A Mordheim story

It's about time I did this (despite the fact that I have lots of storys on other fourms)
This story will have a rather odd set of heros and each one will ether meet a grizzly end (most of the guys will suffer this fate I think) or become some what, half-insane for the rest of there lifes. The heros are:

Oatman Osterwald, a freelance knight
Rudi Webenherber, a highwayman
Stellstin, a warlock
Anton Vendit, a bounty hunter
Ana Gustin, a teenage pesant girl
Elathar, a Elf ranger
Frengan Falgirson, a Dwarf treasure hunter
Melvin Undertoe, a Halfling cook

The first part of the story will come soon

Part one: Oatman Quest


As Oatman sucked his tankard of rank smelling beer dry he looked about the tap-room of The Jufal Memorial Inn. The place was a horrid spot in an even more horrid place, The Devil's Den. The place was mostly gone, but the tap-room and a small sleeping room was still there, though he would never dream about sleeping this close to The Pit. Somehow the owner, Hectar, who had named the inn after a friend that had died in The Southlands, had keeped the inn open after the comet had hit, and had told him about the place that was Mordheim.
He sighed and was about to leave when he saw him. Oatman had been looking for scum to help him kill a man of the night. A thing, not a man he remembered, a thing by the name of Baron Von Dunsing. The fanged horror had given his wife the dark kiss, and she had almost killed Oatman, but he had been able drive his dagger in to her heart just in time. Without realising he was doing it, he reached up and ran the only two good fingers on his hand (the other two being paralyzed), down the two long scars on on his throat. Yes, the undead bastard would die by his sword. He walked close to the man sitting over by the bar to get a closer look at him. The man himself was tall, with tanned, weather beaten skin, his eyes were deep blue and he had long, oily, black hair and thick beard with crumbs of leftover food in it. He wore tattered, muddy clothes, cracked and split leather boots, and armour that was blackend and rusted with age. He also had a yew wood crossbow, black powder pistol, a hunting knife and a serrated machete like sword. A bounty hunter he guessed. He walked right up to him and began to speak.

Excellent narrative!
The description of the bounty hunter is very well done. Awaiting more...

Cheers!