A thief, a fake noble, and a graverobber are absolutely the best people to send out on a heist. Just ignore the glowing warpy signals on the grand journey to steal the silverware. Who knows, the Old World may be irreversibly changed due to actions of the greedy, arrogant, and idiotic. Fate hasn't seen them coming, yet these three bumble in all the same.
Who The Hell Are These Guys (A Warhammer Story)
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Who The Hell Are These Guys? (A Warhammer Story)
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Class Riots are Normal Right?
The city was on fire, and it was definitely our fault.
Well technically it was the fault of the huge mob who decided to overthrow their supposed betters, but the only reason they were rioting is that me and my crew kinda needed a distraction to kill a chaos witch bitch(All three descriptors are highly accurate), and to be quite honest, I am quite the instigator. Didn't mean to instigate this hard though.
We also needed the mob to kill some chaos halflings, that weren't supposed to EXIST HANS, YOU BLIND IDIOT.
We also kinda needed the city to burn tonight to make the bombed-out museum stand out less via comparison. Who knew that the halfling terrorist cell made IEDs plus rat men warp stone bombs would have that much of a BOOM.
At least that got rid of the observatory on the top of the museum that was going to be used to harness the twin-tailed comet of Sigmar(it's just a comet guys, come on) to supposedly launch something called the End Times early? I'm not really sure, the demented screams of the chaos witch bitch wasn't really something I was all that interested in.
I even tried to do my civil duty, snnrk, alright looking out for my own hide in relation to this whole goddamn mess.
Okay fine. We were here initially to loot the joint on the advice of my soulmate(don't let her deep red blushing denials fool you into thinking we are not) but as soon as we realized who exactly was running this little shindig, we tried to inform the totally undercover Witch Hunter that was a dude crossdressing as the chaos witch bitches maid that her, his, whatever, boss was trying to do some shit that Witch Hunters were supposed to stop.
Imagine our shock when they tried to kill us for ruining their disguise, as they were not in fact a totally undercover Witch Hunter. They were instead some guy in the middle of a convoluted plot to kill their boss as they believed that the chaos witch bitch made a will that if she snuffed it she would leave everything to the maid, who happened to be her lover. Who also happened to be the sister of the cross-dressing dude, who killed his sister in order to kill the chaos witch bitch in order to get the will money. What an asshole. No, even I'm not that selfish, shut up Karl. I would never kill my sister for wealth. The fact that I do not have a sister is actually very irrelevant, keep your trap shut Hans.
If I were to say that the above was not the most complicated idiotic plot that we got entangled into in this fucking week of Hell, at this point I would hope that people will believe me.
I am at this point going to segway into descriptions of the charming individuals who made up my mighty little posse, and hold on to your seats ladies and gentlemen, cause the people I am about the describe are so legendary, the bards will sing our songs till the end of days. So who are these mighty, courageous, attractive, and definitely heroic group of individuals?
Hans, aka Grand Duke Mikhail Petropetroviches the III of Kislev. No, Hans has never actually been to Kislev, and he is nowhere close to being nobility of any sort, but apparently, some time ago he was told he could do a really impressive Kislevian accent(They were fucking with him) and he managed to win some noblemen's clothing from a drunk Middenlander baron who was in town for some business or something. Thus Hans the random struggling actor was no more, and our high society infiltrator was born(Thank Ranald we never encountered a Kislevite or anybody who talked to one, cause Hell was his accent BAD).
Hans is currently sitting in a wheelbarrow on top of our stolen loot due to the fact that he has a hole where his stomach should be. This is because he forgot that he was not actually a Kislevite nobleman skilled with the saber that he had at his side, which was always for showing off at parties to people who did not know any better. Its purpose was NEVER TO FUCKING TRY TO DUEL CHAOS HALFLINGS YOU IDIOT. The same chaos halflings that he told us were actually HALFLINGS WEARING COSTUMES. I DON'T KNOW HANS, THAT WOUND IN YOUR STOMACH FROM THAT HALFLING'S CRAB CLAW SURE SEEMS LIKE NOT A COSTUME HANS. He is so goddamn lucky that Karl managed to pull him out and plug in his wound with his knowledge of first aid that he is still alive. Speaking of Karl...
Karl is a large, stoic man of faith whose physical strength in pushing the wheelbarrow that Hans is currently sitting in has saved our hides multiple times. He is also wanted by the followers of Morr for being what we call in the business, a um... professional anatomy collector. Ah fuck it, the man is a graverobber through and through. That same wheelbarrow that has our actor and thousands of Crowns in valuables used to have dead people's parts in it. Apparently, it was a good job, as university students paid good money for samples so that they could practice their surgical knowledge in preparation for tests. He also, kinda admitted that his largest order was from an extremely gorgeous raven-haired lady with ruby red lips who was sorta... really pale. He swears that the increase of the dead rising in the region in the immediate aftermath is just a complete coincidence.
As Karl pushes the wheelbarrow with one hand and a giant club in the other, clearing out the angry citizenry from his great war chariots path on the way to a gatehouse where hopefully our bounty hunter friend(Not really sure what we are) values what we did for her and the huge pile of money we plan to split with her enough so that she does not do a lot of frankly unnecessary long term thinking. If she does she may come to the completely idiotic decision that the bounties for the people who riled up the populace enough to completely destroy an Imperial city may be higher than what we are planning to bribe her with.
As the wheelbarrow turns a corner, a complete nut job comes out of the dark and is about to brain Karl in the head with a meat cleaver. Before Karl has any opportunity to dodge, a sudden thunk vibrates out, as the nut job clutches his neck where a crossbow bolt has completely pierced his neck before he drops to the ground dead. I order the idiots to keep moving while I check the amount of ammunition I have left in my repeating crossbow while getting the gang to start once again moving toward our destination, and stopping for a second to rifle through the man's pockets. Oh, I believe it is time to introduce my wonderful self.
The name, ladies and gentlemen, is Franz. Franz the thief, the greatest one amongst the realms of Men. I am from proud Middenlander stock(it is not important why I am not still in my homeland) who came south in the search of opportunity(Definitely not to flee from one of Todbringer's biannual drafts to purge the Drakwald Forest, sorry dad you can fight Beastmen on your own)! I am a man of many different skills, which include crowbarring windows open, using the crossbow, picking the pockets of rich merchants, scaling the rooftops of basically any building, and the ability to charm the pants off anybody(Ask my soulmate, a courtesan whose biggest regret was not charging me for sleeping with her, something she still is bitter till this day).
Now some truly dense individuals may also add some highly unnecessary qualifiers to my character. They may throw out the words greedy, wiseass, smarmy, cheap stake, cowardly, and worst of all, the most punchable grin on this side of the River Reik. You may all laugh at this obvious slander, please, and thank you(I kid, I kid...somewhat, that last one really hurt my feelings y'know).
At this moment avid readers, you may be thinking how the hell did the absolute scum of society's boot managed to be connected, and even cause some of the events I described previously. Even do some actions, that if you squint at it from the right angle, seem pretty darn heroic?
Well, readers, it started a week ago when our asshole of a mob boss tells us to rob some shitty inn, as it was apparently going to host the hit new play Springtime for Sigmar, and that some very wealthy individuals were going to be in attendance. Our goal was to insert ourselves into the place, quietly steal as much loot as possible, and carefully sneak away with no one the wiser. Oh how much I want to go back and shoot that bastard in the head for sending us there, as the amount of absolute BULLSHIT we had to deal with fucking broke all of us.
AN: Originally posted on spacebattles, I am cross posting it here as well. This story is basically a creative writing retelling of the greatest tabletop gaming experience I have had in my life so far. The story and characters were so goddamn good, that even three years later and roll20 deleting the campaign, my GM and I still vividly remember the campaign like it was yesterday. Hope you guys enjoy.
Well technically it was the fault of the huge mob who decided to overthrow their supposed betters, but the only reason they were rioting is that me and my crew kinda needed a distraction to kill a chaos witch bitch(All three descriptors are highly accurate), and to be quite honest, I am quite the instigator. Didn't mean to instigate this hard though.
We also needed the mob to kill some chaos halflings, that weren't supposed to EXIST HANS, YOU BLIND IDIOT.
We also kinda needed the city to burn tonight to make the bombed-out museum stand out less via comparison. Who knew that the halfling terrorist cell made IEDs plus rat men warp stone bombs would have that much of a BOOM.
At least that got rid of the observatory on the top of the museum that was going to be used to harness the twin-tailed comet of Sigmar(it's just a comet guys, come on) to supposedly launch something called the End Times early? I'm not really sure, the demented screams of the chaos witch bitch wasn't really something I was all that interested in.
I even tried to do my civil duty, snnrk, alright looking out for my own hide in relation to this whole goddamn mess.
Okay fine. We were here initially to loot the joint on the advice of my soulmate(don't let her deep red blushing denials fool you into thinking we are not) but as soon as we realized who exactly was running this little shindig, we tried to inform the totally undercover Witch Hunter that was a dude crossdressing as the chaos witch bitches maid that her, his, whatever, boss was trying to do some shit that Witch Hunters were supposed to stop.
Imagine our shock when they tried to kill us for ruining their disguise, as they were not in fact a totally undercover Witch Hunter. They were instead some guy in the middle of a convoluted plot to kill their boss as they believed that the chaos witch bitch made a will that if she snuffed it she would leave everything to the maid, who happened to be her lover. Who also happened to be the sister of the cross-dressing dude, who killed his sister in order to kill the chaos witch bitch in order to get the will money. What an asshole. No, even I'm not that selfish, shut up Karl. I would never kill my sister for wealth. The fact that I do not have a sister is actually very irrelevant, keep your trap shut Hans.
If I were to say that the above was not the most complicated idiotic plot that we got entangled into in this fucking week of Hell, at this point I would hope that people will believe me.
I am at this point going to segway into descriptions of the charming individuals who made up my mighty little posse, and hold on to your seats ladies and gentlemen, cause the people I am about the describe are so legendary, the bards will sing our songs till the end of days. So who are these mighty, courageous, attractive, and definitely heroic group of individuals?
Hans, aka Grand Duke Mikhail Petropetroviches the III of Kislev. No, Hans has never actually been to Kislev, and he is nowhere close to being nobility of any sort, but apparently, some time ago he was told he could do a really impressive Kislevian accent(They were fucking with him) and he managed to win some noblemen's clothing from a drunk Middenlander baron who was in town for some business or something. Thus Hans the random struggling actor was no more, and our high society infiltrator was born(Thank Ranald we never encountered a Kislevite or anybody who talked to one, cause Hell was his accent BAD).
Hans is currently sitting in a wheelbarrow on top of our stolen loot due to the fact that he has a hole where his stomach should be. This is because he forgot that he was not actually a Kislevite nobleman skilled with the saber that he had at his side, which was always for showing off at parties to people who did not know any better. Its purpose was NEVER TO FUCKING TRY TO DUEL CHAOS HALFLINGS YOU IDIOT. The same chaos halflings that he told us were actually HALFLINGS WEARING COSTUMES. I DON'T KNOW HANS, THAT WOUND IN YOUR STOMACH FROM THAT HALFLING'S CRAB CLAW SURE SEEMS LIKE NOT A COSTUME HANS. He is so goddamn lucky that Karl managed to pull him out and plug in his wound with his knowledge of first aid that he is still alive. Speaking of Karl...
Karl is a large, stoic man of faith whose physical strength in pushing the wheelbarrow that Hans is currently sitting in has saved our hides multiple times. He is also wanted by the followers of Morr for being what we call in the business, a um... professional anatomy collector. Ah fuck it, the man is a graverobber through and through. That same wheelbarrow that has our actor and thousands of Crowns in valuables used to have dead people's parts in it. Apparently, it was a good job, as university students paid good money for samples so that they could practice their surgical knowledge in preparation for tests. He also, kinda admitted that his largest order was from an extremely gorgeous raven-haired lady with ruby red lips who was sorta... really pale. He swears that the increase of the dead rising in the region in the immediate aftermath is just a complete coincidence.
As Karl pushes the wheelbarrow with one hand and a giant club in the other, clearing out the angry citizenry from his great war chariots path on the way to a gatehouse where hopefully our bounty hunter friend(Not really sure what we are) values what we did for her and the huge pile of money we plan to split with her enough so that she does not do a lot of frankly unnecessary long term thinking. If she does she may come to the completely idiotic decision that the bounties for the people who riled up the populace enough to completely destroy an Imperial city may be higher than what we are planning to bribe her with.
As the wheelbarrow turns a corner, a complete nut job comes out of the dark and is about to brain Karl in the head with a meat cleaver. Before Karl has any opportunity to dodge, a sudden thunk vibrates out, as the nut job clutches his neck where a crossbow bolt has completely pierced his neck before he drops to the ground dead. I order the idiots to keep moving while I check the amount of ammunition I have left in my repeating crossbow while getting the gang to start once again moving toward our destination, and stopping for a second to rifle through the man's pockets. Oh, I believe it is time to introduce my wonderful self.
The name, ladies and gentlemen, is Franz. Franz the thief, the greatest one amongst the realms of Men. I am from proud Middenlander stock(it is not important why I am not still in my homeland) who came south in the search of opportunity(Definitely not to flee from one of Todbringer's biannual drafts to purge the Drakwald Forest, sorry dad you can fight Beastmen on your own)! I am a man of many different skills, which include crowbarring windows open, using the crossbow, picking the pockets of rich merchants, scaling the rooftops of basically any building, and the ability to charm the pants off anybody(Ask my soulmate, a courtesan whose biggest regret was not charging me for sleeping with her, something she still is bitter till this day).
Now some truly dense individuals may also add some highly unnecessary qualifiers to my character. They may throw out the words greedy, wiseass, smarmy, cheap stake, cowardly, and worst of all, the most punchable grin on this side of the River Reik. You may all laugh at this obvious slander, please, and thank you(I kid, I kid...somewhat, that last one really hurt my feelings y'know).
At this moment avid readers, you may be thinking how the hell did the absolute scum of society's boot managed to be connected, and even cause some of the events I described previously. Even do some actions, that if you squint at it from the right angle, seem pretty darn heroic?
Well, readers, it started a week ago when our asshole of a mob boss tells us to rob some shitty inn, as it was apparently going to host the hit new play Springtime for Sigmar, and that some very wealthy individuals were going to be in attendance. Our goal was to insert ourselves into the place, quietly steal as much loot as possible, and carefully sneak away with no one the wiser. Oh how much I want to go back and shoot that bastard in the head for sending us there, as the amount of absolute BULLSHIT we had to deal with fucking broke all of us.
AN: Originally posted on spacebattles, I am cross posting it here as well. This story is basically a creative writing retelling of the greatest tabletop gaming experience I have had in my life so far. The story and characters were so goddamn good, that even three years later and roll20 deleting the campaign, my GM and I still vividly remember the campaign like it was yesterday. Hope you guys enjoy.
Meet the Team, and their Scary Boss
The dingy basement that we were all gathered in set the mood appropriately for our future nefarious dastardly plot. The damp dew every so often dripping from the wooden ceiling above was probably in hindsight an omen of the absolute clusterfuck that we were going into.
But at that specific moment, none of us knew that crucial piece of information that would have resulted in us packing our meager belongings and hightailing it to the Border Princes and taking our chances with the orcs and vampires. At least they were a known threat that you knew from the onset.
Gathered on one side a long shitty oaken table that had definitely seen better days, were the heroes of this sordid epic tale.
Hans, contrary to the jokes we make of him due to his record against the ladies, was actually a pretty handsome man. He somehow made the fake mustache he had plastered on his mug work. The fact that the materials of said mustache were given to him by... certain unmentionables was something we all politely ignored for the sake of what decency we had left. Hans' trimmed black hair was immaculately well taken care of(to an honestly obsessive level), and it actually gave a smidgen of credence to the idea that he may be a Kislevi nobleman. A very lanky-looking Kislevi nobleman to be honest, but he was a slippery guy so he could handle himself somewhat in a scrap.
Seated to my right while Hans was on my left, was Mr. Stoic himself, Karl the grave robber. Karl was a giant of a man, with muscles the size of tree trunks being barely hidden by his work shirt. Brown of hair, and cropped very short to his head, Karl really didn't really do fashion. According to him, what is the point of looking good if your arms are deep in some poor fool's earthly remains? Practical, but not my cup of beer.
In between the idiot and the show-off was your magnanimous narrator. My name is Franz just as a reminder. I was wearing my normal get-up of a green leather chest plate over a wool shirt with some brown pants(highly daring, I know), with shoes that I often glue pieces of wool at the bottom to soften the sound of my approach. Betraying my part Norscan heritage was my dirty blonde hair that is swept back with a comb due to its wavy nature, and my bright green eyes that often make the ladies swoon(It worked on my soulmate, and that is a good enough success rate for me).
While the three of us were seated together on one side of the table, on the other side was our boss. This monster of a man was the main underworld power in this fair city of ours, and he handled any upstarts with a ruthless efficiency that would make a Dark Elf Corsair stop and nod in respect. The man clawed his way through the underground, leaving him the top dog amongst his fellow crime lords. The only bad things(not talking about morals here) you could say about him as a boss are that he may be too ambitious at times and the fact that he likes to meddle in affairs that he has no business being in, like trying to talk business with nobles of all people. Surely that won't come up, right?
Anyway as the man of the moment glared at us from the other side of the table, staring deep into our very souls as if trying to read our thoughts, his gravelly voice suddenly reverberated throughout the increasingly damp room.
"So you three chucklefucks are what we got at the moment. You are all so fucking lucky that I am short on numbers at the moment, or I would have personally chopped off your legs and then dumped all three of you into the River Reik. See how long you survive that, as it would be pretty amusing trying to see you swim against the current. So remember this great kindness I am offering here, as a way to pay off the insults you have done against me".
He looked straight at Karl. "Only my men dig up the graves around here, no dirty little independents are sniffing around my turf. MY TURF".
He looked straight at Hans. "Your little nobleman roleplay gig ruined the trust between me and that baron from Averland. He was supposed to be MY PARTNER, not yours for your up-and-coming theatre troupe. Do you know how much political capital I had to spend to make him support my schemes when he already signed most of his wealth to you? Good thing you donated that gold to your new boss as a sign of loyalty, right shitstain?"
Hans started to nod rapidly in agreement, momentarily breaking me out of my terror as I started to wonder how fast a human head could move while still attached to its original body. My musing was interrupted by the sudden realization that there was a stiletto knife centimeters away from my eyeball.
"And you, oh how much I want to drive my dagger straight through your skull. That vault was OFF LIMITS AND IMPETRENGABLE. HOW THE FUCK DID YOU BREAK IT? I CAN'T EVEN GET ALL OF THE COIN BACK AS YOU FUCKIN THREW THEM INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. I had to pay out of my ass to the constabulary to shake the peasants down to get my money back, but I still lost a majority of the coin that was in that vault".
As the boss stopped to take a breath and to get some of the red out of his cheeks, I sadly mourned the loss of all that great coin. Stupid pouchmakers, selling an easily tearable pouch that tears when jumping over the side of buildings. I did not want to make it rain on that market day for the poor losers down below. Oh look, the boss has finally collected himself. Joy.
"I have a plan, however, to recoup everything you three have cost me over this previous month. A plan to better my position within this shitty place, a plan to crown me the undisputed boss of Grissenwald, a plan to cement my ascendency and superiority over the so-called rulers of this province. Here's the situation dumbed down so even brain-dead numbskulls like you three can understand. At an inn called Shallya's Rest, a famous theater troupe will be performing their hit new play Springtime for Sigmar. There are going to be some huge names in the audience for the performance, but the stand out will be one Baroness Elsa von Grossenknueten, daughter of Baron Gruber von Grossenknueten, the late chief spymaster of the Emperor. Under no circumstances do you mess with her, understood idiots"?
After a series of three quick nods, he started to speak again.
"You three are ostensibly there to act as security for the inn due to the increase in high-value targets for the night. The chief of security for the inn, a guy by the name of Tiny, reached out this morning in a panic once he realized the guest list and the number of additional guards he had for the night, namely zero. So he turned to me to help with his little manpower shortage. However, his salary as the chief of security for the inn does not come anywhere close to being able to solicit my exceptional services. So he made an offer only an idiot would refuse".
He leaned forward in his chair, a glint of greed in his eyes that I was immensely familiar with, as I see that same glint whenever I go to the River Reik to bathe and I happen to look down into my glorious reflection. After a momentary pause, he started again with an increasingly excited tone.
"The main payment for this job will be the fact that Tiny will turn a blind eye to any theft done during the night. As long as nothing major happens to the patrons, the loss of some documents here, some Crowns there, some jewels whenever, and some silverware always will not be a concern for our poor hapless chief of security. So as long as it is done QUIETLY, you three have full authorization from the chief to ransack the inn and its inhabitant's belongings. I'll even be generous and let you guys have a small cut, due to the fact that I am such a generous man, is that not right.
More rapid nodding. I really should study how much subservience you can demonstrate to a superior in such a short period of time. I heard that they made it into science in Cathay, so maybe some research should be done in that general direction if I actually cared enough to do so as I am not going to be bound to this asshole for longer than necessary. Oh shit, the asshole is speaking again.,
"Just remember not to mess with Elsa, do not cause any ruckus louder than a plate dropping to the ground, and realize that if I do not get my cut I will hunt the three of you down till the ends of the world. Good, good. I'll leave you gentlemen some time alone to get acquainted with one another. Oh, and I will give you three your weapons back once you leave this establishment. Hans, you... really a cavalry, okay your cavalry saber is in good condition. Karl your... Karl that is just a giant stick. Fine, Karl your giant stick is in good condition. Finally Franz, are you shitting me. HOW THE HELL DO YOU HAVE A REPEATING CROSSBOW? You know what, do not even answer, I do not want to know. It is in good condition". You three are going to give a fucking aneurysm.
"With that I bid you three goodbye. When I see you next I expect a shitload of valuables, so do not mess up my brilliant scheme. Oh I almost forgot, what do you say to your very generous benefactor who spared your useless lives?"
"Thank you boss", we all say it out in a monotone way.
"No no no, that's no good, thank me with my proper title, I know you three know it, so SAY IT".
Fuck everything, just saying this line better balance out my karma for every past sin I had committed in my life so far.
As if we all were having the same internal monologue at the same time, the three of us managed to spit out our thanks at the same moment.
"Thank you, Mr. Big Cheese." Where can I get some ogre sweat to burn my tongue with, as nothing can be more disgusting than saying that name out loud to ANYBODY.
Having a smug grin on his face as he left the room, I then proceeded to turn left and right at my fellow co-conspirators, and I allowed a tiny bit of hope to rise that my life was not actually doomed yet, and that the mission could actually go well for me.
Then my two fellow co-conspirators opened their mouths.
"Cheer up chums, I the great Grand Duke Mikhail Petropetroviches the III will surely allow this insidious band of knaves to succeed at our grand mission. It is just like the tales of yore, underdogs succeeding against all the odds and defying expectations. What can honestly go so wrong for such a fellowship as this one?
"Uh, you used a lot of big words there fancyman. Is a knave a kind of knife, cause I can get you some. I don't think they can play music that well though".
Ranald, I know you give your toughest safes to your greatest thieves, but can I throw myself over the city walls now, as that would surely be a quicker and cleaner death than whatever catastrophe I just signed onto.
Oh, how correct I was, how fucking correct I was...
But at that specific moment, none of us knew that crucial piece of information that would have resulted in us packing our meager belongings and hightailing it to the Border Princes and taking our chances with the orcs and vampires. At least they were a known threat that you knew from the onset.
Gathered on one side a long shitty oaken table that had definitely seen better days, were the heroes of this sordid epic tale.
Hans, contrary to the jokes we make of him due to his record against the ladies, was actually a pretty handsome man. He somehow made the fake mustache he had plastered on his mug work. The fact that the materials of said mustache were given to him by... certain unmentionables was something we all politely ignored for the sake of what decency we had left. Hans' trimmed black hair was immaculately well taken care of(to an honestly obsessive level), and it actually gave a smidgen of credence to the idea that he may be a Kislevi nobleman. A very lanky-looking Kislevi nobleman to be honest, but he was a slippery guy so he could handle himself somewhat in a scrap.
Seated to my right while Hans was on my left, was Mr. Stoic himself, Karl the grave robber. Karl was a giant of a man, with muscles the size of tree trunks being barely hidden by his work shirt. Brown of hair, and cropped very short to his head, Karl really didn't really do fashion. According to him, what is the point of looking good if your arms are deep in some poor fool's earthly remains? Practical, but not my cup of beer.
In between the idiot and the show-off was your magnanimous narrator. My name is Franz just as a reminder. I was wearing my normal get-up of a green leather chest plate over a wool shirt with some brown pants(highly daring, I know), with shoes that I often glue pieces of wool at the bottom to soften the sound of my approach. Betraying my part Norscan heritage was my dirty blonde hair that is swept back with a comb due to its wavy nature, and my bright green eyes that often make the ladies swoon(It worked on my soulmate, and that is a good enough success rate for me).
While the three of us were seated together on one side of the table, on the other side was our boss. This monster of a man was the main underworld power in this fair city of ours, and he handled any upstarts with a ruthless efficiency that would make a Dark Elf Corsair stop and nod in respect. The man clawed his way through the underground, leaving him the top dog amongst his fellow crime lords. The only bad things(not talking about morals here) you could say about him as a boss are that he may be too ambitious at times and the fact that he likes to meddle in affairs that he has no business being in, like trying to talk business with nobles of all people. Surely that won't come up, right?
Anyway as the man of the moment glared at us from the other side of the table, staring deep into our very souls as if trying to read our thoughts, his gravelly voice suddenly reverberated throughout the increasingly damp room.
"So you three chucklefucks are what we got at the moment. You are all so fucking lucky that I am short on numbers at the moment, or I would have personally chopped off your legs and then dumped all three of you into the River Reik. See how long you survive that, as it would be pretty amusing trying to see you swim against the current. So remember this great kindness I am offering here, as a way to pay off the insults you have done against me".
He looked straight at Karl. "Only my men dig up the graves around here, no dirty little independents are sniffing around my turf. MY TURF".
He looked straight at Hans. "Your little nobleman roleplay gig ruined the trust between me and that baron from Averland. He was supposed to be MY PARTNER, not yours for your up-and-coming theatre troupe. Do you know how much political capital I had to spend to make him support my schemes when he already signed most of his wealth to you? Good thing you donated that gold to your new boss as a sign of loyalty, right shitstain?"
Hans started to nod rapidly in agreement, momentarily breaking me out of my terror as I started to wonder how fast a human head could move while still attached to its original body. My musing was interrupted by the sudden realization that there was a stiletto knife centimeters away from my eyeball.
"And you, oh how much I want to drive my dagger straight through your skull. That vault was OFF LIMITS AND IMPETRENGABLE. HOW THE FUCK DID YOU BREAK IT? I CAN'T EVEN GET ALL OF THE COIN BACK AS YOU FUCKIN THREW THEM INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. I had to pay out of my ass to the constabulary to shake the peasants down to get my money back, but I still lost a majority of the coin that was in that vault".
As the boss stopped to take a breath and to get some of the red out of his cheeks, I sadly mourned the loss of all that great coin. Stupid pouchmakers, selling an easily tearable pouch that tears when jumping over the side of buildings. I did not want to make it rain on that market day for the poor losers down below. Oh look, the boss has finally collected himself. Joy.
"I have a plan, however, to recoup everything you three have cost me over this previous month. A plan to better my position within this shitty place, a plan to crown me the undisputed boss of Grissenwald, a plan to cement my ascendency and superiority over the so-called rulers of this province. Here's the situation dumbed down so even brain-dead numbskulls like you three can understand. At an inn called Shallya's Rest, a famous theater troupe will be performing their hit new play Springtime for Sigmar. There are going to be some huge names in the audience for the performance, but the stand out will be one Baroness Elsa von Grossenknueten, daughter of Baron Gruber von Grossenknueten, the late chief spymaster of the Emperor. Under no circumstances do you mess with her, understood idiots"?
After a series of three quick nods, he started to speak again.
"You three are ostensibly there to act as security for the inn due to the increase in high-value targets for the night. The chief of security for the inn, a guy by the name of Tiny, reached out this morning in a panic once he realized the guest list and the number of additional guards he had for the night, namely zero. So he turned to me to help with his little manpower shortage. However, his salary as the chief of security for the inn does not come anywhere close to being able to solicit my exceptional services. So he made an offer only an idiot would refuse".
He leaned forward in his chair, a glint of greed in his eyes that I was immensely familiar with, as I see that same glint whenever I go to the River Reik to bathe and I happen to look down into my glorious reflection. After a momentary pause, he started again with an increasingly excited tone.
"The main payment for this job will be the fact that Tiny will turn a blind eye to any theft done during the night. As long as nothing major happens to the patrons, the loss of some documents here, some Crowns there, some jewels whenever, and some silverware always will not be a concern for our poor hapless chief of security. So as long as it is done QUIETLY, you three have full authorization from the chief to ransack the inn and its inhabitant's belongings. I'll even be generous and let you guys have a small cut, due to the fact that I am such a generous man, is that not right.
More rapid nodding. I really should study how much subservience you can demonstrate to a superior in such a short period of time. I heard that they made it into science in Cathay, so maybe some research should be done in that general direction if I actually cared enough to do so as I am not going to be bound to this asshole for longer than necessary. Oh shit, the asshole is speaking again.,
"Just remember not to mess with Elsa, do not cause any ruckus louder than a plate dropping to the ground, and realize that if I do not get my cut I will hunt the three of you down till the ends of the world. Good, good. I'll leave you gentlemen some time alone to get acquainted with one another. Oh, and I will give you three your weapons back once you leave this establishment. Hans, you... really a cavalry, okay your cavalry saber is in good condition. Karl your... Karl that is just a giant stick. Fine, Karl your giant stick is in good condition. Finally Franz, are you shitting me. HOW THE HELL DO YOU HAVE A REPEATING CROSSBOW? You know what, do not even answer, I do not want to know. It is in good condition". You three are going to give a fucking aneurysm.
"With that I bid you three goodbye. When I see you next I expect a shitload of valuables, so do not mess up my brilliant scheme. Oh I almost forgot, what do you say to your very generous benefactor who spared your useless lives?"
"Thank you boss", we all say it out in a monotone way.
"No no no, that's no good, thank me with my proper title, I know you three know it, so SAY IT".
Fuck everything, just saying this line better balance out my karma for every past sin I had committed in my life so far.
As if we all were having the same internal monologue at the same time, the three of us managed to spit out our thanks at the same moment.
"Thank you, Mr. Big Cheese." Where can I get some ogre sweat to burn my tongue with, as nothing can be more disgusting than saying that name out loud to ANYBODY.
Having a smug grin on his face as he left the room, I then proceeded to turn left and right at my fellow co-conspirators, and I allowed a tiny bit of hope to rise that my life was not actually doomed yet, and that the mission could actually go well for me.
Then my two fellow co-conspirators opened their mouths.
"Cheer up chums, I the great Grand Duke Mikhail Petropetroviches the III will surely allow this insidious band of knaves to succeed at our grand mission. It is just like the tales of yore, underdogs succeeding against all the odds and defying expectations. What can honestly go so wrong for such a fellowship as this one?
"Uh, you used a lot of big words there fancyman. Is a knave a kind of knife, cause I can get you some. I don't think they can play music that well though".
Ranald, I know you give your toughest safes to your greatest thieves, but can I throw myself over the city walls now, as that would surely be a quicker and cleaner death than whatever catastrophe I just signed onto.
Oh, how correct I was, how fucking correct I was...
I Thought Heist Planning was Supposed to be Cool?
Tick, tick, tick.
A silence permeates around the table as my mind goes into overdrive, trying to figure out a way to get out of my imminent death.
Is this punishment for not being a good Ulrican? Using a crossbow is just more efficient than using hammers, is that really so bad? Retreating to live another day is not bringing "shame" on my family name when that family "name" seemingly only started with my father. Fucking self-righteous nobleman, I apparently only mattered cause my father had the "high honor" of being the longest-surviving lowborn soldier in Todbringers army. Hell I don't even like killing people, I follow Ranald for crying out loud. If you need to kill someone, you personally fucked up along the way.
As I struggle to keep my memories in check and not have another minor breakdown on top of the first minor breakdown, one of my co-conspirators suddenly decides to stop talking over me and instead talks to me.
"Hello there friend, you seem a little checked out and down in the dumps at the moment. Chin up my fellow compatriot, as long as we plan this excursion well and pay off our debts, we will be golden. Who knows, if a door slams closed another one usually opens up. So shake off your funk and help us plan this thing, as you seem like a smart fellow. The big man over there and I would certainly welcome the assistance".
A large grunt sounds out from the right. I turn to discover Karl looking at me with an upraised eyebrow, looking down at me due to his massive height.
"This ain't even the shittiest thing I have had to do Franz, as long as we have faith in Sigmar surely everything will prevail. So stop looking like you're going to have a shit in those fancy lookin' pants of yours and contribute to the talkin".
"Ay, indubitably Mr. Karl. Faith in Sigmar and our own abilities will surely lead us to victory. Now what say you, Franz?"
Alright, I have two options here. Do I insult and belittle a literal graverobber and false Kislevian nobleman for having faith in Sigmar of all beings, or do I take the gesture in its intent and contribute to plotting?
With a sigh coming out of my mouth, I decide that any plan possibly conceived by these two alone would lead to my quick demise, so I save the insults for a more appropriate time. At least they are being friendly though.
"Fine, fine, fine. You got me invested now. Okay here, let's look at the map that the boss man left us".
As we can see, this inn ain't actually that half bad for a small no-name watering hole. Even has a water fountain in the garden, real fancy that. Of course, the biggest room is the stage room where the play will be performed. A lot of tables and chairs in front of the stage for the audience to sit, eat, and watch the performance. As it is an inn, there is a reception area where guests check in and write their names in the ledger to get rooms for the night. That ledger they have with the names in it may be important later, so let's put a pin-What is it Karl?
"Don't know me letters and numbers".
"That's alright as I'm guessing Hans knows how to-Hans why does your face look like that"?
"Ah, my good fellow, well...unfortunately I also do not know the required skills necessary to read, well...any work of literature".
"HOW, your masquerading as A FUCKING NOBLEMAN. HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW TO READ"?
"My teacher at my former theater troupe was really mean alright! I left before the lessons in reading and writing were given. Do not worry my friend, I am proud to say that I can pretend to read and write extremely well, it is one of my strong suits! Oh um... will this be an issue for the mission"?
I slowly started to massage my temples while I forced my mouth to give an answer.
"No, no, it's alright. I know how to read".
Karl and Hans looked at me with abject surprise in their eyes before Hans opened his mouth.
"My good man, just how? I mean no offense but from what the boss said earlier you were just some common guttersnipe. How did you manage to receive the necessary education to learn such a skill"?
"Look, if you pay your donations to the correct people you can occasionally ask for boons, one of which is the knowledge needed to read and write".
Karl opened his mouth looking even more confused than before.
"I paid my taxes, so how come I wasn't taught how to read".
I debated the idea that I should ask Karl how exactly you pay taxes from grave robbing, yet I decided against it and instead answered his question the way I was taught how to.
"I did not earn any income that qualifies as taxable by any government in the constituted lands known colloquially as the Empire. All income made over the past fiscal year could only be audited and be "donated to" by the organization known as the Cult of None of Your Business. The Cult of None of Your Business strongly encourages followers to donate any income that falls under their purview to an amount of roughly 10% of all annual income, or a 10 crown monthly "donation" at minimum. Failure to donate the required amount may lead to misfortune in your life. "Donating" an excess of 10% of your annual income could get you the right to ask for various assortment of boons, one of which is to be taught your numbers and letters".
Left out of the explanation of how exactly you are taught these things. Fucking sadists the lot of them, was it really necessary to chase me around me a room with a fire poker while making me say my multiplication tables?
"Moving on, I guess I could handle the ledger, but from what I can see is the fact that we need to get access to our payday in the first place. This map, however, shows us the best place".
I pointed at a room on the second story of the building(real fancy) and pointed to a small unassuming cupboard-sized area.
"Now, talking from personal experience, that second floor includes far more than the inn's rooms for the night. I guarantee that this cupboard here is the storage for all the payment that the inn received for the nights events, and knowing the supposed audience, that payout will be huge. I am not even talking about how the room may be used as storage for other important things, such as documents and the like. The only problem is that from looking at this map, the only entrance is via a locked door, which is a shame as some idiots include windows in their vaults, cause their idiots. However, there is a window in the second-floor hall, leading right above an out-of-the-way part of the property below. If we can station a man below to catch the riches, we will be set. The problem is the issue of transporting the shit back to town...."
"Ayep, I can help with that. My wheelbarrow has been with me since I was a wee tyke, and it has served me greatly in me jobs".
"Perfect, not going to ask any questions about any of that, but good job. With Karl below catching the money bags and having something to transport the moolah back here, the only question is getting into that second floor while we are nominal security... Wait, Hans how distracting can you be"?
"Why Franz, back in my old theater troupe, I was almost universally the center of attention at every opportune moment, due to my amazing ac-toor skills"!
"Are you sure it was the cause of that- never mind. My idea is for me to accompany you in some manner, and while you soak up attention I can sneak off to the second floor while everyone is not really paying attention. Karl at some point goes outside to catch the bags after he masquerades as a security guard, and Hans you make no one the wiser. A relatively simple plan for a simple operation".
"Ah fabulous planning Franz, I knew I could trust in your skills. This actually connects incredibly well, as I have an idea to get you inside and beneath notice at the same time! Tell me, Franz, how well can you pull off a Kislevi manservant"?
To borrow a term from the stage, I believe that I have just been hoisted by my own petard. Or in more common slang, I just fucked myself over.
AN: Ugh, not good at writing dialogue, as if it continues for more than two lines it gets really stale. Not to mention how I constrained myself with the POV view, as I am stuck forever with "Character X pipes up and says "blah".
Fun fact, there were actually like 6 characters for the first session, but then it dropped to a core 3 cause online role playing games. So an amusing situation rose where no one could actually fucking read the mission critical documents we were given, so since I was the only one with the spare XP, my GM went. "As you look at the papers with a confused look in your eye, a brick of Ranald falls on your head, you take no damage, and IT IS A MIRACLE YOU CAN READ". Here I made it more reasonable lol.
A silence permeates around the table as my mind goes into overdrive, trying to figure out a way to get out of my imminent death.
Is this punishment for not being a good Ulrican? Using a crossbow is just more efficient than using hammers, is that really so bad? Retreating to live another day is not bringing "shame" on my family name when that family "name" seemingly only started with my father. Fucking self-righteous nobleman, I apparently only mattered cause my father had the "high honor" of being the longest-surviving lowborn soldier in Todbringers army. Hell I don't even like killing people, I follow Ranald for crying out loud. If you need to kill someone, you personally fucked up along the way.
As I struggle to keep my memories in check and not have another minor breakdown on top of the first minor breakdown, one of my co-conspirators suddenly decides to stop talking over me and instead talks to me.
"Hello there friend, you seem a little checked out and down in the dumps at the moment. Chin up my fellow compatriot, as long as we plan this excursion well and pay off our debts, we will be golden. Who knows, if a door slams closed another one usually opens up. So shake off your funk and help us plan this thing, as you seem like a smart fellow. The big man over there and I would certainly welcome the assistance".
A large grunt sounds out from the right. I turn to discover Karl looking at me with an upraised eyebrow, looking down at me due to his massive height.
"This ain't even the shittiest thing I have had to do Franz, as long as we have faith in Sigmar surely everything will prevail. So stop looking like you're going to have a shit in those fancy lookin' pants of yours and contribute to the talkin".
"Ay, indubitably Mr. Karl. Faith in Sigmar and our own abilities will surely lead us to victory. Now what say you, Franz?"
Alright, I have two options here. Do I insult and belittle a literal graverobber and false Kislevian nobleman for having faith in Sigmar of all beings, or do I take the gesture in its intent and contribute to plotting?
With a sigh coming out of my mouth, I decide that any plan possibly conceived by these two alone would lead to my quick demise, so I save the insults for a more appropriate time. At least they are being friendly though.
"Fine, fine, fine. You got me invested now. Okay here, let's look at the map that the boss man left us".
As we can see, this inn ain't actually that half bad for a small no-name watering hole. Even has a water fountain in the garden, real fancy that. Of course, the biggest room is the stage room where the play will be performed. A lot of tables and chairs in front of the stage for the audience to sit, eat, and watch the performance. As it is an inn, there is a reception area where guests check in and write their names in the ledger to get rooms for the night. That ledger they have with the names in it may be important later, so let's put a pin-What is it Karl?
"Don't know me letters and numbers".
"That's alright as I'm guessing Hans knows how to-Hans why does your face look like that"?
"Ah, my good fellow, well...unfortunately I also do not know the required skills necessary to read, well...any work of literature".
"HOW, your masquerading as A FUCKING NOBLEMAN. HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW TO READ"?
"My teacher at my former theater troupe was really mean alright! I left before the lessons in reading and writing were given. Do not worry my friend, I am proud to say that I can pretend to read and write extremely well, it is one of my strong suits! Oh um... will this be an issue for the mission"?
I slowly started to massage my temples while I forced my mouth to give an answer.
"No, no, it's alright. I know how to read".
Karl and Hans looked at me with abject surprise in their eyes before Hans opened his mouth.
"My good man, just how? I mean no offense but from what the boss said earlier you were just some common guttersnipe. How did you manage to receive the necessary education to learn such a skill"?
"Look, if you pay your donations to the correct people you can occasionally ask for boons, one of which is the knowledge needed to read and write".
Karl opened his mouth looking even more confused than before.
"I paid my taxes, so how come I wasn't taught how to read".
I debated the idea that I should ask Karl how exactly you pay taxes from grave robbing, yet I decided against it and instead answered his question the way I was taught how to.
"I did not earn any income that qualifies as taxable by any government in the constituted lands known colloquially as the Empire. All income made over the past fiscal year could only be audited and be "donated to" by the organization known as the Cult of None of Your Business. The Cult of None of Your Business strongly encourages followers to donate any income that falls under their purview to an amount of roughly 10% of all annual income, or a 10 crown monthly "donation" at minimum. Failure to donate the required amount may lead to misfortune in your life. "Donating" an excess of 10% of your annual income could get you the right to ask for various assortment of boons, one of which is to be taught your numbers and letters".
Left out of the explanation of how exactly you are taught these things. Fucking sadists the lot of them, was it really necessary to chase me around me a room with a fire poker while making me say my multiplication tables?
"Moving on, I guess I could handle the ledger, but from what I can see is the fact that we need to get access to our payday in the first place. This map, however, shows us the best place".
I pointed at a room on the second story of the building(real fancy) and pointed to a small unassuming cupboard-sized area.
"Now, talking from personal experience, that second floor includes far more than the inn's rooms for the night. I guarantee that this cupboard here is the storage for all the payment that the inn received for the nights events, and knowing the supposed audience, that payout will be huge. I am not even talking about how the room may be used as storage for other important things, such as documents and the like. The only problem is that from looking at this map, the only entrance is via a locked door, which is a shame as some idiots include windows in their vaults, cause their idiots. However, there is a window in the second-floor hall, leading right above an out-of-the-way part of the property below. If we can station a man below to catch the riches, we will be set. The problem is the issue of transporting the shit back to town...."
"Ayep, I can help with that. My wheelbarrow has been with me since I was a wee tyke, and it has served me greatly in me jobs".
"Perfect, not going to ask any questions about any of that, but good job. With Karl below catching the money bags and having something to transport the moolah back here, the only question is getting into that second floor while we are nominal security... Wait, Hans how distracting can you be"?
"Why Franz, back in my old theater troupe, I was almost universally the center of attention at every opportune moment, due to my amazing ac-toor skills"!
"Are you sure it was the cause of that- never mind. My idea is for me to accompany you in some manner, and while you soak up attention I can sneak off to the second floor while everyone is not really paying attention. Karl at some point goes outside to catch the bags after he masquerades as a security guard, and Hans you make no one the wiser. A relatively simple plan for a simple operation".
"Ah fabulous planning Franz, I knew I could trust in your skills. This actually connects incredibly well, as I have an idea to get you inside and beneath notice at the same time! Tell me, Franz, how well can you pull off a Kislevi manservant"?
To borrow a term from the stage, I believe that I have just been hoisted by my own petard. Or in more common slang, I just fucked myself over.
AN: Ugh, not good at writing dialogue, as if it continues for more than two lines it gets really stale. Not to mention how I constrained myself with the POV view, as I am stuck forever with "Character X pipes up and says "blah".
Fun fact, there were actually like 6 characters for the first session, but then it dropped to a core 3 cause online role playing games. So an amusing situation rose where no one could actually fucking read the mission critical documents we were given, so since I was the only one with the spare XP, my GM went. "As you look at the papers with a confused look in your eye, a brick of Ranald falls on your head, you take no damage, and IT IS A MIRACLE YOU CAN READ". Here I made it more reasonable lol.
A Storm is Coming: A Fathers Lament
Trigger Warning: Heavy Allusion to Suicide
Johan "von Standhaft" used to have a relatively simple life. Stand in formation, kill the beastman, order his man in different formations, and hope to Ulric that he stays alive to fight another day.
The problem with this relatively simple plan is that through blind luck and some skill, said simple plan was executed flawlessly, again and again and again ad infinitum. In an army where newly called up troops are on average only able to serve continuously, due to lingering injuries or extremely more likely death(or worse), for a period of about 5 years, the man who survives 10 is noteworthy. Johan had survived 35.
Apparently that was something special, cause the Todbringer himself seemed to deem fit to ennoble him for courageous services done in the name of the Middenlands 5 years back.
If only Franz was here to see it now, he would have laughed his ass off. If only he didn't run away a year before he was made a member of the peerage, then he would have had options besides becoming a soldier like his old man. But alas, life was exceptionally cruel Please come home soon son.
Oh sure when he was first called up he was excited for the opportunity to do his duty for his homeland, and gain enough glory to enter Ulric's halls, but that quickly changed. Oh how quickly did his naive sentiment change. Initially he coped like just the others, reveling in the blood spilt by the enemies, knowing that he got to survive another day while the horror at the end of his blade did not.
Eventually, however, that could not cut it anymore. Every fucking season there was more and more of them, and every season there were less and less of his comrades in arms. The nail in the coffin for his sentiment was when he met the love of his life, his darling Analisa.
He met her when he managed to sneak away from his 10 year deployment survival party, and he managed to pick up a strange melody in meadows a bit below the inn the army "rented" to celebrate him not dying. To his eyes, she was a beauty incarnate, pale in the moonlight with her lovely blonde hair and soft emerald eyes. She was picking flowers in the meadow when he met her. To this day he does not know where he got the confidence to go up and talk with her, and eventually ask for a courtship.
She laughed at him when he stumbled on his request, but happily accepted. She cried when 3 years later he got on one knee and proposed to her, but happily accepted nonetheless. The birth of his son was the happiest moment of his life, and those early years were the best years of his life. Then things went horribly wrong.
Analisa was surprisingly to outside observers the breadwinner of the family. Behind her stunning appearance was a wit and intelligence that far outmatched the most educated nobleman. Due to this, she was offered a very high paying job as the tutor for the local lord's children. Then the plague hit the town, and everything went to shit.
Analisa caught sick, and instead of lying down and accepting it, she attempted everything she could to try to make a cure so nobody in the town would die. She managed a miracle, but gave her life in the process to make it. The worst part was, she went unrecognized as the maker of the cure, as some ponce in some random College seized the credit, and when I tried to rectify it I was told by my superiors to shut it.
Before she died, she wrote two letters, as she isolated herself once she caught the plague to not spread it to me or our son. One to me, and one for Franz when he was older. What was in the letter addressed to myself shocked me to my very core, but she told me not to tell anyone, even our son. She said she wanted to tell him when he came of age, in the letter addressed to him.
I… wasn't the same after the events of those few days, and I changed. With Analisa's income no longer supporting us, me and Franz moved into lodgings reminiscent of my youth, instead of the townhouse that we lived in when my wife was still alive. Any semblance of optimism died the night my wife did, as now it was up to me alone to support Franz. I needed the money to feed him, but I needed to continue living to raise him.
So I became a cautious man, ever careful of my surroundings. I looked over the rest of the soldiers, making sure that they lived so my chances of living increased. I trained with a sword, to increase the chances of surviving an encounter with a Beastman. Years of consistent results and careful management turned into me being made an officer, as the nobles realized they had just the thing to win their oh so glorious war.
Then that morning came. The day I was finally going to give my wifes final words to our son, and he was just gone. The only thing he left behind was another letter(the irony is just so funny) saying that he did not want to be called up to get his soul eaten by a daemon. I guess the stories I told him while drunk stuck with him, so I really should have seen it coming. If it wasn't for a drinking buddy coming over to drop off some coin he owed me, I would not be here today. The rope I almost used was ironically later made into a holy symbol, as apparently strangling a Minotaur to death with it was something no normal man should be capable of doing.
The act guaranteed my ennobling the next year, so in a way Franz made me into a nobleman. I swear that some being up there loves the comedy that is my life.
Sigh, oh well time to stop reminiscing. I wave off the servants trying to help me get up from bed as I put on my robe. Still not used to servants dressing me, but I am not needed in public so I can do what I want. I go into my office that is connected to my bedroom. I look over my letters, burn the marriage proposals, and set the rest of them to the side.
The reason I am here is in the center of the room, one of the only truly expensive things I own. A massive expensive table, with an even more expensive landscape map rolled and pinned on top of it.
Markers on the far north end of the map are the numbers of reported chaos intruders being discovered by our scouts, with surely even more being undetected by them. A note on the side of the map from Boris commenting that ol Khazak is acting bolder and bolder on his raids. Written sermons from both the priests of Ulric and Sigmar declaring that the great battle approaches. Comments from the Colleges of Magic saying that the winds are ever increasing in potency. A letter from my nominal equivalent way in the southeast saying the alarmingly equivalent about the undead acting up in Sylvania. Rumors that the twin-tailed comet would be coming within the year made people ever more nervous. Instability from the Imperial Court as some nobody was claimed to be the True Heir to Sigmar, and that Karl Franz should step down and crown the nobody as Emperor.
At this point I had to reach up to my temples to massage away the incoming headache that was starting to develop. Why does it always fall to the fucking (former) peasant to fix everyone else's fucking gobshite. With a sigh, I reach across the table and start marking probable chaos incursion spots, moving soldiers on the map to represent positions that urgently needed defending, writing a letter to Temple of Ulric to request more Knights of the White Wolf for the defense of the border, taking stock of rations that will be available once campaigning, and writing messages to the families of the fallen which can be read out by the messenger if the family can not read.
I look outside my window to see the first rays of spring sunshine, and I wonder for the future.
I say fuck it, and I go to my drinks cabinet to get a mug of beer(don't like the fancy stuff nobles are supposed to drink). If Boris can be so busy trying to oversee a whole forest, why couldn't he do this fucking job instead, it is the more important one. Instead due to his fixation on Ulric damn Khazak, he made up a title for me so I could do his nominal job instead. Warden of the Middenlands, you gotta be shitting me.
It is the year 2519 IC, and a storm is coming.
AN: Way happier with how this interlude turned out(all side stories are canon interludes), and my outlining is going pretty great. I do not know the order of when I release interludes vs main story, but hopefully I find a balance. If you guys are wondering, no we the characters did not have backstories such as this one in the campaign(I was just the son of a Middenland soldier), but I am upscaling them anyways due to the nature of creative writing vs tabletop campaigns. Hans and Karl will have similar richness in backstory, if not in the exact same way as Franz.
Slower updates as I try to make each post up to what I believe is my standards, but hopefully they are better written to compensate.
Johan "von Standhaft" used to have a relatively simple life. Stand in formation, kill the beastman, order his man in different formations, and hope to Ulric that he stays alive to fight another day.
The problem with this relatively simple plan is that through blind luck and some skill, said simple plan was executed flawlessly, again and again and again ad infinitum. In an army where newly called up troops are on average only able to serve continuously, due to lingering injuries or extremely more likely death(or worse), for a period of about 5 years, the man who survives 10 is noteworthy. Johan had survived 35.
Apparently that was something special, cause the Todbringer himself seemed to deem fit to ennoble him for courageous services done in the name of the Middenlands 5 years back.
If only Franz was here to see it now, he would have laughed his ass off. If only he didn't run away a year before he was made a member of the peerage, then he would have had options besides becoming a soldier like his old man. But alas, life was exceptionally cruel Please come home soon son.
Oh sure when he was first called up he was excited for the opportunity to do his duty for his homeland, and gain enough glory to enter Ulric's halls, but that quickly changed. Oh how quickly did his naive sentiment change. Initially he coped like just the others, reveling in the blood spilt by the enemies, knowing that he got to survive another day while the horror at the end of his blade did not.
Eventually, however, that could not cut it anymore. Every fucking season there was more and more of them, and every season there were less and less of his comrades in arms. The nail in the coffin for his sentiment was when he met the love of his life, his darling Analisa.
He met her when he managed to sneak away from his 10 year deployment survival party, and he managed to pick up a strange melody in meadows a bit below the inn the army "rented" to celebrate him not dying. To his eyes, she was a beauty incarnate, pale in the moonlight with her lovely blonde hair and soft emerald eyes. She was picking flowers in the meadow when he met her. To this day he does not know where he got the confidence to go up and talk with her, and eventually ask for a courtship.
She laughed at him when he stumbled on his request, but happily accepted. She cried when 3 years later he got on one knee and proposed to her, but happily accepted nonetheless. The birth of his son was the happiest moment of his life, and those early years were the best years of his life. Then things went horribly wrong.
Analisa was surprisingly to outside observers the breadwinner of the family. Behind her stunning appearance was a wit and intelligence that far outmatched the most educated nobleman. Due to this, she was offered a very high paying job as the tutor for the local lord's children. Then the plague hit the town, and everything went to shit.
Analisa caught sick, and instead of lying down and accepting it, she attempted everything she could to try to make a cure so nobody in the town would die. She managed a miracle, but gave her life in the process to make it. The worst part was, she went unrecognized as the maker of the cure, as some ponce in some random College seized the credit, and when I tried to rectify it I was told by my superiors to shut it.
Before she died, she wrote two letters, as she isolated herself once she caught the plague to not spread it to me or our son. One to me, and one for Franz when he was older. What was in the letter addressed to myself shocked me to my very core, but she told me not to tell anyone, even our son. She said she wanted to tell him when he came of age, in the letter addressed to him.
I… wasn't the same after the events of those few days, and I changed. With Analisa's income no longer supporting us, me and Franz moved into lodgings reminiscent of my youth, instead of the townhouse that we lived in when my wife was still alive. Any semblance of optimism died the night my wife did, as now it was up to me alone to support Franz. I needed the money to feed him, but I needed to continue living to raise him.
So I became a cautious man, ever careful of my surroundings. I looked over the rest of the soldiers, making sure that they lived so my chances of living increased. I trained with a sword, to increase the chances of surviving an encounter with a Beastman. Years of consistent results and careful management turned into me being made an officer, as the nobles realized they had just the thing to win their oh so glorious war.
Then that morning came. The day I was finally going to give my wifes final words to our son, and he was just gone. The only thing he left behind was another letter(the irony is just so funny) saying that he did not want to be called up to get his soul eaten by a daemon. I guess the stories I told him while drunk stuck with him, so I really should have seen it coming. If it wasn't for a drinking buddy coming over to drop off some coin he owed me, I would not be here today. The rope I almost used was ironically later made into a holy symbol, as apparently strangling a Minotaur to death with it was something no normal man should be capable of doing.
The act guaranteed my ennobling the next year, so in a way Franz made me into a nobleman. I swear that some being up there loves the comedy that is my life.
Sigh, oh well time to stop reminiscing. I wave off the servants trying to help me get up from bed as I put on my robe. Still not used to servants dressing me, but I am not needed in public so I can do what I want. I go into my office that is connected to my bedroom. I look over my letters, burn the marriage proposals, and set the rest of them to the side.
The reason I am here is in the center of the room, one of the only truly expensive things I own. A massive expensive table, with an even more expensive landscape map rolled and pinned on top of it.
Markers on the far north end of the map are the numbers of reported chaos intruders being discovered by our scouts, with surely even more being undetected by them. A note on the side of the map from Boris commenting that ol Khazak is acting bolder and bolder on his raids. Written sermons from both the priests of Ulric and Sigmar declaring that the great battle approaches. Comments from the Colleges of Magic saying that the winds are ever increasing in potency. A letter from my nominal equivalent way in the southeast saying the alarmingly equivalent about the undead acting up in Sylvania. Rumors that the twin-tailed comet would be coming within the year made people ever more nervous. Instability from the Imperial Court as some nobody was claimed to be the True Heir to Sigmar, and that Karl Franz should step down and crown the nobody as Emperor.
At this point I had to reach up to my temples to massage away the incoming headache that was starting to develop. Why does it always fall to the fucking (former) peasant to fix everyone else's fucking gobshite. With a sigh, I reach across the table and start marking probable chaos incursion spots, moving soldiers on the map to represent positions that urgently needed defending, writing a letter to Temple of Ulric to request more Knights of the White Wolf for the defense of the border, taking stock of rations that will be available once campaigning, and writing messages to the families of the fallen which can be read out by the messenger if the family can not read.
I look outside my window to see the first rays of spring sunshine, and I wonder for the future.
I say fuck it, and I go to my drinks cabinet to get a mug of beer(don't like the fancy stuff nobles are supposed to drink). If Boris can be so busy trying to oversee a whole forest, why couldn't he do this fucking job instead, it is the more important one. Instead due to his fixation on Ulric damn Khazak, he made up a title for me so I could do his nominal job instead. Warden of the Middenlands, you gotta be shitting me.
It is the year 2519 IC, and a storm is coming.
AN: Way happier with how this interlude turned out(all side stories are canon interludes), and my outlining is going pretty great. I do not know the order of when I release interludes vs main story, but hopefully I find a balance. If you guys are wondering, no we the characters did not have backstories such as this one in the campaign(I was just the son of a Middenland soldier), but I am upscaling them anyways due to the nature of creative writing vs tabletop campaigns. Hans and Karl will have similar richness in backstory, if not in the exact same way as Franz.
Slower updates as I try to make each post up to what I believe is my standards, but hopefully they are better written to compensate.
When You Had a Bad Day…
Remind me to punch Idiot One and Idiot Two at a dramatically opportune moment in the future brain. I confess I have done many wrongs in my time on this mortal plane, yet why just why? Is this the reason people pray to Sigmar? To avoid ending up in situations such as this?
Situations where one has to wear the most off-tone rumpled looking suit that has ever been made in these glorious lands of the Empire, past present and future. I mean for crying out loud, at least three guttersnipes looked at me with pity when I stepped out of my temporary lodgings wearing this monstrosity. One even fucking came up to me asking me if I needed directions to the nearest fucking Poorhouse of fucking SHALLYA. I do not believe I am ever again capable of having the emotion known as pride, cause whenever I believe I have achieved the the proverbial basement of my life, the wood floor of said proverbial basement cracks due to rot, sending me ever downward with no end with sight.
For Ulrics sake, it is three hours after sunrise and I need a Dwarven stein to fortify whatever sanity I have left, if I even still have any of it. I barely got any sleep due to the stress of the situation.
As I move towards the agreed upon rendezvous point with a lot less panache and swagger than I usually have, I take a moment of my shitty life and observe the Imperial City I and many other sewer dregs of society call home.
Now calling Grissenwald an Imperial City of all things is stretching the truth... just a teeny tiny bit.
Sure the city was situated on a prime position on the ford of the Great River Reik, but there is just not enough people to actually call it a proper city. The river was wild at the best of times, and at the worst? Oh boy you may as well be sacrificing yourself to Grandfather Reik himself.
The outside, beyond the walls, was barely any better as well. Farms vital for the continued sustenance of the "city" when the fishermen couldn't get enough fish were starting to get destroyed. Destroyed in a way that left no survivors or witnesses. Lets just say that the Dwarven shanty-town outside the walls was being looked at with great suspicion by the cities residents, so things are not that peaceful at the moment.
The only reason why we are an Imperial City is due to the current Baron being egregiously annoying on a multitude of issues, so much so that the Emperor decided that the best way to shut him up was to raise the places status from an admittedly crucial port town to an Imperial City.
We now have the same status as Nuln and Altdorf.
See this is the reason ya don't trust Sigmarites, the hammers they wave around must have sucked all the common sense to power up the lighting function.
Anyways... the overall situation being as shit as it is, compared to the rest of the Empire we seem to be a bastion of stability and success. Trouble at the Imperial Court as some pretender arrived to claim the true legacy of Sigmar somehow. Restlessness near the border with Sylvania and all that entails. The Dark Elves being general shitters as they up their corsair raiding for who know what rea- another invasion of Ulthuan. Dwarven grumblings being louder than they have been in forever. All those magic folks at the colleges saying something about the winds blowing louder, or something like that I'm not a mage.
Our fair "city" of Grissenwald is just chugging along, with Grandfather Reik providing the place all the trade and jobs its inhabitants needs. Nothing egregious has happened here compared to other places within the Empire, but for some odd reason I believe that will change soon.
Back to the action at hand, I finally arrive at the designated meeting place... and surprisingly I am the only one there. Huh, guess I took a lot less time than I thought summoning the urge to actually put on this heresy of a suit. Oh well time is money after all, so I should be making some while I wait for the others to arrive. I wonder, how effective really is this suit at making me look pitiful and poor?
15 Minutes Later...
Ranald put me on this world to be its collective jester. There is no other reason for why, just why.
I have made a cumulative 10 silver shillings, half a golden crown. For a frame of reference the average peasant makes about 10 golden crowns a year.
In 15 minutes.
What am I doing with my life?
"Hail compatriot Franz, salutations and apologies for my tardiness. Are you ready for our collective endeavor"?
Did Ranald lose a bet and had to sacrifice a follower for the gods' amusement?
"Uh, are you there Franz, you... you have not responded to my query..."
Are we all toys to powers greater than us mere mortals? Am I just a pawn sacrificed for another piece to have better positioning?
"Hans, Franz, sorry I am late. I am here now. Now are we ready to- why is your face like that Hans? What are you looking at-oh. Oh Sigmar".
Is life just a game we play? Controlled by beings beyond the proverbial pale. Am I actually in control?
"Alright Hans, I have seen this sickness before. My mamma gave me a foolproof cure all for situations exactly like what Franz has".
Is my whole being just a story being written? Is the author writing me no-OOOOOWWWWWWWWW YOU ASSHAT.
"See I told ya, foolproof. He is cured and has snapped back to reality".
I rub my throbbing head at the location where Karl utterly full throttle slapped me, and I glare at the two idiots truly responsible for all my woes.
"Why the Hell are you imbeciles so late? I had time to beg for money and suffer an existential crisis before the two of you deigned to show your oh so special selves. Makes a man think real hard about the likelihood of success on our upcoming mission"?
Hans looked like he was going to speak, but when I made eye contact he just started stuttering in place. Confused, and just a tad bit annoyed about just about everything, I looked towards Karl to start talking in order for Hans to reset his "fine" brain functions. He also started to speak, but just like Hans, he stopped before he got a word out. What he did next was different than Hans' reaction by a country mile.
He stopped and glared at me with a stare that my father at only his best sober could pull off. He stood up straight, reminding me of the fact that when the man was not in his resting phase of "perpetually hunching", that the man was huge. He walked directly towards me and- huh. When did I start backing up rapidly? Why is my back now against an actual wall? Why are my hands slightly shaking? Why am-Oh hi Karl you are grabbing me by the collar, and... shoving a hand down the front of my shirt?!?!
"Woah, hey there friend. I know I look good but I absolutely do not swing that wa-"
"Shut up Franz"
"Yep, okay you continue being you". Karl's hand stopped over my heart, pausing for a second, before he leaned down and put his ear against my chest. Is this my life now? I shoulda fought the fucking Beastman, dying a horrible death would of been less painful than this travesty of a week.
Eventually Karl leaned back and stepped back, and then the man flashed his fucking thumbs up at Hans, smiling like the loon that he most definitely is. Hans definitely exaggerated a huge sigh of relief as he smiled and started to walk towards us.
1234, I am calm. 5678, I am bliss. Breath in and then breath out. Really starting to want to drink my sorrows away. Alright calm down, you need to be focused Franz. You have faced worse shit in life than this.
For Ranalds sake you escaped and found love the same night you escaped Baron Assholes personal torture dungeon. This situation is just another challenge on the road to immortality. So big smile Franz, big smile,
Now composed enough to function in a social setting, I turn and look at the now worried faces of my partners. I exhale deeply through my nose and ask what I truly wanted to know in that exact moment.
"Were you two dropped on your heads as babies, or I am missing something incredibly obvious"?
The two fellows flinched heavily back, good they understand my absolute fury, and they look down at the ground in what I hope is deadly shame.
I don't say anything further, there is no need, as I continue staring. What feels like hours go by as eventually the two people in front of me get enough strength to sheepishly left up their heads and finally by able to talk Imperial Common again. Hans starts to open his mouth for a probable extensive apology, but Karl cuts him off...again.
"We thought you got turned into a vampire"
....
....
....
"I must of misheard ya, but I am not sorry WHAT?!"
Hans finally manages to loosen his jaw in order to talk and starts to awkwardly scratch the back of his head.
"Well my...Franz, your pallor and general state of appearance is rather ghastly. Your eyes have black bags under them, your look like you got run over by a horse and its carriage, and you have red stains on your collar...near your neck".
I take a finger and rub it where on my color, and then I inspect the liquid with one eye closed, squinting at the substance.
I shrug, and stick my finger in my mouth, ignoring the gasps of the people in front of me. Once I savor what taste there is left, I turn to fully face the people in front of me and resist the temptation to hit them with a stick.
"It's beer. I unfortunately failed to ascend to a higher plane when I realised my exact situation last night, and I guess I spilled some of it on this... article of clothing. Speaking of clothing..."
I walk over to Hans, clasp my hands on his shoulder in an almost brotherly way... and I start shaking him like a loose bag of change.
"WHY THE FUCK DID YA GIVE ME THIS ABOMINATION OF A SUIT?!"
"I'M SORRY, MY OLD THEATER TROUPE DIDN'T ALLOW ME TO TAKE A LOT OF CLOTHES WHEN THEY KICKED ME OUT"!
"DO YOU GET YOUR ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE DAY BY MAKING ME LOOK LIKE THE GREATEST LOSER IN THE REIKLAND"?
"I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LOOK DIGNIFIED AND FANCY! IT IS NOT MY FAULT YOU LOOK LIKE A CARICATURE OF THE POOR SOUL IN ALL THE SHALLYIAN TEMPLE POSTERS ASKING FOR DONATIONS!
"DO NOT REMIND ME, THAT FUCKING EXACT SITUATION HAPPENED AT LEAST TWICE TODAY! TWICE"!
At this point the both of us were very short on breath, and as much as I wanted to continue, the fight was starting to die down inside of me.
I sighed, removing my hands from the very dizzy Hans and turned around to collect my bearings. After a bit I started up another hopefully calmer dialogue.
"Look, if you think that your idea is going to work, then I will go along with it as judging by the bosses reaction, you are at least competent in these sorts of matters. I don't really have a lot of options left, as I played too many cards to save me from my own arrogance in recent times. So Hans, let's just... put this all behind of us then. We are probably already screwed, but what the hell, that hasn't stopped me from giving logic the finger before.
I turn back to Hans, who has an expression on his face that I admit I cannot read at all, before he too sighs. He puts out a hand towards me to shake, which I accept before he speaks.
"My companion, the future is obfuscated most heavily by the fog of war, and our path is most unstable and uncertain. Yet that does not matter, for I will give it my damndest best to see all of us get out this with our heads and posteriors still attached to where they belong. I know the times are... hard, but that is no reason to lose our heads. We WILL make it out of this, for together we WILL succeed".
I chuckle a bit, as one of the corniest speeches ever told actually made me feel a bit better. Hans then proceeds to turn to our continuously quiet third member of the team and nods his head at him.
"Karl, are you ready to give it your all to ensure our missions success"?
"'Course I will, can't continue my line of work if I am the one 4 feet under, can I".
"Isn't the expression 6 feet un-".
"Nah, that's entirely false. Most priests of Morr are too lazy to dig that deep".
'Alright then, also I have a question. Why did you not stop Franz from shaking me like a childrens toy?
"Cause ya deserved it. The shit he is wearing is just that awful".
I broke into quiet giggles.
"Well of course I did... Franz stop giggling like a prepubescent girl, we got work to do".
I stop myself from potentially getting picked up from the street and being attended to the sweet sisters "caring" "mercy", and the three of us proceed to walk to the inn of destiny, with Karl picking up his handy wheelbarrow from a ditch he stored it in along the way.
As the very "fancy" inn appears on the horizon (with an obvious rush job of a style upgrade done on it), we three boldly walk into where our dreams can come true and our lives will finally be good.
That dream died when an extremely angry man with obvious ogre heritage suddenly appeared to rush out the door and started to scream at us for daring to be late, for not coming early to be consulted on the nights security plan, and finally... if I needed directions to nearest Shallyian temple, because it seems that my life has a lot of hardship and that it is okay to ask for help.
We haven't even encountered the Chaos cultists yet and I was already insane.
AN: So...Tadaa! This fic has made itsglorious return...Alright fine.
Did not want to leave this hanging, as this is genuinely fun to write, but alas the accursed foe of college midterms appeared and I lost track of all semblance of time... and we are here two months later. I will not surrender, however. This is something I like writing, and I hope you guys like it too.
Situations where one has to wear the most off-tone rumpled looking suit that has ever been made in these glorious lands of the Empire, past present and future. I mean for crying out loud, at least three guttersnipes looked at me with pity when I stepped out of my temporary lodgings wearing this monstrosity. One even fucking came up to me asking me if I needed directions to the nearest fucking Poorhouse of fucking SHALLYA. I do not believe I am ever again capable of having the emotion known as pride, cause whenever I believe I have achieved the the proverbial basement of my life, the wood floor of said proverbial basement cracks due to rot, sending me ever downward with no end with sight.
For Ulrics sake, it is three hours after sunrise and I need a Dwarven stein to fortify whatever sanity I have left, if I even still have any of it. I barely got any sleep due to the stress of the situation.
As I move towards the agreed upon rendezvous point with a lot less panache and swagger than I usually have, I take a moment of my shitty life and observe the Imperial City I and many other sewer dregs of society call home.
Now calling Grissenwald an Imperial City of all things is stretching the truth... just a teeny tiny bit.
Sure the city was situated on a prime position on the ford of the Great River Reik, but there is just not enough people to actually call it a proper city. The river was wild at the best of times, and at the worst? Oh boy you may as well be sacrificing yourself to Grandfather Reik himself.
The outside, beyond the walls, was barely any better as well. Farms vital for the continued sustenance of the "city" when the fishermen couldn't get enough fish were starting to get destroyed. Destroyed in a way that left no survivors or witnesses. Lets just say that the Dwarven shanty-town outside the walls was being looked at with great suspicion by the cities residents, so things are not that peaceful at the moment.
The only reason why we are an Imperial City is due to the current Baron being egregiously annoying on a multitude of issues, so much so that the Emperor decided that the best way to shut him up was to raise the places status from an admittedly crucial port town to an Imperial City.
We now have the same status as Nuln and Altdorf.
See this is the reason ya don't trust Sigmarites, the hammers they wave around must have sucked all the common sense to power up the lighting function.
Anyways... the overall situation being as shit as it is, compared to the rest of the Empire we seem to be a bastion of stability and success. Trouble at the Imperial Court as some pretender arrived to claim the true legacy of Sigmar somehow. Restlessness near the border with Sylvania and all that entails. The Dark Elves being general shitters as they up their corsair raiding for who know what rea- another invasion of Ulthuan. Dwarven grumblings being louder than they have been in forever. All those magic folks at the colleges saying something about the winds blowing louder, or something like that I'm not a mage.
Our fair "city" of Grissenwald is just chugging along, with Grandfather Reik providing the place all the trade and jobs its inhabitants needs. Nothing egregious has happened here compared to other places within the Empire, but for some odd reason I believe that will change soon.
Back to the action at hand, I finally arrive at the designated meeting place... and surprisingly I am the only one there. Huh, guess I took a lot less time than I thought summoning the urge to actually put on this heresy of a suit. Oh well time is money after all, so I should be making some while I wait for the others to arrive. I wonder, how effective really is this suit at making me look pitiful and poor?
15 Minutes Later...
Ranald put me on this world to be its collective jester. There is no other reason for why, just why.
I have made a cumulative 10 silver shillings, half a golden crown. For a frame of reference the average peasant makes about 10 golden crowns a year.
In 15 minutes.
What am I doing with my life?
"Hail compatriot Franz, salutations and apologies for my tardiness. Are you ready for our collective endeavor"?
Did Ranald lose a bet and had to sacrifice a follower for the gods' amusement?
"Uh, are you there Franz, you... you have not responded to my query..."
Are we all toys to powers greater than us mere mortals? Am I just a pawn sacrificed for another piece to have better positioning?
"Hans, Franz, sorry I am late. I am here now. Now are we ready to- why is your face like that Hans? What are you looking at-oh. Oh Sigmar".
Is life just a game we play? Controlled by beings beyond the proverbial pale. Am I actually in control?
"Alright Hans, I have seen this sickness before. My mamma gave me a foolproof cure all for situations exactly like what Franz has".
Is my whole being just a story being written? Is the author writing me no-OOOOOWWWWWWWWW YOU ASSHAT.
"See I told ya, foolproof. He is cured and has snapped back to reality".
I rub my throbbing head at the location where Karl utterly full throttle slapped me, and I glare at the two idiots truly responsible for all my woes.
"Why the Hell are you imbeciles so late? I had time to beg for money and suffer an existential crisis before the two of you deigned to show your oh so special selves. Makes a man think real hard about the likelihood of success on our upcoming mission"?
Hans looked like he was going to speak, but when I made eye contact he just started stuttering in place. Confused, and just a tad bit annoyed about just about everything, I looked towards Karl to start talking in order for Hans to reset his "fine" brain functions. He also started to speak, but just like Hans, he stopped before he got a word out. What he did next was different than Hans' reaction by a country mile.
He stopped and glared at me with a stare that my father at only his best sober could pull off. He stood up straight, reminding me of the fact that when the man was not in his resting phase of "perpetually hunching", that the man was huge. He walked directly towards me and- huh. When did I start backing up rapidly? Why is my back now against an actual wall? Why are my hands slightly shaking? Why am-Oh hi Karl you are grabbing me by the collar, and... shoving a hand down the front of my shirt?!?!
"Woah, hey there friend. I know I look good but I absolutely do not swing that wa-"
"Shut up Franz"
"Yep, okay you continue being you". Karl's hand stopped over my heart, pausing for a second, before he leaned down and put his ear against my chest. Is this my life now? I shoulda fought the fucking Beastman, dying a horrible death would of been less painful than this travesty of a week.
Eventually Karl leaned back and stepped back, and then the man flashed his fucking thumbs up at Hans, smiling like the loon that he most definitely is. Hans definitely exaggerated a huge sigh of relief as he smiled and started to walk towards us.
1234, I am calm. 5678, I am bliss. Breath in and then breath out. Really starting to want to drink my sorrows away. Alright calm down, you need to be focused Franz. You have faced worse shit in life than this.
For Ranalds sake you escaped and found love the same night you escaped Baron Assholes personal torture dungeon. This situation is just another challenge on the road to immortality. So big smile Franz, big smile,
Now composed enough to function in a social setting, I turn and look at the now worried faces of my partners. I exhale deeply through my nose and ask what I truly wanted to know in that exact moment.
"Were you two dropped on your heads as babies, or I am missing something incredibly obvious"?
The two fellows flinched heavily back, good they understand my absolute fury, and they look down at the ground in what I hope is deadly shame.
I don't say anything further, there is no need, as I continue staring. What feels like hours go by as eventually the two people in front of me get enough strength to sheepishly left up their heads and finally by able to talk Imperial Common again. Hans starts to open his mouth for a probable extensive apology, but Karl cuts him off...again.
"We thought you got turned into a vampire"
....
....
....
"I must of misheard ya, but I am not sorry WHAT?!"
Hans finally manages to loosen his jaw in order to talk and starts to awkwardly scratch the back of his head.
"Well my...Franz, your pallor and general state of appearance is rather ghastly. Your eyes have black bags under them, your look like you got run over by a horse and its carriage, and you have red stains on your collar...near your neck".
I take a finger and rub it where on my color, and then I inspect the liquid with one eye closed, squinting at the substance.
I shrug, and stick my finger in my mouth, ignoring the gasps of the people in front of me. Once I savor what taste there is left, I turn to fully face the people in front of me and resist the temptation to hit them with a stick.
"It's beer. I unfortunately failed to ascend to a higher plane when I realised my exact situation last night, and I guess I spilled some of it on this... article of clothing. Speaking of clothing..."
I walk over to Hans, clasp my hands on his shoulder in an almost brotherly way... and I start shaking him like a loose bag of change.
"WHY THE FUCK DID YA GIVE ME THIS ABOMINATION OF A SUIT?!"
"I'M SORRY, MY OLD THEATER TROUPE DIDN'T ALLOW ME TO TAKE A LOT OF CLOTHES WHEN THEY KICKED ME OUT"!
"DO YOU GET YOUR ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE DAY BY MAKING ME LOOK LIKE THE GREATEST LOSER IN THE REIKLAND"?
"I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LOOK DIGNIFIED AND FANCY! IT IS NOT MY FAULT YOU LOOK LIKE A CARICATURE OF THE POOR SOUL IN ALL THE SHALLYIAN TEMPLE POSTERS ASKING FOR DONATIONS!
"DO NOT REMIND ME, THAT FUCKING EXACT SITUATION HAPPENED AT LEAST TWICE TODAY! TWICE"!
At this point the both of us were very short on breath, and as much as I wanted to continue, the fight was starting to die down inside of me.
I sighed, removing my hands from the very dizzy Hans and turned around to collect my bearings. After a bit I started up another hopefully calmer dialogue.
"Look, if you think that your idea is going to work, then I will go along with it as judging by the bosses reaction, you are at least competent in these sorts of matters. I don't really have a lot of options left, as I played too many cards to save me from my own arrogance in recent times. So Hans, let's just... put this all behind of us then. We are probably already screwed, but what the hell, that hasn't stopped me from giving logic the finger before.
I turn back to Hans, who has an expression on his face that I admit I cannot read at all, before he too sighs. He puts out a hand towards me to shake, which I accept before he speaks.
"My companion, the future is obfuscated most heavily by the fog of war, and our path is most unstable and uncertain. Yet that does not matter, for I will give it my damndest best to see all of us get out this with our heads and posteriors still attached to where they belong. I know the times are... hard, but that is no reason to lose our heads. We WILL make it out of this, for together we WILL succeed".
I chuckle a bit, as one of the corniest speeches ever told actually made me feel a bit better. Hans then proceeds to turn to our continuously quiet third member of the team and nods his head at him.
"Karl, are you ready to give it your all to ensure our missions success"?
"'Course I will, can't continue my line of work if I am the one 4 feet under, can I".
"Isn't the expression 6 feet un-".
"Nah, that's entirely false. Most priests of Morr are too lazy to dig that deep".
'Alright then, also I have a question. Why did you not stop Franz from shaking me like a childrens toy?
"Cause ya deserved it. The shit he is wearing is just that awful".
I broke into quiet giggles.
"Well of course I did... Franz stop giggling like a prepubescent girl, we got work to do".
I stop myself from potentially getting picked up from the street and being attended to the sweet sisters "caring" "mercy", and the three of us proceed to walk to the inn of destiny, with Karl picking up his handy wheelbarrow from a ditch he stored it in along the way.
As the very "fancy" inn appears on the horizon (with an obvious rush job of a style upgrade done on it), we three boldly walk into where our dreams can come true and our lives will finally be good.
That dream died when an extremely angry man with obvious ogre heritage suddenly appeared to rush out the door and started to scream at us for daring to be late, for not coming early to be consulted on the nights security plan, and finally... if I needed directions to nearest Shallyian temple, because it seems that my life has a lot of hardship and that it is okay to ask for help.
We haven't even encountered the Chaos cultists yet and I was already insane.
AN: So...Tadaa! This fic has made its
Did not want to leave this hanging, as this is genuinely fun to write, but alas the accursed foe of college midterms appeared and I lost track of all semblance of time... and we are here two months later. I will not surrender, however. This is something I like writing, and I hope you guys like it too.