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The red and gold wagon bounced onwards and Sylvie knew she was in trouble. She was tied and gagged. She waggled her fingers, but something in the wagon was inhibiting her spellcasting. The large Vistani man in garish clothing watched her closely. Sylvie suspected the gypsies that had captured her were aware of her latent gifts and had taken measures against them.

"Stay still and no harm will come to you," He muttered, sharpening a brightly colored blade.

Sylvie's emotions were in shambles. Where was she? Hugo and Bruno were both gone. The last thing she really remembered was celebrating the Day of Mystery. Whatever the case, Sylvie knew that survival was the only thing that mattered now. Everything else would have to wait. She narrowed her eyes and began to look about for a means to escape...

The Vampire Counts

Sylvania was suffering under the rule of Otto von Drak. Von Drak came from a long line of dark wizards and necromancers who had built their castles on gathering points of the mystical energy that pervades Sylvania and had used that power in rituals of sacrifice. He was a madman who stuck peasants’ heads on pikes for fun, once arrived at a feast riding a bear, owned a thousand hats, and was convinced he was the reincarnation of Sigmar—at least, whilst he was drunk he was. Bandits and bands of vicious mercenaries harried the people, and their barons treated them little better.

Count von Drak had no heirs and hated his younger brother Leopold, next in line for the throne, with a burning passion. He tried to find a husband for his daughter Isabella from outside the province, with little luck. Von Drak fell ill with suspicious quickness, and whilst he lay on his deathbed, Vlad von Carstein, already a dread dark lord, arrived at Castle Drakenhof and asked for Isabella’s hand in marriage. Leopold, furious at seeing his chance to inherit vanish at the last possible moment, protested. Vlad hurled him from the castle’s window; historians call this the First Defenestration of Drakenhof. After they managed to wake the priest, Vlad von Carstein was married to Isabella there and then. Mad old Von Drak died moments afterwards.

After Vlad married Isabella and installed himself as the new ruler of the province (IC 1797), Bernhoff the Butcher, one of the mercenary captains who lived by raiding villages at the head of a company of murderers and scoundrels, heard of the new count and saw a chance for fame and riches. He rode into town and demanded the count pay him tribute. Vlad faced him alone in the town square, and in front of a crowd of his people, he cut Bernhoff the Butcher down and then slaughtered every one of his followers. Vlad’s popularity was assured.

Here at last was a count who dealt with the bandits, lowered the taxes to practically nothing, enforced the laws, and never drunkenly ordered random executions for his amusement. He sometimes executed his rebellious liegemen, accounting for the Second through Thirteenth Defenestrations of Drakenhof, and he drove away many of the priests, but still, his people loved him.

When Isabella fell sick with a wasting illness, he had his people’s sympathy. Flowers piled up at the gates, but the doctors could not cure her. Vlad finally sent the doctors away, saying he would treat her himself. Thus far, he had respected Isabella’s wishes and refrained from passing his curse to her, but he was unable to stand by and watch his true love die. Three nights after Vlad gave Isabella the Blood Kiss, she emerged onto the battlements to her people’s wonder and relief, looking pale but cured. Though she lived and fought by his side, Isabella never forgave Vlad for the curse he had given her, even though it had saved her life.

The people remained quiet as the years passed by and Count von Carstein rebuilt the estates, even as the Undead began appearing more often on the edges of settlements, quietly standing as if on guard—and even as unexplained deaths became more frequent. Those who opposed Von Carstein, claiming the marriage and his claim to nobility were shams, died mysteriously. They were eaten by wolves, died of fright, or “fell” from high windows (some scholars count the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Defenestrations of Drakenhof amongst these, but it is a matter of heated debate). More loyal subjects, who shared the count and countesses’ pallid skin and preference for a nocturnal lifestyle, replaced them.

Over the two centuries of their rule, the Vampires changed their identities many times to hide the fact they never aged, but pretending to be their own heirs was a ruse that could not work forever. The strange deaths and un-aging nobles eventually drew Witch Hunters to investigate, more of them than had been seen since Grand Theogonist Jurgen VI failed in his call for a Crusade against Sylvania. None of them returned from the province.

After many brutal campaigns that nearly brought the Empire to its knees, Vlad was finally defeated in the Battle for Altdorf (IE 2051). It is said the Grand Theogonist, with the aid of powerful magical artifacts captured from the halls of Castle Drachenfels itself, was able to slay Isabella and banish Vlad to a shadowy realm where he would remain trapped forever. They say it is here that Vlad von Carstein waits, mourning the loss of his love and plotting his return.

Of things to come

News of the death of Terrorfang and the liberation of Pritzstock spread like wildfire across the Reikland. From the smallest village to Altdorf itself, excitement bloomed.

"Hear ye! Hear ye! Hugo the Monster Hunter does it again. Read all about it in the Altdorf Gazette!"

Despite the newfound fame and the approval of the Graf, Hugo was worried. Sylvie was pregnant. How was that even possible? He couldn't stop mulling over the timeline in his mind. Who was the father? Hugo dreaded the answer he kept coming up with in his mind. He dared not speak his thoughts out loud. Sylvie was prone to dark moods of late. He could hardly blame her.

Then there was the matter of the baby Manticore. Sylvie had asked Hugo to spare it, and so he did. But the beast was a handful, and trying to keep it away from eating all the metal objects in sight was proving tiresome.

"I think you should call it Maliketh," Wolfram had said. "That was my uncles' name, and he was a great man!"

Wolfram had made a remarkable recovery despite a few touch-and-go moments. Sylvie's healing gifts had helped, as well as the hardy disposition of the boy. Hugo was sorry to see the lad go. His father had found him shortly after the events of Pritzstock and was glad for it.

"Thank you so much!" he had exclaimed. "My boy, you're alive!"

Despite all his worries, the spoils of the battle with Terrorfang had proven worth Hugo's time. The fame the kill had brought him earned free drinks and lodging all the way back to the fortress of the Graf. Sylvie was avoiding drinks now, spending her time inside the wagon instead with Maliketh while Hugo and Bruno drank their wounds away.

The cart of the famed monster hunter bounced on, now fitted with a massive ballista on the roof. What would the future hold? Only the Changer of the Way could know for certain.

**********

In the Impossible Fortress, Charlotte could sense her time in that timeless place was coming to an end. She'd be reborn soon in a new body with a new life. She wondered if she'd remember anything at all of what had come before.

"You'll remember enough," the Custodian of Tzeentch had said. "You're destined for great things. You'll see."

Of Yore and Nonce

The Barony of Wittgenstein was once rich and fertile, famous for its fine wines and bumper grain harvests. However, in the years following the return of a strange artifact recovered from distant lands, the land lost its vigor. Fewer grapes grew on the vines and the grain yields declined dramatically.

The peasants accepted this change in their fortunes with fortitude and survived as best they could. But things simply went from bad to worse as odd events and dark omens began to spread. Crops began to die and mutant births increased dramatically. Many peasants died over the following winter, and many more went to the castle begging for aid. Of these, most returned empty-handed, but some entered the castle's forbidding gates never to be seen again.

One fateful night the castle and all of its inhabitants simply vanished, from the lowest foundation to the highest tower. One hundred years later, the village of Pritzstock would thrive where Castle Wittengenstein once stood, but now strange events have begun to plague that town as well. Are these events somehow connected?

THE LAIR OF THE ASTROMANCER

Something was terribly wrong in the Reikland, Hugo could sense it. As a monster hunter, he was far too busy. Perhaps the End Times were here after all. He had little time to think on such things. The chase was on!

Somewhere ahead in the dark Hugo could hear the cries of Wolfram. He had been nabbed from behind by some strange creature, a giant spider from a dimension of madness, that had been lurking out of sight. It had kidnapping the boy as easy prey, fleeing with it's loot into the darkness of the forest.

"Bruno, Hugo!" Wolfram cried. "Help me!"

A smaller swarm of spiders dropped from the trees directly in front of Hugo. With a quick snap of his whip, he dispatched them, dodging deftly to the side in pursuit of the boy. Somewhere behind him, Sylvie was playing catch-up, while Bruno, athletic and formidable, was sprinting alongside with determination.

"Hold on tiny bear!" Bruno called out. "We're coming!"

Hugo and company broke from the clutch of trees and out into an open field. Ahead, nestled against an arm of the Skaag Hills, Hugo could see an outcropping of rock rising up to the night sky, backlit by the ghoulish face of Moorslieb. It was an observatory of some kind. Hugo caught the last glimpse of the massive spider hauling Wolfram up into the building and out of sight.

Hugo's sprint ended, bending over panting hard, looking down at his feet, and then up towards the dark structure looming ahead. How the creature had moved so fast? Had it teleported somehow?

Bruno arrived next, followed by Sylvie. Both were also out of breath, though Bruno less so than the others.

"Wolfram's in there?" Sylvie panted, looking towards the observatory. The walls looked damaged, and a strange purple mist was pouring from them.

"He is," Hugo replied. "And we're going after him."

MUTANTS AND MUTAGENS

Fort Blackfire was a miserable place. It had the distinction of housing all the worst criminals and naerdowells Bogenhafen (and The Pit) had to offer. It was also the perfect place for Ol' Smitty Vandersmitz to make a little extra coin. Just over a year ago, Smitty had been taken on as cook and janitor (3rd shift) for Fort Blackfire. He was a Watchmen (of sorts) but never was allowed out on patrol. That suited Smitty just fine. He had a strong aversion to physical violence and self-harm. Others had a more clever word to describe him.

The pay as cook was not especially good, but shortly after his tenure began he had been approached by a stranger. The deal was simple. All Smitty needed to do was add a dash of mysterious powder (provided by the stranger) to the meals of the inmates. The powder was not to be used on every inmate (that might arouse suspicion), but only the prisoners that were likely to be released as opposed to incarcerated long-term. In return, Smitty would be rewarded with a purse of silver that would be left for him in a clandestine location at the end of each month. Smitty agreed and he began to poison the food of select prisoners.

Most people did not give Smitty credit for being an intelligent man, but he could work out a puzzle. It did not take him long to notice a significant jump in mutant activity in Bogenhafen (and nearby). He also noticed just how busy (and famous) a certain Mutant-Hunter was becoming. Smitty would never say aloud what he knew was true. Somehow Grimwald Oberlander was behind all this. He was the only one that had this much to gain from mutants running loose on the streets.

Smitty shrugged. He didn't much care either way.

CHARLOTTE SOMETIMES

C'thanoth Spellblade - Enlightened Conspirator of the Profane Gateway, popped back into existence within the improbable and endless halls of the Impossible Fortress. His brief time in the mortal realm had yielded his Lord Tzeentch a victory over his hated brother Khorne. C'thanoth wondered if the outcome of the battle had always been foreseen. It was likely.

"You're back!" Charlotte's soul gasped in excitement.

C'thanoth turned his gaze and spoke telepathically, "I have returned. Was I gone long?"

"I'm...not sure," Charlotte trailed off. Time in this place had no meaning at all. Had it been an hour or a hundred years? She tried not to think about it too long. It was always best to stay focused on the here and now, if possible. That was not always easy she had learned.

C'thanoth smiled, handing Charlotte his mundane-looking mop and bucket. There was only another thousand miles of ever-changing crytaline floors to polish and clean to a gleaming soul-shine. They'd do it together.

THE IMPOSSIBLE FORTRESS

From the heretical writings of Ayshkan The Jester in regards to the Impossible Fortress of Tzeentch:

"As with all of Tzeentch's designs, the exact appearance of the Impossible Fortress varies according to the nature of the beholder's aspirations. The corridors reflect not only light but also dreams, hopes, misery, and nightmares which it distorts in order to pull the aspirations of any travelers to the point of driving them to despair as well as insanity. No matter the material, the physical structure of the Impossible Fortress is in constant flux. Spires and towers constantly writhe and burst forth from the fortress' heart, only to collapse and be re-absorbed moments later. Gateways, windows and other portals appear in the eldritch building's flanks, only to fold inwards once more. There is no discernible pattern to this behavior, for the writhing shape of the Impossible Fortress is somehow bound to the state of Tzeentch's current schemes and there can be no predicting such complexity.

The innards of the Impossible Fortress are no less confounding than the exterior. Different passages and rooms obey different physical laws. That which is decreed by gravity to be 'up' in one chamber may be 'down' in another; or can indeed be an alternate state of being entirely, such as sorrow or the past. Were a mortal to find himself in the Impossible Fortress he would not live long before being driven completely mad - but then, what else is to be expected in a place where a man can travel backwards in time by walking across a room? Those who succumb to the warping nature of Tzeentch's palace collapse utterly in an implosion of consciousness and form. Such creatures are reborn as sorcerous familiars and given as gifts to Tzeentch's champions in the mortal world.

Even Daemons cannot easily endure the twisted horror of the Impossible Fortress — only the Lords of Change can safely navigate its corridors. As a result, no matter how distracted Tzeentch may be by the Great Game, he is never assailed in his stronghold. The other Chaos Gods have lost too many minions just trying to get beyond the first perplexing room, and invaders must negotiate a hundred or more such chambers to come before the Hidden Library and Tzeentch himself."

HERE COMES THE CALVARY

Wilhelm von Saponatheim sat on his war-horse as the rain fell. His face was grim as he re-read the weather-stained parchment he had received from the Emperor some weeks before.

"Matters in our beloved Empire are spinning out of control. The Reikland is in chaos. Do something about it, or I'll be forced to take matters into my own hands. I'm sure you would not mind hosting the Imperial Army of Altdort in your fortress for a season or two? By Sigmar's Will - The Emperor Karl Franz"

Wilhelm sighed. He knew full well the intent of the Emperor if he failed to take action. The Graf waved his gloved fingers in a quick motion. A frail old man with a walking stick moved forward from the shadows, his eyes were hazy and grey, his face a wrinkled tapestry of hidden knowledge. His hair and beard were thin and white giving him a ghostly look in the gloom.

"What news of the Chaos patrol, Shadowmaster?" The Graf asked, peering down from his massive steed into the grey eyes of his advisor.

"My ravens inform me we're not far behind them now. They are not difficult to track," the Shadowmaster spoke. "They seem intent on an attack. I fear the Three Feathers Inn is in danger."

The Graf thought for a long moment then signaled his men to move. If another wayside inn was desecrated, he was sure to hear about it. He'd drive his men hard through the stormy night. Wilhelm could only hope to arrive at the inn in time to salvage the bloody nightmare that was so quickly unfolding.

THE GIRL ON THE RUN

Hanna cowered in her room, back against the wall, holding the half-broken bottle of expensive Saponatheim wine in her hand like a makeshift dagger. She had no idea what was happening, but the screams of panic and shouts of alarm were not a good sign.

"I've got to get out of here," Hanna muttered nervously to herself over and over again.

Another horn blast shook the walls, followed by more screams of horror. Hanna could hear someone (or something) moving in the hallway just outside her door. The smell of heavy copper flooded her senses as a low ominous growl filled her ears with dread.

Hanna's life had not been easy since things had fallen apart in Bogenhafen. Her entire world had been turned upside down and she'd been on the run since. She recognized the thugs in the bar room and knew they were here for her. Were they somehow responsible for all this madness?

"I've got to get out of here," Hanna muttered again, working up the courage to make her move.

If she could just make it to the docks then maybe, just maybe, she could escape.

"You're a Teugen, Hanna. Always remember that," she could hear her uncle say. He wasn't always the kindest man, but she missed him.

The snuffing sound stopped. Hanna inched towards the door and threw it open. It was now or never! Without a second thought, she ran as fast as she could down the hall and into the chaos of the unknown that awaited her.

THE GRAVE LADY GRAVIN

The Shadowmaster's position on the roof of the inn was precarious. The rain swept tiles were old and loose. He was careful to balance himself as evenly as he could, eyes open for any dangers that might threaten the Lady Gravin. Falling to her death was not something the Lady need fear. Even now her eyes were closed, arms extended, her feet hovering mere inches from the uneven tiles of the tavern roof. She floated evenly, seemingly untouched by the wind. It was rare for her to display her power so openly. The chaos attack had forced her hand. It was the Shadowmaster's job to protect her from more mundane attacks while she focused.

"Müzduvz urzbaazäkhbäæz, müzduvz otḧrüvanrruzbärg, müzduvz dørbthurgÿz, müzduvz güurmaaz rhövdaz abgruz häz dørbthurgÿz - U dazzuröthhẅogrup häzmuz!" the Gravin shouted, an ancient tongue known only to the vampires of the Old World.

The Shadowmaster knew a little of it, but not much.

"Come darkness, come nightfall, come shadow..." he muttered in translation. The rest of the phrase was beyond him.

"Müzduvz urzbaazäkhbäæz, müzduvz otḧrüvanrruzbärg, müzduvz dørbthurgÿz, müzduvz güurmaaz rhövdaz abgruz häz dørbthurgÿz - U dazzuröthhẅogrup häzmuz!" she repeated louder.

The sky answered with a blistering crack of lightning.

Nothing happened at first. The Gravin's haunted words hung on the wind for what felt like an eternity. Then, the spell took hold. One by one the slain from both armies began to rise, dead eyes embued with terrible intent.

With a flick of her wrist, the Gravin tethered her spell to an undead minion known only to her. She then turned her gaze to the Shadowmaster.

"Time to go," she said evenly. "I'll be curious if this Monster Hunter and his witch survive."

The portal of shadows opened a moment later, shimmering like a disk of midnight in the dark night air. Both the Gravin and her Shadowmaster stepped through the gate. It snapped shut behind them in a flurry of sputtering arcane sparks.

THE RESTLESS DEAD

Port held his old Reikland shield and sword with the steady hand of a former soldier. He was ushering his family down into the cellar behind the bar. All were accounted for, but where was Eliza?

"Eliza!" Port shouted over the clamour of combat and panic. There was no answer.

"Where is she, Pa?" Kitty asked, her eyes filled with tears.

Port knew he had to do something and quick.

"Get the children to safety, Fanny. I gotta find Eliza!" Port barked, leaping over the bar like a man half his age.

The bar room was a disaster. A handful of patrons were dead, their chests ripped open or their throats ripped out. Poor Sven was stone cold dead on the floor, the ruins of his neck gushing blood everywhere. His head was nowhere to be found. Those who were not dead were either passed out from shock or cowering under tables and chairs. Outside, beyond the shattered tavern doors, Port could hear the sounds of battle. Silhouettes of battle flashed before him as he peered into the gloomy dark.

Time seemed to slow then, Port could feel it. A terrible cold darkness crept up his spine and along the back of his neck. In quiet horror Port watched as the bodies around him began to rise, dead eyes opened.

"Hello father," a voice whispered from the stairs. Port felt his soul freeze in dread.

THE DWARF LORDS

Zacharia and Zorish Paloonichniya stood back to back, hammer and pick, bashing and slashing anything that dared get near them.

"My ancestors send their regards!" Zorish cried, lowering his well-used mining pick into the head of a Chaos Zealot. The gush of blood was a sight to behold.

"C'mon ye dirty dogs! Come taste mah' fist!" Zacharia howled, crushing the legs of some hideous Beastman as it strayed too close. The thing bleated in dismay as it fell back into the mud.

The road from Kislev had been a long one. Aside from the occassional bandit rabble, the Dwarf brothers had faced very few challenges on their way to the Grey Mountains. Tonight, in the storm, they both welcomed the sudden onset of violence.

Another Beastmen fell, yet more closed in. If this was to be their end, they'd make it a glorious one.

BLOOD AND THUNDER

Chaos erupted all around. Hugo watched as the fabric of reality shattered and twisted in the storm. To his right, he could see a patrol of the Gravin's men fighting bravely against a pack of savage Beastmen. Blades flashed in the dark, crashing against flesh and fur in a brutal contest for survival. To his left, a flaming cart drawn by two horses had crashed into the Three Feathers. Strange misshapen beasts shambled over the broken wagon, clawing at the panicked horses.

"You cross the wrong man!" a voice bellowed from the dark.

Hugo could see Bruno, the Gravin's Judicial Champion, fighting with only his bare hands against a mass of Khornite cultists. Nearby, a broken-nosed thug slashed and stabbed at the unholy followers of Chaos. The battle was pitched and heated.

Then there was Sylvie, who even now stared in wonderment and horror. The spells she had summoned had misfired, and instead of sheets of ice and flame, sprays of blue and purple plasma erupted all over the battlefield, melting flesh and sizzling bone. Where the liquid goo came to rest, strange gurgling creatures of pure magic began to rise, pink and purple horrors that gibbered in a language beyond human comprehension. Sylvie knew that she was drawing upon the pure power of Tzeentch. There would be a price to pay.

Hugo then turned his gaze downwards to his now empty repeater. His faithful family crossbow had served him well in all his many campaigns and had done so once again. Ten feet away, the dying form of a three-legged Beastmen spat blood as it bled out in the mud, its body riddled with bolts. A young girl, no more than seven years old, looked up with large saucer eyes as she clung to Hugo's leg.

Then the horn blasted again. By instinct Hugo pushed the child behind him, letting his crossbow slide back to his side as he drew his blade.

The Champion was here. His heavy armored form could be seen in the hazy blood-mist that crawled across the charnal yard of the tavern. Doom was coming, Hugo could feel it.

THE MEETING

Alisa could not help but jump for joy as she lept up the stairs. What an incredible night it had been. The tavern was packed and the people were interesting. The handsome man at the bar had even tipped her four Gold Crowns. FOUR! Alisa rolled the coins around in her skirt pocket gleefully.

"Things are really starting to look up for me," she said aloud, not even thinking to knock before unlocking the door to 'room K' and entering.

Alisa was dead before she took her two steps into the room.

The Shadowmaster stepped from the darkness behind the door and caught her body before it could make a sound, slowly lowering Alisa to the ground and shutting the door in one silent but swift motion. He would make it appear as if the serving girl had died of natural causes. There would be sadness, but no investigation.

Sylvie was in the middle of the room, arms extended, focusing hard to summon her defensive spells. Despite her struggle, nothing was happening. Directly across from her, the Lady Gravin herself was sitting cross-legged in a large chair. The room was dark, lit only by a single low-burning candle. The Gravin's eyes gleamed like daggers in the gloom.

"Well done, Shadowmaster. Excellent work as always," the Gravin said evenly.

"Thank you m'lady," the Shadowmaster replied.

"You're probably wondering why your spells are not working," the Gravin spoke again, this time to Sylvie. "My Shadowmaster has dampened your abilities. It's one of his many gifts."

Slyvie's eyes narrowed, her fists now balled at her side. She looked very much the part of a child who was about to have a meltdown.

"What do you want?" Sylvie spat. "There was no reason to kill that girl."

"It was her mistake to barge in," the Gravin replied. "It's most impolite not to knock."

Silence hung in the air for a long moment before the Gravin continued, "I'm your contact you see. The Greenthistle halfling isn't aware of my true intentions of course, but he played his part innocently enough to bring us together. You should give him a raise."

"I'm sure you're feeling very proud of yourself aren't you?" Sylvie spat.

The Lady Gravin smiled, "I am here to deliver a message from the Master. Call it an invitation. He would very much like for the both of you to join him. I'm having this conversation with you because YOU seem to be the brains of this little operation of yours."

"Who is this master of yours?" Sylvie asked, venom still filling her voice.

"Come, come. There's no need for names. I'm certain you know of whom I speak."

Sylvie knew. This woman was in league with THE dark power of Sylvania, Vlad von Carstein. A shudder danced up her spine at the very thought of the name.

"You're probably wondering how I came to serve? It's a valid question of course, and one that deserves an answer," the Gravin smiled again, small white fangs gleaming in the candlelight. "Truth be told, the Lady Gravin has been dead over a year. I assumed her role. It's a simple spell if you have the focus for it. My Shadowmaster helps with the small details, and keeps any unfortunate rumors from gestating."

There was a long pause before she continued, "And now you know."

"What makes you think I would join you? And Hugo? You clearly don't know him very well," Sylvie said between clenched teeth.

"Because this is a new age. The Master does not want to destroy the world as his predecessors did, and as I suppose he once wished to do. Time changes all, even vampires. The Master wants to unite the world. He wishes to bring strength and power and prosperity. One unified Dark Empire to stand against the terrors of the north. Clearly, you see the wisdom of it?"

Sylvie did not have time to answer. A terrible brazen horn split the night, shaking the walls of the tavern. It was a war-horn, Syvlie knew, and it was her best chance of escape.

The Shadowmaster had been thrown off his guard for just a moment, long enough for Sylvie to take action. In a flash she was on him, crashing her shoulder against the man, sending him stumbling backward into a nightstand. Grasping the handle of the door, Sylvie threw it open and raced into the hallway. The man-at-arms on guard just down the hall was looking about in panic, his eyes a mask of fear as he gripped his halberd.

The horn blew again and with each note it seemed to spell DOOM. Screams of panic and terror erupted from the bar-room below. Someone was trying to calm the crowd but it wasn't working.

Something was coming, Sylvie knew. Something terrible.

THE CHAMPION

The armored giant of a man looked on with callous disregard as his squabbling guards laughed and chuckled, tossing the first of the thin captured human children into the cooking pot. The tiny boy screamed as we went head first, his little bound feet kicking and flopping about as he boiled alive. Bubbles of horror rose to the surface of the gory soup. Suffering made the broth taste all the sweeter. Tied together in the shadows of a great rain swept tree, the other three children huddled in shock. Silently, Mildred, the most cunning of all the brats, quietly worked the loosening coils of the ropes around her.

The Champion could feel the winds of chaos blowing strong tonight, leading him to the slaughter. He knew the Gods favored this action. His scouts had returned, reporting several successful ambushes against Roadwarden patrols in the area. The Emperor, that fool, had been trying to push back on the most recent advances of the war-bands. It would be in vain.

He could also sense something else thrumming from the walls of the human stronghold. It was calling to him. A boon from the Chaos Gods perhaps? He would claim it for himself, or die trying.

Slowly, the champion turned his gaze to the sky, racks of blistering lightning erupting behind him. The hour of doom was at hand.

THE CHILDREN

The rodent race was over. Gleefully Mildred handed over the baby rats to the pretty young woman standing before her.

"You won the race! That means you win the rats!" she declared, a bright smile spreading across her mud-stained face.

Oliver, Lubin, and Wigbert cheered for the new victor as she walked away, but soon their cheers turned to a sort of sad confusion.

"Well, what do we do now?" Oliver asked, his cheeks splashed with freckles.

"I know!" Lubin shouted, "Let's head out into our tree fort just up the road. We can wait out the storm and tell scary stories."

"I don't like scary stories,"Mildred replied nervously. "They give me nightmares."

"Don't worry, Mildred." Wigbert chimed in. "I'll protect you. C'mon everyone!"

Cheering loudly, the pack of children raced off unnoticed into the dark coils of the trees beyond the safety of the inn. What was waiting for them that night was worse than any nightmare Mildred could possibly dream up.

THE BROKE NOSE GANG

Outside the walled perimeter of the Three Feathers, a group of three hardened men gathered under the canopy of rain swept trees. Each one of the men was uglier than the last, crooked misshapen noses tilted on unpleasant faces.

They were members all of the Broke Nose Gang, a notorious rabble of thugs, criminals, and bounty hunters who all underwent the same trial upon joining; having their noses broken.

"Oi, when can we go down der and have us some ale and grub?" one of the men grumpily asked.

Gunnar, the gang's rightful leader snapped back, "We go when I say we go! You want me to break your nose again? Now shuddit!"

Gunnar had been tracking this bounty since she fled Bogenhafen. She had proven to be crafty like her uncle, but things didn't work out very well for him and they weren't going to end well for her either.

The inn was exceptionally busy. Gunnar began to fret over this. He also didn't much like the presence of the regiment soldiers on the premises, mingling about with the commonfolk in their dress blues.

Nervously he clutched a wooden coin and flipped it over and over again. It was stamped with a gold-painted sigil of Sigmar on one side and a silver-stained hammer on the other. The Witch Hunter had given the coin to him in good faith.

"Present this and invoke my name in case of trouble. Your path will be made clear." The Witch Hunter had said, tossing Gunnar the coin. That had been some weeks ago.

Grunting, Gunnar knew that it all came down to this. A solid payday was soon within grap. No more eating stale bread for dinner.

Grasping the coin in his hand and snaping his fingers shut, Gunnar narrowed his eyes and continued his watch. Now, where was that damn girl?

THE LADY GRAVIN

The royal carriage raced through the rain dangerously, ribbons of blistering lightning dancing across the storm-ridden sky. A grim-faced coachman adorned in a tri-corn and long high collared coat continued to lash at the reins of the four shadowy horses before him. The Lady Gravin's retinue had already arrived at the Three Feathers. The coachman was running late. This did not bode well for him he knew. He pressed the horses harder.

On either side of the carriage, a group of six armed horsemen in their blue regimentals rode hard to keep pace. They were the sworn protectors of the Gravin, duty-bound to keep her safe at all costs.

"The Gods are angry tonight, m'lady..." a slender man in non-descript clothing intoned, peering out the heavily curtained window of the carriage. He had the look about him of a man you could see at a gathering and never remember. He was entirely forgettable in every way. That's what made him so good at his job.

"I wasn't aware you believed in the Gods, Shadowmaster..." the Gravin said, her ice-blue eyes looking up from the pages of her book.

The man replied with just an ounce of a smile, "I do when they serve my needs, m'lady."

Onwards the carriage bounced, but inside a rider would barely be able to detect movement, even on the roughest of roads.

"What news of our mark?" the Gravin asked, slowly tracing her fingers along her lips.

The Shadowmaster pondered for a moment, "Our agents have it on good authority that they will be attending the Three Feathers tonight. It is our current destination I believe?"

"It is," she replied with a smile.

"M'lady," the Shadowmaster spoke. "I don't mean to speak out of place but I must ask. Why all this trouble for one man? Surely this amount of attention is beneath you. Why not let one of our agents handle the matter?"

"I'm curious. That's why," the Gravin responded. "I want to know more about this...monster hunter."

"As is your will, m'lady."

The Three Feathers Inn loomed ahead as the black carriage rolled into the courtyard, a swath of fog massing in its wake.

THE WAR CAMP

Into the everlasting abyss Hugo climbed in desperation. The stairs had no end that he could find. There was no exit before or behind.

"Are we going to die here, Master?" Slink asked in misery. His rat like eyes glited in the strange unlight.

Hugo fixed his gaze on the glowing gem in determination. As he did so the gem let forth an elemental soul-piercing shriek. The world around Hugo began to twist and fade, bending in on itself in a myriad of colors the likes he'd never seen: Hysh, Chamon, Ghyran, and Ghur!

"Oh, what the hell!" Hugo cried aloud, covering his ears and squinting his eyes.

A brilliant flash of light...then blessed silence. Blinded, Hugo waited long moments, shaking his head from side to side in a daze. As the white veil across his eyes lifted, he could see he was no longer on the stairs of the Teugen estate. He was somewhere else.

Night was coming. The sun was dying a slow death in the west. Row upon row of tattered tents stretched in every direction, stained from use in what must have been a long and arduous campaign of some kind. Imperial banners snapped in the whistling wind. Topping each tent was the brazen symbol of the Empire. In the east Hugo could see a wave of black boiling clouds cresting over the horizon.

"M'lady..." a voice said quietly. "We have more wounded coming in from the front. But there are many more men that still require your attention before the new soldiers can be moved in."

M'lady, Hugo thought? Looking down in shock, Hugo suddenly realized that his hands were not his own...This body was not his own. He was staring through the eyes of Sylvie!

"I'll be right there, thank you." Hugo heard himself say, but it was Sylvie's voice that spoke.

Sylvie passed beneath the flaps of a large white tent to attend to the wounded and the dying. With only the slightest glance upwards, she crossed beneath the crest of the White Dove of Mercy that hung above the tent door. It was a symbol of hope she knew, but would it be enough? The storm was coming...

THE ENDLESS STAIRS

Out of character: It has been awhile since we updated this play by post. A lot has happened since the last entry on October 1st. We are now on Chapter 13 of the story. Hugo is facing his latest trial in the house that Teugen built: The Endless Stairs.

Had it been an hour or a year? Hugo was finding it hard to tell. Endlessly he climbed the narrow flight of stairs upwards and upwards still, lit only by that single glinting star (the gem) hovering on the horizon of madness. A gem that had remained elusively far beyond reach.

Onwards and onwards still he trode. The stairs wound upwards with no apparent exit before or behind. Hugo grunted as he looked to his left and then to his right. The lack of walls and the pure depth of the darkness beyond gave way to an enormous sense of vertigo.

"Hugo," Sylvie wondered aloud. "How long have we been here?"

Had it been an hour or a year? Hugo was finding it hard to tell. Endlessly he climbed the narrow flight of stairs upwards and upwards still, lit only by that single glinting star (the gem) hovering on the horizon of madness. A gem that had remained elusively far beyond reach.

Let me give you a hand

The wall behind the Bog Octopus exploded in a smash of crumbling stone, fire and flailing tentacles. Hugo and Hartwig found themselves swept from the wine cellar as the bottled stagnant waters drained into a long-sealed off sewage tunnel.

The thing in the waters was dead, Hugo was certain of that. It had pulled down half the Asylum in a fit of panic and fear. But was Syvie ok? Hugo would have to wait for an answer to that question. He could still hear the collapsing sounds of the Asylum crumbling like dominoes high above him. But where was he now?

Hugo could tell the room he was in must be connected to the Bogenhafen sewer system. It was dangerously flooded, but the waters had places to go. There was no immediate danger of drowning. The little light that was provided seemed to be from a strange algae that was growing everywhere.

The movement that caught Hugo's eye was the rat crawling up his boot, coming to rest on his knee. Hartwig let out a screech of panic and Hugo suddenly realized that the rat was no rat at all but instead a re-animated severed human hand! It was pale (but preserved) with pallid skin and dark hardened nails. The hand lept from Hugo as he swiped to brush it away, landing mere feet from him, spreading it's fingers wide and crouching low like a spider preparing to strike.

That's when Hugo saw the movement in the shadows. There were other hands...dozens of them...and they were moving in a pack directly towards him!

Hartwig screamed again and began to run down the tunnel! Hugo soon joined him, a wave of corpse crawlers not far behind, shambling up the walls in the swampy darkness!

The voice of Shallyah

The quarters that Hugo had been escorted to were not lavish by any means. The chamber was dark and swampy but at least it was not a prison. Hugo was aware that a pair of masked guards held a vigil in the hall outside the closed door.

Then there was the issue of Sylvie. Hugo wasn't quite sure what had happened, but ever since she had stepped foot in the large hall her will had collapsed. She was absolutely inconsolable.

"Hugo..." Sylvie wailed in alarm, tears pouring down her dirt-stained cheeks. "I can still hear the voice!"

"My child...My child..." the voice rang out in Sylvie's ears, but Hugo could not hear it.

Had it not been for what happened next, Hugo might have thought Sylvie had gone mad. A ghostly form began to shimmer and appear in the room, it's neck snapped as it hung from a phantom rope connected to nothing. As the eyes opened, they were filled with a timeless sorrow.

Hugo had seen ghosts before, he was Sylvanian after all. Still, the act of watching the dead manifest was always unnerving.

The specter let out a wail of sadness but only Sylvie could hear it. Sylvie doubled over in panic as Hugo watched the ghastly form dematerialize into a glowing will-o-wisp of light. It slid through the door and away from Hugo into the hall beyond...

Wilhelm von Saponatheim

Graf Wilhelm von Saponatheim is the titular ruler of the town of Bögenhafen, and his line is considered an upstart by many others, for its Patent of Nobility is far younger than theirs. Despite this, the von Saponatheims have interests throughout the province of Reikland, their coffers swelled by the production of fine wines sold across the Empire and beyond.

Graf Wilhelm has cast his eye upon Ubersreik of late, for he is a wily individual well versed in what he terms "aggressive takeovers." The more established noble houses in the Ubersreik region are bitterly resentful of Wilhelm's interest there, and it is not inconceivable that several may set aside their own feuds long enough to ally against him. The Lord of Bögenhafen is cunning enough to have foreseen such a turn of events of course, and has made arrangements to buy or coerce the loyalty of several key individuals should he need to do so.

Grimwald Oberlander "Witch Hunter"

Witch Hunters are gruff at the best of times, and Grimwald is so dedicated to the fight against Chaos and Evil for personal reasons that even his peers tend to feel he is unlikable and even dangerous. Unlike other Witch Hunters, Grimwald has no objections to working with other races. To him, the end justifies the means, and he is ultimately willing to fight alongside anyone as long as they are not outright enemies of Sigmar and the Empire.

Grimwald has a strong obsession with mutants that has led to friction with his superiors in the Order, and affected his ultimate career path. Additionally, his lack of objections towards working with other races separated him even further from his fellow members: "Oh Holy Sigmar, bless this ravaged body!"

Kaja Nadelman "The Witch"

Kaja arrived in the Reikland as the prisoner of Grimwald Oberlander, and guarded by Bruno Kruspe for an impending trial. After a series of unexpected events, her trial is "postponed", leaving her a future she wasn't expecting. Kaja is a pryomancer and an addict, forever torn between her will to control the destructive magics of Aqshy - the Wind of Fire - and a burgeoning desire to set the world alight for no other reason than the rush of magic in her bones: "You'll know me by my trail of flame..."

Bruno Kruspe "Man-at-Arms"

As a sergeant, Bruno Kruspe led the 8th Ostland Swordsmen to victory many times, inspiring confidence and loyalty in his men and forming a strong bond with them. When he was the sole survivor of his unit's attack against a necromancer, Bruno found himself a broken man. He attempted to leave the army but was denied. Impressed with his skill, Grimwald Oberlander persuaded Brunos' superiors to let him leave and become an escort for Grimwald's Bright Wizard prisoner to Altdorf. Although still world-weary and marked by his experiences, Bruno has found purpose in the service of Grimwald Oberlander: "For Karl Franz, and bloody Sigmar! Yeah!"

The Grey Viper "Elf Scout"

Enigmatic and sharp-sighted, The Grey Viper's true name is unknown. She left her post as a Waywatcher in her ancestral home of Athel Loren, for reasons that are her own. Using her exceptional skills with a bow and blade to take down anyone perceived as a threat, she is as likely to kill you as she is to begrudgingly acknowledge your presence.

The Grey Viper has little patience to teach others, mainly focusing on her own path and improvement. Like all elves, she regards humans as nothing more than clueless children, and treats them accordingly, most often drenching her answers to their naive questions in patronising sarcasm.

How she came into the employment of Grimwald Oberlander is a mystery known only to the two of them.

The Boss

Silk the Dandy nervously lead the intruders through the claustrophobic maze-like halls of the Asylum. He could feel the cold steel eyes of Hugo who held the repeater at his back, tracking his every movement. The Old Cheese and Cutter were not so lucky to be standing. They had fallen in a spray of crossbow fire that left both men dead on the water-logged floor.

"The boss isn't someone you wanna mess with..." Silk said slowly, his Wastlander accent was thick.

"You just let me worry about that" Hugo replied menacingly.

The room that Hugo soon found himself in was the largest he had seen the Asylum offer. A grand vaulted ceiling rose high into the shadows above, the unfinished latticework opened like praying hands. A conspiracy of ravens gathered there, baleful watchers on the broken rafters. An overcast sky hung overhead, only somewhat visible through the half-constructed rooftop.

Along the edges of the room, figures lurked in the shadows with crossbows, hooded leather cowls and cloth masks concealed their identity.

The far end of the chamber was adorned with a massive stained glass window devoted to the Goddess of healing and mercy, Shallya. Though many of the glass panels were missing, the majesty of the artwork was without question.

In front of the effigy of Shallya was a large wooden chair, spartan and bleak. Sitting in the chair was one of the biggest men Hugo had ever seen. He wore black leather breaches, a thick brown belt, but his chest was bare. Over a dozen ritual scars adorned his torso (each representing a kill in the pits). This was clearly Slash, the leader of the Black Hooks. The cruel and unforgiving scar across his face said as much. He wore a brown satchel with a thick leather cord around his neck.

"Who do we have here?" Slash asked, his voice a menacing echo. He turned his attention away from two men already in the center of the room. Hartwig and Volker turned as well and immediately recognized Hugo and Sylvie from the Hooded Man. But how had they come to be here?! The odds seemed unlikely, unless...

The Curse of the Madcat

Slash opened the carrying pouch and slid the small black onyx ring into his palm. Try as he might he couldn't get the damn thing to slide onto a single finger. He had fat and broken brawlers hands from years fighting in the Pits.

The ring had a strange, surreal appearance, like a shimmering black pearl clasped in starlight. Slash desperately (oddly) wanted to wear the thing, but it was not meant to be. Besides, he worked for the Haagan family and they wanted the trinket for themselves, probably if only to frustrate Johanes Teugen if nothing else.

With a grunt Slash slid the ring back into the pouch and tied it around his neck.

"Hey Boss," his right hand man Cutter reported. "A couple of our boys are back. Ya know the ones that took the Halfling? Ya, sounds like they got some bad news."

Slash cracked his knuckles and pulled up his sleeves revealing a dozen scars and the old inked markings of the Black Hook tattoos on both his forearms.

"I don't like bad news." He grumbled.

What follows are a series of descriptions for various points of view that will help flesh out the story going forward.

The Hooded Men

Volker knew that losing the Halfling was bad news. He and Hartwig had been given their first real job since things went to hell last time and they'd gone and messed it all up again.

"Slash is gonna be pissed..." Volker sighed as the wagon bounced onwards. Slash was their boss and he called the shots. Bogenhafen was just now coming into view on the horizon.

"You're not kidding." Hartwig agreed, wondering if he should commit to reporting back or just jump off the back of the wagon and run for it.

Life in the Black Hooks was not easy and they didn't care much for mistakes. Volker and Hartwig knew they'd probably have to knife fight each other as punishment and probably to the death this time.

Both men remained grim as their wagon bounced ever closer to their final destination in Bogenhafen: The Asylum.

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The Trophy

Scarlet could not help but smile, feasting and gorging herself on the raw meat she had requested from the cook. She ate the thing as she bathed her quills in the hot clean waters of her tub. In all her life things had never been so good.

"Perhaps the Gods have finally smiled on me?" Scarlet mused sleepily, cleaning the last of the meat from the bone and tossing it aside on the warm soft carpet.

"Perhaps they have indeed..." a voice crooned as a tall slender figure appeared in her room, flanked by half a dozen servants clad in black robes and masks.

Scarlet gasped as the dark shapes moved in around her, but her quills and her claws did not respond to the danger! She felt drowzy. She felt drugged. Was it the food? Or was there something in the water?!

"Take her to The Chamber, and be mindful of those quills. I don't want to damage a single one..." Johanes Teugen smiled.

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The Knife Fight

How Ward the Wide came by his name is anyone's guess. He wasn't especially large, fat or wide by any means, and yet the name stuck. Ward hated it. He hated the man in front of him even more but he did his best to hide that fact.

"Ya gotta win one more knife fight to join the Hooks, ya understand me?" Cutter said. Cutter was the lieutenant to Slash, the current leader of the Black Hooks. "And it can't be with some begger or sewer rat. Ya gotta prove you have what it takes to join the Hooks."

"I'll show ya!" Ward spat angrily, "I'll show ya all I've got what it takes!"

Grasping his wicked makeshift blade, Ward stomped off onto the stinking wet "streets" in The Pit to seek his destiny.

Was that Jorg the Black?! He'd make a fine prize! Ward drew his blade and advanced.

Regarding the 100 you rolled when first meeting Thadius Greenthistle.

"Kill them all..." the voice rang out inside Hugo's mind. He could feel himself bristle at the thought. Despite this, he still drew his sword. Hugo could see how this would all play out. The Halfling, the mutants, they would all die so easily at the end of his blade. Sylvie would be more difficult, but it could be done.

The dark passenger (the voice) had always been with him, his own personal monster, sometimes a shadow and sometimes something far worse. Hugo fought with all his will to control the presence lurking inside of him.

"Hugo, no!" Sylvie cried out. She knew that look and knew what it could mean. Moving at lightning speed Sylvie was only just barely able to stop Hugo's swing.

"Kill them all..." the voice whispered again before fading off with a long and cold laugh...a laugh as cruel as a Sylvanian winter.

What follows is a brief description of Slink the mutant Rat Catcher. He and his companion Scarlet (also a muntant) have joined Hugo's caravan as they escape the perils of the Hooded Man, riding into an unknown future.

Slink is a Rat Catcher, although he prefers to be called an independent contractor working in the pest extermination industry. He uses his rat terriers to ferret rats out of houses and businesses. He sets up clever mazes and balsa wood rat runs to heard rats into wicker baskets at the buildings entrances. Once he has several baskets of rats he charges by the pound, if the customer doesn't want to pay he simply threatens to let the rats go, they usually want to pay.

Dropping the rat baskets into a village well is usually the quickest way to dispose of the foul creatures Slink finds. At least dropping the rats into wells was the easiest disposal until he met Scarlet. The two have formed an easy, comfortable and symbiotic relationship. Slink with his endless supply of rats and Scarlet with her relentless hunger for raw meat.

Slink smiles fondly at his pale-haired angel and her red-toothed grin as she snuggles into his arm within the safety of the wagon. His day at the hooded Man Inn had started rather badly but has ended all for the best. Hugo and Sylvie, why grieving their big friend are kind hosts and Slink finds himself in good company. Slink after all is a bit of a monster hunter himself, of sorts.

As your cart races into the safety of the high walls surrounding The Hooded Man Inn, your story and survival against the Beastmen is about to be put to the test. What follows is a bit of color and backstory for some of the NPC's who are currently residing at the tavern for the night.

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Being a religious man, Volker was never certain masquerading as Clerics of Morr was a very good idea. This damned rained storm that had come out of nowhere was proof of it. The Gods were displeased, most notably Taal (or maybe Rhya). It was never good to displease the Gods. Hartwig, Volker's companion at arms, did not share his friend's concern for such things. To him, this was just another job and a means to an end. He'd play the part of the Emperor himself if it meant a healthy payday. Besides, it was much easier to conceal their 'cargo' in the casket they carried without any worries about snooping Roadwardens interrupting their affairs.

"Come in, come in Brothers!" The Innkeep of the Hooded Man had exclaimed. "You'll catch your death of cold out there in the rain. What secrets from the road do you have for us tonight?"

The light thud from inside the coffin the two men dragged behind them gave the Innkeep a bit of a start as his eyes widened in sudden curiosity.

"No worries, good man." Hartwig raised his hand as he spoke. "We'll just store our fallen brother here in the stables if you please. I'm sure he won't mind. One can only die once, or so our teachings do suggest."

Inside the rough wooden coffin, a small drugged Halfling stirred slightly, his eyes swimming in the dark.

"Oh goodness..." the young Halfling still under the effects of Krutz muttered to himself, his mouth and limbs bound by tight cords. "Where on earth am I?!"

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Gustaf Rechtshandler had always lived a fortunate life. Schooled at the finest universities in Altdort, it did not take long for him to rise in the ranks of his fellow students. He didn't truly come into his own until his appointment as the Graf of Grunburg's personal attorney. Much of his success was due in part to his membership in an organization called The Ordo Ultima. The Ordo was a secret brotherhood with sweeping power, especially in the provincial domains of Altdorf. Gustaf had realized too late that there were some in the Ordo (many) with nefarious designs, and while he had left as quickly as he could, eager to be free of their machinations, his involvement with them has dogged his steps ever since. Even now he could see one of his Ordo brothers at the bar, two fingers pressed against his ale cup. This was the telltale sign that he wanted to communicate with Gustaf; a sign that he wanted something from him. Gulping down the last of his drink, Gustaf slowly made his way across the bar room floor and approached this man from his past.

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Otto the Innkeeper had a strange feeling about his guests on this dark and rainy night. Perhaps it was that "thing" in the basement that had always been there, a waxen garish statue of some unholy man (or was it a woman)? It was a family heirloom and there was no escaping its power. As it had been explained to him, a bargain had been struck generations ago. In return for the passing secrets of those who came to stay at the Hooded Man, good fortune would follow. If secrets were not given, misfortune (and sometimes death) followed. Otto had learned quickly to never doubt the validity of his family curse. Even now he wondered what secrets he and his staff might be able to ply from this evening's guests. He'd be sure to have the barmaids spike the drinks to help loosen wagging tongues.

Revision to the rule above:

Base Perception begins at 30 + 1d10. This then reflects that not every person in the Old World has the same level of Perception starting out.

A Career that features Perception as a skill grants +10%.

Relative skills such as Sixth Sense etc grant a further +10%.

NEW HOUSE RULES FOR PERCEPTION:

Perception is no longer based on INT and everyone alive, regardless of career, has perception as a skill.

Base perception begins at 35.

A career that features perception as a skill grants +5%.

Relative skills such as Sixth Sense etc grant a further +5%.

Taking the skill multiple times great a further +5% each additional time the skill is taken.

Perception and INT are not the same thing. This house rule solves that.

STATS FOR THE CREW
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Serge Rocardin
WS: 43 BS: 33 S: 44 T:45 AG: 33 INT: 25 WP: 32 FEL: 29 A: 2 M: 3 W: 12

Skills/Talents: Dodge Blow, Heal, Intimidate, Perception, Quick Draw, Parry, Street Fighting, Strike Mighty Blow, Very Resilient, Very Strong (etc as needed)

Quick Trappings: 2 Hand Axes, Crossbow, Dagger

Armor: 1 all locations

Traits: Follower of Taal, Ex-Soldier, "Has seen things"...

Claudia

WS: 31 BS: 37 S: 31 T: 32 AG: 42 INT: 38 WP: 31 FEL: 48 A: 1 M: 4 W: 11

Skills/Talents: Charm, Evaluate, Gossip, Perception, Read/Write, Search, Guild Tongue (Thief), Luck, Streetwise, Suave, Pick Lock (etc as needed)

Quick Trappings: Sword, Dagger, Crossbow

Armor: 1 body

Traits: Sassy and witty, can stand on her own two feet. Ex-Initiate of Shallya.

Thadius Greenthistle

WS: 29 BS: 41 S: 2 T: 3 AG: 37 INT: 42 WP: 34 FEL: 32 A: 1 M: 5 W: 10

Skills/Talents: Drive, Gossip, Haggle, Perception, Search, Trade (Cook), Dealmaker, Excellent Vision, Night Vision, Resistance to Chaos, Specialist Weapon (Sling) (etc as needed)

Quick Trappings: Dagger, Sling (20 shots)

Armor: 1 body

Traits: Quirky and funny. Vanishes often.

A Child of Darkness

Your father was a Witch Hunter. You were always told as a child that there was evil in you. He claimed he could sense it and he vowed to break you from the torment of the Chaos powers that were clawing at your soul. You carry the scars of his attention to this day.

There are still rooms in your father's house, the house you now call your own, that you do not enter. The small chapel of Sigmar housed in the basement has been sealed off for years. The memories are still too painful. But there are other strange rooms and strange objects scattered about your home in Bogenhaffen, things your father collected from "heretics" over the years.

One such relic is an eerie painting that hangs over the mantle of the main living chambers. Who the artist is you've never known. What makes this painting special is the images painted on that curious canvas never stay the same for long. The portrait had foretold your father's untimely death, murdered in a dark alley by a hooded figure with a poisoned blade. Now the portait displays something entirely different:

A cold stretch of towering mountains and a monastery surrounded by walls of smeared black inky paint. If you look closely enough you think you can see figures moving in the darkness.

"The Doom of La Maisontaal" - Artist Unknown

You've learned never to ignore the painting...

Chapter One: The Crew

You do not travel alone and you're thankful for that. At your side sits the hired swordsman, Serge. A devout follower of the Old Faith, Serge has agreed to accompany you for the chance to pilgrimage to La Maisontaal, a renowned monastery to Taal, the God of Nature. His skills at tracking and outdoor survival will be of great use going forward.

(Serge is your sword and shield and is also an old hand at tending wounds and setting broken bones.)

Across from you is the smiling face of the young and troublesome Claudia Von Schon, former noble, former student, former this and former that. You're not entirely sure Claudia has it in her to ever settle down, but her nimble hands and quick wits have come in handy on more than one occasion. She winks at you as she catches your gaze.

(Claudia is a specialist at picking locks and breaking hearts, and getting into places and things she should probably best avoid.)

Your final companion rides shotgun aside the coachman outside the carriage. Thadius Greenthistle is a halfling with a sharp mind and an even sharper dagger.

(The expedition cook, Thadius is also a crack shot with his trademark slingshot. His jokes leave something to be desired.)

This is your crew! Will they be enough to help you face the dangers...of the Lichemaster?!

"Fifteen years have passed since the necromancer Heinrich Kemmler was trapped and defeated. But his evil is about to begin anew.

High in the Grey Mountains, chance - or fate - brings the meeting of a madman and a Chaos Daemon. And thanks to that chance, an Undead Army masses among the high peaks, preparing to roll down on the settlements below.

In the isolated monastery of La Maisontaal, one senior monk suspects the truth. But when - and where - will the Undead appear? Where will they strike first? How can they be stopped? And how can all these questions be answered without causing blind panic among the living?

Designed for WFRP adventurers in their first careers, Lichemaster is a 104-page adventure that will test roleplaying and combat skills to the limit."

"Fifteen years have passed since the necromancer Heinrich Kemmler was trapped and defeated. But his evil is about to begin anew.
High in the Grey Mountains, chance - or fate - brings the meeting of a madman and a Chaos Daemon. And thanks to that chance, an Undead Army masses among the high peaks, preparing to roll down on the settlements below.
In the isolated monastery of La Maisontaal, one senior monk suspects the truth. But when - and where - will the Undead appear? Where will they strike first? How can they be stopped> And how can all these questions be answered without causing blind panic among the living?
Designed for WFRP adventurers in their first careers, Lichemaster is as 104-page advventure that will test roleplaying and combat skills to the limit."

I'm checking once every couple of days on your updates. Look forward to reading what you guys come up with.

When you start link me to your adventures. I'd like to read along :)

Honestly, I probably won't be joining everyone for the Dark Heresy game. This isn't because I don't like gaming with you guys, but rather I don't want to spend the time learning more rules. I will however check in and banter with you two and read how your stories are going.

Hey, the chaos plagued my game and yours. It's not us. People have just been acting weird. It boggles me. Whatever.

Onwards!

As a GM you've been nothing but awesome, Pin. I wanted to be open minded and give Pathfinder a shot. Yep, you're not shocked I didn't much care for it and neither am I. But I wanted to at least try :)

Let me know what we have in mind for 40k. I have the core rulebook here somewhere. I'll need to find it.

I'm just not really feeling Pathfinder at the moment, though that's really no ones fault. I don't really like the rules very much. I find them restrictive. I'm also not a really big fan of the maps. I've never used maps when I GM, except in a very simple way to give people a general idea of how things stand. But I prefer to let the imagination run wild when it comes to that kind of thing. That's why I never played Warhammer Fantasy Battle. It's too restrictive to the level of creativity that the Warhammer universe offers.

I'm also not a big fan of alignment. I think that's an outdated concept meant for 12 year olds who need such restrictions.

None of this is a knock against you Pin, so don't take it personal.

Whatever the case, our former gaming glory has been deeply hampered by some unexpected bickering and fighting. I guess times have changed. It's a shame really, because some of the best games of my life were spent playing with the people we had here.

Either way, I'll give Dark Heresy a shot. Let me know :)

Thank you for the Roleplay Credit. I shall record it and use it wisely. Just finished reading the story and my intro. Very good stuff! I'll do my best to get a grasp on the rules, but please offer suggestions on things I could be doing with various skills/attributes until I get the hang of things.

Cool, I'll spend some time reading the oracle posts when I get home from work. Didn't want to spoil things, but on your approval I shall sample the goodness :)

And now, off to THE DEN OF INEQUITY!

Wow, epic post! Well written, Pinvendor. +200xp!

I didn't read the spoilers for Ragnar or Xulgag. It seems that information might be fun to learn on my own without spoilers. Looking forward to my intro.

Ah, son of a Targo! And you posted this moments before I need to get ready for work. Well, don't count me out. I'll be putting in my posts very soon. Glad things are now underway. Off to read what you wrote...

That's the power of chaos for ya ;)

/rubs hands together :D