Thanquol & Boneripper 01 - Grey Seer by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Warhammer
Published: 2011-08-12T07:00:00+00:00

Dr. Loew descended the stairs that connected his living quarters with his shop, taking extra care to step only upon the thickly carpeted centre of the stairway so that his footfalls might be muffled. One of the alchemist’s hands was wrapped about the handle of a heavy ceramic pestle, holding the tool after the fashion of a horseman’s mace, while the other hand clutched the glass neck of a more grisly weapon; a powerful acid derived from vitriol and troll vomit. He paused in his descent, cocking his head in a wary, watchful manner, his senses trained on the gloom of his darkened shop, waiting for any betraying sound to again reach his ears. It had been many years since any of the scum of the waterfront had been bold enough to try and rob him. Loew was determined to make an example of this clumsy burglar.

The sound came again, a scratching rattle from the direction of his workroom. The alchemist’s expression grew vicious. It was trespass enough to try and steal his wares, but to disturb his experiments was a violation he would not forgive. As the sounds continued, Loew’s pace quickened, caution cast aside in his anger. He pushed through the darkness, rushing past the shadowy shelves of bottles and potions, towards the curtain that separated workroom from shop. Abruptly, the alchemist froze, every sense afire with alarm.

Before him, the shadows seemed to reach out, to assume a solidity of shape and form. Something was standing between him and the curtain, something that seemed to mock his efforts to see it. Loew started to lift the bottle of acid, but a frightened chill that had nothing to do with the sudden coldness of the room arrested the motion. From the darkness, a voice hissed at him.

“Return to your bed,” the whisper warned him. “There is nothing to find here except death.”

There was a fearful menace in that voice, a nightmarish air of unreality that made even the alchemist pale as he heard it. Loew took a few stumbling steps back almost before he was aware of his own retreat. Remembering the sounds that had drawn him downstairs, remembering what it was he had left in his workroom, the alchemist drew upon his own miserly greed to put steel in his spine.

“Who are you to order me around in my own home?” Loew snarled indignantly. “I’ll settle with you, be you ghost or phantom!” He started to raise the heavy pestle for a strike at the patch of thick darkness where he judged the whisper to have emanated. Suddenly, the darkness lessened, fading away and exposing what it had concealed. The pestle dropped from nerveless fingers.

Tall, swathed in the heavy folds of a charcoal-grey cloak, his head hidden beneath the shadow of a deep hood, his face muffled beneath a thick grey scarf, all that Loew could see was a sharp hawklike nose and a pair of smoky grey eyes. The alchemist’s willpower was trapped by the intense stare of those eyes, swirling pools of darkness that drew him into their formless depths.

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