[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart

[Exeson]

During the feast

Ithelus waves away Illiiya's request to leave, 'As the breton says, it'll be nice to stay for a while. Let's not run away just yet because of one fainting.'

In the Heatrless Man

Ithelus listens to the stories being banded about. Perhaps he should share one of his own with these people, a new one to add to their repertoire. Listening to Pieter's tale he chuckles, sure that he has heard the tale a few times before, but with different names. He was still not sure about the traveling priest, the man revered Ranald in a very different light to Ithelus. Pieter seemed to believe that the god was truly a savior of the people, where as Ithelus held Ranald in regard only as a name to curse with every word under the sun when that guard hound was chasing you through the estate gardens....

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

As Pieter begins his story, Sigurd makes his way over to Wulli and pays for a round of drinks, smiling at the familiar tale the younger man was telling with new flourishes. Boy's got quite a tongue on him.

I think the gentleman from Nuln might’ve been tryin’ to find it, but the beastmen got to him first. Fancy city scholar like ‘im, didn’t have no time for ghost stories.

"Ah, Mister Waldemarr," he says, indicating he's heard the tale of the scholar. "Is that what he was looking for?" He takes a drink. "And if he had listened to the stories, what advice might they have given him to keep himself alive?"

He looks at Wulli over the rim of his mug. "Besides don't go, I mean. Every ghost has a weakness, it's no good ghost story without..."

When Indigo comes in and begins nuzzling his leg he'll pointedly ignore her for a moment to let the man answer. If she keeps it up he'll say, "Sit. I'll feed you again soon."

[LCP]

“I always heard it from my mam that Black Gaerovald couldn’t chase you ‘cross the Taalsbruck,” opined one of their neighbours, butting in on the conversation. “A ghost can’t cross runnin’ water. ‘Tis a well-known fact.”
“No, no, that’s not the way of it,” said another, shaking his head. “The way it is, is he hates the sign of Sigmar, for remindin’ him what he was. Mister Waldemarr ought’ve taken a priest with him.”
“I heard it were Shallya,” chimed in a third. “Can’t stand his wound to be healed.”

Shaking his head, Wulli waved for them to be quiet.

“Ghost stories or not, what Mister Waldemarr needed was a troop of soldiers,” said Wulli. “It were the beastmen that done him in, sir, and they were a fearsome bunch. They say it was a troop o’ the Knights Panther what drove ‘em out durin’ the War, but if there were any survivors on our side, they didn’t come through Hohlesbruck, sir.”

A man sitting to Wulli’s left – a big fellow, with a tangled brown beard that reached down past his collarbone – nodded gravely.
“My father told me that they had one of their shrines up in the northern woods,” he said, in a rich, deep voice. “If those creatures get it into their horned heads that they’re defendin’ a holy place o’ theirs, they’ll fight to the death. Wouldn’t surprise me if they dragged the Graf’s knights down with ‘em.” He took a deep draught from his drink. “If poor Mister Waldemarr stumbled across ‘em on his own, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

[Exeson]

Ithelus chuckles slightly, 'Beastmen are not too bad to deal with as long as you aren't overrun.' He nods his head to Lothar, 'Ask the soldier, there are more dangerous things out there than beastmen. The ruinous powers are dangerous in the heart and the head, should you be so lucky as to arrive upon a form that has a throat to slit.'

He smiles slightly with his eyes not entirely focused, 'all this talk reminds me of the time we got ambushed by those foul creatures...' He trails off as he perhaps realises that people might actually be listening to him.

[LCP]

The men around the table seemed surprised to see the elf talking to them: more than one of them had a wary look in his eye. Wulli, however, was not about to slight a guest.

"Ambushed, sir? Not round here, I hope."

[Exeson]

Ithelus looks slightly surprised by being referred to as 'sir'. 'Oh, no not here, not recently, it was around a month or two ago, wasn't it Lothar?' He says, turning to the soldier for clarification, 'We were guarding a shipment of stone for the Cathedral they were building in Delbrez. It seemed like a fairly easy job but we were almost there when we got jumped by a band of the creatures. Managed to kill them all, but it definitely didn't do our nerves any good...'

He frowns slightly, 'I'm sure someone else could tell the story better, although Raffy ans Seth aren't around anymore....' He again trails off into an awkward silence.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya shied away as attention turned to Ithelus, who was sitting right beside her. She moved awkwardly from the center of attention, slipping off to the edge of the assembled crowd. Then she heard one thing that caused her to stop dead.

'I'm sure someone else could tell the story better, although Raffy and Seth aren't around anymore....'

It's your fault.

No... She murmured aloud, N-no. I couldn't-

Save me? Save anyone?

I... I did. Everyone else is still-

For now. Soon, you'll fail them too.

Illiiya stumbled back a bit, searching for a seat outside the gathering of people around the hearth but finding only the hard wooden floor under her. She fell to her seat upon it, her face in her hands... and she began to cry.

[-Sentinel-]

Who's Seth? Pieter nearly asked. He decided to postpone the question.

Then Illiiya stumbled and fell, and Pieter was on his feet and leaning over her almost without realising it. "Maybe she drank a bit much," he mumbled to no one in particular. "Alcohol isn't good for Elves." He motioned the crowd to give him room, put a gentle hand on the Elven girl's shoulder and turned to Ithelus and Lothar for support, his brow creasing with worry.

"Illiiya. What's wrong?"

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Flinching at the sudden contact, Illiiya looked up at Pieter in a mix of sadness and embarrassment at her inability to control herself. She gave a soft sniffle and chided herself for ruining what was otherwise a well-deserved night of rest and relaxation.

I... I'm all right. She muttered to Pieter softly, I think I should just... go lie down for a while.

[goblinpaladin]

"Ah, that ambush- aye, it were goatmen, out on the Delberz road. None of 'em got out, though- this squire with us, Seth, he rode the last one down, pinnin' it to a tree. We come up that way, and didn't have a wink of changelings on the road."

"Now, you want really scary beasties, why, back when I was in the 'Fishes' we fought fish-beastmen. Come up from the waves they do, rusted pikes and bits of old boats for clubs." The soldier raised a hand well above his head. "Great big beasts they are, taller'n a man by half, an' all scales and claws..."

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Feel free to move things along. Lothar will alternate between telling tall tales and checking on Illiiya, but the former for certain can be kept off-screen.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd nodded along at the various charms offered to best the ghost.

Ghost stories or not, what Mister Waldemarr needed was a troop of soldiers. It were the beastmen that done him in, sir, and they were a fearsome bunch. They say it was a troop o’ the Knights Panther what drove ‘em out durin’ the War, but if there were any survivors on our side, they didn’t come through Hohlesbruck, sir.

Sigurd tilted his head. "Are you saying the knights rode into the forest, and both they and the beastmen vanished?"

My father told me that they had one of their shrines up in the northern woods. If those creatures get it into their horned heads that they’re defendin’ a holy place o’ theirs, they’ll fight to the death. Wouldn’t surprise me if they dragged the Graf’s knights down with ‘em. If poor Mister Waldemarr stumbled across ‘em on his own, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

"How did your father come to hear that?" Sigurd asked. "What I mean is, for him to know it's there, someone must have seen it and lived. Someone around here?"

Once the man answers Sigurd looks down at his sulking dog. "If you fellows will be talking for a bit, I'd love to hear more--but right now I should take care of this one. Excuse me, please."

He makes his way to the door, chiding softly, "Right then, Indi, the things I do for you..."

LCP only:

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After making a show of playing with Indigo outside and giving her a few morsels of food, Sigurd looks to see that he is not being watched or followed. If not he heads toward the butcher's home.

He walks among the party-goers easily enough, but doesn't stop to make small talk.

He'll walk a circuit of the and scope out any doors, windows, and so forth, as well as a likely place to hide nearby if he is so inclined.

((Based on the info you give me I will decide whether to knock on the door or not.))

[LCP]

Sigurd tilted his head. "Are you saying the knights rode into the forest, and both they and the beastmen vanished?"

“I reckon that’s about the size of it,” said one of the men. He looked around their circle, but none of the others seemed too sure. “It were a confusing time, the War, sir. You pick up bits an’ pieces, here and there. We heard there was a troop of knights that set out from Fassberg, south-west o’ here, and Heinrich the pedlar said he’d seen them on the forest road. One thing’s for sure, they never made the Rosche road – and none of us’ve seen hide nor hair of the beastmen since they passed through these parts.”

The other men nodded assent.
“Hans the woodsman said he heard sounds of a battle, too.”
“Aye, if that weren’t in his own head.”

“It adds up right enough, sir,” said Wulli. “Maybe you ain’t from round these parts, but the Knights Panther, they take it on themselves to root those creatures out. Have done for years, well before the War. It’s all part of the Graf’s campaign against the beastherds.”

"How did your father come to hear that?" Sigurd asked. "What I mean is, for him to know it's there, someone must have seen it and lived. Someone around here?"

“I don’t rightly know,” said the man addressed, scratching his head. “Heard it from his father, maybe. It’s the kind o’ knowledge as gets passed on. Ain’t many as want to go discoverin’ it for themselves.” He shrugged. “Sorry, mister.”

Having listened attentively to their answers, Sigurd rose to see to his dog. As the door closed behind him, Wulli’s ears pricked up at his wife’s call: the innkeeper bustled away, leaving the circle of men around the fire to their own devices.

The evening stretched on into night, parents ushering their children away as more of the village men shared the old stories of the Drakwald and beyond. Tomas Wanderer and the Girl in the Glass, tales that Lothar had listened to by his mother’s fireside and Pieter had heard recounted in grimy taverns. For the young man of Nuln, there were a good number he had not heard before. An unnerving number of them seemed to return to the theme of the beastmen that lurked in the deep woods: Pieter was not used to hearing folk tales that ended so frequently with the protagonist being devoured.

The logs in the fireplace burned down to cinders, and slowly but surely even the more persistent villagers drifted back in the direction of their homes. There was a short period of steadily tromping footsteps as the lingerers tipped over into leaving: finally, the Heartless Man seemed to settle down for the night, only Wulli and his lodgers remaining. Monsieur Ribault was still nowhere to be seen, unless he had re-entered the inn at some time during the evening.

The private rooms were simple but clean enough. Situated on the upstairs floor, they had low,hefty beams that forced Lothar and Pieter to stoop when they stood. The timbers were aged but in good repair, evidently having been replaced more than once in the tavern’s history. The whole place had the air of being far older than the sum of its parts, with not a straight line in it. Wulli’s better half had clearly been preparing their rooms ahead of them, the old timber surfaces dusted and swept: Ithelus and Illiiya noticed that a pair of iron horseshoes had been hung over their doors.

The beds were warm, and after their travels with Mr Faulebrand, that was all that mattered. Hohlesbruck slept, and for now at least, four weary travellers slept with it.

OOC:

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For those in the group with a folkloric bent:

Tomas Wanderer.

The Girl in Glass

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A legend told throughout the Empire and Kislev, of a beautiful maiden who will save the world from Chaos if she can only be freed from her glass prison. Some stories say she is the Goddess Shallya, others that she is the vampire Genevieve Dieudonne. The most famous version is the one popularised by Anton Denisovich’s opera of the same name: in this incarnation of the tale, the girl is the Goddess of Purity, buried in a glass coffin beneath the city of Praag, and can only be freed by a kiss from a cursed Chaos warrior. He eventually does so out of his love for her, despite knowing she will destroy him when she is freed. The opera ends in the obliteration of the forces of Chaos and the salvation of Praag, which has made it exceedingly popular in these dark times.

Either Pieter or Sigurd (if it comes up later) can test on their Academic Knowledges (both History and Theology are relevant in a sideways kind of way) to know the story of the Girl in Glass, at +10 to the test – if for any reason it matters to you.

Any of you can also take a Common Knowledge (The Empire) test at +20 to know that Graf Boris Todbringer of the Middenland has been persecuting a sustained military campaign against the beastman tribes of the Drakwald since well before Archaon's invasion, having lost one of his own eyes in battle with the beastlord Khazrak, and that the Knights Panther both provide the Graf's personal bodyguard and serve at the forefront of his campaign: this is what Wulli is referring to.

[hr]

Sigurd Only

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Indigo stuck close to Sigurd’s heels as he stepped out into the brisk night air. The moons were sailing high in the sky tonight, although some rags of cloud were moving in from the north to mask their light. Following Indigo’s lead, Sigurd turned into the centre of the village square, Herr Flycher the butcher’s hardly forty paces to his left. The party was definitively dispersed by now, most of the trappings of the banquet already cleared away – aside from the lights and voices from within the Heartless Man, he had the sleeping village to himself.

Herr Flycher’s was a funny-looking building: what had perhaps once been a cottage like its neighbours had been enlarged with wooden walls, a bent-backed roof and a tall, snaking chimney teetering over the whole. Unlike Mr Faulebrand’s grand residence, the butcher’s showed no signs of wealth – many of its timbers were buckled and twisted with age, giving the building a peculiar air of neglect. The front door had once been painted green, but the weather had seen to that, and someone had evidently decided it was easier to strip the last streaks of colour than to repaint it.

There was a little yard around the back, backing onto the neighbouring fields: it had a squat back door of its own, a couple of narrow, latticed windows piercing the building’s walls at the ground floor. There were windows also in the steeply-sloped roof, betraying the existence of a second floor. In a single one of those upper windows, there was a steady gleam of candlelight: someone inside was still awake.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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After noting the various entrances, Sigurd kneels down and scratches Indigo's ear, then whispers:

"I'm going to play nice with him. See if you can sniff out anything unusual? Don't be too obvious about it."

He scratches her chin too and then rises to peek in a window.

After a discrete visual survey of the place he'll go knock on the door.

Once it opens, he'll step partly inside, rubbing himself to indicate how cold it is out. This will make it hard to slam the door on him and also provide Indigo the chance to trot inside next to him.

If the butcher is the one who answers, he'll inquire after the doctor. If it's the doctor he says he was hoping to talk more with him and that he brought a little something to share.

He'll press his flask of Bretonnian brandy* into his hands and step in to make himself comfortable.

He then keeps an affable demeanor and asks after the doctor's patient. Other small talk might include inquiring about the doctor's family and origins, asking about his experiences in college, or repeating some of the stories from the inn with suitably academic-skeptic commentary tagged on.

Most importantly he feels out the doctor and, at the same time, gets a look at what Reifennen may have been doing when he expected to be alone.

All in all, after his initial inviting-himself-in, Sigurd doesn't want to seem pushy. He just wants to seem like an academic starved for intelligent conversation, who assumes the doctor will enjoy the company of a fellow scholar. He is friendly and shares the brandy back and forth freely - indeed, perhaps a bit heavily, exaggerating his own sips at the flask to encourage Reifennen to drink more.

((*This was on my sheet as fine Bretonnian "scotch" from when I thought they were like the Gaels. Now that I know they are more like the French I assume I should change it to fine Bretonnian brandy.))

[LCP]

Sigurd

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Obeying her master’s command, Indigo went snuffling away, tracing out the perimeter of the butcher’s house. Adjusting his jacket, Sigurd approached the front door and knocked.

Clearly no-one inside had been expecting to be called upon. It took some time for the door to be answered: when it was, it creaked open by the barest head’s breadth, showing the pinched, grey face of a small woman in late middle age. Her hair, slightly unkempt, was covered by a plain-looking bonnet, and there was a fearful look in her eyes as she saw a stranger at the doorstep.

“Yes?” she asked. “Who are ye?”

Introducing himself with a smile, Sigurd asked after Doctor Reifennen. The woman’s eyes flicked quickly backward into the darkened interior of the house.

“Doctor’s retired fer the night,” she said, hastily. “He asked not to be disturbed.”

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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The archaeologist nods cordially. "Ah, please pardon me for the intrusion. I should have expected as much, tending to the young Miss Faulebrand must have worn him out."

He steps back away from the threshold. "If you wouldn't mind, in the morning, just let him know I called. I was hoping to share a bit of brandy with him and talk about school and the cities. Thank you so much."

He pulls his hat off by way of salute and heads back off into the night.

...Until the door has firmly shut. For appearance's sake he continues on a little bit then doubles back. He makes his way into the shadows of the nearest hedgerow and checks again that no one has followed or watched. Then...

Seriously LCP only.

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Hiding in the shadows he murmurs words to himself....

Shadowcloak
Channeling (1d100)[29] v. 45 - succeeds
(Fortune Point if necessary: (1d100)[10] v. 45 )

Casting [roll]1d10](1d10)[8] possibly +2 channeling*
*broken die roll; Pip rolled other d10; total 5+8+2=15, succeeds

((As long as we're rolling, here are rolls to see if he knows about the story and the knights:
(1d100)[46] v. 61 story - succeeds
(1d100)[39] v. 71 knights )) - succeeds

Sigurd asks Indigo to follow him at a distance and walks up to the house, looking through the windows near the back to find the doctor's room. Once he does, he watches to see what the man is up to.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

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The shadows of the deep Drakwald night pooled at Sigurd’s feet, wrapping around him like a traveller’s cloak. Stepping silently around the edge of the house, he peered in at each window, as silent and stealthy as a ghost.

Through three windows, he saw three rooms. There was a cramped kitchen, cluttered with ironware and dust – the little woman who had opened the door was visible in one corner of it, falling slowly back to sleep in a creaky wooden chair. There was a shop floor, or as near as one got to a shop floor in such a rural backwater as Hohlesbruck: a heavy cleaver rested at a forty-five degree angle, embedded in a chopping board on the table in the centre of the darkened room. Finally, back towards the yard, the third window looked in on the foot of a narrow flight of wooden stairs, rising up to a landing squashed beneath the crook-backed roof.

Through none of the windows could he catch any sign of the doctor. Doctor Reifennen was evidently lodging in the upper part of the old house – perhaps the window in which the candle still glimmered.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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For real please.

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Disappointed, the archaeologist looks around for a midden heap or rubbish bin - or even a compost pile. It he finds one he will use this cane to poke about in it, as quietly as he can, to look for anything incriminating the doctor may have discarded.

He also asks Indigo to prick up her ears below the doctor's window and see if she hears chanting from above. For his own part, he will use the witchsight.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

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The Winds seemed quiet, none of Sigurd’s trained senses betraying anything awry. Circling the house again, he found a small heap of animal bones in the butcher’s yard, the remains of pigs, geese and hens gone to the great dinner table in the sky – nothing there, however, seemed related to the doctor’s arrival.

The light in the high window went out. Standing at the corner of the house, Indigo pricked up her ears and whined – and after a pause of perhaps half a minute, Sigurd heard the front door click open.

OOC: You are at the back of the house, out of sight. Ball's in your court as to how to act next.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only

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Sigurd holds up a finger for Indigo to wait. Pressing himself against the back of the house, he waits a moment then looks around the corner.

If the doctor is coming his way, he will hold still and rely on the shadows to cloak him, motioning Indigo to get away.

If the doctor isn't coming his way, he'll creep along the side of the house to the front corner and look to see which way he's gone.

Then he'll follow at a distance, Indigo way farther back, still relying on the shadows to hide him but making sure to step lightly.

In this way, he'll tail the doctor at some distance to his destination...

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

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Sure enough, it was Doctor Reifennen. The doctor was looking at something in his hand: Sigurd caught a glimpse of a pale rectangle of parchment as the man tucked it away beneath his dark green coat.

Reifennen certainly seemed a little skittish about something. Sigurd ducked back into his cover as the doctor looked around to his right and left...

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Reifennen’s Perception vs. Sigurd’s Concealment
Reifennen - (1d100)[82] vs. Sigurd - (1d100)[45]

Suspicious as he might seem, the bespectacled doctor had little chance of spotting Sigurd beneath his Aethyric cloak. Seemingly satisfied that he was alone, Reifennen set off at a brisk pace into the night, heading uphill - towards Verloren Manor.

~

It was not difficult to shadow Reifennen at a large distance, with the village being so small and open. Following in the doctor's footsteps, Sigurd finally came to a halt in the break of trees that screened the lord's manor from the village below. One the other side, the clear sweep of the mound on which Verloren Manor stood provided precious little in the way of cover - to follow Reifennen further would be to risk being seen, with nowhere to hide.

The doctor was definitely headed for the manor. Peering through the darkness from his hiding-place in the trees, Sigurd thought he saw Reifennen turn away from the front door, and skirt around the side of the grim stone house - looking, no doubt, for the servants' entrance...

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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Waving the dog up, Sigurd hisses, "Indigo, go quickly! Through the trees! See who answers the door!"


Sigurd bides his time until the dog returns, then crouches beside her.

"Remember our system now. Nod if it's yes. Did a woman open the door?"

((If no))

"Was it the Lord?"

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

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Eagerly obeying, Indigo lolloped off through the forest, quickly vanishing between the darkened tree-trunks. Reifennen was already moving out of sight: watching the doctor turn the corner around the back of the manor's weathered stone walls, he settled down to wait.

Soon enough, Indigo came scurrying back. According to the wolfhound, the door had been opened by a woman - but there was something else, something that caused her to run circles around Sigurd's heels and dart again and again towards the eastern woods, as if wanting to lead him to something she had found...

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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Sigurd follows along, walking briskly but not willing to run through the woods in the dark.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

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Indigo did not have far to lead him - she hurried the way he had sent her, eagerly pointing the way along her own tracks. As they neared the point at which the back of the manor was visible, Sigurd slowed - he could see the Doctor emerging from behind the old building, heading back down towards the village.

It was not the doctor that Indigo was looking at. Pointing like a hunting hound after a grouse, she tried to draw his attention to something in the trees further round to the right. Straining his eyes through the dark, Sigurd saw nothing - then, at last, his gaze alighted on something not quite right.

There, artfully concealed behind a tree-trunk, Mannslieb's muted light fell upon the corner of a battered tricorn hat. Someone was lurking there, watching the doctor leave as they stood still as a stone in the cover of the trees.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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Catching sight of (what he presumes to be) the Bretonnian's hat, Sigurd makes a quick decision. Backing off a bit he creeps as quietly into the woods as he can. He doesn't go far, for fear of making a ruckus, but ten paces in plus the cloak of shadows ought to make him near impossible to spot. He motions for Indigo to go in deeper, and waits.

He lets the Doctor go past on his way home. He waits as long as need be for Ribault to do the same ((or whoever it is--let me know if not Ribault)).

Then he waits a good fifteen minutes more and makes his own way back to town.

At the Heartless Man he quietly slips inside, and goes to his private room to sleep with Indigo at the foot of the bed.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

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The cloak of shadows was already approaching the end of its brief life. Backing into the trees, Sigurd crouched down as quietly as he could as the wisps of darkness boiled away into the night. Indigo followed his lead, the wolfhound’s dark eyes glittering beside him as she watched the doctor wind his way down the path. Reifennen had a peculiar, lanky walk, and a way of glancing about himself as he went, as if afraid someone might be lurking in the shadows. He saw nothing, however, of Sigurd and Indigo – nor the figure in the trees beyond them.

Ribault, if Ribault it was, stayed perfectly still as the doctor receded into the dark. When Reifennen had finally vanished from view, he turned back into the trees. Sigurd caught the swirl of a shabby black coat in the moonlight – then, within moments, the figure had vanished into the forest. Sigurd hadn’t seen his face.

Minutes passed, and it was evident that neither the doctor nor his observer were about to return. Ensuring they were not seen, Sigurd and Indigo slipped back towards the sleeping village, and to the warmth of the inn.

[hr]

Chapter II
Anger

Pieter had thought he deserved a good night’s rest, but somewhere in Hohlesbruck there was a cockerel who vehemently disagreed. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up in his bed and narrowly avoided braining himself on the slanting ceiling of his ‘cosy’ little room.

Walking over to the window, he looked out over the village, still quiet and still for now after last night’s festivities. Dawn was already painting the eastern sky a rosy pink: if it were not for the cold draught from the crooked old window letting him know it had been hard at work all night, he would have thought he could get used to a place like this.

Something caught his eye: approaching the centre of the village from the Rosche road was a rider on horseback. The rising sun caught bright blonde hair, making Pieter think for a moment that Alexa was recovered. A second glance, however, revealed the rider to be a young man, looking to be about Pieter’s own age, and wearing the clothes of a city man. Pieter hadn’t seen his face before.

Tying up his horse outside the house of the Faulebrands, the young man dismounted. The sun was peeking its head above the crowns of the eastern trees now: a new day in Hohlesbruck had begun.

OOC:

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For the rest of you, assume you can wake up and/or see what Pieter can see as you please: I’m just writing it from Pieter’s perspective for the sake of convenience.

[-Sentinel-]

Mr Faulebrand's son, maybe? thought Pieter. He quickly lost interest in the blond youth.

Dismissing as wasteful the tempting idea of sleeping until noon, the initiate knelt by the side of his bed and murmured his morning prayer. He put on his clothes, shaved himself with his dagger and walked down the stairs without bothering to comb his wild dark hair. He slumped lazily into a chair and waited for Lothar and the Elves to come down just to see if they happened to have plans he might like. He had very few things to do today, but inquiring about Alexa's state was high on his list.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

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((Minor tap-back because I really wasn't expecting the tricorn hat man to walk off into the woods.))

The previous night upon returning to the Heartless Man, Sigurd decides to try something a bit bold.

As he creeps upstairs he surveys the doors to the rooms: he knows where the merchant-guards took their rooms, and where is own is; the innkeeper said they were nearly out of space now. So there weren't many options for where Ribault may be staying.

He approaches Ribault's door and opens it slowly. If he has the wrong room he'll close it and try the next. If Ribault or anyone else wakes with a start, he'll apologize with a fumbling "Wrong room," and close the door.

But if left to his own devices he'll discover which of the remaining rooms is Ribault's, and if the man is present he can dismiss the chance that it was him in the woods.

On the other hand, should he open the door to Ribault's room and find it unoccupied at present, he will whisper for Indigo to growl if anyone comes in downstairs, then rifle through the man's possessions, careful to leave them as he found them....

Everyone:

When morning awakens him Sigurd finds where the merchant-guards are having their meal and approaches their table.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

It had been a strange night. Illiiya had retired to her room early, though she was more than awake when Lothar had come to check on her. Though she seemed as if she'd been crying, she insisted she was fine. She then done her best to convince him to stay with her, attempting to persuade him in ways that only a woman can. It was as if she very dearly did not wish to be alone.

Morning found her curled up beside the human man, until she shifted away from him slightly making a strange face. She cared for him... less so for the facial hair that seemed to grow at an alarming rate. It was as if humans desperately sought to be dwarves or the like. She washed as best she could and dressed herself, heading downstairs with Lothar when he was ready as well. Upon entering the commons, she ordered breakfast for both herself and I'shara before joining Pieter at his table.

Good morning Pieter. She said in her usual subdued tone as she sat at the table in the commons, ...and Mister Sigurd. Indigo.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

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(Back in time)

There were only two rooms besides the ones Sigurd knew were occupied: the first seemed empty and clean. Testing the door of the second, Sigurd pushed it open a crack: as he saw there was no-one within, he stepped over the threshold, closing the door quietly behind him.

By the unmade bed and the empty wine-bottle by its side, this pokey cubby-hole was Ribault's room. It had one hinged window, and a heavy wooden trunk at the foot of the bed: pushing open the lid, Sigurd found nothing inside but an empty sling bag and a small, crumpled assortment of cheap clothes. A quick examination revealed nothing in their pockets or concealed beneath them.

Indigo snuffled enthusiastically around, but seemed to find little of notice. Whoever Monsieur Ribault was, he seemed to travel light.