[WFRP] The Bloody Crown XIII

[LCP]

8th Nachexen

Elsa

Olga listened to Elsa’s account. It was a lot to take in.

“So... he was the real thing, then?” she asked. “Nahorek. The Hound of Morr.” She watched Elsa’s face attentively. “I mean, I remember hearing about what happened at the temple - and then all the proclamations, the army heading south. But a lot of folk were saying it was some warlock from the north. Jon o’ the Jackal.”

She paused. “My nan used to leave a bowl of milk out for the Jackal on Geheimnisnacht,” she said. “Imagine if she could see me now...”


Jarla

“Ah, ma’moiselle Schreiber,” said Jacques, still smiling. “I am a happy just to hear that you do not say ‘no’.” He raised his cup to her. “For now, then. And for the future… who knows?”


Painford

He waited until Hegalun was occupied before addressing the workers. "When I brought you south, I told you that that I'd have work for you through the winter. The manor may be done, but what I said hasn't changed. There's still a few weeks until the snow melts. I'm of a mind to put you to work felling trees, then when spring comes let you take part of what you cut north with you to rebuild." He paused. "... Or if you'd rather rebuild in the Thornwood, you've got that option too."

One of the bigger men among the crowd looked doubtful. “What… build homes?” he asked.

“What work would there be for us here?” asked another. “After we’re done cutting wood?”

"Is there any news from the Vale?"

“Things seem better there than in the north,” said Jocasta. “The Jackal’s storms filled the creeks, at least. The Vale should be green this spring.”

She sighed. “I would have stayed there, if the Temple hadn’t called me back. Apparently I’m wanted in the city.”

---

Bezahltag, 12th Nachexen

Jarla

Bezahltag afternoon brought two visitors to the castle that Jarla hadn’t been expecting. She knew the high priest, Hieronymus - with his walking-staff and slightly threadbare robes, the old man always looked a little out of place in the Sforzas’ court. The woman with him, Jarla had never seen before. With her nut-brown skin and her clothes of homespun wool, she looked more like a peasant than a priestess.

“Ah, Fraulein Schreiber,” said Hieronymus. “Are their highnesses at home? I sent a message, but I’m not sure whether it was received.” He remembered that introductions were in order, and cleared his throat. “Sister Jocasta, this is… Jarla, Jarla Schreiber, sister to our late friend Adelbert. Fraulein Schreiber, this is Sister Jocasta. Our resident - or should that be, ah, mendicant - priestess of Rhya.”

Jocasta’s expression had changed as Hieronymus was talking, from bland politeness to intense scrutiny. She seemed to realise she was staring, and looked down at her feet.

“I didn’t know Adelbert had a sister,” she said. “I knew your brother. He was a good man.”

At that moment, Father Barbaro entered the hall, hurrying towards his two fellow priests.

“There you are, your reverence! This is her?” He looked to Jocasta. “Mi scusi, sister, of course you are, we have met before.” He seemed quite flustered. “They are waiting for you, if you are ready.”


Elsa

Perhaps the regulars were getting used to her, or perhaps the landlord just liked the colour of her money - but for one reason or another, Elsa soon found that she felt less of an outsider in the Beetle than she had in the Crown. It had always been a no-questions-asked kind of establishment, and one soon got used to the smell of spilt beer and sweat.

On Bezahltag, she had the surprise of seeing a familiar face. He was looking even leaner than she remembered, and his narrow face had grown a rough coat of stubble, but it was Baldred the trader, all the same. He looked equally surprised to see her.

“You’re looking like you’ve done alright for yourself,” he said, his glum tone implying he hadn’t. “What are you doing back in these parts?”

When she asked him about the Raven Hills, he nodded. “That’s the only bit of my old routes I can still run,” he said. “Looked like we were going to lose even that, too - before the Prince’s men rooted out those bandits.” He drained half the mug of tepid beer he had in front of him. “Took their bloody time.”

His account of travelling the hills was bleak. “Used to be you could find shelter in any herder’s cottage, if you knew the right way to ask. Now half of them have packed up and gone to Morr’s Seat. Too afraid of robbers and wolves.” He saw the look of recognition on Elsa’s face. “You heard about those? I’ve heard of wolves in the hills before, but never this many, or so bold.” He nodded. “I tell you, for folk up that way, Prince Sforza’s peace is turning out a damn sight more dangerous than Jarl Rorik’s war.”

“They say there are soldiers up there now - that they caught the Norscan witch who was leading what was left of Rorik’s raiders. I doubt they’ll stay, though. Most of these Tileans can hardly speak the Emperor’s Reikspiel, let alone the way the hill people speak it.” He scratched his chin. “If you’re heading up that way, you ought to speak to young Miruna. She’s the nearest thing to a successor old Wadim left behind.”

When she told him she was looking for guards, he gave a wry smile. “Funny you should say that,” he said. “I’ve just had to let old Sorin and Skender go. You remember them?” He mimed a bushy beard. “Pepin and I are heading south, come the spring. There’s no money out west any more. But if you want them, they’re staying at a flophouse down on Pike Street.” He knocked back the rest of the beer. “Put in a good word for me if you see them, will you? Tell them, no hard feelings.”

Sure enough, Elsa found the two Raven Hills mercenaries just where he promised, in a place that seemed little more than a leaky roof over a collection of rotting straw mattresses. Despite their surroundings, they still seemed in good health, and happy to see her. If anything they seemed bigger and hairier than she remembered.

“Fire girl!” asked Sorin - or was it Skender? He put a grubby thumb to his palm. “I remember! Turnpike! How’s your hand?”
“And who is your friend?” asked Skender - or was it Sorin? He was looking intently at Olga. “So small! I heard some women lie with dwarfs, in the plains. I didn’t know they could bear children.”
“I heard a similar thing about the Raven Hills and goats,” Olga replied. “Didn’t seem polite to mention, though.”
For a moment, there was a frosty silence - then both mercenaries burst into gales of laughter. “Sharp!” said Sorin, or Skender. “So… you were looking for us, yah?” There was a hungry air about the two of them - Elsa suspected that work had been thin on the ground. “Got a job?”

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

2gc 10s each for 10 days is in the realms of the reasonable, but they’ll try to Haggle you up. +20 to Elsa from the circumstances.
SorinAndSkender - (1d100)[67]
Elsa - (1d100)[14], Fortune - (1d100)[73]
Looks like they can't shift her up one pfennig.

---

Wellentag, 16th Nachexen

Jarla

A careful week’s information-gathering had given Jarla the date for the next delivery of fine wines from the north - it was expected in the first week of Jahrdrung, by the road from Pieter’s Pass. A lengthy and enjoyable wine-tasting session with Aloysius the vintner had convinced her too that there was nothing wrong with Reaches wines. They might not pass for a particularly old vintage, but they seemed to her as drinkable as anything she’d had in the Empire.

As the week drew on, Jarla noticed that the Iron Company soldiers were coming and going more frequently from the castle, along with the great lumbering ogres. The Prince had set them to work on the east side of the city - there was talk of people being turfed out of the tent town, and ground being broken on a new fort on the far side of the bridge. Irene seemed singularly disinterested in her husband’s project, but whenever Jarla saw Abdul, the Arabyan looked more harried and preoccupied than before.

Jacques had not been pushing his luck since their conversation in the Duke, but neither had he been leaving her alone. She had heard two new compositions and three impromptu recitals of what he called ‘the classics’, which were all in Bretonnian and thus incomprehensible to Jarla. More dangerously, she thought she was beginning to catch flashes of boredom in Irene’s expression when the minstrel performed for her lately. The principessa’s mood had seemed darker ever since the visit of the priests, and Jarla suspected that soon someone was going to feel the brunt of it.


Elsa

Carraciolo had not been pleased with Elsa’s announcement that she was going off in search of the Jackal. “The Prince told you this was foolishness,” he said. “The hills are my responsibility. My men will take care of them.”

When it became clear, however, that he would not actually have to do anything, his wounded pride didn’t stretch so far as to actually forbid her - only to instruct her that she was not to ‘boss Giuliano around’. “He has the command, you understand?”

So it was that by Wellentag, Elsa and her small retinue were walking the dusty Karst road to Hartmut’s Fall. Tattie in particular seemed happy to be back out in this rocky wilderness, even if the weather remained cruelly cold. Kites circled high overhead, black outlines against the pale, clear sky.

Dusk was drawing in by the time they reached the holed and crumbling walls of the fort. No soldiers greeted them at the bridge - in fact, as they passed through the gate and into the single street behind, Elsa realised there was no garrison here at all.

The place seemed crowded, for all that. The village was full of the sounds and smells of people, smoke from cookfires drifting on the breeze. Some even appeared to be colonising the old keep, a woman shouting for those below to watch out as she emptied a pot from out of the one of the high windows...


Painford

On Wellentag, a traveller through the village brought a letter for Sieghard. Squinting in the light that fell through the window - his window, he reminded himself proudly - Sieghard slowly read it.

Spoiler: Sieghard’s Letter

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Sieghard,

The warehouses on the riverfront are still occupied. I will still offer you a fair price for them, but unless the sale can be made within the month, I will be pursuing other options instead.

Replies to the Pink Peach, dockside.
- Filomena.