The Witch Hunter Chronicles, osat 2 ja 3

[hullukoira]

The Witch Hunter Chronicles, part two and three

Here are the second and third parts to the Witch Hunter Chronicles. In part two, our witch hunter extraordinaire, Ronan Argent, meets a Blood Dragon vampire! We are also introduced to his trusty sidekick, Ferny Stoutfoot, the halfling. In the third part the pair then goes on to tackle a Strigoi!
I put the two parts here, back to back, as the third part was quite short, way too short to post individually. Enjoy.



Part two

The Dragon and the Mouse



Ferny Stoutfoot was sweating profusedly.

'You nearly finished?' quizzed Ronan Argent, the witch hunter extraordinaire from his loft above the halfling. 'Only the sun is near setting...'

'Yeah, boss, nearly, PHAAFH!' Ferny's acidic answer was lost in a violent fit of coughing and spitting.

'You all right there, Ferny?'

'Yeah, I'm all right! I just swallowed a mouthfull of sawdust! Pthah! Now shut up and let me work in peace! Please!'

'That was a bit too bold,' stated Ronan, as he scanned the darkening scenery. 'But I'll let it pass, considering the circumstances.'

'Oh, thank you very much,' said the halfling caustically from below. 'Well, I'm done, as far as I can tell. Pass me the rope and let us get the heck out of here before the dread vampire wakes!'

***************************************************************************

Roland LaMousse was singing.

And sing he well might, for it was a fine night. The moon was up and full, and the flower scented spring night was warm. Adding to Rolands good mood was the fact that he was going to a tryst, a rendezvous if you will, with a pretty wench from the adjoining village. The lass was new in the locale, so it was going to be a night to remember for her! Or so Roland thought!

In due time, Roland came to a bridge. The bridge was stout wooden affair, spanning a wide river pregnant with the melt snows from nearby foothills. Roland was just about to lead his fine charger to the bridge proper, when he espied a sinister figure standing upon the other end of the structure. The figure was that of a man, dressed in full armour. Crowning the armour was a helmet, worked into a form of a dragon.

'I say!' cried Roland, his voice cracking slightly, 'who goes there?'

The dark figure remained silent for a long while. Roland was about to repeat his inquiry, when at last the shadowy shape answered.

'I am Marland Swaztung,' the figure rumbled with deep, dark tones. His bretonnian was heavily accented. 'A knight, formerly of Stirland. And what of you, sir?'

'Me? Oh, I am Roland, Roland LaMousse!'

'And are you, by any chance, a knight?'

'A knight?' Roland enquired, puzzled at the fellows inquisitiviness. 'Well, yes, I am, as a matter of fact.'

'Excellent!' crieth out the other knight. 'For in that case, I challenge you!'

'What? Challenge?' cried Roland, dismayed.

'Yes! Challenge! We shall joust to the death! And being a knight, you cannot refuse, am I right?'

'Well, yes, technically, of course,' stammered Roland, a dread fear creeping up his spine. 'But I say, is this the right time for a joust? It is a middle of the night, sire...'

'Perfect time!' Marland answered. 'The moon is full and so we can see well enough!'

'Well yes, but you see, I have a meeting, and I'm a bit late already... So, if it is all right with you, might we postpone the duel, say, till next week?'

'No.' The stranger seemed quite adamant to have his way. 'We duel. Now. Here.'

'Yes, but really! Now look here, I do not even have my equipment! Not a very fair duel, you having a full armour and...'

'You have a sword, no?'

'Well, yes..?'

'That will do. For you are, no doubt, a master swordsman, as are all the knights I have met this far.'

'Well, I would not say a master,' stuttered Roland. He was shaking by now. The spring night really was chilly.

'You are not afraid, are you?' the fell figure of Marland asked.

'Afraid? Me? O-of course not! A knight does not fear death!'

'Well then! Step up and come over and we shall start!'

Roland pondered the situation as well as he could in his craven state. The other knight was unhorsed at the moment, so it would be easy enough to flee. But there was the matter of reputation. If he did flee, people would know. They always knew. He would be stripped off knighthood and land. It would be his end, as sure as death. So in a way, at this nexus, death was waiting upon both roads he could take. And even Roland could understand it would be better to die a knight than a homeless pauper.

Roland made to ride forward, but found he could not. For the terror of the upcoming duel had paralyzed him! He could not move a muscle!

'I say, fellow knight!' shouted Marland the Stirlander. 'Are you coming over or what?'

'I-I would,' croaked Roland, 'But my-my horse seems to be of other mind. I-I think she fears to cross the bridge!'

'What bother! Well then, unhorse yourself, sir LaMousse! Come now, I do not have the whole night!'

Roland tried to move. But just then, a queesy twist in his stomach. He swallowed hard, and squeezed his nether regions together. If he moved now, he realized with dismay, he would surely soil his silken pantaloons!

'I say!' Roland shouted across the bridge, 'Could you not come here?'

'Come there?' Marland asked with a note of dismay in his voice.

'Well, yes, if you do not mind...'

Marland Swaztung acted rather strangely at this. He scanned the river, stepped up to the bridge, and then as quickly stepped back again. This he repeated, over and over, without really daring to cross further than few steps. Roland's eyes narrowed at this. An evil grin spread itself upon his fobbish face.

'I say,' Roland cried, 'You are not afraid of the little bridge?'

'Me? Afraid?' the dark knight answered, 'Of course not! Why should I be afraid of a bridge?'

'Well, you do seem a bit nervous to cross over,' Roland cajoled. 'Come now sir, it is quite a good bridge! Why, I have passed over it thousands of times! Or is it maybe the river you are afraid of? Well, do not worry! It is always the same in springtime! Altough, I quite understand it may look a bit intimitading in the moonlight, the water being all black and rumbling!'

'Why you little..!' Marland cried, angered, yet hesitant to trust the bridge. Roland was by now enjoying himself immensely.

'Knight Marland fears wa-ter!' sang Roland in a mocking voice, 'Knight Marland is a co-ward! Wait till I tell folks at the tarvern about this one! They'll laugh you out of Bretonnia! Forget the duel, sire! I'll just go home! Bye!'

As a final mockery, Roland made the moose. That is to say, he stuck his thumbs into his ears and waved his fingers about in the air. This was a deep insult in Bretonnia. The fell knight seemed to regognize the sign, for he roared with anger. And charged across the bridge in his blind rage!

There was a loud crack! Then another! And suddenly, just as the dark knight Marland was in the middle of the arc, the bridge collapsed. Marland screamed with rage and terror as he fell into the cold waters.

Roland went over to see what had happened to the imperial knight. The fellow was found standing in the middle of the river. He was cursing and moaning in some heathen lingo. For some reason he was also steaming.

'Ho, knight!' shouted the wet figure suddenly as it espied Roland upon the shore. 'Quick! Fetch a rope and pull me out!'

'I think not!' Roland answered. There was something glinting in his hands. Marland squinted and gasped! For it was an ornamental handgun!

'You are no knight!' rumbled Marland. 'No knight of bretonnia would carry a firearm! Who are you?'

'Who indeed, answered Roland. Reaching up, he pulled out his curly wig, his handlebar moustache and his bushy eyebrows. 'I,' he then answered, 'am Ronan Argent, a witch hunter extraordinaire! And now, bite on this, Blood Dragon!'

There was a BOOM of a handgun. The Blood Dragon screamed in rage and fell over into the river. He did not surface again.

'Good heavens boss, is it really you???'

Ronan twisted around at the sudden sound, toting his handgun like a club. 'Ferny!' he cried, 'you startled me!'

'It is you!' Ferny said, stepping up. 'Boy, was that some act! Even I was taken by it! I thought we had fumbled it and a real knight had shown up!'

'Come now, Ferny,' said Ronan, blushing deep. 'You didn't really take me for a real knight?'

'I'm not sucking up to you, if that's what you mean,' tossed Ferny. 'We halflings do not suck up to humans, boss. No, I was quite serious. It was heck of a good act. The stage has lost a real talent in you, boss!'

'You don't say?' stammered Ronan, surprised by the praise. 'Well, you do not know this, but funnily enough I was a thespian in my youth!'

'Really? A thespian? You?'

'Indeed! This was back in Tilea. Famous for it's playwrights, as you know, and it's multitude of theatrical companies...'

'I take your word for it, boss. But why leave the stage?'

'Well, it was quite a stressfull life. And dangerous one.'

'Dangerous? What's so dangerous about being an actor?'

'Well, as I said, this was back in Tilea. There was, at any given time, like a hundred competing troupes combing the land for audiences. And as you might quess, when we did stumble upon another travelling troupe, which happened like once a day, we did not show mercy! Oh, it was a bloody life! It's where I learnt my fighting skills, you know?'

'Indeed? Well, that is all very interesting, and I'd love to hear more, but what of this Blood Dragon chap. Should we go over and see that he is gone?'

'Oh, yes! Do go down!'

'Me? You're not coming?'

'In these silken pantaloons? Are you mad? You know what these cost me?'

'No, and don't really care. But look here, I'm a halfling. And that current looks pretty strong, if you know what I mean?'

'It does, yes. Well, then, there is only one thing to do! Load your trousers with stones! That'll keep you from being washed away to the sea!'

Without bothering to grumble any more, Ferny sighed, pushed some large rocks into his pockets, passed to the river and waded to where the vampire had been. He went under for a while, then returned to surface, spitting water.

'All clear?' quizzed Ronan from the reeds.

'Yeah, he's gone!' answered Ferny, his teeth shattering. 'Naught but mud inside the armour. I'll go fetch the booty now.'

The halfling disappeared again. In a trice, he surfaced, gripping a fine sword. Ronan could see rubies glinting in the predawn light.

'What you think of this?' grinned the halfling, waving his price in the air.

'Great catch,' smiled Ronan. 'Now, try to find his poniard, and the shield if you can. Leave the armour. But do hurry! The tide is coming up any moment now!'

'The tide!' screamed the halfling, dismayed. 'Why didn't you say so earlier!'

Ronan just smiled at his friend and the astonishing turn of speed he suddenly seemed to have acquired. There wasn't really a tide coming, Ronan knew. But he wanted to be away as soon as possible. The local peasants would be miffed at the loss of the bridge, and Ronan doubted the demise of the Blood Dragon would placate their anger. Quite the contrary: the vampire had been a bit of a hero among the peasants, having ridden the countryside of many an annoying nob!


The end

***************************************************************




Part three


The Exploding Coffin Trick



Ferny Stoutfoot was sweating profusedly. Such, it seemed, was his lot.

'Of all things you had me do, boss,' the halfling grumbled, standing up and stretching as he scanned the wintry graveyard, 'this takes the top price! Digging a grave into a frozen earth! Could we not have devised some other ruse for this job? Or, at least, waited till summer???'

'Oh no!' stated Ronan Argent, the witch hunter extraordinaire, from his place at the foot of the grave. The man was sitting upon an old gravestone, smoking a slim pipe.

'And why not, pray?' harrumphed the halfling. He was quite annoyed. Ronan could have helped with a pickaxe they had with them. But oh no. Not the menial works for the great witch hunter!

'Because this one is Strigoi,' answered Ronan. 'And of all vampires, Strigois are the toughest. The greatest have defied whole armies sent against them. I'm not kidding! You could fire one full of silver bullets and it would still keep coming. They are the toughest, strongest and the most dangerous of the vampiric lot. Remember this well, Ferny. When you are, in due time, a fully qualified witch hunter, don't never, not ever, try to take down a Strigoi on your own. Always take company, and always tackle them in winter. For in winter they are at their weakest. Remember this well, for all that have tried to do otherwise, have died a messy death.'

'Just as long as we do not get one,' grunted Ferny. 'Messy death I mean. But to the matter at hand: I think this is deep enough.'

'Will do,' acquiesced the witch hunter. 'All right. Fetch the coffin. And remember: Put the meat on top. We want the smell to waft out. All the meat, mind! I did see you putting the choice bits in your saddleback!'

'Sure, sure,' answered the halfling caustically. 'Shame about a good meat, but you're the boss!'

***************************************************************************************************

The old graveyard was empty. A chilly wind howled throuh the deserted place, driving snowdrifts along the barren avenues. Upon the dark, nightly sky, a half moon sailed amongst a ragged clouds. Upon a near hill, covered with a grey blanket, Ferny laid, observing. His feet were frozen, and his nose was running. He was just about to rise for a warming walk, when there was a movement below.

A gigantic, sinuous shape had detached from the shadows of a mausoleum. With stealthy movements, the beastly form crept towards the fresh grave. Ferny could see long, glinting claws in the moonlight. This was the Strigoi then.

Reaching the freshly cut grave, the beast kneeled and started to dig with a gusto. The long claws bit into the hard cold earth with ease. In only moments, the beast was able to reach down and pull out the coffin. Upon his hill, Ferny covered his ears.

The beastly creature ripped off the lid of the coffin with contemptous ease. In that very instant there was a deafening BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! Earth and fire erupted upwards, with rocks and tussock flying high into the air! The Strigoi roared as it was flung backwards clear twenty feet! The beast landed upon it's back, and remained down. It was too dark to see clearly, but Ferny thought he could see the body twitching.

'Ah!' said Ronan with satisfaction. 'The exploding coffin trick. A Golden Oldie, that. I'm happy I had the opportunity to teach it to you!'

'Boss!' cried Ferny, startled. 'I did not hear you come back! You almost missed the show! Where were you?'

'Oh, here and there, you know,' answered the witch hunter, a mischievous smile playing upon his lips. 'Here and there...'

'Fair enough, boss. But is that vampire dead or what? I mean should we not go finish it off or something?'

'Dead? Oh no! Not this one! Strigois are way too hard to kill with such simple methods. We merely winged it. See, up it comes already!'

And so it did. The Strigoi had laboured into a sitting position, where it licked it's wounds for a while. Then it let out a sad howl, and started to crawl with inhumane speed towards a nearby copse.

'Should we not give chase...' started the halfling.

'Shush,' interrupted Ronan. 'Listen!'

Ferny did. For a while, there was nothing to hear, then there came a deafening howl from within the copse.

'That will be the beartrap I set earlier at the entrance to the Strigoi's lair,' explained Ronan with slightly smug air. 'engraved with holy symbols of sigmar to boot!'

'So that's where you were,' nodded the halfling. 'Very clever of you boss. But hark! What was that???'

'Oh! That, I think, was the bucket of holy water I carefully balanced above the stone door to the crypts!' grinned Ronan.

'Ooh, nasty one!' enthused Ferny, grinning evilly. 'And that? No, let me guess: that was the garlic? Installed into the strigoi's coffin?'

'Well quessed, Ferny! But how on old world did you guess?'

'Well, it was me packing the stuff, remember,' winked the halfling. 'Not to mention lugging it around through half the Empire! But of the vampire, boss: Should we go and finish it off now?'

'We should indeed!' nodded Ronan. 'It should be weak enough that we should have no trouble dealing with it. Let us go!'

And so they did.

The End

*************************************************

That's it for now! There are two episodes still to come. In them, the pair meets a VonCarstein and a Lahmian, respectively. Well, not all that respectively! I'll post them as soon as I get them written! By the way, the fifth will be the final episode to this series. (is that a promise? -ed) -Will this mean that Ronan finally meets his match in the Lahmian then? I'm not telling! Well, not yet, at any rate.