Epilogue


Silk smiled as he breathed in the chill air.  Life was looking good.
He had gotten back from Nuln only two days ago.  Already he had a new
apartment and was well on his way to having it comfortably furnished
for both himself and his bodyguard, Hans Millerson, formerly known as
Bash.
	Nuln had been very profitable.  Silk had journeyed there,
accompanied by Hans, to show the jewelry to a merchant Silk had done
business with previously.  He had given Silk eleven hundred crowns in
gems, along with letters and seals proving Silk to be the merchant's
agent in Altdorf.  A good deal, as Silk had estimated the value of the
jewelry to be around eighteen hundred crowns; it was rare to get
better than fifty percent from legitimate jewelers.  Of course, the
merchant would turn around and sell the lot at twenty-five hundred
crowns or better, but, as Silk knew well, that was business.
	The letters, evil though the written word was to Silk, had
allowed him to sell the stones at white market value, which he had
done within three hours of stepping off the coach in Altdorf.  He had
passed two-hundred crowns on to Oglethorpe, which should keep his
junior partner in business for some time.  Even with the three-hundred
crowns Hans was currently dividing up with his former gang, Silk had
arranged for a comfortable, if not flashy, life.  Indeed, his
resources were now adequate that he intended to call on William the
Sharp and perhaps do a little business to the tune of four or five
hundred crowns.  It would require another trip to Nuln, as he had no
desire to move Rasputan's stash within Altdorf, and the rewards would
not be great percentage-wise, but there was something to be said for
moving goods in bulk.  He even contemplated dropping in on Steinman,
informing him of the trip and inquiring if he cared to add any goods
to the store.  Silk liked that idea; it would let Steinman know that
they were back to business as usual, although perhaps on a slightly
higher level.
	Silk enjoyed the stroll back to his new apartment.  Hans had
asked for the day off, intending to visit his family when he had
finished dividing the take, and Silk was looking forward to spending
the afternoon alone, getting used to his new surroundings.  Of course,
O'Malley's was a must, but that could wait until later.
	The only catch was the pouch of skaven-processed warpstone.
He was not sure what to do with it.  Destroy it came first and
foremost to his mind, but he was not even sure how to do that.
Anonymously turn it over to the proper authorities was a thought, too,
but Red Sheol had been an authority, a recognized witchhunter.  He had
also been a chaos-serving holy warrior.
	Silk thought back to his world-traveling days with a shudder;
debt could make a man to do such strange and foolish things.  His past
had its benefits, that was true.  How many in this city would have
recognized the processed warpstone, or even knew what skaven were?
How many had actually seen the goblins and trolls everyone told
stories about?
	"How many have lost an eye to a chaos-serving madman of an
illusionist?" Silk thought bitterly.  No, the city was where he
belonged.  He had enjoyed the last few weeks; at times they had been
terrifying, expensive, painful, and deadly, but he remembered them
with fondness.  The same could not be said about battling with a chaos
beastman frothing at the mouth in a blood-rage.  Ah, to retire to the
good, if exciting life; filling his allotted niche in life as the
mover of lost goods.
	Spirits high, Silk unlock his apartment and stepped inside.
Suddenly a heavy hand latched onto his shoulder, pulling him into the
apartment, whirling him around, and slamming him into the wall,
causing him to lose his walking stick.  A mailed fist landed in his
gut and he doubled over.  Then his assailant grabbed both his
shoulders and slammed him into the wall again.
	Silk looked into the grinning face of Larry the Witchhunter.
	"The warpstone!" Silk's screamed in his mind.
	"Good afternoon, Mister Silk," Larry purred, obviously pleased
with himself.  "I've been waiting for you.  You see, I have this
problem.  I find myself wondering how a doppleganger would come to
know your body so well as to take its shape.  Tell me, did you know
that chaos-formed chunk of filth and pestilence on a first name basis,
or was it a more casual relationship?" The witchhunter chuckled
evilly, but he was not done with his charges.  "When the report of the
doppleganger reached me, I recalled seeing you at the cheese shop.
'Coincidence,' they said.  'You're reaching,' they said.  But you know
what?  I don't believe in coincidences.  Not only that, but you're
going to help me teach them not to believe in coincidences."
	Silk was certain that the glitter in the man's eye came from a
burning stake.  His mind scrambling, Silk's salvation appeared as
quickly as his damnation had.  His eye narrowed as he held the
witchhunter's gaze, forcing himself not to look past him.
	"You've made a mistake," Silk said coolly.
	"Oh, have..."
	Kachunk!
	Launched from no more than a span away from its target, the
quarrel ripped through Larry's throat.  Clutching his wound, the
witchhunter stepped back and turned towards the door.  Then he fell to
his knees and toppled over.  In moments he was dead.  Bewildered, Silk
could only stare as tell-tale blood filled his apartment.
	"I wasn't expecting you back today," Silk finally managed,
still staring at the corpse.
	"My little sister has a touch of second sight," Hans said
absently as he closed the door and joined Silk in staring at the body.
He spoke slowly and did not seem to be in the present.
	Silk's mind was racing, but his body felt numb.  He looked at
Hans; looked into his eyes.
	"You have a reason to know his name, don't you."  It was not a
question.
	"Yeah."
	"Whatever the reason, he was wrong about it, wasn't he?" It
was not a question, but a plea.  Witchhunters be damned, but Silk's
preference was for them to be preceded to Hell by chaos.
	"Yeah."
	Silked breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at the body.  It
would be a tricky mess to clean up, assuming that members of the city
watch would not be after them by nightfall.
	"You think the doc would have a use for a cadaver?"
	Hans shifted his gaze to Silk for a moment, then back to the
dead witchhunter.  Finally he nodded, coming back to the present with
relief.
	"Yeah."

--

This story is a good example of a problem in pbem:  consistent mood.  It
started out very serious, and Karl admitted to being a bit worried
during Silk's first meeting with Georing.  However, you will note that
at times I become a bit silly -- Tooth and Claw had a few good examples
of that.  It depended on the mood I was in that particular day.
	The story took seven months of gaming by email; I'm pleased.
Like I said before, one player pbem games are great.

						Jeff Stehman