literature

Chapter 1

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Literature Text

The weather was foul, as it usually is in Mournwall. Arnulf was standing in the street, his cloak drenched by the unceasing downpour, and looking at the large tavern in front of him. The townsfolk were scurrying around in their tar-covered cloaks, more than accustomed to the peculiar weather.

Arnulf remembered the story of the Mournwall massacre. Some centuries ago, when High King Sigmar was still a living man, he had been betrayed by one of his vassals, Underking Eric III. As punishment for Eric’s betrayal, High King Sigmar attacked Mournwall, leaving nothing but the blood-stained remains of once-mighty ramparts. Ever since that, not a single spring day in Mournwall was without rain. Unfortunately for Sigmar, he ultimately lost the war and Eric crowned himself the First Emperor of Men.

The rain interrupted Arnulf’s thinking and the suddenly cold wind made him hastily cross the street and enter the tavern. He took off his wet cloak and tossed it at the part of the room obviously designed for that, judging by the tiled area with a drain in the middle. The main room of the tavern was spacious, with enough tables to accommodate a whole company of soldiers. Almost all of the places were taken, as the spring was the time for mercenaries to gather at the White City in search for well-paid jobs. Arnulf was looking for a specific pair of mercenaries, and soon enough he spotted one of them, or rather, spotted a thin, wispy column of pipe smoke rising towards the rafters. He approached the table at which there was only one person, a Dwarf in slightly dented but well-maintained armour and a fur hat with two long feathers, almost a trademark of the Stout Folk.

“Are you Piorun?” Arnulf asked. The Dwarf took the pipe out of his mouth and looked up. “That would depend on the name of the one seeking Piorun, boy.” Arnulf introduced himself. “I am Arnulf of Ostenberg. I want to hire you and your companion. I am looking for someone, and according to what I’ve heard, you are the ones for the task.” The Dwarf smiled. “Arnulf, eh? Don’t remember pissing of an Arnulf before... Alright, I really am Piorun. And I can guess that what you heard can be summed up by ‘prophetic bloody dreams’? If so, I must tell you that it doesn’t work like that. It’s not just ‘Pretty please miss, can you dream about my wife, I wanna see where she goes each night?’ So if that’s why you’re here, tough luck.”

“Actually, I wanted to offer you a deal. I will go with you, and you can help me find the person I’m looking for in between your other assignments.”

Piorun looked at him and twirled his moustache, contemplating the idea. “Boy, seems to me like you’re offering us a bowl of shit to eat without even bothering to give us any spoons. I see your offer like this: we drag your sorry arse around, share our supplies with you, help you look for this mysterious person who, for all I care could be the king of the fucking Moon, and I don’t exactly remember you mentioning any money either.”

But Arnulf was persistent. “I am skilled with magic and I have spent six years learning medicine. I can’t offer you any money, but I can be useful to you as compensation for, how you put it, ‘dragging my sorry arse around’. I may not be a skilled warrior, but I have my talents.”

Piorun smiled again. “Well, aren’t you a tough one to get rid of? Doctors aren’t really my kind of people, especially magic-casting doctors. But seems to me like we’d get along nicely after a while. However, I must talk to my companion first. She’s upstairs. Now, are you coming with me, or shall I have to drag your sorry arse to the room, Mister Arnulf of wherever you said you were from?” The Dwarf started laughing, got up and went to the stairs. Arnulf followed him to the second storey of the tavern where the bedrooms were. They approached the door and Piorun knocked.

“Nonnie? Nonnie, are you up?”

The comic is back, this time as a story in chapters!
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