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 So We All Meet Up In This Pub...

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Registration date : 2007-04-26

PostSubject: So We All Meet Up In This Pub...   Tue 23 Aug - 17:37:06

So We All Meet Up In A PubÖ

Except we didnít. We are a crack team of chaos crunching witch finding terror-toting beast-bashing experts, gainfully employed by His Reverence the Witchhunter General, Gustav Neuman, Templar of the Order of Sigmar.

At present we are in the hamlet of Pheifdorf, a miserable huddle of hovels set in a forest of daemon trees. The land is in chaos and Pheifdorf is no exception: After the invasion by Archaon, the forces of chaos have been splintered by the Imperial counter thrusts, notably their defeat at the gates of Middenheim and the successful counter incursion by our very own Grand Theogonist, Volkmar.

The scattered forces of evil are still a major threat though, scattered across the world spreading their demented philosophy and preying on an Empire where law and order extends only a few hundred yards from the banners of the Emperorís armies, and the land is flooded with displaced refugees providing both targets and cover for the insidious foe.

In these hard times, the forces of light have to be determined and resolute, rooting out the cancer of corruption wherever it is to be found. We are what passes for the local cancer specialist in these parts,* and boy are we determined, and boy are we resolute.

*The cynical amongst you may note that cancer is not noted for its curability, and the treatment is sometimes worse than the cure.

Things are made harder by the unfortunate division of our Sigmarite forces by the embarrassment of the Theogonist being prematurely presumed lost whilst courageously penetrating the Chaos wastes, and replaced, causing a division of loyal forces between the glorious returned leader and his erstwhile successor. Though the problem has been swept to one side by the exile of the pretender Esmer to Marienburg, this was an unwelcome distraction at a time of great trial.

But enough, we should focus on the matter at hand: Cultists besmirch the fair name of Pheifdorf with their presence and we must exterminate their malign influence from this neighbourhood. The plan is set: Our intelligence suggests that the main enemy force will be in the village tavern, with at least one man in an outbuilding across the square.

Typically, His Reverence decided to tackle the main force head on with the ĎKill first and donít even bother to ask questions laterí philosophy that has served him so well and carried him so rapidly through the ranks of the witch finding fraternity. Gizbert and I were deployed to deal with the straggler.

Gizbert? The thief, sorry, head of acquisitions and procurement for our little team. My apologies, Iíve been remiss in missing out introductions. Gizbert is an irritating oik, prone to wild accusations and an affected accent.*

*I believe it is almost certainly from the cursed city of Scousenberg.

Borri is a dwarf fighter who spent 14 years in a pit,* honing his fighting skills before joining us. Borri has all the tact and sensitivity long associated with his race, together with an astonishing lack of appreciation for concepts such as decency, morals, honesty and personal hygiene. One imagines the Generalís tolerance of him will not extend much longer.

*Apparently it was over three feet deep.

Talking of tolerance, Larry Blotter, our resident wannabe wizard is likely to be an equal test for it, which just leaves Bone Picker Beatrix, our scavenger in chief. Oh and of course thereís me, a dedicated Daemon Hunter. Like Beatrix Iím from the south, but whilst sheís from the south east, Iím from Sirdreich, a small town in Reikland in the south west. My speciality is in dealing with the many daemons who hide unsuspected in the chaos tainted wood receptacles that litter so many landscapes. My name? Hazeyore N. Bittenov, at your service.

Back to the plot, Giz and I forced our way in to the cultist hideout whilst Beatrix and the wizard covered the windows. The dwarf accompanied the General, who as usual decided to steam in without us. There was a short struggle during which the unarmed but clearly fanatical cultist managed to decapitate himself on my axe blade.

Meanwhile the general and his short assistant were dealing death to two equally unarmed cultists whilst others fled for the woods and protecting darkness. Leaving the thief to check the hovel I ran in pursuit of fleeing cultists along with the rest of the party.

A game of cat and mouse followed as we plunged into the darkness and menacing demon husks. The wizard fired up some light to aid pursuit and eventually despatched a cultist with a magic missile. The dwarf killed another and the thief tackled the most elusive opponent who proved to be the most formidable too, a genuine witch.

We dragged the bodies to the holy pyre of cleansing built by the general and witnessed the purification of the filth. Artefacts of chaos recovered from the witch proved beyond doubt the case against the accused and the general was delighted that our quest had been so vindicated and successful.

The witch had fallen in a clearing surrounded by grotesque chaos deformed trees, clearly harbouring the worst fell daemons in creation. They tasted my trusty blade and I felled the woody shells of depravity with the fervour of our Lord Sigmar coursing through my arms as I carried out his holy work. Truly, no tree is safe when I get my chopper swinging and thatís a fact.

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