The village is indeed deserted. We spot some movement in a few buildings, but upon further inspection no one is found - except the remains of 12 poor souls that is, half eaten. Hm. Ghouls? Zombies? It is like Tzeentch himself travels ahead of us!
I suggest burning the village to the ground, but the others dissuade me. Eventually, Yavandir finds some tracks which we follow into the woods. For once his keen elven eyes miss a trap as he tumbles into a pit, badly injuring himself on some nasty-looking spikes. A while later, Caspar steps into a bear trap, his howls echoing through the woods. Ok...someone's looking to soften us up. Eventually, Yavandir spots some mutants hiding in the woods.
For once, we decide that caution (some might call it cowardice) is the better part of valor and retreat to the village to lick our wounds and form a strategy. We end up planning to use Yavandir to encircle the spineless mutants, which more or less works - 60-70 mutants charge us through the woods! This time there will be no running, and my heart sings with joy as we dispatch the servants of Chaos into the waiting arms of their foul gods. After what feels like a lifetime of slaughter, the last eight of them surrender.
It turns out they are all the villagers of Torpin. Some days ago, someone who called himself an apostle of Sigmar arrived in town. He blessed the villagers, then held a sermon with some sort of glowing symbol...and then the villagers started mutating. The "apostle" traveled south before things turned bad. My heart turns to ice upon hearing this - a false prophet, this close? Is he the cause of everything we've seen? Is he a servant of the Ruinous Powers, disguising as a priest? Or worst of all - is he a fallen one?
We dispatch the hapless ex-villagers, ignoring their weak protests and pleas. Do they not understand that they are lost to the light of Sigmar, bless his name? There is no pity except death for such as them, and a hollow pity it is, knowing what awaits them.
We return to town. I write a letter to my order, the cleansing flame, in Nuln. If we fail to handle the matter, it is imperative that the church is aware of this threat. We bid the crew goodbye and start out south. I suspect they are relieved to be rid of us...
After two days without incidents, we arrive at the village of Missen. It seems the false apostle has been here as well - there are bodies, and worse, a desecrated church of our Father. My heart is heavy, but there is no despair, only righteous anger. Oh, how my hammer longs to smash the head of this servant of Chaos into bloody ruin! The carnal pleasures of Slaneesh offers no temptation compared to the joy I will surely feel!
As we inspect the church, a man approaches, calling himself Franz, a wanderer who arrived from the south. He is as surprised as we are at the events in Missen [eh...tror jeg glemte å skrive ned noe her]. Naturally, we are all very suspicious, but he seems honest and true, and so we agree to let him accompany us on the way south. We are catching up, and soon there will be a reckoning - or we will die a glorious death.
