The Enemy Within (WHF Witch Hunter Quest)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Fantasy
[X] Focus on the Hunt
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Focus on the Hunt
Markus pls man, im beggin u, find dem plot hooks baybee
"Knowledge is gold, and in this town I'm a pauper," you announce. "The dwarfs will be...difficult to approach, but the farmers will be less so."
"I reckon there'll be a few split heads and such among 'em," Elvyra chimes in happily. "A few poultices and I'll have their side of the story in no time, not to mention whatever private goings-on that injured lads care to share with the healer." You nod in agreement at her unanswered question.
She cocks her head to the side, and you sigh dramatically in response. "...and yes, Elvyra, whatever coin you make on the side is yours to keep." You turn to your other agent, who's already tapping his foot impatiently.
You give Max Ernst another once-over, considering how best to put your legbreaker to good use, before inspiration strikes like Sigmar's lightning. "Max, I trust your judgment," you order crisply, your tone clear and confident. "Ensure Elvyra's safety and your own, of course, but sniff around for whatever rumours and trouble you can find in this town. We shall reconvene at our quarters an hour after sundown to share our findings." Max nods distactedly, clearly ruminating on his options and itching to get moving.
Though your instructions are technically practical, you have a broader plan in motion. Max's drunken confession in Bögenhafen weighs heavily on your mind; your legbreaker fears that you will consider him useless and cut him loose as others have before. If you're to earn his loyalty further than coin will buy, you must extend a gesture of trust and show that you value him for more than simple violence.
"And you, dearie?" Elvyra asks, clearly cheerful at the prospect of coin to be made. "I shall poke the higher roosts in the town, and see what tidbits falls out," you respond. "Let's not remain penniless."
[X] Focus on the Hunt
Note: this write-up is meant to showcase our two agents and give them a chance to shine. Single-perspective quests like this naturally focus on the main character, with supporting characters slotting in as mechanical background (Max becomes 'swordguy, take hits so that MC doesn't suffer a bad case of ded' and Elvyra is 'squishy healer, hide in corner till fighting stops'). Giving them both a little more narrative attention by showcasing Elvyra's nature as 'charismatic criminal apothecary' and Max's background of 'capable thug with srs abandonment issues' is meant to flesh them out a little more.
Regarding the actual choice: we have at least a day until reinforcements arrive from Nuln, so let's use the chance to find things out discreetly. When we confront the dwarfs, we'll want to do it well-armed with information from others, rather than taking their biased perspective at face value.
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Assuming we go along with the above write-in, here's some possible minor shenanigans that Max and Elvyra might get up to in Markus's absence:
Interlude - Elvyra Makes ADupe Friend
You are Elvyra Kleinestun, traveling apothecary, and you are having a wonderful time.
"Sigmar's balls, that stings!" the lad yells as you rub the poultice into the bruise. "How the blazes d'ya think I'm s'posed to sit still for this?"
"Evidently badly, dearie," you shoot back cheerily, your smile never wavering. "Now, bite down on this here stick for a moment, that ankle wound of your will need a little somethin' or else t'will take the whole leg."
The screams are quite shrill, but you've heard far worse. Those silly farmers' boys always square up when they fight in the fields, toughing out each other's blows. There's always good business come harvest-time when the field hands tussle with city types and learn that footwork is important, especially when on uneven cobblestones. The straw of the farmer's wagon cushions the lad's thrashing, and when he emerges a few minutes later it's with a much less-pronounced limp and a newfound appreciation for "that traveling apothecary what knows 'er stuff."
You're immediately swamped in would-be clients, each of them holding something battered and painful from the 'discussions' with dwarfs and other ne'er-do-wells of the past few days. You spend several hours of profitable labour seeing them all, and your gullible clients rack up quite a tab in the process. You're puffing away happily on your pipe when a few older farmers sidle up, simultaneously pleased at seeing their sons walking straight again and apprehensive at what you'll charge for the work.
"Thank ye very much for yer help," a middle-aged fellow stammers. "I...I do apologize, Frau Welcker, but we've a-another month till the wheat harvest, a-a-and coin's been tight with the current troubles..." he trails off, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
Perfect. "Oh, that's a shame," you respond. "Tell me, what's been happening 'round here recently t'cause that?" The answers spill out immediately, resentment boiling over with relief at the prospect of paying back their debts with words instead of scarce coin.
"...and Burgher Klengel might want t'see ye too," one mentions offhand. "Oh?" you ask, your interest piqued. After a few more talks and a quick walk, 'Frau Welcker' is introduced to a well-off merchant with a few shops and a rat problem. The poison is a mundane brew, with an equally mundane payout, but Herr Klengel's awkward questions about 'capabilities' lead you down a more interesting path.
"Chew this fer a few days, and that codpiece'll fill right up again," you announce, and the middle-aged burgher's face lights up in delight. Ah, men and their pride; you've made plenty of coin this way in the past, and you'll make plenty more again. With the delicate topic broached, Herr Klengel's far more loose-tongued about other earthly matters, including the ones you actually care about. You leave the shop with a spring in your step, a sack filled with useful herbs from the farmers, and a heavier purse. And quite the selection of interesting news for huffy old Markus, of course.
Everyone trusts the apothecary, especially when she hawks her wares on the cheap. You ought to get into the information business, at this rate.
Interlude - Max Finds Faith (sort of)
You are Max Ernst, purveyor of 'this and that,' and you're starting some routine work.
"I'll ask again," you say evenly, your sword-hand steady. "Who hired ya?"
The burly fellow gulps and looks over your shoulder, but you're already in motion. You sidestep to avoid the expected overhead swing, and your left hand flickers out with the butt of your pistol to catch the would-be attacker directly in the gut. He collapses at your feet, wheezing, and you casually hold your pistol to his head while your sword stays level. "You ought t'know better than that, boy," you chide.
The first act of the caper had worked like a charm: old 'Erik van Frumm' had hobbled around the cleaner parts of town to purchase a map while publicly seeking a money-changer, and had asked a hovering urchin for directions to good lodgings. The little bastard had suggested a street just beyond the invisible lines where the Watch patrolled, and 'Erik' had obligingly let himself get cornered by a would-be robber. Towns might change, but the tricks remained the same.
"Lads, I'll make this quick. You bring me to the one givin' the orders, and I'll not be your problem anymore," you direct evenly. "Try any more tricks and I'll stop playing games."
"Playing games?" the thug at your feet wheezes, swaying drunkenly as he tries to stand. "You jumped-up little shite-" His eyes roll back as your pistol butt crashes across his head this time, and you tuck the weapon inside your coat while keeping it leveled at the still-conscious bastard. "Right, enough of this," you order briskly as you sheathe your sword. "You're a more reasonable fellow than this lout, aye?"
The other hired muscle bobs his head shakily in response, his eyes wider than dinner plates. "Off we go, then," you order in the quavering voice of 'Erik van Frumm' as you assume the cover identity again. "Once I'm seated with your employer, you'll see neither hide nor hair of me again."
The thug seems quite enthusiastic at the prospect of parting ways, and you give a weary grin as he leads you into the grimier parts of town. The early steps of the 'easy mark' caper are always a pain, but the payout is usually good. Your new acquaintance will get you in contact with someone that actually knows something, at which point 'Erik van Frumm' will inquire about moving illicit cargo through the town.
Your thug's employer calls himself 'Hans' and runs his own capers from an inn named the Damp Squib, and fittingly enough you're facing down a matchlock pistol minus a burning fuse shortly after you duck under the low entryway. After the usual introductions - a few dropped hints about 'a certain von Schlesinger' and a barge that needs several crates moved quietly, along with another bruising demonstration against one of Hans's bodyguards - then you're down to real business. 'Hans' gives you only the usual 'hypothetically speakings' and 'might know a man, perchance,' but his greed and ambition causes him to let slip more than he planned. You pick up a few names and routes for moving crates away from the dockmasters' eyes, and years of experience in the business tell you the rest.
Promising to stay in touch, 'Erik von Schlesinger' leaves the inn with a destination in mind. You're followed as you leave, of course, but you use a moving wagon to hide and casually take a seat alongside a beggar to conceal yourself in plain sight. You grin under your hood as the flustered would-be spy runs ahead, and double back as she passes to reach the last act of the caper.
A stray cat nuzzles your feet in a quiet side street, and you crouch down to pet it, dropping a bit of sausage from the inn and unfolding the town map you'd bought earlier. "Hello, little rogue," you murmur quietly to the animal. "Thanks to Hans - because of course he calls himself that - I know that bulk goods get moved quiet-like through the south gate, with 'official sanction' as protection from the dockmasters. That means a nob of some sort, wit' a big enough hat that the inspectors won't dare bother wagons holdin' his flag. For storage our lads'll need a warehouse, big 'nuff for a couple wagons but not so large it gets attention, facin' a back alley where the Watch ain't gonna go." You check the map and mark three warehouse blocks which would fit the bill, and shake some coppers from your purse as you stand. "C'mon, little beggar, let's see what your mates can tell me."
The human vagrants find their tongues loosened quickly, and their extensive local knowledge lets you narrow down the options to two warehouses, only one of which has heavy wagon tracks leading through the back gate. Though supposedly empty and unused, Count Such-and-Such's warehouse nevertheless sports a night watchman and heavy padlocks. Good timing lets you dodge the tired sentry and a scramble up the fence lets you avoid the other, though your back aches at the short fall on the other side.
You venture into the supposedly-empty warehouse, ignoring contraband crates lacking the dockmasters' stamp. You don't give two shits about giving more gold to some fat burghers, and you suspect Markus doesn't either. For all his many other faults, he's at least not too caught up on minor details like whose money is whose.
Curving wagon tracks lead you straight to an otherwise well-hidden set of cellar doors, and you frown at the sloppy work. Were you a more patriotic sort, you'd have a word with Grissenwald's criminals about covering their tracks. This holdout likely won't have spellbooks or other matter which'd earn its owners a pyre, but it might hold the smugglers' ledgers. Past a cheap lock you rascal with a minute's work you find more interesting cargo of the human variety. Though bound and gagged, the girls' eyes plead desperately with you, and your vestigial conscience rallies at the sight. You've clapped many a poor bastard in chains before, sometimes even for good reasons, but were you honest (hah!) you hold that everyone deserves a chance at a free life.
The back gate lock and the watchman give you a little trouble on the way out now that you're leading a parade, but your rogues' tools and a club quickly sort out both troubles. You disappear down an alley as the freed slaves clamour outside Shallya's temple, and the priestess answering the door hears a yarn you'd had them spin about a rusty lock and a spare key. Odds are that most of them will end up in the flesh trade regardless in time, but at least they'll have a chance to earn some coin from it.
You head back uptown with your heart lightened, pausing to pet another stray cat along the way. It's been a productive day of lying, playing the odds, thieving, and rescuing a few damsels in distress to boot. The Trickster will smile on your work this evening, even if Markus doesn't.
(I don't know how much Max's capabilities stretch into thieving and lockpicking as his character sheet isn't published, but I'm assuming it to give some extra characterization to the guy. Also, of course Max would worship Ranald)
Interlude - Elvyra Makes A
You are Elvyra Kleinestun, traveling apothecary, and you are having a wonderful time.
"Sigmar's balls, that stings!" the lad yells as you rub the poultice into the bruise. "How the blazes d'ya think I'm s'posed to sit still for this?"
"Evidently badly, dearie," you shoot back cheerily, your smile never wavering. "Now, bite down on this here stick for a moment, that ankle wound of your will need a little somethin' or else t'will take the whole leg."
The screams are quite shrill, but you've heard far worse. Those silly farmers' boys always square up when they fight in the fields, toughing out each other's blows. There's always good business come harvest-time when the field hands tussle with city types and learn that footwork is important, especially when on uneven cobblestones. The straw of the farmer's wagon cushions the lad's thrashing, and when he emerges a few minutes later it's with a much less-pronounced limp and a newfound appreciation for "that traveling apothecary what knows 'er stuff."
You're immediately swamped in would-be clients, each of them holding something battered and painful from the 'discussions' with dwarfs and other ne'er-do-wells of the past few days. You spend several hours of profitable labour seeing them all, and your gullible clients rack up quite a tab in the process. You're puffing away happily on your pipe when a few older farmers sidle up, simultaneously pleased at seeing their sons walking straight again and apprehensive at what you'll charge for the work.
"Thank ye very much for yer help," a middle-aged fellow stammers. "I...I do apologize, Frau Welcker, but we've a-another month till the wheat harvest, a-a-and coin's been tight with the current troubles..." he trails off, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
Perfect. "Oh, that's a shame," you respond. "Tell me, what's been happening 'round here recently t'cause that?" The answers spill out immediately, resentment boiling over with relief at the prospect of paying back their debts with words instead of scarce coin.
"...and Burgher Klengel might want t'see ye too," one mentions offhand. "Oh?" you ask, your interest piqued. After a few more talks and a quick walk, 'Frau Welcker' is introduced to a well-off merchant with a few shops and a rat problem. The poison is a mundane brew, with an equally mundane payout, but Herr Klengel's awkward questions about 'capabilities' lead you down a more interesting path.
"Chew this fer a few days, and that codpiece'll fill right up again," you announce, and the middle-aged burgher's face lights up in delight. Ah, men and their pride; you've made plenty of coin this way in the past, and you'll make plenty more again. With the delicate topic broached, Herr Klengel's far more loose-tongued about other earthly matters, including the ones you actually care about. You leave the shop with a spring in your step, a sack filled with useful herbs from the farmers, and a heavier purse. And quite the selection of interesting news for huffy old Markus, of course.
Everyone trusts the apothecary, especially when she hawks her wares on the cheap. You ought to get into the information business, at this rate.
Interlude - Max Finds Faith (sort of)
You are Max Ernst, purveyor of 'this and that,' and you're starting some routine work.
"I'll ask again," you say evenly, your sword-hand steady. "Who hired ya?"
The burly fellow gulps and looks over your shoulder, but you're already in motion. You sidestep to avoid the expected overhead swing, and your left hand flickers out with the butt of your pistol to catch the would-be attacker directly in the gut. He collapses at your feet, wheezing, and you casually hold your pistol to his head while your sword stays level. "You ought t'know better than that, boy," you chide.
The first act of the caper had worked like a charm: old 'Erik van Frumm' had hobbled around the cleaner parts of town to purchase a map while publicly seeking a money-changer, and had asked a hovering urchin for directions to good lodgings. The little bastard had suggested a street just beyond the invisible lines where the Watch patrolled, and 'Erik' had obligingly let himself get cornered by a would-be robber. Towns might change, but the tricks remained the same.
"Lads, I'll make this quick. You bring me to the one givin' the orders, and I'll not be your problem anymore," you direct evenly. "Try any more tricks and I'll stop playing games."
"Playing games?" the thug at your feet wheezes, swaying drunkenly as he tries to stand. "You jumped-up little shite-" His eyes roll back as your pistol butt crashes across his head this time, and you tuck the weapon inside your coat while keeping it leveled at the still-conscious bastard. "Right, enough of this," you order briskly as you sheathe your sword. "You're a more reasonable fellow than this lout, aye?"
The other hired muscle bobs his head shakily in response, his eyes wider than dinner plates. "Off we go, then," you order in the quavering voice of 'Erik van Frumm' as you assume the cover identity again. "Once I'm seated with your employer, you'll see neither hide nor hair of me again."
The thug seems quite enthusiastic at the prospect of parting ways, and you give a weary grin as he leads you into the grimier parts of town. The early steps of the 'easy mark' caper are always a pain, but the payout is usually good. Your new acquaintance will get you in contact with someone that actually knows something, at which point 'Erik van Frumm' will inquire about moving illicit cargo through the town.
Your thug's employer calls himself 'Hans' and runs his own capers from an inn named the Damp Squib, and fittingly enough you're facing down a matchlock pistol minus a burning fuse shortly after you duck under the low entryway. After the usual introductions - a few dropped hints about 'a certain von Schlesinger' and a barge that needs several crates moved quietly, along with another bruising demonstration against one of Hans's bodyguards - then you're down to real business. 'Hans' gives you only the usual 'hypothetically speakings' and 'might know a man, perchance,' but his greed and ambition causes him to let slip more than he planned. You pick up a few names and routes for moving crates away from the dockmasters' eyes, and years of experience in the business tell you the rest.
Promising to stay in touch, 'Erik von Schlesinger' leaves the inn with a destination in mind. You're followed as you leave, of course, but you use a moving wagon to hide and casually take a seat alongside a beggar to conceal yourself in plain sight. You grin under your hood as the flustered would-be spy runs ahead, and double back as she passes to reach the last act of the caper.
A stray cat nuzzles your feet in a quiet side street, and you crouch down to pet it, dropping a bit of sausage from the inn and unfolding the town map you'd bought earlier. "Hello, little rogue," you murmur quietly to the animal. "Thanks to Hans - because of course he calls himself that - I know that bulk goods get moved quiet-like through the south gate, with 'official sanction' as protection from the dockmasters. That means a nob of some sort, wit' a big enough hat that the inspectors won't dare bother wagons holdin' his flag. For storage our lads'll need a warehouse, big 'nuff for a couple wagons but not so large it gets attention, facin' a back alley where the Watch ain't gonna go." You check the map and mark three warehouse blocks which would fit the bill, and shake some coppers from your purse as you stand. "C'mon, little beggar, let's see what your mates can tell me."
The human vagrants find their tongues loosened quickly, and their extensive local knowledge lets you narrow down the options to two warehouses, only one of which has heavy wagon tracks leading through the back gate. Though supposedly empty and unused, Count Such-and-Such's warehouse nevertheless sports a night watchman and heavy padlocks. Good timing lets you dodge the tired sentry and a scramble up the fence lets you avoid the other, though your back aches at the short fall on the other side.
You venture into the supposedly-empty warehouse, ignoring contraband crates lacking the dockmasters' stamp. You don't give two shits about giving more gold to some fat burghers, and you suspect Markus doesn't either. For all his many other faults, he's at least not too caught up on minor details like whose money is whose.
Curving wagon tracks lead you straight to an otherwise well-hidden set of cellar doors, and you frown at the sloppy work. Were you a more patriotic sort, you'd have a word with Grissenwald's criminals about covering their tracks. This holdout likely won't have spellbooks or other matter which'd earn its owners a pyre, but it might hold the smugglers' ledgers. Past a cheap lock you rascal with a minute's work you find more interesting cargo of the human variety. Though bound and gagged, the girls' eyes plead desperately with you, and your vestigial conscience rallies at the sight. You've clapped many a poor bastard in chains before, sometimes even for good reasons, but were you honest (hah!) you hold that everyone deserves a chance at a free life.
The back gate lock and the watchman give you a little trouble on the way out now that you're leading a parade, but your rogues' tools and a club quickly sort out both troubles. You disappear down an alley as the freed slaves clamour outside Shallya's temple, and the priestess answering the door hears a yarn you'd had them spin about a rusty lock and a spare key. Odds are that most of them will end up in the flesh trade regardless in time, but at least they'll have a chance to earn some coin from it.
You head back uptown with your heart lightened, pausing to pet another stray cat along the way. It's been a productive day of lying, playing the odds, thieving, and rescuing a few damsels in distress to boot. The Trickster will smile on your work this evening, even if Markus doesn't.
(I don't know how much Max's capabilities stretch into thieving and lockpicking as his character sheet isn't published, but I'm assuming it to give some extra characterization to the guy. Also, of course Max would worship Ranald)
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mynameisyouQQQ
Miss Brightside
- Location
- A Hell of my own making
- Pronouns
- She/They
[X] Intercede with the Dwarves
[X] Focus on the Hunt
Vote Closed
- Location
- London, England
Calling the vote here, looks like Focus on the Hunt wins by a narrow margin.
No side quests with the Dawi huh?
Fair, it would have been a short affair.
Fair, it would have been a short affair.
somewhatLazy
Serial Procrastinator
- Location
- lurking
Where are the nearest witch hunters? I need to report a heretic.
XXXIII - On the Hunt
- Location
- London, England
[x] Focus on the Hunt
@Nuts! once again wrote a fair section of the opening section, though I have edited some of it to be in line with my plans for the update and character arcs (mostly removing direct mentions of slavery, for reasons that will become clear soon, and also moving anything about Max's faith off-screen for now in favour of later resolution).
The primary mechanical impact of this is that the gossip test to gather information is significantly easier than it otherwise would be. I'll also make a note to add more 'social' votes in the future to get some perspective from your supporting cast.
@Nuts! once again wrote a fair section of the opening section, though I have edited some of it to be in line with my plans for the update and character arcs (mostly removing direct mentions of slavery, for reasons that will become clear soon, and also moving anything about Max's faith off-screen for now in favour of later resolution).
The primary mechanical impact of this is that the gossip test to gather information is significantly easier than it otherwise would be. I'll also make a note to add more 'social' votes in the future to get some perspective from your supporting cast.
XXXIII - On the Hunt
"Knowledge is gold, and in this town I'm a pauper," you announce. "The dwarfs will be...difficult to approach, but the farmers will be less so."
"I reckon there'll be a few split heads and such among 'em," Elvyra chimes in happily. "A few poultices and I'll have their side of the story in no time, not to mention whatever private goings-on that injured lads care to share with the healer."
You nod in agreement. "A fine plan." She cocks her head to the side, and you sigh dramatically in response. "...and yes, Elvyra, whatever coin you make on the side is yours to keep." You turn to your other agent, who's already tapping his foot impatiently.
You give Max Ernst another once-over, considering how best to put your legbreaker to good use, before inspiration strikes like Sigmar's lightning. "Max, I trust your judgment," you order crisply, your tone clear and confident. "Ensure Elvyra's safety and your own, of course, but sniff around for whatever rumours and trouble you can find in this town. We shall reconvene at our quarters an hour after sundown to share our findings."
Max nods distractedly, clearly ruminating on his options and itching to get moving. Though your instructions are technically practical, you have a broader plan in motion. Max's drunken confession in Bögenhafen weighs heavily on your mind; your legbreaker fears that you will consider him useless and cut him loose as others have before. If you're to earn his loyalty further than coin will buy, you must extend a gesture of trust and show that you value him for more than simple violence.
"And you, dearie?" Elvyra asks, clearly cheerful at the prospect of coin to be made.
"I shall poke the higher roosts in the town, and see what tidbits falls out," you respond. "Let's not remain penniless."
Markus makes a Hard (-20) gossip test. Improved to Challenging (+0) by write-in, then Average (+20) by assistance. Skill is 75, roll is 04. Astounding Success!
-/-
You are Elvyra Kleinestun, traveling apothecary, and you are having a wonderful time.
"Sigmar's balls, that stings!" the lad yells as you rub the poultice into the bruise. "How the blazes d'ya think I'm s'posed to sit still for this?"
"Evidently badly, dearie," you shoot back cheerily, your smile never wavering. "Now, bite down on this here stick for a moment, that ankle wound of yours will need a little somethin' or else t'will take the whole leg."
The screams are quite shrill, but you've heard far worse. Those silly farmers' boys always square up when they fight in the fields, toughing out each other's blows. There's always good business come harvest-time when the field hands tussle with city types and learn that footwork is important, especially when on uneven cobblestones. The straw of the farmer's wagon cushions the lad's thrashing, and when he emerges a few minutes later it's with a much less-pronounced limp and a newfound appreciation for "that traveling apothecary what knows 'er stuff."
You're immediately swamped in would-be clients, each of them holding something battered and painful from the 'discussions' with dwarfs and other ne'er-do-wells of the past few days. You spend several hours of profitable labour seeing them all, and your gullible clients rack up quite a tab in the process. You're puffing away happily on your pipe when a few older farmers sidle up, simultaneously pleased at seeing their sons walking straight again and apprehensive at what you'll charge for the work.
"Thank ye very much for yer help," a middle-aged fellow stammers. "I...I do apologize, Frau Welcker, but we've a-another month till the wheat harvest, a-a-and coin's been tight with the current troubles..." he trails off, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
Perfect. "Oh, that's a shame," you respond. "Tell me, what's been happening 'round here recently t'cause that?" The answers spill out immediately, resentment boiling over with relief at the prospect of paying back their debts with words instead of scarce coin.
"...and Burgher Klengel might want t'see ye too," one mentions offhand. "Oh?" you ask, your interest piqued. After a few more talks and a quick walk, 'Frau Welcker' is introduced to a well-off merchant with a few shops and a rat problem. The poison is a mundane brew, with an equally mundane payout, but Herr Klengel's awkward questions about 'capabilities' lead you down a more interesting path.
"Chew this fer a few days, and that codpiece'll fill right up again," you announce, and the middle-aged burgher's face lights up in delight. Ah, men and their pride; you've made plenty of coin this way in the past, and you'll make plenty more again. With the delicate topic broached, Herr Klengel's far more loose-tongued about other earthly matters, including the ones you actually care about. You leave the shop with a spring in your step, a sack filled with useful herbs from the farmers, and a heavier purse. And quite the selection of interesting news for huffy old Markus, of course.
Everyone trusts the apothecary, especially when she hawks her wares on the cheap. You ought to get into the information business, at this rate.
-/-
You are Max Ernst, purveyor of 'this and that,' and you're starting some routine work.
"I'll ask again," you say evenly, your sword-hand steady. "Who hired ya?"
The burly fellow gulps and looks over your shoulder, but you're already in motion. You sidestep to avoid the expected overhead swing, and your left hand flickers out with the butt of your pistol to catch the would-be attacker directly in the gut. He collapses at your feet, wheezing, and you casually hold your pistol to his head while your sword stays level. "You ought t'know better than that, boy," you chide.
The first act of the caper had worked like a charm: old 'Erik van Frumm' had hobbled around the cleaner parts of town to purchase a map while publicly seeking a money-changer, and had asked a hovering urchin for directions to good lodgings. The little bastard had suggested a street just beyond the invisible lines where the Watch patrolled, and 'Erik' had obligingly let himself get cornered by a would-be robber. Towns might change, but the tricks remained the same.
"Lads, I'll make this quick. You bring me to the one givin' the orders, and I'll not be your problem anymore," you direct evenly. "Try any more tricks and I'll stop playing games."
"Playing games?" the thug at your feet wheezes, swaying drunkenly as he tries to stand. "You jumped-up little shite-" His eyes roll back as your pistol butt crashes across his head this time, and you tuck the weapon inside your coat while keeping it leveled at the still-conscious bastard.
"Right, enough of this," you order briskly as you sheathe your sword. "You're a more reasonable fellow than this lout, aye?" The other hired muscle bobs his head shakily in response, his eyes wider than dinner plates. "Off we go, then," you order in the quavering voice of 'Erik van Frumm' as you assume the cover identity again. "Once I'm seated with your employer, you'll see neither hide nor hair of me again."
The thug seems quite enthusiastic at the prospect of parting ways, and you give a weary grin as he leads you into the grimier parts of town. The early steps of the 'easy mark' caper are always a pain, but the payout is usually good. Your new acquaintance will get you in contact with someone that actually knows something, at which point 'Erik van Frumm' will inquire about moving illicit cargo through the town.
Your thug's employer calls himself 'Hans' and runs his own capers from an inn named the Damp Squib, and fittingly enough you're facing down a matchlock pistol minus a burning fuse shortly after you duck under the low entryway. After the usual introductions - a few dropped hints about 'a certain von Schlesinger' and a barge that needs several crates moved quietly, along with another bruising demonstration against one of Hans's bodyguards - then you're down to real business. 'Hans' gives you only the usual 'hypothetically speakings' and 'might know a man, perchance,' but his greed and ambition causes him to let slip more than he planned. You pick up a few names and routes for moving crates away from the dockmasters' eyes, and years of experience in the business tell you the rest.
A few coins to the local human vagrants find their tongues loosened quickly, and their extensive local knowledge lets you narrow down the options to two warehouses, only one of which has heavy wagon tracks leading through the back gate. Though supposedly empty and unused, the warehouse nevertheless sports a night watchman and heavy padlocks. Good timing lets you dodge the tired sentry and a scramble up the fence lets you avoid the other, though your back aches at the short fall on the other side.
You venture into the supposedly-empty warehouse, ignoring contraband crates lacking the dockmasters' stamp. You don't give two shits about giving more gold to some fat burghers, and you suspect Markus doesn't either. For all his many other faults, he's at least not too caught up on minor details like whose money is whose.
Curving wagon tracks lead you straight to an otherwise well-hidden set of cellar doors, and you frown at the sloppy work. Were you a more patriotic sort, you'd have a word with Grissenwald's criminals about covering their tracks. This holdout likely won't have spellbooks or other matter which'd earn its owners a pyre, but it might hold the smugglers' ledgers.
The truth, as it turns out, is rather more interesting.
-/-
You are Markus von Bruner, and the day's work has been fruitful indeed.
"Etelka Herzen is, according to the town records, a noblewoman from Nuln," you say briskly, summarising your findings for your agents even as you slice apart the steaming meat pie on your plate. Josef and his crew offered to share a meal, but this is Templar work now, and you'll be better off keeping them at a safe distance until you know how this will all play out. "She purchased a stretch of land three years ago up near the Black Peaks - though in truth they are little more than hills, playing host to a few tapped-out old coal mines."
"Black Peaks? The dwarves used to work them, back in the day," Elvyra puts in with a satisfied nod, tucking into her own pie with every sign of relish, "Only difference is they stuck around when it dried up, while the human miners moved on to fresh sites in the south. Folks were willing to tell me all about them - less about Herzen, though. Seems she keeps herself to herself, which suits most of the locals just fine. Nobles and commonfolk don't usually mix, least if you ask this lot."
You nod, unsurprised by the notion. Josef taught you how to set aside your airs and mannerisms and slum it with the lower orders from time to time, but building a bridge across the gulf between your classes does little to erase it from existence. "She bought the land from the dwarves, then?"
"Among others, aye," Elvyra nods, "Nought else have felt near cheated as they do, though. Been more than one local lad pulled into a brawl with the mountain folk over whose family made the wrong call, sounds like."
Mm. Well, you can certainly see how that would create a rift in the community, but it only reinforces the wisdom of your earlier decision. Even if Herzen isn't operating spies in town, which you doubt very much, there's little chance she'd be unaware of the dwarves and their grievances. The local magistrate would have been bound by law and good sense to keep her up to date if nothing else. You file the thought away for later review and then turn to Max, who is eyeing his own pie with the inherent suspicion of any Altdorfer presented with meat of unknown provenance.
"She's smuggling folks," he grunts at last, picking up his fork and giving the pie a suspicious kind of poke, "Other stuff too, under her sign and some paid-off taxmen, but mostly people. Had a whole back room to a nearby warehouse, blankets and candles and food. Enough for a dozen, easy."
Your gaze sharpens at that. "Slaves?"
"Nah, no chains," Max shakes his head, "Could be runaways, bounty-dodgers, spies… lots of options, but it's a whole operation she's got set up here."
You settle back in your chair, rubbing your jaw in thought. A smuggling network for people who wish to remain out of sight would explain why Herzen tied herself down with a land purchase - an old mine and its supporting infrastructure would allow her to shelter a considerable number of individuals without raising suspicion, something she has clearly managed given the lack of any rumours surrounding a swell of immigrants into Grissenwald. In any case, you shall need to plan your approach tomorrow with care, lest you find yourself blundering into a fight with not just the witch but however many minions she has at her beck and call.
-/-
When you wake the next morning, it is to the news of another farm sacked in the night, the buildings set to flame and the inhabitants left stumbling through the darkness in desperate hope of reaching the safety of Grissenwald. At least half of the residents did not make it, and the mood is turning progressively more ugly, but that is not something you can afford to concern yourself with right now. Your own investigation takes priority, especially if your intuition is correct and the town's troubles connected.
The Black Peaks lie perhaps five or six miles south of Grissenwald, connected to the town by an old road that winds its way through the foothills and forests. You hire steeds for yourself and your compatriots from the town stables and set off as soon as there is light enough to ride by, donning your weapons and armour once you are far enough from town to avoid tipping your hand. The land here is not so verdant as the fertile south of Reikland to the west, but there is a certain rugged beauty to the mossy hills and blue-grey scree slopes, and the air is pleasingly cool and fresh.
Suspecting what you will find at your destination, you turn off the path and tie up the horses in a convenient clearing about a mile short of Herzen's property, making your way through the thick pine woods on foot. It is hard going, especially for Elvyra, but you are rewarded for your efforts by the discovery of a wooded slope that allows you to overlook your destination without exposing your arrival to any sentries. Sure enough, the open mouth of an old coal mine forms the basis for what is clearly a small yet thriving settlement of outcasts and undesirables, with lines for laundry stretched between the trees and a small series of food plots dug out on the shallow slopes nearby. There is also a large stone tower, squat and round, that you suspect is meant for Herzen's own use - certainly the glass windows suggest a person of some means resides within.
More interesting than any of that, however, is the band of mutants gathered in the clearing just outside the mine. There are at least a score of them, each bearing deformities both subtle and gross, and while most are clad in the kind of clothing you would expect from farmers or townsmen a fair few are bearing weapons with clearly some degree of training. There seems to be an argument going on, and while you are too far away to hear the full details, raised voices carry perfectly well across the intervening distance.
"Damn you, Knud! What the hells have you done?"
The speaker is a tall and unnaturally thin man dressed in a butcher's apron, at least half again as tall as you or Max but barely half that in width. He is shaking his fist at one of the other mutants, a rough looking type in leather armour with skin covered in shining emerald scales. You can't hear what he says in reply, but it doesn't seem to go over well.
Markus makes an Average (+20) Intuition test. Skill is 75, roll is 10, astounding success!
In fact, now that you look closer, you are reasonably sure you're looking at two distinct groups, or perhaps one larger band split in twain. The skinny fellow seems to command the bulk of the mutants, many of whom have moved to gather behind him in a show of solidarity, but this 'Knud' clearly has greater sway among the minority who are armed and trained in violence. The two of them aren't acting like subordinates bickering for favour, either, which means that Herzen either isn't here or lacks any notable authority over the group at large. Given her wealth and social position, to say nothing of her suspected arcane capabilities, you assume the former with a bitter heart.
"You burned her farm!" the thin man is saying now, gesturing to a young girl huddled behind his legs. You can't see what affliction of the flesh she bears from this distance, but doubtless she possesses some. "Fighting back against our enemies is one thing, Knud, but for god's sake her family was in there!"
The one called Knud steps forward at that, and now his voice is loud enough and angry enough that you can hear it from where you watch. "They cast her out, Franz! They aren't her family any more. None of us have families any more, not out there! The Red Crown is our family now, and I won't let you abandon it!"
Markus makes an Easy (+40) Lore (Chaos) test. Skill is 75, roll is 80. Fortune point spent on reroll, 57. Success.
The Red Crown… for a moment the significance escapes you, but then you recall the words of your mentor, Witchfinder General Wälder. He named them a Chaos Cult, a group in service to the dark divinity known as the Changer, one that offered safety and succor to those twisted in flesh and then used that debt of gratitude to drag them into worship and service of their patron. If Herzen is one of their agents, then this place would naturally be one of the cult's hideaways and refuges, a place where mutants can gather and plan with others of their kind, smuggled in through the warehouse that Max uncovered in Grissenwald. But if that is the case, then why would this Knud be leading attacks on nearby farmhouses? The dwarves might be taking the blame for now, but sooner or later the truth will out and whatever secrecy this place is counting on will be ruined, so why…
Oh. The Mutant Edict. If it is no longer de jure criminal to be a mutant in imperial society, then the Red Crown loses one of its primary tools for compelling the membership to remain in place and open to their proselytising. If one of the mutants gathered here reached out to their former community, to the friends and family they once had, and were greeted with anything less than total hostility, the mere idea that they have options could proliferate through the ranks. And so their more militant members take steps to remove that choice once more - being a mutant is not a crime, but being an arsonist and murderer is, as is providing aid and shelter to those wanted by the law.
You've seen similar techniques employed by criminal gangs and extra-legal groups of all persuasions, and even if the majority of those down there are not directly involved… how many will choose the authorities over their newfound kin, if put to the test? How many among the authorities can be relied upon to draw a distinction, especially given the prevalence of hostility towards mutants of any description?
Article: How do you choose to proceed?
[ ] Attempt Negotiations
Herzen is not here, but these mutants will know where she went. You will leave your companions to watch and fetch reinforcements in case things go sour, and approach under the flag of truce. There may yet be a way to mitigate the fallout of this mess.
[ ] Rally Reinforcements
Whatever their circumstances, these mutants are criminals and cultists of the dark gods both. Return to town and share your findings, exonerating the dwarves and allowing you to return and clear the encampment by force. You will find your evidence in the aftermath, or by interrogating prisoners.
[ ] Write in
You may also submit a sub-vote for one of the above options, if you prefer.
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Metatron
Celestial Scribe Enoch
[X] Attempt Negotiations
Herzen is not here, but these mutants will know where she went. You will leave your companions to watch and fetch reinforcements in case things go sour, and approach under the flag of truce. There may yet be a way to mitigate the fallout of this mess.
Lets give diplomacy a go aye, not like it'll hurt us to try.
Herzen is not here, but these mutants will know where she went. You will leave your companions to watch and fetch reinforcements in case things go sour, and approach under the flag of truce. There may yet be a way to mitigate the fallout of this mess.
Lets give diplomacy a go aye, not like it'll hurt us to try.
[X] Attempt Negotiations
Herzen is not here, but these mutants will know where she went. You will leave your companions to watch and fetch reinforcements in case things go sour, and approach under the flag of truce. There may yet be a way to mitigate the fallout of this mess.
Herzen is not here, but these mutants will know where she went. You will leave your companions to watch and fetch reinforcements in case things go sour, and approach under the flag of truce. There may yet be a way to mitigate the fallout of this mess.
- Location
- Academy City
- Pronouns
- They
[X] Attempt Negotiations
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Rally Reinforcements
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- Location
- USA
[x] Rally Reinforcements
- Pronouns
- He
[X] Attempt Negotiations
Sertorius
Rebellious Legate
- Location
- Roma Invicta
[x] Rally Reinforcements
Unlike that Watch Captain, if Markus fails the roll, he won't end up in a cell, but worse.
We can negotiate, but only with sufficient backup. There is also the matter, that they do belong to a proscribed Chaos Cult, which simplifies things greatly.
Unlike that Watch Captain, if Markus fails the roll, he won't end up in a cell, but worse.
We can negotiate, but only with sufficient backup. There is also the matter, that they do belong to a proscribed Chaos Cult, which simplifies things greatly.
- Location
- Australia
[X] Attempt Negotiations
You are misrepresenting the options. The option to negotiate is the one called Attempt Negotiations, while Rally Reinforcements is about attacking the mutants and forcing out answers through interrogation.
- Location
- Germany
[x] Rally Reinforcements
Chaos cult.
Could have talked with regular mutants, but once Chaos is involved I don't feel talkative.
Chaos cult.
Could have talked with regular mutants, but once Chaos is involved I don't feel talkative.
- Location
- London, England
I feel obligated to note that it very much could, since you'd be walking down alone to meet with a large number of rather wary mutants, at least some of whom have been actively attacking nearby farmsteads, and trusting in Markus' ability to make it work.
It's a perfectly valid choice, hence why it is there in the vote options, but I do want to be clear about the risks involved.
This is also correct - Markus is reasonably sure that if he returns with reinforcements the mutants will see them coming (it is a lot easier to hide a trio of operatives than a detachment of watchmen/militia/a local lynch mob) and violence will almost certainly ensue regardless of what anyone on either side necessarily intends. You only really need one person to leap to the wrong conclusion at the wrong moment, after all.
Attempt Negotiations means going down there alone and trusting that they will be willing to talk to a lone man, even if he is a Templar.