I got shoved into my lap when I was but a young lad, full of adventure and rousing tales of bravery. I was bent on travelling the lengths and depths of this beautiful land, to rescue damsels, slay brigands and find hoards of treasure. I wanted to be in an tale of bravery myself! Instead, I met some old witch hunter who saw in me the perfect apprentice, his protégé if you’d like. I could have refused, but that would land me on the stake, roasting like a swine. I learned quick and I learned to be mean (Which was easier whenever I was in an foul mood). I hunt down witches wherever they can be found, putting to torture, trial and death as hunter, judge and jury. So there you have my excuse for killing people. I don’t enjoy killing people, heavens no! I am no savage, merely bad tempered and looking for a town that does not have a witch or monster problem for once. To this day I burned over thirty witches, an hundred cult members and five mutants. Not something to say with an boast, but satisfying nonetheless. My latest prey was burned in the small town of Stock, where the man was suspected of witch craft and following an vile deity. I captured him, put him under the rack and burned him. He confessed after just seeing the torture devices and was burned in an instant. We received our pay from the village and decided to stay for a night.
Who’s we? Why, me and my band of mercenary cut throats, sell swords and cohorts. Oh, and there’s an priest, fire wizard and three knights, but they aren’t as colourful as my mercenaries. Not that I like those mercenaries, they are all criminals and thieves, but useful to my cause, useful for hunting down and torturing witches and heretics. They have their uses as long as I don’t have to risk going out into the fray. But anyway, we had stayed at the inn that night, an messenger bringing me the news of another witch sighting not far from our current position. Must be my jinxed luck that I get to be in an area teeming with these events and occult things.
I look at myself in the mirror. Staring back at me is a short pale man, his blue grey eyes slightly squinted, his mouth almost in a sneer and a large eagle like nose. A single scar runs past the left cheek, an reminder of an old duel that could have ended a lot worse, was it not for his quick reflexes and forgiving manners. The short man was busy arranging his white shirt in an decent manner, his black pants with their folds still in them and high riding boots polished until the shone brightly. The man had the look of an successful merchant oozing from him, with the fortune of the gods laughing at him from above. Yet he glared with hate and loathing into the mirror. ‘Blast, I still look like an hideous petty merchant with no prospect and no future.’ I calmly remark at my own reflection. I reach for a long black coat and black wide brimmed conical hat. Putting them on I look somewhat like an undertaker or scarecrow, though a somewhat short one in comparison. I could scare little children, but adults, nay. The black clothing always makes me sombre and macabre. But the black clothing brings such an nice contrast to my pale face, or so the lady folk keep reminding me. Moments like these make me dark and brooding, plotting the demise of future catches and how to burn them. This never lasts long, as I’m always interrupted, good thing for my future victims I guess. This time it was mere seconds after donning the hat. ‘Sir? Are you ready?’ The aide asks me in an polite manner, standing by the door, afraid of me, as if all of the sudden I grow fangs and decide to suck his blood. But nonetheless he’s holding out my belt with weaponry and rapier. ‘Yes. Give this money to the innkeeper and remind him to next time serve real food. Not the peasant dung he gave me last night. Or else I’ll see him burning on the stake.’ I snatch the belt from his hands and thrust an small purse of coins in his other hand. ‘I pray that I never have to visit this dung heap again.’ I snarl as I stomp out the door and down the stairs.
Outside the rest of my band await me, already in the saddle and their wagon loaded with supplies and munitions. I pace over to my gelding, a fine and sturdy brown horse in comparison to the shabby horses of the mercenaries. Saksen is a fine horse, probably one of the few things I really hold dear in my life. Must be his intelligent eyes, flesh coloured muzzle and that white speck on his forehead. I wish I could hug my horse. I pat it’s neck before mounting up, taking hold of the reigns firmly. ‘Where to sir?’ One of my knights asks, his visor snapped up to partly reveal an semi scarred visage. Rayner, knight of Sigmar, woodsman by heart and a fair swordsman. ‘We ride south, to the Dudok Du Roc district. Another vile monsters seems to have reared it’s ugly head.’ He spits into the dirt before his trademark reply. ‘Another one?’ I sigh deeply. ‘Aye, they always seem to find us.’ I raise my left hand for all to see and send it down in an chopping motion. ‘Let’s head out.’
+ + +
And so the small column rode out, the three knights at the head, their small chivalrous banner fluttering in the early morning breeze, an pennant depicting the fiery twin-tailed comet and the hammer, signs of the knights of the Empire. Following the knights was the witch hunter along with his priest and mage, the trio rode in silence. Behind them was their heavy supply cart drawn by four large horses, clearly toiling under the strain of the massive load. Attached to the rear of the cart was another construct, an two wheeled weapon of mass destruction, confiscated from an army not long ago. Behind the cart, closing off the procession were the two dozen shabby mercenaries, their coarse laughter and loud voices ringing out through the morning silence, looking forward to earning more coin and thus, spending more in the nearest tavern or brothel. The people of the town were more then happy to see them leave, though they brought needed coin to them, they also brought fear and death. Everybody could be an witch in their eyes. Not good for business as many travellers skipped town and decided to stay elsewhere. But small town economics are for another time, for small town economics are quite dull.