a WHFRPG Quest.
Warhammerquest: A WHFRP Adventure.
- Thread starter Swordswain
- Start date
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 47
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 10
-
Statistics (10 threadmarks, 14k words)
User Total Swordswain 10 Threadmarks Reader mode
Introduction
This is a dark age.
A bloody age.
An age of daemons and of sorcery.
It is an age of battle and death, and of the world's ending.
Amidst all the fire, flame and fury, it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.
At the heart of the old world sprawls the Empire, the largest and most powerful of the human realms (At least, according to itself). Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers.
It is a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests, and vast cities.
And from his throne in Altdorf reigns the Emperor Karl Franz, sacred descendent of the founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder of his magical warhammer.
But these are far from civilized times. Across the length and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to Ice-Bound Kislev in the far north, come rumblings of war.
In the towering Worlds Edge Mountains, the orc tribes are gathering for another assault.
Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern lands of the Border Princes.
There are rumors of rat-things, the Skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the land.
And from the northern wildernesses there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods.
As the time of battle draws ever nearer, the Empire and its allies need heroes like never before.
But in the absence of those heroes, you will have to do.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Hello, and welcome to this quest set in the world of Warhammer Fantasy, a long time favorite setting of mine.
We will be using WHFRPG Second Edition as our base for Mechanics. I've also recently acquired the 4th edition rules, and while they are less in depth in certain aspects, they have some ideas I quite like and will be including. I will be taking care of most rolls and things behind the scenes, so it shouldn't become too Complicated for players. Well … other than the difficulties of Decision making, that is.
In accordance with the Tone of WHFRPG, and with Warhammer in general, This is not a game where you play as a glorious hero Slaying Dragons and saving princesses. (if you ever meet a dragon, chances are you will die or be crippled for life). This is a game where you trudge through mud and Blood on Horridly dangerous jobs for low pay and little glory. This is a world where heroes are few and far between, magic is rare and ill-understood, and the villagers are just as likely to burn a wizard at the stake as thank them for their Contributions.
But before we begin, we must know who you are.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Choose one
[] Human
Humans are the most common race in the Old world, and the Founders of the Empire. While they are neither as tough as dwarves or as wise as Elves, Humans are a vibrant and energetic race that has achieved much in a short time. They are tremendously adaptable, which is both a great strength, and a serious weakness. Whilst many heroic humans have fought against the tide of darkness, it is and uncomfortable truth that they also provide the lion's share of the hordes of Chaos.
-[] From The Empire
-[] From Bretonnia
-[] From Kislev
-[] From Tilea
-[] From Estalia
-[] From the Border Princes
-[] From Araby
-[] From Norsca
-[] Randomize (+10 XP)
-[] From Elsewhere (Write in)
A Human Character Gains the Following Skills and Talents
Skills: Common Knowledge (the Empire), Gossip, Speak Language (Reikspiel)
Talents: 2 randomly rolled Talents
[]Dwarf
Dwarves are a short but resilient race of warriors and craftsmen. Most live under the mountains in mighty holds, with mines extending deep beneath the earth. They are immediately recognizable by their stout frames, long hair, and thick Beards. They tend to be gruff and short-tempered and they are legendary for their ability to hold a grudge. However, Dwarfs are a courageous people and unswervingly loyal to their friends and allies. They are struggling to preserve the remnants of their mountains kingdoms from Orcs, Goblins, and other foul creatures. Dwarfs have strong ties to the Humans of the Empire, and many are now a part of Imperial Society.
-[] From the Empire
-[] Karak Norn (Grey Mountains)
-[] Karak Izor (The Vaults)
-[] Karak Hirn (Black Mountains)
-[] Karak Kadrin (World's Edge Mountains)
-[] Karaz-a-Karak (World's edge Mountains)
-[] Zhufbar (World's Edge Mountains)
-[] Barak Varr (the Black Gulf)
-[] Randomize (+10 XP)
-[] Somewhere else (Write-in)
A Dwarf Character gains the Following Skills and Talents
Skills: Common Knowledge (Dwarfs), Speak Language (Khazalid), Speak Language (Reikspiel), Trade (Miner, Smith, or Stoneworker)
Talents: Dwarfcraft, Grudge-Born Fury, Night Vision, Resistance to Magic, Stout-Hearted, Sturdy
[]Elf
Elves are a Lithe and Graceful race easily recognized by their pointed ears and Hawkish features. They have a glorious yet tragic history and are renowned for their archery, learning, and Wizardry. Elves have an innate understanding of the ways and currents of nature, particularly the forest and the sea. They despise those that destroy the purity of nature, be they Proud humans, greedy Dwarfs, or evil Orcs. While they can be aloof, they have sacrificed more of themselves for the good of the world than the other races can ever know.
-[] From Laurelorn Forest
-[] From Athel Loren
-[] From Ulthuan
-[] From the elf District of Marienburg
-[] Randomize (+10 XP)
-[] Somewhere else (Write-in)
An elf Character gains the Following Skills and Talents
Skills: Common Knowledge (Elves), Speak Language (Eltharin), Speak Language (Reikspiel)
Talents: Aethyric Attunement or Specialist Weapon Group (Longbow), Coolheaded or Savvy, Excellent Vision, Night Vision
[]Halfling
Halflings are a small but dextrous race who look like Human children to the untrained eye. The fact that they cannot grow beards only reinforces this impression. Although they tend to be Pot-Bellied, since they eat twice as often as any other race, they are capable of great stealth. When combined with their well known skill with the sling, Halflings can prove to be surprisingly Stubborn opponents. They are, however, largely a peaceful people, content to farm, eat, and smoke Pipe weed. They are proud of their families, and all halflings can recite their family heritage back ten generations or more.
-[] From the Moot
-[] From Somewhere else in the Empire
-[] Randomize (+10 XP)
-[] Write-In
A Halfling Character gains the Following Skills and Talents
Skills: Academic Knowledge (Genealogy/Heraldry), Common Knowledge (Halflings), Gossip, Speak Language (Reikspiel), Trade (Cook or Farmer)
Talents: Night Vision, Resistance to Chaos, Specialist Weapon group (Sling), and 1 Randomly rolled talent.
[] Randomize Race: Nobody chooses to what race they happen to be born. It is, like many things, determined by fate and circumstance. (Your Race will be randomized, but you will receive +20 XP)
Last edited:
Chargen #2
The imperial province of Stirland is widely regarded by its neighbors as an impoverished and haunted backwater, it's highly mixed terrain populated by an inbred collection of backwards country bumpkins who burn people alive for the crime of being from the next hovel over, and wouldn't know a book from a brick.
As a born and raised Human Stirlander, you are proud to confirm that the stereotype is only mostly true. It is also mostly true that Stirlanders are honest, hard-working, pious, and courageous folk who have, for centuries now, been on the frontlines of the eternal war against the undying horrors that call Sylvania home, and will stand and fight where the pampered dandies of the west would shit their frilled pantaloons and run away to hide behind their gated mansions.
However, if the Province of Stirland, is, as a whole, backwards, the city of Würtbad, the Provincial Capital and home of the Elector Count, is the largest, most metropolitan, and most well-to-do settlement around. Collecting taxes from the whole of the province, and positioned to take great advantage over the river Stir, It's whitewashed walls and stately temples see all sorts of visitors pass through. The people here a lot less prone to randomly persecuting people for having foreign accents.
You must suppose that being from the most advanced part of a generally backwards province puts you somewhere in the middle of the Savage-to-Dandy Spectrum.
Not in the middle, however, of the Social ladder. On that particular scale, you are distinctly ... lower.
Every city of note has perpetual rat problems, and, accordingly, must have an entire industry of Rat-Catchers, lest plague spread and store-houses be left completely empty. Your father is a proud member of the Rat-Catcher's guild of Würtbad, and spends most of his days travelling the streets and sewers, taking up whatever work the guild sends his way to root out the vermin from larders and homes. It is, he always tell you with a smile, good work, honest work, necessary work.
But it is not well-paid work, or work that is respected. You still remember how the other children used to mock you for smelling like rat.
Your mother fares a little better. She's an entertainer, by profession, and takes up among the local taverns to sing (she has a beautiful singing voice!) and play her violin and tell stories. Entertained men, she tells you, stay longer in the tavern, and drink more. And the more they drink, the more she gets paid, for while entertaining she takes home a small portion of all alcohol sales. Her salary, therefore, varies a great deal more than your father's depending on circumstance. Usually she comes home with just a little more than him. Sometimes she comes home empty handed.
If it was just the two of them, they'd get along just fine, you suspect. But with three children (Including yourself) and a dog ... Well, your family survived, but never lived in great plenty. You lived in a cramped tenement in the slums, subsisting largely off of meals of Oat-Gruel, scraping for every penny.
But it's family. It's home. You wouldn't have it any other way.
You are their first and oldest child,
[] A son
[] A Daughter
[] Randomize
your name is,
[] First and Last name (Write-in)
[] Randomize
and you were born under the sign of
[] The Limner's Line -- Sign of Precision
[] Gnuthus the Ox -- Sign of Dutiful Service
[] Dragomas the Drake -- Sign of Courage
[] The Gloaming -- Sign of Illusion and Mystery
[] Grungi's Baldric -- Sign of Martial Pursuits
[] Mammit the Wise -- Sign of Wisdom
[] Mummit the Fool -- Sign of the Indistinct
[] The Two Bullocks -- Sign of Fertility and Craftsmanship
[] The Dancer -- Sign of Love and Attraction
[] The Drummer -- Sign of Excess and Hedonism
[] The Piper -- Sign of the Trickster
[] Vobist the Faint -- Sign of Darkness and Uncertainty
[] The Broken Cart -- Sign of Pride
[] The Greased Goat -- Sign of Denied Passions
[] Rhya's Cauldron -- Sign of Mercy, Death, and Creation
[] Cacklefax the Cockerel -- Sign of Money and Merchants
[] The Bone Saw -- Sign of Skill and Learning
[] The Witchling Star -- Sign of Magic
[] Wymund the Anchorite -- Sign of Enduring
[] The Big Cross -- Sign of Clarity
[] Randomize
Altogether, your parents did their best to raise you the best they could. You think you came out alright in the end.
But everyone has to grow up eventually, and when the time came, you didn't hesitate to try and find work to support your family. Or, at least, to support yourself and make things easier on your parents.
[] You impressed a person of high learning, and earned yourself an apprenticeship for an ACADEMIC Career.
[] You took up work in the dense stone depths of the city, becoming a proper BURGHER.
[] You lucked out, and managed to score a job working for a noble or the government, technically earning you the status of a COURTIER.
[] Eager to escape the misery of the city, you left to join the PEASENTS of the countryside, hoping to find clean air and a new start.
[] You took to the wilderness, hoping to get as far away from the unfairness of "Civilization" as possible, becoming a RANGER of the wild places.
[] The river Stir is the single greatest economic boon Würtbad posesses, and, one way or another, anyone can find worthwhile work on it's waters. You made yourself into one of those enterprising RIVERFOLK.
[] Life isn't fair. For the poor and downtrodden like you, cheating is often the only way to make a decent life for yourself. So if that's what you have to do, you'll do it without hesitation. You'll cheat, and steal, and lie like a proper ROGUE.
[] You were always skilled at throwing punches, and a hard life has filled you with a deep well of anger. Your a natural fit to become a WARRIOR of some sort.
[] Randomize Career Type (+20 XP)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Most of the Family and Narrative Details above were randomly generated using the Appropriate tables, with me filling in some of the gaps using what I believe to be reasonable assumptions to create a Birth and Background for you that makes sense.
The Most Important Decision to make here (and, indeed, through all of Chargen) is your Class and Career. Above you will choose the general type of Career, and specific Careers will be chosen in the next Chargen section.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
YOUR STATS SO FAR
Weaponskill (WS): 29
This Characteristic Represents your Character's Skill in Hand-to-Hand Combat, both with Weapons and Without.
Ballistic Skill (BS): 40
This Characteristic represents your Character's Skill with Missile Weapons, such as Bows, Crossbows, and Pistols.
Strength: (S): 32
This Characteristic represents your Character's muscle and Brawn.
Toughness (T): 26
This Characteristic represents your Character's Ability to Withstand injury, Disease, and Poison.
Agility (Ag): 26
This Characteristic represents your Character's physical quickness, manual dexterity, and reaction speed.
Intelligence (Int): 32
This Characteristic represents your Character's Intellect, Insight, and ability to reason.
Will Power (WP): 36
This Characteristic represents your Character's mental toughness and resolve.
Fellowship (Fel): 31
This Characteristic represents your Character's personal Charisma and Social skills.
Secondary Characteristics
Attacks (A): 1
This Characteristic represents the quickness of your Character's Attacks. This Number indicates the maximum number of attacks you can make in a single action.
Wounds (W): 10
This Characteristic represents your Character's General Vitality. It indicates how much damage your character can suffer before becoming critically injured.
Movement (M): 4
This Characteristic represents your Character's Base land speed.
Magic (Mag): 0
This Characteristic represents your Character's Magical Power.
Insanity Points (IP): 0
This characteristic represents the state of your Character's Sanity.
Fate Points (FP): 2
This Characteristic represents luck, and, to a certain extent, your character's destiny. Fate Points can be used to avoid certain death.
Skills: Common Knowledge (the Empire), Gossip, Speak language (Reikspiel)
Randomly Rolled Talents: Sixth Sense, Strong-Minded.
I am Imposing a 1 Hour Moratorium on Voting, to encourage players to discuss and consider their choices.
Last edited:
Specific Career
You had long grown to hate your home city. Your existence there had been but one misery after another. The slums stank of wet rat and rotting fish and detritus left out on the street. Criminals lurked around every corner, knives ready to steal the hard earned coins of honest folk, your kin included. Only rarely could you hope to see the areas that were actually nice, and those were infested with rich bastards who turned their nose up at you, for the fine and noble residents of the city would have nothing to do with the son of a rat catcher.
Nobody would ever know or care to remember the name Olaf Khöleir. Just one of a thousand nobodies. You came from dirt, and if this city had it's way, you would return to dirt.
You had to get out, escape, before Würtbad killed your very soul with its drudgery. You looked to the outside, beyond the walls, where the air was clean, the land was green, and a man might find his own way. (At least, these are the things you were told by drunken travellers at the local pub)
[] Sheer, stupid luck brought you to your first collar. A thief who had stolen some highborn lady's prized necklace. By chanc you saw him before you knew he was wanted on your way to the tavern, and only after seeing the poster, your mind racing with possibilities, did you turn back and clumsily track him to his hideout in a small camp nestled in the woods just outside the walls. You clubbed him over the back of the head, but that failed to knock him out, and when he rose (to give you a proper thrashing), he slipped on the mud and cracked his head against a rock , knocking him out cold. It was a pain to drag him all the way back in, but when you received the prize purse, and realized you were holding more money than you had ever seen in one place before, you knew that you would do with your future. You havent been at it for long, and you've only caught a few low level perps, but you consider yourself a semi-professional BOUNTY HUNTER.
[] Travel is as necessary as it is dangerous across the empire, and Stirland is no different. Merchants must move their goods, families must visit one another, Notables must attend important meetings. For fast, reliable, and safe transport, the people look no further than the great Coaching lines! A vast network of companies that stretch from one end of the empire to the other, ferrying people and items from point A to point B with minimum fuss. So prolific is this industry that dedicated coaching inns pop up to provide maintenance and repair services to coaches-on-the-move. The Hockling-&-Ingofen coachline is the premier such transport service in Stirland, and they are always looking for new, dependable drivers! You've heard tell that Coachmen also usually travel armed, as they are responsible for the safety of their cargo, but how dangerous can it be, really? You've joined up to become a COACHMAN.
[] Unlike it's northern neighbor Talabecland, Stirland's territory is not majority Forest. It does, however, have some forest. In particular, a dense stretch of woodland follows the bank of the river Stir along the Province's northern region, including the area directly surrounding the capital. And, wherever there is forest, there is a profit to be made. People will pay well for hides and furs to keep them warm in the winter, or to tan for good leather, and Forest-Caught Venison is always more expensive than bread or butter. Now, a city boy like yourself is probably an ... odd fit, for a HUNTER, but it promises a degree of freedom you could never have otherwise.
[] Communication is the key of civilization, or so your boss tells you. All these slips of paper and parcels and packages are the thing keeping the empire alive. With the flow of information, scholars can increase their knowledge, soldiers can have forewarning of attacks, officials can conduct negotiations over long distances, and families can keep in touch. You are a proud MESSENGER, and neither snow nor rain nor heat nor darkness of night will prevent you from accomplishing your appointed rounds. More than all that, though, being a messenger allows you to travel farn and wide, seeing more of the world than you had ever hoped for.
[] The law is difficult to enforce across vast stretches of wilderness. Rural villages are often reluctant to answer to the government, forests and caves provide perfect hideouts for any would-be-bandits, a wanted man might flee in any direction and be nigh-impossible to track through brush and hill as he hops borders and jurisdictions with an ease a city watch can never hope for. But still, someone must bring order to the chaos, and that's where you come in. The courageous and resourceful ROAD WARDEN is the nightmare of every fugitive, keeping the emperor's peace and bringing justice to even the darkest corners of the wilderness. It is a hard life, but a virtuous one.
[] The life of a TOLL KEEPER, is a lonely one. Isolated as you are in your tiny road-post, your only company the travelers who pass through. You can't really make friends, either. As it turns out, collecting money on behalf of the state does not make one popular among the common folk. Quite the opposite, actually, it makes one a target for berating, beatings, sabotage, and quite a lot of curses and complaints. It is a Thankless, unpopular job with a very high turnover rate ... but one that pays very well.
[] "OH IM A LUMBERJACK AND IM OKAY, I DRINK ALL NIGHT AND I WORK ALL DAY!"- That's the ear-grating song your fellows began belting out when your first joined them as a WOODSMAN, felling trees for lumber and fueling the expanse of civilized space over the wilderness, providing fuel for homes and material for new buildings. It's a rough life among the work crews of the woods, but it's taught you a great deal of valuable skills. Plus, you get a real big axe, and the work has really fleshed out your musculature.
[] If there's anything life has taught you, it's that work is for suckers. You'll be impoverished no matter what you try ... so why not enjoy life while you have it? Sure, wandering from town to town at random, may seem risky and unprofitable ... but you are Free! Truly Free! Free to wake when you please, eat as you please, do as you please! Who wants to wake up in the morning, only to do the same boring old routine they did yesterday? Why not make every day a new adventure? The life of a wandering VAGABOND is the one for you.
[] You simply took what fate sent your way. (Randomize from the above options. +25 XP)
[] You narrowed your choices down. (Three of the above Careers will be randomly selected, and you will choose between them. +15 XP)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
As before, 1 hour Moratorium on voting to encourage discussion, you should have plenty to chew on for your choice of Career.
Dont take the length of each section as an indication of bias or importance or validity, I just got tired as I got nearer to the end, and I figured you'd get the gist anyway. There are no wrong choices here. Keep in mind not only what you think would be most mechanically beneficial. but also what you think would make for the best story.
Nobody would ever know or care to remember the name Olaf Khöleir. Just one of a thousand nobodies. You came from dirt, and if this city had it's way, you would return to dirt.
You had to get out, escape, before Würtbad killed your very soul with its drudgery. You looked to the outside, beyond the walls, where the air was clean, the land was green, and a man might find his own way. (At least, these are the things you were told by drunken travellers at the local pub)
[] Sheer, stupid luck brought you to your first collar. A thief who had stolen some highborn lady's prized necklace. By chanc you saw him before you knew he was wanted on your way to the tavern, and only after seeing the poster, your mind racing with possibilities, did you turn back and clumsily track him to his hideout in a small camp nestled in the woods just outside the walls. You clubbed him over the back of the head, but that failed to knock him out, and when he rose (to give you a proper thrashing), he slipped on the mud and cracked his head against a rock , knocking him out cold. It was a pain to drag him all the way back in, but when you received the prize purse, and realized you were holding more money than you had ever seen in one place before, you knew that you would do with your future. You havent been at it for long, and you've only caught a few low level perps, but you consider yourself a semi-professional BOUNTY HUNTER.
[] Travel is as necessary as it is dangerous across the empire, and Stirland is no different. Merchants must move their goods, families must visit one another, Notables must attend important meetings. For fast, reliable, and safe transport, the people look no further than the great Coaching lines! A vast network of companies that stretch from one end of the empire to the other, ferrying people and items from point A to point B with minimum fuss. So prolific is this industry that dedicated coaching inns pop up to provide maintenance and repair services to coaches-on-the-move. The Hockling-&-Ingofen coachline is the premier such transport service in Stirland, and they are always looking for new, dependable drivers! You've heard tell that Coachmen also usually travel armed, as they are responsible for the safety of their cargo, but how dangerous can it be, really? You've joined up to become a COACHMAN.
[] Unlike it's northern neighbor Talabecland, Stirland's territory is not majority Forest. It does, however, have some forest. In particular, a dense stretch of woodland follows the bank of the river Stir along the Province's northern region, including the area directly surrounding the capital. And, wherever there is forest, there is a profit to be made. People will pay well for hides and furs to keep them warm in the winter, or to tan for good leather, and Forest-Caught Venison is always more expensive than bread or butter. Now, a city boy like yourself is probably an ... odd fit, for a HUNTER, but it promises a degree of freedom you could never have otherwise.
[] Communication is the key of civilization, or so your boss tells you. All these slips of paper and parcels and packages are the thing keeping the empire alive. With the flow of information, scholars can increase their knowledge, soldiers can have forewarning of attacks, officials can conduct negotiations over long distances, and families can keep in touch. You are a proud MESSENGER, and neither snow nor rain nor heat nor darkness of night will prevent you from accomplishing your appointed rounds. More than all that, though, being a messenger allows you to travel farn and wide, seeing more of the world than you had ever hoped for.
[] The law is difficult to enforce across vast stretches of wilderness. Rural villages are often reluctant to answer to the government, forests and caves provide perfect hideouts for any would-be-bandits, a wanted man might flee in any direction and be nigh-impossible to track through brush and hill as he hops borders and jurisdictions with an ease a city watch can never hope for. But still, someone must bring order to the chaos, and that's where you come in. The courageous and resourceful ROAD WARDEN is the nightmare of every fugitive, keeping the emperor's peace and bringing justice to even the darkest corners of the wilderness. It is a hard life, but a virtuous one.
[] The life of a TOLL KEEPER, is a lonely one. Isolated as you are in your tiny road-post, your only company the travelers who pass through. You can't really make friends, either. As it turns out, collecting money on behalf of the state does not make one popular among the common folk. Quite the opposite, actually, it makes one a target for berating, beatings, sabotage, and quite a lot of curses and complaints. It is a Thankless, unpopular job with a very high turnover rate ... but one that pays very well.
[] "OH IM A LUMBERJACK AND IM OKAY, I DRINK ALL NIGHT AND I WORK ALL DAY!"- That's the ear-grating song your fellows began belting out when your first joined them as a WOODSMAN, felling trees for lumber and fueling the expanse of civilized space over the wilderness, providing fuel for homes and material for new buildings. It's a rough life among the work crews of the woods, but it's taught you a great deal of valuable skills. Plus, you get a real big axe, and the work has really fleshed out your musculature.
[] If there's anything life has taught you, it's that work is for suckers. You'll be impoverished no matter what you try ... so why not enjoy life while you have it? Sure, wandering from town to town at random, may seem risky and unprofitable ... but you are Free! Truly Free! Free to wake when you please, eat as you please, do as you please! Who wants to wake up in the morning, only to do the same boring old routine they did yesterday? Why not make every day a new adventure? The life of a wandering VAGABOND is the one for you.
[] You simply took what fate sent your way. (Randomize from the above options. +25 XP)
[] You narrowed your choices down. (Three of the above Careers will be randomly selected, and you will choose between them. +15 XP)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
As before, 1 hour Moratorium on voting to encourage discussion, you should have plenty to chew on for your choice of Career.
Dont take the length of each section as an indication of bias or importance or validity, I just got tired as I got nearer to the end, and I figured you'd get the gist anyway. There are no wrong choices here. Keep in mind not only what you think would be most mechanically beneficial. but also what you think would make for the best story.
Last edited:
Chargen #3
In truth, becoming a vagabond is not so much a thing one chooses as it is a thing one falls into naturally. You spent many days dreaming of the road before you took to it yourself, listening to traveler's boast tall tales down at fat pig pub. You knew at least half of them were fabricated nonsense meant to impress local girls and earn rounds on the house, but that didn't make them any less fascinating.
To a boy who had lived his whole life in the slums of Würtbad, even the most mundane descriptions of life in sheep-herding villages or little market towns across the river seemed to you endlessly fascinating. You spent many evenings-
[] Trading whispers and hearsay, about who is sleeping with who, about who hates who, and about who's doing what. People love to talk, especially about the rich and famous, and sorting out fact from fiction in the rumour mill was one of your favorite pastimes. (Increase Gossip Skill)
[] Listening in rapt attention to:
-[] Old Haufen. He used to be a hunter, so they say, but as far as you had seen his fulltime profession was town drunk (You aren't even sure where he got the money to keep drinking). When he wasn't passed out or singing old Talabeclander songs, he was telling tales of his time tracking and slaying wild beasts. In the middle of these stories he would often stop to explain various details in long, rambling diatribes. Among these details were how to recognize and respond to the false-animal noises used by wilds-folk to send messages to each other without being detected, though the idea of chittering like a squirrel felt quite silly to you. (Gain Skill: Ranger Tongue)
-[] Sneaky Hans was not nearly subtle enough to have earned his name properly, judging by how loose-lipped he got about the activities he and his gangster friends got up to after you got a few drinks in him, or when there was a pretty girl around. He would boast about Heists, and muggings, and all the tricks of the trade used to evade the wrath of the law. In particular, he seemed very proud of the system of secret signs and passcodes that criminals would use to communicate covertly. (Gain Skill: Thieves' Tongue)
Whiling away entire days among the patrons, listening in wide-eyed wonderment as they spoke. When full nighttime finally rolled around you
[] Assisted your mother in her performance, carrying around the basket to collect the little coins from grateful patrons. During her breaks she took the time to teach you the intricacies of her craft.
-[] She fixed your two left feet, and taught you the moves to the most common dances. (Gain Skill: Dance)
-[] She coached you on controlling your voice properly, and how to sing in a way that wasn't completely, horrendously, mind-destroyingly terrible. (Gain Skill: Sing)
-[] She taught you how to keep the attention of an Audience when telling a tale, how to sprinkle in details and measure out the pace of events to maintain tensions and excitement. (Gain Skill: Storyteller)
[] Continued to listen, cajoling and questioning until you got even the most specific information out of
-[] Old Haufen (Gain Skill: Ranger Secret signs)
-[] Sneaky Hans (Gain Skill: Thief secret signs)
Eventually, though, it became too much. You got tired of listening, tired of being an audience to someone else's adventure. Your curiosity could only take so much, and meeting a true-blue foreigner from outside the empire entirely is what finally drove you to explore the wider world. You listened to them speak of their homeland, and could barely wrap your head around how patently different nearly everything was. It made you realize just how tiny your little slice of existence was. By night's end, you had made a decision, and convinced the foreigner to let you travel with them.
[] Much like the stories you've heard before, Gaston is a bretonnian on a quest! Unlike those stories, however, he is not a noble knight in search of the grail, no. Such things are for the nobles. Instead, Gaston is a servant. A chef, to be specific. To be even more specific, he is an assistant chef among the lower ranking staff that attend the highborn ambassadors of the bretonnian embassy in the imperial capital of Altdorf. He travels away from this post, however, in order to seek out and catalogue high-quality ingredients, all in service to his dream of creating the perfect dish. (Gain Common Knowledge (Bretonnia), and Companion: Gaston)
[] Miska has, at separate times, claimed to be the bastard daughter of the Ice Queen, to be a cursed immortal doomed to wander the world forever, to be a defected norscan shieldmaiden, or to have once been the premier crimelord of the city of Erengrad at the age of fourteen. Miska says a lot of things that aren't true. What is true is that she's an absolute brute of a woman. Taller and stronger than most men, you've seen her drink enough ale to kill an Ox from liver poisoning, wrestle three men at once only to come out victorious, and headbutt her way through a solid wooden door. Her plan for life appears to consist entirely of wandering around looking for work as hired-muscle until she has enough coin to go on another drinking binge, or until somebody kicks her out of town. (Gain Common Knowledge (Kislev) and Companion: Miska)
[] Viego the Viper, that is what he calls himself! Though you get the impression it might be a self-given nickname. No sooner had the moody Estalian swept into town, with his big feathered hat and swooshing cloak, than he was showing off his glinting Rapier, lamenting loudly about how his master and teacher had been murdered in the night, and he had travelled to the empire on a quest for vengeance! Alas, he had little to go on as to the identity of the killer. It made for quite the fetching tale, and more than one local woman batted eyes at the handsome, dusky-skinned duelist. This was before he got run out of town for the twin crimes of being a foreigner and embarrassing a local nobleman's son at a sparring match. (Gain Common Knowledge (Estalia) and Companion: Viego)
[] Rosa is the most frighteningly intelligent and ruthlessly practical woman you have ever met. Originally hailing from Tilea, she claims to have been the daughter of a well-off merchant family, you can't know for sure whether this is the truth, but she is certainly well educated enough to match. She claims that, because she was not in line to inherent anything, she has travelled to the empire to make her own fortune as an Aspiring merchant. Though hasn't gotten very far in that ambition, yet. Still, you've never met somebody so good at haggling, or so skilled at pinching pennies. (Gain Common Knowledge (Tilea) and Companion: Rosa)
The two of you have been travelling together for a little while, now, and although it was intimidating at first, you've grown quite a lot along the way, learning skills you didn't think you would be capable of before.
[] You've learned to throw a punch or two in bar-room disputes. (+5 Weaponskill)
[] You've spent your evening practicing by throwing rocks at passing animals. You even got a rabbit for dinner once! (+5 Ballistic Skill)
[] You've become better at reacting quickly to incoming danger (Such as clods of mud thrown by rude children) and avoiding traps (Like tree roots threatening to trip you up), as well as swifter in action when you need to be. (+5 Agility)
[] You've become wiser, planning your trips ahead and sussing out tricks and traps by scam artists along the road. Taking to heart hard-earned lessons. (+5 Intelligence)
[] You've become more comfortable around people, you meet all sorts of interesting folks on the road, and a silver tongue is often more useful than a blade or a threat at preventing trouble and earning yourself somewhere comfortable to sleep. (+5 Fellowship)
[] You've learned to take a punch or two, for the feeble don't last long in the wilderness. (+1 Wound)
You are still proud of the time you-
[] Bargained down the price of a stingy merchant for the road-rations you needed. (Gain Skill: Haggle)
[] Managed to ford a fast-flowing stream and get to the other side safely, despite nearly drowning. (Gain Skill: Swim)
But it's not been without dangers. Fear claws at your heart when you remember-
[] The Great gash in your companion's leg, torn open by a jagged rock while falling down a small hill. You had to tend the wound yourself. (Gain Skill: Heal)
[] The murmuring voices of a pack of brigands as they set up an Ambush, intent on robbing you blind. Thanks to your forewarning, you and your companion were able to avoid them entirely. (Gain Skill: Perception)
Thankfully, even when danger rears it's ugly head, you can always count on-
[] Being able to run away! (Gain Talent: Fleet Footed)
[] Being skilled at using the brush of the wild to hide. (Gain Talent: Rover)
Or, when necessary-
[] Flinging Rocks. You're actually really good at that! (Gain Talent: Marksman)
[] Navigating your way across the land by guess alone. You've never gotten lost before, your Mother used to say you had a compass in your head. (Gain Talent: Orientation)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
1 Hour Moratorium. As you can see, there's quite a lot to think about.
Also, if you so please, you may include a faceclaim/Picture for Olaf.
To a boy who had lived his whole life in the slums of Würtbad, even the most mundane descriptions of life in sheep-herding villages or little market towns across the river seemed to you endlessly fascinating. You spent many evenings-
[] Trading whispers and hearsay, about who is sleeping with who, about who hates who, and about who's doing what. People love to talk, especially about the rich and famous, and sorting out fact from fiction in the rumour mill was one of your favorite pastimes. (Increase Gossip Skill)
[] Listening in rapt attention to:
-[] Old Haufen. He used to be a hunter, so they say, but as far as you had seen his fulltime profession was town drunk (You aren't even sure where he got the money to keep drinking). When he wasn't passed out or singing old Talabeclander songs, he was telling tales of his time tracking and slaying wild beasts. In the middle of these stories he would often stop to explain various details in long, rambling diatribes. Among these details were how to recognize and respond to the false-animal noises used by wilds-folk to send messages to each other without being detected, though the idea of chittering like a squirrel felt quite silly to you. (Gain Skill: Ranger Tongue)
-[] Sneaky Hans was not nearly subtle enough to have earned his name properly, judging by how loose-lipped he got about the activities he and his gangster friends got up to after you got a few drinks in him, or when there was a pretty girl around. He would boast about Heists, and muggings, and all the tricks of the trade used to evade the wrath of the law. In particular, he seemed very proud of the system of secret signs and passcodes that criminals would use to communicate covertly. (Gain Skill: Thieves' Tongue)
Whiling away entire days among the patrons, listening in wide-eyed wonderment as they spoke. When full nighttime finally rolled around you
[] Assisted your mother in her performance, carrying around the basket to collect the little coins from grateful patrons. During her breaks she took the time to teach you the intricacies of her craft.
-[] She fixed your two left feet, and taught you the moves to the most common dances. (Gain Skill: Dance)
-[] She coached you on controlling your voice properly, and how to sing in a way that wasn't completely, horrendously, mind-destroyingly terrible. (Gain Skill: Sing)
-[] She taught you how to keep the attention of an Audience when telling a tale, how to sprinkle in details and measure out the pace of events to maintain tensions and excitement. (Gain Skill: Storyteller)
[] Continued to listen, cajoling and questioning until you got even the most specific information out of
-[] Old Haufen (Gain Skill: Ranger Secret signs)
-[] Sneaky Hans (Gain Skill: Thief secret signs)
Eventually, though, it became too much. You got tired of listening, tired of being an audience to someone else's adventure. Your curiosity could only take so much, and meeting a true-blue foreigner from outside the empire entirely is what finally drove you to explore the wider world. You listened to them speak of their homeland, and could barely wrap your head around how patently different nearly everything was. It made you realize just how tiny your little slice of existence was. By night's end, you had made a decision, and convinced the foreigner to let you travel with them.
[] Much like the stories you've heard before, Gaston is a bretonnian on a quest! Unlike those stories, however, he is not a noble knight in search of the grail, no. Such things are for the nobles. Instead, Gaston is a servant. A chef, to be specific. To be even more specific, he is an assistant chef among the lower ranking staff that attend the highborn ambassadors of the bretonnian embassy in the imperial capital of Altdorf. He travels away from this post, however, in order to seek out and catalogue high-quality ingredients, all in service to his dream of creating the perfect dish. (Gain Common Knowledge (Bretonnia), and Companion: Gaston)
[] Miska has, at separate times, claimed to be the bastard daughter of the Ice Queen, to be a cursed immortal doomed to wander the world forever, to be a defected norscan shieldmaiden, or to have once been the premier crimelord of the city of Erengrad at the age of fourteen. Miska says a lot of things that aren't true. What is true is that she's an absolute brute of a woman. Taller and stronger than most men, you've seen her drink enough ale to kill an Ox from liver poisoning, wrestle three men at once only to come out victorious, and headbutt her way through a solid wooden door. Her plan for life appears to consist entirely of wandering around looking for work as hired-muscle until she has enough coin to go on another drinking binge, or until somebody kicks her out of town. (Gain Common Knowledge (Kislev) and Companion: Miska)
[] Viego the Viper, that is what he calls himself! Though you get the impression it might be a self-given nickname. No sooner had the moody Estalian swept into town, with his big feathered hat and swooshing cloak, than he was showing off his glinting Rapier, lamenting loudly about how his master and teacher had been murdered in the night, and he had travelled to the empire on a quest for vengeance! Alas, he had little to go on as to the identity of the killer. It made for quite the fetching tale, and more than one local woman batted eyes at the handsome, dusky-skinned duelist. This was before he got run out of town for the twin crimes of being a foreigner and embarrassing a local nobleman's son at a sparring match. (Gain Common Knowledge (Estalia) and Companion: Viego)
[] Rosa is the most frighteningly intelligent and ruthlessly practical woman you have ever met. Originally hailing from Tilea, she claims to have been the daughter of a well-off merchant family, you can't know for sure whether this is the truth, but she is certainly well educated enough to match. She claims that, because she was not in line to inherent anything, she has travelled to the empire to make her own fortune as an Aspiring merchant. Though hasn't gotten very far in that ambition, yet. Still, you've never met somebody so good at haggling, or so skilled at pinching pennies. (Gain Common Knowledge (Tilea) and Companion: Rosa)
The two of you have been travelling together for a little while, now, and although it was intimidating at first, you've grown quite a lot along the way, learning skills you didn't think you would be capable of before.
[] You've learned to throw a punch or two in bar-room disputes. (+5 Weaponskill)
[] You've spent your evening practicing by throwing rocks at passing animals. You even got a rabbit for dinner once! (+5 Ballistic Skill)
[] You've become better at reacting quickly to incoming danger (Such as clods of mud thrown by rude children) and avoiding traps (Like tree roots threatening to trip you up), as well as swifter in action when you need to be. (+5 Agility)
[] You've become wiser, planning your trips ahead and sussing out tricks and traps by scam artists along the road. Taking to heart hard-earned lessons. (+5 Intelligence)
[] You've become more comfortable around people, you meet all sorts of interesting folks on the road, and a silver tongue is often more useful than a blade or a threat at preventing trouble and earning yourself somewhere comfortable to sleep. (+5 Fellowship)
[] You've learned to take a punch or two, for the feeble don't last long in the wilderness. (+1 Wound)
You are still proud of the time you-
[] Bargained down the price of a stingy merchant for the road-rations you needed. (Gain Skill: Haggle)
[] Managed to ford a fast-flowing stream and get to the other side safely, despite nearly drowning. (Gain Skill: Swim)
But it's not been without dangers. Fear claws at your heart when you remember-
[] The Great gash in your companion's leg, torn open by a jagged rock while falling down a small hill. You had to tend the wound yourself. (Gain Skill: Heal)
[] The murmuring voices of a pack of brigands as they set up an Ambush, intent on robbing you blind. Thanks to your forewarning, you and your companion were able to avoid them entirely. (Gain Skill: Perception)
Thankfully, even when danger rears it's ugly head, you can always count on-
[] Being able to run away! (Gain Talent: Fleet Footed)
[] Being skilled at using the brush of the wild to hide. (Gain Talent: Rover)
Or, when necessary-
[] Flinging Rocks. You're actually really good at that! (Gain Talent: Marksman)
[] Navigating your way across the land by guess alone. You've never gotten lost before, your Mother used to say you had a compass in your head. (Gain Talent: Orientation)
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Weaponskill (WS): 29
This Characteristic Represents your Character's Skill in Hand-to-Hand Combat, both with Weapons and Without.
Ballistic Skill (BS): 40
This Characteristic represents your Character's Skill with Missile Weapons, such as Bows, Crossbows, and Pistols.
Strength: (S): 32
This Characteristic represents your Character's muscle and Brawn.
Toughness (T): 26
This Characteristic represents your Character's Ability to Withstand injury, Disease, and Poison.
Agility (Ag): 26
This Characteristic represents your Character's physical quickness, manual dexterity, and reaction speed.
Intelligence (Int): 32
This Characteristic represents your Character's Intellect, Insight, and ability to reason.
Will Power (WP): 36
This Characteristic represents your Character's mental toughness and resolve.
Fellowship (Fel): 31
This Characteristic represents your Character's personal Charisma and Social skills.
Secondary Characteristics
Attacks (A): 1
This Characteristic represents the quickness of your Character's Attacks. This Number indicates the maximum number of attacks you can make in a single action.
Wounds (W): 10
This Characteristic represents your Character's General Vitality. It indicates how much damage your character can suffer before becoming critically injured.
Movement (M): 4
This Characteristic represents your Character's Base land speed.
Magic (Mag): 0
This Characteristic represents your Character's Magical Power.
Insanity Points (IP): 0
This characteristic represents the state of your Character's Sanity.
Fate Points (FP): 2
This Characteristic represents luck, and, to a certain extent, your character's destiny. Fate Points can be used to avoid certain death.
Skills: Common Knowledge (the Empire), Gossip, Speak language (Reikspiel), Navigation, Outdoor Survival, Silent Move
Randomly Rolled Talents: Sixth Sense, Strong-Minded, Seasoned Traveler
This Characteristic Represents your Character's Skill in Hand-to-Hand Combat, both with Weapons and Without.
Ballistic Skill (BS): 40
This Characteristic represents your Character's Skill with Missile Weapons, such as Bows, Crossbows, and Pistols.
Strength: (S): 32
This Characteristic represents your Character's muscle and Brawn.
Toughness (T): 26
This Characteristic represents your Character's Ability to Withstand injury, Disease, and Poison.
Agility (Ag): 26
This Characteristic represents your Character's physical quickness, manual dexterity, and reaction speed.
Intelligence (Int): 32
This Characteristic represents your Character's Intellect, Insight, and ability to reason.
Will Power (WP): 36
This Characteristic represents your Character's mental toughness and resolve.
Fellowship (Fel): 31
This Characteristic represents your Character's personal Charisma and Social skills.
Secondary Characteristics
Attacks (A): 1
This Characteristic represents the quickness of your Character's Attacks. This Number indicates the maximum number of attacks you can make in a single action.
Wounds (W): 10
This Characteristic represents your Character's General Vitality. It indicates how much damage your character can suffer before becoming critically injured.
Movement (M): 4
This Characteristic represents your Character's Base land speed.
Magic (Mag): 0
This Characteristic represents your Character's Magical Power.
Insanity Points (IP): 0
This characteristic represents the state of your Character's Sanity.
Fate Points (FP): 2
This Characteristic represents luck, and, to a certain extent, your character's destiny. Fate Points can be used to avoid certain death.
Skills: Common Knowledge (the Empire), Gossip, Speak language (Reikspiel), Navigation, Outdoor Survival, Silent Move
Randomly Rolled Talents: Sixth Sense, Strong-Minded, Seasoned Traveler
1 Hour Moratorium. As you can see, there's quite a lot to think about.
Also, if you so please, you may include a faceclaim/Picture for Olaf.
Last edited:
Choose your own adventure.
Finally, before we move on to the game proper there are two final decisions that must be made.
Firstly, as you chose to randomize your race, you have some extra experience points you may spend on increasing your skills!
You currently possess 20 extra XP, and may increase any skill you know by 1 for a cost of 10 XP, meaning that you can either increase 2 skills by 1, or one skill by 2.
Accordingly, you may select two of the options below, or select one twice.
[] Increase Skills by 1 (10 xp each)
-[] Common Knowledge (the Empire), Currently +10%
-[] Common Knowledge (Kislev), Currently +2%
-[] Gossip, Currently +10%
-[] Storyteller, Currently +6%
-[] Speak language (Reikspiel), Currently +10%
-[] Navigation, Currently +6%
-[] Outdoor Survival, Currently +4%
-[] Swim, Currently +6%
-[] Heal, Currently +4%
-[] Silent Move, Currently +6%
Alternatively, you may choose to save your experience to make larger advancements in the future.
[] Retain Experience Points
With that choice being made, we must at last choose an adventure for you to go on!
[] Died in the Wool
Our intrepid wanderers make their way to the market town of Wördern. No sooner have they arrived than they are caught up in the midst of unfolding tragedies, and accused of a crime they did not commit. Harried constantly by superstitious and backwards locals threatening to mob them at any second, our dynamic duo must prove their innocence and unravel the true culprit, lest they wish to hang from the gibbet.
This adventure takes place in the middle of the province of Stirland, and has you dealing largely with entirely too human problems, with a focus on Investigation and mystery solving.
Low risk, low reward.
[] Ghosts of the past
The town of Siegfriedhof is ruled over by the Knights of the Order of the Raven. Stirland's most dedicated and fanatical defenders against the undead, but recently, a spate of ill-luck has befallen the order and the people they rule over. Milk curdles overnight, lives are ended in the castle training yard, and cold winds blow. Something foul is haunting Siegfriedhof, and it will be up to the unlikeliest of souls to put a stop to it, lest Stirland be stripped of its greatest defenders.
This adventure also involves supernatural forces, and the unearthing of secrets best left buried, and is much riskier to our protagonist, but also comes with an appropriately impressive reward.
High risk, High reward.
[] Geheimnisnacht's Gift
Taking shelter in a coaching inn overnight, our heroes find themselves, and the other guests, unexpectedly besieged by the forces of evil in a hellish night of blood and fire! In the aftermath, tired and weary, they must carefully escort an item of great importance out of the province, to a place of safety.
This adventure starts fast and hard, throwing our heroes right into a night of dangerous combat, and afterwards it lengthens out into a tale about a long and difficult journey.
Medium risk, Medium Reward. Extended plotline.
Firstly, as you chose to randomize your race, you have some extra experience points you may spend on increasing your skills!
You currently possess 20 extra XP, and may increase any skill you know by 1 for a cost of 10 XP, meaning that you can either increase 2 skills by 1, or one skill by 2.
Accordingly, you may select two of the options below, or select one twice.
[] Increase Skills by 1 (10 xp each)
-[] Common Knowledge (the Empire), Currently +10%
-[] Common Knowledge (Kislev), Currently +2%
-[] Gossip, Currently +10%
-[] Storyteller, Currently +6%
-[] Speak language (Reikspiel), Currently +10%
-[] Navigation, Currently +6%
-[] Outdoor Survival, Currently +4%
-[] Swim, Currently +6%
-[] Heal, Currently +4%
-[] Silent Move, Currently +6%
Alternatively, you may choose to save your experience to make larger advancements in the future.
[] Retain Experience Points
With that choice being made, we must at last choose an adventure for you to go on!
[] Died in the Wool
Our intrepid wanderers make their way to the market town of Wördern. No sooner have they arrived than they are caught up in the midst of unfolding tragedies, and accused of a crime they did not commit. Harried constantly by superstitious and backwards locals threatening to mob them at any second, our dynamic duo must prove their innocence and unravel the true culprit, lest they wish to hang from the gibbet.
This adventure takes place in the middle of the province of Stirland, and has you dealing largely with entirely too human problems, with a focus on Investigation and mystery solving.
Low risk, low reward.
[] Ghosts of the past
The town of Siegfriedhof is ruled over by the Knights of the Order of the Raven. Stirland's most dedicated and fanatical defenders against the undead, but recently, a spate of ill-luck has befallen the order and the people they rule over. Milk curdles overnight, lives are ended in the castle training yard, and cold winds blow. Something foul is haunting Siegfriedhof, and it will be up to the unlikeliest of souls to put a stop to it, lest Stirland be stripped of its greatest defenders.
This adventure also involves supernatural forces, and the unearthing of secrets best left buried, and is much riskier to our protagonist, but also comes with an appropriately impressive reward.
High risk, High reward.
[] Geheimnisnacht's Gift
Taking shelter in a coaching inn overnight, our heroes find themselves, and the other guests, unexpectedly besieged by the forces of evil in a hellish night of blood and fire! In the aftermath, tired and weary, they must carefully escort an item of great importance out of the province, to a place of safety.
This adventure starts fast and hard, throwing our heroes right into a night of dangerous combat, and afterwards it lengthens out into a tale about a long and difficult journey.
Medium risk, Medium Reward. Extended plotline.
Last edited:
Dramatis Personae
PERSONAL DETAILS
Name: Olaf Khöleir
Race: Human
Homeland: The Empire, Stirland, The City of Würtbad.
Career: Vagabond
Height: 6'1''
Hair Color: Light Brown
Weight: 130 Pounds
Eye Color: Copper
Distinguishing Marks: None
PEOPLE YOU KNOW
Father: Magnus Khöleir, A Rat-Catcher in Würtbad
Mother: Gabrielle Khöleir, An entertainer in Würtbad
Siblings: Pieter & Klara Khöleir, both as-yet unemployed teenagers.
Friends: Miska, a Kislevite warrior and your Companion on the road.
CHARACTERISTICS
Weaponskill (WS): 29
Ballistic Skill (BS): 45
Strength: (S): 32
Toughness (T): 26
Agility (Ag): 26
Intelligence (Int): 32
Will Power (WP): 36
Fellowship (Fel): 36
Attacks (A): 1
Wounds (W): 10
Movement (M): 5
Magic (Mag): 0
Insanity Points (IP): 0
Fate Points (FP): 2
SKILLS
Common Knowledge (the Empire): +20%
Common Knowledge (Kislev): +12%
Gossip: +10%
Storyteller: +7%
Speak language (Reikspiel): +20%
Navigation: +6%
Outdoor Survival: +4%
Swim: +6%
Heal: +5%
Silent Move: +6%
TALENTS
Sixth Sense: You get a strange feeling when you are in grave danger. and this sometimes alerts you to trouble before it happens. When danger is afoot, the GM may secretly roll a Test on your Willpower. If successful, the GM may tell you that you have a bad feeling about your situation or that you feeI like you're being watched. This talent may enable you to avoid being surprised when the rest of your allies succumb.
Strong-Minded:
Your resilient mind is less susceptible to sanity-blasting events. You don't have to check for insanity until you have 8 Insanity Points, and you don't automatically get one until you have 14 IPs.
Seasoned Traveler: You have extensive travel experience. You gain a +10% bonus on Common Knowledge and Speak Language Tests.
Fleet Footed: You Gain a permanent +1 to your movement characteristic.
Marksman: You gain a permanent +5% bonus to your Ballistic Skill Characteristic.
INVENTORY
Commoner Clothing (Equipped)
The same clothes you left Würtbad with, and currently your only set. They'll protect you from the elements (mostly), and keep your private bits hidden, but aren't particularly fancy.
-Solid leather boots that smell of feet
-Warm Wool socks (Thanks mom!)
-Undergarments
-Brown Cotton pants that have been patched and re-patched a hundred times
-Simple leather belt
-An old, loose hemp shirt, once white, but now stained in gray and yellow by time, weather, and spilled meals.
Cloak (Equipped)
A well-worn traveling cloak. It can keep you warm in the wilderness, and, with a dark gray-ish green color, and the hood pulled low, can help keep you hidden. Although its lower edges are tattered.
Walking Stick (Poor quality Quarterstaff)
The fallen branch of a tree, this tal twisted branch serves as a makeshift staff has served you well along your journey, lightening your burden and allowing you to poke things from a small distance away. In a pinch, it can make a shitty quarterstaff in a fight.
Kitchen Knife (Poor Quality Dagger)
Literally just a repurposed kitchen knife you took from home, it's a sharp piece of Iron with a wooden grip. As simple as simple can be. It makes for a useful tool to whittle wood, cut rope, or a hundred other things, and is the closest thing to a proper weapon you have. You mostly keep it tucked into your belt.
Backpack
A leather bag with straps carried on your back, if you stick your head in it smells kinda funky, but it can reliably store most of your day-to-day supplies in an easy to transport fashion.
-Rations (1 week)
Packets of Trail Rations, dried and salted strips of meat, and hunks of bread or cheese, carefully wrapped in wax paper to keep out dampness and pests.
-Travel Tent
The set for a small cloth tent that can be set up in the wilderness, with thick canvas and wooden poles. It's been patched a dozen times, and the corner leaks, but it's better than sitting out in the rain. Can fit one person uncomfortably, two if you really squeeze it.
-Waterskin
A simple leather waterskin with a wooden cork, perfect for holding a healthy amount of water or other refreshments for travel.
-Coin Pouch
A small leather pouch with a drawstring, capable of holding a number of coins for the purposes of common commerce.
-16 Pennies
Small brass coins, the simplest form of currency used throughout the empire. These are stamped on one side with the mark of the Würtbad mint, and the other has the profile of the current Elector-Count of Stirland's predecessor.
-Tinderbox
A small, dented tin box with a simple latch. Inside is a number of flint rods and a steel striker, alongside Tindling that can be easily replaced by what you find in the wilderness. As long as you have this, starting campfires will be relatively easy.
-Blanket
A thick, warm blanket, beige in color and quilted by your mother to keep the cold of the night away.
Name: Olaf Khöleir
Race: Human
Homeland: The Empire, Stirland, The City of Würtbad.
Career: Vagabond
Height: 6'1''
Hair Color: Light Brown
Weight: 130 Pounds
Eye Color: Copper
Distinguishing Marks: None
PEOPLE YOU KNOW
Father: Magnus Khöleir, A Rat-Catcher in Würtbad
Mother: Gabrielle Khöleir, An entertainer in Würtbad
Siblings: Pieter & Klara Khöleir, both as-yet unemployed teenagers.
Friends: Miska, a Kislevite warrior and your Companion on the road.
CHARACTERISTICS
Weaponskill (WS): 29
Ballistic Skill (BS): 45
Strength: (S): 32
Toughness (T): 26
Agility (Ag): 26
Intelligence (Int): 32
Will Power (WP): 36
Fellowship (Fel): 36
Attacks (A): 1
Wounds (W): 10
Movement (M): 5
Magic (Mag): 0
Insanity Points (IP): 0
Fate Points (FP): 2
SKILLS
Common Knowledge (the Empire): +20%
Common Knowledge (Kislev): +12%
Gossip: +10%
Storyteller: +7%
Speak language (Reikspiel): +20%
Navigation: +6%
Outdoor Survival: +4%
Swim: +6%
Heal: +5%
Silent Move: +6%
TALENTS
Sixth Sense: You get a strange feeling when you are in grave danger. and this sometimes alerts you to trouble before it happens. When danger is afoot, the GM may secretly roll a Test on your Willpower. If successful, the GM may tell you that you have a bad feeling about your situation or that you feeI like you're being watched. This talent may enable you to avoid being surprised when the rest of your allies succumb.
Strong-Minded:
Your resilient mind is less susceptible to sanity-blasting events. You don't have to check for insanity until you have 8 Insanity Points, and you don't automatically get one until you have 14 IPs.
Seasoned Traveler: You have extensive travel experience. You gain a +10% bonus on Common Knowledge and Speak Language Tests.
Fleet Footed: You Gain a permanent +1 to your movement characteristic.
Marksman: You gain a permanent +5% bonus to your Ballistic Skill Characteristic.
INVENTORY
Commoner Clothing (Equipped)
The same clothes you left Würtbad with, and currently your only set. They'll protect you from the elements (mostly), and keep your private bits hidden, but aren't particularly fancy.
-Solid leather boots that smell of feet
-Warm Wool socks (Thanks mom!)
-Undergarments
-Brown Cotton pants that have been patched and re-patched a hundred times
-Simple leather belt
-An old, loose hemp shirt, once white, but now stained in gray and yellow by time, weather, and spilled meals.
Cloak (Equipped)
A well-worn traveling cloak. It can keep you warm in the wilderness, and, with a dark gray-ish green color, and the hood pulled low, can help keep you hidden. Although its lower edges are tattered.
Walking Stick (Poor quality Quarterstaff)
The fallen branch of a tree, this tal twisted branch serves as a makeshift staff has served you well along your journey, lightening your burden and allowing you to poke things from a small distance away. In a pinch, it can make a shitty quarterstaff in a fight.
Kitchen Knife (Poor Quality Dagger)
Literally just a repurposed kitchen knife you took from home, it's a sharp piece of Iron with a wooden grip. As simple as simple can be. It makes for a useful tool to whittle wood, cut rope, or a hundred other things, and is the closest thing to a proper weapon you have. You mostly keep it tucked into your belt.
Backpack
A leather bag with straps carried on your back, if you stick your head in it smells kinda funky, but it can reliably store most of your day-to-day supplies in an easy to transport fashion.
-Rations (1 week)
Packets of Trail Rations, dried and salted strips of meat, and hunks of bread or cheese, carefully wrapped in wax paper to keep out dampness and pests.
-Travel Tent
The set for a small cloth tent that can be set up in the wilderness, with thick canvas and wooden poles. It's been patched a dozen times, and the corner leaks, but it's better than sitting out in the rain. Can fit one person uncomfortably, two if you really squeeze it.
-Waterskin
A simple leather waterskin with a wooden cork, perfect for holding a healthy amount of water or other refreshments for travel.
-Coin Pouch
A small leather pouch with a drawstring, capable of holding a number of coins for the purposes of common commerce.
-16 Pennies
Small brass coins, the simplest form of currency used throughout the empire. These are stamped on one side with the mark of the Würtbad mint, and the other has the profile of the current Elector-Count of Stirland's predecessor.
-Tinderbox
A small, dented tin box with a simple latch. Inside is a number of flint rods and a steel striker, alongside Tindling that can be easily replaced by what you find in the wilderness. As long as you have this, starting campfires will be relatively easy.
-Blanket
A thick, warm blanket, beige in color and quilted by your mother to keep the cold of the night away.
As nobody presented a Faceclaim they preferred, I took the liberty of randomly rolling some features for Olaf.
Also, it's notable that you have little in the way of weapons, and even less in the way of direct combat skill. As a Vagabond, this should be unsurprising. You have a very high natural Ballistic Skill, but no training in any actual ranged weapons (Something you may wish to prioritize in the future). With this in mind, you may want to be cautious about getting into fights, and you also will probably want to hide behind your much tougher friend.
Speaking of ...
PERSONAL DETAILS
Name: Miska
Race: Human
Homeland: Kislev, anything beyond this changes by the minute.
Career: Kossar
Height: 6'1''
Hair Color: Black
Weight: 180 Pounds
Eye Color: Green
Distinguishing Marks: A nose that is ever-so-slightly crooked from being broken countless times.
PEOPLE YOU KNOW
Miska claims to know many people, Olaf knows that most of what she claims is nonsense, and if the truth is buried somewhere in there, it's impossible to tell.
CHARACTERISTICS
Weaponskill (WS): 33
Ballistic Skill (BS): 25
Strength: (S): 43
Toughness (T): 37
Agility (Ag): 26
Intelligence (Int): 28
Will Power (WP): 33
Fellowship (Fel): 24
Attacks (A): 1
Wounds (W): 11
Movement (M): 4
Magic (Mag): 0
Insanity Points (IP): 0
Fate Points (FP): 2
SKILLS
Common Knowledge (Kislev): +10%
Common Knowledge (The Empire): +2%
Gossip: +5%
Speak Language (Kislevarin): +10%
Speak Language (Reikspiel): +2%
Consume Alcohol: +6%
Melee (Two-Handed): +5%
Dodge Blow: +10%
Gamble: +5%
Outdoor Survival: +5%
Perception: +5%
Search: +4%
TALENTS
Very Resilient: You gain a permanent +5 Bonus to your toughness characteristic.
Resistance to Poison: Your hardiness alIows you to ignore the effects of many poisons. You gain a +10% bonus to Toughness Tests to resist poison.
Strike to Injure: You're an expert at targeting your enemies' most vulnerable areas. The Critical Value of any Critical hits you inflict is increased by 1.
INVENTORY
Kislevite Clothing (Equipped)
The Clothes you bought with you from the north. They have served you well, but are in somewhat ill-repair from the constant travel.
-Leather boots, lined with fur on the inside to keep your feet warm.
-A pair of Threadbare Socks
-Undergarments
-Padded Leggings (Light Armour)
These leather trousers were designed for lancers or hunters crossing the wide steppes of your homeland, and accordingly are reinforced with padded segments, and the leather made tough and boiled, so as to cushion hostile blows.
-A simple leather belt, cinched at the waist.
-An old woolen turtleneck, warm and comfortable, for all that loose threads are fraying from it and the black coloration is turning gray from weathering.
-Padded Vest (Light Armour)
This vest is made of thick hides of tough leather and white fur hunted on the steppe, and provide adequate cushioning against blows to the chest or stomach.
Old Wood Axe (Poor Quality Two-handed weapon)
Though it's blade is rusting and it's long handle is cracked, this old woodsman's axe is still weighty enough to kill, when you put enough strength behind it.
Dagger
A simple Iron Hunting Dagger, as much a tool as a weapon.
Pouch
A simple leather pouch with a drawstring to hold money in.
-15 Pennies
The last of the Kislevite currency you brought south with you, these copper pennies are slightly bent from mistreatment, but one can still make out the bear's head printed on one side, and the Eagle on the other.
Name: Miska
Race: Human
Homeland: Kislev, anything beyond this changes by the minute.
Career: Kossar
Height: 6'1''
Hair Color: Black
Weight: 180 Pounds
Eye Color: Green
Distinguishing Marks: A nose that is ever-so-slightly crooked from being broken countless times.
PEOPLE YOU KNOW
Miska claims to know many people, Olaf knows that most of what she claims is nonsense, and if the truth is buried somewhere in there, it's impossible to tell.
CHARACTERISTICS
Weaponskill (WS): 33
Ballistic Skill (BS): 25
Strength: (S): 43
Toughness (T): 37
Agility (Ag): 26
Intelligence (Int): 28
Will Power (WP): 33
Fellowship (Fel): 24
Attacks (A): 1
Wounds (W): 11
Movement (M): 4
Magic (Mag): 0
Insanity Points (IP): 0
Fate Points (FP): 2
SKILLS
Common Knowledge (Kislev): +10%
Common Knowledge (The Empire): +2%
Gossip: +5%
Speak Language (Kislevarin): +10%
Speak Language (Reikspiel): +2%
Consume Alcohol: +6%
Melee (Two-Handed): +5%
Dodge Blow: +10%
Gamble: +5%
Outdoor Survival: +5%
Perception: +5%
Search: +4%
TALENTS
Very Resilient: You gain a permanent +5 Bonus to your toughness characteristic.
Resistance to Poison: Your hardiness alIows you to ignore the effects of many poisons. You gain a +10% bonus to Toughness Tests to resist poison.
Strike to Injure: You're an expert at targeting your enemies' most vulnerable areas. The Critical Value of any Critical hits you inflict is increased by 1.
INVENTORY
Kislevite Clothing (Equipped)
The Clothes you bought with you from the north. They have served you well, but are in somewhat ill-repair from the constant travel.
-Leather boots, lined with fur on the inside to keep your feet warm.
-A pair of Threadbare Socks
-Undergarments
-Padded Leggings (Light Armour)
These leather trousers were designed for lancers or hunters crossing the wide steppes of your homeland, and accordingly are reinforced with padded segments, and the leather made tough and boiled, so as to cushion hostile blows.
-A simple leather belt, cinched at the waist.
-An old woolen turtleneck, warm and comfortable, for all that loose threads are fraying from it and the black coloration is turning gray from weathering.
-Padded Vest (Light Armour)
This vest is made of thick hides of tough leather and white fur hunted on the steppe, and provide adequate cushioning against blows to the chest or stomach.
Old Wood Axe (Poor Quality Two-handed weapon)
Though it's blade is rusting and it's long handle is cracked, this old woodsman's axe is still weighty enough to kill, when you put enough strength behind it.
Dagger
A simple Iron Hunting Dagger, as much a tool as a weapon.
Pouch
A simple leather pouch with a drawstring to hold money in.
-15 Pennies
The last of the Kislevite currency you brought south with you, these copper pennies are slightly bent from mistreatment, but one can still make out the bear's head printed on one side, and the Eagle on the other.
IC will be coming soon.
Last edited:
IC #1
"Blyat!" The Kislevarin curse cuts through the air, swift and sharp as a crossbow bolt, causing you to lift your eyes towards the source.
Peering out from under the safety of your hood, past the veritable curtain of rain that falls from the heavens, threatening to burst the banks of rivers and drown rodents in their own subterranean nests, you can see your companion, though only dimly.
Miska is of much the same height as you, but much broader of shoulder (especially for a woman), with thick arms and legs, strong enough to crush skulls underfoot, if she felt the need. For all her might, though, it is she who is having the worse time of it tonight.
You watch silently as she pulls her boot back up from where it had slipped at the side of the wide road, thick clumps of muck sliding off of it as she shakes the appendage free, muttering foul things under her breath. Small wonder at that, for had she properly fallen she would have been completely drenched in the stuff. Her outfit was well suited to the frosts and chills of the north, but not to the rains of southwestern Stirland, nor the mud that inevitably followed.
Splatters of mud stain her up to the knees, with the rain carving a pattern of long trenches through each filthy patch as it slides down the leather. In contrast, her woolen shirt appears to be completely sodden through, and you would reckon the water alone makes it half-again as heavy as it should be. The fur of her vest is flattened with dampness, and you can see that her hair, black enough that it's difficult to make out through the darkness, is plastered against her skin.
She growls, flicking her head to get the strands out of her eyes, before turning a pair of green eyes on you, burning with annoyance. Her accent was difficult to understand at first, but you've gotten the hang of it by now. "We should have stayed."
You snort in amusement, rolling your eyes. Not that she could see it, beneath the hood. You suppose you must not look much better at this point in time. A tall, rail-thin specter looming in the darkness like a wraith from out of a bad horror story, ready at any moment's notice to point a crooked, skeletal hand and announce mystical curses in a croaking ancient voice at whatever passerby happened to be handsome enough to qualify as protagonist-worthy.
Instead, you pull the cloak tighter about yourself, hoping to stave away the cold. "Well, maybe we could've if you hadn't insulted the Bailiff's wife." You had quickly taken flight from Ramsau after that, not daring to stay lest the local notables start bringing the law down on your heads. (You hadn't actually done anything illegal, but that's never stopped the law before.)
Miska only shrugs, nonplussed. "She was bitch. Besides, you already said we moving, I thought, no reason to hold back."
You frown, but do not have a response, because that was true enough. You had planned to travel today regardless. If what you were told at the last village had been true, you were within a day of the nearest coaching inn. Unfortunately, the storm had broken out while you were on the road, and mud and rain had slowed down your pace, 'today' had quickly turned into 'tonight'.
You made to respond, but a terrifyingly loud crack of thunder overhead caused you both to wince and look up, watching as distant lightning raked the sky, and beyond that, the Eerie emerald glow of the chaos moon. Morrslieb hung low and full in the sky, glaring down at the world balefully. Just looking at it made your skin prickle uncomfortably, you felt like you were being watched by a hundred hidden eyes.
Of all nights to be stuck out in a storm, you had the misfortune to do so on Geheimnisnacht.
The most wicked night of the year.
You had never been out on Geheimnisnacht before. For your entire life, it had been the one night the streets of Würtbad went quiet. Shops shuttered their fronts, taverns locked up by mid-day, and parents kept their children home, huddling close with them around the hearth. Yours included.
You had the good fortune to never have experienced anything terrible on this night, but cannot remember a time it passed that your spine did not crawl and your heart did not race. Tonight is no different.
They say all sorts of wicked things transpire under the gloam of Geheimnisnacht. They say cults of witches dances naked around fires in the wood, that mutants drag unsuspecting victims to be sacrificed in profane ceremonies deep beneath the earth, that ghosts and vampires and other fiends creep from their hiding places to work wickedness in the realms of men.
You do not know how much of this is true, and you certainly do not want to risk finding out.
Miska grunts, gritting her teeth in frustration. You share her dissatisfaction at the situation.
"There's nothing for it. We'll have to push on." You certainly aren't willing to test your flimsy tent out in this mess.
Your companion nods, and the two of you trudge on through the rain.
______________________________________________________________________________
A couple of minutes on, and Miska is nudging at your shoulder.
"Olaf, look."
You follow her pointing arm, squinting through the gloom. It takes you a moment, but you do eventually catch the outline of something large sitting at the side of the road. There is a large square box, a wheel, a … is that a dead horse?
Indeed, as the two of you approach, and the details become clearer, you can spy an entire wagon overturned on the side of the road, the kind that a merchant or farmer might use, Boxes and bags spilling over its side to lay across the ground, smashed open and torn apart. The corpse of a horse sinks partially into the mud near the front, liquid blood running out to mix with the rain. The sight and the stench makes you gag.
Miska's face is a stone mask, one hand drifting towards the axe hanging at her side. "This was done recently." and you trust her word on it, for the corpse is not yet decomposed. The two of you stare for a moment in shock, questions swirling in your mind.
Who did this? Why? How? Where … oh …. Oh, gods …
"Miska?"
"Hmm?"
"If they killed the horse … where's the driver?"
She pauses at that, thinking for a long moment. She does not have an answer, so instead she gives you a question. "How long until the inn?"
You glance over at the signpost, and curse. If either of you could read, that sign might have the answer.
"I don't know. It could be minutes, it could be hours."
".... What do we do, Olaf?"
[] Redouble your pace. If there's a murderer about, that's only more reason to find shelter, and besides, you cannot afford to sit still. If whatever did this doesn't get you, the moon or the storm will.
[] Stop to investigate. Examining the wreckage might give you some clues about what exactly happened, maybe you can track the driver, or find something useful in the debris.
Peering out from under the safety of your hood, past the veritable curtain of rain that falls from the heavens, threatening to burst the banks of rivers and drown rodents in their own subterranean nests, you can see your companion, though only dimly.
Miska is of much the same height as you, but much broader of shoulder (especially for a woman), with thick arms and legs, strong enough to crush skulls underfoot, if she felt the need. For all her might, though, it is she who is having the worse time of it tonight.
You watch silently as she pulls her boot back up from where it had slipped at the side of the wide road, thick clumps of muck sliding off of it as she shakes the appendage free, muttering foul things under her breath. Small wonder at that, for had she properly fallen she would have been completely drenched in the stuff. Her outfit was well suited to the frosts and chills of the north, but not to the rains of southwestern Stirland, nor the mud that inevitably followed.
Splatters of mud stain her up to the knees, with the rain carving a pattern of long trenches through each filthy patch as it slides down the leather. In contrast, her woolen shirt appears to be completely sodden through, and you would reckon the water alone makes it half-again as heavy as it should be. The fur of her vest is flattened with dampness, and you can see that her hair, black enough that it's difficult to make out through the darkness, is plastered against her skin.
She growls, flicking her head to get the strands out of her eyes, before turning a pair of green eyes on you, burning with annoyance. Her accent was difficult to understand at first, but you've gotten the hang of it by now. "We should have stayed."
You snort in amusement, rolling your eyes. Not that she could see it, beneath the hood. You suppose you must not look much better at this point in time. A tall, rail-thin specter looming in the darkness like a wraith from out of a bad horror story, ready at any moment's notice to point a crooked, skeletal hand and announce mystical curses in a croaking ancient voice at whatever passerby happened to be handsome enough to qualify as protagonist-worthy.
Instead, you pull the cloak tighter about yourself, hoping to stave away the cold. "Well, maybe we could've if you hadn't insulted the Bailiff's wife." You had quickly taken flight from Ramsau after that, not daring to stay lest the local notables start bringing the law down on your heads. (You hadn't actually done anything illegal, but that's never stopped the law before.)
Miska only shrugs, nonplussed. "She was bitch. Besides, you already said we moving, I thought, no reason to hold back."
You frown, but do not have a response, because that was true enough. You had planned to travel today regardless. If what you were told at the last village had been true, you were within a day of the nearest coaching inn. Unfortunately, the storm had broken out while you were on the road, and mud and rain had slowed down your pace, 'today' had quickly turned into 'tonight'.
You made to respond, but a terrifyingly loud crack of thunder overhead caused you both to wince and look up, watching as distant lightning raked the sky, and beyond that, the Eerie emerald glow of the chaos moon. Morrslieb hung low and full in the sky, glaring down at the world balefully. Just looking at it made your skin prickle uncomfortably, you felt like you were being watched by a hundred hidden eyes.
Of all nights to be stuck out in a storm, you had the misfortune to do so on Geheimnisnacht.
The most wicked night of the year.
You had never been out on Geheimnisnacht before. For your entire life, it had been the one night the streets of Würtbad went quiet. Shops shuttered their fronts, taverns locked up by mid-day, and parents kept their children home, huddling close with them around the hearth. Yours included.
You had the good fortune to never have experienced anything terrible on this night, but cannot remember a time it passed that your spine did not crawl and your heart did not race. Tonight is no different.
They say all sorts of wicked things transpire under the gloam of Geheimnisnacht. They say cults of witches dances naked around fires in the wood, that mutants drag unsuspecting victims to be sacrificed in profane ceremonies deep beneath the earth, that ghosts and vampires and other fiends creep from their hiding places to work wickedness in the realms of men.
You do not know how much of this is true, and you certainly do not want to risk finding out.
Miska grunts, gritting her teeth in frustration. You share her dissatisfaction at the situation.
"There's nothing for it. We'll have to push on." You certainly aren't willing to test your flimsy tent out in this mess.
Your companion nods, and the two of you trudge on through the rain.
______________________________________________________________________________
A couple of minutes on, and Miska is nudging at your shoulder.
"Olaf, look."
You follow her pointing arm, squinting through the gloom. It takes you a moment, but you do eventually catch the outline of something large sitting at the side of the road. There is a large square box, a wheel, a … is that a dead horse?
Indeed, as the two of you approach, and the details become clearer, you can spy an entire wagon overturned on the side of the road, the kind that a merchant or farmer might use, Boxes and bags spilling over its side to lay across the ground, smashed open and torn apart. The corpse of a horse sinks partially into the mud near the front, liquid blood running out to mix with the rain. The sight and the stench makes you gag.
Miska's face is a stone mask, one hand drifting towards the axe hanging at her side. "This was done recently." and you trust her word on it, for the corpse is not yet decomposed. The two of you stare for a moment in shock, questions swirling in your mind.
Who did this? Why? How? Where … oh …. Oh, gods …
"Miska?"
"Hmm?"
"If they killed the horse … where's the driver?"
She pauses at that, thinking for a long moment. She does not have an answer, so instead she gives you a question. "How long until the inn?"
You glance over at the signpost, and curse. If either of you could read, that sign might have the answer.
"I don't know. It could be minutes, it could be hours."
".... What do we do, Olaf?"
[] Redouble your pace. If there's a murderer about, that's only more reason to find shelter, and besides, you cannot afford to sit still. If whatever did this doesn't get you, the moon or the storm will.
[] Stop to investigate. Examining the wreckage might give you some clues about what exactly happened, maybe you can track the driver, or find something useful in the debris.
IC #2
[X] Stop to investigate. Examining the wreckage might give you some clues about what exactly happened, maybe you can track the driver, or find something useful in the debris.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After a moment's thought, you come to a decision. You can't simply pass by the sight of a disaster on Geheimnisnacht and do nothing. Your mother told you a story, once, about a traveler on the road, desperate and starving, ignored by every passer-by, until finally a good Arabyan stopped to give him water and bread and drag him to the safety of the shade. Now, you are fairly certain that story was completely made up, nobody in your city had ever so much as seen an Arabyan, but the principle remains. Besides, if there's danger, you'd prefer to have foreknowledge of it. You can stomach a little longer outdoors.
At least, you think, glancing up at the Looming glow of Morrslieb, you hope so.
"We'll have to have a look, just to make sure."
Miska nods grimly, and the two of you drag yourselves over to examine the wreckage, the mud sucking at your boots with every step.
First up is the horse. It's closest to you, and you'd prefer to get it over with quickly. You crouch down on your haunches, squinting through the rain and the darkness to try and get a better look, holding your breath as the stench hits you. Swallowing thickly, you lift your trusty walking stick in both hands and, gingerly, cautiously, poke the body in the side a couple times, shoulders tense.
Alright, so it is fully dead, then. You know that at least.
The animal was an old one, but a sturdy one. With long, strong legs and a torso well-padded with muscle. The fur that covered most of it is a darker gray-ish color, although that might just be the lack of light or the mud that's worked its way between every strand. The poor thing has been half-sunken into the mud, its weight slowly dragging it down through the muck, with most of its long snout pushed into the earth at an awkward angle.
It still wears it's harness, leather straps criss-crossing the body to connect to the overturned form of the wagon it had been dragging. Between those straps, gouged into the flank facing the sky, are a number of grisly wounds.
It takes you a moment of looking before you recognize what you are seeing. The creature's side is covered in long, smooth gashes, raking down from its back to it's stomach. You are not precisely an expert, but you feel pretty confident in believing those are the marks of weapon strikes held in human (or near-human) hands. From knives or some such. No natural claw could make marks that smooth.
This is all the more confusing, however, when you compare it to the neck wound, which you reckon must have been the fatal one. With the horse's head twisted such as it is, its throat is bent slightly upwards, exposing the horrendous hole that has been torn into it. A huge chunk right in the middle of it's thick neck is missing, a bloody hole with ragged, torn edges which continually oozes, precious ichor mixing with the surrounding muck. A wound like that was ripped out by the bite of something wild and fierce.
So, no mere animals attacked this wagon … but they had animals with them? Attack dogs? Something like that …
Whatever the truth, it makes you shiver, worried at what might be haunting this night. You force yourself to move on, shuffling past the body towards where the wagon lays.
It's not quite as large as you thought at first. A long box on wheels, with a small bench attached at the front for a driver to sit on. Plain, brown-ish wood has been darkened by the damp of the rain. You examine the bench first.
It's not very impressive seating, with no padding to speak of. Just hard, bare wood and some square bits on the sides to keep you from falling off. There's no sign of the driver, not even a bloodstain. But there is a small pouch of coins that's slumped into the bottom corner, spilling a number of pennies out.
After a while of picking through, you manage to scrounge no less than nine brass pennies that have been left behind. It might have made you smile, under happier circumstances. You pocket them. Whoever they belong to won't be missing them.
+9 Pennies.
You awkwardly step over the fallen reigns to get around to the open side of the wagon, where the boxes and bags are strewn about. Almost everything here has been smashed apart, but you still take the time to look through it, poking around with the bottom end of your stick. At the very least, you can see what was being transported.
The answer was food, evidently. Burlap sacks filled with potatoes, carrots, or flour, now all fouled by muck. The boxes hold strings of dried sausages or stacked loaves of bread, all torn to pieces and half-eaten by … something. You're not quite sure what. Unfortunately, almost all the goods here have been ravaged beyond recognition, and being exposed to the rain and the mud has done in what's left. You're not desperate enough to eat mud, just yet.
There is, however, one item that has been left untouched, probably because it went unnoticed. A small keg, rolled halfway out of the lip of the wagon. A sturdy thing with oaken planks held together by bands of solid iron. A small tap is near the bottom, and it smells strongly of Alcohol. There are markings carved into the side, though of course you can't read what they say.
You take some time to look around the surrounding ground for any tracks or footprints that might give you more clues, but if there ever were any, the rain has long ago washed them away.
Cursing your luck, you finally step back, looking over the whole scene. The driver is still nowhere to be found, but you have a slightly better idea of what must have happened now. From the clues you've pieced together the wagon was attacked while it was still moving, that would explain its position and why the horse was still hitched up. A group that had to have at least one armed person and some sort of vicious animal struck from the side, slaying the horse quickly, and … you're not sure what happened to the driver, maybe he ran. Afterwards, they tipped the wagon over and began looting in a frenzy before presumably leaving on their own.
Your gaze is drawn inevitably upwards, towards the treeline of the nattern forest, not too far from the north of the road. The attack had to have come from there. That's the side the horse's wounds are on, and the side the wagon was pushed over from. You stare for a long moment into the darkness, worrying about what might be hiding in those arboreal shadows.
"Have you found anything, Miska?"
"Nyet. Come on, we can do no more here."
You nod, but spare a glance towards the keg that was left behind.
[] Take it with you. You can probably fetch some coins for it or something.
[] Leave it. Its weight may slow you down, and you don't want any questions about where you got it.
______________________________________________________________________________
By the time you finally come within sight of the Coaching inn, you are both utterly miserable and completely drenched. Your cloak is sodden through, clinging to your skin and weighing down your shoulder uncomfortably. Miska is trying her best not to shiver, and occasionally tucks one or both hands under her vest in a futile effort to keep them dry.
When you finally spy the warm, Orange light of windows up ahead, you nearly collapse in relief, before pulling yourself together and hurrying on towards safety.
Like most of its kind, the Coaching inn is a large establishment, built to serve many travelers at the same time, with specialized facilities to service the coach lines that pass through. Though you would bet that business has been slow tonight.
This one is positioned at a cross in the roads, where the nuln road meets a lesser trail passing north to south. The inn is stationed in the southern side, with its front facing the north road, and the forests beyond.
It's layout is an interesting one, consisting of two halves on either side of the road. The first, closest to your side, is a large, rectangular hall with thick stone walls and full tree-trunks anchoring each corner, acting as pillars. Sitting atop it is a level constructed of wood and wattle, large enough that it projects outwards, hanging past the edges of the first floor, supported by a network of tall wooden supports.
From this second floor, a long covered bridge-type thing connects to the second structure on the opposite side of the road, merging into it's own top floor. This second building appears as a very large wooden barn-type structure, with double-doors wide enough for a coach to pass through, positioned so that its length is perpendicular to that of the main inn building. A single roof stretches across both structure and the bridge, covered in wooden shingles painted a dull green, and you can see a large stone chimney puffing out smoke that curls and dissipates into the wet night air. Both buildings are surrounded by a short stone wall around the perimeter, the kind often used in sheepfolds.
Out front, right at the corner of the crossroads, stands an old well.
Encouraged by the sight of civilization at last, the two of you hurry along as fast as your weary legs can take you, stumbling through the dark towards the inviting glow of the windows. As you get closer, you can spy the sign hanging off the front, bearing a stylized painting of a horse laying down to sleep beside a parked chariot. It reminds you disturbingly of the massacre you found earlier, but for now, you put it out of mind.
A short hop up a small wooden staircase brings you to the front door, allowing you to sigh with relief as the rain is blocked by the floor overhead, but when you try to push the entrance open, it only jangles in place, refusing to move.
You scowl, because of course people lock their doors tonight.
You spare a single glance over your shoulder, past the impatiently looming form of Miska, and towards the night. Under the unnatural light of Morrslieb, every shadow seems to hold a flickering daemon-shape ready pounce, and your spine tingles with fear.
You turn back again, and knock on the door. When there is no response, you call out, and knock harder. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"
Still nothing, you slam your fist against the door until it hurts, raising your voice. "Hey! I know you're in there! Please, just open the door!"
At last, a small vision slit slides open, and a pair of suspicious eyes glower at you from beneath a pair of graying eyebrows. "Go Away."
You blink. "What? I … look, this is an Inn, isn't it? We're just looking for shelter, it's nasty out here."
"I'll not be 'havin any mutants or fiends slippin in so they can kill us overnight!"
"Oh come on! You can see me, I'm as human as you! You can't just leave me out here on Geheimnisnacht!"
"And who says yer not in disguise, hmm? You could be all kinds of things. Possessed, A Vampire, An Averlander …"
You sigh in exasperation. An Obstinate bouncer is the last thing you need to deal with tonight.
[] Just try to convince him. Surely, he has to see sense eventually. Perhaps there's something you can do to prove your innocence?
[] Tell him about the wagon you found. Maybe he'll be sympathetic enough to let you in when you warn him about the dangers out here.
[] Miska is growling behind you, just about fed up with this night. You have to agree. Step aside to let her rip the bouncer a verbal new one to scare him into opening the door.
[] Offer to pay him if he lets you in. You've found even the most suspicious people become less so when presented with coin.
[] Write-In
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After a moment's thought, you come to a decision. You can't simply pass by the sight of a disaster on Geheimnisnacht and do nothing. Your mother told you a story, once, about a traveler on the road, desperate and starving, ignored by every passer-by, until finally a good Arabyan stopped to give him water and bread and drag him to the safety of the shade. Now, you are fairly certain that story was completely made up, nobody in your city had ever so much as seen an Arabyan, but the principle remains. Besides, if there's danger, you'd prefer to have foreknowledge of it. You can stomach a little longer outdoors.
At least, you think, glancing up at the Looming glow of Morrslieb, you hope so.
"We'll have to have a look, just to make sure."
Miska nods grimly, and the two of you drag yourselves over to examine the wreckage, the mud sucking at your boots with every step.
First up is the horse. It's closest to you, and you'd prefer to get it over with quickly. You crouch down on your haunches, squinting through the rain and the darkness to try and get a better look, holding your breath as the stench hits you. Swallowing thickly, you lift your trusty walking stick in both hands and, gingerly, cautiously, poke the body in the side a couple times, shoulders tense.
Alright, so it is fully dead, then. You know that at least.
The animal was an old one, but a sturdy one. With long, strong legs and a torso well-padded with muscle. The fur that covered most of it is a darker gray-ish color, although that might just be the lack of light or the mud that's worked its way between every strand. The poor thing has been half-sunken into the mud, its weight slowly dragging it down through the muck, with most of its long snout pushed into the earth at an awkward angle.
It still wears it's harness, leather straps criss-crossing the body to connect to the overturned form of the wagon it had been dragging. Between those straps, gouged into the flank facing the sky, are a number of grisly wounds.
Roll 5/37 (Intelligence + Heal Skill) = Pass with 2 Degrees of Success!
It takes you a moment of looking before you recognize what you are seeing. The creature's side is covered in long, smooth gashes, raking down from its back to it's stomach. You are not precisely an expert, but you feel pretty confident in believing those are the marks of weapon strikes held in human (or near-human) hands. From knives or some such. No natural claw could make marks that smooth.
This is all the more confusing, however, when you compare it to the neck wound, which you reckon must have been the fatal one. With the horse's head twisted such as it is, its throat is bent slightly upwards, exposing the horrendous hole that has been torn into it. A huge chunk right in the middle of it's thick neck is missing, a bloody hole with ragged, torn edges which continually oozes, precious ichor mixing with the surrounding muck. A wound like that was ripped out by the bite of something wild and fierce.
So, no mere animals attacked this wagon … but they had animals with them? Attack dogs? Something like that …
Whatever the truth, it makes you shiver, worried at what might be haunting this night. You force yourself to move on, shuffling past the body towards where the wagon lays.
It's not quite as large as you thought at first. A long box on wheels, with a small bench attached at the front for a driver to sit on. Plain, brown-ish wood has been darkened by the damp of the rain. You examine the bench first.
Roll 20/32 (Intelligence + 0 Perception Skill) = Pass, 1 Degree of Success
It's not very impressive seating, with no padding to speak of. Just hard, bare wood and some square bits on the sides to keep you from falling off. There's no sign of the driver, not even a bloodstain. But there is a small pouch of coins that's slumped into the bottom corner, spilling a number of pennies out.
After a while of picking through, you manage to scrounge no less than nine brass pennies that have been left behind. It might have made you smile, under happier circumstances. You pocket them. Whoever they belong to won't be missing them.
+9 Pennies.
You awkwardly step over the fallen reigns to get around to the open side of the wagon, where the boxes and bags are strewn about. Almost everything here has been smashed apart, but you still take the time to look through it, poking around with the bottom end of your stick. At the very least, you can see what was being transported.
The answer was food, evidently. Burlap sacks filled with potatoes, carrots, or flour, now all fouled by muck. The boxes hold strings of dried sausages or stacked loaves of bread, all torn to pieces and half-eaten by … something. You're not quite sure what. Unfortunately, almost all the goods here have been ravaged beyond recognition, and being exposed to the rain and the mud has done in what's left. You're not desperate enough to eat mud, just yet.
There is, however, one item that has been left untouched, probably because it went unnoticed. A small keg, rolled halfway out of the lip of the wagon. A sturdy thing with oaken planks held together by bands of solid iron. A small tap is near the bottom, and it smells strongly of Alcohol. There are markings carved into the side, though of course you can't read what they say.
Roll: 16/12 (Intelligence + 0 perception skill- Difficulty) = Fail, 0 Degrees of Failure
You take some time to look around the surrounding ground for any tracks or footprints that might give you more clues, but if there ever were any, the rain has long ago washed them away.
Cursing your luck, you finally step back, looking over the whole scene. The driver is still nowhere to be found, but you have a slightly better idea of what must have happened now. From the clues you've pieced together the wagon was attacked while it was still moving, that would explain its position and why the horse was still hitched up. A group that had to have at least one armed person and some sort of vicious animal struck from the side, slaying the horse quickly, and … you're not sure what happened to the driver, maybe he ran. Afterwards, they tipped the wagon over and began looting in a frenzy before presumably leaving on their own.
Your gaze is drawn inevitably upwards, towards the treeline of the nattern forest, not too far from the north of the road. The attack had to have come from there. That's the side the horse's wounds are on, and the side the wagon was pushed over from. You stare for a long moment into the darkness, worrying about what might be hiding in those arboreal shadows.
"Have you found anything, Miska?"
"Nyet. Come on, we can do no more here."
You nod, but spare a glance towards the keg that was left behind.
[] Take it with you. You can probably fetch some coins for it or something.
[] Leave it. Its weight may slow you down, and you don't want any questions about where you got it.
______________________________________________________________________________
SKILL TEST
Roll: 23/26 (Toughness) = Pass
COMPANION SKILL TEST
Roll: 21/37 (Toughness) = Pass, 1 Degree of Success
Sickness avoided.
Roll: 23/26 (Toughness) = Pass
COMPANION SKILL TEST
Roll: 21/37 (Toughness) = Pass, 1 Degree of Success
Sickness avoided.
By the time you finally come within sight of the Coaching inn, you are both utterly miserable and completely drenched. Your cloak is sodden through, clinging to your skin and weighing down your shoulder uncomfortably. Miska is trying her best not to shiver, and occasionally tucks one or both hands under her vest in a futile effort to keep them dry.
When you finally spy the warm, Orange light of windows up ahead, you nearly collapse in relief, before pulling yourself together and hurrying on towards safety.
Like most of its kind, the Coaching inn is a large establishment, built to serve many travelers at the same time, with specialized facilities to service the coach lines that pass through. Though you would bet that business has been slow tonight.
This one is positioned at a cross in the roads, where the nuln road meets a lesser trail passing north to south. The inn is stationed in the southern side, with its front facing the north road, and the forests beyond.
It's layout is an interesting one, consisting of two halves on either side of the road. The first, closest to your side, is a large, rectangular hall with thick stone walls and full tree-trunks anchoring each corner, acting as pillars. Sitting atop it is a level constructed of wood and wattle, large enough that it projects outwards, hanging past the edges of the first floor, supported by a network of tall wooden supports.
From this second floor, a long covered bridge-type thing connects to the second structure on the opposite side of the road, merging into it's own top floor. This second building appears as a very large wooden barn-type structure, with double-doors wide enough for a coach to pass through, positioned so that its length is perpendicular to that of the main inn building. A single roof stretches across both structure and the bridge, covered in wooden shingles painted a dull green, and you can see a large stone chimney puffing out smoke that curls and dissipates into the wet night air. Both buildings are surrounded by a short stone wall around the perimeter, the kind often used in sheepfolds.
Out front, right at the corner of the crossroads, stands an old well.
Encouraged by the sight of civilization at last, the two of you hurry along as fast as your weary legs can take you, stumbling through the dark towards the inviting glow of the windows. As you get closer, you can spy the sign hanging off the front, bearing a stylized painting of a horse laying down to sleep beside a parked chariot. It reminds you disturbingly of the massacre you found earlier, but for now, you put it out of mind.
A short hop up a small wooden staircase brings you to the front door, allowing you to sigh with relief as the rain is blocked by the floor overhead, but when you try to push the entrance open, it only jangles in place, refusing to move.
You scowl, because of course people lock their doors tonight.
You spare a single glance over your shoulder, past the impatiently looming form of Miska, and towards the night. Under the unnatural light of Morrslieb, every shadow seems to hold a flickering daemon-shape ready pounce, and your spine tingles with fear.
You turn back again, and knock on the door. When there is no response, you call out, and knock harder. "Hello? Is anyone in there?"
Still nothing, you slam your fist against the door until it hurts, raising your voice. "Hey! I know you're in there! Please, just open the door!"
At last, a small vision slit slides open, and a pair of suspicious eyes glower at you from beneath a pair of graying eyebrows. "Go Away."
You blink. "What? I … look, this is an Inn, isn't it? We're just looking for shelter, it's nasty out here."
"I'll not be 'havin any mutants or fiends slippin in so they can kill us overnight!"
"Oh come on! You can see me, I'm as human as you! You can't just leave me out here on Geheimnisnacht!"
"And who says yer not in disguise, hmm? You could be all kinds of things. Possessed, A Vampire, An Averlander …"
You sigh in exasperation. An Obstinate bouncer is the last thing you need to deal with tonight.
[] Just try to convince him. Surely, he has to see sense eventually. Perhaps there's something you can do to prove your innocence?
[] Tell him about the wagon you found. Maybe he'll be sympathetic enough to let you in when you warn him about the dangers out here.
[] Miska is growling behind you, just about fed up with this night. You have to agree. Step aside to let her rip the bouncer a verbal new one to scare him into opening the door.
[] Offer to pay him if he lets you in. You've found even the most suspicious people become less so when presented with coin.
[] Write-In
IC #3
You take a deep breath before leaning in to respond in a hissed whisper. "Look, there's certainly fiends out here, but it ain't us! We found a whole wagon back aways, overturned and looted! The horse was dead, and the driver was gone! Im tellin' you there's something bad out 'ere"
The eyes behind the door narrow, and you hear a snort. "Oh, aye? And i suppose your running scared with a norscan horde right behind ya too?"
"I got proof ya idjit, look!" You gesture Miska forward, and she hefts the keg you brought from the cart into sight, waving it in front of the viewing hole.
"We got that from the wreckage! Only bloody thing left intact."
The eyes widen, and there is a moment of silence as the man on the other side thinks. "... They was expectin' a delivery the day before … it never showed …"
Miska grunts. "No shit."
The eyes narrow back down. "... Supposin' I believe that there's something out there, hmm? How do I know it's not you? How do I know you didnt destroy the wagon yerself?"
You sigh, exasperated. "If I did, why would I even let you know it was wrecked at all? Why invite suspicion? If'n I was a fiend, why wouldn't I just break down the door?"
There is a grunt. "Monsters and such have all kinds 'o tricks … but I aint ever heard of an honest one … Fine. You can come in, but you best watch yourself, I know I will."
The vision slit slides closed again, and when you hear the sound of locks being clicked and a bar being moved, you sigh in relief, glad to have a guarantee of shelter at last.
The door opens, the two of you step through, out of the relentless rainstorm, and are hit immediately with a wall of warmth and the tantalizing smell of cooking food. It is a balm to your aching senses.
The bar-room takes up what you can only assume to be the majority of the bottom floor. The wooden floor beneath your boots is old and stained with generations of spilled drinks, but it is also solid enough that it doesn't creak. The walls are bare stone themselves, but they have been hung and draped with woven mats and horse-blankets to create a makeshift form of insulation, creating a mosaic of muted colors and patterns that cast their own, small shadows against the wall.
Right beside you, and therefore right beside the door, stands a small number of stools, stands, and racks upon which are piled a messy mixture of cloaks and hats and scarves and gloves, the discarded paraphernalia of travelers come to rest. Nearby stands a grumpy looking man with a leather jacket over his shirt and thick, darker brown hair. He grumbles to himself, moving to put down a militia spear by leaning it up against the wall. The bouncer who opened the door for you, you presume.
He is not the only one here, but, as you suspected, on a night like this the place is far emptier than it was designed to be.
Most of the space is taken up by an assortment of tables, Round or square or an uneven attempt to replicate those shapes, surrounded each by a loose assortment of stools and chairs and flat benches.
Most of these tables are empty. Most, but not all. A variety of faces glance up at you as you step further inside, curiosity and caution warring on their features.
To one side, two men sit together, while a third leans against the table, as though he had walked over to speak with them. One of the sitting men is old, his hair gray and thinning, his face lined with wrinkles, his posture stooped and hunched. He wears a leather apron, and his belt is lined with tools. The second might be his opposite, tall and fit and young, with strong arms and the blond hair and the patchy whiskers of a boy only just turned man. Though he, too, bears the garb of a workman. The third, the one who leans, is somewhere in the middle of that age range, and is just a little on the fatter side, with an unkempt black beard and hair, although his clothes are clean. All three give you a glance, look you up and down, before dismissing you as unimportant, and going back to their conversation.
Roughly in the middle, there is a clean-shaven young man with dark hair bent deeply over his table. He has a plate of food that's been left almost untouched, set aside so that he may leaf through a pile of books and papers, examining them by flickering candlelight. He barely glanced up as you entered, taking note of you with deep, tired eyes, before returning to whatever it is he is studying. He wears a nice-ish linen shirt, and you can see a doublet folded over the chair behind him.
A more intimidating figure takes a seat along the left wall, with thick auburn muttonchops and hair that would be long, if it was not tied back into a sort of ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. A long scar runs from one cheek to another, across the bridge of his nose, and he has not bothered to take off the studded leather pads that offer protection to most of his body. A battered old shield leans against his chair. He watches you like a hawk for awhile, one hand rubbing at his chin.
At the opposite end of the room from the entrance a very long bartop stretches, it's counter worn smooth by many hands over many years, lined with dedicated seats. Only three of which are occupied.
The first you think, for a moment, must be a child, for they are so small in stature that their head barely comes up above the bartop. But there are no large figures accompanying them, and as they turn in their seat to give you a cheerful wave, revealing the features of a woman grown, you realize that this must be a halfling. A halfling on the move, judging by the oversized bags and rucksacks that are piled around her like small mountains.
Only a couple seats away is another woman, both human, by the looks. An older, dignified woman wearing a black dress, her hair up in a tight bun and gray shawl, sniffing disdainfully at the bowl of stew before her, accompanied closely by a younger slip of a girl, mousey and thin with a simple but clean peasant dress.
Behind the bar, a portly man with a large walrus mustache wipes down beer steins, diligently attempting to ignore the small boy tugging at his pant leg, while an even portlier woman hurries out from behind the counter, carrying a tray in one hand … in your direction.
"Oh, you poor dears! I hope Heinz didn't give you too much trouble, he's a stubborn old goat."
The man with the spear grunts, crossing his arms.
"Come with me, come with me, we'll get you sorted out."
Before either you and Miska can so much as utter a word, you find yourselves in the middle of a flurry of activity as the woman pushes you past a staircase towards a crackling hearth, tut-tutting and fussing over you at a pace that is impossible to keep up with. She strips you of your cloak, and sets it to dry before the fireplace, before pushing you both down into seats nearby, and pouring out foaming ale into mugs you hadn't even noticed.
You find yourself relaxing into your seat almost unconsciously.
"Oh, bless your hearts, dreadful night to be caught outside, just dreadful. Look at the state of ya! Lucky you came when you did, you could catch your death in that rain. Now, don't you worry a toff, dears. Well get you nice and warm and fed. Tonight, everyone gets an ale and a warm stew and can sleep on the floor for free-"
"No they dont!" Hollers the man behind the bar without looking up.
"Yes they do!" Snaps the matronly woman, before turning back to you, shaking her head. The man grumbles, but goes back to cleaning his glass. You get the impression this is an argument that has been had many times, and one that he has yet to win. "A bit of hospitality is the least we can do on a night like this. Outright indecent, otherwise. My name's Helga, by the way, if you have any questions, you can come right to me. Now, i'll go fetch you your meal, maybe two for the big lass, and some blankets. We have rooms if you like but those'll still cost ya, were aren't running a charity here after all, and-"
She pauses, eyes lingering on the keg awkwardly cradled in Miska's lap. Narrowing in suspicion.
"-Is that Bugman's? Expensive stuff, that. Where'd you get it?"
You glance over. "Oh, aye we found that amid the wreckage. A whole cart overturned on the road. Horse slaughtered. There's something foul out there, mark my words."
She pales with fright. Her voice suddenly faint.
"I … we were expecting a delivery with Bugmans yesterday. When it didn't show, we figured Metzler was off drunk again, the sot. But … but he didn't deserve to die … I … do you know what did him in?"
You shrug. "We had a look, but nothing was clear. His body was gone."
The whole room goes quiet, and more than one patron looks over in your direction. Heinz, the bouncer, curses. Something about brigands.
Helga swallows thickly. "Gods be good, the poor man … and these are meant to be peaceful parts. … Well, I thank you for grabbing what you could-"
She holds out a hand, expectantly.
"-And i'll thank you for returning our delivery, late as it is. I suppose well have to go out in the morning and have a look for the wagon … and tell the wardens, gods…"
Miska frowns, and pulls the keg closer protectively. "Hold on. We found. Is ours." This is unsurprising to you, Miska likes drink more than life, and can be greedy, sometimes.
[] Just give it back to her. If they ordered it, its theirs.
[] You found it fair and Square. Keep it.
[] Offer to give it back in exchange for coin.
[] Offer to give it back in exchange for something else.
-[] What?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
You are now safely inside the Inn. You are provided ale, a hot stew, and a place by the fire to sleep for free.
But you are not the last person who will come calling.
You have 1 hour until something drastic comes knocking at the inn's door. How do you spend this time? Choose 4 of the following options.
[] Start up a conversation with someone. (can be taken multiple times)
-[]Who?
-[]About what?
[] The warrior sitting alone is flipping through a scarlet empress deck. Maybe you can challenge him to a game and win some coin. Or lose some.
[] Your mother taught you well, and these people look to be in need of cheering up. Perhaps you could tell a story to distract them? Maybe, if you do good enough, a few generous souls will toss some pennies your way.
-[] What kind of story do you tell?
[] Purchase a proper room, you don't want to sleep on the floor tonight. (10p) (can be taken multiple times)
-[] Attempt to bargain the price down. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.
[] There's plenty of food here, and more importantly, alcohol. If you wanted to get stinknig drunk, this is a pretty good place to do it. (can be taken multiple times)
-[] What do you want to add to your meal? This will determine the price.
-[] Attempt to bargain down the price. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.
[] An inn this large probably has supplies to spare for the road, maybe you can buy something useful? (can be taken multiple times)
-[] What are you aiming to purchase? This will determine the price.
-[] Attempt to bargain down the price. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.
[] Just sit back and enjoy the fire. You need to rest.
[] Write in.
The eyes behind the door narrow, and you hear a snort. "Oh, aye? And i suppose your running scared with a norscan horde right behind ya too?"
"I got proof ya idjit, look!" You gesture Miska forward, and she hefts the keg you brought from the cart into sight, waving it in front of the viewing hole.
"We got that from the wreckage! Only bloody thing left intact."
The eyes widen, and there is a moment of silence as the man on the other side thinks. "... They was expectin' a delivery the day before … it never showed …"
Miska grunts. "No shit."
The eyes narrow back down. "... Supposin' I believe that there's something out there, hmm? How do I know it's not you? How do I know you didnt destroy the wagon yerself?"
18/36 (Fellowship -10 (Paranoia) +10 (Evidence) = Pass, 1 Degree of Success
You sigh, exasperated. "If I did, why would I even let you know it was wrecked at all? Why invite suspicion? If'n I was a fiend, why wouldn't I just break down the door?"
There is a grunt. "Monsters and such have all kinds 'o tricks … but I aint ever heard of an honest one … Fine. You can come in, but you best watch yourself, I know I will."
The vision slit slides closed again, and when you hear the sound of locks being clicked and a bar being moved, you sigh in relief, glad to have a guarantee of shelter at last.
The door opens, the two of you step through, out of the relentless rainstorm, and are hit immediately with a wall of warmth and the tantalizing smell of cooking food. It is a balm to your aching senses.
The bar-room takes up what you can only assume to be the majority of the bottom floor. The wooden floor beneath your boots is old and stained with generations of spilled drinks, but it is also solid enough that it doesn't creak. The walls are bare stone themselves, but they have been hung and draped with woven mats and horse-blankets to create a makeshift form of insulation, creating a mosaic of muted colors and patterns that cast their own, small shadows against the wall.
Right beside you, and therefore right beside the door, stands a small number of stools, stands, and racks upon which are piled a messy mixture of cloaks and hats and scarves and gloves, the discarded paraphernalia of travelers come to rest. Nearby stands a grumpy looking man with a leather jacket over his shirt and thick, darker brown hair. He grumbles to himself, moving to put down a militia spear by leaning it up against the wall. The bouncer who opened the door for you, you presume.
He is not the only one here, but, as you suspected, on a night like this the place is far emptier than it was designed to be.
Most of the space is taken up by an assortment of tables, Round or square or an uneven attempt to replicate those shapes, surrounded each by a loose assortment of stools and chairs and flat benches.
Most of these tables are empty. Most, but not all. A variety of faces glance up at you as you step further inside, curiosity and caution warring on their features.
To one side, two men sit together, while a third leans against the table, as though he had walked over to speak with them. One of the sitting men is old, his hair gray and thinning, his face lined with wrinkles, his posture stooped and hunched. He wears a leather apron, and his belt is lined with tools. The second might be his opposite, tall and fit and young, with strong arms and the blond hair and the patchy whiskers of a boy only just turned man. Though he, too, bears the garb of a workman. The third, the one who leans, is somewhere in the middle of that age range, and is just a little on the fatter side, with an unkempt black beard and hair, although his clothes are clean. All three give you a glance, look you up and down, before dismissing you as unimportant, and going back to their conversation.
Roughly in the middle, there is a clean-shaven young man with dark hair bent deeply over his table. He has a plate of food that's been left almost untouched, set aside so that he may leaf through a pile of books and papers, examining them by flickering candlelight. He barely glanced up as you entered, taking note of you with deep, tired eyes, before returning to whatever it is he is studying. He wears a nice-ish linen shirt, and you can see a doublet folded over the chair behind him.
A more intimidating figure takes a seat along the left wall, with thick auburn muttonchops and hair that would be long, if it was not tied back into a sort of ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. A long scar runs from one cheek to another, across the bridge of his nose, and he has not bothered to take off the studded leather pads that offer protection to most of his body. A battered old shield leans against his chair. He watches you like a hawk for awhile, one hand rubbing at his chin.
At the opposite end of the room from the entrance a very long bartop stretches, it's counter worn smooth by many hands over many years, lined with dedicated seats. Only three of which are occupied.
The first you think, for a moment, must be a child, for they are so small in stature that their head barely comes up above the bartop. But there are no large figures accompanying them, and as they turn in their seat to give you a cheerful wave, revealing the features of a woman grown, you realize that this must be a halfling. A halfling on the move, judging by the oversized bags and rucksacks that are piled around her like small mountains.
Only a couple seats away is another woman, both human, by the looks. An older, dignified woman wearing a black dress, her hair up in a tight bun and gray shawl, sniffing disdainfully at the bowl of stew before her, accompanied closely by a younger slip of a girl, mousey and thin with a simple but clean peasant dress.
Behind the bar, a portly man with a large walrus mustache wipes down beer steins, diligently attempting to ignore the small boy tugging at his pant leg, while an even portlier woman hurries out from behind the counter, carrying a tray in one hand … in your direction.
"Oh, you poor dears! I hope Heinz didn't give you too much trouble, he's a stubborn old goat."
The man with the spear grunts, crossing his arms.
"Come with me, come with me, we'll get you sorted out."
Before either you and Miska can so much as utter a word, you find yourselves in the middle of a flurry of activity as the woman pushes you past a staircase towards a crackling hearth, tut-tutting and fussing over you at a pace that is impossible to keep up with. She strips you of your cloak, and sets it to dry before the fireplace, before pushing you both down into seats nearby, and pouring out foaming ale into mugs you hadn't even noticed.
You find yourself relaxing into your seat almost unconsciously.
"Oh, bless your hearts, dreadful night to be caught outside, just dreadful. Look at the state of ya! Lucky you came when you did, you could catch your death in that rain. Now, don't you worry a toff, dears. Well get you nice and warm and fed. Tonight, everyone gets an ale and a warm stew and can sleep on the floor for free-"
"No they dont!" Hollers the man behind the bar without looking up.
"Yes they do!" Snaps the matronly woman, before turning back to you, shaking her head. The man grumbles, but goes back to cleaning his glass. You get the impression this is an argument that has been had many times, and one that he has yet to win. "A bit of hospitality is the least we can do on a night like this. Outright indecent, otherwise. My name's Helga, by the way, if you have any questions, you can come right to me. Now, i'll go fetch you your meal, maybe two for the big lass, and some blankets. We have rooms if you like but those'll still cost ya, were aren't running a charity here after all, and-"
She pauses, eyes lingering on the keg awkwardly cradled in Miska's lap. Narrowing in suspicion.
"-Is that Bugman's? Expensive stuff, that. Where'd you get it?"
You glance over. "Oh, aye we found that amid the wreckage. A whole cart overturned on the road. Horse slaughtered. There's something foul out there, mark my words."
She pales with fright. Her voice suddenly faint.
"I … we were expecting a delivery with Bugmans yesterday. When it didn't show, we figured Metzler was off drunk again, the sot. But … but he didn't deserve to die … I … do you know what did him in?"
You shrug. "We had a look, but nothing was clear. His body was gone."
The whole room goes quiet, and more than one patron looks over in your direction. Heinz, the bouncer, curses. Something about brigands.
Helga swallows thickly. "Gods be good, the poor man … and these are meant to be peaceful parts. … Well, I thank you for grabbing what you could-"
She holds out a hand, expectantly.
"-And i'll thank you for returning our delivery, late as it is. I suppose well have to go out in the morning and have a look for the wagon … and tell the wardens, gods…"
Miska frowns, and pulls the keg closer protectively. "Hold on. We found. Is ours." This is unsurprising to you, Miska likes drink more than life, and can be greedy, sometimes.
[] Just give it back to her. If they ordered it, its theirs.
[] You found it fair and Square. Keep it.
[] Offer to give it back in exchange for coin.
[] Offer to give it back in exchange for something else.
-[] What?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
You are now safely inside the Inn. You are provided ale, a hot stew, and a place by the fire to sleep for free.
But you are not the last person who will come calling.
You have 1 hour until something drastic comes knocking at the inn's door. How do you spend this time? Choose 4 of the following options.
[] Start up a conversation with someone. (can be taken multiple times)
-[]Who?
-[]About what?
[] The warrior sitting alone is flipping through a scarlet empress deck. Maybe you can challenge him to a game and win some coin. Or lose some.
[] Your mother taught you well, and these people look to be in need of cheering up. Perhaps you could tell a story to distract them? Maybe, if you do good enough, a few generous souls will toss some pennies your way.
-[] What kind of story do you tell?
[] Purchase a proper room, you don't want to sleep on the floor tonight. (10p) (can be taken multiple times)
-[] Attempt to bargain the price down. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.
[] There's plenty of food here, and more importantly, alcohol. If you wanted to get stinknig drunk, this is a pretty good place to do it. (can be taken multiple times)
-[] What do you want to add to your meal? This will determine the price.
-[] Attempt to bargain down the price. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.
[] An inn this large probably has supplies to spare for the road, maybe you can buy something useful? (can be taken multiple times)
-[] What are you aiming to purchase? This will determine the price.
-[] Attempt to bargain down the price. Success will reduce the cost, failure will slightly upset your hosts.
[] Just sit back and enjoy the fire. You need to rest.
[] Write in.
Last edited:
IC #4
It takes you a small moment to come to a decision, but in the end it isn't that hard. The inn paid for and ordered a delivery, just because it didn't arrive on time doesn't mean it's not theirs. You are a good son of Sigmar, and you were taught better than to steal. (At least, where people can see it.) Sighing, you give Miska a glance, gesturing towards the awaiting Helga. Your companion frowns at you, but gives in after an insistent nod, snorting as she lifts the keg over.
Helga, for her part, gives a small smile, cradling the keg in her hands. "Thank you kindly, dears. I'll be right back over with your meals." She hums a happy little tune as she toddles back the way she came.
With that issue being settled, you take some time to look around, examining your fellow guests. Most keep to themselves, the mood too grim and reserved for anything else. Even the bearded man has stepped away from the craftsmen at their table, returning to his own little spot, nursing a mug and leaning his head in one hand. Most people are gripped by fear and melancholy on Geheimnisnacht, this is no surprise.
But scared and lonely people are exactly the kind who could use a story. An idea slowly begins to form in your head, one you ponder even as Helga returns, placing down three wooden bowls on the table between you and Miska, steam curling from a creamy-hued broth filled with little pieces of meat and vegetable. She slides two towards Miska, and one towards you, and you make sure to say "Thank you, Fraulein" before she takes her leave again.
Your companion immediately begins devouring her meal, slurping down great mouthfuls and making appreciative noises. You go more slowly, leaning back in your seat, enjoying the taste of sliced chunks of beef and carrot. It's pretty average fare altogether, but it warms your insides and fills your belly, so that's the important part. You spend the time gazing out into the rest of the room, thinking.
"I know that look, Little man. What are you planning?"
The ghost of a smile crosses your lips.
"I'm planning to cheer our hosts up."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"You know…" You raise your voice, just enough to catch the attention of the other guests, glancing out one window, where rain splatters against the glass. "... It was a night just like this one."
The workmen and the halfling glance in your direction, but most continue to ignore you, as you had anticipated.
"What night?" Miska speaks up, also raising her voice. Your loyal accomplice.
"The night Ratmen stormed the Ulricsberg."
That certainly got everyone's attention. Though unfortunately, nature did not see fit to accompany your proclamation with a crack of thunder as you had hoped. Oh well, you could make do.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"... And with one final, mighty blow of Ghal Maraz, Mandred knocked the evil warlord's head clean off, sending it hurtling off across the field to land in a foxhole! Single-Handedly saving the day, and inventing the sport of golf at the same time!"
By this time you had dragged your chair towards the center of the room, and leant forward in your seat, gesturing wildly to illustrate imaginary battles and imitate the mannerisms of aristocrats a thousand years dead, or fictional villains.
Your efforts had been enough to net you the attention of the guests, and most had pulled themselves closer to listen with various levels of interest. Only the young man with the nice clothes continued to ignore you, engrossed as he was in his papers.
Your last line earns you a round of laughter and some light clapping from the halfling woman. You smile, glad in the knowledge that you had certainly lifted the abysmal mood, if only by a little bit. One foot gently nudges the tin cup from your pack that Miska had set before you to collect any tips.
Your smile quickly evaporates when nobody comes forward to put so much as a penny in it.
Ungrateful bastards.
A hand on your shoulder causes you to look up, seeing Miska's uneven smile as she pats you comfortingly. "Cheer up, little man. There may be money to be won yet."
You follow her nod towards the warrior with the shield, who has now returned to his table, and is flipping through a deck of worn playing cards. You nod, picking yourself up and heading over. Maybe Ranald will yet smile upon you. Besides, of anyone here, he alone looks like he might have answers to questions still lingering in your mind.
He looks up as you approach.
"Ahh, the storyteller! And how can I help you today?" His voice is low, and rough. The voice of a career fighter.
You gesture at the cards in his hands. "Need another couple players?"
He chuckles, waving a hand to the other chairs, even as he begins to set out the deck. "Please, I've been bored stiff here, and your the most entertaining thing i've seen all night. What's your wager?"
A hand goes to the pouch at your side, fingering through your coin. "Let's start low. A penny apiece? I'm afraid I can't afford very high stakes, at the moment."
He shrugs, evidently unoffended by the low amount as he tosses a penny into the center of the table. You and Miska do the same before taking up your cards. "It's just a friendly game, anyway. You can call me Gerhardt."
"Olaf, and this is Miska. Pleased to meet you."
The first round goes poorly for you, having drawn a bad hand, with no opportunity on the Horizon to replace your worst cards. You fail at hiding a small frown, but distract yourself by engaging your new acquaintance in conversation.
"So, Gerhardt, are you a soldier?"
"Ehh, of a sort. Don't work for the count, if that's what you mean."
"Sellsword?"
He inclines his head to Miska, exchanging one of his cards from the pile. "Aye. from Schwarzhafen, originally. Worked keeping merchants safe."
You raise an eyebrow. "On the Sylvanian border?"
His expression betrays nothing, but a single hand comes up to rub the back of his neck as he splays out his cards, revealing three lectors of a kind. "Aye. Plenty of business … but not good business. Movin' west, now. Hopin' for easier work and better pay. Reiklanders are fancy lads, they got the coin, and I got the steel."
Miska says nothing, but grins smugly as she reveals her hand. A full court. Both you and Gerhardt Groan theatrically as she scoops up her winnings, before you all put another penny in the pile.
"Well, good thing you are, then. You're just the kind of person I need to speak too about the mess on the road I mentioned earlier."
He narrows his eyes at you. "I didn't hurt anyone, if that's what your suggesting."
You wave a hand in a calming motion. "No, no, i don't mean to accuse anyone here. I was just hoping, being a man with some experience, you might be able to tell what hit the wagon." You have two pairs, and take the risk of sacrificing both of them to try a full court, but only end up worse than before.
He relaxes at that, humming for a moment, before shrugging. "Don't know how much help I'll be, but alright." He seems equally confident in his hand, and changes only one card.
"The horse was killed and left, but the driver was taken. No sign of him. The cart was also looted. Know anything that might have done that?"
Miska passes the next couple changes with silence.
Gerhardt rubs his chin at your question. "Were there signs of weapons?"
"Aye, as far as I could tell, there were blades, but also bites from something big and hungry. It seemed like all the wounds were on the side of the forest, and that's the same direction the cart was tipped over from."
He grunts, changing out another card before answering. "By the method, it could be either bandits, beastmen, or goblins. Fast attacks in the dark like that? Comin from a hidin place in the forest? fits how they all fight. Any of them are possible but… But I'd bet you my left bollock it's the beasts."
"What makes you say that?"
"Process of elimination. Bandits are least likely. Thieves and whoresons they may be, they're still men, and on this night? They'll be cowering in the safest holes they can find, same as you or me. They might be willing to kidnap a poor bastard for ransom, but the bite marks don't match. It's a rare bandit that can afford trained war dogs."
"What about the goblins?"
"The green little fucks train up all sorts of nasty critters to do their fightin' for 'em, so that checks. But they also tend to be wary on Geheimnisnacht, and I've never seen them take prisoners."
"So that leaves the beastmen?"
"Aye. Half o' the brutes can do the biting themselves, or, like the goblins, they have packs of creatures following them. They become more active on nights like this, they think their gods are watchin' close, so they do whatever they can to please 'em. And they've been known to take folks alive, drag 'em back to the forest and gut them in all kinds of obscene rites and rituals. The pieces fit." He finishes the grim tirade by placing down his cards, and winning the round, leaving you to ponder on what has been said.
You haven't had the displeasure of encountering either Beastmen or goblins yet in your travels, and you hope that doesn't change.
The final round of the game everyone throws in two pennies to heighten the stakes, and things move fairly quickly. At the end, Miska is the Overall winner, making her pouch a little weightier, even if yours is a little emptier. A result she doesn't seem to mind, even if you do.
Just as the three of you are preparing for another round (possibly an unwise decision, given your track record so far), a loud noise distracts you, a hurried thumping impacting against the door. You glance over to see Heinz, the bouncer who denied you entry before, grumbling and taking up his spear as he walks over. "Another one? At this hour?"
Whoever is on the other side seems very insistent, the pounding gets louder, harder, a hoarse voice screams through the door. "Open this bloody door, now!"
Heinz scowls, opening the slit to peer through. "No more guests, piss off!"
"BY THE COMET YOU WILL OPEN THIS DOOR!"
Heinz Scoffs. "Like 'ells i will. No more guests tonight."
"If this door isn't open on the count of three, i'll break it down!"
"Id like to see you try you-"
Another voice interrupts, screaming, loud and high-pitched. "SARGE! THEY'RE ON US!"
The sound that comes next is a loud, thunderous crack that echoes through the air, followed by an unnatural warbling cry.
You realize, slowly, that what you just heard was the sound of a gun going off, and something being hit by it.
Something inhuman.
Heinz's eyes shoot wide open, and, his previous stubbornness gone, hurries to unbar the door and jerk it open. Not even he is willing to watch people be slaughtered right in front of him.
Three figures immediately shove past him, tumbling and stumbling through the door in such a hurry that they nearly trip over one another. All three are dressed in rough leather coats, with padded sections, sewn in patches, and thick gloves. The tallest has the curved shape of a saber rattling at his hip, though both his hands are occupied. One has a smoking pistol, the other cradles a large bundle of white cloth to his side. Another, shorter one, holds a crossbow loosel. The third collapses to his knees, uttering curses as he clutches at his side, where red liquid seeps through to leak onto the ground.
The whole inn lights up with a cavalcade of curses, questions, and gasps of shock, most people stand up to their feet.
The man with the crossbow immediately stoops to help the injured one, while the man with the saber shoves his shoulder back against the door, attempting to help Heinz close it, but no sooner have they begun than something else slams into it from the other side, and a long, gangly, furred arm is pushing through the gap, swinging a crooked knife as the men struggle to close the door on it.
You hear, from outside, a terrible cacophony of snarls and growls, and the bleating of something like (But not quite the same as) a sheep, accompanied soon after by the shattering of glass on either end of the hall, as some-things begin to force their way through the windows.
Your mind races, your pulse quickens, panic begins to set in your heart.
What do you do?
[] Go towards the front door and-
-[] Help the injured stranger, that wound looks bad.
-[] Help shove the door closed, closing off one avenue of entry.
-[] Attack the thing trying to push through, even if you can't hurt it, distracting it will help.
-[] With your stick
-[] With your knife
[] Go towards the eastern window, closer to the tables of the Workmen and the fat man they were talking to. There's nothing much that can stop the thing coming through that window, but maybe you can contribute to the fight. You make ready your
-[] Stick
-[] Knife
[] Go towards the westernmost corner, closest to Gerhardt and where you currently are. There's nothing much that can stop the thing coming through, but maybe you can contribute to the fight. You make ready your
-[] Stick
-[] Knife
[] Look for somewhere to hide. You are no warrior, and there are more capable people here. The best thing you can do is stay out of their way and stay safe.
-[] Hide under a table.
-[] Hide behind the bar.
-[] House upstairs.
[] Rush past the bar towards the back. You're willing to bet there's a back door there, and maybe you can escape through it.
[] Write in.
You have time to tell Miska to do one thing. What do you ask her to do?
[] Write in.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
To be clear, if you had rolled better on the performance you would have made some money (based on degrees of success), so it wasn't a wasted action, just a little bit unlucky.
Helga, for her part, gives a small smile, cradling the keg in her hands. "Thank you kindly, dears. I'll be right back over with your meals." She hums a happy little tune as she toddles back the way she came.
With that issue being settled, you take some time to look around, examining your fellow guests. Most keep to themselves, the mood too grim and reserved for anything else. Even the bearded man has stepped away from the craftsmen at their table, returning to his own little spot, nursing a mug and leaning his head in one hand. Most people are gripped by fear and melancholy on Geheimnisnacht, this is no surprise.
But scared and lonely people are exactly the kind who could use a story. An idea slowly begins to form in your head, one you ponder even as Helga returns, placing down three wooden bowls on the table between you and Miska, steam curling from a creamy-hued broth filled with little pieces of meat and vegetable. She slides two towards Miska, and one towards you, and you make sure to say "Thank you, Fraulein" before she takes her leave again.
Your companion immediately begins devouring her meal, slurping down great mouthfuls and making appreciative noises. You go more slowly, leaning back in your seat, enjoying the taste of sliced chunks of beef and carrot. It's pretty average fare altogether, but it warms your insides and fills your belly, so that's the important part. You spend the time gazing out into the rest of the room, thinking.
"I know that look, Little man. What are you planning?"
The ghost of a smile crosses your lips.
"I'm planning to cheer our hosts up."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Roll: 41/43 (Fellowship + Storyteller) = Pass, 0 degrees of Success
"You know…" You raise your voice, just enough to catch the attention of the other guests, glancing out one window, where rain splatters against the glass. "... It was a night just like this one."
The workmen and the halfling glance in your direction, but most continue to ignore you, as you had anticipated.
"What night?" Miska speaks up, also raising her voice. Your loyal accomplice.
"The night Ratmen stormed the Ulricsberg."
That certainly got everyone's attention. Though unfortunately, nature did not see fit to accompany your proclamation with a crack of thunder as you had hoped. Oh well, you could make do.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"... And with one final, mighty blow of Ghal Maraz, Mandred knocked the evil warlord's head clean off, sending it hurtling off across the field to land in a foxhole! Single-Handedly saving the day, and inventing the sport of golf at the same time!"
By this time you had dragged your chair towards the center of the room, and leant forward in your seat, gesturing wildly to illustrate imaginary battles and imitate the mannerisms of aristocrats a thousand years dead, or fictional villains.
Your efforts had been enough to net you the attention of the guests, and most had pulled themselves closer to listen with various levels of interest. Only the young man with the nice clothes continued to ignore you, engrossed as he was in his papers.
Your last line earns you a round of laughter and some light clapping from the halfling woman. You smile, glad in the knowledge that you had certainly lifted the abysmal mood, if only by a little bit. One foot gently nudges the tin cup from your pack that Miska had set before you to collect any tips.
Your smile quickly evaporates when nobody comes forward to put so much as a penny in it.
Ungrateful bastards.
A hand on your shoulder causes you to look up, seeing Miska's uneven smile as she pats you comfortingly. "Cheer up, little man. There may be money to be won yet."
You follow her nod towards the warrior with the shield, who has now returned to his table, and is flipping through a deck of worn playing cards. You nod, picking yourself up and heading over. Maybe Ranald will yet smile upon you. Besides, of anyone here, he alone looks like he might have answers to questions still lingering in your mind.
He looks up as you approach.
"Ahh, the storyteller! And how can I help you today?" His voice is low, and rough. The voice of a career fighter.
You gesture at the cards in his hands. "Need another couple players?"
He chuckles, waving a hand to the other chairs, even as he begins to set out the deck. "Please, I've been bored stiff here, and your the most entertaining thing i've seen all night. What's your wager?"
A hand goes to the pouch at your side, fingering through your coin. "Let's start low. A penny apiece? I'm afraid I can't afford very high stakes, at the moment."
He shrugs, evidently unoffended by the low amount as he tosses a penny into the center of the table. You and Miska do the same before taking up your cards. "It's just a friendly game, anyway. You can call me Gerhardt."
"Olaf, and this is Miska. Pleased to meet you."
OLAF
Roll:58/32 (Intelligence) = Fail, 2 Degrees of Failure
MISKA
Roll: 9/33 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 2 Degrees of Success
GERHARDT
Roll: 15/39 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 2 Degrees of Success
Olaf: -1 Penny
Miska: +2 Pennies
Roll:58/32 (Intelligence) = Fail, 2 Degrees of Failure
MISKA
Roll: 9/33 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 2 Degrees of Success
GERHARDT
Roll: 15/39 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 2 Degrees of Success
Olaf: -1 Penny
Miska: +2 Pennies
The first round goes poorly for you, having drawn a bad hand, with no opportunity on the Horizon to replace your worst cards. You fail at hiding a small frown, but distract yourself by engaging your new acquaintance in conversation.
"So, Gerhardt, are you a soldier?"
"Ehh, of a sort. Don't work for the count, if that's what you mean."
"Sellsword?"
He inclines his head to Miska, exchanging one of his cards from the pile. "Aye. from Schwarzhafen, originally. Worked keeping merchants safe."
You raise an eyebrow. "On the Sylvanian border?"
His expression betrays nothing, but a single hand comes up to rub the back of his neck as he splays out his cards, revealing three lectors of a kind. "Aye. Plenty of business … but not good business. Movin' west, now. Hopin' for easier work and better pay. Reiklanders are fancy lads, they got the coin, and I got the steel."
Miska says nothing, but grins smugly as she reveals her hand. A full court. Both you and Gerhardt Groan theatrically as she scoops up her winnings, before you all put another penny in the pile.
"Well, good thing you are, then. You're just the kind of person I need to speak too about the mess on the road I mentioned earlier."
OLAF
Roll:75/32 (Intelligence) = Fail, 4 Degrees of Failure
MISKA
Roll: 26/33 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 0 Degrees of Success
GERHARDT
Roll: 19/39 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 2 Degrees of Success
Olaf: -1 Penny
Miska: -1 Penny
Roll:75/32 (Intelligence) = Fail, 4 Degrees of Failure
MISKA
Roll: 26/33 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 0 Degrees of Success
GERHARDT
Roll: 19/39 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 2 Degrees of Success
Olaf: -1 Penny
Miska: -1 Penny
He narrows his eyes at you. "I didn't hurt anyone, if that's what your suggesting."
You wave a hand in a calming motion. "No, no, i don't mean to accuse anyone here. I was just hoping, being a man with some experience, you might be able to tell what hit the wagon." You have two pairs, and take the risk of sacrificing both of them to try a full court, but only end up worse than before.
He relaxes at that, humming for a moment, before shrugging. "Don't know how much help I'll be, but alright." He seems equally confident in his hand, and changes only one card.
"The horse was killed and left, but the driver was taken. No sign of him. The cart was also looted. Know anything that might have done that?"
Miska passes the next couple changes with silence.
Gerhardt rubs his chin at your question. "Were there signs of weapons?"
"Aye, as far as I could tell, there were blades, but also bites from something big and hungry. It seemed like all the wounds were on the side of the forest, and that's the same direction the cart was tipped over from."
He grunts, changing out another card before answering. "By the method, it could be either bandits, beastmen, or goblins. Fast attacks in the dark like that? Comin from a hidin place in the forest? fits how they all fight. Any of them are possible but… But I'd bet you my left bollock it's the beasts."
"What makes you say that?"
"Process of elimination. Bandits are least likely. Thieves and whoresons they may be, they're still men, and on this night? They'll be cowering in the safest holes they can find, same as you or me. They might be willing to kidnap a poor bastard for ransom, but the bite marks don't match. It's a rare bandit that can afford trained war dogs."
"What about the goblins?"
"The green little fucks train up all sorts of nasty critters to do their fightin' for 'em, so that checks. But they also tend to be wary on Geheimnisnacht, and I've never seen them take prisoners."
"So that leaves the beastmen?"
"Aye. Half o' the brutes can do the biting themselves, or, like the goblins, they have packs of creatures following them. They become more active on nights like this, they think their gods are watchin' close, so they do whatever they can to please 'em. And they've been known to take folks alive, drag 'em back to the forest and gut them in all kinds of obscene rites and rituals. The pieces fit." He finishes the grim tirade by placing down his cards, and winning the round, leaving you to ponder on what has been said.
Roll:58/ 52 (Intelligence + Common Knowledge: Empire)= Fail, 0 Degrees of Failure.
You haven't had the displeasure of encountering either Beastmen or goblins yet in your travels, and you hope that doesn't change.
OLAF
Roll:93/32 (Intelligence) = Fail, 6 Degrees of Failure
MISKA
Roll: 15/33 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 1 Degrees of Success
GERHARDT
Roll: 42/39 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Fail, 0 Degrees of Success
Olaf: -2 Pennies
Miska: +4 Pennies
Roll:93/32 (Intelligence) = Fail, 6 Degrees of Failure
MISKA
Roll: 15/33 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Pass, 1 Degrees of Success
GERHARDT
Roll: 42/39 (Intelligence + Gamble) = Fail, 0 Degrees of Success
Olaf: -2 Pennies
Miska: +4 Pennies
The final round of the game everyone throws in two pennies to heighten the stakes, and things move fairly quickly. At the end, Miska is the Overall winner, making her pouch a little weightier, even if yours is a little emptier. A result she doesn't seem to mind, even if you do.
Olaf: -4 Pennies
Miska: +5 Pennies
Party total: +1 Penny
Miska: +5 Pennies
Party total: +1 Penny
Just as the three of you are preparing for another round (possibly an unwise decision, given your track record so far), a loud noise distracts you, a hurried thumping impacting against the door. You glance over to see Heinz, the bouncer who denied you entry before, grumbling and taking up his spear as he walks over. "Another one? At this hour?"
Whoever is on the other side seems very insistent, the pounding gets louder, harder, a hoarse voice screams through the door. "Open this bloody door, now!"
Heinz scowls, opening the slit to peer through. "No more guests, piss off!"
"BY THE COMET YOU WILL OPEN THIS DOOR!"
Heinz Scoffs. "Like 'ells i will. No more guests tonight."
"If this door isn't open on the count of three, i'll break it down!"
"Id like to see you try you-"
Another voice interrupts, screaming, loud and high-pitched. "SARGE! THEY'RE ON US!"
The sound that comes next is a loud, thunderous crack that echoes through the air, followed by an unnatural warbling cry.
You realize, slowly, that what you just heard was the sound of a gun going off, and something being hit by it.
Something inhuman.
Heinz's eyes shoot wide open, and, his previous stubbornness gone, hurries to unbar the door and jerk it open. Not even he is willing to watch people be slaughtered right in front of him.
Three figures immediately shove past him, tumbling and stumbling through the door in such a hurry that they nearly trip over one another. All three are dressed in rough leather coats, with padded sections, sewn in patches, and thick gloves. The tallest has the curved shape of a saber rattling at his hip, though both his hands are occupied. One has a smoking pistol, the other cradles a large bundle of white cloth to his side. Another, shorter one, holds a crossbow loosel. The third collapses to his knees, uttering curses as he clutches at his side, where red liquid seeps through to leak onto the ground.
The whole inn lights up with a cavalcade of curses, questions, and gasps of shock, most people stand up to their feet.
The man with the crossbow immediately stoops to help the injured one, while the man with the saber shoves his shoulder back against the door, attempting to help Heinz close it, but no sooner have they begun than something else slams into it from the other side, and a long, gangly, furred arm is pushing through the gap, swinging a crooked knife as the men struggle to close the door on it.
You hear, from outside, a terrible cacophony of snarls and growls, and the bleating of something like (But not quite the same as) a sheep, accompanied soon after by the shattering of glass on either end of the hall, as some-things begin to force their way through the windows.
Your mind races, your pulse quickens, panic begins to set in your heart.
What do you do?
[] Go towards the front door and-
-[] Help the injured stranger, that wound looks bad.
-[] Help shove the door closed, closing off one avenue of entry.
-[] Attack the thing trying to push through, even if you can't hurt it, distracting it will help.
-[] With your stick
-[] With your knife
[] Go towards the eastern window, closer to the tables of the Workmen and the fat man they were talking to. There's nothing much that can stop the thing coming through that window, but maybe you can contribute to the fight. You make ready your
-[] Stick
-[] Knife
[] Go towards the westernmost corner, closest to Gerhardt and where you currently are. There's nothing much that can stop the thing coming through, but maybe you can contribute to the fight. You make ready your
-[] Stick
-[] Knife
[] Look for somewhere to hide. You are no warrior, and there are more capable people here. The best thing you can do is stay out of their way and stay safe.
-[] Hide under a table.
-[] Hide behind the bar.
-[] House upstairs.
[] Rush past the bar towards the back. You're willing to bet there's a back door there, and maybe you can escape through it.
[] Write in.
You have time to tell Miska to do one thing. What do you ask her to do?
[] Write in.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
To be clear, if you had rolled better on the performance you would have made some money (based on degrees of success), so it wasn't a wasted action, just a little bit unlucky.