[WFRP] The Hour After Midnight

[Another_Poet]

Rafale, At Maria's

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Raffy stays at Maria's side when possible. When Lothat talks him up, he smiles--but not too much. He has a very distinct idea of what "dashing" is and he hopes to live up to it right now, in this rare chance he's gotten.

He pulls off his hat and gives a slight bow, much more fluidly than before now that he is prepared for it. He chuckles and says, "Lothar is too generous. He did his share of the fighting too of course. We make a good team."

He puts one hand on his wounded neck. "Of course, I wouldn't mind if he was a bit quicker on the take," he says, with a good-natured laugh.

If offered liquor he accepts the cup but doesn't take more than a sip or two all evening. He wants to be alert. When the elves leave the room he puts on a sad face.

"It's a hard life she leads," he says. "Ithelus found her, orphaned and injured, in a burnt town. He adopted her as his sister and takes care of her. She may seem odd at first, but she has a good heart. And she's great with cats," he smiles gently. "That's why we fight. Lives like hers get ruined by greed and politics."

He suddenly looks at the sack of gold tossed casually in a corner of the room. "That reminds me," he says. "I'm hoping to get rid of this gold by putting it into something worthwhile for Delberz. We have a number of bright minds here, and you all know the town better than I do. Any ideas where it would do the most good work?"

[LCP]

Lothar & Raffy

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"The theatre," mumbled Dmitri, drunkenly. Halstadt gave a whinnying chuckle, while Moescher shrugged.

"I believe there's, ah, some form of collection for the refugees on the Fields. A gold crown buys a lot of bread," he said. "A drop in the ocean, mind you, though."

"You said there were four of them?" asked Emanuelle, still apparently enthralled by the recounting of the story. "What was wrong with the other two? Was it one of them with the heads?"

[hr]

Pieter

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Traipsing back across town, Pieter made his way towards the Neumarket, finally arriving before the tumbledown facade of the Crow. Stepping over the threshold, he was barely noticed, the crowded common hall seeming particularly crowded tonight - safety in numbers, after all.

In one corner, a small circle of gamblers were packing up their dice for the evening - the weasel-faced landlord leaned on his bar, slowly polishing a stein into a more even shade of dirt with an old cloth. Despite the fire that burned on one side of the room, the draughty common hall was still more than a little cold.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar and Raffy, Heroes of the Hour

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Lothar smiled at Emanuelle, warming to his story. "Well, after Raffy charged in, sword flashing, I took care of this brute with too many fingers and turned my attentions to the last of the four, a whip-thin fellow, all cloaked and shrouded." The soldier shook his head. "My attention was gone a minute -a MINUTE- and the claw-handed man had Raffy by the throat."

"I don't mind saying, I was a-feared alright. What to do? Lucky Raffy is a fierce lad, and he managed to kick the mutant in the- well. Uh, let us say that he kicked the thing, and I could dash to his rescue. Very close shave, l gotta say." The soldier scratched his beard, grinning.

"That fourth one, covered up, he had a great eye buried in his throat, red and wide and unblinking. Didn't have any extra heads, but I think it was worse, you know?"

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Tryin' to be charmin' (1d100)[94]

[LCP]

Lothar & Raffy

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“An eye?,” said Emanuelle, putting a hand to her throat. “Ugh.”

At that point, the old servant appeared in the door, handing round a tray of drinks – he did his best not to notice Raffy and Lothar, although whether that was snobbishness or the white film in his eyes was unclear.

“Of course,” said Maria, leaning forwards into the conversation as she took a glass, “I suppose Mr Jagrun has arrived to take over the heroics now,” she said, a playful hint of challenge in her voice. “I imagine you’ll be handing over your findings to him?”

[goblinpaladin]

L&R

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Lothar made a face. "Aye, I felt a little sorry for him, personally. Between you and me, m'lady." His expression turned into a frown at Maria, and he sighed.

"Herr Jagrun will -ah- have our full co-operation," he coughed, "of course."

[-Sentinel-]

At the Crow Pieter was in his natural element, but now was hardly the time to indulge in gambling or womanizing: he likely had a long night ahead of him, and he had come here for a specific reason. Still, he was thirsty, so he went straight to the bar and ordered a tankard of ale.

And now, to find the right person for the job.

He was confident there were plenty of housewives and tailors who could do it for cheaper, but their silence was not guaranteed, and his request would likely seem strange to them. Attention was the last thing he needed.

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I will attempt a Gossip test to find the name and address of a Forger. I know it's an advanced career, so this might not be easy. If I fail, I will spend a Fortune Point to re-roll the test.

Gossip (target 51): (1d100)[96]
Re-roll with a Fortune Point if needed: (1d100)[98]

Edit: Ranald, why have you abandoned me?

[LCP]

Pieter

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"No. Nothin' doin'," said the landlord, going back to polishing his stein. The tavern's clients were no more forthcoming - except for one individual, who looked at Pieter with a wary regard.

"If'n you're lookin' for that kind of thing, you should speak to Dietlief Kleiner." The man turned back to his drink. "He knows 'bout that kind of thing," he muttered, refusing to answer any more questions.

OOC: Check the NPCs spoiler in the info-post for Dietlief Kleiner, who you'd probably have heard about.

Just so's we're clear: the Hounds are only a militia, their ribbons aren't specially-made or anything. You wouldn't have to get someone to make one for you, you could just buy a length of white ribbon and tie it round your arm.

[Another_Poet]

Raffy the Sparrowhawk

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Adding to Lothar's tale of the various mutations, he jokes: "Aye, the ones with a bunch of heads aren't usually much trouble. Too topheavy!" He pantomimes having a vewry heavy head and leaning over toone side as if his neck is broken.

When the servant tries to ignore him he snaps his fingers to get attention and grabs a glass off the tray.

At Maria's question, he waves his hand dismissively. "Jagrun'll have my help if he's a fair and honest man, but if he's corrupt he'll get the same treatment I give any blackguard."

He is not drunk, just a little too bold perhaps. If anyone objects and says he'd better watch his mouth he adds: "Oh? He'll have no trouble, if he's an innocent man."

[LCP]

Raffy and Lothar

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Maria raised her eyebrows, smiling. Moescher gave a polite laugh.

“I’ve yet to meet an honest priest,” he said, raising his glass to Raffy. “Here’s hoping the Templars are different, for both your sakes.”
The assembled party gladly took part in Johann’s toast. “Sigmar knows, His church has little to be proud of in these parts,” added Halstadt, after the event.

“Have you ever been to Kislev?” asked Dmitri to Lothar, lurching loudly back into the conversation. “You are a soldiering man. You should have been to Kislev.” He held up a declamatory finger, then momentarily seemed to forget why. Blinking, he remembered. “The other awful thing about Kislev is that it’s cold.” He settled back into his chair. “I hate snow,” he muttered to himself.

The gathering settled into an easy flow of small-talk, pressing their guests for more details and repetition of their adventures, or recounting anecdotes of their own. Maria’s other guests seemed fairly at home in her house – they had clearly been here before. Slightly too large a group to hold a unified conversation for long, they splintered into shifting groups, Lothar and Raffy almost invariably the centre of attention.

OOC: If you have anything you want to say or do over the course of the evening, go right ahead. Obviously we must wait for the elves, but I’d rather not do a blow-by-blow account of an entire evening’s conversation - I'll respond to anything you do, and otherwise fast-forward.

[Another_Poet]

Rafale the Sparrowhawk

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Raffy just stays in conversation with Maria as much as possible, but isn't rude the others. He'll recount the tale of the first bandit he ever hunted down, and other tales.

Once the evening has clearly drawn to a close he'll discreetly ask Maria if might stay to talk with her personally. His tone indicates a matter of some import.

ooc

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I hope to talk one-on-one with her about the Lector. From the lector I can transition into the loss of my sister, and from there, playing the wounded puppy card, maybe make amorous advances as well.

[-Sentinel-]

I think I'll call it a night, thought Pieter, feeling weary. There's not much more I can do on my own with what little information I have. Tomorrow I'll try to find our mutant-hunting friends and, when I do, I'll cling to them whether they want it or not.

He glanced at his fine clothes, borrowed from one of his Society friends. Time to bring them back to their owner and then go to bed. A beautiful girl's bed, if possible.

He drained the rest of his beer and walked out of the Crow.



(OOC: If this evening is far from over yet, my character can find something else to do.)

[Exeson]

The Elves

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Ithelus winces at the question, 'I don't know Illiiya, I really don't. Nothing we can do for now, our main concern is this witch hunter, we need to get past him.' He pauses and runs an hand over her cheek, 'Perhaps we should head inside?'

[assuming no prostest from Illiiya]

Ithelus strides back in, holding Illiiya's hand. 'Oh, by the way, the Hunter wishes audience with us in the morning,' He announces completely out of the blue and indeed only the most perceptive can tell the edge of dread in his tone.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya won't object with going back inside, or with letting the matter of Maria drop for now. After all, Ithelus knows best. She'll head inside with him, until a certain thing is mentioned... which will cause a sudden and somewhat obvious reaction.

N-no! No Ith, we can't! She said panickedly, He'll blame us, a-and then he'll burn us. I... I can't.... It hurts. It hurts so much. Please... Please don't let him burn me!

[LCP]

Lothar, Raffy, Ithelus & Illiiya

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The eyes of the nobles turned to Illiiya at her outburst. Maria bit her lip, looking concerned.

“I’m afraid if he’s asked for you... you’re going to have to go, my dear,” she said, quietly. Moescher nodded along with her. “Refusal would be suspicious – in his eyes, at least.”

She met Illiiya’s eyes, trying to be consoling.

“You and your friends are the heroes of the hour, Illiiya... I’m sure he doesn’t suspect you. You mustn’t give him an excuse to start.”

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya flinched slightly from Maria's gaze, and stammered for something to reply.

But h-he's a hunter. And I'm... n-not human. She muttered, They hate us.

[LCP]

Raffy, Lothar, Ithelus & Illiiya

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"I'd say they hate people just as much," said Fritz, a little tipsily attempting a joke. Maria did not look away from Illiiya, still speaking softly in an attempt to calm the elf.

"You've done nothing. Just remember that - he can't touch you unless you let him trap you into confessing to something you haven't done." She held Illiiya's eyes. "Don't let him scare you, Illiiya."

[Another_Poet]

Raffy's admiration for Maria blossoms 100-fold.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

Yawning, Pieter walked back to the Graf's Arms inn, where he stayed since his arrival in Delberz. He paid his room by the night: sometimes he preferred to sleep elsewhere, and there was no telling when circumstances (or whim) might cause him to leave town.

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Haggle test (target 25) to bargain the price down to 3 s.
(1d100)[35]

Two Elves, a soldier in uniform and a maniac with a blunderbuss should not be too hard to find, he thought as he climbed the stairway to his bedroom, too tired to even think about getting a girl for the night.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya's only reply was a nervous squeek as she tightened her grip on Ithelus' arm. The woman still made her nervous.

But she has little else to say, so I'm content with moving onwards to tomorrow. I'm assuming they'll head off to rest someplace, and that she'll be staying wherever Ithelus does.

[goblinpaladin]

Socialising

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Lothar relaxes as the evening goes on, telling exagerrated stories of his times in the army. His favourite appears to be this great battle against improbable fish-men which were raiding a Nordland town where he was stationed during the squalls before the Storm. "Great hulking things they were, dripping in reeking water, faces like lampreys- you ever eaten lamprey? Great black slimy suckers, with mouths like spiked caves. Hideous..."

He confesses to a disappointed Dmitri that he has never been to Kislev, but adds that his mother hailed from the frozen north- Lothar attempts to recount some of the garbled Kislev his mother passed along, but he is drunk, and it is late.

He certainly follows Raffy's lead in attempting to land himself some feminine company (what else is heroism good for?), but does not aim for his host. Emmanuelle seems nice enough, but if the richer souls at the gathering appear disinclined to enjoy his company, he'll grin at any women among the servants...

Post-Announcement

Lothar turns in surprise at the annoucement of Ithelus, and quickly shakes his head. He steps forward to intervene as Illiiya begins to panic, but Maria's quick words seem to reassure him and he half-returns to the social circle of which he was a part.

"No doubt he just wants to share information. Nothing to be a-feared of." The soldier's words are more convincing than his expression, which is slightly troubled beneath the copper beard.

[LCP]

Raffy, Lothar, Illiiya & Ithelus

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The evening ambled pleasantly into the night, Maria’s aged servant reappearing once or twice with drinks: he had apparently lost the courage to snub his mistress’ guests, although once or twice Illiiya heard him grumbling to himself as he left the room. At Emanuelle’s request, Raffy’s blunderbuss ended up being passed around among the nobles – Ithelus noticed the young man pale slightly as von Gamow looked straight down the flared barrel. As the night wore on, it became increasingly clear that she was attached to Johann Moescher in no insignificant degree, leaning in close to him and giggling: the man didn’t seem unresponsive, either. Lothar noticed she wore a wedding ring, however.

As the party wound down, a young serving-girl entered, clearing away the glasses and such – she looked away as Lothar grinned at her, and scuttled out of the room, not having spoken a word. At last, the high-born guests began to take their leave, filtering out into the cold Middenland night. The group took their cue, and rose to leave – except for Raffy, who lingered behind, asking something of Maria. Not completely impervious to discretion, Lothar guided the elves out, leaving the Sparrowhawk behind.

[hr]

Raffy

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Seeing the others leave, Raffy turned to Maria – she was smiling, as if he had just made some unheard joke.

“So that was the other elf,” she laughed. “Rafale, I suspect you may have played poor Klaus for a fool the other day. He was fuming and muttering for so long, about how an elf could be so unenlightened.”

Seeing the worry on his face, she waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “Relax – you confessed already.” She grinned. “The details don’t make any difference. Now,” she said, taking her seat again. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Mastering his nerves, Raffy began talking – about his sister, and then about the killings. Initially tripping over his words a little, he began to speak more freely as he went on – Maria was clearly listening, her face showing sympathy as he spoke about the loss of Lily. As he moved on to Ilsa’s story, however, she held up a hand.

“It was me who told you to speak to her, Rafale,” she said, gently. “I’ve heard it.”
“Then you’ve heard that he killed that girl?” said Raffy, a little vehemently. “The Lector’s a murderer.”
“That’s what Ilsa says,” said Maria, measuredly.
“Why would she lie?”
“I’m not saying she is,” said Maria. “And yes, if you want to know – I believe her. If von Kemperbad didn’t kill her sister, he had her killed... or spirited away, or something. It would fit with everything I know about him. He’s one of Esmer’s protégés, a political animal. Von Kemperbad would step on anyone who got in the way of his advancement in the Church without a second thought.” She laughed – not the bubbling, infectious laugh of earlier in the evening, but a short, wry exhalation of breath. “And something has clearly given him a grudge against women.”

She paused – briefly glancing at the blunderbuss, she looked back at Raffy, holding eye contact. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and sincere.
“You wanted to talk to me about this. You think the Lector’s past has something to do with these murders? With Lily’s murder?”
She paused – her expression spoke of a dozen things, but Raffy thought he saw concern in her eyes.
“What are you planning to do?”

[Another_Poet]

Raffy

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“What are you planning to do?”

Raffy sighs, sitting back in his seat and looking up at the ceiling. "I can't just leave someone like that to freedom. And I don't know any way to bring him down legally. He has the whole place in his hands."

He sits up again. "A man like that doesn't deserve to be in power. To hold sway. He doesn't deserve it. Not... in a world where there are good people with good hearts."

He looks her in the eye. "People like you."

[LCP]

Raffy

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Maria seemed to consider his words – it was a moment before she spoke again.

“Thank you... but please, listen to me. This man he’s brought in, this Jagrun - he changes everything.” She smiled faintly, without a hint of mirth. “Perhaps it was hypocritical of me to tell Illiiya not to be frightened. He’s been brought here to hunt heretics who have attacked the Church – and what has the Society done but dogged the Hounds and the Lector, every step of the way? If you act against him, if you do something rash, you become a suspect. If you become a suspect, anything is justified to extract a confession.”

She held Raffy’s gaze. “Maybe you think you could hold up to torture, Rafale, but could your friends? It doesn’t matter what the truth is – they’ll swear you were behind it all, that you sacrificed orphans to the Ruinous Powers, by the end.” She paused. “What you’ve said to me alone could be enough to incriminate you in someone else’s hands. Free thought is dangerous where the Witch Hunters tread.”

Maria glanced down. “All my life, I’ve been told what I can and can’t do by men like von Kemperbad,” she said, speaking with conviction. “I grew up in this town, and in a few months, the Lector turned it into a frightened shadow of itself. There are people who used to work my father’s lands, starving in tents on the Fields while they finish gilding the inside of von Kemperbad’s Cathedral, and being dragged into the street by von Kemperbad’s Hounds when they try to find a cure for their sick grandmother, or when they dare to speak out against him. And now he’s brought the Witch Hunters to Delberz, and I wonder whether my friends will all survive, whether I might end up crossing his path at the wrong time or in the wrong place, and find myself on a pyre.” Her speech had become impassioned. “But I know not to give him an excuse. Even if von Kemperbad were to vanish in a puff of smoke tomorrow, there would be men who’d finish his work for him – men like Jagrun. Do you think he could do all this if the Church didn’t let him?”

Maria met Raffy’s eyes again. “There are other ways of fighting back. You and your friends have already rattled his cage, digging up those mutants – whittling away his excuses for the militia. Now these murders – think how bad it will look for him if you find the culprit before his Witch Hunter. He lives or dies on the paranoia of the people, on their willingness to be his lynch mob and to let his Hounds do what they please in the cause of hunting out Chaos. You can erode that away – or you can feed it, by playing to their fears.”

She took his hand.

“I think he can be brought down. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t stay in this city another minute. The question is, do you want to help – or do you want to put that in danger?”

[Another_Poet]

Raffy

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As Maria talks about her friends and her family's servants suffering, he reaches over and puts one hand gently on her shoulder.

"Even if von Kemperbad were to vanish in a puff of smoke tomorrow, there would be men who’d finish his work for him – men like Jagrun. Do you think he could do all this if the Church didn’t let him?”

Raffy lowered his head in a troubled look, contemplating what she'd said. "But I'm a duelist and a hunter. If I can't fight them, what can I do?"

“There are other ways of fighting back. You and your friends have already rattled his cage, digging up those mutants – whittling away his excuses for the militia. Now these murders – think how bad it will look for him if you find the culprit before his Witch Hunter. He lives or dies on the paranoia of the people, on their willingness to be his lynch mob and to let his Hounds do what they please in the cause of hunting out Chaos. You can erode that away – or you can feed it, by playing to their fears.”

She took his hand, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster with young love. He wondered if she felt the same spark that he did when their skin touched. He looked into her eyes, mesmerized with affection.

“I think he can be brought down. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t stay in this city another minute. The question is, do you want to help – or do you want to put that in danger?”

He liffts her hand in his and kisses it gently, almost reverently. It's a gesture she's surely been shown too many times to count, but never before with such sincerity. "Maria, I don't want to put you in danger. Not ever. I want Delberz to be free."

He holds her gaze (and her hand) for a moment and adds, "When I first came here, I had nothing in particular to live for. I could throw away my life if it would bring me fame or excitement. I was ready to do it tonight, at the party. But Maria... you've given me something to live for."

He knows that his words could be taken either of two ways. In youthful shyness, he can hide behind them if she has no feelings for him - a simple pledge to protect the city. But he prays she takes them for a proclamation of love, and returns the sentiment.

[LCP]

Raffy

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Raffy lowered his head in a troubled look, contemplating what she'd said. "But I'm a duelist and a hunter. If I can't fight them, what can I do?"

“Solve these murders. Maybe you’re right, maybe they are linked to your sister – they sound the same, don’t they?” she said. “This fourth one the Witch Hunter found sounds like a red herring – some amateur aping the first three. Maybe even a plant by the Hounds,” she added, darkly. “The others, though... I’ve heard about them. Crimes like that are beyond a dog like Halbermann. There’s something more dangerous at work, and I don’t think the people should find out about it through von Kemperbad or his servants.”

He lifts her hand in his and kisses it gently, almost reverently. It's a gesture she's surely been shown too many times to count, but never before with such sincerity. "Maria, I don't want to put you in danger. Not ever. I want Delberz to be free."

He holds her gaze (and her hand) for a moment and adds, "When I first came here, I had nothing in particular to live for. I could throw away my life if it would bring me fame or excitement. I was ready to do it tonight, at the party. But Maria... you've given me something to live for."

He knows that his words could be taken either of two ways. In youthful shyness, he can hide behind them if she has no feelings for him - a simple pledge to protect the city. But he prays she takes them for a proclamation of love, and returns the sentiment.

Maria paused – Raffy felt his heart sink, wondering if he had gone too far. She did not draw away, however.

“You, um... you are very flattering.” She seemed to be having to think fast. “...You said you were ready to throw your life away. Promise me then, that you won’t.”

She stopped again, still searching for words.

“Klaus once said this was all about liberty. As long as we’re accountable to how the Church thinks we should behave, as long as we have to watch our own words... we’re not free to do what we really want.” Raffy wondered if he was imagining an added significance to those words. “Until he’s stopped, we can’t.”

Maria smiled at him.

“Von Kemperbad thinks he can persuade people to surrender their freedoms out of fear. I think that means it takes a brave man to prove him wrong.”

She rose, putting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you were here tonight, Rafale. We should speak again soon.”

[Another_Poet]

Raffy the Sparrowhawk

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“You, um... you are very flattering.” She seemed to be having to think fast. “...You said you were ready to throw your life away. Promise me then, that you won’t.”

"I promise, Maria. I swear it." He actually smiles, faintly.

“Klaus once said this was all about liberty. As long as we’re accountable to how the Church thinks we should behave, as long as we have to watch our own words... we’re not free to do what we really want.”

Raffy unconsciously chews on his lower lip as she speaks...

“Until he’s stopped, we can’t.”

...and nods, almost slyly, in agreement. Maria smiled at him, and he smiled back, almost beaming.

“Von Kemperbad thinks he can persuade people to surrender their freedoms out of fear. I think that means it takes a brave man to prove him wrong...

“I’m glad you were here tonight, Rafale. We should speak again soon.”

"Wait, Maria," he says, rising to his feet just as she does. He picks up his 'buss and slings it over his shoulder, then motions toward her handkerchief.

"Give me a token before I go. Something to remind me what I'm fighting for."

[LCP]

Raffy

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Maria laughed, not unkindly. For the first time since he had mentioned von Kemperbad, she seemed genuinely amused.

"With pleasure," she said, passing it to Raffy. "With manners like that, you should set up for a Breton."

[Another_Poet]

Raffy the Sparrowhawk

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As a response to her comment, he snaps his heels together at attention and then performs an exaggerated kneeling bow before her, accepting the token.

"Good evening to you, Miss," he says with a smile... and shows himself out the way he came in.

Walking lightheartedly for the first time in months, he passes through the late night streets in a daydreamy state. If anyone is out looking to jump the young hero they may have an easy time of it. Whistling, he gets his (Pilserier's) horse from the place he left it, offering it the heel of a carrot and telling it how lucky it is that it won't have to gallop out of town tonight.

He rides the nag at a walk until he reaches the house where the elves are quartered in the cellar. Sleepy, he takes his net, his munitions, and the token of his love and goes down the ladder into the darkness. Trying not to disturb Ithelus and Illiiya any more than he has to, he goes to sleep. The kerchief is folded neatly and tucked near his heart.

[LCP]

Lothar, Raffy, Illiiya & Ithelus

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The next morning, the clouds had returned – thin drizzle was descending gently from on high, a drifting haze of water slicking the cobbles where they had been laid, and beginning to turn the streets to mud where they had not. Sheltering in the lee of a house’s overhanging eaves, the group assembled, holding themselves tightly against the cold – the early morning sun didn’t seem to be trying its hardest.

The castle seemed further away than it had been yesterday – trudging in the wet up the steep road to the gatehouse was certainly less appealing to report to Jagrun than to attend the torchlit glamour of the Baron’s reception. The guards let them pass without a word, apparently having been told to expect the mutant-hunters.

Passing inside, they were led down a narrow flight of stone stairs, the grand hall swiftly vanishing out of sight. This was an old part of the castle, perhaps dating back to when the mound had been a genuine fortification: the stairs seemed to descend inordinately deep, the temperature perceptibly dropping towards the bottom. As their liveried guide lit a torch against the darkness, Lothar was in little doubt that these were the dungeons.

They were ushered into a sparse, stone-walled room with a low, vaulted ceiling: seated on a stone bench, they were told to wait to be called. Setting his torch in a bracket on the wall, the servant who had shown them the way left, heading back up the steps at a pace that gave away that he was perhaps a little too eager to escape.

After perhaps five minutes had passed, a heavy wooden door slammed open – none other than Dietlief Halbermann stalked out, his expression clearly conveying that he was in a foul mood. He stopped dead as he saw the group waiting – his scowl deepening, he pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Ithelus, stalking out of the room and up the stairs without another word.

A minute or so after the Sergeant’s appearance, the door opened again: a terrified-looking servant peeked out.

“Mr Jagrun will see you now,” he quavered. As the party rose to their feet, the man nervously shook his head. “Um, one at a time, he said.” He gestured to Ithelus. “You first, sir.”

OOC: Please read the post in the OOC thread before reading any further.

[hr]

Ithelus

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Passing through the door, Ithelus was shown down a short, dark stone corridor before being admitted to another sparsely-furnished stone room. A large, sturdy-looking desk had been set down in the centre of the floor, a vacant, rickety-looking chair set down before it – Jagrun was sitting on the other side, a stack of parchment and a freshly-cut quill before him. The Witch Hunter would have looked almost professorial if his inkwell had not been made from a human skull – or at least, a human-looking skull. The canines were rather too pronounced for Ithelus’ liking. Stacked in the corners or hanging from chains around them, various ironwork devices looked like they had just been unpacked – they looked to have a uniformly unpleasant purpose.

“Please,” said Jagrun, not looking up from the report he was reading. “Sit down.”

As Ithelus tentatively took a seat, the Witch Hunter’s eyes snapped up to focus on him. Putting aside the document he was holding, he drew a blank sheet towards him. The man’s face was the same unreadable mask it had been last night.

“Very good of you to come – Ithelus wasn’t it?” he said, civilly. “This shouldn’t take long. I just need to ask you a few questions regarding your discoveries.” He picked up the quill, wetting it in the gruesome inkwell. “First, could I ask your full name, profession, and place of birth?”

Lothar

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After what seemed an age in the tense silence of the waiting-room, the servant appeared again, calling Lothar. Led through a darkened passageway, the ex-soldier found himself emerging into a bare-walled stone room much like the one he had just left – however, this one was cluttered with an impressive selection of black metalwork. They were unmistakeably the instruments of interrogation: Lothar found himself staring at one that looked like a great spiked horse-collar with a grisly fascination as to how it worked.

In the centre of the room, a desk had been set up: the Witch Hunter was sat behind it, looking up at Lothar expectantly. Hurriedly taking his seat, Lothar took in the fanged skull that served as the man’s inkwell as Jagrun drew a blank sheet of parchment towards him, looking the soldier up and down with impassive, hooded eyes.

“I don’t believe we were introduced last night,” he said, coolly. “My name is Aldric Jagrun. If you could tell me your name and place of birth?”

Raffy

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Neither Lothar nor Ithelus came back into the room after they had been called: after a long, tense wait, Raffy was called, reluctantly leaving Illiiya alone behind him as he was shown through a short, shadowy, corridor to another thick door. The servant stayed behind as he passed through, seemingly terrified of what lay on the other side.

The Sparrowhawk found himself in a stone-walled room much like the one he had just left – all around him, the tools of the Witch Hunter’s trade seemed halfway through being unpacked, Maria’s words about torture being brought forcibly home by the sight of what looked like the work of a dozen sadistic blacksmiths piled up around him. In the centre of the room, a desk had been laid out – the Witch Hunter was sitting behind it, looking up at him as he entered the room.

“Pray have a seat,” the man said, calmly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Aldric Jagrun.”

He drew a sheet of paper towards him, wetting a quill to write. Raffy realised the inkwell was a skull, a human one - albeit one with monstrously pronounced canine teeth.

“To begin – if you could please tell me your name, profession, and place of birth.”

Illiiya

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It felt like hours since Raffy had left – leaving Illiiya on her own, only her and the shadows in the cold, dark room. She knew that beyond that door, the Witch Hunter was waiting – why hadn’t Ithelus and the others come back? She told herself they were probably being shown out into another room, that the man was trying to scare her – it was little consolation.

After a million years had passed in silence, the door finally creaked open again – the servant called her forward, Illiiya feeling her heartbeat quicken as she was shown down a narrow, claustrophobic corridor towards another thick, oaken door. The servant held it open for her, not stepping through himself – hearing it slam behind her, Illiiya found herself totally alone once again.

This room was much like the one she had just left – all around her, however, were instruments of torture, leaning against corners or suspended on chains where they had been haphazardly unpacked. The nightmares of a mad metalworker, their black iron jaws gaped all around her, the echoes of a hundred agonised victims clinging to their jagged edges – she thought she could hear a ghostly whimpering coming from the direction of something that looked like a great iron horse-collar, with vicious screw-threaded spikes protruding into the inside. The ghostly smell of hot metal assailed her nostrils, drifting in and out of perception.

A door closed somewhere to her left, making her jump – looking round, she saw the Witch Hunter enter, the tall, black-clad man nodding in her direction, and motioning for her to take a seat in front of the sturdy desk that occupied the centre of the room. He seemed to notice she was looking at the collar – glancing at it himself, he frowned, stepping up to it and making some kind of adjustment of the screws.

“You never can trust servants to do things right,” he said, calmly. Turning back to Illiiya, he walked over to the desk, taking up a seat behind it and stretching out a gloved hand to shake hers. “Aldric Jagrun, at your service.”

Hesitantly taking it, she felt a strange, gritty feeling under her palm – as if the man’s hands were coated with ash, ash falling between her fingers. From just below his elbow on the desk, a fanged skull – a real fanged skull, its cranium cut through to make an inkwell – was staring malevolently up at her.

I thought I could fool him too, it seemed to be saying. One word wrong, and you’ll end up like me.

“I apologise for the inconvenience,” said the Witch Hunter, calmly – drawing a blank sheet of paper towards him, he picked up a quill, wetting it in the skull’s open braincase. “This shouldn’t take long – just a few questions I need to ask.”

He looked up at Illiiya, making eye contact – though his voice and expression were polite, she could feel those hooded grey eyes assessing her, watching for any hint of... anything.

“If we could begin with the essentials... your name, profession and place of birth.”

[hr]

Pieter

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Waking slowly into another dreary Middenland morning, Pieter became aware of a commotion downstairs. Getting dressed as quickly as he could, he hurried out onto the landing, heading over to the stairs that led down to the common room of the Graf’s Arms.

“Oh, it’s horrible!” a woman in the shawl and plain dress of a commoner was wailing – the landlord and a couple of the servants were gathered around her, one of them bringing her water. “Please – you have to go find the Hounds, the Guard, someone! He’s still lying there! All...” – words seemed to fail her, her sentence dying in her throat amidst a mass of horrified sobs.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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"There, there," said Pieter soothingly, putting his hand softly on the woman's shoulder. "Let me help you. Tell me what happened, please."

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Fellowship test (would that be Charm or just a "vanilla" Fel test?) to soothe her.

Target 51: (1d100)[43]

(Edit: It rules to have a high Fel. )