A chill, as cold as the night was gloom, swept through the formation of Militiamen like a serpent. Every man shivered from the howling gust, some even swallowed. Their small flickering torches whipped back and forth beneath the howls. Prayers, drowned by the violence of the gusts were scattered, unanswered, unheard, and lost forever.

At the tip of the formation was a man whose beard was a red as Norscan's. Whose stature and demeanor like that of an oversized dwarf. Numerous scars revealed themselves on his face as the torch he held in his right hand gleamed off his herculean features. With an iron grip, the bull of a man held onto his stallions rein; the horse's matted fur as dark as the night they trod.

The Horse neighed suddenly as a fierce gust sent Uberman's hat cascading into the night like a ragdoll. The stallion bucked with such force that it took all of his strength not to fall off the back end. His legs locked into the horses side and he felt himself nearly pulled off its end. After a moment, the horse calmed and the man steadied himself then grunted in frustration.

"Ulrich's blood," the Wych Hunter murmured turning his attention from the hat to the woman he had gagged, chained, and blindfolded. After witnessing the winds, he immediately considered dismounting and killing her then in there. He had studied wyches for decades and knew that these winds weren't normal. They weren't natural, and neither was she.

Uberman spat a thick wad of tobacco chew. The wind was so fierce that it nearly sent the spittle cascading into the nearest militiaman. He watched it was carried high then low and then back up again. No, this was not ordinary weather, he was sure of it.

"March onwards men!" He shouted while eyeing the formation of fifty or so militia. They weren't soldiers, but parley of men he managed to rally together from a nearby town with his authority. True, they had the numbers to kill him if they wanted to resist but resist they did not. Perhaps it was a sense of them being true to their duty to obey the provisions of the Reik, or perhaps it was just because they feared the retribution that would come from the Wych Hunter Guilds if they decided they did not want to hunt. Whatever the reason, it mattered not. Uberman had his target and would mettle out the Emperor's justice as it was written, and to the letter. In order to do that, however, he had to maintain control.

"I see the town lights lads!" Uberman shouted and the wind carried his words. "Not too much further!"

Despite the loud winds, Uberman heard sighs of relief. They'd been marching for days now, having heard a tip from an traveler of a weird woman residing beside the main rode. The foolish woman, did she not know better? With all her powers of foresight one would think she had the common sense to find a proper hiding place instead of waiting to be caught by a band of fifty militia in broad daylight. It was strange, but Uberman had seen stranger.

Because of her youth and her stupidity, Uberman knew she was a fool: obviously a symptom of the insanity that comes with peeking into the forbidden realms. They were forbidden for a reason and some, like the mumbling maiden that he and his company kept in tow, were too arrogant to believe that they alone would not be damned like all the others that had trodden the path before them. That was the reason why he had gagged her and not stitched her like he usually did to the others; she had obviously cast some spell and ruined her mind. He probably would stitched, if she would not have come quietly or put up a fight. In fact, when she had become surrounded three days hence she greeted he and his company as though they were her long lost children. Despite himself, Uberman felt disappointment; this was the first time in a long time that a witch did not put up a fight.

At the foot of Black Fire mountain, on the chilly landscape of Black fire pass, the formation finally passed the palisade and made way into the border town. At the head of the formation he was greeted by the lead watchman. Recognizing him immediately, the watchman, bearing the gold and black tabard of Averland, saluted. Uberman immediately felt a sense of pride in the weekend warrior's sense of duty. With a gruff grunt, Uberman punched his chest in recognition. This was for whom he did his work. Unfortunately, more often than not it was not respect he garnered, but fear and resentment.

"A witch!" He heard some voice yell as soon as he entered the town.

"Ulrich's taint," he said then spat. He had hoped to avoid the attention, he wanted to do this clean.

"A witch!" The cry was louder and Uberman finally saw from who's lips it came.

A young man whose face was covered in soot sped forwards like an animal. He moved his limbs unceremoniously and without grace nor cordination. With a trip the young man nearly collided with his horse. He fell, face first into the muck beneath Uberman.

"Go back to your home boy!" Uberman yelled steering his horse around the young man. "This is no night for foolish heckling!"

The boy looked up at him with a mud covered face and it was then Uberman saw the hatred he so loathed.

"Witches..." The young man spat mud through yellow, rotten teeth. "MUST BE BURNED!"

The accent was that of an uneducated highlander. Worse, it was broken. Uberman drew his pistol. At the sight of the draw the militiamen nearest moved forward, past his horse, and grabbed the young man, picking him up to his feet and pulling him off the road.

"THEY MUST BE BURNED!" He shouted louder as the two militia men began to struggle against his resistance. To Uberman's shock the peasant began shouting: "NO! BURN THE WITCH! BURN HER! BURN HER!"

His cries radiated through the night, as though they were calls of some daemon.

Uberman gritted his teeth when he noticed other townsfolk leaving their shanty doorsteps. Like a group of hungry hounds, they surrounded the formation of fifty. Within moments, the dirt filled streets of Black Fire Pass were also filled with the heckling of weary disgruntled peasants. As the crowd of onlookers surrounded the formation, a resentment like none other filled Uberman as he readied himself to break through the crowd.

"MEN!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "GET THE PRISONER TO THE GARRISON!"

"Aye sir!" some yelled.

"Sergeant Reimar!" he yelled to the man with the only set of plate in the entire unit. "Use of force is authorized if need be!"

"Very good sir!" The tall, thin sergeant spat.

As the first ten militiamen pushed ahead of Uberman, he glanced back at his captive. She held a steady gaze that hurt Uberman's eyes to look into. The gag was still in place-

Her eyes?

Fear shook him like an earthquake. He looked around at the crowd. Never in his years as a hunter did he see a crowd so volatile. Just now did he notice that some had gotten weapons; pitchforks, daggers, hoes, and blunt objects; and were now pressing their hilts against his men who were desperately trying to keep them back.

She was doing this. He knew it in his gut.

"Get back!" cried one of the militiamen as Uberman dismounted. He wouldn't wait for a trial, nor a burning. No, this had to be done right now. He cursed himself he should have stitched her, he should have stitched her good.

He aimed his pistol at her. He had the dark dressed woman dead to rights. Before he fired he looked into her eyes and the world seemed to contort. He saw visions, he saw old artefacts, he saw the end of the world.

Uberman spat and pulled the trigger. The weapon fired with a bang and a shockwave of a vibration sped down his arm.

He cursed when he realized his shot was intercepted by the side of a militiaman who'd just been pushed back by a trio of crazed peasants. Uberman cursed then drew his shortsword as his fellow man collapsed.

The woman ran and he heard a scream. He turned, just in time to see the same young boy from earlier attempting to shove a haybaler into his neck. Uberman caught the blow instinctively with his weapon, between the groves of the steel farming instrument. With a flick of his wrist, and an abrupt turn, he locked the weapon with his own then sent the young boy skittering into the muck once more. With a flop he cascaded into the blood drenched mud. The hunter stepped over him, shoving his boot into the back side of his head, pushing off and continuing his pursuit of the wych.

"Kill the wych!" He yelled to his men though he knew he had lost all control from their lack of discipline and training. "Kill the wych!" He shouted regardless. If just one militiaman heard him and understood, there was a chance they could end this before more died.

He moved fast, dodging nimbly the blows of insane peasants.He sped forwards and hacked the three down that were in his way.

Slash. Slash. Stab.

They died with insane litanies on their lips. The crescendo of violence was all around him as more and more of the peasants through themselves at the militiamen as though they wanted to die. He was thankful, for the moment, that he had blessed his men before hunting this woman. He'd hate to think if he hadn't. He noticed his line was beginning to waver. The sound of hacking flesh filled the air as the crowd began a chant he could not understand.

Uberman suprised himself just how nimble his aged bones could be when necessary. He dodged a hale baler, then a blow to the head, and then a dagger. Well, at least he tried to dodge the dagger. It came too quick, too quick and too close. Swimming in a mob of peasants was one thing, but a next to impossibility to dodge everything.

The pain was intense, but Uberman knew his leather curass had only allowed the tip to pierce. Because the blade was so close, that also meant the muscle behind the blow had less time to fire a more potent attack. With a roar Uberman raised his cutlass.

He swung down, hard, and watched the eyes of the peasant split apart as he drove his weapon through the top of his attackers skull. The head split, down the middle and Uberman would have heard sticky sounds if not for the mob's chant.

"KILL! KILL! KILL!" They were screaming as the Uberman watched the Wych skitter through the melee like a serpent. Cloaked in black, none payed her mind, not even Uberman's men. Frustration filled the hunter as she sped further and further away. The only saving grace for Uberman was the fact that, she too, was not immune to being blocked in by the peasants. Thank the gods.

"Ulrich's taint!" He cursed aloud in frustration as another peasant attacked him. Uberman slid his cutlass into his gut, reposed, then decapitated the man. Within moments he was forced to hack down yet another peasant, and then another. WIth each cut, a sorrow plumed in his gut for he knew that if he had just stuck to stitching her mouth none of this would have happened. Mercy, he decided, was never to be bestowed upon the wicked.

To his surprise, Uberman watched helplessly as nearby Reimar in his full plate began to laugh, hackling like some kind of Southernland beast. The Sergeant's eyes turned a milky white and after cutting down an entire family of five with his zwei-handler, Reimar turned on Uberman, raising his weapon wildly like a maniac.

Uberman parried instantly a downward thrust that would have knocked him into the mud. Fear filled his breast for a moment when he realized that if he fell, there would be no getting up in this kind of mob. If he wasn't executed outright by his attacker, he'd be trampled like a child underneath the hooves of a stampede.

Uberman grunted in anger. He did not want to kill his sergeant. Unlike some of his colleagues, Uberman valued those under his command. Especially when it was his fault entirely that so many were dying. No, uberman decided, he could not think about that-

Another blow, strong was Reimar but Uberman was no push over either. The bull of a wych hunter pushed himself into the chest of Reimar and the backsides of their blades touched each other's curtises. Uberman heard the scrape as Reimar's double edged sword skittered off the sergeant's relic of a breast plate tarnishing his family's crest in the process. The entire time, Reimar was cackling. His gutteral laughs echoing into the cacophony around the two warriors.
"Reimar!" Spat Uberman. "Remember yourself!"

He grunted and shoved hard with the hilt of his blade into Reimar's chest, forcing him back and towards the edge of the crowd. The reluctance to cut down the man before him because of his own mistake was overwhelming. He could have then and there when Reimar raised his blade just a little too slowly.

"A better idea," Uberman snarled then ran forward, tackling his former brother into the bloody muck.

Uberman spared not a second to get to his feet, for if he would have waited, he would have been trampled like Reimar. He prayed to the gods, something he rarely did, that Reimar would survive until he killed the wych. Perhaps then the trance would dissipate, but nothing was certain.

Uberman was near the edge of the crowd now and he could see the wych breaking free and maneuvering herself toward an alleyway between two large hovels. Her knotted hair only served to exacerbate her disgusting dark features. Truly, a beast of a woman that needed to be put down, and put down her Uberman would.

The wych hunter grunted. Then, the wound in his side took the breath from his lungs. He was running with a weird gait, an effect the blow of the dagger had on his body. It mattered not, he had to pursue this woman, he had to push past the pure agony that was pulsating in his sternum. Lives were at stake and worse, it was because of his failure.

Any other man would have fallen from the pain, pitched into the muck and dirt like a half beaten cow. But Uberman did not. The rage in his chest kept him moving and leading him on. Like dynamite erupting, rage and the ultimate desire to make up for the foolish mistake exploded throughout his limbs. The pain of his wound seemed miniscule when compared to his anger.

He pushed onwards, into the darkness of the alleyway. Around him the echoing screams of a burning town invaded his eardrums unwantedly. Surrounding the wych hunter was chaos, pure chaos. As he continued into the darkness, he stopped for a moment to load his pistol. Resting his shoulder onto the nearest wall, he took a deep breath and pulled out his gunpowder. He could hear that the peasants had begun to burn their own houses. Also distant, echoing screams of women and men ravaging eachother he could hear. Cackling was heard as was begging.

This was the apocalypses if there ever was one. This destruction and misery, he realized, could become the whole empire if he failed to succeed.. Would he hide his mistake from his colleagues once this mission was over? He decided it mattered not, for he could very well die before then. All that mattered now was killing the black cloaked wych.

After priming his weapon, he took a deep breath, but for a moment he felt fine. That was, until the pain returned.

He grunted, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He didn’t know it, but he was bleeding from his nostrils as well. He swallowed the blood and then cocked his flintlock with a click as his eyes darted continuously left to right in the alleyway.

He coughed then managed to gather enough strength to take a step forwards. One foot after the other he placed in front of himself. Pistol raised, and cocked, he prepared himself for a showdown; when she would tear herself out of the blackness with her magicks. When she would tear herself out of the darkness like some kind of astral predator.
Not a moment later Uberman saw her shadowy outline and fired.


Charolette raised her hand and caught the pistol ball with a sheer effort of will. It felt hot in her hand. She smiled as she opened her palm, seeing the fates and hearing the gods whisper things to her as she held the ball. She dropped it and her smile grew. She looked up to see the Hunter running at her, weapon raised above his head like a madman.

“and people say I’m mad,” she laughed and then clapped her hands together. Lightning surged from her palms and erupted all around her. A series of flashes enveloped the a light show. Soon there were many of her, each one copying her movements. To her delight the Hunter seemed confused, distracted, and most of all, distraught.


He had missed. He didn’t know how but he missed. He cursed himself as he witnessed the beast multiply. Soon, a hundred wyches began cackling at him like crows hawking comically at a long dead peasant that used to chase them away. Uberman cut them regardless, slicing the images of the wych up here and there. Turning on a dime he pushed his body as he killed more and more of the images. They were everywhere, and Uberman was reminded of the crowd he had just escaped from.

Uberman charged forwards, his cutlas striking left and right, but with each blow he grew tired, and felt more in pain. Finally he had to stop. He was getting nowhere. He had to take a breath.

“I could kill you now you know,” she said to him.

Anger filled the hunter, “Then do it already, bitch.”

Uberman spat, then fell to one knee. Blood was still oozing out of his side. He knew this would be the end for him, that he would die here alone, as a failure. If she was as powerful as he thought she was, this was certainly the end. With that realization came another. The wyches plan had to be caught, if she was powerful enough to wreck this destruction then certainly should would’ve been able to unleash it even if her mouth had been stitched. She had to have accounted for that.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” the wych laughed. “And here all I wanted to do was talk.”

“You’ll talk to your gods when I send you to them, beast,” spat the hunter. He tried to stand but the wound, it bit deep into his side. He could barely move.

“So that’s all you are…a brute?”

Uberman clenched his wound and grunted then looked around at the fiery hell of a town around him. He snickered, “I’m not the brute here lady.”

“That’s your perspective. Fire must cleanse the old away so the new can arrive.” Her voice rattled with a hiss.

Uberman reeled at her wantonness. To sacrifice the lives of innocent people for the sake of the “greater good” of nonsense was beyond his comprehension. “Is that how people like you trick themselves into thinking murder is justified?”

“You’re one to talk hunter. You’ve been killing my kind since the Empire was born. We women used to be allies with you during the time of tribes. We used to have a stake in your society. But you tossed us out so you could have your perfect little world. With Sigmar, and Ulrich, and the Elector Counts. You betrayed us.”

“Because of this.”

“WRONG!” She screamed at him. It was so loud that Ubermans ears began to bleed.

“I should have stitched your face when I had the chance.. that way I might not have to listen to this nonsense.”

“That’s how you solve all your problems isn’t it!” She reeled at him, bending at the waist and clenching her teeth. “That’s how men solve their issues. But stitching them shut. You did this Hunter. You and your kind are responsible for this destruction. For if we cannot be loved, we’ll be HATED!”

The word “hated” spat out of her mouth and thrust the hunter backwards, knocking him down and into the cold mud. The mud sloshed down his back and he felt extremely cold. The winds were back now, blowing as ever. He recognized it for what those billowing gusts were: the manifestation of a magickal woman’s anger. Billowing and blowing. The mirrors vanished and before Uberman the wych rose to levitate slightly above the ground.

“You created us. We once were your women. We once loved you. We once stood by your side with everything. But you abandoned us. You cast us into the shadows, locked us away, took away our birthright. The edicts you issued drove us into hiding. You didn’t allow us to worship Ulrich or Sigmar as your equal. You enslaved us, burned us, prodded us. And for what? So you could have a perfect world? So you could have you society of MAN?”

Uberman looked up at her. For the first time in his life, he saw the human being in the person he once hunted. He coughed then said the only thing he could think to say.

“I’m sorry.”

She blinked. Then she reeled in surprise. It was obvious by her reaction that the last thing she expected from him was an apology.

Uberman continued, “I’m sorry you lost your place with us. But right now there are innocent people dying. You are doing that. You can put an end to this right now! You can save women too!”

For a second, just a mere second, the wych seemed to ponder his request. In that second, Reimar appeared from behind, in the alleyway entrance. His face was covered in muck and blood and much of his body seemed mangled and broken. He was creeping, as though he were hunting a deer in the woods. His eyes quickly shifted back to the wych.

“I’m sorry.” He said again.

“Enough apologies!” said the Wych as Reimar inched closer towards the wych from behind with his weapon at the ready. “All of this, everything you see comes from chaos. There is no escape from chaos. There is no escape from yourself. The anger you feel, it feeds the axe father. The lust these peasants have, it feeds their ambitions. All of it, is us. Chaos is what it means to be man.”

“You’re wrong,” He spat angrily trying to keep her from noticing Reimar. “Chaos is man unleashed by himself. It will bring ruin, dark skies, death and decay upon the world. That is not the world I wish to live in and that is not a world where your kind will be better off.”

“Don’t worry,” She said then turned her head slightly to the side seductively. “You won’t have to.”

She raised her finger and suddenly it felt like a hundred spikes had invaded his mind. A searing pain that seemed to split his skull in two smacked into him like a tidal wave. He tried to cry out, he tried to scream to relieve the pain, but the hunter found he could not. His jaw locked along with the rest of his body and his nerves fired with the pain of a thousand exploding suns. Breath began to escape him and his limbs began to contort in death throes.

The Curse of Death he realized what had hit him. A powerful old, vile magick that not even the best of wards could stop. But wards, Uberman didn’t need.

“You’re, you’re not dead?” she asked staring down at him.

“No, but you are.” Uberman grinned through his blood stained teeth. “NOW REIMAR!”



Blood ran down Charolette’s lips as a pain like none other sent fire down her nervous system. She tried to conjure her will, but found that nothing could escape the pain. She had just cast the death curse on the hunter and for a second she thought it misfired and shot back at her. But she had said the words correctly and pointed her finger at the man she intended to kill. It had worked she knew it did. The confusing part was the blade sticking out of her sternum. Then, she heard the cackle.

“Snuck up on you I did! Yes, yes. Hehehe. Now you die for blood.” She realized she had been ambushed, and would die now without fulfilling her mission. Her masters would not be pleased when she met them. Had she done enough to attain immortality? She doubted, for immortality was will incarnate and she now couldn’t even conjure a tiny flame let alone move.

“What, what happened?” She heard her killer say as the blade was finally removed from her chest. It felt worse going out than coming in. The only thing that allowed her to keep from falling unconscious was the teaching of the god of excess: Pain is pleasure disguised.

She fell forwards. As she fell she thought about her argument with the hunter and found it fitting that, when she finally stopped falling, it was because she fell on top of his body. After the last air left her lungs and her eyes lay wide and open, she realized that, someway or somehow she’d find peace she so desperately sought in life, in death.


“Uberman! Uberman!” Cried Reimar running forwards. “You’re wounded!”

“Aye lad. I am” He laughed clenching his wound. To his amazement it had been cauterized, likely from the curse of death spell that had been unleashed upon him. “To my surprise.”

“But… but I saw you. I remember now. Oh the gods I remember what I’ve done! What have I done Uberman?!” The burley sergeant cried while shaking him. “What have I done?!”

Uberman looked up at him, into his ice blue eyes and patted him on the cheek. “It’s okay lad, you didn’t do anything.” He said then pushed the wyches body off of himself. “it was she that doth the felony.”

“I saw you Uberman, the curse of death! I recognize it from my mother’s stories. How did you possibly survive that?!”

“Can’t you tell?” Uberman looked up at Reimar who was looking at him quizzically. “I’m part dwarf. We’re resistant to such magicks. It still hurt like a steam engine hit me though.”

“Then it is done. You saved us all.”

“No Reimar.” Uberman laughed and patted him on the cheek. “You did.”
“That bitch, she nearly killed us all. Gods we should have stitched her face and cut off her limbs before taking her to trial.” Spat Sergeant Reimar, lifting Uberman to his feet.

Uberman looked down at the slain woman, “Perhaps.” He replied wearily remembering what she had said to him, the anger and the hatred. Uberman felt, in those moments not righteous vindication but a great pity for he knew that she had spoken true. And why couldn’t women and witches have a place in their empire? Why couldn’t they be trained to hone the good instead of the evil? Why did men only have that bestowed upon them? Whatever the reason, it mattered not. For Uberman promised in those moments that day on encourage an alternative to wyches who’d been captured. Instead of fire and being put to the torch, why could they not be inducted into a wizardly order and taught the right way to use magicks? Those that weren’t evil for when he looked down at the slain corpse of the wych he did not see evil. What he saw was a woman that had been confused, alone, and afraid. He saw a woman that would have made a great wizard, but now was nothing but a corpse.

“No.” Uberman mouthed as Reimar carried him away. “She’s not just a corpse... "