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Here is the first episode to the Witch hunter Chronicles. It is a dark tale of Dr Greuss, an imperial doctor, and what happened to him one fell night. I will say no more so as not to let out any spoilers! This story is a serious one, but not too serious! So it should suit even those that do not like my humour!



The Witch Hunter Chronicles, part one

Dr Greuss and the restless dead


Dr Greuss sneaked through the sleeping village of Baston.

The streets were deserted in the moonlight, as they tended to be in this part of Bretonnia. It was a haunted realm they said. Ghosts and even vampires moved in the night, they said. But then, they would say that, being a bunch of ignorant peasants!

To Dr Greuss such tales were utter nonsense. There were no vampires, he was sure. Nor ghosts. Just high tales and superstition.

Shaking his white bush of unkempt hair in derision towards such foolishnessess, Dr Greuss finally reached the mortuary, his destination. As agreed with the greedy undertaker, the heavy steel door to the mortuary was unlocked. Lighting a lantern, the old doctor stepped keenly inside, shutting and locking the heavy door behind him.

The air inside was near freezing point. Under the floor, Dr Greuss knew, was an ice house. The village's stock of ice was also connected to a nerby abattoir. With a wry grin Dr Greuss wondered whether the butcher ever sneaked in the mortuary for a choise piece of meat. Probably he did. Meat was oft in short supply in Bretonnia, what with the nobs hoarding it all to themselves.

In the light of his lantern Dr Greuss could see three rickety operating and washing tables. One was empty, but upon the other two, bodies lay, shrouded in grey, dirty cloth. Dr Greuss smiled. He had expected only one body, but he was not going to disagree about the extra carcass. The undertaker had certainly been busy. Mind you, if the wretch was going to expect extra gold for the extra mortal coil, then he was sadly mistaken. Dr Greuss had paid the fool more than enough as it was.

Dr Greuss set his lantern to the empty table and brightened up the flame. Made in Nuln, the lantern gave out more light than ten candles could, bathing the environ in warm, yellow light. He then moved to the first corpse and pulled off the shroud, gently. And nodded, satisfied. For this one was young!

Ignoring the fact that he was scrutinizing the well preserved body of a young woman, quite naked one to boot, Dr Greuss set to work. He took a scalpel out of his tiny doctor's bag, and with firm grip started cutting open the carcasses left hand, just above the wrist. The skin peeled off easily.

'Well, well, well,' Dr Greuss stated after a while. 'Is this not interesting? When I pull here, a finger moves! Why, the hand of a human seems to work just like the mechanical animals I studied in Nuln! Hmmm... Is a man then a machine, built by Gods for their amusement? Truly, I wonder! But hark! What was that sound???'

There was a swish of heavy cloth from behind Dr Greuss. Alarmed, the old man spun around. And gasped. For the other body had risen up! There it was, sitting upon the table! And hissing as it flexed it's gaunt, pale frame! With a yelp, Dr Greuss started to stumble towards the exit, his white beard verily shaking with terror!

'Come. Back.'

The voice was hard and commanding, yet merely above whisper in volume. Without being able to help himself, Dr Greuss spun around and walked, twitching like a puppet, to the risen dead. And there he stood, for a long while, under the scrutiny of the vampire.

For a vampire it was! No doubt was there in Dr Greusses mind of this fact. For the gaunt creature had long, sharp frontal teeth and burning, fey eyes. There was a kingly aura about the creature that told Dr Greuss it was used to command. But why was it here? What did it want?

'Ah, Dr Greuss,' the fell creature said at last. Dr Greuss felt like he was set free. His soulders slumped and he breathed in, hard. Run? No, he did not run. This was not a creature he could escape from by running.

'I have been watching you for quite a while, Doctor,' the vampire said, his fell, dry voice echoing in the stonewalled room. The creature stood up from the table and stretched it's neck. There was crackle of old bones. 'You are keenly interested in the workings of the human physique, enough so that you are willing to risk your very life for such knowledge. For is it not true that were you discovered, you would be hanged for desecration of the blessed dead?'

'Aye, it is' admitted Dr Greuss with a shrug.

'And yet, here you come, night after night, to cut at these corpses. You are very persistent! I like that! Tell me, Dr Greuss, what do you know of the Necrarch vampires?'

'Vampires?' stammered Dr Greuss, surprised at the sudden change of topic. 'Well, to tell the truth, I thought them mere superstitious nonsense. Until now, of course!'

'Ah, I see! A realist! Good! I like you even more! But of us Necrarchs, and I am indeed one, let me tell you this: We are the true masters of the undead! None is better than us at the art of making the dead alive again! None! Not the wretched Blood Dragons with their imbecile codes of honour! Not those frivolous Lahmian wenches! Not those barbaric Strigoi! Hah! And not even those snobbish Von Carsteins! Von indeed! As if that title would make them rise above their herds of dead AND living! No! They are but dabblers! We Necrarchs are the true masters of the undead and the dread magicks that bind them to their unlife! We are the most ancient of the vampiric orders! What say you to that Dr Greuss?'

'What can I say? It's all new to me. But tell me, sir vampire, what is it you want with me? Because, if you wish to kill me for trespassing into your area of expertise, the please proceed. For it is quite cold and my legs are freezing!'

'Balls too!' the vampire laughed, a spray of dust flying from it's throat. 'Good! Excellent! Well, let me tell you what I want with you; I want you to become my disciple!'

'Your disciple?'

'Yes! I shall teach you all there is to know about the human body, dead and alive! How it works, what makes it tick, all of it! For there is nothing, not a thing, that we Necrarchs do not know of the humankind and their inner workings! What say you, Dr Greuss? Will you accept?'

'Ummm... I do not have to become a vampire, do I,' stammered Dr Greuss. 'I mean, no offence, but, well, you know...'

'Yes, I know. But no, that is not required. Although, if you want it, and, most importantly, MERIT it later, it is easily enough arranged. Just a bite and some arcane rituals...'

'We shall see,' said Dr Greuss. 'And how long a servitude are we talking of here?'

'Ten years. Mere ten years.'

'Ten years??? I'm an old man, mr vampire! I'll not survive ten years!'

'Do not be so sure,' grinned the Necrarch. 'We have ways to lenghten the human lifespan! But well enough, if ten seems too long a time, let us say five...'

'It's a deal!' cried out Dr Greuss. The Necrarc noted with satisfaction the greediness for fell knowledge that had filled the old doctors eyes. Yes. This one would become a lesser Necrarch in due time. Indeed he would.

'Come!' cried the vampire. 'Lets hasten away! For morning is near!'

The two figures filed out of the mortuary, the gaunt, yet tall Necrarch in the lead. From behind the mortuary, in an alleyway, they discovered a back coach. Upon the drivers seat there was a strange figure, hooded in black. Dr Greuss could not see it's face. The horses too, were black, and steamed, restless and eager to be off. Thankfully, the insides of the fell coach were less ghastly, upholstered as they were with soft, burgundy velvet. Dr Greuss climbed in, thankfull for the chance to sit down. Soon, the coach was on it's way.

'Tell me,' said the Necrarch, offering Dr Greuss a goblet of pale wine, 'what prompted you to such morbid study?'

'Knowledge,' answered Dr Greuss without hesitation. 'In the field of medics and of surgery, the so called official practises are rooted not in knowledge but in superstition. In Altdorf, for example, there is a sect of so called doctors whom believe human body is a sack filled with hot air! Even though men in the battlefields see every day it is not so! Army surgeons, now, they are the best of the lot, and know a lot too, but who listens to them in the high lofts of the universities? I tell you, if you want knowledge, if you want progress to happen in the medical world, you have to leave the universities behind and study by yourself!'

'I see,' the vampire smiled. 'You want to better the mankind by the developing medical practises that actually work. A worthy goal, although not one to my tastes! But tell me, why did you not become an army surgeon, then? Lots of wars in the Empire, a lot of bodies to dissect, no?'

'True. I was such surgeon, once upon the time. But they found out what I was doing to the dead. Kicked me out of the army, and out of the Empire. Would have killed me but for few friends in high places I had healed with my skill with the scalpel. The ungratefull lot!'

'And that brought you here! Well, it was destiny, to be sure! But hark, we are here! Behold my tower, Dr Greuss!'

Dr Greuss peeked through the narrow windows of the coach. Indeed, they were there. For in front of them, upon a high cliff, there stood a forbidding, dark fastness of the Necrarch. Fell lights were upon the windows. Fell voices in the air. The ghostly trees around the tower, bereft of leaf and life.

'Come,' said the Necrarch. 'We must walk up.'

'Very good,' said Dr Greuss and stepped down from the coach. 'But just one thing, if you may, Lord Sherragh.'

'How do you know my name?' the Necrarch asked, puzzled, as it twisted towards Dr Greuss. The monster's eyes widened in alarm at what it saw. For in the hands of the frail old doctor, there was a tiny, ornamental pistol.

The vampire made to fly, a spell forming upon it's lifeless, cruel lips. But it was too late. For Dr Greuss discharged his weapon without a tiniest hesitation. A deep BOOM ehoed through the countryside, sending flocks of crows to flight. The Necrarch vampire looked down to his chest, where a ragged hole had appeared, and screamed. A silver bullet. What agony!

'Who are you?' the vampire hissed as it fell down, it's burning eyes never leaving Dr Greusses.

'Who indeed?' asked Dr Greuss. Slowly, the man reached up and pulled out his white mane of hair. It was a wig! Out came the grizzled beard too. With a crack of weary bones, the newly revealed man stood up to his full, imposing height. 'I' he said, as he contemptously watched the vampire turn into a heap of dust, 'am Ronan Argent. A witch hunter extraordinaire. But now, my good Sherragh, I must excuse myself, for there is much work to do. But rest in peace, good lord. For I will personally quarantee that when I am finished, not a stone, not a single stone, will be left to mark your fell sway over these lands!'

Ronan Armitage, the witch hunter extraordinaire, spun around, stabbing a silver dagger into the midriff of the coachman whom had tried to sneak upon him from behind. The creature went down with an unearthly wail. Then, ripping a riding lantern from the side of the coach, the witch hunter stepped towards the dark fastness. Over the hills, in the east, the sun rose.


The end

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And there you have it, the first adventure of the cunning witch hunter, Ronan Argent. In the next one, Ronan meets a Blood Dragon! And the rest can well be guessed!