Hands of Chaos

         Rolling flame leapt from house to house uncaring and all consuming, enveloping the town. All Anton could see was the town he knew burning, and everyone he knew burning with it. Faint shadows appeared behind the curtain of flame, getting larger with each passing second. The shadows became human shaped, then increasingly more familiar; the gargantuan form of Griswold the blacksmith, Brother Amos, his elderly frame still shrouded by the black robes of Morr, and others whom Anton couldn’t recognize immediately. Griswold was the first to lurch through the fire a charred mass of flesh, muscle, and boiling fat, he seemed to be unaware that his leg was still on fire. Collapsing just in front of Anton, Griswold groped into the air at him. The realization came to Anton like the answers to the riddles Brother Amos used to tease him with – no one was screaming. More figures wandered through the curtain, and Anton was shocked that the stories were true; he was surrounded by the restless dead. This was confirmed by the large hole in Griswold’s cheek, exposing teeth and jawbone with equal clarity.
         Bolted from his trance by the meat of Griswold’s hand around his boot, Anton heard an odd rustling behind him; turning in time to see Brother Amos shambling at him, robes brighter than the witch burning he’d seen as a boy. Kicking at Griswold in an attempt to free death’s hand; simultaneously cursing whoever is doing this and praying to Sigmar for divine intervention, Anton was embraced by the flaming form of Brother Amos. With a sharp elbow to Amos’ ancient temple, and a hard boot to Griswold’s teeth, Anton was freed from his flaming cage to find those were not the only marionettes assaulting him. Grabbed from behind by one of the things, Anton smashed back with a fist, which sailed over the head of the faceless child holding him. More of the things piled onto him, clawing at their unknown goal. The fire spread to the mass of moving dead; and with a last surge of desperation, Anton lashed out.

         Waking to find himself surrounded by trees, Anton brushed the hair out of his face to find that Allen and Adam had just returned with breakfast, his dog Scooter trailing close behind.
         “Good to see you’re up, you made a lot of noise. Are you always that noisy when you sleep?” Adam said in his cheerful ignorance.
         “The way he moves around you’d think his dreams were heretical,” said Allen mostly teasing, and shoved his pistol into its holster as if to emphasize the point.
         “You’re going to say that too close to someone one day, and they’re going to cry witch,” Anton shot back while picking up his bag of seemingly random objects. “Anyway, it was the undead aga—”
         “Alright,” interrupted Allen, “we should probably get out of this Sigmar forsaken forest. Who knows what will come across us while we sit around.”
         “Okay, come on Scooter.” Adam conceded, falling back to pack up what little rat catching equipment he had from his former life. “Hey Allen, do you think we’ll ever find the guy that burnt down our town?”
         “We’ll find him sooner or later, and he’ll burn just like all the rest of his heretical kind.” said Allen with enough hatred in his voice to make Adam flinch. With that the group set off for the small village on the horizon.

         The conversation dropped to a whisper when Allen’s wide-brimmed hat and long black trench coat were instantly recognized as belonging to a witch hunter. The owner greeted him graciously as “Lord” and “Sire” with more than a little fear ill-concealed in his face. Adam went to the bar followed by Scooter, and ordered a round for Anton, Allen and himself. The owner brought out two pints, and offered the “best wine in town” to Allen, on him of course.
         “Probably tastes worse than dwarf urine,” Allen remarked stirring the wine gently in its glass. “Probably has less alcohol in it too.”
         “Just drink it, what’d you expect from this town?”
         Adam chimed in, “you guys sure bicker a lot, I’m going to go outside real quick and, well, I’ll just be back.” Adam got up clumsily and Scooter followed him out the door.
         One of the louder conversations was picked up by Anton’s ear: “Whaddaya think they’re here for?”
         “Maybe they’re here for that old bitch Keeler.”
         “Nah, she’s no witch, she’s just old and crazy. Maybe they’re here about the people disappearing.”
         “Dunno, maybe. I’m just glad I’m no witch.”
         Anton told Allen what he’d overheard, and both agreed that this was as good a place as any to search for leads. Allen walked to the table the conversation originated from, and soon pleas of: “Honest to Sigmar, I don’t know nothin’” could be heard over the din of conversation in the rest of the small tavern. Adam came back into the common room and sat across from Anton, “What’s Allen up to over there?”
         “He’s asking what we can do to help these poor folks.”
         “Pardon, is that you friend over there asking about the disappearances?” a young, well dressed man asked casually approaching the table.
         “Yes, and you are?” Anton asked suspiciously, suspecting an imminent robbery.
         “The name is West, and I believe I can help you with your plight.”
         “Well, since you’re so eager to help, I guess you can tag along. I am Anton, this is Adam, and his dog, Scooter.”
         “Is he going to help find the necromancer?” Adam asked, joyous for extra help.
         “Sure, I’ll help catch your puppeteer,” West butted in.
         “I guess he is then,” Anton sighed. “As long as you’re here, you can make yourself useful. What do you know about the disappearances?”
         “Well, I don’t know much more than the locals,” West admitted. “I do know that it’s probably not your necromancer though. If I assume correctly, people don’t normally return from abductions by the undead. Unless they’re collaborating with him, that is.”
         “So what do you think it is?”
         “I can’t really say, but I’m guessing we’re going to find out if your witch hunter friend has anything to say about it. And why exactly are you looking to go marching into the lair of a necromancer?”
         “He killed my little sister!” Adam burst out.
         “Yes, he did,” Anton said, calming Adam. Turning back to West, he continued “he also burned and reanimated our town.”
         “And how did you manage to divert from your town’s ghastly fate?”
         “My brother, Allen, was training as an initiate in the Great Temple outside Nuln, and I was traveling in Marienburg. I came back a month afterward to a charred ruin.”
         “And how about you?” West asked motioning to Adam.
         “I was following after Scooter, who had tracked down a rat and was chasing it into the cellar. When we came back up everything was on fire, and we ran away.”
         “That would explain the rat catcher’s occupational equipment.”
         Anton resumed where Adam trailed off, “I found him in the ruin of his home when I came back. We then went and told Allen, and we’ve been searching since.”
         Allen came marching back with a bit of triumph in his step. “People have been disappearing in the night, and reappearing the next morning with no recollection of what’s happened to them.”
         “Do you think it’s the necromancer?” Adam asked.
         “Could be, either way we’ll rid the world of a bit more evil.”
         “I guess that means I’m not drinking anymore,” Anton sighed.
         “It’s orc piss anyway. Now come on, there’s a small grove to the east, and the rest is flat, so we’ll watch there for tonight.” Allen finished the conversation by symbolically downing the remainder of his glass and banging it hard onto the wooden table.

         “Allen!” Adam whispered, pointing at the figure of a nude woman who looked around with paranoia, then dashed toward the tree line.
         “Doesn’t look undead to me, as a matter of fact she looked rather lively.” West said with a jab at Adam’s ribs.
         “That would be our sign” Allen signaled, running off after the girl. Anton then followed likewise, and after a moment’s hesitation Adam and West followed as well.
         The crunching of leaves underfoot told him that Adam and West were moving up behind him; Anton scanned back and forth to find Allen crouching behind a bush gazing into a nearby clearing. Adam and West hid behind Allen, Anton took a spot behind a nearby tree.
         “What are they doing?” Adam asked, indicating the half dozen masked people in front of him.
         “It’s a cultist ritual to the Chaos god Slaanesh, the god of excess. They’ll make a sacrifice, probably take some kind of hallucinogen, then revel in their hedonism.” Allen said with more than a bit of anger. “Worship some heretical god and all that can come from it is death by fire or blade, never forget it.”
         “So why are they all naked?”
         “Why do you think?” West piped up before Allen could answer. “Now, I think not talking would be the best thing for us.”
         The four cultists on the outside edge of the clearing each held a torch dousing the area with light. One of the cultists lay in the center, while another stood with a cat writhing in one hand, and a long knife in the other.
         “Isn’t that the woman from earlier? The one in the center? They aren’t going to do anything with that cat, are they?” Adam whispered.
         The lead cultist rammed the knife into the cat, spilling its contents all over the woman below, then cast the drained carcass aside. Allen burst from behind his hiding place, leveling his flintlock at the black mask of the lead cultist. The silver shot exploded from the barrel of the pistol with a percussive boom, punching into the black masked cultist’s chest. Anton was the next into the would-be fray, cramming his sword hilt deep into the gut of a torch bearing cultist; her polished iron and silver mask sliding off her face. Anton looked into the dying woman’s brown eyes, eyes of a scared woman in a contorted mix of pain and pleasure. West had dispatched one with a knife in the back, and Adam was still in the process of bludgeoning a copper masked cultist. Allen methodically cut down the last torchbearer, and pinned the gold masked woman in the center to the ground.
         “Filthy cultists, they don’t deserve to die so quickly.” Allen spat, wrenching his sword out of the woman.
         “They’re still human Allen,” Anton said crouched by the woman he’d impaled. “It’s not like they’re daemons marching through the Chaos Wastes. Maybe we can help them”
         “They burn all the same, there can be no redemption for those who turn from the light of Sigmar. Now, drag that cultist over here and help me start a fire.”
         “I guess this means we have to keep looking for the necromancer elsewhere,” Adam said trying to change the subject.
         “Well,” West said examining the dropped knife. “If I were a bad guy, I’d find somewhere nice and crowded to hide. Altdorf is a few days ride down the main road.”
         “So you think Altdorf is a good place to resume our search?” Allen asked.
         “Right, after all, it’d take forever to search every little town in the whole of the Empire. So we may as well start in the place he’s most likely to be.”
         “Any objections with going to Altdorf?” After a slight pause, the group headed back to town to inform them of their missing citizens.
***
         Anton was the first to push through the decaying wooden door of the tavern. Adam and West followed, with Allen being at the tail end of the group. The door swung closed behind him, shutting out the cold night air.
         “You just had to pick a tavern in the poorest district of Altdorf, didn’t you?” Anton asked quiet enough not to disturb the more unpleasant looking drunks.
         West craned his neck in observation, “The Black Dog Inn seems to be a fine enough establishment.”
         “I do have a reason for my selection,” Allen said. He moved to an unoccupied table and scanned the room. “Brother Klausner is here doing an investigation into a sect of the Puritans of Adelina. He may be able to give us some advice.”
         “At least it has some rooms available upstairs.”
         Anton heard Adam’s pack make a solid thud as it hit the floor. Anton sat down at the alcohol stained table. Allen’s pistol made a similar sound as it was placed on the table. “Just in case,” Allen said. “Now where in the name of the Hammer can I get a drink?”
         “Allen,” Anton said looking toward the opposite end of the room. “Isn’t that Brother Klausner?”
         “That it is. I’ll go see if he can help us out.”
         As Allen left, Anton brought his bag up onto the table and began rummaging through it.
         “What’s all that stuff for,” Adam asked, peering over the table for a better look.
         “All the things I’ve collected that have some kind of value.” Anton didn’t look up. “Like this,” Anton pulled his hand from the bag, brandishing a small vial of black liquid. “This is a blessed vial of ink the Lord Protector uses to write letters. And this,” Anton pulled out his hand again, holding a large fang. “This is a small dragon’s tooth given to me by an alchemist in Marienburg.”
         “And what exactly do you use these objects for?” West asked.
         “I also keep some useful things in here, like flint and lantern oil.” Anton set his bag back on the floor, slipping the tooth into a pouch near his sword. Anton then signaled the barmaid for a refill.
         “How did I miss that?” West said.
         “What?” Anton inquired.
         “Look over by the staircase,” West answered, motioning to two women standing by the stairs. The common room had died down, and only a handful of men continued to nurse their drinks. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” West finished his drink and walked to a dark haired woman and began conversing.
         “You know, I think I’ll do likewise.” Anton watched West across the room. He turned to Adam, “Do you think you’ll be alright until Allen comes back?”
         “I’ll be okay.” Adam poured a bit of ale onto the floor for his dog. “I have Scooter to keep me company.”
         Anton worked his way across the room, ignoring those who eyed him and held their drinks tighter to their chest. He met the gaze of the pretty blonde standing by the staircase.
         “Hello handsome,” she said in a practiced silky tone. “It’s two crowns if you’re interested.”
         Anton reached for the small pouch containing most of his money, and handed her two gold crowns.
         “Do you have a room here,” she asked, “if not I have a room we can use.”
         “Let’s use your room.”
         The woman grabbed Anton’s hand and pulled him up the stairs, then down the hallway glancing at the locks on the doors. They reached the last door in the hall, and she produced a small key from the inside of her belt. The woman unlocked the door, and led him in with a grandiose sweep of her arm. The room was obviously the most expensive room in the place despite not being very large, most of the room being occupied by a large bed. She locked the door behind her, and looked around for a moment before rifling through a black coat left on the bed.
         “I’m Rose, by the way.”
         “I hope that’s not what I think it is,” Anton asked eyeing the coat she was searching.
         “And what exactly do you think it is?” She pulled a small hammer shaped charm from the coat.
         “You can’t steal from a witch hunter.” Anton moved to the foot of the bed.
         “Who says I’m stealing?”
         She held the small charm by the head, and crammed it into the door’s lock.
         “Perfect fit,” Rose said, “that should give us a bit of time.”
         “We can’t do this here, this is a witch hunter’s room.”
         “Isn’t it exciting?”
         With speed that seemed beyond human, Rose leapt at him pressing his face into hers, and knocking them both backward onto the bed. She crawled off of him and stood at the foot of the bed, tugging at the laces that held her clothing in place. Her dress fell to the floor, and Anton noticed a deep purple mark on her upper thigh, a circle and crescent joined together by a cross.
         “You’ve been given a Mark of Slaanesh.”
         “I’ve been marked by Chaos. What are you going to do? Run me through? Call for a witch hunter?”
         “No, but I think I can help you. I’ve studied daemonology, and I can use Chaos against itself.”
         “Say you can, how do I know you will? How can I trust you?”
         “Is it collateral that you want?” Anton released a little ball of flame into the air. “Tell everyone I’m a hedge wizard if I don’t fulfill my promise, but I can take you away from this life. Leave this, travel with us, and you’ll be safe.”
         She climbed back onto the bed and kissed him, gently this time.

         “Rose? Are you in there?” a woman called quietly from the other side of the door. “You’d best not be. That witch hunter should be turning in soon.”
         Anton dressed and pulled the charm out of the door lock, waking Rose.
         “We’ve got to go now. That witch hunter is coming back,” Anton said.
         Anton walked out into the hall, closing the door behind him. The dark haired woman West had gone off with earlier was walking down the hall a few yards in front of Anton, and Brother Klausner was ascending the stairs.
         Looking back at the door to Klausner’s room, Anton pulled a gold crown from his belt pouch and walked down the hall. After Klausner passed Anton in the hall, he hurried to catch up with the dark haired harlot.
         “Can I have a moment?” Anton asked, handing her the coin.
         “For this,” she inspected the crown with a smile, “you can have a bit more than that.”
         Anton raised his hand and began to mutter the phrases he’d learned in the north.
         “What are you doing?” the dark haired woman said.
         A flash of flame burst from Anton’s hand, licking around his sleeve and igniting it.
         “Witch,” Anton cried. He fell to the floor and smothered his arm beneath himself. Looking up, Anton saw the dark haired woman take off down the stairs, and Klausner run after her a few seconds later. Anton stood up and checked his now hairless arm for any real damage, and ran back to Klausner’s room.
         Rose was lacing her dress when Anton came into the room. “What happened?” Rose asked.
         “Things are about to get very bad.”
         Anton picked up the two bottles of oil sitting by one of the lanterns lighting Klausner’s room, and dashed one of the bottles of transparent liquid across the floor. Anton created another flare, setting the puddle ablaze as it spread across the room. The fire leapt from the drawn curtains to the straw mattress of the bed with incredible efficiency, and no less than half the room was burning when Anton grabbed Rose’s hand and led her out of the room. The two ran downstairs to find that some of the patrons had stepped up to defend their dark haired maiden, and a small brawl had broken out.
         Anton returned to his companions, Rose hurrying next to him Anton heard West saying, “Seven on two is not the best of odds Allen, not even for two witch hunters.”
         “It’s better than seven on one.”
          “We have to go now,” Anton interrupted, “the witch set the rooms upstairs on fire.”
         “Along with your arm, I see,” West said.
         “I put it out before the fire did any real damage, but we need to leave quickly.”
         “What about Brother Klausner?” Adam asked.
         “He’ll be just fine, he can look after himself,” West answered. “Our priority should be getting ourselves out. It would be difficult to help others if we were deceased, and I don’t know about you, but I want to keep helping people.”
         West was the first to grab his pack and head for the door. Adam and Scooter followed. Allen yanked his pistol from its holster and fired into one of the attacking patrons.
         “Klausner, get out,” Allen shouted.
         The ceiling of the building was on fire now, the heated sap from the beams starting to pop and crack. Anton pushed Rose out the door after Allen, and uncorked his second bottle of oil. Pouring a quarter of it onto the floor in front of the door, Anton hurled the bottle and it’s remnants at the ceiling just before running out of the building. His companions stood about twenty feet away watching it burn.
         “What happened,” Allen asked, “you were right behind me.”
         “Someone grabbed me and tried to pull me back. I hit him and he let go.”
         “Then that whoreson deserved his fate.”
         They stood along with a gathering crowd for another ten minutes, watching the brilliant orange death glow in the night sky.