The Enemy Within (WHF Witch Hunter Quest)

XXXII - Kemperbad To Grissenwald

After a few minutes of negotiation you ultimately agree to settle the debt with Isembeard in exchange for a proper suit of armour, and while the forewoman takes the necessary measurements you watch as her work-crews seal the tower back up again. It will annoy whoever is sent to perform the necessary inspection, but better a mild inconvenience that guarantees an undisturbed site than leaving an old wizard's lair open and accessible. With that all sorted, you gather the others and return to the Berebeli, where Josef has just about finished eating his lunch. A few minutes after that and you are on the water again, the signal tower and its secrets fading rapidly into the distance behind you.

That night you make port in the free town of Kemperbad, tying up your barge in the elaborate floating port and taking one of the myriad creaking chair-lifts up the cliffs to the town proper at the top. Josef splits off to attend to the necessary formalities that concern even a brief overnight stay, leaving the rest of you to secure a table at one of the many cliffside inns and taverns that cater to humble travellers of all descriptions. The night is warm and so you elect to sit outside in one of the private gardens, taking advantage of the frankly magnificent views that Kemperbad's elevated position allows. Nearby, the elaborate series of weirs, locks and artificial waterfalls that justify the town's existence rumble away without cease, the thick clouds of mist and water vapour catching the dying light of the sun in dizzying rainbow hues. It is beautiful enough that you doubt most sailors even mind the delays involved in navigating them or the tolls that Kemperbad charges for passage between the rivers Reik and Stir, an asset you have no doubt the town council is only too pleased to take advantage of.

"See, here's what I don't get," Max grumbles, holding up his flagon of ale, "I could buy something just like this back in Altdorf, for the same bloody price."

"I expect you could," Elvyra says, raising her eyebrows over the rim of her own flagon. You might have expected her to favour something weaker, but apparently she is 'too old to be worrying about that nonsense'. "Here, there and every waterside tavern across the Empire, more or less. Sailors get real antsy if they think they're being cheated."

"Right, but this place is meant to be a free town, isn't it?" Max scowls, gesturing vaguely at the whole span of buildings you can see from where you sit, "Means they're not paying any local nobs, so shouldn't it be cheaper?"

"It could be," you note dryly, "if they felt like being charitable. Instead, the local council just raises the fees to match what you might pay elsewhere and pockets the excess."

"Greedy bastards," Max grumbles, shaking his head and returning to his drink. He doesn't seem terribly surprised, though, nor overly inclined to do anything about it except grumble, and so the system carries on unchallenged. You take a sip of your own drink and find your thoughts drifting down paths grown ever more familiar since your enforced leave in Altdorf.

Would the world be a better place without such greed, if those in power no longer profited from the exploitation of their lessers? Undoubtedly; you've never yet met one of your class who could not name a peer or ten that exploited the privileges of their position far beyond what necessity or good taste allowed. Yet while the agitators and would-be-revolutionaries of the Popular Front would name nobility itself a parasitic scourge, places like Kemperbad put the lie to their words. Freed of highborn oversight, the lowborn merely constructed new systems of oppressive exploitation to replace it, lacking even the martial valour and considered leadership that your class is trained and bred to provide. If the world is to be improved, it will not be by following that path.

Josef's return shakes you from your contemplative reverie, the sturdy old barge master settling into the seat you left free for him and grabbing the drink with a relieved sigh. You wait for him to finish drinking before speaking. "All taken care of?"

"Aye," your old friend burps, "Paperwork was all in order, so I just explained my business and they wished me good travels. Easiest place in the Empire to do business, is Kemperbad."

"Wait," Max frowns, squinting at the bargemaster and then down at his drink, "We were just talking about them cheating us on beer prices…"

"Well yeah, it's not meant to be good for you," Josef chuckles, his expansive belly wobbling violently in time with his laughter, "But if you're a merchant or free trader like me, there's nowhere quite like it. Fine brandy, bulk goods, quality craftsmanship… if you want it, Kemperbad has it, for better prices and stronger guarantees than you'll find anywhere. No risk of being cheated either - break a contract sworn before the town notaries and the Council of Thirteen will hire mercenaries to hunt you from here to the Border Princes."

You smile wryly at that, unsurprised and amused by the growing expression of outrage on Max's face, when someone slams into you from behind. You grunt as the edge of the table digs into your gut and your drink sloshes over the rim of the flagon, and turn to find the culprit.

Markus makes an Average (+20) Perception test, skill is 75, roll is 54. Success.

There's someone headed away from you at a brisk walk, a tall man dressed in the rich clothing of a local merchant or scribe, a rich purple half-cloak tossed back over one shoulder. They are already halfway out of the door, and with a frown you check your belt, relieved to find that your purse is still there. You are just about to dismiss it as a case of some drunkard not looking where they were going when you realise that there is a cool breeze against the side of your neck where there was not before - a lock of your hair is gone, snipped away at some point while you were not paying attention.

Markus makes an Average (+20) Lore (Witches) test, skill is 60, roll is 65, bare failure.

Your gut roils slightly with sudden nerves at the realisation, for there are any number of stories about what a malicious witch could do with a lock of a man's hair if they felt so inclined. How many of those stories are based in truth, however, you are rather less certain of… certainly not enough to go haring after a stranger in the streets of an unfamiliar town without the arms and license of your trade. Best to sleep on the barge tonight, where flowing water can disrupt any speculative curses, and leave town bright and early in the morning. The rest you will simply entrust to Sigmar.

"Josef," you say in a low voice, "You checked in with the local authorities about our onwards journey, I trust?"

"Aye, the river's clear down to Grissenwald, no pirates or the like reported in weeks," Josef nods in satisfaction, either missing your sudden tension or choosing not to comment on it, "That said, there have been a number of corpses dragged out of the river lately. It's been causing a bit of a stir, on account of… well, they're all mutants. The new edict makes it murder to kill them, o' course, but there's not really much pressure to get a proper investigation going, if you follow."

You nod, far from happy at the news but also entirely unsurprised. Even setting aside the theological issues, it is far easier to change the law than the hearts of the people. Wizards have been legal for centuries, but that has hardly stopped more isolated or zealous areas from sending any potential spellcaster to the pyre regardless of their actual crimes; assuming the edict stands, you would not be surprised to see mutants following a similar path in their turn.

"Finish your drinks," you say instead, "and let's turn in. I want us underway as early as we can make it."

-/-

Whatever the intent of the fellow in the purple cloak, your sleep is undisturbed and no effort is made to impede your departure. You breathe easier once out of Kemperbad, and all told enjoy a relaxing few days aboard ship as you wind your way south, a general good mood entirely dispelled by the corpse that bumps up against the hull one grim and overcast morning. The body is clearly that of a mutant, one with glittering fish-like scales across their scalp and strange protrusions sprouting from beneath both arms, but what killed them or when is far harder to discern. You let the corpse drift past you on the current, then lift your head to study what little you can see of the nearest settlement, a drab little collection of houses clustered up near the far bank.

"That'd be Wittgendorf," Josef says in a subdued voice, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders and muttering a brief prayer to Morr as the corpse drifts away in the Berebeli's wake, "Nobody really goes there these days. Folks don't really sell anything, and they've got no money to buy anything either."

"Ah. I suppose I should have guessed," you say with a thoughtful frown, lifting your gaze from the village to the castle that casts them all in shadow, "That would be Castle von Wittgenstein, then?"

You've seen a great many intimidating looking castles in your life, for any structure built in expectation of war has a certain menace to it, but Castle von Wittgenstein stands above them all. A towering citadel of black rock and grey slate perched atop a deceptively slender column of rock, it looms above the waters of the Reik as a manticore on its mountain perch, the slender bridge to the mainland the sole chain that holds it back from tearing apart all unwise enough to approach. Tall and narrow windows regard the world beyond the walls like the slitted eyes of a serpent, and even from here you can see the bodies mouldering slowly in a dozen brass gibbets hung from the wall and tower.

Maria told you of the dark rumours that dog your family of late, but no matter how bleak your family's fortunes or dark their reputation, they will never match those of the von Wittgensteins. You don't think you've so much as heard of even a single scion of that ancient line deigning to set foot beyond the walls of their ancestral estate for more than a day or so, and each new rumour about what they get up to is more vile and scandalous than the last. Seeing their home now with your own eyes, you find it easy to believe them.

"You, uh," Josef grimaces, speaking up almost against his will, "You want us to stop and pay them a visit?"

"No," you shake your head and pretend not to hear his sigh of relief. "My business in Grissenwald takes priority over old rumours and a few corpses in the Reik."

Etelka Herzen has evaded justice for ten long years at least, and now that you have the witch's scent you will not so easily turn aside. She will answer for what she did to your father, just as you did.

-/-

Grissenwald is a thoroughly unremarkable little town, a minor trade hub squeezed into the narrow strip of land upriver of the convergence of the Reik and Grissen, walled off from all threats and visitors by a low wall of quarried stone sinking slowly into the waterlogged ground. You can see barges full of ore tied up all along the waterfront and hear the ringing impacts of blacksmiths at work as you arrive, and as you planned nobody pays the Berebeli or its incognito passengers the slightest bit of notice.

Heading into town for information and supplies, you are surprised to see a vicious brawl going on right in the middle of the main thoroughfare. On one side are a trio of human farmers clearly fresh from the fields, while on the other are a pair of stout looking dwarves, both sides laying into their opposites with the kind of savage fury that speaks to more than mere intoxication. Thankfully the public setting is enough to see a watch patrol arrive within moments, the soldiers moving in with practiced ease to separate the two sides by force. One of them, a sergeant by his rank stripes, sees you watching and makes his way over with a weary sigh.

"New in town, are you?" he says briskly, sizing you and your companions up with practiced ease.

"Aye, with the Berebeli, just tied up at the docks," Max replies, speaking for you all so that your noble accent won't immediately spoil your cover, "Not planning on staying long, just to drop off a shipment and load up on something new. Captain's taking care of it now."

"Best you don't," the sergeant nods, clearly buying the story as unremarkable, "And best you steer clear of the dwarf quarter on the southern side of town while you're here, lest you're willing to roll the dice with your life on the line."

Behind him, the two sides have now been separated. The farmers are arguing with the watchmen, their faces flushed and angry, while the dwarves just spit on the ground and march away. Nobody tries to stop them, and given the weary and frustrated expressions that most of the onlookers bear you would wager this is not the first time such disturbances have happened of late.

"Is it that bad?" you say quietly, keeping your words clipped and rough as best you can, "I've seen dwarf quarters in many towns, but…"

"Normally no, but this lot…" the sergeant sighs, shaking his head, "They've gone and gotten it in their heads that the town authorities cheated them somehow. Some land dispute I think? Anyway they've been taking it out on anyone they reckon is connected. We've had three farms burned down in the last week or so, at least one with the family still inside, and while nobody's been officially charged the dwarves are pretty pointed about not denying they did it."

You grimace at that. It is a tenet of Sigmar's faith to aid the dwarf-folk when they are in need, in continuation of the god-king's ancient compact with their race, but that does not compel you to be blind to their flaws. Dwarven culture elevates the settling of debts and avenging of grudges to a near-spiritual level of importance, and it would not be the first time a clan has taken that pursuit far beyond the bounds of law. If arson and murder are already involved then this is only going to get uglier before it is resolved.

"Anyhow, the Reeve has sent word to Nuln already," the sergeant continues, shaking his head and shooting a disapproving look at the retreating dwarves, "So chances are we'll see reinforcements enough to settle this within the next day or two. Until then, best you stick to this side of town, like I said."

"Aye, we'll do just that," Max nods, waiting for the sergeant to depart and leave earshot before turning to you, "'lest you decide different, anyway. What'll it be, boss?"

You hesitate at that. While a Templar's duties do not obligate or empower you to get involved here, it is an undeniable fact that as a noble and an agent of the Cult you will almost certainly have better luck than anyone else in town at approaching the dwarves and getting their cooperation in resolving this cleanly. However, approaching them in such a guise would immediately make you a figure of interest to the entire town, your identity and affiliation impossible to conceal. If Etelka Herzen has sources in town, as she surely must, then she will not miss the significance of a Templar's appearance. At best she will run and hide, at worst… well, there are a great many grand and terrible things a witch might do to welcome the hunters at her door.

Article:

Choose how to proceed:

[ ] Intercede with the Dwarves
You will need to approach them as a Templar to secure an audience, but may be able to settle this whole mess without further bloodshed. Etelka will be warned, and you will simply have to live with the consequences.

[ ] Focus on the Hunt
You will focus on tracking down Etelka Herzen and bringing her to justice, and will not risk alerting her before you are ready to strike. Perhaps once you have done so, you will be able to turn your attention to the dwarves.