[WFRP] Ill Met By Morrslieb

[goblinpaladin]

"Look after my things, yes? I go catch us dinner. Maybe someone else look for the nest? Extra coin sound good to me, and maybe it help the elf out."

Lothar grinned back and nodded. "Alright, deal. If y'cook it as good as y'say, extra coin for that, too."

"Hey, Steffan!" he shouted at the villager. "That was some shot, lad."

= = = =

Once the group had been ferried across - and the veteran came last, stripping off his mail before the crossing - he made sure to clap Steffan on the back. "You could give Ith a run for his money. Or even me - afore I lost me eye, I was a mean shot with this thing, lemme tell ya."

To Vincenzo, Lothar gave a nod and a big grin. "Loads better. Won't taste o' iron."

[LCP]

Ithelus still appeared to be breathing, though his wet skin was cold and clammy to Pieter's touch. Illiiya was undoubtedly right about the need to keep him dry.

Raftload by raftload, the rest of the party were ferried across. The mules took a little while to calm down, but Hal and Otfried got them under control without too much fuss.

Quickly regaining his coolheaded demeanour, Steffan basked in Vincenzo and Lothar's praise. Frieda didn't seem to take that too well, and stalked silently off to gather deadwood for Vincenzo's fire. Walther went with her, still giving Ithelus and Illiiya a wide berth. Meanwhile, Gismar took young Otfried in search of the prized pickerel. They came back empty-handed, with Otfried still trying to convince the older man that the jelly-like eggs they had found were common frogspawn.

It took a long time to gather enough fuel for a sizeable fire - and cooking the Stirpike required a very sizeable fire. Arranging the dry reeds and rotten branches that Frieda brought him into the best structure he could, Vincenzo sent her back again and again to gather more. On her return from the third trip, she dumped the whole lot at his feet and crossed her arms.

"We're supposed to be scouting this place out, aren't we?" she demanded. "If there are Northers anywhere within a dozen leagues, they're going to see the smoke from this thing."

The flat terrain of the marsh certainly lent weight to her point. On the other hand, the freshly-gutted Stirpike was lying there looking exceptionally delicious.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Celebrating the victory just wasn't in her, though she did thank Pieter for his attention on her wounds. She calmed down somewhat once she realized Ithelus was breathing... but still did not venture far from his side. Despite her worry, the mention of food did ring strongly with her. Her stomach ached from worry and neglect and she realized it had been some time since she'd really had a full meal. Adding into that her soaked clothes, and she was feeling none-too-well herself.

Pieter? She asked softly, taking his arm, Will you watch him while I change into something dry?

[-Sentinel-]

"If there are Northers anywhere within a dozen leagues, they're going to see the smoke from this thing."

In normal times Pieter would have been inclined to agree, but he was shivering with cold, and the demands of his body trumped all thoughts of safety. "I think we make rather poor pickings, Frieda. Very little loot, no hostages, only two women, and we're all armed. If they're starving, we'll just give them our food and warn them that if they want anything else, they'd better be prepared to lose a few men for it."

He took off his leather jack to allow his shirt to dry. He felt rather morose; it might be days before he was dry again.

Illiiya spoke: Pieter? Will you watch him while I change into something dry?

"Oh... sure thing. Ask Lothar, he's got dry clothes, I think."


OOC: I'm unsure on the time of the day... Is night falling?

[LCP]

"I think we make rather poor pickings, Frieda. Very little loot, no hostages, only two women, and we're all armed. If they're starving, we'll just give them our food and warn them that if they want anything else, they'd better be prepared to lose a few men for it."

"Oh, right," said Frieda, acerbically. "Reasoning with northmen, that always works well. You speak Kurgan, then?"

She looked across at Lothar and Vincenzo. "I thought you people were supposed to be soldiers?"

[-Sentinel-]

"Reasoning with northmen, that always works well. You speak Kurgan, then?"

A sardonic smile touched Pieter's lips. "Sure do. In Kurgan culture, waving a naked blade at someone is a subtle suggestion not to come any closer."

[Destro_Yersul]

Vincenzo shrugged, chuckling at Pieter's joke. "Unless they very close indeed, we leave before they get here. Maybe they all fall in the river, get eaten by mosquitos on their way. We are not enough for pitched battle, but few enough to hide."

Pointing at the remains of the gutted stirpike, he raised an eyebrow. "You are hungry, want to eat and be warm and dry for night? Then we have to make big fire. Is no sense worrying 'is Northmen, is no Northmen' when you die of hunger and cold before you ever see one."

[LCP]

"Fine!" said Frieda. "Be my guest." She turned to Hal and made an expressive gesture of frustration, appealing to him to agree. Hal looked embarassed... but hungry.

Making a stubborn face, Frieda looked back at Vincenzo and his catch. "Fine," she repeated. "I'm going to stand watch. Someone's got to."

She turned and stalked off with a thunderous expression. Still, there was an upside to her bad temper - it was the biggest reaction Pieter had got out of her since they left the Wolf and Hammer.

Otfried and Josef took over the hunt for firewood, while Hal located some suitable stones to make a ring around the campfire. By the time they were finished, they had scoured the surrounding marsh for pretty much everything that would burn.

Once it was lit, the heat from the fire was palpable. Like a moth drawn to the flame, Illiiya reappeared from behind a stand of reeds. She looked like a child in Lothar's 'smart' clothes, the baggy clothing threatening to swallow her. The older Grimpenhofers paid no heed, but Hal and Otfried both became very intent on the details of their own shoes, fingernails, and some apparently fascinating pebbles.

It took the combined efforts of Vincenzo, Josef and Gismar to haul the gutted Stirpike up to the fire. Even then, it was simply too big to cook - Vincenzo had to settle for carving pieces out of it, chunk by chunk. The cooked flesh was flaky, white and delicious.

They ate until they could eat no more, and one whole flank of the Stirpike had been cleaned down to the bones. Its face still gaped, open-jawed and glassy-eyed, as if it could not quite believe what had happened to it.

Through it all Frieda sat sentry, some way away from the fire. When the sky grew dark, Steffan wandered over and offered to take over, but she refused. Pieter was pretty sure Steffan had only offered in order to needle her, anyway.

OOC:

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Any other business before proceeding to the next morning?

[-Sentinel-]

While eating, Pieter did as he did every night: he peered at Morrslieb through the branches and compared its phases and apparent distance with the hands of the triangular pocketwatch he had taken from Morsleek, looking for a pattern. The watch behaved erratically, just like Morrslieb, and it seemed reasonable to believe that it followed the moon's movements. That the watch's previous owner had a name so similar to that of the Chaos moon only lent weight to that theory.

"I'm thinking about the tale of the Mad Watchmaker of Nuln," Pieter said aloud, without bothering to explain why he was suddenly mentioning this.

There was no such tale, but he had just made one up:

"There was, in Nuln, an old and slightly eccentric watchmaker, widely believed to be the greatest master of his craft alive. He made the most accurate watches in the Empire and could repair any watch he was given. And his very life seemed to be set by his watches. He would rise at six, not one minute earlier or later. He would take his meals at the exact same time every day, and go to bed at nine. He would go to the market on every Marktag at the second bell after noon, using always the exact same streets, and would buy the exact same food from the exact same stalls. The day he found the market closed because a military parade was being held there, he returned home and did not shop until next Marktag: he would rather eat scraps for a week than stray from his routine."

"One day a man was burnt for witchcraft, and his possessions were seized by the Church of Sigmar. Among them was a broken pocketwatch; a complex thing that even had hands for the year, the month and the day of the week. The Church had no use for it, and sold it to the watchmaker for a small sum. The watchmaker set about repairing it, thinking he could easily sell it for five times what he had paid. But this was no ordinary broken watch. Instead of staying still, its hands would go forward then backwards, move slowly then quickly, stop for a time and then start again, and so on. Only the hand that pointed at the years stubbornly refused to move. The old watchmaker opened the watch to find the root of the problem, but the watch's workings were so small, so intricate and so unlike anything he had ever seen that he could not make head or tail of them, even with his best magnifying glass. He dared not take the watch apart, lest he be unable to put it back together. For days on end he examined the watch, refusing all commissions until he had figured it out... either out of pride or, most likely, because he refused to believe a watch could be without a predictable pattern, no matter how complex."

"The lamps in the watchmaker's house would now light up well before six in the morning, and keep burning well after nine in the evening. He stopped eating his three regularly-scheduled meal. He stopped coming to the market on Marktag. He stopped doing anything but work on his watch, sometimes for two days and two nights in a row. He grew ragged, tired and emaciated. This went on for weeks."

"And one day he must have snapped. He was first seen in the market square past midnight on Konistag, demanding to know why the market was not open. When guards came to take him home, believing him drunk, he showed them his watch and insisted that today was Marktag and that it was two in the afternoon. From then on, he lived by whatever time or day his broken watch showed. He started taking commissions again, but his hours became erratic: sometimes he would open his shop in the middle of the night, other times he would open on Festag. If his watch read nine in the evening, he would go to bed, even if the sun was high. He would then sleep for perhaps two hours, or perhaps sixteen, depending on his watch. Over the next few months, people started calling him the Mad Watchmaker."

"One day, while he was at the market, the watchmaker glanced at his broken watch and abruptly toppled over, dead. Old age, a doctor would later say, though he had seemed healthy last week. The first guard to arrive at the scene looked at the watch, and noticed that the tiny hand that pointed at the years had jumped ten years ahead."

OOC

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I'm good to move on to the next day.

Since Hohlesbruck, has Pieter noticed any link between Morsleek's watch and Morrslieb's phases?

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar opened his mouth to say something reasonable about lighting a fire, but Frieda stormed off, angry, before he couldn't finish. Letting out the breath as a sigh, he set about assisting Vincenzo in carving up their delicious prize.

"Never had a fish as big o' this before. Can't wait to tell my Da all about it. Better make sure we're all there, or he won't believe me." He grinned.

After Steffan had been rebuffed by Frieda, Lothar stretched out his limbs and carried over some fish for the scout. Crouching on his haunches before she could object, he offered her the mutant flake and mutely tilted his head toward the fire.

"Needed it or half o' us'd've caught our death o' damp, Frieda. An' the fish is real good."

He paused, giving her a chance to take the fish or throw it in his face.

"I'll take the middle watch, an' get Vin to take the one after that, aye? You need t'rest - I've only got half me eyes, an' no-one here is gonna be able to see a Northman from a league out. Pieter's never e'en been this far north."

He rose back to his feet. "Anyway, you can't stay up all night. I won't have it."

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Charm roll if needed: (1d100)[56]

After his brief conversation with Frieda, Lothar strolled back into camp. "Right. Vincenzo, reckon you're up for the last watch? Frieda's right - we're the soldiers. I'll take the middle. Sergeant gets the rotten watch, aye?"

He pulled at his beard. "Ill, Pieter... There anythin' I can do for Ith? You got any creams or something? Can he eat? Mash up Herr Haifisch, make some kind o' soup?"

---

* post roll count doesn't match database

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter rubbed his forehead wearily. Though he would not admit it in front of Lothar and Illiiya, he was far from sure Ithelus would even last the night.

"I've been doing all I can, Lothar, but I don't know how much help it's been. I'm trained to deal with injuries, not diseases. If we can get some food in him, it might help. The fish soup idea sounds good."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Bedraggled and worried, Illiiya looked sadly at Lothar and gave a soft sigh. A pale, shivery thing in too-large clothes that often slipped in places. She seemed to pay little mind to modesty, but fortunately her attempts to keep warm did well enough to avoid accidentally flashing herself to all present.

He... should eat, if he can. She said wearily, I'm worried Lothar... I... I don't know what else we can do for him. She's.... S-she's going to take him from me. And it's all my fault.

[Exeson]

Ithelus was confused. He knew where he was until he managed to pry his eyes open for a second or two, long enough to see that he was not in water anymore... Had he swum to shore? He didn't remember that.

The dreams were not helping either. One moment he would be sitting with his parents discussing the next circus routine and the next he would be back in Nuln, running for his life through the streets. Was he dreaming or was this some sort of torturous afterlife?

Every now and then he'd be in a place he didn't recognise. It wasn't Nuln, or Delbrez, or any other place he could remember being. He'd open his eyes and there would just be marsh around him. Desolate and dark, and during these moments the pain in his body was incredible. He'd feel as if small creatures, maybe rats? were trying to claw their way out of his skull through his eye.

[LCP]

Frieda took the fish Lothar offered her without looking round. Her eyes remained fixed on the dark, flat expanse of the marsh.

"I'll take the middle watch, an' get Vin to take the one after that, aye? You need t'rest - I've only got half me eyes, an' no-one here is gonna be able to see a Northman from a league out. Pieter's never e'en been this far north."

He rose back to his feet. "Anyway, you can't stay up all night. I won't have it."

"Fine," grunted Frieda. She glanced down at the fish, then back at Lothar. "Thanks."

Some of the Grimpenhofers - Walther and Otfried, mostly - listened closely to Pieter's story, while others seemed less interested. Josef sat by himself, cleaning his hands with the same fixed regard that Frieda reserved for the horizon.

Making camp, the group settled down to get some sleep. Though the villagers didn't contest Ithelus' right to a space close to the fire, they all pitched their own bedrolls far enough away that he couldn't have reached them with the raft pole.

OOC: Pressing ahead, but feel free to timesplit to continue the conversation with Illiiya etc.

---

1

Ithelus

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Ithelus was dimly aware of warmth, and voices he thought he knew, but his weakened mind was in no state to make sense of them. His fever dreams grew deeper and strangely clearer.

He was lying in a swamp - but this was no swamp that mortal eyes were meant to see. The sky was the colour of a yellowed bruise, the sun was bloated like a rotten fruit. It dragged its swollen belly along the horizon, casting a blood-red light over the twisted vegetation. Blowflies buzzed through the ochre marsh, their whining song grating in Ithelus' ears.

Pushing himself to his knees, he felt the putrid silt ooze between his fingers. Around him, a grove of crook-backed trees had sprouted from the soft earth. Heavy fruits like huge, misshapen plums hung from their leprous branches. Their flesh had a slightly translucent quality - if you looked hard, against the light, it was possible to make out dim shapes suspended inside.

At that point, a jaunty whistle sounded over the buzzing of the flies. Strolling sure-footedly over the hummocks and sinkholes, an old man was approaching. With a white spade beard and a kindly face, he was the most normal-looking thing Ithelus had yet seen.

The man stopped in the centre of the clearing, leaning on a rusty spade. Reaching up with long, bony fingers, he felt the first of the strange fruit, testing it for ripeness. Muttering something to himself, he moved on to the next, and the next, testing them each in turn. Ithelus watched in silence, until a treacherous cough gave him away.

Looking round, the old man gave a smile. "Ah!" he said. "You're here." Hobbling over, he looked down at where Ithelus was lying in the mud. "Took your time. Elves are tough."

Crouching down, he looked closely into Ithelus' face. Though he seemed only a human, there was something depthless and ancient about his eyes. When he offered a hand to help the elf to his feet, he didn't shift an inch, though he was half Ithelus' size.

Straightening up, Ithelus looked around. Behind him, the tumbledown remains of some ancient shrine had half sunk into the marsh. A cold wind blew through the broken pillars, carrying the sour scent of decay. It made the dead plants rustle, and keened over the cracked altar that stood in the centre of the ruins. For a moment or two, the vista of the marsh around them seemed to flicker, sharing space with an endless, wind-swept steppe.

Age and weather had worn the sharp edges from the altar stone, until you could hardly tell it had been shaped by human hands. In its centre, however, was a carefully-carved depression, full of brackish rainwater. It was in the shape of a sword - one particular, unmistakeable sword.

Drawn like a moth to a lantern, Ithelus leaned weakly over the altar. Looking down into the brown water, he saw his own reflection. The ripples the wind had raised made it seem as if his eyes were running together in the centre of his wasted face.

Then he saw the true reflection of the old man standing behind him.

~

Ithelus ran in blind terror through the dripping swamp, the thing's buzzing laughter still booming in his ears. He didn't know how long he had been running; time had no meaning in this place. The rotting sun had sunk out of sight, and now he splashed through the marshes in bewildering darkness. Strange birds shrieked at him from the twisted trees, with voices like dead men he had known.

A stealthy patch of bog swallowed him almost to the waist, and when he clawed his way out he could see the Chaos Moon shining high above, a sharp green crescent in the sky. The biting flies had ceased to torment him, but in Morrslieb's shadowed face he could see only the rotting face of the beast.

He ran until he could run no more, and then he crawled until even his arms failed him. Sinking down into the cloying mud, he gave in to exhaustion.

~

Ithelus awoke to the sensation of cold hands on his face. Blinking slowly, he could just make out a trio of pale blurs hovering over him. There were voices too, talking in low tones.

<From the forest, no doubt.>
<Use your eyes, Anarthir. These are human clothes.>
<What difference does it make? He is tainted. Leave him.>
<Always the same, Anarthir. No curiosity.> The second voice laughed. <That is why I am the leader.>
They were speaking Eltharin, Ithelus registered dimly. For a moment he thought it was Illiiya - but there was more than one voice here.
<Caladrys, what are you doing ->

A firm hand took hold of the back of his head, forced it up. He felt a glass phial being placed to his lips, tasted its thick, bitter contents draining into his mouth. He had no strength to resist, and the hand held him there until he swallowed.

<I want to know what he's doing here,> he heard the second voice say, as he was lowered gently back onto the ground. <For that he has to be able to talk.>

A pleasant numbness spread through his limbs, and the sounds of conversation faded...

~

When Ithelus woke next, his vision was clearer. The debilitating weakness that had plagued him seemed less; for the first time since they had left Hohlesbruck, he almost felt rested.

The sun was rising, casting a pale light over the marshes. They were the mortal, mundane marshes of the Schadensumpf - of the nightmare landscape through which he had fled, there was no trace. He felt as if the filth of that realm still clung to his skin - where he saw patches of still water gleaming silver in the dawn, he felt the urge to dive in and scrub his skin raw.

The five figures ranged in front of him might have had something to say about that. They were elves, dressed in dark clothes and dark cloaks. Two were male, three were female. All appeared to be armed.

The woman he took to be their leader was sitting on a low rock, watching him with the lazy air of a cat watching a mouse. Though her chin rested on her hand in an attitude of boredom, he got the impression that she was ready to spring into motion at a moment's notice.

<So,> she said, <you're awake. Do you understand me?> she asked. <What's your name?>

OOC:

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Deduct Ithelus one Fate Point (if you haven't already), and credit him one Insanity Point. The Rot is gone.

---

1

Not Ithelus

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Despite his full stomach, Lothar did not sleep well. Whenever he rolled over on the spongy ground, the Stirpike's glassy-eyed face was there to his right, gaping in an expression of permanent surprise.

When he woke for the third time, he took stock of Mannslieb's position in the sky and decided it must be time to relive Frieda. Morrslieb was tracking its pale sister across the sky, a sliver of poisonous green in Mannslieb's shadow.

Rising and gathering his effects, he found that Frieda had dozed off in a sitting position. When he shook her by the shoulder, her eyes snapped open, and she did a reasonable job of pretending she had just been taking a long time blinking.

"There's nothing out there," she said, standing up and stretching her stiff limbs. Something made a deep chirping noise out in the marsh. "Just that bloody frog."

She turned back towards the camp, and paused. A frown crossed her face.

"Where's the elf?"

Lothar looked back too. The fire had died, but the moonlight made it easy enough to see that Ithelus' stretcher-bed was empty.

[goblinpaladin]

Not Dying (well, anymore than we all are really)

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Lothar hissed a curse, dogs and urine, in bad Kislev. "Damn. How did he? What's -- nevermind. Rouse the others. We better find him."

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If she adheres to my instructions:

"Frieda, you'll come with us as we track him down. The rest of you, stay here an' keep the fire lit so we can find y'again. If any want t'come with us an' find Ith, that's fine, but I'm not goin' t'ask."

If she raises a fuss: "I wasn' goin' t' say anythin', but you lost'm, an' now you're gonna help find him and that'll be the end of it. Nothin' more to say."

[LCP]

Not Ithelus

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Frieda did as she was told. The Grimpenhofers were slow and disorganised in waking, grumbling sleepily at Frieda for disturbing them.

"Frieda, you'll come with us as we track him down. The rest of you, stay here an' keep the fire lit so we can find y'again. If any want t'come with us an' find Ith, that's fine, but I'm not goin' t'ask."

"Hang on," said Steffan, screwing up his eyes to blink. "The elf's gone?"

The others took a moment or two to understand, but Ithelus' absence spoke for itself.

"...He was sick," said Otfried, slowly. "Real sick." The youth looked out into the dark marsh, weighing his words and finding none. "Stray off the path out here... the 'sumpf can swallow you up without a trace."

"What the lad's saying," came Josef's deep voice from the darkness, "is maybe he was doing you a favour." The woodsman sat up a little straighter, meeting Lothar's gaze with a voice like lead, his face as impassive as ever. "Didn't want to be a burden on you no more."

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus roused himself slowly, shaking his head and blinking. Pulling himself up into a crouch he remained silent for a moment as his hand went to his boot, searching for a dagger. He doubted any attempt at subtlety would work but now more than ever Ithelus felt danger.

'I.. You have to help!' he gasped in panic for a second as the memories of the forest and the Grand Father crawled back into his head before relaxing. 'I was in a... wait...Ithelus. My name is-'

<Ithelus. Forgive me, I have not spoken this tongue in a long time>, he said. Straightening up Ithelus appeared to become more sure of himself but his eyes kept darting back and forwards, as if he was expecting his surroundings to change any moment.

<And I would ask yours? Where am I?... Is this a dream? The afterlife?>

OOC

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Should I keep the changes off my profile for the moment for secrecy as with the mutation or is it not really an issue? Also does Ithelus have his equipment? Heck the way my dreams go I should ask does he have trousers?

[LCP]

Ithelus

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When Ithelus spoke first in Reikspiel, one of the elves curled his lip in distaste. He muttered something that Ithelus didn't quite catch - but he was pretty sure it was disparaging.

<Ithelus,> said the woman who had questioned him. She showed no signs of being about to offer her own name in return. <If this is the afterlife,I will have to complain. I was expecting somewhere less wet.>

Some of the other elves laughed.

<Just Ithelus, then? No family name?> she asked. <We found you wandering in the swamp. Did you come here alone?>

OOC:

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Ithelus has the (damp, but mostly dried out) clothes he was wearing and anything that he would have in his boots/pockets. His hat, coat, and larger items are missing.

Ithelus' strength will return gradually (+10 per day), so keep the penalties on your profile for now.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus looked over his shoulder, <None that I know of. My parents were not ones to talk of other 'Elves' - I mean Asur, or our history.>

Taking an experimental step forward Ithelus pushed his foot onto the ground as if expecting it to fall away, 'Feels real enough' he muttered to himself. <I was with people, Humans. And an Asur. We were heading for Grimpenhof...>

Slowly Ithelus raised his dagger and gave himself an experimental prick on his forearm

[-Sentinel-]

Not Ithelus

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Pieter was troubled. "He shouldn't have been in any state to go anywhere."

He wasn't buying what Otfried and Josef were suggesting. Ithelus was many things, but selfless wasn't one of them. Or perhaps Pieter had been misjudging him... The imminence of death might change a person for the better.

On the other hand, he was unpleasantly reminded of how Mr Hofstadter had been sleepwalking while sick...

OOC

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Did Ithelus leave his equipment at the camp? This might hint at his motives.

[goblinpaladin]

Not It

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Lothar met the leaden gaze with half of one, the other scars and black leather. "That's not like Ith, and even if it was, I'm not about t'leave a friend in this place. We don't find him, we don't find him - but I'm not goin' t'walk away from a man who put his back to mine."

Lothar rubbed his neck and looked around the swamp. "Not askin' you to come with, anyhow, just to stay put an' keep your eyes open. Mighta been a snatching or anything else."

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Lothar's accent changes depending on how I'm writing on a given day. :P Sometimes I forget entirely that he has one.

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Ithelus saw the other elves tense when he drew his dagger, but a wave of their leader's hand forestalled any action on their part. They were healthy, dry, well-armed with long swords at their belts. They were in no danger from one sick elf, caked in the mud of the marsh, with only a dagger to his advantage.

<Two Asur, travelling together,> said the leader. <You are a long way from Ulthuan. What brings you here, and what misfortune led you to dress in human rags?> She cocked her head to one side. “Grimpenhof”, <this is a human settlement?>

---

1

Not Ithelus

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Josef seemed highly unmoved. but said nothing. Nothing, after all, was being asked of him in particular.

“Otfried's right,” said Steffan, wearily. “If you go wandering off in the dark, you're as likely to get sucked into the mire as your friend is.” He nodded to Frieda. “Frieda might know how to follow a trail, but she doesn't know the marsh.”

Frieda rounded on him. “And I suppose you do?” she said. Steffan spread his hands in a 'you got me' sort of gesture.

“I did say we didn't need a guide.”

Frieda narrowed her eyes at him.

Pieter, meanwhile, was rummaging through Ithelus' possessions. He had left behind his coat, his hat, his pack, his crossbow and sickle. He had clearly left camp with only the clothes on his back.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus smiled apologetically, <I've never actually... er... been to Ulthan. I was born in Human lands, raised among humans. I've been living with them. Well, up until now I guess. I doubt you'd believe me if I told you the story of how I ended up here.> He glanced down at his clothes in an unsure manner, <There is a difference between human and Asur clothes?>

[LCP]

Ithelus

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The leader held his gaze, unblinking. <Do our clothes look human-made to you?>

Now that he looked, they certainly didn't. Though their clothes were practical outdoors wear, they had an elegant simplicity to them that was entirely at odds with the fashions of the Empire. The fabric of their cloaks and tunics was exceptionally fine, and delicate, subtle patterns had been worked into the cloth.

<He has gone native,> said one of the other women, a striking elf with dark black hair tied back in a tight knot behind her head. Her voice carried a mixture of incredulity and scorn. <The humans are taking elves as pets.>

The leader gave her subordinate a look. Something about Ithelus' story seemed to have kindled her curiosity. She was tall and athletic where Illiiya was small and waifish, her own ash-blonde hair tied into a long plait with a cord of thorns. Her cloak was pinned with a silver brooch in the shape of an open hand, which the others did not have.

<Forgive us, but you called yourself Asur. No-one outside the isle has called themselves that in many centuries.> The ghost of a smile seemed to flicker on her face. <We here in the Elthin Arvan are only the dispossessed.>

She spared a glance for her companions.

<I think we would all be interested in your story,> she said. <Although perhaps you could cut to the interesting parts. Like this Asur you say you travel with.>

[-Sentinel-]

Not Ithelus

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"Mighta been a snatching or anything else."

"Some impressively silent snatchers, if you ask me... and a strange choice of a person to snatch." Pieter was looking thoughtfully at what Ithelus had left behind. "If he left of his own free will, he wasn't planning to go far. Didn't even take food or a weapon..."

He was starting to think that, perhaps, the Elf had indeed walked away to die on his own. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking on the initiate's part, because this possibility would allow him to justify not wandering in the marshes after dark to look for his friend.

Ranald's teeth, Pieter. You're supposed to be a better man than that.

[Destro_Yersul]

Not Ithelus

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Vincenzo roused himself slowly, blinking blearily at the space where the sick elf had been. For his own part, the mercenary was not especially sad to see him go - it meant that whatever he had was less likely to spread to the other people in the vicinity. Namely Vincenzo.

"I am not liking running off into a swamp in the middle of the night." The Tilean looked up at the moons. "Getting sucked down under the water, getting lost and starving, many ways to die in a swamp."

"On the other hand, he cannot go very far. Does anybody see anything, maybe show which direction he go in? Without starting point, is no use to search."

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus swept his gave across the assembled group. At the mention of 'pets' Ithelus snarled. <I am no pet to those... Humans.> he said, emphasising the statement with a wave of his dagger. The mention of their origins caught him mid contempt, however, and the dagger lowered.

<You mean you're from the Old World? I would have thought that there would be more... leaves in your clothes.> Although Ithelus did not seem very sure of his comments. <I think I may be needing some education. I thought those who stayed returned to the forests?>

The mention of Illiiya put Ithelus on the defensive again. The elf's eyes narrowed slightly as he chose his words carefully. <She is a fellow traveler, from the lands of men such as myself. I fear that without a considered explination of all that's happened some might draw the wrong conclusions. Like your companion over there.> He pointed with his dagger at the elf who had made the 'pet' remarks, <She might have me, as the Humans say> 'Put down like and animal'

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I'm sorry but I'm not too clued up about the details of Elven history, but from what I can remember the Elthin Arvan are tied to the wood elves - as in the Elves that remained in the old world after the war of the Beard? This is purely an interest question though, as my ignorance matches perfectly with Ithelus's as he was raised in the Empire.

Also quick question, I thought the leader was female? In the last post I'm not so clear on it

[LCP]

Ithelus

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Ithelus' wave of his dagger was answered by a chorus of drawn swords. Razor-edged steel gleamed in the pre-dawn light.

<Put that away,> said the leader – the only one not to have drawn her weapon. <If we were going to hurt you I would have let Moruleann put a bolt through your throat when we found you.>

<You mean you're from the Old World? I would have thought that there would be more... leaves in your clothes.> Although Ithelus did not seem very sure of his comments. <I think I may be needing some education. I thought those who stayed returned to the forests?>

<You are on the edge of the Forest of Laurelorn,> she said, pointing west where the sky was still dark. <We are scouts. We have been tracking the beast Magrar Broken-Horn.> She made an airy gesture, as if tipping sand through her fingers. <A warherd passed this way not long ago, heading north.>

The mention of Illiiya put Ithelus on the defensive again. The elf's eyes narrowed slightly as he chose his words carefully. <She is a fellow traveller, from the lands of men such as myself. I fear that without a considered explanation of all that's happened some might draw the wrong conclusions. Like your companion over there.> He pointed with his dagger at the elf who had made the 'pet' remarks, <She might have me, as the Humans say> 'put down like an animal'

<Then best make your explanation a considered one,> said the leader, with a shrug. <She is another like you? Raised among humans?>

OOC:

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I'm sorry but I'm not too clued up about the details of Elven history, but from what I can remember the Elthin Arvan are tied to the wood elves - as in the Elves that remained in the old world after the war of the Beard? This is purely an interest question though, as my ignorance matches perfectly with Ithelus's as he was raised in the Empire.

“Elthin Arvan” just means the Old World. The elven enclaves left behind are probably what you'd call wood elves, although there are big differences between Laurelorn/other wood elves and the wood elves of Athel Loren. Loren has shaped its inhabitants in a way that other places haven't; other wood elves are culturally closer to the original settlers.

How much of that Ithelus would know, I guess depends on where his parents were from. Laurelorn is the biggest enclave of elves in the Empire, but there are also communities of elf traders in Marienburg (Grey/Sea Elves) who mix much more with human civilisation, and are kind of trade representatives for the High Elves.

Also quick question, I thought the leader was female? In the last post I'm not so clear on it.

Yes she is. Sorry, when I said she “held his gaze” I meant Ithelus'.

[Exeson]

Ithelus

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Ithelus slowly put away his dagger, tucking it into his belt. <I'm not exactly too sure. I had heard a story of an Asur mage, living near a human settlement. So I made my way there to find out more. But, by the time I had got there... well the Druchii had gotten there first. There must have been some sort of mage battle, the Asur managed to beat them back from what I could tell but at a terrible cost. She... lost her mind, her memories. I found her in the ruins of the settlement, unconious and at the mercy of some Humans. They wanted to... wanted to... I couldn't just leave her there so I took her with me.> Ithelus let out a deep sigh to relax the look of disgust on his face that had appear whilst he was talking about the Human scavangers.

<The last few months... We were in Delbrez when the Skaven tried to invade. Moorsleek and his rats.> Ithelus shuddered slightly. <We fought them, and thank Sigmar we won. The there was Holesbruck. A cultist of the Grand Father tried to poison the village, tried to send one of his foul knights there. We tried to stop that too. Then I got sick... and we were going to Grimpenhof... And now I'm here.>

Ithelus inclined his head slightly, <You wouldn't happen to know how I got here? I dreamt to most horrible things. I dreamt I was running through a chaos realm... but, obviously I wasn't.>

[LCP]

Ithelus

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As Ithelus recounted the story of how he had found Illiiya, the elves suddenly became all ears. Even the one who had insulted him before now listened with an unnerving intensity of focus, although he thought he saw a brief expression of distaste cross her face when he gave thanks to Sigmar.

<So then,> said the leader. <Not quite as ignorant as you led us to believe. You know of the Druchii.> There was a pregnant pause. <This settlement where you found her, where was it? What is her name?> Another pause. <Why is she taking you to...> - she had trouble getting the pronunciation right - “Grimpenhof?”

Ithelus inclined his head slightly, <You wouldn't happen to know how I got here? I dreamt to most horrible things. I dreamt I was running through a chaos realm... but, obviously I wasn't.>

<You were sick. Dying, in fact,> said the leader. She seemed keen to return to her own questions, but paid him the courtesy of at least answering his. <If you had an encounter with the servants of the Plaguefather, I suppose that would explain it. Fortunately for you we are prepared for such dangers.> She gave him a scrutinising look. <You used up our whole supply of the purgative. You should start feeling the effects soon.>

---

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Not Ithelus

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Frieda made a quick circuit of the campsite, searching for Ithelus' tracks. She found them heading erratically north-west. The sick elf's heavy footsteps had left deep imprints; they were deeper still further down, where the ground grew wetter.

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Follow Trail for Frieda: (1d100)[5]

Was waiting for Lothar to weigh in but he's timed out. Sorry if you were waiting for me, Brenton.