[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

[MrAbdiel]

...Which zips by, close but not close enough as the troll recovers itself. Elda plucks up her courage and darts in to stab with one of her daggers, but the tiny puncture is almost comically small for the monster's notice.

It's Bella, shouting with the effort, who manages some kind of impact at all. The bottle of grappa smashes against the side of the troll's skull; the glass shards stick, but more importantly, the high proof alcohol dribbles down its body.

All this; and then finally it completes its effort - heaving up a tremendous jet of high pressure, rank-smelling, frighteningly corrosive stomach acid at the furious and fearful and foolish Elda who tempted its wrath...

Spoiler: OOC:

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Troll is down to 3 wounds. It takes 1 from Bella (who uses her Blessing of Myrmidia to hit!), down to 2. Then it recovers (1d10)[2]. Back up to 4.

Then it pukes at Elda for 1d10+5 damage. Unless she dodges - vs35 - (1d100)[19].

Edit:... That lucky little-...

...But the girl has the instinct to hurl herself to the side before she can be caught in the spray, leaving a revolting, sizzling puddle of churning green and red filth wilding the swamp grasses where she stood. The troll blinks numbly and swings its bleary gaze about the group of its attackers, seeking to comprehend its best target.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia was very tall for a human - and even she felt dwarfed by the mass of scaley, ape-like arms before her and that disgusting, large hulk of its body. But, hideous as it was, the power of the thing had to be respected, as at the end of each of its appendages was a nest of sharp claws which were capable of grotesque injuries that the shepardess had seen up close. She knew the risk she had taken, but it was the only way to at least buy Bella and Augusto time to get the hell out of here. Maybe that would be the summation of her life? Endured what she had so that her best friend and her adoptive grandfather could be re-united with her prodigal son who would turn over a new leaf.

Her head craned back to peer up at the thing before her, shield in hand, Taalia gave her body over to muscle-memory and instinct as she ducked and weaved, the vile putrid stench of that things guts hissing across the earth before it assaulting her nostrils with its rancid, acrid flavour. Gritting her teeth, Taalia aimed her beautiful blade. Rather than slashing, she stabbed, seeking to puncture the vital organs within while its scaly exterior received a dousing of - !

"Bella - get the torch! Set the damn thing on fire!!" the white-haired girl shouted.

[MrAbdiel]

Another slash to its arm lets more blood flow; but a brutal stab pieces through its back and into its spine seems to do the trick. Its legs go slack, and it slumps forward into the puddle of its own puke; face down in the marshy earth.

"You did it!" Elda blurts - her respect for you coming back and fighting the troll growing immensely, eclipsing in the moment the fact that you are responsible for the death of someone she loved. Or responsible in her line of logic, where yours might make him responsible for his own fate. She bolts past the fallen troll to regroup with her companions; Gianni and Cesare are making their way east with haste to the glowing line of early morning crepusculance, and even Rafaello has found his feet and rushes to join them, waving you to join them as he dashes. But you and Bella know trolls better than they do - Bella dashes for the fallen torch and snatches it up. But before she can return with it, and before you can make another chop for the monster's neck...

Spoiler: OOC:

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Well, you managed Ernesto the troll. I'll tax it... 3 wounds of its healing roll to restore that crit.
(1d10-3)[3] wounds restored.

It'll stand and make one attack against you with the half action remaining - Vs38 - (1d100)[14] for (1d10+5)[10]. Narrative pending.

EDIT: That's a hit for 10!

...the severed spine knits and it heaves in a choking breath of pukey swamp water, lashing out at you with one battering-ram fist as it pushes back to its feet!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia could feel the resistance of the Trolls tough sinews against her blade as she stabbed, punctured and slashed - that damn flesh knitting back up with each chunk taken from the things body. In a half second of out-of-body reflection, the shepardess could only envy such a natural ability and how useful it would have been in her own life. Skaven whipped her? So what, she'd grow back. She got stabbed, beaten, arm chopped off her face broken in - who cared, she'd be fine in a matter of minutes.

Which is why when the others started to depart, Taalia yelled at them.

"It's not dead yet - not ye - !"

But its gutteral, pained whine drew her back to the present, her weapon drawing back just in time to batter away a key-sized fist full of claws and hard scales from punching right into her body and tearing her flesh for serious damage...and this time, there'd be no regeneration.

Using the momentum from her deflection, Taalia brought the weapon down and slashed the hideous thing across its side, Daybreak's fine steel moving about in a circle as Taalia drew it back to slice across the left leg the Troll was relying upon to draw itself back up, while Bella hurried over with that torch...

This time she'd chop its ugly head off just to be sure.

[MrAbdiel]

True to wretched form, the monster refuses to die. Back on its feet now, the monster has its attention squarely on you, its clearly most dangerous opponent...

Spoiler: OOC:

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Narrative pending!

Bella's charge:Vs61 - (1d100)[21] to hit with the torch. (1d10-3)[5] improvised damage.

Also, if it hits, being on fire with flammable liquid causes the troll to both gain, and lose, 1d10 wounds in its healing phase. This turn, it gains, and loses, (1d10)[7] and (1d10)[4], respectively.

If it's alive and functional, it will swift attack Taalia.

Vs38 - (1d100)[68] for (1d10+5)[8]
Vs38 - (1d100)[23] for (1d10+5)[11]
Vs38 - (1d100)[66] for (1d10+5)[13].

... before Bella cracks it on the side of the head so hard the torch breaks. Immediately, the fine grape spirits ignites and its shoulder and the side of its face begin to burn. Its growl of pain and frustration is ugly and awful; and with its suffering, it lashes out at you again.

On the hill, running away, Gianni and Rafaello continue to spirit Augusto toward safety. Cesare and Elda look back to their surprise to see the combat still going; each filling their slings and spinning them to take aim for long shots.

To the east, the sun is beginning to rise. Its purplish warmth colours the curve of the hillock. To the west, the drone of activity increases from the skimmer village - the sound of shouting, and screaming, and great rambunctious carry-on escalating in approach.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia ducked and weaved away as those long, razor-fist ended ape-like arms swung at her with clumsy, but deadly, power. If any of them impacted against her...she'd feel it. She'd seen the results all too well, but if her pet rooster could summon the courage to face this thing, then so could she.

Side-stepping to the side, Taalia brought her shield up just in time to deflect an incoming blow from an open-fingered claw strike that she felt reverberate through her whole body.. Grunting through clenched teeth as her heart beat against the inside of her chest, she stepped to the side, footwork developed, as she brought her elven steel across its body - striking its ugly head and slicing into its arms as the the girls fury was slowly building within her. She knew she had to suppress it, she knew that now was not the time to scream, holler, shout and wail in a barbaric assignment of her life to the higher powers that threaded the fate of the world. No no, she was locked in a fight with a Troll - its regenerative ability frustrating her to no end, but her eyes having to remain focused on those long, powerful swinging limbs and that huge bulk rising up to loom above her. If she failed, then Bella would be next...

[MrAbdiel]

Your strikes find purchase - a painful upward chop into its trollish grundle causes it to wheeze in pain and stagger back, and your pursing strike carves into one of its great clawed hands such that its dark blood splashes from the wound. Bella is beside you now, snatching up her staff from where she dropped it when she ran for the torch and raising it to defend herself. The monster makes a clumsy blow at both of you, and you step back together - the sloppy exhaustion in the strike enough to tell you that you have made meaningful progress.

With a final, wheezing gasp, it slows and finally stops; the wounds you have inflicted on it, coupled with the fire chasing up its mossy skin, finally too much for the creature. It sags to its knees and dies in a lumpen squat. For good measure, you take a moment's aim and, with both hands on your sword's hilt and pommel, you hack down at its neck and sever it with one, then two ultimate blows to see it through.

The look Bella gives you is full of things implied and unsaid. They include frustration, pride, relief, love, peevishness, accomplishment, vindication, and tiredness. But the raven haired girl does not have time to voice them.

They come from the swamp. First it seems as if the swamp skimmer you let go has brought his whole clan charging out to find and fight you. Dozens of the swamp dwellers charge in great strides through the marsh, some clearing root and muck with aplomb, some missing their steps and face planting as they go. But the fright on their faces, the beaten and bloodied quality of the swamp dwellers, tells your keen eyes at once they are not running to, as much as running from.

And what they are running from is fearsome indeed. The ratmen chase them - they fall on those who trip and stumble first, but the slinking hordes of brown furred skaveni billow out of the swamp to pursue even the most agile of them. Twenty, thirty - perhaps as many of fifty skaven in this raiding party. That, it seems, was the commotion - these wretched people who dwell here were suffering a slave-raid at the same time as you were setting free Augusto, and the defence they put up has broken to flight now. You had seen the goblins keeping a troll as a kind of 'pet'; it seems the humans here were doing the same. But you doubt even the troll would have been sufficient defence against this horde - just a more exotic slave for them to drag down into their pits. Reprehensible as the swamp skimmers are among men, seeing them run down and fleeing for their lives from the skaven strips them down to their most elemental selves - desperate, vulnerable prey for the Under-Empire.

What can be done, against such numbers? This time, Bella does not need your instruction. She is ready to run.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia's heart thumped within her chest as she drew Daybreak up, steadied her aim and with two long hacks, brought the disgusting creatures head from its body, as the things husk sat there as a decapitated statue, its flesh soon set to serve the local wildlife as a source of food. Breathing hard, each gust of wind a hot shard from her lungs, Taalia swallowed and cleaned her blade off and sheathed it, before the commotion coming from the village drew her attention.

She didn't have to take more than a few seconds to gauge what was happening.

You see, Taali was still fluent in Queekish. Though she had no real use for the language since learning Tilean, it was, embarrassingly, still the language she thought in. When she would mutter to herself or stub a toe, it was Queekish that emerged. It was her natural language, if not her first. During those tender, formative years of her single digit age through to just a few years ago, it was the only language she was allowed to utter. That degree of indoctrination didn't go away overnight, nor would it ever. The vile touch of the ratmen would never fully leave her, Taalia knew that. Even until the day she died, it was likely to be so with a swarm of concepts in Queekish that would be going through her head.

And so, with her fantastic ears, Taalia heard the ratmen before she saw them. Hearing Queekish uttered by mouths other than her own could only mean one thing: the Skaven were here.

As much as it distressed her to do so, Taalia knew they had to leave. Now. There were dozens of skaven, and at best these were people pitifully prepared to deal with them. What would happen were she to wade into the fray with some ridiculous fantasy of rallying the troops and pushing the Skaven back? She'd get a collar slapped back around her neck - that's what would happen. Those poor bastards falling into the water face-first, she couldn't save them any more than she could save the long-gone faces in the worst of her nightmares. Eyes widening, the shepardess didn't need to be told twice.

Sword sheathed. Shield shouldered. Taalia grabbed Bella's hand, turned and ran, dragging her at her pace if she needed to. The girls night eyes would guide them where they needed to go, and now with the threat of the troll gone, Taalia was free to run and take her bestie with her.

[MrAbdiel]

The theives have a headstart on you - good for them. At least that means Augusto has a fighting chance of being far enough away that the rats lose interest or have enough prisoners to turn back, before getting to them. But you and Bella are somewhat behind, and so you run like hell is at your heels. In a sense, it is.

Bella barely has time to sling her staff to its sleeve on her slim travelling pack before your stride leads the way; almost pulling her off her feet with your instinctive need to avoid capture. There is no spare breath for conversation. You run east, toward Miragliano, toward the lip of the hill turning gold with the rising sun; toward the silhouettes of the thieves who have survived and recovered their friend because of your efforts.

...toward the familiar airborne shape framed dark in the eyewatering sunlight; its sole rider pumping his old legs furiously as the rising sun finally permits him to see you through his spyglass.

Maso Cestié banks north, and curves around. You read the movement immediately - he plans to come down low, the wheels skimming on the top of the hillock, the only clear and dry land for miles in any direction in the swamp. It will require you and Bella to leap aboard while it is still in motion and to get airborne again before the flying machine loses momentum.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Make me an agility roll.

This isn't a succeed or die; it's just an open roll to inform the scene of how elegantly, or how just-barely, you manage to board the flying machine. Naturally, passing solidly is good; failing suggests you might just get a hand on a pedal and dangle in the air for a bit before climbing, achingly, into place. Whatever strikes you as most appropriate.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

A primordial panic animated Taalias movements, as much as she may wish to believe she was brave and fearless - she most certainly was not. Just the thought of the ratmen being right behind her, readying those grasping tools to wrap around her limbs or, worse, Bellas, and drag her back underground was fuel enough to animate her towering figure to hurl herself through that swamp. Bellas questions or protests could come later, it was clear that her white-haired companion knew of the fate that awaited them should they be caught and just the mere thought of it gave her wings that carried both of them swiftly through the muck. Ironically, that sentry she had slain? She had unwittingly granted him a great mercy. Meanwhile, she had a pistol on each hip...but fired. So, if worse came to, Taalia would stab Bella through the throat first, and then cut her own with Daybreak. It was better than the alternative.

When the pair emerged from the tall reeds and trees of the swamp, that golden-purple dawn sun almost like an encouraging gift of why they should want to remain on the surface, Taalia spotted Maso in their flying machine, banking about to swoop in low and as slow as possible to provide a dramatic but feasible escape.

First, Taalia made sure that Augusto and the others were almost guaranteed to escape. Nothing in life was certain of course, but as she watched their figures get smaller and smaller towards the city walls, her confidence swelled. It wouldn't have all been for nothing.

"Bella, ready?" she yelled over the lound sound of the incoming wings, standing there with her bestie as it drew closer and closer, its velocity slowing to allow them to grab onto it as it passed without their arms ripping off or their inner tendons tearing.

"Now!"

Both girls latched onto that craft, its momentum sagging backwards for a moment from the added weight before it picked itself up again, both of them managing to haul themselves up through the framing to their seats.

"Skaven!" Taalia shouted over Cesties shoulder.

"Raiding party, we barely got out, the Weavers got away, they had Augusto with them!"

[MrAbdiel]

"That's great! That's... great news!" Cestié shouts back, panting as he is. Once you've go some elevation, and with both of you pedaling he can ease off on the effort and catch his breath - being the lone operator over such a distance would have been murder to most old men, but having travelled across the country with you in his marvellous conveyance, he has the quads and lungs of a man a third of his age. The wing assemblies of the flying machine pump as Bella tucks herself into her passenger pod and stows her staff in its usual place, and you get to pedalling yourself.

Down below, you can see the Weevers in the clear. Behind them, at the top of the hillock, the skaven have stopped their charge. They have run down most of the swamp skimmers, and are bundling them up with nets, and barbed man-catchers held by small teams of the repulsive rat men. A final band of the swamp men, with their reed woven hats and ragged castoff clothes, fight a losing battle as they are surrounded to be dragged down. They seem determined to die fighting, rather than be captured alive.

Cestié snaps away his spyglass. He is red in the face from pedalling, and sweat pours down; but he looks over his shoulder at you with pursed lips.

"Get Leonardo ready. I'll bring you in close - wait for the roll, and hold tight with your legs!"

The old man tilts and pulls on the yoke, and the flying machine wheels around for another pass. The skaven are raiding for penniless swamp dwellers - they are not armed with the lightning guns, or the jezzails, or any number of their terrible machines that would be a horrible threat to the wood-and-canvas flying machine as it swoops low over their forces. But the flying machine isn't made for war. The person in the front seat must hold the yoke to keep the machine in control; the person in the seat behind can neglect the secondary yoke as long as the primary is engaged, but your seat is behind the wing assembly; and firing the blunderbuss through the moving wings is to invite disaster. Firing it straight down is to waste its advantage as a weapon, best fired in enfilade. But you and Cestié both have reason enough to hate the skaven to strive for a better option; and when you are ready with your weapon in hand, the old man guides the flying machine into a swooping dive, pulls up to level it out at pace, and then tilts the whole apparatus to a hard turn as it pulls up, revolving you all nearly a full ninety degrees... but allowing you to fire your weapon down, over the side of the machine, without passing through the wings, and into the deepest cluster of the unsuspecting rat men.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Victory lap time. For the sake of some fun, Taalia can fire Leonardo to hit 1d10+5 skaven on the first pass. After that, Cestie will turn around, give you time to reload, and allow a second shot of the same kind. I offer all of this under the confidence assumption that Taalia won't pass up an opportunity to shoot some rats from a high place.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia felt a surge of relief as she beheld the Weavers making it to safety and away from the Skaven raiding party. Speaking of...

"Get Leonardo ready. I'll bring you in close - wait for the roll, and hold tight with your legs!"

At first Taalia did not understand, but Cestie's intention soon became all-too-clear. Now that he had Taalia peddling absentmindedly, adding her youthful vigour to the flight, the older man was able to focus more on piloting his craft and did so with an idea to perform the first strafing manuever humanity might ever had produced - and what circumstance in which to attempt it!

The wind pressed against Taalia's face, blowing the loos strands of white hair about as her singular braid rested neatly behind her head. Catching Cestie's drift, the girl smiled and bit her lip as she unhooked her blunderbuss from its clip-in rack next to her. Drawing her aim to the left of the craft, she waited patient as her pilot snuck a look over his shoulder to better optimise the manuever to suit her current firing position.

Gun steady. The swamp passing below them in a blurred montage of dark green and browns, the flying machine swooped in low to a startled audience as Taalia levelled the muzzle of her weapon towards the thickest knot of rats and Crack!

The world seemed to slow down for a tenth of a second, allowing the girl to see the cloud of small lead-shots rake across the thicket of Skaven, smashing into skulls, tearing flesh and sending out little puffs of red mist, before Cestie took the craft up and banked around. Hurriedly reloading, Taalia closed one eye, aimed and Crack! her own internal hatred for the creatures spewing through her weapon and across their disorganised ranks...

[MrAbdiel]

With the first blast from Leonardo's muzzle, a hail of lead shot and shrapnel rakes across a pile of the swarming rat men. They were greedilly squirming over each other, each eager to lay a paw on one of the captive humans and make their claim as captor to be rewarded. Now they are shocked and reeling; heads and shoulders pocked with bloody impacts driving them to verminous screaming. Several topple back off the pile, some howling and clutching at themselves; some still and mangled in the muck. On the second pass, they recognize the threat coming - but even then, there's only so much evasion that can be done - and your handmade weapon strikes down another pair and maims more.

This is enough, for the rat men. Of the skaven species, some are very clever, like Rashabang; some are cunning, like the one-eyed assassin; some are brawny and strong, like the black-furred rat who attacked you with froth-mouthed abandon in the Eastern District. But not one among the rats, in your considerable exposure to them, has shown anything like honest human courage. They show confidence with overwhelming numbers or a strategy in play or an overpowering protector or weapon; but caught off guard in a situation that threatens them, they are fundamentally creatures obsessed with their own survival. As the flying machine circles around again, they begin their full retreat into the swamp. The swamp skimmers who had fled to the furthest are suddenly abandoned as the rats attacking them seek the cover of the curling, scrubby swamp trees. You hear a primal, wordless howl from one of them as the miracle of freedom hardens into black-eyed wrath, and then they are giving chase to the rats; running down and clubbing and strangling the ones hobbled by the blunderbuss shot. This pursuit forces other rats to abandon their captives, who quickly become vengeful pursuers falling on the slower rats who are trying to keep captives, who must release their captives to escape, and so on and so forth. The whooping, raging, cheering sound of the skimmers turning back the rats you have put to flight carries on beneath the cover of the trees, beyond where you can help in any way; and so you put your strength to pedalling and giving Cestié's heroic hamstrings a break. The last you see of the scene as the flying machine pulls back around is a lone swamp skimmer, standing at the edge of the trees. He has clubbed a clanrat's head in, with a branch; the creature unable to escape him because of the lead shot that ruined one of its knees. The fellow holds one bandaged hand close to his body (the hand you bandaged, of course) and raises the bloodied club in the air to you, in a kind of distant, wordless salute. Perhaps these swamp people were monstrous in their behaviour toward the thieves, and likewise the thieves to the Miraglianans; but as with the troll... all mankind are brothers and sisters in the shadows of such monsters. Then the skimmer limps away into the trees, and it is the last you see of him.

* * * * *

The next night, the feast of the Cestié clan begins again, with a couple of new additions - the bruised and battered but now cleaned up and a little rested Augusto, as well as Grifone and Laura, who have come in from the farm to celebrate. They have, as promised, acquired moleche - soft shelled crab, which is delicious; and much more convenient to eat that most crab because it does not need to be shelled. There is plentiful everything else, too, because it is a celebration. And what's not to celebrate? Augusto is safe. Maso is reunited with his family. The Weevers owe you a debt that must be partially discharged in releasing Augusto - if Biagio can convince the boy to withdraw. But that much is between the father and son. Maso has little fear they will repeat their intrusion on the shop. And you earned your 'Trollslayer' title for the second time.

...And, for good measure, were afforded an opportunity to finally rain a small portion of vengeance down upon the dread skaven.

"Taalia; Bella; you will always have a place to rest your head, in Miragliano!", Franchino toasts, to round approval. "For you have brought us back lost sons, and new daughters..."

There might have been more to the speech the elder Cestié brother had planned; but emotion gets the better of him, and his family bails him out by applauding over the truncation of the speech brought on by his hitching voice. As the clamouring family descends into its normal animated chatter, Bella glances to you from the seat beside yours. Milo lies on his back in her lap; she feeds him little shreds of chicken, which he chews with out a great mastery for the art of chewing but with plenty of charming enthusiasm for the effort. "Taalia Trollslayer, hmm..? Pity we couldn't have this one's skull sent back to the coaching inn, to mount beside the other..."

Spoiler: OOC:

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You may gain 200 XP for your adventures in Miragliano! You may also have as many quality locks as you would like, though it would obviously be somewhat abusive to just take a bunch of them and hock them at the next village for cash.

If there's any conversations you want to have here, or questions or whatnot, we should do those - you're about ready to move on to Miragiliano, and toward the Irrana mountains that border fair Bretonnia!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Watching her scatter-shot raking across the thick knots of Skaven brought a satisfaction to Taalia's heart that few things could provide. Were she to take the strongest drug and achieve the highest of highs, it would still only be a fraction of the gratification lighting up her soul as she killed ratmen and helped turn the tide so that her fellow humans could stab, beat, club and strangle the ratmen in the muck - the fate the vermin deserved.

Taalia, tilted over in her seat, facing out the left-side of the craft, saw the injured man who was...kinda injured thanks to her. But healed too! His club, smeared with the colour of its trade, his other hand wrapped in the bandage she provided, drew his weapon up in a salute - one that Taalia returned. Her white braid whipped behind her, she drew Leonardo into the air, holding it aloft as almost a symbolic gesture of both defiance and innovation - an analogy for the tools they could use to keep the ratmen in their underempire. The Skaven were technologically gifted and ingenious in many ways...but so were humans. Their inventions were not as potentially destructive perhaps, due to their refusal to use warpstone as a fuel source, but they instead created works that were more reliable and less prone to self-destruction. Taalia did not know who would ultimately win the competition between ape and rat, but she knew that she would contribute to her side as best as she was able, through mind, body and soul. The Skaven were a blight on this world, and their ultimate eradication was their only fitting fate.

oOo

When they got back and they were in private, Taalia was furious with Bella. The native Tilean knew she had nothing physical to fear from her friend, but still...with the shepardess' height, her statuesque build and the borderline wild, maniacal fire in her eyes, it was hard to deny she was frightening.

"The troll was bad enough! Didn't you get your fix back in Bella Collina?! Didn't you see what those things were capable of?!"

"...the Skaven were there! The Skaven! They took me when I was six years old - do you know what would happen to you if they took you now?!" her eyes wild with both anger and a deep-seated passionate concern and care for her best friend, "do you know the existence that would've awaited you!? What they wouldn't done to you?! Put you through!? Used you for?! Slavery to the ratmen - can you even understand what awaited you?! If they had you and I thought there was no escape I would have killed you, to spare you from what I know will come you way! Do you know that?!"

Taalia could not deny how handy Bella's intervention had been, but she let loose with all of the despair, concern and passion she had over the idea that her friend, gentle and sweet as she was, had ventured into mind-bendingly hostile territory and taken a risk that could have had the worst possible outcome. This wasn't mere protective instinct - this was from-the-heart experience and mentally glimpsing her friend in such conditions had things gone awry.

Angry, fury, passion, love and concern were all on display as Taalia unleashed. It ended with her arms around her shorter friend, gripping her tightly as if prevent her being carried off by an imaginary threat, and sobbing into her shoulder.

oOo

Taalia did herself up nicely for the feast, thanks to help from Bella. The tall, amazonian girl had her hair drawn back in a dual braids, one on either side of her head, a look that accentuated her angular, pleasing features - even with her scars - as her heterochromia eyes took in all around her. She ate merrily, enjoying the fortified wine - a Sherry it was called - and port, as well as the whiskey she had become accustomed to thanks to her earlier efforts in Bella Collina, and Gaulfredo's influence. The crabs were fantastic - indeed, anything was scrumptious when the shepardess had memories of her time among the Skaven rush so vividly back into her skull thanks to the menace they posed in turning into a future for Bella, had she been caught.

Like last time, and seemingly every time, Taalia was a centre of wonder for the children, her height, unusual hair and eye colour drawing little wide-eyed stares and the utterances of children that knew no filter nor decorum. In return, she had done as they desired - lifted them up. Just like her first time in Bella Collina during the festival, she allowed herself to become akin to a carnival attraction, her hands pressing under armpits and hoisting youngling bodies eight-to-nine feet into the air and spinning them about, much to the squealing, endless delight of the children involved. It brought the shepardess a lot of joy, that much was obvious, as her skill with...miniature humans was growing. She had no kids of her own - despite being a 'tad on the old side' for women of this period to be married with her first - but she clearly adored them, and they found her endlessly fascinating.

But, the man of the hour clearly needed her speaking to him. Augusto, the lad for whom all this trouble had been poured into in order to secure his release, was back home. For now. Taalia was bordering the realm of the tipsy when she saddled herself down next to him, mug in one hand, olive-oil smothered bread in the other as she gently shouldered him friendly-like.

"We never got to chat, 'gusto!" she said. Indeed, they had not. And perhaps her 'unusual' accent might show through. Her friends were used to it by now and it had softened over time, but Taalia had an almost one-of-a-kind accent: Tilean was clearly her second language, her first was Queekish, and though the accentuation was not discernible to anyone 'not in the know', it still stood out.

"You know, handsome, we went through a lot of trouble to get you back!"

She left out that she had to kill someone to do it. Well, two people technically. It was doubtless that word had gotten to him that she fought a damn troll to protect his escape, so she didn't feel it necessary to bring it up herself.

"I'm telling you...this..." Taalia gestured to the clan gathering. The food. The atmosphere. The sheer familial warmth and belonging to which Taalia had never truly experienced. She paused, her lips pursed as she peered across it all, a visible jealousy in her blue-and-green eyes.

"...I'd give it all up to have what you have here."

oOo

Like the stops before them, Miragliano shrank into the distance behind them as Cestie's fabulous flying machine lifted off into the horizon with its trio occupants.

Taalia had sold the gear they had gathered from those swampee thugs they had defeated as well as cashed in the Skaven head bounty, the money they acquired swiftly being traded in for further gems. The shepardess hadn't grown swiftly back in Bella Collina without knowing about the trading exchange rate. Naturally, as well, she had sent back a letter to Gaulfredo, Arianna and Vitorrio, with the latter being the main subject of address. Taalia issued forth words of their adventures here in Miragliano; the family troubles and history, the mutants with his kittens, the trouble with rescuing Augusto, the troll, the skaven and the embryonic development of aerial strafing.

The earth below them was a blurred montage of beautiful pasture, farm greenery, wetlands and forests, as those towering crags rose up before them and, beyond that, Bretonnia - the land of chivalry.

Behind them was Tilea, the land into which Taalia had emerged and made something of herself. Little did the girl know that if she were to emerge anywhere in the known world after escaping the rats, Tilea was about the best bet she could make. The philosophy that a mans fate was his own making was ingrained into Tilean culture, however disparate the city-states might be, yet this belief would be largely absent in the lands to which she travelled. And though she earnestly believed in her heart that she would return to this realm that had been so fortuitous for her...well, this was a dangerous world, full of the unpredictable and uncertain.

But. With Cestie to her front and Bella to her back, Taalia was as certain as one could be.

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

We'll deal with all these little scenes in this bundle, like we were doing back in Verezzo for a while!

When the flying machine has touched down in Griffone's yard and Cestié is inside rambling excitedly to his old friend about the escapade, you and Bella have a chance to talk. And talk quickly escalates to stern talk.

You lay it down for her - the Skaven, and their terrors, and how vividly and helplessly you are able to imagine the harm to come to her forced through what you have been through. But Bella has some fire of her own, and shoots back her defences at you with a fusillade of Tilean gesticulation.

"How can you ask me to be okay watching you go into such dangers while I sit aside? What if you had died, or been taken? How could I live with myself, having sat back? We can help each other, Taalia! I know you want to protect me, but I cannot just wait miles away while you march into such terrors! You asked me to come with you on this journey, and I'm grateful as can be - but I left everyone else behind to come with you! You and I - we don't get to leave each other behind!"

She cries too; so you are not alone in your breakdown as you clutch your friend. This, it seems, is her own line; her own trauma. She feels about being left behind just as you feel about being caged. She can bear it in a moment when there is no other option but not for much longer than that. Bella is a girl whose family was her life, and whose life got up and left her behind. She found her strength and formed new attachments in Bella Collina, and dared to pin some hopes on Bertuccio - but in the end, after his own traumatic suffering, he left too. When you invited her to join you on your journey with Signore Cestié, she made the choice to let go of those roots she had put down in that little town and cleave to you - Cestié too, but principally you. Her trauma may not be as profound as yours, if it is even savoury to try to quantify such things; but people are not rational about their feelings. You express love for her by trying to shield her from the violent and terrible parts of the world which have defined the majority of your life; she expresses hers by you by striving to find her courage and confront those things as well - to be more like you.

It is an intractable problem, the solution to which is not easily discernible.

* * * * *

A great feast and a great host of squealing young Cestiés later, and you find occasion to sit next to Augusto. He is quiet through the meal, though he eats plenty; he smiles politely when you call him 'handsome', and then awkwardly when you remind him of the difficulty of getting him back.

"I... appreciate it. Really. I feel terrible about everything."

When you commend the value of family to him, he nods as if accepting it... but does so in that way that people do when they aren't able or ready to take something completely to heart. He reminds you of the troublemaker boys, before the big battle on Silo Road where fighting for their lives snapped them out of boyhood. Augusto is a young man fumbling through the world, looking for his place and for meaning in it. The fact that he was recently captured, carried off, tied up, and very nearly throat-cut and fed to a troll at best or snatched up by marauding skaven at worst is undeniable and known to him. But the reality of those things is still making its way toward him, trundling down the track of slow understanding that has to be digested in nightmares and bad decisions until one day it will hit him and make sense. Then he'll probably have a breakdown and have an opportunity to reevaluate his life. You've done your part - impressed upon him words that, hopefully, he will remember at that time and understand properly.

On the other side of the table, you see Maso, limping a little still as he aches from his battle wounds, take a plate of the moleche and some butterfly pasta up the stairs, for Papa Cestié. This time, you note, there comes no shouting and acrimony from above. That is a good sign. As Augusto gives you his lost smile with his bruised, far-off eyes, you can only be thankful you arrived when you did, and hopeful that this particular son does not wait so long to be really reconciled in his heart to his family.

* * * * *

The family comes out to see you off. The huge clan sprawls out on the green out front of Griffone's house to see Maso's magnificent flying machine in action as you prepare to move on, and they are not disappointed. The children bounce and shriek with startled delight as you pedal down the hill from the farm and then circle back around in the air, and Maso is sure to do a few big circles close enough for them to see the three of you waving back, before finally levelling out and heading north-north-east, towards the mountain pass.

But just as you find your heading, Bella calls your attention to a rider below, waving a yellow scarf in the air as he rides hell-for-leather along the road after you. Even a fast horse is not as fast as the machine flies, so he is rapidly receding; but through the spyglass, you recognize the rosy cheeked young Bartomar, Man of the Roads - the Imperial expatriate who once delivered a missive to Polo for you. As he stands in the stirrups, it seems to you that his waving is quite frantic.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Perhaps there would be no 100% reconciliation on this matter. Maybe Bella would always find a way to seek Taalia out and help her, or to flirt with danger, while the shepardess would never want to see her sweet, beloved best friend placed in dangers way. This was an argument that would have no end, perhaps not until one of them had a husband and children therefore giving them something even more important to consider and to weigh above the other. And so, for now perhaps, Taalia held her friend close after their argument and allowed the time to pass, eternally grateful that the worst had not come.

oOo

Taalia grinned a goofily adorable breach of her lips at Augusto's words. In many ways he did remind her of the boys she had hired: young men who were restless and seeking a thrill, perhaps wanting their lives to be different from those who had built upon them both constraints and expectations. The shepardess had noticed this more in young men that she had other women, Bella notwithstanding, this inner drive to acquire status, to do something special, to achieve something that they could look back at in their older years, points to and say 'I did that!'.

When the two watched quietly as Maso happily picked out a little selection of crabs. It was two teenagers watching with bemused expressions, entertained over nothing that made sense, as an elder of the clan helped himself to a dish before trotting off, smile upon his features.

"You know, he taught me how to make guns?" Taalia said sideways to Augusto, a grin across her features as she took another sip of her delicious sweet, cream sherry.

But then she sighed and shook her head, flicking her lips and shrugging.

"I don't get it, handsome, I don't..." she said.

"The Weavers? Really?" Taalia asked, clearly confused as she had a 'huh? what?' look on her face as she exhaled and shrugged again.

"I mean...I guess?" she offered, another shrug as she took one more sip of her sherry, before turning to look him up and down again with her blue-and-green eyes.

"I dunno honey, you seem too cluey to hang around with them. Look where it got you last time, huh?"

It was clear by now that Taalia had been drinking...a lot. She was a tall and fit girl, able to absorb more than most, so her imbibement resulted in her friendly, tipsy demeanour that saw her angular, pleasing but-scarred face smiling and happy, with her double-braids and left green eye and right blue eye.

oOo

Taalia saw the rider, that yellow scarf standing out to her like a sore thumb. The girls eyes widened, her mouth gaping gently as a sense of urgency seized through her body. Reaching out and tapping on Cestie's shoulder, she leaned towards him while maintaining her eyes on that messenger.

"Cestie! Bank starboard - messenger from Bella Collina on the road!"

[MrAbdiel]

Augusto listens; offers small polite affirmations. You have to wear him down with one sided conversation for a long chunk of the night, and you're almost giving up, before he gives something back.

"I... wanted to say sorry. About Adriano."

The name doesn't register initially. It's only after his elaboration that it is clear he is referring to the young man who led the attempted burglary the night before; Elda's paramour, whose folly had brought him into a collision course with you and led ultimately to him bleeding out in the street.

"He was always kind of... reckless. I used to hold him back. From doing dumb things, I mean. I guess without me nearby, he was the only one in the group with something that sounded like a plan, and they just ran with it. They should never have come here. But... I guess he's paid for it now. Thank you, for saving my life. I'll be - ... I'll be fine."

That, of course, remains to be seen. The lad is not yet fully baked, one might say; that critical mass of maturity is still in his future. But he has every chance, now - a family that cares about him, a near death experience, and a place to learn skills in demand. What he becomes from this point on can only be laid at his own feet.

Biagio makes sure to embrace you with gratitude before he teeters off early to bed, eyes glossy with wine.

"I thank the gods for you, Taalia Giovanni; Verena, and Myrmidia, and Rhya, and Ranald, and Grugnio all. You've done us such good, I can barely say..."

Like his uncle Franchino, Biagio is an emotionally open fellow; so he truncates his blessings there before he loses himself; then turns to hug his son, whom you pulled from the jaws of tragedy; and finally retires for the night.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Also, to be clear, she is hocking everything she found in the rat den? Or keeping some elements?

You find:

• A two-handed military hammer engraved with a motif of hammers and anvils. It has an oilskin sling-strap.

• A wooden staff around which has been tied a string of wolf's teeth.

• A pair of embroidered leather shoes with a small tag bearing the seal of the town of Pfeildorf, home of the best tailors in the Empire. They are dirty, but still in good condition.

• A rain-stained sheet of parchment inscribed with the name and address of a tavern, Signore Pepito's, in the town of Rialto Mio.

• A grimy human skull with the name 'Magnus' inscribed into the forehead.

• A waxed rawhide case of butcher's knives and sharpening files.

• A tiny ivory statue of Shallya.

• A pewter ring etched with an oath of allegiance to the Empire.

• A leather case containing a musket-cleaning kit with muzzle rods, wire brushes, oils, chamois, fuses, flints and spare parts.

• An iron hand-torch with a fistful of charcoal in the cage.

• 23 shillings stuck to the bottom of a filthy rawhide pouch. (Imperial shillings specifically, printed with a wreathed skull on one side a a scythe clutching skeletal rendition of what must be Morr on the other, beside the letters "A L T D O R F".)

• A few sheets of water-warped parchment.

• A deer-hide pouch branded with the image of Sigmar.

• A leather flask of whale oil.

• A Best Quality Fishing Net. It has neatly smoothed lead weights on a large well constructed net and a stained but strong line that cinches in the drawstring. There is a small carved wooden handle at the end of the casting line engraved with the words "Timely Blessings Come From Strange Places. Thank you."

You may take or leave as much of that as you prefer.

* * * * *

When you circle around to make an unscheduled landing, Bartomar cackles an exhausted cackle and flaps the scarf a little more; dismounting and jogging to the machine's side as it settles to a stop.

"Ahahah! Oh, you had almost eluded me for good, Signorina Taalia! Why, you must have been travelling restlessly indeed to..." He puffs. "To have kept ahead of me this long! An insistent and slightly rude dwarf bid me catch up to your machine and give you this, the day after you left Bella Collina. I had hoped to catch you at Verezzo - but Bartomar, man of the roads, is not easily halted by challenge!"

In actuality, you have been travelling at a leisurely pace; stopping for inclement weather, to explore, to spend the odd day or two enjoying the scenery and the cities. The flying machine travels much faster and more constantly than a horse - Bartomar must have pursued you like a hungry wolf to catch up to you at all! But he seems to pride himself on his speed and efficiency - perhaps you don't need to rob him of the sense that his effort, and not your unhurried schedule, played the major part in the feat.

He produces a leather scrollcase, and hands it to you. Inside are two things - a rolled up sheet of parchment, and a tiny leather pouch with a drawstring. The hand in which the scroll is written is blocky, and inexact. It is scattered with spelling errors and it only uses the upper case of letters, the writer perhaps not seeing the purpose of using lesser ones.

Spoiler: OOC: A Letter From Bella Collina

Show

DEAR TAALIA

I HOPE THIS LETTER FINDS YOU WELL AND SOON AS I PAID THIS FELLOW A PRETTY COIN TO CATCH YOU AND IF HE DID NOT THEN I WILL OWE HIM A BOOT IN THE DONGLITZ AND WILL OWE ME A REFUND

I KNOW WE ALREADY SAID GOODBYE WHEN YOU FLY AWAY BUT I AM NOT A DWARF WHO IS GOOD WITH WORDS AND ONCE YOU HAD GONE I THOUGHT IT THE CASE THAT I OUGHT TO SAY SOME MORE

I WAS EXTREMELY CROSS WHEN THEY HAD LOCKED YOU UP IN VEREZZO AND IF IT WERE NOT FOR THE RESTRAINING OF THE RAMPOLLO AND OTHERS I WOULD CERTAINLY HAVE DONE A FOOLISHNESS TO GET YOU OUT BUT WE ARE ALL VERY PLEASED THAT WAS NOT NEEDED IN THE END

EVERYONE IN BELLA COLLINA IS VERY PROUD OF YOU AS YOU HAVE COME FROM SUCH HUMBLE BEGINNINGS TO MAKE SUCH A YOUNG WOMAN OF YOURSELF AND WE ARE ALL VERY PLEASED TO KNOW YOU BUT I AM MORE PLEASED TO KNOW YOU THAN MOST AS BEFORE YOU CAME TO TOWN I WAS A VERY UNHAPPY DWARF INDEED

SOMETIMES PEOPLE ARE TOO SOFT TOUCHED TO SAY SO BUT I KNOW I AM VERY OFTEN A VERY UNPLEASANT DWARF INDEED AS SOMETIMES I HAVE TROUBLE MAKING FRIENDS AND THIS IS A VERY UNFORTUNATE CONDITION AS I HAVE SOMETIMES MADE A HABIT OF FRUSTRATING EVEN VERY PATIENT PEOPLE UNTIL THEY HAVE NO TIME FOR ME AT ALL AND EVEN IF THEY SMILE AND TOLERATE ME I CAN TELL THAT THEY WISH I WOULD LEAVE THEM BE AND SOMETIMES I WOULD NOT LEAVE THEM BE JUST OUT OF SPITE BUT KEEP TALKING AND ONLY MADE MYSELF MORE ODIOS

I DO NOT HAVE MUCH FAMILY WHO ESCAPED MY DWARFHOLD WHEN IT FELL AND THOSE I DO HAVE DO NOT LIKE ME MUCH MORE THAN HUMANS USUALLY DO AND MOST DWARVES DO NOT HAVE MUCH CHANCE TO HAVE A FAMILY OF THEIR OWN SO FRIENDS ARE VERY IMPORTANT AND WHEN YOU MET ME I HAD NO FRIENDS AT ALL

I HAD DREAMED THAT I WOULD COME TO A UMGI HUMAN TOWN AND MAKE BEER AND THEY WOULD ALL APPRECIATE IT VERY MUCH ON ACCOUNT OF IT BEING SO MUCH BETTER THAN HUMAN BEER WHICH IS WEAK AS PISS BUT I MUST SHAMEFULLY ADMIT I AM A VERY POOR BREWER INDEED AND NO ONE LIKES MY ALE AND IT IS VERY DIFFICULT FOR A DWARF TO ADMIT BECAUSE SKILLS ARE VERY IMPORTANT FOR A DWARF

SOMETIMES FOLK IN BELLA COLLINA WOULD LOOK TO ME AS A FIGHTER AS WITH THE TROLL AND SUCH BUT IN TRUTH I AM NOT MUCH OF A FIGHTER OR STRATEGIST EITHER I AM JUST A LITTLE HARDIER THAN THE HUMANS AROUND ME AND AS YOU CAN IMAGINE TO HAVE NO REMARKABLE SKILLS FOR COMBAT OR CRAFTING AND NO FAMILY TO SPEAK OF AND NO FRIENDS WELL I SHOULD SAY IT IS A VERY POOR CONDITION TO BE IN INDEED AS A DWARF IS MUCH DEFINED BY HOW USEFUL HE IS TO HIS PEOPLE AND TO HAVE NO USE OR PEOPLE IS VERY SORROWFUL

WHEN YOU CAME TO BELLA COLLINA YOU WERE VERY PATIENT WITH ME AND SHOWED ME FAVOR AND THOUGHT TO ASK FOR ME AND INCLUDE ME IN THINGS AND IT IS BECAUSE OF THAT I KNOW THAT THE PEOPLE IN BELLA COLLINA DARED TO TRUST ME IN CERTAIN SITUATIONS SUCH AS THE MISCHEIF WITH BERTUCCIO AND SUCH THINGS

GHERARDINO CAME TO BE A FRIEND OF MINE ALSO THROUGH THESE THINGS AND WHEN HE ASKED ME TO OPERATE THE INN IN THE VILLAGE SQUARE SO HE COULD OPEN THE TROLLSLAYERS REST I WAS QUITE UNSURE OF MYSELF INDEED BUT I HAVE FOUND I LIKE MAKING A COMFORTABLE PLACE OF REST FOR WEARY TRAVELLERS VERY MUCH AS IT IS NOT VERY GLORIOUS WORK BUT AT THE END OF A LONG JOURNEY THERE IS NOTHING MORE PLEASING THAN A WARM FIRE AND A HOT MEAL IN ONES BELLY AND SINCE I HAVE DECIDED TO SELL MY FARM AND BREWING TOOLS TO BUY THE INN OUTRIGHT I HAVE BEEN VERY CONTENT INDEED

I KNOW YOU ARE DOING MANY EXCITING THINGS LIKE FLYING IN YOUR MACHINE AND SHOOTING GUNS BUT I THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT YOU SHOWED KINDNESS TO AN UNPLEASANT DWARF AND AS A RESULT I AM MUCH HAPPIER AND I THINK PEOPLE FIND ME LESS ODIOS WHEN I AM HAPPIER SO I AM TWICE THANKFUL

I HAVE ENCLOSED A RING THAT ONCE BELONGED TO MY FATHER AS IT IS THE MOST PRECIOUS ITEM I OWN AND I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ON YOUR TRAVELS EVEN IF IT IS TOO BIG FOR YOUR SMALL HUMAN FINGERS I THINK IT WILL DO JUST FINE AS A PENDANT AND YOUNG MARCO WAS VERY EAGER TO MAKE THE BRAID FOR IT

THANK YOU VERY MUCH

YOUR FRIEND NOGROM

In the small leather pouch is a chunky but very finely crafted gold ring that might fit on your big toe.
It has been thoughtfully hung on a braided loop of fine leather strands. The 'top' third of the outer face of the ring has three small circular flats, each of which is scored with a dwarven rune marked out with in beautiful precision.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

This is a talisman with three dwarven runes. IC, they activate based on Taalia's instinct, not her specific knowledge of their function. Temporary ones vanish when used; permenant does not. OOC, you activate them at the point at which they are relevant.

The runes are:

Rune of Luck (Permenant): The bearer of an item inscribed with this rune gains an extra Fortune Point each day. Characters with the Lucky talent cannot benefit from a Rune of Luck.
Rune of the Furnace (Temporary): A character bearing an item inscribed with this rune is immune to fire damage of all types. Neither natural fires nor fire-based attacks such as fiery blast spells can affect someone protect by a Rune of the Furnace. Once the rune is activated (a free action), the benefit only lasts for 1 minute.
Rune of Fate (Temporary): The first attack that reduces the bearer of an item inscribed with this rune to 0 Wounds is negated. The bearer suffers no damage from this attack. This rune can only be used once.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia might have been a touch tipsy, but Augusto's opening up about his friend, or associate rather, drew a more serious tone across the girls face as she nodded. By now she had become desensitised to violence. She had seen enough in the slave pits to last dozens of life-times, and had done so during her most developmental years. Even after emerging onto the surface, her exposure had not ended there. The goblins had shoved a mining pick through her left bicep. The troll. The mutants. The skaven. The Tower. That dead-eyed psychopath Simonuccio. The pirates. Violence followed her where-ever she went...or rather, it was present where-ever she would go.

And so, when Adriano was brought up, Taalia did exhibit a genuine remorse, but it was not to the level a first-time killer would exhibit. Taalia was no gun-shy deer, that much was clear - she'd been around the block a few times.

"I'm sorry too..." she uttered, seemingly quiet but with sincerity.

"I think that some of us, perhaps...the purpose in life is to serve as an example of what not to be."

Sharing a moment of remorse and retrospection, Taalia leaned over and kissed the boy on the cheek and offered a small smile. He'd seen his friend die because of the thievery profession. He'd been rescued at great risk and cost. He had a family here that loved him and a good life to be had with them. That was the best the shepardess could do.

"I...don't know my parents," she said quietly, eyes focused on her drink. "I haven't seen them since I was very...very young. When I came up here in Tilea..." she shook her head, looking upwards a little, "I thank the gods I came up near Bella Collina. Gaulfredo and Ariana...they took me in. Without them, without Maso Cestie..." the girl shrugged, "I don't know where I would have ended up."

When Biagio approached and offered his thanks, Taalia wore a sweet, bright smile and hugged him in return. She would decline his compliments, doing so politely and humbling, though deep down it did feel nice helping out Maso Cestie's extended family. Something of a 'thank you' for all he had done for her and offered in action rather than words. But sent by the gods? Taalia blushed and smiled it way, wishing him all the best.

oOo

Taalia read the letter from Nogram with a warm smile across her face. She knew how proud dwarves were - that's why they never lasted long beneath the lash of the rat-men. Their minds just could not even give them the reprieve for a false notion of living-to-fight-another-day. So for Nogram to commit those words to paper, to admit that his skill with weapons was only above average, that he was deliberately a pain in the arse and couldn't really brew beer particuarly well - sacriligious words for a dwarf! - well, the shepardess knew he was genuine.

Of course, being able to merely write these things and send them off on a letter to be read at a later date was considerably easier than looking her in the eye and admitting these things. Even now, Taalia could remember the teeth-gritting reluctance Nogram had exhibited during her trial when he had to admit that she had exhibited notable valour, while he had only shown expected bravery. It was a tough pill to swallow, she knew as such, particulary for the 'elder races' such as the dwarves and the elves. And to a human? A girl who knew how many fold younger than they? The pride the dwarf had to swallow to pen this letter must have tasted fouler than his beer, and knowing that, Taalia treasured it even more.

But, she was happy to hear that he had embraced his new profession: Nogram the tavern keeper! A dwarven barkeep situated at the centre of town, providing wonderful hot meals and and overseeing a welcoming atmosphere after a long days travel. That he had actually brightened his disposition and mood? Taalia felt a mixture of happiness, pride and happiness-for-others swelling in her chest as she read it.

"I'm happy for him!" she'd announce to the others.

Then came the ring.

If the dwarf's words on paper had been convincing, the dispensement of a family heirloom to her, a human, widened the girls eyes and drew out an audible gasp as she watched and felt that stout, golden ring fall into her waiting palm. The braided leather necklace that threaded through it, crafted by Marco, was an additional touch that would allow her to wear it around her neck. That the lad was getting along well - assumedly - after she had had to let him down, also brought a smile to her face.

But this!

Taalia held the ring up and peered at it with wide-eyed wonder as if it held some secret to life hidden within the wrought golden loop of its being. She looked at the others, Cestie and Bella, the full and deep significance of this trinket clear as day on her face. For Taalia, words meant something...but so did actions. They meant a whole lot more, in fact. It was one thing to espouse appreciation, it was quite another to offer something as treasured as this as a symbol.

Swallowing gently, the shepardess immediately drew the leather braid open and put it around her neck, tucking that golden ring beneath her shirt so it would rest against her collar-bone.

For several long moments she had no idea what to say to her companions, as a red flush of humility ran across her face and she struggled for words. One hand at the back of her head, stroking her own hair, unable to conjure a sentence worthy of what she'd been given, the girl bit her lip and looked at the others.

"....wow?" she uttered in disbelief, shock and gratitude.

Naturally, before they got underway once more, Taalia withdrew her writing kit and insisted on scribing a return message. Though not as long as the one she had received, the girl insisted that she make the effort - after all, Nogram had.

In her fluent and flowing Tilean, Taalia outlined a basic premise of their journey so far and thanked him for all that he had done. It had been his idea on how to distract the pirates during that initial skirmish, after all. He had stories to tell and a warm bed and hot meal to offer those on the long journey between Paula di Silo and Bella Collina, and it brought her enormous joy knowing she played a part in helping him find contentment in this life, for it was a harsh world and decent folk would need as much as they could find. She would treasure his gift and when she had a son worthy of its reception, she would pass it on to him along with the knowledge of where and who it came from.

And, naturally, to thank Marco for the braid.

Taalia offered Bartomar a full duro to return the message, and drew up a second, smaller letter to Polo; a greeting, a summary, best wishes and to provide the messenger with a further five duro from her farm finances for successfully catching her before departure and returning a message. Six duro in total, almost half a years wages for an average labourer, and all in a month or so of travel along safe and patrolled roads.

[MrAbdiel]

The Power of One
Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

Chapter 2 - Traversée

Cestié is quiet and thoughtful for most of the flight north, away from the fringe of the swamp and toward Nuvolone Pass. He has a lot to think about - when you set our from Bella Collina, he was leaving a lot less behind than he is now. But ultimately he is undeterred; and as you camp in a field on the outskirts of the town or Ravola, Signore Cestié is happy to continue his history lessons.

"These northern principalities - Miragliano, and Trantio particularly - have a more varied history than old Verezzo. In the ancient times, one of the early Emperors of Sigmar's realm ruled much of the north. That must have been more than two thousand years ago - but between that and old habits and the Empire more recently becoming more prominent in the world, there are many Miraglianans who use the Imperial Calender, instead of the Verenan one. Some call Karnas and Ishea 'Taal and Rhya', as they do in the northern realms. But this town, Ravola, is famous because this is where Tilea turned back the Bretonnian interests a thousand years ago. As the tale goes, the Bretonnian barons from the north were starting ti impinge through the pass and press their interests into Miragliano, assuming authority and demanding taxation from the northern towns. For many years there were skirmishes and conflicts - not to say outright war, not like Tileans have with each other. The Bretonnians never marked an army through the mountains - they just rode around expecting capitulation. In fact, that's much of the insult!"

"At a great banquet held by the Prince of Miragliano, hoping to find terms of peace, an oafish Bretonnian, the Baron du Bors, loudly claimed that Bretonnians were better knights and that the prince ought to save the hassle and hand the city over to them! Well, as you can imagine, the mercenary knights thought very little of this. Bretonnians have always had pretentions about the lack of virtue in mercenary work, and a brave warrior, Etto the Fierce, issued a challenge - a joust! And how could the horsemen of the north refuse such a wager? The Tournament of Ravola took place soon after, right over there..."

He points across the field, past the wall of the town, to a conspicuously grand silhouette of a hippodrome against the starlit sky.

"...and the outcome has been etched in Tilean legend ever since. Etto was the master of a mercenary knight company, the Venators. They were not as well born as the Baron's men, but they were all veterans of many campaigns; while the Bretonnians were young men surging about in a foreign land looking for adventure and exploits. Experience proved the master of chivalry, and the Baron and his knights were roundly beaten in the tournement - subsequently withdrawing in shame, and never again have the Bretonnians pressed their interest beyond the mountains. Of course, the plagues and orcs and such afflicting them in the north might well have played into the dampening of those interests - but as far as Miragliano is concerned, the Venators gave them such a slap they never came back for more."

It's coming into winter, but it's an unusually warm night which evens out into a very pleasant evening, for your last under a Tilean sky for a long time. Graciously, you are not troubled through the night; and the next morning you are flying again toward the Iranna range. From the air, you can see the peaks rising up like crenulations for the Tilean realms; spreading west to border the Blighted marshes, and beyond that swinging south to become the Abasko range on the other side of the sea, where the city state of Tobaro shares its peninsula with the rapacious and lusty Estalians beyond. West, the mountains extend and ramp up into the high peaks and deep vallies known as the Vaults, the old battered dwarven realm; and then turning south to become the Apuccini mountains where Myrmidia is said to have explored and discovered the old elven medical texts that form the basis of modern human medicine, and near to where you blinked into sunlight for the first time in ten years.

You might not have known where this pass was, except for the crescent shaped encampment of mercenary regiments bracing its exit. Through Cestié's spyglass, you can see the soldiers there - perhaps a thousand or so, at a guess - are in a state of attentive idleness. It must have been some time since the orcs have pushed down and made a concerted effort to break through, but old scars in the landscape and dead patches of grass where pyres have long gone suggest it wasn't that long ago.

"We'll put down here, first!" the Signore calls back to you, as he starts tilting the flying machine into a descent; "It wouldn't do to confuse that many crossbowmen - I'd like them to recognize us on the way back!"

As you descend, it's Bella who notices you are not alone in the sky.

"Taalia, look! Look, up there!"

As you are descending to land inoffensively behind the mercenaries' line, another flyer is rising up on the other side and taking to the skies above the pass. It's a great chestnut coloured horse with grand eagle's wings sprouting from its forequarters, whose great beating effort carries steed and rider with practised ease. The knight astride the pegasus is wearing exactly the panoply you would expect of such a sight - chainmail head to toe with sabatons and gauntlets and helm, and both steed and rider draped in black and gold cloth that seems to be heraldic in nature.

"Oh, Taalia - have you ever seen such a thing? What is it?" Bella exclaims, straining against the bindings of her passenger pod in goggle-eyed wonder. Signore Cestié, who is presently concentrating on a landing, defers the question to you rather than looking around.

"Is it a problem?" the old gent asks, as he switches over the gears from the operation of the wings to the wheels.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia wore an extra layer of clothes on her torso as they took to the skies once more and left behind beautiful Tilea, the land that had given her so much. She had quickly learned during the testing phases of this machine that traveling at a particular speed and at a certain elevation resulted in a rather cold climate. And so, when they departed the beautiful, sometimes violent, but self-determining land of Tilea, the shepardess looked over her shoulder, smiled at her lovely friend, and fixed her hetero-chromia eyes on the verdant fields one more time before offering a small, heartfelt wave.

Thus began the flight over the mountains.

From their position up high, the snowcapped peaks and their green, foliage-filled valley's possessed a unique allure. It was easy to imagine how some adventure-hungry youth could look upon these mysterious rivers of tree's moving through the towering crags and think that excitement lurked within. They were often right, but as the mercenary camp ahead and below denoted, exciting didn't always mean safe. Indeed the cliffs, ridges and ravines were home to a host of the mysterious, the dangerous and astonishing. Taalia knew all too well. It had been the light end of the mountains into which she had emerged, the natural sun greeting her grimy face and the greenery of the forest to meet her. The sounds of the birds. The fresh air on her features and kissing her skin. The injured ratman beside her, Ragabash, now gone to whatever afterlife awaited the 'kinder' breed of Skaven, if such a thing were populous enough to warrant it. Taalia peered down from her flying machine as it all sailed below her, each square kilometer a veritable world to its inhabitants, but, when viewed from her station, just one region of many.

When Cestie offered the history lessons around the night-time fire, Taalia listened with wide-eyed interest. The only other exposure about Bretonnia she had received was from the woman in the market to whom she had sold her telescope, which had, in turn, been the basis for her farmland expansion. Unfortunately, she had forgotten all of the language that lady had offered, as it had been so long ago and she had used the phrases to infrequently they had slipped from her memory.

But something Taalia had asked about: "Don't the Bretonnians use firearms?"

It was a simple question that only an ignoramus on the land could ask. Of course they didn't use firearms! Their whole way of life, nay their whole society was centred around the knight, the professional warrior. What that knight represented went beyond just swinging a sword, it was the basis for the entire culture in more ways than Taalia could even predict with her naivety, but she would eventually learn.

When the trio banked their flying machine about to land near that mercenary camp down below, it was Bella that spotted...it first. However, her excitement was contagious.

Hearing her friends excitement, Taalia whipped her head about in search for its genesis - and she quickly found it. The shepardess' eyes widened as she saw a...flying horse? A man riding a flying horse?! The beautiful, chocolate-collored steed had broad, angelic-like wings drawing out from both sides of its body, powerful enough to grant it and the armored man upon its back the full elevation of flight. Transfixed at the sight, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, Taalia didn't feel any fear, but rather just excitement. Sure, she could draw up her firearm from its storage and try to blow the thing out of the sky - but why would she? The golden and black heraldry worn by the armored knight clearly denoted some type of respect to establishment, and so it was highly unlikely he would mark them as hostiles.

Besides, he was probably just as amazed by their own contraption as they were with his beautiful steed!

"Cestie! What is that?!" Taalia joined her bestie like a pair of excited, astonished daughters staring out a window at some new sight and demanding answers from the more knowledgeable father figure.

[MrAbdiel]

Cestié hasn't met many Bretonnians; but he definately hasn't met any with guns. If anything, he considers, that sounds like an exploitable market he's interested in learning about when you're over the mountains! But when the time comes to boggle at the flying creature, he is torn between his planned landing and laying his eyes on the phenomenon.

"Err..."

Signore Cestié begins, leveling off in his descent for a moment so he can afford to look up at the spectacle which has confounded both you and Bella. Ultimately, he is glad he did.

"Oh! Oh, look at that - a pegasus, I think. A flying horse! What a fancy thing..."

Spoiler: Recollection:

Show

"But if you do wander that way - once the orcs are cleared from the pass, I suppose - you'd do well to have a man escort you. You will find most men there will treat you somewhat respectfully, whether you present as a woman of quality or not; but they won't take you seriously without a man to echo your sentiments. But a pretty girl like you can attract a knight errant to squire her about, easilly enough. The nation itself is not unbeautiful, I must say. Her loveliness as a realm is equal to my fair Tilea, I think; especially the Grey Mountains. I grey up in Parravon, a castle-city cut into the mountainside, where you can see the forest sprawl proudly out below; and if you wait on the high places and watch the mountains, sometimes you can see le Pégase fly in twos, and threes; stallion, and mare, and sometimes foal. Ah..." You've done it now; she's a little tearful, but boxes her sentiment with a self-reproaching little smile, and thumbs at her eyelashes to strike away the evidence.

"It, err..." He contends as he turns his attention back to his own flying, and the descent. "Looks like he's making back over the pass, as we intend to. Perhaps running messages between our lads and the frogs on the other side. Bretonnians, I mean. Maybe we'll see it again when we cross, but for now - here comes landing!"

The flying machine comes to a somewhat bumpy stop to the marvel of the mercenaries ahead of you. You throw the lever that deploys the stand for the machine, and you and Bella are both quickly out of your seats just in time to see the majestic beast and its mysterious rider vanish around the curve of a cliffside.

You get the normal response from the mercenaries, who are present here in a wide array of panoplies and styles of dress and battlefield role. There are many pavise-lugging crossbowmen - famed Marksmen of Miragliano - as well as various ostentatious units of pikemen and skirmishers. All of them are amazed, even delighted, to see the flying machine. They bombard Cestié with questions about its manufacture, its inspiration, its obvious design comparisons to the gliders used by Daedalo's birdmen. They're a little disappointed to hear the design is not a military one - purposed for sustained two-person flight over long distances, not short periods of action like Daedalo's contraption. But their disappointment does prompt Cestié to recall your recent strafing of skaven at the outskirts of the marsh. They enjoy that telling - especially the Miraglianans.

"Fine work, signorina; fine work!" One of the crossbowmen claps you on the shoulder, eager to congratulate you on ratslaying which is the duty and reward of all Miraglianans. As you turn to see him, you notice him flinch slightly. He is a man only a few years older than you, only a few inches shorter. You are not unused to such attention, though you imagine your stature weeds some potential conversation partners out of the mix. But it can't be your height that caused the flinch - he knew that when he touched your arm. It must be the scars. In an instant his face goes from an easy smile, through a flash of realization, then to a polite smile; and you sense the follow up flatteries that were coming rapidly drying up from the man.

Bella does not have such problems. Her problem is different - after asking her about the machine, what it's like to fly, and where she has come from, some of the mercenaries hovering about her are pushing their luck - asking for kisses for luck, for courage, for to ward off the orcs. She laughs politely, but begins to become uncomfortable until a mercenary captain stomps over to break up the gathering and demand the men return to the line, which they do. It is from this fellow - the bald headed, grey bearded Capitano Pedaro Niko - from whom Cestié gets the answers he landed for in the first place.

"Well," says the Capitano with thought, fondling his beard as he looks over to the pass. "You should be fine, so long as you stay quite high. Orcs can't hit stationary targets on the ground often enough, I doubt they'll waste much time shooting up at you, and even if they could they're more likely to shoot themselves when the shaft comes back down. It's been quiet over this end, for a while - the greenskins are in a season of internal strife, our scouts say; and if we're lucky, they'll kill enough of each other to retreat into the high tops against for a few years. Until then, they'll keep making probing attacks and breakout actions, and we'll keep them penned in. They've been pressing the frogs more than us, the last month; expect to wave down at them more as you reach the other side."

Spoiler: Perception Test +20% Success (Hearing):

Show

As Cestié chats to the Capitano, you notice one of the camp followers, a servant who keeps the officer's tent's, is minding a pair of dogs a little closer to the mercenary line. One is small (smaller than Corvo and Rocco, anyway) and so slender legged it's almost comical - a racing dog you think, for it must go like a shot on its sparingly little stilt legs. The other is a scruffy little mutt of indeterminate breed; a squat little something-terrier of grey and white fur.

Seeing such an odd canine pairing reminds you also of a promise you made to Viletta.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia should have been offended by the young mercenary's swift one eighty when witnessing her scarred face. She should have. But, by now, the girl had just gotten used to them. Whenever she had saw herself in a mirror or the reflection of a pond, that's what she beheld. There was no changing that, as much as she'd like to. Where the merc saw the marring of beauty and an unpleasant veneer, Taalia saw memories of a time when she was weak and in chains, a life-long lesson she would never forget nor relinquish. And so, when the boys obvious attempts at flirtation skidded to a halt faster than an excited dog, Taalia just pursed a lip, raised a slender whitened eyebrow and gave him a knowing look before turning her gaze over to Bella, whom was having struggles of her own. Taalia knew the girl better than everyone, and she could tell she was not in her element. It was one thing to be fawned over by a single, romantic interest, but to be the centre of attention for a group of young, professional warriors who likely hadn't seen a woman in months, let alone one of Bella's attractive properties, well, it was little wonder she quickly grew to dislike being the centre of attention.

Taalia was going to move over and try to break the growing ice, but thankfully a bearded captain stepped in instead. Something of a mercenary herself now, Taalia offered a darkly humored smile towards her friend as she approached and gave her shoulder a reassuring rub. That was when the sounds of barking and doggy-whining entered her ears.

Turning her head, inhaling that beautiful mountain air, Taalia spotted the two types of pooches - unusual in gait and appearance, moreso than she was used to. Perhaps the shepardess had become accustomed to canines similar to Corvo and his fearsome mother, contrasted with the intelligent and agile sheepdog Rocco. Instead, these ones seemed more...mixed? Versatile? They did not seem particularly specialised for a certain purpose, rather they were here to do...whatever it was that they did. Given the situation the mercenary camp was in and its proximity to the baying, brutal greenskins, Taalia would have guestimated that the only dogs they'd have present would be those of Corvo's presuasion: big, heavy set, block-like heads and powerful jaws. The type of dog that could sniff out an enemy and harass them while their human masters maneuvered into position to put in the killing lead shots.

But these...

Furrowing her brow, smirking, the Shepardess also remembered her promise to Adolpho's daughter: to catalogue the unusual dogs she saw.

Taalia would collect her writing kit and moved over towards the owner of the dogs, or at least their attendnatn.

"I've never seen breeds like those..." she started off, smiling at the man and then down at the pooches.

"What type are they? What's their purpose?"



OOC:
_____________________

If the attendant doesn't mind, Taalia will write the information and names about the breeds, as well as take sketches of them.

[MrAbdiel]

"Oh, well... This here is Phillip." The servant gestures to the skinny little stilt-dog. The servant seems a little surprised at your interest - well used to being ignored at best, or perhaps looked down on by the fighting men. The polite attention of a stranger, and the request for information he can actually supply, seems to balm his pride a little. You swear he stands up a little straight just for the opportunity.

The dogs, naturally, are dogs; they are very interested to sniff and lick your hands, and are highly receptive to affection. A small reprimand is all that is required to cease them barking in surprise at Milo, poking up out of his pocket in your vest before snoozily retreating.

"Phillip's a racing hound - a Tilean Slimhound if you want to be technical. He broke his leg in a race in Remas, and usually the poor buggers just get shot after that; but the capitano happened to be watching and took pity on him. He still runs real good, now it's healed up. Just not money-making good. Throw a stick for him, you'll see; moves like a little bullet, he does."

Spoiler: Phillip

Show

"And Tiana here is a ratter's dog. Not sure she's any particular breed; ratter's dogs are bitzas, you know? Bits of everything. But in Miragliano and Tobaro they're starting to come into a breed of there on - Tiana here is Tobaran, herself. In twenty years they'll call it a breed and think of a name, but for now she's just got a very fine nose for rat-hunting. She's practically fearless, but she's not as dumb as some little dogs are - knows her size, you know? Doesn't forget she's little, which is important when your dog's job is to go racing down dark tunnels looking for trouble."

Spoiler: Tiana

Show

"The capitano picked her up in his travels and just fell in love, I guess. What's, uh... What's that story?"

He points to the feline lump in your pocket - the world's first flying cat, as far as you know. The birds nest is still in the flying machine too; though the little ones have hatched and grown up in your travels, and seem to have left the nest. You see them sometimes, but they don't need their home anymore. Just as well - Milo might have had trouble sharing, long term.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia smiles as she listens to the young attendant speak. Her egaliatiran nature, given her slavery upbringing, didn't see him as really lesser or above the others in the camp. He seemed to not be the one to talk to in matters of violence, of course, but as an animal tender, the shepardess felt a gentle alikeness as she kneeled down and rubbed her hands around the heads of the two excited dogs.

"They're very cute!" she smiled brightly.

Milo, meanwhile, was ducked into her jacket pocket, his little, furred head and large eyes avoiding the look of the two dogs before his owner.

"Oh don't worry about him!" Taalia mentioned in regards to her cat. "I got him in Miragliano after I accidently shot his owner. Long story!"

The girl giggled as she rubbed her head with the dogs, taking her parchment out and sketching them, taking their breed names down and notes for their purpose and dimensions.

"We're just passing through; we wanted to stop here to make sure you didn't shoot us out of the sky on our way back, hah!" she beamed, her mood noticeably higher in the presence of the two doggo's before her and her kitten in her pocket.

[MrAbdiel]

The servant (whose name is Leoduccio) is more than happy to talk about dogs and cats and animals for as long as you indulge each other. He had a lamb growing up that his father intended to fatten up to eat; but the creature became one of the family and ended up outliving the man who bought it. Twenty years old, he says; which is older than the heavy-fleeced sheep you were breeding would likely manage, but not impossible for some leaner meat breeds.

Bella finds her way over to you while Cestié jaws with the capitano, just as you are putting away Viletta's little book of dogs. Perhaps reluctant to let nice people wander off, before you can break away, he offers with a somewhat immature coyness:

"...You ladies want to see a dead orc?"

* * * * *

The orc scout had been killed the night before sneaking into the camp, over-estimating his guile. He did kill two men as they slept, however - so that's not to say there's no guile to speak of.

Well and truly bled, the creature's skin is less vibrant than the goblins you have seen in the past; but its pallor is leathery green, like they were. The orc is far more intimidating than the goblins - bigger than a man, thick with ropey muscle. Its proportions are strange; the arms are longer, the legs a little shorter, and you imagine the creatures are not particularly swift on their feet but can swing a weapon to great effect. The orc's blade lies next to it, in the pit just off the mercenary camp where the viewing takes place - a slab of metal that seems to have the impact sensibilities of an axe and the blade length of a sword, and looks like a bloody nightmare to try to actually wield without the orc's powerful arms and core. Beady little red eyes gaze blankly up at the sky above a flat stub of a nose and a positively huge underbite full of yellowed spike-teeth. There are seven wounds on its body that seem to be from crossbow bolts, all in the torso. Judging by the way the bloodstains run down the filthy leather jerkin, he must have had atleast five in him while he was upright and still going - four in the front, another in the back - before he finally keeled over.

"I thought the orcs came from the west - from beyond the mountains, in the Border Princes. How are they here?" Bella asks, grimacing at the corpse.

"Don't know where the came from, but they're everywhere, now. Like weeds, they are; they spring up if you don't root them out well and good. The Bretonnians have been driving them up high into the mountains for a long time, now; but every now and then enough of them get together in the caves up there to come down and make a ruckus - like these last few years. Capitano says if they had a proper leader we'd be in real trouble - orcs need a good leader or they can't get nothin' done. But when they get together, they can drag down dwarf holds, and principalities and all sorts. And you know the weirdest thing?"

Leoduccio looks around, as if telling a valuable secret.

"No one's ever seen their women. The mercs say when they sack an orc camp, or drive them out of a settlement, it's just more of the men. No one knows where they come from. They just come out of nowhere when no one's looking, form gangs, and start looking to ruin the world." He shakes his head. "Thank Myrmidia for crossbowmen, I think."

This seems outlandish. The same could be said of the skaven - humans don't know where they come from except that they boil out of holes in the ground in great droves, all male. But how would anyone know that the female skaven are kept deep in the warrens, from cradle to grave in a chemicle stupor, birthing and nursing swarms of the repulsive vermin without ever having a free and concious thought in their lives?

How would anyone know, who had not lived among them? And how would knowing change anything of the horror of them, for those who live above? No doubt the orcs and goblins have something similar - some hidden place where they keep their women to create their armies. Though if it's underground, it's a wonder the rats aren't finding and enslaving them, too.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

It's not worth an insanity check. If there were 'disgust' points, I'd make you roll for one. But if Taalia has any immediate reactions to seeing her first orc, you may log it now for posterity. Otherwise, it's time to hit the skies again!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia pursed her lips and furrowed her brow at the news that an orc had snuck into the camp. What were the sentries doing? If anything? Didn't they use dogs to 'man' the perimeter?

But the star of the show was the green cadaver of the orc. Taalia had been around numerous goblins, the smaller, less lethal, but far more devious kin of the orcs. Seeing the greenskin in person, dead as it was, the shepardess could imagine its ferocity in her mind, those ape-like arms and unusual gait providing an awkward movement that would surge forward with powerful locomotion. The girl reached out and gripped one of its large, green hamfists, drew it up at the end of its thick, rope-muscled arm and let it drop drown heavily onto the floor. Flicking her lips, Taalia shook her head and exhaled, standing up.

"No females?" Taalia asked, narrowing her brow at the revealation.

"Not one has been seen?"

The girl knew about the Skaven breeders, the corpulent, chemically-comatosed miserable stand-ins for "life". What Taalia had gathered of Skaven "females", if they could be called such a thing, was that there were very few of them, each one a highly prized commodity and they were sometimes even traded. To gain access to a breeder was sometimes an honour or a payment dolled out to ratmen that provided some heroically valuable service to one whom owned enough of the wretched things to dispense such a reward - because that's how the Skaven were. The girl had to shudder back the very idea of being such a pitiful creature, not something that 'lived' as much as it simply existed to multiply in service of an empire that deserved to collapse onto the ashpile of history.

But that brought her back to the orcs: how did they reproduce?

"You mean this one is..." she thought of a delicate word, "...intact?" she asked.

The shepardess was no stranger to such things. She had ran a farm after all.

If the confirmation is given that the orc is absent such armaments, her next question was simple.

"...if they're not males, why would we expect there to be females?"

[MrAbdiel]

It would be easy enough to conclude that, there being no female orcs discovered, these might not be male, and have no male anatomical markers. Easy to conclude, though not easy to theorize - all creatures from birds to bears to dragons to men to elves to skaven produce through coupling. The exceptions are very strange and rare - slimes, and daemons, and monstrous things about which little is known.

And so prodding back the creature's loincloth with a stick, to discover the beast's inhuman, but not unrecognizable protrusion is puzzling. Perhaps there are female orcs somewhere, hidden in caves. Perhaps urinating with manual precision is so important to the species that the require such dextrous aid - skaven piss on their slaves and possessions to mark them, and dogs do so over locations they are fond of. Or perhaps whatever malign god created these green monsters did so as a direct parody of the upright and noble races of the world, particularly their fighting men - and the presence of such a feature is a sort of mark of design economy. The creature seemed aware enough of itself to wear a loincloth - ultimately, you come away from the viewing with more questions than answers.

You bid Leoduccio and the dogs farewell, and return with Bella to the flying machine. "What awful creatures. The rats are a horror to be sure, but the orc looks like every worst feature of a man made repulsively overpronounced - brutish, smelly, strong. And also made green, for some reason." The seamstress ponders with disgust, hoping not to ever see one again.

It is a hope that would be shortly dashed.

You say your farewells to the mercenaries and return to find Signore Cestié quite chipper indeed. The praise of other men, especially strangers, is deeply gratifying to him. You remember when the Rampollo Damio invited you into conference with the local livestock barons, and you were treated with slowly mounting appreciation and even admiration for your youthful ambition. And also, after the stress and fear of his reunion with his family, it is nice to see him happy. You secure yourselves to the machine, put on your helmets, and pedal back into the sky; ascending up above the winding mountain pass, following its snaking way from the safety of the sky.

A couple of hours into the journey, as the rocky peaks and cliffs scroll by beneath you and the green land beyond them is glowing on the horizon with the dipping sun, your ears first pick up the distant, tinny clatter of battle far below. Soon, the conflict is visible to you and your companions as well.

Far below, on an upcoming shoulder of cliff on one of the mountains, a lone human fighter makes a slowly failing stand against a small mob of orcs. The cliff ledge is narrow enough that the familiar knight - in his gold and black heraldry, you have seen him before - is able to control the approach of the orcs with great wild swings of his longsword and mastery of his shield. Your keen eyes watch as one of the green brutes blurts out a cry of violence and tries to move around to flank, and his slammed in the face with the shield to tumble down the cliff with wet, cracking impacts all the way down the jagged rock. But the knight is flagging, and tired; and there are a half dozen more orcs cagilly looking for their moment to fall on him and bear him down with their numbers. The largest among them is a foot taller than the knight, and has a crude wooded rack of spears rigged to his back on which are mounted the heads of two orcs, a skaven, and a human.

You see two more orcs strewn in blood behind the mob, suggesting this has been a fighting retreat, but he can retreat no more - immediately behind him, barring his way both physically and as a matter of chivalry, is the beautiful winged horse; stricken, bleeding, stilled. It would be impossible to land the flying machine on such a ledge; but it seems the pegasus has more options of maneuverability, and the knight landed to attack the orcs only for his companion mount to suffer a terrible blow and strand him in the fight for his life.

"Taalia, oh no! His horse, Taalia, how awful!" Bella's response is instinctively empathetic, if incomplete. Her attention is drawn to the suffering of the beautiful and noble animal. Your attention, sharpened to a razor edge of survival math in the dark places under the earth, is drawn also the the immediate mortal peril of the knight. He has fought well, and will die surrounded by the bodies of his enemy - but he will die; and the fine helm with its gold and black ribbons will be mounted on that trophy rack.

Signore Cestié looks over his shoulder to you, and gives you a nod. "Just like the rats, I think. Transire Benefaciendo, Taalia! Yahoo!"

Transire Benefaciendo - to travel, and do good deeds; a Tilean expression you have heard before. It is not the explicitly required lifestyle of any Tilean, but holds a place in the culture as a kind of counterpart to the expectations of hospitality. Ishea (or perhaps Rhya) will hold accountable those who do not open their home to travellers in need; and Karnos (or perhaps Taal) will look darkly on those vagabonds and freebooters who enjoy the hospitality of strangers, but do not perform those good deeds they can, on the roads through the forests and mountains. It is the principal that you unknowingly honored when you leapt to Gaulfredo's defense, in the woods in Verezzo against the goblins; and that he honored in turn by opening his home to you afterward. And it is the principle that Signore Cestié, who has lived most of his life in cities and towns and is just now catching up on his backlog of travel, seeks to honor as he gives you a moment to get your blunderbuss ready, and then puts Maso's Magnificent Flying Machine into a controlled dive and bank to give you a shot at the snarling greenskins.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Boom! Give me six damage rolls upon these startled orcs.

Actually, also, you should be rolling a d100 every time you fire that thing, just for the unreliable quality - 1-95 you hit, 96-99 it misfires and jams, 100 it explodes. You can reroll this with FP.

But after that, six damage rolls. And, you know, commentary.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

The inspection of the orc had stuck with Taalia for a while following its manifestation. Prodding at particulars of the ugly thing had felt less than wholesome, and when Bella expressed her disgust for the beast on their return to the machine, Taalia had nodded in acquieces to her thoughts. Truth be told...Taalia had seen worse. If Bella thought these things were nasty and horrifying, hopefully fate would spare her from witnessing a cage full of hungry rat ogres...and being the slave whose duty it was to throw the slop bucket to them to fulfil their feeding time.

Even when they ascended back into the mountain sky, the sketchbook tucked away safely and the wholesome images of the dogs filed within her memory, Taalia kept thinking of that green beast. For all the characteristics it possessed, each one a grotesque deformation of a more pleasing form, the girl found the jaw to be the most unsettling. Protruded as it was, brawny, thick and tough, it looked more like the base of a mountain than a functional house for the rows of teeth within its mouth, the way it jutted forward granting the creature an overbite that must have forced it to have the most loathsome of table manners. That ghastly overbite beneath those beady, red eyes...a hideous package indeed.

A hideous package Taalia would be happy to never see again - but fate was not so kind.

The wind was pressing against the shepardesses face like a cool companion when the commotion was spotted. Sailing through the air amidst the crags as they were, the world beneath them was smaller than up close, and so when movement was spotted upon a ledge, with the sun shining off of a blade being swung about in skilful arcs, Taalia noticed it immediately. Turning her head to face it, she tapped Cestie's shoulder once, twice, three times quickly and clicked her fingers of the offending hand: their gesture that he was to pass her the telescope. Having received the item, Taalia extended it and peered through the lens, the world suddenly falling away as her vision was transported hundreds of yards to a spot of conflict straight from a knights tale: a lone, tired man of the blade against a baying mob of savages, his wounded, noble steed by his side and reliant solely upon his survival.

"Cestie - hard to port!"

With his attention drawn to the event by the younger set of eyes behind him, the elder Maso drew back upon the yoke and angled the craft to come about. Taalia could see over his shoulder towards the action, the tall pines of the mountains all baring witness to this lone, gold-and-yellow heraldry-swathed knight and his lone defiance against the half a dozen of the savage greenskins baying for his blood. One of the beasts tried his luck, but his bulk and strength proved ineffective compared to the knights skill, as the armored man used the orcs momentum and mass against him with a deflection of his shield and shove of his shoulder to send the cur hurtling off the cliff behind him and down to the splattered fate it deserved.

But there were still more, and the man was visibly tiring.

"Just like the rats, I think. Transire Benefaciendo, Taalia! Yahoo!"

Taalia smirked and nodded once. Leonardo was stored to her right, and the shepardess gripped its stock and withdrew it. Riding shotgun as she was, Taalia felt the breeze run its cool fingers through her hair as she brought the blunderbuss up and pressed the butt against her shoulder - aiming down the barrel as the green figures grew and grew...

Crack!

The shot exploded from the firearm and raked across the puzzled and astonished orcs, peppering their tough, green hides and drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. It might warrant momentary fear, but Taalia doubted that would be enough.

"Bella - firearm! Reload!" Taalia yelled over the whirring of the flying machines gears and flapping wings. She held Leonardo over her shoulder with her left hand, while her right hand sat likewise, open and waiting to feel the weight of - there!

Drawing her right arm forward, Taalia brought her firearm up and the butt against her shoulder. To think that she had built this beautiful weapon with the sole intent being to preserve her personal wealth and sell it in Bretonnia or the Empire. The girl wasn't clueless: she had spoken to enough traders during her enterprising time to discover something called an "exchange rate", and how Tilean duro's only possessed approximately half of their value in Bretonnian lands. But, ahhh, material goods were worth the same anywhere! Thus, Taalia had built this firearm with every intent to sell it in the Empire. It was worth a veritable fortune by the common mans standards, hundreds of gold pieces that would take a lone peasant a lifetime to accrue. But here, right now, the power of its lead shot may just be worth even more.

Reaching forward to tap Cestie's shoulder to confirm she was read, Taalia felt her stomach lurch as the flying machine banked starboard to bring itself back around for another run.

Drawing the firearm up against her shoulder and aiming down its sights, Taalia droned the surroundings out and allowed them to become just a green-and-brown blur on her peripheries, while that small handful of orcs dominated her attention, namely, the boss - the big bastard hollaring and hooting. Doubtless he had the savvy to send forward a few of his grunts to wear the knight down, so that he may stride forward and defeat a weakened opponent and claim some item of his possession or person as a grisly trophy. Well, not today, Taalia thought to herself; her green eye staring down those ironsights, the background rushing past so quickly. She had barely a half second to predict movement, the speed of her own passing and the spot on the orc that would do the most damage, and by the time their machine drew close enough, the girl had aimed, taken her mark and pulled the trigger.

Crack!

A great puff of smoke billowed out of the machine and wisped off into the mountain air as that lead shot sailed through the distance between them and the bellowing orcs, that bullet blasting forward and carrying more kinetic energy than any arm could possess, its trajectory aligning it squarely with the orcs thick, brawny midsection...

[MrAbdiel]

Leonardo throws his baleful shot, over the orcs. One is blinded by the flechette, howling and teetering to be trampled by his fellows. But even the best of them is alarmed and harried and blooded by the blast, who are suddenly contending both with the obstructive knight and attacks from a vector they had not expected to ever defend. They howl and roar at you as the machine buzzes by; and you trade the blunderbuss for the musket, imploring Cestié to afford you another shot. But you have swooped low in the valley to bring the blunderbuss into range; the cliffs are there with the howling orcs on one side and not so far away on the other to allow a comfortable circle about for another shot like was the case with the skaven. "Hang on!", the old tinker shouts, pumping his legs in the pedals and pitching the flying machine up from its drive, up until it is spiking directly up into the sky. You are at the extreme of your range now, but there is a perfect moment of weightlessness where you are not competing with the turning and torquing forces of the machine's movement. The world is sideways to you; but the bullet flies straight and thumps into the chest of the biggest orc in the mob; the brute seems as shocked as anyone as dark red blood begins pouring down his front, and strength leaves his limbs, and he falls below the mob of his foul kinsmen.

Bella screams. Her efforts to reload your blunderbuss are faltering at best - she is not well trained with guns, though you have taught her the basics - but now the machine is upright and the sense of soaring turns to one of falling as gravity, that grudge bearing old coot, seizes a moment to snatch at your magnificent vessel. Once more however, Cestié seems to know what he is doing. He manipulates the wings, uses the forward listing of the machine's nose to turn into a new dive instead of a flat spinning fall, and hauling up on the yoke and relying on your desperate pedaling as well as his, the flying machine skims just above the beaten track of the mountain pass and then begins ascending again, northward, leaving the heroic knight in mystery behind you to capitalize on your Benefaciendo.

"Show me a dwarven flying machine that can do that, hah? Hahaha!" Cestié calls back, face flushed with effort and thrill. His eyes are the same kind, keen set that beheld you as a newly freed slave living in Gaulfredo's barn; but his face is brighter now, more full of life and somehow more complete for all the experiences you have shared with him and the encouragement you have given him; now an inventor and master of a flying machine that the world had never witnessed.

But men are not the only creatures who dare to slip the surly bonds of earth...

As the flying machine ascends and smooths its erratic recovery, you can see in the distance what must be the Bretonnian containment line. They are blurs even for your eyes at this distance; you see red and blue pennants, and a press of what must be a band of greenskins trying their luck. But you hear them much closer. Racing past the cliffs, as you prepare to start reloading your musket and Bella resumes her work on the blunderbuss, you spy a motley crew of goblins manning strange contraptions on the cliffside beside, then quickly behind you. They are some kind of catapult, or siege weapon - they pass too quickly for you to see - but their terrible payload is quickly revealed as you are joined in the air by three shrieking goblins. They are rigged in some kind of gliding contraption of their own, like the kind that Daedalo's men wore, though glacingly you see no pedals or means to propel themselves on. They wear pointed helms and angle themselves as they are shot high, high even above you like trebuchet stones and then dive toward you like horrendous green raptors. It is not ambling, swift pedal power that drives them on, but a lunatic rush of gravity arrested just enough to steer the suicide fall of the flyers. For any point of comparison, this is a thing that skaven would never do - these goblins, these living weapons, must know they are bound to die on impact with their targets on the ground. No skaven would destroy itself for any reason; no man would do it except for some sense of honor or spite; but the greenskins zipping through the air towards your flying machine seem to be willing to do it for the idiot thrill.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Goblin revenge!

Your unloaded firearms are unhelpfully unloaded presently; but I would allow you to aim with a pistol and fire when the first one comes into your long range - the +20 for sharpshooter aiming cancelling out the long range penalty. If that's something you're interested in! Bella will keep reloading the Blunderbuss, and Cestié can only take evasive action.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


And just like that, they had to press on. Conditions and circumstances forced them onward, though Taalia wretched herself about in her seat to try her best to look over her shoulder at the outcome of the confrontation. She'd taken down one normal orc. And the boss had received a fist-sized hole in his chest that had been announced with a splatter of gore, bone and bits of green flesh: he was likely toast too. That would leave the orcs down one goon and remiss of their leader, if things were lucky, and facing a stalwart and skilled opponent. That might be enough to turn things in his favour, Taalia hoped and preyed.

But, the aerobatics weren't over yet. The flying contraption caught the attention of further greenskins, the mountains home to some form of warband that was pressing their forces against the distant Bretonnian lines. Here, in the back ranks where they were, Cestie, Bella and Taalia were sailing over an unfolding battle, the situation only becoming obvious to Taalia the deeper in they got. This realisation struck the girl like a bolt of inspiration, her eyes widening as she immediately attempted to view and spy upon the greenskins encampments and guess their numbers - all the better to tell the Bretonnians later. But the shepardess' scouting efforts were soon disrupted by a new menace - flying goblins.

The white-haired girl stared in disbelief, blinking once and shaking her head in the hopes that she was just seeing things under the influence of adrenaline. But no, there it was: flying goblins.

Bedecked in a laughably primitive, but seemingly functional, version of the personal flying suits the engineering students had used when Cestie had taken Taalia camping in the mountains, the goblins soared high and far after being catapulted into the sky. The steel helm upon their heads was pointed and armoured, clearly to provide the greatest impact the suicidal creatures could impart, while the poorly crafted wings taped, roped and glued to the hideous little creatures body was visibly oscillating beneath the force of the wind. Had the goblin continued for any further distance than which they were propelled, the poor craftsmanship of their flying harness would see them crash uselessly into the ground.

Barely hesitating, Taalia handed her firearm back to Bella and withdrew one of her own pistols that was also holstered next to her. Holding the weapon up and aiming it, she waited...waited...waited...until the goblin drew within effective firing range before pulling the trigger...