The idea must occur to readers of these pages from time to time that my companion and I were under the influence of some curse.
Without any effort on our part, and without any desire on my part, we managed to meet all manner of worshipers of the Dark Ones. I myself often suspected that we were really doomed to oppose his plans without ever understanding why; but such speculation never bothered the Dark Hero.
Frey took all such events as they came, with a groan and a resigned shrug, and dismissed any such speculation as that of a useless and vain philosopher.
However, I have thought long and hard on the matter, and I have the feeling that if there is a power in this world that opposes the servants of evil, perhaps it was the one who sometimes guided our steps and even protected us. What is certain is that we often stumbled upon some of the most outrageous and malevolent schemes perpetrated by the most unlikely of evildoers...
Elysia, 'The Adventures of the Dark Hero', vol. I.
Printed in Riverheim.
♦ ♦ ♦
When she heard the crack of her branch snapping from her, Elysia froze in place and groped for the hilt of the sword, while her sharp eyes scanned the surroundings and found nothing. Catgirl knew it was useless: the light of the setting sun barely penetrated the thick leaves overhead, and the dense undergrowth could have hidden the advance of a small army. She winced and ran her fingers through her long black hair as all of the peddler's warnings flashed back to her.
The old man had claimed that there were mutants on the road ahead of them, packs of them that attacked all who traveled that route between Bergheim and Frickburg. At the time, Elysia hadn't paid the slightest bit of attention to him because the pedlar was trying to sell her a cheap amulet supposedly blessed by the Grand Hierophant herself, infallible protection for pilgrims and wanderers—or so he claimed. She had already bought him a small throwing dagger with a sheath that could be carried concealed around the wrist, and he was not inclined to spend any more money. He rubbed his forearm where she brushed against his sheath to make sure she hadn't come loose.
At the time, he wished he had bought the amulet, for although it was most likely a fake, in circumstances like these any prudent traveler on the dark roads of the Realm felt the need for a little extra protection.
"Hurry up, cat girl," said Frey. "There is an inn in Blutdorf, and my throat is as dry as the desert."
Elysia looked at her mate, and thought that no matter how many times she looked at the dark hero, her beefy body would never cease to amaze her. It wasn't because of the large muscles that looked like they were carved from stone, nor because of the piercing aulean eyes, nor because of the long blonde knight similar to gold, nor was it even because of her body odor; no, what amazed her was the combination of all these things.
It was impossible to deny that the dark hero had a formidable appearance. He was broader in the shoulders than a blacksmith. At his sword he held a large, broad-bladed sword that most men would have had trouble lifting with both hands. When he moved his bulky body, the hinged plates that made up his armor clinked.
"I thought I heard something," Elysia explained.
"These woods are full of noise, catgirl. Birds chirping, trees creaking and animals scurrying everywhere." Frey spat out a huge sputum onto the ground. "It's a real bummer"
"I thought I heard the mutants, like the peddler told us."
"Oh yeah?"
Frey bared his white teeth at her, which could be a fierce scowl or a smile, and then stuck his index finger into the slit of her helmet because it stung his face. Since this was a profoundly strange sight, Elysia looked away from her.
"Yes" he replied with a broken voice, and Frey turned to face the trees.
"Are there any mutants out there?" she bellowed. "Let him come out to face me with my sword."
Elysia shrugged. It was just like Frey to tempt fate like that. He had the goal of seeking adventure and engaging in combat against deadly monsters, and he wasted no chance to fulfill his purpose.
Almost in response to Frey's cry, there was another movement in the undergrowth, as if a strong wind had stirred the bushes-except there was no wind. Elysia kept her hand closed on the hilt of her sword, for it was clear that something was in there and it was closing in on them.
"I think you might be right, Elysia."
A terrible smile appeared on Frey's lips, and it occurred to Elysia that the dark hero knew all along that there was something there.
Along the way, a horde of mutants erupted, shouting oaths, curses, and the vilest obscenities. The sheer horror of their presence threatened to overwhelm catgirl's mind, and she saw a repulsive slimy-skinned creature hopping like a toad, something vaguely feminine running on eight legs, and a raven-headed creature with gray feathers. that challenged him. Some of the mutants had transparent skin and through it the beating organs were visible. They brandished spears, daggers, and what looked like rusty cooking utensils, and one of them lunged at Elysia to attack her with a dull, jagged butcher cleaver.
Catgirl reached up and caught the creature's wrist, causing her to stop the weapon a moment before it slammed into her skull. She kneed the monster in the groin, making it double over in the middle of her, and then she kicked it in the head, knocking it down. Green vomit spilled over Elysia's boots before the defeated man fell backwards to the ground.
During her brief respite, Elysia drew her sword ready to strike left and right, but she didn't need to bother.
Frey's mighty sword had already cut a bloody trail through the group of attackers, and with a single sword swing he slew three others, whose bones shattered under the impact, and whose flesh was cleaved by the blade's razor edge. The great sword shot out again and two halves of a severed torso fell, which for a brief moment, not realizing that he was already dead, encouraged both parties to crawl away from each other; meanwhile, Frey's sword completed its upward curve and lopped off another mutant's head.
Frightened by the sudden carnage, the mutants fled. Some sped past Elysia into the woods on the opposite side of the road, while others turned and headed back into the bushes from which they had come.
Elysia gave Frey a speculative look, waiting for what the dark hero would do next. The last thing she wanted was for them to split up to chase the creatures into the darkening forest, for the victory had been too easy and it looked like a trap.
"They must have sent the dwarves of this trash after us," Frey observed as he spat on the corpse of a mutant. Elysia looked down and saw that the dark hero was right. Most of the dead were so small they would not have reached Elysia's chest, and none seemed taller than she was.
"Let's get out of here," Felix decided. "These things smell terrible."
"Barely worth killing them," Frey replied, grumbling. He gave the impression that he was deeply disappointed.
♦ ♦ ♦
The Hanged Man was one of the most depressing inns Elysia had ever visited. A tiny, mirthless fire burned in the grate, the drawing room smelled musty, mangy dogs gnawed at bones that looked as if they had lain lost for generations on the filthy straw rug, and the landlord was a mean-looking individual with the face full of old scars and a huge hook that took the place of the right hand. The waiter was a faded-eyed hunchback who had an unfortunate habit of drooling on his beer as he poured it. The place looked utterly miserable, and everyone there looked at Elysia as if they wanted to stick a knife in her back, but they just seemed too depressed to muster the strength to do so.
Elysia had to admit that the inn was well suited to the people she served, for Blutdorf was the bleakest place she had ever seen in her life. The mud huts gave the impression of being poorly maintained and about to fall apart; the streets seemed empty and threatening, and when they had finally managed to intimidate the drunken gatekeeper of the village into letting them in, the old women had watched them from the doors of every house. It was as if the entire village was possessed by grief and lethargy.
Even the castle that stood on the bluffs overlooking the town looked neglected. The walls were crumbling and it looked like it might be assaulted by a group of brats armed with sticks, which was unusual in a town that seemed surrounded by a horde of menacing mutants.
On the other hand, Elysia thought. "Not even the mutants in the area seem to be particularly scary." judging by the attack they had attempted on them earlier.
She took another sip of beer, which was the worst she had ever tasted, the most repulsive drink that had ever passed her lips. Frey threw back his head and drained the contents of the jar, which disappeared as quickly as a bag of gold dropped in a street of beggars.
"Another pitcher of Dog vomit-flavored beer, Old Man!" Frey yelled, and turned to glare at the patrons. "Try not to make me deaf with the noise of your joy," he bellowed.
Those present refused to meet his eyes. They stared at their beers as if they could discover the secret to transmuting lead into gold just by studying the liquid long enough.
"Why so many happy faces?" Gotrek asked sarcastically.
The innkeeper placed another mug of beer on the bar before him, and Frey drank some of it.
Elysia was pleased to notice that even Frey made a face when he finished. It was a rare tribute to how disgusting the drink was, as she had never seen Frey show the slightest bit of discomfort or hesitation at any drink.
"It's the Sorcerer" suddenly commented the owner of the inn. "He is a horrible character. Things have not been the same since he came to occupy the old castle. Since then, we've had nothing but hassle, with those mutants on the way, and all. No one comes here anymore, and no one sleeps peacefully at night."
Frey perked up immediately, and an evil smile exposed the blackened stumps of his teeth. The catgirl saw that this was more to her liking.
"A Warlock, you say?"
"Yes, sir, and he is an evil warlock, I assure you."