[WFRP] The Hour After Midnight

[-Sentinel-]

Once they get to the poster and Pieter reads it aloud, Raffy visibly slumps. "This is bad," he says. "Anyone know this... Martin whatzit?"

"Must be a false name," said Pieter. "The Society of Free Men was planning to distribute a leaflet today... This must be it."

Typical of them. Lots of words, no action. Too little judgment to wait for a better time, and too little courage to actually do something useful. The last thing the refugees needed right now was chaos and repression.

I think I'll have a word with Klaus when I have some spare time.

He ripped the leaflet off the wall, crumpled it and threw it in a gutter, but by then there were probably dozens of them all over town.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Bad... so bad. Illiiya muttered. All the killings... n-no point but... to make the people feel scared. F-feel... nervous. Not trust t-the.... the guards... the lords.... the church. Then these come out. They'll get a lot of people joining them. So many people afraid their leaders c-can't protect them.

She looked at Raffy nervously, her head bowed.

I'll bet no one from the society has died. T-they're all.... p-part of the cult. She muttered to him, Even if they don't know it.

[Another_Poet]

I'll bet no one from the society has died. T-they're all.... p-part of the cult. Even if they don't know it.

Raffy opens his mouth as if to ask her what she means, but then closes it again, letting her words sink in. He gives her a gentle squeeze with his arm, letting her know someone is there for her.

[-Sentinel-]

Illiiya's reaction slightly alarmed Pieter. That kind of rumor was exactly the kind of excuse the witch hunter and his dogs needed. Some of them would have no qualms about scapegoating innocents just to assert their authority. In the end, it all came down to politics.

"Um, don't say such nonsense, okay?" he said gently. "No one in the Society is in league with any kind of cult." He looked at the others gravely. "Nor have they written this leaflet. We've never heard of this Martin fellow."

[Another_Poet]

Raffy thinks a long moment and then says softly, "She doesn't talk nonsense."

Then his head snaps toward Pieter and he states in a more direct tone: "A moment ago you said that Martin is a false name and that this is the Society's leaflet. Now you're saying it's not?"

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter stared at Raffy for a moment, juggling several sarcastic replies. He decided to stay nice: the boy did have a blunderbuss.

"I mean," he said patiently, leading Raffy and the others away from the gaggle of people, "that if anyone asks, we don't know where this leaflet comes from. We keep the Society out of this. And we don't spread silly rumors about any Society member being a cultist, got it?"

Gods, was he slow.

"Now, about F.L.," mused Pieter. "As I said, his payments show that he is rich... or indebted. Mandrake men will beggar themselves for their root. If F.L. is indeed the one we're looking for, he's probably an impoverished burgher, maybe even a nobleman. And he likely owes money to someone. We should try to find this someone."

[Another_Poet]

Raffy's eyes narrow, but he nods his agreement.

"Ith probably knows some usurers."

[-Sentinel-]

"I know there are some money lenders in the Lower Town," said Pieter, "most of them rather shady. We can ask around. Coming?"

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If the others are okay with this, we should move on. I suggest that we stick together: splitting up is a bitch, and in the end it doesn't save that much time.

Gossip test (51): (d100)[35]

[Another_Poet]

((unless Ith wants to go explore his own contacts, which he probably has, I second the plan. Raffy comes along - with Illiiya, if she's too scared to go with Ith, or without her, if she'd rather stick by her "brother".))

[LCP]

Not Lothar

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Heading west into the Lower Town, the group made their enquiries – finding a street trader in the Neumarket whose trade was slack enough for idle talk, Pieter found he had finally located someone who knew what they were talking about.

“You lookin’ to borrow money?” asked the short, wiry man, sucking in his breath over chipped, yellow teeth. “Sucks to be you, I guess. It ain’t exactly a buyer’s market, what with the present... climate.”

He shrugged. “If you can convince them you’re good for it, you get a loan from Helmut Helstrum’s offices. All legit, though he’ll squeeze you drier than a sponge if you don’t pay it back sharp-like. Don’t go tryin’ out your sob-stories, though – old man Helstrum’s got a heart of stone, and he only hires clerks what are the same way inclined.”

“If you can’t – well, there’s always Kleiner, an’ Kleiner’s men.” The name seemed to need no further explanation. “Let people hear that you’re lookin’ for ‘em, and one of ‘em will find you, soon enough. He’s definitely got a line in that sort o’ thing – even got a pawn-shop he basic’lly runs, though if you pawned somethin’ there, you couldn’t count on gettin’ it back. Anyone else who tries settin’ up as a shark ends up part of the gang or out on the street. Or worse.” He gave a wry grin. “It’s a desperate man, though, what borrows from the likes o’ him.”

He paused.

“I did hear there was someone strikin’ out on their own among the tents, on the Fields. That’s small change, though – prob’ly why Kleiner hasn’t stamped down on ‘em.”

OOC: Ithelus & Illiiya left in neutral for now - I've PMed Exeson asking him whether I should be autopiloting Ith, or whether his exams are over soon, so this hopefully shan't be a problem for too long either way.

If Ithelus does end up striking out on his own (with or without Illiiya), I'll just take that to happen simultaneously with the above.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter thanked the trader and walked away. He was fairly sure he could cross out Helmut Helstrum. That left two money lenders.

"We should look for Kleiner first, I think," he told the others. "A mandrake man would be desperate enough to borrow from him."

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Edit: Disregard the roll below, we don't need it after all.

Gossip (51): (d100)[30]

[Another_Poet]

Raffy the Sparrowhawk

Raffy frowns. "I don't think so. I've heard a lot about Kleiner. One or two loans of the amount we're talking - sure. But how many puchases did this F.L. make? Four? You're not going to get a third or fourth loan from Kleiner without paying back the first two or losing some fingers. I say we try Helstrum."

"Besides, Kleiner's probably the contact Ith went after." <- assuming he did

He'll ask directions to where to find Hestrum's offices, then head there with Ith (if Ith hasn't gone to seek Kleiner), and Illiiya (if still with him) and Pieter (if Pieter wants to go, otherwise, parting ways here.)

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar

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Covering his mouth with the edge of his shirt, Lothar comes over to the good doctor. "Ah-- Everythin' alright, doctor?"

After a conversation about the wealthy man and the urban poor, the former soldier directs the conversation towards mandrake men, and Pilsierer- surely the doctor knows about addicts who may have some money. Maybe someone approached him once?

[-Sentinel-]

Raffy frowns. "I don't think so. I've heard a lot about Kleiner. One or two loans of the amount we're talking - sure. But how many puchases did this F.L. make? Four? You're not going to get a third or fourth loan from Kleiner without paying back the first two or losing some fingers. I say we try Helstrum."

Pieter was skeptical.

"The street trader said that Helstrum doesn't suffer slow payers," he pointed out. "Besides, legit money lenders usually want guarantees. It's those who don't who are the shady ones." He shrugged. "Guess it doesn't hurt to ask Helstrum. But I'd rather pay a visit to the one on the Fields."


OOC: That's assuming Ith visits Kleiner.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

OOC: Just to clarrify, Illiiya will go along with Raffy and them. The only thing that could convince her otherwise is if Ithelus goes off solo and asks her to come. So I too am waiting on Ith, but I'm guessing he'd come with us too... so I'll assume Illiiya is present and being her shy self.

[Another_Poet]

Raffy shrugs. "You're assuming this fellow is a slow payer. Someone who can spend 14 crowns a week either pays off his loans, or had the collateral to take out a huge one in the first place." He ponders. "I shouldn't really visit the Fields anytime soon. You go on and check out the fellow out there, we'll go visit Helmstrum. Meet back here this afternoon?"

If the plan is acceptable, he seeks out Helmstrum.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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Pieter was familiar with the Fields: he went there almost daily to preach the word of Ranald to the refugees and distribute the food donated by the Society. Many people here knew him by face, if not by name. Some of the young women knew him quite a bit more than that.

Finding the mysterious money lender should not be too hard...

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Is it okay to move on?

Gossip test (51): (d100)[12]

[LCP]

Lothar

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”Hm?” said the doctor, a mixture of surprise and irritation on his face at being addressed – his expression softened as he recognised Lothar. “Ah. It’s you.” He paused. “Hello.”

“Who was that?” asked Lothar, striking up conversation.
“Helmut Helstrum,” said Rasen, darkly. Looking over his shoulder, he gestured to Gulli and Hans – with looks of glum resignation on their faces, the men began boarding up the mouth of the well.
“You couldn’t find a more miserable squeezer and penny-shaver in all Delberz,” said the doctor, turning back to Lothar. “His great-grandfather built this whole ward, a wealthy man and a philanthropist - but daddy was a gambler. They say Helmut made it back on the Silk Road, before he came back here to take over what was left of the old holdings. He certainly gets his cut-throat attitude from somewhere.”
He shook his head.
“One ray of light, though – I’m fairly sure the contagion I told you about is stemming from the water in this well. Practically every household that’s been afflicted has drawn water from it at some point in the recent past – and gods above that took a lot of work to find out – and it doesn’t seem to spread from person to person, only by the drinking.” Some of the man’s old equanimity seemed to return. “I suspect there may be a pestilent miasma lingering at the water’s surface – that, or perhaps some carcass that has sunk to the bottom unseen. If it were not so deep and so old, the people here might be able to dredge it themselves.” Rasen smiled wanly. “Which, in simple terms, means that we shan’t be having a plague after all.”

The doctor seemed to remember who he was talking to, and blinked, his smile disappearing. “Were you looking for me? Not another of your friends getting themselves cut to pieces, is it?”
“No, nothin’ like that – was wonderin’ if I could ask you some questions, actually,” said the soldier, respectfully. “About Mr Pilserier.”
“Mm. I heard,” said the doctor. “The news is all over town. Poisoned in one of the guards’ cells. More fuel for the Lector’s fire, I’m afraid, and on top of all these inflammatory pamphlets, too.” He paused, realising he was wandering again. “I’m sorry, what was it you were wanting to ask?”
“Well, the apothecary had a big chest o’ mandrake root in his cart,” said Lothar, getting straight to the point. “Since he seemed like the kind of man to be sellin’ it,” – Rasen nodded vigorously – “we were wonderin’ if you might know anything about the kind of men to be buyin’ it?”
Rasen paused, his eyes glazing over as if staring at the pages of some rote-learned medical textbook.
“The symptoms of ingestion of Mandragora homunculae are, in the short term, a pronounced soporific daze, an amelioration of pains, and an increase in the sanguine and phlegmatic humours, as easily observable by a distinct flushing of the cheeks and dilation of the pupils,” the doctor intoned. “Sometimes visions and other disturbances of the mind are reported, although such accounts are rarely coherent. Once the initial stupor has waned, there come strong cravings for another dose, the passing of the root causing an imbalance of choleric and thus making the unfortunate who ingests the root ill-tempered, distracted and irritable. For those who habitually make use of Mandragora, permanent effects on both mind and body become pronounced – the root itself is poisonous in sufficient concentrations, and accumulations in the intestine have a debilitating action on the vital principle, making the man who uses it pale, weak and short-lived in direct proportion to the amount he ingests. His character may be changed by the constant craving for the root, and his sanity damaged by the constant fluxion of his humours.”

The doctor paused – Lothar realised he was only pausing for breath.

“For the addict - or ‘Mandrake Man’ in the common parlance - whose drug is withheld from him, the effects are most severe – such a man may become subject to waking dreams, strong delusions, and physical symptoms such as the trembling of his extremities and sharp pains in his muscles. Criminal behaviour in order to secure their next dose is often observed, and thus, the responsible herbalist does not procure or prepare the root of the Mandrake.”

His eyes returning to Lothar’s face. “Fröhlen, chapter eighty-seven, I believe. There are other treatments, but Fröhlen’s is the most scientific.”

He shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you, I think. The only reported ‘cures’ have been cases where the patient was physically restrained from ingesting the root over a period of months – although I believe some of those ended rather unpleasantly.” He made a face. “In any case, Mandrake Men who have money to spend on doctors spend it on the root instead – I have only seen a couple of cases in my career, and they were both already dead – just the Guard asking me how they had died. I suppose Delberz has its share of them, but no worse than any other town this size. Usually among the upper classes, or burghers at the least – the common people are loyal to alcohol as their poison of choice.”

He examined his gloved hands, as if making sure they were clean, then picked up his bag, as if ready to leave the square.

“Is there anything else?”

[hr]

Raffy (& Illiiya?)

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Helstrum’s offices were easy to find, directions available on any street corner – standing discreetly aside from the Neumarket, they were a shabby, black-painted pair of houses with their lower floors converted into a shop-front, the lonely word “Helstrum” picked out in faded yellow paint along the beam that ran over the front door. There was a space after it where the black looked newer and cleaner – squinting at it, Raffy thought he could make out the traces of the addendum ‘& Gant’, painted over a little too thinly.

A little tin bell rang as they stepped over the threshold – in contrast to the noise and bustle of the Lower Town, the inside of the office was as stale and silent as the tomb, motes of dust floating in the air. Stacks of ancient, yellowed paper were piled high towards the back of the room, a beleaguered-looking young clerk with torn cuffs and ink-stained hands quietly and methodically attacking the mountain of letters from a rickety desk half-submerged in its foothills – a pair of others, dressed in dusty black, looked up as Raffy and Illiiya entered, regarding the bounty hunter and the elf as they would numbers on a page.

The most senior-looking clerk – a withered scarecrow of a man, with dusty pince-nez spectacles balanced precariously on the knife-thin bridge of his nose – cleared his throat by way of a greeting.

“Ahem. Can we help you?”

[hr]

Pieter

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It took a while for Pieter to make his way back across town – heading into the forest of canvas that was the Fluchtling Fields, it was easy to see that things were going from bad to worse. A few of the gaunt young men from Schoppendorf were sporting recent bruises – more significantly, a few of the tents had been colonised by new families scrounging the space, old faces vanished without a trace. Old faces, that was the thing. The old and the ailing. The slight crunch of frost in the grass underfoot was enough to tell Pieter why. Old Man Winter had arrived, pulling the corpse-cart behind him.

His enquiries were not difficult – every person he asked pointed him in the same direction, to a large tent that squatted in the centre of the Fields. Approaching it, Pieter saw its front was open – a wiry, almost youthful-looking man sat there in a battered chair, a ragged line of supplicants queuing up in front of him. Behind him, almost filling the swollen tent with their clutter, was a bizarre assortment of wares – furniture, firearms, tools, hides, fine clothes – almost anything except for food or drink. A second man, broad-shouldered and tanned like a farmer, sat on top of a battered but antique dresser, his heels swinging idly in the air as he watched the queue with a sharp eye.

[Another_Poet]

Raffy the Sparrowhawk

With Illiiya before entering:

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Raffy heads toward the building with Helstrum's name on it, then pauses. Turning back to Illiiya he takes one of her hands in both of his and he says,

"Illiiya, we've got to do this together. I... I need your help, Illiiya. Can you help me?"

Assuming some sign of assent...

"When we go in there, they're not going to want to tell me anything, no matter what. Bribes and threats are all I got, but their boss is richer and meaner. So I'm going to... I'm going to stretch the truth a little, okay?"

He pulls her a little closer.

"Whatever I say about you, just go along with it. It's like acting a part in a play. Just act like whatever I say is true, and go along with it, 'kay?"

In the shop:

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“Ahem. Can we help you?”

Raffy smiles a belittling sneer back at the clerk. His hand falls on his 'buss. "Oh, it's not me you gotta help, mate..."

He gives the man a wink.

"It's Captain von Brucker, Sigmar, and his Excellency Sir Jagrun."

He stops to play with one of the stacks of papers, mindlessly paging through them, then letting the whole stack fall over onto the floor. As the clerk looks at the stack, Raffy clears his own throat in turn to get the man's attention back.

"You've heard about the murders? Done by a sorcerer they say..." his eyes drift meaningfully over to Illiiya, then quickly dart back. "We're working to find the murderer. You're gonna give me a name. One name. If you don't... well, that's obstructing our investigation, sir. That's a crime, sir. I'm happy to let you explain it to Jagrun, Mister."

He tilts his head and waits to see if the man is going to play ball, or if he needs to bring Illiiya into this.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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A pawn shop, understood Pieter. Many refugees, some of them well-off before the war, were learning the hard way that no fancy dress or antique chair was worth a loaf of bread in times like these.

He patiently waited in line.

[LCP]

Raffy & Illiiya

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The clerk looked displeased when Raffy overbalanced the stack, but said nothing. When the Sparrowhawk had finished, he replied, maintaining the same dry, calm tone as before.

“And do you have authorisation from either of those gentlemen?”

[hr]

Pieter

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Standing obediently in line, Pieter gradually came to the front of the queue, finding himself standing before the seated man.

“Hello,” said the fellow, with a curious expression. “Don’t know that I know your face, mister. What is it you’d be wanting from us, eh?”

[Another_Poet]

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OOC: I know we are authorized, but I forget, do I have any official writ or anything from the Captain that I can show this guy?

[Exeson]

Raffy, Ithelus and Illiiya

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Ithelus walks into the pawn shop after a little delay, 'Aye, that we do,' He pulls out the Captain's writ from his belt and shows the man.

[OOC: Ithelus can go speak to Kliener, but for the moment he will stick with Raffy and Illiiya, I don't want to piss Kliener off by constantly bugging him.]

[LCP]

Ithelus, Raffy & Illiiya

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The clerk took the letter, inspecting it with a careful eye.

"Well then," he said, grudgingly. "What is it you want to know?"

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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“Hello,” said the fellow, with a curious expression. “Don’t know that I know your face, mister. What is it you’d be wanting from us, eh?”

"Information," answered Pieter with a smile. He scratched his chin, letting a gold crown shine between his fingers. "I suspect a few of my... friends... of pawning some of my belongings here. You must have some sort of ledger... May I have a quick look at it, please?"

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Fel test (51) if it helps: (d100)[16]

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar

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The soldier looked relieved at the news of no plague, visibly straightening. "Oh. Uh- just one. Two. Has anyone come to you lately, lookin' for a new dose? Or you know of where a Mandrake Man'd go, now that Pilsier is -um- unable to assist?"

He paused, glancing over at the men working on the well. "And if we found someone a-suffering, could you identify those symptoms? All pale and flushed?"

Lothar dusted his hands. "I might give those fellows a hand, if they need it."

[Another_Poet]

Raffy

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"F.L." says Raffy. "Looking for someone with the initials F.L. Spent more than 70 gold crowns and we think they may have gotten it in a loan from Master Helstrum."

[LCP]

Pieter

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“That,” said the man, confidently, “we do. Yuri! You got the book?”

The man sitting on the dresser nodded, letting himself down and wandering idly to the back of the tent, where he rummaged in a pile of odds and ends to produce a large, wooden-covered tome. The pages were coarse vellum, worn thin as parchment – they looked like they had been scraped clean, whatever purpose the book had originally served erased with the ink.

Bringing the book over to the seated man, ‘Yuri’ passed it into his hands – laying it over the arms of the chair, the man levered it open: Pieter could see columns of names, words and numbers straggling down the page in a crude, uneducated hand.

Wetting his thumb with his tongue, the man looked up at Pieter, poised to turn the pages.
“What was it you were looking for, exactly?”

[hr]

Raffy, Ithelus & Illiiya

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“Seventy crowns?” said the senior clerk, raising one eyebrow. “Heimlich, the red ledger, if you please.”

The second clerk trudged over with a slim red book: taking it from his hands, the first flicked through the pages with a quick, attentive eye.

“Nothing quite of that amount, I’m afraid,” he said, after a few minutes’ careful reading. “However, one... ‘Felix Lenkster’ took out forty-eight crowns quite recently,” he added. “Nine days ago, as a matter of fact.”

[hr]

Lothar

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The doctor shook his head. “Not me, thankfully. I’d like to believe I don’t have the reputation of the sort of man who would sell Mandrake root.”

“As for where such a poor soul might go – anywhere that he could procure it, I’d imagine.” He sucked his teeth. “Often a nasty crowd who sell that kind of thing. Knowing your customer will do anything for your wares attracts the wrong sort of person, if you understand me. Pilserier might have been the lesser of two evils, from that perspective.”

He put his head on one side, a thought seeming to strike him. “You said you still had Pilserier’s stock, though, didn’t you? Much as I’d like to see it burnt as soon as possible, if you let it be known you were selling it, your man might come directly to you, eh? I could certainly identify the symptoms for you – as long as I’m being paid for my time.” He smiled weakly. “I do my best to help young Marius, but gratitude alone can’t keep a man alive, you know.”

Lothar dusted his hands. "I might give those fellows a hand, if they need it."

“What, boarding it up?” asked the doctor. “I should think they’ll be fine, but they certainly won’t object.” Lifting his bag, he made to leave. “It’s a temporary measure, though. The common people don’t understand this sort of thing – I’m sure they’ll be prising up one side of the boards as soon as I’m gone.” He seemed to accept the fact with a weary resignation. “If you really want to help the people of the Ward, get some men together to dredge that well.”

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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Okay. He'll find it weird, but it's not my problem.

"Truth to be told," the initiate admitted, "I only know the initials: F.L. If he's the one I'm looking for, he likely owes you several crowns."

[LCP]

Pieter

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The man raised an eyebrow, looking directly into Pieter's eyes.

"You're saying this man pawned some of your belongings... but you don't know what they are, or who he is."

The question was left hanging in the air.

"What's your name, mister?"