I'm thinking that negotiation means that we fight Knut and his Posse along with the mutants that would like to go legit. This absolutely ends in violence. If we pull back, Knut and his posse will have killed some of the more vocal pro 're-integrate' mutants, and when we come, we'll not only have to negotiate with this group, we'll ALSO have to convince a bunch of peasants not to kill people who, by law, probably still could be massacred legally, since they're still involved with a chaos cult, even if it is in a way I feel that makes it morally better to just let them get out.
What we go for is 'Hello there, imperial Citizens, I can't help but hear that this figure here confessed to arson and murder. Would you like to help me neutralize him, so that we can go to the Empire where I, a Witch Hunter, will vouch that you were briefly deputized by me'.
This will be bloody, and some of those people will die. But if we're going to find reinforcements, some of them would likely die anyway, and it would be far, far more difficult to save the innocent mutants.
Yep, and that's inherently dicey. Since folks voted that route, though, here's a write-up to hopefully not suffer a bad case of dead:
As a devout Sigmarite, an enforcer of Imperial law, and a man gifted his own chance at redemption, you resolve to negotiate with the mutants. As a man who'd like to keep his insides inside, you do so in disguise, at a distance, and from horseback for a quick getaway. Max falls in uneasily beside you with muted grumbles about your 'damnfool bleedin' heart,' but you've earned enough trust for him to accept the risk. Elvyra remains atop the hillside with her own horse hitched nearby, while you consider your approach to the camp below.
You keep your weapons but stow your trinkets of office, hat included. Murderous Chaos cultists could be relied upon to shoot a Witch Hunter on sight, and your weapons can be passed off as simple precautions, as few men would travel unarmed while away from the Empire's roads. You carry yourself like a noble's brat on a hunting trip with Max as your footman, trusting in the common folks' prejudice to cover any gaps in your cover story. A few swipes of trailside dust makes you both appear worn out from a long days' march, and you swing around the hill in a lazy, unhurried arc. Turning upward towards the camp as though you'd just spotted it, you and Max approach the tower slowly while apparently ignoring the camp of mutants.
They spot you from a distance, of course, and the obviously deformed ones have tucked themselves away before you get close to the tower. "Hello, my fellows!" you boom cheerfully, locking eyes with the gangly man in the butcher's apron. "I'm afraid I have need of provisions. Might I make a few purchases from your camp, sirs?" Ignoring the musket barrel pointing out of the nearby tent, you do something truly unnatural and form your face into a smile.
"Errr...of course, milord," the man stammers. "I-"
"Excellent!" you cut him off. "My horse is a tad skittish, so would you do me a quick favour by coming over here?" You slap your hands together, bringing up a cloud of dust. "I'm been riding so long that I doubt I've the strength to stand once I dismount, I'm afraid." Though gulping in fear, the mutant hesitantly approaches you, Max keeping a respectful distance - and not coincidentally, also out of the line of fire should the shooting start here.
"My coinpurse, Hans?" You catch the thrown pack, making a show of rattling through its contents, while you 'accidentally' position your horse until you're in between the man and his camp. Giving the man a conspiratorial wink, you lower your voice to a murmur.
"Knut's men have you hostage, yes?" you ask without preamble.
"The musket's pointed at me; do please keep up looks so it won't be used." You hold up a silver shilling in one hand, squinting and rubbing it in the fading light, while surreptitiously making the sign of the Comet with the other.
"What are you doing?" the man hisses frantically.
"Wait, you know?"
"Of course, of course!" you respond loudly. "I should have assumed it would be mutton, this far into the hills. Now, let's talk rates..." You turn to your saddlebags to keep up the charade, dropping your voice again to a murmur.
"The murderers have earned a quick death. Turn them in and I'll see you and yours safe out of here. My word as a Templar."
You grimly appreciate the man's dumbfounded expression, though your face remains a mask of mild befuddlement. "Errr, Hans," you call out, the very picture of an idiot nob, "is a gold crown too much for a shank of mutton?"
"A bit, sire," Max calls over, not bothering to hide his amusement.
"Ah, I see! Don't you worry, Hans, I learned proper haggling at Father's side," you call bbck in your best fop's voice. Lowering your tone conspiratorially, you continue the true conversation.
"Mutant Edict aside, I need you and yours alive for testimony. Tell Knut I seem an easy mark, and encourage him to ambush us while we sleep. Bring two of your lads for backup, fellows able to defend themselves. We take Knut's lads out, and I'll see you all resettled with the money taken from the smuggling operation that got you here."
"Can I trust your word?" the man asks, finally getting into the act himself.
"Of course! A van Stolpe's word is his bond, after all," you boom in response.
"I've burned no innocents on pyres. Your 'family' cannot say the same. You already know I'm your only hope for getting those children out alive."
Pitching your voice back up again, you bellow, "And that's a deal! Your best shank of mutton please, good sir. And do feel free to visit, as my footman and I will be lodging overnight near the creek. Safe travels!"
As the troubled-looking man in the butcher's apron hesitantly brings you a piece of meat for tonight's dinner, you hand him several silver shillings in a clearly overpriced exchange. "I always knew I had a knack for trading," you announce. "Say, good sir, what's your name again? I'm afraid I clear forgot it."
"Herr Rutger," the man quavers, his unnaturally-long limbs shaking like twigs.
"Rutger, is it? Afraid I haven't heard that lineage before, though I'm no expert in the local families," you announce with a wry grin. "Regardless, sir, I hope to see you soon!"
You choose your camp with an eye for a midnight ambush. A bend in the creek serves to block access, forcing any would-be killers onto a single trail. You and Max stuff two bedrolls with twigs silhouetted in front of a sizable fire, while Elvyra beds down with the horses further away. You hope to lure in Knut's men like moths to the open flame, with the fire hopefully ruining their night vision to boot. Dry sticks scattered across the one easy trail leading to the campsite serve to warn of an intruder's footsteps, while your horses are hitched further away should the ambush turn rotten. You and Max each sort out sight lines and dig makeshift cover, resting in a concealed position behind brush thick enough to block maddened cultists while thin enough to permit a pistol ball.
Hopefully.
With preparations made, you and Max eat cold provisions and settle down for an uneasy night. Mannslieb casts a faint glow across the land with Morrslieb barely cresting, the temporary peace serving as welcome relief from the approaching violence.
"Do you trust him?" Max asks suddenly. "That 'Rutger,' I mean."
"Not for moment, and I'm sure it's reciprocal," you respond immediately. "But I spoke the truth back there; he's no other options, and he knows it. Running will have him knifed in the back, and he's too little coin to start over with a new face."
Max scrunches his face in concentration. "'S what I don't get about you, Markus - why? We could have had Grissenwald's Watchmen take the whole camp's worth of muties, and instead we're freezing our arses off waiting for a mutant's help. Why?"
You don't have an easy answer to that one, so you let the question lie for a minute while the bi campfire crackles away. "I was given a second chance myself, Max. It's on me to give the same to others."
"Nearly got us killed in Bogenhafen," Max points out sourly.
"Aye," you respond simply. There's little you can say in response, so you let it be. Max has nearly died in your service before, and he's risking his life again tonight. He may complain, but he's earned the right as few others have.
