XX - Lèse Majesté
- Location
- London, England
[x] Confront the Watch
XX - Lèse Majesté
Spätin is probably correct in believing the watch is heavily compromised by the merchant's guild, but your corpse will be cooling in the ground before you flee the authorities like some common criminal. You grit your teeth and make for the front door, and the look on your face is enough to tell the duelist what your decision is.
"You're absolutely mad," Spätin says, a strange kind of admiring horror in her voice as she looks at you.
"I am a servant of the law, Frau Spätin," you say sternly, "and I will not flee like a thief in the night."
"Well I'm not, and I will," the witch snorts, turning on her heel and making for the back garden, "Best of luck!"
"Spätin!" you snap, but she is already gone, the door to the rear garden slamming in her wake. You can't afford to waste time chasing her, not with the watch patrol almost here, and with bile burning in your heart you turn back and step out of the front door. The soldiers draw up short at the sight of you, their faces red and puffy and their breastplates gleaming in the noonday sun, and you nod severely to the sergeant at their head.
"Guildmaster Magirius has been murdered," you say to them in a clear voice, "you will find his body upstairs. Secure the site and send for the mourner's guild."
The soldiers hesitate, and then they look to their sergeant, a meaty looking man with a stringy excuse for a beard that seems to dance as he sneers contemptuously at you. "Heinrich, go check the body. As for you, sir, I must ask that you surrender your weapons and place your arms behind your back."
You frown intently at him, but the sergeant seems unbothered. "For what reason?"
"The guildmaster's servant claims that you confronted the guildmaster in his home and slew him when he would not yield to your demands," the sergeant says, drawing himself up, "I am hereby placing you under arrest on suspicion of murder."
"Ridiculous," you scoff, glancing around to see if the 'servant' in question is anywhere nearby. Alas it seems not - likely the daemon kept the disguise just long enough to deliver the report, then disappeared once more. "I am a Templar of the Holy Orders, not some common murderer."
"That would be for the courts and my commanders to determine, sir," the sergeant says firmly, putting a tad too much emphasis on that final word for your liking, "Your rights and status will be respected, but I must do my duty to Bögenhafen."
He speaks the words, but it isn't the town that commands his obedience. You can see it in his eyes, in the way his hands ball into fists, in the sneer he just barely keeps from his face. The daemon chose its patsy well for this, and for a moment you wonder if this sergeant's corruption is financial or more theological. Either way, you won't be convincing him to let you go without a fight, and you have no interest in risking your life here or slaughtering the loyal soldiers who are following him.
"I will not relinquish my weapons," you say firmly, "but I will permit you to escort me to your commander, so that we may resolve this situation swiftly and fairly. That should suffice to fulfil your duty."
"I, uh," the sergeant hesitates for a moment, then nods, "Yeah, I guess that'll do. Right, you lot, fall in. Let's head back to the Fort."
Being marched through the streets by a group of armed watchmen is an unpleasantly novel experience, but you do your best to adapt to the change in circumstances with appropriate dignity. The headquarters of the watch lies in the beating heart of Bögenhafen, where shops and trade outlets compete with private residences for space and hundreds of people throng the streets and whisper at the sight of you passing by. Many are workers and labourers, but the majority you think are members of the rising middle class, those who own property of their own and treat the sight of a Templar being arrested as a source of scandalous gossip more than any real threat. You speak to none of them, and take note of the quiet relief in your escort when they realise you are not about to call upon a mob of the faithful to demand your liberation.
As with many settlements across the Empire, Bögenhafen's town watch is drawn from the ranks of the State Army, trained soldiers pressed into other service in the absence of an immediate war to fight. You are not sure just how much martial readiness is left inside the 99th Reikland Foot after such a prolonged change in duties, but their banner flies proudly above the gate to Fort Bögenhafen and the walls of the compound seem sturdy and well built. It is easy to believe that this place could serve as a fine headquarters in the event of invasion or civil unrest, but right now the gates are open and the guard on the gate merely raises an eyebrow as you are marched past him into the courtyard beyond. Here a score of new recruits practise their drill in ordered ranks, while hoary veterans shout encouragement and an officer in the most resplendent finery looks on. All of them stop and stare as you are marched in through the gates.
"What is the meaning of this?" The officer is tall and almost cadaverously thin, his thinning hair the colour of sun-bleached bone, and there is an aristocratic lilt to his voice as he looks down at you from his position on the steps leading up to the main blockhouse.
"Captain von Goetrin, sir!" The sergeant who escorted you here stops and salutes smartly before continuing, "I regret to report that Guildmaster Magirius has been murdered, sir! Throat cut from behind, looks like. The guildmaster's servant accused this man of being the killer."
The report sets off a wave of whispers and gloomy muttering across the courtyard, but you do not care to wait for the soldiers to sort themselves out. Instead you step out from behind your escort and lift your head to regard the officer who now studies you in turn.
"My name is Markus von Bruner, Inquisitor of the Holy Order of Sigmarite Templars," you say formally, pitching your voice so that everyone can hear it, "I have been investigating a hidden cult operating within this town, and Guildmaster Magirius was cooperating with my investigation, which I believe they murdered him to prevent."
Captain von Goetrin considers you at length as the whispers spread, and you have to fight not to be distracted by the spectacular visage of his moustache. It almost looks like someone implanted a pair of horizontal walrus tusks into his upper lip, and you cannot imagine the amount of time and effort it must take the man to keep it clean and properly shaped each day.
"I have been warned about you, Herr von Bruner," the captain says at length, giving you a slow and serious nod, "Councillor Teugen informs me that you have a track record of murdering merchants for spurious reasons. High Priest Edel, meanwhile, has assured me that your investigation is nothing more than a politically motivated sham."
For a brief moment a spark of fury blossoms in your heart, but you quash it ruthlessly. You will need to have words with Edel about undermining your authority with such talk, especially after he took such pains to project unity less than a day ago, but those problems can wait.
"Captain, I assure you," you begin, taking a step forward, but before you can approach the man two of his soldiers step forward and slam the end of their polearms into the dirt before you, barring the way with crossed blades.
"Markus von Bruner, you are hereby charged with the murder of Frederich Magirius," the captain says in an arch tone, looking down his nose at you and making a cutting gesture with one hand, "As a man of quality, I must ask you to surrender your arms and offer your parole."
Markus makes an Average (+20) Intuition test. Skill is 62, roll is 62, bare pass.
You glance around swiftly, taking in the expressions of the watching soldiers and the attitudes on display. Some of them seem gleeful at the sight of your arrest, while others are worried and uncertain, and a few even outright disapproving. Still, none go so far as to protest outright, their respect for the captain and his authority too pronounced to dare such a thing without further encouragement. As for Goetrin himself, you have no idea whether he truly believes you guilty or is merely acting to further his master's interests, be they mundane or diabolic. At this point, it matters little.
"Listen to me, all of you," you call out in a clear and ringing voice, putting your conviction and urgency behind every word, "There is a cult of the dark gods at work in Bögenhafen, and it must be stopped. The Ordo Septenarius has summoned daemons and offered human sacrifice, and they mean to conduct a ritual this very night to secure their power. I know where and when, but without good and loyal soldiers like you I cannot hope to stop them alone."
Markus is going to use a charm test for public speaking. He has a base skill of 51, and as he has a higher status than the average watchman he gains +10 on the skill. Additionally, he has the Noble Blood talent, which adds an additional SL to tests affected by status if he succeeds.
Unfortunately, he rolls an 85, and so fails. After the fight against the stevedores, he has no fortune points remaining and so cannot reroll this.
Unfortunately, he rolls an 85, and so fails. After the fight against the stevedores, he has no fortune points remaining and so cannot reroll this.
For a moment it seems like you have them, that your words have struck a chord, but then Captain von Goetrin's voice cracks like a whip and the moment is lost.
"I see we are adding incitement to mutiny to your charges, sir!" he roars, bristling with sudden fury, "Well then, I had planned to host you as your station demands, but if you will act like a mere recidivist then that is how you shall be treated! Soldiers, disarm him and take him to the cells."
The soldiers obey their commander, and with brutal speed and practised efficiency you are stripped of your weapons and armour alike and frog-marched across the fort towards a set of stairs that descend into darkness. Your protests are ignored, and since you stop short of attempting to actively fight back the rough handling likewise stops short of an outright beating, and soon enough you are all but thrown into a dingy little cell beneath the barracks with only a flickering torch for light.
"We shall send word to High Priest Edel and the Graf von Saponatheim," Captain von Goetrin sneers from his position by the door, "But as the former is very busy and the latter dwells some eighty miles north of here, it may be some time before they respond and your trial may be arranged. Until then, you will enjoy our finest hospitality."
"Captain, you are making a dire mistake," you say, trying to keep your frantic concern from your voice, "Please, if you will but accompany me with a small force at the proper time then you will see the truth of my words."
"Frederich Magirius was a respected patron of mine, templar, and more than that he was one of very few men I counted as a friend," the captain says, a cold and ugly look in his eyes as he looks at you, "If it were up to me you would hang this very night. As it is, I shall pray to Verena and Sigmar alike that justice be done and you pay the price for your crimes. Good day."
He leaves then, slamming the cell door closed and striding away down the corridor, and before he departs the building entirely you hear the distant sound of barked orders as he establishes how you are to be restrained. You don't doubt that he will bend every resource he has to seeing you blamed and executed for the death of the guildmaster, and while you truly do not think it will go so far, the idea that he might release you in time to intervene in the Ordo's plan seems equally distant. Fearful despair takes root in your heart and begins to rise, but you push it back down and sink to your knees.
"Blessed Sigmar, hear the words of your servant," you murmur, clasping your hands together and hoping with every shred of resolve you have left. "I implore you to guide the captain's heart towards wisdom, or else send a sign that the wise may follow. And… if not that, my lord, then I ask only that you send another in my stead, to defend this land where I cannot."
You receive no answer, only silence and the gnawing cold of the buried cell. Not that you expected a bright light and booming voice, of course not, but previously prayer has helped to centre you, to give you the sense of purpose and certainty that you need. Now… Now there is nothing, only the disquiet beating of your heart and the growing awareness of your own failure. You pray again, whispering the words of your earlier entreaty, mumbling old chants beaten into your memory with growing desperation, and nothing comes.
Hours pass, and save for the odd patrol of a passing guard, nothing stirs you from your forgotten solitude. You pray where you can, pace back and forth in the growing darkness of your cell where you cannot, and in the end resign yourself to simply sitting there in silence, lost in your own thoughts. Despair freezes you by inches, like the first frost of winter creeping across the fields, and this time you can do nothing to halt its ascent. The fire you need so desperately has gone out, and you do not know if it can be rekindled.
Perhaps this is the sign you sought after all. How many times have you failed now? You acted blindly when your father strayed, and so betrayed him to his death. You could not choose a side nor see a path to unity when news of the Mutant Edict broke, and so allowed doubt into your heart. You persuaded Spätin to turn herself in, then drove her to abandon you, and in your foolhardy pride you placed yourself into the hands of your enemies and lost all chance of saving Bögenhafen from the scheme that threatens to ensnare it. You are not worthy to call yourself a Templar, not strong enough to serve Sigmar and he deserves. Perhaps you never were.
How long you sit there in the cell you cannot hope to guess, for there is no natural light down here and the walls are too thick to hear the sound of the distant bells, but after some time you become aware of a quiet scraping sound from the wall to your left. You stare, baffled and confused, and then leap to your feet a moment later as one of the stone bricks pops out of the wall and slides aside, revealing a narrow tunnel and a familiar face beyond.
"...Master Banbury?" you whisper, blinking in shock, "What is the meaning of this?"
The halfling puts a finger to his lips, cocking his head to listen for the sound of guards. When last you saw him he was all but dying in the Shallyan hospice, but now his face is flushed with vigour and there is only dedication in his eyes. After another moment's caution he nods and pulls himself out of the tunnel completely, gesturing for you to enter it in turn. For a moment you hesitate, wary of adding further crimes to your apparent tally, but then sense returns and you go down on your knees. The tunnel beyond is a small and narrow thing, barely large enough to accommodate you, but you grit your teeth and keep going as Ozzy Banbury levers the stone back into place and crawls along behind you.
The tunnel is not very long, as it turns out, and less than a minute later you are emerging into the reeking confines of Bögenhafen's sewers. A small lantern has been left on the side for you, and you take it up as you stretch as best you can, breathing shallowly as you wait for Banbury to join you. The halfling seems no happier about being back in this place than you are, but after a moment he masters himself and leads the way along the narrow walkway, one hand firmly against the wall to avoid going too close to the toxic stew. You are almost unsurprised when he leads you to the sealed door you encountered upon first entering the sewers, the one marked by the sign of the local smugglers, and after a quick series of knocks the portal opens and you are ushered through.
The room on the far side is clearly a cellar of some kind, stacked high with boxes and barrels covered by heavy canvas tarpaulins, but tonight it is being used as some manner of covert rendezvous. You recognise Adhema the merchant leaning against one of the nearby boxes, while Spätin reclines catlike atop another. Close to a dozen hardened looking men and women sit around the perimeter beyond a small ring of lanterns, while nearer the centre a brawny looking man in an innkeeper's leather apron stands flanked by a pair of identical twins bearing identical swords. Elvyra is with him, and unlike your other companions the cheerful woman seems entirely at ease in such company.
"Ah, Master Markus, there you are," the apothecary says in a warm voice, nodding in satisfaction, "I wasn't sure they'd put you in with the common cells, but it seems old Reiner decided to make a show of it."
"Frau Kleinestun," you say warily, nodding to her as you step out of the doorway and close it behind you, "I will not deny it is good to see you, but you will forgive me for asking how, exactly, this came to be."
"Ah, well, less than an hour after you left to go answer that message, this one came running back home with some daft story about how you'd gone and gotten arrested - and gone quietly, at that!" Elvyra clucks her tongue disapprovingly at you, nodding up at where Spätin rests, "So I decided I'd gather up those other friends of yours, and then reach out to a few friends of mine."
"Franz Baumann," the innkeeper says with a cheerful smile, crossing his broad arms across a barrel chest and nodding to you, "Your friendly local innkeeper and, more relevantly, priest of Ranald and master of the local Crooked Fingers."
"...a criminal, then," you say with a frown. The Cult of Ranald is not technically a proscribed faith (though you have never been able to entirely follow the theological and political reasons for why) but there are few Sigmarites who care much for the god of criminals, revolutionaries and outcasts.
"Just like you now, way I hear it," the priest says with a nasty grin, and though you flinch you cannot help but concede the point with a sharp nod, "Don't take this the wrong way, templar, but I really don't like your kind very much. This little favour is done entirely because Elvyra here made a pretty striking case… and because it means you owe us one. Rest assured we will be collecting."
"I see," you say warily, and though you suspect you know the answer already, honesty compels you to ask, "And if I should refuse to cooperate, or recognise any debt you might imagine I owe to a band of recidivist criminals and outlaws?"
"Well, then my boys Reiner and Reiner here would get very upset," Baumann says with an exaggerated shrug, the identical twin bodyguards grinning unpleasantly at you, "And then something very unfortunate would probably happen to you. I try not to spend my time thinking too closely about what - not good business for an innkeeper, you understand, if his stomach turns at the wrong moment."
You nod, since that is more or less what you expected. You should probably be offended at the idea of criminals daring to threaten a templar and noble so brazenly, but these are Ranaldians, so you can't really claim to be surprised. "Very well. Let none say I do not recognise when others have done me a service, nor that I forget my debts."
"Marvellous!" Baumann says cheerfully, clapping his hands together, "Now, seeing as all your shiny gear is in Reiner's lockup, I figured we might as well stretch to some charity. No silvered swords or fancy pistols here, I'm afraid, but there's some proper leather and a pair of cutters in that bundle by the door. Reiner will lead your little band through the sewers down to the docks, near the warehouses, since I hear that's where you're looking to go. From there, well, it's up to you."
You nod silently, and without further ado one of the twins peels off from the group and opens the door back into the sewers, handing you the bundle as you get close. Adhema, Spätin, Elvyra and Banbury all fall in behind you as you follow the Ranaldian back out into the sewers, and from there down towards the docks. You walk in silence, partly due to stealth and the listening company, and partly because none of you want to open your mouth or breath in too deeply while in the reeking confines of the sewers. You thought it would be easier the second time, but it really is not.
Reiner knows his trade, at least, and no more than a quarter bell later you are being led through an overflow pipe and out onto the muddy shoreline of the River Bögen, the iron grate that is meant to prevent just this kind of trespass lifting freely out of its socket at the enforcer's gentle touch. Night has clearly fallen, and a thick mist seems to have rolled in off the river to swamp the entire district while you were imprisoned, drowning all sound and making your damp clothes cling to your skin. Reiner tips a mocking salute, pulls the grate back into place, and vanishes.
"My thanks, all of you," you say at last in a rough voice, busying yourself by pulling open the pack and strapping on the boiled leather armour within. Hopefully you will be able to reclaim your chainmail and brigandine from the watch before too long, for the protection it offers is far superior to this, but tonight it will simply have to do.
"Don't mention it," Ozzy Banbury says blithely, squinting up at the shadowed bulk of the nearest building as you clamber up onto the waterfront proper, "Never could have afforded the lady's medicine without you anyway, so I reckon I owe you at least one more. Now… where would warehouse thirteen be…"
"Turn right and go for a block or two, I reckon," Adhema the merchant chimes in, beads of water glittering like diamonds in her long curly hair as the mist grasps at her, "And cut that talk of debts, too. Even if we didn't owe you a penny, this is important work. Got to be, given, well."
She points skyward, and you are forced to acknowledge what you were hoping to avoid. Night has fallen but darkness has not come with it, for in the sky over Bögenhafen the chaos moon has swollen to a vast and terrifying size. If you did not know it to be impossible you could almost imagine it possible to reach out and touch Morrsleib from the top of the town's highest roofs, and the pattern of shadows and lines on its broken face gives the unshakeable impression of a hungry, smiling face staring down at the streets below. Morrsleib is as a gourmand awaiting the feast, and your lives and souls mere morsels to satiate its remorseless hunger.
"Something foul is happening," Spätin murmurs grimly, "The moonlight feels like poison, but underneath that, if you know what to look for… whatever they're doing, Markus, it isn't some petty ritual to bring good luck."
There hardly seems to be a need to answer that, and so with a grunt you simply nod and begin ushering everyone along the waterfront at as fast a clip as you can manage. The moonlit mist swirls around you like a living thing and the shadowed bulk of the buildings pass you like leviathans in the deep, but soon enough you find yourself approaching warehouse thirteen. You know this must be the place you seek, for it alone of all the buildings near here is lit from within by flickering candlelight, and you could swear you hear the faintest echo of chanting carried on the still night air.
"More thugs," Spätin murmurs as the five of you take cover behind an abandoned cart closer to the waterfront, peering into the gloom, "Two, four… could be a dozen or so, if they're spread out around the whole perimeter. Reckon we'd need to go through two of them at least if we wanted to burst in."
"Could always try sneaking past," Ozzy Banbury replies, studying the facade of the warehouse before you, "Mist is pretty thick, and these guys don't look like they'd want to go hunting for every little sound."
"Could even offer to pay some of them off," Elvyra notes, "I don't reckon they like listening to that chanting all that much. They might even listen to a bit of righteous preaching, though if they got picked to stand guard over this I kind of doubt it. Anyway, I'll be here in case any of you get knocked about, but I'm afraid I'm not very good at fighting."
"Whatever we do, we need to do it now," Spätin hisses, shaking her head as if to ward off a gnat, "I can feel the power building. They're nearly finished."
Article: How do you proceed? There is no time to secure further reinforcements - either you can lead a witch, a student lawyer and a grain merchant to save Bögenhafen, or the dark gods win.
[ ] Charge
You have no time for subtlety. Surprise and sudden violence will get you past the guards and into the warehouse, where you will stop this ritual or die trying.
[ ] Sneak in
The mists offer a great deal of cover, perhaps enough to creep past the guards and get a good look at the interior of the warehouse before being discovered.
[ ] Attempt Persuasion
You will gamble on the notion that the guards can be bought off or perhaps even swayed to your side, thereby removing them from consideration and allowing you to focus on the ritual.
-/-
Markus has no guns, little armour and no remaining fortune points. There are, however, other powers that might be willing to lend a hand in stopping a Tzeentchian ritual, especially if it allows them to get their claws into a noble-born templar riven with self-doubt and vengeful fury.
Taking a Dark Deal allows you to reroll any test after the result is known, even if it was already rerolled, and then take the better of the two results. This can be done for the price of a single corruption point each time. Currently, Markus has two Corruption points, and will need to test for mutation if he reaches ten.
This is presently Markus' only possible source of rerolls. Are you willing to take advantage?
[ ] In Dire Necessity
Markus will take a dark deal only for the most critical of rolls, to avoid being slain or defeated outright, provided it can be done without pushing him over the threshold of mutation.
[ ] Die Pure
Markus will take no dark deals of any kind, and allow the dice to fall as they may.
[ ] Drink Deep
Markus will take the deal to reroll any failed test, hoping that the additional success will allow him to end this ritual swiftly before the cost grows too high.