Ludolf Holzer was a quiet man, in the best way. The huntsman’s wordless, yet enjoyable, presence was balm to von Bolstedt’s whipped ears. The afternoon sun in the sky lended an orange glow to the already enjoyable late Autumn scene, its rays falling through the leaves and boughs of the sparse trees of the surrounding Reikwald to each side.

“So, Herr, we’ll reach Diesdorf in the hour. I suggest you look into takin’ a room somewhere for the night, ferry over to Kemperbad’ll be docked til mornin’.” The hunter slurred his speech in a most stereotypical manner, telling of an origin on the other side of the River Reik, in Talabecland. Indeed, it only seemed right that the local huntsman should be from that wood-bound province, covered in his simple green garb, a simple hatchet dangling from his belt like it belonged to the man from birth.

The young nobleman nodded his assent, minding the sun’s slow yet steady path toward the horizon. He just hoped Ludolf wouldn’t spread word of his arrival. If these bumpkins caught wind of a young nobleman on a holy quest they might actually start asking questions.

He’d heard Diesdorf was a quiet, dreamy little township. The impression of the local ale house and inn, ‘The Black Boar’, wouldn’t really quite fit in with that description, however. Maybe that had to do with the fact that Ludolf had begun downing hard liquor as soon as he’d sat down on one of the venerable and bent wooden benches, and begun telling in his own, understated way, how this young nobleman here was on a holy mission, surely to help Sigmar’s chosen people, so that toil may fall, wealth increase and many, many other things Adebar wasn’t sure where the hunter had heard them from.

Had he blathered this much while stuck with Magda?

Alas, now the deed was done, and he found himself the centre of attention, rosy-cheeked carousers simply demanding to be able to show their affluence by paying for his wine, and when the single barrel of wine had been emptied, to bestow upon him stein upon stein of blonde, mild beer. Throughout the night even the inn’s owner, a thickset, bald man called Gottlieb Zech, had fallen to the infectious sensation of excited cheer, giving Adebar a wide grin as he staggered toward the bar.

“BUsiness uswally this gud?” he stammered out, putting a bit of a jump into his normally so strict sense of proper speech. “No, not quite, Herr von Bolstedt, but I doubt it’ll be less tomorrow, if you’re inclined to stay.” Gottlieb winked conspiratorially, slinking him a simple, iron key. “Room upstairs for ye. Just don’t lose it!”

Adebar took the key and stuffed it into a pocket, before occupying his hands with four tankards of the good, golden hops-water, staggering back to the round table that had become the centre of all life in the considerably spacious ‘Black Boar’. About twenty men of differing ages were huddled around, talking loudly, five of them had begun to sing a rather bellicose challenge to westerly Bretonnia and its ‘limp-lanced lordlings, lapping at the Lady’. Adebar had never heard this particular song, but the words were simple to pick up and the sentiment of hating the heathen tyrants of Reikland’s western neighbour beyond the Grey Mountains had a long tradition in the student fraternities and fencing-brotherhoods of Altdorf too.

“So, Herr von Bolstedt,” began the doughy Merchant, Fridolin Eitel, “what is the word around fair Altdorf’s streets? Is His Majesty inclined to expand the first fleet, and finally do something against the outrageous Marienburgers?” Of course he’d ask sheer politics, Adebar mused. His disgruntlement must’ve been apparent, because the wood-trader raised his hands apologetically, smiling uncomfortably. Before von Bolstedt’s gut could convince him to tell the fat bastard something fierce about abusing strangers as business opportunities, an even less welcome question came from an even less welcome source.

“If yer’s so guided by Sigmar, ye, then surely ye could spare some of ‘is golden goodwill an’ ‘elp out around ‘ere, eh?”

The slurred and impertinent demand came from Crippled Ed, a one legged, hook-handed veteran of some local Free Company. The cripple did not look at him directly, just gazing deeply into his mug like he could scry some meaning from the droplets within.

Another man, Erwin something-or-the-other, made to silence the old soldier, but a young man, in finery that would’ve been fashionable two years ago, now went to shut him down in turn.

“No, no, let him speak. He’s right, let’s see if our valued guest is even worth all the ale you dimwits have been funneling into him.” Adebar leaned back in his chair, nearly tipping over, glancing sidewards to Ludolf, in vain hopes of some understated remark that would somehow break the sudden, uncomfortable silence that had descended as the whole taproom turned to regard him. Damnations.

“Well, you see…” he gulped down air, reaching for the stein next to his own, hoping the drink would give him time to somehow convince this lout that he, Adebar von Bolstedt, wayward son and family disappointment, wasn’t here because of exactly that, but was actually divinely inspired, as Ludolf had led everyone to believe for the last four hours.

“The Lord Sigmar came to me in a dream!” He finally blurted out with more vigour than he thought should be possible. The lie was blatant, but he hoped the alcohol would keep most people off his tail.

“He tasked me to wander his realm, and vanquish evil where I found it!” He dug the hole deeper as he saw that the rakish boy was about to take apart his claim.

This led to some drawing of breath. While Ludolf had been saying exactly that for a while, to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth seemed to make the claim that much more impactful.

“Well, Herr, if that is so, you may be in luck,” the rake spoke with all the loveliness of a common snake, “for just last week, I recall, someone attacked the Vollweg’s young daughter, isn’t it so?” The whole round nodded sluggishly, some muttering under their breath that they didn’t really think the matter was so important, while others assured how terrible the whole affair truly was.

“You want me to find the fiend that did it? Very well, bring me this daughter, let’s see what she knows.” The rake’s feigned regret told him something bigger was at play before the bastard had even spoken.

“Sadly young Gerda lies dead and cold in the soil, buried just this afternoon. She was,” the boy mumbled something, “severely disfigured by her murderer.”

To Adebar’s right someone made the sign of the hammer, to ward off evil.

“You think someone in Diesdorf sacrificed her to some mad deity?!” he sneered, a bit befuddled. He hadn’t been here a day, and already his perception of the place had been utterly shattered twice. The claim was preposterous! This was a small town fed by timber, how many hideous cultists and secret societies could there be?!

“I think there is a blasphemous murderer in our midst, yes. Nobody wishes to speak openly about it, but I’m tired of pretending things are oh so fine and dandy, so if you really are so guided by the Lord Sigmar Himself, maybe you’ll be the one to finally have the spine to do something about our problem!”

The boy had talked himself into quite a rage. My, how passionate, Adebar thought cynically. He’d go by morning, and then be off to Kemperbad, and then make his way to Nuln! If they thought he’d get roped into solving a murder, they were...all staring at him expectantly, some with clear hope and admiration in their eyes, others with a lot of doubt as to their investments into him. Especially Gottlieb seemed highly interested in his answer, steely eyes twinkling from beneath bushy eyebrows.

Adebar von Bolstedt stared into his own mug now, thinking hard. Something in him tugged at his heartstrings, and his eyes naturally wandered toward his rapier leaning by the table. Taal’s Horns, hadn’t he run away to live a little? Maybe have a bit of adventure, instead of sitting in theology lectures he didn’t care for, fencing, drinking or whoring? Sod it, his addled mind said, and he took a deep gulp of the by now stale beer.

“On my honour, I’ll find your murderer, or I shan’t be Adebar von Bolstedt!”