The Enemy Within Part 1: Mistaken Identity

[OzCymru]

OOC and Information Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=174296)


The Enemy Within

Part I: Mistaken Identity


Festag, 24th Jahrdrung, 2512

The roads of the Empire are far from safe. The larger, busier routes are a haven for bandits, for whom the bounties offered by the greater volume of traffic far outweigh the risk presented by the more frequent Roadwarden patrols. Even worse, mutants and beastmen, desperate to feast on living flesh, are a constant threat, both on these main highways and the smaller backroads, where the remains of an unwary traveller can lie for days before they are discovered – if there is anything left, that is.

For mutual protection, it is common for travellers heading in the same direction to band together, at least until they reach the next village or coaching inn. Of course, there is no guarantee that your new travelling companion is any better than the vile creatures lurking amongst the trees, but most consider this to be a risk worth taking.

It is late in the month of Jahrdrung, and the winter frosts have long disappeared, though there is still a bite in the air that spring has not yet managed to drive away. But with Mitterfruhl, the spring equinox, less than two weeks away, folk have once again taken to the roads and rivers of the Empire in preparation for the first festival day of the year. As well as merchants, traders and farmers, of course, are the usual assortment of travellers – minstrels and entertainers looking to play at a local festival; envoys and messengers hastily carrying news from the provinces back to the cities; mercenaries, casual labourers and craftsmen, moving from place to place in search of work; and those who have left their farms or villages to begin a new life, some attracted by the prospect of fortune, others in the hope that their skills might be put to use serving a wholesome cause.

On an offshoot of the Altdorf-Middenheim Road, some two days north of the Imperial capital itself, such a troupe has gathered, banded together by the common direction of their journey and the assumption that there is safety in numbers. As the afternoon sun dips slowly towards the horizon and shadows begin to encroach upon the road from either side, a bestial howl echoes through the trees, a reminder – if one is needed – that only the desperate or the foolish would consider spending the night in the open among the Empire’s forests.

Fortunately, salvation is at hand in the form of a nearby inn, that appears at a turn in the road as if Ranald himself has placed it there just a moment ago. There is little about the Coach and Horses to set it apart from any other coaching inn in the Empire, but it offers warmth, food and safety, and even the prospect of booking passage on a coach for those who have so far made the journey on foot. From behind its whitewashed stone wall, a slender plume of smoke rises, and if the thought of a hot meal next to a roaring fire is not enough, the sound of singing and raucous laughter offers the perfect tonic for the drudgery of a day spent on the road.

You now have an opportunity to introduce your characters and engage in some light introductory roleplaying. I have kept the opening broad to account for the different motivations and objectives of the characters, considering that not everyone might be heading to Altdorf to join the Prince’s expedition. Once everyone has had a chance to present their character we’ll move on.

[Xsesiv]

Walther Frohlich

Walther Frohlich strides confidently up to the Coach and Horses, using a long, intimidating-looking staff with a deer-skull set on the top as a third leg. Walther is a huge, hardy-looking man, with long, tangled brown hair, a shaggy beard, a ruddy, leathery face and dark green eyes. He wears the tattered remains of a pair of homespun trousers, a ratty-looking fur cloak, mud-splattered boots, it still, infuriatingly, being too cold to do without them, and a rough, fur-trimmed sackcloth shirt that leaves his arms bare, showing off an impressive blue scar-tattoo up his right arm. A hand-axe, the ultimate tool-weapon combination, hangs from his belt, alongside a double-bladed dagger, another dual-purpose item. A bulky pack is on his back, a slim slingbag under one arm.

Not that he's got a problem with sleeping out of doors in the forests if no alternative presents itself, but no sane person, outdoorsman or otherwise, Amber Magister or otherwise, would pass up the chance of a hot meal and a warm bed when it's available, and if this Prince pays a fraction of what he claims to, Walther will recoup his losses and be able to pay the Amber Brotherhood for his Journeyman status anyway. Walther makes his way up to the door and knocks firmly, unless of course it's open.

[Blaze]

Ganz lets out a sigh of relief when he spots the inn ahead. "Let's hope this place is accommodating."

His horse playfully trots along the road towards the inn behind the mysterious man holding a staff adorned with a deer skull. Smiling politely, "excuse me sir, could you please tell the inn keeper we have some horses that need to be stabled for the night? I would hate to leave my horse tied up alone out here."

Demounting his horse, Ganz takes the reins and leads it away from the entrance. He keeps a watchful eye on the treeline while gently patting the horses muzzle.

[Xsesiv]

Walther Frohlich

Walther grunts in the affirmative. Normally, he'd tell the stranger to go and ask the innkeeper for stabling himself and be damned, and he would do if it was a human's lodging in question, but what can he say? He likes horses. And no, you can't leave one outside the gates to be eaten by Orcs or raped by a Beastman.

"I'll tell him, stranger," says Walther quietly, as usual finding himself unable to say a great deal, not turning around as Ganz rides up behind him, but still going for the door.

[Unrest]

<At inn-front; sign reads Coach & Horses. WALTHER, and GANZ mounted, at the door; GANZ shortly dismounts and leads his steed away.>

Enter FERNSTAFF.

Fern. So this be one with my ideal,
To find and inn among such waste. <spits at the ground>
Forsooth I'd need an inn not likely -
The devil need not be afraid
Of making rest at night in hell;
Alas, it is for want of steed.
A bone that cracks is one that's used...
But mine I'd fain be left at laze!
A bone that cracks - is one of mine,
And back unused to carrying miles.
for 'tis Chaos thus persistent,
In every stretch of Empror's land,
Those bred in cities march not far,
Yet mazes tread since dusk till dawn!
I glad am, though, my lorden Frieg,
Let no steed run waste for me;
It future champions better breed,
Than run at risk of feeling freed...
And freed, whatsoever, with a servant such as I; to carry his torn cape over his back, a shadow over his countenance of a deaf confessioner, and daggers concealed by his belt. All my treasure is on my back; and looking past robes, see the treasure curs'd: a choir of spirits chanting insults and cries into my ears, infecting that lowly figure's face with spite and mourn and hatred and frailty, a vestige of the daemon of a man growing mad, whose eyes let known upon the whole of the Empire: I killed, and I laid my hands to deeds worse than death - and the middle of this wood I need walk, to flee the chase and flee my works. I left my Nuln for Middenheim a fortnight ago; now I go, like feather blown at by aetheric lords of this sphere, Southwards, for task of my master.
<Spots WALTHER and GANZ; still to himself says:>
This company, are fellow you to me? are you to run?
Knocking on the tavern door, I'd claim you are to hide.
After all, sun shines these days not through the leaves,
But from the belly of the place of flames, in the core of every room,
and every room where one would take rest -
for a long, long, long... longer time than that!

***

"Will these door unlock, or are we wandering souls to be devoured in moonlight?", Ryke says loudly with a somewhat rasp, but forceful voice, from a distance, so as not to sneak upon the strangers. He approaches in a step that's slow, but designed not to look cautious or suspicious in any way.

I will not bother you with my attempts at that style any more. Well, maybe at the beginning of acts...

Also, remember to take this character with a pinch of salt. He will be sarcastic and cynical, and most of what he says has a second bottom - but it can also happen what he says will be just bragging. So, treat with caution ;)

[Arq Kujos]

Another long day's ride had come to its end. As the sun slowly descended into Morr's realm, night began to cover the land. Charles breathed into his hands for warm and to restore the blood flow back into them. He reached down and patted his steed, Aaliyar. Aaliyar was a massive, black stallion from Araby. He was a gift from his father and one of the few things in life that gave Charles joy outside Bretonia. Aaliyar meant high, tall, towering, exalted, high-ranking, and superior.

Charles seemed out of place riding so magnificent an animal. While Aaliyar was instantly noble and powerful, Charles was much more subtle in his appearance. He was strong and tall, with swept back reddish blond hair. It was long, needing to be cut after so many days on the road. His armor was there, but it was dimmed and dusty from travel. His shield, which carried a hand holding a grail with a downward pointed sword in the background, looked a bit dinged, but still functional. Charles' eyes were a bit unusual. One was a dull blue and one was a dull green. "Come Aaliyar. We must seek shelter for the night." Charles' eyes turned towards the inn.

[OzCymru]

The Coach and Horses is fronted by a large cobbled courtyard, fresh with the sweet odour of manure and resounding with the grunts and whinnies of horses. The beasts in question are four chestnut mares that are being rubbed down by two grooms, young stable hands employed by the inn. The horses have been detached from a coach that stands in the middle of the yard, and are being prepared for a restful night in the inn’s stables. Their heavy breathing and sweat-coated flanks suggest a hard day’s journey, and they will no doubt be looking forward to a stall with fresh straw and a trough of clean water.

Walther’s hand has barely touched the front door when it is flung open, throwing out a cacophony of singing and laughter as well as the delicious aroma of something being slowly roasted. The frame is filled by a squat, jowly fellow with a red face and a set of whiskers that give him the appearance of a flustered walrus. He regards the apprentice wizard for a long moment, beady eyes peering out from beneath heavy unkempt eyebrows, before the whiskers part to reveal a yellowed grin. “Good evening!” he booms in a voice that cuts through the air like the crack of a musket. “I thought I heard someone, though Sigmar knows how with all that racket in there. Come in, come in – ah, you’ve got horses. Well just tie them to the posts over there and the boys will see to them when they’re done with those four. Now, come in, have a seat by the fire, get yourselves warmed up. Got a lovely big boar on the spit tonight – no, no, I’ll take your cloaks, you just make yourself comfy. Now, how about some drinks, eh? We brew our own ale at the Coach and Horses, or there’s some lovely brandy we just got in that’s all the way from Estalia, if that’s more your thing.”

The man barely draws breath in the midst of his effusive chatter and whirls through the bar room like a cyclone, knocking into tables and barging aside chairs with his considerable frame, as patrons, clearly used to his antics, pick up their drinks and slide back their chairs upon seeing him approach. One fellow is too slow, and finds his bowl of soup upturned in his lap, prompting a flurry of apologies and shouts to the kitchen for another serve, on the house of course.

[kwll01]

At the back of the group, Snorri wakes up in a hurriedly, as he senses the wagon in which he has been traveling so far stop suddenly. He goes down, and notices that the boys taking care of the front horses are slightly surprised since they obviously did not notice him at first. However, seeing Snorri's ruddy face and less than affable expression, they don't even try to say something.

Seeing the door opened and hearing the joyful mood inside, the dwarf quickly cleans up his little armor -- his only reason for pride among humans, even though he is careful not to mention any racial difference -- tries to put a smile on his face, and enters the inn. He will look for a mug of ale, for which he will spend one of the few coins he has left.

[Xsesiv]

Walther Frohlich

Slightly bemused by the man's chatter, and more than a little intimidated, Walther hands the man his cloak and replies shortly. "Ale, then. And boar. Please."

Walther plunks himself down at the table by the fire to wait for his food and ale to arrive and surveys the room with some interest, if not much liking. He keeps his skull-topped staff with him of course.

[Unrest]

Ryke enters the inn after Walther, this way sheltered from the volley of pleasantries uttered by the host; in two minds about being served - rather than serving - on the one hand and keeping all his belongings with himself at all times on the other, he succumbs to the first notion and hands his cloak over to the innkeeper without as much as a nod. He doesn't however, hand over the hat - out of absent-mindedness or because he got into the habit of keeping it with him at all times - after all, it can cover your face to at least to some extent... and you can never know what a hat may be useful for.

He walks forward apprehensively, and says to those walking in with him, but so that all those around can hear, even over the noise, "Isn't the Altdorf tract busy; what draws ye all southwards?"

[Blaze]

Taking the reins of his horse, Ganz leads it to a post and loops the reins around. He pats the horse on the muzzle and walks back to the door. He spryly jumps into the inn and removes his cloak, but instead of handing it to the innkeeper he folds it neatly. He knows full well the importance of being ready at a moments notice. "Thank you but I prefer to hold on to my cloak. I will definitely have some boar, but no ale or brandy, just water please."

He then follows behind the traveling companions and finds a chair at a nearby table, making sure to sit on the side with a better view of the whole interior; after all if some sort of fight were to break out between two drunks, he'd be ready. He sets the folded cloak on the back of the chair and sits down.

Looking at the man holding a hat firmly in his grip, he responds, "I like to travel, and I hear Altdorf is quite the sight. And yourself?"

[Unrest]

"You could say likewise, sir," Ryke responded, turning around not very quickly in order to show he is at ease. It was his sixth sense that added 'sir', trained to take note of every person travelling on horseback - most of such he encountered were men of a standing high enough so as to call for flogging Fernstaff when that little title was omitted. "I am an herald adept. An historian, of sorts. I am to thusly describe the new houses of the tradesguilds in Altdorf. Not an occupation more hazardous than yours, I'd wager?" Ryke decided to seat himself with the man. He could clearly see his interlocutor was a man-at-arms... And, most probably out of some warped sense of danger and animalistic habit, eyed him for concealed weaponry... but he didn't really even believe himself; he liked to think that people who stand in open and fair fights have no use for such methods whatsoever. Unlike himself.

[Blaze]

Smiling politely Ganz says, "no need to call me sir, call me Ganz. And yes I've had my fair share of combat against the forces of Chaos. However, I think you are very fortunate to avoid such a chaotic life as mine." Ganz points to his left hand and reveals the vicious bite marks scarring it. "The downside to protecting the people of the Empire."

Ganz motions for a servant to place an order, and looks over at the fellow recently seated at his table. "Let me buy you a drink, if you would be so kind as to enlighten me with your name."

[Xsesiv]

"Isn't the Altdorf tract busy; what draws ye all southwards?"

"Yes, it is busy," says Walther in reply. "I don't like it." He taps his skull-headed staff on the ground, waiting for how people will react to his wizardhood, and wanting to get it over with.

"I need money," he says, reclining in his seat towards the fire and looking around for his ale and boar. Seeing as it's not here yet, he adds: "I've found a job in Altdorf."

[Unrest]

"My silvers and brass will be thankful," Ryke says, referring to the proposal of a drink, "I am, too, for what feeling had not even books and scholars beaten out of me." He marked himself. Was there a point in talking such a convoluted language in front of people like this? Oh well. It came to him quite naturally.

"I mean, thank you. Ganz. Ryke Heierbenz, of Nuln, student graduate at Middenheim." This indeed is his name, for the time, as this is who his papers were signed for; over his life he learned how to go under aliases so that he makes not the mistake to twitch hearing his proper name when called out by a servant of law. "And this tract-"


"Yes, it is busy," says Walther in reply. "I don't like it." He taps his skull-headed staff on the ground, waiting for how people will react to his wizardhood, and wanting to get it over with.

"I need money," he says, reclining in his seat towards the fire and looking around for his ale and boar. Seeing as it's not here yet, he adds: "I've found a job in Altdorf."

Ryke moves away and sits in a position from which he can turn his head left or right to face either of his speakers. So a spark falls unto flammable material; despite his past and general outlooks, and maybe not enjoying people themselves, Ryke does prefer having some company to staying alone: this is because it turns his mind away from who - or what - he is himself and lets him just carry on the conversation, one of the few mind excercises that bring him some amusement.

"A job in Altdorf?" says Ryke openly, twisting to look into the sorcerer's eyes. He tries to treat the man and act as if he was no-one out of the ordinary, and on the whole succeeds, keeping uneasiness inside him. If not counting some nervous movements of the ears. "For a job in Altdorf, you could claim we head the same, then. But I need doubt you have a scholarly purpose as I do, or such a..." he sends a quick, seemingly innocent, but actually disbelieving glance at Ganz, "...leisurely one as that brave warrior here."

[Xsesiv]

Walther doesn't seem to have a problem with Ryke's verbosity, but he's not so articulate himself. "I have to meet a prince and go to some mountains. All they wanted was someone brave." He looks with pride at the amber set in the eyes of the skull on the end of his new staff, then pulls out the titleless book from his slingbag, puts it on his lap and starts to read, not knowing how to carry on the conversation.

A few moments later, after he realises he's read all the book's spells before, he follows the others' lead, turning to the other two travellers and extending his hand. "Walther."

[Blaze]

Ganz wryly grins at the mention of meeting a prince. Looking back and forth between the two strangers Ganz comments, "You must be speaking about the request for adventurers. That actually, is also the reason I am traveling to Altdorf, but I don't consider myself hired quite yet. Which is why I prefer to say I am traveling to our glorious capital, so as to not be let down if I'm not hired. There must be many people hoping for this opportunity."

Looking intently at the interesting fellow with the staff, Ganz shakes hands and says, "You must be brave, if you are willing to adventure without proper gear, or perhaps you have some unspoken talent us men-at-arms hear so much about?" Ganz rests his hands on the table and patiently sits, waiting for service and a response.

[Xsesiv]

The idea he might not get the job seems somewhat alien to Walther, but now he gives it a little thought, before replying. "I'll get the job. If I don't, I'll find another. I don't need one anyway."

Walther smirks slightly while the man asks. A hidden talent; you could say that. "I'm a wizard," he says, simply enough, and looks over the others' reactions, hoping they will not try to murder him. "A sort of animal wizard," he adds, and he indicates the deer-head atop his staff.

He then stands up, the better to look around and see whether his meal will arrive any time soon.

[kwll01]

After entering the inn, Snorri goes first to the barman, and asks him, with much difficulty to make himself heard, if he knows of any Zamnilson in the neighborhood. Receiving a negative answer -- and ignoring the slightly mocking smile on the man's mouth -- he goes on to find a seat.

He quickly spots a table where some of the traveling mates he met along the road are already in great discussion. Having nowhere better to go, he decides to join the party.

After first listening silently to the exchange between the man at arms and the would be wizard, he hears about the request for adventurers. That makes him react: "Hey, might that be the advertisement from Prince Hergard you are mentioning? I'm going there too! How is that for a coincidence?"

[Unrest]

The words "I am a wizard" being spoken right at the instant Ryke was extending his hand to shake it with Walther, the valet stumbles in his movement. He knew it well enough what kind of man this will be, but the words still hold enough power to make the bloodpump halt for a split second in someone like Ryke.

"Ryke Heierbenz," he utters, gripping the hand firmly, but with a bit too high velocity. Retracting it back he spots another patron walking their way... a dwarf this time. A dwarf-at-arms.

"A menagerie, now, isn't it," he thinks.

Responding to the dwarf's question as much as asking another of everyone at the table, he says: "Coincidence. What is the task in the matter of the princely request? Noble folly? Or imperial service?"

[Arq Kujos]

Charles unwillingly handed Aaliyar off to one of the stable boys with a warning that the horse was worth more to him than the stable boy's life. He ran one hand down the horse's mane before wrapping his cloak around his neck. He opened the door to the inn and sighed heavily. "I would like a meal and a room." he said matter of factly. Without much else, he silently sat down in a chair not far from the dwarf and his companions. In his native Bretonnian language, "May the Lady bless this inn and the food I shall receive."

[OzCymru]

With the four humans and the dwarf settled in near the fire, and the enthusiastic landlord occupied with seeing to their catering needs, there is now an opportunity to take in the room and its occupants.

The bar room itself is generously proportioned and well maintained, with freshly lacquered beams and a well scrubbed floor. The furniture seems mostly in good condition, with only the chance nick or scratch around the edges of the odd table or chair. From first impressions, the landlord’s bustling could be the main cause of much of the wear and tear.

Of the patrons, the most noticeable are the two men dressed in coachmen’s livery – white collared shirts beneath loosely buttoned green and maroon waistcoats – who appear to be the source of the laughter and singing that could be heard on approaching the inn. Both are clearly well into their cups, and seem to find the most innocuous comment or incident hilarious, interspersing their off-key crooning with fits of red-faced mirth.

Their behaviour is clearly not to the taste of a young noblewoman, who looks rather out of place in such surroundings and makes her displeasure clear with constant scowling and pursing of her lips. She is a young, attractive lady, finely dressed and with unblemished, porcelain skin. Accompanying her are a small, shrew-like girl of about fifteen who seems to be more interested in her own feet that anything that is happening around her, and a tall, burly woman dressed in leather armour, her hair pulled into a severe bun that accentuates the hardness of her plain, weathered face.

In the corner, a young man with brown hair and a pale complexion sits absorbed in a large, thick book, his face immersed so deeply between its covers that his sizeable nose is almost brushing the pages. A mug of ale and a bowl of stew sit untouched beside him, most likely forgotten in his fascination with whatever he is reading.

Leaning against the bar is a colourful gentleman dressed in a rather garish, lace-trimmed outfit, his jacket and trousers finely embroidered. Long, curly hair falls about his slender shoulders and his soft, pasty skin is punctuated by a beauty spot on his right cheek. He gazes at the new arrivals with interest before returning to his goblet of wine, his nose wrinkling in obvious revulsion as he takes a small sip.

The landlord returns bearing more plates, bowls and mugs than it should be possible to carry at one time, balancing them along his ample forearms and between his thick, sausage-like fingers. He distributes them to those who have placed orders, crashing one of the tankards down on the table and slopping ale onto Ganz’s plate of boar meat.

“Enjoy!” he booms, slapping Ganz on the back with a little more weight that he is probably aware of. “Fine bit of meat, that, just brought in yesterday by a local hunter. Good man, very generous with what he brings down. Had some lovely venison a couple of weeks ago, now that went down a real treat, I tell you. Well, I bet you can imagine. But this is just as good, been roasting it all day so that just fell right off. Hope it’s cooked to your liking, you want more salt? Just sing out if you need anything else. Gustav’s the name, don’t be afraid to use it.”

The man seems in no hurry to depart, and hovers over the group, his red face beaming. “Heading south are we?” he continues. “Down to Altdorf, I expect? Ah, yes, that’s a grand city, a grand city indeed. A bit lively for a man of my age, I’m happy enough tucked away up here, but that’s where youngsters like yourselves want to be. That’s where the fun is, after all. Ah yes, a grand city.”

He looks a little wistful, and his eyes glaze momentarily as if he is remembering something, but his reverie is interrupted by the arrival of a large crow that drops from the rafters and perches on his shoulder. He winces as its claws bite into his flesh, but chuckles. “Blackie! Where have you been? You hungry? Of course you are, you always bloody are! Excuse me gentlemen,” he smiles apologetically, turning to leave. “Let me just get this one his supper, then I’ll be back to finish the story.”

[Blaze]

Ganz ponders about how many other would be adventurers are sitting in some other inn at this exact moment, looking to get hired by Prince Hergard. The thought of not getting the job only slightly dampens his mood. As for a wizard being amidst the group, Ganz feels somewhat uncomfortable, but only because he doesn't comprehend the eerie talent the man possesses; or the extent of his powers. "Well Ryke, I imagine a bit of both noble folly and imperial service. After all, destroying the taint of Chaos is for the good of us all."

Nodding politely at Gustav, Ganz glances down at his plate only to be disappointed when he realizes Gustav spilled ale on his meal. Thinking nothing of it he says, "Thanks." Ganz prepares to dine by pulling out some utensils from his sling bag. "Let's hope the boar is as good as he says."

[kwll01]

Snorri notices the hesitation of Ryke when shaking hands with the wizard. He looks at both men intently in turn. Then after listening to the blundered intervention of the landlord, he shakes his head mildly, and tries to pursue the former conversation. "Well, as long as the prince pays well, that is good enough for me. I've been serving for long enough to know not to ask too much!" That said, he straighten boldly on his chair, as if to show the insigne on his uniform.

[Xsesiv]

Walther, his attention momentarily distracted by the crow, picks up his piece of boar meat in his fingers and wolfs it down in a few bites. He then drains his mug of ale in one go, then looks over towards the man with his nose in the book.

Maybe another spellcaster? He doesn't look very imposing, so Walther doubts that. Having said that, he closes his eyes and lets his Witchsight scan the room. After which, he stands up, turns to Gustav and calls out "More ale, please," meaning to drink this one properly and listen to what the others have to say.

Noticing the arrival of the Dwarf, Walther smiles politely. Safety in numbers, after all.

I'm guessing the Magical Sense test is secret, so I won't roll it.

[OzCymru]

Whether his Witchsight is failing him on this occasion or there is a complete lack of aethyric energy in the room he cannot tell, but Walther perceives nothing but that which is apparent to every man in possession of the five basic senses. His shout for more ale is greeted by an enthusiastic affirmative from Gustav, who relays the order to a slender, sour faced barman.

[Unrest]

"Well Ryke, I imagine a bit of both noble folly and imperial service. After all, destroying the taint of Chaos is for the good of us all."

"Thanks." Ganz prepares to dine by pulling out some utensils from his sling bag. "Let's hope the boar is as good as he says."

"Like you are ever to trust the words of a man that sells! But no, what speaks in his defense like a Marienburg wall, he praised this meal only after you had it bought; and does not appear the kind of man that my journey or city-dwelling accustomed me to." There is a slight change in tone and a breeze of a grin on Ryke's face as he drinks the ale; not nectar, but still. He leans forward a little bit before he continues, knowing this somehow always makes you more visible. "And so it is this place is named more fortunately for diners than was Under the Beaten Banner, in my hometown Nuln, where the signpost was indeed a torn banner of the Horde. The owner there was a virtuoso of pots, cauldrons and roast; whatever the boil or stew or fry, he knew it. They said he could sniff what moods cooks were five alleys farther, just by leaning out the window of his tavern and smelling the fragrances of their cookings. And there, Under the Beaten Banner, for a price I'd not mention for thriftiness' sake, you could order a Victor's Feast - at the third rooster-crow in the morning, to eat sometime by sun-set. Whence, I heard, you were presented a hog nearly as huge as a table for six men-at-arms, and done to such delicacy it could delight a dozen dames and at such proportion it could easily fill a dozen men. Weeds, and roots, and stuffing of poultry, veal and beef - and you could not conceive wherefrom you could fashion such luxuries. But there was one thing about it no-one could ever deduce; with such meals, the snotted muzzle of the pig is, by custom, left there. At that tavern, it wasn't; and no-one knew until one day; a day later, the owner was hanged. I believe you mark why."

[Xsesiv]

Walther glances over at Ryke with a strange smile on his face at his blather. Of course he understands it all...pretty much, anyway...but why go through all that nonsense, he wonders, when one could just say "This place isn't much like an inn I used to know; the owner was a good cook, so I liked the food there until he died"? And even that could be shortened, if it were called for.

Anyway, Walther gets up from his place and goes over to the bar to receive his ale and inquire about the possibility of a room for the night.

But seriously, weeds? Fair enough, you can eat weeds. But a delicacy?

[kwll01]

After listening to Ryke's story, Snorri cannot help but laugh loudly. After which he stands and says: "Well, that will not deter me from tasting this boar as well!" That said, he yells at Gustave: "Boar and ale this way again!"

[Blaze]

Ganz has a slight grin on his face after hearing Ryke's story and cuts a piece of boar, then slowly places it in his mouth. "Tastes okay to me, and we won't be here to find out if this innkeeper gets hanged or not."

The meal on Ganz's plate slowly dwindles, he eats with care and patience, savoring it. Who knows when he will have the time to enjoy a slow roasted boar, especially if he gets the job in Altdorf. The mountains are scattered with danger and spending an entire day roasting a meal seems like a waste of time. After finishing his meal, Ganz places his utensils back in his sling bag, he pauses a moment and looks around the inn. He calls out to Gustav and asks, "Perhaps you should have the coachmen sitting at that table get to bed? It seems they have had one too many drinks, they are being quite loud and the noblewoman nearby seems displeased."

[-Sentinel-]

Franz entered the inn wearily, shook the dust off his hat, took out his purse and counted his coins. Ten gold crowns... Not bad at all for a day's work, but he felt almost guilty to spend it. The elderly merchant he had relieved of his purse had seemed like a nice fellow.

He strolled to a table and collapsed into a chair. Gods, did he need a meal. To pass the time, he took his pistol apart, meticulously cleaned every single piece and reassembled it, as he did almost every night. His gaze lazily swept the room, looking for easy targets for tomorrow. The young noblewoman looked wealthy, and so did the man with the valet's livery.

But will you rob a noblewoman? he thought. Of course not. As usual, you'll threaten her, then feel very bad when you see you're scaring her. And then you'll apologize and ride away without even taking a copper from her. See, that's why you're the worst highwayman in the Empire.

[OzCymru]

The barman is as sour and unfriendly as he looks, and points Walther in the direction of Gustav, who happily arranges a room for him. The rooms each have two beds, he explains, but he will gladly put a couple of straw mattresses on the floor to squeeze a couple more in at no extra charge, should Walther have any friends who need accommodation too.

With the wizard’s lodging arranged, Gustav wastes little time in responding to the demands for more food and drink, happily waddling between the kitchen and the bar room while the barman pours the beverages. It seems that, despite being the landlord, Gustav is copping the greater share of the fetching and carrying, but he remains jovial beneath the puffing and wheezing.

“Oh, I don’t think I should do that,” he replies to Ganz’s complaint about the two coachmen, making a poor attempt to lower his voice. “Those two will be back through here in a few days, and more of their kind too. These coaches are my bread and butter, I’m not going to bite off the hand that’s feeding me. They’re just enjoying themselves, no harm to anyone.”

He seems a little offended, but maintains his good cheer, especially when he spots Franz. “Welcome! Welcome!” he shouts at the newcomer, bounding over to his table with surprising grace. “That’s right, have a seat. Now what can I…say, that’s a fine weapon you’ve got there. I’ve got one just like it myself, though a bit cleaner I’d say, from lack of use no doubt! Bought it off a fellow who passed through here a couple of years ago. Not had much cause to use it, you know, but always good to have one handy. Doesn’t do a man any good if he can’t look after himself and his property, does it?” He hovers over the table, eying Franz’s pistol. “It’s erm…it’s not likely to go off accidentally or anything, is it?”

[-Sentinel-]

"Don't worry, it's not loaded," Franz assured him cheerfully. "Do I look like a fool?"

His left foot still hurt in cold weather ever since the day he had forgotten to unload his pistol before cleaning it. It had taken him weeks to recover from that limp. He had learned his lesson.

"Hey, have you got any red meat? I'm hungry." Then, a bit guiltily: "And a small tankard of ale. Not too strong, please."

His mother had always warned him against the evils of drunkenness.

[kwll01]

While eating his boar, Snorri sees the the newcomer arrive and start cleaning his weapon. With a disapprobation nod, he says: "Ha, that ain't no fair game, I say. People don't know how to fight properly these days, I tell you!" Then he noisily takes another sip of ale.

[Xsesiv]

Walther agrees with Snorri, but he's sane enough not to say so. No point causing strife, he thinks, sipping his ale and listening to the others talk, knowing he has a room prepared.

After a few moments, it strikes him he is still hungry. "Boar, please," he calls out to Gustav.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz looked hurt at the Dwarf's comment.

"Um, and what do you know about my fighting skills?" he asked in a half-hearted attempt at sounding defiant. "...Sir."

He lowered his eyes, fearing a deadly glare. Dwarfs scared him.

[Unrest]

"What is in there for one who fights a fight he can senselessly die in, rather than fight and surely win, and live to see - and fight again, if need be - another day? Master dwarf?"

[kwll01]

Facing Franz, Snorri answers: "What do I know about your fighting skills? I know that if you knew how to fight, you would not need this weapon!" Then turning to Ryke, he adds: "Using a gun to kill your opponent, I don't call that fighting, I call that cowardice. And what do you do if you miss your shot, then?" That said, he notices that he stepped on his seat to talk, and is now standing for everybody in the inn to see him. A little bit embarrassed, he seats down again. "Bah! We are not here to fight, anyway, so no need to argue about that the whole night..." Then he concentrate on his meal again.

[-Sentinel-]

"Hey, you Dwarfs are the ones who invented guns, aren't you?" Franz retorted. "Although, I'll grant you that, you're also the ones who dye your hair orange and go to battle half-naked, hoping someone will kill you. Real brave." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "If I miss... and I won't... I have this." He fingered the handle of his cavalry saber.

Franz was not by nature confrontational, but the Dwarf's arrogance stung him.

[Blaze]

Ganz listens intently as the dwarf and pistolier exchange words. When the vigor of both sides starts to wane, Ganz interjects, "While I do agree with the dwarf that using a pistol is unsavory, or even a crossbow for that matter, not all of us can be as courageous as the dwarfs!" He smiles at the dwarf and grins at the newcomer, giving him a slight nod.

"I myself have never used a pistol before, I am sure it requires skill. I like to rely on my own strength and faith in Ulric, to guide my hammer." Ganz lifts his hammer out of his belt sling and shows it to the table. "Now this is what I call a true weapon."

After showing his hammer, Ganz places it back on him and raises his mug. "To meeting new people as we travel!" Ganz has to yell to make sure everyone at the table hears his toast over the boisterous nature of the two coachmen.

[Unrest]

Having pondered the situation very intensively, Ryke decides not to say anything, although that is hardly natural of him - he gulps down the ale upon the toast being called. He didn't care that much for the dwarf - but people with pistols always are dangerous; and knowing making friends is not easy - barely possible, honestly - he'd rather not count a gunner among foes.

[kwll01]

Snorri was about to respond spitefully to the newcomer, but, hearing the words of Ganz, he starts laughing loudly. Raising his mug to the toast, he says: "To meeting new people!" Then, turning to his opponent in the argument, he adds: "And who might you be, then, pistolier?"

[-Sentinel-]

"Name's Franz," answered the young man, forcing a smile. "And I'm a roadwarden, not a pistolier. You are...?"

He dearly hoped no one would bother asking him for an official document.

[OzCymru]

After a slow start, demand for the slow-roasted boar is now through the roof, and it is all that Gustav can do to keep up as he puffs and wheezes his way back and forth from the kitchen. No sooner has he delivered one plate of the tender meat than he is met with a clamour of orders for more, and he is off again as quickly as his stumpy legs will carry his ample frame. In the meantime, the barman pours the drinks, but it is up to the patrons to either collect them or to wait until Gustav scoops them up on his way past.

Ganz’s toast is met with a hearty cheer from the two coachmen, who then launch into a bawdy rhyme about a serving wench and a priest. The ditty begins lustily enough, but soon peters out after the first verse when neither of the drunken choristers can remember the words.

After Gustav and Snorri, Franz’s pistol draws more attention in the form of the elegant gentleman standing near the bar, who puts his wine on the counter and saunters over to the Roadwarden’s table. The man’s outfit is exquisitely tailored, and the waistcoat alone looks like it must have cost more than the average family would expect to earn in a year or more. There is something effeminate about the way he stands there, one leg crossed over the other, dabbing at his mouth with a silk handkerchief. When he speaks, his Reikspiel is faultless but heavy with a Bretonnian accent. “Excuse me sir,” he begins, interrupting the conversation between Franz and the dwarf. “I cannot ‘elp to notice that you are a keen marksman, just like myself. I knew it before I even saw your weapon – it is in the blood, I think, no? A man who knows what to look for can tell. I saw it as soon as you came in ‘ere. I thought to myself, ‘Philippe, ‘ere is a man like you, who ‘as gunpowder in ‘is veins like blood. A man of grace. A gentleman.' And when I saw you cleaning your pistol, my instincts were proven right. Let me ask sir, do you mind if I ‘ave a look at your weapon? Please do not be embarrassed to say no. I know of the special bond between a duellist and ‘is pistols. I would not dream of violating it.”

[kwll01]

Snorri was about to answer, but the bretonnian stepped in and addressed Franz before he could. After hearing him talk, he emitted a short grunt and took another sip of ale.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz's ears reddened. He did not especially like to draw attention, especially when trying to find a target for the next day. But the Bretonnian certainly looked more friendly than the Dwarf.

"Um. I'm rather good, yes. But I wouldn't call myself a sharpshooter." He reluctantly handed his pistol to the man. "By all means, have a look."

[OzCymru]

The Bretonnian – ‘Philippe’, it would seem – takes the offered pistol and weighs it in his hand, then holds it up to his eye and looks closely at the detail. In truth, it is but a common flintlock, but he handles it like it is a fragile treasure, his blue eyes sparkling as he takes in its curves and lines.

“Ah, magnificent,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. “A lovely specimen, sir,” he announces, handing it back to Franz. “Now, for your kindness, allow me to buy you a drink. What do you say? Perhaps you would like to share a bottle of red wine? The 'ouse wine is a sour blend, but our friend 'as some finer varieties in 'is cellar. You just 'ave to know to ask for them.”

[-Sentinel-]

"Why, I'd appreciate it," said Franz politely. "Not too much though... I have to stay sober even when I'm not in service."

[Unrest]

"Wise if strainful," says Ryke commenting on Franz's words; he says it much more to Ganz or himself than to the gunman, now occupied with the queer fellow. "Golden crowns say those two over there don't refrain from pursuing entartainment in this manner."

[Xsesiv]

Walther yawns and drains his pint of ale. Nothing seems to be forthcoming of this conversation, and as such, with nothing else to do, and with the formalities out of the way, he decides it is time to get down to some serious drinking.

"Brandy, please, Gustav," he calls at the landlord as he passes, pulling out his purse and planning to drain a half or the whole of a bottle before the night is out. While it arrives, he clutches at an amber charm hanging from his neck, for strength against tomorrow's inevitable hangover.

[OzCymru]

Gustav is gone for a while retrieving the wine. Most of his patrons wouldn’t know a good vintage from vinegar, so he rarely needs to delve into the recesses of the cellar where his quality stock is kept. The bottle he produces and delivers to the table where Philippe has now joined Franz is dusty, and still bears several strands of cobweb.

“Ah, excellent,” smiles Philippe. “Very good indeed.” He takes a few moments to study the label before filling first Franz’s glass and then his own. “To our good ‘ealth,” he toasts, “and good shooting!” He takes a mouthful and swishes it around in his mouth, savouring the taste before swallowing.

“Just as good as I ‘ad ‘oped,” he beams. “Say, ‘ow would you like to join me for a game of cards? Just a friendly game of course, nothing too serious. Perhaps just one crown or two to make it a little more interesting, no?”

Meanwhile, Gustav provides Walther a bottle of the requested brandy, a harsh brew that almost takes the lining from the young wizard’s throat as it goes down. The initial shock is followed by a warm glow, however, and it is not long before he has finished the first cup and is pouring a second.

“Take your time with that one,” smiles Gustav. “It’ll put some lead in your pencil, that’s for sure, but too much of it could snap your pencil in half!” He chortles to himself at his own wit, then asks a little more seriously: “Say, how are you folk getting to Altdorf, anyway? I only saw a couple of horses. Surely the rest of you don’t mean to go on foot, do you? It’ll take a week or more that way. You ought to ask those coachmen if they’ve got room - they’re heading that way in the morning, and if it’s raining, like they say it’s going to, then you’ll be glad of the cover and all.”

[-Sentinel-]

Franz sipped his wine in silence, speaking only to decline the offer to gamble. He was not overjoyed with Gustav's suggestion to travel in coaches: it would make it quite a bit harder to rob this group tomorrow. People on foot were easier targets.

[kwll01]

Snorri considers the proposal to ask the coachmen for a place in their carriage. He is used to long or demanding marches, as a someone who served in the military, but he does not know the road, and the prospect of traveling alone with strangers is not engaging. Using a coach definitely would not be a bad idea...

He rises, approaches the coachmen table, and asks in a jovial tone: "Hay, coachmen! Would you have some room left in your carriage for the trip to Altdorf? I am sure I would not take too much room in there!"

[Xsesiv]

Walther agrees with Gustav, and goes over to the coachmen with Snorri to ask for passage on the coach before drinking any more. It's not as if he'll be in any state to walk tomorrow, and the coachmen getting him up will hopefully serve as an alarm as well. He looks with disgust at the roadwarden who seems dead set on not letting himself enjoy himself for the remainder of the evening.

[Blaze]

Ganz decides that he will travel close to the coach in the morning, on his horse, instead of traveling alone all the way to Altdorf. Safety in numbers after all. Ganz waits for the strangers to return from their visit with the coachmen before asking, "so what time do they plan on leaving?" Ganz hopes that what Gustav said about the rain tomorrow is not true, it's never pleasant traveling in the rain.

[OzCymru]

The coachmen’s revelry is interrupted by the approach of Snorri and, following closely behind him, Walther. “Yes, yes, of course, of course,” cries one of them, smiling. He appears to be the more sober of the two, if only by virtue of the fact that he is able to string a sentence together without too much trouble. His companion, on the other hand, burbles incoherently at the dwarf’s request before bursting into laughter at apparently nothing. “Seven crowns apiece,” continues the first coachman, hiccupping. “Be a bit of a squeeze but we should be alright. If it’s too tight we can chuck a couple off at the next stop.” He grins, suggesting he is joking, but it is hard to tell.

Suddenly, the burly, severe woman who has been sitting with the finely dressed lady appears at the table. She is an imposing figure, over six feet tall and broad of shoulder. Her top lip sports a dark fuzz that would not look out of place on a teenage boy, and her nose looks like it has received more than its fair share of blows over the years. “You’re not letting more on, are you?” she says in a gruff, distinctly unfeminine voice. “It’s already too full. Her ladyship will be most displeased if she has to share with anyone else.”

The drunker coachman merely snorts and gurgles at her, while his companion looks rather sheepish. “J-just to the next inn,” he stammers. “Only one more day, there’s some getting off then. It’s only a couple more anyway.”

He is met with a firm harrumph and the woman returns to her table, where her mistress’ scowl deepens upon hearing the news.

“Bloody nobles,” complains the coachman. “Think it’s a personal bloody carriage. If they don’t like it, let them find their own way.” He is careful to keep his voice low and his mouth obscured by his hand as he speaks, however. “Don’t worry ‘bout them,” he says. “Coach leaves nine o’clock, sharp. Don’t be late, we ain’t got time to wait for latecomers. Now, seven crowns each and you’re in.”

Over at the other table, Philippe looks a little disappointed at Franz’s refusal of a game of cards, and downright offended when his further attempts at conversation are met with stony faced silence. “I see you ‘ave other things on your mind so I will not trouble you any more, sir,” he finally concedes as a flowery tale about his life in the Bretonnian army is met with indifference. Taking the bottle of wine with him, he returns to his perch at the bar, where he adopts a stance that most mature men would have great difficulty pulling off.

[-Sentinel-]

Seven crowns each... Anyone with enough money to afford this coach was certainly worth robbing, especially the noble lady. It was risky, though: some of the others looked rather tough. Franz had never attacked a coach before, but there had to be a first time for everything.

The young man got up and walked over to the coachman.

"If it's alright, I'll ride beside you," he offered. "I'll protect you if we meet bandits or beastmen." He patted the handle of his pistol.

[kwll01]

Snorri reluctantly pours out the coins from his little purse on the coachmen's table, then sees the pistolier come next to him. Not paying much attention to his offer, he asks: "Nine o'clock, huh? Right, I will be there. But who might be that lady, important enough not to be incommoded, but not important enough to have her personal coach?" While talking, he moves his chin towards the noblewoman's table.

[Xsesiv]

Walther tips the money from his purse onto the table unhappily. Oh well, money comes and goes. That's what it's for. Remuneration from the prince and hopefully he won't need to bother with it all any more, he reminds himself.

But now he sits down with his brandy and attacks the bottle.

[OzCymru]

“Her? Some minor noble who thinks she’s more important than she is,” replies the coachman. “Isolde von Strudeldorf. Ever heard of the Von Strudeldorfs? No, nor me. Can’t wait to get rid of her, she’s a right pain, that one.”

He gleefully accepts the payment from Snorri and Walther, and nudges his companion as he tips the coins into a cloth bag. “Here we go Gunnar, more drinking money. How 'bout a bottle o' that brandy? Landlord! Two bottles o' brandy over here!”

At Franz’s offer of protection, he nods. “Well, the roads ain’t the safest place these days,” he says, “so any help fending off them mutants and bandits and all that would be good. Can’t afford to pay you for it, but you’re welcome to ride with us. Now, if you gents’ll excuse us, we got some business to attend to. Landlord! Where’s that brandy?”

[kwll01]

With a mild smirk on his mouth, Snorri goes back to his seat and answers Ganz: "9 o'clock, no later. Are you planning to join the convoy?" After a short laugh, he asks Walther: "Hey, care to share a couple of drinks? That way you won't feel that lonely!"

[Xsesiv]

Walther comes over to Ganz and tips a tot of brandy in the cup, then hands it to Ganz and drinks another swig, this time right from the bottle, after which he returns to his seat and sits down. What else is there to say?

[Blaze]

Ganz gives a polite nod to Walther for the drink, then turns to Snorri and says, "I will ride my horse along the coach, most of us seem to be going to the same meeting place anyway, and it's safer with more people along the road."

Lifting the cup which Walther gave to him, Ganz takes a small sip of the brandy and smiles in a polite manner to Walther, acknowledging the excellent brandy even though Ganz is not much of a drinker.

[kwll01]

Snorri casts a black look at Walther for not giving him some of his brandy. Clenching his teeth, he gets up and ostensibly walks out of the table while saying: "I will be going to bed now. No much point staying around here anyway, and I will be leaving early tomorrow." His chin high, he goes to his room without a look back.

[Unrest]

"Von Strudeldorfs? The knavery!" With these words Ryke springs up, quickly devising what he is to say, to have his words again make a gangway for him through time and distance.

"Madam," he addresses the woman he assumes to be the noblelady's guard, "I have by accidence learnt of this young lady's dignity as being that of the von Strudeldorf; I take you to be her most devoted friend and guardian here upon this track. My name is Reihard Heierbenz, a student graduate of heraldry at Middenheim, and wished to make an inquiry upon the lady of her house. If I may? I can easily see - and wholeheartedly understand," he made a gesture towards the rest of the inn, the coachmen in particular; he was already speaking to everyone at the table rather than just the noblewoman's guard - "that such environment does not content such a fair lady, and it would be my honor to have the chance to entertain her and her respectable companions for as long as she wishes." All this spiced with a proper mixture of gesticulation and smiles, designed to work with those he could meet - or rather needed to stand - working for the master merchant at Nuln.

Ryke then proceeded to further grab the attention and ears - or, more importantly, the gull - of the young noblewoman, attempting to create that kind of image - in her own mind! - of Strudeldorfs, wherever they may bloody be from, as a great house - if yes, yes, very generic, obviously. Rarely did it hold much water, but there is no slight discrepancy in facts that an able tongue is not able to twist so that it becomes nothing more than a tongue-slip; and Fernstaff's tongue was indeed an able one; not maybe so in pleasing anyone directly, but making them believe they are pleased, and thoroughly so.

"Speaking of the South..." he said one time when the topic of Altdorf came up, "I believe you are travelling on coach with these knaves?" he leaned forward and lowered his voice and darted towards the coachmen with his eyes, "Madams, I see not why their service to you should yield them anything more than honor. And I do know one of the seniors of the Altdorf's house of Rehberg," (which, in all honesty, anyone could say to know, being one of the more recognizable Altdorf names around), "who will hold this opinion as well. My fine ladies, I will tell you openly: I do seek passage to Altdorf as well, and as a student, there is little more that I could give anyone besides my knowledge. And this peasantry, they do not appreciate knowledge or grace, as you do, and as you represent yourselves; I implore: do support me on the coaching southwards, and I can promise you to not only have all your investment returned to you, but earn some satisfaction of seeing those that behave so rudely in your consciousness being... disciplined to your liking. And should my discourse be pleasurable unto you, beloved ladies, I offer my companionship thus with humility."

Of course, what he would in turn propose to the coachmen would be that riding with them, he would squeeze out the last brass out of the Smuddelsdorp ma-lady by the time they reach Altdorf... But that is plan number two. As they say, the only blade that does not cut on two edges is a blunt one.

[OzCymru]

Now that everyone has been fed and supplied with their choice of beverage, most folk are content to either turn in for the evening or to wallow in their own thoughts in the bar room for a while longer. Even Gustav’s enthusiasm wanes as he busies himself wiping tables and keeping glasses full. Not so Ryke, however, who, upon hearing the name of the noblewomen, makes a beeline for the table where the lady and her small retinue are seated. At his approach, the burly woman immediately rises, one hand moving almost of its own accord to the sword at her belt. She squares up to the valet, and seems about to manhandle him when his words cause her to hesitate.

As Ryke attempts to brown-nose his way into the young noble’s favour, Lady Isolde’s expression changes from disdain, to horror, to puzzlement, and then to contempt as she realises what it is that the young man is asking. “Not only have you bored me with your verbosity,” she replies icily, “but you have the nerve to ask me to pay for your coach fair! The very sight of you is making my skin crawl. Why do you think I would wish to prolong that? Marie, get him out of my sight.”

Ryke has no time to reply before the large hands are upon him, lifting him clean off the ground and carrying him to a far corner of the room, where he is dumped into a chair to the accompanying cheers of the coachmen and several others. By the time he has picked himself up and dusted himself down, Lady Isolde and her companions have left the bar room.

[Unrest]

The ignominious man watches the stuffed-up noblewoman and her companions, the troll and the pixie, leave; the guard sends him a dangerous glance as she leaves, and just a heartbeat later Ryke puts up his index and middle finger together in their direction. Actually quite lucky they didn't see it, he blinks, and looks around; his mind begins filling up with ideas on how to talk to the coachmen now... but, no, actually, no. He is not a perfect mind. Part of what he hates himself for; in such moments he just assumes that 'hellfire burn it' face and walks away. Not a way for a self-made schemer, for a mind, wit and talk as cutting as a razor-

Maybe there's just something about him that does blunt it.

Still...

"Why's nobility stuck that far up their bowels! Daughters'of! Say, what's the fare on your coach? Seven crowns? See, I- I have..."

Man, says a voice somewhere in Ryke's barren... throat? lungs? heart? head? Man, screw it. Leave it. Don't drop yourself even lower. Just don't. It doesn't work.

"Yeah, I have the money. Hope there's some space left."

As Ryke walks to his compartment he had reserved from Gustav, another voice, a twisted one, speaks.
Should have done something.
I know.
Talk them over. Pickpocket them. Knock them out. Stab them.
No-
Don't get into any more trouble.
Yes.
And bury her in the yard behind!
Gotta go to sleep.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz chuckled at the well-dressed man's attempt to gain the lady's favor, but hoped this would not stop Lady Isolde from taking the coach with them: she undoubtedly had a lot of money.

As was his habit, he went to bed early and perfectly sober. With any luck, his travel companions would be too tired and hung over to offer much resistance tomorrow.

[Xsesiv]

Walther has spent the evening drinking from his brandy, as he planned. With a quarter or a third or so of his bottle left, having sung songs he doesn't know the words to, sprayed brandy from his mouth over a candle-flame to impress or scare passers-by as the case may be, and suffered a bruise on his thigh the cause of which he cannot for the life of him identify, Walther drinks several large tankards of water, so as not to be totally useless the next day, heads to the privy, and then turns in for the night. He has just enough composure left to make sure he has all his personal effects - staff, bags, brandy - are in his room, the door locked, before he prepares to slump asleep over his bed.

Face-down of course, with his head over the edge of the bed. Out of habit, he reminds himself before and after every night's drinking of that time during his Quickening when he was maybe thirteen or fifteen. He had, not realising quite how strong it was, drunk six pints of powerful, deceptively sweet mead raided from his master's private stash over the course of two or three hours, then fallen over backwards some time later and gone to sleep where he lay. He was woken up some time later to find himself choking on his own vomit, almost drowning in it. It was a good thing one of the priests had found him in time. Father Ulfric hadn't let on to his master, though. Walther never knew why not. Maybe Ulfric thought he'd learnt his lesson.

Anyway, Walther settles himself into this rather awkward position, yawns mightily, stretches, and falls asleep. Or maybe "passes out" would be a better description.

[Blaze]

Ganz wonders what the man could have possibly said to deserve being embarrassed; carried all the way across the room only to be plopped into a chair. Finishing his water quickly, Ganz heads to the toilet to relieve himself before bed. On the way to the bathroom he gives a polite tilt of the head and a smile to the noblewoman before she slips away into the bedroom hallways along with her troupe.

After his visit to the bathroom Ganz returns to the common area and finds Gustav, "Thank you for your hospitality this evening, you've some of the best service and I shall make sure to mention this place to other travelers."

After his short conversation with Gustav, Ganz happily heads to his room for a good night's rest before the long journey to Altdorf. He makes sure the door is locked and the windows sealed from intruders, also placing his dagger within arms reach. Before slipping into his sleep he holds his pendant tight and utters a short prayer to Ulric; asking for courage and protection for the arduous journey ahead of him. Making a mental note to wake up early he begins to gradually slip into a deep sleep.

[OzCymru]

Wellentag, 25th Jahrdrung, 2512

The night passes peacefully, in spite of whatever horrors may be lurking in the surrounding forest, and morning arrives to a chorus of squawks from Gustav’s crow and the aroma of frying bacon. Slowly, the guests make their way down to the bar room, where a hearty breakfast has been prepared and Gustav is scurrying to and from the kitchen, pausing only to wish each newcomer a good morning and to inquire about the quality of their sleep. There is no sign of Lady Isolde yet, though given her obvious distaste for the present company, that is perhaps not so surprising, and the sight of Gustav carrying a heavily laden tray towards the sleeping quarters suggests that she has opted to dine in her room. More worrying, though, is the fact that by nine o’clock the coachmen are nowhere to be seen, and a quick peep into the courtyard reveals that the coach has not even been readied for the journey.

[Xsesiv]

Walther awakens early, as usual, but stays where he is for a while, as, predictably, the crow's squawks cause him immense pain. After some time lying about doing nothing, he wanders downstairs, shaking his head to dislodge the burning rocks that seem to have taken up residence inside it. He answers Gustav's questions but otherwise keeps himself to himself. All the while he eats his breakfast, he drinks watered ale and licks his lips, desperately trying to hydrate his very dry mouth. After the food, he begins to feel somewhat better, so, after it has become apparent they are not going to turn up, he goes to the coachmen's room, raps loudly on the door with his stick, and shouts "Up! Now!"

[-Sentinel-]

When he woke up, Franz meticulously cleaned his flintlock pistol piece by piece, even though he had done it yesterday. Then he quickly dressed for travel, made sure his raven mask was within hand's reach in his slingbag, and walked down the stairs and out of the building to check on his black mare in the stables. One day he would get around to find her a name... she was, after all, his second most precious possession.

He was somewhat concerned when he saw that the coach was not ready, and fervently hoped this did not spell the end of his plan to steal Lady Isolde's purse and heart in true highwayman fashion.

[OzCymru]

It takes several minutes of knocking before Walther hears a muffled groan from within the coachmen’s room. There is a thump, like something heavy falling to the ground, then a loud sigh and the shuffle of feet before the door is opened, unleashing a cloud of alcoholic vapours that does the hungover wizard no favours at all. A pale, bleary eyed face appears between the door and the frame – the coachman who had seemed the more sober of the two last night. It is clear that merely standing takes a great effort, even when using the doorframe as a support. “Yes?” he croaks, only managing to produce half of the word, and visibly sagging in the doorway as he does so.

[Xsesiv]

"Get that coach ready. We have to be in Altdorf soon," says Walther, turning around to go to the privy and grab a few extra slices of bacon before everyone goes - an event he seems to foresee taking place sometime in the next few minutes. "And no excuses about your hangovers. I've got one too. Don't make me give you a dunking in the water-butt."

[OzCymru]

The coachman closes the door without comment, but it is still quite some time before the two of them appear and, ignoring both breakfast and the dirty looks and disparaging comments from the assembled passengers, begin preparing the carriage for the journey.

It is a simple process, and one that these coachmen perform on a daily basis, but they make hard work of, using laboured motions and stopping to rest every few minutes. At one point, one of them turns away from the horse he is harnessing and sprays a large pool of vomit onto the straw-littered cobblestones.

Looking at the coach, and the waiting passengers, it is clear that the coachmen were a little hasty in accepting more custom the previous evening. The coach looks like it has room inside for about six people, and with Lady Isolde and her two companions, plus the young fellow with the large book and the foppish Bretonnian already part of the fare, getting three more on there is going to take some extremely lateral thinking.

It doesn’t seem like a solution will come from the coachmen, who, after harnessing the horses shuffle off somewhere, presumably to fetch any gear they might have taken off the coach. Half an hour later, there is still no sign of them, and a quick search finds them both curled up in one of the stables, fast asleep.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz Jaeger's mind raced when he found the two drunken coachmen, and his eyes suddenly lit up with an insane idea. He knew an opportunity when he saw one. It was not everyday that he tried such a risky gamble, but if it succeeded, it would certainly be worth it.

He got out of the stable and spoke to the assembled travellers, trying to sound official.

"It would seem that your two coachmen are too ill to work. By virtue of Law 17 of Reikland's road safety council, it is therefore my duty as a sanctioned roadwarden to provide safe transportation to anyone who needs it. Get in the coach, we're leaving as soon as we can. We wasted enough time already... We don't want to still be in the wilderness at nightfall."

"Since I'll be sitting in the coachman's seat, my horse is available to any of you."

Along with the second coachman's spare seat, it meant that two more people could travel with them.


OOC:
Now, to see if the ploy succeeds...

Fellowship 32: [roll0]
Fortune Point: [roll1]

[Blaze]

"I agree with the roadwarden, the coach seems quite full. I would be willing to allow someone to ride with me, as long as you aren't a burden on my horse."

Ganz holds the reins to his mount patiently, and looks around to see if there are any takers of his offer. He hopes the noblewoman accepts his offer, but doesn't expect she would be willing to ride a horse, even less likely if the forecast keeps up.

[Xsesiv]

"They can work fine. I'll ride on the roof if need be," says Walther, tapping his staff on the floor impatiently. "Do you even know how to drive a coach?" he adds, giving up, entering the stable and kicking the coachmen awake. "I've already warned you once. Get out here and onto the coach."

[-Sentinel-]

"Do you even know how to drive a coach?" he adds

"Sure I can!" Franz assured him hurriedly, afraid of seeing his plan crumble. "It's part of every roadwarden's training. Would you rather let two drunken, tired and hung-over men drive you?"

He put himself in front of the stable's entrance, as if to block the wizard's way.

"Trust me. I'm more competent than these two. Besides, it's my job."

[Xsesiv]

"Would you rather let two drunken, tired and hung-over men drive you?"

Walther looks the little man up and down and gives this serious consideration. "I might. Do you want me to be honest or tactful?

Anyway, even if they can't drive, we'll take them. I don't want to end up in court for stealing a coach," says Walther, and pushes past Franz and carries out his original plan of getting the coachmen up.

[Unrest]

Ryke looks at the whole situation a bit stupified, but all his confusion is gone when the roadwarden pistol-man moves into the sorcerer's way. Fernstaff always thought it particularly ironic that the only thing a man is always ready to protect with his chest is his lie. He himself had to resolve to this sometimes...

"This is not a Marienburg street-crossing," he says in Franz's direction, who was standing about eight yards away, "the slight dizziness of past intoxication will not do them nor us any harm. And shouldn't yet a warden like you, citing laws, extract from them a signed paper declaring the switching? All should, in the Empire, have its paper, like this carriage, like we, and like you do." The 'you' was quite wildcarded; a bit of a habitual expression (in some circles even a running gag) in a world where paper can prove more throatslitting than a dagger. "It should not be impossible for them to produce the one for us; they are not dead, after all."

"Are they."

[OzCymru]

With the departure already an hour late, and dark clouds rumbling in from the west, most of the travellers are eager to be underway, regardless of who is driving, and Franz’s proclamation that he is commandeering the coach meets with little resistance. Lady Isolde and her retune climb aboard, her ladyship clutching a splendid lute case, and are followed by the long-nosed fellow with his book and the smirking Philippe, leaving room for one more inside the carriage. It is only at Walther’s insistence that the two coachmen are roused from their bed of straw, and they both stagger towards the coach, holding their heads.

Slowly and silently, they clamber onto the driving platform and wait for the remaining travellers to board, either inside or upon the roof, before setting off at the most gentle pace. So gentle, in fact, that those riding alongside have a hard time keeping their mounts at a slow enough pace to avoid leaving the carriage behind. At this rate, any thoughts of reaching the next coaching inn before nightfall might be rather optimistic.

Those sitting on the roof find that the space there is severely limited due to the large number of hat boxes that Lady Isolde has brought along, though riding on top seems preferable to enduring the icy stares from her ladyship that those within the coach are subject to.

After about twenty minutes, the coach has travelled such a short distance that the smoke from the inn’s chimney is still clearly visible to the rear, but the coachmen seem unwilling, or unable, to whip the horses into anything more than a gentle amble. In fact, they appear to be asleep, both of them slumped forward in their seats, reins held loosely.

[Xsesiv]

Walther clambers over the hatboxes and down from the roof onto the driving platform in between the coachmen, snatches up the reins, pulls them out of the coachmen's hands and drives the horses into a quick trot himself. If it wakes the coachmen up from a headache, it will serve them right for sleeping on the job.

[Unrest]

"So who's this lady-person anyway? Have you any bets?" Normally boredom would kick in after a much longer time of lustrating his surroundings, but the snail-pace of the coach made Ryke ask this innocuous question of those on the roof. A short while later Walther jumps off and in between the coachmen, which leaves Ryke with the dwarf, oddly silent as of late. At least the journey could get a bit hastier; a bit woken up, Fernstaff resumed scanning the environment. The man with the gun was there like a black, corner-of-the-eye, menacing shape in the whole travelling party. Ryke couldn't know what was in the man's head, but... he always wanted a gun of his own, and was always denied it.

This is not a question that really needs to spark up a conversation. You do not need to answer.

[OzCymru]

There is no complaint from either of the coachmen as Walther takes the reins, and under the young wizard’s stewardship the pace picks up considerably. Both coachmen take the opportunity to get some rest, and crawl onto the roof where they curl up in what space they can find and fall soundly asleep, despite the regular jolting and lurching of the coach as it hits a stone or pothole in the road.

The condition of the road is poor, and to keep up a consistent speed, Walther has to concentrate quite hard on avoiding the larger holes, rocks and fallen branches. Each bump or jolt brings an angry squawk from within, courtesy of Lady Isolde, who issues numerous threats of retribution at the hands of her family in Altdorf should any of her luggage – particularly her hats - be damaged by a fall from the roof.

For the first hour, the journey is free of incident, if a little uncomfortable at times. Suddenly, the trees on the right hand side fall away, revealing a steep bank that slopes down to a rocky gully, and the road veers sharply to the left. Unprepared for the sudden change in direction, the horses dig their hooves into the soft earth, causing the coach to lurch violently sideways towards the bank.

Xsesiv, can you make a Driving roll for Walther to keep control please?

[kwll01]

As comfortably installed as the little room available on top of the coach permits, Snorri is oblivious to what happens around him during the trip, be it people talking or coachmen moving around. His only wish, at this time, is to arrive at Altdorf as fast as possible, and all these delays and discussions at the inn have only succeeded in putting him in a stern mood. However, maybe by habit from his past military life, he did not try to meddle into the discussions.

When the coach moves on the wayside, he is suddenly kicked out of his thoughts, and tries desperately to grab one side of the cabin. He turns his head toward Walther at the same time, hoping that he succeeds in stabilizing the vehicle.

[Blaze]

Rather relieved not having to share his horse Ganz enjoys the slowly paced ride, constantly looking around at the surroundings taking in nature's beauty. Once the carriage has picked up the pace, his mount has no trouble keeping up and seems quite content to actually trot and use its legs. All of a sudden the carriage seems to maneuver awkwardly and Ganz realizes that whoever was driving didn't expect the turn in the path. He readies himself to force his mount into a run if the carriage careens off the side of the path, he really hopes it doesn't as it would stall their progress even more; the likelihood of repairing the carriage in time to arrive to the next stop seems nonexistent and any injuries sustained will slow them as well.

[OzCymru]

Suddenly, Walther’s lack of driving experience is horribly exposed as he pulls hard on the reins, unable to think of anything else that might stop the coach running off the road. Startled shrieks come from within as the carriage teeters precariously on the brink of the slope, and there is a brief struggle between the overfull coach’s momentum and the resistance offered by the soft earth as the vehicle ploughs sideways, churning up mud and leaves. Miraculously, the coach stops inches short of the bank, but any relief is short lived as there is a loud crack like the snap of a whip and those looking to the right see one of the rear wheels rolling and bouncing down the slope. An instant later the coach crashes onto its side, dragging the frightened horses to the ground and throwing off those on the roof.

Everyone on the roof or driving platform (i.e. Walther, Snorri and Ryke, as well as the two coachmen) needs to make an Agility roll to jump to the ground unharmed as the coach topples

Agility Tests for Coachmen:
Gunnar [roll0]
Hultz [roll1]

Damage if rolls failed:
Gunnar [roll2] – TB 3
Hultz [roll3] – TB 3
Walther [roll4] – TB 4
Snorri [roll5] – TB 4
Ryke [roll6] – TB 2

[Xsesiv]

Walther falls right off the driving platform and lands hard with the bulk of his weight right on his arm. Not hard enough to do any major damage, though, so after a quick appraisal of his bumps and scrapes, he goes over to check on the horses' status. If satisfied that they are alright, he goes down the slope to fetch the wheel, looking to put it back on.

[Unrest]

Ryke is caught musing, off his guard, and no sooner than the carriage starts careening dangerously to the side does the valet notice what happens. Further confused by the coach suddenly jolting to the other side - perhaps bouncing off some groove - he loses his balance and falls off, hitting his side against a rock hidden somewhere there in the mud. He fell so that now that he raises his head - full of ugly words - he can see the underside of the carriage. Doesn't particularly look as if the axes are alright...

"Blistering warps! Mutations! The devils you think you are doing! Two drunk men and a prestidigitateur, well done, you did manage to amaze us quite past the mark!"

[Xsesiv]

Walther stops sharply the second he hears the word 'prestidigitator', then turns around and looks Ryke in the eyes. "I'm no stage magician that pulls pennies from people's ears and rabbits from hats, scum," he says shortly to Ryke, crackling with barely suppressed fury. "I'd like to see you drive a carriage better, what's more," he adds, looking the puny valet up and down, turning around again and heading off after the wheel.

[Unrest]

Ryke rises from the ground, and when he straightens his back he lets out a growl and grabs his side; only now the rib he hit on the rock started to actually hurt. He tries to manage composture, with mixed success.

"I may not be able to drive a coach... But I don't pretend I am." With these words Fernstaff turns away from the sorcerer in a motion that inequivocably states he does not seek a confrontation, and still clutching to his side, he inspects what could be happening inside the carriage.

[OzCymru]

None of the travellers atop the carriage are lithe enough to avoid taking a hefty blow as the coach topples over and spills them to the ground. The two coachmen are particularly helpless, having been sound asleep until the violent jolting wakes them at the last moment, and the one called Hultz rolls all the way down the bank, getting a nasty bang on the head against the rocks at the bottom.

Nobody seems to be seriously hurt, though a few people are a little dazed and there are cuts and bruises aplenty. Perhaps the greatest injury is to Lady Isolde’s dignity, as she spills from the coach as Ryke pulls open the door, her petticoat twisted around her head and her stockinged legs kicking desperately at the air, leaving just a pair of silk knickers to keep the last shred of her modesty intact. Her servant quickly helps her to her feet and rights her dress, but it is too late to hide her ladyship’s shame and she lashes out at the nearest target, striking the approaching bodyguard across the head, a blow that is met with stoic silence. Slowly, the other passengers crawl from the carriage and check themselves for injuries. Philippe seems to be fine, but is rather dismayed to find that he is missing several buttons, and the bookworm is more concerned with checking his tome for tears or creases than attending to the lump that has already started to form on his forehead.

The horses appear to be a little shaken, but otherwise in good health. The only problem now is the fact that the coach is laying on its side with one of its wheels laying at the bottom of the slope, amidst several of Lady Isolde’s precious hat boxes.

If it wasn’t clear from the rolls in my previous post, Walther loses 5 wounds, Snorri 5 and Ryke 3.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz watched the whole scene without a word, trying to calculate the risk of robbing Lady Isolde at gunpoint here and now. It was the perfect opportunity: the other men were either hurt or busy, and many of them would likely react with indifference (maybe even approval) if he took the arrogant noblewoman down a peg. As he was about to draw his gun, however, he abruptly decided against it. He did not know his fellow travellers well enough to tell which ones would defend the lady. He had only one shot ready in his pistol, and they all knew it: there was no way he could take on all of them.

Better wait a little...

"I can drive," he offered. "I'm sure I'm better at it than most of you." He threw a sideways glance at Walther.

[Xsesiv]

"Fine," calls Walther from the bottom of the slope, good humour apparently restored, where he is picking the wheel up and kicking Hultz awake for the second time that day, which, to be honest, is twice more than he would like. "Drive the bastard coach, roadwarden, I don't care. If you're so great a driver, tell me why I didn't see you step in when the coachmen fell asleep. I'll ride your horse and whine the entire way."

[-Sentinel-]

Biting his cheeks to keep a smug grin from spreading on his face, Franz slid down his saddle.

"Now let's try to get this thing back on its wheels."

[OzCymru]

It takes four men to lift the coach upright, with Lady Isolde issuing stern warnings to mind her luggage while her bodyguard tramps down the slope to retrieve the jettisoned hat boxes. The paint on the side of the carriage has scratched badly and the coaching company’s emblem – a spiked wheel with stylised motion lines – is barely recognisable. The coachmen show some initial concerns about the rear axle, to which any serious damage could spell disaster, but to everyone’s relief it appears to be superficial and the wheel is replaced easily enough.

Nevertheless, the journey has been delayed by over half an hour by the time everyone is back on board. The coachmen insist on taking the reins, the incident having replaced their hangovers with the realisation that it would not sit too well with their employers if they were to hear that a passenger crashed the coach while the drivers slept. This time, the pace is more reasonable as they set about their work with a little more earnestness.

Twenty minutes after the resumption of the journey, the first drops of the promised rain are felt. In a matter of minutes, it has developed into a downpour and those riding on the roof, or alongside, quickly find themselves soaked through.

[-Sentinel-]

As soon as he felt the first raindrop, Franz wrapped his pistol and bag of powder in as many layers of cloth as possible. Before long, he felt rather miserable despite his best effort to keep his face stoic. A night in the wilderness was bad enough... The rain would not make it better.

[Unrest]

Fernstaff tries to sit as close to Snorri for the mutual mammal warmth, though far enough not to seem he is getting familiar. Nothing particular did he hold against dwarves. No, really.

The downpour slowly but gradually wearying his patience - he wasn't a roadsperson, after all, and inasmuch as he was a city dweller there was nothing more desirable at night than his own cellar - and to ease himself, using that little speck of humour that sometimes came to him, he asked his roofmates: "Say, this would be foul mis-usage of a hat not to wear it when the weather calls for it, wouldn't it?" he says, grinning, and pointing to the boxes with his chin. Frankly, he is a bit too afraid to do it on his own and to perhaps later face the wrath of the noblelady - not unlikely to be exacted forcibly by her guardian - but the idea of getting to do something against the stuck-up hatchling off a blue-yolked egg is a fine one and does give him a tingling, frivolous prospect of simply having it back at someone.

[Blaze]

Glad that nobody is seriously injured, he mounts his horse after helping with menial tasks in order to get the coach moving again. Ganz is finally relieved to get a move on, sadly the rain dampens his mood further. In order to avoid getting too wet, he makes sure his horse follows closer to the trees in an effort to use the branches as cover from the rain. He wishes he brought his tent along to drape himself with, but he unfortunately decided to leave it in Middenheim, on account of planning to travel light and stop at all the inns before nightfall. He guides his mount carefully around large puddles formed in the travel path, and keeps a steady pace in order to prevent any injury to his mount, that would surely ruin his spirits completely. The layers of armor he has on help keep Ganz warm, but rather quite uncomfortable with the soggy feel of the leather base layer. He thought about pulling out his blanket, but then he would not have anything to dry himself with later, so he decides to toughen up and wait until the next inn, he decides to focus his attention on the flanks of the coach to distract himself of the weather.

[kwll01]

Fernstaff tries to sit as close to Snorri for the mutual mammal warmth, though far enough not to seem he is getting familiar. Nothing particular did he hold against dwarves. No, really.

The downpour slowly but gradually wearying his patience - he wasn't a roadsperson, after all, and inasmuch as he was a city dweller there was nothing more desirable at night than his own cellar - and to ease himself, using that little speck of humour that sometimes came to him, he asked his roofmates: "Say, this would be foul mis-usage of a hat not to wear it when the weather calls for it, wouldn't it?" he says, grinning, and pointing to the boxes with his chin. Frankly, he is a bit too afraid to do it on his own and to perhaps later face the wrath of the noblelady - not unlikely to be exacted forcibly by her guardian - but the idea of getting to do something against the stuck-up hatchling off a blue-yolked egg is a fine one and does give him a tingling, frivolous prospect of simply having it back at someone.

Snorri is less than happy with the turn of events. Not only did today's trip start in a very bad way, but now he is getting soaked wet with rain. And there is nothing he dislikes more than rain in this world -- it is something he could never get used to, for all his love of the human way of life. So when Fernstaff approaches and starts talking about hats, he immediately shows that he is in no mood for smalltalk. "Go ahead if you want. But I bet you will feel as wet with them on your head as you are now. Only you will look ridiculous." Turning his head to him, he adds: "Not that it would make too much difference, though."

It was a little bit more hostile than he wanted it to be, but there is only so much that he could do to control his temper.

[Unrest]

Ryke gives the dwarf a foul look, but says nothing very hostile to it.

"Wet's wet. But there's a difference when this s*** doesn't fall right on your face."

Snorri: well, didn't really have to "approach", we're sitting like a yard away :smallwink:

OOC: are the boxes soaking through anyway? Or are they locked tight? Did the hats get spoiled when the cart tripped?

[kwll01]

Ryke gives the dwarf a foul look, but says nothing very hostile to it.

"Wet's wet. But there's a difference when this s*** doesn't fall right on your face."


Decidedly not in the mood for talking, Snorri shrugs at the words of his companion of misfortune. Then he says to himself that military equipment is not always up to par, but his mantle at least got a hood. In a slow gesture, he tightens it around him.

[OzCymru]

The coach lurches on as the downpour continues for the next two hours, churning up the road and slowing progress to a grinding crawl as the coachmen are forced to navigate alarmingly deep potholes and ruts wide enough to fit a whole wheel in. Between them they grumble about the current condition of the Empire’s roads, bemoaning the Emperor’s reluctance to spend money on them in favour of reinforcing his military muscle. A needless expense, according to Gunnar, while all the while the roads become more and more hazardous.

At around noon the rain mercifully stops, and a few minutes later the coach reaches a junction with the main Middenheim-Altdorf road, at which stands a milestone that states the distance to Altdorf as forty five miles. There is a coaching inn at the junction, outside which stands a smart, well-maintained carriage bearing the symbol of the Four Seasons line, the Empire’s largest and best known coaching company. The coachmen slow down long enough to make rude gestures at the coach before raising the horses to a light trot on the larger road’s firmer surface.

[kwll01]

Snorri grumbles at the coachmen's behavior, decidedly not in a good mood. "No need to be angry at them. You would not have a chance to work for them anyway: they probably don't hire drunk drivers!" he moans.

[OzCymru]

The Middenheim-Altdorf road is one of the Empire’s main travel routes, and as such enjoys the benefit of far more attention than secondary roads like that upon which the Coach and Horses stands. Of course, the greater volume of traffic also leads to more wear and tear, so while its general condition is far superior to the earlier track, there are still numerous rough patches where potholes are yet to be filled, or where fallen branches and rocks have not been cleared from the road. Luckily, the earlier incident has made the coachmen more alert and, despite the lingering effects of the previous night, they guide the coach expertly along. From time to time, other travellers are sighted: other coaches, horsemen, groups on foot; at one stage the coach is forced to move to the side of the road to allow a detachment of Imperial cavalry to pass.

A couple of hours after the coach joins the main road, it sweeps around a bend to be confronted with a grisly sight. Squatting in the road is a human figure, his back to the coach, bent over the body of a coachman. Gunnar and Hultz pull the coach to a halt halfway around the bend, and the horses snort nervously as the figure turns. It is difficult to tell at first, mainly because the sight is too ghastly to be believed, but from the creature’s disgusting mouth hangs what appears to be a severed human hand. The creature is recognisably human, but is abhorrent to behold: flesh hangs in shreds from its face and hands, and green ichor seeps from its eyes. Spitting out the hand, it leaps forward, a bloody dagger raised above its head as it rushes at the coach.

The creature’s charge sends the horses into a blind panic, and they bolt, snapping the traces as they do so. Hultz, who is gripping the reins, is pulled from the coach and dragged behind the terrified horses off the road and into the woods. Gunnar manages to apply the brake properly before the coach lurches forward, but looks up to see the loathsome figure bearing down on him.

Being novice adventurers, this is more than likely the first time any of your characters have seen a mutant. As such, each of you needs to make a Fear test to cope with the sight of the figure’s rotting flesh. To do so, make an unmodified Will Power test. Those who succeed can act normally in the first combat round. Those who fail are unable to do anything and must make another test the next round to overcome their fear. This continues until a successful test is made.

Initiative (highest total acts first)
Mutant [roll0]
PCs [roll1]

PCs’ initiative modifier is based on 1d10 plus the average Agility of the party (rounded down), taking into account the player characters only (no NPCs, even though some of them may join the fight). PC actions are in posting order, so first come, first served, but just make sure that if the enemy wins initiative that you wait until I post their actions first.

Note for Walther (for Xsesiv’s eyes only)
The figure rushing towards you with the manic gleam in his eyes looks very familiar. Suddenly, it comes to you: it is Rolf Hurtsis, a fellow former apprentice of Ulfric Bosch, your mentor. But Rolf has changed dramatically: skin nows hangs in shreds from his body and blood drips from his gaping mouth.

A year ago, Rolf started to develop a strange skin complaint and act very strangely. To hide his growing affliction, he would go around with a bag over his head, a practice that often brought him to the attention of the Watch and made it very hard for him to get through his daily duties, let alone pursue his studies. Eventually, despite the efforts of Ulfric to protect him, he was arrested and thrown in jail. The last you heard of Rolf was when he escaped and fled some six months ago. That was until now!

[-Sentinel-]

Franz snapped out of his half doze with a start when his horse whinnied in fear. He blinked for a moment at the creature that stood before them...

WP test: [roll0] (failed)

...and recoiled from it, his face pale with horror.

[kwll01]

Snorri's WP test: [roll0] (failed)

Snorri spent a lot of time in the army, but fighting armed enemies in the battlefield, however powerful, is something very different from seeing the disgusting monster now running at the coach. Especially since he was then surrounded by his soldier mates, on which he could count.

Paralysed with terror, he does not know how to react.

[Xsesiv]

Walther looks at the man that was once his friend and instantly shakes his head at the sight. Friend or no, at the moment he's a hideous aberration against nature, not to mention scary as hell. Walther can see himself leaping from the coach right now, driving his quarterstaff onto the mutant's head in a heroic arc, shattering his skull.

[roll0] WP 38

Unfortunately, he's not got the guts to pull it off.

[Unrest]

From the top of the carriage Ryke spots the grisly scene. Honestly, the first thing he recalls are words from a song he once heard, about a "grisly murder scene" specifically; because he was a witness to the original event that served as the song's inspiration, and because he was - duh - living in a city, he is far from being paralyzed, and the second thing he hears is the loud word his mind instantly cracks: "ACT!" His brain coordinates the alleyway-trained instincts in a cold, analytic way, as fast as it is possible for a human being to react - but still not fast enough to outdo a mutant's speed...

[roll0]

[OzCymru]

Its eyes ablaze with unhuman savagery, the mutant is upon Gunnar before the coachman can do anything more than cower, and slashes its dagger across his throat. It is a wild, vicious swipe and looks certain to be fatal, but it would seem that Gunnar has Ranald’s favour for the moment and, despite drawing blood, the knife somehow misses any major arteries. Screams of terror come from within the carriage as the doors open and Lady Isolde’s bodyguard appears, trying to draw her sword which seems to have snagged on her belt for a moment. She is closely followed by the Bretonnian, Philippe, loading his pistol.

OK, only Ryke can act this round, and possibly Ganz once Blaze makes his Fear test.

[Blaze]

WP: [roll0] If only we had to roll high :P


Too busy scanning the treeline, Ganz is caught unaware by the foul looking humanoid ahead on the road. When Ganz hears the whinny of the horses he glances towards the road and watches unable to act as the mutant slashes the coachman's throat. Ganz is overcome with the fear of death and hesitates to act, hoping to himself that those around him don't notice his hesitation, lest they think him a cowardly warrior.

[Unrest]

I don't really get whether Gunnar is on the ground or where he sat, and where the mutant is. But still, it's the same direction, and that's forward:

Not being the lance-wielding hero that apparently abound in this man-charge-man world, Ryke does not send himself forward to defend the travellers with his chest. (He'd be frankly astonished if anyone expected elsewise.) Instead, with a forwards kick, he sends a hat-box flying past Walther and at the mutant, hoping to direct its view upwards - where, as Ryke has been led to believe, there is also a soldier and a sorcerer.

[roll0], under whatever you think counts.

Only then it occurs to him, that whether he actually hits the monster on its poor mad noggin or not, it is Still more than likely it will direct its next assault in his general direction. That prompts him to draw his Main Gauche and enter what was once in Nuln's streets called the Bottomhand Jabber and saved many a scum's guts and throat back in the day.

Draw Main Gauche as a free action due to Quick Draw (if I can, also the regular dagger, but the rules are vague), and as a Half-Action enter Full-Defense, In The Memory Of The Late Fritz "River Fritz" Ackmann.

[OzCymru]

From the roof of the coach, Ryke launches his boot at the nearest hat box, an elegant yet solid case that flies in the general direction of the mutant but lands so far away that the creature doesn’t even notice. Immediately following his improvised attack, Ryke draws his main gauche and adopts a watchful stance, ready to fend off any attacks against him should the mutant attempt to clamber onto the roof.

End of Round 1. Walther, Franz, Snorri and Ganz are all paralysed by fear and need to make a successful WP test at the start of Round 2 to act. Ryke is in a Parrying Stance which lasts until he next takes an action (you can only draw one weapon as a free action, and Full Defence is a full action, so I assume you meant Parrying Stance?)

Round 2

Initiative
Mutant [roll0]
PCs [roll1]

It is jarring to think that the mutant may once have been a regular inhabitant of the Empire, but any semblance of humanity has now disappeared from its eyes, and it continues its attack on Gunnar with bestial ferocity, this time driving its dagger into the poor coachman’s chest. Gunnar topples to the ground, the mutant falling on top of him, still with its hands on the handle of the knife. Blood spurts from Gunnar’s mouth as the creature tries to wrench the dagger free to deliver a final, killing blow.

[Xsesiv]

The fact that a human has become this hideous thing has jarred Walther's nerves a bit. He steels himself, clenching his oaken staff tightly, preparing to cave in Rolf's skull before he can stab Gunnar again.[roll0] WP 38 Yet again, he fails to bring himself to jump off the coach roof.

[Blaze]

Ganz watches in dismay as the skin tattered humanoid pulls the dagger out of Gunnar's blood soaked clothes. He can only watch as the mutant continues to rend Gunnar's limp body. Much like Gunnar in a state of shock, Ganz remains motionless, his horse whinnying in terror as it prances around and spins on it's spot.

[kwll01]

Seeing the blood flood out of the coachman's chest shakes Snorri to his senses: too many times he has seen it, and too many times he has seen mates fall to enemies. But his training and years of combat taught him how to focus on his foes not to endure the same fate.

In a swift movement he grabs his battle axe and jumps on the mutant feet first from the coach's roof in an attempt to kick it away from Gunnar, howling a battle cry!

[Unrest]

"Hit 'im u-!" Ryke, who has drawn up his second dagger and now keeps both the knives in front of him, ready to parry and dodge attacks should they come, sees the dwarf launch into the air and fall off target like a very courageous and valiant... rock.

"What's...! What's with you!", Fernstaff shouts, giving a momentary glance behind him at the paralyzed warrior-people, "It's just an animal!"

[OzCymru]

The shock of confronting such a grotesque figure is still too much to push the two horsemen and Walther into action, and while Ryke maintains his cautious stance atop the coach, Snorri snaps out of his paralysis and leaps from the roof, hoping to land on the mutant. His jump is a little misjudged, however, and although he lands on his feet he misses his target by several yards. He does, however, succeed in drawing its attention, and the figure turns away from ravaging Gunnar’s unconscious form and looks hungrily at the dwarf.

A noise like thunder suddenly fills the air, causing birds to take flight and echoing through the trees. A plume of black smoke rises from Philippe’s pistol, but it seems that his shot has failed to find its mark, succeeding only in causing the mutant to pause for a brief second. Lady Isolde’s bodyguard is still tugging furiously at her sword belt, cursing as she tries desperately to free the weapon from its sheath.


End of Round 2.
Snorri and Ryke can now act normally. Ryke is still in a defensive stance, should he be attacked before his next turn. Walther will also be able to act next round. Ganz and Franz will need WP tests again.

Round 3

Initiative
Mutant: [roll0]
PCs: [roll1]

As Snorri gathers himself after his leap, the mutant emits a strange sound, a gurgling, choking grunt that sounds as if it is trying to speak but is unable to form the words. With blood dripping from its chin it launches itself at the dwarf, swinging wildly with its bloody knife, its attack uncoordinated and obvious enough for Snorri to easily step away from the weapon’s deadly arc and prepare to counter.

[Xsesiv]

Walther is snapped into action by Ryke's disrespect for animals and willingness to elevate this...thing...to their level.

No jumping off the roof for Walther, though, he has changed his plan. Convinced the mutant is sufficiently distracted with Snorri, he concentrates briefly, mentally grabs at a chunk of Ghur as it goes scuttling past, twists it by force of will into a spear, and launches the spear at Rolf.

Channelling Test WP 38 [roll0]
Magic Dart [roll1] Target 6 (5 if Channelling succeeds)
Damage [roll2]

[kwll01]

As Snorri gathers himself after his leap, the mutant emits a strange sound, a gurgling, choking grunt that sounds as if it is trying to speak but is unable to form the words. With blood dripping from its chin it launches itself at the dwarf, swinging wildly with its bloody knife, its attack uncoordinated and obvious enough for Snorri to easily step away from the weapon’s deadly arc and prepare to counter.

Snorri dodges the straightforward attack from the mutant, then uses his combat skill to try to score a mighty blow against his opponent, driven by either professional concentration and sheer rage.

[Unrest]

Snorri would need to make an attack roll!

"You all! We can't take it on alone!" Ryke shouts again at those in the back. It's obvious he's not doing more now than just stand there, but that doesn't stop him from calling all to arms.

Just speaking, I'm not using my round actions up yet, waiting for the swords'n'boards.

[OzCymru]

For a wizard aspiring to the amber order, the forest is full of magical energies that can be tapped into, and Walther is able to call upon these primal forces with relative ease, fashioning them into a small spear that strikes viciously at the mutant and causes it to stumble slightly. In its rage, the creature hardly appears to notice the blow, but its body shows otherwise, and a nasty wound opens up between its ribs and waist.

The blow does save the mutant from Snorri’s attack, however, and a swing that might otherwise have taken its head clean off finds only thin air as the figure stumbles beneath the axe’s arc.

Still waiting for WP and (possibly) actions from Ganz and Franz in round 3, and from Ryke if he chooses to act.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz abruptly snapped out of his surprise when the fight became more violent. Almost too quick for the eye to follow, he reached into his holster, pulled out his trusty flintlock pistol, aimed for about a heartbeat and pulled the trigger.


Draw weapon (free action due to Quick Draw)
Aim (+10% WS)

WS 46: [roll0] Barely. :smalltongue:
Fortune Point: [roll1]

Damage (Impact): [roll2] or [roll3]

[OzCymru]

Franz pauses for a brief moment to take careful aim, and his deliberation pays off. A moment after the thunderous boom of the pistol fills the forest, the mutant is thrown to the ground as the full force of the shot hits it in the stomach. Blood pours from a huge gash in its torso as it lays on the road, momentarily stunned by the devastating shot but trying desperately to recover and rise to its feet.

[Blaze]

WP: [roll0]


Ganz fails to control his emotions and his horse, causing him to miss out on the opportunity to test his mettle against a daemonic mutation. This sort of thing had never happened to him before. Ganz thinks about the Templar Knights he holds in such high esteem, and mentally prays to Ulric for the strength to regain his wits.

[OzCymru]

END OF ROUND 3
Everyone except Ganz has now overcome their fear check and can act normally. The mutant took a couple of big hits that round and looks like he won’t last much longer.


ROUND 4
The mutant is stunned and cannot act this round. Anyone attacking it gets +20 to their WS or BS. Ganz will need to make his fear check before he can act.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz put away his pistol and drew his cavalry saber in one fluid motion... He had been practicing it for many months, but now was the first time he put it to use. Digging his spurs into his horse's flanks, he charged at the mutant with a rather half-hearted warcry: he did not care much for violence.


Put away pistol and draw hand weapon: free action due to Quick Draw.

If I'm at least 4 yards away, make it a charge attack (+10% WS). If I'm too close, make it a normal movement and a basic attack.

WS 31 + bonuses: [roll0] (heh, epic fail :smallbiggrin:)
Damage: [roll1]

[Unrest]

With the travelers snapping into action, the forest fills with the noise of fray; seeing the mutant downed by the missiles - Ryke wasn't as stupid as he could seem vain, and wouldn't argue with a wizard whose magic he saw rip flesh - the valet gets down from the coach roof.

But not too quickly. Ever vigilant, and knives-in-hand.

He approaches the grounded aberration warily, with his eyes constantly on it and daggers to parry any spasmatic attack, and corrects his path only so as not to become trampled into the ground by the oncoming... 'cavalric charge'.

[Xsesiv]

Walther, worried about the effects of using too much magic in too short a space of time, goes back to his original plan and uses the Patented Snorri Zamnilsson Jump Charge, leaping off the roof to slam his staff, which is as thick and approximately as heavy as an oar, onto the mutant. He jumps high into the air, aiming right for the mutant, staff raised high above his head...

[roll0] Ag 31
Fortune Point [roll1] <Glad I didn't need that.

[roll2] WS 30 (+5% BC Weapon +10% charge, +20% stunning = 65)


and brings it down to glance off Rolf's.

[Blaze]

WP: [roll0]


Ganz quickly regains his courage after seeing his traveling companions surround the mutant. In one quick motion he pulls his hammer from his belt and sets his horse in motion. Moving towards the carriage, Ganz decides to protect the flank while the rest of the group finishes off what's left of the mutant.

[OzCymru]

Franz spurs his horse forward, but the distance is too short to build up any speed and he ends up delivering an ineffectual swing that is unable to connect even with the prone foe, who is moving so slowly that he is virtually a sitting duck. Following Snorri’s example, Walther leaps from the coach and brings his staff down upon his old acquaintance. It is not the heaviest blow he will ever land, but it is enough to finish off the unfortunate mutant, whose life expires in a throaty gurgle.

There is barely enough time to recover from the fight when the sound of something crashing through the forest turns everyone’s attention to the treeline. Still on edge, it is all anyone can do to avoid attacking Hultz as he emerges from the trees, scratched and bloody, an enormous swelling already appearing over his left eye. “Don’t!” he cries as he sees the array of weaponry raised in his direction, then his gaze falls to his stricken colleague. He rushes forward, choking back a sob, and cradles Gunnar’s head in his lap while feeling for a pulse. “He’s still alive,” he croaks hopefully, but any sense of optimism is quickly stifled by a bestial howl that echoes from further around the bend in the road.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz cursed under his breath, sheathed his saber and began reloading his pistol as quickly as he could.

[Blaze]

Ganz takes a moment to think about the prospect of being a failed warrior, but abandons the idea, knowing full well all great warriors have their weak moments; Ganz only hopes that is the last of them.

He rides over to the group huddled around Gunnar and the mutant's corpse, "Are you sure the foul beast is dead? Someone should slit the throat and make sure."

Ganz then faces his mount towards the sound of the howl, and pulls out his demilance and shield, preparing himself for what might come. He then looks back and confidently tells the group, "Well done killing that mutant." Ganz avoids any mention of his disastrous control over his fear, and exerts his confidence by positioning himself on the front line.

Check to see if I recognize the howl:
[roll0]

[Xsesiv]

"More of them?" Walther, on Ganz's advice, takes his axe and drives it into the mutant's throat to be sure of its death, then pushes the axe-blade into the ground to wipe it. "We'll just have to cleanse the world of these ones as well."

Walther rounds the corner to investigate the howling, axe in hand.

[Unrest]

Ryke Fernstaff now clutches his daggers so hard his knuckles turn white.

"Cleanse! Isn't that just how heroes die in tales of Valiant and Plain Idiotic deeds?" Although he did manage to keep his blood cold and his mind focused, he also did see the strength at which the mutant's maulings hit their targets; it isn't odd there is great fear in him - though now suppressed by adrenaline. And this time, it is not very probable someone is going to volunteer to be a "decoy"... His mind begins to race around the surroundings; the coachhorses are gone; and none of the riders will be eager to lease his... Looks like after all they will have to do their stand here.

[kwll01]

After the outcome of the battle has been decided, Snorri quickly makes the professional soldier in him talk: "Wounded and females near the coach, for protection! You there, pistolier, on top of the coach with the wizard! All others spread out within 10 meters of the coach in order to cover all possible angles from which a foe could approach!"

He then turns toward the wood and makes his weapon ready, a few meters away from the mutant's body, all ears to any indication of a closing enemy.

[Xsesiv]

"Good way to thin us out. They're clearly round that corner. Why wait to be attacked?" Walther may not be a soldier, but he's no fool either.

But he is somewhat less than impressed with Ryke, who struck not a single blow against the last mutant and is unwilling to engage more, but criticising Walther for not being a coward like he clearly is. Walther decides not to acknowledge him.

[kwll01]

Snorri faces Walther, obviously offended by his words: "There is no need to talk to me like that, mate. You probably have not seen as many battles as I have, so you could at least concider what I say. Go and hide in the coach if you wish!"

Grumbling a little in his beard, he realizes that the words went out a little more harsh then was necessary. So he adds: "Alright, then, let's make it a couple of meters from the coach, so that we are closer to each other. But be careful: the howl might be a diversion!"

Then he goes by to his watchful defensive stance.

[-Sentinel-]

Franz sighed. He did not like to be ordered around by someone two-thirds of his size, but he knew there was no point arguing with a Dwarf. He quickly finished reloading his pistol and rode to the wizard's side, ready to give a thunderous welcome to whatever was coming their way.

[OzCymru]

Minutes pass as the group assembles around the coach, Philippe dutifully taking the roof and the other passengers taking refuge inside the carriage. Hultz tries his best to attend to the unconscious Gunnar’s wounds but the latter’s breathing does not sound good, shallow and rapid, and interspersed with bodily spasms. Another howl pierces the air, but there is no sign of any movement, either from up ahead or from the surrounding forest.

Finally, Lady Isolde leans out of the coach. “Are we going to just sit here or are you going to find out what is around that corner?” she says sternly to the group in general. “Just what do you hope to achieve by standing around here? Clear the way so we can resume our journey. I do not wish to sit in this wretched wagon any longer than I have to.”

[kwll01]

Not seeing anything come his way, and trained to obey, Snorri shrugs: "The lady might be right. No use to stay here in this bewitched place any longer. Can we make the coach move?"

[Blaze]

"Unfortunately the horses left us, all we have is a ghost drawn carriage, dwarf. I don't think it will be moving anytime soon. I'll take a look ahead, the rest wait here." Ganz then urges his mount ahead to see what might be lurking around the bend in the path.

[kwll01]

"Ok you all, we might as well start gathering your things. We will probably have to walk out of here." Looking at all the boxes on top of the coach, he adds: "You will probably want to only take what is necessary. No use to bring the fluff in case we have to hurry our pace."

That said, he grabs his bag and gear, and makes himself ready for a long walk.

[-Sentinel-]

Oh, great. Another opportunity. Franz rode over to Lady Isolde and bowed his head.

"M'lady, my horse can carry quite a heavy load... If there are any valuables you don't wish to leave here, it'll be my pleasure to safeguard them until we reach our destination," he offered in a courteous, professional tone.

[Unrest]

"I'd fain see you wear the bit in your mouth yourself," mutters Ryke to the von Strudeldorf's remark.

Seeing Ganz leave to check past the corner, he loudly gulps down saliva in his throat. Well, yes, that indeed required some gut; and maybe a way the warrior tried to rehabilitate his previous inaction... Either way, Ryke followed his every move with steady sight.

"Quite your muzzers! Is this man's risking getting mauled to bits so you can talk about getting hats out of here!?", he snaps in a loud whisper.

[kwll01]

Snorri shakes his head disapprovingly. There is too much angst going on right now, and he knows by experience that usually, nothing good gets out of it.

[OzCymru]

“Uh, I don’t think the ‘orses would have gone very far,” says Hultz as he spots Snorri preparing to walk the rest of the way to Altdorf. “When whatever’s round that corner is gone we can go and ‘ave another look for them. No need to be so ‘asty.”

Approaching the bend in the road, Ganz slows his horse to a cautious walk. Fortunately the surface is still fairly soft from the recent downpour and the mount’s hoof beats are muted, for the sight is a ghastly and sickening one.

In the middle of the road lies an overturned coach – presumably belonging to the partially devoured coachman that was occupying the mutant. Its horses are desperately trying to struggle free as a humanoid creature with large body and an incredibly small head hacks at them with an axe. Lying screaming by the coach is a human with a dog-like head, blood pumping from a wound in its leg as another mutant with a pointed head tries to bandage it. Another, with cloven feet, is feasting upon the body of a small child while several other corpses lie scattered on the ground. Searching among these is a human with scaly skin, a loaded crossbow held in one hand.

The mutants have not spotted Ganz yet, and he can probably return to the coach unseen.

[Blaze]

Ganz quickly turns his horse and cautiously heads back to the stranded coach. "There's trouble ahead, some mutants have terrorized another coach. They're distracted at the moment so if some of you want to flank through the forest, that should prove helpful." Ganz motions in the direction of the other coach and the path the flankers should take.

Ganz makes a mental check to make sure he is ready to charge into battle and whispers a short prayer to Ulric. "Who's coming with me to take the bulk of the attack?"

He patiently waits for everyone to prepare themselves and then leads the way for those courageous enough to charge head on.

[-Sentinel-]

"I'm with you," declared Franz quickly.

The young highwayman usually hated combat, but what he hated even more was displaying cowardice or hesitation in front of a good-looking young woman. Even if he planned to rob that woman later.

[Xsesiv]

"I'm in," says Walther from his position sitting on the floor. "Told you they were round there, didn't I?" He gets up and weighs his axe in his hand, planning nothing more sophisticated than to bound around the corner screaming.

[kwll01]

Snorri ponders what everybody said, especially Ganz. "Yeah, I'm in. I might not be very clever, but I ain't no coward."

He turns to Ryke: "Maybe you can pass by the forest to flank the enemy?"

[Unrest]

"Wh-! Look at these!", he holds up the two daggers in his palms, "Do I resemble a soldier? I bought these with the last money I had to maybe protect myself if I am to be mugged, not to combat aberrations with only murder in their eyes! Do not insult reason, dwarf! I am the last person among us," he gestures around, "to be considered to add to battle rather than hinder! It is only slaughter for me that lies around that corner! I can guard the noblewoman and the younger one... if you do lure them around here, whatever your reason, I will fight, but please," he drops into an almost begging voice, really sounding quite vulnerable, "do not make me meet my fate by plunging right into the fire! I'm just a graduate!"

[Xsesiv]

"I suggest you help so we don't think you had something to do with this. It's not strength we need, it's hands. Think of rats." This all sounds highly suspect to Walther. Why on earth would Ryke be mugged if he has already spent all his money?

Whatever Ryke does, Walther is getting tired of waiting; someone could be dying! Several people already are dead, and the horses are so far on their way at this rate it would probably be a cruelty to keep them alive. He looks around the corner himself, and once he's taken stock of the situation and seen that the other side has a creature with a loaded missile weapon at its disposal, he decides he'll go for this one so it doesn't interfere with any of the other fights. He rushes the being while it is rummaging through the belongings of the passengers, shouting at it in fury at its existence.

[Unrest]

"You are out - of - your - Mind!", utters Ryke in a whispered shout, so to say. "Can you hear what you are saying?! It's commonplace for academics to conspire with mutants, blatantly obvious, even! And now, you're going to charge in there with nothing but a cry? Someone restrain this man's horses lest these we lose as well!"

[Blaze]

Ganz looks in disbelief as Walther runs ahead yelling at the mutants, charging into combat without support. "I suppose this is it then!", quickly digging his heels into his mount, Ganz charges behind Walther directing his mount towards the closest mutant.


Charge attack +10%, Impact weapon 1d10X2 (take highest)
To hit:[roll0]
Damage:[roll1]
Damage:[roll2]

[-Sentinel-]

"Sh... crap," muttered Franz. Wizards were mad, all of them.

The young highwayman let out a sigh, drew his pistol and dug his spurs into his horse's flanks to join battle.

[kwll01]

Snorri shrugs at the frantic but useless behaviour of Ryke, mentally taking note that he should not rely on him in case of life threatening situation.

Pressed to move by the other party members charging in disordered ranks -- something he cannot help to reprove -- he adjusts his shield, and runs after the others his axe high and fury in his eyes.

[Unrest]

"Pistolier! Won't you aid them? Or you, guardswoman? They won't make it by themselves!" he makes sure that the last part is not heard by those launching the attack, "And your valiancy hardly will... and we are sure not to make a stand after they get ripped, and NO way we can run... So you'd rather have me," he stresses it so that this little pronoun sounds revulsively and lowly, "go out there and die while showing you what's some sense of duty and courage!? That's a cur you're having teach you! But maybe that's not a feeling you'll have to live long with...!" Ryke eyes Philippe and the woman, gesturing in such a way with his body that it seems he will follow those who have already begun their run - a run into death perhaps.

[OzCymru]

The charge startles the mutants and the cloven-footed creature is barely aware of the attack before Ganz’s lance demolishes its shoulder and crashes through the ribcage. The mutant falls to the ground, convulses once, and lies still, next to the body of the small child upon which is was feasting.

Walther sprints towards the chaos and finds himself in the middle of the grisly tableau, ready to unleash his fury. Not so Snorri, who despite scuttling as fast as his stunted limbs will carry him, only makes it a little over half way by the time Ganz delivers his deadly blow.

Franz also spurs his horse into action, but pulls up short, giving him enough space to aim and discharge his pistol but within short enough range to make the shot relatively easy.

Back at the coach, Philippe is less than pleased with Ryke’s ranting and purses his lips together in frustration, otherwise ignoring the former valet. “My duty is to my mistress,” replies Lady Isolde’s bodyguard in a rehearsed monotone, and inches a little closer to her ladyship, who is cowering inside the coach along with her servant and the bookworm.

Round 2

Initiative
Mutants [roll0]
PCs [roll1]




Mutants to act first, actions to follow...

[kwll01]

Seeing the spectacular attack of Ganz succeed draws a mild smile to Snorri's lips. Keeping his pace, he wields his axe high while shouting the combat cry of his former battalion.

He will try to attack the closest enemy in sight.