14/2/13: Proofread.

Chapter 3: Ruins

The Council Chamber was rather smaller than what most people would have envisioned. The ceilings were low and the long tables, lined on top of gradually ascending steps, were cramped together, lending it an oppressive, claustrophobic atmosphere. In the middle of the front-most row was a desk of finest Laurelorn lumber, which resembled a lectern, looming over the Petitioner's Stand, the circular pavement in the center of the chamber. This was the Burgomeister's seat, upon which sat a man with a neatly-trimmed goatee and severe eyes, the Burgomeister Maximillian Von Kirscheschlage.

Standing before him for his scrutiny was the belligerent Captain Josef Aushwitz. The captain had done plenty of shouting in his brief career as the Captain of the Salzenmund Watch. However, this was perhaps the first time he was shouted at, by people more powerful than he, an infuriating fact. "How dare they use that tone against me! Did they not realize that if it weren't for my efforts, they wouldn't be sleeping soundly in their homes?" thought Captain Josef Aushwitz angrily as he glared at the Town Councillors bombarding him with reprimands and accusations.

"Look here, Captain Aushwitz," one of the Town Councillors, an old man in green robes, wheezed, as he slouched in his chair, holding his forehead, "We are not interested in your opinions on our slum-dwelling population. We want to know exactly how the riot happened." "As I said, I saw it myself!" the captain insisted loudly, "A 'slum-born' provoked the flagellants and started the riot!" The old Town Councillor frowned in reply.

"Now listen here!" another Town Council member, a thick-set bald and bearded man with glasses perched on his nose, whom Josef recognized as the guild leader of the Nordland Silversmith's Guild, leaned forward and spoke calmly. "We tasked you with performing the inquiries about the riot," the Silversmith's Guildmaster waved towards the exit as he continued, "We told you to go out there, find witnesses and gather their accounts so we may start pinpointing who is to blame, and here you are. Handing over this drivel," the guildmaster tapped his finger at the brown parchment on his desk, the Captain's report, "about how you think this slum-born watchman is somehow responsible for every ill that has befallen the town for the past three years, and how you think every slum-born is a whore, a bastard and a criminal."

"We also recall ordering you to investigate and solve these murder cases and again, you use this same 'sermon' to put the blame squarely on the shoulders of this 'Giselbert Gottschalk'," another Town Councillor, this time, an effeminate and well groomed man, sneered, as he looked upon the captain with contemptuous eyes, "No evidence, no compelling arguments, none of it. And you didn't even bother to extract a confession from this Gottschalk lad. That is the very least you could have done."

"We also receive complaints by a number of your watchmen. They claimed your lieutenant is making a mess of the crime scene," yet another Town Councillor, a fat man, heaped his own criticism on the shaking form of Captain Josef Aushwitz. "I was unable to believe their accusations," his voice grew in volume as he furiously pounded his fist against his desk, "until I saw that man STEPPING all over the bloodstains myself!" His fellow Town Councillors gasped upon hearing the news, before turning their angry glares towards Captain Aushwitz. Captain Aushwitz, eyes wide like fish's, seethed as he continued listening to this 'undue criticism'.

The effeminate Town Councillor's lips curled into a sneer. He held his chin and waved his arms as he sneered venomously, "I may not be an investigator, but I am certain that bloodstains are considered 'evidence'!"

"Do you think us blind and deaf, Aushwitz?" a Town Councillor in a fancy outfit glared accusingly at the Captain. He removed his monocle, produced a silk handkerchief to clean it, and replace it on the bridge of his nose. He then continued, "We know the Lieutenant is your own son. And we know that in the past three years, you replaced half the Watch with your cronies. It's a miracle the other half had resisted your attempts to lay them off for as long as they did. What are you plotting, Aushwitz?"

"Enough, gentlemen!" the Burgomeister announced loudly, his powerful voice drowning the jeers, sneers and accusations of his fellow Town Councilors, as he raised his arm. Satisfied that his fellow councilors were silenced, he turned his severe eyes towards the captain and said, "Captain Josef Aushwitz, we ordered you to perform your responsibilities as a Salzenmund Watch Captain and you had shown us nothing. Nothing other than you having your own agenda and an utter contempt for your duties."

He stabbed his fingers at the Captain of the Watch, "You had proven yourself a disappointment as compared to your predecessor. We need not remind you about the importance and urgency of your tasks. We will give you two weeks to sort this mess out, or we will have you replaced."

The Burgomeister waved dismissively at the Captain, concluding his ultimatum.

Captain Josef Aushwitz struggled to contain his indignation. After a minute, he took a deep breath, exhaled and bowed as low as his fat belly would allow, "As you ordered, Burgomeister Maximillian." He then turned around to leave the Council Chamber, his watchman's cloak flapping behind him and a stream of curses muttered under his breath.

"If they want a confession, then they will have it!"


The Holding Cells was a gloomy, moist place. Rainwater from over the years had collected on the cobblestones in large puddles. Mosses were growing all over the walls. Despite the name, there was only one large cell, where all prisoners were caged in.

Giselbert Gottschalk was lying on his sides upon the cold ground. His hair and stubble were caked in blood. There was a large scar under his chin. One of his eyes was bruised. Signs of abuse were plastered all over him under his tattered rags. He breathed laboriously, coughing while shivering in the cold.

The former watchman was feeling very tired, but he was unable to sleep, due to the nature of his cell-mates. His eyes were drooping and his body was aching. His stomach growled very loudly. He hadn't eaten for two days.

A loud creak was heard. Giselbert peered from under his swollen eyelid. The large, bloated form of Captain Josef Aushwitz stood at the cell door, his outrageously-styled moustache quivered furiously, flanked by two watchmen, the very same who dragged him into this cell.

The Captain leered at the former watchman. Giselbert glared back defiantly. The Captain twitched slightly, feeling such fierce gaze lay on his person. "A pity," thought the captain. "A pity that looks can't kill." He grinned, his lips curling to reveal a perfect set of teeth. His cronies cracked their knuckles while he sneered, "So, little vermin, are you ready to talk?"

Giselbert wheezed, "I am not guilty."

Josef snorted. The two watchmen strode towards him, grabbed him by the collar and threw him out of the cell. Giselbert clenched his teeth, uttering not a word, as he landed roughly on the cold, unforgiving floor. The cell's door slammed shut. One of the watchmen lifted Giselbert by the shoulders, restraining him. The other cracked his knuckles once again and punched the former watchman in the belly.

Giselbert did not cry.

He looked up and glared defiantly at his attacker. "You need to punch harder," he sneered. The watchman growled and gave him a right hook. One of Giselbert's teeth flew. "You ready to talk?" Captain Aushwitz growled at Giselbert. The prisoner glared back, with such intensity that it would still a lesser man. Blood dribbled as he turned towards his attacker and spat blood into his eyes.

The watchman cried in anguish, pawing at his eyes, releasing Giselbert, who crumpled to the ground. His partner roared fiercely as he stomped the prisoner's belly. The prisoner clenched his teeth tighter, refusing to grant the hoodlum the satisfaction of hearing his cries.

After several minutes of beatings, Giselbert laid on the ground a wheezing, bloodied heap. Josef Aushwitz held his right hand, signaling his underlings to cease the beatings. He strode towards the fallen former watchman and knelt down. He then roughly tugged at the prisoner's hair and lifted his head.

"You will tell me everything you know about the riot and the murder. Who started the riot? Was it you?"

Giselbert replied disobediently, "You are asking the wrong person."

Josef Aushwitz, his patience on the teeters, slammed Giselbert's head into the paved floor of the cell. "So, you don't wish to confess! Then how about the murders? I had read your report you know. You know a lot about the murders. Oh, you know so much. You know how tall and how short the murderers are, you know how many of them there are and you know how they killed the Bachmeier. How could you know so much..unless, of course, you were there, watching them murder, watching them ride the wagon? You can't deny that, can you? Tell me, how did you know so much? Were you there? Were you involved? Do you know the murderers? Are you one of them?"

"Ha...So, you had been reading my report. You probably have to read the report again, this time before drinking. The answers were all there. Hahahaha," Giselbert chuckled weakly. Josef Aushwitz was taken aback for a few moments. Was Giselbert hinting that he knew of the Captain's drinking habits? He recovered quickly enough and slammed prisoner's head into the floor again. "Confess, you little rat!" Josef shouted, loud enough to drown the wails of the flagellants in the cell. Blood pooled on the cold floor. "Confess! You can't possibly know so much unless you are involved! Confess!"

"That was pathetic, captain. My Mother can hit harder than that. Really, my dear captain, you have to stop eating roasts every day. You are getting really out of shape," Giselbert said spitefully. Once again, Josef was taken aback before angrily slamming his skull into against the stone, so violently it shocked the flagellants and stilled their tongues.

"I will come back. You will talk. I will make you talk!" Josef released Giselbert and spat at him. Giselbert was thrown back into the cell, whereupon he crashed into one of the flagellants. Josef slammed the cell door shut and locked it. "Let's go!" he ordered his underlings as they prepared to leave.

As soon as Josef left, Giselbert fell silent and sullen again. The beatings he received this day were more severe than yesterday's. Perhaps the next day's beatings will end him. He sighed softly, regret welling up inside him. There was much he hadn't done.

Knowing the Captain, he will never leave the cell alive.


It was pitch black in the Holding Cell. Snores and dripping sound inundated the jail. Not even the rowdy flagellants and agitators had the energy to wail through the night. Giselbert was balled up in a corner, trying to keep warm. The sound and the cold made it difficult to sleep, despite the pitch blackness.

Soft tapping and jingling sounds were heard, coming from the stairs and moving towards the cell. With a cough, Giselbert roused himself. Seeing a familiar silhouette creeping down the steps, he called out quietly, hoarsely and with a stutter, "Is….is that you, Lanric?" The creeping figure paused, and he chuckled and replied, "Is there no escaping you, Gis?"

"What are you doing here, Lanric? You could get into trouble if the Captain finds out," Giselbert asked in a low, concerned tone. "Are you really in the position to worry about others?" Lanric Schwart replied as he produced a match and lit his lantern. From the dim light of the lantern, Giselbert could see that Lanric had a black eye and some cuts, but otherwise he was mostly intact. "And look at you. It looked as though you were in the same ring as a Norscan berserker. Anyway, here's some bread," Lanric continued pleasantly as he slipped a piece of bread through the grills.

Giselbert devoured the bread as Lanric stood watch, taking glances at the stairs. Upon seeing Giselbert finished consuming his light meal, Lanric spoke with a whisper, "Right, I am not exactly here for a social visit. I have news from the outside. More murders had occurred two days ago, during the riot. No, murder is not the right word. It's more accurate to describe them as massacres."

"We are going to get you out of here. I could give you a description of the crime scenes but it would be best if you examine the scenes yourself. I can do a pretty decent job searching for evidence, but I do not have an eye for the small details. Nobody else in the Watch does." Lanric explained his purpose. "We?" Giselbert replied doubtfully, "Look, Lanric. I am never going to get out of here. You know the captain and the lieutenant…."

"Oh, we know the captain and the lieutenant all too well. Whoever said we are going to get you out legally?" Lanric grinned as he dangled a ring of keys before the prisoner.

Somewhere in Salzenmund there was a large and spacious chamber. It was an ancient place, loose bricks, faded marbles and fused masonry. Yet, it was oddly sterile: no shuffling of rats, no scurrying of cockroaches and no mosses devouring the surfaces.

Steel lanterns emitted a dim, eerie violet glow. Not all of them were the same; a few of them were black as night and adorned with blade-like projections. These strange lanterns, unlike the others, were carefully, reverently maintained.

The walls of the chamber were lined with weapon racks, within which were several thin, slender-bladed and serrated swords, axes and daggers, all black as sin. Only several of them looked durable enough for multiple uses, yet were cared for so well they looked unused. These weapons were all gathered in one rack quite unlike the others: black with blade-like projections.

In the middle of the chamber was a cauldron large enough to fit several persons, also jet-black and with protruding blades. At its bottom was a minuscule amount of boiling blood, merely enough to cover the bottom. Near it, close to the walls, was a blasphemous obsidian altar, with dried bloodstains upon its surface. On its edges were runic etchings, fine-lined. Sitting on the altar were chalices, resembling the cauldron in design, blood still dripping from the blades lining its edge, like they were freshly shed. Hanging over the altar and stretched across the wall was a silk, purple banner, bearing a large rune of similar design.

Cultists in purple robes, leather armour and black masks, murderers all, filled the chamber to the brim, whispering amongst each other in eager anticipation. "Silence!" shouted a tall figure in a suit of black armour, with golden highlights. The armour, like the altar, had protruding blades upon the pauldrons. The gauntlets were clawed and the all-concealing helmet was tall and pointed. The armour was unlike those made by men: form-fitting instead of bulky, with many interlocking plates, ending with a robe at the bottom, obscuring the leg-plates and the greaves. The armoured figure wielded a blade as tall as himself, black and slender with a notched tip. Behind him, five robed men stood hunched.

"Silence!" the armoured figure shouted once more, and the chamber fell silent. Satisfied, the figure spoke, his voice ringing from within his armour. "I heard of your efforts from two days ago. While such an act and the resulting offering of blood were...significant, Khaela Mensha Khaine is displeased. You, all of you, had the gall to cease offering for a day! Khaela Mensha Khaine demands that we continue at once!" the creature berated his followers, his right palm sweeping in front of him.

"While the Night is still far, we must not rest our laurels. Khaela Mensha Khaine demands a continuous offering of blood and souls. We must provide!"

"However, I, no, We, are not entirely displeased. Due to the initiative of certain individuals amongst us, the town is gripped in fear! Our presence is now known and felt across this hamlet, nay, across this 'province'! There are many who had witnessed the Bloody Hand and had joined our ranks. I believe you had met. Yet, more are coming, and it would be our obligation to welcome them and to accommodate them. These esteemed individuals who made this possible had proven their devotion to Khaine and shall be granted to the greatest honour and the right to lead their own covens!" declared the armoured figure, pointing at the weapon racks with the better quality blades.

The crowd cheered loudly, "Khaine! Khaine! Khaine! Khaine!" The armoured figure kept silent. Whether he was silently reveling in this obvious display of worship and adoration, or he was showing utter contempt for so crude an act, only he knew. He then raised his clawed arms, and the crowd fell silent once more.

"Continue your work, and strive to prove your devotion! The most devout will be granted the greatest privilege and the greatest honour! For Khaine! For the Death Night!"

The cheering continued, and it resonated through the chamber through the night.