Blackhearts IC

[Xsesiv]

OoC: Guys, if you haven't already, roll up stats. More important for this moment is to know what your character has done to be put in prison, but I need stats before we start needing to roll. Most importantly of all, welcome to the game and have fun.

In the middle of the night, twelve men sit in a brig. If they were to look out of the window they could see the instrument that represents their doom; a gallows, outfitted with twelve ropes. A hangman tests the trapdoors; he drops a sack of earth tied to each rope in turn and it reaches the end of the rope with a jerk, a thud and a creak. Each time it happens, a few of the prisoners swear, groan, or laugh helplessly. They sit in tunics or underclothes, having been stripped of all their weapons, armour and equipment, including everything they wear made of leather – too often have prisoners escaped by knocking out or disabling their captors by kicking them in the head or the knees with steel-toed boots, whipping them into submission with the buckles of their belts, or tying them up with strips of leather cut from their jackets. This room is full of the scum of the Empire; murderers, rapists, larceners, kidnappers, and doubtless worse.

Having had his boots removed, a young, greasy-haired Halfling sitting on the floor can be seen to lack his two little toes. Nearby, a copper-haired, heavily tattooed dwarf sings to himself softly. Against a wall, a bald, burly man and a skinny, wiry one with long dark hair whisper animatedly to each other. By the door, in the shadows, sits a dark-haired, -eyed, and -skinned man with incredibly white teeth, and against the back wall, perfectly at attention, a tall, powerful, blond-bearded man with piercing blue eyes and the demeanour of a knight. A tall, thin man with a nervous tic and a trimmed beard sits with his back to the wall. A plump man in the outfit of a field surgeon sits, his face to the wall, paying nobody and nothing any attention. A beardless, dark-haired boy, more pretty than handsome, with the calloused hands of an archer, shivers intermittently, but gives no other sign of life. Finally, in a corner sits a bull-sized man with a balding pate that contrasts with his full grey beard and ponytail and bushy, black eyebrows.

"I never meant to kill anybody, they just kept pushing and pushing," he tells the judge and jury he has long since been removed from. "Just…jokes…insults and names and…I didn’t swing to kill, but we were framing a siege tower, and I had a maul…and…and…" Searching for the words, he flexes his shovel-sized hands.

"And…and…yer a bloody great orc what don't know 'is own strength, is what," says the bald, burly man, who has a jutting chin-beard.

The giant leaps to his feet, blazing fury in his eyes. "I am not an orc!"

"Easy now," says the bald man’s wiry companion. "We none of us need another helping of trouble. Hals didn't mean no harm by it. He just lets his mouth run away with him every now and again."

[littlebottom]

"'is mouth ran away? how did it manage tha'?! i dinnai think mouths 'ad feet..." the dwarf inspects his own mouth with his hands for a moment "nope, nay feet there." he wanders about in the cramped room, from here to there. eventually he slowly stops, "all o' us in 'ere togeather reminds me o' a good song mah daddie used ta sing when i was jus' a boy." he begins singing to himself in his rough voice in khazalid. seemingly oblivious to everything around him.

[Xsesiv]

A scream pipes up as the dwarf roars out his father's song. "So loud...gods, so, so loud," whimpers the trim-bearded man, forcing himself to his feet and pressing himself against the back wall. "It's as bad as the fire...the fire in the sky. Did you see it? It moved like a man...It reached for me. It..." He cuts short and slumps down to the floor.

A giggle comes from the wall. "Is no need to making stories, boys," says the dark man beside the door. "We all in boats, the same one, hey?"

"What d'you know about it, garlic-eater?" growls Hals. "I suppose yer as pure as snow. What're yer in here for?"

"A mis-standing-under. I find some guns. I sell to some Kossar boys. How I know Empire so stingy? How I know they not share with ally?"

"The Empire has no allies, you theiving mercenary," comes from the blond knight. "Only grateful neighbours who flock to it like frightened sheep to a shepherd."

[Night Monkey]

"Is that so sir Knight?" croaks the halfling, his throat dry, his body curled up, his hands rhythmically massaging the place where one of his toes should be and occasionally touching the end of his crooked nose, as though for luck. "I suppose you've never done anything wrong, o patriotic one. I suppose you're just down here to keep us sinners entertained!" He lets out a gurgling noise that might have been intended as a laugh, before looking down at the floor and starting to shudder.

[Xsesiv]

The knight looks at the small man. "'Tis a mistake, certain to be rectified. I killed a man in an affair of honour. There's no crime in that, but somebody seemed to think so. They said he was a boy."

"I killed my tent-mate," says the pretty boy, for no apparent reason. "He...tried to put his hands on me. And...I'll do the same for any of you if you try the like." The speech is cut short by a loud creak as the iron door opens slowly.

Enter a huge sergeant holding a handgun, with two pistols in his belt, flanked by three equally huge guards brandishing pikes. "On your feet, scum!" he bawls, aiming his handgun round the room as a horrible warning example for those who do not obey. The surgeon and knight are first to comply.

"Taking us to our last meal?" asks Hals, still slumped against the wall.

The sergeant rounds on him, pointing his gun into the man's face. "If you don't shut it, it'll be me boot. Now, on your feet."

[littlebottom]

"tis tha' a gurnison mark 2? tha craftmanship o' tha' is a beuaty!" dimzad goes over inspecting the gun. "no, it is nai a gurnison at all, let alone a mark 2, id be insulted if ye shot that at anyone, its nai fit for use is that. would blow up in yer face sooner than fire straight." dimzad wanders back to where he was before, and pauses before realising somethings going on. "i thought this were invitation only, what you doing here at the party?" dimzad asks the guards

[Night Monkey]

Niklaus' attention is caught by the dwarf's antics. Believing his ranting to be an attempt to distract the guards, he gets up and shifts closer to the exit, watching for an opportunity to dash for his freedom.

[Xsesiv]

The sergeant cracks the Dwarf across the face with the barrel of his gun while the guards form a solid wall of muscle across the doorway to bar any escape. "No more funny business, you Stunty bastard. Come with me, people, or I will shoot you. In the face." He points his gun at every prisoner in turn, ensuring they all stand, then has the two of the guards lead them out of the door while he and the other guard follow them.

Frog-marching them in this manner down the corridor and down a spiralling staircase with many a curse and groan, they eventually come to a room equipped as a torture chamber. Branding irons and other nasty implements lie on tables and a monstrous iron maiden looms in the corner. Cages and manacles line the walls.

"Eyes front!" screams the sergeant. "Dress ranks! Attention!"

[littlebottom]

"attention on what?" says dimzad gently rubbing the side of his face wondering why it hurt, if he had realized what it was he would of proberbly mistook it as an offer for a fight.

[Xsesiv]

One of the guards jabs the Dwarf in the back of the thigh with his pike, making him stand up straight. "Attention on that. Stand still."

In comes a man in a leather apron, lugging a brazier of hot coals and set of brands. He blows on the coals with a set of bellows and sets up the brazier in the middle of the room. Nothing else seems to be forthcoming.

[littlebottom]

being poked in the back of the leg simply makes dimzad hop on one foot spinning on the spot going "ow ow ow ow ow that stings!"

[Xsesiv]

"Eyes front, curse you!" roars the sergeant. He snaps to attention himself as two men enter the room. One is a scarred old veteran with iron-grey hair, a grim, heavily lined face, his slit eyes hidden under shaggy brows, and a hitch in his walk. The second, dressed in fine blue velvet and a fur cloak, is tall and barrel-chested, with a powerful but fat frame, a lantern jaw and a face as cold as the ice in his eyes. He looks over the sorry bunch of prisoners.

[Night Monkey]

Having been crushed by his failure to find a way out, Niklaus suddenly snaps back into a more optimistic mood. Eyeing up the portly gentleman's fine clothes (and, despite himself, trying to figure out how much he could flog them for) he knows that the sudden appearance of well-dressed folk at an execution is hardly standard procedure. And in a situation like this, change is good.

Thinking that perhaps man is seeking to acquire a bonded slave of some kind, Niklaus stands as tall as he can and tries to look as... useful as possible. The life of a slave was not one he ever wished to endure, but he was sure it could be escaped from more easily than the cold grip of death.

[littlebottom]

"ooh the dwarfs marched side by side, with humans, hurrah! oh the dwarfs marched side by side, with humans, hurrah!" dimzad sings to the room in general. getting bored with being where he was.

[Xsesiv]

"Shut up!" roars the sergeant at the Dwarf, kicking him in the stomach. "The prisoners, my lord," he says completely unnecessarily, saluting. The tall, fat, apparently-lord nods curtly and begins to walk down the line of prisoners with the captain at his side.

"Ulf Urquart, my lord. Engineer. Charged with the murder of a fellow sapper. Hit him with a maul," he says, as they pass the giant.

They move to the pikemen. Pointing out the bearded man, then the thinner one, he says, "Hals Kiir and Pavel Voss. Pikemen. Murdered their captain while in battle."

"We didn't, though," interrupts Hals.

"As he was running from a charge at the time, we reckon it was Kurgan done for him," says Pavel.

"Silence, scum!" shouts the sergeant, and backhands them.

"That's all right, sergeant," says the nobleman, and, pointing out the pretty youth, "And who is this?"

"Franz Schoentag. Archer. Shot his tentmate, claims self-defense." The lord and the veteran simply grunt and move onto the angular, bearded man with the tic.

"Oskar Lightmar. Cannoneer. Cowardice in from of the enemy. Left his gun." The veteran looks at him with some distaste.

Pointing to the knight, the sergeant says, "Erich von Eisenberg, Novitiate Knight in the Order of the Sceptre. Killing Viscount Olin Marburg in a duel."

The lord raises an eyebrow. "A capital offence?"

"The viscount had only fifteen summers."

"Ah."

Next is the dwarf. "Dimzad Thekerson. Also killed a man in a duel, but it was meant to be a duel to first blood and the Dwarf here deliberately killed him."

They next come to the Tilean. "Giano Ostini. Tilean mercenary crossbowman. Nicked Empire handguns, sold 'em to foreigners."

"How I know is crime, hey?"

The sergeant looks over the plump canvas-wearer with nothing short of disgust. "Gustaf Schlect, field-surgeon. Charged with - ah - doing violence to a person in the course of bringing provisions to the forces."

"Not familiar with that one, I'm afraid."

"He...molested, raped and killed the daughter of the farmer his unit was billeted with."

"How charming."

"Finally, Niklaus Schroeder. Kidnapped a noble's daughter for his own nefarious purposes. Your own second cousin, if I'm not mistaken. I'm sure you know?"

"Quite. Well, captain?"

"Wouldn't pay a penny for the lot of them." says the captain, curling his lip.

"Then we'll have to make do."

"We'll have to."

The torturer picks up a brand from his hot coals, now glowing orange-hot. "Who will be first? Orc-heart here?"

"I'm not an orc!" roars the giant.

[Xsesiv]

One of the guards forces the prisoners into a cage on the left wall while the other two drag Ulf to a tabletop and kick him in the back of the legs, bringing him to a kneeling position. "What are you going to do?" he asks, as they flatten his hand on the tabletop. One puts the tip of his pike to the big man's neck. "Easy now."

The torturer, looking totally unconcerned, brings up his brand and forces it against the back of the big man's hand. It sizzles for a few seconds with a smell of cooking meat you wish would not be so pleasant. Then, the man slumps in a dead faint.

"Who is next?" asks the nobleman.

[Night Monkey]

I've got to step up. What if he only takes a few and the rest get left to the noose? But that brand... Niklaus tries to summon up the will to volunteer for the pain that dropped the giant-like man to the floor, suppressing tremors from the thought of what it might do to him.

Willpower roll (WP = 31): [roll0]

[Night Monkey]

Niklaus hangs back and his shuddering recommences. He's nearly hysterical with the combined fear of the noose and the brand.

[Xsesiv]

The next to volunteer is Franz, the young boy, who screams like a girl as the brand sears his flesh, then the two pikemen, who hiss louder than the brand's sizzling but barely even grimace at the pain, though they are fighting down tears. In the cell, Oskar the cannoneer weeps like a child as the surgeon is dragged out to recieve his brand and also collapses on the floor, for the brand had cooled too much and taken half the skin off his hand.

"Come on, you cowards, who is next?" asks the cruel torturer, laying his brand back into the coals.

Apparently, it it the knight Erich, who is dragged from the cell saying "You can't brand me like a common peasant! Just...nick my ear or something!" he torturer looks to the nobleman, who shakes his head. The guards kick his legs until he kneels and the torturer brands his hand. Next is Ostini. Then, their gaze falls on the Dwarf. "Come along, Stunty," says the torturer.

[littlebottom]

"come along? why? where you going?" says dimzad curiously.

[Xsesiv]

"Out of the cage," growls the torturer as two guards enter it and drag the Dwarf out by the arms and kick him in the legs while the torturer flattens his hand on the table and brands it.

[littlebottom]

"yeooooouuuchh!" when the dwarf recieves his hand back he runs about waving his hand about looking for a pot of water to stick his hand into.

[Xsesiv]

"Shut up, ye bastard," bellows the torturer, putting the iron back in the coals while pointing out the Halfling to be next to recieve the treatment. The guards drag him out of the cage and force his hand onto the table, then the orange-hot brand is pressed to his flesh.

[Night Monkey]

The metal presses upon his flesh, and hell erupts in his mind. He holds back the urge to scream, remaining silent, but tears fall unchecked to the floor. The agony compresses his hope of escape, forcing it into the shape of a certain conviction. He has to be able to escape death now, this is the price he has to pay instead... surely?

[Xsesiv]

The last few prisoners are branded. "Sergeant," says the noble, "give the surgeon fellow some bandages and have him tend these burns." The torturer produces some unguents which he gives to Gustaf, who salves and binds his own burn, then starts on the others. "Now that we have you leashed, we can procceed. I am Baron Albrecht Valdenheim; gentlemen, I am here to offer you something you did not have an hour ago. A choice. You can serve your Emperor on a mission of great importance, or you can hang from the gallows this evening. The chances of survival, I warrant you, are slim, but the rewards will be great. You will receive a full pardon for your crimes and be given your weight in gold crowns."

"What good is that, when you gave us this?" asks Hals, holding up his burn, in the shape of a hammer, telling the world that the man who bore it was a deserter and could be shot on sight.

"Merely an insurance policy. The Emperor values this mission so highly he will have a sage of the Order of Light remove the brands when the mission is complete."

"What's the job?" asks a sullen Pavel, prompting a laugh form the Baron.

"Mean you to haggle? You will learn the nature of the job when you have volunteered for it. Now, gentlemen, your answers, please."

[littlebottom]

"mah weight in gold ye say? dya mind if i get a little fatter first?"

[Xsesiv]

"You won't have time. If you go, you'll be going tonight. And if you don't go, you'll still be going tonight, as it were," the Baron says to the Dwarf with a nasty smirk. ""Yes" and "No" were the answers I was thinking of. Anybody else?"

More like everybody else. Anyone can see that whatever this entails it is better than hanging, and there is a chorus of "Aye,"s, "Yes,"s and "I'm your man,"s.

[littlebottom]

"I, Dimzad Thekerson, do solomnly swear that I will always like to live!... thatd be a yes in human speak"

[Night Monkey]

For the first time in his life, Niklaus' size is getting in the way of having money, proving that incredible good luck could come at the same time as atrocious unfairness.

"Y... yes."

[Xsesiv]

"Very good," says Albrecht, when everyone has assented. "Now you will learn of your mission." Indicating the scarred veteran at his side: "Under the command of Captain Veirt here, you shall escort Lady Magda Bandauer, an abbess of Shallya, to a Shallyan convent in the foothills of the Middle Mountains, where a holy relic lies in a hidden crypt. Lady Magda will open the crypt and then you shall escort her back here with the relic with all possible haste." He grins. "Time is of the essence. It is a task simple in the telling, but I have no need to remind men of the Empire, no matter how...debased they are, that the lands 'twixt here and the mountains are not yet entirely reclaimed, and that the mountains have become the refuge of Chaos marauders; Kurgan, Norse and worse. We have word that the convent was recentlyly pillaged by the Kurgan and they may still be in the area. You will be sore pressed, but for those who survive and return the relic and the abbess to me, the Empire's munificence will know no bounds."

The room degenerates into argument.

"Do you mean to tell me," barks Erich, "that we are to be led by this...this foot-soldier? I am a Knight of the Sceptre. My horse and armour cost more than he will make in a career."

"Bloody jagger," growls Hals. "My spear's killed more northers than your horse and armour ever will."

"Captain Veirt also outranks you. He has thirty years of battle under his belt while you are...Vexillary? Bugle? Have you even blooded your lance?"

"I am a nobleman. I cannot take orders from a peasant. My father is Freidrich von Eisenberg, Baron of..."

"I know who your father is, boy. Would you like me to tell him how many strong young knights you have maimed and killed in "affairs of honour"? You deprive the Empire of good men and call it sport."

"No, sir, my lord."

"Good. Well, before you go, your commanding officer has a few words."

The captain steps up and looks you in the eye, in turn, then speaks in a voice like gravel under iron wheels. "Thank you, my lord. You have all been chosen for a great honour, and granted a clemency none of you deserve. So if any of you attempt to abuse this kindness, by trying to escape, by betraying us to the enemy, by trying to kill each other or me, by sabotaging the mission, I give you my personal guarantee that I will make the rest of your very short life a living hell the likes of which would make the depredations of the Daemons of Chaos look like a country dance." He turns and limps towards the door, while the guards usher you out behind him. "That is all. Any questions?"

[Night Monkey]

The wilderness... not my territory, but surely there are ample opportunities to escape unseen.

"No questions from me," Niklaus mutters.

[littlebottom]

"we can 'ave our stuff back now then eh?""

[Xsesiv]

Veirt leads you wordlessly on, but you are soon to find out that if nothing else, Albrecht is sure you are well-equipped. Captain Veirt trudges down another staircase and leads you across a courtyard, over a drawbridge, and from there to a paddock, towards eleven horses and a pack mule, each horse outfitted to the person's needs and abilities. Each has a saddlebag containing a standard field kit; bedroll, rations, skillet, flint and tinder, canteen and the like. Your leather clothing has been returned along with sturdy marching boots to replace the ones taken from you in the brig, and Niklaus's sack, containing a set of lockpicks and a coil of rope, has also been returned. Dimzad gets back his halberd. For each of you there is a dagger, a utility boot-knife, and a hand weapon; a hatchet for the Dwarf, a smallsword for the Halfling. Also given to the Halfling is a sling and a small drawstring sack of lead firearm balls to fire from it. For each of you there is also a long cloak, steel lobster-tail bascinet and back-and-breastplate. But you have been given no money.

"What's this supposed to be; a joke?" calls Ulf, hefting in one hand a huge maul, looking bigger than Sigmar's hammer, which most men would struggle to lift with two; oaken and bound in iron.

Veirt grins nastily. "'Tis the only weapon we know yer competent with."

"Do you ask a knight to ride a pack horse?" asks Erich, hooking and strapping a finely-made, beautifully-filigreed greatsword's scabbard to his saddle and looking at his steed in distaste. "This beast is barely fourteen hands."

"We're going into the mountains, yer grace. Yer charger might find the going a bit rough."

"Looks tall enough to me," says Hals apprehensively, before being backed up, as usual, by his friend Pavel.

"Aye. Can you make 'em kneel so we can get on?"

"Sigmar save us. Will we have to teach these peasants to ride?"

"They'll pick it up soon enough. Learn from his lordship, lads. 'F yer ride like ye've got a pike up yer fundament, yer on the mark."

Pavel and Hals guffaw. Erich looks enraged.

[littlebottom]

"ach, thisll 'av tay do..." dimzad pets his horse before jumping up.

[Night Monkey]

For the first time in several days, Niklaus laughs. He continues to smile as he takes hold of his rope in one hand, and takes one of his lockpicks down to eye level to examine it. Having the tools of his trade back suddenly makes him feel potent, and free. Now he can slip in and out of wherever he wants to go, relying on nothing but his own skill.

I'm not going to die, he thought, and laughed again. I'm not going to die...

Then the thought of Kurgan and Norse and whatever other horrors dwell in the wild places strikes him, and he gives a shudder, whilst still spluttering out the endings of his laughter.

...today

[Xsesiv]

Albrecht leads a beautiful chestnut palfrey out towards you, ridden by a stern, cold-looking woman in a Shallyan abbess' robes; attractive enough in a haughty way but looking as though she measures out Shallya's mercy on a scale. She looks over you with barely-concealed disdain. Albrecht hands her her rein and kisses her hand as he does so; she smiles at him and brushes his cheek with a hand. He waits for you to mount up, then calls out,"Ride swiftly and return quickly. Remember that riches await you if you succeed and that I will hunt you down like dogs if you betray me. Now go, and may the eyes of Sigmar watch over your journey."

He salutes you off as Veirt kicks his horse into motion and signals for you to follow. The salute is only returned by Veirt and Erich. As you ride off down the tilled fields towards the inky black strip of forest far in the distance, it begins to drizzle. "A good omen, and no mistake," mutters Hals, pulling on his hooded cloak.

[littlebottom]

dimzad kicks his horse into life to follow after the others, when it rains he turns his head to the skys, and gets lost in thought.

a few seconds later he lets out a long terrorfied cry, as he has a flashback to a time he would rather forget. it was raining on that battlefield as he stood there axe in hand with the bittersweet feeling of victory, being one of very few survivors, possibly more by luck than skill.

he remembers the feeling of the rain on his face as he begins to cry almost like a child, but the horse luckily follows the others regardless.

[Xsesiv]

The rain continues all night, turning the road to mud; the melting snow of previous weeks does not help much, and only when you pass open fields is there enough light to see by. When this happens, you notice the sky fading from black through blue into green and dawn cannot be an hour off when Veirt growls, "Rest here till dawn. No tents. Sleep in yer gear."

"But dawn's only an hour away," says Pavel.

"His lordship said time was of the essence. Ye'll get a full night's sleep when we stop to make camp tomorrow."

"Another day's riding?" grunts Hals. "Me arse won't stand it!"

"Well, ye'd rather yer arse was swinging by a rope, would yer? Now get yer heads down. Urquart, help me."

Everyone sees to their horses and takes out their bedrolls' pillows while Ulf and Veirt erect a tent for Lady Magda and Veirt lies down in front of the entrance.

"Don't worry, Cap'n. We don't want none. Get it? We don't want nun!"

"Aye, I get it, y'pillock. Now shut up. I don't know if me hand or me arse hurts worse."

[littlebottom]

looking around for a dryer patch, perhaps under a tree, dimzad will pat it out a little and curl up for the night, tired from his strange day.

slowly dimzad begins to nod off, sometimes muttering things to himself. mostly in khazalid, dimzad mumbles as if talking to people in his dreams.

[Night Monkey]

Nearly falling from atop his mount, Niklaus collapses beside it and immediately falls into slumber, unable to stay awake another moment.

[Xsesiv]

It seems you have only just dropped off to sleep when...

...CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG...

"Wake up, me beauties!" yells Veirt, banging a skillet on a large rock, and, most annoyingly, fully alert (as is Lady Magda, who sits waiting for her tent to be taken down). "We've a long day ahead of us!"

"I'll make him eat that skillet in a minute," mutters Hals, struggling to his feet.

You have slept for less than an hour; this counts as missing a night's sleep. All WS, BS, Ag, Int, WP and Fel rolls are at -10 for the coming day.

[littlebottom]

dimzad in a moment of brilliance thinks up a plan, and gets ready to implament it as they start to move off.

[Xsesiv]

All this while Veirt is forcing you to bolt down dry bread, hard cheese and some bottles of ale, then onto your horses. Hals and Pavel gingerly lower themselves into their saddles hissing and moaning as though they are sitting bare-arsed in thorn bushes. Less than half an hour after you are awake, you are on the road again.

The rain has stopped, but the sun has gone too and the sky is a pure, uninterrupted shade of dull grey from horizon to horizon.

[littlebottom]

makeing his way towards the back of the pack, dimzad (with his horse beside him) ties his horses reigns to the horse in front, climbs up on his horse, and secures his hands togeather around the neck of the horse with some cloth tied to his hands. at this point dimzad makes himself comfortable and nods off on the horse after a few minutes.

[Xsesiv]

OK, make a Ride test with the following modifiers:
-30 for trying to ride without being awake, relying only on instinct
+10 for having the foresight to tie the cloth around the horse's neck
-10 for having missed last night's sleep

[littlebottom]

i do believe i cannot pass.... AG: 21-30= -9 :smallfrown: [roll0]

[Xsesiv]

About half an hour down the road, the Dwarf has a particularly vivid dream and twitches sideways. With no sense of balance he swings off the horse and, hanging by the cloth round its neck, in front of its legs, tripping it. It falls on top of him. He takes [roll0] Wounds (modified as usual), the horse [roll1].

The company has to stop so that Gustaf can patch up Dimzad, healing [roll2] Wounds. All the while, Captain Veirt informs the Dwarf that he ought to thrash him, that he is the most brainless clot he has ever seen and that if every man wasn't needed he would just leave him there. Finally, everyone is ordered back on their horses with Dimzad in the lead closely followed by Veirt.

[littlebottom]

"ye be needin lads wit a brain like me, then maybe none of us would be tired incase o' ambush... o course, ye be needin' smarter 'orses too, else id of not fallen off."

[Xsesiv]

"Less of that, halberdier! If ye'd got up, like I'd told yer, we wouldn't be in this..."

His speech is cut short as you come across a small community, thatched houses flanked by winter fields. Normally this would be a cheery sight, but the cottages have been burnt out and are now mere carcasses. The people of the village lie broken and scattered, like a young giant's toys, decaying where they lie because nobody is left alive to bury them. Heads of the villagers are on spikes driven through a pile of decapitated bodies. A temple of Sigmar has its priest crucified to the side wall, nailed there with his own ceremonial hammer, with his ribcage torn apart and his deflated lungs flapping in the wind like flags.

Hals and Pavel swear and spit to avert bad luck. Erich rides at attention, his jaw twitching. Oskar gawps, and Franz looks away, unable to tear his eyes from the road ahead and look at the grisly scene.

[littlebottom]

dimzad watches the wind blowing through the town, pushing still smouldering ash down the streets, "well that aint something you see every day... look his waving a flag from the side of the church of sigmar! what lovely people!"

[Night Monkey]

Niklaus is well used to very late nights working with the guild, but never to quite such an early morning afterwards. Relying only on the knowledge that he is still alive, he is able to keep his eyes open by the barest sliver neccesary to see what lies ahead. And soon, he comes to regret even this.

"Is... am... is... this a dream? he pushes the words out, the sensation of dryness on his lips as he does so refuting his suggestion as he makes it. "Is... raiders? Chaos? Vampires? Elves? No... not elves..." Niklaus fumbles for his weapon at his right hip, wanting to feel the reassuring touch of its steely hilt, before remembering it is on his left hip. The metal feels cold and dull, and Niklaus wants nothing other than to sleep for days, forgetting everything that had transpired, before waking up to a hot meal.

Is that too much? Too much to ask from life?

[Xsesiv]

Apparently so, for lunch is again cold, bread, dried fruit and pickled fish eaten in the saddle. The mood lifts slightly afterwards, for Giano has started shooting rabbits for a hot stew that night, the sun has come out and people have organised themselves into social groups; Pavel, Hals and Giano ride together, laughing and swapping stories of bad provisions, terrible billlets and worse commanders. Huge Ulf and little Franz, the teased men, ride together, talking in low tones. Veirt and Erich guard Lady Magda near the front, keeping an eye on Dimzad, while Gustaf and Oskar ride towards the back, staring straight ahead in glum silence, a confederacy of the shunned.

A rustle comes up in the dead grass. Giano instantly draws his crossbow and fires, and a rabbit bolts out of hiding and sprints across the road. Giano cries out in disgust while Franz takes out his bow and an arrow in one swift movement and shoots the rabbit between the shoulder blades, stopping it dead. The company looks at him with newfound respect as he hands the animal to Giano, smirking. "Grazie, boy," says Giano, hanging the coney from his saddle pommel by tying a knot in its ears, to join three he has shot earlier. "Much thank yous."

[littlebottom]

"dya think itll be too much tay ask for something a little stiffer ta drink eh?" asks dimzad dejectedly, when he sees the rabbit bolt out, he was prepared to go chase it, but before he could get off his horse it was dead. dimzad sighs, atleast weve got some meat on the menu.

[Xsesiv]

Just before sunset, Veirt calls a halt in the lee of a low cliff. Gustaf flays and debones the rabbits with disturbing intensity. Pavel and Hals mutter to each other about how sore they are while they collect water from a nearby stream to make the stew and hunt for wild carrots and dandelion leaves to add to it. Ulf erects the tents. Giano seasons the stew and whines about how much better the food is in Tilea.

[littlebottom]

Dimzad waits eagerly for the meal, licking his lips and rubbing his belly, he hadnt had a good meal for... weeks! "dya need a hand?"

[Xsesiv]

When the stew comes it is delicious, if a bit garlicky for your personal taste, and talk turns to the night's lodging. Ulf has erected all the tents, which turn out to be four standard-issue cavalry tents, so that you can sleep three to a tent, while one tent is going to have to have a fourth. "Draw lots for tents," grunts Veirt between mouthfuls. "I'll not have anyone pulling rank or fighting over who tents with who. Yer all scum to me."

The men make their marks on leaves and drop them into a cloth bag. When the bag gets to Franz, he doesn't move.

"Can't write your name, lad?"

"I'll tent alone, under my cloak."

"You'll sleep with the others. The army ain't all inverts, boyo."

"It only takes one."

Veirt growls, "Men who tent alone tend not to be there in the morning. Sometimes they run. Sometimes something takes them. I will allow neither. I need all the men I have for this goose chase."

"Captain, please," cuts in Hals. "Let him tent alone. The last thing we need is an excitable lad with a hair-trigger cutting our throats for rolling over."

"Aye," most of the men agree. So when lots are drawn, a blank leaf holding Franz's place, Pavel and Ulf share a tent with Niklaus, Hals, Giano and Oskar have another, while Dimzad, Erich and Gustaf have the last. Veirt takes first watch.

[littlebottom]

dimzad lies down to sleep, and nods off before long due to his previous nights lack of sleep. his snoring is loud tonight, possibly disturbing other people in different tents, let alone his own.