Hello all and thank you from opening this thread
I hope you will all enjoy my two short stories and leave a comment.


The best decision of my life was when I decided to kill him. It was a hard decision, but looking back, I donít regret it. It wasnít like today when the killing comes with a quickness that is reassuring and scaring at the same time, as it shuts out my thought and numbs my feelings.
But then it was a hard decision to make, I was a mere boy, fresh out off my motherís womb and into the wide world. I had walked for several days when it became dark once more and I had to find shelter. I rented a room in some tavern, three day away from Altdorf, where I was to become a Witchhunter, as my parents, with their small-town dreams, had always wanted for their only son. The owner of the inn was to be my first test, and I thanks my lord Sigmar for giving me the strength needed to...to...make my first victim. He was an older man, still firm on his legs but a little light in the head. I was to find out just how Ďlightí he had gotten. I rented a room, no problem there as I seemed to be his only guest.

The inn seemed fairly deserted, no sign of others living under the same roof, except the old man and myself.
I ordered a meal and ate sitting next to the fireplace. I enjoyed it, the keeper hadnít lost his cooking skills with the years. Like they say: old foxes lose their fur, not their tricks. Nothing odd at first. In the end it were the little things that gave him away.
Never once did he make the sign of the comet, a common thing where I come from. Used by the peasants to ward of any harming spirits and the taint of corruption, also known as Ďchaosí. He didnít join me in prayer before the meal, nor were there any parchments hanging from his wall, writings of the priests for our lord Sigmar. When I hung my own prayer to the wall in my room I heard him laughing softly in the corridor.

The rest of the evening I watched him.
I watched him working in the kitchen, I watched him sitting by the fire, softly talking to himself. I went to my bed early, but I could not catch sleep. In the middle of the night I was still awake, praying by the side of my bed, asking the Good Lord for his guidance. ĎWhat can I do? What must I do?í Then the answer came to me, whether from my own mind or from His. ĎMake him confess.í Of course, make him confess and repent in Sigmarís eyes. So I made my way down again, very softly this time, one foot after the other. And yes! There he still was, sleeping in his chair by the remains of the fire. I grabbed him while he was still half asleep and dragged him up the stairs. He kicked and screamed but I was save, he was old and weak and there was nobody who could heard his cries or come to his aid. I tied him to my only chair and questioned him until it was light again. I used all my tricks, the ones my daddy had told me about when he had a little too much to drink. In the end, he confessed, they all confess when you apply the right amount of pressure. I recited from the books of the priests, the great Librum Sigmaritum, while I beat him unconscious and then death. I buried him in his own backyard and concealed the grave.

I wasnít a Witchhunter yet, and this was murder. Even if he had been guilty, and guilty he had been (I knew it!), they would still charge me for murder. I did the right thing by killing him, even though I had to take a personís life. Is there such thing as justice without sin? Without guilt? Along the years Iíve lost track of the number of kills I left behind, itís better that way I think. But I know that they number in the hundreds. Mutants, witches, heretics and good people like you and me I guess. You canít be right all the time, although Iím getting better as the years pass. And for every innocent bystander caught up in the struggle, a dozen heretics burned. Enough to save my soul. I think so, but I wonder if a had one to begin with. To be the right-hand of God himself sometimes means killing a whole lot of people and sometimes it means losing your soul, in my case probably both. God has to play by the rules, and if he judges me unfit for the hereafter I will burn. I donít live by the rules, I thinks thatís why he hired me. The unbound fist of the Lord. My name is Aemus Shades, Imperial Witchhunter.

This is my crossbow, this is my sword, and youíll taste them both before you go. Iíve killed before and Iíll kill again, donít think youíre the exception, because youíre not. Youíre a heretic and will burn. After youíve confessed of course. Liked the story? Just a little reminder of what I can inflict on you.

Let me just get my gloves, the sturdy leather ones, so I can begin the beating. Donít worry, you can scream if you want to, Iíd like it if you screamed. Oh, and donít try to hold it all in, in the end they all confess, and so will you. Ready? Here comes number one.
Please leave a message if you've read the story (or part of it) Comments, praises, every feedback is good feedback.

(just a simple 'I liked it' is fine too, it's important to feel that your story is accepted, don't you agree?)


ps part 1 is also on this forum.