The Enemy Within (WHF Witch Hunter Quest)

XVIII - Unlikely Allies

The air is tense and still, nerves stretched to breaking point as you and Spätin stare each other down. Outside this little bubble the rest of the Schaffenfest continues unimpeded, drunken laughter and the low cries of animals filling the air, but in this moment such mundane concerns seem almost a world away.

"So, uh," Max gets out slowly, "someone going to tell me what's going on?"

"Why not," Spätin says with a strange twist to her mouth, "Care to do the honours, milord templar?"

"Spätin," you say carefully, your hands hovering at your sides, torn between the desire to draw weapons and defuse tension, "is an unlicensed spellcaster. A witch, in common parlance."

"Oh," Max says, looking more bemused than alarmed, his thoughts struggling to catch up with the situation before him, "So, what, we need to kill her or?"

You blink, and in the instant between your eyes closing and opening once more, Spätin draws her rapier and sets the tip of it to Max's throat. The legbreaker freezes, instincts screaming as he locks in place, but Spätin scarcely even spares him a glance. Her attention is almost entirely on you.

"What do you think, Max?" she says, not looking at the man even as the tip of her blade draws a bead of blood from his skin, "You think he'll hesitate? Or do you reckon he'll go for it? Guess it depends how much he values your life, huh. Not a good gamble, is it?"

"It doesn't have to go this way," you say carefully, conscious of how easy it would be for even an errant twitch to spell the end of your agent's life.

"It kinda does," Spätin says, almost casual now, her hazel brown eyes alight with a kind of fatalistic glee, "Seeing as I don't much care for the alternative, working for you and yours on pain of death."

Your thoughts race, desperation fueling your wits as you hunt for something, anything to say. There has to be a way to resolve this, to save her and send her to the colleges, but what? You failed your father by not looking for such a solution, you will not fail again. Perhaps there is something to be found in her actions, in the decision to seek out the company of the apprentice and the mystic? It is a fragile thread to hang your hopes on, but you cannot waste time looking for anything more; already passers by are taking note of the stand-off, whispering to their neighbours and clearing the area. You need to resolve this, and you need to do it soon, or all will be lost.

"I won't claim to understand your position," you say roughly, making sure to keep your hands out and away from your weapons, to give Spätin no reason to flinch and spill Max's blood across the muddy ground, "I've never stood where you stand, never faced a decision like you are now. But there are those who have. Hundreds of them dwell in Altdorf, even now."

"Lot of people lost out to some real shitty odds, so what," Spätin snorts, shaking her head, "Just because you clapped a hundred guys in chains doesn't mean I'm feeling any great rush to be a hundred and one."

"If you believe that then you're a fool," you snap, doing your best to keep your expression level and your hands motionless even as frustration bubbles over and desperation curdles in your chest. "Gormann and his ilk could vanquish a regiment with the wave of a hand, if they cared to leave the Colleges behind there is nothing any of us could do to stop them. They are there because they want to be there."

It is not a terribly wise admission, but even the most virulently zealous witch hunters concede with much lamentation that the Colleges are here to stay. The wizards are simply too numerous, too powerful and too organised to root out entirely by this point, even if you wished to try. That point was proven quite conclusively when Dieter IV stripped the wizards of their legal protections and mandate in 2415; even under assault by the Grand Theogonist himself at the head of a small army, the Colleges endured unbroken. Spätin has no way to know that history, but she must surely have detected some of the passionate venom in your voice, for she says nothing as you master your heart once more.

"The greatest treasure of the Imperial Colleges is their graduates," you say at last, controlling your voice and placing your hopes and fervent prayers behind every word, "Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people just like you. People who see what you see, who want what you want, who feel the way you feel. People who will understand you in ways that Max or I or anyone else outside those walls never truly could. It isn't a prison, Spätin. It's a new home."

Markus makes an average (+20) charm test. Skill is 71, roll is 06, astounding success.

For a long moment Spätin hesitates, the rapier in her hand trembling slightly in a way that makes Max swallow nervously. Then she slumps, seeming almost to deflate where she stands, and the sword drops back to her side.

"Fuck it," she says with bitter resignation, letting out a long and shaky breath, "and fuck you too, von Bruner. You and all your fancy words. I… I surrender."

"Thank you," you exhale, feeling the tension drain slowly out of your body, replaced with a kind of light exhilaration quite unlike anything you have felt before. "Truly, thank you. I… we will be returning to Altdorf regardless, once my work here is done. I will accompany you to the Colleges then."

"Guess so," Spätin snorts, shaking her head with a strange little smirk, "Gods, three years I spent on this path… Well, fine. This work of yours - going after the people who called up that thing in the sewers, then?"

You hesitate briefly, glancing around at the watching crowds and the busy festival beyond. Most of them have already lost interest now that it seems no duel or murder is to be forthcoming, drifting away in ones and twos, but there are still too many nearby for you to feel comfortable speaking. "Not here. Walk with me."

"For the record," Max grumbles, raising a hand to rub at the faint nick on his throat, "I could have taken you."

"In your dreams, deadbeat," Spätin snorts, falling in on your left without further protest and letting Max stay to your right. You make a note to double check with your other agent later that he is truly sanguine about this, for the absolute last thing you need to be dealing with now is some foolish attempt at vigilante justice or revenge, but right now your heart is so light it is far more of an effort not to smile. "So, what's the plan, then? You're not going to ask me for the sword?"

"There seems little point," you say dryly, unsure of exactly what kind of magic Spätin can muster but preferring not to put it to the test, "Our business in Bögenhafen is likely to last another week at least, and I can hardly keep you under guard at all hours. You may choose to remain in the inn room for the duration if that is your wish, but I would welcome your assistance."

"Hell with it," Spätin chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief, "In for a pfenning, in for a crown."

"In for a couple of shillings to pay the raven, too, if you carry on like that," someone calls out from one of the stalls next to the path, "Idiot girl. What good will a crown do when you keel over?"

Surprised, you realise that you recognise the speaker. It is the ruddy-skinned woman you met here yesterday, the one who hailed you out of your contemplative reverie and directed you in the direction of the Pandemonium Carnival. What was her name again?

"What are you rambling about now, grandma?" Spätin scoffs, turning to address the woman as well, "If either of us is about to keel over, it's you. Shouldn't you be back on the farm badgering the grandkids into fetching and carrying for you?"

"Cheeky cow," the pharmacist chuckles, shaking her head, "Roll up that sleeve of yours if you're so confident, then."

Frowning, Spätin does just that, revealing a length of rough cloth wrapped tightly around her forearm. You remember the bats that attacked you all in the sewers, and the bleeding wound the duelist sported in the aftermath. Sure enough, even from here you can see that the skin under the crude bandage is red and puffy; judging by the sudden alarm in Spätin's eyes, it was not nearly so inflamed when she applied the bandage this morning.

"Ah, fool of a girl. You didn't wash it out properly," the older woman clucks her tongue, dipping into the seemingly endless array of jars, bottles and wrapped bundles that cover her little wooden stall before emerging with a bandaged package in a calloused hand. She lobs the package at Spätin, cackling briefly at the faint yelp that the swordswoman lets out as she scrabbles to catch it. "Slap that poultice down across the wound and wrap the bandage tight over the top, you hear? It'll sting like a whole hive of angry bees, but if you pull it off before the skin's cooled back down I'll tan your hide myself."

"A generous donation, Frau Kleinestun," you say as the alchemist's name comes back into your mind at last, "and much appreciated."

"Ah, milord is too kind, remembering such a humble old lady like myself," Elvyra chuckles, and for a moment you wonder how old she actually is. Between the windburned face and shapeless smock she could be anything from thirty to sixty. "See you've still got those draughts I sold you, too."

"I've had no cause to use them as yet," you say, uncertain whether you should begrudge that fact. Is it hubris to wish that you had been injured in the place of your companions, you who deserves and can endure it more than any of them? Perhaps, yet that does not quiet the pang in your heart.

"Ah, that's a shame," Elvyra shakes her head, giving you a wicked grin as Spätin starts cursing at the touch of the poultice on her injured arm, "Was hoping I might get more business from you."

"...you may yet, Frau Kleinestun," you say abruptly, the thought leaping into your mind and thence from your mouth without pause. "I have two other companions currently confined to the Shallyan hospice, suffering from infected wounds of similar origin yet greater magnitude to that which Spätin bears. The priestess indicates that they have not the resources to provide proper treatment. Might you be able to intercede?"

"Might be," Elvyra squints at you thoughtfully, chewing one lip for a moment before she speaks again, "No promises, mind, and no more freebies either."

"I thought as much," you allow, though in truth you are briefly disappointed by the insistence on payment, "What price would you place on a consultation and such aid as you might provide?"

"A place in your retinue," Elvyra replies promptly, and both Spätin and Max stop their muted bickering to look over in shock.

"That is… not typically considered payment," you say carefully, hunting for the angle you are sure must be there somewhere, "Might I ask you to elaborate?"

"Well, I'm not a typical woman, now am I?" Elvyra shrugs, "I do a lot of my work on the move as is, so that wouldn't change, and there's all manner of herbs and such that'd be much easier to get with a noble's signature on the order. Fair few books and such, too, that a witch hunter can lay hands on without getting in trouble."

"You're talking about poison," Max interjects then, shaking his head slowly as he folds his arms, "Maybe some of the drugs that the gangs back home sell in the off-road dens. I'll give you points for guts, grandma, but seriously?"

"Mind your tongue, boy," Elvyra clucks at him, before turning back to you with a shrug, "Take it from me, milord - the difference between a poison and a cure is one of dosage, nothing more. There's nothing in this world you can't put to at least some kind of good use. And before you ask, it's not illegal neither, the stuff I'm after. Well, not if you happen to be a noble and a templar, anyways. So, what'd you say?"

Article:

Elvyra Kleinestun, Master Apothecary, has offered to join your retinue. Her price for this (in addition to a standard wage) is that Markus uses his authority and influence to aid her in acquiring various restricted herbs, texts and alchemical reagents, and not look too closely at what she does with them.

Do you accept?

[ ] Yes

[ ] No

Spoiler: Mechanical Considerations

Elvyra is genuinely a fantastic healer and alchemist. She has a Heal skill of 85, and a number of lore and trade skills related to medicine, alchemy and herbology at 80-90. Combined with her talents, she will vastly increase the survivability of Markus' band and any allies he wishes to be involved with.

Elvyra is also a criminal. She is very good at charming and bribing people, can use many of the more popular secret tongues and codes employed by criminal organisations across the Empire, and has the Etiquette (Criminals) talent. She also has a Trade (Poisoner) skill of 89.

Elvyra is not a combatant. She has three points in melee (basic) and no other combat relevant skills. If exposed to danger, she will do her level best to run away or hide behind one of the party's more militant characters.

-/-

Just after nightfall that evening, you and your companions slip out of the Journey's End Inn and begin making your way through the streets of Bögenhafen towards the Steinhäger estate. Your journey is surprisingly easy and unobstructed, but you cannot find it in yourself to be grateful. Morrsleib looms large in the sky, motionless and twice the size of its more wholesome twin, and beneath that baleful green light few indeed choose to linger out of doors. It is a foul omen indeed, but then your most important work so often takes place on such nights, and with your steadfast example to follow neither Max or Spätin voice any complaint.

The Adel Ring is Bögenhafen's richest and most exclusive district, with palatial mansions and luxurious townhouses built in a staggered ring around the central axis of the beautiful Saponatheim Park. Even on a night such as this the watch are out in force, patrolling the well lit streets and wide boulevards to keep both free of what the locals imagine the criminal element to look like, and small bands of lesser aristocrats and rakish students dare the baleful moonlight in shows of courageous debauchery. You are able to persuade one of the watch patrols to open the gate to the park for you, and while there are several other residents enjoying the serene environs, most are too distracted by romantic or carnal pursuits to notice you.

"Either of you two ever do anything like that?" Max asks in a low voice, eyes lingering on a pair of scantily dressed teens entwined beneath the boughs of an oak tree. "Seems like a list-of-wishes kinda deal, honestly. Maybe not under the green moon though…"

"No," you say tersely, visions of dockside taverns and rather less sophisticated liaisons dancing through your mind for a moment before you banish them.

"Eh, parks only feel special if you're a townie," Spätin murmurs quietly, pacing silently through the undergrowth next to you, "Something to be said for rooftops and hillsides, though."

The Steinhäger residence lies on the western side of the Adel Ring, and even an amateur's eye can pick out the chaotic mishmash of architectural styles that went into its design. Classical pillars hold up peaked roofs of imperial design between a series of gothic towers straight out of Sylvanian dramas, and even now one whole wing of the house is clearly undergoing refurbishment and expansion to incorporate yet more aesthetics. It is a profoundly ugly building, but also the sort of thing that must have cost a truly staggering sum of coin to construct, and for a man like Franz Steinhäger you suppose that might be all that matters. Settling into a comfortable position behind the iron fence of the park, you and your companions keep a close watch on the building and its inhabitants as the appointed time draws near.

Over the course of the next half an hour, you watch as seven different richly dressed men and women approach the Steinhäger house. Each carries a bundle in their arms that can only hold robes and masks, and many come with bodyguards or other escorts, and you take care to memorise the face of each one as they step into the lamplight outside the house and address the servants gathered there. Seven members of the Inner Council, as Magirius explained - himself among the first to arrive - which you assume must make Steinhäger the 'magister' who leads them. Movement and candlelight behind the drawn curtains of one of the upper level rooms suggests that is where they are holding their meeting, and as soon as the last member of the council has arrived, the guards draw the wrought iron gates closed and take up positions on either side.

"What do you think our chances are of getting closer?" you ask the others in a low voice.

"Dogshit," Max replies succinctly, "There's gotta be like twenty guys over there, with all the protection the bigwigs brought with them, and there's no cover between the park and the gate. No way we get close enough to see anything worth the risk."

"Pipe down," Spätin mutters, "I'm trying to listen."

You blink, turning to face her, and find to your mild alarm that she is currently standing in the shadow of a tall oak tree with one hand cupped around her ear, the other tracing a tiny repeating signal in the air before her. Your skin crawls. Magic, it has to be.

"Spätin," you growl, "What the hell are you-"

"Hsst," the duelist snaps, before suddenly smiling, "Gotcha! They've started greeting each other… no names, just 'brethren of the ordo'. Boss sounds like he's got a bad cough, definitely a reiklander though."

Max gives you a wary and deeply uncomfortable look, but after a moment's hesitation you elect not to interrupt Spätin while she is working her magic. There is always a much greater risk of something going wrong if a spellcaster is startled midway through weaving their strange tricks, and more than that this is likely your only chance to listen in on the meeting.

"Yeah, they're talking about the shrine," Spätin continues after a moment, frowning in concentration, "seems they can't use it after we broke in. And… yeah, most of them are worried, but the boss is assuring them he's got a backup site almost ready to go."

"A backup?" you grunt, feeling like you just bit into something sour. "Great. Any clue where it is?"

"If they say something I'll tell you," Spätin rolls her eyes, before pausing, "Wait, they just mentioned… shit, yeah, they're doing something tomorrow, stroke of midnight. A ritual or something? Boss just mentioned bringing in a sacrifice to consecrate the new site."

At your side, your hand balls into a fist. Animal sacrifices are a key part of many religious rituals, but you strongly suspect that these people have something rather more awful in mind. It never hurts to be cynical when it comes to secretive cults.

"Huh, sounds like one of them doesn't like the idea…" Spätin murmurs, still concentrating on her spell, "The others are trying to encourage him. Something about how it will be worth it, when they're all rich and raise Bögenhafen to… shit!"

On the upper floor of the Steinhäger house, a silhouette limed in purple light briefly appears in one of the windows, disappearing again a moment later. Spätin yanks her hand away from her ear as if she just touched a pot upon the fire, hissing in pain and shooting a frightened look up at the house.

"Move," you growl, grabbing your new recruit by the arm and hauling her behind you as you head back deeper into the park, "Max, you too. Back to the inn."

"I don't… what the fuck was that?" Spätin groans, stumbling along after you like a drunk woman.

"That, Spätin, was another spellcaster, one who knows what they are actually doing," you growl, choosing not to share your suspicion that it might have been something far worse. So long as it simply restricted itself to breaking the connection Spätin was using to eavesdrop, you think she should be fine, or at least not badly imperilled enough that the Colleges won't be able to account for it. "Speaking of which, you just committed a mortal crime in front of a templar you stupid girl. What were you thinking?"

"Oh, fuck off," Spätin grunts, shaking her head to clear her head, "I agreed to go with you to the Colleges, I didn't agree to swallow all your fucking dogma. If I'd asked, you would have said no, and then we wouldn't know about tomorrow's ritual or anything, now would we?"

You grit your teeth and don't reply, knowing better than to get into an argument over this kind of thing. Fortunately it appears that nobody is pursuing you as you emerge from the park and leave the Adel Ring behind, but despite that you cannot shake the feeling that you are being watched by some strange and unwholesome presence. It is only when you stop looking behind you and choose to look up instead that you finally put a name to the feeling, for on the face of the chaos moon a pair of dark shadows have formed just above a ragged trench you could swear was not present earlier.

Morrsleib hangs low over the town of Bögenhafen, a hungry smile upon its wicked face.

Article:

You have identified the most prominent members of the Ordo Septenarius, and you know they intend to conduct some manner of magical ritual tomorrow at midnight, one involving some form of morally objectionable sacrifice. How do you wish to resolve this?

[ ] Go to the authorities
You will take your accusations to Ludo Edel and Johannes Teugen, and demand that they arrest the conspirators for immediate trial. Your evidence is somewhat threadbare, since testimony from an eavesdropping witch is legally dubious to say the least, but you can at the very least make the ritual impossible to perform.

[ ] Pressure the wavering
Spätin claims that at least one of the Ordo's inner council was uncomfortable with the proposed sacrifice, and you know Magirius sincerely believed in their benevolent intent. Approach the guildmaster covertly, and see if you can persuade him to turn on his co-conspirators.

[ ] Raid the ritual
Magical rituals cannot lightly be rescheduled, and you know the Ordo intends to act tomorrow night. You will follow their members, discern where it is to be held, and catch them red-handed before the sacrifice can be completed or their sorcery begun.