Immolatus fetches Torus and Yuri. As they meet outside, they witness the arrival of a coach at the gatehouse, and Klaus von Rothstein hauls his fat body out of it and to the ground. 

Back in the house, Torus and Lavarar climb down to the cellar through the trapdoor while Yuri guards the library. Meanwhile, Grudge has explored one of the other passages, which leads to a shaft up which he climbs to discover a secret entrance which he assumes leads to behind the bookcase in the master bedroom. Torus explores the last passage, which comes to another secret door that he thinks leads to the kitchen cellar; he hears faint sounds of banging pots and pans beyond.

All the adventurers save Yuri gather in the cellar. Unable to read the books, Torus and Grudge have a heated discussion about whether to burn them or not, but eventually they decide not to and return to the library. Yuri meanwhile has managed to convice Otto Geizhals, the corpulent librarian, that they are catching vermin. Nearby, several servants giggle to themselves as they dust the old paintings.

Ashaffenberg enters the gallery and motions Yuri aside, explaining that Von Rothstein has arrived unannounced, no doubt to curry favour with the new von Bruner family member, and he is well known as a notorious gossip and unpopular fellow from whom it is important to conceal any whiff of scandal.

Yuri takes Grudge and Torus into the sitting room, where he has already been and experienced a strange and forboding atmosphere. Behind heavy velvet blue curtains they discover an horrific painting of an eye, an image so terrifying that Yuri is temporarily reduced to a nervous wreck after seeing it.

A servant appears to inform them that dinner will be served in the main hall in an hour.
Torus and Grudge move to the kitchen trying to get to the cellar to confirm their suspicions about the cellar passageway, but the cook is having none of it. As they return to the grand gallery Grudge discovers a note on the floor. Unfortunately none of the party can read…

Torus enters the main hall to show Aschaffenberg the note; interrupting his conversation with Von Rothstein. Moving out to the gallery with him, Aschaffenberg reads the single word on the note: ‘Goose’, and returns to his guest.

After getting changed—Torus borrows some fresh clothes from the guard captain—the adventurers gather in the grand hall for dinner. Outside darkness falls and the rumblings of thunder presage a storm. Apart from Aschaffenberg, Klaus Von Rothstein, and the adventurers, the dinner guests are Vern Hendrick, Dr Sieger, Otto Geizhals, Captain Andreas Blucher, and somewhat later, arriving wet from the rain that has begun to pelt down, the master of the kennels, Olver Gand. Yuri attempts to amuse Gand with a joke about his name, but it is not received well; Torus however eases the tension by enquiring after Gand’s dogs.

The first course, a spicy vegetable soup, is served as Grudge goes to the kitchen cellars to retrieve a barrel of beer. He unsuccessfully tries to find the secret passage, and instead takes a barrel and sits outside the house by the kitchen door, drinking in solitude. Soon after Torus follows him to the cellar, finds the secret passage and leaves it unlatched, and takes a bottle of wine back to dinner which he takes care to drink from.

Meanwhile, the main meat dish is served by the increasingly incompetent servants, scolded by the annoyed butler, Gregor Piersson. The guests are offered a choice of goose or venison; all choose the venison save Torus, Yuri, Geizhals, and Sieger. As the meal begins, over the sound of the storm outside is heard the distant barking of dogs. Gand excuses himself to check on his animals.

As the desert arrives, several guests, including Immolatus, begin showing signs of exhaustion—yawning and speaking in slurred voices. Eventually  Aschaffenberg excuses himself and suggests Yuri join him for a brandy in his room to discuss the day. Hendricks and Immolatus retire. Torus remains at the table talking with Geizhals and Sieger, but soon decides to go outside. Grudge takes his barrel back into the cellar and goes through the secret passage into the underground temple, intending to wait for the arrival of any nocturnal worshippers.

Outside, Torus sees that there is some sort of commotion down near the gatehouse; figures with torches run about, there are shouts, and outlined by lightning flashes he sees bestial figures crawling through a gap in the walls and invading the compound. He rushes down through the rain to lend aid.

Yuri’s conversation with Aschaffenberg ends abruptly when the nobleman falls suddenly into a deep sleep where he sits. He hears the commotion outside and runs to investigate. Immolatus sleeps the sleep of the drugged, unaware he is being tied up by Hendrick, who had faked his exhaustion in order to set in motion his nefarious plans for the evening …

All is chaos at the gatehouse. In the storm several guards and Gand desperately try to fight off growing numbers of beastmen. Torus sprints for the nearby kennels where the dogs bark and jump, maddened by the strange bestial odours. He jumps up on the cage and unlatches the door, and Gand’s three great mastiffs charge forth to lock their jaws around the throats of the nearest beastmen.

Immolatus wakes, groggy and in the dark, and finds himself bound. He burns off the ropes with a cantrip and heads downstairs.

After trading quick blows with the invaders, Torus and Yuri run back towards the house, pursued by beastmen. Yuri reaches the house first and takes up a defensive position in the main doorway; he manages to block a beastman’s blow with the heavy wood, but is locked in battle with three of the creatures. Behind him, Immolatus staggers down the main staircase, cinders falling from his wrists, and seeing the fight at the doorway begins to channel the winds of magic.

Outside in the storm, Torus is sprinting for the house ahead of another three beastmen. As he reaches the covered walkway around the courtyard he makes a desperate leap up a column and for its roof, but he fails and falls back stumbling in the mud.

Back in the cellar, Grudge finally tires of waiting and climbs through the trapdoor into the library. As he passes through the gallery he notices the door to the sitting room is open; he charges in brandishing his axe but finds only the discarded frame of the painting, some ichor- stained bandages, and evidence that someone has disturbed the ashes in the fieplace. Discovering iron rings at the back of the chimney shaft, he climbs up to the roof and out into the storm, where he beholds a dreadful sight.

Luridly lit by the sickly green glow of Morrslieb moon, which seems to grin down through a swirling gap in the storm clouds, a group of cloaked figures chants around Hendrick and Piersson. The latter’s bandage is gone, revealing an horrific, huge, black, baleful eye. He holds the corrupted painting of the eye up to the light of Morrslieb. Hendrick leads the chant, reading from a book bound in mottled leather. Before them kneels a bedraggled Von Rothstein, blubbering and almost hysterical with fear.

What fiend from the deepest pits of Chaos are they summoning from the painting? Grudge does not wait to find out. 

Below, the desperate fight against the beastmen continues. Hendrick fights at the door as Immolatus casts flame blasts and magic darts; Torus gets off an arrow or two before having to drop his bow and defend himself with his dagger. A mighty wargor leader, wounded by Gand but still alive, charges toward the fray.

Back on the roof, Grudge charges towards the cultists without hesitation, dodging and pushing aside the twisted followers—who include Sieger and Geizhals—to reach Hendrick. With one almighty blow he splits the cult leader in twain! The body falls in two pieces from the roof and lands next to Torus as he fights below—to his surprise and confusion. On the roof, Pierson tries desperately to draw his dagger across Von Rothstein’s throat and complete the ritual, but only wounds him, as Grudge whirls about and dispatches three cultists after riposting their blows. Bodies fall like rain around Torus as he fights for his life against two beastmen, armed only with a dagger. Finally, Piersson too is killed by Grudge’s vengeful axe. The ritual has been interrupted and the summoning stopped; the storm clouds close again and Morrsleib’s light is hidden.

Grudge drags the groggy and bleeding Von Rothstein to the edge of the roof and pushes him off, aiming for the beastmen fighting Torus, but misses. Von Rothstein hits the mud hard.

After a hard battle Yuri and Immolatus kill several beastman and their leader. Torus has killed one beastman and the last flees. A horn sounds by the gatehouse and the remaining creatures flee into the forest, demoralised and beaten, but at a great cost in lives.

Yuri and Immolatus hear a sound behind them and turn. Down the stairs shuffles Aschaffenberg, yawning and scratching his head. “Did I miss something?” he asks.

At the Gibbous Moon Inn in a small, nameless village just outside of Ubersreik, near the Grey Mountains of the Reikland, four troubled, disparate—and desperate—characters happen to be in the common room when a man runs down the stairs and loudly enquires of the innkeeper whether the coach from Altdorf has arrived. When he is informed it is now a day late, he turns to the room and asks in a troubled voice “which of you men will undertake to find that coach and retrieve an important parcel for me? I’m paying 25 silver shillings.”

Chairs are pushed back and the three men and one dwarf gather together and gruffly introduce themselves—Torus Lavarar, a bounty hunter; Immolatus, a scarred and wild-eyed bright wizard in red robes; Yuri Ilich Stubbindrikov, a fighting man from Kislev, and a dwarf from the mountains who introduces himself only as ‘Grudgebringer’.

Torus makes a brief and unsuccessful attempt to hold out for more money, and as they leave the innkeeper tells them to look out for the roadwarden with the coach, a man by the name of Rutger Abend. Soon the four hastily assembled companions are on the muddy road north under an overcast and grumbling sky, looking for the missing coach. After some three hours of brisk walking, they round a bend and come across a terrible sight. The coach is halted by the side of the road, its front axle broken, its horses dead in their traces. The coach driver appears to be lying dead on the ground nearby. Around the coach, terrible creatures cavort and howl.

Two of them—green-skinned, short and scrawny, with large pointed ears and noses and mocking toothy grins—stand near the back, pulling off boxes and packages from where they were strapped to the top of the coach, and hurling them to the ground. Two more beat at the coach door.
A fourth creature, much larger and stronger, with a hulking, broad body and long, heavily muscled arms and wielding a huge cleaver, stands near the front of the coach, attacking a roadwarden, most probably Rutger Abend! Abend is already badly wounded, and his attacks are growing more feeble.

The adventurers run quickly forward to help; Grudge and Yuri through the trees and around to the other side of the coach, and Immolatus and Torus in full view towards the goblins, who see them, cry out, and rush towards them. Torus pauses to pull back his shortbow and unleash an arrow, which strikes true right through the head of a goblin and into the head of another! As they fall, Immolatus feels the pent up anger and magic within him grow, and in one explosive moment he channels the winds of Aqshy, or Fire magic, and unleashes them—in the form of a blast of flame that turns the remaining two goblins to ashes.

Grudge and Yuri near the coach and discover another hulking orc lurking in the trees on that side; it rushes towards Grudge bellowing a war cry and strikes furiously, the crushing blow inflicting a horrible wound on the dwarf. Grudge bellows in return and lets fly with a mighty reckless cleave with his great axe, and the orc is almost finished. Yuri steps forward and runs it through with his sword.

Seeing his fellow warriors sliced and fried is too much for the remaining orc; he breaks off combat and runs for the forest, taking a last arrow from Torus in the shoulder as he escapes. Abend collapses gratefully to the ground.

Finally thunder cracks, the heavens open and a heavy downpour begins. From within the coach come the sounds of whinging, pleading and berating. A fat merchant called Klaus von Rothstein arrogantly demands the adventurers collect his things and fix the coach, telling them there’s a ‘shiny shilling’ in it for them. Grudge complies and starts collecting the discarded luggage and packages. Yuri climbs over the coach and looks through the other window, spying a package under the interior seat with a seal on it—the package they were instructed by Hendrick to retrieve. But von Rothstein refuses to cooperate, insisting that everything belongs to him and the adventurers must get him to Ubersreik as soon as possible.

After receiving his shilling, Grudge begins to threaten von Rothstein; Yuri tries to employ logic and reason, and Torus attempts to fool him by saying he has spotted more goblins on the way. Von Rothstein is astonished at the arrogance of these grotty menials, but eventually Grudge brings the discussion to an end by completely losing his temper and tearing off the coach door. Von Rothstein is shocked into quiet compliance.

The adventurers retrieve the package, gather some of von Rothstein’s belongings, and the group sets off back to The Gibbous Moon Inn. They arrive back at the inn muddy, soaked and exhausted. Von Rothstein quietly goes off to a room. When Hendrick asks for his parcel, Torus suggests the price has changed; this however does not sit well with Grudge, and he and Torus engage in a heated argument which ends with Grudge thwacking Torus about the head with a tankard, another grudge written in the dwarf’s little book, and both threatening future consequences.

Will these hotheaded young adventurers be able to work together in future? Only time will tell …

Hendrick receives his parcel for the original price, and probably against his better judgement—and the fact that there is no one else even vaguely competent to hand—he offers the adventurers a job at Grunewald Manor, an isolated fortified lodge in the Reikwald Forest under the shadows of the Grey Mountains. Hendrick’s master, Rickard Aschaffenber—a nobleman from Ubersreik—has recently been betrothed to a member of the powerful von Bruner family, and entrusted with the care of the lodge until the youngest von Bruner son, Leopold, comes of age.

However since Aschaffenberg has arrived the lodge has not only been attacked by beastmen, but Aschaffenberg suspects that something is not quite right with the surly, uncooperative staff. He therefore entrusted Hendrick to employ some men to get to the bottom of the affair, under the pretence of them helping with moving in his goods.

The adventurers negotiate and agree on a fee, and the next morning they all set off for Grunewald Lodge on a wagon piled high with Aschaffenberg’s furniture and possessions. They travel for several hours through the increasingly gloomy and ominous forest, and the adventurers begin to suspect that shadowy shapes are following them under cover of the densely packed trees to either side of the road. Their suspicions are confirmed as they arrive at the clearing dominated by the lodge compund. From the overgrown ditch surrounding the wall charge several beastmen, while several more break from the forest behind them and begin running towards the wagon.

Hendrick climbs on top of the piled boxes and brandishes a dagger, shouting to the guards on the gate tower to open the gate and let them in (who seem in no hurry to do so). The adventurers meet the beastmen charge and dispatch them without too much effort. The arrows of Torus and a fiery spell of Immolatus make short work of several beastmen, though the power of the winds of Aqshy overwhelms Immolatus with a insane manic fervour, which luckily he manages to control. Finally the gate is opened and the wagon allowed into the compund of Grunewald Lodge, where they are met by Rickard Aschaffenberg, a great bushy-bearded bear of a man, who invites them into the house. Surly staff, some of them with bandaged wounds from the earlier beastmen attack, unhitch the horses. As they walk up to the main house they notice a figure watching them from an upstairs window that quickly slips back into the shadows when spotted.

Carrying boxes, the adventurers, Aschaffenberg, and Hendrick walk through the impressive main hall, up the staircase and into Aschaffenberg’s bedroom, where he fills them in on the situation. Although he suspects something strange is going on at the lodge, he does not wish to get the authorities involved because he wants to avoid a scandal for the powerful von Bruner family.

The adventurers immediately get to work. They walk down the corridor to the hospice that has been set up in the guest bedroom, where those wounded in the recent beastmen attack are being cared for. There they talk briefly with an uncooperative Dr. Stefan Sieger, and meet Sister Sonja, a blind Sigmarite sister. Grudge listens to the strange rantings of Korden Kurgansson, a dwarf who seems to have been driven insane since the attack and babbles incoherently about ‘the eyes’ and ‘the hammer’ and begging them not to let them shave his beard.

A nearby stairwell leads the adventurers down to the kitchen, where they meet the cook preparing the evening meal. She has the smell of alcohol on her breath. Torus walks over to the guardhouse to talk unproductively with some of the guards.

Immolatus returns to Aschaffenberg’s bedroom on a hunch; examining a bookcase he discovers scrape marks on the floor that suggest a secret passage behind it. As he talks with Hendrick, the butler Gregor Piersson arrives and introduces himself.

Yuri heads for the run-down shrine to Sigmar in the gardens. He finds it neglected, though a recently-used candle points to a worshipper having been there in the not-too-distant past. He notices that the hammer in a weathered brass wall triptych looks suspicious, and discovers that it is in fact a real hammer concealed in plain sight. After examining it he returns it to its place, and goes off to meet Torus at the guardhouse.

Grudge visits the library, where he discovers a corpulent fellow with bushy mutton-chops reading in a comfortable armchair. Scanning the room and immediately focussing on an ornately-patterned rug, Grudge lifts it and discovers a trapdoor underneath. Immolatus arrives at the door, and seeing Grudge discover the trapdoor, he goes off to find Torus and Yuri. Ignoring the librarian’s offended protests Grudge opens the trapdoor and climbs down into a cellar passageway which leads to a large chamber lit by torches that apparently has been used for some dark ritual. The room is dominated by a six foot long block of jet-black granite covered in dry blood, and an eight-pointed star is sketched on the floor.

Clearly all is not as it seems at Grunewald Manor.

Torus Lavarar, Bounty Hunter

Eighteen years ago, during the height of the Middenheim Carnival, a dashing young rake called Lucidius Lavarar and his friends came to stay at the Templar’s Arms. Lucidius immediately noticed the attractive young blonde barmaid and asked her name.

“Eva,” she replied, “now kindly take your hand off my leg and tell me what you want to order.”

Lucidius devoted several hours to flirting with Eva, telling her outrageous stories and trying to persuade her to come to his room. He claimed he was involved in defeating a dark and dangerous plot to overthrow the Emperor and usher in a new era of chaos and darkness. She of course, didn’t believe a word of it, dismissing him as just another good-looking seducer looking for a fun night with a waitress. She wasn’t that easy though, and eventually Lucidius gave up.

Only a few nights later though—Oh Horror!—a band of hideous creatures: ratmen, beastmen, and goblins invaded the Arms itself, right there in Middenheim! Lucidius and his friends defeated the ratmen while Eva cowered under the bar. When they were all dead, Lucidius found her and held her in his arms while she sobbed out her terror.

She soon discovered that his story was true and that he was in fact a famous ‘adventurer’, being honoured by the Graf himself for his services. He was also suddenly rich and began showering Eva with gifts, including a purple velvet cloak that must have cost at least four crowns.

A few days later his friends brought him into the Arms late one night in a terrible state: paralysed by some awful poison. Eva sat up all night bathing his brow, and when he awoke, she was the first thing he saw.

His first words, were “You saved my life, you beautiful woman,” and her heart melted. The next day, the last of the Carnival, Lucidius and his friends were named honorary Knights Panther by the Graf. When Lucidius returned to the Arms, mantled in wealth and this ultimate sign of respectability, he once again tried to seduce Eva. This time she relented and took him to her bed.

A grey dawn saw Lucidius gone and Eva with child. He had left sixty crowns by the bed, but she never saw him again. Nine months later, after 18 agonising hours of labour, Eva gave one last convulsive heave to eject her son, then bled to death in her bed within the hour.

Before she died, she beseeched Torus Geschmecken, the owner of the Templar’s Arms, to help her. With bloody fingers she pressed the sixty crowns into his hand, “Please sir, you have no son, swear you will look after this child, raise him as your own, let him know his father is a knight.”

The innkeeper swore he would, and was good as his word. The boy grew hale and hearty, believing that the innkeeper was his father, leading the rough-and-tumble life of a pot boy in a busy inn. On his sixteenth birthday, Torus decided it was time to tell him the truth.

“You mean my real father, this supposed knight, seduced my mother and left her for dead, leaving a handful of coins?” exclaimed Torus indignantly. “He treated her like a common whore, the bastard! Where can I find him?”

From that day, Torus became obsessed with the idea of finding his father and avenging his long-dead mother’s honour. He spent days searching for information on his father’s whereabouts, but to no avail: he had disappeared without trace. It was almost as if Lucidius Lavarar, the once-famous ‘Merry Prankster’ and Knight Panther had never existed.

Despite this, nothing could dissuade Torus from his quest and, eventually, Torus senior called him to his room one night.

“Torus, if you are serious about finding your father you will need to learn properly how to track a man. Running about getting angry will not help you. Now, I know a man who is an expert at this. He is a bounty hunter. I have spoken to him and he is prepared to take you on as an apprentice. You have a choice to make: stay here and work with me and one day you will inherit this inn, or go with this man and learn the skills of the men who hunt men.” He handed Torus a scrap of paper with a name and address on it.

“Tell me your decision in the morning.”

In the morning, Torus’s room was empty of all but a note:

“Thank you Father, for that is what you will always be to me, my father. Keep the inn for me if you can, and when I have tracked down the whoremonger I will return to you. Torus.”

Torus spent the next two years apprenticed to Karl Reinheitz, a bounty hunter who made a good living tracking down escaped criminals and debtors, as well as spying on adulterers to provide evidence for betrayed spouses.

Burning with the fire of his personal quest, Torus was a quick learner. He swiftly learned to be agile and inquisitive; to be ready for anything; always to be questioning and observing. He learnt how to creep stealthily through the city; how to fire a bow with deadly accuracy, and not always to kill; how to eavesdrop and how to hunt men.

On the night of his eighteenth birthday he approached his master.

“Master, I have served you well for two years, but it is now time for me to find my father. I ask you please to release me from my bonds of apprenticeship.”

“I will do that Torus, on one condition, that you swear to me now on the soul of your dead mother, that if you ever find your father, you will not take his life or harm him.”

“I can’t swear to that!” exclaimed Torus.

“One day boy, not long from now, you too will spend a night with a barmaid and be gone in the morning. Do not censure your father for something many men have done, now SWEAR!”

“I swear then, on the soul of my dead mother, that if I find my father I will not harm him.”

“You have a good heart boy, don’t let it be consumed by thoughts of revenge. Come and see me if you’re ever in Middenheim, and if you’re ever in trouble, send me a message. Now go, and may Sigmar go with you. Oh, and Torus, take these.”

Karl picked up his bow and a quiver of arrows and handed them to him.

“Thank you master, I will repay your generosity.”

“Never mind that, go and look for your father, and remember that what happens along the way is your life.”

Torus rode out of Middenheim the next day. He hadn’t told Karl, but he had unearthed a rumour from a priest of Sigmar that a man answering to the name Lucidius had been seen in Altdorf, disguised as a witch-hunter. The time for action had come.

Immolatus, Apprentice Wizard of the Bright Order

When misfortune is visited so profoundly and visibly upon an individual, should one forgive those who choose to look away for fear of being joined in pain and misery? What if that individual is but a child? Perhaps the story of Immolatus may help you decide.

In retrospect the signs were readily visible to all, and many were looking for such things, but it was the love of a father that gave him a chance at life when others sought to end it.

His mother, bedridden with a terrible fever and a thirst that no amount of water could quench, died shortly after giving birth to him. What a strange babe he was: hairless, shrivelled, and with a sickly complexion the colour of ashes unique to that created during human cremation. However, as with most sad events, Time moved on and the circumstances of his birth were forgotten.

Yet Misfortune had only just awoken, and again her gaze swung to the small valley in the far north of Reikland.

Less than a year later, father and son were attacked by a pack of starved, mangy grey wolves that carried the babe away into the dense forest adjacent to what remained of the family’s small farm. After recovered his wits and arming himself with an old shovel, the badly injured father gave pursuit. Fearing the worst, he was amazed to find his son sitting quietly in the midst of a circle of dying embers, next to the body of a black, charred wolf, still smoking from the fire that had wholly consumed it. Perhaps the father was blind to truth, refused to accept the obvious, or feared the reaction of the villagers. Perhaps all that was of no import compared to protecting the life of his only child. Again Time moved on, and his father did his best to forget what he had seen and told no one of the events.

As the child got older and more adventurous, his strange nature became impossible to hide. Weather held no import; he was equally comfortable in the deep cold of winter as in the heat of summer, feeling neither blistering heat nor the cruellest cold. He was never wet, even after being caught in a rainstorm. More than once it was noted that fires seemed to move in his presence, becoming more aggressive or more subdued, as if following some invisible instruction, or seeking the same from an unseen master. The child was clearly unaware of it, so those looking for such things had no real grounds for accusations.

Notwithstanding the rumours, most found him entirely approachable and the cool intelligence behind his green-grey visage quite engaging. His gentle disposition was coupled with a fierce curiosity, and even at a young age his endless questions dominated any encounter with the villagers. Surely the rumours were nothing but gross exaggerations of idle or vicious minds.

While the local villagers respected the family’s unfortunately history and from time to time came to their aid, there were those who retained deep but private reservations about the child. There were too many unexplained stories, and persistent rumours. Human nature being flawed as it is, these reservations grew slowly into subtle fears, then fierce argument and eventually cunning plans to take action. Ultimately, perhaps it was simply base animal instincts that led to that fateful night, barely days before the youngster’s tenth birthday.

A handful of villagers, drunk with their fear of the unknown, decided to rid themselves of the child once and for all. In the darkest hour of the longest night of the year, four men armed themselves and set out from the village. With torches shielded against the wind, they approached the farm with dire intent.

His father woke to the front door exploding as it was kicked inward. As he leapt out of bed, he was smashed with the flat of a blade, and hit the ground dazed but conscious. Lifting himself off the floor and turning to find his attacker, he saw his son surrounded by the men with their torches held high and weapons drawn. His son turned, leaned past one of them and smiled at his father, then lifted his hands slowly in surrender. Drunk with dominance, the leader of the pack turned and without warning thrust his sword viciously into his father’s chest.

From the boy there came a primal, otherworldly roar, far deeper than the small chest should be able to render. Simultaneously the flames from the torches exploded and leapt directly onto the faces of the four men. The fire burned with an all-consuming ethereal blue colour, like that barely visible at the bottom of a candle flame. There ensued an eerie silence as they clawed at their faces in vain, for one cannot scream with lungs full of fire. As his father died, the flames surged to completely engulf the house and everything within it, including the child and the four writhing forms on the floor. Such a conflagration no one could survive.

The next morning as the villagers investigated the smoking ruins of the farmhouse, they found the boy half crushed under a fractured oak beam. Still breathing by some miracle, but unable to speak, there were no clues as to the cause of the horrible accident. The body of his father was not recovered. As a final act of compassion to the badly disfigured boy, he was passed into the care of a renowned healer, a wizard of sorts it was said, who was thought to be the only person who may save his life.

To this day, no one knows where the four men went in the middle of the night, although it was generally accepted they were murdered foul while whoring in a neighbouring town. There was no evidence of them at the farmhouse, and what business would they have with a poor farmer, after all?

It was sprinkling and there was a light morning mist in the valley. Looking across the valley, Fuegoletras was pleased with his work and his charge. Six years earlier he faced the most difficult challenge of his long, long life. Nursing the damaged boy back to the world required all his concentration and considerable resources for more than two years, yet his aura was brighter and cleaner than any other of its type he had seen, and this was a type with which he was intimately familiar. He had to be saved. Only the most powerful Bright Order wizards had magical auras of this potency, and here lay but a child. Such willpower to survive he had never witnessed. Once speech and willingness to talk to others was renewed, he learned of the boy’s remarkable childhood. Yet he refused to offer a name. Perhaps he no longer recalled it, or it was connected with a past now discarded in his mind.

His new ward was a quick study, rapidly absorbing difficult concepts and mastering the foundation methods of Channelling the winds of power. There was little doubt of his raw talent for controlling flame, but the teacher sensed a still raw and untended wound deep in the boy’s psyche. Such things were beyond his ability to heal, and he could only hope the rage that lurked there was to remain hidden lest it be released and fuel devastating destruction.

Taking him as an apprentice, Fuegoletras named him Immolatus, in recognition of and fear that the hidden potential within the boy would one day escape and consume him.

Fuegoletras was amazed at the extent of the child’s ideas. To Immo, fire was intimate and universal. At barely fifteen years of age, he theorised that all matter contained different levels of potential, and that this could be released slowly to give light, heat and warmth, or released in an instant to create titanic explosions. To Immo, fire was essential in transformation of matter, to sustaining life, beautiful yet deadly. Through fire things come into being and pass away.

With this level of natural ability, or perhaps a strange bond formed in the furnace of the farmhouse fire, his mastery of Aqshy’s Lore of Fire was effortless, and his degree of awareness of magical winds was strong. For a number of years he studied ways of gathering and controlling the winds without releasing the inner rage.

On his sixteenth birthday and after much thought, Immo decided to venture forth to discover more about the world, examine his theories, and apply his ideas to discover even more. With the blessing of his first Master, and now an Apprentice Wizard, Immo turned to the south, and began walking toward the rising sun.

Following the tragic events of his youth and his apprenticeship to the wizard Fuegoletras, Immolatus wandered the land in search of adventure and knowledge. He quickly learned that common folk greatly feared magic, and was from time-to-time forced to flee when his anger got the better of him in an argument, or when pressed by city thugs or bandits on the road. The results were usually spectacular and deadly, with charred corpses, burnt farmhouses, flaming wagons and scorched fields left in his wake. Reports of a young man with dangerous fiery magic eventually came to the attention of Édur Petard, a ranking Wizard of the Bright Order, who became concerned that a rogue Apprentice or Exeat of the Order may be the cause.

The search for the suspected rogue caster took many months, whereupon they found Immolatus in the service of a mercantile trader and loan shark—right under the very nose of the Order in Altdorf! It seems his way with fire was helpful in certain ‘negotiations’. Petard observed the raw power of Aqshy flowing in and around the young man, and quickly realised he had limited control over it. “Such a talent must be harnessed by the Order—it cannot be left untended or it shall flare into pure destruction”, he realised. Approaching Immolatus and revealing his College identity, he suggested there might be more rewarding work in the service of the College, along with the opportunity to develop his powers and no longer be concerned about the fears and reactions of ignorant common folk—or the town guard.

Immolatus became apprenticed to Petard, and so it was the story of his youth and his first master was shared over a charred boar one cool night in his master’s quarters. Indeed, what a surprise! Fuegoletras was known to the Order as a Jade Wizard of some renown who disappeared into the wilderness decades earlier, seeking to perform his own research into “healing the wounds of the earth”. (That a Jade Wizard of such power should appear in the story of Immolatus itself would in later years become part of both Jade and Bright Order legend. Many later theorised this early exposure to Jade magic had opened Immolatus to the winds beyond Aqshy, and he was likely tainted from the very start by the winds of Ghyran.)

Three years passed and Immolatus’s skills grew substantially, his focused learning intensifying his obsession with Aqshy. His temperament remained a difficult challenge, but it was not uncommon for members of the Bright Order to be quick to anger, so this was accepted even as his channeling, spell casting and experimentation became more reckless with each year that passed. It was this explosive disposition, sheer capacity for the Winds of Aqshy, that first hinted at his potential as a Battle Wizard. It was common practice that such individuals were developed by exposure to real conflicts in the world beyond the College, and so Immolatus left Altdorf seeking the successes that would lead to becoming an Acolyte of the Bright Order. Thus he found himself sitting in the Gibbous Moon Inn outside of Ubersreik, hoping that the bounty hunter, Kislev fighter and the mad cranky dwarf would attract some interesting challenges.

After battling beast men, retrieving lightning stones, fighting zombies in cemeteries, defeating a small hoard of goblins, exploding a few skulls and almost getting crushed by a comet, news of his exploits as one of the ‘Heroes of Stromdorf’ had already reached the Order at Ubersreik by the time of his return. He was subsequently inducted as an Acolyte of the Order, and after a brief ceremony, some story telling and a magic missile tournament, he rejoined his colleagues in the city to continue his questing. Christoph Engel, the Master Wizard in Ubersreik, said he would watch his development as a potential Battle Wizard with interest, but it was obvious they were glad to see the back of him.

The Grudgebringer, Dwarf Pit Fighter

The Tale of the Grudgebringer

“Uncle Grilli, Uncle Grilli, tell us again the story of the Grudgebringer! Did he really do everything they say he did? Did he really rip out the heart of a stone giant with his teeth? Was he really so wealthy that when he died his entire tomb was made from gold and diamonds?”

“Ah, children, he certainly did many things in the World of the Manlings. Whether he did all they say….well, stories often grow in the telling. And, by the Mighty Hammer of Smednir, the Grudgebringer’s story did not begin well. Not well at all…..”

Grudges: A Beginner’s Guide

Everyone knows that, even more than gold, dwarves prize Honour. And the dark twin of Honour is Pride. How many feuds, and even wars, have been fought, how many dwarves, elves and humans have died, because of the Pride of Dwarves? The race of dwarves have taken Pride to a level unknown to the other races, and in the height of their Pride the dwarves created the Grudge. To understand dwarves, one must understand that the Grudge is no mere bitterness, no small grievance, no minor enmity. A dwarven Grudge is an overwhelming hatred that consumes the holder like a fierce blaze, occupying every waking hour until the Grudge is satisfied. As the dwarf saying goes: “Revenge is a dish best eaten hot, bloody and with an axe in your hands!”

Of course, not all Grudges need to be to the death. Indeed, there is a certain kudos associated with ensuring that the restitution matches the cause of action—‘An Eye for an Eye’ is (often literally) a very good rule of thumb (and indeed has often been quoted as ‘A Thumb for a Thumb’).

And Grudges exist at every level—from those written in the Dammaz Kron at Karaz-Karak, the Ultimate Book of Grudges held on behalf of every dwarf (in which every Grudge is registered), through the Grudges maintained in the Great Book of Grudges held by each Karak, through those held in the Clan Book of Grudges of each dwarven clan, right down to the book of Grudges held by each individual dwarf. You might almost say there was an industry of Grudge creating, Grudge bearing and Grudge satisfying, and (for one reason or another) Snorri Sturluson, aka The Grudgebringer, was a master of the craft.

Back in the Karak

Snorri Sturluson was born in Karak Azgaraz in 2477 to normal parents in a typical clan. On its face, there was no reason to think that he would not spend his life in the Karak, as for hundreds of others of the karak-born, leading a normal life with a normal occupation as blacksmith or Ironbreaker or brewer. But at his birth the Ancestors were sleeping, or have a sense of humour much more evil than that with which they are usually credited. For Snorri became a focus for Grudges, a veritable eye of a Grudge hurricane. Some Grudges he held himself (and his book of grudges is a very full one indeed); some others were held against him; some were held between third parties who had the misfortune of crossing his path and somehow being drawn into the maelstrom of malice. As the following small number of examples shows, Snorri was not a dwarf that Karak Azgaraz could afford to keep as a citizen for long, without risking significant long term damage to its social (and possibly physical) integrity. “A walking grudgestone” they began to call him. And finally—“The Grudgebringer”.

As Snorri’s mother died at his birth, Snorri’s father Sturl held a Grudge against the mid-dwarf who delivered him, and eventually drowned her in a vat of Bugman’s. As punishment, Sturl was banished (more for ruining a vat of Bugman’s than for killing the mid-dwarf, who was universally recognised as more dangerous for babies than the murderous cave rats—it would have been a capital offence had the beer been Bugman’s XXXXXX, or even Troll Brew, but it was only Beardling’s Best Effort). Of course, he never made it out of the Karak, for he was killed by Kudrik Ironbar (a third cousin of the mid-dwarf) shortly after receiving sentence.

Grudges added to Snorri’s book:

• Father Sturl for doing such a bad job of killing the mid-dwarf—crossed out on Sturl’s death;
• Kudrik Ironbar—crossed out when Kudrik died from a rock fall, although strangely the rock that killed him seemed to be shaped like a child’s rattle made of rock; Snorri was at first suspected, but how could a 5 year old kill a fully grown dwarf?
• The 3 thanes on the clanhave that exiled Sturl, not because of the exile (which would have been in accordance with Karak Law and thus acceptable) but because of certain gross inequities in the legal process—crossed out over time: one accidental death (genuinely accidental); one killed by greenskins (it was never quite clear how the greenskins found him, but it was pretty clear that Snorri wouldn’t have liaised with the greenskins to arrange the death, as Snorri really really hates greenskins); and the third, Loremaster Marzel, killed in a brawl with Snorri in 2519 (one of the reasons Snorri was banished).

Grudges added to other’s books against Snorri:

• Kudrik’s 2 brothers and son—although as there is no evidence of foul play, it’s more a “hope he dies, soon” sort of Grudge;
• Loremaster Marzel’s brother, two sons and 3 cousins—they have been trying unsuccessfully to kill Snorri for some time, and are still trying. The brother, one of the sons and 2 of the cousins are now dead through their attempts: one cousin was killed in the Karak (more fuel for this family’s Grudge), the others were killed at various places in the Empire including the son in a pit fight against Snorri (a very exciting ‘dwarf on dwarf’ match up that very rarely comes along…). Snorri expects continued attempts until he is dead or the remaining two family members have journeyed to the House of the Ancestors; and
• The surviving members of the band of greenskins who encountered Snorri in the mountains above Karak Azgaraz and were driven away by him with significant loss of life (although they did fortuitously encounter some senile old dwarf in the course of their flight, whom they proceeded to kill).

As a child, Snorri almost lost track (though, thanks to his Book of Grudges, didn’t totally lose track) of the broken bones, broken toys, broken hearts, stolen property and other offences committed against him which needed to be revenged. And almost always were, successfully. He lost his 3 best friends (yes, he did manager to have friends, not least because of his fierce but often misplaced loyalty) because of various Grudges held against him, or generated by his mere presence: one died in an ambush meant for Snorri; one died defending Snorri from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (which in Karak Azgaraz are actually quite real and usually pretty terminal); and the third died as the result of a very complex feud between a number of dwarfs (excluding Snorri, for a change) which happened to arise from an off the cuff remark Snorri was overheard making during a rather boring dinner. As would be expected, each of those deaths generated Grudges in Snorri’s book of Grudges, although given the number of people involved and their mind boggling complexity Snorri eventually cancelled them all after a sufficient number of deaths and the payment of appropriate ‘blud-gelt’ (aka ‘blood gelt’).

As a young warrior, his penchant for Grudges initially seemed a good thing—he was certainly very meticulous and driven in cancelling out his Grudges against greenskins, the odd Skaven, human bandits and even the occasional Chaos marauders. However, the Grudges seemed to work both ways—survivors of battles with Snorri took great pleasure in seeking him out in later battles, and some of the dwarven warriors became a little reluctant to be in his war parties (although others, with a more traditionally dwarven view of battle, sought him out as a guaranteed lightning rod for the tougher elements of any battle). And woe to any dwarf who shirked his part in any combat involving Snorri—another Grudge was in the book. Often satisfaction of these Grudges involved taunts, insults or refusals to fight beside the offender again. Unfortunately, one or two recipients of such conduct are believed to have sought their deaths by throwing themselves suicidally into battle against impossible odds. Which of course lead to new Grudges against Snorri….

Finally in 2519 (when Snorri was 42 years old), the clanhave of Karak Azgaraz came to the conclusion that Snorri—now almost universally known as ‘The Grudgebringer’—had to leave the Karak. Drawing on a very old piece of Karak Law (passed in necessity in the past to prevent the complete annihilation of the Karak under a burgeoning Grudge culture), all Grudges held by or against Snorri were cancelled (Loremaster Marzel’s relatives managing to exempt their Grudge under an even older piece of Karak Law) and Snorri was banished “until such time as no Grudges were held by or against him, and that state of Grudgelessness had persisted for a period of not less than one year and one day”. Sensibly, any Grudge created by the banishment itself was also cancelled by the Law, otherwise Snorri would have held a very big Grudge indeed.

Why did Snorri accept the banishment and cancellation? As noted above, the Grudge is but a side effect of Honour, and failure to comply with the Law would not be honourable. Many things have been said about Snorri, but pursuing dishonourable Grudges is not one of them.

“This ’ere Empire Isn’t Big Enough for the Both of Us…”

Moving into the world of manlings, for the first few years the beardling Snorri took up a number of jobs involving strength, stamina and (where possible) the consumption of beer (albeit only weak-as-piss manling-made elf-spit). This included stints as a bodyguard, courier, bouncer and militia man. Provided his employers were fair and treated him well, Snorri was an exemplary employee. But if any man treated him unfairly, out came the book of Grudges. Examples abound.

Snorri was hired to find and recover a barrel of gunpowder for a fee of 1g. When the barrel was recovered, the client offered a fee of 30s on the basis of ‘liquidity problems’. Muttering “Liquidity Problems?!?! I’ll show you Liquidity Problems!”, and showing a decided lack of knowledge of financial terminology, Snorri dropped the barrel in the nearest creek.

Hired to transport a client from one village to another in safety to escape violent creditors, the client disappeared without paying the agreed fee (a possibly foreseeable result, given the fact that the client was fleeing creditors in the first place). Tracking the ex-client down, Snorri tied him up, transported him back to the original village, and left him to his just desserts.

As a militia man in a skirmish with goblins, Snorri and his band were deserted by two of the members of the militia. Although the punishment for desertion was death, Snorri decided on a more appropriate punishment—each of the deserters faced a captured goblin in the fighting pits, ostensibly giving the deserters a fighting chance. However, it transpired that there was a reason the militia men had deserted—they were crap fighters. Hating to leave any business with goblins unfinished, Snorri took care of the goblins in the pits himself. Which lead to his job with Don Rex…

Finally, in Ubersreik in 2522, Snorri was contracted as a pit fighter to Don Rex following his showing against a couple of goblins, and for 7 years found settled employ for one of the longest periods of his life. ‘The King’, as Don Rex was known, treated Snorri well and paid him fairly. In return, Snorri, now fighting under the nom de guerre ‘Grudge’, fought hard and won often. Any Grudge in the pit was settled in the pit, and on occasion Grudges outside the pit could be settled in the pit (just ask Loremaster Marzel’s eldest son, although you can’t actually ask him now because he’s dead). Indeed, Grudge could have stayed as a pit fighter in Ubersreik for many years except that Don Rex got greedy, and set Grudge up for a fall in a rigged and dangerous match.

Unfortunately for Rex, Snorri won against the odds, and declared a Grudge (pun intended) against his former mentor. In a period of a few days Don Rex’s stable of pit fighters ended up in various stages of physical damage, Don Rex’s properties ended up burnt to the ground, and Don Rex himself will not be walking without the aid of the stick, or doing two handed push ups, ever again (not that he ever did two handed push ups in the first place, but you get what I mean). The damage by Grudge to Rex’s outrageous hairstyle (albeit shorter term) probably hurt Rex almost as much as the rest of the damage put together.

We now find Grudge without gainful employ, hunted by a number of enemies, and without any decent beer in the offing. Surely things can only get better from here…

Yuri Ilich Stubbindrikov the Mercenary

“In Altdorf they call me Kislev Yuri because I come from Kislev and my name is Yuri. They are thicker than cold borscht in Altdorf.

I was raised by Ilya Stubbindrikov the caravan guard. Although he is not my real father he is the only father I know and so I call myself Ilich Stubbindrikov in his honour. He said he found me in the ruins of Yazki after it was destroyed by chaos raiders. He said everybody else was killed. He could have left me with the Ulric priests in Polotsk but he said they couldn’t raise flies with shit. I learnt that he himself was raised by the Ulric priests so I guess he’d know.

He said I had the look of a southerner and had the sound of the south upon my tongue, but all I knew was that i lived in Yazki and had a brother and parents that had lived there too, but I could not remember my family name.

Ilya had been working the caravan routes betwen Kislev and Polotsk but he gave it away in favour of local work in and around Kislev town. He said he was sick of the travelling but I believe that he was greatly disturbed by what he saw in Yazki that day and he never was ever so close to the Worlds Edge Mountains again. I think he also wanted to stay in one place until I was old enough to travel with him, which I eventually did. In the meantime he trained me in sword craft and the use of the crossbow.

When I was old enough I joined him on the road and we guarded the rich easy caravans heading up to Kobrin and the river traffic on the Lynsk. Sometimes we even went south into the Empire. Eventually Ilya retired and bought a share in a small tavern near Pinsk on the Kobrin road.

Now I can move as I want and I’ve a hunger to travel and learn more of the world. I’ve followed the caravans south. Maybe I’ll find out something of where my family came from. I have nothing to go by except luck and a locket that Ilya found on the body of my mother. Maybe I’ll find my brother Vladamir who I’m sure is not dead, I’m sure I’d know if my twin had died.”

8th Ulriczeit IC 2522 (con’t)

The underground chamber is in utter chaos. The theatre troupe actors, now revealed as mutants, rush among the crowd, attacking the audience. The zealots wield their flails with righteous anger among the perverted thespians (and any audience members who get in the way), and Captain Aichorn wades into the crowd with a whirling sword. Braziers are knocked over, and screaming, burning figures blunder through the crowd, setting others alight; mad cackling laughter comes from somewhere in the maelstrom of panicking figures …

duCourt briefly considers grabbing a brazier and bashing a daemonette, but instead elects to rush after the escaping von Wolkenstein. With typical Elven agility he skips past the clicking pincers of a gloating, horribly sensuous daemonette and sprints after the architect of all this chaos, running up a rough staircase to emerge among the tombstones of the cemetary through an open sepulchre. In the dim moonlight he sees von Wolkenstein running away through the undergrowth, fallen stones and detritus, and sets off after him.

Back in the pandemonium, Bierschtein launches himself at the daemonette who had turned to pursue duCourt, jumping onto her back, but she twists her flexible body and he falls off and onto the floor. Lavarar grabs a passing runner, finds him to be a big burly fellow, lets him go, grabs a helpless woman, and then throws her into the path of the nearest daemonette. The daemonette advancing on the floored Bierschtein—making lewd suggestions all the while—attacks him with her horrific pincers but misses, and he manages to get to his feet and draw his hidden dagger. The other attacks Fitzue and wounds him.

Bierschtein, faced with two daemonettes, makes a risky run for it, and luckily for him the vicious swipe of one of the daemonette’s claws just misses his back as he sprints for the graveyard exit. Only Lavarar and Fitzue remain to hold off all three daemonettes—it seems hopeless. Then Fitzue, by this time gravely wounded, summons up the Aethyric energy for a last ditch effort, and succeeds in casting a Pall of Darkness spell; violently he belches forth clouds of darkness that engulf himself, Lavarar and the daemonettes. One of the beasts takes a blind swipe that just misses one of her companions, as Lavavar sprints out of the cloud and to temporary safety. Fitzue is on his heels; luckily two of the daemonettes stagger out of the cloud in the wrong direction and into the crowd, but the last is close behind Fitzue as he escapes.

As Fitzue runs for his life Bierschtein turns and—calling down the divine favour of Sigmar—conjures a twin-tailed comet that streaks toward Fitzue, who lunges backward as it streaks over his head and hits the daemonette. Fitzue turns and flings some hastily-conjured shadow knives at the burning daemon which seal the matter … it is a simple matter to finally finish it off by breaking its neck.

After covering some considerable distance with the elf in hot pursuit, von Wolkenstein trips and falls over a stone, while duCourt pushes desperately through a thick patch of brambles to reach him.

Finally duCourt catches up to von Wolkenstein, who makes two attempts to cast some horrible Chaos spell at his pursuer but fails, only finally getting out some kind of confusion spell at duCourt as Lavarar runs up to join them. duCourt, luckily, manages to shrug off its effects and deals a punishing slash to his assailant’s thigh that opens up an artery. von Wolkenstein is on the ground and begging for help from his dark lord—but no help comes.

Close to the chamber exit, Bierschtein casts healing spells on Fitzue on himself, and limps forward to join the others. von Wolkenstein’s wound is bound, and wrapped in a cloak the adventurers take him to the cemetery gates and through the icy, night-bound streets, to his fate at the hands of the Ordo Fidelis. Behind them, there is a crash and clouds of smoke as the underground chamber partially collapses.

Back at the Ordo Fidelis the adventurers desperately search their memories for the password before duCourt remembers ‘Magnus’ and they are let in. von Wolkenstein is led away to a cell, and in the comfortable wood-panelled office they meet with Eschlimann, woken from sleep and in a red dressing-gown, who pours them all a glass of brandy (Lavarar belts his brandy down and grabs duCourt’s). After recounting the night’s events they are congratulated on a job well done by Eschlimann, who tells them that a word had been leaked to the Knights Panther about the event; not only making use of their soldiers but leaving it to them to clean up any mess. A good night’s work, all told.

The adventurers return to their inn for a well-deserved rest.

9th Ulriczeit IC 2522

The next afternoon the adventurers return to the Ordo for a meeting with Eschlimann. He asks that they travel to Marienburg and get as much information about this child, his origins, and the so-called crusade, as they can. Their contact in Marienburg is a witch hunter called Osric Falkenheim, who has been out of touch recently, but should be able to fill them in on the latest developments, or at least direct them to where they can find the information. He can be found at the Temple of Sigmar in the Ostmuur district by leaving a message in a secret spot in the temple.

Eschlimann continues: “Witch hunters must be licenced to practice in Marienburg, a restriction we, of course, ignore. However it is even more important than it is in the Empire proper that you do not reveal you affiliations to anyone. You can expect no assistance from the local authorities and indeed, will be hauled off to Rijker’s Isle like a common criminal should you give the Black Hats reason to do so. For obvious political reasons, we could not help you should that happen.”

He then speaks to each of the adventurers in private.

10th – 27th Ulriczeit IC 2522

The trip to Marienburg is 350 miles by boat and takes 17 days. The owner of the riverboat is Merkel Schwalb, a Marienburger who is happy to answer questions about the city’s layout and provides them with a rough map. He recommends Koester’s Boarding House in the Kruiersmuur district as somewhere to stay.

27th Ulriczeit IC 2522

The first sight of Marienburg from the Reik is impressive. After days of travelling through a dreary landscape of reed-marshes, the river—almost a mile wide, and very slow-moving—rounds a bend, and the reeds part to reveal the city a mile away. Their boat enters the port of Marienburg through the Strompoort, a great channel flanked by high walls and artillery towers. A Marienburg pilot boards the boat, and steers it through the deceptively shallow and ever-shifting channels to a berth in the Suiddock.

The adventurers disembark and move through the busy crowds, north over the huge Hoogbrug bridge. In the northern districts they enquire about accommodation at a tavern and, after rejecting the more lower-class establishments, the barkeep recommends the Gull and Trident, a posh place in the Paleisbuurt district.

Vaguely pretending to be an Elven arms trader and his retinue, they book two rooms with balconies overlooking the Reiksweg. The proprietor is Wilhemina Thistledown, a small rotund old woman who likes to smoke a foul cigar.

Bierschtein heads for the the Temple of Sigmar while the others enjoy a drink, and he finds the small temple in a semi-deserted courtyard. Its carved wooden doors are closed and locked. After knocking several times they are opened by a scared-looking 12 year old in the robes of an acolyte. Eventually he lets Bierschtein in to pray. Bierschtein finds no message in the secret spot, so he leaves a message there for the witch hunter to contact ‘Hans’ at Koester’s Boarding House.

The young acolyte reveals that father Helmut, the head priest, was involved in some kind of riot that took place outside the old temple of Sigmar where a Shallyan priestess and a witch hunter named Falkenheim were denounced for not believing the boy was Sigmar reborn; Helmut then left with the crowd and presumably with the Crusade, out of the city.

The adventurers also learn that the Shallyan priestess is locked in a gibbet outside of the Old Temple, and that there is a both a Shallyan temple and an orphanage in the city.

33rd Kaldezeit IC 2522 (con’t)

The adventurers are searching the showboat of the Slaanesh cultist theatre troupe they just fought and killed, when they are confronted by a watch sergeant and four watchmen on the dock at Halbherzig. The sergeant demands they drop their weapons and gather on the dock as he sends one of his men to check over the boat. duCourt points out that they have just thwarted a gang of cultists; the sergeant becomes obstreperous. As the confrontation becomes more heated and villagers begin to gather around, three horseman ride out of the shadows and, showing great authority and some form of identification to which the watch immediately submit, order them away and take over the proceedings.

The adventurers recognise the leader, a tall, rangy, muscled fellow with a scar down the left side of his face and dark hair and blue eyes, as Wolfhart Reise, the guide who stole their horses back in Delberz. He offers his real name, which is Matthias Hoffer. With him is a heavily built man in full plate armour and closed helmet called Jacob Bauer, and a man wearing a black cloak and big black hat with a silver buckle, whom the adventurers recognise, to their surprise, as Father Odo the Sightless, the smelly, crazy priest at the Temple of Sigmar in Middenheim. His real name, it seems, is Ulrich Fischer.

After an initially friendly meeting, Hoffer and duCourt argue over Hoffer’s demand that they come with him and the other two witch-hunters to Altdorf via the road. duCourt in turn demands that they go by river on their boats. Eventually the argument gets so heated that they fight until first blood—which duCourt achieves with a quick slash to Hoffer’s upper arm.

Lavarar, Fitzue and Bierschtin attempt to defuse the situation, and eventually Lavarar manages to calm Hoffer down enough to allow them to organise a later meeting with Bernhard Dampfler, the owner of the Maria Borger, in Altdorf. Hoffer and duCourt, both glowering at each other, agree to suspend their hostilities until later …

Eventually the group, accompanied by a couple of guardsman and a cluster of fifteen or so mutants and heretics chained together and wearing head cages who bring up the rear, are riding through the forest and then south to Altdorf.

1st Ulriczeit IC 2522

Bierschtein attempts to make small talk with Fischer but the man is keeping to himself. Lavarar tries to smooth things over with Hoffer but he is obviously one to hold a grudge.

2nd Ulriczeit IC 2522

The next day they suddenly come upon a rough barricade across the forest road and simultaneously hear a deafening WAAAARGHHHHH!!! from the forest. Arrows fly from the shadows, hitting both Bierschtein and Fitzue, the latter in the head! Then twelve orcs rush out from the darkness of the forest, wielding rusty choppas, their leader a huge black orc rejoicing under the name of ‘Ballbasher’, who waves a huge axe around his head as he charges for Fischer.

A fast and bloody battle follows, punctuated by duCourt and Hoffer shouting out “ONE!” then “TWO!” as they slice their way through the attacking orcs. Eventually duCourt finishes off the last (his fourth) orc, and Hoffer (at three) leans nonchalantly up against a tree and gives him a slow appreciative clap. He seems impressed with the way the adventurers have handled themselves in the ambush, and the ice between he and duCourt thaws a little. Later on the journey duCourt even offers Hoffer an apology for their initial clash, to the great surprise of Lavarar, Fitzue and Bierschtein.

3rd – 7th Ulriczeit IC 2522

After several days on the road the group arrives in Altdorf—city state, Imperial capital, largest city in the Empire. The city’s size, the sheer number of people in the ever-crowded streets, the height of the buildings towering over the roads and cutting out light, the unbelievable range of smells—it is all overwhelming. Humans, halflings, elves and dwarves, in the dress of every known nation, are jostling one another in ill temper in the streets. Buildings are all tall, at least four stories, grouped close together, so the streets are in near-permanent shadow, with only a narrow strip of sky visible. It is Ulriczeit, and the weather is cold and wet; there is a soft black drizzle of rain blackened by smoke and soot and a heavy fog rolls through the streets at night.

The party rides slowly past the refugee camp crowding the North Gate, past the guards without challenge, and into the city proper; down the wide and busy Königstrasse and eventually across the Three Toll Bridge close to the meeting of the Reik and Talabec rivers and the chaos of the busy Altdorf docks. They catch their first glimpse of the mighty Cathedral of Sigmar, probably the most impressive structure in the known world outside of the Elven homelands. Into the side streets around the Templeplatz and eventually to a nondescript alley and an iron-bound door, where Hoffer knocks, speaks a whispered word to the guard behind a slot in the door, and the door is opened. The group files within into an antechamber. The poor prisoners (including the actress/Slaanesh cultist Fran Poppenbutel) are led through a side door and down a spiral staircase into some deep Sigmar-forsaken dungeon below from which cries of despair echo; the adventurers are taken through another door into comfortable living quarters and eventually into a well-appointed, wood-panelled room. Behind an imposing desk sits a cruel-eyed, grey-haired man in his mid-fifties who introduces himself as Kaspar Eschlimann and invites them to sit and pour themselves a glass of an excellent Tabecland vintage. They are in the presence of the head of the secretive Ordo Fidelis, the legendary order of witch-hunters.

Eschlimann informs the adventurers that the Ordo has been watching them for some time, and feel they have the right ingredients to become members. He can offer them “support, funds, information, authority, training and most of all, a purpose.”

When asked what the Ordo Fidelis is, he answers: “we are the most effective of the orders of Witch-hunters of the Holy Temple of Sigmar. We operate in secret, unknown to all but the highest functionaries of the temple. We find that there are less … complications … that way. And we hate paperwork. And besides, agents of Chaos, when captured by more conventional authorities, often go straight to the stake. We prefer to effectively question them, learn their affiliations and masters, and thereby root out the deepest, strongest cancers instead of just scraping away the surface sores.”

He offers a part in “the most glorious battle of all— the destruction of Chaos and the victory of the Empire”.

The adventurers listen and decide to think on it until the morrow. In the meantime they give the mysterious mask that cost Krauthösen’s life to Eschlimann. Then they are given rooms at an inn called the Burning Table in the city’s north, and Lavarar spends the night having a very good time indeed with a waitress and some excellent drugs after perhaps his most difficult seduction to date.

By the morning they have all agreed to take the Ordo oath and join the organisation, though all, especially duCourt, chafe at having to follow orders, even those from a powerful and secret organisation which would supposedly give them more power and resources to continue doing what they have been doing.

8th Ulriczeit IC 2522

Back at the Ordo headquarters, they submit to a small ceremony and repeat the words of their oath with their hands resting on a huge bound volume of Sigmar’s words. Eschlimann makes a point of pressing upon them the seriousness of the oath they have taken and the secrecy of the Ordo, saying that it protects its own ruthlessly, and just as ruthlessly it pursues those who betray their oaths to it.

It transpires that they know of the so-called ‘Crusade of the Child’ that has recently erupted in Marienburg and wish the adventurers to insinuate themselves into its hierarchy, find the heart of Chaos that beats with in it, and snuff it out. But first, Eschlimann has a small mission for them—“call it a test, if you will.”

The Hermann von Wolkenstein the adventurers killed in Halbherzig has a brother in Altdorf named Erasmus, a theatre owner who disappeared a month ago. The Ordo has suspected him for some time of being in league with Slaanesh, and information gathered from agents such as Krauthösen has confirmed it. They suspect that he is involved with a new craze in Altdorf, the ‘Theatre of the Damned’ (he gives them a copy of the flyer that has been posted throughout the city, which under a picture of laughing and crying theatre masks says ‘Tikkets, look for X’). He wishes them to find von Wolkenstein, clean up any foulness they find with him, and bring him back alive for questioning.

Hoffer returns and invites the adventurers for a strong Zhufbar ale at the nearby sign of the Flayed Wench, which has a back room reserved for the witch-hunters use (with a trapdoor under the rug for quick escapes).

Lavarar meets Bernhard Dampfler at a tavern on the docks called the Voyager’s Spirit (or locally, as the Voyeur’s Spit) and, slightly to Lavarar’s surprise and certainly to his admiration, Dampfler hands over the 230 Karls he owes for the boat. Lavarar returns 50 of them as an investment in Dampfler’s next cargo.

Lavarar has recognised ‘X’ as the symbol for Ranald, god of tricksters and the criminal element, so he and Fitzue go to the Drecksack district, the scummy area of town, and Lavarar disguises himself in a comedic costume intended to be a parody of Dietmund Falkenheim, an Altdorf noble well known for his large ears, penchant for polo, and affair with an older, uglier woman. An urchin runs past and steals his hat as he gets changed in an alley. He then stands on a soap box where two main muddy streets meet and skips about on a wooden hobby horse, making strange noises of feined pleasure and basically satirising the aforementioned noble riding his horsey paramour. A few local peasants gather but none seem overly impressed by the performance. Fitzue, embarrassed, retires to a nearby pub called the Black Swan and watches from its window over an ale.

Lavarar’s antics achieve little, but quick enquiry of a local tells them that the tickets can be got from members of the Brotherhood of the Oiled Palm, a local gang that hangs out at The Black Swan. There they see a heavy-set fellow with beady eyes and a receding hairline sitting at the back, his legs up on the table; two crossed nails embedded in his boot-heel make an X sign. He lowers his feet as Lavarar and Fitzue approach.

This is one Anton Schopranus of the Brotherhood of the Oiled Palm, and a few questions and some passing of gold crowns convince him to sell them tickets to the Theatre of the Damned that very night.

Meanwhile, duCourt has dressed in foppish upper class finery, and accompanied by Bierschtein, who has sourced less obviously Sigmarite armour and weaponry from the Ordo and is posing as duCourt’s bodyguard, they find a gambling tavern in the upper class Palast district. There duCourt quickly joins a game of cards at a back table with other young nobles and presents himself as a somewhat flighty and silly noble from out of town looking for fun and excitement. He loses several rounds but wins the last and comes out 20 Karls ahead. He also learns of the Theatre of the Damned—one of the nobles is going that night in fact, the noble had his servant find the tickets at a pub called the Black Swan in the Drecksack district, and the ticket was actually tattooed on the servant.

Back at the Black Swan, Lavarar finds a drunken sot lying in the gutter behind the pub and shaves a good hunk of skin off his upper arm, which he takes down to the Swan’s basement and presents as his ‘skin’ to be tattooed. A wiry, elderly chap called Nadel, with a long scar running over his blind left eye, takes the skin and a bribe, and twenty minutes later the adventurers have their tickets to the Theatre of the Damned. They are told to be at the south gates of the Ruhstatt Cemetery in the Reikhoch district, near the river, unarmed and at midnight.

The adventurers are there just before midnight as a fog rolls in from the river and curls among the gravestones and the high gates of the cemetery. The area is dimly lit and no watch patrols are in sight. Other retinues start to arrive and soon an excited, yet nervous, buzz of conversation fills the air. Nobles in the crowd are all ‘slumming it’, and their ragged outfits seem to be a source of much delight and bemusement to the giggling ladies.

Precisely at midnight a manhole cover scrapes open and a dirty, ragged jester climbs up, followed by an armed thug carrying two lanterns. Gleefully the jester cartwheels to stand in front of the gathered crowd, welcomes them with a toothy grin full of rotting teeth and proceeds to check everyone’s tickets. Then he addresses the crowd:

“If the play you want to see,
Then you follow me.
But keep a handkerchief close,
Or the stench will surely sting yer nose.
And always listen to my bell and keep the lanterns in yer sight,
Or you will get lost and take fright.”

The jester unlocks the gates and the theatregoers nervously follow him and the thug. After about ten minutes wandering through an area of narrow ‘streets’ formed by mausoleums they arrive at one in particular. The iron gate is opened and within it is lit with braziers, and empty coffins line the walls. A staircase leads down opposite the doorway. Cheerful music can be heard coming from below. At the bottom of a long flight of stone steps the Jester stops at an archway and announces in a ceremonious voice, “behold, the Theatre of the Damned!”

The theatre is built in an old, large burial chamber, perhaps Dwarven made. About thirty feet above, a narrow gallery leads around the room, lined with alcoves, some which still hold statues. The large space is littered with hundreds of candles, and at times the air is thick with smoke; shadows dance on the walls.

The theatre is full of cheery people and there is a lively mood and an excited buzz of conversation; most of the theatregoers are dressed in rags or worn clothes, and many wear masquerade masks. Mugs of ale and sugarcoated apples are served for a few shillings; entertainers of many sorts perform amongst the crowd, jugglers, dancers, musicians with their out of tune instruments, even fire-eaters. The stage is a large square sarcophagus in the centre of the room, standing four feet above the floor. A section of it has collapsed, leading to an underground room from which the performers will presumably emerge.

When all the theatregoers have arrived, a hunchbacked figure hobbles on to the stage and blows a trumpet three times to signal the start of the play. All the actors are dressed in lousy garments, and their acting skills leave a lot to be desired, but it appears the humour is black and to the point, as soon the audience roars in laughter (except for a few whose turn it is to be insulted). After a few comedy bits, a pompously dressed, handsome man takes to the stage, introduces himself as Erasmus von Wolkenstein, and receives roaring applause. The adventurers recognise him as he looks much like his brother Hermann, though he is older.

Hermann makes a speech introducing the climactic act, and three golden ropes fall from the ceiling to the stage. Three female figures dressed in flowing diaphanous robes begin a display of sensuous acrobatics. Slowly they descend; the audience looks upward in fascinated silence; slowly the robes fall off to reveal their naked, mutated, scaly, daemonic bodies.

The crowd gasps in horror and sick fascination.

Suddenly a horn being blown is heard. A captain of the Knights Panther charges into the room from the stairs, accompanied by a band of zealots; he proclaims in a loud voice:

“I am Captain Ezekel Aichorn of the Knights Panther. The Mutants of this blasphemous theatre, and all persons associated with them, are forthwith cast out from Our Holy Sigmar’s graces, and declared Heretics as stated by the laws of His Empire. The penalty for this crime is death, put into effect immediately. Cease and desist!”

There is total pandemonium. The daemonettes drop to the floor and bar the escape of von Wolkenstein, as the adventurers rush to capture him.