The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Blind Beggar Inn

Angestag 7th Ulriczeit 2522

It is freezing on deck where I sit now. My breath clouds white from my lips which nip from the icy air. The sky is clear overhead with the last stars fading from the newly rising dawn, of which only the brightest stand defiantly in her gaze. The blue lightens to the yellow of hot metal, though no heat is to be found here in Ulric’s month. We march ever forward to the day of least light that of the longest night, a little way off but not long. Frost coats the deck like a dusting of fine ground diamonds, a bitter beauty. Peace hangs like a mist.


Not many are moving on board, not any who do not need to be that is. I myself am sat with as many layers as I could don. A rough blanket is folded beneath me to keep from the chill. I have another over my legs. Against all common sense I am awake and writing on some of the fresh parchment I acquired in Altdorf’s markets. It is not my best script as these new gloves are stiff but it is better than blackened  shriveled fingers the sailers of Erengrad tell of. My ‘acquired’ hat protects my head.

I awoke to find the sky still starry like a dark embroidered gown and the false dawn showing the promise of things to come this morn. All in our quarters slept soundly in all their various fashions, dark mounds in a room warm from breath and bodies.

My mind was calm but perfectly awake. No reason. I just opened my eyes and felt no need to stay in the bunk. I wanted to come outside and watch the sun rise. A new day in my new life.

Now that the sun has risen I write. Writing soothes me. You are the friend I need never fear of loosing. I do not need to pretend to be anyone other than who I am whilst speaking to you. You are silent and patient. You do not judge my innermost thoughts and desires. You do not heap scorn on me for feeling or thinking the way I do. You are my mirror where I see what really is, the quiet room where I can listen to the echo of truth. 

It is two weeks since I woke in Marienburg last and so much has changed, such a long time in my mind. You already know the tale of there to here, but what of the events I have not spoken of? What happened in the Blind Beggar in Altdorf?

Grunnd’s suspicions were right. It was a night of little sleep and much disturbance. 


The first time I woke to a man being shown the short way down the stairs for having turned the handle on the ‘wrong door’. Grunnd does not hold back when he hits. When he came back to the room he replaced the chair below the door and dismissed the encounter. “We’ll know soon enough what is to come. That was only the beginning of tonights entertainment I think.”

He shook his head and asked me outright. “Tell me mouse. Who exactly is your father? More importantly, what lengths would he be willing to go to get you back? What are we facing here?”

The questions felt like a chiding, in fact I was almost embarrassed to admit I had not considered the full consequences of who I am and how it would affect how long I would be free for when I ran. I explained that my father is Johann Eisenjaeger. One of the wealthiest, most successful and consequently probably one of the most powerful Marienburgian merchants alive. Though the power struggles and posturing of merchants is a politically turbulent and wholly labile affair. At home, to me, he is just ‘father’. I admitted that I had assumed very naively that I would be free to make my way in the world and that the loss of one daughter would not be of much consequence. It seemed I was wrong. 

Grunnd agreed that it was rather short sighted of me but that we would deal with what came. He then asked me out of interest what the circumstances were that caused such a well placed young lady to run away in the first place? From a life with such promise as to be the daughter of a highly successful merchant? What was so wrong?

This brought back memories I would rather not have faced at that time of night. I decided to be brief and not delve into a history that would go dredging in the deep. 

“I am sorry. I am not trying to be awkward but I do not wish to discuss in full my reasoning tonight, another time perhaps, but here is the quick of the tale. My father wished me married to one of his close friend’s sons, an ally if you will. I could not dissuade him from this decision as I had done in the past. I lost my heart long ago to the seas of Manann and I will not be forced to settle for less than what I lost. On the day of our wedding my brother helped me make my escape. I did not arrive at the temple where my groom and future family waited. I took flight and stayed with some of Andreas’s friends before deciding to make my own way. You know the rest. I chose the wrong man to fish from.” 

Later after sleeping what felt like moments, I woke. I threw myself from where I slept into a bleary upright. My limbs trembled with the urge to run or fight while my eyes fought to remain open, trying to make sense of why I was standing. The sound of Grunnd’s voice told me this was it. I loaded my pistol hastily,  fumbling and turning to the door as I heard the sound of men outside in the hall. Within a heart beat Grunnd threw the chair through the window with no warning. The shattering glass shocked my tired nerves and my pistol went off, firing through the closed door. Then, the shriek of a man in pain. I’d shot someone through the door! A voice yelled “Get the girl!”. It was me they were here for.

It all happened in a blur of confusion after that. Grunnd ordered me away from the door. Moving toward the window and I caught the tip of a pistol edging round the jagged frame. I threw my back against the wall and began hastily reloading. If only I had a second pistol, a rapier, something. Grunnd gave our assailants the opportunity to rethink their course of action before the repercussions began. He gave me the choice. This was it. Did I want to end it all and go back to my father, or did I want to stay here? “What will it be little mouse? Predator or prey?” I chose the now, my freedom.

All but one of the hired men died in what ensued. The one Grunnd tackled down the stairs as he tried to flee, I am not so sure of. I believe he and Storm Breaker may have had some unpleasant words. I think Grunnd would have left him as a messenger to go back to Albrecht. 

Not wanting to have to deal with the Watch he bade us move quick. Stefan gave the dead their rites as we looted the bodies. I was quietly pleased to find myself that second pistol and a hat to add to my disguise. I was to go with Stefan and Hans as men together to the Temple of Sigmar, to await the morning before going to the Blue Bird. Grunnd took Danielle but not before I had given her one of my brother’s coats to make her disguise as me all the more convincing. 

No more excitement happened that night. We left the temple with the rising sun and arrived at the quayside to find Grunnd and Danielle were safe also. As they approached Grunnd smiled “That’s a fine hat mouse.” I nodded and smiled. No use for pleasantries, Stefan in is inimitable style handed me his bag and strode up the gangway to rouse the captain. 


I followed his course with my eyes. Watching his serious expression. His gate full of importance. The man who appeared was not who should have been there. It was Albrecht. My heart fluttered and ice ran under my skin. A trap! I drew my new hat over my eyes and whispered to either side of me who it was. I squinted sideways down the wharf but could not see any armed men. Grunnd rattled along the gangway after Stefan and demanded what was happening. I could not hear much but I imagine from what I know now Albrecht was asking if anyone had seen me as he had heard I was to be onboard. Grunnd yelled at me “You boy! Bring me my belongings.” Against every voice in my mind I made my way on to the boat at which Albrecht took his leave. With not so much as a look at me he handed me a note while passing with instructions to give it to ‘my master’. I made sure to keep my hat tilted but did not have a problem disguising my voice. My throat rasped tight as I spoke "Yes sir". 

You already know what the note said. Albrecht knows Anya Eisenjaeger is now in service to the Empire for thievery and is most probably on the Blue Bird to Talabheim. Other than that? Nothing. For we ourselves do not know what the future holds. Snow I suspect, or rain. Rain is one of the few certainties in this life. Considering the clear sky for now and the frost we may have a reprieve to catch our breath.

~ Mäuschen ~

[Previous entry - What It Takes]

[Next entry - Women's Talk]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Precious Commodity

Konistag 6th Ulriczeit 2522

 Life presented me with the embodiment of Grunnd’s question. It demanded my answer.

“What are you little mouse? 

Are you a predator or are you prey?”

Today I made the decision - I am a predator. I will not run. I will stand and fight. I will live. I will feel. I will make my own decisions.

My life has been spent as the pawn in a game controlled by the hand of my incredibly wealthy and seemingly power-hungry father. I am not his piece of property to be traded and used as a ‘commodity’. I am no longer an Eisenjaeger. No longer the merchants daughter. The child has come of age and makes her own life for herself. However long that is will be the decision of the gods.

No matter how I found my way to this point from now on I am here because I chose to be. Not because life and other beings overtook me. I am on this quest to find the Van Tanncred sword - an opportunity of a lifetime to fight in saving the Empire from destruction. I will do the will of the Witch Hunter because his is the fight against chaos. Chaos does not play by rules, it is not pretty, it is not remorseful, not merciful. Fire must be met with fire. All or nothing. I see this now.

News will reach my father that I am now a thief serving my sentence in servitude to the Empire by serving the Witch Hunter Verstohlen. Grunnd told no lies. Pulled no punches.

When Albrecht left the Blue Bird he passed a letter for my ‘master’ Grunnd. Here is what it said -

“He will never let you go Anya, you are 

his most precious commodity.”

Whether this meant he knew I was on board, could see through my disguise; or that Albrecht hoped the letter would be given to me ‘back in the Temple’ where Grunnd said I was in refuge, is unclear. I feel the sickly tendrils of politics and the stench of money in this. 1000 gold crownes is what is offered for my safe return. A price on my pretty little head. I wonder how much I am truly worth to him if back in his grasp?

No doubt my father would tell me he has nothing but my best intentions at heart. That he loves and misses me and that is why he has flexed all influence he can to set the mercantile guilds in his reach to be on the alert for me. To bring his lost dear precious golden child home safe to her family. Of course behind the closed doors of Marienburg where loose lips chatter and twist the fabric of life, home of poisonous gossip, his authority will be in question. “Oh my! He cannot control his own household?” My leaving my ‘groom’ at the altar has most likely offended that most ‘honest’ of families the Ehrlichmann’s. It will be of the utmost scandal among the stalls, the inns, along the wharfs, among the harbourmen, in the washhouse by now. 

If the Eisenjaeger’s were nothing but paupers. If I was a young son. There would not be this furor. No one would care to look for me. I would be considered the lost son - off to become a hero and find his fame, or his fate. There would be no mercenaries risking their skins for the reward. A king’s ransom! Enough to raise an army!

I wonder if I would still be a precious commodity if I were scarred, missing an eye, a limb, my teeth? Would I still be precious if I was found to be with child? My honor sullied? If I had brands or ink marks on my skin, better - my face, like some of the more exotic servants found in the ports? Maybe I could take a vow of chastity at a religious order? Maybe I should forfeit my life in full to Sigmar to fight to restore the balance of Order over Chaos replete?

I must go for now. We are aboard the Blue Bird and ‘safely’ at the beginning of a weeks passage to Talabheim. I shall tell the tale of the Blind Beggar in time.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - Sigmar's Hammer]

[Next entry - What It Takes]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Sigmar's Hammer

Behzaltag 5th Ulriczeit 2522

I did not plan on taking up the pen anymore this evening but I have just had a conversation I feel I should take note of.

Grunnd had been watching me write. Not that there is anything else to do as his equipment and belongings are now in fine fettle. 

"What’s that you’re writing there little mouse?" I looked up to see his good eye watching me from below a raised thick black eyebrow. His wide mustache twitched a sly smile as he took his hat off to sit it on one of his knees. As if he didn’t know what I was writing.

He leaned forward with his elbow on the other, hand rubbing his chin musingly. 

"A journal of your adventures, eh?” he winked and smiled widely.

“Grunnd gives this Inn three hammers....” he said laughing to himself for a moment then looked distant. “Heh... just remembering a jest I shared with my last companion. We would go from town to town on Verstohlen’s affairs. I remarked we should keep a journal of the towns and give them a rating based on the fights we were in or the trouble it caused us...a silly notion i suppose..."

I like this notion of his. Humour to lighten the severeness of the road.

"What does it say about old Grunnd I wonder? Am I dashing hero of a heroic fable?” I couldn’t help smile and laugh as he flexed an arm and posed in profile for a moment. “No, I should think not. You probably have Grunnd penned as a fearsome half man of furious temper and terrible wrath I imagine, and you wouldn’t be far wrong would you? But don’t be too harsh on Grunnd mouse. I have seen and done terrible things to men, but I am also a fair dwarf and, if I can avoid it all, I'd rather not spill blood.”

All I could do is nod quietly in agreement. There was an inner voice that laughed that he may not enjoy killing if he can help it but that bruising backsides was another matter. I bit my lip, trying hard not to let my amusement show.

"Any questions you'd like to ask of old Grunnd, mouse?"

By this point I had put my pen down and capped the ink lest either drip or dry. Queries came to mind. Most of our conversations had been like this. A query from me and an answer from Grunnd. He is a dwarf of little unsolicited words but if you take the time to ask he will answer.

I asked him about his and dwarven drinking habits. I had heard tell of their legendary thirst for the cask but was confused by his now self-enforced drought.

He nodded and wagged his finger at me. Serious now.

“You are quite right but I can do without the sore heads and the clouded senses. On a job like this the caress of a stupor can be the death of a man, especially in these dark times. I'll keep my wits sharp and the hammer blunt thank you very much." with that he patted the weapon in recognition.

It was valid reasoning, honest. I believe he will not lie to me without good reason. There is no pretense with Grunnd. I went for one of the bigger questions hanging in my mind, plucking the courage from somewhere.

“It is Sigmar you follow? He has chosen you, no?” 

Grunnd nodded. I swallowed and fidgeted with a little braided lock of my old hair I had saved from the cutting. I looked down, a little shy to be asking such a direct question. If I was going to speak of this then there was no better time or person.

“How did you know he had chosen you? How do you know who walks your path and keeps watch over you? I fear none watch me.” I caught myself at that and smoothed the grimy strands between my fingers. Gold glinted in the candle light. Is it not the same in life? That the most precious is to be found within the most base?

I looked up when no answer came. The dwarf was looking at me with both eyes now.

Grunnd exhaled and nodded thoughtfully. He began to recant his tale.

"What Verstohlen told you about the sword and the thing that now wields it, was all true, but he didn't tell you all that happened in that crypt. With a single word that thing bade us to kneel. Compelled by some overwhelming force we fell to our knees in front of its spoken command. As I looked to my companions I saw the fear and anguish in their eyes. Thankfully the Van Tanncred ancestor sought only to bore us to death with more talking, but felt we needed to be a captive audience for that. I found myself ...defiant? I can’t explain the thoughts I had or the sense of injustice I felt. Slowly, ever so slowly, I got off my knees feeling empowered, unafraid, like someone was giving me the strength to stand and fight one more battle. I gripped Storm Breaker and with a voice I can barely call me own, I challenged this Van Tanncred wight to face me, words are for poets after all, put that sword to use and fight me." he went quiet, thinking on the memory. 

"Was it just old fashioned dwarven stubbornness that got me to my feet? or was I chosen by some higher power? This Sigmar of the Empire. I've seen his work. It’s more obvious than the myths and legends of my gods. I believe he got me to my feet. Even my name - Grunnd - roughly translates as hammer to your tongue. Sigmar’s hammer, that is what I think I am now." he smiled wryly. "Anyway, the wight didn't accept my challenge, although he did promise me a swift death next time we meet. I look forward to it."

After another moment of quiet reflection Grunnd gestured at me, "Go on and get to sleep little mouse, I don’t think the nights adventures have begun, and you need to sleep."

It almost made me grin the thought that not even my own father has shown such open care for me and my physical wellbeing and safety in such a long time. It is comforting to know I am not so alone in the dark.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - Mäuschen]

[Next entry - Precious Commodity]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Mäuschen

Behzaltag 5th Ulriczeit 2522

One day in this city and so much to tell. 

Altdorf isn’t so much different from Marienburg. Unsurprisingly it is crammed with the hustle and bustle of visitors from far and wide. The stench of so much life in the narrow stony streets does make even a Marienburger’s eyes water. Muck and beggars as much as any city I suppose. It does have these tall spires which it is famous for but not the sea and the tides to wash the filth out twice a day. I am not fond of the sea, for my own reasons, but I do actually miss it. Comes from being a child of the coast. A starfish child as my father sometimes called me as I clung to him as a little one, all arms and legs. 

When we arrived this morning the market was in full sail and the first request when we got out of the cart was to stretch our legs and stock up on supplies and other items. Verstohlen has gone to the Temple of Sigmar for his own duties but at least left us with some crowns and instruction to come here to the Blind Beggar Inn once finished. 

In our trip for provisions Hans was kind enough to purchase a chain shirt on my behalf. We are not too different in build and I would have been sure to raise some eyebrows- a young woman purchasing armour for herself. While this was taking place Grunnd poked me in the side and winked, gesturing me to follow him.

Around the corner he admitted that though in Verstohlen’s presence he did things by the book. He had no problem if I needed to do any wealth liberation while in the city. His moral code is not so narrow. Within minutes we found ourselves in a washhouse doing our own errands. By the time we left I had myself britches, shirts and other small clothing items of the common variety, some sheeting too and some soap as it happened to be laying around and could come in useful. Danielle and Hans had barely noticed us gone when we got back. It was heartening to be back to the old tricks. Grunnd and I exchanged a quick grin before composing ourselves back to nonchalance. 

I made sure to ask Hans to purchase some more ammunition for my pistol while I perused some of the stalls to find what else I needed. Namely some warm gloves, a belt, and a warmer coat. The merchants took on a different tone when they heard my voice. Seems we Marienburgers don’t hold much respect among the Empire’s merchants, no doubt it is jealousy of our free status and wealth. In saying that they treated me well enough as I was the one with the purse. 

When admiring some of the exotic caged birds for sale by an Araby spice dealer a large warm hand pulled me round. It was Albrecht. One of my father’s fellow traders and close guild friends. I was shocked to see someone I knew but I shouldn’t have been as we’re not too far away by boat from home. I did my best to look pleased to see him. Pleased to see another of my father’s fat old friends with their overindulgent frames and patronising manners. The silly little girl smiled stiffly.

He wanted to know why I was in Altdorf. Why I wasn’t with my father and why I wouldn’t go back home. Not that it is any of his business. It seemed to be the most important thing in the world that I return, as if he should care. It was not until later that Grunnd hit on the true possible reasoning- Albrecht would be the hero for bringing home the wayward Eisenjaeger daughter to Johann, my father. I guess maybe it must be an embarrassment, an affront to father that I ran from the marriage he had arranged. That he could not control the women of his house. Maybe my father has even been at the guild asking the others to keep watch for my whereabouts? Why had I not thought on this? I have been busy lamenting my haste and short sightedness in running from my home and my future but now that I could be returned to the gilded cage so quickly, I am not so sure I wish my wings clipped. I may be under the authority of Verstohlen, and I may be closer to death now than ever but I am at least my own person. I may be faced by soul torturing choices but at least I feel alive. Not trapped in the drudgery of the home to dress like a lady proper. I do miss Andreas though and Beatrix with her sweet laughter and heart touching affection. Not that I do not miss my older siblings too but I have not seen Annette since she married. Her husband Meinhard took her away to his home in freezing cold Erengrad, though I see him of course as he returns to Marienburg with his trade. He is a good soul but did he really have to take her so far away from her family? Bernhard is always busy consorting with our father in their dealings, I mean business. I miss Bernhard my brother but not Bernhard the merchant. He is another creature altogether.

When Albrecht told me to wait where I was I followed him a little to see where he was limping off to. Gout, a rich mans mark. I watched as he called the attention of what looked like more of a hired thug than a guard and that was enough for me. I wasn’t being taken back kicking and screaming by a brute. I retraced my steps quickly through the crowd. Scanning faces to find the others. Thankfully they were not far away. I explained to Grunnd what had happened, possibly not very well as my heart was racing and my hands shaking. Flustered girl. I really need to get my nerves under better control. I can shoot a man at close range but not tell one of my father’s friends where to go? Ridiculous.

He shook his head and sighed deeply. He told me that there are two kinds of people in this world - predators and prey. What am I? I said that as much as I wished I were a predator, I know for now I am prey, a mouse. He reminded me of his advice from the banks of the river Reik. To stick the blade in their neck and twist, they die faster. A stranger perhaps but I could not do that to someone I grew up knowing.

Danielle, Hans and I went back to the Inn. Grunnd however took my description of Albrecht and went off looking for him. I am glad he did not find him for as much as I do not like the man, I do not wish his bearded face smashed to so much ground meat by that hammer. 

A few hours ago Danielle and I worked some magic and transformed me from merchant’s daughter to working boy. I wished so hard to be able to wash myself in some warm water and that soap but the guise needed to be convincing. The long hair I once prided myself on was hacked away from waist to shoulder length, all grubby and rat tailed. I tied it back with some leather thong at least all the grease kept it where it should be. We bound my female curves down with torn lengths of the re-appropriated bed sheets. On went my new clothing. By luck they fitted but so much rougher than the finery of my brothers. They will do the job. 

I was shocked when Danielle asked me how much of a man I wanted to be? I was doubly shocked as she shoved her hand down my britches with padding she had fashioned into my new ‘manhood’. ‘Not too big to be a joke and not too small to be a pity.’ 

I am unsure I wished to go this far in the pretense but she has convinced me for one night. I felt exposed as I came back down to the bar but was relieved to see Pieter was not there. No one lifted a brow at my change in person, even the others. I was relieved and glad. 

I am now Andreas, also known as Mäuschen ~ Little Mouse ~. 

I do not think I shall use my family name anymore. It is far too well known among the merchant class and could pose me a threat of more unwanted attention. I had not thought on it but a family member of the Eisenjaeger’s could fetch a pretty penny in ransom if I fell into the wrong hands. Would my father pay it? I believe he would. 

I am sitting in the sparse sleeping quarters of one of the rooms upstairs. I am sure the others will be asleep now but not Grunnd. He is sat on one of the two chairs this room possesses. The other is opposite him, jammed against the door. He says he will not sleep this night for he believes Albrecht will have men come to take me away. I hope not. I hope it is just the imagination of a dwarf too long on the hard road but I guess you cannot be too careful. The others are all in the next room bar Verstohlen who is still at the Temple with his brethren.

Hopefully I will awake on the morrow. We have passage booked on the Blue Bird to Talabheim to chase the iron-forged ‘end of the world’.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - musings]

[Next entry - Sigmar's hammer]

[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Musings

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger 

~ Marktag 3rd Ulriczeit 2522 ~

 A few days have passed dear friend since I spoke to you the silent listener of my innermost thoughts. I have put to one side my moral grumblings and faltering faith in order to get through the boredom of this journey. I really wish we had not lost the barge in Reiksbruck. At least it had shelter and a more ready access to warmth and sustenance. A cup of warm something would be welcomed by my fingers today. Bitter again.

There are other things we do still have. Stefan is still putting his heart and bruised skin into learning with his father’s sword. When Grunnd and Pieter are not stretching their legs and arms in beating him senseless they ride in the cart. I am impressed the mule does not spook at the sounds of the fighting behind. It must be deaf or dense. At least the fray is a source of amusement for Danielle and I. Hans too splits his attention between keeping an eye on the mule and on watching the sparring. Though the mule honestly seems to drive itself as there is only the muddy track to follow. There are no juicy tempting shoots this side of Mondstill.

I am glad. The sky has remained surprisingly kind to us on the open road. Only light showers have fallen over the woods, just enough to make us damp and a little grim. I think the sword practice of Stefan has helped in keeping our spirits on the more pleasant side of humour, and the little ditties Danielle sometimes serenades us with help too. I do not wish another confrontation between the Witch Hunter and Grunnd, and certainly not one between either of them and anyone else.

In speaking of the sky, when we do catch more than a branch-webbed view of it, it is turning a more threatening hue. I fear snow may be on its way soon. For that reason I hope we reach Altdorf before it does. I did not dress for the icy breath of Ulric, though we are in his month.

Another source of amusement is Danielle. She is merciless in her chiding of Stefan. He on the other hand feigns indifference- stoically hen-pecked. 

When I came out of my tristful fog I turned to my friend in the hope of helping the time pass at a faster clip, and maybe to lift my heart a little. She did not fail me. Danielle seems not to have been touched by the mental pain I have been afflicted by since the burning. I do not believe she is happy about what took place. In fact I know she is not, but she is wise enough not to goad Verstohlen on the matter, or to dwell on it. We have spoken of many things. Mostly inane in nature. Nothing of too deep an importance. Just banter of where she is from and her view on our city. Places and people we both knew of. Shared experience on the opposite ends of the social ladder. 

I find it beautiful. She has a light in her heart, a bright flame of joy and strength that cheerfully infects those who wish it. I wish I had such a gift. At least I am blessed to have her with me.

I have dipped back into the sorrow again. This is getting tiresome. Maybe I should put my writings away. To write is to look inwards and for now my insides are cold and sad like that of a blue winter twilight. They cannot help leak out to soak the parchment with the aid of my pen. 

Let me see. Something else. Lifting or practical. 

Grunnd is currently sitting meticulously cleaning and repairing all of his worldly belongings. I swear if this journey took any longer his mail shirt would shine like the stars. I cannot help but smile a little when I watch his little routines and rituals. His hammer is like a corporeal part of him. It does not stray far from his grasp. His hand checks for its whereabouts without his mind even asking it to- a reassuring pat to his trustiest friend. I think I would not be surprised to find an eye open on it and a mouth to speak. 

Danielle seems to have taken a leaf out of Grunnd’s book and is repairing some clothing in the absence of my attention while I scribe. She is humming something familiar under her breath though I cannot remember the words to this one. Her needlework is astounding. It is not the rough ‘that will do’ of some maids work but is precise, fine and even. No doubt that some of the embroidery is of her hand too perhaps. For a someone who does not wish the marriage bed she would make a very fine wife for a deaf man. That’s a little harsh, I jest of course. Maybe a man of expansive humour and patience. She certainly deserves that at least. Someone to love her and tame the shrew within.

Hans does not speak much but his laughter is almost infectious. Danielle seems to think so at least. It sounds like it comes from his heart through the soles of his boots. His blue eyes twinkled with his wide smile while watching the sparring earlier this morn. I am glad he does not seem too affected by the loss of so much. Reiksbruck was his home and by all accounts his only family of a sort was the Baron. All who knew him in this life are now dead. How does a boy cope with such knowledge? Maybe he has not thought on it’s implications yet? Maybe I think too much.

Stefan is sitting with his huge tome of a book open and weighing down his legs as he sits. His legs and fingers are all I can truly see behind it’s leather-bound cover. I wonder if his feet feel numb or prickly yet? I do not think he would let such a trifling bodily discomfort cause him to move. Strange, he does not read as much as I thought he would, though far more than most who can. A lot of his time is spent sitting quietly contemplating. Not looking at anything in particular. As if he is waiting for something. Death I suspect, but maybe I am wrong.

Ah, Verstohlen. I try and keep my back to him as much as possible for I do not wish to illicit conversation, not that I think he enjoys such pursuits. When I do watch him during Stefan’s training he looks serious and humorless. I think it is important that though he has accrued companions like a net gathers flotsam and jetsam, we must not pose too much a danger by being helpless or useless. Though it was Stefan who requested his beatings, and only he who is practicing so maybe I am wrong. It is interesting that he gave Hans and myself a choice, admittedly between death or joinging him, but still he could have saved himself the trouble and blown our faces off too. I wonder how his brain works. I wonder if he is still a man or if in becoming a Witch Hunter you give your humanity over to a higher order, namely Sigmar. Does he have anything of the true Pieter left in his soul? Who was that boy before he became the fearsome man? I saw a crack in that armor during a well timed comment from Danielle as Stefan faltered and landed in the sodden ditch by the wayside. An almost smile softened on Verstohlen’s face but the iron mask came down just as quick. Interesting, like watching one of the ferocious beasts the men made fight for sport and money down by the market. Hard animals with all sorts of scars and learned behavior through the hardships of life with man, but sometimes, just sometimes when they let their guard down they looked as if they could be touched in friendship. Maybe best not to try lest my hand be ripped off.

Not long now. Hans says there is just under two days before we reach the City of Spires by the stone marker we just passed. I think I will walk for a bit. Keep the mule company at the front. Poor beast has no one to speak to.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - chill in the air]

[Next entry - Mäuschen]

[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Chill in the Air

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger 

~ Angestag 32nd Kaldezeit 2522 ~

It is a whole week since I tried my hand at pocketing from the Witch Hunter Pieter Verstohlen. A week since I chose life over his pistol, and since that choice I have found myself many other dangerous means of death. So many options to pick from if I was so inclined. Thus far I have survived and plan to continue doing so. I cannot believe it has only been one week past as it feels more like a lifetime. Now I am sat numb on a cart to the Greatest City of the Empire. The City of Spires - Altdorf. My father’s next favoured city after Marienburg for the wealth it brings him in trade. 

Yesterday we thankfully pulled into the next town, a days ride from Reiksbruck. It was a welcome change to be able to stretch my legs and enter the almost steamy warmth of the inn. We were relieved to find no trace of the pox there. No speak of what had happened downriver. It is sometimes good fortune that news does not always travel fast.

An odd matter I noticed was that our friend the dwarf did not drink himself under the table. He stuck to small beer the strength of bog water. I wonder if the event of the burning did bother him after all, or maybe so much cart travel had upset his stomach. I know it is upsetting my joints for sure, and my buttocks. I think I could sit on glass and not feel it.

Maybe I will ask him of this some other time.

We are back on the road once more. A fairly wide track through the thick forests of the Reikland. Once you have seen a days worth of woodland in winter you have pretty much seen it all. The same scene rattles past with little change. Sometimes we pass worn paths leading off the main road, sometimes seeing a clearing through the maze of branches and dead-growth: a homestead here, a fallen tree there, a small burn or marshy pond. I haven’t seen anything untoward. No brigands or beastmen. No creatures either, or signs of life, tis winter after all. Maybe it really is the will of Sigmar that protects us on our journey, if Pieter and Grunnd are right. I do not know anymore.


I sometimes see crude little altars by the wayside, for offerings to Taal I believe. For we are definitely in his lands from what the farming traders said when they spoke of their homes whilst visiting Marienburg. Our own family altar revered Handrich and Manaan both. I know that my father also had a small shrine to Ranald hidden in his personal study, as if a nosy young girl would not have searched there. Better to hedge your bets in life I guess.

I have honoured Ranald for some time since my brother started taking me out on his little adventures. Andreas told me that at least he was honest about his trade instead of the ‘backstab with a smile’ of our fathers dealings. Merchants and pirates are robbers all the same he said, except one thinks he is better than the other with the pretense of honesty and the aboveboard-facade. 

When we went out with Andreas’ friends he used to dress me up in some of his clothes; all fashionable and bonneted so my hair was hidden and my girlish looks disguised in Marienburg garb. It is not too hard when you are young. In the times when I wasn’t playing his younger brother we dressed for shadows and light-fingered work. The thrill of the theft was addictive. To gain goods and wealth so easily. The merchant doesn’t notice a few small wares gone from his stall in fact he plans for it. The lady does not believe her trinket stolen, but merely lost or misplaced. It was not long before our adventures were curtailed by my ‘blossoming’ into womanhood and the rise of my responsibilities at home with my older sister marrying. 

Thievery was how I planned to make my way in the world, at least for a time, when later marriage to the son of one of my father’s fellow merchants - Olof Ehrlichmann - proved unavoidable. The boy Klaus, or I should say man though he is far from it, was not a bad one but he was not my Marcel. No one could be my Marcel. 

I used to find it amusing- a merchant with a surname meaning honest man. I stopped finding it amusing when Olof and my father intended Klaus to make me an ‘honest woman’. Disgusting. Two fat old men conniving to ruin the life of a young woman all in the name of a business deal like exchanging goods and money. A product of my father’s to be bought and sold for a profit among his friends.

My older sister Annette and oldest brother Bernhard are both married well so my father should be happy that his business is done. I lost my husband before we could marry through the wrath of Manann. I would have happily kept house for my father for the rest of my earthly days - to care for him in his dotage, care for my sweet little sister Beatrix, even cow-tail to her loathsome mother the saintly ‘lady’ Nadine Fuchs Kaufmannstein, or Amsel as my father calls her. His little blackbird, how quaint. I could find other more appropriate names but I shall not waste my ink. How sweet in love my father is. Blind man. My poor mother is cold in her crypt sleeping far away from his conscience. To see an old man with such a young beautiful wife, they do say there is no fool like an old fool. I do so wish her beatific countenance would reflect her heart, she’d then be a true sight to see.

I digress a little me thinks. It passes the time. This venting of my spleen on parchment should be good for the soul I would think. I may not be the most valorous being in the flesh but here in my head I can right the wrongs and slay beasts with my pen. Mäuschen is what Grunnd calls me, he is right you know.

There was a point to my writings before it got lost and travelled into much venom. Ranald.

Yes, Ranald. I am not so sure he approves of what I have done. My mind is a thing twisted and taught with the morality of my, our, actions. I agreed that I did not have a choice. I agreed with Pieter that they all posed a threat with their possible harboring of the pox and all the chaotic possibilities that entailed. I even agreed that the best way to deal with such evils is with the cleansing of fire, indeed I even held one of the torches that set their deaths in motion. However I cannot bear that they could have died a quicker, more humane death. Apothecaries have tinctures to bring the eternal sleep calmly. Worse still some may have been free from the affliction. Does the death of one innocent constitute murder? Does the blessing of them in Morr’s name before the fiery death absolve the torch bearers of any guilt or blame? I do not know. 

It is in Sigmar’s name that we now journey the deadly road, dance the merry dance, to find the Van Tanncred sword before it kills all. It is in Sigmar’s name that Pieter Verstohlen dons his tall black buckled hat and roots out all chaos and evil in his work, nay, his calling as Witch Hunter. It is. Sigmar, patron of the mighty Empire, Hammer of Heroes and god of the twin tailed comet.

I do not know where I stand in this matter other than in a place of sad hurtful thoughts. I feel I cannot speak of them lest my faltering faith mark me as one weak to the powers of chaos and have my face blown off for ‘my own good’. 

Where is my faith now when I need it? Has Ranald left me? For such a god of trickery, luck and thievery to have the high morals to abhor violent crime and murder. Manann lost me when he took my love, and we are far from the sea. Handrich never knew me. I was a merchant’s daughter not the merchant himself. Who do I follow now? Such wayward lost sheep are prey for many a wolf. We pass through the wilds of nature, Taal’s heartland. We have come from the cultured fields of Rhya. They know me not. Morr might know me soon but I hope Verena is not watching. Shallya would cry to see what I have done, and Myrmidia would laugh if I called her, for I would laugh too. There are many gods in this land and in others. I have heard their names and seen their followers, their altars, in the hub of life that is the port of Marienburg. I do not feel the hand of any upon my shoulder. I feel I have lost part of myself again. Not that there was all that much left if I am honest. 

How do you go forth from here? From a place so dark? I cannot speak to Danielle on such a matter, and certainly not in this blasted cart where even the mule can hear me breathe. Hans is a boy, a simple villager, and a stranger. Stefan is hardly impartial and I don’t believe he has any understanding outside of his own small world, being a man. Maybe when the time is right I can speak with Grunnd. He seems to care whether I live or die, and even for my welfare. I do not think the fervour of the witch hunt has such a hold on him as it does Pieter. Maybe we will talk in Altdorf. Maybe I will die tomorrow. Catch a chill from sitting in the cold. Would that not be an irony?

~ A ~

[Previous entry - chaos afoot]

[Next entry - musings]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]