[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart

[-Sentinel-]

"Indeed not," Pieter agreed with some relief. "And I believe we've seen everything there is to see here." He narrowed his eyes at the bodies. "But I'm pretty sure it's not the roadwardens who did this. We need to report these killings. All the more reason to get to Hohlesbruck quickly."

He smiled at Illiiya. "Yeah, we'll stick to the road. Our job right now is to avoid trouble."

[Exeson]

Ithelus gives one final sweep of the woods the track disappear into. 'Then let's go now, and quietly' He says. Making his way back to the cart he touches Pieter on the shoulder, 'Time to keep running, eh?'

[LCP]

(Ambience)

Indigo seemed all too happy to jump back up into the cart. Taking the reins, Mr Faulebrand urged the horses on to a brisk trot, leaving the two bloody bodies where they lay as the wagon rattled on down the path. Behind them, a third crow alighted in the tree over the two dead men, settling above the other two and giving voice to a loud, solitary croak.

The sun rose in the east, warm and bright. The path had acquired a downhill tendency, descending into a forested vale where some of the trees were already beginning to show hints of green. Despite the Drakwald pressing all around, the road seemed well-kept. For a part of the way, they acquired a follower – a large robin, flitting from branch to branch in their wake as it picked off the insects stirred up by the cart-wheels. The cat in Illiiya’s lap watched it with a quietly hungry look, until finally it broke away back into the woods.

It was some time past noon when they reached the place where the slope levelled out, a broad hollow nestling between the gentle flank of the valley and the hills that broke the treetops to the south-west. Glimpsed between bends in the road, Pieter thought he saw the sails of a windmill – as the trees thinned, it came more clearly into view, standing proud on a little hillock of its own amidst a cluster of rolling, bare fields.

The village of Hohlesbruck stretched out ahead of them, perhaps a score and a half of peasant cottages clustered in a rough cross around a well that stood in the centre of the main road. Separated by a screen of trees, the roof of a tall stone house was visible on rising ground to the north – in the midst of the other dwellings, another large house of bricks and beams stood in the centre of the hamlet, built in the Altdorf townhouse style. It looked remarkably out of place among the humble cottages surrounding it – and quite new, as well.

As they headed into the village, Pieter could see the villagers were busy. All along their one and only main street, people were laying out long wooden tables, enough to seat fifty or more. There seemed a preponderance of women among those making the preparations, the figures of men visible up on the fields: it was the kind of rural idyll that a Nuln artist might have painted, pictured brightly in the sun. To Lothar, but for the smell of the sea, it almost seemed like home.

As the wagon rolled down towards the centre of the village, some of the villagers waved to Mr Faulebrand, the miller waving majestically back like a monarch to his subjects. There were children among the people laying out the banquet, getting under the adults’ feet – as the wagon approached, they stopped, staring wide-eyed at Illiiya and Ithelus on the back. Their mothers chided them away, shooing them out from the path of the cart so that they could stare properly themselves.

Mr Faulebrand reined in the horses in front of the big brick house, turning to look at his guards.

“Well, good time indeed! Nothing like home, don’t you agree?” He didn’t give them time to answer. “Of course you do.”

He fished in a velvet pouch at his belt, producing four gleaming gold pieces and handing them out.

“There’s my end of the bargain, and we’re on the level. As I said, you’re welcome to stay for the feast this evening,” – he swept one podgy hand out to encompass the tables being laid out – “very welcome indeed. Wulli at the Heartless Man ought to have space to put you up for the night, if you feel like staying. Mr Waite, I suppose that goes for you too.”

He pointed along the street – next to the grand brick house, there was a tavern, much older-looking than its neighbour and built in the same fashion as the surrounding cottages. A painted sign swung on a pole outside, showing a man standing in front of a green forest. There was a clean, circular hole through his chest, letting you see the trees behind him.

“A pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen,” said Mr Faulebrand.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Earlier with Illiiya

"I'm not very good with people, either," Sigurd chuckles.

He holds out his hand to let the cat sniff it, and then pets I'shara only if she seems receptive. "Ih... sharra?" He looks at the cat quizzically. "What does that mean in your language?"

He nods to the dog. "The dog is Indigo. Named after a very expensive incident she got us into with a dye seller in Altdorf."

He raises his voice scoldingly at the word "expensive." Indigo puts her head down on her paws and whimpers.

"She still likes to get gussied up but we stick to woad nowadays."

Complications Before Leaving the Murder Scene

Sigurd makes no attempt to change the party's mind about leaving, but his middle class sensibilities kick in as they move to board the wagon.

"In most provinces, it's considered quite uncouth to leave a body out for the vermin," he protests. "Sacrilegious even."

It's unlikely that the middle-aged man can bury two corpses by his own strength, but he seems unwilling to leave them. He seems to expect that either the rest of the party will dig graves, or that the corpses will be brought along to Hohlesbruck.

OOC:

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It'll be 18 hours before the others respond about digging graves, so LCP, I'm tagging you to see if Faulebrand will countenance loading them into the wagon.

I'll wait to hear what you say before I post Sigurd's in-town actions.

[LCP]

The Scene of the Crime

"In most provinces, it's considered quite uncouth to leave a body out for the vermin," he protests. "Sacrilegious even."

Mr Faulebrand blinked.

"We're a little short-handed in the shovels department, Mr Waite... and personally, I'm too old for such work. We can send out some hearty lads from the village once we arrive, I'm sure."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

"They'll be bloody well eaten by then, Mister Faulebrand." He keeps his voice steady but stern. "There's room in the wagon to transport them."

[LCP]

"My wagon?" spluttered the miller. "Absolutely not. I mean, the smell... and to think what people will think, if they see me with a, a headless corpse as a passenger? It's not fitting for a man of my station, not fitting at all."

He shook his jowly head.

"Out of the question. Out of the question."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

At the Murders:

"It's your property," Sigurd acknowledges. "I shan't force you."

He looks sadly at the two bodies. "Come on, Indi."

Indigo snuffles back to the corpses and hangs by them a moment. It's unclear whether she's contemplating a free meal, or whether she just senses her master's hesitation.

In any case, once the wagon is underway, she runs after and leaps in the back with a very quiet Sigurd.

At Hohlesbruck:

Sigurd hops down onto the road as they enter town, walking alongside the wagon to get a view of the place.

Indigo gladly remains in the wagon, stealing a few more minutes' rest.

As I said, you’re welcome to stay for the feast this evening, very welcome indeed. Wulli at the Heartless Man ought to have space to put you up for the night, if you feel like staying. Mr Waite, I suppose that goes for you too.

Sigurd nods. "Thank you for the ride, Mister Faulebrand. I'm glad your shipment made it through. Come on Indi."

He begins walking across the town common and makes it a hundred steps before he notices the lack of dog at his side.

"Indi!" he hollers back.

Head down, the dog slinks after him, almost smirking as she goes...

OOC:

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Sigurd will seek out the town's temple(s). Let me know what options are available.

Sigurd will head to the Heartless Man, more or less on his own rather than sticking with the others, as he assumes their travels together are done.

[Exeson]

Ithelus lights up his pipe again as the approach the village, 'I suppose it'd be nice to stay, for a little while anyway.'

He smiles at the kids staring, a sharp reminder that hopefully this place will not replace curiosity with hostility as happens too often.

Dropping down from the back of the wagon he slings his crossbow over his back and turns to the others, 'Shall we grab some food at the inn?'

[-Sentinel-]

Almost forgetting the two corpses, Pieter felt somewhat serene as he entered the village. The initiate was a man of the city; for him, the countryside was usually just the empty space one had to cross to go from an exciting place to another. But he had seen enough excitement lately. The events of Delberz were still fresh in his memory, and for once in his life he wished for peace and quiet. Even boredom would be welcome.

If I stay long enough, maybe the nightmares will stop.

The Ranaldite had never mentioned the nightmares to his friends. He had not seen fit to tell them how he still heard Maria's dying screams and the bell's terrible ring, how he still felt Morsleek's lightning on his chest and the rats' bites on his calves, how he still smelled the sewers' stench and the slaves' terror. Instead he had put on the act of the sardonic, carefree young man he used to be. He was far from sure he fooled them; he suspected that he did not fool Illiiya, who was more perceptive than most and always looked at him strangely when he woke up every morning. How long would he have to keep pretending?

Maybe not that long, if he managed to find some rest in this place.

Ranald's toes, did he need rest.

The initiate gratefully accepted the gold crown. "I'm hungry as well," he said at Ithelus' suggestion, "but I think we need to warn some sort of authority figure about the murders."

"Oh, Mister Faulebrand!" he called before the merchant was out of earshot. "Is there a militia, a roadwarden regiment or something like that around here?"

[LCP]

"Well, everyone does their part around here, Mr, um..." - Mr Faulebrand tailed off. "Everyone does their part. Used to be beastmen in the woods! But there isn't a standing militia as such, no." He nodded towards the high rooftop visible beyond the trees on the northern rise. "Mils Verloren is lord of the manor. It's him as is responsible for such things, in theory, but much he's done about it these last few months."

[-Sentinel-]

"Well, everyone does their part around here, Mr, um..." - Mr Faulebrand trailed off.

"Pieter Hagen," answered Pieter without hesitation. "The Hagens of Altdorf," he added helpfully. "The well-known candlemakers."

"Everyone does their part. Used to be beastmen in the woods! But there isn't a standing militia as such, no." He nodded towards the high rooftop visible beyond the trees on the northern rise. "Mils Verloren is lord of the manor. It's him as is responsible for such things, in theory, but much he's done about it these last few months."

"Thank you," said Pieter, slightly disappointed. "See you at the feast, then." He started toward the Heartless Man.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Earlier with Sigurd

I'shara. Illiiya corrected Sigurd's pronunciation as the cat nudged his hand, It is the elven word for a male cat.

Illiiya gave the human man a shred of what she's been feeding the cat, letting him feed Mr. Cat himself. The cat, as if she had not been feeding him all day, immediately turned to the human man and gave a plaintive mew. It seemed like the feline took well to whomever fed it.

So you trade in... art? Illiiya said, eyes downcast. Idle conversation was not her strong-point... but she seemed to be at least making an effort.


At the shire Hohlesbruck

Glad to be way from the bodies in the woods, Illiiya calmed down as they went. For the remainder of the trip beyond the sightings of the bodies, she had grown quiet again, looking about the woods around them in worry... as if she expected some creature of her nightmares to burst from the trees at any moment.

By the time they reached the town she had calmed... though the astute would note she seemed far more attentive than she had been for the first half of the trip. She took her crown and handed it promptly to Ithelus, giving her sort term "employer" a polite bow of her head. A windbag though he was, perhaps he was not as bad as she'd believed him to be.

The idea of a good meal in a peaceful village seemed a great one... even if she couldn't keep the wonder at just what had happened to those men in the forest from her mind. She wove her fingers through Lothar's... taking his hand gently and glancing at the set up for the festivities soon to take place.

We can stay here a night or so, yes? I don't feel safe on the roads right now.

[goblinpaladin]

At the Village of Hohlesbruck

Mr Faulebrand reined in the horses in front of the big brick house, turning to look at his guards.

“Well, good time indeed! Nothing like home, don’t you agree?” He didn’t give them time to answer. “Of course you do.”

He fished in a velvet pouch at his belt, producing four gleaming gold pieces and handing them out.

Lothar shifted his own bag on his back, grinning broadly as he accepted the gold. "Ah, it's a beautiful little town, Herr Faulebrand. Worth the trip out just to see it."

“A pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen,” said Mr Faulebrand.

"Mutual," the soldier said with every indication of sincerety, and shook the man's hand.

Lothar nodded at Ithelus and Pieter. "Food sounds great." He gently pulled Illiiya closer to him and looked around over the village. "This place reminds me of home somehow. No salt in the wind, and smaller, but so it goes. I'd like to stay a day or so, aye. Feast and song! The stuff of life."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Time Warp with Illiiya

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I'shara.It is the elven word for a male cat.

"I'shara," he repeats dutifully as he feeds the cat. "What is the word for a female cat then?"

Once he learns it, he motions to Indigo. "And a female hound?" Once he learns this one, he combines it the the ending of I'shara and throws back the word for a male hound.

"I have an interest in languages," he says. "Most recently I've been teaching myself Bretonnian."

So you trade in... art?

"Art and antiquities," he says gently. "I prefer the latter. Statues, jewellery, books.... anything that has outlived a few emperors. I find it fascinating, what we can learn from the past..."

He looks back at her. "I suppose elves get rather less excited about such things."

[Exeson]

Ithelus turns away as he sees Illiiya and Lothar get close, it wasn't that them being together bothered him... it was just that it bothered him.

'Right then' He says and leads the way to the tavern, puffing hard on his pipe. He tried very hard not to glance over his shoulder.

[LCP]

“Candle-makers?” said Mr Faulebrand to Pieter. “Well, I suppose that’s very respectable, hm, very respectable.”

When the last of them had clambered down, he waved them in the direction of the inn, and twitched the reins – the great carthorses started forward again, turning the corner of the big brick house towards what looked like a small stableyard behind. Heading towards the Heartless Man, the party could hear his blustering voice fading away from behind them, calling out to the people inside for assistance.

The inside of the Heartless Man was warm and cosy, a couple of old men already seated inside though it was not far past noon. They looked round as the newcomers entered, and kept on looking as they saw Ithelus and Illiiya’s faces.

Busy sounds were emanating from the kitchen. Behind the bar, a man perhaps in his late forties looked up at their arrival, having been swabbing the surface down with a damp cloth.

“Hullo,” he said, trying to stifle his own surprise at seeing elves in his establishment and rather failing. “G – guests for the party, is it? Wulli Hofstadter, at your service. What can I do for you?”

OOC:

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It is 10p for a good meal at the Heartless Man, 5s to stay the night in a private room and 5p to sleep in the common hall. The feast is not until the afternoon is pretty much done, so you should feel free to take some liberties in making big, comprehensive posts with all you want to do: I’d anticipate possibly moving things forwards to the evening in on or two large updates, depending on how complex your plans are.

[-Sentinel-]

"I'll have a meal and a private room, please. Not too large a meal... I'll eat plenty tonight." Pieter opened his purse, counted a few coins and handed them to the innkeeper. "I like this place. It reminds me of my own native village, in Hochland. Do you think the women outside need helpers?"


OOC:

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My plan is simple.

1. Walk around the village. This should take no more than a few minutes.
2. Help with the preparations for the feast while gathering rumors and information.

The specific things I want to ask:

• Have there been any reports of trouble on the road lately?
• Who's running the village? Is he doing his job well?
• Who's living in the isolated house on the other side of the river?
• What goods and services are available around here?
• What are the general opinions about the engagement?

Gossip 61: (d100)[75]
Fortune Point: (d100)[39]

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Let's do the time warp again

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I'shari is for a female. We do not have a word for hounds. We do not breed them as humans do, but the word for wolves is Torai. She explained to Sigurd, recollecting her cat and giving a slight smile as he worked out the masculine tense himself, Yes, Toraa. Sometimes we call the human breeds Su'Toraa, or "little wolves", but that seems wrong for him. Your hound is very big.

Letting Mr. Cat get comfortable in her lap again, she settled in as comfortably as she could in the shaky wagon, trying her best to be social.

I... ah... I do not know as much of my old home as I... could. She explained faltering, seeming a touch hesitant to discuss the subject, But.. from what I remember, we have trouble focusing on anything but the past. Rarer by far is those amongst us who can keep up with the present. The world moves very fast here.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd enters the Heartless Man and pays for a private room, a meal, and meat scraps for the dog (telling Hofstadter to send a boy for the if needed). He also purchases beer and asks about the lord and local history, buying drinks for others as needed to be congenial.

Questions:

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1. Who lives in the manor (family name, title, etc)
2. What do they think of him? Is he a good lord?
3. Who around here knows the local folklore?
4. I've heard there are barrows in the area, where are they? Who built them and why?
5. Will the lord be at the feast? What about any other merchant families besides the two who are uniting?

As needed, Sigurd will explain that he collects local stories and legends as he travels.

He will also ask whether there are two woodsmen from Hohlesbruck who haven't come back yet, and then, with a sad tone of voice, explain that they were found dead on the road. He won't go into detail about how they were killed.

OOC:

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Deducting 10s for the lot of it.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya too entered the Heartless Man, keeping close to Lothar. She left the questions to the human members of her party, knowing full well that she was an outsider here and viewed with suspicion. As friendly and kind as the place seemed, she felt outside it all. Awkward, in a way.

OOC:

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Illiiya isn't the chatty type, so she'll leave the questions to the others and just watch. I figure she'll get herself a small meal and likely split a private room with Lothar... or Ithelus, if he leaps in to try and keep her away from the guy. (I didn't know he was the jealous sort) That much, I shall leave to the boys to rp out.

Since Ith has her money, she'd either have to get some from him, or have Lothar front the bill entirely. Again, I leave that up to GP and Exeson.

Sorry for the short post, but I'm uncommonly busy tonight, and Illiiya's not got much to say for now as it is, so I'll just assume she has a small meal and relaxes in quiet peace unless something else comes up.

[goblinpaladin]

"Wulli, eh? I knew a Wulli, back in the army. Always beat me at dice, he did." Lothar grinned, sliding a few silvers across the table. "A couple of nice hot meals, your finest ale for m'self, and a private room." He paused and glanced back at Illiiya. "For two, an' keep the shrapnel."

On receiving the mug, he raised it in a toast to the barkeep. "So what's the deal with th' name, Hofstadter? 'The Heartless Man'? Damn eerie name for an inn, and I bet there's a great story to go with it." Lothar drank -quaffed is really the word- from his mug.

"Ah. Tell me, an' in return I've got one from back home- it's really good, has trolls in."

[Exeson]

Ithelus nods to the innkeeper. 'I'll take a private room and a hunk of bread if you have' he says. 'Also do the rooms have locks at all?'

Once business at the Heartless man has been sorted Ithelus will wonder through the village, eating on the way. He will tend towards any trees he spies, preferably not too far from the village.

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OOC: If the rooms have locks he will store all of his kit in there bar his throwing knives, his dagger and his spikes and hammer (and his money of course). If not he will ask if there is a storage room of some sort with a lock on it for the same reason. If neither exist he will take everything with him.

[LCP]

"I like this place. It reminds me of my own native village, in Hochland. Do you think the women outside need helpers?"

“Well, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” said Wulli, sweeping Pieter’s money out of sight. “Sure they wouldn’t mind at all.”

On receiving the mug, he raised it in a toast to the barkeep. "So what's the deal with th' name, Hofstadter? 'The Heartless Man'? Damn eerie name for an inn, and I bet there's a great story to go with it." Lothar drank – quaffed is really the word - from his mug.

"Ah. Tell me, an' in return I've got one from back home- it's really good, has trolls in."

“Bit of a local legend, that, sir,” said the innkeeper. “Why, it was my own grandfather told me...”

“WULLI!” came a woman’s voice from the kitchen behind the bar. “Don’t you start tale-tellin’ to them strangers! There’s work to be done, and I want you doin’ it this month!”

Wulli grinned sheepishly. “Can’t disobey the wife. Tell you what, sir, you stop by after Mister Faulebrand’s banquet’s done with. All the village men’ll be retirin’ here, and they love a tale as much as I do.”

“Would you call yourself the authority on the folklore in these parts, then, Mr Hofstadter?” asked Sigurd. “I’m something of a collector myself.”

“Au-thority? Wouldn’t like to call myself an authority on anythin’, sir, but we all know the old stories. ‘Course, some of us ‘ve got different versions of them.” He leaned on the bar. “If you’re writin’ a book or such, you could do worse than visit old Mother Yilese on the other side of the river. Wise woman of the village, she is. Knows everything there is to know.” He lowered his voice. “There’s some folk as say she’s a hunnerd years old, and remembers everythin’ since the day she was born.”

Sigurd nodded. “Would she know about the barrows I’ve heard about in these parts? Or yourself?”

“The old grave mounds?” Wulli looked a little surprised. “Aye, they’re up west, t’ward the hills... although there’s some in the deep woods, closer to.”

“Do you know who built them, or why?”

“Why, they’ve been here since afore Sigmar’s time, sir. They say Ulric’s people put ‘em up, but they took any reasons they had to the grave with ‘em.” He shook his head. “You like folklore, there are some stories about them mounds, I can tell you. Had a scholar come up here once before, tryin’ to map them out.” Wulli paused, his eyes drifting to focus on the middle distance. “’Course, that was afore the Graf’s knights cleared the beastmen out.”

He looked down at the bar.

“Hans and Greta found his leg-bones after-like, gave ‘em a proper burial.” He hesitated again. “’Least we thought they were his. Weren’t no-one from the village gone missing in that time, after all.”

“Hans and Greta would be... woodsmen?” asked Sigurd. “And, uh, woodswomen?”
“That’s about the shape of it, sir, yes.”
Sigurd hesitated himself.
“Do you know where Hans is at this moment?”
“Helpin’ with the preparations, I should think. Almost everyone is.”

Slowly and carefully, Sigurd explained about the men on the road. Wulli frowned, but as the merchant finished his explanation, he shook his head.
“Well, it’s good of you, sir, but that don’t sound like anyone I know of from round these parts. Sounds like maybe a couple of them bandits got their come-uppance.” He shook his head. “Sigmar knows the roadwardens have left our roads alone long enough.”

There came another shout from the kitchen – called away, Wulli made his apologies and scurried out of sight. He returned soon enough, bringing the food they had asked for: a round, red-faced woman followed him, counting off keys from an iron ring for those who wanted lodging. She gave Lothar a very funny look when Wulli mentioned his and Illiiya’s arrangements, but held her tongue.

“Most guests we’ve had at one time in a long time, sirs,” she said, by way of making conversation: for all that Wulli appeared to be in thrall to her, she seemed friendly enough. “First the foreign gentleman, now the five of you. At this rate, we’ll have to start turning people away!”

The inn’s food was plain but filling fare, much of it fresh: Pieter and Lothar tucked in with gusto as Wulli and his wife went back to their work. Sitting a little apart, Sigurd fed himself and his dog, Indigo devouring what she was given with great enthusiasm.

Rising on a full stomach, Pieter declared he was going to explore the village. Lothar followed suit, while Illiiya remained behind. Ithelus stayed with her – there seemed to be something odd in the elf’s gaze as he watched Lothar leave.

[hr]

Pieter

Outside, Hohlesbruck’s main street was bustling with activity. Pieter skirted around towards the well in the town centre, looking round at the surrounding buildings. On one side of the ‘square’ – if that was what you would call the crossing of two unpaved roads – stood a smithy, its tall brick chimney still and smokeless for now. Opposite it was another old building, slightly larger than its neighbours: having a fair bit more timber in its construction than the others, it looked as if the years had warped it, the windows on one side of the house distinctly lower than on the other. Painted over the front door were the faded letters

B U T C H E R E

Passing right past the blacksmith’s was a road leading uphill, curving behind the copse of trees that shielded the manor from view. On the left, it led past the foot of the hillock on which the mill stood, and curved towards the river: the road on which the party had entered went there direct, a little stone bridge just wide enough for a modest cart crossing the fast-flowing brook. Pieter headed in that direction, leaving the cottages and fields behind in a matter of minutes: on the other side of the water, the Drakwald closed in again, a weather-worn road even older and narrower than the one they had taken winding away into the forest’s dark heart. Standing at its foot, Pieter noticed an overgrown path branching off to the left through the woods, and remembered the innkeeper’s words about ‘Mother Yilese’ who lived over the river.

Just before the side-path stood a small shrine, just large enough to give unlucky travellers shelter from the rain. Its drystone walls were spotted with lichen but well-tended. Inside, a carved wooden dove stood on a rough ledge, a dribbled mass of candles standing around its feet and under its wings. A brass bowl held a selection of humble offerings: overhead, the wooden beams that held up the roof had been carved with designs of weeping maidens, set amidst deep, complex spirals and swirls.

Making his respects to Shallya, Pieter headed back into the centre of the village, making for the crowd of people who were laying out the tables for the feast. There were women of all ages, and some men too – as Wulli had predicted, they seemed happy to have his help. Pitching in, Pieter took the opportunity to find out a little more about his new surroundings. The women of the village seemed all too happy to answer his questions.

“So, have you heard about any trouble on the road lately?” he asked the middle-aged woman he was helping with a tablecloth. “Mr Faulebrand seemed convinced he needed guards.”
“Oh, everyone knows about the bandits, mister!” she exclaimed. “Lurkin’ out in the woods, they are. Stolen a couple of Mister Faulebrand’s wagons, they have.”
“Shouldn’t something be done about it? Who’s in charge of the village?”
“That’d be Lord Verloren,” said the woman, briskly. “Him an’ his family been lords of these parts since afore even my gran could remember. Since forever, I reckon.”
She shook out her end of the cloth, stretching it over the long table.
“Nothin’ about him you could object to, neither. A good kindly sort of lord. But he lost his wife, you know, and he’s always been a little... far-off, like, since then. And then there was this terrible business with his daughter!”
“I heard she Changed!” butted in a younger woman, breathlessly. “I heard she grew a pair of arms out of her belly, and he bricked her up in her rooms, and now he feeds her soup through a hole in the wall!”
“Ellie, that’s nonsense, and you’re a wicked girl for spreadin’ it,” said the middle-aged woman, sternly.
“But ain’t no-one seen her for months!” cried the girl in protest.
“That’s ‘cos she’s been sick,” said the woman, still keeping her eyes calmly on her work. “Now, let’s hear no more of it.”
Another woman leaned over.
“If it’s someone to do somethin’ about these bandits you’re looking for,” she said, “it ain’t Lord Verloren you ought to be goin’ to. It’s Aloysius Faulebrand who really runs Hohlesbruck.”
The first woman gave the new speaker an uncomfortable look. The newcomer kept speaking, keeping her voice slightly lower than a conversational tone.
“Well, it’s true, ain’t it? The Verlorens might be the lords in these parts, but they ain’t wealthy no more, not for nobs. Mister Faulebrand, he owns the mill, and half the people round here are his tenants now. Buildin’ his big fancy house, stealin’ Mister Talberg from Miss Esther for his daughter. He means to make himself lord of these parts, and I reckon he’s done so, in all but name.”
“Mr Talberg,” said Pieter, listening quietly. “That would be the young man who’s to be married?”
“Right you are, sir,” said the third woman. “Was engaged to be married to Miss Esther Verloren, ‘til he went away to war and she came down with her sickness. Came back quick enough, and decided he didn’t like the look of a face with scars on.” The woman’s tone of voice made it clear she didn’t approve. “Now Mister Faulebrand’s caught him for young Alexa, and Miss Esther stays up at the house all day long. Fair heartbroken, they say she was.”
The first woman nodded.
“It’s bad luck to be having anything more to do with that young man, after how he treated the lord’s daughter,” she said. “Still, can’t be arguin’ with Aloysius. Man’s as stubborn as a mule, and a thousan’ times as prideful. Think he might fairly have died for joy, gettin’ his daughter hitched to a nobleman.”
“I think you’re both being sour old prunes,” said the young woman, sulkily. “Alexa’s a lovely girl and Mr Talberg’s a very handsome young man. I wish ‘em both joy of it.”

That seemed to put an end to the conversation. Discreetly changing tack, Pieter asked after what shops and services might be available in the village.
“Bless you, sir, we’re farmers round here, not merchants.” The woman furrowed her brow. “I suppose there’s ol’ Axel the blacksmith, and Flycher’s butcher-shop. And the Heartless Man, but you knew about them.”

[hr]

Sigurd & Illiiya

Sitting in the Heartless Man, Sigurd waited for Wulli to reappear at a quiet moment. He had a few questions that remained unanswered.

“Excuse me, Mr Hofstadter, can I ask – who lives in the manor on the ridge?”
“That’s Verloren Manor, sir. Mils Verloren is the lord in these parts – it’s him and his daughter live up there. And their servants.”
“What does the village think of him? Is he a good lord?”
“Never had anything to say against him, sir, never had anything to say against him.”
Sigurd nodded.
“Will he be at the feast? Or... any other merchant families, besides the two who are uniting?”
“Oh, Mr Talberg isn’t a merchant, sir, he’s a noble. Family’s from over eastward way – he first came over here by way of the Verlorens. There isn’t anyone else like the Faulebrands around here, for sure – just us villagers.”
He paused.
“I think I heard Lord Verloren was comin’, although I don’t know how long he’ll stay.”

[hr]

Lothar

Lightening himself by one suit of chainmail and one firearm locked safely in his room at the Heartless Man, Lothar set out to explore the village. Picking his way through the busy crowd on the street directly outside, he stood by the well in the centre of Hohlesbruck and smelt the fresh air. It was a welcome change from Delberz, and he barely felt the urge to check the bottom of the well for swarms of watching red eyes at all.

There was a blacksmith’s across the way, a black horseshoe hung over the front door. Wandering around by way of the open back yard, Lothar found a brown-haired, broad-shouldered man with a fine forked beard and massive, calloused hands sitting at ease by his anvil, smoking on a battered old pipe.

“Hullo,” rumbled the blacksmith. “Don’t think I know you, sir.”
Introducing himself, Lothar took a seat, making amiable conversation. He had a few questions to ask, and the blacksmith seemed happy enough to answer them. His position in the community had clearly exempted him from the work of preparing Mr Faulebrand’s feast, and the two of them sat watching as the others went about transforming the village centre for the evening. The blacksmith’s name was Axel – if he had a second name, he didn’t seem to think it worthy of mentioning.

“The lord up in the manor – what’s the feeling about him around here?” asked Lothar. “I’d’ve thought he ought to have cleaned out these bandits by now.”
“Lord Verloren is alright,” said Axel, authoritatively. “Rustling out those robbers would be a dangerous business, and he knows it. Might be some of us killed, and we might not win, neither. It’s one thing to pick up a spear to defend yourself from a raid, it’s another to go out huntin’ armed men in the wild woods.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying there ain’t more he might do... but he’s a man who’s had misfortunes, and maybe I don’t blame him if his mind ain’t entirely on the present.”

He looked across the way, towards the busy preparations in front of the big brick house and the Heartless Man.

“Besides, everyone knows old Faulebrand could afford to pay for proper professionals, if he’d just loosen his purse-strings. It’s his shipments as are getting stolen, after all. But that man never paid for anythin’ he thought he could get for free, and he never will neither.”

“So no-one knows where these robbers are hiding, then?” said Lothar. “If you’d have to go hunting for them.”

“That’s about the size of it,” agreed the smith. “The woods are deep around here, gives ‘em plenty of places to hide in reach of the road, and if they’re good hunters, they wouldn’t want for food either. Not now the beasts’ve been driven out.” The big man shrugged his broad shoulders. “As trades go, I’ve heard worse. ‘Least men you can reason with.”

“You don’t think they’re supplied from inside the village, then?”

“From Hohlesbruck?” The man looked surprised, and shook his head. “Everyone round here knows everyone else. If someone was sneakin’ food and such out to ‘em, we’d notice.” He paused. “It’s a funny thing, though. They always seem to know when Mister Faulebrand’s wagons are heading out.”

Lothar mulled over the information, nodding along. His eyes drifting away from the preparations for the feast, they fixed on the bridge.

“Any good fishing spots along the river?” he asked.

“If you go down past the mill, there’s a crossing down there where the water’s slow,” said Axel. “Pretty good fishing there.”

“Thank you,” said Lothar. He stood up. “Think I might go have a look, then. Glad to meet you, Axel.”
“And you, Mister Fischer,” said the blacksmith, sedately replacing the pipe in his mouth. Stretching out his arms, Lothar headed off along the muddy road.

Sure enough, there was a tricky-looking ford down past the windmill, where the river widened out and a broad stony bank gave an excellent vantage-point for fishing. On the other side of the crossing, Lothar could see a narrow path leading away into the woods: its destination was out of sight.

Crossing over, he followed the river-bank upstream, coming back to the little stone bridge that crossed the brook where it flowed faster. Just beyond it, there was a wayside shrine to Shallya, and Lothar paused there to pay his respects. Ducking to get out of the low shelter, he headed back towards the centre of Hohlesbruck.

[hr]

Ithelus

The rooms did indeed have locks. Securing his possessions, Ithelus took his bread and stepped out into the open air, wandering through Hohlesbruck’s extremely limited selection of streets. He saw the busy preparations for the banquet, the decrepit old butcher’s shop, the bridge and the smithy. Making up his mind, he headed uphill towards the copse of trees before the lord’s manor, quickly leaving the villager’s cottages behind.

The spur of woodland that screened Verloren Manor from the rest of the village was not particularly thick, but it jutted out from the body of the Drakwald itself that surrounded the hamlet, and in the continuity of that great forest the elf found something strangely comforting. Sitting on a ridge of earth held together by tree-roots, he looked out westward, taking in the whole village laid out before him – then, looking in the opposite direction, he saw the manor. It was a building of old stone, large and imposing: it looked as if it had been built as a fortress as much as a display of wealth, clearly designed to resist attack. There was a little groundsman’s cottage on the foot of the rise on which it stood, but by the looks of things it was currently uninhabited: the cleared grounds around the house showed hints of being poorly-tended, the weathered old manor itself overgrown in several places by thick ivy...

[Exeson]

Ithelus ponders the manor, and indeed the prospects it holds. With a curious mind he wanders over to it, attempting to find a gate of front door on which to knock.

[LCP]

Ithelus

The front door of the manor was large and imposing: it had a brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head. Knocking, Ithelus waited on the step as he heard footsteps approach from within.

With a creak, the door opened, and a woman on the older edge of middle age looked out. Though she was short and round, her face was lined and severe.

"Yes?" she said, sharply. Her stern expression was softened by surprise as she saw the elf standing at the doorstep, but she did not offer any further words to ease the silence.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd looks relieved when the innkeeper tells him the victims weren't from town. But inside, he still feels troubled by the sight. They hadn't looked like bandits to him, nor are Roadwardens known for leaving corpses out to rot on the highway. I wonder if Faulebrand really will send lads to collect them.

Leaving that thought for the time being, he takes his meal at a leisurely pace. Then he finds a bench outside, if there is one, or the shade of a tree to sit beneath, and enjoys his pipe. The middle-aged man doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry.

"Well, Indigo," he says at last. "I guess we'd better get off before this party starts."

Indigo, head on paws and enjoying her patch of sunlight, does not seem to agree.

Sigurd ignores her, using his cane to leverage himself to his feet.

As he ambles away from the inn, the beleaguered Indigo gets to her feet and trots after him with a look of great weariness.

* * * *

Sigurd finds his way across the river as instructed, stopping to make an offering to Shallya when he sees the shrine. He seeks out Mother Yilese's house, where he will knock politely and wait to see if she's home.

[Exeson]

Ithelus jumps slightly at the sharp question. He tips his head slightly, 'Good afternoon ma'am. Pardon me for the intrusion but I was passing through the village and my attention was caught by this beautiful building.'

He smiles, 'If it is not intruding I would perhaps like to converse with the master of this manor as to this building's origin?'

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya approached the idea of being left to herself fairly well. A far cry from but a few weeks ago when she would have dreaded the idea. The things that lurked at the edges of her vision were still present, but by now she was certain that they had no power to harm her... and there were things every bit as bad in the world that all could see. Or under it...

Illiiya kept to herself in the common room, drinking some mild, slightly bitter tea and having little cause to speak to any of the folk about the place. In fact, she seemed to be watching the spot across from her.

This place is not so bad. You don't have to sit in here by yourself.

Illiiya glanced at nothing, as if she could almost imagine the speaker sitting across from her at the table... his light tone and quirked smile making him endearing him almost despite himself.

Right, right. Just ignore me when people are about.

They'll think me mad. She answered in a soft voice, glancing down into her tea.

Aren't you?

For the briefest of moments she looked stunned... almost harried... as if his words had literally struck her.

I mean aren't we all? The whole world's a little mad.

Her expression softened, sinking bad under the safe, secure place where doubt could not reach her. Of course he was real. It was all real. She wanted to be angry at him for teasing her, but somehow she just couldn't bring herself to be.

I don't like people like you do. They stare. They're afraid of me. She said in the barest of whispers, giving a soft sigh, I'm sorry.

It's all right. At least you've got company, huh? Don't have to be alone.

She gave a soft noise of agreement, wondering if he was teasing her again. After all, he knew as well as she did... she was never alone.

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

A whole of to text to basically say that... Illiiya is a crazy shut in. She'll be staying at the inn, where she'll pick at some bread, drink some tea, and keep to herself.

[-Sentinel-]

At the shrine

Pieter paid his respects to Shallya, Ranald's lover according to some tales, by putting four shillings in the bowl. Not much, but a gold crown might tempt a villager's fingers: money had a way of overcoming piety and superstition. The initiate took a moment to kneel and pray for good health. He also left a prayer for Magda, who for some reason still lingered in his thoughts.

Oh, and one more thing, my lady. I couldn't find a shrine to Morr or even a cemetary in this place, but can you pass a message along to your father? Yes, I know I've never been in good terms with Him. But please tell Him to watch over the friends and allies I lost in Delberz. Rafale, Ilsa, Klaus, Karl... even Maria. And if it's not too much to ask, I'd like Him to make the bad dreams stop. I need to move on.

After a moment of silent spiritual contemplation, he got to his feet and walked back to the village.


[hr]

At the village

Pieter frowned deeply at the tale of how the Talberg boy had rejected Esther. But, really, what could be expected from nobles? Shallowness was part of their nature. He hoped the young man would not be a callous husband to Alexa.

The whole concept of marriage is inherently flawed, he reflected. Yet, as a godly man, it was his duty to respect the wish of people suffering from the peculiar madness called monogamy. It was not their fault, was it?

"I'm Pieter Hagen," he introduced himself with an easy grin. "Mr Faulebrand hired my friends and I to escort him here. He kindly invited us to the feast." The Ranaldite grew serious. "He was well-advised to take guards," he confided. "The road is not safe. We found two corpses in the woods, apparently outdoorsmen. Murdered. By the look of it, it wasn't the work of outlaws or roadwardens. One of the dead men had this in his pocket." He showed them the copper necklace. "You wouldn't happen to recognize this, would you?"