[WFRP] The Bloody Crown

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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Sieghard spares Wolfgang a confused glance.

"No one here is going to care about what happened with the old man..."

He turns back to Marat.

"We appreciate your generosity. We won't trouble you long. Unless you have reason for us to stay, we'll likely only stay a night or two."

He pauses a moment.

"Herr Jager also mentioned that we could expect payment upon delivering his message. A bit of coin for good work done in service to the Duke."

[LCP]

Adelbert, Sieghard, Wolfgang & Brand

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"Oh, he did, did he?" Marat raised a skeptical eyebrow at Sieghard. "How much did he say?"

---

1

Elsa

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Lagnier's inn did indeed have a cellar, into which Elsa was unceremoniously dumped. It was nothing like the vaulted stone undercrofts of the colleges - just a roughly rectangular space dug out from the packed earth under the Wych Elm's floor. There was barely enough space for Elsa to sit upright, let alone stand.

"Set a guard," she heard Jager's voice drift down from above the trapdoor. There was a slam, and the light of the open hatch disappeared. She heard the voices, muffled now, moving away.

"Remember, she's a witch. Don't you take that gag out for anything."
"What if she needs a drink?"
"That's her problem..."

Hands tied awkwardly behind her back, the foul taste of the gag soiling her tongue, Elsa looked around, her eyes just beginning to adjust to the darkness. The cellar was practically bare: there were just a few signs, here and there, that this was where the ale Karl had taken had been stored.

In one corner, something moved. It was a rat, large and bristly. Its gleaming eyes took one look at Elsa, and it vanished swiftly into its hole.

[-Sentinel-]

Elsa

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With nothing else to do, Elsa spent the rest of her waking time moving her right wrist, trying to loosen the knots; not enough to wiggle out of her bonds here and now, as they would only tie her up tighter when they found out, but hopefully enough that she could free herself in less than a minute if and when an opportunity to escape arose. The wounded arm made any movement difficult. They had not even tried to stop the bleeding, and she knew her shirt was ruined.

She was not even sure an escape attempt would be wise - perhaps she could still talk her way out. But she felt much more comfortable with several options still open to her. She was an improviser, not a planner.

In spite of herself, she began chuckling inside her gag over the escalating absurdity of the situation. Had she walked into Savonne claiming to be a representative of the Colleges seeking to lend her help to the lord, she would most likely have been dismissed as a con woman. But here, Jager believed her at once with no proof whatsoever - she had not cast a single spell and did not have a magic license. And a spy? Dwarfs made better ballet dancers than Bright Wizards made spies.

Well, life outside Altdorf sure proved more interesting than Elsa's studies. Her predicament was bad, but she would not go back to the Bright College for all the world. This was like a novel or play, and she was the main character.

I'll make it out, one way or another. Because I'm Elsabeth Holt.

OOC:

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I'll do nothing more except wait for the next time-skip.

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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"Three crowns each."

If Marat seems to have a problem with this amount, Sieghard adds

"Though we'll consider Ortholf's services and our place to sleep as part of our payment."

(It seems he did not)

[LCP]

Sieghard & co.

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Marat looked hard at Sieghard.

"Damn man thinks I'm made of money, too." He shook his head. "Well, if that's what Jager said, I'll not make him an oathbreaker. And if it isn't, you lads had best be far away by the time I see him next, if you know what's good for you." He jerked his head in the direction of his associate. "Schreub! Pay the man."

Nodding obediently, the man counted out their payment from the coins he had been shuffling on the battered table.

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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Sieghard nods and takes the money.

"It was Herr Jager's oath, not yours, so he has no grounds to complain if you ask him to pay you back."

(Unless anyone else has anything to say to him, Sieghard is done talking to Marat. If someone else wants to say/do something, he'll stick around a bit longer, but if not, Sieghard says...)

"We thank you for your time, Herr Marat. Unless you need us for something, we won't be taking up any more of it."

Sieghard then leaves keep. Once outside, he gives the rest their share of the gold.

"Get some rest tonight. If it's Alvarran we're headed to, we aren't likely to make it there in a day."

(Sieghard is probably getting hungry about now. He had that bread on the road, but I bet a proper meal sounds good. Soon as we're finished with Marat, he's off to look for somewhere he can (hopefully) get something decent to eat and better ale than the piss Lagnier served)

[LCP]

Adelbert, Brand, Sieghard & Wolfgang

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Marat bid them goodbye in an abrupt, business-like manner, turning back to whatever accounts had been holding his attention before their arrival. The thin man named Schreub stood up and excused himself from the table, sidling off into the shadows of the keep. Wolfgang had the impression that the old fort must have a rat's-nest of smaller rooms and galleries branching off from this main hall.

Outside, the town went about its business, if it could be called a town - or business. Everything existed to serve the fortifications; where it did not, old houses had been left abandoned, either gutted by some long-forgotten fire or slowly succumbing to the elements. A few of the more badly-damaged buildings were being used as paddocks, the stubs of their stone walls making strong fences to keep in the fractious goats that seemed to be the only livestock that would tolerate the local terrain.

Hartmut's Fall being what it was, finding food for hungry travellers was not quite as simple as it had been in Elmridge. There was no tavern with a convenient sign, no tell-tale lights in the windows of one particular building. Over in the shadow of the wall, Sieghard could see a gaggle of men - sentries? - clustered around what looked like a cooking fire, laughing and joking among themselves. Smoke was rising from the ramshackle chimneys of a few of the peasants' houses, and from some hidden aperture in the top of the keep itself, trailing away against the darkening sky in a thin line of ragged white.

It seemed they would either have to impose themselves on someone's company - perhaps fall back on the charity of Sergeant Marat - or make arrangements to do their own cooking. From one of the razed houses, a paltry herd of goats watched the hungry men with wary eyes.

OOC:

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If you want to join the sentries, make a Gossip Test at +10 to see if you can get them to like you enough to share. If you want to join some peasant family's dinner, you can make a Charm test and/or an Intimidate test (the latter at +20). You will not require any test to go back and eat in the keep's kitchen but the food won't be very nice.

I don't think anyone wants to spend too long hashing out eating arrangements, so please feel free to give me your actions for the next morning as well if you feel you have nothing more to do in between.

[RossN]

Adelbert Schreiber

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"I'll see if can see Ortholf this evening." The scribe grimaces as a picture of the rough and ready healing he can picture the sawbones applying. "Better to get it over and done with. I'll see about eating later but if I miss you I guess we'll meet up in the morning. Hatmut's Folly doesn't strike me as the place anyone spends more time in than they can help."

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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Sieghard approaches the sentries.

"Room for one more by your fire?"

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(1d100)[30]
(Fel: 29 +10 for test for test difficulty and +10 for mastery = 49 or less to pass

[LCP]

Adelbert, Brand, Sieghard and Wolfgang.

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The sentries around the campfire sized Sieghard up with a certain caution, but seemed friendly enough once their assessment had been made. They were roasting a leg of goat, the scraps of which they seemed happy enough to share. As the sun sunk below the level of the rocks, one of them produced a pack of dog-eared cards, the soldiers playing for coppers until the night got too cold not to put on gloves.

OOC:

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Anyone who wants to join in the card game (and possibly win - or lose - some money) can do so with a Gamble check. If you have any questions you want to ask the soldiers in conversation, feel free to give them to me as a list: the success of Sieghard's Gossip check will be carried forwards.

Meanwhile, Adelbert headed out in search of Ortholf. Having to ask directions more than a couple of times to navigate through the cramped streets, he finally found his way to a rather ramshackle building with its back to the western wall, near where a set of stone steps descended from the broken ramparts.

The barber-surgeon's lair was built mostly from old timber, and age and the elements had not been kind to it: the beams were cracked and warped, the structural integrity of the walls shored up with more recent additions of crumbling plaster. A faded pennant hung over the door, bearing the golden boar of Duke Alvarr. Wrapped around the shaft that supported it was a white bandage, the symbol of the surgeon's trade.

Inside, the low roof pressed down like the hold of a ship over a broad room. A large table, sturdy enough to support the weight of a large man and with deep scars in its surface, stood in the centre of the earthen floor. An ominous little gutter had been dug around it, running off into a wooden drainage chute. From a rack on wall, an assembly of barbarous hacksaws and other, less nameable tools dangled menacingly. In an adjacent corner sat a jumble of boxes and barrels, some open, some empty. Some of them were stamped with the crude imprint of a boar. Among their contents, Adelbert could see glass bottles and rolls of bandages.

There was a hearth in the other corner, with an iron pot hanging over the fire and a notched sword hung on the wall above. Something was bubbling inside it, being watched by a moon-faced little boy in the dusty clothes of a local. Asleep in a chair behind the boy, a large man with a face full of greying stubble sat with his head lolling back, loud snores sawing from his bulbous nose. There was an empty bottle at his feet, and Adelbert thought he caught the smell of alcohol.

OOC:

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If he goes with Adelbert, Brand sees all this too.

[C.J.Geringer]

Brand goes with Adelbert, he really could use some patching up.

"Exucse us, sir, we were told by Mr. Marat we were to look for you for patching up?"

[LCP]

Adelbert & Brand

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The man in the chair didn't stir from his sleep. Leaning back with a casual air, the boy shook him by the arm.

"Wh'?" he grunted, starting awake. Brand noted that his hand twitched towards his belt, instinctively reaching for a non-existent sword. He blinked, focusing bleary eyes on the two newcomers.

"Man says he needs seein' to, Ortholf," said the boy, turning back to the fire. Ortholf sat up a little straighter, rubbing the crick out of his neck. His hands were big and callused, with dirt beneath the short fingernails. To Adelbert's civilised sensibilities, they didn't seem like a doctor's hands.

"You got coin?" he grunted. The boy gave a little sigh.

"Says Sergeant Marat sent 'em, Ortholf."

"Does he!" exclaimed Ortholf, looking back at Brand. "Does he now."

Fully awake, he noticed for the first time the two men's wounds.

"Ulric's breath, looks like you do need seeing to," he said. He looked at Adelbert. "What happened to you? Sky fall on your head?"

Standing up, he swayed for a moment, then patted his pockets, searching for something. "Wheezer!" he said, cuffing the boy over the back of the head. "Akwer veet-eye for the guests. Half an' half."

The boy scurried off, much nimbler and more sure of his movements than his master. Clearing his throat, Ortholf looked back at Adelbert and Brand.

"Sorry not to have received you more proper-like," he said. "My name's Ortholf. What's yours?"

OOC:

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If you're willing to be treated by this man then give me the thumbs-up and I will go ahead and roll the Heal checks.

Also, C.J. - if something's in spoilers, best to reply in spoilers also.

[RossN]

Adelbert Schreiber

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"I'm Adelbert Schreiber and this is Brand" said the scribe trying manfully not to look as doubtful about the barber-surgeon as he felt. He smiled at Ortholf, uncomfortably aware of the instruments of torture surgical instruments sitting nearby.

"We ran into some bandits and then later some different bandits," Adelbert explained deciding to leave out the phony beastmen aspect until he knew the local politics better. "We're on our way to Alvarran but I hear the east road is more of the same. I'd be grateful for any advice."

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Yes to Healing checks for Adelbert at least.

[C.J.Geringer]

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Sorry for the spoilers, still getting used to this.

Brand is happy to let the man heal him.

A man who cuts and saw people all day everyday without needing a helpful bit of drink to deal with it, That would be unnatural.

[LCP]

Adelbert & Brand

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"We're on our way to Alvarran but I hear the east road is more of the same. I'd be grateful for any advice."

Ortholf gave a snorting laugh. "Don't travel the Karst roads, that's the only advice there is to give." He walked across the room and began rummaging in the cabinet. "'Course, there's worse places. You could be down in the Dead Hills or knee-deep in the Mere." The sounds of rummaging got louder as he failed to find what he was looking for. "Best thing to do is to travel with plenty of friends. Most of the badlanders out here prowl in ones or twos. They don't have the stomach for a fair fight. One o' the reasons the duke keeps a garrison out here, to keep the buggers down."

At the back of the room, Wheezer poured something clear from an opaque bottle and into a battered tin tankard - big enough to hold at least a pint - while Ortholf rolled up his sleeves. Gesturing to the table, he motioned for Adelbert and remove his breeches so he could get at the wound.

"Here you go, sir," said Wheezer, holding up the tankard for Adelbert to take a draught. "Aqua vitae, half an' half like Ortholf says. Half in your belly" - he lifted the tankard to Adelbert's lips, making the scribe cough and splutter as the burning liquid poured down his throat. These were neat spirits. "And half on your wounds."

Pulling the tankard back, he upended the remaining half over Adelbert's injured leg. It stung like fire.

"Right," said Ortholf, finally having found what he was looking for - a bone needle and a roll of cat-gut thread. Taking some time to thread the needle, he rolled up his grubby sleeves. "Let's have a look at you..."

OOC:

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Ortholf tests Heal against Int 39.

Adelbert - (1d100)[79]
Adelbert - (1d100)[45]

As far as I'm aware you're both Heavily Wounded (< 4 wounds remaining), although neither of your character sheets are currently up to date! Do watch out for that; in future when there's more events to remember my memory is unlikely to be accurate, so an up-to-date wounds total is very useful. As Heavily Wounded characters, Adelbert and Brand will each regain 1 wound from a successful Heal check.

You should also each make a Consume Alcohol check (Average difficulty, no modifier) from Ortholf's 'medicine', or suffer the effects listed on page 115 of the core rules.

EDIT: It turns out Ortholf is not the best at doctoring. Who'd have thought?

Doing his best with a needle and thread, Ortholf set to work. His hand was less than steady, and his stitching less than exemplary, but at least he closed the wound. Perhaps feeling that his work should not bear inspection, he wrapped the cut in a yellowing bandage as well.

"You too, mister," he said to Brand. "Up on the table with you now."

When similar ministrations had been completed, he stood back, wiping his bloody hands with a rag. "There you go, gents," he said. "You tell Marat, Ortholf saw you right."

Adelbert had a vague notion that Ortholf had not seen them right, but it was difficult to hold onto. A warm fuzziness was spreading through his head, and he felt surprisingly well-disposed towards the fortress' surgeon, and the world in general.

[RossN]

Adelbert Schreiber

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"A toast to the good doctor!" Adelbert said and grinned tipsily at Ortholf. "And his Aqua vitae. Hah... well you've done me a good turn Herr Ortholf and I won't forget it next time I'm here." He blinked a second, mumbling the words to himself as he reran that last sentence then laughed.

"Of course I hope I would need to see you too soon either! Come on Brand let's see if this place has anything fun going on!" With that he slapped Brand on the back, tipped his cap towards Ortholf and stumbled out into the evening looking for somewhere to eat and if this Sigmar forsaken place had any friendly peasant girls.

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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Sieghard sits with the sentries for a bit, joining in their game (I'll handle the rolls in the OOC thread after a few questions get answered), sharing their goat, telling a few (often exaggerated and occasionally outright made up) stories, and trying to learn what he can from them.

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Specifically, Sieghard wants to know anything they know and are willing to tell him about Jager, Marat, the Duke, the surrounding area, and any recent events he might be interested in. Facts and opinions are both welcome.

If these need to be rolled, probably better you handle the rolls so I won't have any meta-knowledge of which things they say are true and which aren't (assuming they don't just say nothing on some of the failed tests. I figure theres a chance of either).

Edit: Oh, and maybe they know whether or not there's anywhere around here we can pick up equpiment. The place IS pretty focused towards keeping the soldiers armed, so I'm sure they have the stuff... Whether or not they're willing to part with it is another matter.

Sieghard in particular is looking for a leather skullcap, some leather leggings, rations for the road, and a few more more crossbow bolts

[Sodalite]

Wolfgang

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Wolfgang spied the houses, and was at first tempted wait until everyone else had gone to sleep and to try and steal some food. The hung thief quickly came to mind, though, and so he settled to ask for it instead.

Choosing a house at random, knocking, and if answered, asking "Any food to spare for a messenger?"

[C.J.Geringer]

Brand has recently received 8 wounds. I wrote it dosn but didn´t think to change the original sheet, will dot hat next time.


You rolled the two texts from Adelbert and brand is ready to take his:

Guess it is my turn now, says brand before taking Adelbert´s place, obviously cheered at the prospect of a drink, even if treatment fails.

[LCP]

Sieghard

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Sieghard wants to know anything they know and are willing to tell him about Jager

The men looked at each other. “Eugen Jager's a man you don't want to cross, my friend. Alvarr's Bulldog, they call 'im.”

One of the others nodded. “He's a local lad, is Jager. Born and raised on the streets of Alvarran, before it were called that. Jager fought for Alvarr, and Alvarr made him captain of the guard when the fighting was done.” He paused. “There ain't so many thieves as there used to be now, in Alvarran. Jager saw to that.”

Marat

“The sergeant? He's a man from Alvarr's old company, before the duke were a duke. Fought in the battles with Hartmut and Black Ghoran, while Alvarr was carving out his territory.”

One of the sentries gave a macabre grin, and held up a hand with odd fingers folded down.

“That's where he lost them fingers, at the battle of Grey Fang. He's gettin' old now. That's why the duke gave him this command.”

the Duke

“Duke's a hard man. His daddy was a lord, back in Bretonnia, but the other frogs stabbed 'em in the back. That's why he's out here, rebuildin' his name.”

the surrounding area

“They say the duke's made a deal with the hill tribes, up in the west.”

One of the other men stoked the fire. “Bone-picking savages,” he said, in a voice like Marat's, with traces of a strong Bretonnian accent. “They follow a Norseman. They cannot be trusted.”

“Maybe he thinks they can be trusted to fight,” said the fourth sentry, in a deep, gravelly voice. “How long's it been since the last war?”

“You ain't paid to think about things like that,” said the first. “Pass me a bit o' that goat.”

and any recent events he might be interested in.

“They say the orcs are making trouble in the south. Heard there was an attack at Caerfort.”

The fourth man shrugged his broad shoulders. “None of our concern,” he said. “The Iron Claw have never come north of the Mere. Let the southerners deal with 'em.”

One of the sentries elbowed another. "'Ere, did you see the falling star?"

"Falling star?"

"Aye, two nights ago. Fell out in the desert, some folk are sayin'." The man seemed happier with this story than the last one. "Heard some folk sayin' it's a sign."

"A sign?" scoffed the man with the Bretonnian accent. "A sign of what?"

"I dunno," shrugged the first man. "Things."

Oh, and maybe they know whether or not there's anywhere around here we can pick up equpiment.

“Aye, Thibault's our armourer. Up by the east wall of the keep,” said the first sentry, through a full mouth. “You'll have to catch 'im in the morning, though. Hope you've got the coin.”

---

1

Adelbert, Brand & Wolfgang

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Wolfgang spied the houses, and was at first tempted wait until everyone else had gone to sleep and to try and steal some food. The hung thief quickly came to mind, though, and so he settled to ask for it instead.

Choosing a house at random, knocking, and if answered, asking "Any food to spare for a messenger?"

A pale, wary face peeked around the corner of the door. It peered at Wolfgang with suspicion.

“Messenger fer who?”

OOC:

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As mentioned before, you can get food out of these people with a Charm test, or an Intimidate test at +20.

Before he could answer, Wolfgang heard the sound of inebriated voices coming down the street. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Adelbert and Brand coming his way, their wounds wrapped in new (although none too clean-looking) bandages. By the looks of things the scholar had had quite a bit to drink.

Adelbert, meanwhile, only noticed Wolfgang when Brand pointed him out. He was sorely disappointed in the lack of friendly peasant girls in Hartmut's Fall – in fact, no-one they had encountered so far, with the exception of Ortholf, seemed particularly friendly at all. The people of the fortress town were hungry, pale-faced and cowed, and they viewed outsiders with suspicion, as if the newcomers were just waiting for the opportunity to bring down some dreadful new punishment on the benighted peasants. Wolfgang's was the friendliest face he had seen.

OOC:

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I am joining you three up for the sake of simplicity. C.J., if you look in my last post, Brand's healing was covered there as well. Sorry if it was confusing - I just need a Consume Alcohol check from you.

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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“Aye, Thibault's our armourer. Up by the east wall of the keep,” said the first sentry, through a full mouth. “You'll have to catch 'im in the morning, though. Hope you've got the coin.”

Sieghard grins.

"I'll have plenty by the time I'm done winning yours."

He shows his cards.

"Deal the next hand."

(Lets say this is the hand where he rolled 1 on the gamble check.)

[C.J.Geringer]

OOC:

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Brand's healing was covered there as well. Sorry if it was confusing - I just need a Consume Alcohol check from you.

[/spoiler][/QUOTE]

Sorry to bother you but I just looked at it, and there are two tests with "Adelbert" on the name, I gather them that the second one is actually mine?

Tet: consume alcohol

(1d100)[100]

Is it based on constitution?(I don´t have the skill list with me at the moment)

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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Once the game ends, Sieghard gets some sleep. He has no objections to staying in the keep.

The next morning, he goes looking for Thibault's shop.

[C.J.Geringer]

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Feeling better about himself, brand goes to the keep to sleep.

[RossN]

Adelbert Schreiber

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"Ah Wolfgang, my friend how have you been?" said Adelbert, smiling shakily at his companion. "Myself and Brand were patched up by the sawbones, but there doesn't seem to be much that this hamlet offers for a man whatever his health. I'm off to keep for whatever food I can find and someplace to sleep. Doesn't seem much reason to stay awake!"

[LCP]

Adelbert & Wolfgang

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Wolfgang nodded. "These good people have just offered me a place at their table, actually," he said. The peasant at the door looked confused, as if trying to recollect when this had happened. He seemed taken in. "Care to join?"

Rather too happy with the world to see any problems with the lowly hovel in which he was to dine, Adelbert followed Wolfgang inside.

---

1

Bezahltag, 4th Nachexen

Adelbert, Brand, Sieghard & Wolfgang

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Adelbert woke with an ache in his head to match the ache in his leg. Like the others, he had slept in the keep: there seemed to be more than enough space in the crumbling fortress for Marat to give away barracks space to guests.

Sieghard was already up and about, watching the sun rise over the eastern walls. Ambling round to where he had heard the armourer kept his wares, he found Thibault setting up for the day, stoking a crude forge with a large pair of bellows. Coated in a few days' grime and wiry, with muscles like whipcords under his leathery skin, the armourer turned a lean, lined face in Sieghard's direction.

"Don't think I've seen you before," he said, with the traces of Bretonnian dialect that Sieghard had heard in many of Marat's other men. "What do you want?"

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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"I heard you were the man to talk to about some armor. Show me your wares."

[LCP]

Sieghard (& anyone who follows him to the armourer)

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"What you see is what there is," said Thibault, turning casually back to his forge. "You got coin? These is supposed to be for the duke's men."

On racks and pegs scattered around the open forge, Sieghard could see the armourer's wares. There were two mail shirts, one finished, the other halfway done; a tall wooden shield, as yet unpainted; a handful of functional, simple-looking blades, and many other things besides. There was more of it stacked in a cluttered jumble behind where the mail shirts were hanging.

OOC:

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Sieghard specifically wanted a leather skullcap, leather leggings, and crossbow bolts? He will sell you the armour at rulebook prices, but for the ammunition he charges 3s/5 bolts rather than 2s, and the bolts are rather poorly fletched. You can try to Haggle him down if you like.

If you're also looking to browse, he has an assortment of hand weapons, spears, a halberd, leather armour (all pieces) and a couple of bits of mail.

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

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Sieghard nods and jingles the coinpurse at his side.

"Aye, I've got coin. Wasn't expecting anything for free."

He lingers for a moment by the mail shirts before deciding they're no better than the one he's already wearing. He then starts looking through the jumble until he finds a few pieces of leather armor.

"Been doing plenty of work for the duke's men lately. Likely to keep working for them as long as they need another sword arm, so I wouldn't worry too much about selling me a few things. How much for these?"

He asks, gesturing towards a leather skullcap and leggings. He then starts looking at Thibault's crossbow bolts, less than satisfied by what he sees.

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3gc and 10gc respectively by the book, only asking incase I manage to haggle them lower.

(1d100)[71]
(No Haggle Skill, Fellowship: 29, Pass on 15 or below.)

If I pass the haggle test, I might also get a few bolts, but otherwise I can wait 'til Alvarran. No way I'm paying 50% more than the normal quality price for poor quality ones.

[-Sentinel-]

Elsabeth Holt

Two months ago


Midnight…

Lurching drunkenly on the rain-slick tiles of the roof, acting more on instinct than skill, Elsabeth dodged the narrow stream of blue fire at the last second and only just managed to keep her footing. With her mind, she reached out to Aqshy – the Red Wind was rather slippery in this kind of weather – to shape it into a hurried counter-attack; she just needed to buy a few heartbeats to regain her bearings. Her retaliation took the form of a blinding yellow light meant to mimic a fireball. It succeeded in making Theo throw himself flat on the roof, his cloak and staff raised defensively in front of his face. Elsa used that precious time to plant her feet more solidly, slam the butt of her staff on the tiles and channel Aqshy into something more powerful.

An alarming smell of burning leather reached her nostrils and a searing pain dawned around her left ear. Her concentration broken, she released the Red Wind from her grasp and took off her wide-brimmed hat. It was, as she half-expected, on fire – her dodge had not quite been fast enough. Swearing like a sailor, she slapped it repeatedly against her leather coat until the fire was put off, leaving a blackened area where the brim and the crown met. So it was not made of real dragon hide after all. She would need to have a little chat with that seller tomorrow.

She felt the tug on the wind of Aqshy before the spell hit, but had no time to prepare for it. Her staff suddenly became hotter, so hot that she could feel it even through her leather gloves. She dropped it with a startled yelp, looked up, and found herself facing Theo without her channelling implement. The young man’s wet, unruly blond hair was plastered to his forehead; only one bright blue eye was visible. His staff pointed straight at her face and crackled with aethyric energy. The combatants paused a dozen yards away from each other, panting from the longest duel between apprentices in recent Bright College history. Both of them were pushed to their physical and mental limits, their clothes torn and singed, sporting a variety of burns that would have brought down anyone not attuned to Aqshy’s fiery touch. The lights of Altdorf spread out in every direction under and around them, but the college grounds were dark and silent, as it was well past curfew.

Both of them knew who had the advantage now. Theo might as well have been aiming a loaded crossbow at an unarmed person. Not that a staff was necessary to cast spells, but after all the wine Elsa had had tonight, fine manipulation of the Aethyr would be difficult and reckless without one.

“Yield already, Elsa,” sighed Theo, exasperated. “You wanted this stupid duel, I gave it to you, and I won. You’re taking this whole argument to a ridiculous–”

Thankfully, Elsa did not need finesse, only brute strength – in magical terms, she was something of a thug. All she did was send a sudden wave of the Red Wind towards Theo, whose staff was still gathering the ambient Aethyr. Theo’s sentence died in his throat when he realized that he was now channelling more magic than his staff could handle.

“Boom,” said Elsa solemnly.

Theo’s staff exploded in a blinding yellow light, sending splinters of wood in every direction. The young man was blown off his feet with a shout of alarm. When the burst of hot air reached Elsa a split second later, it felt more like a physical blow than a wind. She only barely remained standing, for which she was glad because she thought she must look pretty damn impressive, right now on the roof, with her leather coat billowing in the rain and her red hair flying free. Her only regret was that there was no one to see her. She put her still-smoking hat back on, retrieved her staff from the nearest edge of the roof from which it had nearly fallen and immediately began to channel Aqshy into a fireball. She had never once lost a magical duel against a fellow junior apprentice, and she was sure not starting now.

“Alright, either get up or give up, you wimp,” she snarled at Theo. Casting a spell at a downed target was against the rules, as was casting while you were down. Elsa was usually no stickler for rules, but duelling was serious business.

Theo made a gurgling sound and, still lying down, drew the Red Wind to himself. Cheater, was Elsa’s immediate, furious thought. She released the fireball. It raced towards its target and, though it must have taken only a heartbeat to cover the distance, it was long enough for Elsa to realize what a mistake she had made.

As the fireball illuminated Theo, Elsa had a glimpse of his bloodied face and ravaged hands. The explosion of his staff had taken several of his fingers, at least one of his eyes and much of his nose and jaw. His last spell, Elsa just had time to figure out when she saw burns forming on his hands, was a standard cauterization spell to stop blood loss. His mouth broken and full of blood, Theo was unable to conjure up a shield against the fireball. He was too wounded to even roll out of the way. His remaining eye widened in horror.

The fireball hit him full-on and lifted him off the surface of the roof. He flew, on fire from head to toe, and ended his course against a chimney in a sickening crack of bones. He came to rest in a sitting position, presumably – hopefully – dead before he hit the ground.

Elsa just stood there in the rain, stunned, until Theo was but a charred skeleton grinning at her.

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1

4th Nachexen

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Pain.

Darkness.

Thirst.

It took Elsa a moment to remember that this was not one of her regular hangovers. Waking up in strange places was far from unfamiliar to her, but the situation here was a tad more serious than usual. What was the name of the place, again? Elmridge. In the Border Princes.

She wiggled the fingers of her left hand tentatively. The response was very weak. Her entire left arm was practically paralyzed, but did not even have the decency to go numb. That was so unfair. At least there was some circulation in the fingers; she had managed to loosen the knot quite a bit, and with baffling ease, before going to sleep. Whoever had tied her up was either a complete amateur or a secret supporter.

She was careful not to free her hands entirely, lest her captors notice and make a tighter knot. She needed to play along for now and stay tied up – unless her growing need to pee became too strong before they untied her, in which case her dignity (whatever remained of it, that is) would of course take precedence.