You may have seen this over on BL forums, but here it is anyway. Hope you like it, and please leave a bit of criticism.

The rain beat down upon the twelve mounted figures galloping into Volsmere, the horses’ hooves squelching the brown, churned up mud. Foremost among them was a tall man, clad in a long black coat, his face hidden between the high collar of the coat and the broad brimmed black hat covering his head. From within the shadows, eyes like chips of blue ice regarded the thatch-roofed houses with something between hatred and contempt. It was his sacred duty to purge the unclean from this town in the name of Sigmar, and he would accomplish that if all hell barred his way. Such an out of the way, small town, barely more than a village, would be a haven for heretics in hiding. He chuckled to himself, barely audible above the incessant pounding of the rain. Now, they would know true justice. Now, he would root them all out, if it took the rest of his days.

*

Sounds of merriment and drunken laughter filled The Hammer and Anvil, Volsmere’s only inn. A roaring hearth of bright flames made the common room warm and gave off an orange light, which seemed to reflect the people’s mood. Heinz, the innkeeper, filled tankards almost non-stop with frothing ale. In one corner, one of Valsmere’s few town watch had his pole arm on the floor at his feet and a giggling barmaid on his knee. She should be doing her job, thought Heinz. Ah well, he would let her off for now. It was that kind of an evening. On one table a group of farmers from nearby the village started a merry song, and Heinz took it up himself. The words were slurred and they were out of tune, but nobody cared. The rain and wind lashing at the windows and howling in the chimney might as well have been in a completely different world.
And then it stopped. The oaken doors were flung open, and for a moment the wind and rain intruded. Twelve men entered, with the look of thugs and troublemakers about them. Most wore studded leather hauberks and carried clubs studded with brass, and a few even had small swords. But one, the clear leader, was different. He was tall and lean were the other were squat, and his entire body was almost completely covered by the long, black coat and broad black hat he wore. The tall man walked up to Heinz and looked down his nose at him. “My men and I shall require accommodation,” he said, in a voice that seemed somehow sardonic and flat at once, “Your best room for me, innkeeper. My men can sleep in here.” He gestured around the common room. Heinz drew himself up to give the cocky stranger a piece of his mind. But for a fraction of a second, the tall man’s blue eyes met with his own hazel brown, and all the courage drained out of him. “Yes milord,” he answered in what he hoped was a servant-like voice. The black-garbed man nodded curtly and turned away. Plucking up a little courage, the innkeeper coughed loudly. The man turned to face him again. “Ummm…if it pleases you, milord, would you pay now?” The icy eyes widened slightly.
“No…No it does not please me, commoner. The servants of Sigmar do not need material wealth for a few nights sanctuary, do they?” his voice was harsher this time, and promised swift punishment if it turned out they did. The man flung back his cloak to reveal a metal breastplate, polished to an almost mirror-like shine, engraved with the twin-tailed comet. All round the room people gasped loudly. “Do they?”
“No milord…of course not milord…” Heinz stuttered. Inside, he scolded himself. He had been a captain of the watch before he retired. He was better than this.
“If you’d be so kind as to…err…your name, milord?” The two cold, narrow blue eyes stared at him for a minute.
“Captain Erhardt van Gormann” snapped the witch hunter finally.

*

Heinz wasn’t the only one concerned with the arrival of the witch hunter and his ruffians. From a hill overlooking the town, something that had once been a man watched the riders enter the town with its one good eye. It didn’t know who they were. But it knew they would interfere with its plans. “Fools…intervene with the work of the Horned Lord, will they?” it cackled in a high pitch voice, filled with insanity, like the scratching of a thousand rats. “We’ll show them…we’ll kill anyway…” It threw back its head and laugh madly into the rainstorm.

*