[WFRP] The Hour After Midnight (II)

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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Pieter put on his faded brown robes over his everyday clothes, pulled his hood over his head and put his magpie pendant in plain sight. He sat in one of the busiest spots of the Fields and softly recited passages from Ranald's scripture from memory. As an initiate he did not have the authority to conduct ceremonies, but praying aloud was not technically forbidden to him. He did it regularly and knew that many of the refugees, perhaps partly thanks to him, were turning to the worship of Ranald after coming to realise that Sigmar had more important matters to attend elsewhere.

He was not a priest, but people would come and listen to him.



OOC: I really wish I had Tome of Salvation, but I can't get my hands on it... Does Ranald even have holy books and a dogma? Are there prophets or saints of Ranald? Is there a universal psalm or prayer to Ranald, kind of like the equivalent of the Lord's Prayer?

[LCP]

Pieter

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Seating himself on the muddy grass before one of the largest campfires, Pieter began to pray, offering up his prayers for anyone who would accept them. The refugees silently accepted him into their circle, a couple of grimy-faced children staring back at the initiate of Ranald. Their wide eyes gleamed with tiny reflected images of the fire.

On the edge of the light, a rat was gnawing at an old bone, rolling and twisting in the mud as it tried to get at the marrow within: the people here would leave no scrap that was easily picked. Rising from his seat on a broken crate, an old man with a patch across his left eye shooed the animal away with a shake of his stick, the black-furred rodent’s red eyes glittering for a moment in the firelight before it scuttled away into the deeper shadows.

“Don’t know why you bother, lad,” he said to Pieter, sitting stiffly back down. “Ain’t no gods watchin’ over this place.”

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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The initiate interrupted his prayer and feigned polite surprise. In hard times, pessimism was as contagious as the Red Plague: he could not allow it to spread.

"Why, of course the gods are here," he said with utter certainty, as if stating a fact. "You just have to look for them in the right places. Sometimes, yes, they stand aside and let us pull our own weight, so that we may grow wise and strong. But they do watch over us. Now more than ever, in fact."

He did not expect to renew the faith of an embittered old man, who most likely had had his share of hardships. What mattered was to prevent those who did have faith from losing it.

"Luck is fickle, and there's only so much of it in the world. It cannot come to all men at once. That's why some try to make their own."

[LCP]

Pieter

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"'Sometimes'. Ha." The old man looked away. "The only time I've e'er seen a set o' gods who did anything but 'stand aside' were on the walls of Wolfenburg, and I tell you now I wouldn't want anything to do with Them." He instinctively made the sign of the hammer over his chest, seemingly unaware of the self-contradictory nature of the gesture.

He drew the tattered blanket he had over his shoulders tighter around him.
"There's those as help, and there's those as pray. If you ain't doin', you ain't helpin'."

[BloodyAngel]

Lothar and Illiiya

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I... n-no. I mean... I do I s-suppose... but that's not really... ah... s-secret. She muttered, looking at Lothar strangely. Clearly the idea that his comment was made in jest failed to occur to her.

Is your secret that.... y-you shaved? Because that much is... obvious. It is also an... um... an improvement. Hair sh-should not be on someone's face... it makes human men l-look like animals. She explained in her usual unintentionally blunt honesty, N-no... what I am concerned about is... different. I am a-afraid that I am g-going to hurt someone... s-sometimes... I have trouble remaining in control of myself. I do not want to hurt a-any of you... not even R-raffy.... but I am afraid that I might. That s-she... might make me.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar and Illiiya

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Lothar scratched at his stubble, mumbling about the ears comment "bein' a joke", and looked vaguely hurt as the elven woman called his beard animalistic. He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped at her confession.

"Oh. You think- you think Maria is going to make you murder someone?" He blinked over his beer at Illiiya. "What makes you say that? You gettin'..." the soldier made a vaguely mystical gesture, "you gettin' signs in the wind or somethin'?"

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Taking out his rope, Ithelus tied a noose in the end, taking a step back and lassoing one of the iron spikes that topped the wall. Tugging on the end to make sure it would take the tension, he gripped the rope in both hands, bracing his feet against the stone wall. He had managed to get about three feet up when he slipped and slithered back to ground, the stones too smooth to give his boots purchase against their surface.

Hissing for the elf to keep quiet, Ricard gestured for the others to lend a hand - rising up on their shoulders, Ithelus managed to get his hands over the parapet, hauling himself up as slowly and carefully as he could. Perching precariously on the top of the wall, using only the edges of his feet to avoid being spiked, he looked down into the coachyard on the other side.

There was no-one about: the obvious answer to why Greta's stable-hand hadn't been opening the door. Running up the back wall of the manor itself, he could see the drainpipe that Ricard had described: the floors of the house were dark, but he could see a glimmer of light coming from one of the lower windows...

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Scale Sheer Surface - (1d100)[63] (+20) - a failure. Doesn't mean you can't get over the wall, just means that you can't do it quickly and smoothly.

Continuing posting/rolling this for you because the two-day rule's up, and this seemed fairly uncontroversial.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter

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Pieter inclined his head, smiling. "Ah. You're wise, then: the gods do expect us to help ourselves. It's the burden that comes with free will. And that's why, I believe, Chaos will never triumph: servants of the Ruinous Powers forsake their free will, and then have to lean on their dark gods like a crutch lest they succomb to horror and madness."

He addressed all who listened: "They call us weak. Yet without their gods, they are nothing. Our gods may not grant us divine might or immortality, but they make us able to stand by ourselves, to decide for ourselves. Even without them helping us every moment of our lives, we'd still be strong. Our minds and bodies are still ours. Keep hope, help yourselves, make your own luck, and Ranald will watch over you."

[LCP]

Pieter

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“Sounds jus’ the same as if he weren’t there at all,” said the old man, bitterly. “Go tell your pretty words to little Sam Fleischer, with his mum and dad up an’ gone, and nothing to eat but the leather off his shoes.”

He stared angrily into Pieter’s eyes. “Why don’t you to tell him to ‘make his own luck’. Eight summers’ got to be plenty old enough to be making a start on that, eh?”

Rising stiffly to his feet, he turned his back on the Initiate, limping away from the fire into the deeper shadows of the Fields.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus balances and then pulls the rope up, carefully lowering it down the other side. He then tries to lower himself down the other side of the wall with as little fuss as possible.

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Slithering down the rope, Ithelus dropped onto the cobbles of the stableyard - looking quickly around, he still saw no-one watching, the two black horses slumbering in their stalls.

The back of the side gate had a heavy iron bolt, but no key. To let the others in, all he would have to do would be to slide it back... quietly.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus inspects the bolt, looking to see if it is rusty or well oiled or another indication that it will make noise if moved. He will then begin to slowly slide it back, praying that no sorceress charm was upon the door.

[LCP]

Ithelus

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The bolt looked to have been kept in good condition, albeit perhaps a little sloppily - sliding it slowly back, the elf breathed a sigh of relief as it made no discernable noise.

Slipping through like shadows into the darkened yard, Ricard and his followers nodded to Ithelus, closing the gate silently behind them. They had tied neckerchiefs around their faces, to keep anyone from getting a good look at them: as Ricard's eyes swept the rear of the house, they fixed on the light in the ground-floor window in which the light flickered.

"Hells," hissed the man. "Don't these nobles ever sleep?"

Moving sideways to be out of sight of anyone who might pass the window, he gestured to Ithelus.

"Alright," he whispered, "the plan hasn't changed. You shin up that drainpipe, and get in up there." He pointed to the window in question. "Once you're in, see for yourself who's about. One old servant, maybe we can knock 'em out quiet-like. Otherwise, this might have to be an armed robbery."

A chorus of quiet metallic sounds from his companions indicated they were prepared for such an eventuality - even Greta, which was surprising, giving how little her cheap clothing left concealed.

"You make sure you keep your face covered right up - anyone clocks there was an elf on the job, and we're cooked. Or at least, you are." He pointed at the back door. "If there's too many of them about for you to unlock that for us from the inside, you sneak into the bedchamber, find this box, and get out. Like we said, sometimes the lady entertains. Maybe she decided to throw a party we didn't know about. The contract comes first. Box of letters, we were told, probably wooden. Maybe in a drawer or something."

He looked into Ithelus' eyes, his own deadly serious.

"You got that?"

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus nods once, then he pulls his hat even lower over his ears, 'Got a spare cloth then? I was hoping that it wouldn't ever come to this.'

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Ricard's second henchmen fished a dirty rag of a handkerchief out of his pocket, handing it to Ithelus.

"Get to it," he hissed.

OOC: This is Scale Sheer Surface again. Since you have effectively unlimited time, a failure doesn't mean you fail to make it up, but it might mean you take longer/slip and make a noise that could be audible from inside. I'll leave you to roll it, in case you want to Fortune Point it.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus ties the rag around his nose and mouth, then with a grunt he begins to work his way up the drainpipe, a silent prayer passing his lips.

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Rubbing his hands together, Ithelus looked up at the drainpipe: not an impossible climb, by any means, but a fairly difficult one. Making sure of his effects, he gripped the first bracket in both hands, and began to shin his way up.

To begin with, he made good progress: the surface of the old iron was rough, and the pipe securely fixed to the wall. Daring to accelerate a little, as he reached the first floor a great flake of rust came away beneath his hand – slipping suddenly down, he seized onto the pipe for dear life. For one precarious moment, the cobbles of the yard yawned beneath him, seeming to urge him to fall: the image of the corpse he had witnessed in the lower town chose that moment to flit across his mind’s eye, its crimson skull grinning up at him from the dark ground.

Just let go, Ithelus. It’s so much more fun.

Regaining his grip, Ithelus hung tight, regaining his breath before he tried to move again: inching slowly upwards, he began to ascend again, more carefully this time.

After what seemed an eternity of climbing, his shoulders aching from the effort, he reached the window Ricard had pointed at, on the uppermost floor – it was not far to reach, its lead-latticed panes only an arm’s-length away. The wooden frame had been warped and distorted by age and the weather, the side of the window nearest him refusing to shut properly – it had been jammed closed as best as it would fit, but something narrow inserted in the crack between the panes would clearly be able to lever it open.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Slowly sliding his dagger from his belt Ithelus made fast his precarious position and leaned out, running the dagger along the edge of the window to loosen it he began to slowly lever it open.

Wouldn't you just be so damn happy to have a friend to torment, he thought as the image of the grinning skull tickled the back of his thoughts.

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Jammed fast, the windowpane stubbornly resisted the dagger's force for a long moment before the leverage of the blade forced it free, cutting a bright splinter into the frame in the process.

With a quiet creak, the window hinged inwards, opening into a dark corridor on the other side: the passageway was invitingly silent, not a single sound stirring from within.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Praying to any entity that would listen Ithelus climbs through the window and crouches, scanning his surroundings for and sign of danger and to try and get some bearings.

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Slipping sinuously through the window, Ithelus swiftly surveyed his surroundings: nothing moved, the corridor he found himself in dark and lifeless.

From his experience of the houses of the rich - which was not inconsiderable - this looked like the attic level of the house. The ceiling of the corridor was low, its doors plain and unremarkable - the outer wall in which the window was set was bare stone, while the interior wall was clothed in plaster. A worn old carpet was laid over the bare floorboards, stretching most - but not all - of the length of the passageway.

On his right, the corridor terminated in a dead end, a single, small door leading off into the interior wall at the far corner. On his left, it turned a corner, likely leading towards the stairs: another door stood in the wall before the turn, just barely illuminated by the clouded moonlight that filtered in through the window.

The bedchamber would probably be on the floor below - and if he was lucky, anyone who was still awake would be on the ground floor, one floor below that. Of course, whether he could get past them to the rear entrance to admit Ricard and the others remained to be seen...

OOC: Unless you choose to abandon stealth, each time you sneak anywhere within the house from now on, please include a Move Silently roll. Failure won't necessarily mean instant detection by someone: the unseen variable is whether anyone is close enough to hear you, but it's nice for me to have the roll ready, if that's alright.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus loosens his sickle in his belt, not that he hoped he would use it but a quick draw could be a life saver. He then padded up to the dead-end on the right, and placed his ear against the door to see if he could hear and sounds.

Move silently (69) : (1d100)[90]

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Ghosting silently down the corridor, Ithelus froze as he heard a floorboard creak under his foot - when running footsteps and shouted alarms failed to materialise, he untensed, creeping the last few feet and placing his ear to the door.

Through the timbers of the door, he could just make out the slight sound of slow, deep breathing - someone was sleeping on the other side.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Allowing himself a moment to calm himself he made his way down the passage, stopping at the next door and repeating his action.

silent move: (69) (1d100)[9]

[LCP]

Ithelus

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There was no sound from the other side of the second door - only dusty silence.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus tries the door handle slowly, if it is locked he will leave it and move on down the passage

move silently: (1d100)[58]

[LCP]

Ithelus

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The door opened easily: on the other side, a large-ish, low-ceilinged room was filled with disused items of furniture, mostly covered with dust-sheets. Each one of them had probably cost more money to have made than Ithelus had ever had on his person - lamentably, none of them seemed particularly portable.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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closing the door once more Ithelus resumes his tour of the house, slowly walking down the passage.
move silently: (1d100)[72]

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Turning the corner, Ithelus heard another floorboard groan quietly under his feet - but if the sleeper in the room at the end of the hall heard him, they did not stir.

Around the ninety-degree bend in the passageway, he could see a staircase descending to the next storey down - by the head of the stairs, a third door stood, the last one on this floor. It looked slightly better-made and more expensive than the other two, although not by much.

OOC: Can I suggest you take the silent move roll in the last post inside the spoiler box. Scale Sheer Surface, Silent Move... don't want to give the others too much of a clue about what you're up to

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Again the elf brings his ear to the door, wondering how human theives managed to be successful at all, lacking such refined senses.

move silently: (1d100)[89]