Captain's Log: 5th of Kaldezeit, 2514.
Picture, if you will, a gloomy night in the glorious Empire. The cold that chills your bones and the cawing of rooks in the dark trees surrounding the road. A charred body slumped on a smoldering pyre. On this road a frightening, lean man stood. His bony face and grim expression would make you think he was an avenging revenant here to bring justice to our realm. He was the witch hunter, Solkan's fury incarnate, Theophilus Habernaus and he had halted the travels of Blessed Jim. Brief words were exchanged between them. Jim heard tell of foul sorcery and Theophilus was properly introduced to a Dolgan warrior. Theophilus revealed the pyre's victim to be a terrible witch of Chaos and that they stood before her very abode. Righteous, Blessed Jim understood what needed to be done and agreed to help the stalwart hunter. The Dolgan warrior dismounted and his boots were then caked in mud. He knew that if mud ended up being the worst thing on his clothes, he'd be lucky. There was no avoiding directly confronting the witch's lair and seeing if more foulness lurked inside. Theophilus kicked the door open and heard a gurgling sound by the pyre.
The corpse spewed foul bile that began oozing onto the ground. Formless bile became, before their very eyes, a daemon with crab claws and scaly flesh! No fear in Blessed Jim. He drew his mighty blade, the runes glowing red and hissing through the air, and cut that hideous foe in twain. The witch hunter was astonished. Didn't even have the time to draw his own sword! He was gracious to Blessed Jim and agreed to join him as far as he could on his journey. He spoke to Blessed Jim of a comet striking a mountaintop. A grim portent, indeed. That's what Blessed Jim told me had happened on his way to Altdorf. I should clarify that I thought the messenger had meant meeting the Law Lords in Middenheim. I think he meant the Law Lords OF Middenheim. That's makes a fair bit more sense. Explains how we are in Altdorf, anyway. The old place is extremely busy and that's only been getting worse and worse. So crowded that we missed the Graf Boris meeting the Emperor himself. Damn. I decided to keep my Ulric and Sigmar medallions away. We attract enough trouble as it is.
Watchmen, visitors, children, all were engaged in the roaring mobs that pushed onward and poured all sorts of claims into the ears of anyone nearby. The Emperor was dead, he was visited and poisoned by a strange doctor from the moon, a dragon emerged in court and burnt the entire court to ashes... I wanted to see this moon dragon for myself! I boldly marched towards the palace and was politely told I couldn't go in. Well, it was worth a go. The Imperial was our next destination, as we had heard that the hotel was practically stuffed with knights and all sorts of nobles. Werner and I found it easy to get in once we proved to the guards our ranks of Sir Marine Captain and Sir Captain of both the White Wolf and Knights Panther. Walking in allowed us to understand what the inside of a bee hive felt like. The knights and servants were below while the nobility were above. I felt particularly sorry for the knight assigned as a royal taster, sitting there on the steps to the upper floor. His face was turning as green as a goblin, and he hadn't even tasted any poison! We were requested to meet Ar-Ulric. He was not normally the happiest fellow but he looked even glummer than usual.
He explained to us very carefully that the situation is extremely tense. The Emperor had addressed the electors and claimed to have been perfectly fine. His face was as pale as the moon itself. He spoke madly of doctors summoned from Morrslieb by Sigmar that were aiding his insidious disease. The whole thing was horribly embarrassing and disturbing for the court. Shocked murmurs were cut short by a sword being plunged into the Emperor's spine. A guardsman had revealed himself to be a deadly assassin, decried the Emperor as a mutant lover and praised the Wolf. A member of the Sons of Ulric? Or perhaps another zealot group... The Grand Theogonist called for a peaceful truce until they could find a new Emperor. Werner noted that he saw in the hotel, eh what's the name? Billhofen of Middenland and Gustave Krieglitz? Yeah, that sounds about right to me. There is no definite choice for who will succeed the throne and that caused Ar-Ulric great worry. We were appointed by Ar-Ulric to be a part of Graf Boris Toddbringer's retinue. That's a political move I can support! I killed his skinless, monstrous assassin with my bare hands. I feel like I should be an Elector Count for my services to the Empire. I guess it's who you know rather than who you can punch...
Graf Boris had arranged two suites for us in The Crossed Lancets, a nice inn very similar to that one in Bogenhafen. The one I jumped out of the window with Werner to escape. I'm not going to say I miss that day but it sure is stuck in my head. The owner was an older man keenly interested in medicine. The inn keeper was a barrel chested man with big arms and a bigger moustache. Two twins, or so I think, were serving ladies who spoke briefly about their dreams of moving to the country and opening a tea shop. I envy having such a humble and quiet goal. Fate and Sigmar has dictated something much grander for the crew and I must fulfill the quest. We all slept fantastically. Something that I wasn't used to and probably shouldn't get used to. Idle hands do not strike Chaos down! It was better to cover your hands with righteous steel, so I requisitioned suits of plate armour for Blessed Jim and I. Crowds were still large forces that you could feel the approach of. It was like for the city how you can sense a storm brewing after being out at sea for too long. Very strange. The crew got past them well enough and slipped into the Imperial. We saw Kaslein, who is the Arch-lector or something like that, on our way to meet Graf Boris.
He seemed completely comfortable with what was going on. Jovial, I would say. The plan was to go to the Volkshalle and have each Elector Count cast their vote. It wasn't going to be as easy as that: Ostland and Talabecland were feuding as well as the Sigmarites and followers of Ulric. He knew that there would be disputes but Graf Boris seemed to have a plan to sort all of this out. Wolfgang, the Emperor's son, was also going to be making an appearance from Castle Reikguard. Graf Boris said that he was a good lad if not a little strange. I pointed out that a rat boy would never be quite normal, unfortunately. I was told that he was not a rat boy at all! I'm still greatly shocked by this revelation. It seemed so hard to believe. We all took a coach to the Volkshalle. Some of us could be directly escorted by knights but I refused to have the crew split up in any way. You just don't know what could happen! I'm pretty sure the nobles were not the most pleased to have us in the same coach as them. Good protection doesn't necessarily have to be pretty! We were brought inside the huge hall: a circular room with a round table for the Counts, a central throne for the Emperor, and a surrounding series of chairs for everyone else.
They announced each Elector Count. Grand Theogonist Yori the Fifteenth, Arch Lector Anglim, Kazlaus, Ar-Ulric... there was a Mootland halfling? Lisme I think her name was? Etelka Toppenheim from Sudenland... there was a lot of them. More than I expected, actually. Then they brought out the rat bo- Wolfgang. I tried to get a good look from the spectator seats. He looked like a different kind of rat. The sort of spoiled brat that got everything he ever wanted. He had the cheek to sit down near the throne and wait there, bored, expecting the vote to go his way. One vote for Wolfgang was from the Emperor, due to his last wishes. Then another for Wolfgang, then another... then they skipped Ar-Ulric. I knew at that moment that something was very, very wrong. Then they called out Graf Boris. He stood up, arms folded, and said:
"No."
Wolfgang was shocked, as was everyone! He couldn't believe it, the eyes were almost bulging out of his little head! He pleaded with Graf Boris, whining. Graf Boris looked him straight in the eye and refused again. The lad was furious and started pounding the floor like a newborn child. Many turned away in embarrassment. I couldn't help but notice one thing: those eyes were bulging out like they were bursting... I yelled in horror but was too far from the central seats to stop what happened next. The prince grew hideous bat wings, his eyes emerged on stalks and gruesome claws tore out from his fingers! He struck down the Graf and left him to bleed in his seat. Chaos reigned as all panicked and turned to flee this horror. I had enough of this! I drew Fiendcutter and charged in to slay this abomination. It had a silvery, metal tongue that lashed out at me as I approached. Nearly took my head clean off but my armour had saved me. I plunged the blade into its gut and it fell to the ground. Sickly pus and blood pumped from its belly as it whined and crawled pathetically. I placed one boot onto its chest, raised my sword with both arms and sent the bastard's head flying right onto the throne. A fine fate for such a foul daemon!
Graf Boris was escorted out and soon Werner and the rest of the crew joined me. Bloodshed had broken out and we left quickly. To tarry would have made the violence worse. We returned to The Crossed Lancets, weary and shaken by what had happened.
Sigmar help us, we need a miracle!
- Johann Dasbuut.
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