[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart

[-Sentinel-]

OOC:

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Pieter was outside, so I'll assume he didn't hear Illiiya.

It was time. Pieter felt sorry for Leopold, but would not trade places with him for all the gold in the world. With a sigh, the initiate went back inside the inn and quickly found Lothar.

"You keep an eye on your favorite Elf, please," he whispered. "I'll worry about making sure nobody dies." He pointed at his bag containing the poultices and bandages.

He walked over to Leopold and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I can't fight in your place, but I'll be nearby. I was a battlefield healer during the Storm, you know. I saved more soldiers than I can count, including Mr Fischer here. But for your sister's sake, please don't try to be a hero; if the duel is lost, just yield. Ranald be with you." He made an attempt at smiling.

[LCP]

Leopold creased his brow as he looked up at Illiiya.

“How?” he asked. It wasn’t clear whether the question was rhetorical – when Illiiya made no move towards explaining herself, he shook his head and pushed back his seat, rising to his feet. It was obvious that the young man had little faith in her promise.

Pieter came back into the inn, and Lothar looked round at the initiate’s words, his eyes alighting on Illiiya. Mumbling a curse to himself under his breath, the Nordlander nodded. Behind them, the door to the inn closed behind Leopold.

~

Up on the common, perhaps a dozen people of the village had gathered round, standing in twos and threes and trying not to look too ghoulishly interested. Coming up the slope with Indigo at his heels, Sigurd saw a face he recognised in among the peasants: Mother Yilese had come into the village. She was standing talking to a young man Sigurd had not seen before – with a huge frame and a doughy, child-like face, he had a simple cast to his eyes.

“Mr Waite, isn’t it?”

Ricard Talberg was lounging in the folding chair he had brought out with all the natural ease of a leopard in a tree. Sitting a little straighter, he inclined his head to acknowledge the merchant. Sigurd noticed the paired pistols lying on the same tree stump on which the young nobleman was resting his spotless boots.

“Sorry you had to see this, old boy. Affairs in Hohlesbruck are usually a fair bit more pleasant. From what I’ve seen of them, anyway.” He took his feet down from the stump. “Still, ought to be done with fairly quickly.”
“I should think so,” said a quiet voice on his left. “I’d be surprised if young Faulebrand’s fired a pistol in his life.”

The sudden intrusion almost seemed to make Ricard jump: looking up, he saw Mother Yilese standing there. The old woman was quiet.
“Ah. Miss... Yilese.”
Her head moved by the barest hair’s width to acknowledge he’d remembered her name.
“Good to see you,” hazarded Ricard.
“Thought we’d see you in Hohlesbruck again, Mr Talberg,” she replied. “Didn’t quite think it would be like this.” Her voice was level, but her eyes seemed to have pinned the young man to his chair, boiling away all the natural hauteur of his breeding. Sigurd found himself profoundly grateful that he was not on the wrong end of that piercing gaze – this was something else entirely from his meetings with her, though she had been fairly stony at times. “You been up to the Manor at all since you been back?”
“No – um, no, I didn’t think –“
“Hm.” It was only the smallest of sounds, but it cut Ricard off in mid-sentence as effectively as a church bell. “Well, perhaps that’s for the best. And now you’re goin’ to shoot poor Leopold Faulebrand.”
“He struck me,” said Ricard, overcoming his sudden intimidation with an awkward squawk. He pointed at his black eye. “I am entitled to redress.”
“Big Hans hit young Gunnar, last month,” said Yilese. “He bought him a drink to ‘pologise.” There was a heavy silence. “It must be different for gentlemen, I’m sure.”
“It is,” said Ricard, recovering his poise. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Oh, a young man like you don’t need to wait on someone like me to excuse him, I’m sure,” said Yilese, all razor-edged humility. “Still. It seems to me the gentlemanly thing to do would be to miss.” She touched her forehead to Sigurd. “Mr Waite.”

Heading back to the sidelines, she turned away. Walking up the slope behind her, Doctor Reifennen had appeared: he looked askance at the wise woman as she left.

“Mr Waite,” said the doctor, with a civil inclination of his head. “Since Mrs Faulebrand desired that I should be on hand, Mr Talberg has asked me to, um, officiate.” Sigurd thought from the man’s expression that he was rather uncomfortable about having that honour.

“I think that means we’re all assembled,” said Ricard, pushing himself up out of his chair. Sure enough, Leopold was approaching, pale-faced but present. A short way behind him were Aloysius Faulebrand’s ex-employees, all four of them.

Doctor Reifennen looked between Leopold and Ricard.

“Well, um... are we ready to begin?”

OOC:

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Anyone with plans to intervene, message or email me. Otherwise, I just need posts saying that people are standing by/not interfering.

Sorry for the delay; I've been busy with various things.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter had been expecting most of Hohlesbruck to be there for the duel, but only a few villagers had come, including an old woman he did not remember seeing before. The doctor was there was well. Aloysius Faulebrand, though, apparently had more important things to do than see his son and his future son-in-law duel to the death.

"Well, um... are we ready to begin?" asked the doctor.

The initiate patted Leopold on the shoulder encouragingly.


OOC:

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The plan is simply to stand by and be ready to heal Leopold if he's wounded (or Talberg if he's gravely wounded). If both fighters miss and draw swords, Pieter will intervene when/if one of them takes a critical hit of 6 or more on the Critical Effects table.

Of course, no plan survives contact with Illiiya.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya's glare followed Ricard at every step he took, her eyes narrowed in anger. She knew her companions wished her to stay uninvolved, but the idea of the man using his status as an excuse to bully and possibly kill a weaker man dug into her like a thorn. It reminded her of someone from her past that she held only anger for in her vague memories of him.

She glanced back to Lothar, Pieter and Ith. She knew they didn't want her to get involved. She knew full well how poorly it could go, in fact. The faint scars up her legs were constant reminder of the last time she interfered in a duel... and this time she was not even particularly attached to the man involved. So why did it bother her so?

Perhaps.... the woman's words would sway him. Perhaps he would not follow through on his acts, and he was only now making a show. She thought to herself, amidst the words of bile that filled her mind and ached to be thrown at the man, I... I do not think well... when I am angry. Maybe Pieter is right.

Shaking slightly, she stayed her place in the crowd, slipping a hand around Lothar's to steady herself and watch. The air was crisp and tense, and she longed to shout her mind... but for now, she held herself in check.

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Illiiya is trying to be reasonable. Trying very, very hard! (Damn you Pieter) She'll observe the duel, until it seems one man or the other is actually trying to kill his foe. But with great hesitance, she'll reign herself in and see what happens first. If it looks like someone is seriously trying for a fatality, she'll do something.

[LCP]

“Well, um... are we ready to begin?”

“I think so,” said Ricard, confidently. Leopold said nothing, simply standing there.

“Well, then, if you would, um...” – the doctor gestured awkwardly to the paired pistols. Ricard picked one up, followed by Leopold.

“And, um, if each of you could take ten paces...” – Reifennen gestured with his arms to show the direction he meant. “Then wait until I give the word.”

The spectators backed off as the two men turned their backs to each other, each taking ten long paces along the line that the doctor had defined. Turning to face one another again, they awaited the signal.

Reifennen took three hurried paces back, then another for good measure. Clearing his throat, he cast one last look around, before straightening up and pronouncing:

“Begin!”

Both pistols swung up – as Ricard’s reached the top of its fluid arc, however, something seemed to go awry. The gun slipped from his grasp, tumbling clumsily over his fingers to thud against the grass. The young nobleman’s eyes widened as he realised he was staring down the barrel of Leopold’s pistol without a weapon of his own.

The pistol roared. Behind Ricard and perhaps three feet to his right, splinters erupted from the bark of a young tree growing on the common. Stepping back from the white cloud of gunsmoke, Leopold saw he had missed, his face going whiter still.

Ricard’s face, meanwhile, was blushing a deep red as he stooped to retrieve his fallen pistol. Straightening up, he turned and glared straight at Mother Yilese, who stared calmly back at him. Still scowling, he turned, aimed and fired in a single swift motion. There was a second blackpowder crack, and Leopold fell back against the grass, his hand clutched to his shoulder. There was blood between his fingers.

Reifennen hurried forwards, while Ricard lowered his smoking pistol. Setting it down, he turned to look at Mother Yilese again, with a look on his face that seemed to say, there. Then, without a word, he turned and stalked away.

[-Sentinel-]

As Ricard Talberg walked away, Pieter began clapping slowly. "Aren't you impressed?" he asked the onlookers with dripping sarcasm. "I certainly am. What an unexpected outcome."

Digging in his slingbag for a poultice and some bandages, he leaned over Leopold and spotted the smoking pistol lying by the wounded man's side. Oh, look at that, Rick. You'll have to spoil your dramatic exit to come back for your other gun, he thought, darkly amused. But he said nothing. Let the arrogant young noble come and ask for it.

He tore Leopold's shirt open and used a bandage to wipe the blood. "Hm. I'm afraid this is going to need surgery," he said.


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I don't know if you actually rolled anything... Would a Heal test work as normal? How many Wounds were lost?

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Prior to the duel, Sigurd suffered Talberg and Reifennen's talk with a steady courtesy and occasional small nods. He seemed to give them his listener's ear, not indicating to either one that he would rather club them with his cane than make chit-chat. He couldn't hide a bit of an impressed glance at Mother Yilese when she dressed down the noble, but when she walked away he simply took his place with the onlookers - a bit off to one side, on his own.

Aside from checking that Indigo was safely out of the way, during the duel Sigurd did nothing but spectate; he held his cuppa and gave it a sip every few moments as the duelists took their paces. He seemed quite unmoved by the display.

When the duel ends, however, Sigurd looks heavy-hearted. Leaving his mug on a fence post he plods away toward the dull-looking young man Yilese had spoken with.

((If I can catch him on his own I'll introduce myself just as "Sigurd" and ask what he thought of the duel. If he seems frightened of me I'll say I'm a friend of Mother Yilese, unless she's within earshot of that claim.))

[LCP]

The wound in Leopold’s shoulder seemed to have avoided the important arteries... as far as Pieter could tell from its position, if Ricard was as good a shot as he’d made out, then he’d been trying to avoid maiming Leopold too badly. There was no exit wound, however... that could be bad.

“Make way, make way there,” said Doctor Reifennen, picking up his bag and hurrying over to kneel at Leopold’s side. At the sight of the doctor’s face, however, Leopold writhed violently away towards Pieter.

“No!” he shouted. “No, not you. Keep your hands off me.” He tried to rise, and sank back, grimacing white-faced as he clapped his hand to the wound. He looked round at Pieter. “Yilese. Get Mother Yilese.”

“Master Faulebrand, I promised your mother I would not allow you to come to harm,” pleaded the doctor. He looked up at Pieter. “Help me move him, will you? He needs to be taken down to the house.”

Yilese herself was still standing beside the big man, who stepped back fearfully as Sigurd approached. Yilese merely turned her head, recognising Sigurd with an arched eyebrow.

“Miss Yilese,” he said, with a polite nod of his head. “Who’s this.”

“Eckhart,” said Yilese. “Eckhart, this is mister Waite. He’s a guest in Hohlesbruck.”

“Hello, Mr Waite,” said Eckhart, reluctantly. Though he was easily a foot taller than Lothar, he had the reticent air of a child.

“What did you think of the duel, Eckhart?” asked Sigurd, kindly.

“It was loud,” said Eckhart, as if this was the most terrible thing in the world. “The guns were loud.”

“Eckhart helps me with my garden, sometimes,” said Yilese, saying more by what she did not say. Her tone was very measured. “His parents aren’t around any more, so I looks him up when I come into the village. To see how he’s doin’.”

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

"A good arrangement," he says to both of them. "Learning about the herbs, Ekhart?"

To Yilese, in an appreciative murmur: "Seemed like a fair treatment of Talberg earlier. You have only one setting, don't you, but my you can turn it on and off."

[Exeson]

Ithelus had remained stony faced during the duel, his temper slowly simmering beneath the surface. 'That was cruel' he muttered. Then sweeping over to the fallen man he crouched down, 'You did well, but remember next time that people like him are not worth a fair fight. More like a knife in the dark'

His large coat flaps gently in the breeze as he stands, his hands in his pocket as he turns and wanders away.

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OOC: slight of hand check to nick the pistol. (1d100)[89]
If he fails the roll and someone reacts he will just say he is returning it.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter was somewhat surprised by the young man's vehement refusal to let the doctor take care of him. Did he know more than he let on?

"Well, doctor, I think we should respect the young Faulebrand's wish," said the initiate innocently. "It's his own life, after all. Mother Yilese? Are you confident you can treat this kind of injury? It's certainly beyond my abilities."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya burned... her face tinged red as her fists curled into tight fists. She glared after the young lord as he left, warring over the desire to vent her anger at him, and her desire to see her friend's advice for once. So many bad things seemed to happen when she let her feelings control her.

I'm certain he thinks he's been merciful. That he's avenged his pride. Arrogant man... I should return that pain in kind.

Yet, she did nothing, save clench Lothar's hand tightly, a look of malice on her face. It was not until the lord had left that she turned her attention to Pieter and the fallen Leopold.

Can he be healed? She asked, her voice shaking with restraint.

[LCP]

"A good arrangement," he says to both of them. "Learning about the herbs, Ekhart?"

“I like workin’ in the garden,” replied Eckhart. “Mother Yilese lets me have stew.”

There was one in every village. Mother Yilese put a wizened hand on his arm to let him know his conversational duties had been met, and met Sigurd’s eyes.

"Seemed like a fair treatment of Talberg earlier. You have only one setting, don't you, but my you can turn it on and off."

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” said Yilese, with a brisk, businesslike manner. “I’m just glad that young master Talberg’s conscience took a hand with his pride. I ‘spect you are too.”

Hearing Pieter’s call, she turned and walked over to the side of the wounded man. Whether she felt no sense of urgency, or whether her old bones simply did not hurry where it was not absolutely necessary, it wasn’t clear.

Doctor Reifennen looked quite stunned by Pieter’s refusal. Seeing Mother Yilese crouch down beside them, he stood up straight.

“Well now, see here – you can’t be serious!” he said, suppressing indignant gesticulations with an odd little twitching dance of his hands. “I am a physician, trained and certified in the Altdorf school, this requires delicate surgery, the man is clearly out of his head with pain, you cannot suggest that you would entrust his care to, to...”

Mother Yilese, who was kneeling and inspecting Leopold’s wound with her thin, crabbed fingers, looked coolly up at Reifennen. He faltered as he failed to avoid the old woman’s pinioning stare.

“...to a village elder,” he finished, weakly.

Can he be healed? Illiiya asked, her voice shaking with restraint.

“He’ll be fine,” said Yilese.
“He’ll be fine!” snapped Reifennen, his words mingling with hers. The doctor’s eyes swung back to Pieter. “Mr Faulebrand would not want his son being ministered to with hedge medicine,” he said, in a terse undertone.

“Seems to me the lad’s perfectly clear in the head,” said Yilese, straightening up with an almost audible creak and dusting off her knees. Her voice was totally calm “The important thing is that he’s seen to quick. I’ll take him with me now, and you can tell his father what’s happened. If the old man makes a fuss, they can sort it out between themselves, hm?”

She looked around.

“Besides, Master Talberg’s gone and left his pretty guns behind. I’d expect you’d be wantin’ to return them, doctor? As a friend of the family.” Her eyes alighted briefly but significantly on Ithelus, and she raised her voice conspicuously. “They’re over there.”

Almost caught in the act, the elf made as if he had always been planning to collect the pistols for return. He held the one he had taken out towards Reifennen, butt-first.

“Right,” said Reifennen, scanning the circle of unsympathetic faces to look for one single ally. Finding none, he seemed to decide to salvage his pride. “Well. That’s what I’ll do.”

Walking over to Ithelus, he took the pistol rather more forcefully than was necessary, then walked over to where the other was lying. “You would do well to keep the patient warm, but not too hot,” he said. “Examine his clothes to determine whether any material was carried into the wound, and if not, clean the wound with hot wine or cold spirits.” He paused, trying to discern whether Yilese was listening at all. “It is my considered opinion that any unnecessary exertion would be very bad for this wound, very bad indeed, and the young man should be confined to his bed.”

No reaction. Reifennen scowled.

“I am sure I will be along to collect him very shortly.”

With that parting shot, he stomped off down the slope, his angry stride rather spoiled by the way he had to step around the muddier sections of the common to avoid fouling his buckled city-dweller’s shoes. Yilese watched him go with complete equanimity.

“Alright,” she said, quietly. “Eckhart, Master Faulebrand needs carryin’ to the cottage. Mind his shoulder, there.” The huge simpleton hefted the wounded miller’s son over his shoulder as easily as a sack of wheat. Nodding in acknowledgement, Yilese turned to Pieter with a look that was one infinitesimal step along the hard, shriving road to approval.

“Seems young Leopold trusts you. You’d be welcome to come with, if’n you want.” She glanced back in Sigurd’s direction. “But I ‘spect you’ve got more important things to be doin’.”

Turning, she waved her stick at the gawping onlookers. They parted like waves before a prophet, suddenly finding all sorts of interesting things to occupy their attention.

“Come along, Eckhart. The lad wants seein’ to.”

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar ran his fingers through his short beard, and nodded. "Well. That coulda been worse." He stayed close to Illiiya, but did not seem as concerned about poor wounded Leopold as some of the others; if he'd been hit in an artery, head be dead.

It was in Sigmar's hands now, and Shallya's.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter watched Reifennen go with no small amount of satisfaction. Maybe the doctor's insistence was no more than professional concern, but since the injury was obviously not lethal, there was no point in taking the chance. Besides, the initiate was not sure Mr Faulebrand would pay Reifennen so much as a copper penny to take care of Leopold.

“Seems young Leopold trusts you. You’d be welcome to come with, if’n you want.” She glanced back in Sigurd’s direction. “But I ‘spect you’ve got more important things to be doin’.”

Does she think I work for Mr Waite?

"I do have things to do, but I might visit the lad later today, if it's not too much inconvenience. Thank you, Mother Yilese, that's generous of you. In the city, most doctors and healers check your purse first and your wounds second. Except the Shallyans, of course."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd follows Mistress Yilese over to the wounded man's side. Indigo seems to know something has gone wrong, and keeps clear of the site, staying out from underfoot.

The merchant seems ready to reach in and help carry the Younger Faulebrand to Yilese's cottage, but seeing the simpleton has it well in hand he steps back.

I ‘spect you’ve got more important things to be doin’.”

Sigurd doesn't react; he's done working to convince her of his good character. Instead, he looks around the dispersing crowd for Hans Suster.

"Mister Fisher, we shall be ready to set out momentarily. If you need any last-minute provisions, this would be the time I suppose...."

He glances longingly at Pieter's sword. Based on his past dealings with mercenaries, he's not fool enough to ask to borrow it; but his own lack of armament suddenly weighs on him as he considers the road ahead.

((Is Suster around?))

[LCP]

"I do have things to do, but I might visit the lad later today, if it's not too much inconvenience. Thank you, Mother Yilese, that's generous of you. In the city, most doctors and healers check your purse first and your wounds second. Except the Shallyans, of course."

“Well, I dare say that’s all well for the city,” said Yilese, opaquely. “We’ll see you when we see you.”

Parting on those terms, she headed off, dwarfed by her towering helper. The crowd on the common, if it could ever have been called that, was rapidly falling apart. One face that Sigurd could not find anywhere among the onlookers was that of Hans Suster. If the woodsman had been here at all, he had made an early exit.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd keeps his game face, not letting on anything might be amiss.

"I'll be fetching our guide," he says absently, and heads toward the Suster residence. If any of the others come he won't object.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter noticed the merchant's gaze on his shortsword. "Do you want it?" he offered. "I don't think I'll be needing it today."

"I'll be fetching our guide," he says absently, and heads toward the Suster residence. If any of the others come he won't object.

"So. See you this evening, I guess," he told his travel companions. "Take care."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

"Do you want it? I don't think I'll be needing it today."

Sigurd hesitates. "I... don't usually carry weapons...."

He glances at Lothar and the two mysterious elves, as if weighing their mettle.

"No, I think I'll rely on your friends," he says at last. "I think they'll do just fine."

((LCP, ready to cut to Suster's house unless there's something else along the way.))

[goblinpaladin]

"Mister Fisher, we shall be ready to set out momentarily. If you need any last-minute provisions, this would be the time I suppose...."

Lothar shook his head. "I don' suppose so. 'Less you think we're goin' to be out there for weeks, but from what you said it's just over the hills a way. So long as we don't get et, see no reason why we can't come back to town when needed."

He paused thoughtfully. "Wouldn't mind havin' another look for them runaways, mind. I don' think we want them gettin' et either."

[LCP]

The Suster residence crouched low in the far lee of Faulebrand’s mill, humble even in comparison to the other cottages, constructed as it was from weathered timber. Unlike the previous day, there was no sign of Sigurd’s guide outside: approaching the door, the merchant gave a quick, sharp knock.

The door opened almost immediately. On the other side of the threshold, the woodsman was looking a little on the dishevelled side, a full day and night’s growth of stubble coarsening the lines of his boyish face. Meeting Sigurd’s eyes, he seemed to struggle to find a greeting, a profoundly embarrassed expression squirming in his eyes.

“Mr Waite,” he said. “You come early.”
It wasn’t true, but Sigurd got the sense that the taciturn man was just searching from something to say. Looking out from behind him in the low-ceilinged hovel, a wiry woman was watching the strangers at the door with a distrustful, perhaps fearful air. Her hair was a tangled mass, like a shorter, more orderly microcosm of Illiiya’s – her age was difficult to discern, her round face being coated with a grime of charcoal dust that clearly resisted casual attempts at washing it away.

“Fact is,” said Suster, with a nervous cough, “I, um... I don’t think I can take your job after all, Mr Waite. I changed my mind, like. It’s too dangerous, still.” He picked up six silver pieces from beside the door and offered them back to Sigurd in a big, callused palm. “Here,” he added in an apologetic tone, “I can’t keep your money.”

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This post is for the benefit of anyone and everyone who goes with Sigurd; those who don’t, tell me what you’re doing!

[Exeson]

Ithelus chuckles slightly. 'Looks like the gods are conspiring to keep you out of those woods, merchant.'

He turns to Suster, 'anything we should know? Bad time of year for it?'

Ithelus doesn't seem very displeased, in fact the prospect of not having to go into the woods again is making it difficult for him not to smile.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

On the walk to the Suster home Sigurd has a growing inkling of what may have happened.... Yilese. He ponders what to do or say if the guide refuses to come, though he more suspects he'll just not be around.

When the door opens and the woodsman coughs out his apology, Sigurd knows what to do. There is not a hint of Faulebrandian outrage on his face, no disapproval at all. Instead, lines of worry and concern cross his middle-aged face.

"Mister Suster...." he says, extending a hand and putting it gently on the man's shoulder. His eyes are warm. "You look terrible, man. Something has changed. Who's come here and scared you?"

((If and only if the man is completely unforthcoming....))

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"Did you have... bad dreams?"

[LCP]

“Oh, um, ain’t nothin’, sir,” said Hans. “Just got woke up a bit earlier'n normal, is all.” He hesitated, wriggling a little in the unanswered silence from Sigurd and Ithelus both. “Matter of fact, old Mother Yilese stopped by this mornin’, bit on the early side. On her way into the town. Had a little chat with Greta an’ me.” He looked round, appealing to his mute wife to save him. “Greta’s very convinced that it would be a bad idea, sir. She din’t like it when I told her in the first place. I reckon she’s convinced me too.”

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd nods. He looks at Greta. "I have no wish to do anything that will harm your husband, ma'am."

He turns back to Hans. "Mother Yilese told me she was against it. But she thinks I'm going to go digging and poking into those tombs. I abhor graverobbing, Mister Suster. All I want to do is draw sketches, read any old grave markers and write a travelogue. Like a story."

He pushes the six silver back into the woodsman's hand. "You've been out there many times, and you told me we'll be safe in daylight. Isn't that what you said? I just need you to walk me around out there. Show me what to do to be respectful and I will follow your instructions."

He tilts his head. "And double the pay I promised you."

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter watched Mr Waite and the others go, then set out towards Verloren's manor, went to the servants' entrance and knocked. When someone answered, he asked for Mrs Lauf.

(If/when she comes)

"Good morning," he said, his tone businesslike. "I don't suppose your wayward servant is back yet?"

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

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Between the internet issues making it hard to get on, and financial problems lately, I've been having trouble mustering the will to get on... and then Exe and GP come back and now I'm freakin' ecstatic! Life may continue again, and thanks a million to you guys for cheering me up, intended or not.

Down side is... I'm a little hazy on what we're up to. Can anyone give me the quick-quick details? Illiiya being kinda confused and muddle-headed isn't really unusual, so a full trawl of the backlog is unneeded... and since I can only get on a little bit most days, it would be difficult for me.

Hey... wait. A... are we... leaving? Illiiya asked, confused... giving Leopold a look of sympathy.

She felt wrong leaving the man injured. At least if he was not with the doctor, he should be all right. He did need someone to tend him, however.
She took Lothar's hand, uncertainly glancing between he and Ithelus for solace.

What now? I... I'm feeling lost. What should we do?

[LCP]

Sigurd et al.

“Double?” Sigurd’s offer gave the woodsman pause. “That’d be um, four and... twelve...”

Greta gave him a look that seemed full of meaning – hesitating, he turned back to Sigurd at the door.

“Give us a moment, sir?”

The door closed, and the sound of hushed but agitated voices became audible from behind it. They did not talk for long. A minute, at the most.

The door opened again, and Greta had moved out of sight. Standing sheepishly in the doorway, Hans put on his best face.

“If you’ll make it five crowns square, sir, then I’ll take you.”

[hr]

Pieter

It was Mrs Lauf who answered the door. She seemed surprised to see him, and his question did not put her on any more of an even keel.

“No!” she said. “No, we haven’t seen her anywhere. Wicked child!” Beside her imperious indignation, Pieter thought he could catch a strong current of genuine concern. The puffy woman’s usual air of having found dust on her daughter-in-law’s mantelpiece was almost completely disintegrated, replaced with a kind of frantic worry. “I’ve sent Gundred to talk to her parents, and the master is talking of a search party... I never trusted that foreigner, never at all. Sigmar knows what may have become of her!”

OOC EDIT:

Spoiler

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Ninja'd! Chris, I'll give you a precis in the OOC thread.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter nodded sympathetically.

"I wonder if she'd been planning to leave so suddenly... Tell me, did she take her belongings with her?"