You can't do it. You should, you know this - the law is uncompromising on this matter, and opposition to the unclean magics of the witch is a core tenet of Sigmar's teachings for very good reason. There are a thousand reasons you ought to draw your sword and slay the unsanctioned spellcaster here and now, reasons pragmatic and legal and spiritual, and all of them fall short against a single straightforward fact - Rikard is your brother. He's an annoying little shit, especially of late, a man who hates you and seems compelled to antagonise you at every turn, but he is still your brother. You've sent one relative to the pyre already, and faced now with the chance to repeat that deed, you simply cannot. Your arms will not move, your tongue will not speak, your heart will not lend you strength.
"...he asked me to protect you," you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat, and in your heart a small shred of conviction that once drove you falls away and fades to nothing.
"I… what?" Rikard seems surprised, almost to the point of incomprehension. Perhaps that is a comfort, or perhaps it merely adds to the burden; even your brother thought you would be better than this.
"Father's ghost," you explain, closing your eyes and feeling all the fire drain out of your body, "Just before I laid him to rest. He asked me to protect you. It's what he died doing. I can't betray that."
"Oh. I see," Rikard's voice sounds faint, almost hollow, and when you open your eyes again it is just in time to see him wipe his own free of tears. "Well. What happens now?"
"We may as well start by having Maria join us," you reply, raising your voice just enough to be clearly audible in the hallway outside. You didn't close the door when you entered, and sure enough a moment later your sister appears in the doorway, her pale face drawn and tense with mingled fear and relief. "Did you know, sister?"
"No," Maria shakes her head, casting Rikard a look both venomous and faintly exasperated. "If I had, I would not have invited a Templar of Sigmar to our door. Meaning no offence to you, Markus."
"Naturally," you say dryly, a faint flicker of amusement lighting the dark hollow of your heart. "Well, we know now. As for what happens next… that, Rikard, depends on you."
"What do you mean?" Rikard frowns at you, but you notice with some relief that he has put down the gun, and there is less distaste in his words than there was before.
"If you spoke true, if you have not cast anything since that day, if you never do so in the future… then nothing will happen," you explain, shaking your head in wonder. You have no real name for the cocktail of emotions swirling through your soul right now, at once shamed and relieved beyond measure. You have committed to this course, and now you must see it through. "If you were lying, or intend to break your word in the future, then you and I will burn together."
"I… you'd go that far?" Rikard blinks at you, clearly astonished.
"Think about it, idiot," Maria scoffs, folding her hands and fixing your brother with a withering glare, "The penalties for sheltering a witch are hardly less harsh than being one, and Markus is a Templar. No organisation tolerates betrayal, especially not one so dependent upon the respect that others have for the law to function."
You nod grimly, all too aware that Maria herself is now running the same risk. Perhaps another woman might be able to claim ignorance, but the daughter and sister of two confirmed witches? The chance that she might be believed is slim indeed, unless she turns you both in herself. If she does, well, you'd be the world's greatest hypocrite to blame her for it.
"Father should have gone to the Colleges, and I still think you should do likewise," you sigh, looking at your brother once more, "but I won't kill you for refusing. Others will not be nearly so merciful, so you need to resist any temptation to cast from now until you die. Frankly, you probably need to stop painting the Winds into your works as well; father isn't the only noble to take an interest in the arcane, and the chances that someone else will recognise them are too high already."
Rikard nods shakily, and you realise with some bleak amusement that he never considered this. He was expecting you to kill him when the truth came out, likely built his entire model of you on that assumption, and so never bothered to think much further into the future. Perhaps he even expected that the truth would come out one way or the other in the end, that eventually he'd be forced to make a choice between the Colleges and death. Now he has been presented with a third choice, and it seems he does not know what to do with it or himself.
"Who else knows?" Maria says briskly, casting a brief glance back at the doorway, "I ordered the servants away, and will need to take steps to ensure nobody disobeyed, but beyond that?"
"Nobody," Rikard says haltingly, before pausing and frowning, "Wait, no. Etelka Herzen, the witch who contacted father. She knows, assuming that she still lives."
"Then it seems, dear brother, you have a cultist to track down," Maria says sweetly, a cold look in her eyes as she sizes you up, "I assume your order maintains at least some records of those it burns, in case we should be so fortunate?"
"It does," you allow, slightly discomforted by the intense look in your sister's eyes, "Though it would take a great deal of time to sift through ten years of records, especially if I need to confirm that the name does not appear."
"We're not under any urgent time pressure - if she lives, the witch has not used what she knows for ten years at least," Maria waves her hand dismissively, "Beyond which, you hardly need to work alone. You have a position of authority, and you have future career prospects that may encourage any number of enterprising souls to curry your favour; let it be known that you seek to ascertain the fate of the woman who led your father astray and many will fall over themselves praising you for your diligence."
"...you've become a dangerous woman, Maria," you say, bemused and a little bit concerned.
"I have little choice in the matter, since it seems both my brothers are content to self-destruct in pursuit of their most absurd principles," your sister sniffs, "Now, I will have the servants prepare dinner. You will both join me for a hot meal in the western hall, one hour from now, and there we will have a civilised conversation with each other for the first time in ten years."
So saying, Maria von Bruner turns on her heel and sweeps out of the studio with her head held high, leaving you and your brother adrift and rudderless in her wake. For a moment neither of you says anything, then Rikard cracks something approaching a smile.
"I don't suppose the pyre is still an option?"
"Rikard," you growl, hands balling back into fists, but your brother merely raises his hands in surrender.
"A poor jest, my apologies," he sighs, heading for the door as well, "Well, we might as well prepare. You'll find your old clothes still in your rooms, reasonably well maintained. Go and wash up before you join us for dinner. We do still have standards."
-/-
Article:
Markus has resolved the Haunted Home situation and completed his personal long-term goal of earning his father's forgiveness (or perhaps more accurately realised that he feels able to defend his choices before his father's ghost). Consequently, he has 780xp to spend.
Below are a series of premade packages, each worth roughly 250xp. You may choose three of them.
Alternately, those of you with greater system mastery may create and suggest plan votes that spend the 780 total in a more customised way, either in total or as alternate packages. You may draw from up to rank 3 Witch Hunter or rank 2 Stevedore.
[ ] Swordsman +2 weapon skill (100), +5 Melee Fencing (100), +5 Melee Basic (100). This package raises Markus' primary melee skills to a total of 70.
[ ] Marksman +2 ballistic skill (80), +5 Ranged Blackpowder (100), +3 perception (90). This package makes you a better shot and more likely to spot your targets at range.
[ ] Fistfighter +7 Melee Brawling (160) and the Dirty Fighting talent (100). This package raises Markus' unarmed combat skill to 70, and also lets him inflict more damage and gain more SL at the cost of violating good sportsmanship.
[ ] Unshakeable +4 willpower (160), +5 Cool (100). This package makes Markus far harder to shake or intimidate, raising his Cool skill to a total of 70.
[ ] Inspiring +5 Fellowship (125), +4 Charm (80), +4 Leadership (80). This package raises Markus' primary skills for swaying and commanding others to a total of 60 each.
[ ] Tough As Nails +3 Toughness (150), Tenacious talent (100). This package raises Markus' toughness to 60, giving him two more wounds and another point of damage reduction, and doubles the amount of time he can endure harsh conditions or deprivation.
[ ] Brawny +3 strength (75), Very Strong talent (100), +5 Swim (100). This package raises Markus' strength bonus to 4, meaning he hits harder and can bear more weight, and also means he learns how to swim.
[ ] Insightful +8 initiative (270). This 'package' makes Markus notably faster to act, and also increases his skills at reading people, noticing details and navigation.
[X] Plan: Andres' XP Plan
-[X] +3 Strength (75)
-[X] +8 Initiative (270)
-[X] +4 Fellowship (100)
-[X] +9 Cool (220)
-[X] +1 Swim (10)
-[X] Very Strong talent (100)
Note that this was the second most popular result, but since it includes the winning vote within it I went ahead and used it anyway.
XXX - The Hunt Begins
Six months after the near disaster at Bögenhafen you find the lead you have been looking for. A missive from a colleague operating in Wissenland mentions that they saw a land deed made out to one Etelka Herzen while pursuing an unrelated investigation; while there is nothing to say that this woman is the same one who first led your father astray, you have sufficient grounds to begin an investigation.
"See, what I'm wondering is why she kept the name," Max Ernst muses in a lazy voice as he follows you through Altdorf's bustling streets, his long leather coat swishing gently as it brushes against the ground. The once-petty thug has blossomed into a fine agent over the course of his service with the Order of the Silver Hammer, and while you have no intention of ever putting his name forward as a potential Templar - the man still being far too mercenary in outlook to entrust with such a solemn task - you are glad to have him at your back for this one. "If I'd gone and done the sort of things this woman apparently has, you can be sure I'd stop calling myself Max real quick."
"It is not an uncommon decision," you reply, frowning at the surging crowds from beneath your peaked hat until enough of them get the message to clear a path, "Most people can only keep so many different identities straight at any one time, and the more you try to swap between, the greater the likelihood of an error. To say nothing of any assets or professional relationships you have established under one name and should wish to keep making use of."
"Nothing worse than using the wrong name in a midnight meeting," Elvya chimes in, hustling along in your wake with a heavy pack that clinks ominously whenever she shifts position too quickly, "Almost as embarrassing as doing it in bed, and more likely to get you stabbed at that."
"I dunno," Max scratches his chin in thought, "Depends who you're sleeping with, I reckon…"
"Can you two at least pretend to be more than barely reformed criminals?" you say with a sigh, paying no attention to their cheerful pledges of agreement. You've heard such commitments from them both too many times by now to really believe it. "Frau Kleinestun, you said you knew the settlement in question?"
"It's called Grissenwald. A miserable little place, really," Elvyra scoffs, shaking her head in disapproval, "Too many dwarves, I think, they always end up making a place feel more uptight. Sits right by the confluence of the Reik and the Grissen."
"...what's a confluence?" Max frowns, "Because it sounds like something nasty you get from eating one of those cheap pies down by the docks."
"Fancy word meaning a place where two rivers meet," Elvyra explains briskly, smiling a bit at the chance to demonstrate her learning despite a lack of formal qualifications, "Anyway, the Grissen river carries metals and such down from the mountains, and it joins the Reik 'bout a day's sailing from Nuln. Nothing forces the traders and boat crews to stop at Grissenwald proper, but it's convenient enough that the town does good business as a stopover point."
You nod, satisfied with the news. If this Etelka Herzen really is the one from your childhood, then she has spent well over a decade staying one step ahead of the hunters on her trail. She will almost certainly have a paid informant in the nearest town to warn her if Templars are coming through, but a group of riverborn traders stopping off en route to Nuln are going to be so common as to be unremarkable. All you need is a barge master and crew that you trust enough to carry you to your destination and keep their mouths shut while you conduct your investigation. Fortunately, you know just the ones.
"Josef!" you call you as you arrive at the docks, finding yourself smiling almost against your will, "I see you received the commission!"
"Markus, you young rascal," Josef Quartjin roars with laughter at the sight of you, spreading his arms wide and seizing you in his embrace, "I ought to have known!"
You permit the hug for a moment, taking some small amusement in the goggly-eyed looks of shock being worn by several passers by and fellow dockworkers at the sight of a Templar being treated with such brazen familiarity, then eventually pull yourself apart. The Berebeli sits heavy in the water just down the street, piled high with cargo that Wolmar and Gilda are carefully checking off against a manifest. You are glad to see the married couple have stuck with Josef this long; they seemed like dependable sorts, and it is always good to know that one of your oldest friends has such people to rely on.
"Still piloting the same old tub, I see," you say dryly, looking the barge over at length, "Still, at least you've put some of the profits into a refit or two. If my eyes do not deceive me, we may even be able to count upon proper beds and a roof over our heads for the journey south."
"Aye, House Teugen pay promptly and above the normal rate," Josef nods, giving you a faintly suspicious sideways glance. "We've got a load of mining supplies to take down to Grissenwald, and I'm hoping to load up on ore for Nuln's foundries while I'm there. I'm guessing that's the commission you mentioned?"
"I had heard something like that was in the works," you smile shamelessly; you did lean on the Teugens to make sure that Josef had all the work he could handle, at rates sufficient for him to upgrade his barge and set aside a decent sum for his impending retirement. You won't apologise for it, but that doesn't mean you'd care to discuss the ethics of it all with the man. "As it happens I have work of my own down near Grissenwald, if you've space on the Berebeli for three more."
"You know damn well I do," Josef chortles, shaking his head before pausing, "Wait, three? Whatever happened to that young lass you were working with in Bögenhafen, the swordswoman? Nothing bad, I hope."
"Not at all. She's taking up formal studies, and is too busy for my kind of work of late," you say easily, one hand resting briefly on the pocket where you keep Spätin's latest correspondence. The first few letters were clearly dictated to a scribe, but this one is in her own hand and all but overflowing with smug self-satisfaction. If Spätin is to be believed then her time as a wandering witch has given her the experience and perspective necessary to blitz through her apprenticeship at an accelerated rate; apparently a great deal of a wizard's apprenticeship is focused around understanding when not to use magic. "Her master thinks she will be ready to become a journeywoman by the end of the year."
"So soon? Well, good for her," Josef claps his calloused hands together and gestures for you and the others to board the boat, "Alright, you all know where everything is, and it looks like Wolmar's got the manifest all sorted. Let's get going soon as we can."
-/-
You pass by Castle Reiksguard early on the second day of your voyage, sailing sedately through the shadow of its towering walls and beneath the sights of its bristling cannons. You can't claim to be a scholar of warfare, but the castle is headquarters of the Reiksguard and a secure redoubt for the Emperor's own family in times of strife, so you see little reason to doubt its reputation as one of the most well fortified bastions in the Empire. More interesting to your band of friends and colleagues, however, are the rumours that swirl around its most prestigious occupant.
"I'm just saying it stands to reason, is all," Josef shrugs, keeping one hand steady on the tiller as he leans over the railing to keep an eye on the rest of you, "It's not even a crime nowadays, is it?"
"Josef," you sigh, pinching your brow between two fingers and silently imploring Sigmar for strength, "Just because the edict removed the legal penalty, that doesn't mean you can start claiming that the Crown Prince of the Reikland is a mutant."
Crown Prince Wolfgang von Holswig-Schliestein is the Emperor's oldest child and only son, and so stands heir to all but his imperial title. He ought by rights to be a public figure, a common sight at court and at state functions, gaining experience and developing his reputation for the day when his father passes into Morr's embrace and the Reikland falls to his keeping. Instead he has spent the last year or more sequestered within Castle Reiksguard, seemingly going nowhere of any consequence and seeing no visitors of note. Rumours, of course, have run rampant as a result.
In the 'canon' of 4e lore, Crown Prince Wolfgang is Karl-Franz's nephew, rather than his son, and heir to Reikland but not Altdorf.
This is because 4e is awkwardly trying to reconcile a lot of different lore sources into a coherent picture without necessarily directly explaining any of them. Consequently, Karl-Franz is stated to have two actual children, the oldest of which is Prince Luitpold, a legitimised bastard that he has made heir to Altdorf but who is traumatised by something unspecified but terrible relating to Drachenfels. He also cares deeply for their mother, a prominent noblewoman called Maria-Luise who plays an advisory role in the privy council and is in jest referred to as 'Empress' even as the Emperor himself remains publicly a chaste bachelor.
Since I don't particularly care for the Drachenfels books and also Wolfgang and Karl-Franz both play significant roles later in this adventure path, I have elected to simplify the situation accordingly. Karl-Franz is married to Maria-Luise (sorry Emannuelle shippers) and Wolfgang is their oldest son and heir.
"See, way I heard it is that he's got some horrible disease," Max chimes in, taking a swig of whiskey from his flask and sighing happily. Wolmar shoots him a vaguely annoyed look at that, since he would clearly like to be drinking as well but has work to do keeping the barge sailing smoothly, but Max just ignores it. "One of them that gives you boils all over your face or makes you walk funny. Elvyra, you're the sawbones, what do you reckon would make a man go into hiding like this?"
"Oh, don't you go stealing my good name for some nonsense like that," Elvyra says primly, and for just a moment you are foolish enough to rejoice, only to be brutally betrayed as she thinks for a moment and continues, "If you ask me, he went and got some poor lass knocked up, and his father is making him take responsibility for her and the child. A good idea too, and a lesson more young men could stand to learn."
You should probably shut down this kind of seditious talk, you know, but these people have been with you for months now and you are not nearly so cold and grim to insist on proper formality and respect for their betters at all hours of the day. Sighing and throwing your hands up in defeat, you turn and look around for something else to distract you. The most obvious choice would be the ongoing construction project you can see on the bank, where the ruins of an old stone tower are presently being swarmed over by a dozen or so stocky looking workmen. They are dwarves, you think, though if that is the case you are mildly surprised to see they appear to be expanding the tower with wood and metal instead of stone; clearly, the intent cannot be to restore its function as a fortress, so what brings them out here?
Markus makes an Average (+20) Lore Reikland test. Skill is 60, roll is 31, clear success.
Ah, of course - it must be one of the new signal towers. You'd heard that the Emperor had made expanding the network something of a pet project of late, a way to tie the various provinces of the Empire closer together. When complete, this one will be one link in a chain stretching all the way from Altdorf to Nuln, able to pass surprisingly complex messages back and forth between the two capitals in under a day. The implications for military coordination and national defence alone would make it worth the cost, to say nothing of the possible diplomatic impact. You for one are more than pleased to see the Emperor taking his duties seriously with such investment, though it does little to allay your concerns over the growing crisis with Ubersreik to the south.
"Oh, hello there," Josef calls out as he steers the Berebeli around a small bend in the river, "Looks like we've drawn some interest."
There is a small wooden jetty protruding from the shore just a small ways ahead, and on it stand a pair of dwarves in common workman's clothing. The second they spot the barge they begin waving frantically, and as you get close enough to hear they start calling out as well.
"Oi! Give us a lift!" they yell, pulling out coin purses and waving them overhead, "We can pay!"
"What do you reckon, Markus?" Josef calls down to you from his position by the tiller, "It'd be a bit cramped, but…"
"Sigmar commands us to aid the dwarf-folk when they are in need," you allow after a moment's thought, "Besides, I'm curious. Let us hear them out at least."
Josef nods briskly, and soon enough the Berebeli is drawing up alongside the small jetty and the two dwarves are scrambling aboard with almost indecent haste. They seem like typical examples of their kind, stout of body and thick of beard, though judging from their clothing these two hail from one of the many Dwarf Quarters to be found in the Empire's towns and cities, instead of the distant mountain holds.
"'preciate it, captain," one of the dwarves says with a smile, nodding up at Josef before clapping his fellow on the back, "I'm Thingrim, an' this here is Belegol. We're engineers to the gentry, as it happens. Where is it you're headed?"
"Grissenwald at first," Josef replies, taking the lead and allowing you and your plainclothes team to fade into the background, "Then on to Nuln once we've stocked up on a new cargo there."
"Nuln, eh? That'll do," Thingrim says with a brisk nod, "What say we discuss passenger fees? We've both carpenters, if you'd accept some upkeep done in lieu of payment…"
You leave Josef to hammer out the details of the charge, glancing over at Max and finding that he was shooting you a curious look as well. It seems you both noticed it; neither of the Dwarves seem to care overmuch where exactly it is they are going, only that it is away from here, and given the number of other workers you saw on the tower you suspect they don't have permission to be absconding on their own.
Sure enough, less than a minute later another dwarf appears at the top of the nearby rise, hurrying down towards the jetty at a dead sprint. This one is a woman, her muscular body covered by a leather apron and her hair pulled back in a series of intricate braids, and at the sight of her both Thingrim and Belegol fall silent and ashen faced.
"Unless," the dwarf woman gasps out as she reaches the jetty and lumbers to a halt, "you want to be blacklisted… with every guild from here to Middenheim… you'll get your sorry arses back to work… now."
For a moment the two would-be-passengers hesitate, then with dejected looks they retrieve their coin and disembark from the barge, headed back up the hill with the solemn air of criminals on their way to execution. The newcomer watches them go for a moment, then sighs and turns back to address Josef.
"Apologies for that. The lads are just a bit overworked, is all," she says, tugging on her braids for a moment, "Aynjulls Isembeard - I'm the forewoman here, as you can probably tell."
Now that you are close enough to see her properly, you cannot help but notice that Aynjull's eyes are shadowed and bloodshot, and her clothes are a bit more scruffy than you might have expected from a dwarf. Clearly the two males are not the only ones feeling overworked, and you doubt Sigmar would smile upon you for not at least asking after her troubles.
"Forgive me for asking, ma'am," you say politely, stepping forward before Josef can take over, "but is all well?"
The forewoman hesitates for a moment, then lets out a heavy sigh and shakes her head. "That obvious, is it? No, it's not, laddie. My crew and I took a contract to build one of the Emperor's new signal towers, contracts signed and advance fee paid to the guild as is proper, but I have never had a job go as cockeyed as this. We've had falls and accidents, bouts of sickness, missing equipment… and it isn't like we're a bunch of shiftless manlings either, these are proper dwarf workers from good clans. No offence."
"None taken," you say politely, knowing better than to make a dispute of a few careless words. "I assume it is the strain of compensating for these issues that is testing your crew?"
"Aye, that and covering for the runaways," Aynjulls frowns mightily at that, "We've had five workmen up and disappear so far. I expect they got sick of it all and deserted, like those two were trying to do, but there's some that think something worse is going on. Can't rightly guess what, though."
Now it is your turn to frown, and after a moment of thought and a quick glance at your companions you make your decision. "Introductions are in order, I believe. I am Markus von Bruner, of the Order of the Silver Hammer - a templar of Sigmar, and so versed in matters sinister. My companion here is Elvyra, an apothecary of no small skill. If you would like, we can perform an investigation of our own, and perhaps nail down the source of your troubles."
"Really? Well, how about that," Aynjulls chuckles, nodding her head, "Aye, I'll take you up on that one. Not sure you'll find anything, but it will set hearts at ease, mine not least among them. Come on, I'll show you around."
"Of course. Josef, are you willing to wait for a bit?"
"Yeah, we've got a day or two of safety margin in the schedule," Josef shrugs, already locking the tiller in position and gesturing for Wolmar to prepare the anchor, "We can't stick around forever, but a break while you go poke at something won't make a difference."
Nodding in thanks, you gesture to your two companions and set off up the hill. Elvyra peels off midway up to go and speak with the workmen who are gathering up in a curious bunch, while you and Max follow Aynjulls up to the very base of the new signal tower. The old construction that forms the base is thick and sturdy, likely the reason this site was chosen for the project in the first place, and you run your hands thoughtfully over the thick stone blocks as you think.
"Do you know much of the previous construction?" you ask, casting a glance back over your shoulder at the forewoman.
"Unfortunately not. It's manling work, a good few centuries old at that, but we couldn't find any records of the original architect or owner," Aynjulls shakes her head. "No idea why anyone would use volcanic basalt to build with, especially this far from any natural source, but it's sturdy enough for a foundation."
Markus tests Perception, with assistance. Skill is 65, roll is 17, major success.
"There's a door here," you say, stepping back and gesturing to the section of wall you were just examining, "Hidden, obviously, but still intact."
"What? No, my boys and I know stone, and that wall isn't built to move," Aynjulls frowns deeply, first at the stone of the tower, and then at you. "There's no hinges, no sign of any counterweight or mechanism, no wear patterns on the surrounding stone."
"But there is the remnant of an old path that leads straight to this point, and no sign of any staircase or ladder that it was meant to reach," you point out, indicating the old echoes of forgotten construction laid down through the slope. "If I had to guess, I would say there was magic involved. An illusion, perhaps, or a portal that only opens in response to some kind of outside signal."
"Huh. Well, you'd know more about elf-craft than I would," the forewoman says dubiously, still clearly unconvinced, "I don't see how that can be causing our issues, even so."
You defer answer for the moment, instead beckoning to Max and accompanying the woman back down to the small workman's camp. When you arrive Elvyra is just packing up her tools as one of the other dwarves pulls his shirt back on, her expression pensive and concerned. When she sees you approach, she gestures for you to join her out of earshot of the workers.
"Something's feeding on them," she says in a low voice, ignoring Aynjull's startled oath, "The sickness is born of poisoned blood, and I've found the marks of half-healed wounds on most of them that fell sick. If they were human it would have been enough to kill or even incapacitate them, but dwarves are hardy enough that they just bulled through it and kept on working."
You nod sternly, your expression grim and your mood growing bleak. An old tower of unknown origin and arcane design, strange happenings and unexplained disappearances, and now reports that something filthy has been feeding on the workers. There are few explanations that could explain such signs, and precisely none of them fill you with any great confidence.
"Grimnir's oath," Aynjulls mutters, braids clinking softly as she shakes her head, "Well, I guess the lads weren't imagining things after all. What do we do about it though?"
Article:
Pick one:
[ ] Stakeout Whatever is preying on the workers seems to come out at night. You and Max will remain awake and watchful while the dwarves slumber tonight, and see if you cannot ambush whatever comes creeping out to trouble them. Poses the greatest risk to the workers, unless you become the target instead.
[ ] Crack it open Have Isembeard and her workers breach the hidden door directly, and lead your team inside to root out whatever evil has made its lair within. Retains the initiative and may allow you to catch the foe slumbering, but risks disrupting whatever magic is present to unknown effect.
[ ] Send for Aid This is an imperial commission of significant military value, and Castle Reiksguard lies less than a day's journey away. Have Aynjulls pull her team out and send a request for aid to the castle with your backing. The safest course, but it is unclear what aid might be dispatched or how long it will take to arrive.
Credit to @Nuts for writing the opening that I have used below.
XXXI - The Signal Tower
"We can either wait to ambush the creature, call for aid, or crack its lair open now," you announce to Isembeard, elaborating further on the options. "The choice is yours."
In truth, it's no choice at all. Dwarves suspecting a Grudge to be avenged would rather shave their beards than stage an ambush or wait for manling reinforcements, so the forewoman immediately calls over several mud-caked diggers and a mason to survey the wall. Though disrupting magic is inherently risky, you'd rather face whatever lurks inside with Söll's chariot overhead rather than underneath Morrslieb's grin. Offering the illusion of choice to the forewoman also buys enthusiastic participation from both her and the workers, and avoids blame landing on you should things go awry. Though such underhanded tactics rankle your morals, you've a mission to complete and you'd rather not suffer a Grudge needlessly.
You and Max prepare the ground while Elvya tends to the worst-off Dwarfs as best she can. At your direction the dwarves scrounge metal rods from the construction materials and drive them into the earth equidistant around the basalt rock, hopefully serving to ground a sudden wave of magic. A tiny stockade is constructed with dwarfen speed around the dock, sharpened stakes enclosing the camp's key supplies and hopefully providing both protection and a safe route to the barge should it be necessary. Two dwarfs clad in leather armor volunteer to breach the likely hiding-place with picks, trusting in their innate magical resistance to survive the backlash, while your team waits ten paces away in a hastily-dug ditch, each group surrounded by further metal stakes to ground harmful energies. Hopefully both you and they will resist the backlash well enough to face whatever lurks inside.
Hopefully.
"Are you ready?" you ask the two volunteers gravely. Neither is a warrior, but both face you with beards well-brushed and faces resolute. Though they hold mining picks, each has a hatchet at their belt and a small shield by their side.
"Aye," the first says - Nain Grimbrow, if your memory serves. "If you're correct then this manling sorcery hides what killed my clanmate Errun. That's a debt what needs settling." The other dwarf merely grunts in concurrence, and you nod in turn before you and Max take your own places.
"Let's see what we dig up."
The dwarves set to work with grim expressions, cracking stone and leveraging open cracks with mechanical efficiency. With every stone-cracking blow and grunt of effort the air seems to grow thicker, a premonition of doom curdling like the sky before the storm, but if the dwarves notice it their work hardly shows it. On and on they go, implacable and unstoppable, until at last one of their picks hits something critical and the dam breaks in a howling flood of magical energy. Icy wind flings aside the remaining blocks and coats the ground in frost, but between your precautions and the mountain-folk's natural resistance to magic no great harm comes to anyone involved, and with a satisfied nod you draw your weapons and gesture for your comrades to gather.
"No natural illumination," you note, frosted grass crunching beneath your feet as you approach the opening, peering into the darkness within, "No immediate sign of guardians either. We shall have to explore it carefully."
"Aye. Lads, get the lanterns," Aynjulls Isembeard says with a brisk nod as she steps up next to you. "Only wide enough for two abreast, looks like, so the manlings and I will go in while you hold the rearguard."
You consider objecting, for the engineer is a civilian and this is not her trade, but you can well understand the leader's instinct to play a personal role in ending whatever has befallen her subordinates. Besides, the forewoman is carrying a rather intimidating looking rifle in her calloused hands, the barrel etched with dwarven script and the firing mechanism strangely bulky and overgrown, and you would be lying if you claimed the thought of such firepower was unwelcome. The rest of the work crew soon produce the desired lanterns, sturdy things that use a combination of sliding apertures and polished mirrors to direct the light in narrow beams ahead of you, and with a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other you lead the way into the tower's shadowy depths.
You were right about that section being a door, it seems, for the space beyond is clearly some manner of entrance hall. Strange geometric patterns carved into wall, floor and ceiling seek to fool the eye and confuse the mind, and when you step across the threshold you could swear that the cold wind bears the distant echoes of a warning in it, but your will is a thing of steel and you allow none of this to disturb you. Your every step raises thick clouds of dust that dances fitfully in the lantern light, and through the dense gloom you manage to make out the shape of three doors.
"Which way, boss?" Max says tersely, sticking close to your flank and keeping his heavy axe held ready in a tight grip. Elvyra and Aynjulls follow behind, the former carrying a lantern rather than any weapon and the latter inspecting the walls with a vaguely distasteful expression on her face.
"Left," you decide after a moment, "Let's clear the flanks before we move any deeper."
The door is a simple thing of polished wood, surprisingly intact despite the long years this place has clearly lain abandoned, and on the far side you find a long arcing room that follows the curve of the outer wall. The nature of the place is revealed by degrees as the light of your lanterns passes across it - stone benches piled high with glass beakers and strange brass contraptions, boxes filled with various kinds of glittering ore, and chalkboards covered in esoteric calculations all suggest a laboratory of some kind. Squinting at the nearest set of calculations, you are surprised to realise that you recognise them.
"Tracking the path of Morrsleib?" you murmur thoughtfully, lifting the lantern higher so that the light illuminates more of the increasingly erratic script, "But why would an alchemist need to know such things?"
You've made no great study of astronomy yourself, but a great many dark rituals and unhallowed magics are influenced by the path and proximity of the Chaos Moon, to say nothing of the cursed nights of Hexenstag and Geheimnisnacht. An unwholesome interest in its orbit is one of the traditional signs of corruption in the academic mind, but you see no other dark symbols or marks of forbidden worship here, only a relatively mundane laboratory. You turn to see Elvyra leafing through a heavy tome set on a griffon-claw pedestal, but when she sees you looking the apothecary merely shrugs.
"Medical research, looks like," she says, slamming the cover of the book closed again and stepping away, "Handwritten in classical, so whoever owned this place was clearly educated, but it'd take me hours to pick apart the details."
You nod, but before you can give any further instructions there is a sudden rattle and Max swears viciously. He's kneeling next to one of the stone benches, and in the focused light of your lantern you can see the dusty remnants of an old skeleton slumped against the workstation, its skull now lying several feet away.
"Any sign of who it might have been?" you say quietly as you move up to join him, looking down at the skeleton for a moment. "The scholar who owned this place, perhaps?"
"Could be," Max grunts, standing back up and shaking his head, "But I'll be honest, boss, it's the teeth marks that I care about. Something ate this poor fucker alive, right down to the marrow."
That discovery puts an end to the idle curiosity, and with a hunter's focus you gather your team back up and press on. The laboratory follows the outer wall of the tower around until what must be roughly a third of the perimeter, where another wooden door grants access to a cramped library packed tight with row upon row of wooden shelves. There are hundreds of different books here, written in at least a dozen different languages with contents ranging from respected treatises on medicinal alchemy to compendiums of bizarrely specific pornography, but discovery of two more gnawed and broken corpses compels you to keep moving. Sure enough, the last third of the tower's perimeter plays host to another room, this one a comfortable looking study complete with wooden desks and high-backed leather armchairs, the walls decorated with a series of old fashioned oil paintings.
"The work of our absent owner, perhaps, or simply a hobby?" you wonder, studying the portraits in the flickering light of the lanterns. Each is an individual portrait of a man or woman in antiquated clothing, marked out as family by the common traits of their shared blood - aquiline noses, bushy eyebrows and high foreheads prone to balding predominate, but there are no names or family heraldry anywhere to be found.
"This just leads back to the entryway," Aynjulls calls out, propping open the final door and exchanging a few words with the dwarves she left behind outside, "Nothing went past my lads, so if there's anything in here, it must be further in."
"A study, a library and a laboratory," Elvyra muses, chewing at her bottom lip as she pokes at the old wooden desk, "No sign of anywhere to live, though. Might have been on the upper levels before they collapsed, I suppose?"
"What I want to know is why they build it out here," Max frowns suspiciously at the portraits, as if trying to judge their intent from the shapes left in oiled paint and polished wood, "Must have cost a pretty pfenning to build this place, but we're nowhere near any real town, and we're too close to the river to hide from view."
You nod at that, for Max's thoughts match the direction of your own. There is, of course, one obvious answer. "Mistress Isembeard - in your estimation, how old is this place?"
"Hard to say, what with half of it missing," the dwarf grunts, propping her rifle up on one shoulder so that her free hand can toy with one of her braids, "But at least three centuries, maybe four."
"Pre-Magnus, then," you nod, your suspicions confirmed, "Most likely, the master of this tower was a witch born to nobility or among their favoured servants. It would not surprise me to learn that they chose to build their scion a retreat such as this, hoping to use arcane power in war with their neighbour - Reikland and Talabecland were often at odds, and this tower would have placed the witch right on the border."
You have no way to know for sure if your theory is correct, but it would explain the unusual location and the lack of identifying heraldry on the portraits. That said, Reikland was ever the heartland of Sigmar's faith, and consequently far more dangerous to a prospective witch than some of the other warring states of the time; Talabecland and Middenland would both have been safer, if such was all that mattered. Perhaps your mysterious arcanist was a patriot of some form, willing to dare even the templar's pyre in defence of their homeland? Stranger things have happened.
In any case there seems little point in delaying, and a few moments later you and your companions have returned to the entry hall and opened the door to the inner ring of the tower. Strangely, there are no rooms beyond, only a single circular corridor bare of any decoration or portal that you explore in full in a matter of moments. It is only when you stop to consider what you have clearly missed that the true nature of the tower becomes clear.
"This isn't brick," Aynjulls says with a frown, rapping her knuckles against the inner wall of the corridor and listening intently to the sound it makes, "Not all the way through. There is steel in here, it sounds like, a good inch or two at least."
"A steel column?" you blink, trying to speculate for a moment on the cost of so much metal and coming up blank, "For structural support?"
"Nay," the dwarf shakes her head, her plaits swinging with the motion, and sets her hand flat against the wall. "Here, push against it. Feel how it moves? There are hinges in there, a counterweight mechanism - the whole thing is meant to turn. And, aye, see those gaps? Places for a lever, I reckon."
You have no idea what technological wizardry could permit a two-inch-thick column of steel to move without the aid of a whole team of ogres, but Aynjulls is the engineer here and you defer to her authority. Sure enough, a few moments spent rigging up a crude lever to fit into the opening provides a way for even a pair of hands to set the whole thing to turning, and out of an abundance of caution you set your lantern down on the floor and draw your pistols as you watch the wall slide past you with eerily silent grace. A few moments later something clunks in the darkness and the rotation comes to a halt, revealing an arched opening in the wall before you that was clearly not there before.
Beyond is another chamber, a single hollow space that occupies the very core of the tower, dimly lit in scarlet hues by a faintly glowing hexagram etched into the floor. The light is dim and flickering, sufficient in the main only to turn darkness into shadows and illuminate in part the vast slumbering bulk that lies resting in a pile atop the rune. It might have been human once, you think, but something else has grown up inside it, stretching the once-recognisable limbs and torso into a thin mesh over a new and more terrible form, one packed with heaving muscle and punctured by spines of broken bone. Thin membranes of flesh stretch from torso to claw-tipped limbs, and patches of mangy fur erupt like blisters in clusters around the neck and thighs.
The beast shifts slowly, disturbed from slumber by your arrival, regarding you with eyes of burning coal. Its great maw opens in a lazy yawn, and as it moves a strand of ragged meat falls from between great yellowed fangs.
Markus tests Lore (Chaos)! Skill is 35, roll is 96. Critical failure.
You have no idea what this thing is, but it has to die.
"Left side, beneath the shoulder," Elvyra snaps out even as the rest of you raise your weapons, "An old wound, see it?"
You spot the weakness a moment later, a stretch of the beast's flank turned grey and necrotic. It makes for as good a target as any other, and from this range you can hardly hope to miss. Your pistols roar and Aynjulls' rifle barks, the combined sound horrific in this confined space, and your bullets tear into the beast's flank in great explosions of soupy blood. It reels back, screeching in pain and terror as the noise batters its canine ears and the bullets shatter bone, and a moment later doubles over to vomit blood and half-digested meat across the ground. What strength its twisted form grants seems to abandon it at that and the beast slumps to the ground, but Aynjulls Isembeard is not content. She pulls a small lever on the back of her rifle and fires again, twice and then thrice, putting bullets through each of the creature's burning eyes and then its heart before stopping to reload.
"That was for my crew," she growls, spitting on the ground and shaking her head in disgust.
"It isn't dead," Elvyra says, though she has to speak up to be heard over the ringing in your ears, "See, the wounds are already healing, like a troll."
The apothecary is right, you see immediately. The broken ruin that you have made of the creature's chest is already starting to knit itself back together, and as you stand there you see one of the bullets pop free of its lupine skull and rattle across the ground. Aynjulls is not dispirited, however, merely nodding with businesslike calm.
"Like a troll, you say? Well, we know how to deal with that," she says grimly, stepping back towards the entrance corridor, "Lads, get the ropes and a clamp! We've got a beastie to put to flame!"
You keep a careful watch over the monster, Max's axe and your blessed sword held ready in case it manages to regain consciousness in time, but you need not have worried. The dwarves are as efficient in this as they are in everything else, and soon the great monster is a burning ruin on the barren hillside, leaving you free to return to the hidden chamber it was guarding.
"Huh," Max mutters, kneeling down to poke at something on the ground, "looks like it was sleeping on this."
The object of his attention is a strange looking key, a slim hexagonal column about the size of one finger tipped with a skull for a head. You don't recognise the metal it is made out of, some strange grey-blue alloy that seems to prickle your skin when you get close, but you are reasonably sure that not only was the beast sleeping on it, it was the necrotic section of its chest that was closest.
"Best to keep this one in a casket, I think," you frown, studying the glowing hexagram laid out on the floor. Sure enough, at two of the apex points you can see an opening clearly designed to hold the rod as a door might hold a key, "The other one too, if we can find it."
You could set the dwarves to work carving this barrier open as well, you suppose, but even standing near the glowing rune makes your skin tingle with the sheer concentration of magical energy flowing through it. You have no idea what would happen if it was breached incautiously, but with the monstrous beast slain there seems little point in putting that to the test without appropriate precautions in place.
"You reckon it was a guard dog, then?" Max frowns, looking over the pattern and rubbing his jaw, "I don't get it. Why set a dog to guard something that will kill it? Or, well, make it rot. Same difference."
On instinct you retrieve the lantern and train its light on the ceiling overhead. Sure enough, there is a section there where the stone has been pulled laboriously aside to create an opening wide enough for even the oversized beast to crawl through, but above it the planks that make up the floor of the upper level are still intact. Whatever else you can say about this beast, it was clearly smart enough to keep the entrance to its lair hidden, replacing the planks whenever it returned with food from its nightly hunts. Which, you suspect, means it wasn't a beast at all.
"It wasn't by choice, I think," you shake your head, feeling a strange sense of pity for the man that monster might have once been swell in your breast, "It kept one of the keys, but I'm willing to bet you need two to leave this place, as well as to get to whatever is underground here. It's a common security measure in bank vaults. Most of the staff here died, but that one was… changed. Magic does that, if you stay near it for long enough."
You wonder if that was part of the security measures - if the family that built this place did not entirely trust their tainted scion, as well they should not, it would make a certain kind of sense to set things up so that they could only leave with the assistance of an outside keyholder. Did they deliberately abandon their kin to death and madness, you wonder, or did some other fate befall them?
You conduct a more thorough search with the aid of the others over the rest of the day, placing lanterns throughout the structure and having the bodies removed for some kind of burial, but as you half expected there is no sign of the second key or any evidence of who owned the tower. In the end the best you can do is relay your findings to Forewoman Isembeard, who nods once in grim-faced agreement.
"We're still under contract for the signal tower, so we'll keep on working all the same. It ought to take a week or two, to shore up the damage and get the rest of it built, so long as everything stays on the level, " she says after a few moments of thought, "But I'll send word back to Altdorf of what we found here, let them know to send a couple of priests and maybe a wizard before whatever poor bugger they get to garrison it."
"If you have parchment, I will affix my name and seal to the report," you nod in satisfaction, "I have my own mission to attend to, but I shall make sure to stop by on my return visit, and perhaps follow up with the archives at the Great Cathedral in Altdorf. If anywhere has a record of who built this place or where the other key may be found, it is there."
Isembeard nods, casting a baleful glance over at the smouldering heap of melted flesh and blackened bone that was once the monster that feasted upon her crew. "Aye, sounds workable. Past that… I owe you for this one, Templar, and so do the clans of them you helped avenge. You're not a merchant, are you? Or got kin that work in the trades?"
"No to both," you shake your head, "My family, the von Bruners, are a noble line from Ubersreik, but given their involvement in the disputed succession there it would not be right to drag you into the conflict."
"A commission, then," Isembeard nods, "My clan are engineers and craftsmen in Altdorf, reckon we can produce near anything you could make use of. No runes, though - Thugni's kin never left the mountains. It'll take a while to make, but it will be worth it."
Article:
Aynjulls Isembeard owes you a debt for your assistance in this matter, and has decided to provide you with a free commission by way of repayment. Choose one of the following options, or suggest one of your own:
[ ] Repeating Handgun A new evolution of an old design, if not one that would ever be approved of by those dwarves that remain in the mountains, this rifle can fire up to three times before needing to reload.
[ ] Drakefire Pistol Closer to a one-handed blunderbuss than anything, this pistol fires specialist charges that detonate upon impact, setting the target and anything within three yards of it ablaze. Perfect for trolls.
[ ] Plate and Chain A custom-made set of dwarf-forged armour is the gold standard for knights everywhere, and for good reason. This set is designed to be worn with your customary long leather coat, and bears the twin-tailed comet upon the chest.
In addition, a decision must be made on what to do with the contents of the tower now that the beast that made its lair within has been slain. Choose one of the following options:
[ ] Burn it An ancient witch's retreat abandoned for centuries will yield only the most tainted kind of treasure. Burn it all.
[ ] Sell it There is always a market for books and alchemical supplies, and Josef will be happy to help you find it. You will, of course, remove any suspect items first, but bonuses for your team will go a long way.
[ ] Leave It Isembeard's message will summon representatives from the Cult of Sigmar and the Colleges of Magic, both of whom will want to inspect the contents. At that point, the decision will be out of your hands.
In the centre of the old tower, Markus and his team have encountered a vile monster of unknown nature.
Markus and his team start with four points of advantage, for outnumbering and the advantage of surprise. The monster starts with three advantage by sheer dint of the threat it poses.
Initiative order is:
Elvyra (59)
Max Ernst (45)
Markus (40)
Aynjulls Isembeard (38)
Monster (30)
Round One
Elvyra
Elvyra rolls Cool to resist Terror. She has a skill of 74 and rolls 11, so manages to resist terror, but the beast still causes fear.
Not having a weapon that could assist here, Elvyra decides to perform a Lore (Medicine) test to assess the creature. She has a skill of 80 and rolls 63, generating two points of advantage, bringing the team up to six total.
Max
Max tests Cool to resist Terror. He has a skill of 65 and rolls 40, which allows him to avoid fleeing. Rather than approach the beast, he elects to take up a defensive stance, gaining a +20 on defensive tests.
Markus
Markus tests his Cool of 70 to resist terror and rolls 66, passing his test to avoid fleeing.
He draws his two pistols and fires them both. He has a base skill of 58, gets +20 due to the target's size, and another +20 because it is at half range. He also elects to spend the team's entire stockpile of six advantage for a mighty +50, and so is rolling against a total of 148. He rolls 46.
This generates a total of 10 (base roll) +1 (dual wielder) +4 (every 10 points above 100) -1 (fear) = 14 success levels on his attack. The pistol has a base damage of 9, so the hit does 23 damage.
He then reverses the dice for his second, dual wielding attack, and so does 21 damage with that hit.
The monster has one point of armour, which is ignored by the Penetrating quality of the bullets, so it resists the hits with its toughness bonus of 5. Markus inflicts 18 and then 16 wounds to the monster for a total of 34. This is, somehow, not enough to kill it.
Aynjulls Isembeard
Aynjulls tests her cool of 57 and rolls 20, allowing her to stand her ground.
She levels her repeater handgun and fires. She has a skill of 52 and is also benefiting from +40 due to size and range, for a total of 92. She rolls 88, a critical hit.
Normally this would be 0SL, due to the penalty from fear, but the damaging quality allows Aynjulls to substitute her units dice of 8 for the purposes of calculating damage. Her damage is thus 10+8= 18, reduced by 5 toughness bonus to mean 13 more wounds inflicted. This pushes the monster to an effective -5 wounds.
Aynjulls inflicts two critical wounds as a result of this, both inflicted (with a roll) on the body. The first is a result of 21 from the double, a gut blow, inflicting a stunned condition. The second gets a +50 bonus from knocking the target into negative wounds and gets a 101 for Broken Collar Bone. The creature is unconscious until it receives medical attention.
The Monster
Thoroughly regretting only having 30 initiative, the monster is currently prone (from hitting zero wounds), stunned (from the gut wound) and unconscious (from the broken collar bone). It needs an 8+ to regenerate when at zero wounds and rolls a 6, staying down. The fight is therefore effectively over.
RIP my boss monsters. The people who play in my weekly wfrp game can relay the suffering this causes me.
For clarity, the armour will be waiting for you when Markus next returns to Altdorf at the end of the current arc.
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.
@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.
For a moment or two you weigh your options, but in truth there is only one path that you can hope to live with yourself if you take. There are children down there, to say nothing of those innocents who may yet have a chance at returning to mankind's fold. You spared your brother from the pyre on grounds no firmer than this, so what right have you to condemn these people now?
"Stay here," you say to the others, rising to your feet with a sigh. Max cottons on immediately, Elvyra only a moment or two later.
"You have to be kidding," Max growls, looking at you as if you have suddenly grown a second head.
"I do not jest," you say flatly, unsurprised by the reaction but displeased all the same.
"Then you've lost your damn mind," the legbreaker barks, only remembering to quiet himself a moment later. He glances down the hill at the settlement below, then shakes his head in disgust. "Look at them!"
"Stay here, Max Ernst. That is an order," you say sharply, because now is not the time to weaken your own authority through debate, "You too, Elvyra. Stay here and watch. If this goes wrong, return to town and inform Josef, then the authorities."
"I'm not saying I don't sympathise, milord," Elvyra says cautiously, and it's a poor sign if she has remembered her manners, "But the law only bends so far, an' a wise man is one that knows not to push."
You nod grimly, well aware of the rather dubious legality of what you are about to attempt. "That may be so, yet if it were Liza down there, I trust you would at least hope for words attempted before swords were drawn."
Elvyra grimaces at that, but she cannot deny it, and while Max is clearly unhappy he does not look as if he is going to challenge you further. You nod to them both, then unsling your pack and pull out a spare shirt from one of the pockets. A few moments of searching turns up a suitable branch, and with the two tied roughly together you have something that passes for a flag of parlay. Using your makeshift flag as a walking stick, you start descending the slope and making your way through the forest towards the old mine and new encampment.
It is quiet in the forest today, the normal sounds of wind and wildlife distant and muted, and the walk long enough that you cannot avoid the direction of your own thoughts. You know you are doing the right thing here, you feel it in your heart, but how many others will agree? The mutants ahead of you are, one and all, either members of or allies to a cult that worships the dark gods. Even if they did not wish to be, or joined because they felt they had no other option, or resented their circumstances in some fashion, the overwhelmingly likely verdict from most priests you care to name would be one of damnation and immediate execution. You cannot even say with certainty that General Wälder would approve of your course, which makes you wonder… how much longer will you be fit to walk the path of the Witch Hunter, if this is where your heart leads? You push the thoughts aside for now, concentrating on the immediate perils you are likely to face, but you know such doubts will stay with you for a long time to come.
The mutants spot you immediately the moment you clear the treeline, and while some of them panic at the sight of you, the majority snap smoothly into a routine they have clearly practiced time and time again. Some run for the storehouses to gather what supplies they can, others grab the children and pull them to the back, and those fit enough to serve grab weapons and gather in groups before their kin. You have seen militia enact such drills a hundred times before, often under the leadership of Sigmarite priests, and you spare a thought to wonder how many of these people are practicing the same routines now as they once did in more wholesome times. Still, while spears are readied and arrows set to bows, none of the outcasts open fire or look keen to charge. The garb of a witch hunter is distinctive, but so too is the white flag you carry in your right hand, and the sheer incongruity you must present buys time enough for them to realise you are approaching alone. So they let you approach, and only when you draw within thirty paces or so does the scaled man with the crossbow step forward and raise a hand.
"That's close enough!" he yells, his voice made rough and bestial by the bony plates covering his neck and shoulders, his yellow eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I am Markus von Bruner of the Holy Orders," you call out in reply, planting your improvised flag in the soft earth and letting it list slightly to the side as you release it and step away, "Who speaks for you?"
The reptilian looking crossbowman opens his mouth to reply, but before he can do so the unnaturally skinny man you saw arguing with him earlier steps forwards. "I am Rolf. This is Knud. You will speak with us both."
Knud shoots his comrade a filthy look but seems unwilling to challenge the claim before an outsider. "Aye, what the man said. Now, what are…" he begins, before taking another look at you and taking half a step back in shock, "Wait, I know you. You're dead! I put a bolt in you myself!"
You blink at that, entirely wrongfooted, before the evident recognition provides enough of a trigger to make the pieces click together at last. "You were the bandit on the Altdorf road, then? One of the ones who ambushed that coach."
"Aye, I was," Knud shakes his head, lowering his crossbow and looking to the others, "Stand down, you lot. He's not a hunter, he's Purple Hand."
Markus makes an Average (+20) Lore (Chaos) test! Skill is 55, roll is 21, clear success.
That is not a name you were expecting to hear, but given the context it is easy enough to dredge back through your memories and recall the briefings you once received as part of your training. The Purple Hand are another chaos cult, one dedicated to the same foul deity as the Red Crown but far more concerned with subverting the existing power structures of the Empire than creating their own external organisation. The two approaches would seem naturally complementary, but as the ambush on the road demonstrates, the two cults seem to despise each other.
Another man would make use of this, would be happy to be identified as a prospective ally in darkness if it meant that he could open the ears of his audience to the proposals he brought. You are not that man.
"I am not Purple Hand," you say clearly, pitching your voice to carry just as your old tutors showed you, "You have been confused for another, a man who looks very much like me, but I am not Kastor Lieberung. I am Markus von Bruner, and I am a Templar of Sigmar."
The mutants hesitate at that, casting each other doubtful looks as they try to decide whether they should keep their weapons levelled or not. Knud just snorts, shaking his head. "Come off it. Templars don't come under flags of truce."
"Most do not," you agree, "But as you can see, I am. I am here under the flag of truce because I believe there is a path forward that we might all walk side by side, and where such a path exists Sigmar commands that we find it."
Markus tests Charm! Difficulty is Hard (-20), skill is 35. Roll is 43, bare failure.
One or two amid the watching crowd look hopeful at that, but all too many have chosen to harden their hearts in the name of survival and yet look upon you with suspicion and hostility. Knud is among them, for after a moment he turns and nods to the other warriors.
"You two, check the perimeter," he growls, indicating a stumpy fellow with three arms and a dog-like woman with long floppy ears, "Make sure there's nobody sneaking up on us while this ponce acts as a distraction."
The two warriors salute briskly and hurry off, spreading a wave of worried murmurs in their wake, but you do not react. It is not an unreasonable fear, you suppose. To use the flag of truce for battlefield deception would be an act of gross dishonour, but you do not imagine that a community of mutants lasts all that long by expecting those who hunt them to extend the protections of protocol so generously.
"Why are you here, hunter?" The skinny man, Rolf, asks you again, "Precisely, now."
"I am hunting a woman named Etelka Herzen," you say, for hiding that fact is unlikely to benefit you here, "I suspect you know where she is."
Neither of the group's leaders react at that, but enough of the crowd watching from further back shoot each other fearful or reassuring looks that they hardly have to. Knud glances back over his shoulder and scoffs before turning back to you. "Even if we did, and I'm not saying we do… even if we did, why in the name of all the gods would we tell a Templar?"
You have a nasty feeling about exactly which gods it is he is swearing by there, but now is not the time to bring it up. "Because you are citizens of this Empire and children of Sigmar, and Etelka Herzen is an enemy to both and a threat to any that imagine her a friend."
That draws a greater reaction, as you knew it would, and on a wave of angry murmurs Rolf steps forward and balls his too-slender hands into fists. "She saved us! Took us in and sheltered us, gave us food and kept us safe when all the world called for our deaths!"
"Rolf, stop talking," Knud growls, hefting his crossbow and shooting you an ugly look, but you have your opening now and you intend to use it.
"The Red Crown are not your allies!" You roar the words loud enough for even those lurking within the caves to hear, addressing all the gathered mutants now instead of just those who claim to lead them, "You know this! You have seen this! The Emperor's Edict grants you a way out, offers a path back to all they claim to want, and they rejected it! They burned homes and killed children in their beds rather than take the open hand, and they would rather make you all accomplices than allow any of you to escape from their control!"
You jab an accusing finger at Knud, putting all the fire in your heart and bile in your gut behind your words now. "They claim to love you as a family, yet seek to own you as a slave!"
Markus makes a difficult (-10) Charm test, skill is 45, roll is 20. Success with 2SL.
Your words are well chosen, and they land as a hammer does against a nail. The community here does not trust you, may never trust you, but neither do they trust their more militant kin. Tempers were already running high, feelings of horror and betrayal dividing the community against itself before you stepped in, and the fragile veil of unity that sought to bind them together in the face of outside scrutiny is not enough to muffle the truth of what you have to say. You see the cracks forming, the gulf widening as the civilians step away from their warrior kin and huddle in ever smaller groups, hiding behind spears now pointed at you and Knud alike.
"Idiots," the reptilian man hisses, a mouth full of narrow teeth working in frustration as he sees the cracks spread through his own community, "Gullible fools. We are the only things standing between you and the hunters, and you think this is the way to move? The Templar came here to kill us all."
"Not all. Most here have done nothing to earn my ire, nor that of any righteous man," you shake your head, letting your hand rest upon the hilt of your rapier, "But you, Knud. You are a murderer and a cultist in service of gods dark and forbidden. You are guilty of banditry, blasphemy and arson. Surrender now and confess your crimes and I will spare those foolish enough to follow your orders. Or refuse, and die here at my hand."
It should be a ridiculous demand, a threat without any weight. You are alone, and even with his community divided and distrustful Knud still commands at least half a dozen raiders, men and women armed and practiced with spear and axe and bow. Your words should be nothing more than the barking of a puppy and just as easily dismissed. And yet.
Markus tests Intimidate! Skill is 61. Roll is 19, 5SL base, +2SL from talents.
Knud resists with his Leadership of 45, rolls 63, failure by -2. All enemies suffer Fear.
The raiders take a step back, seven souls moving as one, and though they do not break and run you can see the doubt in them, the fear and uncertainty. Knud grits his teeth hard enough to hurt and hefts his crossbow, but he cannot disguise the way his breathing has grown faster or the faint trembling in his hands.
"Damn it all," he growls, glancing left and right at the other raiders before spitting on the ground and bringing his crossbow up to his shoulder, "Alright, kill…"
You draw your pistol and fire in a single fluid motion, the shot catching Knud in the shoulder and sending him staggering backwards even as he pulls the trigger on his own weapon. The crossbow bolt skim across your leg, turned aside by the leather armour but still wrenching the limb back hard enough that you almost fall, and you have to hastily throw up your arms to shield your face from getting torn open by hissing arrows a moment later. Two of the mutants are armed with hunting bows, it seems, but your chain and brigandine is thick enough that the impacts across your arms and chest bring only grunts of pain and the promise of future bruises.
Two of the other mutants charge in towards you, yelling to drown out their fears and brandishing the weapons with which they intend to put you down, and with a growl you draw your rapier and move to return the favour. The first is a woman, thickset and muscular, long rows of fish-like gills flapping fitfully beneath the collar of her smock. Her axe is sharp enough and her swing made with confidence, but she has clearly never faced an opponent with any degree of training before, the gaps in her defence wide and achingly obvious. You step back out of range of her opening swing and then pierce her heart with a lunge, your rapier flashing in and out so quickly the mutant doesn't realise she is dead until her legs go out from under her.
The second is a man with only one bloated and oversized eye, nothing but a smooth expanse of flesh where the other would be. The spear in his hands actually looks to have been made for war, doubtless stolen from an arms shipment or perhaps taken with him when he fled whichever town he used to serve, and he wields it with enough skill that you cannot end him so quickly as his comrade. The two of you exchange probing thrusts for a moment, then you draw your second pistol in your off hand and shoot him in the gut, an agonising wound that leaves him open for a follow-up thrust through his single eye and into the brain.
Another arrow clips your arm, then a crossbow bolt slams into your gut with enough force to drive the breath from your lungs even through the armour. You grunt, forcing yourself to stay upright, and step over the corpses of your first two attackers. Ahead of you, Knud and the two archers rapidly reload their weapons, one of them even now stumbling in the mud as panic makes her lose her footing.
"What are you doing?" Knud yells at the rest of his frontline raiders, the ones who hung back as their comrades charged in, "Get in there and kill the bastard!"
The two raiders he is addressing gulp and take a hesitant step or two forward, but they are clearly badly shaken by your threats and the speed with which you dispatched their comrades. You look them over for a moment, taking note of how the first one's skin seems hard and shiny as metal and the second's arms hang low enough to touch his toes while standing, then holster your expended pistol and draw your silvered sword in its place. If those two cannot bring themselves to get in your way, then you will seize the opportunity offered.
The first archer seems almost entirely human but for a long wolf-like tail protruding from the base of her spine, and she is still struggling to get her feet back under her when you cross the remaining distance and pierce her throat with your rapier. She falls once more, choking on blood, and you take three steps and sever the second archer's bird-like leg at the knee with your other sword. Even with weapons suited to close range fighting they would be at a disadvantage against someone as trained and experienced as you; armed only with bows and with their defenders too frightened to do their job, they are like lambs to the slaughter. You grimace at the unpleasant business and turn your attention towards their leader.
"Stay back," Knud stammers, backing away even as he tries to reload his crossbow, stale yellow eyes wide with fear, "No, no, no, this isn't…"
You've heard such spluttering denials too many times before to waste time on them now. A single downward cut opens the bandit from chin to groin and he falls. Then someone stabs you in the side and your entire world turns to pain. You stagger, a strangled cry erupting from your lips as you feel broken ribs grind against each other, and it is only by a supreme act of will that you are able to stay on your feet.
It is the spearman, the mutant with the distended arms. You can see no signs of the swordsman with the iron skin, doubtless fled as his nerves overtook him, but this one is snarling at you now, already drawing back his spear for another thrust. The chainmail saved you from being impaled by the last attack, but even if it lasts against a second strike, your consciousness will not. You can already feel your mind swimming, your body trembling. You hold it together just long enough to lash out with your rapier and stab the last of your foes through the eye, then your legs lose all remaining strength and you sink ungracefully to your knees in the bloody muck.
You are burning to death, your every thought consumed by agony, each frantic breath a new and terrible torture as broken ribs and battered flesh cry out at your abuse. You cannot even muster the wit to scream, and for long moments all you can do is kneel there and feel the world sway and twist around you. Such is the pain that it takes you a moment to realise that there is someone standing before you, and such is Rolf's height that you cannot lift your head enough to look him in the eye.
"Well, if you aren't the most bloody-minded bastard I ever saw," Rolf drawls, looking down at you from his impossible height, "Seven to one and you still got them all, more or less."
Somehow, you manage to muster the will to speak despite the pain, though each word is a new and fresh torment.
"In the interests… of diplomacy," you gasp, tasting your own blood as you press on, "I will overlook… the comment… about my parentage."
Rolf snorts with laughter at that, but before he can reply there is a booming roar from somewhere off to your left and he disappears from your view. A moment later Max takes his place, pistol smoking gently as he levels a sword at the crowd you can barely make out through the haze of pain.
"Back off, all of you," Max growls, his voice thick with rage and concern alike, "Don't you fucking touch him."
"Max," you force out, bracing one arm against the ground and mustering your will to stand, "You don't need to…"
"Shut up and stop moving, or I swear to Shallya I will feed you a whole bottle of sedative," Elvyra hisses in your ear, placing a firm hand upon your shoulder that is quite sufficient to keep you pinned in place. "You lot! I am going to need boiled water, alcohol and somewhere clean to work! Get moving!"
-/-
Elvyra tests Heal. Skill is 85, roll is 72, success with +1SL. 7 wounds restored.
Markus has sustained a Smashed Ribcage. For the next 50 days, he halves his movement speed and suffers a -30 penalty to his strength and agility characteristics.
-/-
An hour or so later finds you ensconced in the stone tower you noticed near the mine's entrance, which as you surmised is indeed Etelka's own residence. You have no idea if the witch truly is a noblewoman, but regardless of the truth of the matter she certainly lives like one, her tower boasting all the comforts of a stately townhouse despite the isolated location. There is a full dining room with silver cutlery, well made wooden furniture and taxidermied animals in every room, and enough glass windows and mirrors you think she must have connections with one of the major guilds of Nuln. Indeed, the innermost walls of each room are made of solid glass that some trick of alchemy makes reflective in only one direction, allowing those within to watch anyone seeking to use the spiral staircase at the tower's heart without being observed in turn.
Elvyra cleans your wounds and rubs your bare torso with some foul smelling concoction and feeds you enough drugs to dull the pain to a low simmer before binding your chest with bandages soaked in something she assures you will control the swelling. She is a true professional, but you hardly need her words to confirm that it will be weeks before you are anything close to recovered. Nor do you need her to speak to understand how displeased she is that you went and got yourself so badly injured on her watch. The huffy way in which she leaves you to your rest is enough to reveal that.
Etelka has a portrait of herself in her bedroom, an oil painting signed by one of Nuln's many aspiring artists, and seated on her downy feather bed you find yourself examining it at length. Though it has been over a decade since last you laid eyes upon your quarry, you find you recognise her easily enough. The handsome blond woman in the portrait is a little older than you remember, her humble traveling clothes exchanged for a rich dress of vibrant red, but you would know that face anywhere. You're still staring when Rolf enters the bedroom, folding himself nearly in half to get through the low doorway.
"So, you're hunting Etelka," he says in a contemplative voice, folding his hands across his narrow chest as he looks down at you. You can see Max keeping a wary eye on him from the antechamber beyond, but you doubt the mutant leader is here to do you any harm. "Might I ask why?"
"Aside from her other crimes, and membership in a proscribed cult," you note carefully, feeling your ribs twinge slightly even through the medicine, "she led someone I loved to his death. My pursuit is both professional and personal as a result."
You realise a moment later that you should not have shared that so readily, but somehow you cannot quite muster up the energy to care over much about it. Rolf nods at the words in any case.
"She left three days ago," he explains, "Another member of her cult, a weedy little guy, arrived bearing a message of some sort for the higher ups. They spent a day or two planning, then set out together. Took a few of the fighters with them, the ones whose gi… whose mutations could be hidden under clothing easily enough."
You close your eyes, unsure if what you are feeling is frustration or exhaustion. Three days… gods, you might very well have passed her on the river. "I see. Do you know where they were heading?"
"Up past Kemperbad, into some place called the Barren Hills, way I heard it," Rolf supplies easily enough, clearly having decided that there is little to be gained by holding back now, "No idea why though, they kept that one pretty close to their chests."
You nod slowly. The Barren Hills are, if you recall your lessons correctly, a desolate stretch of uninhabited terrain in the western reaches of Talabecland, though you cannot claim to know anything more about them than that.
"You'll, ah, be wanting to go after her then?" Rolf speaks up after a few moments, quailing slightly at the sharp look you send his way in reply. "Just wondering, is all."
Hm. There is rather more eagerness for you to be gone in the mutant's tone than you might like to hear, but you suppose you cannot blame him for that. While you have Etelka's description and destination now, it hardly needs saying that the shorter her lead the easier it will be to catch up and track her down. Yet that pursuit is not your sole and only concern, and while simply dumping the bodies of the mutant raiders in Grissenwald with an explanation before leaving would probably resolve the most immediate issue, you might be well served in sticking around for a while longer to make sure everything goes smoothly… to say nothing of your injuries, and how heavily they will tilt things against you as and when you do catch up with Etelka.
Article:
Etelka Herzen has departed a few days ahead of you on an unknown mission to the Barren Hills. How long does Markus intend to stay in Grissenwald and the Black Peaks before pursuing?
[ ] Leave Immediately You will drop the bodies of Knud's raiders off in Grissenwald, make a public statement to address tensions, then depart on Josef's barge as soon as possible. With luck, you will catch Etelka before or even in the Barren Hills.
[ ] A Short Delay You will remain in the area for about a week or so in order to properly attend to all the legalities, defuse tensions and resolve the situation with the dwarves and their claim on the mine. You will likely not catch Etelka until she has found what she seeks in the Barren Hills, but may be able to intercept her return trip.
[ ] Until Healed Markus will not begin pursuit while still suffering from his broken ribs, attending to all outstanding business in the meantime. There is no chance of catching Etelka while she is abroad, but posting lookouts means you may well surprise her when she seeks to return to her home.
-/-
In addition to the above, you may submit any number of different tasks, conversations or enquiries you wish Markus to pursue here or in Grissenwald before he departs. As a guideline, if he leaves immediately he will be able to pursue one of them, a short delay will allow three, and if he wants until healed we will cover five.
I am making this a write-in in order to allow maximum flexibility, and will count it separately to the time vote, picking the top X most voted options as necessary.
[ ] Choose someone to converse with, and a topic (Optional write in)
[ ] Choose something to investigate (Optional write in)
[ ] Choose a companion to interact with (Optional write in, Josef, Max and Elvyra are all options)
[ ] Choose some other task to undertake (Optional write in)
Combat has broken out! Markus is facing down Knud Cratinx and six other mutants, four of whom have melee weapons and two of whom have bows. To aid in keeping track, the foes are designated according to their mutations:
Mutant One is armed with an axe and has gills.
Mutant Two is armed with a sword and has iron skin, giving him +2 armour points.
Mutant Three is armed with a spear and has long, distended arms.
Mutant Four is also a spearman and has only a single eye, penalising his ballistic skill.
Mutant Five carries a hunting bow and has a tail
Mutant Six is also a bowman and has bird's feet.
Markus has an initiative of 40 and so goes first, then Knud, then the ranged fighters, then the melee fighters.
The mutants start with three points of advantage because of their numerical superiority, but all of them treat Markus as if he has a fear trait.
Round One
Markus
Draws his rapier and a pistol and advances. He fires at Knud, gaining a +20 to hit due to being at short range. Skill is 78, roll is 12, success with +6SL.
Damage is 9+6=15, minus Knud's toughness bonus of 3 (his natural armour from the scales is ignored by the gun's penetrating quality). Twelve wounds reduces Knud to zero, but as a significant NPC is not dead just yet.
Knud
As Knud was targeted by a blackpowder weapon, he makes an average (+20) cool test against his skill of 35+20=55. He rolls a 49 and stays in the fight.
Knud fires at Markus with his crossbow. He gets +20 due to the short range, and so tests against 72. He rolls 08, hitting Markus in the leg with 7SL, reduced to 6 by fear. Damage is 9 base +7SL -1 Fear = 15, minus 5 for Markus' toughness and 1 for his leather armour on the legs. Markus takes 9 wounds. He has 10 remaining.
Ranged Mutants
Tails and Bird Feet spread out and fire their hunting bows at Markus, gaining +20 due to the range for a skill of 65. They roll 13 and 34, hitting with 4 and 2SL respectively after fear. Their bows have a base damage of 6, so they inflict 10 and 8 damage, both to the arm. Markus has toughness 5 and 4 armour on the arms, so takes the minimum one wound each from those hits. He has 8 wounds remaining.
Melee Mutants
As Markus is causing Fear, these mutants need to roll a cool test against their skill of 30 to get anywhere near him. Gills and One-Eye pass, the others fail.
Gills and One-Eye charge Markus. They have a skill of 45, get +10 for charging and +20 for outnumbering him, though Gill's axe means he takes a -10 for having a weapon with a shorter reach, so they roll against 65 and 75. Gills rolls 31, One Eye rolls 08. After fear, this makes for 2SL and 6SL respectively.
Markus tests against his skill of 63 to defend, rolling 12 and 04 for 5 and 6SL respectively. As he has a higher base skill than One-Eye, he successfully defends against both attacks.
Round Two
At the start of the round, the mutants have six points of advantage, and Markus has three.
Markus
Drawing his second pistol, Markus attacks Gills and One-Eye with rapier and pistol respectively. His skill is 63 for fencing and 58 for the pistol. He rolls 60 to attack, getting 1SL on the rapier, complete with a critical hit due to Impale. He adds +1SL due to being a dual wielder.
Gills has a shorter ranged, slower weapon with unbalanced and is suffering from fear, so he takes a -10 penalty and -2SL to his defensive test. His skill is 35 and he rolls 76, a total of -6SL.
Markus inflicts 8 base +8SL = 16 damage, reduced to 13 by Gills' toughness. This is enough to kill the mutant even before the critical is taken into account.
Markus then reverses his earlier roll to make the pistol shot, getting an effective 06 against 58 for a total of 5+1=6SL on the attack against One-Eye.
One-Eye is close enough to try and defend himself with his skill of 45 and rolls 04, a total of 3SL after fear. He is hit with 3SL net.
Damage is 9+3-3=9 wounds to One-Eye the spearman. He makes an average (+20) cool test after being shot at with a blackpowder weapon and gets 44, managing to hold his ground.
Markus, Second Action
Having gained three extra advantage, Markus spends four from his total of six to take another action. He draws his other sword and attacks One-Eye again.
His skill is 63, but he takes a -10 penalty due to his shorter range. He rolls 20, for 4SL after talents and another critical hit due to the Impale quality.
One-Eye takes a -10 penalty on his defence due to facing a Fast weapon, and so rolls against 35. He rolls 78, for -5SL after fear. Markus inflicts a total of 8+4+5-3= 14 wounds, bringing One Eye to minus eleven. The mutant is torn apart.
Markus gain advantage for putting down an opponent but not for beating him in the roll on an additional action, and so still has three advantage total.
Knud
Knud makes a test at 52 to reload his crossbow. He rolls 48 and succeeds.
Knud then spends four advantage to take another action and two more to get a +10 bonus on shooting Markus. He is still at short range and so rolls against 82. He rolls a 37, hitting with +5SL, reduced to 4 by fear. This is a body hit.
The damage is 9 base +5SL -1 fear = 13. Markus has five toughness and four points of armour on the body, and so takes four more wounds. He has four remaining.
Ranged Mutants
Tails and Bird Feet once again open fire at an effective skill of 65. They roll 66 and 62, so Tails fumbles his shot and Bird Feet gets a bare success. Bird Feet inflicts 6 damage, which Markus reduces to the minimum of one wound. He has three wounds remaining.
Tails rolls for his Fumble and stumbles badly, losing his next move action.
Melee Mutants
Still suffering from Fear, Iron Skin and Long Arms need to roll cool to engage Markus. They have a willpower of 30 and neither of them passes it, so they cannot engage.
Round Three
At the start of the round, Markus has three advantage and the mutants have one.
Markus
Seeing the melee fighters are unwilling to engage, Markus charges Tails and Bird Feet. He has a skill of 63 and gets a +10 bonus from charging, so rolls against 73. He gets 50, a success with 3SL once dual wielder is taken into account, and once again gets a crit via impale.
Tails defends with dodge 40, with a -10 penalty for not being Fast and a -1SL penalty for fear. He rolls 91, a failure by -7SL.
Markus deals 8+3+7+1 resolute talent = 19 damage, reduced to 16 by Tails' toughness. Tails is once again slain before the critical can even be taken into account.
Markus reverses the dice for a 05 with his silver sword against Bird Feet, for 7SL after talents. The mutant tests against dodge 40 and rolls 69, a failure by -3SL after fear. Markus inflicts 8+7+3 = 18 damage, reduced to 15 by toughness, and kills Bird Feet as well.
In total he gains four advantage from this flurry, two for beating opponents in opposed rolls, two for killing them both.
Markus action two
As before, Markus spends four advantage to take another turn. He uses this to charge Knud. Once again his skill is effectively 73, and he rolls 68 for an effective 2SL.
Knud defends with his dodge of 33, reduced to 23 by the fast quality on the rapier. He rolls 61, a failure by -4SL. Markus inflicts 8+2+1+4-3 = 12 wounds. Since Knud had zero already, he is brutally slain.
Melee Mutants
Still afflicted by fear, the two remaining mutants roll against cool 30. While Iron Skin fails, Long Arms gets a 03 and passes.
Iron Skin decides at this point, having failed his fear tests so consistently and seen so many of his comrades die, to just leg it.
Long Arms charges Markus with his spear, rolling with an effective skill of 55. He rolls 06, so after the fear penalty he has 4SL.
Markus has a skill of 63 but takes a -10 penalty on defence for using dual wielder. He gets 63 and spends a fortune point to reroll, getting 87. He fails by -3SL.
Long Arms deals 7 base +4+3 = 14 damage to the body. Markus has five toughness and four armour on the body, so takes five wounds. He drops to an effective -2 and takes a critical hit.
Long Arms rolls for the critical, d100+20 and scores 92. This results in a smashed rib cage. Markus gains a Stunned condition that can only be removed by medical attention and a Broken Bone (Major) injury.
Round Four
At the start of the round, Markus has four points of advantage and the remaining mutants have two.
Markus
Normally Markus could not act as he has a "stunned" condition. However, he spends a point of resolve to remove, and another resolve to ignore the broken ribs. Both benefits are only for one round.
Markus attacks Long Arms. He takes a -10 penalty due to the enemy's longer reach, but spends all four remaining advantage for a total of +30 on this roll. He therefore rolls against 83 and gets 08, a total of 9SL after talents.
Long Arms has a -10 penalty to defence due to not having a fast weapon and so has a skill of 35. He rolls 26 and so gets 1SL, reduced to 0 by fear.
Damage is 8+9 = 17, reduced to 14 by toughness, Long Arms is also slain.
At this point combat ends. Markus has killed six enemies and frightened the last off, at the cost of being badly injured.
This permits up to five other activities during the enforced rest. The following options had the most votes:
[X] Search Etelka's residence for information on the Red Crown with a particular eye towards what they could be attempting to do in the hills.
[X] While fostering true reconciliation is almost assuredly beyond you, it would be best to make sure that the townsfolk are satisfied with the the deaths of the direct perpetrators, and won't attempt to inflict further violence on the innocent mutants, less your mercy be rendered for not.
[X] With the local situation resolved and your injury hindering you, attempt to rally reinforcements from the local constabulary and dwarf clan to help you bring the sorceress behind these events to justice.
[X] Converse with Rolf regarding what he and his people plan to do from now on. See if there's something you can help them with.
[X] Converse with Max regarding your decision to spare these mutants.
XXXV - Lying in Wait
The thought of sitting idle while your quarry rides away burns at you like acid, but scarcely less welcome is the notion of confronting her and failing due to injuries disregarded in your haste. In the end the latter proves more daunting, and you make arrangements to stay in Black Peaks until your broken ribs have healed. You will attend to outstanding business, solidify the position and security of the mutants now under your wing, and if the gods are kind, you will be waiting for Etelka when she returns.
The first order of business is to address the boiling tensions in Grissenwald. Max fetches the horses from where you left them, and that very day you make your way back into town with the corpses of half a dozen mutant bandits tied up and slung across the backs of your steeds like lumpen saddlebags. Your ribs hurt too much to ride, but with Elvyra's aid and potent medication you are able to walk with the reins in hand and a living volunteer from the settlement at your side. His name is Leopold, and beneath the hood of a heavy oiled cloak his head has been twisted into that of an eagle, hooked beak and all. Together you present the corpses and your testimony to the authorities of Grissenwald, reminding watchman and reeve alike of the imperial edict which makes the settlement safe from any thoughts of further action.
The response is, generously, not the worst it could have been. Official charges against the dwarves are retracted and no move is made to crush the mutant enclave at Black Peaks, but the general attitude is perhaps a degree of two above freezing. From what you can gather the bad blood between the dwarves and humans of Grissenwald escalated into open fighting around the time you were observing the encampment, and by the time the violence stopped two humans and a dwarf were dead and several others seriously injured. The bad blood between the two groups is unlikely to be cleansed any time soon, and while neither seems intent on driving the mutants out of their encampment while you are there to oversee things, it is not lost on you just how much hateful resentment is in the stares directed Leopold's way.
Such a poor start is discouraging to be sure, but you console yourself with the fact that you have managed to prevent an outright pogrom and laid the foundations for future growth. You will not leave this matter half done. Having started down this path, it is your duty as a nobleman to see it through.
-/-
You spend a considerable portion of your first week's convalescence searching Etelka's residence from top to bottom, seeking any evidence of her capabilities or intent. Unfortunately there is not much to find; a few amulets marked with cult emblems, a collection of superficially benign letters with a member of the von Wittgenstein family, and a bafflingly large collection of fine clothing and elaborate jewellery. There are no grimoires, no ritual paraphernalia or dark treasures stamped with the sign of the ruinous powers, and no evidence regarding what might have drawn the witch and her companion towards the Barren Hills. You keep what you need for evidence and make a note to visit Castle von Wittgenstein after your current business is attended, but it seems that Etelka is one of those frustratingly competent adversaries who keeps anything truly incriminating far away from her residence. Questioning the mutants confirms that Etelka had a habit of taking small expeditions into the woods every few weeks, never being gone for more than a couple of days at a time or accompanied by more than a handful of her most faithful adherents. Unfortunately, without a guide of your own there is slim chance that you will be able to find her ritual grounds anytime soon.
Such a meagre result is disappointing, but it does at least give you a chance to speak with Rolf at some length. The lanky mutant seems to have adopted a position of authority among the mutants of Black Peaks roughly equivalent to an elder, having been involved in this enclave since it first started, and while his position is informal even a casual study is enough to demonstrate the high regard that the other mutants hold him in. One day, while comparing notes on possible locations for Etelka's hidden ritual site - far too many to practically winnow down with anything less than an army - you ask him about his plans for the future.
"Truth be, I don't rightly know," Rolf says thoughtfully, scratching his chin with one disconcertingly long arm, "There's wealth enough in Etelka's stash to get the village off to a proper start, more if we sell a few things from the tower… the real trick will be finding us someone willing to trade, and of them, someone that won't take us for every pfenning."
You nod, understanding the challenge immediately. That it is legal to be a mutant and by extension to do business with them means little if the merchants involved retain their old prejudices, and those who are sufficiently amoral to conduct such trade are almost by definition liable to be the worst kind of predatory scum imaginable. Fortunately, this is an dilemma that you have the tools to resolve.
"I can put you in touch with House Teugen of Bögenhafen," you offer, "They can be relied upon to supply anything you might need for a fair price."
"Teugen? I've heard of them," Rolf says slowly, looking you over with a speculative light in his eyes, "Can't say I'd trust them to be kind to folks like us most days, but seems you're more confident than most."
"The house and I have… an understanding," you say vaguely, trusting that the mutant will follow your meaning. It is generally poor form to speak of blackmail directly, even if performed in the name of justice. "If I instruct them to sell to you as they might any other, they will do so."
"Well now!" Rolf grins widely, folding his arms and bobbing his head like some strange waterfowl, "That sounds ideal. With a proper supplier we can turn Black Peaks into something worth calling home. Get some tools for the tradesmen, enough seeds and equipment to get the farms producing a surplus, maybe do a bit of logging…"
"Humble goals," you note, though in truth your grasp of numbers is shaky enough that you doubt you could speak with authority on such a budget.
"For you maybe, milord," Rolf says pointedly, "For most normal folks too, I reckon. But for folk like us? For folk like us, the idea of having a real home with real work and real options, a place we can be safe and share with them that truly understand… for folk like us, there's nothing humble about that at all."
You nod, conceding his point and hiding a smile at the enthusiasm. With one conversation you have given hope to the desperate and proven the worth of your choice, the virtue in man that Sigmar sought to protect. Truly, your decision to take House Teugen in hand is paying dividends.
-/-
Two weeks after the battle against Knud and his raiders, the dwarves of Grissenwald finally consent to a meeting. You had invited them to visit Black Peaks at first, to which they had replied with a demand for you to come to them, and in the end you'd settled on a negotiation held around a large flat rock roughly halfway between the town and the old mine. Of such compromises is diplomacy made.
The dwarven representative is the patriarch of the largest family among the populace, a staggeringly well muscled boulder of a dwarf by the name of Gorrim Greathammer. He sits on the far side of the stone table with a thunderous expression as you work your way through the formalities, stroking his thick red beard with one calloused hand as you introduce yourself and the mutants come to represent their settlement.
"You are squatters on rightful dwarven land, on stone that has belonged to the Greathammer clan since my grandfather's time," Gorrim says bluntly as soon as the introductions are over, his various associated sons, nephews and cousins nodding furiously behind him as he lays down his terms. "If you clear off now, and take not so much as a pebble with you, then we'll call it fairly done."
Rolf scoffs, clearly far from impressed, but he already agreed to let you take the lead on this matter as a mediator that the dwarves might respect.
"None are denying the past stewardship of the Greathammer line," you say evenly, feeling the weight of responsibility sit heavy on your shoulders, "Yet it was my understanding that you sold the land three years past."
"Under false pretenses," Gorrim scowls, looking up at you and jabbing an accusing finger towards the distant hills, "The witch Herzen knew she could never afford to pay what the land was worth, so she tricked us. Her magic hid the gold and the viable coal seams from view, made us think the land was tapped out and exhausted, and then when we were considering our options she came in and made her false offer."
"Gold?" Rolf says, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms across a narrow chest, "There's no gold in Black Peaks. It's been three years, we'd have found it by now."
"If there wasn't something worth having in those hills, then the witch wouldn't have bought them," Gorrim scoffs, shaking his head at the foolishness of men, "That a bunch of twisted manling freaks couldn't find it means nothing, even if you do speak truth. Doubtless Herzen was waiting until we'd moved on and forgotten the matter before making her 'sudden discovery', but we're not so easily fooled!"
"A dwarf of your standing ought to have better manners," you say sharply before Rolf can spit a curse in turn. Gorrim just scowls, resolutely unwilling to apologise or admit wrongdoing, and in the end you decide to press on. "Whatever you might think, Master Greathammer, mere sentiment will not overturn the law or force these people from their homes. Another solution must be found."
"If I were a shiftless, irresolute manling, aye," Gorrim growls, entirely unmoving, "But I am a dwarf. We will stay and press our claims; against Herzen if we must, or you, now that you've declared her an outcast."
Markus makes an Average (+20) Lore (Law) check. Skill is 60, roll is 56, bare pass.
Markus makes an Average (+20) Intuition check. Skill is 75, roll is 79, bare failure.
You are far less confident in reading dwarf expressions than those of humans, and so you have no idea whether or not Gorrim sincerely believes that his clan were cheated out of their land by means of sorcery, but the law at least is clear. Once the contract is signed and witnessed the matter is done and cannot be repealed. If there was some breach of contract or other fraud committed there might be room for negotiation, but the dwarves do not deny that they sold the land to Herzen for the price that she paid, only that the price was fair; they have no legal recourse under even the most generous interpretation of the statutes. Nor, for that matter, do you honestly believe they should - mere regret is no grounds to unilaterally roll back a land purchase, even if the other party turned out to be a daemon worshipping witch.
Still, just because you have no sympathy for their opening position does not mean you will not bargain. Any arrangement that defuses the tensions and furthers the bonds of civilisation is virtuous in the eyes of Sigmar, and you are nothing (truly nothing) if not a faithful man.
"Master Rolf, are any of your people mine workers?" you ask after a moment's thought.
"Not as such, no," Rolf says with a frown, crossing his arms and giving you a skeptical look, "Farmers and foresters for the most part, a few tradesmen."
"Then I have a proposal," you nod, turning back towards the dwarves, "Clan Greathammer buys prospecting rights in the Bleak Peaks for a nominal fee, entitling them to perform such surveys and exploratory digs as necessary to verify whether Herzen truly did conceal viable deposits. Should any be found, they may be mined by the Clan in exchange for proportional fees paid to the inhabitants, at standard rates and terms."
You have no idea what those standard rates and terms might actually be, but they surely have to exist; there are too many mines operating across fiefdom lines for this to be anything other than a well trod area of legal precedent. The details matter less than the fact that such a possibility exists, which in turn provides the foundation for your real argument.
"Such an arrangement allows you to reclaim your wealth with less risk and less expense, establishing the foundation for later developments," you say firmly and sincerely, willing Gorrim to see reason, "Even should it be proven that Etelka Herzen deceived you, your grudge must surely be with her, not with the people of Grissenwald or of Black Peaks. When she returns I shall bring her to justice, and I would be honoured to count the mountain folk as my allies in that pursuit."
Markus makes a challenging (+0) charm test. Skill is 55, roll is 89. Fortune spent for reroll, 90. Major failure.
Gorrim Greathammer bristles angrily, his already ruddy skin flushing with outrage as he leaps to his feet. "Honoured? You'd be honoured, would you? You insult me and my clan with this farce of an offer and then claim you would be honoured if we bled in your place? Damn your offer, manling, and damn your compromises."
He spits on the ground then turns his back and walks away, his various associated kin and comrades falling in behind him. You stare after them in silent befuddlement for a moment, then force your mouth to close before you can look like an even greater idiot.
"Well, it was worth the attempt," Rolf sighs, rising from his own seat and moving back over to rejoin the other mutants who came with him. "Thank you for trying, my lord, but we'd best be getting back."
There doesn't seem to be nearly as much hard feeling behind his words as you might have expected, and your mood turns bleaker as understanding comes. None of the mutants expected negotiation to work, nor for the peoples of Grissenwald to accept them and their presence in any meaningful fashion, and they have been proven right. With a pained grimace you push yourself back to your feet as well, making your way back over to the side of the clearing where Max waits with your horse.
"You know," the legbreaker murmurs quietly as you approach, "We could just say anything the witch signed is null and void. Doubt there's many that would take up her cause, and it'd make the shorties happy. Ain't your cult meant to be all about that?"
"We are bidden by doctrine to honour our oaths and uphold the ancient alliance, not to give any given dwarf whatever they happen to want at that present moment," you grunt, hiding a wince at the thought of Max using that kind of term where anyone outside your immediate circle might hear. "Even if it were not so, I will not betray these people for mere political gain."
"Right, see, that's the other thing I don't get," Max says darkly, looking over the saddle he is currently adjusting to glare at Rolf and the others on the far side of the clearing, "Why'd you keep calling them people, acting like it matters? They're mutants."
There's too much hatred in that word alone to ignore, even if you wished to. "Max. You know the Emperor's edict…"
"Words on paper don't change the truth, boss, and you know it," Max growls, shaking his head disapprovingly, "And don't try pretending you're above it, either. I've seen you flinch more than once when one of them goes by, the looks you try to hide when they get too close. Part of you hates them as much as I do."
"Obviously," you say flatly, fixing your man with the sharpest glare you can muster, "I was raised a pious man, and the habits of a lifetime are not so easily broken. Yet I am noble and templar both; if there are any that ought to be held to a higher standard, expected to place the law and the service of the people above the qualms of their heart, it is men like me, and while that remains true I will neither betray these people or sanction any effort to do so. You will not speak of this again."
You do not think Max entirely understands, or that he is happy with your decision, but you have confidence that he will obey. For now that will have to be enough.
-/-
A month after your arrival in Grissenwald your ribs finally reach a point where you can move freely with comfort. There is still the odd twinge when you move too fast, the faint ghost of pain that haunts you at inopportune moments, but they are far from the first lingering mark of injuries sustained in this life. One day you will be like General Wälder, you suppose, confined to a wheelchair and carrying on as best you can despite the crippling pain of a lifetime of service… but not today.
With your injuries largely healed and no sign of your quarry returning you begin making preparations to depart. You settle all outstanding accounts with Rolf and the mutants, ensure that their trading ties with House Teugen will endure even after you take your eye off the situation, and begin arranging transport. Josef has long since departed, the business of the river carrying him off over the horizon after a few days in dock, but you don't imagine there will be any difficulties in arranging a replacement. The people of Grissenwald are positively eager to be rid of you.
Naturally, that is when it all starts going wrong.
You wake in the night to the sound of screaming, lurching out of the bed and grabbing your pistol from the table before your mind has even caught up to what your ears are hearing. Words that are half prayer and half curse spill from your lips as you stagger across to the window, peering out into the darkness beyond the tower with eyes still dull with sleep. There are dark shapes moving out there, the flickering points of light that suggest torches born aloft by people moving at some speed, but whence comes the screaming, the sounds of combat? By Sigmar, what is going on out there?
Markus makes an average (+20) perception roll. Skill is 75, roll is 62, success.
From the distant treeline emerges a blazing pillar of pink and blue, writhing serpents of unholy flame that eat the shadows any wholesome flame should cast. Even from this distance you can see the caster sat proud and high atop a strangely docile horse, her long blond hair fluttering wildly in the burning updraft of her spell. As her will the flame crawls across the sky like a strange parody of a comet, its light illuminating dozens of hulking humanoid forms that prowl and stalk and lope across the rough and broken ground, and when at last it crashes down again near the entrance to the mine the sound of screaming takes on a new and shriller note.
Beastmen. Etelka Herzen has returned, slipping past every net and agent placed in Grissenwald to warn of such a thing, and she has brought a tribe of beastmen with her.
"Sigmar damn her," you growl, lurching away from the window and grabbing for your armour. You've just about managed to get the leather leggings on and are pulling on your boots when the door crashes open and Max runs in, his face streaked with soot and his eyes wide. "Max. Good. Help me with my armour, and tell me what we know."
"Fuck all worth the name," Max says succinctly, grabbing your armoured coat from the rack by the door as you pull the chainmail on over your head, "Bitch didn't come in through Grissenwald, I'd swear to that, but how she crossed the river with that lot…"
"Dark sorcery, no doubt," you say grimly, holding your arms out while Max helps secure the buckles on your armour, "Very well. What of the others?"
"The mutants are falling back into the mines," Max says tersely, giving your armour a sharp tug to make sure it is going to stay on, "Most of the beasts are following them in, but chances are some of them will come sniffing around this tower soon enough. I locked the door, but the bitch probably has a key."
Exhaling slowly, you consider your options. From conversation with Rolf you know there are other routes out of the mines, but they are smaller and not so easily navigated, and chances are Etelka Herzen knows of them as well. Even if she does not, the beastmen are infamous for the ease with which they hunt and fight in the gloom of night. If they cannot hope to successfully flee, the best chance the mutants have is to band together and hold a defensive line at a narrow part of the tunnels, robbing the beastmen of the bulk of their numerical advantage and forcing Etelka to get closer if she wishes to employ her dark magic. You know Rolf has been keeping up the militia drills… but they are outnumbered by beastmen, and most of the settlement's truly experienced warriors died at your hand or left with Etelka in the first place. This is not a fight they are going to win.
(You spare a moment to curse the stubborn pride of the dwarves and the bitter myopia of men. Grissenwald would not garrison forces out here among the mutants, and even if they see the signs of combat and muster out immediately, it will take an hour or more for any relief to arrive. You will fight, and quite possibly die, alone.)
"Alright, you're good," Max grunts, tightening the last of your armour straps and taking up his own weapons once again, "What's the plan?"
Article:
Choose one
[ ] Reinforce the Mines You will break through the encircling beastmen and join Elvyra and the mutants in the mines. This will concentrate your forces in a single defensible location, but will also surrender all initiative and render you a clustered target for Etelka's spells, assuming she is willing to draw close enough to find line of sight.
[ ] Hold the Tower You and Max will remain within the witch's tower, firing from the windows and fending off those beasts that seek to break in. Your presence will take pressure off the mine's defenders, and it is likely that Etelka Herzen will not wish to burn her own home to the ground, but it will still be you and Max alone against anything the night might throw at you.
[ ] Sally Forth A counter charge will be the last thing the beastmen expect, and for good reason. You will be vastly outnumbered, surrounded and clearly visible, almost certain to die before accomplishing anything of note… but you might, just might, live long enough to reach the witch and strike Etelka Herzen down.
Note - Markus has recovered full health and healed his earlier critical injury. You do not know how many beastmen there are, or what kind. No reinforcements will reach you before this is already over.
"We need to regroup," you say decisively, "Whatever happens, I'll not leave Elvyra and the others to face it alone."
You half expect Max to object, either out of distaste for fighting alongside mutants or in favour of escaping now while you potentially still can, but he simply nods and falls in alongside. The two of you make your way back downstairs, navigating the spiral staircase at the heart of the tower with nerves stretched taut and ears sharp for any signs of movement, and take up position by the tower's only door.
"When I open the door, we run straight for the mine entrance," you say grimly, gripping the door handle and taking several deep breaths to steady yourself, "Don't slow for anything."
"Aye," Max growls, his eyes narrow and his fist white around the hilt of his sword, "Don't have to tell me twice. On three?"
"Indeed. Three, two, one… go!"
You throw open the door and leap out into the night, trusting in your memory to guide you where your night-blind eyes cannot. The world beyond the tower is a swirling maelstrom of shadow and flame, twisted forms looming out of the gloom in all directions only to fade again just as quickly, the shadowy outlines of houses and storerooms lit only by the flames that seek to consume them. You run with a prayer to Sigmar on your lips.
Markus tests Athletics! Skill is 26, roll is 11, success!
Max tests Athletics! Skill is 46, roll is 68, failure!
A frantic eternity later you reach the mine entrance, the tunnel opening looming before you like the maw of some great and terrible beast. To your relief it seems none of the beastmen have made it inside yet, and you are about to enter when you realise that Max isn't behind you. With the realisation comes the sound of bestial roars and the clash of metal on metal, a sound of violence to make the bottom drop out from your stomach. Turning, you peer into the darkness, seeking - there! Max is a dozen yards back, locked in combat with a pair of beastmen that must have intercepted him midway through the run, trying to fend them off even as more of the creatures slink forward out of the darkness to join the fray.
"Sigmar preserve us," you growl, yanking your pistol free from your belt and aiming it at the brawl. For a moment you hesitate, trying to pick out a target amid the chaotic brawl and stifling darkness, and in that moment of hesitation the opportunity is lost. Max opens a vicious cut along the flank of one of the great shaggy beasts harrying him, only for the snarling beastman to ignore the pain and slam its crude wooden shield into his face. Your comrade staggers back, briefly stunned, and the second Gor seizes the opportunity to finish the job with a brutal strike of its axe. The heavy metal blade catches Max just below the hip and tears off his leg in a welter of blood.
"Max!" you cry, knowing even as you see him fall that he will not rise again. There is no time to mourn, for already the foam-flecked maws of the Gors are turning towards you and thrown javelins are hurling out from the darkness. One of them skims against your upper arm, a whiplash impact that sends you through a half turn by sheer momentum, and with a final curse you turn your back and enter the mine at a run.
Max and Markus have been intercepted by a band of beastmen en route to the mines. There are two Gors and two Ungors. The Gors are currently in combat with Max.
It is dark. Close combat rolls suffer a -20 penalty, and shooting suffers a -30. The Beastmen, possessed of night vision, do not suffer these penalties.
Enemy has two points of advantage due to outnumbering.
Round One
Max
Attacks one of the Gors with his sword. Skill is 32 after the darkness penalty, roll is 51, failure by -2SL.
Gor defends with skill 45, rolls 80, failure by -4SL, reduced to -3SL by shield.
Max inflicts 9 base +1 net SL = 9 damage. Gor has a TB of 4, one point of armour and a large shield (2), so it takes three wounds.
Markus
Markus would be taking a total -50 penalty for shooting into melee and in darkness, so he instead chooses to spend a round aiming, giving him an additional +20 for next round.
Gors
Both Gors attack Max. They have a skill of 45 and gain +20 for outnumbering their foe. One rolls 14, the other 19, so both get a base +5SL.
Max rolls to defend himself, again at 32. He rolls 85 and 96, failing by -5 and -6SL.
Gors have base damage 7, so that is two hits inflicting 17 and 18 damage respectively. Max has TB3 and 2 points of armour, so he reduces both of those by 5. He has fourteen wounds total, the first hit reduces him to 2 and then the second to -11
This inflicts a critical hit with a +110 bonus to the right leg. The result is 168, resulting in death as the blow shatters the pelvis and severs the leg below the hip. Max perishes almost immediately.
Ungors
The two Ungors move up and throw javelins at Markus. They have a skill of 40, ignore the night penalties and are at standard range. They roll 02 and 42, so one misses and one hits with +4SL.
Base damage of a javelin is 6, so total is 10. Markus has five toughness bonus and four points of armour on the arm, so takes a single wound.
On round two, Markus decides that fighting out here is likely to get him killed, so he retreats deeper into the mines.
Sure enough, less than a minute later you have to draw up short before the line of waiting spears can impale you. Half a dozen mutants fill the tunnel ahead, arranged in a double rank with spears held ready in trembling limbs, and at the sight of you most relax a bit and murmur in relief. You push your way through the improvised phalanx without a word, seeking the wider chamber beyond. As you expected, Rolf is there with the other noncombatants, helping Elvyra set out the pallets and supplies necessary for a frontline aid station.
"Ah, Lord Bruner," Rolf says warmly, smiling in pleasure at the sight of you. He's too tall for the tunnels, already bent at the neck to fit into this relatively spacious chamber, but he still has a sword in one hand and shield in the other. "I'm glad to see you made it."
"Where's Max?" Elvyra frowns, looking up from her preparations, and it is all you can do to shake your head. She needs no more explanation than that, and though her face crumples in sudden grief the apothecary has seen more death than most gathered here. She rallies herself a moment later, taking a steadying breath to centre herself, and when she snaps another set of instructions to her new assistants her voice barely even trembles.
"I assume you've considered evacuation," you say to Rolf in a low voice, crushing your own heart back into place in the interests of survival.
"The beasts have scouts watching all the exits," Rolf says grimly, though in truth you had hardly expected otherwise, "I've men watching each to keep them from sneaking in, but there's no chance we can get more than a few of us out that way. The plan is to hold here for long enough that they lose heart. The beastmen are raiders and pillagers, allies of the Red Crown rather than their servants. They won't fight to the end, and if we can hold out until dawn they'll flee rather than risk a reprisal force from Grissenwald being mustered."
It's a slim chance, but you suppose you really don't have many other options. At the very least if you kill enough of the warriors willing to come in after you they might need to pull more in from the perimeter guard, giving you a chance to break out and make it to the river.
There is no chance for further discussion, words and thoughts abruptly drowned out by bestial roars that echo like thunder through the caves. There must be at least a score of throats contributing to that twisted symphony, filling the space with the echo of their hatred and thirst for blood, and you hardly have to look at the trembling hands or pale faces to know a morale breaker when you hear it.
"Steady!" you call out, pitting your voice against the chorus as you step away from Rolf and over to the phalanx that holds the tunnel, "Steady, people of Black Peaks! This is your home, your future that you fight for. You have friends at your side and kin at your back, so take heart and stand with me. Stand!"
Markus tests Leadership! Difficulty is Average (+20) due to good reputation, +10 due to higher status, skill is 85! Roll is 98, fortune spent for reroll, 77. Critical Success!
It's not the best speech you have ever given, but it is exactly what the mutants need to hear right now, and though their limbs still tremble and their eyes are still wide, not one of them takes a single step back. You take your place in the front ranks of the defence, rapier in one hand and pistol in the other, and raise your voice in answer to the challenge.
"Come on then!" you roar, spitting defiance into the dark, "In Sigmar's name, come and meet your end!"
The beastmen oblige.
You pull the trigger the second the first braying monster enters the tunnel ahead of you, splitting its horned skull like an over-ripe apple and filling the air with the sound of thunder and acrid stench of gunpowder. The beast's comrades flinch at that, at least a few of them turning and scrambling back out of sight, but you have not the firepower to exploit the disorder this creates and soon enough the tide of flesh and steel is upon you. You fend off the first snarling beast that comes at you with a quick flicker of steel, the threat posed by your sword enough to pierce even the veil of rage that hangs across that primitive mind, but the other defenders have neither your experience or skill. There is the sound of screaming, the visceral crunch of axe blades into flesh, and to your left a mutant with hair of writhing worms goes down, quite literally tumbling back with her attacker stumbling over her.
Barking a curse you drop your pistol and draw your silvered sword in its place, pushing forwards to draw attention and buy time for the mutants to rally. The beastman before you goes down under a flurry of blows, managing only to tear a strip out of your armoured coat as it falls, but when you turn to the creature on the left it manages to keep its shield between your blades and the flesh you seek to tear and rend. The creature is lost to battle frenzy now, foam dripping from its fanged maw and bloodshot eyes staring wildly, so furious that it barely even notices when one hoof crushes the worm-haired mutant's skull like an egg. Unable to bring its axe to bear in the tight confines of the tunnel fight, the Gor instead slams its shield into your chest and face like a bludgeon, knocking your hat clear off and filling your mouth with the taste of blood.
"Sigmar!" you roar, spitting out a mouthful of your own blood and stabbing downward with your sword. The blessed steel splits the beastman's shin in two with a rotten crack, and as the screaming beast falls you are already turning to the next in line. You are too late to save a mutant with pale blue skin, split cleanly in twain by the beastman's axe, but your sudden aggression at least prevents the creature from pressing the assault into the rear ranks. Smaller, weaker and less skilled than the attackers, it is only the narrow frontage of the tunnel and the mutually supportive thicket of spears that are keeping the mutants in the fight. Such are your thoughts as you engage the blood-splattered foe, and such is the root of your mistake. Thinking of your allies and their peril, you neglect to consider your own.
With a shrill bleat, a beastman you didn't see crashes into your side, forcing your arm down before you can parry an incoming blow. A desperate twist of the neck turns a skull-shattering blow into something that merely rings your head like a temple bell, and as you stagger back you repay it with a thrust of the rapier clean through your assailant's throat. Desperately you try to raise your other sword to repeat the performance on the remaining beastman, only to find the limb stiff and unresponsive, numb beneath the aching throb of bruises you didn't even notice.
You might have died there, gutted and trampled by a braying monster before you could recover your weapon or cleanse your senses, but for the sudden intervention of the remaining mutants. Someone grabs you by the shoulder and hauls you out of the line of battle, taking your place and herding the monster back with questing jabs of their spear, and working side by side the mutant militia rally the line and press the remaining foe into the corner. It is dangerous, uncertain work that still leaves one of them doubled over and clutching at a bruised gut after the Gor resorted to kicking with its hoofed feet, but soon enough it is done.
"C'mere you big lug," Elvyra says briskly, grabbing you by the elbow and all but forcing you down into a chair as she looks you over, "Ack, but you'll have some terrible bruises on the morrow…"
She passes some truly staggeringly aromatic salts under your nose to clear the confusion, pokes and prods at your bruised flesh without so much as a thought to the grunts of pain she elicits, then forces a small vial of some dark and acrid liquid between your lips. You endure her ministrations with a weary patience, or perhaps with freshly concussed pliability, and when at last she nods in satisfaction you are not sure if you truly feel better or simply want to be out of her reach.
"That'll do," she says, slapping you briskly on the uninjured shoulder and pulling you back to your feet, "Get back out there, you big lug, before…"
"My, my. What a mess."
The voice is not one you recognise, but there is only one woman in this place who could be speaking with such smooth aristocratic languor. Sure enough, when you return to the corpse-strewn ruin of the entrance tunnel, it is to find a tall blonde woman in a rich scarlet dress standing amid the bodies, inspecting the carnage with a dispassionate eye.
"Ah, and here he is," Etelka Herzen says with a smile as you push your way through the crowd of wary mutants, "Markus von Bruner, the man who would replace me as your patron."
The sorceress has not come alone, flanked instead by a pair of truly enormous beastmen whose metal-tipped horns scrape against the cavern roof, their bloated forms so packed with muscle it is a wonder they can fit into the heavy suits of armour each wears. At the sight of the pistol in your hand one of them interposes himself between you and the sorceress, fixing you with a glare and growling so deeply you can feel it in your bones.
"Really now, templar, be reasonable," Etelka chuckles faintly, laying a slender hand on the furred arm of her brutish protector, "Even if you could gun me down and survive the fury of my champions - no sure thing by any measure - the Greyhorn tribe will simply set fire to the supports and collapse the mine. You may be willing to die for the sake of vengeance, but will you sacrifice all those gathered here to see it done?"
You grit your teeth hard enough to hurt, but you do not raise the pistol. "Why have you come, witch?"
"Oh, so he does speak! I was beginning to wonder," Etelka chuckles at that, but you notice that her eyes do not leave the pistol. She's not nearly so dismissive of the threat you pose as she might pretend, though that is cold comfort unless you can find a way to leverage it. "In any case, my purpose ought to be obvious. I came to receive your surrender."
You remember how Max fell, his blood staining a beastman axe, and you laugh without humour. "You must be joking. Surrender to the likes of you is nothing more than a death sentence."
"Now why would you think that?" Etelka chides you gently, and even above the stench of broken bodies and sundered bowels you think you can smell her perfume. It is a rich floral smell, strong enough that she must have damn near bathed in it. "I was the one who gathered these poor lost souls in the first place. I gave them food and shelter, a place they could live without fear, and I did not require some flimsy pretext of law to justify it. They have far better grounds to trust me than you."
Ah, of course. Her words are not aimed at convincing you, but rather the watching mutants, scared and desperate and all too aware of how many of their kin are already lying dead on the floor. You shake your head, determined not to allow the sweet poison to pass unchallenged.
"You are a cultist of the dark gods," you say flatly, "Any virtue you pretend is cover for your master's agenda. You would use these people as pawns in your schemes and discard them just as easily."
Etelka Herzen laughs at that, and when she opens her mouth you could almost swear there is something black and glittering at the back of her throat.
"Njawrr'thakh 'lzimbarr Tzeentch," she says, her smile growing wider when you flinch at the sound of that accursed name, "Yes, I am a servant of the Changer. Yes, I would see others brought into their service. I offer no excuses and make no apologies. Indeed, let me preempt your next argument - yes, I would have those who tried to abandon the Red Crown slain, especially if they wished to return to the bosom of Sigmar's Empire. What general would not, faced with those determined to offer aid and comfort to their enemy?"
"Are we to conclude that an honest monster is somehow better?" you say acidly, measuring with your eyes the angle needed to put a bullet through this woman's skull. If she intends nothing more than this vapid posturing it may well be worth the cost.
"I care little for what you believe," Etelka shakes her head, "Only what you do. We are at war and you, trapped and outnumbered as you are, have lost. Yet battles do not have to end in slaughter. Surrender, offer yourself as a hostage, and I will spare the rest of the people here. Even your agents, should any of them remain breathing."
The reminder of Max's death burns like fire, but you are not so weak as to give into a goad so easily. "And what possible reason could you have to do that?"
"Well, I hardly expect you to believe any claim rooted in compassion," Etelka rolls her eyes, as though believing the worst of a chaos cultist is somehow childish or unreasonable. "Perhaps it is easier to believe that my master has its eye on you, and has for some time? Since Bögenhafen, in fact."
You remember the way that the Ordo Septenarius died. You remember the flames, vibrant beyond reason and horrible beyond measure. You remember the Eye, and how it felt to endure its scrutiny. You remember these things and you shudder, but so too do you remember to keep your own eye upon Etelka, to weigh her words and measure her intent as you would any other quarry..
Markus tests Intuition! Skill is 55, roll is 23, success.
The witch looks… annoyed? Yes, you can see it now, in the narrowing of her eyes, the faint edge to her words. She doesn't want to make this offer, doesn't want to be anywhere near you at all much less while you are still upright and have a weapon in hand, but she is here anyway and she detests it. For reasons you cannot even begin to fathom, it would appear she is sincere; whatever foul monster she serves does not wish you to die just yet.
"Let us say I entertained this farce of yours," you say carefully, trying not to linger on how horrifying a thought it is that you might yet owe your life to a daemon, "What do you imagine would happen?"
"I would bind you hand and foot with the strongest chains I can find," Etelka says, her voice and tone the sweetest kind of poison, "then I would load you into my boat and smuggle you off to meet my comrades, who I expect would do all manner of horrible things to you over a prolonged period. Eventually you would either die or convert - either way, my role will be complete by then, the promised rewards bestowed, and I will have no need to involve myself in this… matter any further."
Well, at least that much matches with your expectations. "And Black Peaks?"
"Well, I can hardly afford to remain here now, can I? Not when the Holy Orders know of my past and where I choose to make my home," Etelka sighs, more visibly annoyed now, "I would leave, and take the faithful with me. The rest, I suppose, can take their chances with the local authorities, for whatever good that will do them."
"Milord, you can't possibly be thinking to…" Elvyra mutters from somewhere behind you, but you cannot afford to look back at her just yet. The witch is here within your grasp, and she offers you a choice. If you accept, you may be able to save the remaining mutants who placed their trust in you, not to mention Elvyra. If you refuse, you are unlikely to have a better chance than this to bring Etelka Herzen to justice.
Blessed Sigmar, guide me now…
Article:
What decision does Markus make?
[ ] Surrender Markus will allow himself to be taken by Etelka Herzen in exchange for the lives of his remaining allies and followers. He will of course attempt to escape where possible, or at the very least give Elvyra a message to pass back to the Holy Orders.
[ ] Attack Etelka Herzen has a pair of elite beastmen with her as personal champions and is a potent sorceress, but she might yet be brought down by a surprise assault. Better dead than in the claws of a daemon and its mortal pets.
[ ] Write In Alternate terms may be suggested but will require a charm, leadership or intimidate roll as appropriate. Tactics may also be suggested, if you wish input on how Markus seeks to fight or trick his way out of this one.
Markus has joined five mutants holding a chokepoint for this battle. The tunnel is only wide enough for three men abreast, but armed with spears the mutants in the back rank can engage anyway.
Six Gors are attacking Markus' position in the first wave.
The mines are not well lit, and so those without night vision will be taking a -10 penalty to their combat rolls.
Round One
Markus
Markus opens fire at the beastmen with his pistol. He gets a +20 for short range, a -10 for poor illumination, and another +20 for shooting at a small group without caring which Gor he hits. His skill is thus 88 and he rolls 11, a critical hit with +7SL.
The Gor has a shield and so gets to resist with its skill of 45. It rolls a 90, a failure by -5SL.
Total damage is 9+7+5=21 damage. Even with the Gor's impressive toughness, this and the crit is enough to kill the first Gor. Two points of advantage are gained.
The other five Gors need to make average (+20) cool tests to avoid breaking in the face of a blackpowder weapon. They test against 50 and three of them pass. The other two break and flee.
Beastmen
Two of the beastmen are Broken and so move back out of sight.
The three remaining Gors charge the defensive line, one against Markus and two against the other mutants in the front rank. They have a skill of 45 and their charge bonus is cancelled out by the longer reach of the spears. The Horns trait gives them a bonus attack when charging.
The Gor attacking Markus rolls 59 and 36, for -1SL and +1SL respectively. Markus has an effective defence of 53 and rolls 49 and 76, for +1SL and -2SL. He parries the first attack, then spends fortune on the second for 06, parrying that as well. Two more advantage gained.
The beastmen attacking the mutants roll 76, 55, 63 and 78, failing by -3, -1 (fumble), -2 and -3 respectively.
The mutants defend themselves with a skill of 35, rolling 89, 66, 96 and 61, failing by -5, -3 (fumble), -6 and -3 respectively.
The warrior to Markus' left is hit twice, with net SL of +2 each time, though on the second they both fumbled. Damage is 9 and then 8 (the second attack is the Horns and thus slightly weaker), reduced by 3 each time, so the mutant takes 11 wounds. He is still alive, barely. Both sides then take a wound from their fumble, which brings the mutant to zero and he collapses prone. Beastmen get two advantage points.
The warrior to Markus' right is hit twice, with +4 and +0SL for 11 and 6 damage. The mutant takes 8 and then 3 wounds, again bringing him to one wound remaining. Beastmen get two points of advantage, bringing them to 4.
Mutants
On the left, two mutants attack their Gor. One has skill 35, the other is prone and is reduced to 25, but they outnumber the Gor so get +20. They roll 24 and 66, for +3SL and -2SL (and another fumble)
The left Gor defends at 45 and rolls 74 and 100, failing by -2 and -5SL even after the shield's defensive quality is taken into account. Result is net 5 and 3SL for the mutants, though the fumble means the prone mutant is now taking another -10.
Damage is 11 and 8, reduced by 7 each time, the left hand Gor takes 5 wounds. Combined with the earlier fumble, it is now on 8/14.
The mutant behind Markus stabs at the middle Gor with 35+20 = 55, rolling 72, a failure by -2SL. The Gor defends at 45 and rolls 04, easily parrying the attack. The beastmen now have five advantage points. Markus and the mutants now have six.
The right hand mutants attack the right hand Gor, rolling at 55 each. They roll 9 and 14, for +5 and +4SL.
The right hand Gor defends at 45 and rolls 50 and 41, for 0 and 1SL after the shield. Thus it is hit twice with 5 and 3SL net. Damage is base 6, so 11 and 9, reduced to 4 and 2 wounds. The right hand Gor has 8/14 wounds left. Markus and the mutants have eight advantage points.
Markus, Additional Action
Markus spends four advantage points for an additional action, then the remaining four points for +30 on his attack. He draws his second sword alongside the rapier and attacks the middle Gor.
Markus has base skill 63, -10 for poor illumination, +30 for advantage and +20 for outnumbering. His total skill is 103. He rolls 18, scoring a total of 10SL after talents.
The central beastman takes a -10 penalty for defending against a fast weapon, rolling against 35 and getting 11. He gets 3SL and inflicts a crit on Markus' body location. Markus elects to sacrifice a point of armour to cancel out that critical, reducing his body AP to three.
Damage is 8 base +7 net SL for a total of 15, which the beastman reduces to 8. It has 6/14 wounds left.
Markus reverses the dice to get 81 for his follow up attack, a total of 3SL. The Gor defends with 45, since the silvered sword is not fast, and gets 74 for -2SL after shield. 5 net SL plus 8 base is 13 damage, the Gor reduces it to six, but this is enough to bring it to zero wounds and it falls.
End of the round, the beastmen have six advantage points and Markus et all have zero.
Round Two
Markus
Seeing that the mutant to his left has been knocked prone and badly injured, Markus attacks the Gor to his left. He has effective skill 53 but gets a +40 for outnumbering the foe 3:1, so his skill is 93. He rolls 67 for +4SL after talents
The Gor defends with 35 and rolls 05, for 4SL after shield. Markus gets a bare hit with no SL, which the Gor reduces to one wound. It has 7/14 left.
Markus flips the dice for a result of 76 as his follow up, 3SL. The Gor defends again and gets 06, successfully parrying Markus entirely this time. The beastmen now have seven advantage points to Markus' one.
Beastmen
Of the two Beastmen that fled, one manages to regain its composure. It moves back up but cannot engage this turn.
The two beastmen currently fighting spend 3 advantage each to activate their Fury traits. This grants them both the effects of Hatred and Frenzy. They get +1SL on all attacks, +1 damage and a free extra attack each round.
The left-hand Gor uses one attack against the downed mutant and one against Markus. The first gets +20 for attacking a prone target and ignores the reach advantage, so is against 65. The roll is 24, for a total of 5SL. The downed mutant defends with 25 and gets 29, and takes a horrific crit that kills him instantly. The beastmen now have three advantage points.
The second attack is made against Markus at skill 45. It gets 20, a head hit with 3SL. Markus has an effective defence of 43 due to the darkness and his use of dual wielder. He rolls 73 and spends fortune (leaving him with 2) to reroll, getting 45 for a bare failure.
The hit is 8+3 = 11 damage. Markus has 5 toughness and one point of armour on his head, so he takes 5 wounds.
On the right the second Gor makes its two attacks against the already injured mutant. It has an effective skill of 35 due to having less reach. It rolls 63 and 31, for -2 and +1SL after frenzy.
The right-hand mutant defends himself with skill 35. He rolls 78 and 15, getting -4 and +2SL. Only the first hit gets through, but it deals 8+2=10 damage, reduced to seven by the mutant's toughness. The right hand mutant only had one wound left, and so takes a crit with a +60 modifier to the body. With a result of 142, the mutant is torn entirely apart and dies. The beastmen now have five advantage points.
Mutants
Only three mutants remain now. One is fighting the left hand beastman, two are fighting the right hand. Consequently, they both get +20 for outnumbering (since Markus is also fighting the left hand Gor.)
The left hand mutant rolls 57 (0SL) against 75 (-2SL), net hit +2 for 8 damage, reduced to 1 wound by toughness etc. The left hand Gor has six wounds remaining.
The mutants attacking the right hand beastman roll 68 (-1) and 36 (2). The beastman defends with 45 and rolls 30 (1) and 66 (-2, fumble). This results in one hit at 4 net SL, for ten damage reduced to 3 wounds. The right-hand Gor has 5/14 remaining.
The Gors now have six advantage points, while Markus and the mutants have four.
Round Three
Markus
Markus once again spends four advantage points for a +30 attack bonus as he goes for the left-hand beastman. He takes -10 for darkness but +20 for outnumbering, end result is his skill is 103. He rolls 29, getting 9SL after talents.
The left hand Gor defends with skill 35 and gets 65, a -2SL failure with the shield. Total damage is 8 base +9 +2 = 19, reduced to 12 by armour etc. The left hand Gor had 7 wounds and so is reduced to -5, taking a leg crit at +50. This gives the beastman a cracked shin injury, so it is stunned and prone.
Markus turns and makes his second attack against the right hand Gor, reversing his dice for 92, 2SL after talents. The Gor defends with 45 and gets 23, successfully parrying the attack with 3SL.
Beastmen
The fleeing beastman is removed from consideration. The one that rallied spends three advantage points to activate fury and hatred, then charges Markus. The remaining right-hand beastman also turns to attack Markus. Although alone in the front rank, there are enough spear mutants alive to avoid any outnumbering bonus.
This leads to a total of four attacks, three at 55 and two at 45.
The charging beastman rolls 04, 91 and 36. After bonuses, this means 6, -3 and 3SL respectively.
Markus defends himself with 43 due to darkness and dual wielding. He rolls 100, 59 and 62, failing all three rolls. He spends fortune to reroll that first one and gets 88, still a failure and also a fumble. The end result for him is -4, -1 and -2SL, so he blocks the middle hit and gets hit by the first and third.
The first hit is a hit to the right arm and deals 9+6+4=19 damage. Markus has five TB and four AP on his arm, so he takes ten wounds. He has three wounds left.
The fumble results in Markus being out of position, so his next action will take a -10 penalty.
The second beastman, the right-hand one, attacks twice and rolls 10 (4SL) and 91 (-4SL)
Markus defends with 43 and rolls 14 (3SL) and 64 (-2SL). He parries the second hit and takes the first at 1SL net, for 9 damage to the head. Markus has 1AP and 5TB there, so he takes three more wounds, reducing him to zero but not quite inflicting a crit.
The beastmen have seven advantage points, while Markus and the mutants have two
Beastmen, again
The charging beastman spends all seven advantage to take another turn with a +20 bonus. It gets two attacks, due to frenzy, at a total skill of 65. It rolls 69 and 86, for 1 and -1 SL after the frenzy and hatred bonuses.
Markus defends with skill 43 and gets 31 and 96, for 1 and -5SL respectively. He chooses to reroll the second one with his last fortune point and gets 92, still a failure.
The first hit is parried, as both combatants have 1SL but Markus has the higher raw skill. The second hit is +4SL in the Gor's favour. It inflicts 8+4 = 12 damage to Markus' body location, where he has 5TB and 3AP after the earlier crit deflection. This means he takes a crit at +40.
The roll is a total of 42, wrenched collar bone. Markus drops his silvered sword and cannot use his left arm for one round.
Mutants
The left hand mutant finishes off the beastman with the cracked shin bone. The other two mutants attempt to bring down the right hand Gor, gaining a +20 outnumber bonus to roll at 55. They roll 02 and 46 for 5 and 1SL
The Gor defends with 45 and gets 71 and 72, for -2SL each after the shield bonus.
Damage is 6 base, +7 for first and +3 for second, so 13 and 9 damage. Both are reduced by 7, so the Gor takes 6 and then 3 wounds. It had five wounds remaining and so is put down.
Markus et all have five advantage now.
Round Four
Markus
Spends two advantage to fall back without getting attacked, swapping positions with the spearman behind him and moving to the medical aid station
Elvyra, on her turn, rolls Heal at her skill of 85 and gets 76, allowing her to restore 7 wounds to Markus
Beastman
The one remaining Gor attacks the mutants. It has a skill of 45, reduced to 35 by the shorter reach, and rolls 34 and 75, for 1 and -3SL
The mutants defend with their skill of 35 and roll 61 and 13, for -3 and +2SL. The second hit is blocked, the first gets through.
Hit is 8 base plus 4 net SL = 12 damage, reduced to 9 by toughness. One mutant is badly hurt but still intact.
Mutants
The three mutants have a +40 outnumbering bonus now, so they make their attacks at a skill of 75. They roll 08, 17 and 34, for 7, 6 and 4SL respectively.
The Gor defends with its skill of 45 and rolls 100, 58 and 70, failing all three defense rolls.
This is enough damage to put the final beastman down and end the combat.
[x] Plan: Mine Holdout
-[X] Spend 1 Resilience to roll a 10 for shooting Etelka in the head
-[X] Lure the champions where there's lower headroom, surround them, and have the front rank on the defensive while the rest stab them
-[X] Move to one of the mine exits and hold the chokepoint until relief arrives.
XXXVII - In Sigmar's Name
She offers you surrender. She offers you humiliation and suffering, imprisonment in the depths of some forgotten pit to be tormented by daemons and their pets, a stay of execution until your spirit or your body succumbs. She offers you death by any other name, and expects you to believe that it is a worthy trade.
She damned your father. She poured poison in his ears and kindled the darkness in his heart until he fell from grace, and she made you send him to the pyre. She alone of all beyond your family knows of Rickard's condition. It was her schemes that set the dwarves and humans of Grissenwald against each other, and her patronage of murderers like Knud has cost the lives of good men and women from here to the very streets of Altdorf.
She killed Max.
Perhaps it is your expression that betrays you, some look in your eyes or shift in your stance. Whatever it is, Etelka Herzen is ready for it. As you raise your pistol she mirrors the motion, a long wand of some oily black stone held in her dainty hand, and when she spits a word of command the shadows obey. Long ropes of darkness erupt from the darkness around your feet, hissing like snakes as they wrap themselves around your torso and drag your arm down before it can aim the gun, but you are not so easily denied. Your heart burns with inner flame, consuming everything you are and all that you have to give, and before the force of that inferno nothing a mere sorceress has to offer is enough.
"Die," you say, and pull the trigger.
Your bullet strikes Etelka Herzen between the eyes. There is no bone behind that pale skin, no skull cradling the soft mass of her brain, only a gelatinous mass of squirming black filth that loosely apes the proper shape, and so the shot does not so much shatter the witch's head as puncture it. Ichor erupts from the wound in a lumpen spray, filling the air with the same nauseating reek that she once used perfume to disguise, and like a puppet with its strings cut, Etelka collapses.
You have no time to celebrate, or even truly process what you have achieved, for the beastmen roar with outrage and lunge to the attack. No mere raiders these, like the brutes that attacked you in the tunnel. These are Bestigors, the vile champions of their forsaken race, and their battle fury is a thing of terrible wonder to behold. The thin line of mutant spearmen who step up to support you as little more than kindling before the flame, hacked and bludgeoned and torn apart before they even have the time to scream, and then it is your turn. Your rapier is a swift and deadly weapon, but it is one thing to cross blades with a fellow duelist or ward off a charging bandit, quite another to stand against a snarling pillar of muscle and fur wielding an axe as long as you are tall.
An axe bites into your shoulder, tearing open an artery and soaking your whole side in blood. A horn tears through your gut and pulls forth ragged ropes of muscle like so much string. An attack you do not even see cuts straight through your thigh and sends you spinning to the ground, and in the face of such wrath even the fire blazing within your heart is not enough.
You fall, and darkness swallows your world.
Combat begins! Markus is joined by three mutants, and they are facing down Etelka Herzen and two Bestigors. Elvyra and several other mutants are present, but they are effectively non-combatants.
Nobody has any advantage to start with.
Round One
Etelka Herzen
Etelka attempts to cast Entangle. Her Language (Magick) is 75 and she rolls 42. This is 3SL, raised to 5SL by talents.
Entangle has Casting Number 3, reduced to 2 by Etelka's magic item. Consequently, Etelka has three levels of overcast to work with. She spends one of them on an additional target and two on doubling the duration.
Markus and one of the mutants receive a pair of Entangled conditions each.
Etelka then moves behind one of her bodyguards.
Markus
Markus spends two resolve to remove the entangled conditions, overcoming the magic by dint of sheer iron will.
As per the winning plan, he burns a point of resilience to shoot Etelka and automatically rolls a 10. While he is suffering various penalties such as vision and Etelka having cover, this is still enough to hit.
Thanks to the damaging quality, allowing Markus to replace the rolled SL with the units dice (0, counting as 10) for damage calculations, this shot deals 19 damage. Etelka has a toughness bonus of 3 and a single point of arcane armour, so she takes 15 wounds. This brings her to an effective -2, so she takes a critical hit with a +20 modifier.
The result is 115. Etelka is instantly slain as her skull is shattered into pieces.
Markus and his allies gain 2 advantage points.
Bestigor 1
Furious, the first Bestigor charges Markus. It has a skill of 65, increased to 75 by the charge, and thanks to Horns gets to make two attacks. It rolls 24 (5SL) and 94 (-2SL).
Markus defends with his fencing skill of 63. He loses 2SL on each of these tests because of the size difference, but is still better off than relying on his dodge of 26. He rolls 39 (1SL) and 76 (-3SL) and so is hit twice. He spends his last fortune point on rerolling that second one and gets 61 (-2SL), but is still hit.
The Bestigor is using a greataxe so has base damage 10 and impact on the charge, for a raw damage of 10+5+4-1 = 18. This is a hit to the right arm. Markus has TB5 and 4AP on the arm so takes nine wounds. This reduces him to -2. His armour is also damaged by the hack quality.
The critical hit results in a 94 "Damaged Artery". Markus takes 4 bleeding conditions.
The Horns attack has a base damage of 7, and as a large creature the bestigor swaps its SL for 4 on the damage calculation, total 7+4+2=13. This is a body hit, Markus has 5TB and 3AP on the body currently, so takes a critical with a +50 modifier.
The critical is 74, pulled back. Markus suffers a Torn Muscle (Major) injury in his back, much as Max did in Bogenhafen.
Bestigor 2
The second Bestigor charges the mutants, starting with the non-entangled mutants. It has a skill of 75 on the charge and rolls 72 for its first attack.
The mutant defends with a skill of 35 and rolls 95, for -8SL after the size penalty. The Bestigor inflicts 10+2+8= 20 damage and kills the mutant.
Deathblow! Hitting a smaller target with a melee attack allows a large opponent to move through and attack again. The Bestigor follows up with an attack against the second mutant and rolls 06 (7SL) versus 51 (-4) for 10+7+4+6=27 damage, again killing outright.
Deathblow! The number of attacks you can make in this manner is capped by your weapon skill bonus, but the Bestigor has plenty to spare. It follows up against the entangled mutant and rolls 65 (1) versus 11 (1 plus crit), a hit for 10+1+5-1=15 damage, which reduces the last mutant to 1 wound. The Bestigor then follows up with its Horns trait, rolling 31 (4SL) against 72 (-8) and kills the final mutant.
Deathblow! The second Bestigor finishes up with an attack against Markus. It has skill 75 and rolls 48, for 3SL. Markus has defence 63 but takes a -20 penalty on his roll due to the torn muscle in his torso. He rolls 17, for 1SL after size etc.
The Bestigor inflicts 10+3+8-1= 20 damage to Markus. It hits the left leg for a critical with +140 bonus. This removes Markus' leg and kills him immediately.
Markus spends a Fate point on Die Another Day.
-/-
You wake to pain and the smell of burning flesh.
You gasp in breathless pain, the taste of blood and bile mingling in your mouth, and thrash like a worm upon a fisherman's hook. Your clothes are gone, your weapons taken, everything you had plundered by the bestial horde before they left you here. A length of rope runs beneath your arms and across your broad chest, holding you in place against the tree even as it squeezes the breath from your lungs. Through eyes blurred by tears you look down at the ruin of your right arm and the empty space where your left leg should be, seeing the burned and bubbling mass of cauterised flesh that spared you the death you had earned. The beasts, it seems, wanted you alive. Or, at least, they wanted you to suffer before the end.
Your bare skin is covered in signs and sigils, some daubed in blood and filth, others simply cut into your broken skin by tainted blades. You look upon them for a moment, then add your own vomit to the mess.
It is almost dawn. The sun is coming up in the distance, and by its pale light can you see the ruin of Black Peaks. The ground has been churned to mud by a hundred stamping hooves, the wooden buildings shattered and the stone tower turned black with flame. Everywhere the signs and symbols of Chaos have been marked, cut into wood and daubed in blood and constructed from lengths of broken meat. And among it all, the corpses, broken and defiled and displayed for all to see.
There are so many corpses. Max, Elvyra, Rolf and the people of Black Peaks. Everyone who followed you here, everyone who listened when you spoke and fought when you asked. You came here to kill Etelka Herzen, and this is the result.
Darkness takes you again, and this time you welcome it.
Article:
Choose:
[ ] Live
Markus will survive, and in time will find a reason to carry on. Unable to forgive himself, he will instead decide that there is nothing to forgive. This outcome was inevitable, even justifiable.
[ ] Break
Markus will survive, but his will to continue will not. Unable to bear the burdens demanded by his faith and service, he will resign from the Holy Orders and seek some other path.
So passes Markus von Bruner, Templar of the Holy Orders of Sigmar. He died in battle against the creatures of darkness, giving his life to bring down a sorceress at the head of a dangerous Chaos Cult. For his valour and zeal he paid the ultimate price, as did those who fought by his side. There are those who would say it was worth it, for any price is worth paying if it buys another day free of the Dark Gods. There are those who would lament his choices, for it was not he alone who paid for them. Ultimately, only the gods themselves can judge, and they do not lightly share their counsel.
In the thirty years that stretched from his birth to his death Markus changed the lives of many, though of those only a handful will ever learn of his passing.
The young woman Heidi thought often of the man who saved her from the pyre her accusers would have built for her, as did Father Sigiwalt of the bold young man who stepped up and saved the town he loved when others could not or refused to act.
Johannes Teugen read the letter from his agent thrice over before he was satisfied, then tossed it into the fire and poured himself a glass of whiskey. It was not often that he indulged, but some things were worth breaking with habit to celebrate.
Witchfinder General Wälder mourned the loss of a bright young man and the future he might have had, as he had a hundred others before. As a final tribute he arranged for his protege's retinue to be named alongside him in evening prayers at the Great Cathedral, allocating their uncollected stipend towards the education of the young girl Liza who had once been in their charge. Then he returned to his duties and thought no more of any of them, save in the quiet and lonely hours of the night.
Unaware of their reconciliation, the Witchfinder General kept news of Markus' demise from his siblings, and while Maria eventually worked out the truth after several years of quiet investigation she never could find where her brother was buried. She and Rikard each mourned in their own way, and neither spoke again of the latter's refusal to ever attend the Colleges of Magic. Perhaps if he had, he might have crossed paths with the Astromancer Spätin, and recognised in her the same conflicted emotions he himself felt towards the now fallen hunter who saved them both. Or perhaps not; the world is a large place, after all, and not even wizards know each other all by name.
And in the shadows, the enemy within continued their plots. The Red Crown had suffered a setback, the Purple Hand the loss of their Magister Magistri, but both still had their plans and schemes in motion. From the cold streets of Middenheim to the rarefied air of the Volkshalle their schemes continued, while in a forgotten corner of Blackfire Pass something too foul to die hissed in frustration at the loss of a valuable pawn. Some of their schemes would go undetected, others would be fought by heroes and villains of the highest and lowest calibre, but Markus would not see any of them. His duty was done.
The gates of Morr's Garden swung wide, and with a grateful sigh, Markus von Bruner laid himself down to rest.
