The Corrupted (Warhammer Novels) by Robert Earl
By Robert Earl
The corrupting nature of magic is published! The darkish nature of the Warhammer world's wizards is explored in Robert Earl's newest action-packed novel. With very powerful cross-over with the "Warhammer fable Roleplay" books, "Realm of Sorcery" and "Tome of Corruption", this novel is targetted to attract the legions of WFRP fanatics and myth readers alike. while rogue wizard Grendl flees the Empire, a disgraced wizard and a fanatical workforce of witch hunters are despatched to trace him down. yet as hunters and hunted stray into the Northern Wastes, all bets are off because the corrupting contact of Chaos begins to impact them all...
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Today, annoyingly, there hadn’t been a single one. At least, not one that had met with their customer’s specifications. A woman he wanted, and the younger the better. The two grave robbers hadn’t asked him why. They had more sense. Instead, they’d taken his coin and promised to have the corpse by tonight. This afternoon, wandering through the wooden grave markers, they had found her: Grisolde Klempman, she was called. She had died in childbirth not three days before, which meant that she was perfect.
It shed a rare light on the perilous streets, and painted the buildings that glowered above them with a false elegance. Most of all, the citizens welcomed Mannslieb, because it was not the other, more terrible moon. Morrslieb was mercifully absent from the sky tonight, and for that all men were thankful. When it rose above the city there were always those who succumbed to its influence. The Chaos moon could devour a weak man’s humanity as surely as maggots could devour his brains. It always left streets stained red, lunatics still at large, and crimes too numerous to count.
Their scant savings were supplemented by the occasional scrap of work from foremen who knew that they would eventually be such men themselves. Although their tempers occasionally flared, they were comrades. The fire, the stew, and the ale that could be put on an endless tab—all these were comforts, but greater than them all was the sense of fellowship. After all, their mates were the only valuable things that these men had ever had. It was out of comradeship that they were drinking now. One of their number, a grizzled old Bretonnian whose adventures had led him to this cold northern city, had died.