The Witch Hunter

Just some writing I'm working on. Feel free to comment if you feel like it.

The rain pattered grimly on the windows of Gerald’s house. The wind blew against the wall, setting off a storm of protests from the foundations, creaking and groaning like arthritic old men. But the house stood firmly, as it had for the many years since Gerald had built it, log by log, by hand. Gerald himself was thankful for the warmth of his bed, and curled up contentedly under the covers, catlike in his contentment. The occasional happy thought drifted through his pleasantly fuzzy brain. It was a good day to be alive.

Richard stood stiffly in the downpour. The day was anything but optimal for his line of work. Whereas nature gave the commoners ample excuse to avoid work, Richard’s boss would brook no excuses for mangled timing. Besides, his line of work required impeccable timing. Botched timing would ruin the job, and a job ruined would bring the boss’s fury down on Richard’s head.
That is, it would bring the boss’s fury down on Richard’s head if Richard still had a serviceable head after a bad job. Or any remaining body parts, for that matter. It was a dangerous job, but it paid well.
Richard shook himself out of his miserable contemplation, and checked his tools once more.
Pistol, loaded, with the flint set. Check. Richard hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to such a noisy method.
Pistol crossbow. String drawn tight, bolt cocked, sight aligned. Check. The last job Richard had taken had badly misaligned the sight, and it had taken almost three days to set the sight straight again. The boss had been relatively lenient with his punishment that time, since the job had been completed anyway, but the brand on Richard’s shoulder remained a painful reminder of the nature of his job. Swift and silent was the ticket.
Richard shook himself again. Dagger. Check. He resisted the impulse to toss the knife from hand to hand; the elegantly deadly misericorde had cost Richard a week’s pay, but it was worth it. Perfectly balanced, short enough to throw, and hard enough to allow a few parries before breaking.
The other tools were more standard. Torch. Oil. Several pendants to ward off harmful magic hung from his neck. A set of eight steel rings with spikes protruding from them served the same function, plus acting as weapons. Stakes. Holy water. A noose. Several spellbombs. Richard fingered the last guiltily. They seemed to go by the philosophy of fighting fire with fire. Richard planned to use the spellbombs only if things got dangerous. He had never found out what they did, and didn’t want to know, particularly.
Richard walked across what passed for a street in the village, nearly losing a shoe in the process. Muttering curses under his breath, he walked up to the door of the building he was in front of…

Gerald heard a knocking on the door. Stupid peasants. It would be just like them to wake Gerald up on a day like this, asking for some cheap hand-me-out. He waited, hoping that whoever it was would go away. The knock came again. Sighing, Gerald got up out of bed, putting on a somewhat tattered grey robe. He stood up straight(er) and marched purposefully to the door. Opening it forcefully, he shouted, “Go away! If you people keep on pestering me…”
Gerald never finished the sentence.
The man outside walked straight past Gerald, and muttered “close the door.” Gerald heard an undertone of menace in the man’s voice, and hastened to comply.
“Turn around,” the man said. Gerald turned away from the door and faced the man, shaking slightly…

Ok wow. I just noticed that most of us here have a talent for writing. I mean really. By the Way DesertRose your story was great. :3