[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar watched Pieter, interested in his response. Clearing his throat, the soldier spoke up, as he herded the others away from the Faulebrand residence.

"For me, the barrows aren't interestin'. Just a place for horn-heads to gather, or worse things. I don't think the bandits will be anywhere near that place, if it's got a reputation like Wulli said." He shrugged. "But if it looks like they are, we take Herr Waite's money as well, and make double the silver... even if some of it isn' really silver as such."

He frowned. "But the lads in the wild- well, I came pretty close to havin' to live that life, afore I got a change of heart an' decided to do somethin' like my duty to Sigmar." The soldier unconsciously rubbed the copper ring on his hand as he spoke. "So I'm wantin' to help 'em out. I don't want to kill 'em, as such, but maybe work out a way to give 'em honest work. Recruit 'em as mercenaries, maybe, or send 'em into Ostland to help with rebuildin'- resettle a village or summat. That way we save two lives- theirs, and those they might kill in a raid."

The soldier scratched at his beard. "We got blood on our hands, in Delberz. It'd be nice to make up for that, aye? Plus, coin is always good to spend. We get enough of it, maybe we can settle down someplace peacable."

"We oughta head over to Lord Verloren, see if his purse-strings are as tight."

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter listened to Lothar in silence. He greatly appreciated the soldier's apparently sincere desire for a peaceful solution, in principle, but in his experience, reformed bandits were beyond rare. For many, banditry was a matter of survival in lean times.

As they passed through the village's center, Pieter said: "I'll just ask a question or two. Give me a few minutes."


OOC:

Spoiler

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I presume some of the villagers are busy cleaning up after the feast.

Pieter will observe a few things. For example, is Alexa's dish still on the ground? Were its contents eaten? If there's a dog or pig lying nearby, Pieter will poke it with his foot to see if it wakes up.

If he meets Ellie, he'll grin, say good morning and thank her for the dance.

Now the important part. If he meets Lisbeth, he'll ask her the following questions:

• How many brigands attacked her and her husband the other day?
• As far as she knows, were they once people from Hohlesbruck?
• If not, is there another village nearby that could be their home?
• What did they take from her and her husband? (Could be useful info if we find some more of their loot.)

[LCP]

Sigurd

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Crossing back over the narrow bridge, Sigurd and Indigo strolled through the centre of town. From some distance away, he saw Mr Faulebrand’s guards heading up the hill towards Verloren manor, seemingly talking as they went.

The cottages of Hohlesbruck had neither numbers nor names, but it was easy enough for Sigurd to find his way – the villagers spent little time outdoors, and most were happy to direct him.

Hans Suster was sitting outside in the sun, putting an edge on a worn old woodsman’s axe. He had a boyish face that belied his years, and strong, wiry arms: as Sigurd drew near, he looked up, seeming supremely unconcerned by the stranger’s approach.

“Can I help you, mister?” he asked, in a slow, rural burr.

[hr]

Others

The remnants of yesterday’s feast were already almost completely gone – the people of Hohlesbruck rose to work early. All that remained was the physical shifting of tables, which a few villagers were going to with a will. There was no sign of the dish Pieter had left on the ground, or of any poorly-looking animals.

Pieter looked up and down Hohlesbruck’s one main street, but there was no sign of either Ellie or Lisbeth: it seemed to be mostly men moving the tables away. Reluctantly, he followed the others up the hill towards the manor.

Behind its screen of trees, Verloren Manor sat on its ancient mound, a pile of pale grey stone surmounted by tiled roofs that had bent their backs with age. High windows and tall chimneys teetered over architectural flourishes that had been worn down to nothing by centuries of wind and rain. Leafless tendrils of dead ivy swarmed over its morose stone face like the veins in a drunkard’s nose: they had clearly been severed at the roots to prevent them from getting any further out of hand.

Approaching the thick oaken door, Lothar knocked firmly, wondering idly if the brass lion’s-head knocker minded about the heavy ring that had been threaded between its jaws. After a brief wait, scuttling footsteps approached from inside, and the door opened to reveal the face of a short woman in late middle age. If Pieter had had to take a guess at her profession from her appearance, he would have said housekeeper.

“Yes?” she said, with a stern frown. It only deepened when she caught sight of Ithelus, seeming to recognise him. “Servants and tradesmen round the back.”

[Exeson]

Ithelus chuckled, 'Good to see you so soon again ma'am.' . With a sly smile he makes his way around the back of the manor.

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

The front door swung shut. Glancing briefly at each other, the others followed Ithelus around towards the back.

The rear of the manor opened onto a small stable-yard, its high stone wall pierced by an open archway. Carved into the keystone was a faded inscription:

2232 I.C.

A pair of tall but aged horses watched them over the stable doors as they approached the back of the house, pulling on the servants’ bell. The matronly woman who had opened the front door seemed to have hurried the length of the house to be ready for them, opening it almost immediately.

“What is it?” she asked, peremptorily.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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"Hans Suster?" Sigurd asks. When the man affirms, Sigurd tilts his hat by way of greeting. "Sigurd. Sigurd Waite. I hear you're a woodsman."

Sigurd sits down on the bench, invited or not, and continues.

"I have an interest in going out into the woods myself, but everyone has told me it's far too dangerous. You must know its byways quite well, to be able to venture out and come back without trouble."

((tag))

"I was hoping you might be open to an offer of employment. I'd like to hire you as a guide. If you'll take me as far as you normally go, and point the way to the barrows, I'll gladly pay you __ silver*. If you'll walk me to the barrows themselves, I'll pay you a gold crown bonus on top of that."

He squints at the man to size him up. "We'd only be out in daytime, my hope is to leave tomorrow at dawn. Are you my man?"

((*Whatever a fair normal wage would be for one day as trailguide.))

[LCP]

Sigurd

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”The woods are safe enough, if you know where you’re going,” said Hans, still sharpening the axe. “Where is it you’re wanting to go?”

He listened to Sigurd’s offer in silence. He seemed unmoved by the glitter of the city man’s coin, although the mention of a whole crown’s bonus did seem to provoke a glimmer of a reaction.

“There’s mounds dotted right up to the hills,” he said, warily. “You just want to see one of ‘em? Any one?”

The whetstone made one final arc along the blade’s edge, before returning to the woodsman’s pocket.

“Why’re you interested in old graves, anyway?”

OOC: 6s per day would be a reasonable price to offer for Hans’ service.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

Spoiler

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"I'm an historian," Sigurd explains levelly. "I'd like to know how many there are, where they're located, any local lore attached to individual ones, and which one Gaerovald was buried at. If it's known."

He looks in the general direction of the forest. "All of this to be recorded in the manuscript of my history book. Historic legends bring a fair price from the collectors and Universities."

He looks back at Hans. "So not just any mound, no. I'd rather see the ghost's grave if you know which it is, or else just the biggest one in the area."

[Exeson]

'We wish to speak to the Lord about the bandit problem.' Ithelus says, most of the earlier humor evaporating and the continued bad will.

[LCP]

Sigurd

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Hans hesitated.

“Ain’t no-one knows which of ‘em is the Heartless Man,” he said, pausing. “’Cept maybe old Mother Yilese, and she don’t tell. Somewhere round where the changelings had their den, most people say.”

Hans licked his lips nervously. “Ain’t no honest man had business up north while the beasts were still there. You want to go there, that’s off the trails.” He gave Sigurd an appraising look. “I can take you to their old camp, if’n you like. About time someone scouted it out.”

He put the axe down on the bench with a solid thump.

“Cost you another crown, though. To cover the risk.”

[hr]

Others

“You don’t look like soldiers,” said the woman, happy to return Ithelus’ glare. Feeling the silence bite, she shifted her weight onto her other foot. “Who should I say is calling, then?”

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

Spoiler

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Sigurd nods.

"Sounds like a fair price, Mister Suster. The six silver today, the first gold crown when we strike off your normal trail toward the old camp, and the second gold crown upon completion of the job."

He holds out his hand.

"Deal?"

((assuming yes...))

"Will we be able to make the trip there and back in a single day? I'd rather not stay out after dark, if we don't have to."

((tag))

"I'll meet you here at your house at dawn tomorrow. Any gear in particular I should bring?"

Other than four caravan guards and a dog?

[Exeson]

Ithelus flashed a sarcastic smile, 'never said we were, ma'am.' He looks over his shoulder, 'Tell him an ex-soldier, a theif, a witch and a revolutionary are calling.'

He barely lets the awkward silence set foot upon the conversation when he smiles, genuinely this time, at his own joke. 'Tell him we are men for hire, looking into the bandit problem.'

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter winced. What was the matter with Elves?

"Um. Yeah. We gather there's some trouble on the road near the village, and we thought Lord Verloren might be interested in putting an end to it. We're not soldiers, but we seem to be the next best thing in these parts."

He made sure his body was angled so his shortsword and scabbard were plainly visible.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar jerked his thumb at the others. "They might not be soldiers, but they've got other skills. And I am a soldier, late of the Nordland 11th." He patted his regimental sword, which still bore the markings of his old regiment.

"Lothar Fischer."

Spoiler

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I think being friendly might be an idea.

(1d100)[58]

[LCP]

Sigurd

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”You couldn’t pay me enough to go that way after dark, sir,” said Hans by way of confirmation. He shook Sigurd’s outstretched hand. “I reckon I can find it, but you understand I ain’t been right up to their camp before. You might want to bring somethin’ to chew on, if it goes on.”

The woodsman hesitated, looking at the earth.

“And a weapon, if you’ve got one. Better safe than sorry, in the Drakwald.”

[hr]

Others

“Wi-” began the woman, eyes widening at Ithelus’ words, before Pieter and Lothar jumped in. Her beady eyes sliding over the assembled group, they stopped at Illiiya: stepping back from the doorway, she nodded to Lothar.

“Wait here,” she said, warily. “I’ll see if the master’s in.”

The door slammed shut, leaving them still outside in the open air. Inside, the housekeeper’s steps hurried away, fading quickly to inaudibility.

It was three long minutes before they returned. The woman opened the door just a crack, peeking out through the sliver of space as if checking whether the strangers might have just left of their own accord. Seeing them still standing there, she grudgingly opened it the rest of the way.

“Lord Verloren says he’ll see you,” she said, stiffly. “You’d best come in.”

The inside of the manor on the other side of the door was clearly a below-stairs section, the group finding themselves in a cramped entrance hall. The floor was bare, scuffed wood, a sharp contrast to the graceful, age-weathered lines of the stone roof. Beside them were a cluster of cheap, meticulously-cleaned boots, and off to the right was a big stone-walled kitchen of the kind you might find in a Bretonnian castle – albeit a couple of sizes smaller. Beside its flour-dusted table, a man in his middle years was slumbering in a wooden chair, a cook’s apron rising and falling over his slightly pudgy belly.

“This way,” came the sharp command from the housekeeper. Bustling to the front of their squashed procession like a bonneted bee, she led the way into the heart of the old house, the back of the manor seeming to have more twists and turns than a Skaven tunnel.

Passing through a low-lintelled door, they emerged into a high-ceilinged hall. A tall staircase descended on their left, fixed directly into the austere stone wall. Ringed all around them, the dusty, cracked portraits of Verlorens past gazed solemnly down on these new intruders in their home.

Pieter looked up at the age-yellowed faces. There was a man with the kind of moustaches only the nobility could get away with, standing in full armour in front of a sizeable pile of weaponry: in the background, it looked like a battle was raging, although the picture had darkened such that it was difficult to make out the details. Another man sat in a satin chair, wearing the kind of extravagant ruff that had been in fashion two centuries ago - the network of eggshell cracks that ran through the aged pigments were painfully visible over its once-brilliant white. There was a smaller portrait of a gaunt-looking woman who looked as if she would dearly like to be anywhere else but in front of the portraitist, and a dozen more besides – but as he scanned the assembled paintings, there was one in particular that seemed to jump out from its gloomy neighbours.

It hung directly over the top of the stairs, and was considerably larger and newer than any of the others, its colours still clear and bright. It took Pieter a couple of moments before he realised that the man it showed was the same Mils Verloren he had seen at the feast. In the picture, he was younger by perhaps a decade’s age, and a lifetime’s care and worry: his hair was still a rich, dark brown, and his smile seemed to reach to his eyes. Beside him sat a strikingly beautiful woman, his hand resting on her shoulder: the dark stone and rich wood of the backdrop seemed to match fairly well with the manor itself.

As Pieter looked up at it, the man himself appeared on the landing. Beside the image of his younger self, the contrast seemed even more extreme. If he noticed where Pieter’s attention had fallen, however, he didn’t show it – mumbling some words of greeting, the tall nobleman came down the stairs, setting foot on the frayed carpet with a polite nod to the nearest of his visitors.

“They say they’re here about the brigands,” volunteered the housekeeper, quickly interposing herself between her master and the newcomers. Lord Verloren nodded.

“Thank you, Mrs Lauf,” he said, in a quiet, unassuming voice. “You did tell me.”

He looked up at Lothar, the member of the party nearest his own height.

“Would you care to take a seat in the hall, Mr, um...” – he trailed off with an unspoken question mark dangling in the air. “I don’t like to keep you standing.”

The hall was a room that had clearly been built some time before the invention of the drawing room or dining room. An unlit fireplace big enough for Lothar to duck inside dominated the inside wall, its thick stone walls pierced by windows on the other. An old tapestry of dark greens and faded yellows hung to the northern end of the broad chamber, softening its harsh lines a little: in the centre of the room, a grand oak table sat, looking as if it had swallowed a thousand coats of varnish in its time.

Mrs Lauf was not about to let her master be shown up in front of guests, and pulled his seat out for him – Mils thanked her, and something unspoken seemed to pass between them, the senior servant scurrying away. Turning his deep grey eyes on the party, the lord of the manor motioned for them to be seated.

“You are Aloysius Faulebrand’s... helpers, yes?” he asked. "Mrs Lauf has told me you have something to offer regarding the bandits."

[-Sentinel-]

His gaze lingering on the last painting for a moment, Pieter thought the beautiful woman must be Verloren's wife. Was she still alive? Probably not. She certainly was not at the party, and this austere place did not seem to be the home of a happy couple. Pieter wistfully wondered if Esther used to look anything like her mother, before she fell sick.

Without telling Lord Verloren his name, he lazily slid into a chair at the edge of the nobleman's vision. He moved as little as possible, kept his motions slow and liquid, and let his eyes wander in feigned boredom. Being forgettable was not just a matter of appearance, but also stance and behavior. It was an art the initiate had learned during his childhood in Nuln.

For now, he would let the soldier speak for everyone.

[goblinpaladin]

“Would you care to take a seat in the hall, Mr, um...” – he trailed off with an unspoken question mark dangling in the air. “I don’t like to keep you standing.”

"...Fischer," Lothar said quietly as he followed the lord. "Uh. Lothar Fischer."

“You are Aloysius Faulebrand’s... helpers, yes?” Verloren asked, as the soldier took a seat of his own. "Mrs Lauf has told me you have something to offer regarding the bandits."

"Uh. Ahem." The soldier cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "We're late from Delberz, where we assisted the Guard in matters related to the, uh, explosion a few months back. While we're on our way north, Faulebrand happened across us and requested our company on his way here."

Lothar rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of nobility. He may have gotten used to Marius, back in Delberz, but Verloren was an older man with bluer blood.

"I, um, we rather like the village you -um, the village-and the bandits've been plaguin' you some time. So I -we- figured we'd offer our service. At a fair rate, obviously, to see if we can't find 'em -them- and, uh, persuade them to. Um. Not."

He took a deep breath. "We're offerin' our services to help move them bandits on from Hohlesbruck. Faulebrand's not interested in partin' with the gold, even though it's his waggones- but it's your people." The soldier smiled, having managed to get through two whole sentences without an 'um'.

"We're a small group, but like I said to Frau Lauf- I'm late of the Nordland 11th Swordsman regiment, while I think you'd know about the skills elves are famous for." Lothar gestured to Illiiya and Ithelus. "We can do it."

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

"Delberz? Mm, I did hear there was... some trouble there," said Lord Verloren. "Assisting the guard. Is young, um," - he drummed his fingers on the table absent-mindedly - "von Brucker still in charge?"

"We're offerin' our services to help move them bandits on from Hohlesbruck. Faulebrand's not interested in partin' with the gold, even though it's his waggones- but it's your people." The soldier smiled, having managed to get through two whole sentences without an 'um'.

"Well, that sounds like him," said the lord of the manor, calmly. It seemed a fairly harsh indictment, but Verloren spoke with little trace of rancour in his voice - more resignation. He rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward air. "If you think you can do it... well, I would certainly like to take you on. The thing is," he hesitated "I'm not sure I will be able to." He gave a thin, apologetic smile. "I think the term a man like Mr Faulebrand might use is 'land rich, cash poor'. I'm afraid we have been for some time, or he would not have been able to buy up half the village as he has."

He met Lothar's eyes. "How much would you be asking?"

As the lord was talking, Ithelus' keen ears became aware of another sound - soft footsteps on the staircase outside, stopping outside the door...

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter was not too comfortable when Lothar mentioned Delberz. It would not be hard for a well-informed person to put together that Illiiya was the Elven witch the Lector had tried to burn at the stake.

"Assisting the guard. Is young, um," - Lord Verloren drummed his fingers on the table absent-mindedly - "von Brucker still in charge?"

"He was our employer," murmured Pieter, deftly avoiding to answer.

"How much would you be asking?"

Pieter remained silent, but made to Lothar a subtle "not much" gesture with his thumb and forefinger.

[Exeson]

Ithelus remains silent whilst Lothar and the Lord discuss matters. At the faint sounds Ithelus turns to the door, hand instinctively going towards the crossbow at his side before he realises the chances of a skaven attack in the manor were non existent.

'I think you have a visitor Lord,' He murmurs.

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Lord Verloren looked up at Ithelus’ words, his eyes falling on the door. A pregnant second’s silence followed – then, the door creaked slowly open.

Putting her head around the corner of the door was a young woman, somewhere in her twenties. Clothed in a dark green dress and a woolen shawl, she wore a translucent veil that rendered her face an indistinct blur. On the hand that held the door, however, Ithelus could see greyish-green pockmarks scarred into the skin.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said in a quiet voice. “I heard you talking – I just wanted to see who it was.”
“Esther,” said the lord – it seemed unclear whether it was a reproach or a welcome. “Mr Fischer, and, um, friends, this is my daughter.” He looked up at Esther. “Mr Fischer and his friends are offering to do something about the bandits.”

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar half-rose from his chair -not from paranoia, as with Ithelus- and, lacking a hat to doff, gave a knuckle to his forehead. "Fraulein Verloren- uh. I mean, m'lady..." The soldier's voice trailed away.

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

"Please, sit down," said Esther, embarassed. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're feeling better?" asked Mils.
"Quite," responded his daughter reassuringly, approaching the end of the table.
"Mr Fischer and I were discussing his offer," said her father. "Have you eaten yet? I saw Mrs Lauf just a moment ago..."
"Oh, I would like to stay," said Esther. "Rosa has told me about those robbers. Someone should do something."
"Well, we were just discussing payment..."
"I know the state of the house as well as you do, father," said Esther, gently. She sat down beside him. "I'll stay."

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter did not rise, but inclined his head respectfully. "Morning, m'lady." He struggled for something sympathetic to say, but decided it would be more polite to simply ignore the young woman's condition.

"Rosa has told me about those robbers. Someone should do something."

"Rosa...? Does she know something useful?"

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

"Oh - no," said Esther. "Rosa is my maid. She only told me what the villagers are saying. That's how I hear the village news, most often." She seemed rather abashed to have been the cause of misunderstanding.

[Exeson]

Ithelus nods, 'Lord, we are merely looking for honest work.' Lie. 'Our experience in Delbrez has left us somewhat out of pocket.' Lie. 'And as much as your plight troubles us,' Lie, 'we cannot offer out services for free.' Lie. 'What say you to a modest wage per day for living costs and rent? perhaps a sum for completion?'

He smiles and tilts his head forward, 'of course if you feel we are not being quick enough feel free to change the arangements,' Lie.

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Lord Verloren gave a thoughtful frown.

“Esther,” he said, “could you ask Mrs Lauf to bring the accounts, please?”

Esther nodded and rose, exiting the hall by a side door. Quickly enough she returned, the housekeeper bustling in front of her with a dark leather-bound ledger. Pieter thought he caught the old woman surreptitiously wiping a thin film of dust from its covers.

“Thank you, Mrs Lauf,” said Mils, taking the ledger and laying it on the table. Opening it, he turned to somewhere near the back, his brow furrowing in silent calculation.

“I take it you’re staying at the Heartless Man?” he asked. “I think I could arrange with the innkeeper for your costs to be met. And if you can deal with the brigands on the road...” – his eyes flicked back to the page – “I could offer you a reward of... ahem, fifteen crowns, between the four of you.” It was not for a man of his breeding to sound apologetic, but he skirted as near as he decently could. “Would that be sufficient?”

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar hesitated, glancing around at the rest of his group. Seeing their assent -or total lack of concern, such as with Illiiya- the soldier nodded his own. "In light of the circumstances, m'lord, that seems fair."

"Is there anything you've heard that might be useful? I hear tell of some barrows, a beastman lair that the Panthers cleared..?"

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Lord Verloren nodded.

"There was a clan of the beasts in the woods north of here, the same direction as the old mounds. But as you say, the Knights Panther drove them out. We haven't seen hide nor hair of those creatures for some time."

"As far as I'm aware, the bandits have been preying on the Rosche road, though, to the east of the village. That's where Aloysius Faulebrand's wagons go, and anything else worth stealing."

[goblinpaladin]

"Faulebrand's drivers local, or brought in? Just wonderin' if they've seen the direction the bandits head after they take their loot- it'd be nice to talk to 'em. Uh. Them." Lothar cleared his throat, uncomfortable.