Note: This was my text for the 'audition' to play the character of Richter in A Great Evil. Sadly I wasn't selected, but I'm told that the choice between Thragka's text and mine was hard. I'll let you enjoy my attempt at entering AGE.



The village was not much more than a large farm. There were at most maybe a dozen households here. It appeared relatively poor, but not miserable. When the grim-looking stranger with the worn cloak and the rough face strode into the farm, his left leg limping a little, everyone was too busy working under the scorching afternoon sun to pay any attention to him.

"You there," the man said to a young boy, his voice as harsh as his face. "Does this place have some kind of chief?"
"Yes sir," the child said, slightly daunted at the sight of the warhammer the stranger wore. "You'll have to talk to Old Sam. The house over there."

They call that slum a house? They're peasants alright…

The kind of chief in question, Samuel Schmitz, was a man of about fifty who looked seventy. He sat on a wooden bench smoking a pipe. He was gnarled, shaggy and toothless, but his gray eyes were shrewd. I'll be damned if I trust him, the stranger thought.

Old Sam squinted at the grim-looking man and said:
"Welcome, traveller. We get so few visitors 'round here. How shall I call you?"
"Richter will be fine," the man said shortly, unwilling to say too much about himself.
"And what can we do for you, herr Richter? Do you wish to eat?"
"I could use a meal," Richter admitted. "I can pay."

A few minutes later, a meal made of cold ham, brown bread and oat soup was brought to him with a tankard of weak ale. The stranger mouthed a quick prayer to Sigmar and devoured his meal ravenously, having not eaten in days. When he was finished, he did not ask for anything else. He was in a hurry and needed to be back on the road as quickly as possible.
"Thanks, old man," he grunted, tossing a coin at Old Sam. "Sigmar be with you."
"I don't care about all that crap," the gnarled farmer said. "Sigmar don't do nothin' fer me and I don't do nothin' fer him. Believe me, you're better off livin' your life without thinkin' about it."

A fierce flash of anger briefly passed through Richter's dead eyes. The old farmer instinctively recoiled, probably thinking that his guest was about to strike him.
And how he would deserve it! How dare he say that he doesn't owe Sigmar anything? Ignorant peasant…

At the cost of a tremendous effort, Richter managed to control his anger.
"I've come here for information, not for food," he said, his voice not quite managing to soften enough to inspire trust. "Could you please gather everyone who lives here? I have a few questions to ask."

Old Samuel eyed him fearfully and slowly rose from his bench. He gave a few orders to the other peasants and, five minutes later, all villagers (including women and children) surrounded the two men.
"Please welcome our guest," Old Samuel told the peasants. "He wishes to hear information."

Richter swept a hard gaze across the small crowd and was quite satisfied to see that those people were fearing him, bowing their heads when his eyes met theirs.

"Good afternoon, and may Sigmar be with those of you who properly worship him," the stranger said, his voice carrying an edge of coldness. "I'll leave you to your work shortly. I'm currently trying to catch up with a friend of mine, and I believe he has taken a road that passes near this… ah… village. Last I heard, he was heading towards the Middle Mountains."

He made a brief description of Baron Turich. Suddenly one young halfwit spoke hesitantly.
"I saw a man like that a few days ago. Does your friend have a… a gaze that makes you feel kind of sick in the stomach?"
Richter quickly turned to the boy, a wild hope burning in his eyes.
Yes… a gaze that makes you feel sick. Exactly. I'm back on his track now, after two weeks of hunting…

"I wouldn't put too much faith in what the boy says," Old Sam told Richter. "He's the village idiot, you understand… He wouldn't lie, but he has a vivid imagination."
Richter almost told the farmer to shut up. Looking at the young halfwit, he said:
"Show me where you saw the man."
"Yessir."

The boy led him through the fields until they reached a small country road.
"I saw the man pass here. I always hang out around here, so I see everyone. The man didn't look very nice. He scowled at me just 'cause I was lookin' at him…"
"Thanks, boy."

It was only then that Richter looked directly at the boy. The cause of the young halfwit's stupidity was clearly visible: his head was malformed. The skull was much too wide, the ears were much too big and the forehead barely existed at all.
A mutant… The taint of Chaos, no doubt.

Richter quickly looked around and saw that he was alone with the boy. Quick as lightning, he grabbed his warhammer and swung it down, smashing the boy's skull with a loud crack.
The villagers will without a doubt curse me when they see what I've done, yet they should be grateful that I rid them of such an abomination. Ignorance is such a sad thing…

He shrugged indifferently and started to follow the road.
I believe we have a score to settle, Baron Turich. And now I'm only a few days behind you.