Warhammerquest: A WHFRP Adventure.

[X] Stop to investigate. Examining the wreckage might give you some clues about what exactly happened, maybe you can track the driver, or find something useful in the debris.
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After a moment's thought, you come to a decision. You can't simply pass by the sight of a disaster on Geheimnisnacht and do nothing. Your mother told you a story, once, about a traveler on the road, desperate and starving, ignored by every passer-by, until finally a good Arabyan stopped to give him water and bread and drag him to the safety of the shade. Now, you are fairly certain that story was completely made up, nobody in your city had ever so much as seen an Arabyan, but the principle remains. Besides, if there's danger, you'd prefer to have foreknowledge of it. You can stomach a little longer outdoors.

At least, you think, glancing up at the Looming glow of Morrslieb, you hope so.

"We'll have to have a look, just to make sure."

Miska nods grimly, and the two of you drag yourselves over to examine the wreckage, the mud sucking at your boots with every step.

First up is the horse. It's closest to you, and you'd prefer to get it over with quickly. You crouch down on your haunches, squinting through the rain and the darkness to try and get a better look, holding your breath as the stench hits you. Swallowing thickly, you lift your trusty walking stick in both hands and, gingerly, cautiously, poke the body in the side a couple times, shoulders tense.

Alright, so it is fully dead, then. You know that at least.

The animal was an old one, but a sturdy one. With long, strong legs and a torso well-padded with muscle. The fur that covered most of it is a darker gray-ish color, although that might just be the lack of light or the mud that's worked its way between every strand. The poor thing has been half-sunken into the mud, its weight slowly dragging it down through the muck, with most of its long snout pushed into the earth at an awkward angle.

It still wears it's harness, leather straps criss-crossing the body to connect to the overturned form of the wagon it had been dragging. Between those straps, gouged into the flank facing the sky, are a number of grisly wounds.


It takes you a moment of looking before you recognize what you are seeing. The creature's side is covered in long, smooth gashes, raking down from its back to it's stomach. You are not precisely an expert, but you feel pretty confident in believing those are the marks of weapon strikes held in human (or near-human) hands. From knives or some such. No natural claw could make marks that smooth.

This is all the more confusing, however, when you compare it to the neck wound, which you reckon must have been the fatal one. With the horse's head twisted such as it is, its throat is bent slightly upwards, exposing the horrendous hole that has been torn into it. A huge chunk right in the middle of it's thick neck is missing, a bloody hole with ragged, torn edges which continually oozes, precious ichor mixing with the surrounding muck. A wound like that was ripped out by the bite of something wild and fierce.

So, no mere animals attacked this wagon … but they had animals with them? Attack dogs? Something like that …

Whatever the truth, it makes you shiver, worried at what might be haunting this night. You force yourself to move on, shuffling past the body towards where the wagon lays.

It's not quite as large as you thought at first. A long box on wheels, with a small bench attached at the front for a driver to sit on. Plain, brown-ish wood has been darkened by the damp of the rain. You examine the bench first.


It's not very impressive seating, with no padding to speak of. Just hard, bare wood and some square bits on the sides to keep you from falling off. There's no sign of the driver, not even a bloodstain. But there is a small pouch of coins that's slumped into the bottom corner, spilling a number of pennies out.

After a while of picking through, you manage to scrounge no less than nine brass pennies that have been left behind. It might have made you smile, under happier circumstances. You pocket them. Whoever they belong to won't be missing them.

+9 Pennies.

You awkwardly step over the fallen reigns to get around to the open side of the wagon, where the boxes and bags are strewn about. Almost everything here has been smashed apart, but you still take the time to look through it, poking around with the bottom end of your stick. At the very least, you can see what was being transported.

The answer was food, evidently. Burlap sacks filled with potatoes, carrots, or flour, now all fouled by muck. The boxes hold strings of dried sausages or stacked loaves of bread, all torn to pieces and half-eaten by … something. You're not quite sure what. Unfortunately, almost all the goods here have been ravaged beyond recognition, and being exposed to the rain and the mud has done in what's left. You're not desperate enough to eat mud, just yet.

There is, however, one item that has been left untouched, probably because it went unnoticed. A small keg, rolled halfway out of the lip of the wagon. A sturdy thing with oaken planks held together by bands of solid iron. A small tap is near the bottom, and it smells strongly of Alcohol. There are markings carved into the side, though of course you can't read what they say.


You take some time to look around the surrounding ground for any tracks or footprints that might give you more clues, but if there ever were any, the rain has long ago washed them away.

Cursing your luck, you finally step back, looking over the whole scene. The driver is still nowhere to be found, but you have a slightly better idea of what must have happened now. From the clues you've pieced together the wagon was attacked while it was still moving, that would explain its position and why the horse was still hitched up. A group that had to have at least one armed person and some sort of vicious animal struck from the side, slaying the horse quickly, and … you're not sure what happened to the driver, maybe he ran. Afterwards, they tipped the wagon over and began looting in a frenzy before presumably leaving on their own.

Your gaze is drawn inevitably upwards, towards the treeline of the nattern forest, not too far from the north of the road. The attack had to have come from there. That's the side the horse's wounds are on, and the side the wagon was pushed over from. You stare for a long moment into the darkness, worrying about what might be hiding in those arboreal shadows.

"Have you found anything, Miska?"

"Nyet. Come on, we can do no more here."

You nod, but spare a glance towards the keg that was left behind.

[] Take it with you. You can probably fetch some coins for it or something.

[] Leave it. Its weight may slow you down, and you don't want any questions about where you got it.

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By the time you finally come within sight of the Coaching inn, you are both utterly miserable and completely drenched. Your cloak is sodden through, clinging to your skin and weighing down your shoulder uncomfortably. Miska is trying her best not to shiver, and occasionally tucks one or both hands under her vest in a futile effort to keep them dry.

When you finally spy the warm, Orange light of windows up ahead, you nearly collapse in relief, before pulling yourself together and hurrying on towards safety.

Like most of its kind, the Coaching inn is a large establishment, built to serve many travelers at the same time, with specialized facilities to service the coach lines that pass through. Though you would bet that business has been slow tonight.

This one is positioned at a cross in the roads, where the nuln road meets a lesser trail passing north to south. The inn is stationed in the southern side, with its front facing the north road, and the forests beyond.

It's layout is an interesting one, consisting of two halves on either side of the road. The first, closest to your side, is a large, rectangular hall with thick stone walls and full tree-trunks anchoring each corner, acting as pillars. Sitting atop it is a level constructed of wood and wattle, large enough that it projects outwards, hanging past the edges of the first floor, supported by a network of tall wooden supports.

From this second floor, a long covered bridge-type thing connects to the second structure on the opposite side of the road, merging into it's own top floor. This second building appears as a very large wooden barn-type structure, with double-doors wide enough for a coach to pass through, positioned so that its length is perpendicular to that of the main inn building. A single roof stretches across both structure and the bridge, covered in wooden shingles painted a dull green, and you can see a large stone chimney puffing out smoke that curls and dissipates into the wet night air. Both buildings are surrounded by a short stone wall around the perimeter, the kind often used in sheepfolds.

Out front, right at the corner of the crossroads, stands an old well.

Encouraged by the sight of civilization at last, the two of you hurry along as fast as your weary legs can take you, stumbling through the dark towards the inviting glow of the windows. As you get closer, you can spy the sign hanging off the front, bearing a stylized painting of a horse laying down to sleep beside a parked chariot. It reminds you disturbingly of the massacre you found earlier, but for now, you put it out of mind.

A short hop up a small wooden staircase brings you to the front door, allowing you to sigh with relief as the rain is blocked by the floor overhead, but when you try to push the entrance open, it only jangles in place, refusing to move.

You scowl, because of course people lock their doors tonight.

You spare a single glance over your shoulder, past the impatiently looming form of Miska, and towards the night. Under the unnatural light of Morrslieb, every shadow seems to hold a flickering daemon-shape ready pounce, and your spine tingles with fear.

You turn back again, and knock on the door. When there is no response, you call out, and knock harder. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"

Still nothing, you slam your fist against the door until it hurts, raising your voice. "Hey! I know you're in there! Please, just open the door!"

At last, a small vision slit slides open, and a pair of suspicious eyes glower at you from beneath a pair of graying eyebrows. "Go Away."

You blink. "What? I … look, this is an Inn, isn't it? We're just looking for shelter, it's nasty out here."

"I'll not be 'havin any mutants or fiends slippin in so they can kill us overnight!"

"Oh come on! You can see me, I'm as human as you! You can't just leave me out here on Geheimnisnacht!"

"And who says yer not in disguise, hmm? You could be all kinds of things. Possessed, A Vampire, An Averlander …"

You sigh in exasperation. An Obstinate bouncer is the last thing you need to deal with tonight.

[] Just try to convince him. Surely, he has to see sense eventually. Perhaps there's something you can do to prove your innocence?

[] Tell him about the wagon you found. Maybe he'll be sympathetic enough to let you in when you warn him about the dangers out here.

[] Miska is growling behind you, just about fed up with this night. You have to agree. Step aside to let her rip the bouncer a verbal new one to scare him into opening the door.

[] Offer to pay him if he lets you in. You've found even the most suspicious people become less so when presented with coin.

[] Write-In

You take a deep breath before leaning in to respond in a hissed whisper. "Look, there's certainly fiends out here, but it ain't us! We found a whole wagon back aways, overturned and looted! The horse was dead, and the driver was gone! Im tellin' you there's something bad out 'ere"

The eyes behind the door narrow, and you hear a snort. "Oh, aye? And i suppose your running scared with a norscan horde right behind ya too?"

"I got proof ya idjit, look!" You gesture Miska forward, and she hefts the keg you brought from the cart into sight, waving it in front of the viewing hole.

"We got that from the wreckage! Only bloody thing left intact."

The eyes widen, and there is a moment of silence as the man on the other side thinks. "... They was expectin' a delivery the day before … it never showed …"

Miska grunts. "No shit."

The eyes narrow back down. "... Supposin' I believe that there's something out there, hmm? How do I know it's not you? How do I know you didnt destroy the wagon yerself?"


You sigh, exasperated. "If I did, why would I even let you know it was wrecked at all? Why invite suspicion? If'n I was a fiend, why wouldn't I just break down the door?"

There is a grunt. "Monsters and such have all kinds 'o tricks … but I aint ever heard of an honest one … Fine. You can come in, but you best watch yourself, I know I will."

The vision slit slides closed again, and when you hear the sound of locks being clicked and a bar being moved, you sigh in relief, glad to have a guarantee of shelter at last.

The door opens, the two of you step through, out of the relentless rainstorm, and are hit immediately with a wall of warmth and the tantalizing smell of cooking food. It is a balm to your aching senses.


The bar-room takes up what you can only assume to be the majority of the bottom floor. The wooden floor beneath your boots is old and stained with generations of spilled drinks, but it is also solid enough that it doesn't creak. The walls are bare stone themselves, but they have been hung and draped with woven mats and horse-blankets to create a makeshift form of insulation, creating a mosaic of muted colors and patterns that cast their own, small shadows against the wall.

Right beside you, and therefore right beside the door, stands a small number of stools, stands, and racks upon which are piled a messy mixture of cloaks and hats and scarves and gloves, the discarded paraphernalia of travelers come to rest. Nearby stands a grumpy looking man with a leather jacket over his shirt and thick, darker brown hair. He grumbles to himself, moving to put down a militia spear by leaning it up against the wall. The bouncer who opened the door for you, you presume.

He is not the only one here, but, as you suspected, on a night like this the place is far emptier than it was designed to be.

Most of the space is taken up by an assortment of tables, Round or square or an uneven attempt to replicate those shapes, surrounded each by a loose assortment of stools and chairs and flat benches.

Most of these tables are empty. Most, but not all. A variety of faces glance up at you as you step further inside, curiosity and caution warring on their features.

To one side, two men sit together, while a third leans against the table, as though he had walked over to speak with them. One of the sitting men is old, his hair gray and thinning, his face lined with wrinkles, his posture stooped and hunched. He wears a leather apron, and his belt is lined with tools. The second might be his opposite, tall and fit and young, with strong arms and the blond hair and the patchy whiskers of a boy only just turned man. Though he, too, bears the garb of a workman. The third, the one who leans, is somewhere in the middle of that age range, and is just a little on the fatter side, with an unkempt black beard and hair, although his clothes are clean. All three give you a glance, look you up and down, before dismissing you as unimportant, and going back to their conversation.

Roughly in the middle, there is a clean-shaven young man with dark hair bent deeply over his table. He has a plate of food that's been left almost untouched, set aside so that he may leaf through a pile of books and papers, examining them by flickering candlelight. He barely glanced up as you entered, taking note of you with deep, tired eyes, before returning to whatever it is he is studying. He wears a nice-ish linen shirt, and you can see a doublet folded over the chair behind him.

A more intimidating figure takes a seat along the left wall, with thick auburn muttonchops and hair that would be long, if it was not tied back into a sort of ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. A long scar runs from one cheek to another, across the bridge of his nose, and he has not bothered to take off the studded leather pads that offer protection to most of his body. A battered old shield leans against his chair. He watches you like a hawk for awhile, one hand rubbing at his chin.

At the opposite end of the room from the entrance a very long bartop stretches, it's counter worn smooth by many hands over many years, lined with dedicated seats. Only three of which are occupied.

The first you think, for a moment, must be a child, for they are so small in stature that their head barely comes up above the bartop. But there are no large figures accompanying them, and as they turn in their seat to give you a cheerful wave, revealing the features of a woman grown, you realize that this must be a halfling. A halfling on the move, judging by the oversized bags and rucksacks that are piled around her like small mountains.

Only a couple seats away is another woman, both human, by the looks. An older, dignified woman wearing a black dress, her hair up in a tight bun and gray shawl, sniffing disdainfully at the bowl of stew before her, accompanied closely by a younger slip of a girl, mousey and thin with a simple but clean peasant dress.

Behind the bar, a portly man with a large walrus mustache wipes down beer steins, diligently attempting to ignore the small boy tugging at his pant leg, while an even portlier woman hurries out from behind the counter, carrying a tray in one hand … in your direction.

"Oh, you poor dears! I hope Heinz didn't give you too much trouble, he's a stubborn old goat."

The man with the spear grunts, crossing his arms.

"Come with me, come with me, we'll get you sorted out."

Before either you and Miska can so much as utter a word, you find yourselves in the middle of a flurry of activity as the woman pushes you past a staircase towards a crackling hearth, tut-tutting and fussing over you at a pace that is impossible to keep up with. She strips you of your cloak, and sets it to dry before the fireplace, before pushing you both down into seats nearby, and pouring out foaming ale into mugs you hadn't even noticed.

You find yourself relaxing into your seat almost unconsciously.

"Oh, bless your hearts, dreadful night to be caught outside, just dreadful. Look at the state of ya! Lucky you came when you did, you could catch your death in that rain. Now, don't you worry a toff, dears. Well get you nice and warm and fed. Tonight, everyone gets an ale and a warm stew and can sleep on the floor for free-"

"No they dont!" Hollers the man behind the bar without looking up.

"Yes they do!" Snaps the matronly woman, before turning back to you, shaking her head. The man grumbles, but goes back to cleaning his glass. You get the impression this is an argument that has been had many times, and one that he has yet to win. "A bit of hospitality is the least we can do on a night like this. Outright indecent, otherwise. My name's Helga, by the way, if you have any questions, you can come right to me. Now, i'll go fetch you your meal, maybe two for the big lass, and some blankets. We have rooms if you like but those'll still cost ya, were aren't running a charity here after all, and-"

She pauses, eyes lingering on the keg awkwardly cradled in Miska's lap. Narrowing in suspicion.

"-Is that Bugman's? Expensive stuff, that. Where'd you get it?"

You glance over. "Oh, aye we found that amid the wreckage. A whole cart overturned on the road. Horse slaughtered. There's something foul out there, mark my words."

She pales with fright. Her voice suddenly faint.

"I … we were expecting a delivery with Bugmans yesterday. When it didn't show, we figured Metzler was off drunk again, the sot. But … but he didn't deserve to die … I … do you know what did him in?"

You shrug. "We had a look, but nothing was clear. His body was gone."

The whole room goes quiet, and more than one patron looks over in your direction. Heinz, the bouncer, curses. Something about brigands.

Helga swallows thickly. "Gods be good, the poor man … and these are meant to be peaceful parts. … Well, I thank you for grabbing what you could-"

She holds out a hand, expectantly.

"-And i'll thank you for returning our delivery, late as it is. I suppose well have to go out in the morning and have a look for the wagon … and tell the wardens, gods…"

Miska frowns, and pulls the keg closer protectively. "Hold on. We found. Is ours." This is unsurprising to you, Miska likes drink more than life, and can be greedy, sometimes.

[] Just give it back to her. If they ordered it, its theirs.

[] You found it fair and Square. Keep it.

[] Offer to give it back in exchange for coin.

[] Offer to give it back in exchange for something else.
-[] What?

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You are now safely inside the Inn. You are provided ale, a hot stew, and a place by the fire to sleep for free.

But you are not the last person who will come calling.

You have 1 hour until something drastic comes knocking at the inn's door. How do you spend this time? Choose 4 of the following options.

[] Start up a conversation with someone. (can be taken multiple times)
-[]Who?
-[]About what?

[] The warrior sitting alone is flipping through a scarlet empress deck. Maybe you can challenge him to a game and win some coin. Or lose some.

[] Your mother taught you well, and these people look to be in need of cheering up. Perhaps you could tell a story to distract them? Maybe, if you do good enough, a few generous souls will toss some pennies your way.
-[] What kind of story do you tell?

[] Purchase a proper room, you don't want to sleep on the floor tonight. (10p) (can be taken multiple times)
-[] Attempt to bargain the price down. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.

[] There's plenty of food here, and more importantly, alcohol. If you wanted to get stinknig drunk, this is a pretty good place to do it. (can be taken multiple times)
-[] What do you want to add to your meal? This will determine the price.
-[] Attempt to bargain down the price. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.

[] An inn this large probably has supplies to spare for the road, maybe you can buy something useful? (can be taken multiple times)
-[] What are you aiming to purchase? This will determine the price.
-[] Attempt to bargain down the price. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.

[] Just sit back and enjoy the fire. You need to rest.

[] Write in.