[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart

[LCP]

(OOC thread) (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=10699696#post10699696)


Chapter I
Denial

It was coming to the end of Jahrdrung in the year of our Lord Sigmar 2523, and the sun shone brightly for all that it was a damnably cold day. The promise of spring was in the air, even the black branches of the Drakwald forest looking as if they might contemplate the concept of bearing leaves... provided that such idle musings weren’t taken as any kind of a promise.

The coaching inn at Rosche was a sturdy place, as old as the village itself – indeed, the only reason there was a village here at all was because of the inn, serving traders on the Drakwald road between Marienburg and the south. The muddy courtyard was busy with carters harnessing their horses, the inn’s serving-boy trying to weave between them while carrying a stack of cut firewood that was rather too heavy for his skinny arms to carry. There was a smell of woodsmoke on the air, and from the village itself, the distant babble of geese.

Inside, the innkeeper sat at his stool, polishing a mug with a scrap of linen. He was used to strangers passing through, but the quartet that sat in his common hall at that particular point in time were particularly strange. A pair of strikingly dissimilar men, and a pair of elves, one male, one female. There were stories of elves in Laurelorn to the north, but they were supposed to keep very much to themselves. It had been a long time since even a single elf had passed through Rosche.

He glanced down as he saw the narrow-faced young man look his way, finding something very interesting at the bottom of the mug he was cleaning. From outside, the busy noises of the courtyard were growing louder – one by one, the heads in the common hall turned as they rose into a shouting-match.

The door to the inn slammed open, and a single man came storming through – a merchant or rich burgher, from the cut of his clothes. Short and pudgy, his pug-dog face was set in a scowl, the mutton-chop sideburns that framed it bristling madly.

“You’ll regret this, Feigel!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He had a tinge of a country man’s accent to his speech, growing stronger the louder he grew. “You mark me! You’ll never work in these parts again!”

From outside, there came a murmur of other voices, some of them seeming to jeer at the little round man. There was a rumble of hoofbeats – the man in the doorway turned puce, looking as if he might explode.

“NEVER! YOU HEAR ME? NEVER!”

As the stranger stood there shaking, the horsemen’s hooves pulled out of the courtyard. The man looked on the verge of apoplexy – jumping up and down on his tip-toes, he shook his fist after them, yelling hoarsely at the top of his voice until the sound of the horses was fading into the distance. Staring wildly after them, he finally fell silent. Then, with a sudden gasp he clutched at his chest, falling sideways...

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter calmly watched the scene with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, until the man collapsed. With a frown, he put down his fork and got up.

"Excuse me for a minute," the initiate told his companions. "I think the gentleman is having a heart attack."

He got up, walked over to the little man and looked at him with clinical detachment.

[LCP]

The others in the inn were peering at the man in the doorway, some rising from the chairs - sliding down against the doorframe, he seemed to be having trouble breathing, his face the colour of a ripe tomato. Bloodshot eyes looking up at Pieter, he tried to say something, but his throat seemed constricted...

[-Sentinel-]

"Lothar," Pieter called, his voice growing tenser. "Some help over here?"


OOC:
Apparently CPR didn't exist back then... I'll roll some sort of Heal test, either to do something or (if nothing can be done) diagnose the problem.

Target 47: [roll0]

Nope. Off to work now.

[goblinpaladin]

The soldier pushed himself to his feet, pushing aside the scraps of stew left in his bowl. "You need a priest o' Morr, not a soldier, Pieter," he said as he came over. "Unless he's just chokin' on somethin'."

Let's make an Int roll to see if Lothar's smarter than I am.

[roll0] - nope

(oh, and incidentally, Sentinel- forks weren't common yet in the period analogous to this, either :P)

[LCP]

Holding the man under the arms, Pieter pulled him upright – no mean feat, considering the man’s pudding-like build. Straightened out, he gasped in a great wheezing cough of a breath, the crimson effusion of his face seeming to lessen a little.

Others were flocking around, the innkeeper among them.
“Mr Faulebrand, sir! Shallya’s mercy, someone fetch a bucket of water!”
“Give him some air!”
“Put his feet up over his head!”
“Get a bowl! ‘E needs to be bled!”

The portly man lay on the floor, coughing convulsively. By fate or blind luck, it seemed the immediate crisis had passed.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar looked down at the portly fellow. "Huh."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

The petite elven woman sat quietly in the common hall, surrounded by her companions and saying little as she drank her watered ale. The observant onlooker might notice she sat a bit closer to her tall, bearded companion than the others... but then, most went out of their way to avoid drawing an elf's attention. Everyone knew elves were dangerous, and something about the fragile-seeming thing was a bit off-putting.

She was dressed fairly well for her surroundings, in a simple dress that seemed clean, with a heavy cloak over it and tall, warm cloth boots laced up to her knee. It was hardly the garb of the rich, but in a place where worn and stained garb was the order of the day, it was something that might catch the eye... as was the skinny cat curled up under the table by her feet. The creature had followed her in here entirely on it's own, and now appeared to be sleeping off the scraps of her food she had given it.

The cat paid more heed to the porty man's tantrum than she did, looking up and bristling up defensively at the loud noises while his keeper spared barely a glance before returning to staring off into her mug as if the secrets of life itself lie within.

As the newcomer collapsed and several of her companions rushed to him, she finally looked up, seeming almost shocked by the sudden noise as if she'd entirely failed to notice any of the racket until her allies moved and she felt briefly exposed in their absence. She still did not rise, but she watched them intently, seeming more concerned after them than the portly man and his sudden brush with Morr.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter patiently held the man's sweaty hand until the crisis was passed.

"Breathe deeply, mister. Don't try to stand up. Take all the time you need." After a moment he asked: "How's it going? Is it the heart?"

[LCP]

The coughing dying down, the man waved feebly at the constellation of faces gathered over him.

“What are you all... gawping at?” he managed, trying to sit up.

Looking towards the door, his face darkened.

“...Blaggard!” he said, his voice cracking into a shout. “The insolence... no damn respect...”

[goblinpaladin]

"You might want t' calm down, 'less you want another o' these fits." The burly soldier scratched at his newly-regrown beard. "Shallya seems t' like you today, but if you keep datin' the daughter, you'll meet the father."

[LCP]

“He’s right, Mister Faulebrand,” added the innkeeper. “Carrying on like that, you’ll do yourself an injury.”
“A-hum,” coughed the man. “Well, maybe you’re right, sir. Sigmar knows such, such vagabonds aren’t worth my time.”

His rural accent had waned, slowly being replaced by what a commoner might imagine to be the way important people spoke.

He looked up at the people standing over him. “Give me a hand up, will you? I have very important business to attend to at home.” He looked around the inn, his lips moving silently. “Business which mustn’t be delayed.”

His eyes seemed to fix on Lothar for the first time.

“You! What is your profession?”

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar blinked. "Er, me? I'm a soldier. Was a soldier." He waved a hand vaguely. "Fought in the War, got discharged, that sort o' thing." He nodded around at Pieter and their table. "This lot're with me."

[LCP]

The man's eyes followed Lothar's gesture with a sudden, keen interest.

"Would they be... soldiers... too?" he asked, immediately seeming to doubt himself as he laid eyes on them. "You see, I find myself divested of guards," - he shot a venomous look towards the door, "and I must get back to Hohlesbruck immediately, sir, immediately, but there are bandits on the road. You look to me a capable man - what would you say to an offer of employment, eh?"

[goblinpaladin]

"Er." Lothar blinked, clearly taken aback by the offer- certainly he was armed, but this rotund man barely knew him. "Well, we come as a group, so I suppose that would be down to the others."

"What're you offerin' to pay us- and what're you transporting? Just yerself?"

[LCP]

"Myself, and, ah," - he lowered his voice a little - "some funds I am carrying with me. I am returning from trading in Altdorf, very profitable trading, I might say - but my so-called 'guards' thought they would find better prospects continuing to Marienburg from here," he added, with a bitter barb.

"You understand it's a matter of great urgency - I would chance it alone, but for the money. It's my daughter's engagement, you see, to Ricard Talberg. Of the Talabheim Talbergs. Can't be late home for that!" He puffed out his chest like a pouter pigeon, his country man's accent vanishing almost entirely. "I'll give you a gold crown a head, and you'll be welcome at the feast - a better bargain you won't find north of Araby, my friend."

[-Sentinel-]

At first, Pieter could not help but feel that a trip with this kind of man would not be an overly pleasant one. And for once in his life, his purse was already full. But if Lothar said yes, Illiiya would probably want to follow him... and Ithelus would go wherever Illiiya went.

Then the man said something that caught Pieter's attention.

"Oh, your daughter's getting engaged?" He smiled genuinely, not his usual lazy smirk. "I'm happy for you. It's not something you're allowed to miss. If you say true, I'm confident the gods will guard us. What do you say, sarge?" he asked Lothar with an almost imperceptible hint of irony.

It's not as if I have anywhere important to go, he thought.

[Exeson]

The second elf, the male one, had remained silent throughout the whole scene. He is wearing a hooded coat that had obviously been repaired a few times, and gloves that had seen better days. Either he had no money or clothes were not a concern to this creature. With a shake of his head he pulls out a pipe and a pouch, and with a very deliberate movements he fills the pipe with pipe weed. He then pulls out another, smaller pouch and takes a pinch of brown power, sprinkling into the pipe as well.

At the mention of work and marriage Ithelus looks up, 'It's not like we have anything else to do, except keep on running of course.' he says with a slight grin, 'Plus I have a good feeling about this'

He lights a match and holds it to the pipe, taking a deep draw as it ignites, giving off a faint sickly sweet scent.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

It was only when Ithelus chose to involve himself that Illiiya finally seemed to give the situation at hand any thought. She leaned over to scoop up Mr Cat, letting the feline rest in her lap as she looked to Ithelus with a slight sigh.

For those who speak elven only. A good feeling? Ith... She said in a soft, disapproving voice, One crown each to be yelled at by a fat, weezing human for days upon the road? We do not need the money, do we?

She gave a soft sigh as she spoke in the elven tongue, and her tone did not suggest a hearty recommendation.

[Exeson]

Ithelus takes another drag, and turns to Illiiya.

Elven
It's not the money I'm thinking of. It's having something else to do apart from jump every time I hear a bell ring.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite, Esq.,

The door darkens. Still open from the man's fit, a shadow now blocks the sunlight glowing in.

Filling the door is a human man: fairly tall, lean of build, in the start of his middle years. He wears a well-kept traveling coat and cloak, the edge of a grey scarf showing beneath it, a leather satchel bag hanging from his shoulder and a long cane in his hand. A wide brimmed hat, waxed against rain or sleet, rests across his head--with a wisp of brown-going-grey hair sneaking out of it. His face is neutral as he surveys the scene in the bar.

Another silhouette moves beside him, and a great shaggy blond hound trots in.


Size comparison (http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://dogdetails.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/american-mastiff-dog.jpg&imgrefurl=http://dogdetails.net/2010/12/23/american-mastiff-dog-2/&usg=__yQa1gE6Ckn2sRZeb2cYb9Mg5FnY=&h=440&w=421&sz=31&hl=en&start=45&zoom=1&tbnid=BCduP7YdsLltvM:&tbnh=143&tbnw=137&ei=n1-bTceSLK-F0QGLhuTMAg&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dmastiff%2Bcattle%2Bdog%26um%3D1%26hl% 3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26biw%3D1280%26bih%3D739%26tbm%3Disch0 %2C1425&um=1&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=314&oei=kl-bTfbVKoS4tgeFrOzVBw&page=3&ndsp=27&ved=1t:429,r:21,s:45&tx=82&ty=66&biw=1280&bih=739)

Breed: Breton Deerhound
http://www.outdoorlife.com/files/imagecache/photo-single-upscale/photo/1001321579/Deerhound_Fernhills_Kendra.jpg


The man's gaze moves from the red-faced merchant across the room, pausing for just a second on the elves. He doesn't seem incredulous or afraid, just interested for a beat before he steps over the threshold.

The dog noses around, finding Faulebrand's hat on the ground. She sniffs at it curiously. Before she can do more, the stranger swoops up the hat with his cane and holds it out at the merchant.

"Mister... Faulebrand, was it?"

His dog makes her way toward the hearth, stopping halfway and looking at Illiiya. Changing course, the dog trots over to Mister Cat instead.

[LCP]

The rotund man looked round with an expression of surprise, turning to mild apprehension as he caught sight of the stranger's enormous dog.

"That's my name, sir. Aloysius Faulebrand." He said the name as if he might expect it to be recognised. "And who are you?"

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

"I..." Sigurd flicks his cane, tossing the man's hat back to him, "am also heading that way. Or thereabouts."

He then gives a stiff little bow. "Waite's the name. Sigurd Waite."

His accent is a bit indeterminate, but someone well-traveled might pick up a hint of Marienburger.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter arched an eyebrow in puzzlement. The situation was decidedly getting confusing. The initiate almost instinctively shrank back from the dog; he hated dogs, big ones in particular.

"Um. So you're looking for guards too?" he asked the newcomer uncertainly. "Or are you offering to work as one?"

That Sigurd fellow did not look like a warrior... but then again, neither did Pieter.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

The man's eyes move from Faulebrand over to Pieter, taking in the young traveler for a second time. Then his face breaks into a deeper smile and he chuckles.

As if in answer, he lifts his cloak to reveal a hip not girded with any weapons.

"I am quite incapable at such a line of work," he says. "And looking for guards is like looking for trouble. Asking for either one tends to bring both."

He moves to one of the chairs near the door and watches Indigo with amusement as the hound sticks its nose at the cat. He produces a pipe as he goes on.

"Looking more for companions on the road I suppose. There's always safety in numbers, and I've waited a right few days now. Couldn't have hoped to be so lucky as to find a bona fide soldier and, erm, friends."

He nods at Lothar at the world "soldier."

[LCP]

Mr Faulebrand caught his hat with a sudden, snatching motion, clutching it to his chest.

"Hm. It sounds to me like you are looking for guards," he said. He sniffed. "Just looking not to pay for it as well."

He put the hat on his head, straightening it out and turning fully to face the newcomer with an air of bumptious self-regard. He tried to mask his discomfort at the proximity of the enormous dog.

"It seems you and me are both going the same way, Mr Waite, whereas these gentlemen... and lady... aren't, unless they're paid. I'll offer you a fifty-fifty split of the expense, and you can't say fairer than that."

[Exeson]

Ithelus regarded the newcomer with curiosity, the dog with fear. With a lazy grin he turns back to Illiiya, 'See, told you I had a good feeling about this.' Whether his tone is sarcastic or not is hard to tell.

[goblinpaladin]

"Mm." Lothar patted his pouches for his own pipe; the site of others lighting up reminded him that he needed the sweet scent of Breton 'baccy. "A crown apiece for- how many days was it? An' now watchin' two well-dressed, wealthy chaps."

He pulled leaf from his pouch and started filling the bowl. "Tell you what: Pieter here's smarter'n me about money stuff. I'll let you talk it out with him, an' Handrich'll sort you out." He clapped Pieter on the back with one hand, winking. The other brushed his belt as he returned the excess pipeweed- as the Ranaldite cleric would have long ago spotted, it had a pattern of small crosses worked into the leather.

Leaving the pair of proto-capitalists to be fleeced negotiated with, the soldier rejoined the others and lit his pipe.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd chews the stem of his empty pipe, not yet producing weed with which to fuel it. "I rather find the dog to be quite more useful than a caravan guard," he explains, and his eyes drift away as if preoccupied with more important business.

"If these lot aren't going our way, I'll give you my company and the presence of a well-trained dog free of charge," he offers. "And if they are coming, in your employ or out, I'll offer them the same deal--neither paying for their protection, nor charging them for the dog's."

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter much to me."

Unless anyone intervenes, Indigo greets Mister Cat with a giant lick on the face.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya watched the large dog trot over to her, feeling Mr. Cat tense up in her lap. She displayed no particular fear of the animal, but the cat was another story entirely. It stood and raised it's haunches, giving a low, rumbling hiss as the dog approached. The hound knew no fear and licked the cat's face, and Illiiya jumped as claws dug into her lap.

I'shara! She called out, plucking the cat from her lap, No claws! It is just a hound.

Illiiya placed the cat on the table, letting it fuss and recoil from the dog as it choosed, and held out the palm of a hand to the big hound for it to inspect.

You are a good puppy, yes? She asked the animal in a soft voice, scratching it's head, before she turned to Ithelus, I suppose it's fine. If you wish to go, we can go.

[LCP]

Mr Faulebrand looked less than pleased – there was a flash of irritation in his eyes, but he stifled it, perhaps remembering the events of minutes ago and their consequences.

“I suppose... well, it makes no bones to me,” he said. “But I must insist that I determine the time of departure, and our pace. It’s a day and a half to Hohlesbruck from here, and I must be back on time.”

OOC: If Pieter wishes to haggle to drive up the price, he can roll an opposed test against Mr Faulebrand’s effective skill of 42 to resolve it in one swoop. Each degree of success = 5s added to the fee. It obviously can’t go below his initial offer.

[Exeson]

Ithelus scooped up the cat, and tried to calm it slightly.

'I'shara eh? You never told me you had named it.'

He regards the dog with suspicion. 'I don't want to force you, but I think it would be healthy for us to have something to do.'

[-Sentinel-]

"A day and a half, hm?" Pieter pretended to think about it. If the man really needed guards, he was not spoiled for choice in these parts; he was probably willing to negotiate. "Are we going to spend a night in the wilderness? If we do, it makes matters quite a bit more dangerous, you know. Even if we don't... roads are far from safe in the winter, when some peasants go hungry and get the idea of waylaying rich-looking travellers."


Untrained Haggle 30: [roll0]

[LCP]

”Even if we don't... roads are far from safe in the winter, when some peasants go hungry and get the idea of waylaying rich-looking travellers."

“...That would be the point of my taking you on as guards, yes,” said Mr Faulebrand, with a hint of ill-temper. “I have my wagon here. Taking shifts, it should be possible to travel through the night.”

The two of them fell to haggling, Pieter finding his slick city ways rolling off their tubby client like water off a duck’s back: he was clearly an experienced dealmaker. After an inordinate amount of wheedling and bartering, the merchant’s price remained stubbornly fixed.

“Well, if that’s quite done with,” said Mr Faulebrand, puffing out his chest a little as he straightened up, “I wish to be going as quickly as possible. Rosche was only supposed to be a brief rest stop. How soon can you be ready to depart?”

[Exeson]

With a large grin and exaggerated movement Ithelus reaches under the table and picks up his crossbow. He places it on the table with a thud, followed by his sickle, his boot dagger, and then a throwing knife, and another and finally a third.

'I'd say I'm about ready now, don't know about the rest of you.'

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

I think he earned a name. Illiiya told Ithelus softly, as she pet the hound. It seemed friendly enough, and she had a soft spot for friendly animals.

If we're going, it may as well be now. Illiiya said, standing from her chair, and scooping up the small shoulder-pack that carried her few possessions. We are as ready to go as we can be.

[Another_Poet]

Indigo sniffs and licks Illiiya's hand and then shoves her face up against the elf's hip, looking for further petting and maybe an ear scratching.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter kept a watchful eye on the dog, ready to intervene if it bit Illiiya's hand. Those stupid beasts were unpredictable.

"Didn't have much to do here either," the initiate said, turning to Faulebrand with a good-natured smile. "This time of the year, Rosche would turn a cow to stone with boredom." He did not even bother lowering his voice.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

I don't mind the boredom. Illiiya said, the slightest hint of a smile crossing her face as she scratched the hound behind his ears. She seemed to have taken well to the animal. It never really seems quiet to me.

The far-off tone in her voice made her words feel meaningful in ways that only her allies might understand... including the brash one nestled deep in her mind. Boredom didn't sit well with him at all. With a soft, resigned sigh she stepped up to the two humans, collecting her cat from Ithelus along the way.

Now, then? She inquired of her companions, the other folk here barely seeming to register with her.

[goblinpaladin]

"Aye," Lothar said, by now puffing comfortably on his pipe. "Now's good. Hope it's a quiet trip, though- 've had quiet enough excitement lately." The companions would have noticed that the soldier had been favouring his left arm since Delberz.

[LCP]

“Excellent!” said Mr Faulebrand, clapping his flabby hands together. “Well, then... shall we?”

Aloysius Faulebrand’s wagon was drawn by a pair of broad-shouldered carthorses, blinkered and harnessed: the huge animals seemed unperturbed by Indigo’s approach, looking down with a sleepy indifference as the shaggy wolfhound sniffed around the muddy fringes of their hooves. The wagon itself was half-covered with an arched canvas roof, a reinforced iron chest locked to an iron ring on its floor.

“You won’t regret this,” said the little man, heaving himself up into the driver’s seat with considerable effort. “I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character, and you, my friend,” – he gestured beneficently towards Lothar, “have an honest face. Do right by Aloysius Faulebrand, and he will do right by you! That’s what people in these parts have learned, and much they have to thank for it!”

As Indigo leapt up onto the back after Sigurd, Mr Cat hesitated, looking up at the panting dog with an almost cynical expression. The mangy Delberz street cat waited until Illiiya had mounted the cart before following her, curling up behind her feet to watch the newcomer and his pet with beady eyes. With a crack of the reins, the cart started forwards, its horses lumbering into a sedate trot as they turned south-west out of the Rosche coachyard...

[hr]

The Hohlesbruck road was narrow and empty, cutting through the thick trees of the Drakwald in silence. At least, it would have, if it were not for Mr Faulebrand’s prattling.

The man certainly liked the sound of his own voice. He talked about the price of grain, and the cost of labour. He talked about his many important friends in Altdorf and Marienburg, and the invaluable contribution to society made by the merchant classes. It was the glory of the Empire, Pieter was informed, that a miller’s daughter might marry a lord, and the only right and just way, for a nation needed mills just as much as it needed grand castles – indeed, if not more! Even when Mr Faulebrand took the back seat, dozing beneath the wagon’s covering with his feet on the iron-bound chest, he murmured to himself, twitching in his sleep. The word ‘respect’ seemed forever on his lips.

There were birds singing in the deep forest, and Illiiya’s attention, at least, was elsewhere. The wagon slowed where a mossy-bottomed stream crossed their path, and the sun broke brightly through the leafless trees. With their worthy employer dozing fitfully in the back, Lothar swung himself down from the cart to lead the horses through the shallow water.

So the day stretched on, up the winding forest road and down the other side, until the western hills hove into view with the sun sinking behind them. Mr Faulebrand woke up in the back, his hands instinctively grabbing at the chest to make sure it was still there.

“Good time, making good time,” he mumbled to himself, looking out at their surroundings. “We must be careful! These bandits are persistent ruffians, and they’ll wait for nightfall if they come for us at all, you can be sure of it.”

He made his clumsy way back to the front of the wagon. “There used to be Beastmen in these parts, you know, ‘til the War cleared them out. I suppose if you chase out the wolves, the dogs’ll move in, eh?”

He shook his head.

“Three of my shipments they’ve taken, through the winter and all. Not local lads, or we’d know about it, but it’s uncanny how they’ve been lying in wait. I wouldn’t mind giving them a piece of my own mind, I can tell you!”

From the man’s short arms and pudgy frame, Lothar somehow doubted it. Beyond the hilltops, the sinking sun was painting the sky with red: night was falling fast.

[hr]

Pieter woke from dozing with a start as the wagon went over a fallen branch – either that, or the fact that Lothar was singing. Rubbing his stiff neck, he squinted blearily round at the soldier sitting up front.

“General Koop led from behind,
To keep his men in order,
But when the ‘burgers ran, he was in the van,
And first across the border!”

The Nordlander’s singing voice left something to be desired... like the ability to sing. Trying to come up with a suitably sarcastic witticism, Pieter looked around. The gloaming of dawn was stealing over the treetops, melting the dark away: no bandits in the night, then.

“Whoa!” cried Lothar, suddenly. Pieter felt the cart lurch under him as the horses were reined in – standing up, he looked to see what had stopped them. Through the grey twilight, two dark shapes were visible by the side of the road ahead. They were human figures, crumpled against the bole of a tree – and they were lying very, very still.

[goblinpaladin]

Having pulled the horses to a halt, Lothar swung down from the cart. "Hnf."

With that, the soldier placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and approached the fallen bodies. "Anyone's awake, keep an eye out," he said over his shoulder. "Prob'ly a trap."

[LCP]

The slumped figures weren’t about to leap up – as Lothar approached them, he noticed a dark, round object lying in the leaf-litter a couple of yards from the nearer man’s shoulders. It was his head, the grisly object gaping glassily up at Lothar with yellow teeth showing in its slack, open mouth.

The second had been dispatched with similar efficiency, a powerful downward sword-stroke having cleaved down through his shoulder and deep into his chest. Both were men, dressed in dirty furs and outdoorsman’s clothes: both seemed to have been armed, a pair of rusty hatchets still clutched in the headless body’s hands while a light crossbow had fallen from the other’s grasp. They seemed untouched by scavengers as yet, although a couple of crows in the branches of the overhanging trees were eyeing them hungrily...

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya had been quiet for much of the trip, ignoring their portly "associate" and his rambling. She mostly stuck close to Lothar, or Ithelus when Lothar was indisposed, leaning onto them slightly as she stared off into space and tended to her cat. Periodically she would give the barest hint of a smirk or smile at no one in particular, until time wore on her and she nodded off alongside Ithelus.

The sudden stop of the carriage brought her to, and after a few moments of looking about in alarm, she realized that Lothar was unaccounted for.

Lothar? She called out almost nervously... looking about for the wayward soldier, Where are.... oh. There you are. Is everything all right?

[Exeson]

Ithelus stands to load his crossbow and studies the trees, hoping his superior vision would help to foil any traps.

'What are they Lothar?'

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter talked with the merchant with genuine interest at first, the theme of social class dear to him. His long evenings with the Society of Free Men had made him a somewhat skilled debater on political matters. As the day wore on, the initiate grew more and more bored with the man, who talked much more than he listened and did nothing but hammer various rewording of his earlier statements over and over again. He tried to stay alert, but had almost fallen asleep by the time the coach stopped in front of the two bodies.

"Ranald's teeth," he breathed.

It could have been the work of brigands... but brigands often favored ranged weapons, many did not have the stomach for murder, and most would have at least taken the second man's crossbow. Besides, outdoorsmen were usually too poor and too canny to be good targets.

One way to tell was to see if they still had any money and valuables on them.


OOC:
I'll also see if there's any blood on the headless man's hatchet, if the second man had time to load his crossbow, and just how clean was the cut that separated the head from the body (if it took more than one stroke, it tells us a lot about the attacker).

[LCP]

If the man with the crossbow had had time to load it, he had already fired: the bowstring was slack. There was no sign of blood on the decapitated man’s weapons either, though he had clearly held them ready at the moment of his death.

Neither of them carried any money, although one of them had a copper necklace stuffed rather haphazardly into a pocket... it didn’t seem like the kind of thing such a man would wear, with his wild beard and dirty face. Both of them looked like they had been killed by single blows, delivered with considerable force. Looking down at the road, Pieter saw there were hoofprints in the damp earth, reasonably fresh – at least one horse had been this way, not too long ago.

“Heavens above,” said Mr Faulebrand, peering over the edge of the cart. Letting himself gingerly down, he tiptoed as near as he dared. “Well... they’re not men from the village, at least.”

His eyes fell on their weapons.

“If these are our brigands... well, but no, there must be more than two of them. Still,” he murmured, reflectively. “It’d be a start.”

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter felt a surge of contempt for the merchant. Brigands or not, men were men.

"Whoever did this," noted the initiate, "their weapons were powerful. The attack came fast... it wasn't much of a fight. Lothar, you've fought Beastmen, haven't you? Can you be sure these are horse hoofprints?" He pointed at the prints in question.

He examined the copper necklace more closely and stuffed it in his pocket. Someone at the village or elsewhere might recognize it and know the identity of its fallen owner.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar nodded, rubbing the fading scar across his forehead. "Aye, horse tracks for sure. I'm no tracker, so I can't see if he's been recently shod or how long ago it was, or anythin'. But I'll say this- whoever did this was strong, and had a good blade. Takes a bit o' strength to shear through bone like that."

He looked to their employer. "Not local boys, you say? So either someone's doin' some vigilante work, or they'd a fallin' out with the leader o' their gang. Seems a mite vicious, just leavin' 'em here like this. It's like it's a sign."

"Any other tracks about? Ith, you see anythin'? That dog smell anythin' funny? Might be able to figure out where they came from."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Earlier, During the Day

Sigurd watched in amusement as Indigo piled into the wagon. "You ate too much," he said, but didn't push her back out. His smile only grew broader at the cat's unhappy reaction. When Illiiya stepped in, he tipped the corner of his wide-brimmed hat by way of greeting, then slid it over his eyes so he could nap.

Along the way however, he rose not infrequently. A half-dozen times he stood tall on the back of the wagon, typically as it passed through a clearing or crested a hill, and scanned the surrounding territory.

From his satchel he withdrew a softback leather journal and made occasional short notes.

He maintained a respectful non-intrusive demeanor with the others, but didn't seem afraid to talk to them.

Illiiya and whoever else:

He watches Ithelus and Illiiya from time to time, frowning when they switch to Elven. He can tell they are not romantically involved... unless elves' affections are quite different from those of men.

He decides to talk to the girl-elf first.

"That's a well-behaved cat," he says simply. "Don't see many cats on the road. Plenty of other dogs, but never cats."

He looks at the road behind them. "But then, I don't see many elves on the road, either. Sigurd's the name."

He turns back to her and offers his hand. "Sigurd Waite."

Lothar and whoever else:

At one point the stranger finds himself beside Lothar, and motions to Indigo.

"The line about the dog isn't just to get a free ride," he tells the soldier. "If there's trouble, she'll do her part. She's fantastic for the night watch."

Pieter and whoever else:

Sigurd listens intently to Pieter's back-and-forth with Faulebrand. For most of the fiery conversation he doesn't interrupt. But after the merchant's fourth or fifth mention of "industry feeds the people," Sigurd clears his throat.

"Is that always true, Master Faulebrand?" He tips his hat back so he can meet the man's eyes. "What of merchants like myself? I sell art. Antiques. Things that look pretty. A man would starve trying to eat what I sell."

He looks at Pieter. "I think this young man has the right of it. There's nothing altruistic in what we do. You and I, we run our business for our own wealth, and nothing more. If it helps anyone else it's because they want a share of the wealth too."

When he mentions "art" he shakes his cane for emphasis. The object is rather fancy: the wood is burnished, and the handle is carved into an Owl of Verena.


Indigo, for her part, came and went as she pleased. She frequently leapt down and bounded away from the wagon--sometimes after a bird, sometimes to mark a tree, sometimes just because the world hadn't been sniffed enough yet. Sigurd let her run as she would.

At the Scene of the Most Ghastly Slayings

During the night however, Sigurd enforces his promise. Whenever the dog tries to curl up in the wagon he not-too-subtly shoves her back out with one foot. She spends her time either trotting alongside in the road, or lying on the back board of the wagon with eyes half-open.

Before the wagon even stopped, she sat bolt upright. Sigurd gently cleared his throat to wake the others, and reached for a lantern in case light was needed.

Once the bodies are seen, he sends Indigo out to do a round of the area. He then takes the lantern over to inspect the bodies.

As Pieter shoves the copper necklace into his pocket, the peddler's cane swings over, gently stopping the initiate's arm.

"Mind if I take a look at that?

OOC:

Ordering Indigo to go into the surrounding woods, so she will bark if there is anyone/anything out there. Basically the equivalent of the "Seek" command for a trained dog in D&D.

Knowledge History to see if I know anything about the necklace: [roll0] v. 51

[LCP]

On the Road


"I think this young man has the right of it. There's nothing altruistic in what we do. You and I, we run our business for our own wealth, and nothing more. If it helps anyone else it's because they want a share of the wealth too."

Mr Faulebrand blinked, a one-track mind stopped at a crossing.

“Well, I never said I was a charity, Mr Waite. A man’s only worth what he makes of himself, and I’ve got no time for them paupers and beggars who don’t know it. But if a man can take a barge of grain to Altdorf and make three hundreds out of two, if he can spend his money wisely and treat his children better than they were born to, and if he pays other men their living wage to make something out of their work... well, I’m saying a man like that wears his worth on his sleeve.”

He straightened in the driver’s seat with a self-regarding air.

“There’s some that see that, and some that don’t. Mr Ricard Talberg, he’s a young man with his head screwed on right. A fine match for both families, that’s what I say, for all that his blood may be blue.”


The Scene of the Crime

The copper necklace was undistinguished – it looked more like something a peasant-woman might keep than any city-made jewellery.

Sniffing around the bodies, Indigo ran a little way into the trees after the heavier hoofprints, nose close to the ground. She stopped before the darkness beneath the canopy could envelop her completely, peering warily into the shadows. The tracks vanished into the deep forest, swallowed up by twisted tree-trunks and thickets of black, leafless branches.

Backing up, Indigo slunk back onto the path. There was clearly something about the mysterious rider’s tracks that she didn’t like – but at least there seemed to be no-one lurking in ambush.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

On the Road

Sigurd accepts Faulebrand's liberal capitalism with good humor.


“There’s some that see that, and some that don’t. Mr Ricard Talberg, he’s a young man with his head screwed on right. A fine match for both families, that’s what I say, for all that his blood may be blue.”

A sincere smile crosses his face. He seems to have a lot of those. "Well, you have my congratulations on that, Master Faulebrand. Quite so."

The Scene of the Crime

No sooner does Sigurd block Pieter's hand and ask for the necklace, than he catches full sight of it in the lantern-light and loses all interest in it.

Indigo's reaction to the tracks rouses him, however.

"Indi," he chides. "You'll put us to shame."

He holds the lantern up to better illuminate the surrounding trees, but doesn't move. Let's see how curious this lot is.

[-Sentinel-]

"Sure, have a look." Pieter handed the pendant to Sigurd. "You know, I'm far from sure it belongs to the man. He'd be wearing it around his neck, wouldn't he?"

He listened thoughtfully to Lothar's description of the tracks and quickly spotted the same clues the soldier had.

"I don't think it was brigands. No bandit successful enough to have a horse would bother attacking a pair of scruffy trappers or woodsmen. Think the horsemen were working together?"

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd glanced appreciatively at Pieter as he made his pronouncements. The lad's quick, he thinks.

But he still waits to see whether they are considering following the tracks. He turns the necklace over in his hand absently as he watches the others.

[Exeson]

Setting his face into a frown Ithelus jumps down the side of the wagon. He reaches under his shirt and pulls out a necklace, made of teeth, not all of them readily identifiable. Those who had been present in the belltower might recognize it from somewhere. Ensuring that the bolt was in place in his crossbow Ithelus advances into the trees, following the tracks, weapon at the ready.

'You know that time we were attacked by beastmen? This is making me feel more jumpy than that...' He trails off as he walks past Lothar.

'Do we keep going or check this thing out?'

[goblinpaladin]

On the Road

Lothar scratched the dog behind the ears affably. "She's huge, a'right. I'll bet she'll do better'n some men, comes to a fight."

At the Murderin'

The soldier jerked a thumb at Pieter. "Pieter's right. No-one who can afford a horse is liable to go chasin' down a pair of scraggly-lookin' lads like these two. More like it was a random happening..." He paused, peering into the barely-lit dawn woods. "Or a crazy guy, hopped up on bloodlust."

He heaved out a sigh. "Looks to me like we have one chap, and another chasin' him. Probably the first horseman came by, whack-whack," he gestured -somewhat brutally- to the dead. "Then the second came by, hot on the heels of the first, but saw the dead men and- went in the woods instead of following?"

He stopped, rubbing his beard. "Drat. That line of thought mighta gone somewhere."

He nodded to Ithelus. "I don't like it either, Ith. Ill, you see anythin' we don't?" His tone to the elven woman was softer, and his expression tightened around the eyes as he asked. Those from Delberz would know that the soldier was concerned about the... things Illiiya could see.

[-Sentinel-]

'Do we keep going or check this thing out?' asked Ithelus.

"I guess that's for our employer to decide," said Pieter, glancing sideways at Mr Faulebrand.

Mostly, he hoped for an excuse to justify not going into the woods after the killer. None of them had the kind of expertise it took to track down a mounted murderer in the wilderness.

"The first arrived at a walking pace," mused Pieter. "If he killed them so fast that this man here couldn't load his crossbow, he must have looked friendly." He frowned. "But I'm betting the second one's the killer. Just a hunch, really."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

As the group stands around considering, Sigurd lowers his lantern. The gloaming is breaking into usable light and he decides not to waste oil, shutting the lantern off.

At the mention of Beast Men he maintains his unsurprised expression, but a slight tilt of his head indicates he's more curious about the party than before.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Earlier: to Mr. Waite

Illiiya didn't shy from the antiques-dealer, nor seem as disinterested in his presence as she was with their portly "employer". She gave him an awkward, tentative handshake... seeming oddly uncomfortable with the contact despite spending most of the trip leaning close, even on, one of the men in her party.

Illiiya. She answered him quietly as she withdrew her hand, I'm sorry... I am not so good with people.

She glanced aside to her cat, luring it to her with a small shred of jerked meat from amidst her things and then scooping it up to deposit it in her lap. The cat hardly seemed to mind so long as it was fed.

I'shara came to me at a... difficult time. I have never trained him, he just chooses to follow me... and I am glad for his company. She scratched the cat behind it's ears as she spoke, and offered it a second small piece of meat. I trust animals more than people most of the time... and your hound speaks well for you, Mr. Waite.


At the killing

An uneasy feeling in her stomach was building. A steady gnawing panic that the dark things she had thought dead and buried would not let her go so easily. She saw Raffy on the floor, burned and bleeding... his soft sigh as his life slipped away in front of her. His smiling face in her mind turned to one torn and lifeless... staring at her with lifeless eyes.

No! Please! She uttered, flinching from nothing that could be seen, before she seemed to collect herself and turn to look off to Lothar and Pieter, No more beasts and chaos! Can we not just stick to the road? Please?

[LCP]

Lothar nodded. "We have an obligation to Herrs Faulebrand and Waite to get them to town safely, and the death o' two forest bandits is interestin', but not really our job. Aye? Or do some of us really want t' look into this?"

Mr Faulebrand cleared his throat very loudly behind them.

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen," he said, suppressing a hint of nerves in his voice, "I am paying you to escort me to Hohlesbruck, as your, ah, friend, says. And I am on a deadline." He made a fluttering gesture towards the bodies. "Now, I'm not saying it's not of interest that someone is clearing these ruffians out... but perhaps it's just the roadwardens, finally getting their act together, hm? In any case, it's not your business." He straightened his jerkin. "Not yet at least."

[-Sentinel-]

"Indeed not," Pieter agreed with some relief. "And I believe we've seen everything there is to see here." He narrowed his eyes at the bodies. "But I'm pretty sure it's not the roadwardens who did this. We need to report these killings. All the more reason to get to Hohlesbruck quickly."

He smiled at Illiiya. "Yeah, we'll stick to the road. Our job right now is to avoid trouble."

[Exeson]

Ithelus gives one final sweep of the woods the track disappear into. 'Then let's go now, and quietly' He says. Making his way back to the cart he touches Pieter on the shoulder, 'Time to keep running, eh?'

[LCP]

(Ambience (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_1cTuUwZILg))

Indigo seemed all too happy to jump back up into the cart. Taking the reins, Mr Faulebrand urged the horses on to a brisk trot, leaving the two bloody bodies where they lay as the wagon rattled on down the path. Behind them, a third crow alighted in the tree over the two dead men, settling above the other two and giving voice to a loud, solitary croak.

The sun rose in the east, warm and bright. The path had acquired a downhill tendency, descending into a forested vale where some of the trees were already beginning to show hints of green. Despite the Drakwald pressing all around, the road seemed well-kept. For a part of the way, they acquired a follower – a large robin, flitting from branch to branch in their wake as it picked off the insects stirred up by the cart-wheels. The cat in Illiiya’s lap watched it with a quietly hungry look, until finally it broke away back into the woods.

It was some time past noon when they reached the place where the slope levelled out, a broad hollow nestling between the gentle flank of the valley and the hills that broke the treetops to the south-west. Glimpsed between bends in the road, Pieter thought he saw the sails of a windmill – as the trees thinned, it came more clearly into view, standing proud on a little hillock of its own amidst a cluster of rolling, bare fields.

The village of Hohlesbruck stretched out ahead of them, perhaps a score and a half of peasant cottages clustered in a rough cross around a well that stood in the centre of the main road. Separated by a screen of trees, the roof of a tall stone house was visible on rising ground to the north – in the midst of the other dwellings, another large house of bricks and beams stood in the centre of the hamlet, built in the Altdorf townhouse style. It looked remarkably out of place among the humble cottages surrounding it – and quite new, as well.

As they headed into the village, Pieter could see the villagers were busy. All along their one and only main street, people were laying out long wooden tables, enough to seat fifty or more. There seemed a preponderance of women among those making the preparations, the figures of men visible up on the fields: it was the kind of rural idyll that a Nuln artist might have painted, pictured brightly in the sun. To Lothar, but for the smell of the sea, it almost seemed like home.

As the wagon rolled down towards the centre of the village, some of the villagers waved to Mr Faulebrand, the miller waving majestically back like a monarch to his subjects. There were children among the people laying out the banquet, getting under the adults’ feet – as the wagon approached, they stopped, staring wide-eyed at Illiiya and Ithelus on the back. Their mothers chided them away, shooing them out from the path of the cart so that they could stare properly themselves.

Mr Faulebrand reined in the horses in front of the big brick house, turning to look at his guards.

“Well, good time indeed! Nothing like home, don’t you agree?” He didn’t give them time to answer. “Of course you do.”

He fished in a velvet pouch at his belt, producing four gleaming gold pieces and handing them out.

“There’s my end of the bargain, and we’re on the level. As I said, you’re welcome to stay for the feast this evening,” – he swept one podgy hand out to encompass the tables being laid out – “very welcome indeed. Wulli at the Heartless Man ought to have space to put you up for the night, if you feel like staying. Mr Waite, I suppose that goes for you too.”

He pointed along the street – next to the grand brick house, there was a tavern, much older-looking than its neighbour and built in the same fashion as the surrounding cottages. A painted sign swung on a pole outside, showing a man standing in front of a green forest. There was a clean, circular hole through his chest, letting you see the trees behind him.

“A pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen,” said Mr Faulebrand.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Earlier with Illiiya

"I'm not very good with people, either," Sigurd chuckles.

He holds out his hand to let the cat sniff it, and then pets I'shara only if she seems receptive. "Ih... sharra?" He looks at the cat quizzically. "What does that mean in your language?"

He nods to the dog. "The dog is Indigo. Named after a very expensive incident she got us into with a dye seller in Altdorf."

He raises his voice scoldingly at the word "expensive." Indigo puts her head down on her paws and whimpers.

"She still likes to get gussied up but we stick to woad nowadays."

Complications Before Leaving the Murder Scene

Sigurd makes no attempt to change the party's mind about leaving, but his middle class sensibilities kick in as they move to board the wagon.

"In most provinces, it's considered quite uncouth to leave a body out for the vermin," he protests. "Sacrilegious even."

It's unlikely that the middle-aged man can bury two corpses by his own strength, but he seems unwilling to leave them. He seems to expect that either the rest of the party will dig graves, or that the corpses will be brought along to Hohlesbruck.

OOC:
It'll be 18 hours before the others respond about digging graves, so LCP, I'm tagging you to see if Faulebrand will countenance loading them into the wagon.

I'll wait to hear what you say before I post Sigurd's in-town actions.

[LCP]

The Scene of the Crime


"In most provinces, it's considered quite uncouth to leave a body out for the vermin," he protests. "Sacrilegious even."

Mr Faulebrand blinked.

"We're a little short-handed in the shovels department, Mr Waite... and personally, I'm too old for such work. We can send out some hearty lads from the village once we arrive, I'm sure."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

"They'll be bloody well eaten by then, Mister Faulebrand." He keeps his voice steady but stern. "There's room in the wagon to transport them."

[LCP]

"My wagon?" spluttered the miller. "Absolutely not. I mean, the smell... and to think what people will think, if they see me with a, a headless corpse as a passenger? It's not fitting for a man of my station, not fitting at all."

He shook his jowly head.

"Out of the question. Out of the question."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

At the Murders:

"It's your property," Sigurd acknowledges. "I shan't force you."

He looks sadly at the two bodies. "Come on, Indi."

Indigo snuffles back to the corpses and hangs by them a moment. It's unclear whether she's contemplating a free meal, or whether she just senses her master's hesitation.

In any case, once the wagon is underway, she runs after and leaps in the back with a very quiet Sigurd.

At Hohlesbruck:

Sigurd hops down onto the road as they enter town, walking alongside the wagon to get a view of the place.

Indigo gladly remains in the wagon, stealing a few more minutes' rest.


As I said, you’re welcome to stay for the feast this evening, very welcome indeed. Wulli at the Heartless Man ought to have space to put you up for the night, if you feel like staying. Mr Waite, I suppose that goes for you too.

Sigurd nods. "Thank you for the ride, Mister Faulebrand. I'm glad your shipment made it through. Come on Indi."

He begins walking across the town common and makes it a hundred steps before he notices the lack of dog at his side.

"Indi!" he hollers back.

Head down, the dog slinks after him, almost smirking as she goes...

OOC:
Sigurd will seek out the town's temple(s). Let me know what options are available.

Sigurd will head to the Heartless Man, more or less on his own rather than sticking with the others, as he assumes their travels together are done.

[Exeson]

Ithelus lights up his pipe again as the approach the village, 'I suppose it'd be nice to stay, for a little while anyway.'

He smiles at the kids staring, a sharp reminder that hopefully this place will not replace curiosity with hostility as happens too often.

Dropping down from the back of the wagon he slings his crossbow over his back and turns to the others, 'Shall we grab some food at the inn?'

[-Sentinel-]

Almost forgetting the two corpses, Pieter felt somewhat serene as he entered the village. The initiate was a man of the city; for him, the countryside was usually just the empty space one had to cross to go from an exciting place to another. But he had seen enough excitement lately. The events of Delberz were still fresh in his memory, and for once in his life he wished for peace and quiet. Even boredom would be welcome.

If I stay long enough, maybe the nightmares will stop.

The Ranaldite had never mentioned the nightmares to his friends. He had not seen fit to tell them how he still heard Maria's dying screams and the bell's terrible ring, how he still felt Morsleek's lightning on his chest and the rats' bites on his calves, how he still smelled the sewers' stench and the slaves' terror. Instead he had put on the act of the sardonic, carefree young man he used to be. He was far from sure he fooled them; he suspected that he did not fool Illiiya, who was more perceptive than most and always looked at him strangely when he woke up every morning. How long would he have to keep pretending?

Maybe not that long, if he managed to find some rest in this place.

Ranald's toes, did he need rest.

The initiate gratefully accepted the gold crown. "I'm hungry as well," he said at Ithelus' suggestion, "but I think we need to warn some sort of authority figure about the murders."

"Oh, Mister Faulebrand!" he called before the merchant was out of earshot. "Is there a militia, a roadwarden regiment or something like that around here?"

[LCP]

"Well, everyone does their part around here, Mr, um..." - Mr Faulebrand tailed off. "Everyone does their part. Used to be beastmen in the woods! But there isn't a standing militia as such, no." He nodded towards the high rooftop visible beyond the trees on the northern rise. "Mils Verloren is lord of the manor. It's him as is responsible for such things, in theory, but much he's done about it these last few months."

[-Sentinel-]

"Well, everyone does their part around here, Mr, um..." - Mr Faulebrand trailed off.

"Pieter Hagen," answered Pieter without hesitation. "The Hagens of Altdorf," he added helpfully. "The well-known candlemakers."

"Everyone does their part. Used to be beastmen in the woods! But there isn't a standing militia as such, no." He nodded towards the high rooftop visible beyond the trees on the northern rise. "Mils Verloren is lord of the manor. It's him as is responsible for such things, in theory, but much he's done about it these last few months."

"Thank you," said Pieter, slightly disappointed. "See you at the feast, then." He started toward the Heartless Man.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Earlier with Sigurd

I'shara. Illiiya corrected Sigurd's pronunciation as the cat nudged his hand, It is the elven word for a male cat.

Illiiya gave the human man a shred of what she's been feeding the cat, letting him feed Mr. Cat himself. The cat, as if she had not been feeding him all day, immediately turned to the human man and gave a plaintive mew. It seemed like the feline took well to whomever fed it.

So you trade in... art? Illiiya said, eyes downcast. Idle conversation was not her strong-point... but she seemed to be at least making an effort.


At the shire Hohlesbruck

Glad to be way from the bodies in the woods, Illiiya calmed down as they went. For the remainder of the trip beyond the sightings of the bodies, she had grown quiet again, looking about the woods around them in worry... as if she expected some creature of her nightmares to burst from the trees at any moment.

By the time they reached the town she had calmed... though the astute would note she seemed far more attentive than she had been for the first half of the trip. She took her crown and handed it promptly to Ithelus, giving her sort term "employer" a polite bow of her head. A windbag though he was, perhaps he was not as bad as she'd believed him to be.

The idea of a good meal in a peaceful village seemed a great one... even if she couldn't keep the wonder at just what had happened to those men in the forest from her mind. She wove her fingers through Lothar's... taking his hand gently and glancing at the set up for the festivities soon to take place.

We can stay here a night or so, yes? I don't feel safe on the roads right now.

[goblinpaladin]

At the Village of Hohlesbruck

Mr Faulebrand reined in the horses in front of the big brick house, turning to look at his guards.

“Well, good time indeed! Nothing like home, don’t you agree?” He didn’t give them time to answer. “Of course you do.”

He fished in a velvet pouch at his belt, producing four gleaming gold pieces and handing them out.

Lothar shifted his own bag on his back, grinning broadly as he accepted the gold. "Ah, it's a beautiful little town, Herr Faulebrand. Worth the trip out just to see it."

“A pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen,” said Mr Faulebrand.

"Mutual," the soldier said with every indication of sincerety, and shook the man's hand.

Lothar nodded at Ithelus and Pieter. "Food sounds great." He gently pulled Illiiya closer to him and looked around over the village. "This place reminds me of home somehow. No salt in the wind, and smaller, but so it goes. I'd like to stay a day or so, aye. Feast and song! The stuff of life."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Time Warp with Illiiya




I'shara.It is the elven word for a male cat.

"I'shara," he repeats dutifully as he feeds the cat. "What is the word for a female cat then?"

Once he learns it, he motions to Indigo. "And a female hound?" Once he learns this one, he combines it the the ending of I'shara and throws back the word for a male hound.

"I have an interest in languages," he says. "Most recently I've been teaching myself Bretonnian."


So you trade in... art?

"Art and antiquities," he says gently. "I prefer the latter. Statues, jewellery, books.... anything that has outlived a few emperors. I find it fascinating, what we can learn from the past..."

He looks back at her. "I suppose elves get rather less excited about such things."

[Exeson]

Ithelus turns away as he sees Illiiya and Lothar get close, it wasn't that them being together bothered him... it was just that it bothered him.

'Right then' He says and leads the way to the tavern, puffing hard on his pipe. He tried very hard not to glance over his shoulder.

[LCP]

“Candle-makers?” said Mr Faulebrand to Pieter. “Well, I suppose that’s very respectable, hm, very respectable.”

When the last of them had clambered down, he waved them in the direction of the inn, and twitched the reins – the great carthorses started forward again, turning the corner of the big brick house towards what looked like a small stableyard behind. Heading towards the Heartless Man, the party could hear his blustering voice fading away from behind them, calling out to the people inside for assistance.

The inside of the Heartless Man was warm and cosy, a couple of old men already seated inside though it was not far past noon. They looked round as the newcomers entered, and kept on looking as they saw Ithelus and Illiiya’s faces.

Busy sounds were emanating from the kitchen. Behind the bar, a man perhaps in his late forties looked up at their arrival, having been swabbing the surface down with a damp cloth.

“Hullo,” he said, trying to stifle his own surprise at seeing elves in his establishment and rather failing. “G – guests for the party, is it? Wulli Hofstadter, at your service. What can I do for you?”

OOC: It is 10p for a good meal at the Heartless Man, 5s to stay the night in a private room and 5p to sleep in the common hall. The feast is not until the afternoon is pretty much done, so you should feel free to take some liberties in making big, comprehensive posts with all you want to do: I’d anticipate possibly moving things forwards to the evening in on or two large updates, depending on how complex your plans are.

[-Sentinel-]

"I'll have a meal and a private room, please. Not too large a meal... I'll eat plenty tonight." Pieter opened his purse, counted a few coins and handed them to the innkeeper. "I like this place. It reminds me of my own native village, in Hochland. Do you think the women outside need helpers?"


OOC:
My plan is simple.

1. Walk around the village. This should take no more than a few minutes.
2. Help with the preparations for the feast while gathering rumors and information.

The specific things I want to ask:
Have there been any reports of trouble on the road lately?
Who's running the village? Is he doing his job well?
Who's living in the isolated house on the other side of the river?
What goods and services are available around here?
What are the general opinions about the engagement?

Gossip 61: [roll0]
Fortune Point: [roll1]

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Let's do the time warp again

I'shari is for a female. We do not have a word for hounds. We do not breed them as humans do, but the word for wolves is Torai. She explained to Sigurd, recollecting her cat and giving a slight smile as he worked out the masculine tense himself, Yes, Toraa. Sometimes we call the human breeds Su'Toraa, or "little wolves", but that seems wrong for him. Your hound is very big.

Letting Mr. Cat get comfortable in her lap again, she settled in as comfortably as she could in the shaky wagon, trying her best to be social.

I... ah... I do not know as much of my old home as I... could. She explained faltering, seeming a touch hesitant to discuss the subject, But.. from what I remember, we have trouble focusing on anything but the past. Rarer by far is those amongst us who can keep up with the present. The world moves very fast here.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd enters the Heartless Man and pays for a private room, a meal, and meat scraps for the dog (telling Hofstadter to send a boy for the if needed). He also purchases beer and asks about the lord and local history, buying drinks for others as needed to be congenial.

Questions:

1. Who lives in the manor (family name, title, etc)
2. What do they think of him? Is he a good lord?
3. Who around here knows the local folklore?
4. I've heard there are barrows in the area, where are they? Who built them and why?
5. Will the lord be at the feast? What about any other merchant families besides the two who are uniting?


As needed, Sigurd will explain that he collects local stories and legends as he travels.

He will also ask whether there are two woodsmen from Hohlesbruck who haven't come back yet, and then, with a sad tone of voice, explain that they were found dead on the road. He won't go into detail about how they were killed.

OOC:
Deducting 10s for the lot of it.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya too entered the Heartless Man, keeping close to Lothar. She left the questions to the human members of her party, knowing full well that she was an outsider here and viewed with suspicion. As friendly and kind as the place seemed, she felt outside it all. Awkward, in a way.

OOC: Illiiya isn't the chatty type, so she'll leave the questions to the others and just watch. I figure she'll get herself a small meal and likely split a private room with Lothar... or Ithelus, if he leaps in to try and keep her away from the guy. (I didn't know he was the jealous sort) That much, I shall leave to the boys to rp out.

Since Ith has her money, she'd either have to get some from him, or have Lothar front the bill entirely. Again, I leave that up to GP and Exeson.

Sorry for the short post, but I'm uncommonly busy tonight, and Illiiya's not got much to say for now as it is, so I'll just assume she has a small meal and relaxes in quiet peace unless something else comes up.

[goblinpaladin]

"Wulli, eh? I knew a Wulli, back in the army. Always beat me at dice, he did." Lothar grinned, sliding a few silvers across the table. "A couple of nice hot meals, your finest ale for m'self, and a private room." He paused and glanced back at Illiiya. "For two, an' keep the shrapnel."

On receiving the mug, he raised it in a toast to the barkeep. "So what's the deal with th' name, Hofstadter? 'The Heartless Man'? Damn eerie name for an inn, and I bet there's a great story to go with it." Lothar drank -quaffed is really the word- from his mug.

"Ah. Tell me, an' in return I've got one from back home- it's really good, has trolls in."

[Exeson]

Ithelus nods to the innkeeper. 'I'll take a private room and a hunk of bread if you have' he says. 'Also do the rooms have locks at all?'

Once business at the Heartless man has been sorted Ithelus will wonder through the village, eating on the way. He will tend towards any trees he spies, preferably not too far from the village.

OOC: If the rooms have locks he will store all of his kit in there bar his throwing knives, his dagger and his spikes and hammer (and his money of course). If not he will ask if there is a storage room of some sort with a lock on it for the same reason. If neither exist he will take everything with him.

[LCP]

"I like this place. It reminds me of my own native village, in Hochland. Do you think the women outside need helpers?"

“Well, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” said Wulli, sweeping Pieter’s money out of sight. “Sure they wouldn’t mind at all.”


On receiving the mug, he raised it in a toast to the barkeep. "So what's the deal with th' name, Hofstadter? 'The Heartless Man'? Damn eerie name for an inn, and I bet there's a great story to go with it." Lothar drank – quaffed is really the word - from his mug.

"Ah. Tell me, an' in return I've got one from back home- it's really good, has trolls in."

“Bit of a local legend, that, sir,” said the innkeeper. “Why, it was my own grandfather told me...”

“WULLI!” came a woman’s voice from the kitchen behind the bar. “Don’t you start tale-tellin’ to them strangers! There’s work to be done, and I want you doin’ it this month!”

Wulli grinned sheepishly. “Can’t disobey the wife. Tell you what, sir, you stop by after Mister Faulebrand’s banquet’s done with. All the village men’ll be retirin’ here, and they love a tale as much as I do.”

“Would you call yourself the authority on the folklore in these parts, then, Mr Hofstadter?” asked Sigurd. “I’m something of a collector myself.”

“Au-thority? Wouldn’t like to call myself an authority on anythin’, sir, but we all know the old stories. ‘Course, some of us ‘ve got different versions of them.” He leaned on the bar. “If you’re writin’ a book or such, you could do worse than visit old Mother Yilese on the other side of the river. Wise woman of the village, she is. Knows everything there is to know.” He lowered his voice. “There’s some folk as say she’s a hunnerd years old, and remembers everythin’ since the day she was born.”

Sigurd nodded. “Would she know about the barrows I’ve heard about in these parts? Or yourself?”

“The old grave mounds?” Wulli looked a little surprised. “Aye, they’re up west, t’ward the hills... although there’s some in the deep woods, closer to.”

“Do you know who built them, or why?”

“Why, they’ve been here since afore Sigmar’s time, sir. They say Ulric’s people put ‘em up, but they took any reasons they had to the grave with ‘em.” He shook his head. “You like folklore, there are some stories about them mounds, I can tell you. Had a scholar come up here once before, tryin’ to map them out.” Wulli paused, his eyes drifting to focus on the middle distance. “’Course, that was afore the Graf’s knights cleared the beastmen out.”

He looked down at the bar.

“Hans and Greta found his leg-bones after-like, gave ‘em a proper burial.” He hesitated again. “’Least we thought they were his. Weren’t no-one from the village gone missing in that time, after all.”

“Hans and Greta would be... woodsmen?” asked Sigurd. “And, uh, woodswomen?”
“That’s about the shape of it, sir, yes.”
Sigurd hesitated himself.
“Do you know where Hans is at this moment?”
“Helpin’ with the preparations, I should think. Almost everyone is.”

Slowly and carefully, Sigurd explained about the men on the road. Wulli frowned, but as the merchant finished his explanation, he shook his head.
“Well, it’s good of you, sir, but that don’t sound like anyone I know of from round these parts. Sounds like maybe a couple of them bandits got their come-uppance.” He shook his head. “Sigmar knows the roadwardens have left our roads alone long enough.”

There came another shout from the kitchen – called away, Wulli made his apologies and scurried out of sight. He returned soon enough, bringing the food they had asked for: a round, red-faced woman followed him, counting off keys from an iron ring for those who wanted lodging. She gave Lothar a very funny look when Wulli mentioned his and Illiiya’s arrangements, but held her tongue.

“Most guests we’ve had at one time in a long time, sirs,” she said, by way of making conversation: for all that Wulli appeared to be in thrall to her, she seemed friendly enough. “First the foreign gentleman, now the five of you. At this rate, we’ll have to start turning people away!”

The inn’s food was plain but filling fare, much of it fresh: Pieter and Lothar tucked in with gusto as Wulli and his wife went back to their work. Sitting a little apart, Sigurd fed himself and his dog, Indigo devouring what she was given with great enthusiasm.

Rising on a full stomach, Pieter declared he was going to explore the village. Lothar followed suit, while Illiiya remained behind. Ithelus stayed with her – there seemed to be something odd in the elf’s gaze as he watched Lothar leave.

[hr]

Pieter

Outside, Hohlesbruck’s main street was bustling with activity. Pieter skirted around towards the well in the town centre, looking round at the surrounding buildings. On one side of the ‘square’ – if that was what you would call the crossing of two unpaved roads – stood a smithy, its tall brick chimney still and smokeless for now. Opposite it was another old building, slightly larger than its neighbours: having a fair bit more timber in its construction than the others, it looked as if the years had warped it, the windows on one side of the house distinctly lower than on the other. Painted over the front door were the faded letters


B U T C H E R E

Passing right past the blacksmith’s was a road leading uphill, curving behind the copse of trees that shielded the manor from view. On the left, it led past the foot of the hillock on which the mill stood, and curved towards the river: the road on which the party had entered went there direct, a little stone bridge just wide enough for a modest cart crossing the fast-flowing brook. Pieter headed in that direction, leaving the cottages and fields behind in a matter of minutes: on the other side of the water, the Drakwald closed in again, a weather-worn road even older and narrower than the one they had taken winding away into the forest’s dark heart. Standing at its foot, Pieter noticed an overgrown path branching off to the left through the woods, and remembered the innkeeper’s words about ‘Mother Yilese’ who lived over the river.

Just before the side-path stood a small shrine, just large enough to give unlucky travellers shelter from the rain. Its drystone walls were spotted with lichen but well-tended. Inside, a carved wooden dove stood on a rough ledge, a dribbled mass of candles standing around its feet and under its wings. A brass bowl held a selection of humble offerings: overhead, the wooden beams that held up the roof had been carved with designs of weeping maidens, set amidst deep, complex spirals and swirls.

Making his respects to Shallya, Pieter headed back into the centre of the village, making for the crowd of people who were laying out the tables for the feast. There were women of all ages, and some men too – as Wulli had predicted, they seemed happy to have his help. Pitching in, Pieter took the opportunity to find out a little more about his new surroundings. The women of the village seemed all too happy to answer his questions.

“So, have you heard about any trouble on the road lately?” he asked the middle-aged woman he was helping with a tablecloth. “Mr Faulebrand seemed convinced he needed guards.”
“Oh, everyone knows about the bandits, mister!” she exclaimed. “Lurkin’ out in the woods, they are. Stolen a couple of Mister Faulebrand’s wagons, they have.”
“Shouldn’t something be done about it? Who’s in charge of the village?”
“That’d be Lord Verloren,” said the woman, briskly. “Him an’ his family been lords of these parts since afore even my gran could remember. Since forever, I reckon.”
She shook out her end of the cloth, stretching it over the long table.
“Nothin’ about him you could object to, neither. A good kindly sort of lord. But he lost his wife, you know, and he’s always been a little... far-off, like, since then. And then there was this terrible business with his daughter!”
“I heard she Changed!” butted in a younger woman, breathlessly. “I heard she grew a pair of arms out of her belly, and he bricked her up in her rooms, and now he feeds her soup through a hole in the wall!”
“Ellie, that’s nonsense, and you’re a wicked girl for spreadin’ it,” said the middle-aged woman, sternly.
“But ain’t no-one seen her for months!” cried the girl in protest.
“That’s ‘cos she’s been sick,” said the woman, still keeping her eyes calmly on her work. “Now, let’s hear no more of it.”
Another woman leaned over.
“If it’s someone to do somethin’ about these bandits you’re looking for,” she said, “it ain’t Lord Verloren you ought to be goin’ to. It’s Aloysius Faulebrand who really runs Hohlesbruck.”
The first woman gave the new speaker an uncomfortable look. The newcomer kept speaking, keeping her voice slightly lower than a conversational tone.
“Well, it’s true, ain’t it? The Verlorens might be the lords in these parts, but they ain’t wealthy no more, not for nobs. Mister Faulebrand, he owns the mill, and half the people round here are his tenants now. Buildin’ his big fancy house, stealin’ Mister Talberg from Miss Esther for his daughter. He means to make himself lord of these parts, and I reckon he’s done so, in all but name.”
“Mr Talberg,” said Pieter, listening quietly. “That would be the young man who’s to be married?”
“Right you are, sir,” said the third woman. “Was engaged to be married to Miss Esther Verloren, ‘til he went away to war and she came down with her sickness. Came back quick enough, and decided he didn’t like the look of a face with scars on.” The woman’s tone of voice made it clear she didn’t approve. “Now Mister Faulebrand’s caught him for young Alexa, and Miss Esther stays up at the house all day long. Fair heartbroken, they say she was.”
The first woman nodded.
“It’s bad luck to be having anything more to do with that young man, after how he treated the lord’s daughter,” she said. “Still, can’t be arguin’ with Aloysius. Man’s as stubborn as a mule, and a thousan’ times as prideful. Think he might fairly have died for joy, gettin’ his daughter hitched to a nobleman.”
“I think you’re both being sour old prunes,” said the young woman, sulkily. “Alexa’s a lovely girl and Mr Talberg’s a very handsome young man. I wish ‘em both joy of it.”

That seemed to put an end to the conversation. Discreetly changing tack, Pieter asked after what shops and services might be available in the village.
“Bless you, sir, we’re farmers round here, not merchants.” The woman furrowed her brow. “I suppose there’s ol’ Axel the blacksmith, and Flycher’s butcher-shop. And the Heartless Man, but you knew about them.”

[hr]

Sigurd & Illiiya

Sitting in the Heartless Man, Sigurd waited for Wulli to reappear at a quiet moment. He had a few questions that remained unanswered.

“Excuse me, Mr Hofstadter, can I ask – who lives in the manor on the ridge?”
“That’s Verloren Manor, sir. Mils Verloren is the lord in these parts – it’s him and his daughter live up there. And their servants.”
“What does the village think of him? Is he a good lord?”
“Never had anything to say against him, sir, never had anything to say against him.”
Sigurd nodded.
“Will he be at the feast? Or... any other merchant families, besides the two who are uniting?”
“Oh, Mr Talberg isn’t a merchant, sir, he’s a noble. Family’s from over eastward way – he first came over here by way of the Verlorens. There isn’t anyone else like the Faulebrands around here, for sure – just us villagers.”
He paused.
“I think I heard Lord Verloren was comin’, although I don’t know how long he’ll stay.”

[hr]

Lothar

Lightening himself by one suit of chainmail and one firearm locked safely in his room at the Heartless Man, Lothar set out to explore the village. Picking his way through the busy crowd on the street directly outside, he stood by the well in the centre of Hohlesbruck and smelt the fresh air. It was a welcome change from Delberz, and he barely felt the urge to check the bottom of the well for swarms of watching red eyes at all.

There was a blacksmith’s across the way, a black horseshoe hung over the front door. Wandering around by way of the open back yard, Lothar found a brown-haired, broad-shouldered man with a fine forked beard and massive, calloused hands sitting at ease by his anvil, smoking on a battered old pipe.

“Hullo,” rumbled the blacksmith. “Don’t think I know you, sir.”
Introducing himself, Lothar took a seat, making amiable conversation. He had a few questions to ask, and the blacksmith seemed happy enough to answer them. His position in the community had clearly exempted him from the work of preparing Mr Faulebrand’s feast, and the two of them sat watching as the others went about transforming the village centre for the evening. The blacksmith’s name was Axel – if he had a second name, he didn’t seem to think it worthy of mentioning.

“The lord up in the manor – what’s the feeling about him around here?” asked Lothar. “I’d’ve thought he ought to have cleaned out these bandits by now.”
“Lord Verloren is alright,” said Axel, authoritatively. “Rustling out those robbers would be a dangerous business, and he knows it. Might be some of us killed, and we might not win, neither. It’s one thing to pick up a spear to defend yourself from a raid, it’s another to go out huntin’ armed men in the wild woods.” He shook his head. “I’m not saying there ain’t more he might do... but he’s a man who’s had misfortunes, and maybe I don’t blame him if his mind ain’t entirely on the present.”

He looked across the way, towards the busy preparations in front of the big brick house and the Heartless Man.

“Besides, everyone knows old Faulebrand could afford to pay for proper professionals, if he’d just loosen his purse-strings. It’s his shipments as are getting stolen, after all. But that man never paid for anythin’ he thought he could get for free, and he never will neither.”

“So no-one knows where these robbers are hiding, then?” said Lothar. “If you’d have to go hunting for them.”

“That’s about the size of it,” agreed the smith. “The woods are deep around here, gives ‘em plenty of places to hide in reach of the road, and if they’re good hunters, they wouldn’t want for food either. Not now the beasts’ve been driven out.” The big man shrugged his broad shoulders. “As trades go, I’ve heard worse. ‘Least men you can reason with.”

“You don’t think they’re supplied from inside the village, then?”

“From Hohlesbruck?” The man looked surprised, and shook his head. “Everyone round here knows everyone else. If someone was sneakin’ food and such out to ‘em, we’d notice.” He paused. “It’s a funny thing, though. They always seem to know when Mister Faulebrand’s wagons are heading out.”

Lothar mulled over the information, nodding along. His eyes drifting away from the preparations for the feast, they fixed on the bridge.

“Any good fishing spots along the river?” he asked.

“If you go down past the mill, there’s a crossing down there where the water’s slow,” said Axel. “Pretty good fishing there.”

“Thank you,” said Lothar. He stood up. “Think I might go have a look, then. Glad to meet you, Axel.”
“And you, Mister Fischer,” said the blacksmith, sedately replacing the pipe in his mouth. Stretching out his arms, Lothar headed off along the muddy road.

Sure enough, there was a tricky-looking ford down past the windmill, where the river widened out and a broad stony bank gave an excellent vantage-point for fishing. On the other side of the crossing, Lothar could see a narrow path leading away into the woods: its destination was out of sight.

Crossing over, he followed the river-bank upstream, coming back to the little stone bridge that crossed the brook where it flowed faster. Just beyond it, there was a wayside shrine to Shallya, and Lothar paused there to pay his respects. Ducking to get out of the low shelter, he headed back towards the centre of Hohlesbruck.

[hr]

Ithelus

The rooms did indeed have locks. Securing his possessions, Ithelus took his bread and stepped out into the open air, wandering through Hohlesbruck’s extremely limited selection of streets. He saw the busy preparations for the banquet, the decrepit old butcher’s shop, the bridge and the smithy. Making up his mind, he headed uphill towards the copse of trees before the lord’s manor, quickly leaving the villager’s cottages behind.

The spur of woodland that screened Verloren Manor from the rest of the village was not particularly thick, but it jutted out from the body of the Drakwald itself that surrounded the hamlet, and in the continuity of that great forest the elf found something strangely comforting. Sitting on a ridge of earth held together by tree-roots, he looked out westward, taking in the whole village laid out before him – then, looking in the opposite direction, he saw the manor. It was a building of old stone, large and imposing: it looked as if it had been built as a fortress as much as a display of wealth, clearly designed to resist attack. There was a little groundsman’s cottage on the foot of the rise on which it stood, but by the looks of things it was currently uninhabited: the cleared grounds around the house showed hints of being poorly-tended, the weathered old manor itself overgrown in several places by thick ivy...

[Exeson]

Ithelus ponders the manor, and indeed the prospects it holds. With a curious mind he wanders over to it, attempting to find a gate of front door on which to knock.

[LCP]

Ithelus

The front door of the manor was large and imposing: it had a brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head. Knocking, Ithelus waited on the step as he heard footsteps approach from within.

With a creak, the door opened, and a woman on the older edge of middle age looked out. Though she was short and round, her face was lined and severe.

"Yes?" she said, sharply. Her stern expression was softened by surprise as she saw the elf standing at the doorstep, but she did not offer any further words to ease the silence.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd looks relieved when the innkeeper tells him the victims weren't from town. But inside, he still feels troubled by the sight. They hadn't looked like bandits to him, nor are Roadwardens known for leaving corpses out to rot on the highway. I wonder if Faulebrand really will send lads to collect them.

Leaving that thought for the time being, he takes his meal at a leisurely pace. Then he finds a bench outside, if there is one, or the shade of a tree to sit beneath, and enjoys his pipe. The middle-aged man doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry.

"Well, Indigo," he says at last. "I guess we'd better get off before this party starts."

Indigo, head on paws and enjoying her patch of sunlight, does not seem to agree.

Sigurd ignores her, using his cane to leverage himself to his feet.

As he ambles away from the inn, the beleaguered Indigo gets to her feet and trots after him with a look of great weariness.

* * * *

Sigurd finds his way across the river as instructed, stopping to make an offering to Shallya when he sees the shrine. He seeks out Mother Yilese's house, where he will knock politely and wait to see if she's home.

[Exeson]

Ithelus jumps slightly at the sharp question. He tips his head slightly, 'Good afternoon ma'am. Pardon me for the intrusion but I was passing through the village and my attention was caught by this beautiful building.'

He smiles, 'If it is not intruding I would perhaps like to converse with the master of this manor as to this building's origin?'

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya approached the idea of being left to herself fairly well. A far cry from but a few weeks ago when she would have dreaded the idea. The things that lurked at the edges of her vision were still present, but by now she was certain that they had no power to harm her... and there were things every bit as bad in the world that all could see. Or under it...

Illiiya kept to herself in the common room, drinking some mild, slightly bitter tea and having little cause to speak to any of the folk about the place. In fact, she seemed to be watching the spot across from her.

This place is not so bad. You don't have to sit in here by yourself.

Illiiya glanced at nothing, as if she could almost imagine the speaker sitting across from her at the table... his light tone and quirked smile making him endearing him almost despite himself.

Right, right. Just ignore me when people are about.

They'll think me mad. She answered in a soft voice, glancing down into her tea.

Aren't you?

For the briefest of moments she looked stunned... almost harried... as if his words had literally struck her.

I mean aren't we all? The whole world's a little mad.

Her expression softened, sinking bad under the safe, secure place where doubt could not reach her. Of course he was real. It was all real. She wanted to be angry at him for teasing her, but somehow she just couldn't bring herself to be.

I don't like people like you do. They stare. They're afraid of me. She said in the barest of whispers, giving a soft sigh, I'm sorry.

It's all right. At least you've got company, huh? Don't have to be alone.

She gave a soft noise of agreement, wondering if he was teasing her again. After all, he knew as well as she did... she was never alone.

OOC: A whole of to text to basically say that... Illiiya is a crazy shut in. She'll be staying at the inn, where she'll pick at some bread, drink some tea, and keep to herself.

[-Sentinel-]

At the shrine

Pieter paid his respects to Shallya, Ranald's lover according to some tales, by putting four shillings in the bowl. Not much, but a gold crown might tempt a villager's fingers: money had a way of overcoming piety and superstition. The initiate took a moment to kneel and pray for good health. He also left a prayer for Magda, who for some reason still lingered in his thoughts.

Oh, and one more thing, my lady. I couldn't find a shrine to Morr or even a cemetary in this place, but can you pass a message along to your father? Yes, I know I've never been in good terms with Him. But please tell Him to watch over the friends and allies I lost in Delberz. Rafale, Ilsa, Klaus, Karl... even Maria. And if it's not too much to ask, I'd like Him to make the bad dreams stop. I need to move on.

After a moment of silent spiritual contemplation, he got to his feet and walked back to the village.


[hr]

At the village

Pieter frowned deeply at the tale of how the Talberg boy had rejected Esther. But, really, what could be expected from nobles? Shallowness was part of their nature. He hoped the young man would not be a callous husband to Alexa.

The whole concept of marriage is inherently flawed, he reflected. Yet, as a godly man, it was his duty to respect the wish of people suffering from the peculiar madness called monogamy. It was not their fault, was it?

"I'm Pieter Hagen," he introduced himself with an easy grin. "Mr Faulebrand hired my friends and I to escort him here. He kindly invited us to the feast." The Ranaldite grew serious. "He was well-advised to take guards," he confided. "The road is not safe. We found two corpses in the woods, apparently outdoorsmen. Murdered. By the look of it, it wasn't the work of outlaws or roadwardens. One of the dead men had this in his pocket." He showed them the copper necklace. "You wouldn't happen to recognize this, would you?"

[LCP]

Sigurd

The path to Mother Yilese’s cottage was narrow and windy, the trees stretching their branches overhead as if they would like to swallow the forest trail whole. Indigo stayed close to her master’s heels, watching the woods: despite how wild its surroundings were, the track seemed surprisingly clear of bracken and weeds. It would take some work and care to keep it maintained like this.

After a short way, a clearing opened out between the trees. There, growing up from the ground, was a hovel that looked older than anything Sigurd had seen in Hohlesbruck. It was a patchwork of parts, crook-backed walls having been built over each other as the cottage grew older: no two windows were the same, a twisty chimney rising out of its mossy thatched roof. A crow was perched on the chimneypot, watching his approach.

In front of the slanting front door was a garden – a herb garden, or a vegetable garden, or something of the kind. Indigo followed him through its centre with her nose low to the ground, snuffling at the various leaves and roots. They certainly seemed to smell interesting to her.

Reaching the door, Sigurd raised his hand to knock. Before his knuckles could make contact with the warped old timbers, the door swung silently open, an old woman looking shrewdly up at him from the threshold. She was little and lean, with steel-grey hair bunched in a tight bun at the back of her head.

“Yes?” she asked, plainly.

[hr]

Ithelus

“You want to speak to the master?” asked the woman, frowning. She seemed unsure of how to treat him - perhaps unsure of where an elf fell on the social ladder. “I don’t think he knows you.” She sniffed. “And you don’t look like a gentleman to me.”

[hr]

Pieter

The nearest of the women peered at the necklace.

“Why, that looks like Lisbeth’s old necklace,” she remarked with surprise. “She was with her husband on the last wagon what the robbers took. Took everythin’ they had, Kaspar said.”

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter frowned. "Really? The dead men must have been outlaws, then, as Mr Faulebrand thought." He put the necklace back in his pocket. "I should bring it back to Lisbeth. Where does she live?"


OOC: I'll go straight there next.

[LCP]

Pieter

"She lives with her husband Kaspar, up by the mill. She ought to be about, though. Everyone is." The woman peered down the length of the tables being laid out. "I think I see her down there."

Following the woman's pointing arm, Pieter saw who she was indicating - a brown-haired woman in her early thirties, trying to shepherd a gaggle of children away from the preparations. Thanking them for the direction, Pieter set off towards her.

Lisbeth looked up as he approached, clearly recognising him to be a stranger. A little unsure, she turned to face him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

[-Sentinel-]

"Good afternoon," Pieter greeted her with a thin smile. "I'm told this was stolen from you." He handed her the necklace and explained quickly: "I came here with Mr Faulebrand. In the forest, we came across the corpses of two scruffy men, apparently murdered. One of them had this. I can only conclude he was one of the ruffians who robbed you and your husband. I'm afraid I found nothing else of value on either of them."

[LCP]

Pieter

Lisbeth looked stunned.

"My necklace!" she said, taking the item from Pieter's hand. She looked up at the Ranaldite's face. "Thank you."

She paused as his words filtered through.

"Murdered? Who by?"

[-Sentinel-]

"My necklace!" Lisbeth said, taking the item from Pieter's hand. She looked up at the Ranaldite's face. "Thank you."

"Least I could do," said Pieter with a shrug. "I wish I could give you the rest of your possessions. Name's Pieter, by the way. Pieter Hagen."

Lisbeth paused as his words filtered through. "Murdered? Who by?"

"No idea," Pieter admitted. "Horsemen, by the look of it, but it didn't look like the work of roadwardens. They were killed fast and fairly brutally. Better avoid travelling alone until the matter is sorted out."

[Exeson]

Ithelus bowed his head a second time. 'If you deem it so ma'am, I apologise for having bothered you on such a pleasant day.'

He then leaves the manor grounds and returns to the tree where he was originally relaxing and stays there, smoking sap, until the festivities.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar sauntered back to the centre of the village, humming a fisherman's working song around his pipe. In the back of his mind, the soldier was making plans to take Illiiya down the stream and have a bit of a fish. Hohlesbruck was a quiet, pleasant sort of place and after the affairs of Delberz it was the sort of thing the group needed. Lothar had heard the Ranaldite whimpering in the night, and it wasn't as though his own dreams were muted.

He swore that he'd seen beady little red eyes in the depths of that well, but it was just his imagination. Thank bloody Shallya for that.

On the other hand, these bandits. Knowin' when the shipments were? Also only seemed to be attacking Faulebrand. Lothar had always had a funny feeling about bad situations, and this one had layers beneath it that he couldn't see just yet. Maybe Faulebrand had just annoyed a rival. The man certainly had it in him.

His musings had taken the soldier back to the centre of the village. He decided to see what the others were up to- it looked like Pieter was chatting up the local ladies...

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd doesn't have to say anything to Indigo; she has the manners not to dig up someone's herb garden. But she's allowed to smell all she wants. He smiles as he goes down the path.

When Yilese opens the door, he introduces himself.

"Sigurd, m'am. Sigurd Waite." He removes his hat for perhaps the first time in days and gives a slight bow. "I hear you're the one to talk to if I want to learn the old folklore."

If she doesn't drive him away, Sigurd will ask her a few questions, preferably over tea in her house, rather than standing about the garden with the door open.

Questions:

1. Ask about the barrows. How many, where are they, are any notable, what stories are associated with them.

2. Ask about the "scholar" who came looking for the barrows before. Any and all details. Especially who he was or why he said he was interested. Details of his disappearance/death also welcome.

3. About the manor house beside the town (more about the building itself, and its history, than about its residents).

[LCP]

Pieter & Lothar

“Well, um, thank you – Mr Hagen,” said Lisbeth, respectfully. She looked up as she heard more footsteps approaching. Looking round, Pieter saw Lothar strolling towards them, nodding a greeting to him.

[hr]

Sigurd


"Sigurd, m'am. Sigurd Waite." He removes his hat for perhaps the first time in days and gives a slight bow. "I hear you're the one to talk to if I want to learn the old folklore."

“That so?” said the old woman, giving him a scrutinising look. “Well. You’d best come in, then.”

The ceiling of the cottage was rather low for Sigurd’s height, and he had to stoop to avoid striking his head on the beams. As he shut the door behind him, he noticed a battered but functional crossbow resting beside it – perhaps the heaviest such an old woman could sensibly lift. A number of small, twisty plants were growing on the inside of the windowsill – their pot was a stunted-looking skull, with sharp teeth and two short, goat-like horns pricking from its forehead.

“Kettle’s on the fire,” said Yilese, stumping away into her kitchen. Sure enough, a little spouted metal pot was already bubbling away. “So, Mr Waite,” she said. “What is it you came lookin’ to know?”

Taking a rough wooden chair, Sigurd began his questions. Yilese listened quietly, without so much as a nod or a blink in response while he was speaking. It was like talking to a mask, or a disapproving parent. Behind him, a sturdy wooden clock hung on the wall, ticking loudly, though Sigurd thought it seemed to be quite badly behind the time.

“You’ve come to hear the tales o’ the barrows, then,” she said. “A sophisticated city man like you, takin’ an interest in our quaint old folklore. I s’pose we ought to be honoured, eh?”

There was a sudden, steely edge to the old woman’s tone.

“There were a man like you here before. Mr Waldemarr, he called himself, come from the University of Nuln. The cleverest fool I ever saw.” She paused. “I told ‘em not to show him the way, but the word of an old woman counts for little when some in the village have the glitter of money in their eyes, and Mr Waldemarr had money. He took himself and two servants with him, and he never came back. They say the beastmen ate ‘im. I say, we’re lucky they did. That what’s buried, is buried for a reason.”

At last, she took a tiny sip of her tea.

“Put it out of your head. That’s my advice to you, and I won’t humour you with no folk-tales or histories. Put it out of your head, and say no more of it.”

Mother Yilese sat back in her chair.

“Now I think you’d best be going, Mr Waite. They’re havin’ a party in the village, and you’ll miss it.”

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

When she indicates the kettle Sigurd goes over and pours himself a cup. Once he's seated he sips it with thorough relish as she admonishes him.

"Mister Waldemarr," he says with unease. "From the University of Nuln."

He looks back at her. "Well, I'm no University man. Nothing quite so dreadful. And from what I've heard of him I find Mister Waldemarr every bit the fool that you do."

He sips from the tea again.

"Lot of young people in this town," he says as if he's just making small talk. "They'll all be at the party, I'm sure. They have more time for making moon-eyes at each other and stuffing themselves silly than they have for learning a word about where they come from. Myself, I'd rather miss the party."

He looks at her meaningfully. Many towns are quickly losing their traditions and folklore, to the chagrin of the elders. Perhaps Hohlesbruck is one such town.

[LCP]

Sigurd

"The young 'uns making moon-eyes at each other is where they come from, Mr Waite," said Yilese, levelly. "Always has been."

She shrugged. "You can go to the feast or not, it makes no odds to me. But unless you've got some other business here, I ain't one for guests."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Not one to overstay his welcome (as wan as it may have been to begin with), Sigurd downs what's left in his cup and stands up, the rough chair squeaking a bit as it drags across the floor.

"Just one other piece of business, ma'am."

He puts the cup down. "I was hoping to simply collect a bit of the local wisdom. There're folks who would rather see knowledge remembered than lost, and I rather quite enjoy writing it down for them. But if no one here will talk to me, I'll reluctantly go and look for myself."

He rests a hand on the door-handle. "So if there's anything you know that might help me stay alive while on the barrows, I suppose I'm praying you'll say it."

He doesn't expect she's the type to be bought with money, so he won't insult her by offering. But the way his arm is out-stretched for the door leaves his coat open and his purse in plain view, in case he's wrong.

[LCP]

Sigurd

Yilese stood to see him out.

"You want to hear old stories, there isn't a child in Hohlesbruck as can't tell you one. But that's not what you want, and I can see it."


He rests a hand on the door-handle. "So if there's anything you know that might help me stay alive while on the barrows, I suppose I'm praying you'll say it."

"If you've any care for yourself, or for others, here's my advice: stay away from the mounds. The Drakwald's swallered better men than you, and there are those of us as have to live with it year-round." She looked him steadily in the eye. "The dead deserve their peace, Mr Waite."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

With the two of them standing in the door, Sigurd decided to keep talking a little longer. He takes on a grave expression.

"What exactly is it that swallows them, ma'am? With the beast men all cleared out, so they say, what is it out there that keeps men from coming back?"

[LCP]

Sigurd

"Respect. Proper respect is what keeps men from going out, respect for the land and what's under it. We ain't lost anyone out west, not since Mr Waldemarr came through." She looked shrewdly up at him. "Maybe the beastmen are gone, and maybe they'll be back." She glanced at the Ungor-skull plant-pot by the door. "There's more beasts in the woods than just our one pack."

She shook her head.

"The children of Chaos never make a nest in any wholesome place. They were drawn up there, and that's reason enough for honest men to stay away."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

The merchant doesn't move to exit, finding her tirade to be a form of opening up. He decides to encourage it.

"You're aware, then, of the two men found dead on the road just this morning?"

[LCP]

Sigurd

Mother Yilese didn't blink.

"No," she said. "I wasn't."

She cocked her head at him.

"How'd they die?"

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd looks at her slyly. "I thought we weren't sharing tales?"

He grins and gives her a wink, then goes on.

"Lucky for you, I'm not so close-lipped. The tale round town is that they were bandits cut down by the roadwardens. But I saw the bodies myself, and there's no way..."

He peers out the nearest window as if checking that no one is listening in.

"Roadwarden's don't cut clean through a man in one swipe, or damn near. They don't gallop in, behead a man and leave the body for the ravens. Ma'am, I can't speak to whether the men were bandits. They were quite poor, and looked like woodsmen to me. But what I can tell you is that whoever killed them had more-than-human strength."

He scrutinizes her reaction, wondering what she'll make of it.

* * * *

IF she has no more to say:

"Well, thank you for your time, Mother Yilese. I'll be reconsidering my plan to walk the barrows... if you decide there's anything more you would share with a fool like me, you know where to find me, I'm sure."

[LCP]

Sigurd

Mother Yilese's gimlet eyes made a study of Sigurd's face.

"I do believe you're tellin' the truth," she said, at last. "Well, well. That does sound right peculiar."

Her words were carefully chosen: the thoughts behind them clearly ran faster and deeper than she cared to express.


"Well, thank you for your time, Mother Yilese. I'll be reconsidering my plan to walk the barrows... if you decide there's anything more you would share with a fool like me, you know where to find me, I'm sure."

"I'm sure I do," she said, calmly. "Thank you for stoppin' by to tell me. I'd say I'd see you this evenin', but I'm too old for such things now." She stepped back to close the door. "I hope you have a good stay in Hohlesbruck, Mr Waite. Feel free to visit again."

The hinges creaked, and the door clicked shut.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Collecting his bored-looking dog, Sigurd moseyed back toward the site of the party.

[LCP]

Following the trail back to the bridge, Sigurd crossed over the river again. As he reached the well in the centre of town, he could see the villagers were already gathering: a couple of men bobbed their heads in respect as they passed him, carrying a pig on a pole over their shoulders.

Enough tables to seat fifty people or more had been laid out in a long horseshoe arrangement along Hohlesbruck’s main road, passing in front of the tavern and Mr Faulebrand’s grand brick house. The top table, perpendicular to the others, was outfitted with chairs; the others with benches. In the centre of the tables, two spits had been constructed, with a hog for each: Wulli Hofstadter was carting out another cask of ale, clearly straining under the weight, and stacks of bread stood on each table, supplemented here and there by huge, round cheeses. It was clear that few expenses had been spared, and the villagers were flocking to their seats, children scurrying about their parents’ feet as the happy chatter of the people filled the cooling evening air.

Lothar and Pieter were already in the centre of it all, moving towards the door of the Heartless Man to await their elven friends before taking a seat. Illiiya emerged reticently from inside, leaning reticently against the doorframe until Ithelus came into view down the road from the manor. The two elves were still getting funny looks from the villagers, but they seemed more in the line of ignorant fascination than active hostility.

From the head table, there was a cheer as Mr Faulebrand emerged from the front door of his house, leading his daughter with him: craning his neck to get a look, Pieter had to admit she was very pretty, with flowing blonde hair that was brighter than her father’s, and a broad, white smile. Behind them came a young man, perhaps a few years older than the miller’s daughter – he had dark brown hair and a strong jawline, and wore nobleman’s clothes with a hint of a military cut. He walked with a confident air, and certainly seemed as handsome as Miss Faulebrand was beautiful. A wan-looking older woman, presumably Mr Faulebrand’s wife, followed behind them, looking always towards her daughter with doting eyes.

The portly miller fell to conversation with Wulli, seemingly finishing up the arrangements for the food and drink, and the babble of words commenced again as the people at the top table took their seats. There was someone else with them: a man with a mild, sheepish face and a pair of pince-nez glasses, his mouth framed by a neat brown beard. His hair was receding from the gleaming dome of his scalp, and he had the look of an educated man: he took a seat close to Mr Faulebrand’s daughter, seeming to make polite conversation with the others. They were clearly waiting for someone else, a seat reserved at the very head of the table for a guest who was as yet absent.

Among the commoners, Lothar noticed someone who looked out of place. Dressed in a long black coat and a trim three-pointed hat, he was a man of indeterminate age, sitting alone but with the same lazy ease as a tomcat ruling an alley. His hair was a curly mass of greasy black, barely submitting to being jammed beneath his hat: he had a curling moustache and a dark, scraggly tuft of a beard, and he grinned as he sat, already heaping his plate with food. Some of the villagers seemed to be giving him a wide berth.

Heads turned as another figure approached from the road Ithelus had taken, walking with his hands clasped behind his back – another cheer went up, and the man looked up as if surprised. He had a high-bred but melancholy-looking face, his pointed beard and slightly scruffy hair streaked with lines of grey. His well-made clothes were in various tones of sombre, and had a slightly aged look to them – the look of good clothes tended to by an absent-minded man.

“Lord Verloren is here!” came Aloysius Faulebrand’s cry, full of blustering good cheer. “Mils! Mils, my good friend, take your seat!” He paused, his voice returning to something like its normal pitch. “We’ve been waiting.”

Mils Verloren mumbled a reply – touched, obliged – seeming not to make eye contact with the merchant, instead finding something terribly interesting about the chairs. Taking a seat, he endeavoured to find something else to look at as Mr Faulebrand manoeuvred to centre stage beside him and puffed himself up like a frigate-bird.

“Ladies!” the miller cried. “Gentlemen!” His eyes caught on Ithelus and Illiiya. “And, ah, variations thereupon. We are gathered here today,” he declaimed, “to celebrate the engagement of my dearest Alexa,” – he gestured with one pudgy hand to his daughter, who blushed and smiled – “ to Master Ricard Talberg.”

The young man bowed to the assembled company.

“I could not ask for a better son-in-law – for not only will Master Talberg one day be Lord Talberg (long live his father),” said Aloysius, somehow managing to pronounce the parentheses, “but he is a most exceptional young man, and an excellent friend of the Faulebrand family.” He clapped his hands. “But now is not the time for speeches! That will come afterwards, and won’t you regret it.”
There was a good-natured ripple of laughter from the assembled company.
“For now, in celebration of their engagement, we have laid on a feast. As far as I am concerned, Hohlesbruck and the name of Faulebrand are linked, inextricably linked, and our joy is your joy. So please! Eat, drink and be merry! The expense,” he said, with a gracious bow, “is on me.”

There was a third cheer, louder and more resounding than either that had come before. As the clamour of chattering voices resumed, the village of Hohlesbruck began to tuck in.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter's gaze lingered on Alexa Faulebrand with open interest that bordered on hunger, but from the moment he saw Ricard, he began scheming half a dozen cruel pranks to humiliate the young man and punish him for his callousness. Something told him Lord Verloren would approve. But the Ranaldite pushed the thought away; causing trouble and getting away with it was first and foremost a matter of timing. Besides, he had left his shortsword at the inn.

Pieter filled his plate with a generous slice of ham, a chunk of bread and a slab of cheese, but poured himself only half a tankard of light ale. He had many vices, but drinking was no longer one of them ever since that incident in Middenheim two years ago.

He was a bit curious about the man in black, who did not look like a peasant like the rest. The stranger seemed quite at ease with how the villagers avoided him. There was only one thing to do about a man who displayed such self-satisfied confidence: put on a smile and casually slouch into the chair right next to him in subtle mockery. Which, of course, Pieter did.

As he sat, the initiate prudently tried to notice from the corner of his eyes whether the man carried any obvious weapons. It was, he had learned long ago, a good way to take the measure of a man.

"Evening," drawled the Ranaldite. "Name's Pieter. I picked a good time to pass through this lovely village, it seems."


OOC:
Pieter left his shortsword and most of his other possessions at the inn. Who brings a sword to a party? (He does, however, still have his dagger. He needs it to eat, after all.)

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

"Well, this might be promising," Sigurd muses as the scene unfolds. "What do you think, Indigo?"

"Arf! Arf!"

"Oh you're always so cynical. Go on, it'll be fun."

Taking no heed of her master, the dog simply sits with her tongue out.

"Stubborn old girl," Sigurd mutters.

No fool, he recognizes his type when he sees them. He heads toward the educated-looking man with the spectacles at the top table.

As he nears the table, Sigurd puts a hand on the shoulder of one of the children running about. "Would you be so kind as to bring a plate and a pint for an old man?"

Barely forty, his age might not merit an errand-boy, but the penny he presses into the kid's hand ought to do the trick.

Thus relieved of the burden of having to serve himself, he sits next to the bespectacled man. The only greeting he gives is a polite nod, as if everyone should know who he is. Rather than forcing his company on the man, he'll wait to see if he invites it.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

The feast was wonderful, and even though she felt out of place it was impossible not to notice the cheer amongst the assembled guests. Good food and cause for celebration was a rare treat for most, and the people here seemed more than eager to partake in it.

Why then did she feel so ill at ease?

The bodies in the woods weighed on her still. She felt as if the cheer and feasting was but a mask hiding the blade hanging over her head. Even as she took for herself a humble bit of food, she could not help but feel apprehensive.

It's nothing... It's in your head. Just frayed nerves. She tried her hardest to convince herself, Bad dreams we even see in waking. The rat is gone. Dead. We felt his soul leave.

A sudden noise to her left made her jump, her food slipping from her hands to the ground. She turned quickly to see nothing more than a human man, boisterously greeting another of his fellows. Closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, she tried to calm herself as Sigurd's hound tromped over to make short work of the spilled food. She placed her hands to her head, muttering softly to herself.

S'en turaa... Calm down. You are making a fool of yourself. I thought we were done with this.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar was a study in contrast to Pieter. The soldier, while dressed better than his usual battered uniform, retained his military bearing- and his weapon. Rather, Marius' weapon, the hilt of the fine sword clashing somewhat with his cheaper-end-of-quality clothing.

He also drank quite cheerfully and readily and happily traded conversation with those around him. For every villager's story about a fine harvest, he had an anecdote about his father's boat. For the small child making dragon noises, he pretended to be a troll.

His eyes watched Illiiya, though, and he saw the elven woman's start. Slipping through the rabble, he touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Everythin' alright? You see summat?"

[LCP]

Pieter

“Ah! Bon soir, m’sieur,” said the man, grinning lopsidedly and turning to face as Pieter sat beside him. The Ranaldite couldn’t see that he carried any weapons openly, but that black coat would conceal a lot. The stranger’s voice had a deep, rough quality to it, but it carried a certain jollity in it, as if he was amused at the world. Most noticeably, it had an outrageous Bretonnian accent.

He took off his hat, making a stagey bow to Pieter without rising from his seat. “Dionyse Ribault, at your ‘umble service.” Replacing the hat on his head, he sat back. “I agree with you. This ‘Urlsbruque,” he said, mangling the pronunciation of the village’s name outlandishly, “it is... très agréable.”

Sigurd

The bespectacled man turned to look at Sigurd as the merchant took his seat, stoppering a little glass vial he had been fiddling with and placing it in his inside coat pocket. Coughing quietly to clear his throat, he looked from left to right before extending a tentative hand.

“Um, hello,” he said, mildly. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“Mr Waite!” cried Mr Faulebrand, leaning over the table. “This is Doctor Reifennen. A physician, from Altdorf!” The miller seemed inordinately proud of the fact. “The good doctor has the answers to that ghastly business on the road – arrived here a little while before us. I’ve just been speaking with him!”

Doctor Reifennen looked a little abashed, and looked down at his plate. Behind them, Indigo had already made a circuit of the tables, having wolfed down Illiiya’s fallen food with incredible speed – she was snuffling at the tails of the doctor’s coat, apparently finding them exceedingly interesting. Noticing the huge wolfhound behind him, the doctor looked a little uncomfortable, pulling his chair a little closer in.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd makes a point not to raise an eyebrow at the phial of self-medication. Instead he gives a slight bow and offers his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor Reifennen. The name's Sigurd, Sigurd Waite. I'm something of an historian--a dealer in antiquities."

He catches the doctor's nervousness about Indigo, but he doesn't order her down. "Indigo's a fine dog, Doctor. Nothing to be worried about."

He admires the dog for a moment with a look that is not quite pride.

"Answers would be most welcome," he says, bringing his attention back to the doctor. "It's hard on the nerves to see such a thing, grisly as it is."

OOC:

Depending on the nature of the doctor's explanation, a few of the things Sigurd might ask (if relevant) are:

*Has he examined the bodies personally
*Have they been brought to town for proper burial
*Does he have any idea who or what could have swung so hard

[LCP]

Sigurd

"Doctor Reifennen was there when it happened!" volunteered Mr Faulebrand, butting in again. "The ruffians tried to rob him, so they did."

"That's, um, that's right," said the doctor, quietly. "I was on the road, and two men accosted me. I would have ridden on, but, um, one of them had a crossbow."

"Disgraceful," said Mr Faulebrand, loudly.

"Fortunately, the roadwardens intervened," said Reifennen, reaching forwards and taking a sip from his drink, "and I escaped unharmed."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd listens as if waiting for more. When more isn't forthcoming he offers a smile of joy that the doctor is unharmed. "Thank Sigmar for that," he says. "So you didn't examine or handle the bodies at all? Try to offer medical assistance, anything like that?"

[LCP]

Sigurd

"Well, um, no. They were quite... unmistakeably dead. I continued on to the village."

[Exeson]

Ithelus gets stuck into the feast, never one to pass up free food. Collecting a plate he piles it high, and garbing a tankard of drink he moves his way over to the stranger in black, best that outcasts stick together right?

Ithelus approached the man, 'I'm guessing you're not for round these part then eh stranger?'

[LCP]

Pieter & Ithelus

"Non m'sieur, I am not," Ribault replied, raising his glass in a genial gesture of greeting. "I am a traveller, passing through from the north. I stumbled across this... charming little village, and persuaded myself to prolong my stay."

His hooded eyes flicked over Ithelus, seeming to find the elf rather more immediately interesting than Pieter.

"I think I could ask the same about you, non? Come, sit - surely you 'ave a story to tell."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite


"Well, um, no. They were quite... unmistakeably dead. I continued on to the village."

Sigurd smiles and puts his hands up. "Oh, I suppose they were, of course. I--we, Mister Faulebrand and myself--saw the scene. It was heartbreaking."

He leans in with the air of curiosity and excitement that marks him as a collector of stories. "Tell us how it happened, Doctor. What were the roadwardens like? How many of them were there? Were you in the thick of it--in the spray of the blood--or did they throw themselves between yourself and the blackguards?" His eye gleams at the prospect of the tale.

[LCP]

Sigurd

Doctor Reifennen leaned back a little as Sigurd leaned forwards, clearly a little put off by the man’s enthusiasm. He did not seem to be a man for enthusiasm at all.

“I, I... I don’t remember very well,” he said. He spoke quickly, his words tripping over each other to be free. “It was really very unpleasant, and I’d rather not dwell on it. Not when there are so many good things to be happy for around us.”

“Well said,” blustered Mr Faulebrand. “Never you worry about them, Mr Waite, I sent out a couple of men from the village to see to our departed friends. For all that they deserve it.” He struck his cup against the table for emphasis. “This should be celebration! No dwelling on dead brigands for us.”

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd let his enthusiasm fade into a simple warm smile. Hoisting his mug he holds it out to clink with the merchant and the doctor. "To life!" he toasts. "And many fine children."

He gives a wink in the direction of the bridesgroom and drinks his beer.

OOC:

If we're ready for a fast forward here, then this isn't super important, but if the scene is going on a bit Sigurd will make small talk with Reifennen:

*What's it like being a country doctor?
*What brought him to Hohlesbruck (and how long has he been)?
*Is there always so much excitement about here?
etc.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya flinched slightly at the touch before realizing it was Lothar and seeming to calm herself. She looked embarrassed more than anything, and lowered her head as she spoke to him.

I... N-no. I just feel... I'm worried. She muttered softly, barely able to be heard over the festivities, I just keep feeling like something awful is going to happen... there were those bodies in the woods and... w-what if the rats followed us? Or... Maria's followers... Everyone else is trying to relax but I can't.... I just can't!

She clung to Lothar's sleeve tightly, images of Morsleek's in her head. Those few final moments when the seer had lost his restraint, throwing himself at her shrieking and frothing like a rabid beast. Those few, frantic moments were ones she had seen again and again in her dreams, and no amount of feasting or cheerful company could take the memory away. She clung to Lothar as if he were a buoy in stormy waters, and shook slightly as she tried to calm herself.

I... I'm sorry. She muttered softly, though unbeknown to Lothar, the apology was not directed towards him.

[Exeson]

Ithelus slid down next to the man, nodding to Pieter. 'Evening Pieter, enjoy your day in the village.'

With a smile he addressed the stranger, 'The name's Ithelus. I'm sorry but I don't seem to be able to place your accent, where have you traveled from?'

[-Sentinel-]

"Bretonnia, right?" Pieter answered for Ithelus. "Been to many places, but never west of the Grey Mountains. But I knew a Bretonnian girl, once, in Marienburg. Daughter of a privateer captain."

With a somewhat dreamy look on his face, he drained the rest of his ale.

"Mr Faulebrand hired us to protect him on the road. We're not expecting to stay here long." He arched an eyebrow in polite curiosity. "If you're staying here for a while, I presume you're not on a business trip or anything of the sort, right?"

[LCP]

Pieter & Ithelus

“Ah, m’sieur, you have travelled!” exclaimed Ribault, picking up his glass by the rim and taking a swig. “You are correct. Born, Bretonnian, but a citizen of the Empire by choice. I find your country more agreeable to my tastes.”

He spoke with an easy ebullience of character, but as he spoke, Pieter saw the way the man’s heavy-lidded eyes tracked his own from behind their smiling mask. He had the feeling he was being scrutinised just as expertly as he was sizing up Monsieur Ribault.


"Mr Faulebrand hired us to protect him on the road. We're not expecting to stay here long." He arched an eyebrow in polite curiosity. "If you're staying here for a while, I presume you're not on a business trip or anything of the sort, right?"

Ribault laughed.

“For that, my friend,” he said, leaning forwards to help himself to more food, “I would need to have a business.”

He leaned back, eating from one hand and gesturing with the other.

“Non, I am like you - I think I will be moving on before too long. The village is charming, but the people are not fond of foreigners.” He caught the eye of the innkeeper’s wife and waved to her with a sudden, wolfish grin. The woman’s eyes slid sideways and she found something very interesting to be concerning herself with at the other end of the table. “Still, perhaps I will stay a little while more. Who knows – some business may come my way.”

He chuckled, and supped from the glass he had been gesturing with, wetting his black moustache.

“Mm. This is very bad wine,” he said, setting it down. “Miser’s wine. Still, you Empire fellows, you prefer your ale, oui?” He raised the glass again, lifting it to Pieter. “A toast. To fellow travellers.”


Sigurd

Making chit-chat at the high table, Sigurd fell to conversation with the doctor.

“So, what is it like?” he asked. “Being a country doctor, I mean.”

“Well, um, I’m not exactly – that is, I’ve been travelling from Altdorf. Trying to find somewhere to set up a practice, you know,” said Reifennen, quietly. “Competition in the capital is a little stiff for me. Think I would like to find somewhere quieter. But I’m really only here... passing through.” He gave a wan little smile.

“Passing through Hohlesbruck,” confirmed Sigurd.

“M-hm,” affirmed the doctor. “On my way to the eastern towns.”

“So you hadn’t heard of the village before?”

“Only by way of the map,” said Reifennen, taking a genteel sip of his drink. He lowered his voice a little. “I believe I had heard of the name of Verloren before... but they are a very old-established family, you know.”

Mils Verloren himself was sitting practically in silence, staring into the middle distance with an expression of strained good-nature as Mr Faulebrand held forth on the importance of shipping, secure shipping, mind, and how it was the duty of the Empire to see that its roads were kept safe...

“And... yourself?” asked the doctor. “What brings you to, ah, Hohlesbruck?”

[-Sentinel-]

This time, Pieter's smile was a bit forced. There was something unsettling about the man, but he could not quite put his finger on what. He raised his empty tankard all the same, his hand unsteady and his eyes unfocussed as if he were already tipsy. "To the unexpected," he said with a vacant grin. "That's why people like us travel, isn't it?" He pretended to drink. "Although, in my case, it's also in my blood. My mother was a Strigany, y'know," he confided with a casualness that would shock most Empire folks.

[LCP]

Pieter & Ithelus

"Ah?" said Ribault. "Ha. One would not know it to look at you."

He chinked his glass, and the wine vanished in one swift gulp.

"One would not know it at all."

[-Sentinel-]

"...Thanks?" said Pieter, feigning polite surprise. "It's the eyes, innit? Pure-blooded Strigany all have black eyes. Mine are green, and it's enough t' tell I ain't Strigany. Oh, and I ain't dressin' like 'em, or hangin' out with them." As he spoke, he voluntarily made his imitation of a burgher's accent turn into an Altdorf lower-class drawl. "But 'cept fer that, folks say I favor my mother. So I s'pose m' dad, whoever he was, had green eyes. Doesn't narrow it down much, does it?"

He frowned, then grinned sheepishly, as if realizing with mild embarrassment that he had just said too much. He peered into his tankard and made a dismayed face.

"S'cuse me fer a moment..."

He lurched drunkenly to his feet to get some more ale.


OOC:
If there's water available, I'll fill my tankard with one half ale and (discreetly) one half water. If not, I'll just fill my tankard with one half ale. Then I'll come back quickly.

[Exeson]

Ithelus watches the exchange with mild curiosity. He chuckles as Pieter moves to get more ale. 'You really are a man made of cold iron.' he says, 'You've gone and completely unsettled the poor man,'

He tilts his head, 'So if you have no business what brought you through this village?'

[LCP]

Ithelus & Pieter

Ribault watched Pieter leave with a glitter of inscrutable amusement in his eyes, pouring himself another glass. Turning to Ithelus, he gave an expressive shrug.

"Chance, m'sieur elf. Blind chance." Raising his own glass, he offered to fill Ithelus'. "But you will excuse me - when I was a child, in my country, my mother told stories of les fées, of the Fair Folk in the woods." He grinned. "They said they would come at night and steal children away, if they strayed into the wild wood when they played. They said they wove their clothes out of spider's webs and leaves."

The Bretonnian chuckled.

"You don't seem like that, m'sieur. Nor does your little friend." He nodded to Illiiya and Lothar, some distance away - Ithelus hadn't even realised the dark-haired man had noticed them. "I would be very interested in hearing your story, my friend."

OOC: Regarding Pieter's drink - there's plenty of water.

[goblinpaladin]

I... I'm sorry. Illiiya muttered softly.

Lothar patted her on the arm gently, and embraced her with the arm unencumbered with a mug of ale. "Don't be sorry, Ill. Isn' your fault- even Pieter's been sleepin' uneasy lately, and I keep lookin' over me shoulder."

He released her and gestured to the feast. "You should eat something. Have some wine, aye? Even if there's somethin' loomin' in our future, right now Holesbruck's a nice place." He paused, and grinned, teeth flashing in his copper-coloured beard. "Hear tell of a fine fishin' spot, looks most peaceful. We should go there tomorrow."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite


And... yourself? What brings you to, ah, Hohlesbruck?

Sigurd smiles. "Business I'm afraid. I deal in antiquities, though history is my true passion. I came here hoping to collect folk-stories from the people. So far they're none to free with them, so I am starved for intellectual stimulation."

He looks the doctor up and down. "Are you staying at the Heartless Man? Or lodging somewhere?"


(after his answer)

"Well perhaps I could stop by with a bit of cordial tomorrow. It would be good to speak with a learned man after so many weeks on the road."


(after his answer)

"Though at the moment, if you'll excuse me, I think I should offer my respect to our liege. Very old-established, indeed."

Getting up, he places a hunk of meat from his plate on the ground for Indigo, then walks slowly toward the Lord.

Sensing the man is rather trying to block out the world, Sigurd dispenses with formalities.

Grabbing a free chair he plunks it between the Lord and his nearest neighbor, essentially wedging a new place in. He removes his hat and sits, bowing his head to the man.

Sigurd sips his ale, not directly turning to face the baron. But in a polite, quiet tone he says: "It's hard, isn't it."

[LCP]

Sigurd


He looks the doctor up and down. "Are you staying at the Heartless Man? Or lodging somewhere?"

"Mm, I believe I am lodging with, um, Mr Flycher, the butcher, for tonight," said the doctor. "Public houses are a little too noisy for me."


"Well perhaps I could stop by with a bit of cordial tomorrow. It would be good to speak with a learned man after so many weeks on the road."

Doctor Reifennen looked surprised.

"You would be welcome, sir," he said. "Welcome indeed."

He seemed not to mind, however, when Sigurd left him in peace.


Sigurd sips his ale, not directly turning to face the baron. But in a polite, quiet tone he says: "It's hard, isn't it."

Lord Verloren looked up, as if rather surprised to be addressed.

"...What is?" he asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

OOC:

Have I learned what his station is? Earl? Count?


...What is?

Sigurd keeps his eyes toward the table and continues in a soft tone.

"All of this. Life. We make plans, and then they don't work out. And we're supposed to act like it doesn't matter."

He turns in his chair to face Verloren for the first time. "Please pardon if I speak too freely, m'lord." He hesitates, then: "I too have lost someone I loved."

[LCP]

Sigurd

"That was... a long time ago," said Lord Verloren. He blinked as he parsed the rest of Sigurd's sentence. "I'm sorry to hear it."

The merchant's greeting seemed to have brought him back to the waking world. He turned to face Sigurd more fully.

"...Do I know you? I don't think we've been introduced."

OOC: He's just a Lord; no higher title. Hohlesbruck is pretty titchy. I suppose in the English peerage his position would be equivalent to a baronet.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

"We haven't, Lord. I'm Sigurd, Master Sigurd Waite. I deal in antiquities."

He pauses a moment to see if that fact piques any curiosity from the lord.

"It's good of you to make an appearance at this... function," Sigurd continues in his soft voice. "I suspect it would have been more pleasant to stay at the manor-house." He looks in the direction of the fort-like structure. "As an historian I have to ask, how hold is the place?"

OOC:

Perhaps this is a moment of ignorance on my part, but I thought "lord" was a catch-all term, and each lord would have a title of some sort, even if it is very low-ranking. Am I wrong on that?

[Exeson]

Ithelus looks over to Illiiya, and sees Lothar getting close to her. 'Ah yes, we have a very interesting story indeed.'

He accepts the offer to fill his glass. 'And no, neither of us are folk of your woods. In some regards we are much like your kind self, we may have come from different places but the Empire of Man is most definitely our home now.'

He takes a deep drink, 'If experience has taught me anything it is not to drink on Sap, but on a night such as this who could resist? Well. I was born to two elves who were members of a traveling circus troupe, I was raised there until I left home.... I guess such as yourself I'm just wondering my friend.... wondering or running.'

[LCP]

Sigurd

Lord Verloren gave a slight smile - it was the first Sigurd had seen cross his face.

“Older than the record books, unfortunately,” he said. “Gilbert Verloren was the first Verloren of Hohlesbruck – he built the manor in 1414, after the Nordland settlement.” He coughed. “Of course, it’s been rebuilt a couple of times since then.”

The tall man paused.

“Are you staying in Hohlesbruck, Mr Waite?” he asked. “If your interest is history, I should invite you to visit us at home. There are many... old paintings, and chronicles and such, in the house.”

Sigurd had the impression that he was being invited more out of politeness than genuine warmth – but also that Mils Verloren was probably the kind of person who would rather go to the grave than commit a trespass against his manners.

OOC: Have checked it up on Wiki. Lord Verloren is a Lord of the Manor (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord#Lord_of_the_Manor) – he isn’t entitled to any grander title.


Ithelus & Pieter

“Le cirque!” cried Ribault, merrily. “Ah, m’sieur, did they teach you tricks? There was a circus that came by my village once, when I was very young – but they did not stop at us.” He paused, seeming to reflect on some distant memory. “Per’aps it was for the best. They were an odd circus.”

Looking up the table, he leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to a more confidential tone.

“It is quite a circus we have here, eh? The miller and his brood.” The Bretonnian puffed out his cheeks, making a stuffy Mr Faulebrand face. “Très amusant, non?”

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

I don't know anything about fishing... but all right. Illiiya said with a weak nod. Her tone was one of slight apprehension. You can teach me, I suppose.

She embraced Lothar for a moment, laying her head on his shoulder before giving a soft sigh and releasing him... no matter the temptation, she did not want to be the helpless little wretch anymore, unable of even tending to herself.

I'll eat something, I promise... and I'll be with Ithelus if you need me. She told him with a forced smile, Go on. I know you want to mingle with the hu- ah... people, and trade stories. I will see you later tonight. All right?

(Assuming Lothar agrees)

Illiiya gave the soldier one last smile and let him go, determined if nothing else to not be a burden. She collected for herself a touch more food, shaking her head at Indigo as the hound looked up at her expectantly.

No. You had enough already. She told him with a slight smirk. Something about animals made her feel better.

Taking her plate carefully, she left to seek out Ithelus... I'shara trailing along behind her. If he was feeling as out of place as she was here, he'd likely be glad for her company.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter came back to his seat as quickly as he could with a tankard of watery ale, eager to hear all of the conversation. He kept his face slack-jawed and vacant-eyed, but studied Ribault with the near certainty that he, too, was putting on an act. He had to learn more about him: this was a man with something to hide.

But who am I to throw stones?

"I like circuses. Not for the shows, but for the people in 'em. They're fascinating folks." He hungrily attacked the food on his plate with the help of the finely crafted dagger he had acquired in Delberz. "The shows, they're just an excuse for 'em, see. These people don't travel 'cause they need to perform... they perform 'cause they need to travel. It's a lifestyle, not a career."

.......(Pause if Ribault has something to say)

Pieter leaned back lazily and took a swig from his tankard. "Settled life is easier 'n life on the road, usually. But they say peasants in yer country ain't even allowed to leave their lord's land, an' pay more 'n half o' what they earn in taxes. Is that why you hit the road, sir? 'Cause that'd be a mighty good reason."

[LCP]

Pieter, Ithelus & Illiiya

"You are correct, m'sieur," said Ribault, topping up his drink. "In my country, things are very different. One is either a nobleman, or one is a slave. It is intolerable for a man such as me - a gentleman born to command." He shook his head, smiling his lopsided, hungry smile. "Non, monsieur, there is no place in Bretonnia for a man like me. That is why I came here."

He looked up over Ithelus' shoulder: following his gaze, Pieter saw Illiiya approaching. The man had eyes like a hawk.

"Alors, the little elf approaches," he murmured, rising to his feet. Turning to Illiiya, he bowed low at the waist, deftly flicking his long coat out behind him. "Ma'moiselle!" he said, reaching out to take her hand and kiss it. "Dionyse Ribault, at your 'umble service."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya gave the man the wide-eyed stare one might find across their face were a dapper young squid to pull itself from the seas and invite them to a formal dinner with it's parents. So caught off-guard was she that is verged on utterly hilarious, as her mind took several moments to decide precisely how to react to the Bretton man and his unfamiliar accent.

I... ah... Thank you. She finally muttered softly, not certain exactly what she'd blundered into here, Illiiya. Ah... Illiiya Jaelrae is my name. I came to see my friend.

She cast a desperate look to Ithelus. He was better at dealing with people than she was, and she dearly wished to avoid offending the strange man, but she had no idea how she was supposed to act.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar returned Illiiya's hug with a smile. The soldier then plunged back into the party, chatting freely with random people and terrifying small children.

Gossip! [roll0] - Fel 34

Lothar's going to ask about Captain Tricorn- why's everyone avoiding him? He also wants to know what people thing about the nobs- the local lord, not so much, as he already has Axel's opinion. But the daughter- why isn't she here? The merchant Faulebrand- why isn't *he* springing for guards instead of whining so much? The out-of-towner nobleman's son who is marrying beneath him. What's the thought on him? What's the thought on her? What's the thought on them together?

Eventually Lothar will make his way over to the young man and -somewhat tipsy- offer his congratulations. You said his clothing had somewhat of a military cut, and Lothar IS a military man. I'll put up a proper post for this after the gossipy one, if you like.

[LCP]

Lothar

Mingling as best he could, Lothar joined a group of village men sitting some way down from the high table. They made room for him with barely more than a word: loquacity was clearly not the Hohlesbruckers’ strong point.

Waiting for an opening in their slow conversation, Lothar leaned inward and nodded in the direction of his friends.

“Any of you know that fellow down there in the hat?” he asked, innocently. The men turned their heads like a herd of tortoises disturbed from eating, following the direction of Lothar’s gesture.

“That’s Mister Ribbalt,” said one of the men, taking a draught from his cup.
“Reebow,” corrected another.
“Ribbalt,” said the first again, calmly.
“He’s furren,” said the oldest man in a low tone of voice – an old, broad-shouldered fellow with a magnificent spade beard of pure white. “Furreners got funny names.”

The other men nodded sagely, and turned back to making the most of Mr Faulebrand’s munificence, passing around food and drink with a quiet efficiency.

“He looks like an odd one,” volunteered Lothar, trying to prompt them into further speech. “Looks like people are givin’ him a bit of a wide berth.”

“Can’t trust furreners,” said the old man plainly, in between toothy bites of the crusty loaf in his hands. “Ever’one knows that.”
“He’d be a rum one even if he warn’t,” said one of the others. “I’ve seen the way ‘e looks at the women. Got a wolvish look in his eye.”
There was some general murmuring about Bretonnians and their ways.
“Ain’t even got no business here, neither,” said the man who had spoken up. “Been malingerin’ at the Heartless Man for weeks, and ain’t turned an hour’s honest work at anythin’ any of us could see.” He took a mouthful of cheese, and continued speaking through it, gracing the table with a scattering of crumbs. “He ain’t nobility, sho how’sh he livin’, eh?”

Lothar nodded along, eyes still on the Breton as he rose to greet Illiiya.

“You have got some nobility in these parts, though, eh? Lord, um...”
“Verloren,” said the old man, nodding. “Lord Verloren.”
“I thought I heard he had a daughter,” said Lothar, conversationally. “Is she not coming?”

The old man looked up at Lothar, fixing him with a sudden gimlet stare.

“Miss Esther’s been very poorly,” interjected one of the other men, hastily.
“Aye,” said the elder, “that she has. An’ I dare say, mister,” he said, his eyes not shifting an inch, “if you was her, and been promised to some young rascal who threw you over the moment he din’t like your face, aye, and took up with the miller’s daughter in your own village, you might not want to come to his engagement party, neither.”
Lothar blinked, the sudden tone of condemnation having caught him off-guard.
“But you came?” he managed.
“Free food,” said the old man simply, reaching across and taking another loaf.

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with young Alexa,” volunteered one of the others, perhaps trying to soften the older man’s words. “Lovely young girl, for all that she’s a bit dim.”
“Aye, and much say she’s had in all this,” bit back the white-beard. “It’s all her father, tryin’ to buy his way into the arry-stock-rassy.” He took a savage bite from the bread in his hand. “When they were handin’ out the pride, Aloysius Faulebrand stole two buckets for hisself.”
“I think she likes Mister Ricard,” said one of the other men, gently.
“I dare say she does,” the first replied. He began chewing his chunk of bread with a fierce, sullen expression. “I dare say she does. And I dare say Mister Ricard likes her, or at least her father’s moneybags. Frittered away his inheritance already, or so I heard. Not that old Faulebrand cares for anythin’ but that his blood’s blue.”

“So you... don’t think too highly of Mr Faulebrand, then?” asked Lothar, tentatively. The older man had sunk into silence, leaving the others to answer.
“He’s a funny little man,” said one of the men, diplomatically. “Can’t deny it, though... Hohlesbruck ain’t never been more prosperous than with Mr Faulebrand around.”
The elder muttered something indecipherable through a mouthful of food. Lothar nodded along.
“Rich merchant like him, though,” he said, “you’d think he’d have paid for some proper soldiers to clear these bandits out by now.”
“Well, they ain’t so easy to find,” began one of the men – the white-beard swallowed his mouthful and butted in, the others deferring instantly.
“Aloysius Faulebrand won’t pay a pfennig as long as he thinks he can get Lord Verloren to do it.”
One of the other men nodded.
“He’s very sure of his rights, is Mister Faulebrand,” he added.
“Ha!” said the old man, going back to his food. The others quickly steered the conversation away from such provocative topics, a brief, blind search falling upon the weather and how it had been uncommon pleasant for this time of year...

[goblinpaladin]

"Huh," said Lothar, scratching the back of his neck. "Nobs, eh? Moneybags or from blood, 'sall much the same in the end." He took a swig of his ale and set it down with a satisfied air. "Well, I am a proper soldier- an' I'm not plannin' on layin' about useless. You lads find summat you need an' extra pair o' arms for, you come get me at the Heartless, eh?"

He stood to leave- but before he did, he made sure to get them another round.

The locals didn't seem very impressed; a few silent nods, and they went back to their chewing. Shaking his head, the former soldier wandered away, curious as to what the high table might have to say for themselves.

He approached the 'young rascal' and lifted his mug to the man. "Your health, Herr Talberg, an' my felicit- uh, congrat'lations." He paused, covering the awkward with a grin to the young nobleman and those sitting alongside. "Lothar- one o' those escorted your father-in-law on the road..."

[LCP]

Lothar

Mr Talberg seemed surprised to see Lothar approaching him, but not offended. The young man raised his own glass in reply, giving a white smile – even Lothar had to admit he was a good-looking sort of fellow.

“Father-in-law to be,” he said, laughingly. “And thank you.” Over the young man’s shoulder, Lothar could see Sigurd Waite talking to the man he assumed to be Lord Verloren. “I heard there was something of an unpleasant surprise on the road. Don’t know what we’d do if the old man got into a trouble, eh?”

[goblinpaladin]

"Ah," said Lothar, returning the man's smile with one of his own. "We weren' attacked, but there were some wild-looking lads who'd got the worst of it." He paused, inclining his head in deference to the women present. Nobby ladies didn't like talk of beheadings.

"Gotta say, 'sabit odd that Herr Faulebrand's not rounded up some likely lads who're good with a spear to root 'em out. Gotta be costin' him coin an' grain. Hells, I bet you know how to use a horse an' pistols, eh?"

[LCP]

Lothar

Mr Talberg smiled and nodded. “I served with von Behring’s pistoliers,” he said, “during the War. Packed it in, though,” he added. “I don’t think the army was the boy for me.”

He furrowed his handsome brow at Lothar’s talk of ‘rounding up likely-looking lads’. “Well... I haven’t much of a head for business, you know. I think for now there isn’t too much traffic on the road... what with the, um, seasons and all.” He made a gesture that tried to communicate a complete ignorance of agricultural matters. “You’d have to talk to the old man, I suppose.”

[goblinpaladin]

"Well, maybe I'll do that. 'Snot the time right now, I think." Lothar raised his mug again. "To your health, and the lady's." Smiling, the soldier moved on.

[LCP]

Everyone

As the food and drink laid out vanished steadily into the people’s stomachs, the sun sank to the west, touching the treetops with red and gold. Men with torches went the length of the table, renewing the light: as she sat by Ithelus, Illiiya found a small, sticky-faced child looking up at her by the torchlight, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Miss,” he said, “have you seen our pig?”
Illiiya blinked in confusion.
“They let me an’ Clora raise her. She has black spots, and she goes oink,” he said sincerely. “She went away yesterday. Mam said she’d gone to live with the Fair Folk.”
Sitting next to Illiiya, Ithelus found himself looking slowly round towards the bare-boned carcass now resting on the spit.
“Have you seen her miss? Only, our mam said...”

The mother in question appeared on the scene. “Josef!” she cried, shooing the boy away. “Leave the poor...” – she faltered, her eyes drifting inexorably to Illiiya’s inhuman face. “Leave, um, leave the poor lady alone.”

Tearing her eyes away, she looked resolutely at Illiiya’s feet.
“Terribly sorry, ma’am,” she said, practically bundling her child up in her arms and hurrying away. Ribault watched her go with an amused grin, which only seemed to make her scurry away faster.

At last, the food was finished, and the people of Hohlesbruck sat back with full bellies, talking merrily among themselves. From the head of the table, there came a clamour of metal on metal – Mr Faulebrand was beating an iron spoon against a brass bowl, the genteel tinkle of a glass evidently not sufficing for a gathering this size.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he cried, his bumptious voice carrying over the whole assembly. “Mr Ricard Talberg and myself would like to speak – would like to say a little before the festivities continue. I beg you to be silent!”

An obedient hush fell. Nodding graciously to Mr Faulebrand, the young Mr Talberg got to his feet.

“If I could just say a few words,” he began, “I would be a better public speaker.” There was a dutiful murmur of laughter from the villagers. “I consider it my second greatest honour to first have found your village, in my opinion the best and brightest spot in all the Empire,” – there was a cheer – “beaten only by the honour of having been allowed, by the grace of the gods, to return.”
Alexa Faulebrand gave him an adoring look. Mils Verloren found something very interesting to stare at in his empty bowl. Ricard smiled broadly to the villagers.
“I thank you all for coming, and hope I will be seeing much more of you in the days – and years – to come. Gods bless you all.”
There was a sound round of applause. Before it had died away, Mr Faulebrand was back on his feet, with a speech nowhere near as brief. He spoke of the Faulebrands’ long ties to the village, of the honour of the Talberg family, of how love could level all ranks, and perhaps a dozen other things that even Pieter, for all his diplomatic astuteness, found his mind wandering from. His attention was only jerked back to the present by the miller clapping his hands at the end of his rambling monologue.

“So! With the assistance of Jan Torsbeck and his friends – one of the villagers nodded in acknowledgement, a cluster of them seeming to have produced musical instruments practically from nowhere, “we shall have a little dancing. Thank you, all, and enjoy the rest of the evening!”

There was another grateful cheer, and the villagers began to rise from their seats, mingling in babbling circles. They waited for the happy couple to lead the way, the ‘band’ sounding a few experimental notes – smiling, Ricard and Alexa rose from their seats again, holding hands.

They had barely gone three steps when the young woman stumbled – still seated beside Lord Verloren, Sigurd heard her speak.

“I... I don’t feel very well...”

As suddenly and unexpectedly as a debtor’s notice, Alexa fell, crumpling down like a puppet with her strings cut – Ricard caught her, the villagers turning to stare with a stunned silence...

[-Sentinel-]

Sucking in a breath, Pieter rose from his stool and pushed his way through the shocked crowd, regretting he had not seen fit to bring any of his medical supplies.

"Let me have a look at her," he said in a sharp tone of command. "Was a healer in the war."

[LCP]

Easily pushing his way to the front, Pieter approached the girl - she looked very pale, and was breathing shallowly.

"Let me through!" came a reedy voice from behind the assembled people. "Let me through, I'm a doctor."

Doctor Reifennen appeared through the crowd of onlookers. Kneeling next to Ricard, he looked closely at Alexa's face before patting Ricard reassuringly on the shoulder.

"I suspect it is a hysterical attack. The, mm, excitement, too much for her, you know?"

The doctor stood up, gesturing for the onlookers to clear out. "Give her some air, please, give her some air."

He turned to Mr Faulebrand who had come bustling up behind.

"It is my medical opinion that the young lady should be taken to her chamber to recuperate," he said. "A little peace and quiet will be the thing."

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter's eyes flicked briefly to Verloren, trying to see if the listless nobleman took any interest in the events. He would certainly not be one to wish long life and good health to Alexa Faulebrand.

Quit it. You're growing paranoid.

"The excitement," he echoed skeptically at the doctor's words. "I suppose you're the expert. But, um, I'm told there's a wise woman around here. Could she perhaps provide a second opinion?"

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar rose, but not to give medical attention to the girl. He could wrap a sword-gash or splint a broken arm, but a fainting spell or food poisoning -was it? He felt fine...- was beyond his skill. Instead, he scanned the crowd, looking to see if anyone had slipped away quietly in the confusion.

That would be a secret roll, I think.

[LCP]

“A wise woman?” said Doctor Reifennen, in the same tones that someone might use for ‘sewer rat’. He sniffed. “Sir, I am an accredited physician, of the College of Physicians, in Altdorf. I am not in the habit of taking diagnoses from wise women.”

Lord Verloren was looking on with a quiet sort of dismay. Seeming to feel he had dealt with Pieter, Doctor Reifennen had turned to Mr Faulebrand, and was spelling out the arrangements he felt should be made for the miller’s daughter.

Taking in the scene, Lothar checked for the faces of those he knew. There was Mr Waite and Lord Verloren, still seated – Mr Faulebrand with his wife hovering close behind, and the doctor and Ricard – and, watching the whole affair with the detached air of a lazy cat, Monsieur Ribault was still visible, strolling through the crowd to get a better look. No-one seemed to be skulking away, at least that Lothar could see.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter patiently waited until the doctor was done talking to Mr Faulebrand before approaching the merchant discreetly from behind.

"Mr Faulebrand," he whispered in his ear, "when we met in Rosche, you had a fit of some sort. Sounds like something you should mention to the doctor. Some ills run in the blood, you know." He glanced down at the poor girl.

[LCP]

Mr Faulebrand jumped a little – he clearly had been too absorbed in the doctor’s words to notice Pieter coming up behind him.

“That – uh, thank you, Mr Hagen,” he said, distractedly. “A good thought. I will.” He paused. “But that was really very minor, you know. Hale and hearty, you know, hale and hearty.”

His words trailed off, his attention turning back to his daughter. Ricard had lifted her up off the floor, the people making way to let him back to the door of the Faulebrands’ house: scuttling forwards in his wake, Aloysius approached the doctor again.

“Doctor Reifennen, I wonder if I could prevail on you to look after her?” he asked. “Probably just nerves, to be sure, but it would ease my mind greatly if I knew there a, ah, a physician to see to her welfare.” Taking the taller man’s elbow, he began to propel him along after Ricard and his daughter, talking all the while. “Of course, I can pay whatever rates you feel are appropriate, whatever rates you think proper – no expense too small, you understand...”

Doctor Reifennen allowed himself to be borne away, nodding faintly as the short merchant’s stream of words washed over him. Lord Verloren made to stand, making his apologies to Sigurd.

“I... think I may return home,” said the lord to his neighbour, shrugging on his thick coat. “It seems our hosts are retiring... and I am not one for dancing. Please do call by, Mr Waite, if you wish to further your historical enquiries.”

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya paled at the sudden clamor, her mind immediately leaping the worst of possible scenarios. Dark magic and chaos-borne plagues... murder and conspiracy. So many dark thoughts flooded into her head that she could scarcely remember them all.

It's happening. It's happening already.

Calm down Illiiya, or you'll be fainting right alongside her.

The disembodied voice in her head was far more reasonable-seeming than a disembodied voice in her head had a right to be. Panic and hysterics came far to easily to her. That would not solve a thing. She watched Pieter and the doctor discussing things with nervous apprehension, her eyes darting about in paranoia as if something horrible was lurking about waiting to strike.

Ith... She muttered, tugging lightly on Ithelus' sleeve, I don't know if she should be left alone with just that doctor.

[Exeson]

As the night wore on Ithelus lit up his pipe and amused himself with trying to blow smoke rings during the monotenous speech. When the poor girl collapsed he shot a lazy eye in her direction, 'things just keep getting more interesting'.

In response to Illiiya's pleadings he turned to her, 'don't you trust him?..... Have you, ugh, seen anything?'. His hushed tone makes it obvious he may not be referring to things that an ordinary person can see.

[-Sentinel-]

Unable to get rid of a nagging suspicion, Pieter walked over to Alexa Faulebrand's seat. He gave a long look at her half-finished plate of food and, after a moment of thought, innocently laid it on the ground.

"Hey, dog," he called Indigo. "You still hungry?"

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

During the young Talberg's speech, Sigurd leans discretely in to the Lord and says in a low but crisp voice, "Transparent poppycock."

Once the bride faints and the Lord excuses himself, Sigurd thanks him quickly and promises to call. On his feet, he doesn't push his way to the center of the ring around Alexa, but he does meander nearby to observe the proceedings.

He frowns deeply when Reifennen's diagnosis secures him time alone with Miss Faulebrand. But then he sees someone speaking to his dog.

* * * *

Indigo looks at the bowl Pieter puts before her and moves up sniffing it. She doesn't immediately set to, but then, she's been fed scraps all around the table for the past hour or more.

Sigurd's cane falls between he muzzle and the dish, and the dog looks up with a start.

Sigurd stares at Pieter meaningfully. "You rather wouldn't like her when her stomach is upset, Mister Hagen. She becomes intensely grouchy. She's been known to bite."

He glances at the dish. "Still, I applaud your detecting. I suspect Mother Yilese knows a thing or three about herbs. If there's anyone who might be able to check that food, it's her."

Mrrrr.... Indigo slinks away from the denied bowl, in search of other prizes.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter blinked in mock innocence.

"What are you talking about, Mr Waite?" he asked with a lopsided smile. "No sense in wasting perfectly good food, is there?"

He strolled away, casually whistling the tune of a Marienburg drinking song, but left the dish on the ground in case another dog or pig volunteered to have a taste. And he tried to remember who, besides Mr Talberg, was sitting near Alexa during the feast.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

As Pieter turns and strolls away, Sigurd can't help but to grin to himself. I kind of like that kid.

Taking a napkin from the table, he extracts a lump of meat from the dish and wraps it up, tucking it into his inner coat pocket. He too leaves the dish on the ground for other animals to experiment with, though he glances around first to make sure the elf's cat isn't first in line. I'shara, I'shara, I'shara. I'shari, I'shari, I'shari...

He'll linger a bit at the dancing, and if nothing else exciting is happening, within a half hour he'll head to the Heartless Man to see out local storytellers.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

No... Illiiya confessed to Ithelus, wringing her hands together in apprehensively, But I do not like coincidences. Maybe it would be best if we just left. This is not our concern.

And if it IS serious... It is only a matter of time before they start looking for sorcerers. She thought to herself. It was a decent lie, but in truth it was fear of the horrors of Delberz following her that made her long to leave this place, far and fast.

[LCP]

“Alors, ma’moiselle, you cannot leave!” came a voice from behind them. Both Ithelus and Illiiya whirled round in surprise – they had not heard Monsieur Ribault approach. The man moved as quietly as a cat. “Two elves in the village. It is probably the most exciting thing to happen to these poor people since the time of their grandfathers, non?”

He grinned with good humour, but his smiling eyes turned slowly towards the Faulebrand residence as the door shut behind Alexa and her family.

“Death of my life,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so only the elves could hear. “Les riches, they are all the same, oui? On the outside, all pretences most happy... when underneath, something, it is rotten.”

His eyes were fixed on the closed door with a singular intensity. There was a hungry glitter in them that Illiiya did not entirely like: as he stared, he hummed a simple little folk tune under his breath.

“Maldred s’en va t’en guerre,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine...”

He tore his gaze away, and grinned his wolfish grin again. Tipping his hat to the pair of them, he bobbed his head in a quick bow and raised his voice back to its previous volume.

“Monsieur, ma’moiselle, I bid you good night. You will enjoy the dancing, oui?” Stepping back, he vanished into the crowded shadows. The Hohlesbruckers were evidently too level-headed by far to be upset by a little fainting: from the direction of the village square, the players were striking up a tune. The night was surprisingly warm in the light of the torches, and the young men and women of the village were gravitating swiftly and surely towards the sound of music. Over their babbling, Ithelus thought he heard the receding voice of the Breton, singing to himself with a coarse kind of merriment as he walked away.

“Maldred s’en va t’en guerre,
Ne sait qu’en reviendra!”


~

The dancing stretched on well past the Faulebrands’ dramatic exit – eventually, people began to filter away, Sigurd watching with quiet amusement as one or two young couples disappeared into the dark. For all that it was a favourable evening, it was beginning to grow cold, and those who stuck it out – particularly the men – were gravitating towards the door of the Heartless Man. Indigo had returned to his side, sitting faithfully at the merchant’s heel.

Inside, there was a roaring fire in the hearth, and Wulli was doing a busy trade. Dionyse Ribault was sitting alone in one corner, his boots up on the table and his hat pulled down over his eyes. The older men of the village were clustered around the rough oaken bar, holding forth to a fair-sized captive audience as Wulli went about his work.

“That thur Aloysius Faulebrand been givin’ his daughter airs, I say,” opined one grey-bearded villager. “Ain’t no proper Hohlesbruck girl ‘d go faintin’ at a feast out o’ nerves.”
“He can give her all the airs he likes, if he’ll give us another feast,” replied another man, merrily. There was a laughing murmur of assent.

"Tell us a story, Wilbur!" came a younger voice, addressing the greybeard who had spoke first - it seemed not all the children had yet gone to sleep. "Tell us the one about Mother Yilese and the man from Marienburg!"

OOC: If you want to join the men in the inn, please feel free to strike up conversation: I considered writing your entrance, but seeing as so far I only know for sure that one person is intending to enter, I thought that would be overstepping the line a bit on my part.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd leaves Indigo outside for the time being and settles in quietly with his second ale of the evening to hear the story. He has great interest in that particular tale.

[-Sentinel-]

At the feast

Standing just out of earshot, Pieter suspiciously watched the smirking Ribault as he bid good night to the Elves. His uneasy feeling grew when he remembered that he had dropped his tipsy act the moment Alexa collapsed. Had Ribault noticed? He seemed like the kind of man who would. Unless he was the kind of man who would not fall for it in the first place.

The music took the initiate's mind off the evening's troubling events. He quickly downed another ale, just enough to wash away his worries, and went in search of someone who would share a dance with him.

Is Ellie (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=10752692&postcount=84) at the feast? If she's there and does not have a partner (and if there doesn't seem to be a surly-looking father or brother hovering about), Pieter will invite her to dance. He will only act casual and friendly, not seductive. Tell me if there's a Fel test required.

Edit: Questions addressed in the OOC thread.

He quickly spotted the gossipy young woman he had met earlier, and it seemed she was all alone. His strong sense of duty urging him to remedy this, Pieter walked over to her, put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a pleasant smile.

"Ellie, is it? Tell me, how do you people dance in these parts?" he inquired with just the right amount of apologetic curiosity. "I'm a man of the city, y'know..."


[hr]

After the feast

Pieter would gladly have danced until dawn, but country people went to bed early and the initiate found himself back at the Heartless Man sooner than he had planned. Pleased to see that the night's entertainment was not over, he slumped into a chair in the corner opposite to Ribault, where he could keep an eye on him without looking like it. His ears perked up with interest when the child asked for a story, and he felt his lips stretch into a smile.

He loved stories. Even those that were true.

[LCP]

At the Feast

Ellie seemed more than flattered by Pieter’s attention, and gladly took his hand. Pieter took to the villager’s dancing rather well, and Ellie held onto him rather longer than he expected – as he finally broke away, he noticed a scrawny young lad of the village glowering at him as he walked away. If Ellie noticed him, however, she paid him no heed.

[hr]

After the Feast

Seemingly very gratified to have an appreciative audience, the old man launched into the tale.

“Twenty winters ago,” began the old man, “there was a Marienburg merchant used to pass through these parts, name of Balthus. One day, old Balthus came to the village in a terrible fluster, and asked the way to Mother Yilese’s cottage – even back then, people knew her, here and in the villages roundabout, and some say she ain’t aged a day all the time between.”

“Anyway, soon as he found the way, Balthus came runnin’ to her door. ‘Madam Yilese’, he said, ‘cos he were a city man and right fancy in his way of speakin’, ‘I’ve come to you ‘cos I’m out of my mind with uncertainty. I fear my wife’s bein’ unfaithful, but I don’t know how to be sure, for she’s cleverer than me.’”

“So old Balthus begged Mother Yilese to work a charm for him, so he could tell for sure one way or t’other. Well, she looked long an’ ard at him, the way she does” – some of the village people chuckled – “but then she said to him, ‘bring me a lock of your wife’s hair, and I’ll see what I can do.’”

“Balthus were passing through on business, so it was ‘bout a month ‘fore he was back in Hohlesbruck. He came back though, an’ he had a lock of his wife’s hair with him, what he’d taken while she was asleep. Mother Yilese took it, and made a draught to give to him.”

“’Give this to your wife,’ she said, ‘and watch your wife closely. If you see her hair change colour, even a little, you’ll know she’s been untrue.’”

“So Balthus went away again, and when he came back he was fair mad with despair.”

“’It’s true!’ he cried. ‘Adulteress! I gave her the draught, and her hair, it’s turned black as a crow.’ He was so distressed, he blamed old Mother – said what she’d done was witchcraft, that she was tryin’ to undo him with her sorcery.”

“’Mister Balthus’, Mother Yilese says, ‘I ain’t done no magic.’”
“’The devil you have!’ cries Balthus. ‘You gave me that potion, and you mean to drive me mad.’ But she just shook her head.”
“’What I gave you was water,’ she says. ‘How long’ve you been married, Mister Balthus?’”
“’Twenty-nine years,’ he says, all taken aback. ‘Well,’ says Mother, takin’ out the lock of hair he’d brought her and holdin' it up to his eyes, ‘if your wife’s only dyein’ her grey hairs now, it don’t take a wizard to see it ain’t for your benefit!’”

The storyteller slapped his knee, and the inn broke out in a hubbub of laughter – the easy, relaxed laughter of a punchline that many of them had evidently heard before.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar, tucked into a corner table with a mug of warmed wine in hand, laughed along with the rest of them. Raising his drink, he called across to the inkeeper: "Here, Wulli, don't forget you owe a tale, too."

[LCP]

“Mister Fischer! You been enjoying the feast?” called Wulli merrily. He turned to the village men at the bar. “Mister Fischer wanted to hear the story of how this place got its name.”
“Well, that’s a story worth the hearin’,” said one of them.
“It was the first dozen times we heard it,” said another, knocking back his ale.
“Ah, hold yer gob, Dietrich,” said Wulli’s wife, bustling out from behind the bar. “We got guests, and they ain’t heard it.”

Wulli finished clearing the bar, then handed over to his wife, taking a seat by the fireplace. The dancing fire cast a flickering shadow against the wall as the innkeeper pulled his chair closer to it.

“This inn’s been here a long time,” he said. “I was taught where the name comes from by my father, like he was told by his. It’s an old folk tale in these parts.”

It was clearly a folk tale that many of the villagers liked. A small audience was gathering – Ellie had come inside, and sat down next to Pieter, listening intently to Wulli’s words.

“Back in the time of Sigmar, there was a great chieftain in these woods. They called him Black Gaerovald after the colour of his banner, and there was no warrior as could best him from here to the sea. When Sigmar united the tribes, Gaerovald swore fealty, and fought at his side.”

“When the Old Night rose in the south” – Wulli made the sign of the hammer over his chest, many of the older men and children doing the same – “Sigmar rode to meet it, and Black Gaerovald rode with his armies. He took his warriors with him, and left his wife and brother behind.”

“Those were dark times, when the dead would not rest easy in their graves. Gaerovald sent messengers home as he marched south, but none of them could escape from the Great Necromancer’s shadow. Gaerovald’s brother, who was a craven, covetous man, saw the fear in his sister-in-law’s eyes, and saw there his own opportunity. He worked at her fears until she gave her husband up for dead, and when her tears had dried, he wormed his way into his brother’s old bed.”

“But Black Gaerovald had not died, and at the end of that bloody war, Sigmar struck down his enemy, and the armies of the dead fell to bones and ash. The chieftain rode home to find his wife, who he loved more than anything in the whole blessed world, in the arms of his weasel brother, who had been too cowardly or too cunning to come with him and fight at his side. He flew into a terrible rage, laying about himself with that same sword as had cut down the walking dead at Sigmar’s side. When he came out of it, it was too late to turn back what he’d done. The love of his life lay dead at his feet, aye, and his brother, his own flesh and blood for all that he had been no virtuous man. Mad with grief, he fled into the woods all alone.”

The fire was burning low, lighting Wulli’s lined face from beneath as his voice became hushed and reverent.

“Gaerovald hid himself in the wild woods for three days, wandering like a lunatic. On the third day, when he couldn’t cry no more tears, they say he took up his sword again, and cut out his own heart, so that he mightn’t feel the pain of it any more. But before he did it, he wailed to the heavens, crying out that he gave his soul to any god who would forgive what he’d done – and the Ruinous Powers heard him.”

“He took that blade to his chest, the self-same sword that had cut through the walking dead at Sigmar’s side and shed the blood of his wife and brother, and he cut out his heart – but he didn’t die. His wish had been granted, and he walked the earth like the monsters he had fought, feelin’ no pain, no grief, no sorrow – but no love, no joy, nor happiness, nothin’ but the will of his master. He returned to his tribe, and his warriors were too a-feared to disobey his commands – he became the terror of the Middenland, the Heartless Man who marauded up and down the land in the name of his new god, leavin’ nothin’ but ruin and destruction behind to spread the suffering that had created him.”

“At last, the people united against him, but though they might slay his followers, no man could slay the warlord, for you can’t kill a man who’s already murdered himself. At their wit’s end, they went to the oldest wise woman of the Teutogens, and she told ‘em – that the only way to kill the Heartless Man was with his own sword, the sword that had already slain the dead, and was steeped in the blood of Gaerovald and his kin.”

“They ran him to ground not far from here, and there they broke the last of his followers. Black Gaerovald fought to the last, and they say he killed a hundred men that day before they brought him down. It took six of the strongest warriors to pin him to the ground, while the seventh tore the sword from his hand and cut him in pieces with his own cursed blade.”

“The chiefs of the Teutogens insisted that he be given a proper burial, out of respect for the man he’d been, afore Chaos swallowed him up. They raised a barrow over the spot where he died, and laid him to rest with his sword by his side, for they said the blade had seen too much evil for another man to wield.”

“Accordin’ to the legend, the barrow’s in the woods round here, overgrown and forgotten – none of them ancient folk would live near it, and they left the trees to grow over it. They say that when the Chaos Moon is full, Black Gaerovald stalks the forest paths, with his bloody sword in hand – for he can’t rest while there’s love and happiness among the living. That was his pact with the Powers – relief from his own misery, if he’d help drag the rest of the world down into that pit of despair he’d crawled out of.”

Leaning towards the nearest enraptured child, Wulli lowered his voice to a terrifying whisper.

“Even now, the northern woods are a fearful place, fit only for beastmen to lurk in. Brave men won’t tread there after nightfall, and those that do..."

Wulli drew his finger slowly across his throat.

"Well, you can’t expect no pity from a heartless man.”

The little child made himself as small as he could, eyes as wide as saucers. Wulli held his gaze for a long moment – then broke off, with a sudden, laughing grin. The inn laughed with him.

“That’s the story as they tell it, Mister Fischer. The Heartless Man’s been the name of the inn in Hohlesbruck since anyone can remember, and there’s your reason why.” He raised a welcoming hand towards the soldier. “We’ve told you our tale – now you’ve got to tell us yours!”

[-Sentinel-]

At the feast

Pieter pretended not to notice the lad glaring at him. A jealous peasant boy was nowhere near the scariest thing he had faced recently. Still, it was awfully early to be making enemies.

[hr]

After the feast

The initiate listened to both tales intently, taking his eyes off Wulli only to flash Ellie a quick grin. The first tale made him somewhat curious: many villages were said to shelter hedge witches, fearing them but allowing them to stay so long as they made themselves useful. Of course, for every actual witch, there were dozens of crazy old women without supernatural powers whatsoever. The second tale was decidedly a myth, like almost all stories from the time of Sigmar, but just as interesting as the first.

"I'll have a tale of my own, when Mr Fischer is done," Pieter offered.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd cleans his pipe as he listens to the tale with interest. He laughs along with the others at the end. Deciding not to grill the man with questions just yet, he settles in for Lothar's story - but he makes sure he'll recognize the storyteller by face and dress later.

OOC:

if we get to a point where Sigurd can sit next to the storyteller and chat, he'll do so. If not ignore this:

Once he sits at the man's table he'll compliment the story and buy a round for the table. He says he's heard stories from some of the finest tellers in this part of the Empire, and this one was particularly memorable. "But I've heard say there are many barrows around Hohlesbruck, how do you know which is the one where the Heartless Man was buried?"

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya gave an uncertain look to the idea that she should stay, but so long as her companions chose to, she would as well. She sat somewhere peacefully to watch the dancing, the barest flicker of a smile crossing her face when she saw Pieter take to it with relish. So often lately his cheer had seemed forced, as if it were stretched too tightly over him with spots left bare. She was glad he seemed content, if for a while.

She lurked beside Ithelus for the remainder of the evening, until the bulk of the revelers had sifted off into the night or journeyed off to listen to tales told around the hearth fire. Illiiya followed along with Lothar and Pieter, though she seemed less willing to bring notice on herself... simply sitting in the back quietly and listening to the tales.

OOC Little Illiiya isn't really the sort to like attention, so she'll kinda lurk in the back (near Ithelus if he's a mind) and just listen to the stories, lost in thought. If anyone does try to speak to her they'll likely startle her.

[LCP]

As Lothar’s seat became centre stage, the Nordlander did not disappoint – he narrated his tale with grisly aplomb, and it did indeed have trolls (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=8797890&postcount=1301) in it.

When Mr Fischer had finished, Sigurd made his way over to where Wulli had been sat listening. The merchant made himself very welcome by getting in a round for the table – as he took his seat, Illiiya noticed that the dark-haired Breton had excused himself at some time during Lothar’s tale, and had vanished from the common hall.

Over at the innkeeper’s table, Sigurd’s attention still seemed to be on the tale of Black Gaerovald.


"I've heard say there are many barrows around Hohlesbruck. How do you know which is the one where the Heartless Man was buried?"

“Oh, no one does, sir,” said Wulli. “It’s only an old legend, and everyone knows ‘tis bad luck to go pokin’ around the mounds.” He paused. “I think the gentleman from Nuln might’ve been tryin’ to find it, but the beastmen got to him first.” The innkeeper took a swig of his own ale. “Fancy city scholar like ‘im, didn’t have no time for ghost stories.”

The door creaked, and Indigo crept back inside. Scurrying over to her master, the big wolfhound began nuzzling his shin rather insistently.

OOC: Getting a round in sets Sigurd back twelve pfennigs. If any of you have plans that stretch as far as bedtime for your characters, please do post 'em up - no winged nightmares are going to come crashing through the windows just yet.

[-Sentinel-]

“I have a tale too,” Pieter put in. “A classic in the cities. The tale of the Count's new clothes.”

He cleared his throat and made sure he had everyone's attention.

“Elector Count Kaspar of Wissenland was an oaf of staggering vanity, who would squander his honest people's taxes on works of art for his palace in Nuln, lavish parties for the nobility, and the attentions of expensive courtesans. But most of all, he was a man who loved to dress well. He wasn't attractive, far from it, yet he believed that mantles of Cathayan silk and ermine capes were enough all by themselves to make him handsome as a god. He would seek out the very best tailors in the Empire and pay them kingly sums to make for him the most extravagant clothes ever seen. And every time the Count flaunted his latest clothes, a new fashion sprang among the local nobility, who sought their lord's favour by imitating him. This amused old Kaspar, for his pride swelled at how his tastes of the moment influenced his fellow nobles. But part of him also dreamed of one day wearing something that none of his lickspittles could ever afford, and so remind them that he still was above them.”

“There came a lean year, when all the common folks of Nuln starved. But would old Count Kaspar lower their taxes to ease their suffering? Of course not. He went on flaunting his wealth and donning the best clothes money could buy. That year, a young stranger by the name of Johann came into the city, and though he dressed like a vagabond, he bore a writ proclaiming him to be a wizard of the mysterious Grey Order... a master of illusion and deception. The young man sought an audience with the Count and made him an offer the vain old man couldn't possibly decline: for a thousand crowns, he would make him a unique set of clothing woven from the very strands of shadow magic... something no one but a wizard could make, and no one but a mighty lord could own. These clothes, Johann promised, would appear breathtakingly beautiful to the wise and the clever... but would be invisible to fools who could not appreciate their beauty. The Count was intrigued yet dubious, and demanded that the young man demonstrate that he was truly a wizard. Johann awed the entire court of Nuln with his spells of illusion, and Kaspar hired him on the spot.”

“And so the young man went to work in a workshop with a locked door and no windows. He toiled and toiled for several days, poking his head out only to ask for exotic tools and ingredients such as a needle carved from a unicorn's horn and a vial of dew collected from a spider's web. And meanwhile an excited rumor went on, at court and in the streets, about Count Kaspar's clothes that only the wise would ever see. Finally, Johann summoned his vain employer and had him stand still while he put the new clothes on him. But the Count was dismayed, for he could not see them! Was he a fool? He could certainly not allow it to show! So, when presented with a huge mirror, he exclaimed: 'Why, young man, never have I worn anything half so exquisite!' He proudly paraded in front of his wife, his advisors, his fellow nobles and his valets to hear what they would say... but though none could see the clothes, all meekly agreed that they were beautiful indeed.”

“The next day was Marktag, and like every Marktag, Count Kaspar flaunted his latest clothes in the crowded marketplace. By now everyone in Nuln had heard of the Count's enchanted clothes, and when they saw their lord, all hailed his garb as the work of the finest tailor the Empire had ever known: 'Look at this superb mantle! What lovely colors! How these pants suit him!'”

“Until a little girl shouted, loud enough for all to hear: 'But mom, the Count is naked!' Her mother, of course, she tried to shush her... but another cry went up from an old beggar who had no fear of passing for a fool: 'It's true, I can't see his clothes either!' More and more people took up the cry, until Kaspar himself understood that the young wizard had tricked him. Naked and embarrassed, he kept walking with his head up, holding on to whatever dignity he had left... and promised himself that his next garment would be the con man's flayed skin.”

“But by now, Johann, whose forged magic licence, skillful parlor tricks and glib tongue had truly shown what a fool Kaspar was, had already fled the palace with his pay. He distributed it to the poor people of Nuln to compensate for the tax money their lord had wasted on clothes, and kept but a tenth of it for himself.”

“There is another tale about how Johann managed to collect the bounty Count Kaspar put on his head, but that's for another night.”


OOC:

[Illiiya] sat somewhere peacefully to watch the dancing, the barest flicker of a smile crossing her face when she saw Pieter take to it with relish. So often lately his cheer had seemed forced, as if it were stretched too tightly over him with spots left bare. She was glad he seemed content, if for a while.
D'awww, she's sweet. :smallredface:

[Exeson]

During the feast

Ithelus waves away Illiiya's request to leave, 'As the breton says, it'll be nice to stay for a while. Let's not run away just yet because of one fainting.'

In the Heatrless Man

Ithelus listens to the stories being banded about. Perhaps he should share one of his own with these people, a new one to add to their repertoire. Listening to Pieter's tale he chuckles, sure that he has heard the tale a few times before, but with different names. He was still not sure about the traveling priest, the man revered Ranald in a very different light to Ithelus. Pieter seemed to believe that the god was truly a savior of the people, where as Ithelus held Ranald in regard only as a name to curse with every word under the sun when that guard hound was chasing you through the estate gardens....

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

As Pieter begins his story, Sigurd makes his way over to Wulli and pays for a round of drinks, smiling at the familiar tale the younger man was telling with new flourishes. Boy's got quite a tongue on him.


I think the gentleman from Nuln might’ve been tryin’ to find it, but the beastmen got to him first. Fancy city scholar like ‘im, didn’t have no time for ghost stories.

"Ah, Mister Waldemarr," he says, indicating he's heard the tale of the scholar. "Is that what he was looking for?" He takes a drink. "And if he had listened to the stories, what advice might they have given him to keep himself alive?"

He looks at Wulli over the rim of his mug. "Besides don't go, I mean. Every ghost has a weakness, it's no good ghost story without..."

When Indigo comes in and begins nuzzling his leg he'll pointedly ignore her for a moment to let the man answer. If she keeps it up he'll say, "Sit. I'll feed you again soon."

[LCP]

“I always heard it from my mam that Black Gaerovald couldn’t chase you ‘cross the Taalsbruck,” opined one of their neighbours, butting in on the conversation. “A ghost can’t cross runnin’ water. ‘Tis a well-known fact.”
“No, no, that’s not the way of it,” said another, shaking his head. “The way it is, is he hates the sign of Sigmar, for remindin’ him what he was. Mister Waldemarr ought’ve taken a priest with him.”
“I heard it were Shallya,” chimed in a third. “Can’t stand his wound to be healed.”

Shaking his head, Wulli waved for them to be quiet.

“Ghost stories or not, what Mister Waldemarr needed was a troop of soldiers,” said Wulli. “It were the beastmen that done him in, sir, and they were a fearsome bunch. They say it was a troop o’ the Knights Panther what drove ‘em out durin’ the War, but if there were any survivors on our side, they didn’t come through Hohlesbruck, sir.”

A man sitting to Wulli’s left – a big fellow, with a tangled brown beard that reached down past his collarbone – nodded gravely.
“My father told me that they had one of their shrines up in the northern woods,” he said, in a rich, deep voice. “If those creatures get it into their horned heads that they’re defendin’ a holy place o’ theirs, they’ll fight to the death. Wouldn’t surprise me if they dragged the Graf’s knights down with ‘em.” He took a deep draught from his drink. “If poor Mister Waldemarr stumbled across ‘em on his own, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

[Exeson]

Ithelus chuckles slightly, 'Beastmen are not too bad to deal with as long as you aren't overrun.' He nods his head to Lothar, 'Ask the soldier, there are more dangerous things out there than beastmen. The ruinous powers are dangerous in the heart and the head, should you be so lucky as to arrive upon a form that has a throat to slit.'

He smiles slightly with his eyes not entirely focused, 'all this talk reminds me of the time we got ambushed by those foul creatures...' He trails off as he perhaps realises that people might actually be listening to him.

[LCP]

The men around the table seemed surprised to see the elf talking to them: more than one of them had a wary look in his eye. Wulli, however, was not about to slight a guest.

"Ambushed, sir? Not round here, I hope."

[Exeson]

Ithelus looks slightly surprised by being referred to as 'sir'. 'Oh, no not here, not recently, it was around a month or two ago, wasn't it Lothar?' He says, turning to the soldier for clarification, 'We were guarding a shipment of stone for the Cathedral they were building in Delbrez. It seemed like a fairly easy job but we were almost there when we got jumped by a band of the creatures. Managed to kill them all, but it definitely didn't do our nerves any good...'

He frowns slightly, 'I'm sure someone else could tell the story better, although Raffy ans Seth aren't around anymore....' He again trails off into an awkward silence.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya shied away as attention turned to Ithelus, who was sitting right beside her. She moved awkwardly from the center of attention, slipping off to the edge of the assembled crowd. Then she heard one thing that caused her to stop dead.

'I'm sure someone else could tell the story better, although Raffy and Seth aren't around anymore....'

It's your fault.

No... She murmured aloud, N-no. I couldn't-

Save me? Save anyone?

I... I did. Everyone else is still-

For now. Soon, you'll fail them too.

Illiiya stumbled back a bit, searching for a seat outside the gathering of people around the hearth but finding only the hard wooden floor under her. She fell to her seat upon it, her face in her hands... and she began to cry.

[-Sentinel-]

Who's Seth? Pieter nearly asked. He decided to postpone the question.

Then Illiiya stumbled and fell, and Pieter was on his feet and leaning over her almost without realising it. "Maybe she drank a bit much," he mumbled to no one in particular. "Alcohol isn't good for Elves." He motioned the crowd to give him room, put a gentle hand on the Elven girl's shoulder and turned to Ithelus and Lothar for support, his brow creasing with worry.

"Illiiya. What's wrong?"

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Flinching at the sudden contact, Illiiya looked up at Pieter in a mix of sadness and embarrassment at her inability to control herself. She gave a soft sniffle and chided herself for ruining what was otherwise a well-deserved night of rest and relaxation.

I... I'm all right. She muttered to Pieter softly, I think I should just... go lie down for a while.

[goblinpaladin]

"Ah, that ambush- aye, it were goatmen, out on the Delberz road. None of 'em got out, though- this squire with us, Seth, he rode the last one down, pinnin' it to a tree. We come up that way, and didn't have a wink of changelings on the road."

"Now, you want really scary beasties, why, back when I was in the 'Fishes' we fought fish-beastmen. Come up from the waves they do, rusted pikes and bits of old boats for clubs." The soldier raised a hand well above his head. "Great big beasts they are, taller'n a man by half, an' all scales and claws..."

Feel free to move things along. Lothar will alternate between telling tall tales and checking on Illiiya, but the former for certain can be kept off-screen.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd nodded along at the various charms offered to best the ghost.


Ghost stories or not, what Mister Waldemarr needed was a troop of soldiers. It were the beastmen that done him in, sir, and they were a fearsome bunch. They say it was a troop o’ the Knights Panther what drove ‘em out durin’ the War, but if there were any survivors on our side, they didn’t come through Hohlesbruck, sir.

Sigurd tilted his head. "Are you saying the knights rode into the forest, and both they and the beastmen vanished?"


My father told me that they had one of their shrines up in the northern woods. If those creatures get it into their horned heads that they’re defendin’ a holy place o’ theirs, they’ll fight to the death. Wouldn’t surprise me if they dragged the Graf’s knights down with ‘em. If poor Mister Waldemarr stumbled across ‘em on his own, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

"How did your father come to hear that?" Sigurd asked. "What I mean is, for him to know it's there, someone must have seen it and lived. Someone around here?"

Once the man answers Sigurd looks down at his sulking dog. "If you fellows will be talking for a bit, I'd love to hear more--but right now I should take care of this one. Excuse me, please."

He makes his way to the door, chiding softly, "Right then, Indi, the things I do for you..."

LCP only:

After making a show of playing with Indigo outside and giving her a few morsels of food, Sigurd looks to see that he is not being watched or followed. If not he heads toward the butcher's home.

He walks among the party-goers easily enough, but doesn't stop to make small talk.

He'll walk a circuit of the and scope out any doors, windows, and so forth, as well as a likely place to hide nearby if he is so inclined.

((Based on the info you give me I will decide whether to knock on the door or not.))

[LCP]

Sigurd tilted his head. "Are you saying the knights rode into the forest, and both they and the beastmen vanished?"

“I reckon that’s about the size of it,” said one of the men. He looked around their circle, but none of the others seemed too sure. “It were a confusing time, the War, sir. You pick up bits an’ pieces, here and there. We heard there was a troop of knights that set out from Fassberg, south-west o’ here, and Heinrich the pedlar said he’d seen them on the forest road. One thing’s for sure, they never made the Rosche road – and none of us’ve seen hide nor hair of the beastmen since they passed through these parts.”

The other men nodded assent.
“Hans the woodsman said he heard sounds of a battle, too.”
“Aye, if that weren’t in his own head.”

“It adds up right enough, sir,” said Wulli. “Maybe you ain’t from round these parts, but the Knights Panther, they take it on themselves to root those creatures out. Have done for years, well before the War. It’s all part of the Graf’s campaign against the beastherds.”


"How did your father come to hear that?" Sigurd asked. "What I mean is, for him to know it's there, someone must have seen it and lived. Someone around here?"

“I don’t rightly know,” said the man addressed, scratching his head. “Heard it from his father, maybe. It’s the kind o’ knowledge as gets passed on. Ain’t many as want to go discoverin’ it for themselves.” He shrugged. “Sorry, mister.”

Having listened attentively to their answers, Sigurd rose to see to his dog. As the door closed behind him, Wulli’s ears pricked up at his wife’s call: the innkeeper bustled away, leaving the circle of men around the fire to their own devices.

The evening stretched on into night, parents ushering their children away as more of the village men shared the old stories of the Drakwald and beyond. Tomas Wanderer and the Girl in the Glass, tales that Lothar had listened to by his mother’s fireside and Pieter had heard recounted in grimy taverns. For the young man of Nuln, there were a good number he had not heard before. An unnerving number of them seemed to return to the theme of the beastmen that lurked in the deep woods: Pieter was not used to hearing folk tales that ended so frequently with the protagonist being devoured.

The logs in the fireplace burned down to cinders, and slowly but surely even the more persistent villagers drifted back in the direction of their homes. There was a short period of steadily tromping footsteps as the lingerers tipped over into leaving: finally, the Heartless Man seemed to settle down for the night, only Wulli and his lodgers remaining. Monsieur Ribault was still nowhere to be seen, unless he had re-entered the inn at some time during the evening.

The private rooms were simple but clean enough. Situated on the upstairs floor, they had low,hefty beams that forced Lothar and Pieter to stoop when they stood. The timbers were aged but in good repair, evidently having been replaced more than once in the tavern’s history. The whole place had the air of being far older than the sum of its parts, with not a straight line in it. Wulli’s better half had clearly been preparing their rooms ahead of them, the old timber surfaces dusted and swept: Ithelus and Illiiya noticed that a pair of iron horseshoes had been hung over their doors.

The beds were warm, and after their travels with Mr Faulebrand, that was all that mattered. Hohlesbruck slept, and for now at least, four weary travellers slept with it.

OOC:
For those in the group with a folkloric bent:

Tomas Wanderer (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v700/LordChilipepa/TomasWanderer.jpg?t=1303690145).

The Girl in Glass
A legend told throughout the Empire and Kislev, of a beautiful maiden who will save the world from Chaos if she can only be freed from her glass prison. Some stories say she is the Goddess Shallya, others that she is the vampire Genevieve Dieudonne. The most famous version is the one popularised by Anton Denisovich’s opera of the same name: in this incarnation of the tale, the girl is the Goddess of Purity, buried in a glass coffin beneath the city of Praag, and can only be freed by a kiss from a cursed Chaos warrior. He eventually does so out of his love for her, despite knowing she will destroy him when she is freed. The opera ends in the obliteration of the forces of Chaos and the salvation of Praag, which has made it exceedingly popular in these dark times.

Either Pieter or Sigurd (if it comes up later) can test on their Academic Knowledges (both History and Theology are relevant in a sideways kind of way) to know the story of the Girl in Glass, at +10 to the test – if for any reason it matters to you.

Any of you can also take a Common Knowledge (The Empire) test at +20 to know that Graf Boris Todbringer of the Middenland has been persecuting a sustained military campaign against the beastman tribes of the Drakwald since well before Archaon's invasion, having lost one of his own eyes in battle with the beastlord Khazrak, and that the Knights Panther both provide the Graf's personal bodyguard and serve at the forefront of his campaign: this is what Wulli is referring to.

[hr]

Sigurd Only

Indigo stuck close to Sigurd’s heels as he stepped out into the brisk night air. The moons were sailing high in the sky tonight, although some rags of cloud were moving in from the north to mask their light. Following Indigo’s lead, Sigurd turned into the centre of the village square, Herr Flycher the butcher’s hardly forty paces to his left. The party was definitively dispersed by now, most of the trappings of the banquet already cleared away – aside from the lights and voices from within the Heartless Man, he had the sleeping village to himself.

Herr Flycher’s was a funny-looking building: what had perhaps once been a cottage like its neighbours had been enlarged with wooden walls, a bent-backed roof and a tall, snaking chimney teetering over the whole. Unlike Mr Faulebrand’s grand residence, the butcher’s showed no signs of wealth – many of its timbers were buckled and twisted with age, giving the building a peculiar air of neglect. The front door had once been painted green, but the weather had seen to that, and someone had evidently decided it was easier to strip the last streaks of colour than to repaint it.

There was a little yard around the back, backing onto the neighbouring fields: it had a squat back door of its own, a couple of narrow, latticed windows piercing the building’s walls at the ground floor. There were windows also in the steeply-sloped roof, betraying the existence of a second floor. In a single one of those upper windows, there was a steady gleam of candlelight: someone inside was still awake.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:


After noting the various entrances, Sigurd kneels down and scratches Indigo's ear, then whispers:

"I'm going to play nice with him. See if you can sniff out anything unusual? Don't be too obvious about it."

He scratches her chin too and then rises to peek in a window.

After a discrete visual survey of the place he'll go knock on the door.

Once it opens, he'll step partly inside, rubbing himself to indicate how cold it is out. This will make it hard to slam the door on him and also provide Indigo the chance to trot inside next to him.

If the butcher is the one who answers, he'll inquire after the doctor. If it's the doctor he says he was hoping to talk more with him and that he brought a little something to share.

He'll press his flask of Bretonnian brandy* into his hands and step in to make himself comfortable.

He then keeps an affable demeanor and asks after the doctor's patient. Other small talk might include inquiring about the doctor's family and origins, asking about his experiences in college, or repeating some of the stories from the inn with suitably academic-skeptic commentary tagged on.

Most importantly he feels out the doctor and, at the same time, gets a look at what Reifennen may have been doing when he expected to be alone.

All in all, after his initial inviting-himself-in, Sigurd doesn't want to seem pushy. He just wants to seem like an academic starved for intelligent conversation, who assumes the doctor will enjoy the company of a fellow scholar. He is friendly and shares the brandy back and forth freely - indeed, perhaps a bit heavily, exaggerating his own sips at the flask to encourage Reifennen to drink more.

((*This was on my sheet as fine Bretonnian "scotch" from when I thought they were like the Gaels. Now that I know they are more like the French I assume I should change it to fine Bretonnian brandy.))

[LCP]

Sigurd

Obeying her master’s command, Indigo went snuffling away, tracing out the perimeter of the butcher’s house. Adjusting his jacket, Sigurd approached the front door and knocked.

Clearly no-one inside had been expecting to be called upon. It took some time for the door to be answered: when it was, it creaked open by the barest head’s breadth, showing the pinched, grey face of a small woman in late middle age. Her hair, slightly unkempt, was covered by a plain-looking bonnet, and there was a fearful look in her eyes as she saw a stranger at the doorstep.

“Yes?” she asked. “Who are ye?”

Introducing himself with a smile, Sigurd asked after Doctor Reifennen. The woman’s eyes flicked quickly backward into the darkened interior of the house.

“Doctor’s retired fer the night,” she said, hastily. “He asked not to be disturbed.”

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

The archaeologist nods cordially. "Ah, please pardon me for the intrusion. I should have expected as much, tending to the young Miss Faulebrand must have worn him out."

He steps back away from the threshold. "If you wouldn't mind, in the morning, just let him know I called. I was hoping to share a bit of brandy with him and talk about school and the cities. Thank you so much."

He pulls his hat off by way of salute and heads back off into the night.

...Until the door has firmly shut. For appearance's sake he continues on a little bit then doubles back. He makes his way into the shadows of the nearest hedgerow and checks again that no one has followed or watched. Then...

Seriously LCP only.

Hiding in the shadows he murmurs words to himself....

Shadowcloak
Channeling [roll0] v. 45 - succeeds
(Fortune Point if necessary: [roll1] v. 45 )

Casting [roll]1d10][roll2] possibly +2 channeling*
*broken die roll; Pip rolled other d10; total 5+8+2=15, succeeds

((As long as we're rolling, here are rolls to see if he knows about the story and the knights:
[roll3] v. 61 story - succeeds
[roll4] v. 71 knights )) - succeeds


Sigurd asks Indigo to follow him at a distance and walks up to the house, looking through the windows near the back to find the doctor's room. Once he does, he watches to see what the man is up to.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

The shadows of the deep Drakwald night pooled at Sigurd’s feet, wrapping around him like a traveller’s cloak. Stepping silently around the edge of the house, he peered in at each window, as silent and stealthy as a ghost.

Through three windows, he saw three rooms. There was a cramped kitchen, cluttered with ironware and dust – the little woman who had opened the door was visible in one corner of it, falling slowly back to sleep in a creaky wooden chair. There was a shop floor, or as near as one got to a shop floor in such a rural backwater as Hohlesbruck: a heavy cleaver rested at a forty-five degree angle, embedded in a chopping board on the table in the centre of the darkened room. Finally, back towards the yard, the third window looked in on the foot of a narrow flight of wooden stairs, rising up to a landing squashed beneath the crook-backed roof.

Through none of the windows could he catch any sign of the doctor. Doctor Reifennen was evidently lodging in the upper part of the old house – perhaps the window in which the candle still glimmered.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:



For real please.

Disappointed, the archaeologist looks around for a midden heap or rubbish bin - or even a compost pile. It he finds one he will use this cane to poke about in it, as quietly as he can, to look for anything incriminating the doctor may have discarded.

He also asks Indigo to prick up her ears below the doctor's window and see if she hears chanting from above. For his own part, he will use the witchsight.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

The Winds seemed quiet, none of Sigurd’s trained senses betraying anything awry. Circling the house again, he found a small heap of animal bones in the butcher’s yard, the remains of pigs, geese and hens gone to the great dinner table in the sky – nothing there, however, seemed related to the doctor’s arrival.

The light in the high window went out. Standing at the corner of the house, Indigo pricked up her ears and whined – and after a pause of perhaps half a minute, Sigurd heard the front door click open.

OOC: You are at the back of the house, out of sight. Ball's in your court as to how to act next.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only


Sigurd holds up a finger for Indigo to wait. Pressing himself against the back of the house, he waits a moment then looks around the corner.

If the doctor is coming his way, he will hold still and rely on the shadows to cloak him, motioning Indigo to get away.

If the doctor isn't coming his way, he'll creep along the side of the house to the front corner and look to see which way he's gone.

Then he'll follow at a distance, Indigo way farther back, still relying on the shadows to hide him but making sure to step lightly.

In this way, he'll tail the doctor at some distance to his destination...

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

Sure enough, it was Doctor Reifennen. The doctor was looking at something in his hand: Sigurd caught a glimpse of a pale rectangle of parchment as the man tucked it away beneath his dark green coat.

Reifennen certainly seemed a little skittish about something. Sigurd ducked back into his cover as the doctor looked around to his right and left...

Reifennen’s Perception vs. Sigurd’s Concealment
[roll0] vs. [roll1]

Suspicious as he might seem, the bespectacled doctor had little chance of spotting Sigurd beneath his Aethyric cloak. Seemingly satisfied that he was alone, Reifennen set off at a brisk pace into the night, heading uphill - towards Verloren Manor.


~

It was not difficult to shadow Reifennen at a large distance, with the village being so small and open. Following in the doctor's footsteps, Sigurd finally came to a halt in the break of trees that screened the lord's manor from the village below. One the other side, the clear sweep of the mound on which Verloren Manor stood provided precious little in the way of cover - to follow Reifennen further would be to risk being seen, with nowhere to hide.

The doctor was definitely headed for the manor. Peering through the darkness from his hiding-place in the trees, Sigurd thought he saw Reifennen turn away from the front door, and skirt around the side of the grim stone house - looking, no doubt, for the servants' entrance...

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:


Waving the dog up, Sigurd hisses, "Indigo, go quickly! Through the trees! See who answers the door!"


Sigurd bides his time until the dog returns, then crouches beside her.

"Remember our system now. Nod if it's yes. Did a woman open the door?"

((If no))

"Was it the Lord?"

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

Eagerly obeying, Indigo lolloped off through the forest, quickly vanishing between the darkened tree-trunks. Reifennen was already moving out of sight: watching the doctor turn the corner around the back of the manor's weathered stone walls, he settled down to wait.

Soon enough, Indigo came scurrying back. According to the wolfhound, the door had been opened by a woman - but there was something else, something that caused her to run circles around Sigurd's heels and dart again and again towards the eastern woods, as if wanting to lead him to something she had found...

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:


Sigurd follows along, walking briskly but not willing to run through the woods in the dark.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

Indigo did not have far to lead him - she hurried the way he had sent her, eagerly pointing the way along her own tracks. As they neared the point at which the back of the manor was visible, Sigurd slowed - he could see the Doctor emerging from behind the old building, heading back down towards the village.

It was not the doctor that Indigo was looking at. Pointing like a hunting hound after a grouse, she tried to draw his attention to something in the trees further round to the right. Straining his eyes through the dark, Sigurd saw nothing - then, at last, his gaze alighted on something not quite right.

There, artfully concealed behind a tree-trunk, Mannslieb's muted light fell upon the corner of a battered tricorn hat. Someone was lurking there, watching the doctor leave as they stood still as a stone in the cover of the trees.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:


Catching sight of (what he presumes to be) the Bretonnian's hat, Sigurd makes a quick decision. Backing off a bit he creeps as quietly into the woods as he can. He doesn't go far, for fear of making a ruckus, but ten paces in plus the cloak of shadows ought to make him near impossible to spot. He motions for Indigo to go in deeper, and waits.

He lets the Doctor go past on his way home. He waits as long as need be for Ribault to do the same ((or whoever it is--let me know if not Ribault)).

Then he waits a good fifteen minutes more and makes his own way back to town.


At the Heartless Man he quietly slips inside, and goes to his private room to sleep with Indigo at the foot of the bed.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

The cloak of shadows was already approaching the end of its brief life. Backing into the trees, Sigurd crouched down as quietly as he could as the wisps of darkness boiled away into the night. Indigo followed his lead, the wolfhound’s dark eyes glittering beside him as she watched the doctor wind his way down the path. Reifennen had a peculiar, lanky walk, and a way of glancing about himself as he went, as if afraid someone might be lurking in the shadows. He saw nothing, however, of Sigurd and Indigo – nor the figure in the trees beyond them.

Ribault, if Ribault it was, stayed perfectly still as the doctor receded into the dark. When Reifennen had finally vanished from view, he turned back into the trees. Sigurd caught the swirl of a shabby black coat in the moonlight – then, within moments, the figure had vanished into the forest. Sigurd hadn’t seen his face.

Minutes passed, and it was evident that neither the doctor nor his observer were about to return. Ensuring they were not seen, Sigurd and Indigo slipped back towards the sleeping village, and to the warmth of the inn.

[hr]


Chapter II
Anger

Pieter had thought he deserved a good night’s rest, but somewhere in Hohlesbruck there was a cockerel who vehemently disagreed. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up in his bed and narrowly avoided braining himself on the slanting ceiling of his ‘cosy’ little room.

Walking over to the window, he looked out over the village, still quiet and still for now after last night’s festivities. Dawn was already painting the eastern sky a rosy pink: if it were not for the cold draught from the crooked old window letting him know it had been hard at work all night, he would have thought he could get used to a place like this.

Something caught his eye: approaching the centre of the village from the Rosche road was a rider on horseback. The rising sun caught bright blonde hair, making Pieter think for a moment that Alexa was recovered. A second glance, however, revealed the rider to be a young man, looking to be about Pieter’s own age, and wearing the clothes of a city man. Pieter hadn’t seen his face before.

Tying up his horse outside the house of the Faulebrands, the young man dismounted. The sun was peeking its head above the crowns of the eastern trees now: a new day in Hohlesbruck had begun.

OOC: For the rest of you, assume you can wake up and/or see what Pieter can see as you please: I’m just writing it from Pieter’s perspective for the sake of convenience.

[-Sentinel-]

Mr Faulebrand's son, maybe? thought Pieter. He quickly lost interest in the blond youth.

Dismissing as wasteful the tempting idea of sleeping until noon, the initiate knelt by the side of his bed and murmured his morning prayer. He put on his clothes, shaved himself with his dagger and walked down the stairs without bothering to comb his wild dark hair. He slumped lazily into a chair and waited for Lothar and the Elves to come down just to see if they happened to have plans he might like. He had very few things to do today, but inquiring about Alexa's state was high on his list.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

LCP only:

((Minor tap-back because I really wasn't expecting the tricorn hat man to walk off into the woods.))

The previous night upon returning to the Heartless Man, Sigurd decides to try something a bit bold.

As he creeps upstairs he surveys the doors to the rooms: he knows where the merchant-guards took their rooms, and where is own is; the innkeeper said they were nearly out of space now. So there weren't many options for where Ribault may be staying.

He approaches Ribault's door and opens it slowly. If he has the wrong room he'll close it and try the next. If Ribault or anyone else wakes with a start, he'll apologize with a fumbling "Wrong room," and close the door.

But if left to his own devices he'll discover which of the remaining rooms is Ribault's, and if the man is present he can dismiss the chance that it was him in the woods.

On the other hand, should he open the door to Ribault's room and find it unoccupied at present, he will whisper for Indigo to growl if anyone comes in downstairs, then rifle through the man's possessions, careful to leave them as he found them....


Everyone:

When morning awakens him Sigurd finds where the merchant-guards are having their meal and approaches their table.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

It had been a strange night. Illiiya had retired to her room early, though she was more than awake when Lothar had come to check on her. Though she seemed as if she'd been crying, she insisted she was fine. She then done her best to convince him to stay with her, attempting to persuade him in ways that only a woman can. It was as if she very dearly did not wish to be alone.

Morning found her curled up beside the human man, until she shifted away from him slightly making a strange face. She cared for him... less so for the facial hair that seemed to grow at an alarming rate. It was as if humans desperately sought to be dwarves or the like. She washed as best she could and dressed herself, heading downstairs with Lothar when he was ready as well. Upon entering the commons, she ordered breakfast for both herself and I'shara before joining Pieter at his table.

Good morning Pieter. She said in her usual subdued tone as she sat at the table in the commons, ...and Mister Sigurd. Indigo.

[LCP]

Sigurd Only

(Back in time)

There were only two rooms besides the ones Sigurd knew were occupied: the first seemed empty and clean. Testing the door of the second, Sigurd pushed it open a crack: as he saw there was no-one within, he stepped over the threshold, closing the door quietly behind him.

By the unmade bed and the empty wine-bottle by its side, this pokey cubby-hole was Ribault's room. It had one hinged window, and a heavy wooden trunk at the foot of the bed: pushing open the lid, Sigurd found nothing inside but an empty sling bag and a small, crumpled assortment of cheap clothes. A quick examination revealed nothing in their pockets or concealed beneath them.

Indigo snuffled enthusiastically around, but seemed to find little of notice. Whoever Monsieur Ribault was, he seemed to travel light.

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter tensed a bit at the sight of Indigo, but inclined his head politely at the merchant. "Morning, Mr Waite." He greeted the Elven girl with a much warmer smile. "Oh, hello Illiiya, you look better."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sensing that the sharp young man was not comfortable with the dog, Sigurd excuses himself for a moment to take Indigo outside - where she can enjoy her morning meal of butcher scraps the way a dog should.

When he returns he participates in small talk until all of the caravan guards have joined them at the table. Then he leans in confessionally.

"Pardon my forwardness," he begins. "I do enjoy your company but this is not purely a social occasion. Now that your duty to Mister Faulebrand has been discharged, I wonder, what are you doing for work next?"

He dabs at his mouth with a rustic linen napkin and adds, "I might have a job for you. Of sorts."

[goblinpaladin]

[Illiiya] then done her best to convince him to stay with her, attempting to persuade him in ways that only a woman can.

Lothar was not difficult to persuade.

On joining the table in the morning, he politely nodded to Sigurd, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. "Mornin'."

He took a seat. "Was thinkin' 'bout doin' somethin' for the brigands, but hadn't really thought it through. Maybe some fishin'. What'd you in mind?"

[-Sentinel-]

Sigurd dabs at his mouth with a rustic linen napkin and adds, "I might have a job for you. Of sorts."


"Let's hear it," said Pieter noncommittally, more curious than genuinely interested.

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd doesn't seemed deterred by the lukewarm reception. He looks around to note that there are not many others in the inn at this hour, but lowers his voice nonetheless.

"You have probably surmised that I have some interest in visiting the mounds in the forest," he tells them. "There are barrows out there of considerable historic interest. I expected folk-stories scaring people away from them. That's normal. But with the murders the other day, I'm taking them more seriously."

He takes a sip of his tea. "A few of the locals mentioned there may be a wicked shrine in the woods, used by the beast-men. You can see I am in no position to defend myself against brigands and Chaos. Indigo would not be enough.

"So," he puts on a half-grin, obviously quite excited by the prospect of tromping about lost barrows in a spooky wood, "Anyone up for a stroll in the woods?"

Assuming there is interest*:

*I'm putting up this part too just to keep things moving along. I don't mean to cut off anyone's responses or presume too much. If no one has interest in a trip to the woods then you can ignore this next part.

If the party seems interested, Sigurd will discuss payment. "You can probably tell from my words in Rosche that I do not have the wealth to pay for guards. Not in coin. But--!"

He hurries with the "but", assuming they will lose interest the second money is off the table.

"But, if you would help me, there is something I can give you in return, that might be far more valuable to you than a few crowns. I discovered something recently. I believe it will interest you."

He looks around again.

"I'd rather say no more here. I intend to go for a walk after breakfast, if you're interested, please feel free to join me."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Visions of the dead flashed through her mind as Sigurd spoke his plan. Of all the dead in Delberz... of the bodies on the road. Chaos, blood and fire... and rats. Always rats.

You're mad. She spoke aloud, To risk yourself to spare others as those knights did is one thing... but to venture out there for simple wealth or... glory. Does your life mean that little to you?

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd seems taken aback, even hurt, as the elf nearly launches herself at him. He loses his poise for a minute, setting his tea-cup onto its saucer with a rattle.

"I-- No, my life means quite a bit to me," he manages. Then recovering somewhat he manages to look her in the face. "This is for knowledge. Not glory or gold. Just knowledge."

[-Sentinel-]

"A laudable pursuit, Mr Waite," said Pieter approvingly.

His curiosity was now alight. Stupid curiosity, the one thing that always put him in trouble. That and his clever mouth. And his compulsive lying. And his disrespect of authority. And his various vices, such as gambling and womanizing. Come to think of it, a lot of things tended to put him in trouble.

The initiate lowered his voice. "Of course, I can't follow you in the woods without knowing what's in it for me. I just happen to be planning a visit to Mr Faulebrand's house to see how his daughter is doing. We can talk on the way."

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar leaned back in his chair, both reddish eyebrows raised so high that the fresh scar across his forehead almost disappeared into his hairline.

"Illiiya landed it, Herr Waite," he said with a nod to the sorceress. "You heard what the locals said- 's madness goin' into those woods. Might as well set up sails and steer straight into the mouth of a whale as go out there. Quicker way to die, and less crunching of our bones."

He leaned forward again. "I understand that yer a man with a sharp wit, an' you must be good with money to be able to satisfy curiosity like that, sure. But we've," the soldier's gesture encompassed Pieter as well as the others at the table, "fought agents of the Four. It's not like a mummer's play, where faith in Sigmar overcomes all or Ranald's tricksters're able to steal the trinket from under the dragon's nose. It's hard, bloody work, and folk die."

"We lost good friends in Delberz." He coughed, clearing his throat. "An' that was helpin' folk out against mutants and the like. This is just yer idle curiosity. Well, I'm sorry mister, but I like breathin' way too much. It'd be different if them barrows were spewin' forth horrors an' killin' folk."

[Another_Poet]

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd brightens at Pieter's enthusiasm, and stays steady during Lothar's well-reasoned refusal. The merchant is smart enough to tell that Lothar seems to lead the group, and without the soldier's support nothing will come of Pieter' curiosity.

"Well, I appreciate your candor, Mister Fisher," he says with a nod. "I can't find fault with your words on any particular. But I'd be remiss not to point out, the locals say the beastmen are gone. Their shrine should be empty, if it even exists. And if, as you say, you intend to hunt brigands--you'll need to go out in the woods eventually."

He dabs his face with a napkin and stands up.

"Mister Hagen, it looks like we'll have to postpone our walk. I plan to spend the afternoon in Lord Verloren's library. Tomorrow morning I'll be hiking to the barrows, on my own if needs be. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Once he leaves he spends some time in front of the Heartless Man feeding and playing with Indigo, then he'll head off for a stroll.

LCP only:

Next destination is Mother Yilese's--but with a stop on the way to purchase some honey (ask the smith who's best to trade for it, if need be) as a present for her.

[Exeson]

Ithelus awakes groggy and grumpy, more so as he makes his way downstairs just in time to hear Sigurd's proposal.

'You can run into the forest sir, please be our guest, but don't even think to drag us into you're little fantasy. I can tell you knowledge is not as glorious or empowering as you seem to believe.'

He grabs a chunk of bread and begins to eat, wandering into the village, hoping fresh air will improve his mood. I hope we move on soon, there doesn't even seem to be anything worth stealing in this place.

After his quick walk he returns to the group, 'so what's on the cards for today then?'

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter was only slightly surprised at his friends' flat-out refusal, but very disappointed when the merchant chose to postpone his explanations. The initiate would likely not accept the job if Lothar did not, but he itched to know what the merchant could possibly offer in return.



"Tomorrow morning I'll be hiking to the barrows, on my own if needs be."
Now Pieter looked genuinely worried. If this man went alone and did not come back, the initiate knew he would feel partly responsible for failing to prevent it.

"Mr Waite, I beg you to reconsider," Pieter advised as the merchant turned to leave. "Whatever killed these two brigands, it can kill you and your dog just as easily. Find men or don't go at all."

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar shook his head. "Suicide's not the answer, Herr Waite. Find somethin' else to be curious about; be happy to help you with that." He paused. "The Panthers might've cleaned out most of the beasts, but that doesn't mean they're all gone- unnatural things gets tangled around a thing, stays that way. But there's also bandits and wolves and the like out there-- and it might not just have been beastmen that guarded them barrows. Goin' alone's just going to get you killed."

===

Lothar nodded to Ithelus when he got back. "There's a fine fishing spot I'd like to try out- but I was thinkin'. There's this crop of bandits up, and a certain grain merchant who keeps gettin' raided by 'em. Maybe we can make some coin helping him out, if he'd be interested."

"What do you lot think?"

We can discuss this OOC, of course, to hasten things along.

[-Sentinel-]

"From what I've seen of Mr Faulebrand, we'll each get maybe five crowns out of it," Pieter said skeptically. "Not enough to risk my skin, that's for sure. Besides, whoever's killing the bandits is the real threat, as far as I'm concerned."

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar shrugged. "If he offers us that little, we move on. I'm talkin' real money."

He frowned in puzzlement. "You mean the roadwardens? Didn't the doctor say it was roadwardens that killed them?" He shrugged again. "Even if it wasn't, whoever did it hasn't been hurtin' anyone else. Gettin' sliced up is a risk you take, livin' in the woods."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

Another human desperately seeking suicide. The world will be better off if such idiocy does not survive to breed.

Illiiya listened to the antiques dealer with nary a flinch, dark thoughts that were born more of her than she liked to admit filling her head. No reason to care this time. Just another man who sought to cut his life short. She knew the sort all too well. For a moment, she grew still... remembering the last reckless fool she had known... and how much she missed him.

Missed him? No... no that wasn't right. He was there with her. Always, with her. For a moment the silence was all she could hear, and it terrified her. Was he cross with her? Had he faded away? She struggled not to panic as she tried her hardest to seek something that could not be seen, her eyes flitting about the room quickly.

Please do not go! She said in a panic, though not to whom observers might think

Then she felt it, at the back of her mind... a familiar presence. He was not gone, he couldn't be. He was simply quiet. She was going to let a man rush off to his death. Of course he would be upset.

I am sorry Mr. Waite... Please do not leave. Illiiya said hurriedly, I do not wish to see you hurt. Or killed... like those men upon the road.

[-Sentinel-]

"You mean the roadwardens?" said Lothar. "Didn't the doctor say it was roadwardens that killed them?"

"The doctor said that?" Pieter's tone was dubious. "How does he know that, anyway? I still think it was too sloppy... leaving the corpses in the open like that. And why would one of them ride off into the woods after killing the brigands?"

"Even if it wasn't, whoever did it hasn't been hurtin' anyone else."

"That we know of," Pieter muttered under his breath.

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

I do not trust that doctor. Illiiya said ominously. I... I do not know why, but I do not trust him. At best, I think he is simply telling people what they wish to hear.

Then why don't you DO something?

She gave a soft sigh, glad at least that voice from her head had returned. She did not think she could have bore being responsible for losing him.... again.

[Exeson]

Ithelus shrugged, it seemed to him that the group had changed since their ordeal... more distrustful. There was a sense of no longer accepting things at face value, and with good reason too. 'If we had followed up every bad hunch we had we wouldn't have made it one village on from Delbrez,' He played a set of dice between his fingers, 'that said it would be nice to have something meaningful to do. I'm interested in finding employ again, as Lothar suggested. As for the doctor, makes you miss Raseen doesn't it?'

[goblinpaladin]

"Aye, I miss the doc." He paused. "A'right then- Pieter, you're good with people. Why don't you poke into the doctor, an' see what Sigurd's all about? Me an' Ith an' Ill, maybe we can go have a chat to Herr Faulebrand, see what he knows about them bandits. Maybe it's all connected anyway?"

[Another_Poet]

///Retrosplice!///

((I'm placing this after everyone tells Sigurd not to go in the woods on his own, but before you all start talking about Roadwardens and Delberz and yadda yadda.))

Master Sigurd Waite

Sigurd, on his way to the door, stiffens as everyone jumps on him. He turns slowly back to look at them. The talk of suicide... the male elf's harsh tone... the girl elf's plea. A sort of concerned sympathy crosses his face.

"You... you've all been through something very horrible, haven't you?"

He nods his head. "I heard you mention Delberz earlier. There've been a lot of stories come out of there in the last few weeks. Whatever it is that happened, I'm sorry."

He says I'm sorry in a deeply personal way, not just a formality.

"Your concern hasn't fallen on deaf ears. I'll hope to hire a guide, maybe a logger or trapper. And at the first sign of danger I'll run... I'm much better at running than I am at fighting. Much better indeed.

"If you change you minds, let me know. We can turn back if it gets hairy."


///Present Time Slice///

LCP only:


((I'm hoping to hand-wave the trip to get the honey, just tell me how much I spent. Is mother Yilese in when I go knock on her door? If so I offer her the honey as a gift and thank her for inviting me back. I'll wait to do more till you write it up.))

[-Sentinel-]

Pieter nodded at Lothar's words. "But first, I'll come with you at Mr Faulebrand's home. If Alexa's not feeling any better, I might be able to do something for her. Those overeducated doctors sometimes overlook simple solutions." Not to mention that he did not entirely trust this Reifennen fellow.



He nods his head. "I heard you mention Delberz earlier. There've been a lot of stories come out of there in the last few weeks. Whatever it is that happened, I'm sorry."
The initiate forced a smile. "Delberz was a trying time for us. I imagine the tales you've heard are strange and conflicting, right? That's the problem with second-hand accounts..." His voice trailed off and a shrewd light gleamed in his eyes. "On an unrelated note, can you tell us more about what you discovered recently? Hate to pass up an offer without even knowing what's on the other side of the table."

[Another_Poet]

///Retro Time Slice///

Master Sigurd Waite

He looks around again to make sure no one is listening.

"I overheard you say you were running. I found something that might help you make a new start--to redeem yourselves, or earn enough coin to disappear for good. But I won't say more than that. If I tip my hand now, you'll have no reason to escort me. I'm a better merchant than all that."

This time he really does make his exit from the tavern, leaving them to mull over whether the bait is worth the hook, while he goes to other errands.

[LCP]

Sigurd

After some negotiation with Wulli Sigurd was able to pick up a jar of honey from the inn’s own pantry for the sum of nine pfennigs. Leaving the merchant’s guards behind, he set out into the bright Drakwald morning.

The Taalsbruck was running swiftly under the old stone bridge, splashing and gurgling against the mossy rocks. Crossing over, Sigurd took the narrow forest path back towards the lonely hovel. Mother Yilese was out in her garden, bent over the herbs with her back to him.

The old woman straightened up without looking round, an uprooted nettle in one linen-wrapped hand. Stripping the clods of earth from its roots, she turned to look at Sigurd.

“Mister Waite, ain’t it?” she asked. She seemed unsurprised when Sigurd offered her his gift, taking it with a simple nod of acknowledgement.

“How’d you find the Faulebrands’ feast?”

[hr]

Others

Faulebrand House being practically on the inn’s doorstep, it didn’t take Lothar and the others long to reach it. The soldier knocked and waited.

And waited. The muffled sounds of raised voices were just audible from inside. After an inordinate wait, footsteps came hurrying up, and the door was opened by a weary-looking servant girl. From behind her, words filtered down, the argument clearly continuing unabated out of sight.

“...my own sister!”
“And much of a brother you’ve been to her, these past three years!”

In the doorway, the servant girl blinked, struggling to recognise them. “Can I... help you?” she asked. “The master’s busy.”

“...fritter away your very generous allowance, gallivanting all over the country...”

Footsteps were approaching from the group’s right. Turning his head, Pieter saw Doctor Reifennen approaching, his medical bag in hand. The servant girl seemed to recognise him, looking round at his approach.

“Doctor!” she said. “The master said to watch for you.” She paused as the shouting from within grew a little louder. “Um, these people are here too,” she said.

Reifennen tipped his hat to Lothar and the others. “Come to call on Mr Faulebrand?” he asked. “I was about to do the same. Checking on the patient, you know.”

”...well I don’t care what your ‘Altdorf physician’ says, she’s my sister and I want to see her!”

“Mr Faulebrand!” called the Doctor. “Are you in?”

The shouting stopped. There was a rush of feet on the landing, and the miller appeared, red-faced and puffed up like a bullfrog. Shortly behind him was the blond-haired young man Pieter had seen that morning.

“Doctor Reifennen!” cried Aloysius. He paused, frowning as he caught sight of his other callers. “And, um, Mr... Fischer?” He composed himself, the red suffusion of his face waning a little. “This is my son,” he added, pronouncing the word as others might say ‘debtor’, “Leopold. Please, come in.”

[goblinpaladin]

"What about us," queried the soldier, a wry grin on his bearded lips. "'ave somethin' of a business proposition for you."

[LCP]

Mr Faulebrand frowned confusedly.

"I didn't take you for a member of the grain trade, Mr Fischer."

[Exeson]

Ithelus tilted his head to one side, 'Come now, since when would you find an ex soldier, two elves and a aspiring man of the people in the grain trade?

He makes a show of smiling, 'We trade in problems, or the solving there of.'

[-Sentinel-]

"Is your daughter better, Mr Faulebrand?" asked Pieter, genuine concern in his tone.

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

“Alexa is resting,” said Mr Faulebrand, firmly.

From around the corner of the landing, behind where Leopold was standing, Ricard stepped out to look at the newcomers, keeping a discreet distance between himself and the feuding Faulebrands. Ushering the party and the doctor inside, the servant-girl closed the door behind them and scurried away as Mr Faulebrand came trotting down the stairs.

The inside of the house was richly, if a little tastelessly furnished, all solid timbers and rich colours – it made the maximum use of the good deal of space it actually possessed, in order to seem much larger. A modern-looking tapestry hung on the wall to Pieter’s left, showing a mill standing on a forested hill. An unlit lantern hung from the ceiling in an ornate brass mount over the spot where the wooden stairs met the hallway.

“Very good to see you doctor, very good of you to come,” said Mr Faulebrand, descending among them. “We haven’t moved her.”

“You’re the doctor?” asked the young man – Leopold – on the stairs. He came thundering down after his father, Aloysius looking round with a flash of barely-suppressed anger. “Father says you say I can’t see her. Surely she can see her own brother?”

“I’m afraid not, Master, um, Faulebrand,” said Reifennen, removing his spectacles to address Leopold. “Miss Faulebrand is... possibly, quite seriously ill. I have asked that she be removed from all external stimuli. It is my professional opinion that complete calm is the greatest cure for many maladies... but I also have not yet ascertained whether she may be infectious to others.” He lowered his eyes. “I hope to have a better answer for you soon.”

“You see? You see? Physician. Knows what he’s talking about. Now for gods’ sakes, boy, let him through,” said the miller, practically pulling his son out of the doctor’s path. He turned to Ithelus and Lothar with an air of exasperated distraction. “If you want to speak to me, speak plain and speak now, eh? As I recall it, our business was discharged yesterday.”

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar smiled "Well, yes- we got you here safe an' sound. But the bandits are still makin' trouble for you, aye? I've asked around, and it seems that they're only harassin' your wagons. Well, we," and here the soldier's gesture encompassed the others, "are pretty decent problem solvers. Me, I was a musketeer attached to the Nordland 11th in the War."

He paused and scratched at his beard. "So now you have a solution to your woes, a way to end the troubles to your money purse. A small bit of capital, an' we'll stop the slow tricklin' away of your profits."

Lothar was a lot of things, but subtle wasn't among them.

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Aloysius looked pensive.

"Well," he began, "that's good of you... but you really think the four of you are up to it? We don't know how many of them there are."

He frowned, and shook his head, assuming a brisker tone of voice.

"I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. You should make your offer to Lord Verloren. It's his responsibility to ensure the safety of the village. Not that I couldn't pay you, but it's the principle of the thing, you understand."

"Now, if that was all..."

[BloodyAngel]

Illiiya Jaelrae

What does she have? Illiiya asked the doctor in a quiet voice, My friend Pieter knows medicine fairly well... and I can make charms that ward off such things. Perhaps we can help.

It was partially a bluff, but something about the doctor worried her... and something in her made her feel she should try to help if there was a problem with the girl. It was what Raffy would have done.

[goblinpaladin]

Lothar spread his hands. "We have our ways, even with only a handful. You say that Lord Verloren is the man t' speak to, but the way I hear it only your waggonnes are bein' raided- the village itself is safe, aye?"

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Mr Faulebrand gave an uncertain smile.

"My wagons are the only things to have been raided, Mr Fischer, because they have been the only thing worth taking. A community like ours doesn't see much traffic, you know." He straightened his back, adjusting his jacket. "The fact that they haven't come into the village itself only shows that they don't have the numbers to menace people in their own homes."


What does she have? Illiiya asked the doctor in a quiet voice, My friend Pieter knows medicine fairly well... and I can make charms that ward off such things. Perhaps we can help.

"Charms," repeated Reifennen, in a flat tone of reserved politeness. "I think, Miss, um, miss, we can do without charms for now."

He looked down and rummaged in his bag.

"Miss Faulebrand has a fever, the precise nature of which I have yet to determine. I hope you'll excuse me if I go to that now."

Turning away, the doctor made for the stairs.

[-Sentinel-]

"Wait, doctor," Pieter said politely. "May I ask you a few questions about the brigands who attacked you on the road? Might be useful to us."


OOC:
Here I'm assuming Lothar answered Pieter's question when Pieter asked how the doctor knows it was roadwardens.

No time to write the questions right now: got to go to school. I'm just pausing the plot for a moment, if no one minds.

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Reifennen stopped on the stairs, turning back towards Pieter with a slightly exasperated expression. Everything about the way the man expressed himself seemed to be mild and watered-down: he put Lothar in mind of a peeved sheep.

"Yes?"

[-Sentinel-]

OOC:

As a solution to your problem, assume that Lothar overheard at the feast that it was the doctor who was attacked, and that he claimed it was roadwardens. I'm not particularly fussed, and it lets you go ahead without having to unpick everything you've said previously.

That being said, bad Lothar. No telepathy.
Wonderful. Thanks, LCP. And it was my fault, not GP's.

"The roadwardens... did they talk to you after their intervention? Anything they might have let slip about the brigands would be a lot of help."

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

Reifennen blinked, and hesitated.

"Um, no. Not really," he said. "I mean... there wasn't much to say. I didn't want to slow them down. For all I know, they were after the rest of them." He looked politely blank. "Was there anything else?"

[-Sentinel-]

"The rest of them? I take it that's why one of the riders rode into the woods?" inquired Pieter. Perhaps he might find something interesting if he went back there and followed the tracks. "Do you know if he caught up with the curs?"

(After the doctor's answers)

"Thank you, doctor," said the initiate thoughtfully. "I won't leave miss Faulebrand waiting for you any longer. If you need help, let me know."

[LCP]

Not Sigurd

"I'm afraid I have no idea," said Reifennen. "My memory of the whole thing is rather shaky... you understand, it was, um, something of a shock."


"Thank you, doctor," said the initiate thoughtfully. "I won't leave miss Faulebrand waiting for you any longer. If you need help, let me know."

The doctor nodded, and hurried upstairs. Seeing him go, Mr Faulebrand turned back to the others.

"Any other business?" he asked, a little tetchily. "Or are we finished here?"