[WFRP] The Bloody Crown XIII

[LCP]

Elsa, 28th Vorhexen

“People will buy five-pfennig bread when the people selling the four-pfennig bread run out,” said Suzana, levelly. “Which they will. But it’s no matter if you don’t think the Prince will budge.” She looked back at her ledgers. “I’ll look into what we’re carrying. Let me know when you’re heading upriver, and I may have some letters you can take with you.”

“I don’t reckon the bakers will run out quick as all that,” Olga chipped in. “They’ll just make the flour stretch further.” She gave a broad, toothy smile. “You ever been down Ferran’s in the Warren? Amazing how much sawdust you can fit in a loaf of bread.”

Suzana didn’t look like was particularly interested in what Olga had to say. “Yes, well,” she said, “people can’t eat sawdust forever.” She closed the ledger. “Thank you for the warning, Magister. I’ll see that our interests are protected.”

---

Elsa, 30th Vorhexen

The stablemaster looked extremely unsure about letting Belehir’s horse out of the stable - but if there was one thing worse than the future displeasure of the Sforzas, it was the immediate displeasure of the fire wizard right in front of him. Sweating a little despite the cold, he gave a motion of his head that vaguely resembled a nod.

“As long as you’ll be the one to tell their highnesses if the beast goes wild,” he said. “And lead it out yourself too. I’m not having any more of my lads kicked in the head.”

---

Jarla, 31st Vorhexen

To Jarla’s eye, Irene looked as healthy as she’d ever been. She could see no signs that she might be even slightly pregnant. The principessa raised a quizzical eyebrow when Jarla asked her how she was feeling.

“Cold,” she said, through a mouthful of bread. She finished chewing and put her plate down. “Bored, and cold. I never thought I’d miss Al-Haikk, but here we are.” She looked over towards the window where the pale winter sunlight was streaming through. “Why do you ask?”

---

Elsa & Jarla, 33rd Vorhexen

<Of course we didn’t,> grunted Carraciolo in Tilean. He looked back at the prisoners, and grudgingly switched to Reikspiel. “These are the ones who were stupid enough to get caught. The wild woman wants to talk to the Prince. I thought he could use the entertainment.”

He turned to his men. <Get the horses stabled, and get the prisoners under guard!> he called out. <Cavatore, Piranesi, come with me.> He turned back to Jarla. “I hope there is a fire going. I want to make my report somewhere that’s warm.”

[-Sentinel-]

"As long as you'll be the one to tell their highnesses if the beast goes wild. And lead it out yourself too. I'm not having any more of my lads kicked in the head."

Elsa nodded and turned to Tatiana. "It's up to you now, Tattie. I'm sure you'll know what to do. Be very careful and always trust your gut. Olga, be ready to act in case someone gets injured."

---

"The wild woman wants to talk to the Prince."

"Hmm, that'll be worth listening to," said Elsa. "We've crossed paths before, and given where she's been and who she's been around, I think she can fill some of the gaps in our knowledge. Sanne is her name."

She did not intend to leave unless formally shooed.

[RossN]

Jarla, 31st Vorhexen

"Oh no reason your highness," Jarla stressed. "Though I had noticed you were out of spirits recently. A game of cards to pass the time?"

Jarla could well believe the pricesspa was bored but it was also clear other currents were moving. If only she could figure them out before she risked drowning.

---

Jarla was not thrilled with Carraciolo's bluntness but she smiled anyway, and mentally resolved to keep Jacques as far away from the Tilean as possible. With that temper she didn't fancy the balladeer's chances.

She peered with interest at the captives, especially when Elsa gave one of them a name. "Sanne? One of the Norscans? I think my brother mentioned her in one of his letters... and another woman named Kelda Wave-Born who I think he had feelings for. I mean you had to read between the lines in his writing but I could tell."

[LeSwordfish]

Festag, 33rd Vorhexen

Painford

Ludo smiled warmly at the newcomer, and politely shoved stoutheart back under his chair instead of fighting the wool.

"Not in the last month, I'm afraid. Last we saw her, she was headed for Manaan's Keep. Why do you ask?"

"You're one of the Morrites, right? Did brother Cezar send you?"

[LCP]

Elsa, 30th Vorhexen

Olga looked askance at Elsa. “Horses aren’t my specialty, you know,” she said. “Not too many horses in your average taproom brawl. Despite the jokes.”

Tattie wasn’t listening. Opening Wastrel’s stall, she led the great grey mare out into the yard. Elsa noticed the other stable-hands had stopped what they were doing, and appeared to be watching with bated breath - waiting to see whether the horse would trample the tangle-haired slip of a girl who’d been fool enough to let it out.

So far, it showed no sign of sudden movements, only looking slowly around the yard with its dark, long-lashed eyes. It had no saddle or bridle on, but that didn’t seem to worry Tattie as she brought its head around and led it towards the castle gate. Outside was the North Market square, as full as ever of people and noises and smells. Elsa saw huge muscles tense under the mare’s silver-grey coat. It snorted and stamped a hoof, backing into the shadow of the barbican.

Murmuring softly, Tattie put a hand on the mare’s neck. Elsa could see a look of intense concentration on her apprentice’s face, and knew that she was consciously working a spell. She could see a flickering amber light under Tattie’s fingertips, a channel of Ghur flowing between her and the horse - but still the animal whinnied and shied. She screwed up her face further, and the flow of Ghur grew stronger, thin filaments of Aqshy and Hysh mingling with its tawny light. At last, the animal grew still and calm again.

“Quickly,” said Tattie, in a quiet voice, “help me up.” Olga hurried forward, helping to lift her up onto the horse’s back. Patting its neck again, Tattie leaned forwards and whispered something in its ear - and, like an arrow from a bow, it shot out across the open square.

People scattered left and right out of its path, cries of outrage and alarm drifting after it as it galloped past. Tattie looked like a monkey clinging to its back, holding on for dear life as it swerved wide around a laden ox-cart and powered up the wide road leading to the river gate. A few moments more and the speeding animal was out of sight, leaving only the trail of disorder it had strewn behind it to prove it had been there at all.

Olga gave a low whistle of appreciation. “That’s some horse,” she said. With a chirpy smile, she turned to Elsa. “So… we waiting here for her to get back?”

~

It was around four hours before Wastrel returned, carrying a cold, exhausted, but triumphant-looking Tatiana on its back. Elsa’s apprentice looked like she’d taken a tumble or two, with twigs and dead grass lodged in her hair, but her eyes were shining like a child who had just acquired a new favourite toy. The horse, meanwhile, barely seemed to have broken a sweat.

“She took me all the way down to the ford!” said, practically babbling with excitement as she dropped back to earth. Wastrel seemed to be showing none of the skittishness she’d exhibited earlier, standing placidly by. “She’s so fast! Poor thing, cooped up here for so long, when all she wanted to do was run…”

---

Jarla, 31st Vorhexen

Irene’s gaze lingered on Jarla’s face just long enough to make her think she’d made her patron suspicious.

“No,” she said, after a languorous pause. “I’m tired of cards. Why don’t you send for that minstrel of yours?” She looked down at her hands. “If we’re going to keep a musician, we ought to have some music.”

---

33rd Vorhexen - Painford

The girl nodded. “Well… Father Hieronymus really,” she said. “They want her to come back to the city. They sent me to fetch her.”

She took a swig of her beer and looked contemplatively into the mug. “I suppose I’ll be heading on to Manann’s Keep tomorrow then. I wish it wasn’t so cold.” She looked back to Ludo. “Thank you, though. You've been very helpful."

---

33rd Vorhexen - Savonne

Sforza was surprised to see his lieutenant returned from the north. The two embraced in the Tilean fashion, and the Prince gave Carraciolo a seat by the fire.

<The raiders are dealt with,> said Carraciolo, once he had a cup of wine in his hand. <For now, at least. We tracked two separate bands… they claimed to be working alone, but I think their families in Morr’s Seat knew well enough what they were doing.> He downed half the wine in one gulp. <I sent Giuliano up there with a dozen men, and the hands of the man who was in charge of the first band. He’ll make sure they get the message.>

With the grislier part of his news delivered, and the warmth of the fire restoring some life to his limbs, he switched to a language he thought Jarla could understand.

“The second band were the only ones who gave us any difficulty. They were still following one of Rorik’s she-daemons, and she led us on a fair chase. Two good men wounded. When we did catch her, she insisted we bring her to you. Said she had some information that was only for the Prince’s ears.”

“And you believed her?” said Sforza, sounding rather disbelieving himself. Carraciolo shrugged.

“I thought you might want to hear it,” he said, “whether it’s worth anything or not. She might have been in the Jarl’s confidence during the war.” He swigged the last of his wine and set down his empty cup. “If she’s just trying to save her skin, you’ll at least have a pet wild woman to put on display.”

Sforza gave a curt laugh. “Myrmidia knows we have enough space here,” he said. “Where is she now?”

“I had the men take her down to the cells.”

“And she didn’t give you any indication what it was she knew?”

“Only one thing,” said Carraciolo. “She said, she thought you would want to know what was happening in the Waste.”

Sforza’s good humour seemed to evaporate like water on a hot stove. “Bring her up, then,” he said. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

~

By the time Sanne had been brought up from the cells, the news had spread. Irene had joined her husband in the audience chamber, drawn like a shark after blood in the water. Barbaro was the remora swimming in her wake.

Shackled and filthy, the Norscan still held her head up high as she was marched into this illustrious company. With an airy wave of his hand, Sforza motioned for the guards to step back, studying his captive’s face.

“I remember you,” he said. “I think you were faring better when we met before.”

Sanne said nothing.

“What keeps you here, when your chief is dead?” asked Sforza. “You say you have a message for me. Why didn’t you come straight to me, rather than hiding in the hills, stealing my subject’s sheep?” He spread his hands with an air of magnanimity. “You’re a warrior, aren’t you? I have use for warriors.”

“I would have been robbing your ‘subjects’ either way,” said Sanne. Sforza’s expression darkened.

“Very well, Norscan, we’ll do this your way. Tell me why my men shouldn’t have hanged you as a common brigand. Tell me what it is you have to say.”

Sanne looked around at the faces watching her, seeming to take stock of her audience.

“You would know much of it already,” she said, “if you listened to the people of the Raven Hills.”

“The Prince is listening to you now,” snapped Carraciolo. “Speak.”

“When we came to the Reaches,” said Sanne, “the Jarl took a wise man, Wadim, into his counsel.” She spoke slowly, in spite of Carraciolo’s impatience. “Wadim told us the stories of his people. How they remembered what the lowlanders forgot, and kept watch over their enemy’s tomb.”

<A grand mythology for a gang of sheep thieves,> murmured Barbaro.

“We lost Wadim last winter,” continued Sanne. “He went looking for the man he thought had found the tomb, and never came back. But he passed his knowledge on.” She fixed Barbaro with a stare. “The people of Morr’s Seat know what he knew, and they know what they are seeing now.”

“The wind is blowing always from the Waste. It chokes the streams and fills the plough-furrows with dust. Those who go out in it disappear.” She shifted her gaze back to the Prince. “Wolves have come down from the high hills, so many that Morr’s Seat has become a refuge where the gates are barred against them.”

“Is this what you came to tell me?” asked Sforza with disdain. “It is winter. Times are hard for everyone.”

“I know what I have seen,” said Sanne. “What others have seen. A great black hound, with eyes as red as fire. I know what it means.” She stood her ground, staring defiantly back at her captors. “The Jackal has returned to the Red Pyramid.”

[RossN]

33rd Vorhexen - Savonne

Jarla, who had very little Tilean had tried not let her discomfort and impatience show as apparently vital conversations swirled around her. She eyed Sanne with interest; even beaten down there was clearly something impressive to her and Jarla found her instincts for the scoundrel naturally stirring.

At the last lines of Sanne's speech Jarla's eyes widened. As much to herself as anyone else she said: "Back again so soon? Have immortals so little patience? If it is him why not wait a century till we are all dust?"

[LCP]

Savonne, 33rd Vorhexen

"Clearly our guest has been living in a cave," said Sforza. "She does not know the Jackal is dead."

"The Jackal has always been dead," said Sanne. "It does not stop him from walking the Raven Hills."

"The Jackal is DEAD!" shouted the Prince, jumping up from his seat. "Dust! I saw it done. I burned his stronghold to the ground." His face had darkened, his teeth flashing in an angry sneer. "Is this all you came here for? To try to frighten us with his ghost?"

"I asked your man to bring me to you, because my Jarl made a promise to the wise man Wadim," said Sanne, steadily. "I was Rorik's bondswoman. It falls on me to see his word is kept." She looked around the circle of indifferent faces. "The hill people have kept watch over the Jackal's tomb for as long as anyone can remember. They know it for what it is - it was mortared with their blood. If you leave them to fight alone, then the last of their knowledge will be lost with them."

[-Sentinel-]

“She took me all the way down to the ford!” said, practically babbling with excitement as she dropped back to earth. Wastrel seemed to be showing none of the skittishness she’d exhibited earlier, standing placidly by. “She’s so fast! Poor thing, cooped up here for so long, when all she wanted to do was run…”

Tatiana's enthusiasm was infectious, and Elsa couldn't help but grin back at her.

I'll find a way to make this horse yours, Tattie, she resolved. She could not just walk up to Irene and offer to buy it; the noblewoman was just petty enough to refuse to sell it for any price, even if she got no use out of that horse herself. But there had to be a way. How was Jarla coming along with her attempts to broach that topic with Irene?

Elsa patted the stablemaster on the back. "Seems this is quite a capable wastrel, in the right hands. Don't make glue out of it just yet."

---

33rd Vorhexen - Savonne


Elsa watched the talk with Sanne with great interest, stifling a smirk at the Norscan's comment about robbing the Prince's subjects. By the time Sanne was done talking, Elsa's mood had grown considerably darker.

Oh, of course it couldn't be that simple. If it were, the Jackal would have been destroyed for good thousands of years ago. How arrogant we were to think we could succeed so easily where a far mightier civilization failed.

"I believe her," said Elsa, rubbing her temples with gloved fingers. "We didn't find a body. And if Nagash can return from dust, as it is claimed he did, perhaps some of his children can, too."

"The wolves we knew about already," she went on, pacing. "They're being led by the Jackal's priestess, Mala, his last remaining mortal follower... that we know of. We destroyed his mask, but he'll have his magical staff back. The same staff that Mr. Stubbs and his party briefly got their hands on, back in Brauzeit. If it weren't for that backstabbing c**t responsible for the ambush in the Thornwood, we'd be holding all the cards."

She paused. "What day is it?" Then she cursed softly as she remembered. "Hexensnacht is tomorrow. Something will happen, I just know it, but we can't stop it from here."

[LeSwordfish]

33rd Vorhexen - Painford
"Well, at least let me send a couple of soldiers with you," Ludo said. "I won't have it said I sent a lady out into the cold on her own. Rike and Karla perhaps."

"What's the news from Savonne?"

[LCP]

Savonne, 33rd Vorhexen

“You would believe her, Holt,” said Irene. “Are you ever happy without some daemon to chase?”

“Haven’t we heard enough of this tune, Muzio? Is every street-corner soothsayer who wants a favour going to tell us the Jackal is coming to get us, when you already put it back in its grave?” She cast a scornful eye over Sanne. “She was perfectly happy helping her unwashed friends steal sheep before Giovanni caught her. Now she spins us this story in the hope it’ll save her skin.”

“The hill-people are only doing what men have always done,” said Sanne. “They are taking what they need to survive.”

“How convenient for you, then,” said Irene, sweetly, “that you’ve found a reason we might need them.”

---

Painford, 33rd Vorhexen

The initiate seemed surprised by Ludo’s offer. “Oh - um, thank you. That’s very kind.” She seemed to relax a little. “You don’t have to worry about me, though. It’s not the first time I’ve travelled.”

“I don’t know what you heard last,” she said. “There was some trouble at the market. People rioting over the price of bread. The Prince’s soldiers put it down.” She scrunched up her face, racking her memory for what else would qualify as ‘news’. “And Brother Petre has been ordained. They’re talking about sending him down to Ravenskird to keep the chapel there.”

[-Sentinel-]

Elsa threw Irene a mildly disdainful look. "Believe me, I want nothing more than to be rid of all that undead nonsense and one day have the luxury to pretend all there is to life is fashionable clothes and fancy balls. Unfortunately, the kind of power I wield comes with responsibility."

In truth, Elsa did enjoy danger and the thrill of facing down a more powerful enemy, and would likely grow bored quickly if the Broken Reaches became safe and prosperous. She just wished existential threats to all life were few and far between.

"Sanne isn't lying about the wolves, at least," she went on, now addressing the Prince. "We saw signs of their depredations in the Thornwood, before they disappeared into the Teeth. I'd say that lends some credence to the rest of what she's saying. And I wouldn't dismiss the hill men's knowledge, either... Old legends have proven surprisingly reliable so far in our war on the Jackal."

[RossN]

Jarla

Jarla bit her lip but felt she had to speak up. "The witch Mala did escape sire. I am not at all sure the vampire has returned but his lackey remains. Perhaps she is behind this trouble?"

[LCP]

Savonne, 33rd Vorhexen

"The war is over." snapped Sforza. "As is this audience. The Jackal is defeated; anyone who says otherwise is spreading seditious lies." He snapped his fingers and pointed to Sanne. "Take her back to the cells."

The soldiers who had brought the Norscan in took her by the arms again, ready to haul her out the door. She didn't turn to go with them, keeping her eyes on the Prince.

"You can't kill death!" she shouted as the men began to drag her away. "Hear me! The Jackal bound himself to this land with blood! Men of blood will never take it from him!" She struggled in vain against the burly arms that held her. "How many others have come before you? All ended in blood! Do you think you will be the first to escape him?"

An armoured fist put a stop to her shouting. The doors closed behind her escort, and Sforza turned to his advisers.

"The wild woman's claims will not leave this room," he said. "The last thing we need is more red meat for the rabble-rousers. And Holt," he said, giving Elsa a cold stare, "...I think you should make your arrangements for leaving Savonne as soon as possible. It's clear my court in peacetime doesn't suit you."

"Perhaps we should, ah, send someone to deal with these wolves?" said Barbaro, trying nervously to dispel the icy atmosphere that had descended. "Obviously the woman is lying," he quickly added, "but if the hill people are left to fend for themselves, they might become a problem again."

"Giuliano is already there," said Carraciolo, with off-hand abruptness. "If there are wolves or witches to be dealt with, he'll deal with them. I'll make sure of it."

Irene said nothing, but Jarla could see the look of quiet triumph in her eyes.

[-Sentinel-]

Elsa's jaw clenched at her expertise being so casually dismissed in favor of Lady Irene's more eloquent ignorance, but she knew it was pointless to argue with the self-deluded. If the Jackal had indeed returned already, there would soon be evidence that even fools could not deny.

"And Holt, I think you should make your arrangements for leaving Savonne as soon as possible. It's clear my court in peacetime doesn't suit you."

The wizard nodded stiffly. "That was the plan already. I'll be in Alv—Castel d'Irena when you need me." She would have much preferred Putbad, but it was now clear that her presence would soon be needed west, not east. "Please keep the prisoners alive for now, sire. If the desert expands again on Hexensnacht, it'll be quite embarrassing to have killed the messengers. I'll pay for their upkeep if need be."

She gave a brittle smile. "I do hope all goes well tomorrow. This'll be my first masquerade ball in my adult life and I spent more than I should have on that costume," she said dryly, as if scoffing at the triviality of the court's concerns. "Though I am sure I'll still pale in comparison of the principessa."

[LeSwordfish]

Painford, 33rd Vorhexen

The initiate seemed surprised by Ludo’s offer. “Oh - um, thank you. That’s very kind.” She seemed to relax a little. “You don’t have to worry about me, though. It’s not the first time I’ve travelled.”

“I don’t know what you heard last,” she said. “There was some trouble at the market. People rioting over the price of bread. The Prince’s soldiers put it down.” She scrunched up her face, racking her memory for what else would qualify as ‘news’. “And Brother Petre has been ordained. They’re talking about sending him down to Ravenskird to keep the chapel there.”

"The road's not as safe as we would want, this time of year," Ludo said, thinking of wolves in the night. "We owe Sister Jocasta several favours anyway, I'd feel happier knowing somebody was helping search for her. Maybe I'll even come myself, stretch my legs," he added, though with a slightly rueful look at the fire.

"Good to hear somebody will be taking over the chapel," he said, though passing no comment on the other news.

[LCP]

Savonne, 33rd Vorhexen

Carraciolo looked faintly surprised. “You’re sending her north?” he asked the Prince. “I hadn’t heard of this.”

“The details are still being decided,” said Sforza.

“I’m sure she won’t need much space, Giovanni,” said Irene. “If she travels back with you, she won’t even need guards. You are staying for the masque?”

“It’s the first I’m hearing of this masque, too,” said Carraciolo. Finding his footing again, he smiled. “But of course, if your highnesses wish it. I’m only sorry I have not brought a costume.”

“I’m sure there must be something in this castle that will fit you,” said Irene. “Jarla can help you look.”

Sforza gave a grunt of impatience at the way the conversation was straying. Sinking back onto the throne, he rested his forehead against the knuckles of his left hand.

“Giovanni,” he said, “you said you brought other prisoners?”

“Yes, your highness. A few of the Norscan’s followers.”

“Keep them separate from the woman. I want them questioned before you leave.” He met his lieutenant’s eyes. “And I want you back in Castel d’Irena before their friends in the hills have the time to plan more mischief. It’s good to see you, old friend, but I chose you for this command, not Giuliano.”

Carraciolo gave an obedient bow. “Of course, your highness,” he said. “We will be ready to leave with the dawn of the new year.”

That seemed to satisfy Sforza. Leaning back, he motioned to his assembled courtiers with a wave of his hand. “All of you may leave,” he said. “And remember - not a word of the wild woman’s lies to anyone outside this room.”

---

Painford, 33rd Vorhexen

“Well,” said the initiate, “only if you’re sure.” She looked around. “I think I ought to stay here for tomorrow, anyway. Better to be under a firm roof on Hexensnacht, even on Morr’s business.” She offered a hand for Ludo to shake. “My name’s Nastassa, by the way. It’s a pleasure to have made your acquaintance.”

---

Hexenstag

Painford

Hexenstag came to the Thornwood with what felt to Sieghard like the coldest weather of the year so far. The horse-trough by the statue of Mayor Dragos froze solid, and work in the village ground to a halt as the people stayed put around their fires. The only exception was the small stream of people coming and going from the hostel, where Nastassa was staying. They had heard there was a priest from Savonne in town, and Hexenstag seemed as good a day as any to bother her for all manner of minor blessings.

Sunset came soon enough, and with it a stop to all comings and goings. Everyone in Painford knew you didn’t leave your own home on Hexensnacht. In the draughty barracks of the Thorns, Sieghard’s soldiers huddled close, telling stories. All their war stories seemed to be from before Nath. No-one wanted to remember Nath.

The night sky was clear, and as the moons rose, their silver-green light shone through the cracks in the wooden walls. Wrapping himself tight in his blanket, Sieghard turned his eyes away, trying his best to get some sleep…

Sieghard Only

Spoiler

Show

He was facing Nahorek again. He had dreamed of it more than once since they returned from the Dead Hills, so many times that by now he felt he knew the rhythm of it, like an old familiar tune. This time, something was different.

He still held the spear, but his horse and armour were missing. In the darkness that surrounded him, he could see no signs of Elsa or the Iron Company - only a rushing host of shadows, filled with the crash and clamour of battle. He could hear the blare of trumpets, the thunder of hooves and the rattle of chariot wheels - and above all, the cries of dying men.

Through the darkness and confusion, the only clear figure was that of his enemy - not lying riddled with silver bolts, but standing tall in front of him. No longer dressed in rags, the Jackal wore a black robe fit for the richest priest, embroidered with columns of bone-white Nehekharan glyphs.

“Akhash-kheb-nezzar,” spoke the sepulchral voice from behind the onyx mask. “Why do you fight? You don’t have to die here.” The apparition closed in, shadows curling around its staff. “Your people don’t have to die.”

Sieghard struck out with the spear, but his enemy stepped effortlessly aside. The light of the golden spearhead seemed to struggle with the darkness that emanated from the Jackal himself, giving ground one moment and gaining it the next.

“It was not I who betrayed you,” spoke the Jackal, stepping closer. “Who left you to defend yourselves alone against the green beasts, and the savages of the north. You need me, lost children of Khemri.” His eyes burned like red stars behind his mask, hypnotic in their intensity. “Destroy me, and you destroy your own history. The barbarians will steal your crown and make slaves of your children. They will tear down your temples for stone, and build their pigsties over your tombs. The glory that was Nehekhara will be forgotten.”

The force of the vampire’s will held Sieghard like a vice, almost too tight to breathe. With an effort that made him scream, Sieghard threw it off, thrusting the spear at his enemy’s heart - but an iron hand caught him by the wrist and cast him down against the ground.

Blinking grains of white sand from his eyes, he rolled onto his back, looking up at the figure that stood over him. It was no longer the Jackal - instead it appeared as a flickering shadow, faces appearing and disappearing from the darkness. He thought he glimpsed Rorik and Alvarr before at last the shadows coalesced, settling on Sforza. The Prince stood resplendent in his armour, his golden crown gleaming on his brow. He held Sieghard’s spear in his right hand.

“A weapon fit for a king,” said the Tilean, admiring the gilded spearhead. Sieghard tried to rise, but Sforza placed a boot on his chest. Meeting Sieghard’s eyes, he sadly shook his head. “There can only be one king in the Reaches.”

The spear stabbed down, and pain pierced through Sieghard’s chest. The sand yielded beneath him, and as he sank into it, he felt cold hands beneath its surface, pulling him down to join the endless strata of the dead…

Sieghard woke with a start to find himself back in the cold barracks, moonlight seeping in at the windows. He felt his chest, but there was no wound. Somewhere over among the bunks, one of the Thorns was snoring...

---

Savonne

In the city, Hexenstag marked the grand unveiling of Sforza’s statue in the North Market square. Elsa’s suggestions had been taken into account, and rather than a literal jackal, the beast under Sforza’s foot now had the body of an emaciated human, bronze skin stretched tight over its skeletal frame. The head was still that of a snarling hound, jaws open in pain as the spear pierced its chest.

A small crowd had gathered to see it, mostly priests, merchants and other dignitaries from Rockshadow and the Old Town. Their numbers were almost matched by the Iron Company presence in the square - Sforza was clearly determined that there would be no repeat of the recent riots. Barbaro gave a short speech offering thanks to Myrmidia for their victory over the vampire, and the statue was unveiled to polite applause.

As evening drew in, candles glimmered in the windows of the houses, and the common people withdrew indoors. Only the rich and the desperate remained abroad on Hexensnacht - and, as torches were lit along the curtain wall, a steady stream of the former were snaking through the castle gates.

In the great hall, everything was going to plan. Music played, candles glittered, and fires roared in the hearths to banish the bitter cold. Revelling in her costume - she was determined to enjoy it, given what she’d paid for it - Jarla greeted some of the first guests to arrive, in the form of Rinn Elmendrin and her entourage. The Dwimmulsons had no concept of being fashionably late; it had taken some explaining to even get them to understand the concept of a masque. One of them was wearing a war helmet, while another seemed to have appropriated an iron face-plate from a smithy. Skorgrund hadn’t bothered with any kind of mask at all, and could be heard grumbling about “plinkety-plonkety umgi music” as the servants ushered the dwarfs through.

Gradually, the hall filled up. Jarla didn’t know most of the people she had invited, and few of them were as well-dressed as herself - but none of them looked so out of place that Irene would disapprove. A history of bloody coups had left Savonne without much of an aristocracy, and so the attendees of the Hexensnacht ball were mostly members of the aspiring middle classes - merchants, guilders, master craftsmen and the like. Jarla remembered enough of her life in Nuln to know that was often where the real money was anyway.

The hall had been full, and the guests had been mingling for about half an hour when a fanfare announced that the stars of the show had arrived. Dressed in silver, gold, black and green, the Sforzas had come as Mannslieb and Morrslieb. As Mannslieb, the Prince had clearly made an effort, but he could hardly help but be outshone by his wife. Her mask was in the likeness of a skull, ringed with a sunburst crown of silver spikes. Her velvet dress, so dark a green as to be almost black, glimmered with strands of silver thread, while emeralds and opals gleamed around the hem of a neckline that plunged as low as art could make it. Fawning courtiers gathered round as the ruling couple made their way to the head of the hall, orbiting them like tiny moons themselves.

“Is that the princess?” whispered a young woman to Jarla’s left - Jarla didn’t know who she was, but her mask gave her the face of a fish. She looked up at Jarla, allowing her to catch a glimpse of her real face through the narrow gap of the fish’s open mouth. “Do you know her? Could you introduce me?”

[-Sentinel-]

Hexenstag


When the statue was unveiled, Elsa found its emphasis on Nahorek's leanness to be a rather unfortunate artistic choice, as it seemed to portray Prince Sforza as the slayer of starving people. However, she had been the one to suggest a more human depiction of the Jackal in the first place, so she found it best not to voice her reservations. Plus, the statue had no doubt been expensive enough already. How many people could be fed through the winter for the price of all this bronze?

Hopefully this self-indulgent affront to good taste and tonight's masquerade ball are His Lordship's last extravagances this winter, she thought. Like a soldier's last night out drinking and whoring before embarking on a long campaign.

She was not optimistic about that. Lady Sforza wanted the lifestyle she had in Tobaro, and what Lady Sforza wanted, Lady Sforza got. If the common people of the Broken Reaches ever rose up in revolution and smashed the doors of the castle with a battering ram, they would find the principessa eating sweets in her boudoir, looking utterly flummoxed as to the reason for this rude disturbance.

When that day happens, I'd better not be in Savonne. Or I'll be third in line on the chopping block.

And maybe I deserve it...

---

Hexensnacht ball


At the ball, Elsa made her entrance shortly before the Sforzas, costumed as a Nehekharan queen—a white sheath dress adorned with golden or gilded jewelry, and a yellow and dark-blue headdress which, according to her tailor Jérémie Mercier, was called a nemes. Her arms, legs and back were about as bare as propriety would allow in this setting, if not a tad on the immodest side, and she wore sandals. Hardly season-appropriate for Hexensnacht, but at least it helped her stand out in a place where most people who mattered could easily outspend her. On her wrist was the ivory bracelet gifted to her by Sieghard. Her familiar Khalida was comfortably coiled around her neck and shoulders, flicking her forked tongue at startled guests and granting Elsa ample personal space even in the most crowded areas of the ballroom.

She hoped at least one or two of her friends and acquaintances would show up. The only one she could see so far was Jarla, and Elsa made a point of avoiding personal interactions with her in any place where Irene Sforza was likely to witness it.


OOC

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What's the etiquette for bringing a personal bodyguard to the ball? If it's considered gauche, Olga gets the night off.

[RossN]

Jarla

Savonne, 33rd Vorhexen

Jarla took Carraciolo's hand in her own as she led him away from the audience. "You know the better than I do," she whispered to the tall Tilean sellsword, "but even I can see there are definite tensions here. Still," she added with a playful smile as she ran a finger across his breastplate. "That doesn't mean we can't have fun. Tell me, oh mighty warrior what costume do you see yourself as?"

Jarla was feeling thoroughly spooked about that Norscan woman's grim warning but for the moment there was little she could do about it. A few hours playfully teasing Carraciolo might help.

---

Hexensnacht ball

It had taken a lot of effort, and some of Jarla's still limited personal fortune but as she stared at the results in the mirror Ida was holding up Jarla felt very satisfied at her Lustrian Amazon. She'd managed to acquire an old leopard rug and turned it into an headpiece, crowned with colourful tropical feathers and claws (dyed magpie feathers and carved wood respectively.) Her rather revealing tropical top and tight leggings were also cunning fakes, with the leopard print painted on to the fabric. She'd be seriously tempted to wear heels but they clashed with the costume and it might not be a great idea to tower over Irene. So sandals had to do.

Completing the ensemble was a lot of artfully applied makeup, earrings and bracelets and two daggers that made up for in impressiveness what they lacked in Lustrian authenticity.

Of course Lady Schreiber had to work and not just stand around looking incredible. That wasn't so bad and she was suitably pleasant to the great and good, even if the Dwimmulsons were rather trying. She did appreciate Elsa's efforts and decided she'd compliment her when the cost was clear. And then of course everyone was impressed by the royal couple.

"Perhaps," she said to the young woman that looked like a pike. "Who exactly am I introducing?"

[LCP]

Jarla, 33rd Vorhexen

"Lady Sforza has always hated the fire witch," said Carraciolo, distractedly looking back over his shoulder. "I didn't know I was going to end up lumbered with her, though."

Jarla's flattery succeeded in pulling him back to the here and now. "I will wear whatever you can find me, my lady," he said, with a rakish smile. "I know these dusty things won't do, when we were on the road for two days. Perhaps you know somewhere I can get out of them?"

---

Hexensnacht Ball

"Solya Lange," said the fish-woman. "I'm with the boatwright's guild."

[RossN]

Jarla, 33rd Vorhexen

Jarla bristled at his casual dismissal of Elsa. She got enough of that from Irene. Still it probably wouldn't be a great idea to mention that.

"I'd suggest you go as an orc," she teased, "but we have dwarfs coming and I'd prefer you not to get hacked to death as a result of a mistake."


She glanced at him thoughtfully. "Taal? I'm sure I could find some antlers and leaves and such and a false beard..." she paused, smiled and raised an auburn eyebrow. "Do you already have a hairy chest or should I look for fur?""

---

Hexensnacht Ball

Jarla had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, and managed to keep her reply tactful: "I'm sorry Solya Lange, but unless you are going to offer the princess a pleasure barge I don't think she'd be remotely interested in guild business. Why do you want to meet her?"

[-Sentinel-]

Hexensnacht Ball


Absentmindedly patting Khalida's head, Elsa made a beeline towards Father Hieronymus's familiar figure and exchanged some pleasantries with him. After making sure none of Sforza's inner circle was near, she then confided to him the grim tidings brought by the Norscan as well as the Prince's staunch denial.

"Keep it to yourself and the Morrites for now," she added. "I'm not even supposed to talk about it. Now let's hope the Norscan is mistaken, because I can tell she's not lying."

She took a glass of red wine from a passing servant's tray and began to sip it. "Another thing. I'm being... transferred to Castel d'Irena. Not altogether willingly, I might add. During my time there, I'd like to learn Nehekharan hieroglyphs, as it may come handy in the future. Would you be so kind as to make a copy of your notes about the language and have it sent to me sometime in Nachexen? I can donate to your church as payment; I know the time of a priest of your status is precious."

[LCP]

Jarla, 33rd Vorhexen

Carraciolo raised his eyebrows, giving Jarla a lopsided smile. “I don’t know how much hair you think is ‘hairy’, in the Empire,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to look for yourself?”

OOC:

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Carraciolo is definitely going to continue flirting and see how far he can get - but if all Jarla wants is to have a bit of banter while searching out a costume, we can close this scene out here.

---

Hexensnacht Ball

Jarla

The face under the fish mask looked crestfallen. “Oh,” said Solya, “I just thought… she… since we were all invited, and since you’re…” She trailed off. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Ah,” came a familiar voice, “do not be daunted, ma chérie. You went to the right person at least.” Looking round, Jarla saw Jacques standing to her left, masked as a fox and wearing a rather elegant fox-fur cape. His new lute was slung prominently over his shoulder. “Ma’moiselle Schreiber and the principessa, they are like that, no?” he said, crossing his fingers. He turned his attention fully to Jarla. “And may I say, ma’moiselle, what an excellent costume you have chosen for tonight. Obviously my skills will be required for the first dance,” he said, flourishing the lute, “but perhaps later, if there is a chance, you would care to take a turn around the floor…?”

“Is this man bothering you?” came a deeper voice on her right. Carraciolo had appeared as if by magic, wearing the Taal get-up she had found for him the night before. The antlers made him look quite impressive as he fixed Jacques with a steely eye. “Forgive me, signor, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Elsa

Hieronymus had come wearing his robes of office, and an uncannily good owl mask. Euthymius was perched on his shoulder, seemingly unconcerned at the noise and bustle of the ball around them - at the sight of the owl, Khalida tried to hide down the back of Elsa’s dress.

The high priest listened attentively to Elsa’s news. “Hm,” he said, when she had finished. “Well, I can see why his Highness would have doubts. The hill people have always held… divergent views. As have the Norscans, for that matter. Still… truth dwells in the unlikeliest of places.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving us… not everyone in his Highness’ court has the same perspective. If you stop by my lodgings, I can certainly give you the notes. I’m afraid they’re not a complete deciphering of the script, but they’re a start.”

The moons had risen to the point where their light could reach down through the high windows of the hall, painting the walls with dappled patches of silver and green. In Morrslieb’s light, the shadows of the revellers were sharp, seeming almost more vividly alive than the people that cast them.

Behind Hieronymus, Elsa saw across the sea of faces a man dressed all in black, a head and shoulders taller than the people around him. For a moment, she thought it must be one of the priests of Morr - but Vengist was dead, and Cezar had never been so tall. The man turned his head, and she caught the briefest glimpse of his mask - the onyx likeness of a jackal, a jagged crack running down the centre.

With a purposeful but unhurried step, the figure moved away, passing out through an archway that led into the next chamber, and into the shadows beyond the torchlit hall. Hieronymus kept talking obliviously on.

“Of course, any donation you want to make would be appreciated, but strictly voluntary. Our god teaches that knowledge is its own reward...”

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

Despite the biting cold, Sieghard was sweating when he woke. He held his breath a moment and slowly raised his head, making sure the others were all still asleep. When he was sure that they were, he quietly got to his feet, taking the blanket with him. He kept it wrapped tightly around himself, and stepped out into the night. Foolish as it was to be out on Hexensnacht, he desperately needed some fresh air.

[-Sentinel-]

Hexensnacht Ball

Him.

Elsa's mouth went dry and her fingers tightened around the glass of wine until a hairline crack appeared under her thumb.

Calm down, she admonished herself. This is your witch-sight playing tricks on you on Hexensnacht. How could he possibly have recovered his mask?

He has a spirit form... He can go where he pleases...

But he's been cautious so far. He wouldn't just waltz into a Prince's palace... would he?

She cast a glance at Euthymius just to make sure the owl was behaving normally—to the extent that there was a baseline of 'normal behavior' for owls at a masquerade ball—and quickly wrapped up the conversation with the priest. "I won't ask you to part with any notes you still need yourself, Father. If you make any breakthrough, you can send me a letter, or tell me on my next visit to Savonne. I'll see you tomorrow morning before I hit the road. Good night."

Weaving between the guests at a good pace but without running, Elsa headed to the archway through which maybe-Nahorek had disappeared, trying to remember where it led. Her magical sense searched for any signs of dark magic in the Aethyr-saturated air of Hexensnacht.


OOC

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Magical Sense 93: (d100)[98]

Edit: Re-rolled in the OOC thread for a 92. I guess Elsa isn't at the top of her game tonight.

[RossN]

Jarla, 33rd Vorhexen

Jarla kept the flirting up a little, but also kept it playful and a little distant as they searched for costume materials. While she found Carraciolo attractive (for the most part - she never did like a clean shaven face on a man) she wasn't quite ready to give herself up yet.

OOC:

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Happy to let this close out.

---

Oh... oh...

Jarla glanced from one of her interested parties to the other. She tried to put a brave face on it and smiled at both men. "Jacques, this is my dear friend Signor Giovanni Carraciolo, Lord-Lieutenant of the North," she said, then playfully danced her fingertips on Carriciolo's chest; "though he makes a good Taal. The antlers suit you."

Turning she introduced the opposite parties. "Giovanni this is Jacques Langue d’Or, our gifted court musician, currently a fox. I am his patron."

She pivoted gracefully so she could face both men at once and touched the third party on the arm. "And this is Solya Lange of the boatwright's guild," Jarla said, giving the young woman in the fish mask a wink. "I am afraid that I must temporarily depart with her to discuss business in private... but I am sure I shall see both of you later. Alive and well I hope."

Unless anyone resisted she led Soya away and out of the hall to get some privacy. "My apologies Fraulein Lange, I was short with you before but I do think now would be a good time to talk after all."

[LCP]

Painford

Outside, there was not a shred of cloud in the velvet-black sky. The moons shone brightly, casting sharp, black shadows from the buildings of the village, and above them, hosts of stars glittered in the darkness. The night air was freezing, turning Sieghard’s breath into clouds of frosty vapour.

For a moment, he thought the glint of a blade in the square to his right – but it was only the old statue of Mayor Dragos, the moonlight reflecting from the pitted lead. His gaze drifted up to the grinning face of Morrslieb, and he thought he heard Armin’s voice in his head.

It was your greed that woke the Drinker. You who have never known want, but know only how to take.

He has watched every town that has burned. The voice was Mala’s now, as clear in his memory as if it were yesterday. Heard every widow that has screamed, drunk in every drop of blood spilled in your wars.

The stone shell of his new manor loomed up black against the stars. It was almost finished, Hegalun had said. Beyond it, the windows of Fassbender’s tower stood dark and empty.

And when your subjects see that you have called this punishment down upon them, they will see that their rulers are all that is left to eat...

---

Savonne

Jarla

For a brief moment, Jacques found himself caught between trying to puff out his chest and trying to make himself look small in front of the Lord-Lieutenant, to curious effect. “Ah,” he said, trying to recover his footing by scraping a low bow to Carraciolo, “it is an honour to make your acquaintance, your lordship.”

“’Patron’?” said Giovanni, turning his head after Jarla – but she was already gliding away through the crowd with the fish girl on her arm. Cutting through the swirl of hangers-on that surrounded the Sforzas, Jarla found her way to Irene’s side. The principessa was talking with Rinn Elmendrin, who was wearing a finely-wrought faceplate in the image of one of her ancestors, as well as a rotund man masked as an ox, with a much younger woman on his arm. Irene turned to greet Jarla in a glittering swirl of silver and green.

“Jarla!” she said. “There you are. I was wondering where you had got to.” Her Morrslieb mask left her mouth free, and she took a sip from her cup of wine before returning it to the handmaid who was hovering behind her. “Signor Gerghel here was just telling us about what Muzio has done for the price of grain.”

The man in the ox mask bowed his head to Jarla and mumbled something about being charmed to meet her. His mask left his voice unfortunately muffled.

“And who’s this?” said Irene, turning her attention to Solya. Though briefly star-struck, Solya pulled herself together quickly enough to curtsey. “A friend of yours?”

“Your Majesty, I’m -” she began, but before she could continue, the plangent sound of a lute indicated that Jacques had made it back to the safety of the musicians’ gallery. Irene put a gracious hand on Solya’s arm.

“I’ll learn your name later, my dear,” she said. “I’m needed for the first dance.” Sure enough, the crowd was clearing around the Prince, and he was holding out a hand towards his wife. “Come on, Jarla. Let’s see how good this Bretonnian of yours really is.”

OOC:

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I’m happy to segue here into summarising the rest of the ball, rather than continuing to play things out in real time. I imagine Jarla has some goals for the evening – let me know what they are and I’ll figure out what rolls are appropriate to determine how well she achieves them. I’d be interested to know also what her dance card for the evening looks like with respect to Giovanni and Jacques.

Elsa

Pushing through the press of masked strangers, Elsa reached the archway where the masked figure had vanished. The air was thick with Ulgu and Shyish, the wind of death carrying the last vestiges of the old year into the past.

Something had passed this way, leaving eddies in the currents of magic like the ripples left by a leaping fish. Elsa followed them, leaving the light and noise of the great hall to pass into the darkness of the passageways beyond. The lamps that had been lit to guide the guests didn’t run in this direction. Elsa took one down from the wall instead, carrying it with her to hold back the shadows.

She passed down the winding corridor, following its twists and turns until the sounds of the ball had faded to a dull murmur behind her. The faint strains of the band striking up a tune drifted after her, the music sounding thin and strange as it echoed through the stone innards of the keep. At last, she came to an iron-studded door, its lintel-stone carved with the age-worn arms of some prince of Savonne long since forgotten. A chill draught was breathing from the other side. Gripping the iron ring of the handle, she pushed it open.

It opened onto the courtyard. She had no need of the lamp to see what was out here – the moons were riding high in the clear night sky, shining against a backdrop of countless stars. Morrslieb loomed closer than Mannslieb tonight, reaching down a shaft of pale green moonlight to pick out the patch of iron-hard earth where Elsa knew the Book of Nagash lay buried. There, beyond the sentries who stood oblivious and shivering at their posts, the dead were dancing to the faint strains of music that came drifting out of the keep.

There was Eberhard Groz, hewn and bloody from Rorik’s sword. There was a powerfully-built man, with a wild mane of hair down to his shoulders and a mortal wound through the middle of his chest. There was a man whose back was riddled with arrows, and a woman whose throat had been cut, and a dozen others or more, all as finely dressed as the Sforzas or any of their guests. They danced a circle in the moonlight, the currents of Shyish twining around them in time to the stately rhythm.

“You feel it too?” came Hieronymus’ voice behind her, almost making her jump out of her skin. The old man must have followed her, but he had come so quietly that she hadn’t heard him at all. He had left Euthymius inside. “Nahorek may be defeated – or, he may not – but I think the greater evil is still with us. The works of the Great Necromancer are not so easily set aside.”

[TheSummoner]

Sieghard

Sieghard spat on the ground. Mala and Armin had been wrong about everything else, why would he concern himself about their other predictions? Armin had died in his cage, and his Drinker dead with his face smashed with a spear. The Reaches had survived it's share of hardship, it would survive Nahorek's famine as well. With one last look at Fassbender's tower, he turned and headed back into the barracks.

[-Sentinel-]

Spoiler

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Common Knowledge (Border Princes) 75: (d100)[21] to know if the large man with long hair might be Duke Wulf. (Not super important, I'm just curious.)

Elsa turned her gaze away from the danse macabre. If she looked too hard, she was afraid of seeing Astoria d'Evangelisti among the ghosts—she, too, had died in Savonne—and the idea of the knight having been denied Morr's rest was hard to bear.

"There's a lot of work to do, indeed," she whispered. "And we are too few, too weak, too divided, too ignorant. Did you know I was still an apprentice when I left my College? I don't even have a magic licence... and here I am, the sole magical advisor to the men who stand between the living and the dead. I... I don't know if I'm up to the task that lies ahead."

A light breeze made her shiver despite the lamp she carried; her Nehekharan costume was just not made for being outdoors in the winter. Khalida clearly felt the cold too, tightening her coils around Elsa to get more of her bodily warmth.

She closed the door.

---

In the ballroom, dancing was about to begin. Eager to get her mind off the grim spectacle in the courtyard, Elsa looked for some gentleman willing to grant her a dance, and assured any potential partners that the snake on her shoulders was "very well-behaved and not actually that venomous".

Spoiler

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Base Charm 54, +10 for Etiquette, -30 for snek.

Target 34: (d100)[66]
Fortune: (d100)[61]

Ah well.

After facing her sixth or seventh polite yet nervous rejection, the court wizard just sat dejectedly on the sidelines. She passed the time by trying out various mixes of wines to see if, by some quirk of oenological alchemy, she could come up with one that was better than the sum of its parts.

[RossN]

Jarla

Saved for the moment Jarla took a step back to watch Irene and Sforza dance, praying to Ranald that nothing went wrong with Jacques' playing.

She turned to Solya and shrugged sympathetically. "Maybe you better tell me a little about you want so I can get you to her majesty at a better time - or introduce the topic myself."

Jarl listened to whatever the pike woman had to say, but she was also anxiously scanning the crowd. Things had to go well.

OOC:

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Jarla's main goal is simply keeping her head above water - she basically has an audience of two to keep happy. However she'll probably be approached by more guilds people like Solya so it sounds like this will be a working party. Within reason she'll listen to what they have to say, giving them quick private audiences.

With her dance card I suppose it will have to be first come, first served and here having several interested suitors who ask her hand is better than only one or two. Dancing with just Carraciolo or Jaques is something she wants to avoid!

[LCP]

Savonne

Elsa

"I... I don't know if I'm up to the task that lies ahead."

“Nobody does,” said the old priest, turning to walk with Elsa as she retreated back inside. “But you are here, all the same. The gods send us tests, and we must try to rise to them.”

He was leaning on his staff as he walked, forcing Elsa to check her pace if she was not to leave him behind. “That is one reason I am still uneasy with the Prince’s plan to send the book away. Of course, I don’t doubt that the Aguila Ultima can safeguard it better in Magritta than we can here, but there are a thousand miles of road between Magritta and Savonne. It has changed hands so many times, but never left the Reaches. Does something keep it bound here? Or is it simply that none of its holders have survived long enough to try?"

"I suppose those poor fools in the Lost Library came the closest. Casting it into another world entirely… that was some magic worthy of a master.” He looked to Elsa, the reflection of the lamplight making his eyes gleam brightly under the shadows of the owl mask. “I don’t suppose they had the blessing of the Colleges, either.”

Jarla

“Oh, uh,” said Solya, weakly, “I just… wanted to make her acquaintance.” She swallowed. “To be able to say you know the Prince and Princess, you know… it means a lot.”

A greater number of ball-goers were now following the Sforzas into the first dance. Carraciolo appeared through the crowd, still persistently sticking to Jarla’s trail. A thin, nervous-looking man in a black bear mask distracted Solya by asking her to dance - taking the opportunity, Jarla danced away with the Lord-Lieutenant.

The first dance seemed a great success, Jacques and the musicians in the gallery playing up a storm. Carraciolo seemed intent on monopolising Jarla for the second dance too, and who knew how many beyond that - but there were enough others eager for a dance with her that she found it easy to slip away. Sadly, her new partners seemed more interested in her proximity to the Sforzas than the music.

If you could see your way to mentioning it to his Highness, it would be best for everyone if these grain edicts weren’t extended to cheese and butter…

I heard that there might be an opening for a new court physician...

If they’d just have time for a quick word, about the untenanted land west of the river...

OOC:

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• If you just want to fob these folks off with a nod and a smile, no skill test required.
• If you want to try to take advantage of Jarla’s position to solicit gifts/bribes in exchange for the kind of favours they’re asking for, then describe for me what kind of things Jarla wants and give me a Gossip test to identify the ball-goers who might have that in their power to give.
• If you want to try to identify people’s motives in asking for what they’re asking for, and which requests might be more urgent, give me a Perception test.

Even Jacques managed to sneak away from the musicians’ gallery for long enough to ask Jarla for a dance, though thankfully he didn’t seem to have any favours to ask. “It was very interesting meeting your friend,” he said, during a lull in the music. He didn’t seem upset, merely curious. “Have you... known him long?”

At last, as the dancing was winding down, she found herself back with Carraciolo again. This time, the Tilean seemed absolutely determined not to let her go.

“You know I have to leave tomorrow,” he said quietly in her ear. “Who knows how long it will be until I see you again. What do you say we make this a night to remember?”

OOC:

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If Jarla wants to continue to deflect Carraciolo’s advances, she’ll need a Charm test to do it without upsetting him.