3/2/2013: Some proofreading done. Had sinking feeling I missed something. If found, please send me a PM.
Chapter 2: The Flagellant's Wail
"Right, so, what do you think?" asked Lanric while flipping through a court report. Giselbert stayed silent, eyebrows knitted and face 'decorated' with ink-prints, engrossed with a legal document (and sneaking glances at an opened Reikspiel dictionary on his table occasionally). After a while, he replied with a monotone, "Well...that might be possible...from the looks of things...and from what I could read here and some other records..."
The two watchmen were going through volumes of paperwork in the Records Room. Their helmets lay on the side of the table. Lanric's hair was neatly combed, but pressed down. Giselbert's, however, was a great mess. He had the look of someone who hadn't groomed himself for years. The room was dimly lit by oil lamps. Most of the archivists, clerks and scribes had already left. Without the sound of scribbling and flipping, the cavernous Records Room was eerily quiet. The only sound were those of Giselbert and Lanric conversing and of flipping pages and shifting paperwork.
"Oi! Are yer done yet, boys?" the clerk-receptionist's shout echoed. Lanric growled, "For the dozenth time, NO!" "Be quick 'ready! Didn't ya hear? Ze Records Room be haunted!" the clerk shouted back. "If you stop asking us whether we are done every couple minutes, we will be done sooner!" Lanric argued, mustering as much irritation as he could to hurl at the clerk.
The clerk did not argue back. Lanric grumbled as he turned back to his partner. Giselbert buried his face in a parchment, ignoring the earlier commotion. Lanric stared at Giselbert, who continued to ignore him, preferring to peruse the paperwork instead. The silence was almost total, only broken whenever Giselbert retrieved another parchment or book to read. Lanric sighed for a moment, and then spoke, "Anyway, as I figured out, whoever killed Ludwig has to be someone rich and powerful. You don't sic three seasoned killers on some poor old man who lives alone in some abandoned section of the town just because he owes you a lot of money."
"I do not know about 'rich', Lanric," replied Giselbert, his eyes never leaving his report. He placed the parchment on top of a tall stack of papers and retrieved another parchment, "You don't exactly need a lot of money to be powerful. Remember that one time we busted this smuggling ring a year ago?" "Hmmm," Lanric mumbled as he picked up one a scroll and unrolled it. "So, think that this Adolf guy may be a suspect?" he asked as he studied a scroll. "Unlikely. If Adolf wants to settle that little spat they had over their little price war, he wouldn't have allowed Ludwig's body to be dumped in the middle of the main road with a sigil on his forehead. "Whoever the culprit is, he wants to send a message. Maybe something along the lines of "Pay your debts or die like this man!" or something. Adolf does not fit that profile."
Giselbert paused. He lowered the parchment. He wore a thoughtful look as he lifted his head and stared at the tall, dark ceiling. "Wait, that doesn't sound right," he uttered. "I don't see why the culprits would drain Ludwig's blood if it were about money. I still say, this might be the work of some mad doktor."
"And no, I am not biased!"
"But think about it this way, Gis. What if we have someone powerful who took offense with Ludwig not repaying his debts AND happens to be friends or family with a mad doktor?" Lanric defended his reasoning and provided an alternate theory. "I heard ya over there, numbnuts! No, I am not going to get yer any information about mad doktors! Come back tomorrow!" shouted the clerk again. "SHUT UP!" Giselbert and Lanric yelled in unison.
The watchmen duo had spent over nine hours in the Records Room. They did not exactly spend all the time reading, however. Halfway through, the duo nodded off. Also, they spent far more time discussing and arguing over motives and their suspects list. Moreover, Giselbert wasn't in a hurry to return to the headquarters. As such, their session in the Records Room had lengthened needlessly, much to the clerk's chagrin.
However, their time in the Records Room was fruitful. Firstly, with the help of the Census Report, they were able to chart possible routes and destinations the wagon could have taken, assuming that the wagon did not leave town and the killers had vested interest in leaving Manaan St. as soon as possible. Moreover, they had learned more about Ludwig Bachmeier. Ludwig Bachmeier was once the head of the Bachmeier Trading Company. However, the company had been on a slow decline for three decades (or so Lanric believed, having read the accounting documents), and had gone bankrupt ten years ago, just before the Storm of Chaos started. The watchmen learned of the Bachmeier financial difficulties, disputes with the First Bank of Altdorf (a very prosperous bank based in the Imperial capital of Altdorf) over debts, quarrels with several individuals in regards to trade agreements and other business matters, allegations of involvement with a smuggling ring and etc. This allowed them to form theories on who would have wanted Ludwig dead, and why.
After much time discussing and debating, both watchmen agreed that whoever killed Ludwig was a powerful person, or had connections with powerful persons. They also agreed that a doktor with a keen interest in blood was involved and believed that the sigil belonged to some criminal group (bringing up the possibility that the hitmen were members of this group and were thus unlikely to flee from Salzenmund for any extended period of time). A criminal group would have reasons to kill someone over a debt and would publicly display a corpse with a sigil to 'send a message'. A doktor, either sponsored or merely an acquaintance, might have seen an opportunity and tagged along. They drafted a list of friends, associates and business partners of Ludwig (some of which were acquired by cross-referencing the routes and destinations acquired earlier), giving them a list of suspects and possible founts of information. Their work in the Records Room was done…for the time being.
The two watchmen opened the gate to exit the chamber of the Records Room. The clerk was seen shaking his fist at them as they exited the premise. Giselbert ignored him, engrossed in his thoughts, while Lanric shook his fist back at the clerk. The two watchmen wearily lumbered across the lobby.
They paused. Something out of ordinary was going on. They could hear shouts and wails coming from the outside, in the Town Square. The two watchmen hurried to the exit and were greeted by the sight of doomsayers and flagellants parading.
"That is strange," Lanric spoke, sounding surprised. "I thought the flagellants would be sleeping by now." Giselbert nodded. He too had dealt with the flagellants and the doomsayers long enough to know that they usually take the night off. "Something must have spooked them."
The flagellants and doomsayers were gathered in numbers greater than they had ever seen. They were flogging themselves, screaming, shouting and furiously chanting verses from the prayerbook Deus Sigmar. It seemed as if every flagellant and doomsayer currently in Salzenmund had gathered in the Town Square. Watching them was an ocean of townspeople, wearing the face of dread, irritation, frustration and annoyance. "Doom! Witness the doom that has befallen our Brother! There is no hope! Doom is already here! REPENT! REPENT!" a flagellant roared out in a fit of frenzy, his eyes rolling back as spit flew from between his crooked teeth.
"Ulric's blood! What is going on?" Lanric muttered. Giselbert continued to watch the spectacle silently. It didn't take him long to identify what had roused the flagellant and doomsayer mob. The flagellants were parading around a wasted, limp person, chained to a wooden beam. His eyes were open but lifeless. There were brown, stained and weather-beaten parchments covering his mostly naked figure. The parchments were covered in words and bore the image of the Twin Tailed Comet. His chest, however, was bare. There were broken chains attached to torn paper in place of the parchment, bearing a nasty stab wound. "A flagellant's corpse," thought Giselbert. However, what really drew Giselbert's notice was the clawed hand sigil (as he had come to name it) etched quite clearly across its face. The flagellant was another victim!
Giselbert turned to look at Lanric and directed his fullest attention to the flagellant's corpse. Giselbert then looked back at the flagellant mob. His trembling hand reached for his hip flask. Just as his gloved hand almost touched his hip flask, he stopped. He remembered that he did not replenish his supply of vodka. Giselbert sighed, stashed his hip flask into his belt and walked down the steps. "Where are you going? Gis?" Lanric cried out to his partner. "Performing my duty as a watchman, Lanric," Giselbert answered grimly. "That sodding hatter!" Lanric cursed as he followed his partner. Attempting to get the flagellants' cooperation was akin to stirring up a hornet's nest, but he can't let his partner walk into the fire by himself.
"Excuse me, Sirs!" Giselbert shouted as he approached the three flagellants carrying the wooden beam. He pointed towards the gruesome trophy and stated his request clearly, "That corpse belongs to a murder victim. Would you kindly hand him over to us?" The flagellants looked at Giselbert and then Lanric with their wild eyes. Then, with a fit of laughter, they replied, "Murder? Murder? Is that what you call doom these days?" Giselbert took a deep breath and then said with a deeper voice, "Yes, yes. Murder. Doom. Whatever. This man, I believe you had realised, is dead. Murdered, in fact. Look, he has a stab wound on him. Hand him over to us and we can get around working on the murderers' arrest."
The three flagellants laughed again. "What good will that do? The killers are shadows! Shadows of doom! Doom is stalking this town! It has found our Brother and soon, it will find all of you! ALL OF YOU!" the flagellant bellowed.
The chattering townspeople of Salzenmund were suddenly silent. Giselbert realized that the flagellant was not only addressing to him, but to everyone present. "Look here. Just hand over the corpse…." Giselbert pressed his request. The flagellants ignored him and started shouting fitfully, "DOOM! DOOM HAS CLAIMED OUR BROTHER! IT WILL CLAIM ALL! REPENT FOR YOUR SINS, FOR DOOM HAS COME! REPENT! REPENT!"
Lanric stepped forward and held the flagellant on the shoulder, "Look, yes, doom has come, maybe. But if you let us examine that corpse, doom may just be averted."
Lanric was shoved back violently. "AVERTING DOOM? YOU CANNOT STOP DOOM! REPENT, YER HERETIC! YOU TRY TO TAKE THE SIGN! YOU TRY TO SILENCE THE TRUTH! REPENT! REPENT!" the now frothing flagellant chastised Lanric. Another flagellant walked towards Lanric, his flail held high. Giselbert swiftly drew his sword and intercepted the flail, before bringing his fist into the flagellant's jawbone. The flagellant's flail flew from his hand. "DOOM! DOOM HAS…OOOF!" cried another flagellant, further in the crowd, as his skull was split by the soaring flail. "Get up and draw your sword, Lanric! This is getting out of hand!" Giselbert instructed as he stood on guard.
Lanric and Giselbert, with their weapons drawn, slowly retreated up the steps of the Town Hall. The frothing, frenzied mass of flagellants was relentlessly advancing at them, brandishing their flails, chains, lashes and cat-o-nine-tails, threatening to overwhelm the beleaguered watchmen with sheer numbers.
Chants of "REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!" resonated across the Town Square. Giselbert tripped one of the charging flagellants and brought his left foot hard into his back. He then sidestepped as another flagellant attempted to strike him from behind, elbowing the flagellant's nose in retaliation. The flagellant groaned as he collapsed. Giselbert turned around as another flagellant approached, but was too slow to intercept the strike which had dented his helmet.
He fell to his knees as his helmet rung. He feebly lifted his sword to fend off the frenzied attacks of the flagellant with one hand while clutching his head with another, trying to regain his bearings.
Two more flagellants were swiftly closing in. Lanric quickly lashed out at the flagellant currently attacking Giselbert, cutting his cheeks, and then kicked him in the gut, sending him tumbling down the stairs. The watchman warded off the blows from the other two flagellants. "Gis! I have to say, you are a thrice-cursed idiot!" Lanric swore as he fended off a strike coming towards his left.
Suddenly, one of the unhinged flagellants received a stone to the skull. "LEAVE THEM ALONE, YOU LUNATICS!" a woman amongst the crowd cried out. "YEAH, LEAVE THEM ALONE!" "FLAGELLANTS GET OUT!" Some of them even brandished brooms, wooden rods, clubs, rolling pins, bottles, furniture, anything that wasn't nailed to the ground and charged the flagellant.
"STAND BACK, YOU FOUL HERETICS!" another group of townspeople came to reinforce the flagellants, stoning those trying to defend the watchmen and brandishing their own improvised weapons. "DID YOU NOT HEAR THEM? THEY WERE TRYING TO SILENCE THE TRUTH!" "REPENT!"
While they clashed, the wealthy and the noble, along with their entourage of escorts, hastily retreated to their homes.
In an instant, the town was divided. Months of fear, uncertainty, anxiety, frustration and irritation ignited into a fierce conflagration. The area swiftly turned into a field of anarchy. Sigmarite and Ulrican priests left their sanctuaries, led by their respective head priests. Armed with prayers and hammers and axes, the holy men of the Empire attempted to disperse the rioters, to no avail. The Salzenmund Watch mobilised to contain the situation.
Giselbert and Lanric fought their way to join the watchmen already on the scene. Captain Josef Aushwitz was barking orders and gesturing wildly as the watchmen joined their comrades. The Captain turned to the approaching watchmen and glowered fiercely at them, his eyes so wide it looked as though it would pop out of his sockets.
"You idiots!" Captain Josef Aushwitz roared at the two bruised watchmen, his spittle flying. "Look at what you had done!" he gestured at the clashing townspeople and flagellants, tussling with watchmen and priests. "I knew you are trouble, you damned slum-born!" "Look, Captain. I…." Giselbert desperately tried to explain.
However, he was interrupted by the sound of windows shattering.
Some shops were being broken into. A few buildings were being set ablaze. The poor, the starving and the disenfranchised had taken the opportunity to loot and plunder. "Shut yer filthy mouth! Go and rein in your lot!" Captain Aushwitz roared. "Sir? Only us two? Are we receiving help?" Lanric asked anxiously. The Captain glared at Lanric, and then at Giselbert. He shouted, "What! You expect help? We already have our hands full trying to deal with the situation in the Market District!"
"Now go and do something about your kind, Giselbert!"
Giselbert sighed, nodded and hurried to the scene, closely followed by the now-shaking Lanric.
Half the town was on fire. The Salzenmund Watch, with the support of the priests, did their best to disperse the rioters and the looters, but they were quickly losing control due to their lack of manpower. Giselbert and Lanric subdued a pair of youths in worn clothes and were quickly going for a muscular brute, now running off with a bourgeois-looking closet. "Get these uncouth animals out of my house!" a noble shouted at the top of his lungs from the tallest spire of his mansion just a few walks away.
Suddenly, a loud horn was heard. Men in cuirasses, armed with halberds and flintlock muskets, the local garrison, had arrived.
Shouts, screams and slogan-chanting were answered with threats, catechism, violence and gunshots. The riot continued throughout the night before the combined forces of the Salzenmund Watch, the Provincial Army and the priesthood could quell the situation. Many had died, many more wounded. Not even the watchmen and the Provincial Army were spared from casualties.
Giselbert lay down on the side of the street while Lanric sat against the wall, drained and exhausted. Giselbert had bloody lips and bruised eyes. His tattered leather jack was stained with blood, some his opponents' and some his own. His helmet lay on the ground above his head, chipped and misshapen. Lanric too, suffered similar injuries, though his helmet was mostly intact. Around them were smoking buildings, wreckage, rubbish, the subdued and the dead. "Gis, you are one unlucky charm. You know that?" Lanric croaked as he looked disapproving at the limp Giselbert. "Oh, shut up," Giselbert groaned.
Feeling a shadow looming over him, Giselbert opened his eyes and found a very livid Captain Josef Aushwitz before him. Captain Josef Aushwitz's face was flushed, his veins popping and throbbing on his cheeks and forehead. His lips curled into a fierce growl.
"I know you are trouble ever since I saw you!" he hissed. "Arrest him!"
Two watchmen quickly closed in, manacled the slum-born watchman and dragged him before he could react. "Wait, Captain…" Giselbert opened his mouth, and was punched in the jaw. "SILENCE!" one of the watchmen handling him, a bearded and scarred man, roared at him. "Captain…" Lanric got up to defend his partner. "Look, he…" "You keep quiet, Lanric!" the Captain glowered at Lanric. "Or I will have you thrown into the same cell as this filth!"
"I am afraid you will have to arrest me, Captain," said Lanric, his steely eyes glaring at Josef. Josef glared back, his cheeks puffed out as he ground his teeth.
"Arrest this fool and remove him from my sights!"
The sun rose, signaling the end of a long and turbulent night. However, its gentle rays brought little comfort to the surviving townspeople of Salzenmund. Without the shroud of darkness, the people of Salzenmund were made painfully aware of the ruination of their town by their own hands. Amidst the smoke and ruins lay a burning pyre, inside which corpses were piled as kindling to the flames. A man in a black cloak and cowl, gaunt and thin, stood before the pyre, watching impassively as the flames consumed the corpses.
He stuck his notched, weather-beaten scythe into the loose cobblestone and held out a prayerbook in his bony hand. He bit his thin, pale lips as he flipped the pages of the old tome, his grey eyes scanning the pages searchingly. His fingers stopped and his thin lips curled. Solemn words poured forth as he performed the last rites upon the unfortunate corpses.
The priest of Morr (the god of death and dreams) was so engrossed in his grim duty that he failed to notice a watchman hurling a corpse into a burning pyre. Or perhaps, he did, but chose to ignore him. The watchman, a young thin man, about the same age as Giselbert and Lanric, brushed his leather jack as he wordlessly returned to his grim task. He walked towards another of the broken corpses and heaved it over his shoulder. His face was impassive, regarding the corpse he bore with indifference. Only the beads of sweat rolling down his thin face betrayed his weariness.
Another watchman emerged from an alleyway opposite the street. The watchman was a tall, powerfully built man, his hard face and chiseled jaw encased in a majestic mane. However, he looked pale, his look of horror out of place on his leonine face. He looked around the street frantically until he found the young watchman. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted loudly, "Oi! Johannes!"
Johannes stopped in his tracks. The Morrian priest continued chanting. The younger watchman turned to the senior, leonine watchman and regarded him with an indifferent look. "What is it, Herr Marx?" he asked in a monotone. Herr Marx did not seem bothered by his younger charge's indifference. He pointed into the alleyway and shouted back, "C'mere! You need to see this!"
"Give me a moment to burn this corpse, and I will get back to you," Johannes stated and disposed of the corpse.
Johannes jogged after his senior. As soon as he reached Herr Marx, he bent over and panted. He inhaled deeply and inquired, "What is it you wanted to show me, Herr Marx?" As he asked, his blue eyes looked into the alleyway. What he saw made him tense and his legs trembled. His skin bore an unhealthy pallor as he covered his nose and mouth, gagging as he looked away.
Morning had dawned upon the port town of Neues Ermskrank (1), yet the warm morning did nothing to dispel the grim atmosphere that had befallen the port town. The Town Square was alight with the flames of burning heretics. The people of Neues Ermskrank jeered and booed at the burning heretic and shouted praises to Sigmar, the patron god of the Empire. However, despite such violent displays, their faces were riddled with dread and trepidation.
Standing with the townspeople of Neues Ermskrank were the brave, hard men of the Nordland Provincial Army. The halberdiers and handgunners watched as the heretics burned to ashes. They wore hard, grim faces, but the quivering of their lips and the fluttering of their eyes betrayed their unease.
The soldiers of Nordland were not unnerved by the horrific retribution which had fallen upon the vile snakes. They bore witness to such displays before, and they had taken part in several burnings of their own. They averted their eyes and inched away ever so slowly, trying their best not to divert any unwanted attention from the thing that stood amongst them.
The terrible creature that inspired such dread wore a wide-brimmed buckled hat and a black-as-pitch cloak. This thing was His Most Holy Inquisitor, a Templar of Sigmar, or much better known as a witch hunter. However, their reactions belied the creature's appearance. The creature was not large with red eyes and fangs that dripped venom, no, none of that. It does not even look like a large, imposing man like their sergeant. Rather, the witch hunter was petite, diminutive.
The witch hunter was utterly still, watching silently as the heretics wailed and screamed and writhe upon their stakes. Only its hair, a golden bundle, showed any movement, swaying against the wind. The blazing flames could not lift the veil that shrouded its face, though its green eyes gleamed with the light, gleaming like Morrslieb itself. Its posture was straight, as unyielding as ancient coniferous trees. This silence, this stillness, unnerved the soldiers that stood with it.
Standing beside the creature was a massive behemoth, which towered over the halberdiers and the handgunners of the Nordland Provincial Army. The behemoth was bald and heavily scarred, some of which were apparently inflicted by wounds that ought to have killed him twice over. Draped on his massive form was a black chainmail robe, with yellow trimming, and upon the armoured robe was a well-worn and very ornate steel breastplate with a high gorget, which reached his nose. If there were any doubt of his identity, it was dispelled by the massive warhammer hanging on his back, completely forged out of steel, its head crafted to resemble His Most Holy Icon, the Twin Tailed Comet.
This mighty figure was the warrior priest of the Order of the Silver Hammer.
The warrior priest wore a hard, stony expression as he gazed upon the burning heretics. His lips mumbled subtly as he whispered prayers, a simple wish that the heretics would finally see the error of their ways and repent. He could feel eyes upon him. He glanced around. The handgunners and the halberdiers were giving him an almost pleading look. He needed not see more. He knew what they desired from this humble servant of Sigmar.
"Sister Fruehauf," he spoke slowly and softly, consciously controlling his volume. The witch hunter remained still. The warrior priest rubbed the back of his bald head and sighed. He extended his strong hands towards the witch hunter. The witch hunter's small hands shot out from under her cloak, swatting his fist aside.
The halberdiers blinked. The warrior priest glanced at them. The halberdiers were flushed and struggling to contain the rising laughter. The warrior priest's lips quivered a little.
His half-smile quickly dropped into a frown. He gazed upon the witch hunter again, who was ignoring him in favour of watching the burning stakes. He sighed heavily and asked, "Sister Fruehauf, are you not satisfied?"
The witch hunter kept her silence. After a while, she spoke softly, her voice almost inaudible amidst the jeers of the townspeople. Yet, the few halberdiers who could hear her recoiled, their faces the mask of tortured pain. The warrior priest shrugged. Certainly, her voice was soft, but it was also cold as the winter chill.
"I am not satisfied."
The warrior priest fell silent. He needed not push her, asking her the reason for her dissatisfaction. He needn't ask further, for he had followed the witch hunter for quite a long while. He was with her when she picked up this trail which had led them to the heretics who now burned for their sins. He had been with her as she tracked her prey and hunted them relentlessly. He knew the reason for her dissatisfaction.
"Milady!" a voice called out from behind the two. The witch hunter turned to behold a panting man. The panting messenger leaned against his halberd. The witch hunter watched him, still as usual. The halberdier gazed into the shadow under her hat, and into those baleful green eyes. He stood up, having recovered his breath, and extended his hand, which was clutching a small scroll. "Message for you, Frau Fruehauf," he said, struggling to maintain an expressionless face in a vain attempt to hide his fear. The halberdier winced as he felt the witch hunter's hand brushed his, to pick up the scroll. The halberdier quickly retreated, leaving her to peruse the message. Once done, she pocketed the small scroll under her cloak.
She turned towards the sergeants, who stood alongside her. They half-retreated like scared dogs. The witch hunter regarded them for a moment, and she spoke, her voice soft and icy cold like Kislevite breeze, "Sergeants! Prepare a ferry and supplies to Salzenmund!" "Yes, Frau Fruehauf!" the sergeants saluted and hurried to fulfill her orders.
A sea of grey-metal, blue and yellow parted as she begun her departure. The warrior priest, Brother Gottlieb, snorted and shook his head, wearing a small smile under his gorget. The witch hunter did not show it, but having fought alongside her and advised her for so long, he knew she was eager to depart, to follow this new lead.
Glossary:
(1) Neus Ermskrank: Once a fishing village and now a failed port town. It laid host to a series of not-insignificant accidents (one of which saw a locally-built ship capsizing as soon as it left dock), giving it a reputation of being cursed. In this story, the town has since been repurposed as a staging base for the Imperial Navy.
(Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay 2nd Edition: Sigmar's Heirs: Chapter VI: The Grand Provinces: Nordland, pg 65)
