[WFRP] The Dying of the Light

[Thragka]

The Dying of the Light

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. – 1 Corinthians 15:26

Chapter One
De Mortuis Nihil Nisi Bonum

OOC Thread

Bezahltag, 1st Sigmarzeit, 2522 I.C.

It was coming into summer, but mist still clung to the Stir, and tendrils of it snaked their way through the streets of Wurtbad as evening fell. It seemed like another unwelcome refugee of these times, lingering in corners, associating with mud-puddles and human effluent in the gutters, skulking down the steps of sunken doorways, coiled in silent, zigzagging cobbled alleyways and stirring hurriedly as if taking affront when these empty streets were disturbed. There were few actual people out and about in this part of the old town – those that did pass through the Höhlenburg district kept their speeds and collars high, and their voices and gazes low. Too many of these winding passages took shadowed dips beneath stone arches, or sudden bends through tight corridors, and if you valued your coin and your life you would do well not to brave the Cavern Town after dusk. Even children had been known to disappear without a trace after taking a wrong turn. Some said the streets changed at night, leading to different directions, purposefully sending the naïve into sticky situations.

Given its location, then, it was not surprising that the Broken Crown tavern attracted few patrons, squeezed as it was between the old tenements. It was not the sort of place one stumbled across by accident. The lantern outside was lit in hours of darkness, but the street that led to the drinking-house had so many corners that the light was blocked until you were almost at the door. Inside, in the grimy common room, where smoke malingered between the low-hanging , sooty rafters, there was the distinct impression that the regulars just about tolerated each other’s presence – gods forbid you ask them to put up with a stranger. The arrival of the rather odd assortment provoked no small measure of unwelcome glaring. If any of Dimzad’s guests were foolish enough to stare back on their way in, they’d find no welcome in any of the grotty cubbies housing tables and benches. Some of the patrons, after the initial assessment, ignored them, and went back to their business of cards or dice. Some quickly swept small items off the weathered table top, back into bags or under cloaks, and eyeballed the newcomers impatiently until they moved on. One burly loner in the back, a greasy-haired, sallow type, slid a knife out of his boot and began spinning it by its point, as if challenging them to come closer.

They didn’t have to. The man behind the counter – a ratty sort of fellow, with a face that looked like it was slightly too small to contain his teeth and his eyes – took one look at them, and then jerked his thumb in the direction of a door beside the bar. Leaning against it, wearing a leather jerkin that left his massive forearms exposed, was a mountain of a man, and beside him a great battle-axe. He sized up each of them upon arrival, before opening the door and letting them into the snug where Dimzad waited.

The private room was slightly more comfortable, in that the benches actually had cushions and the table was less sticky. The dwarven fence was sat in one of the back corners. Occupying the seat beside him was a large sack, with many knobby protrusions poking from the fabric at odd angles. The Littlefinger waited in silence for the people he’d selected, barely acknowledging the arrival of the early ones. Only when the last of them was let through the door did he do more than nod in greeting.

“Good,” he said approvingly. “You’re not late.”

He was about to continue when there was a perfunctory knock at the door and his bodyguard opened it once more. Outside, the rodentine barkeep was carrying a tray of six ales. “For your guests, Herr Littlefinger,” the man said as he handed them around. “On the house.”

Dimzad nodded, and then waited until the door was shut again. He didn’t touch his ale. Moving the flagon to the end of the table, he instead leaned forward onto his elbows. His beard was unusually short, for a dwarf – it did not quite touch the table, even when he opened his mouth and began to speak.

“As you know, I trade in items of questionable legality,” he announced. Clearly, there were to be no pleasantries. “Some of you have even helped me procure them in the past. Usually, people want me to find a buyer for something that the typical man on the street would not be interested in. It is rarer that I am asked to source something. When I am, it is usually of commensurable strangeness. Recently there has been a new demand in the market, for something that cannot be obtained by the regular means. Getting the items in question would be dangerous; holding the items would be dangerous; trafficking in them would be dangerous. It would not be just the Watch that would make life difficult for you if these items are not handled with the appropriate respect. You may fall afoul of the religious authorities. If this is unacceptable to any of you, you will leave now – and we will have to find another way for you to settle your debt to me.”

Dimzad paused for a moment and took a long drink from his ale. After he set it back down, he glanced around at each of them, and gave a little snort of satisfaction – though whether it was to the ale, or the fact that they were still present, was unclear. He drummed his fingers together, and nodded.

“There is now somebody in Wurtbad,” the dwarf continued, “with a keen interest in the relics of the old kings of this country.” He lugged the sack up onto the table and reached into its mouth. “I understand he is something of a collector. He has asked me to find anything that might enhance his collection, and to demonstrate his taste he has loaned me a few items.”

The first item the dwarf took out was a potted and wrinkled bracelet. He placed it carefully on the table. In the candlelight, shadows pooled in its dimples. The ancient bronze was weathered, but still elegant, in a way. Next came some chipped bronze arrowheads, which Dimzad lined up beside each other. They looked as if they had been fashioned crudely, and even seen use.

Ancient coins, next; irregular squashed discs, bearing a distorted face whose features time had eliminated. There were tiny runes inscribed on the metal, bearing a strange resemblance to the Imperial alphabet, but utterly illegible.

“Such items as these are relatively commonplace,” said Dimzad, “and form the bulk of many similar collections across the nation. Nonetheless, the client has assured me that he does not want to simply snipe them from under the nose of a fellow connoisseur. He desires new elements, as pristine as possible, undisturbed by previous trade or study.

“He also gave me this.”

Putting both hands into the sack, Dimzad took out a long object, wrapped in leather. Unrolling the hide, it was revealed to be a sword in an aged, leather scabbard. He withdrew the blade, and set it down reverently.

It was a thing of simple beauty. The hilt was made from carved bone, the crossguard like two great beastly tusks or horns. The grip was covered in braided leather, and the pommel was a smooth and flowing horse’s head. Age had darkened the colour, but the features were perfect. The mane had been fashioned in incredible detail, individual hairs picked out by the carver. On the blade itself were more of those strange, almost-readable letters; and incredibly, the edge still looked sharp.

As Dimzad sat back down, the room fell silent – and in a strange way, it felt more silent than it had been before …

“The miscellaneous items are valuable in the right market,” said Dimzad. It took a moment for them to turn their attention away from the sword and back to him – at first, it had seemed like the dwarf was speaking from very far away. “But not exceptionally so. This collection here might be worth around a hundred crowns, to the right buyer. On the other hand, it is understood that this blade was owned and wielded by one of the kings that ruled these lands before the time of Sigmar. The client is very keen to obtain another, and would be willing to pay several hundred crowns for a similar specimen – depending on its condition, of course.” He let that sink in, leaning back into his cushion, and took another long draught from his ale.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before he spoke again. “The hills to the south are littered with ancient tombs and barrows. Many, of course, have already been the targets of opportunists – but few have been so thoroughly excavated that objects this valuable have been removed. So that is what you will have to do: essentially, it’s to be a good old-fashioned tomb robbery.” At this the dwarf smiled, and for the first time his dark eyes twinkled with something like humour. “In my younger years I would have relished the opportunity to join such an expedition. Sadly, these days, I have too many responsibilities in the city to go myself. So you shall have to do this for me. This is what the market demands; if we can supply it, it will be very much worth our while. I will be taking my usual one-fifth share in the profits of anything you can obtain, but the rest will be left to you. And to those of you to whom I have made additional promises – well, I shall be most pleased if we can satisfy this client, and will be more than happy to fulfil them.” He looked around, meeting the gaze of the elf, and then the bounty hunter.

“The client wants results, and I have a reputation to think of. Bring me what you can, here, in a week’s time. If it is promising, we may be able to do continuing business with the collector – which, needless to say, would be a very lucrative prospect for all of us.” At this, the dwarf looked the closest to happy that those who’d known him before that night had ever seen him.

“Any questions?”

[ArcturusV]

Harbrand had arrived exactly on time. Not late, but not a moment earlier than he had to be. His... distaste, for the dwarf and his ilk was not exactly a state secret. It was plain as the nose on his face as he walked in, and as he listened to the man talk about tomb robbing, selling artifacts, and what he didn't say. He knew Littlefingers well enough to know that he couldn't really walk out on this deal. If he did? He'd just end up owing the dwarf more, and having to do something even more unsavory.

... and he suspected that despite the tone he used, that these items were more than a little illegal. Just something in the way he had said things, the value of coin being thrown around, and how gleefully eager the dwarf seemed to be. If this went wrong, he was probably going to end up on the run. If it went right? Who knows, he might be neck deep in blackmail to Witch Hunters or something. Harbrand didn't know, not his area of study.

And only charging a 20% cut as the middle man?

And why him? He wasn't a thief. He wasn't a tomb robber. Or for that matter a scholar who might know what in those tombs was actually valuable and what was not. Harbrand was hard pressed to keep himself from shivering as all these implications and theories started running through his head.

... but he didn't leave. Not yet. Even figuring that Dimzad was probably going to only rate their share based off half price, and then take 20% out, that was still a good 40 gold crowns or so for a good piece. Enough to pay for the rest of his education, maybe even rent out a space to start practicing as an honest to Shallya licensed physician with the Guilds.

That temptation kept him rooted there, all he needed was something to help push him over the edge. His eyes shifted to the others wondering what they were thinking. Were they trapped and baited like him? Eager? ... would they run him through with their blades just to keep his share as well as their own?

It wasn't an easy choice.

[aberratio ictus]

The Vulture

The Vulture kept to the back of the group, as he didn't like anyone standing behind him - especially people he hadn't met before and whom he trusted even less than those he had met before. Unsmilingly, he refused the ale the barkeeper brought in whith a brusque gesture, and not only because he wasn't too sure about its contents. He also needed his mind to be sharp.
In his line of work, he usually met his "employers" alone in their offices for payment, once the deed was done. If he was commissioned directy, they met in the very same office, if not, the commission consisted of a wanted poster. He prefered the latter.
This situation... he had to admit, he felt a little uncomfortable in the presence of that amount of people in such a small room.
He had taken the time to scrutinize every one of them with his sharp, little eyes.
There was an elf - didn't see many of those around here - an either abnormally small man or an abnormally tall dwarf - he couldn't decide as of yet - a regularly small man, and a dark haired women with damaged armour and a tricorn. They... didn't feel like they were acquainted to each other, so the vulture surmised they had to be just as much strangers to each other as they were to him.

When Dimzad began to speak, he listened intently, even though his eyes nervously glanced off around the room from time to time. So all that was about a grave robbery. The details weren't that important to him, really, so he didn't pay much attention to the information about Dimzad's client or how much money he was planning to make. Even though being granted a share of what they were to bring back was a nice surprise, but also one that made him a bit suspicious, considering the small share the dwarf was planning to keep to himself.

Even though hunched over as usual, he could easily meet the eyes of little Dimzad over the head of the small, long-haired man standing before him, when the dwarf looked him in the eyes. Indeed, that was what was most important to him. His prey. In Wurtbad, she could be everywhere, and Dimzad knew. Sure, bringing her back probably wouldn't pay as much as this job did if what Dimzad said was true - the Vulture assumed he had exaggerated to motivate the others - but by this time, money wasn't his primary motivation anymore. It was something more, a question of honour. His own willingness to work with a criminal, a self-admitted one, at that, was testament to that.

Any questions?
Well, he could have asked why Dimzad would hire this seemingly random group for a simply grave-robbery. The others didn't seem like the usual scum vegetating in Wurtbard's slums, and his own talents could surely be of use elsewhere for the dwarfm, as well.
But he knew. They were in Stirland, and Stirlanders had a special respect for Morr, even more so than Ostmarkers. It was more than understandable considering what they had had to deal with, and he wasn't surprised Dimzad had trouble finding volunteers. Even he, himself... he wasn't afraid of the clergy, which was what he thought the dwarf talked about when he spoke of "the religious authorities". Angering Morr himself though... that was something else entirely. Still, he wasn't bowing out now.

"Is... is there a map of the area?" the Vulture asked instead. His voice came out like an unhealthy cough, a side effect of not having spoken for quite some time.

[Alhendors]

Eldril almost treated the whole process like routine. In the months that she'd been working for the Dwarf full time, Dimzad had been one to use at least some cloak and dagger when necessary, this was probably the only reason why she didn't question coming to this part of town. The only thing that had surprised her was the amount of people in the room, either this was a really important job or her employer had a few tricks up his sleeve in case these other strangers decided to get violent, probably both.

Normally she wouldn't have accepted ale from this part of town, everyone you could find here was either a thief, murderer or someone with a grudge of some description. Holding the tankard to her nose and giving it a quick inspection, the Elf pressed the edge to her lips and took a little drink. She reckoned that if Dimzad wanted her dead she'd already be gone and nobody with the means to get poison into here would dare get on Dimzad's bad side by killing one of his relatively successful Thieves.

Listening carefully to the Dwarf as she inspected the others. Questionable legality, danger, getting into trouble with the law authorities and religious authorities alike? None of this was really new to her but still, there was a certain tone in his voice, or maybe it was the way he was using his words betrayed that this wasn't going to be some petty theft. Maybe this was the big job that would finally get her out of Dimzad's employment? He wasn't exactly the subject of any hate from her, but to return to Altdorf after nearly a year was a welcome thought.

There would be no questions from her, as she was used to how things worked, or at least assumed how things worked in this business. They would get the information they could be trusted with then sent to do their jobs, nothing more, nothing less.

[Thragka]

"Is... is there a map of the area?"

“Of the Stirhügel?” Dimzad raised an eyebrow at the bounty hunter. “I am sure there is, if you ask around town.” The dwarf waved his hand in the space between them, as if to clear the air. The fine white hair on the weathered, stubby fingers was the same shade as his beard and eyebrows.

“You have not worked for me before, Herr Zeigler, so perhaps I was unclear about the nature of our arrangement. This is not some guild, where I am the master and you are the apprentice, carrying out my every whim to the finest detail. It may help for you to think of me as … the Market.” Two people in the room had heard variations on this speech before. “I inform you what is in demand. You are in need of wealth, or some commodity such as food, or shelter, in pursuit of which you are forced to keep me happy. Thus, it becomes your responsibility to create supply. But the freedom in how you go about doing that is your unassailable right – limited only by your ingenuity.” The fence had a wry smile on his face. “And in my many years of conducting business, I have learned not to tell people how to do a job. I merely tell them what needs to be done, and let them surprise me with their wit.”

Dimzad rapped on the table with his knuckles. “Of course, among my many associates in this town, I surely know one or two people with experience in this field. If you want to consult them, I shall put you in touch. Given the nature of my relationship with them, however, they will not ask for a fee upfront. Instead they will want their own share of the profit.” Eldril was coming to realise that this was exactly how the dwarf’s cabal had this town stitched up so tightly – they were spread throughout it like a disease, infecting every organ of the underworld, so that whenever a job like this took place, an impressive proportion of the gold changing hands was raked off the top and inevitably siphoned into a Littlefinger’s pocket. Perhaps his favourite metaphor of calling himself the Market was not really so inaccurate.

“So you see,” continued Dimzad “it is up to you to decide. The more faith you have in your own abilities, and the more keenly you execute your plans, well, the more coin you will come away with.” The dwarf leaned back into his cushion and folded his arms, an extremely self-satisfied look on his face, as if he’d just finished imparting the wisdom of the ages and expected them all to be impressed.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

I don’t want to post in the OOC thread yet since we’re still waiting for TGFV’s character sheet so I’ll just give you some info here.

Here is a small map of the area south of Wurtbad and relatively close to the city with which the locals (i.e. Eldril, Harbrand and Jotunn) would be vaguely familiar. If you want any more detail, or to cover a wider area, you will have to go looking to buy a proper map off someone.

Spoiler: Near Wurtbad

Show

As for the Stirhügel itself, I shall just quote from the relevant section of Sigmar’s Heirs. Most of this is information that those with Common Knowledge (The Empire) would know just by growing up or living in the vicinity.

The west [of Stirland] is dominated by the Stirhügel, the hilly country that was the first home of the Styrigen tribe thousands of years ago. Crossed by the Old Dwarf Road and the Nuln Road, the hills are home mostly to villages of sheepherders who trade in the markets of Flensburg and Wörden [significantly further from Wurtbad]. Hidden amongst their winding tracks and foggy vales, however, are the tombs of the ancient chiefs of the Styrigen tribes. Dug into the hillsides or built as turf-covered barrows, these date from pre-Imperial times. Their entrances were well hidden by their builders, though sometimes an entrance will become exposed by rains or flooding. Locals consider these tombs cursed, and it seems every village has a tale of someone who has gone missing whilst investigating the final resting places of “the old kings”.

The Locals – I’m probably going to use this consistently to mean Eldrid, Harbrand and Jotunn – are pretty sure that you could just find a tomb or barrow by wandering the Stirhügel for long enough, if you have the time. But it would be far quicker to be pointed in the right direction by someone who lives near one, or has been to one before. There may also be a few barrow-tombs within the Great Forest and thus quite close to Wurtbad – but going off the beaten track in an Old World forest is a completely different kettle of fish to just wandering the hills …

[aberratio ictus]

The Vulture

"I know what a fence is." the Vulture remarked coolly. So the dwarf was one of those people. Those who liked to hear themselves talk. There were not many kinds of people he hated more that those ones, and this time, his usual method of coping - gagging them - sadly wasn't applicable.

The bounty hunter turned his head towards the others. Hopefully, one of them was familiar with the Stirhügel area. A map could have proven useful, but they usually were expensive, and since Dimzad was too cheap to procure one ahead of time, they simply had to do without one.

[TGFV]

Looking at the sword with appreciation, Jotunn pipes up from his stein of ale. "That is surprisingly fine smithing for a human weapon, can see why someone would want this for a collection, unlike this ale it could be considered something other than an embarrassment."

With a sigh and moving further away from the elf, Jotunn looks up at the human enquiring about a map and shrugs. "It shouldn't be tha hard fer us to find a barrow in the lands to tha south, not many of your kind are great at hiding your dead in the first place. And thare are enough of you that you can't throw a rock in those hills without hitting someplace someone was buried, though a map may help speed up tha process."

Looking at Dimzad he quickly speaks to him in Khazalid, Why is one of these treacherous, beard shaving, dainty, filthy things coming along? I don't mean to second guess you kinsman but can IT be trusted?"

[Sir Dancealot]

Sven had been of the first to arrive, and seeing no possible conversation in the dwarf in from of her, she took a short nap as she waited for the rest of the group. She rested her spear and her body up against the wall in the corner she took over, the symbol of Myrmidia showing out towards the room. She had no idea what the symbol meant, but she liked the look of it. Tilting her hat down slightly, she rested her eyes for a bit.

She blinked once or twice as people began to fill in, drifting off when it looked like they weren't going to stab her, then opening them wide as the little dwarf began talking. She listened intently and carefully. The little bastard spoke quickly and thoroughly. She got most of she thought. Something about taking things from dead things and getting paid for it.

She had to admit, she liked the sound of that. Seemed easy enough. He was even nice ebough to show them what to grab. That was pretty nice of him. He seemed a fine enough fellow! The stuff he wanted them to grab seemes pretty boring really. A bit pile of junk. Except for that sword. Something seemed off about it. She'd seen some strange things in the world, more so than many could ever dream of, and something was indeed strange about that weapon.

She shrugged it off for now. Not like the dwarf would let her play with it. It was about here that some of the others spoke up. Something about a map? And then the dwarf effectively told the person to find their own map. That drew a chuckle from Sven when she finally figured out what the dwarf had said. She liked him more and more. A bit wordy, but that wasn't always a bad thing. He was the fixer really, getting them the jobs. Once the job was had, he then had to find the right people for the job.

Sven grinned wide and spoke, her pleasant voice booming out around the room. "Iss no fun if all dingss done." She said, her words thick with a Norse accent, "Iss ssimple jog. We ket kood old dings and tring to money torf. Iss kood ja? We ask woot people where tet people lay! Dey know ja?"

[aberratio ictus]

The Vulture

So he was a dwarf. "Good." he simply replied. He wasn't too keen on a longer discussion in front of Dimzad, and you generally could depend on dwarves' knowledge when it came to underground structures.

The change in the room when the armoured woman began to speak was jarring. Not unpleasant, quite the contrary, but it made him shudder nonetheless. He glanced at her while she spoke, only understanding about every second word due to her thick... accent. She seemed to think all this was some kind of game. Well, at least someone would have some fun during the whole ordeal.

[Thragka]

"Reikspiel, please, cousin," Dimzad said to Jotunn, gently but firmly. "We are conducting business. I brought you together because I think you will complement each other. Eldril is a fine thief. I am sure you can see why that might be useful. You, in turn, have a keen eye for detail in matters of smithery, which may help us later." He sniffed. "And of course, she is in my employ, and you owe me a favour. I do not need you to trust each other, or even like each other - simply work together."

He covered the sword back up in its leather wrap and slid it into the bag. Picking up his rapidly emptying flagon, he tipped the last of his drink into his mouth. "Though I agree that this ale is an embarrassment. Try the Grobi Ghal in the Karak if you want something more like the real thing. On the other hand ..." He gave the taller dwarf a long, sad look. "Perhaps you shouldn't."

Dimzad swept the smaller items back into the bag. "Unless you have anything else to ask me now, I shall see you here next week. Eckhard will let you keep this room as long as you like tonight, though I advise against spending the night here. In the meantime, Eldril and Harbrand know how to get in touch with me." He nodded to those two, and took his leave. When the door shut after him, they distinctly heard the bodyguard pick up his axe and begin plodding away after the dwarf.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

If anyone does have anything else to ask, post away - I can easily edit.

[ArcturusV]

Well it seemed he was hip deep in it now, called out as one of their contacts should they need something, or be successful. The woman was hard to understand, the tallish blockish dwarf one of those very rude dwarves who liked to speak their grinding stone language, probably insulting someone from the context of Dimzad's words... which is what Harbrand presumed was going on anytime someone switched to another language in front of him with no cause or warning.

Suffice to say, it put a scowl on his face.

Nor did he particularly wish to hang around much longer than he had to here. He looked around to the group, wondering if one of them had any particular demands or ideas, "... if we have nothing to say... then I suggest we go home for the night, meet up near South Gate, and get ready to get this little expedition over as soon as possible without ending up in debt to Herr Littlefingers along the way."

He didn't know much about tomb robbing... but he knew the wilderness well enough, what with having a family steeped in the lore of Rhys and Taal. He wasn't scared of a trip into the hills and out of the city. Nor did he want to get in debt to the dwarf in the process of trying to get OUT of debt to him.

[Alhendors]

It came off as a mild annoyance that some of the others didn't seem too educated on how thing were run around here, looks like she may have to keep her future 'companions,' from stepping on the wrong toes in addition to her current job. The actual request made by Dimzad himself wasn't too bad in nature, it was the same game just with higher risk and higher reward. Then there was this Dwarf that up until now she could've mistaken for a small Human, "I don't know why I'm meant to dislike you, but I'd rather we didn't get on each others' bad side because of something my stuck up kin probably did," she'd deduced by Dimzad's reaction that she was the subject of that little burst of what she expected to be some Dwarven language.

"A day to prepare does sound useful, we only have a week after all and can't afford to be going back and forth for supplies or other such things," she put down the ale and leaned just inside the doorway as she scanned over the others in the room. Most of them were interesting characters, especially the woman who spoke in the strange accent. Turns out this wasn't a band of people with different skills, but of completely different people altogether.

[TGFV]

Looking about the room, Jotunn starts to tally up a list while finishing his drink.

"So we be needing tents, rations, and the like. Do we think we will be needing to acquire a cart and horse for the time being? Carry our gear and our acquired commodities? Or do we think we can ourselves within backpacks?"

He looked over to the man who had asked about the map earlier, "You going to have your drink? Don' wanna let it go to waste, even if it is as poor as piss."

[aberratio ictus]

The Vulture

"Eh, go ahead." he replied. He himself had enough left from yesterday.
Silently, the Vulture listened to the other's thoughts. It was true, they were going to need supplies. Tools. A tent would be needed, as his last one was gone.
A cart and horse? Well, if the dwarf had that kind of money...

That elf woman was a forthright kind of gal, a trait he certainly could appreciate. The dwarf though, it seemed, did not.

[Sir Dancealot]

So that's what the lady was. An Elf! She'd never actually seen one before! Or, at least, a living one. She was pretty sure she'd seen some dead ones around beforehand. She may have killed one or two. "Ah!" She exclaimed, pushing off from the wall to peer into the elf's face. It seemed she had no real concept of personal space. "Hyou are elf? Have not met elf pefore. Tell me elf dings!" She seemed rather excited, almost in a childlike way in the sense that what she saw before her was very new. "All elfss pretty? Iss hair ass ssoft ant luxuriouss ass looks?"

[Thragka]

Spoiler: ninja'd

Show

"Goot, goot, ja," Svan spoke up. "We puy in the morniing. I neet fint bet for de niyt now, ja?" She shouldered her pack and picked up her spear, waving towards the door - evidently she was ready to leave.

The evening's planning apparently concluded, the group exited back into the Broken Crown's common room. It had quietened down, a little, and some of the lamps had gone out. The fire was reduced to a smouldering mound of embers. The rattish innkeeper was washing some mugs behind the bar, evidently getting ready to close up. Without really making eye contact, he nodded to them as they passed, subtly indicating the door.

"Hej, elf laty," the Norsewoman continued, slapping Eldril on the shoulder. "Hyou fiyt? Hyou a fiyter?"

Spoiler: Kasimir, Harbrand, Jotunn

Show

While Svan was trying to get to know the elf better, the men's eyes were drawn across to the opposite corner of the bar. The salty-looking man who'd been playing with his knife when they walked in now had two friends sitting beside him - an unshaven brute about the same size, and a small, thin and pale waif of a man who was drumming his fingers on the table.

As the group stepped out of the private room, the man who'd been there the longest nudged the others. All three of them watched the party make their way to the tavern's door, hungry eyes looking at the quintet the way a pack of wild dogs might look at a party of limping lambs.

[ArcturusV]

Captain Average Strikes Back

Harbrand's steps slowed a bit as he picked up the group eying him like a well cured ham. He slowed down to a stop just in front of the door, looking out over the tavern for a moment. He had worked for Dimzad for quite a while now. Done a lot of things for him, but mostly using his talents and SCIENCE!. People had run ins with the Watchmen, or took a bad fall when making an escape out of a second story window, the random cuts, bruises, scraps, and wounds that came from a life on the wrong side of Verena's Justice.

How did a man like Harbrand, who wasn't particularly adept at fighting, physically imposing, or rich enough to buy up those qualities in other people, manage to survive contact with groups like this? Well, he was about to give an example.

He suddenly turned around, going to a nearby table with someone he recognized, taking a seat down next to the man. "How's the leg?" he asked him nonchalantly, a smile on his face. The man was someone that Harbrand had treated for a twisted ankle a few weeks back, an injury sustained during a chase away from a scene of a crime. He looked over at the other guy at the table, "I see that your hand healed up well, full mobility again?" he added, remarking to a smaller man who had his hand crushed by a hammer after being caught with sticky fingers in the market place.

He gave them a chance to answer and nodded, "Mind doing me a favor in return? Got a couple of newbies from the looks of things, don't realize who I am or that they might need my help some point down the line. Think you can give them a little talking to and set them straight on the facts of life," he offered, jerking a thumb towards the three who had been eying him like an easy mark.

... because you don't screw with your Healer. A lot of Dimzad's "Associates" owed their continuing criminal careers to his skills as a sawbones. Silver Shillings and Gold Crowns lining their pockets instead of starving and begging outside of Shallya's Temple because he managed to get them back on their feet sooner rather than later.

"Thanks a lot," he gave a little smile, "And come see me about that hand sometime soon, I want a chance to make sure it set right, okay?"

Spoiler: Stuffery!

Show

Hope you didn't mind a bit of improvisation there. It should make sense considering his backstory and relationship to this place. Just an idea and trying not to get bogged down on 20 questions of approval. Will rework/negate it if needed.

Also a charm test seems in order: Trained in Charm, and Fellowship of 42, possible conditionals for prior relationship/status as their medic? Anyway, testing against a 42.

(1d100)[28] vs 42.

[Alhendors]

Eldril was just about ready to leave herself before the woman came up to her. Retreating into the wall fast enough to hit her head, she was just about ready to draw the dagger, but it seems this one was a little faster than she thought. Good thing too, she'd have never known it wasn't any hostility if the dagger was drawn just a little bit earlier. "I, uh..." Normally she wasn't used to talking with others in such a manner, especially about almost trivial things. Caught completely 'off guard,' there was nothing to do but answer, "I wouldn't know many 'Elf things,' myself, I've barely seen any others since... Well, forever."

[Sir Dancealot]

Laughing, the Norse woman wrapped an arm around the more slender elf's shoulders, patting her on the back and lightly propelling her towards the door out, "Iss no neet to worry! Svan iss like cuttly pear! Hyou will ssee! Come! Come! I puy elf trink! No pad ale ass ssuch ass diss!" She emphasized this by slamming the empty flagon the ale had come in on an empty table, leaving it to tip over. "Hyou can tell me what hyou know apout elves and I can dell you goot norse stories ja?" She paused for a moment in thought, "Hyou tit not answer apout hair!" While undeniably loud, her voice was still quite pleasant to listen to. She had one of those voices where people didn't really mind if she was talking.

[Thragka]

"Who's this bright spark?" asked one of Harbrand's patient's companions, in a low rumble like boulders sliding down a mountainside. He didn't seem particularly fond of the intrusion. The man with the twisted ankle gave Harbrand a nod of recognition.

"Doc here's a sawbones," the man - Harbrand thought it might be Franz - explained. "No fret, he's a good egg." His companion with the severely bruised hand didn't seem so welcoming - or maybe just not as quick with the uptake. "You were in there," he said, nodding to the back room. "With the Littlefinger. We don't want no part in that."

"He's just asking a favour, Reiner," said Franz sweetly. He turned slightly in his seat, so his torso was facing Harbrand. "Listen, Doc ... not that we don't 'preciate your work, but we don't know them coves any more than you do. This is the wrong place for som'one like you, this time o' night. Best you get out of here quickly. Now we ain't gonna go start nuthin' with that lot, that'd be a recipe for more harm than even you could fix, but we'll see if we can slow them down while you and your crew skedaddle. Sound fair?"

[ArcturusV]

Harbrand smiled and nodded at the group, "Ain't asking for more than that. Just give us a good lead, and your next hair cut is on the house, okay?" That said, he got up and gave the men a little smile and nod as if he had just finished a friendly little chat. Sliding the chair back into the table he headed for the door, reasonably certain as long as he didn't start running right away that things wouldn't blow up and stab him in the back.

"Well fellows, I suggest you beat feet quickly now," he told his 'companions' in the Tomb Looting endeavor as he came up to them. He didn't stop to elaborate, opening up the door to the outside and going to make a beeline to his home. He was sticking to the 'safest' streets, such as they were, at least the ones that were relatively well lit or open enough that starlight/moonlight was bright enough to move through rather than claustrophobic. Staying away from alleyways or blind corners the best he could, basic precautions that he had picked up over his time working with the mostly unpleasant Dimzad.

[TGFV]

"Aye, I would have ta agree with our bookish fellow. Perhaps we do a skiddadle now and meet up tomorrow before any trouble is afoot? Would hate for us ta be in the jail rather than payin' off our debts."

With that, the dwarf loosens his axe from its sling, looking around at nearby items for any sort of throwable improvised weapons, primarily drinks, hot food and chairs.

[aberratio ictus]

The Vulture

The Vulture shrugged. Those ruffians would be stupid to attack a group as well armed as them, there had to be easier targets around. On the other hand, if all of them simply dispersed now, ran away like that long-haired surgeon they would lose that advantage.
He wasn't too afraid for himself. He had worked in places like these before, and he knew how to move and act there. Also, he didn't look very wealthy in his dark, rugged traveller's clothes, and the crossbow on his back and the massive mace by his side both did their part in discouraging the more desperate muggers.
"So, the South Gate tomorrow, then?" he asked calmly while leisurely following the dwarf outside.

[Alhendors]

It was unforeseen that Svan's attitude would be relatively pleasant to her. It was a rarity to speak to someone who wasn't holding a knife behind their back, especially in this line of work. Putting her tankard down gently on a table just before she was pushed through the door, Eldril had to ponder for a moment before answering "Like I said I wouldn't know much when it comes to other Elves, but my hair in particular has been labelled soft or luxurious in the past..." Surely this must just be some clever ploy by the Norse woman, but she seemed sincere in her attitude.

The Thief just managed to overhear the perhaps more important conversation just a little ahead of her and Svan "ah, yes. South Gate tomorrow morning sounds acceptable, I'll be waiting for the rest of you from sunrise." She began to question just how much longer remaining awake would be a good idea, but any hope of a permanent internal clock was pretty much decimated after years of non-time specific work. "I guess I have time to share some stories if you're up for it," she turned back to the Norse woman who was pretty much guiding her out by this point.

[Thragka]

Outside, the fog had gotten thicker since the five had arrived at the Broken Crown to wait for Dimzad. The sun was so low in the sky that it had set behind the city walls, and dusk brimmed the shadows of the Höhlenburg, where lamps were few and far between. Harbrand was out the door like a shot and round the corner from the tavern door, already visualising his route in his mind's eye - not the shortest way back to Albertsdorf, but certainly the safest, sticking to the broadest and brightest streets that the Cavern Town offered. The others were not long after him. As they were leaving, there was movement in of the corner of their eyes - at least one group of people were standing up, possibly two.

"Here, guv, said Harbrand's erstwhile patient to somebody - and then the door shut behind them, obscuring the murmured conversation that was beginning in the common room. The rest of them followed the barber-surgeon's leave. A minute or so later, there was the yawning noise of a hinge from somewhere behind them, just on the edge of hearing.

Round the bending alleyways and in the gathering shadows, Harbrand soon disappeared into the gloom ahead of the other four, invisible to all but Eldril. The elf's eyes could just about make him out from the thickening fug as he lead them down a cobbled street that might just have been broad enough for two wagons to fit side by side. There were bronze sconces fitted into the walls of buildings on either side, but most were empty, and long vandalised. Only a couple of lamps were lit, and even they didn't provide much illumination - they were burning up the dregs of their fuel, probably the few droplets of oil that had been too difficult to steal.

Harbrand's quite sensible concern dwindled as the road rolled on with no threats to be seen or heard, in front or behind. He was close to the district boundary - and he could hear the others not too far behind, even if he couldn't see them - when an unusually bright light at ground level pierced the fog. At first, he thought it was a lamp that had been knocked to the ground, but as he got closer he saw that it was in fact a small bonfire, lit on small logs and dirty rags in a depression in the street. Two rough-looking men were sitting by the fire, morosely throwing bone dice. They looked as if the only reason they were there was because they had absolutely nowhere else to go to.

The barber-surgeon's pulse quickened again as he drew closer to them. One man looked up, his face a tangle of dirty hair and scraggly beard and broken nose and snaggle teeth. His eyes were strangely vacant, barely reflecting the light of the flames at all.

"Late night, friend," he said, in a voice like broken stone.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Due to the dusk and the fog, visibility is restricted - see page 117 of the rulebook for Illumination and double the stats for a Camp Fire (since it's still twilight). The other four are about sixty yards behind Harbrand - only Eldril can see him, but they can all hear him. Jotunn, Svan and Kasimir have sight equivalent to twice a Lamp - i.e. 12 yards normal vision, 32 yards maximum vision.

[Sir Dancealot]

"... And is when we charked line! Look on face was perfect. Was not Warleader for long after dat!" The foreign woman said, chuckling at her story about a particularly stupid Warleader. "Where is koot par? We need koot drink! You tell elf story now ja?" Svan honestly had no idea where she was at the moment, and sticking with the elven local seemed like a good idea. Less of a chance of her getting lost in the morning. Or tonight. Currently she was just following the rest of the group, using her spear as a walking stick. Fortunately for the elf, Svan had absolutely no clue that people generally disliked elves.

[ArcturusV]

His hand unconsciously went to his blade handle, a simple reflex and a precaution in a rough part of town when you're alone and there's two strangers nearby, he wasn't anywhere near as hardcore as his father to think he was safe necessarily. He kept walking slowly and tried to force himself to move calmly, giving the people around the fire a simple 5m berth.

"Or an early day, all depends on your point of view, eh?" he tried to make some small talk with them, still moving along, "Saw a couple walkin' this way earlier, looked like an easy mark for a dice game. Bit drunk off some piss cheap ale, some coins burnin' in their pockets, lookin' for some distractions and think they're a big shot."

He smiled a bit, "My mind's still a bit sharp, as are my reflexes," he offered as he kept walking, "But if you strike it rich on them, come see me down in (Whatever Neighborhood I'm in), might be able to do something about those teeth, clean you up with a nice shave and a fancy haircut, see if we can get you shakin' down the real fancy hat marks, eh?"

Smile and keep walking, just chattering on and keeping them distracted from the fact that he was making a nice getaway past them without a second thought, too much stuff thrown at them.

Spoiler: Mechanics!

Show

Throwin' a charm test, just fastalkaing my way past them, playing friendly, giving them a 'better' mark coming down the pike, in this case a bounty hunter much more equipped to just beat their faces in.

(1d100)[35] vs 42 Fellowship, Trained in Charm.

[aberratio ictus]

The Vulture

That little...
Kasimir swore under his breath, then looked over to the others walking next to him.
"Looks like we'll be getting company." he calmly stated, getting the crossbow from his back. "Let's see if we can't scare them off, I'd say."

That long-haired fellow had just earned himself a stern talking to once they met again.

[Alhendors]

Eldril just quietly listened as the foreign woman spoke, laughing a little along with Svan mainly out of decency but sometimes out of actual amusement, then the question came. "I'd rather you didn't openly call me an Elf," she glanced around and pulled her hood further down, "let's just say I'd rather that was kept somewhat of a secret." The Elf brought her hands up to her mouth and blew on them, rubbing the slight cold away and keeping an eye to the shadows. "But if you're looking for a story and a good drink, I-" her voice was instantly cut out as the two relatively hazy figures next to what she was sure was their Barber-Surgeon 'friend,' and she put a hand near her relatively concealed sword.

[Thragka]

“Saw them coming this way … behind you?” said the destitute man, his eyes still utterly dead. The pair of down-and-outs turned their gaze back down and began throwing the dice again. Harbrand’s quick talk seemed to fall on deaf ears.

With nothing else to say, the barber-surgeon continued – and hearing Harbrand’s receding footsteps, the other four weren’t slow to follow. The crouching men, then they passed, just frowned and then turned their backs. As they reached the end of the street, Kasimir looked back along the cobbled alley. The homeless men were just visible as two murky lumps. The bounty hunter couldn’t be sure, but he could swear there were faint footsteps, further back.

Round the next corner, more of the lamps were actually lit, and the street itself even looked cleaner – they’d crossed the district boundary into Albertsdorf. This was still a rough area, and poor at that, but the residents of Hahnschnabelstraße made up for poverty with equal measures of pride. They were poor, aye, but they had good manners, and it was known that cleanliness is next to godliness. So the housewives would out with their brooms before noon, day in, day out, sweeping the detritus of the Höhlenburg away from their homes – and scaring off any loitering vagabonds with a threatening sweep of those same brooms. It was only this army that patrolled the North Quarter border, and without them there could be no such easy delineation between the wards.

In the vibrant lamplight, they all felt a little safer. The quintet split up, each heading for their own shelter and bed.

~

Königstag, 2nd Sigmarzeit, 2522 I.C.

“Königstraße on Königstag! You won’t find better prices anywhere in Wurtbad!”

Südtor was busy the following morning, the markets thronged with both traders and customers on the first day of the weekend. It was a fine bright morning, with the overnight mist entirely melted by the resplendent dawn. The smell of fresh baked bread was all about, lending a homely feel to the chaotically crowded corridors between haphazard stalls and carts. The buzz of commerce was ubiquitous, and the crowd of people was churning as if the conglomeration itself were a living, breathing mass.

Even so, it was not hard to find each other. Kasimir was the first to arrive, and he took up position standing in the shade of the great stone gate itself. The massive, ancient bronze doors opened inwards – but old things they were, more ceremonial than still useful. It was an iron portcullis that formed the first line of defence these days. That, and the murder holes studding the grand old arch.

Ten guards stood at the transition. Four were in shining plate and each had a two-foot plume in their helmets. The other six seemed more casual, lounging against the stone walls, halberds leaning beside them.

Kasimir waited. It didn’t take long for the rest of them to arrive.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Kasimir and Svan should debit themselves the price of a night in an inn – 4p to sleep in the common room, or 9s to get a private room. (These are standard Wurtbad prices – ten percent off rulebook prices, as it is a city of many inns and taverns.)

10xp goes to anyone who can explain the Hahnschnabelstraße reference.