CHAPTER 3
The false moon shone like a light in the cold, dead, night-sky and over the horizon of the smoggy rabbit warren town of Ubersreik a party of five were searching. A feminine voice called out, "Mayflies I found something you might want to see this." The party suspicious of the voice followed suite. The crater of the crashed aircraft had attracted attention. A cold hard-faced man whose face was shrouded under a large wide brimmed hat sniggered before announcing in a shrill cold voice, "So elf you found something. Surprising considering your kind."
The elf ignored the rude remark and started investigating the ruin with the others. The short, stout and podgy one ran his hand over the remnant of the wing saying, "This is no Umgak or Dawi metal nor is it elven. It is no metal the old world is familiar to." The cloaked man said, " If it is not of this world, it is a heretical creation of those cold-blooded fiends."
Then an armoured man with a ravishing moustache and beard disagreed, "This is not a creation of those creatures in the southern jungles I think this could be something from another world." Then a tall, spindly woman in red with fiery hair said in an amused voice, "You were always a superstitious man Markus." The elf muttered something rude under her breath before noticing something odd under a small glass window. A dead body. The elf called, "Lumberfoots over here there's a dead body under this small glass case." The 5 people helped each over to raise the glass.
The body flopped forward, at the elf's feet who turned the body over. It was a man barely 40 who's neck was snapped his face in a frozen look of terror. The shrouded man looked disgusted at the image before him, he said angrily, " How did this man come across this and why is he dressed like that? See heretical. Witch burn the body we are done here this is now business of the order of the silver hammer."
Two town guards were watching over the gates drunk as a gambler after he won his bet. One noticed with blurred eyes a white and red shape passing through the gates. He stumbled to his feet with his rusty pike in hand. Before barring the way of the shape saying, "Iden- Hic- tification please sir or madam." The shape tilting its head before saying, "I hardly think that's necessary." Before pushing the guard down and walking into the town.
Meanwhile in the tallest tower in the town, Christoph Engel chatted to a man who was trying to protect his inn. His fear was immense, he had felt a presence not of his world but of something different. Something angry. Something dangerous.