The Blood Runs Cold (Warhammer Fantasy Vampire Pirate Quest)

To the relief of many who lived in the lands of Kislev and the Empire, the tribes of Norsca were a fractured lot who would raid one another just as soon as they would the "weak Southerners." In fact, it could be argue among some that there was greater glory to be had from fighting truly worthy warriors, especially those who had received their own favors from the gods. That was not even to mention the land, slaves, and wealth that came from such internal squabbles.

However, should squabbling be set aside for unity, that is when the real terror to the realms of Order begins. They are rare and usually only under the influence of a so-called Everchosen, a champion undeniably blessed by the Ruinous Powers. That was not to say that there weren't other lesser attempts to push for unification by the various Kings and Jarls, such as what was happening now.

The gathering of various tribe representatives was silent when the one who had called for them was finished with his speech. He was a figure larger than most of them, possessing a higher measure of tattooed and flesh than most Norscans. This normally was an prized trait among them, especially for a sorcerer who had such riches to indulge himself in both work and pleasure. Yet now, there was not a single shaman among them who looked on with respect or envy.

Well, perhaps the latter did apply, though it was hard to tell if the shade of green was born of emotion, or visceral response to the speaker's horrific odour.

But the one known as Halescourge seemed completely unperturbed by his own stench. In fact, he seemed to happily marinate in it, uncaring of his form. For such abundance in everything was a gift from his very own patron, rewards generously given for acts in His name. It was a path that he now wished to share with distant kin, the rapturous acceptance of the Grandfather.

Nurgle was his name, and all life, whatever it may be, rotted in His glorious embrace.

The Norscan Sorcerer shook himself out of his musings and frowned uncharacteristically. None of the other tribes had already accepted the generous offer? Perhaps a final push was needed. "My fellows who have weathered this frigid life," he encouraged, "the time is ripe. The Southlanders have weakened themselves so, over that paltry city known as Marienburg. Now it is open, its defenses compromised.

"Now should we raise our fleets and armies to raze it, to leave an eternal shrine to the Rotfather that shall mark this world!" There, that final outburst should be a nice call to action. It did admittedly go against His tenants of simply being, but surely if it was done for glory in His name, it would be forgiven.

The contradictort words of the most armored representative thus offended Halescourge. "You say that they are weak," the ruthless berseker repeated. Then she crossed her arms with a dismissive scoff. "Then they are not a worthy challenge for my axe, or that of others. We are uninterested."

Halescourge couldn't believe what he heard. A follower of the Hound, turning down the opportunity for bloodshed! He had been so sure that at the very least, they would be swayed! His words carried a note of disbelief. "You, who normally who kill and be killed without second thought, are demonstrating such heresy to your patron-!"

The hurled hatchet barely missed his nose. "You do not speak for Him," she hissed and plucked another axe, readying to throw. "He has commanded us wait for His chosen. You offer us a paltry fraction more instead of the rivers that shall drown cities then. So we will wait and sharpen our edge for that day. Push further, and you will not live to see that glorious moment by my own hand."

A clear rejection that he did not expect. But there were others, and he turned to one of them now. This one in contrast wore barely anything, all the more to show off the perfectly molded body. Yet even with so much on display, their gender did not align with any, their face bearing features of all. They examined their nails before speaking in a idle tone. "This opportunity does interest us-"

Yellowed teeth was breaking out on Halescourge's face-

"But we'd like a little guarantee. An upfront payment to make it worth our while." They looked up and a cruel smirk of perfect enamel was shown. "A...sample of what we could take should suffice. Surely a trifle matter for your ambition."

The hand around the sorcerer's staff curled when he recalled a recent loss. "Due to piracy," he spat that word out like it personally offended him, "the preliminary shipment is delayed. But were you to have a modicum of patience, it surely will be provided in time."

"Then we'll await that time before doing anything." They made a lazy yawn and went back to obsessing with themselves. "Otherwise, kindly fuck yourself."

Such selfish and senseless depravity-! Halescourge caught himself and settled for exhaling a gust of rancid breath in their direction. Given the sudden green tinge that colored their expression, he counted it as a paltry victory and moved to the last of the great representatives. The lesser tribes and clans could do whatever they liked to support or ignore his people's efforts, but it was critical that he secure the backing of at least one other great power.

The man he was now courting was a fellow practioner of magic, wielding dark and unspeakable spells in the name of their respective patrons. But that was where the similarities ended, for unlike Halescourge, he had a leaner and emaciated frame. That was a sign of a maniac pursuit for knowledge, for information, for truth. Surely he could see this was the will of the true gods and agreed to lend his affiliates' support!

The Norscan Shaman studied Halescourge now with a critical eye. Then he spoke. "You say the time is now to raze Marienburg, that it is the will of the crow to make it so. But tell me." He leaned on the staff he carried and made a toothless smile. "Is this truly a joint venture among all the followers of the crow? Or is it perhaps due to the weakened circumstance of the Rotblood Tribe?"

Halescourge felt an unusual feeling swell up, one he had not felt every since pledging himself to the Grandfather. What was it? Ah. Fear.

Especially when suddenly the other parties found a newfound well of interest. "My, somebody's been holding out on us," the Serpent purred.

"A nearby warm-up right on our steps would be quite welcomed," the Hound growled.

Halescourge glared hatefully at the fellow magi, the betrayal stinging hard. "You speak lies, pointless ones at that."

"Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don't." He met the stare with whitened eyes. "But we do not listen to the crow. Few do, in these harsh lands. You who are content to sit and wallow forever, accepting the Dream, we do not heed. No, we listen to the eagle. And He shall be delighted with this change."

He hobbled away, dark laughter echoing in Halescourge's ears. The others greats followed and the vast majority of the smaller tribes, leaving only a few minors to stay and offer their support to the cause. Maybe they saw opportunities, or perhaps they wished to feast when the Rotbloods faltered. It didn't matter, they were like flies that buzzed about a rotting corpse before the scavengers came.

So Halescourge felt nothing when his hand shot out and grabbed one of the quivering representatives by force. Sparks of twisted magic flared and the unfortunate fellow screamed when bulging boils and pustules erupted across his skin. Only when his voice cut out from the torrent of vomit surging forth that Halescourge relent, coldly releasing his victim to drop to the floor.

Seeing the newly diseased comrade did lighten his mood somewhat. It was always a good day to spread the Plaguefather's gifts, the occasion just dampened by the unsure future. The Rotblood Tribe was now circled by opportunists, meaning that a good portion of their forces would now be reserved for defense. To sit in place instead of spreading the beloved gifts of Nurgle-

Then Halescourge realized somebody had silently slipped in while he has been thinking. His mood immediately fouled at the familiar face and he growled at them. "Have you deceivers not caused me enough trouble today? I should not even entertain your honeyed words any further!"

"I did warn you, great sorcerer, and I did try to arrange for a better bargaining table." The blind man's expression twisted and the white crow perched on his shoulder cawed in a bothersome fashion. "But these things happen and we make do."

"Make do? Make do? My tribe is beset on all sides without a single worthy ally in sight! We were relying on the ships of others, but without them, there can be no attack on the Empire!"

"Which is why you will not use ships. Rather, an alternative method will be used." He leaned in with a questioning expression. "Tell me, does it matter where you strike in the Empire? Is Marienburg your only target?"

Halescourge paused. "No. So long as it is a site which we can raze, it matters little."

"Then a solution is at hand." He raised his staff and slammed it on the ground, a signal for somebody waiting outside. They arrived now, scurrying easily between the entrance, and there were sucked gasps from the assembled Norscans. "A talented mind shall see you to Helmgart to work your slaughter."

"Helmgart? That far inland?" Halescourge said incredulously. "What manner of madness is this?"

"Not madness-stupidity." Grey Seer Rasknitt cackled, whiskers twitching. "Insanity-genius, yes-yes! Build Skittergate! Unleash Vermintide!"

(Juicy Profits: 42 +12 (Intrigue) = 54)

"A pirate fleet that's been looting and pillaging in the area." Beati paused, then asked the predicted clarification. "Er, are you sure-"

"It's not us," you answered immediately and the peasant hesitated, then pressed on.

"How can you be so sure?" You hid a grin at the confidence she was building up, her inability to accept things at face value slowly being cultivated into a proper inquisitive nature. But you answered her question honestly.

"They described it as a set of small ships targeting and hitting large merchant vessels that can't maneuver in time." You waved your hand in the general direction of your docked flagship. "No mention of anything the size of most our vessels, so it definitely isn't referring to us. I'm thinking this makes it an excellent opportunity for us to do a little pirating on the pirates."

"Oh, so we shouldn't get in trouble with anybody then!" She eagerly realized and you nodded. "That's a fine idea, Admiral."

"It is, but I'm also doubting they'll have much value to them." You made a face and shook your head. "I suppose gold is gold, but escorts aren't famed for carrying much. We'll consider it, maybe."

"Did you happen to hear anything else?"

(Spy on Locals: 66 +12 (Intrigue) = 78)

"I have indeed. Tell me." You glanced at her with a sly smirk. "What do you think happens to a castle in Bretonnia when all its knights are dead?"

She frowned and put a finger up to her chin, trying to dig up half-gossip from travelers back home. "It...should default back to their liege, right? The same sort of reasoning when a commoner's lands have no immediate relatives to take responsibility for." Beati shivered and shook her head. "There's a lot of nasty tales about how some poor town-folk suddenly having inherited a farm, but not realizing it until the knights come round to arrest them for failure to pay the expected tithe."

You stared at her. "That...no, that's on par for the nobility that Gaston gripes about," you summarized depressingly. "All within the law, I suppose. Well, that makes my idea lot more guilt-free!"

"What is it, Admiral? Something about a castle?" A moment later, her eyes lit up with realization. "Oh! You mean to say, those we faced the other night-!"

"Aye, now that they're all neatly six feet under, there so happens to be a very empty castle that needs to be taken possession of." You licked your lips eagerly. "With full vaults as well, so I say we make an adjustment to what gets inherited. How do you like the idea of them getting nothing but a pile of bricks?"

"I think that many good fellows who've been abused would like that!" Beati chirped with shocking eagerness as she pumped a fist. "We can even ask Miss Medb for- ah, I'm sorry Admiral!"

"Hm? What are you apologizing for?" You lightly patted her back. "I'm not worried about her at all. She'll be back in good time, she promised."

She hesitated, years of wariness around the fae folk hard to overcome. "If you say so."

"Enough worry, I think your outburst was enough to draw some attention." You glanced around at the empty alleyways. "Remember the plan?"

"R-right. I'll put up my best act."

(Sate the Thirst: 71 +12 (Intrigue) +12 (Beati) -15 (Empty City) = 80)

You nodded, then stepped back to hide in the shadows. Meanwhile, Beati cleared her throat and made a rather dramatic sigh, one she filled with a mix of confusion and exasperation. She looked around exaggeratedly, looking a lot like a poor farmhand out of depth in this sprawling city. As if that wasn't enough, she spoke aloud to the empty air, narrating to an invisible audience. "Oh dear, oh dear! By the Lady, I was misled and I have no idea where to go," she delivered in a rather wooden tone, clutching the wooden polestaff she claimed as a weapon. "Please, wouldn't some kind soul come and help in the name of noble chivalry?"

She was laying it on a bit thick.

But it actually worked when a minute later, a figure entered the area from the direction of the more populated zones of Brionne, one that you studied impassively. It was a townsman that looked a bit on the fine side at first glance, but there were stains and scuffs on his clothes that indicated a clear lack of true care for the ruffles. He also had the beginnings of a poor stubble that seemed to be a mockery of a well-kept beard like that you've seen on Gaston, little details that your Lahmian heritage immediately highlighted. In that moment, you knew that he was certainly no noble.

He seemed to think otherwise though, putting a hand on his chest when addressing the peasant. "Fair maiden, this is no place to be wandering alone at night!" He proclaimed, slightly spoiling his intent already with a leer. "Please, allow me to host you at my abode for a night. I will treat you to fine luxuries that will surely impress whatever pale comforts you might have back home."

Beati's eyes flicked over to where you were hidden, and she took in a deep breath. "Ah, but I'm quite so easily scared. Could you perhaps come just a bit closer?"

He blinked, taken slightly aback by that request, but obliged with a grin that you immediately hated. "Ah, of course. Rather, how about I already show you what I mean-"

The moment he stepped in, Beati's polestaff snapped up and its bottom slammed into the fake noble's chin. A loud crack echoed out from where she applied a bit too much force, resulting in an unintended dislocation that cut off whatever cry of pain he was about to make. You reflected that was a happy little accident while stepping forward to perfectly seize him from the back, hand slamming tightly over his unhinged jaw. There was a muffled cry straight into your palm and you absently realized that probably didn't help with the pain.

"Sorry." You paused, then amended your statement. "Not really." Then you bore your fangs and sank them into the throat of your prey.

Thirst Reduced: 2 -10 = -8/10

This one, in comparison to so many you had drank out of recently, was rich. Very deliciously rich, filled with a fake lifetime of sin and indulgence. You could feel the weariness as of late while fade away when you supped on the forbidden drink, the blackened mass of your soul delighting dearly in draining the darkness from another. This one had plenty of it too and you sucked it dry, leaving a limp and desiccated body that you hurled into one of the many empty buildings about. Given how this described so much of the city, you had a feeling the corpse wouldn't be found for quite some time.

Beati quivered from where she had stood and watched you feed. When you were done, she was leaning heavily on her polestaff and looked quite green. You grimaced internally, wondering if perhaps that had been a bit too far to immediately push on the inexperienced serf. It was definitely one thing to know your boss was a hunter of the night, but to see them actually feast on somebody, even if they deserved it, that must be somewhat traumatizing. "Will you be fine?"

"I...give me a moment." She swallowed deeply and stared into the floor, clearly trying to not lose her nerve. "I don't know, I think...I think it was too clean."

"Oh?"

"I always thought that it was messy. That those who prowled at night indulged themselves wildly so, ripping apart bodies to drink. Make a big scene of it to terrorize the lesser folk, a declaration that they were being hunted." Beati sucked in a sharp breath. "But to see you just drink it all and be so clean, not even a little bit of a spill, it's jarring. Puts me on edge, wondering if maybe, all those unfortunate souls who just disappear sometimes end up going out like that, not knowing what got them without anybody noticing."

"Ah, I see." You pressed your lips together, noticing the subtle way any blood was disguised easily as lipstick on your features. "I suppose you've been told by the knights that it would be so much easier to identify when a vampire is about and can report it so, when the reality is that we sometimes can slide right in without any noticing."

"Yes, that's exactly my fear. Makes me wonder then, how much more else about the dangers out there are they not telling us?" She quietly asked emptily. You could likely begin listing all the various truths of different ways to get killed in this world, but you had a feeling that Beati probably had enough of brutal realities for one night. Maybe another time, and a little something to take the edge off right now.

You gently guided her back to the more busier sections of the barren city, specifically to a tavern where some alcohol could probably help numb the shock. You weren't too worried about her having loose lips or going overboard, she was Bretonnian and could probably hold her own. Just in case, you did pick this establishment on purpose and glanced discretely to Gaston who gave a curt nod. He definitely would make sure she was fine for the rest of the time.

As a little something to help also ward off any curious folk, you paid for a round of drinks for all who visited. The barkeep certainly was surprised, but pleased to have a bunch of gold immediately pushed their way. It was probably more than what they saw on most nights, so they pocketed it gratefully with a promise to spread word of just who was to be thanked for the gesture.

(Drinks on You: 34 +12 (Diplomacy) = 46)

-50 Gold (1470 -50 = 1420 Gold)

You nodded, but didn't place too much faith in it. Brionne was definitely not a bustling port city no matter how it looked, the odds weren't good that folks would care or remember when the free drinks were over. At least you definitely weren't hurting for gold.

No, this time, what you needed most of all was knowledge about your latest topic of interest: the Bloody Grail. You had come to this city for that reason in the first place, investigating the mention of a knight in a tale who had seemingly partaken in it. The question now was where to begin, and you arrived to a table of individuals who you had asked that very same question to. "So then, any ideas on where we should start our little investigation?"


"I haven't the foggiest idea!" Octavia helpfully opened up with, rolling her eyes at the dirty expression you shot her way. "Admiral, with all due respect, we're working off a song that probably was conceived by some poor yolk who was hired to romanticize some knight's great ancestor or something to give them legitimacy. It's good, I won't deny, but I doubt we'll figure out who made it without going through a jumbled mess of who's who in the court of self-anointment known as Bretonnian nobility. So that's probably a dead end."

"Oh, I actually think I know who wrote it," Pierre casually mentioned. "I think I've even met them before."

Octavia choked and nearly spilled her drink. While she cursed, you stared at the unperturbed and smiling knight. "How?"

He blinked confusedly. "How else? On a visit to the city a while ago. Hm." He scratched his chin. "Don't remember how long, but I remember it playing in a tavern while passing through, and hearing it was very recently commissioned by a local lord. I think we even had a nice chat, and they mentioned I would be welcomed to drop by their home in the city."

"A home that might not exist anymore if it's been a while," you grumbled and turned to the disguised man-rat. "Any ideas or rumblings on your end, especially the...underground bits?" You delicately phrased.

Thankit shook his head wordlessly. You guessed then that either the Skaven didn't have a strong presence here, or there wasn't much to interest them otherwise. You grimaced and tapped your finger against the table in thought, trying to figure out something a bit more concrete than a commoner's address that may no longer be there.

Wait. A commoner's address might fade and go...but a noble's place of residence was not so easily forgotten. Could you perhaps ask about and figure out if there was a fief or something that this Sir Adrien had been charged with? If so, then there would logically be a fort or castle, maybe even just ruins of where he once lived. But it was still worth a shot, maybe.

You mulled it over, trying to figure out which angle to investigate.

[ ] [Blood Grail] Visit the composer's home. Pierre's accounts are likely foggy and definitely biased, but he's at least got a concrete idea to work with. That's something to at least poke about with.

[ ] [Blood Grail] Visit the knight's home. It might take a bit of digging, but you're going to be here for a while anyway. Maybe you could even put your new spells to use for digging up ancient ruins.

- Youch. Not many good leads this time. But whatever you pick will have a Path roll to determine exactly what sort of plot I'll throw at you. At least you got a blood roll.
- EDIT: Just realized I miscalculated your thirst and lost track of it. I should just make it a new field in the character sheet. It's just going to be -8 for now.