The Deranged Scribblings of a Poor Wordsmith...

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Children of Chaos

2012-02-14T22:10:00.003Z

Festag 8th Ulriczeit 2522

Breathe. Calm yourself.

Sweat beads then drenches my skin, a chill of nerves like ice. My heart is only now slowing. My breathing is ragged. The images from my dreams still hang in the air like shadows I wish to banish. I can smell their heavy musk, stink of sweat, animal breath, fresh and rotting blood. My stomach lurches but luckily I hold it down. I can hear them, see them as they steam in the frigid air. Great horns and muscles scarred with battle wounds. Terrifying weapons crusted from those who’ve fallen. Cloven feet churning the hard mud. Huge creatures that tower above me. Wild eyed.

Beastmen walk my nightmares. Even worse than my imaginings and the wives tales from my childhood. I never thought back then that I would see one in my life, never mind come face to face in battle and kill them.

The twilight battle of yesterday almost cost us dearly. At one point we thought the children of chaos had us routed but we chose to stand firm and won by the will of Sigmar.

I feel calmer now. Writing is an earthly task and brings my wits back to where they should be. The Blue Bird is chasing up the Talabec river and in a few days time we shall be in Talabheim itself.

I do not wish to get out of my bunk yet as my face is swollen painfully from my broken nose. Thankfully Stefan worked his priestly touch so I won’t look like a thug once the swelling goes down. I am sure I must be a pretty sight. The rest of me aches but I’ll mend.

Grunnd is at the other end of the cabin. I can see him past the other bunks and shadows in the candle light. He is quite the unwilling patient as Stefan tends to the wounds he cannot reach himself. I am sure whatever he is saying is not dwarven pleasantries. He is certainly not one to enjoy being mollycoddled. He’ll sleep soon once the administrations are done. They almost cost him his life, and if it were not for Grunnd we would all be dead.

I do not wish to go into the particulars. I am tired both in mind and body, though I am not sure I wish to sleep more considering where I might go.

Last night we drew-up along the banks of the Talabec to berth for the evening. While standing around the fire with the captain and the crew a man burst out of the forest gasping a story of beastmen, his wife, an inn and carnage. Chaos at work. We left the safety of the camp to the crew and dove headlong into the wilds with him.

The inn we found like a knackers yard. Dismembered and disemboweled corpses littered the floors. The back yard was filled with dead horses. No beastmen were to be found but the broken earth tracked their path into the forest.

When we caught up with them we killed those we found. So easy to write but nothing could be further from the truth. Behind them were cultists and a woman tied to an altar.

By the end the man had fled, never to be found. We untied the woman who turned out not to be the mans wife but was a fellow traveller from the inn. We have her here on the boat where we will reunite her with her uncle in Talabheim.

It sounds like we are stopping for the day. Maybe I shall go stretch my legs after all. I only hope our camp is not disturbed by more mad men or agents of chaos. May Sigmar hear my wishes. May Morr be kind to me as I sleep.

Mäuschen

[Next entry - coming soon!]

[Previous entry - Women's Talk]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Women's Talk

2012-01-19T02:47:00.000Z

Angestag 7th Ulriczeit 2522

I found Danielle sitting in the blanketed warmth of her bunk on her own. The others were elsewhere, possibly stretching their legs in the little town we are berthed at.

"How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?" I came in and sat at the edge of her bed. She looked up and smiled, giving me a happy nod. She looked genuinely pleased to see me. The dark had gone from under her eyes.

"I am glad. Danielle, I wanted to apologise for all the trouble I caused us the other night. You especially. I would not have wished for all the world to put you in danger. I am sorry."

Confusion crossed her face. "Danger? Hah! Nah, no danger at all. It was ostentatious to be a lady for the evening." she said this with an upper class accent and a flourish of her hands. The illusion lasted a moment and ended with a snort. "It's not everyday you hit a hired ass on the head with a skillet and then get to act the lady. Though I don't know how you can do it." she said rolling her eyes.

Danielle’s nonchalance in the face of danger shocked me but I suppose it shouldn’t have. My nerves suddenly evaporated watching her exaggerated pantomime and I melted into laughter. I could not help but give my friend a hug. Her humour never fails to warm my heart.

"Woah! What's all this now? You’re acting funny girl. Did the dwarf give you some of his ale? Lord help you if he has!" she made a show of patting the iron implement.

I laughed and wiped at my teary eyes "No! No no no no no... I am sorry. I am just relieved. I thought you would be angry with me." I took a deep breath and composed myself for the more serious questioning.

"Danielle. You have been more like a sister to me in the past two weeks than I have had the pleasure of in such a time but what I am about to ask you I need to hear what your heart says on this matter." I looked into her eyes to make sure I had her full attention. To impress upon her the gravity of what I asked.

"Do you understand just how much 1000 crowns is worth? What it could bring you? You would be royalty among us with that in your purse. Not a care you would have in your life from here on.

That is what I am worth now, more to my father if he gets me back. But I won't go back. Not now and not ever. I would rather die than return to the life I have left behind. You must think me a spoilt unthankful girl to not be able to appreciate what was handed to me on a golden platter as a merchant's daughter... I cannot." I fell silent and looked down my hands. I had never seen them so dirty before, I hardly recognised them.

There was no reaction at first and this made my imagination think on what she might be considering. Maybe she hadn’t thought on the reward and what it could do for her? Hadn’t thought on what a prize I could be? Maybe she was considering what to tell me?

The sound of Danielle snorting and bursting into a fit of laughter caught me off guard. I looked up to see her wiping her face and gasping for breath between giggles.

"Anya! Oh sorry, Andreas! Do you really think I'm gonna support some twisted man that is forcing you to marry? By the Ladies no! And may the Gods forbid such a thing should ever occur. You marry when you want to girl, and not because it's deemed proper, or whatever they say." She shook her head and continued. "Yes, 1000 crowns is tempting but not to me. It's adventure I crave and not the fine and grand things in life. Any man such as touches you with an intention of trading you in for 1000 crowns will feel my mighty iron!" and with that she made a whooshing noise with her skillet and mimicked Grunnd's voice in a mighty "Hah hah!"

I broke down completely at such a display, sobbing in relief. I believed her words to be true. I do not think Danielle cares for guile. I now have my answer from the two people closest to me. I feel I need not watch my back so closely as an animal hunted.

I calmed and eventually sat back to wipe my face clear with my sleeve. Disgusting but it was all I had. The sheer relief of receiving such care and support from both Danielle and Grunnd left me grinning like a child. I had not cried so hard in such a long time, had not felt safe to. A heavy weight had lifted from my heart. I clasped her hands "Thank you. Truly, thank you! There are not words for me to explain how big a gift that is to me. Thank you!” I sat back a little so as not to embarrass her. I changed the subject. “So, it is adventure you crave? Your mother did you a disservice in giving you to an initiate of Morr then didn't she? How do you put up with such a self-important man? I would expect life with Stefan must be boring indeed! Though, he is harmless I suppose."

"My mother..." Danielle sighed and looked away, "only had the best intentions for me. She didn't want me to end up with nothing like sh-" she stopped suddenly and coughed. "Um, she just didn't want me to end up alone. Since I refused to find myself a husband she just thought Stefan was the best she could do on her death bed." she smiled knowingly, "Stefan, though he is flat out boring like a dry piece of toast, let's me be myself. Yes, he has the right to boss me around but you notice how he does not punish me for speaking my mind like some other master's would. So I am not living in torture. Yet at the same time I am happy to be coming along on an adventure. Death is possible, yes. But it does not scare me as much as other things would."

I felt bad from bringing up a subject that seemed to take her back to a painful time but what she said was true.

"I understand. I know how you feel. There are fates worse than death as we have seen no? Upon looking at it like that your mother did do you a great kindness as her last act. I did not mean to be rude. It is true that if any servant spoke in our home the way you do... they would be dismissed at best or 'punished' at worse. The head of our staff had a temper on her, but everyone toed the line."

With that we both decided to stretch our legs before the captain had us cast off again. I felt light like a feather.

We are back on board now. I am told we should be at Talabheim in under a week. I am unsure what to do with my time from here until then, but I feel I do not wish to mar this light mood I have with any of the dark that is passed or is yet to come. Maybe I will write here, but maybe not. We shall see.

~ Mäuschen ~

[Next entry - Children of Chaos]
[Previous entry - Blind Beggar Inn]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Blind Beggar Inn

2012-01-15T22:48:00.001Z

Angestag 7th Ulriczeit 2522

It is freezing on deck where I sit now. My breath clouds white from my lips which nip from the icy air. The sky is clear overhead with the last stars fading from the newly rising dawn, of which only the brightest stand defiantly in her gaze. The blue lightens to the yellow of hot metal, though no heat is to be found here in Ulric’s month. We march ever forward to the day of least light that of the longest night, a little way off but not long. Frost coats the deck like a dusting of fine ground diamonds, a bitter beauty. Peace hangs like a mist.

Not many are moving on board, not any who do not need to be that is. I myself am sat with as many layers as I could don. A rough blanket is folded beneath me to keep from the chill. I have another over my legs. Against all common sense I am awake and writing on some of the fresh parchment I acquired in Altdorf’s markets. It is not my best script as these new gloves are stiff but it is better than blackened shriveled fingers the sailers of Erengrad tell of. My ‘acquired’ hat protects my head.

I awoke to find the sky still starry like a dark embroidered gown and the false dawn showing the promise of things to come this morn. All in our quarters slept soundly in all their various fashions, dark mounds in a room warm from breath and bodies.

My mind was calm but perfectly awake. No reason. I just opened my eyes and felt no need to stay in the bunk. I wanted to come outside and watch the sun rise. A new day in my new life.

Now that the sun has risen I write. Writing soothes me. You are the friend I need never fear of loosing. I do not need to pretend to be anyone other than who I am whilst speaking to you. You are silent and patient. You do not judge my innermost thoughts and desires. You do not heap scorn on me for feeling or thinking the way I do. You are my mirror where I see what really is, the quiet room where I can listen to the echo of truth.

It is two weeks since I woke in Marienburg last and so much has changed, such a long time in my mind. You already know the tale of there to here, but what of the events I have not spoken of? What happened in the Blind Beggar in Altdorf?

Grunnd’s suspicions were right. It was a night of little sleep and much disturbance.

The first time I woke to a man being shown the short way down the stairs for having turned the handle on the ‘wrong door’. Grunnd does not hold back when he hits. When he came back to the room he replaced the chair below the door and dismissed the encounter. “We’ll know soon enough what is to come. That was only the beginning of tonights entertainment I think.”

He shook his head and asked me outright. “Tell me mouse. Who exactly is your father? More importantly, what lengths would he be willing to go to get you back? What are we facing here?”

The questions felt like a chiding, in fact I was almost embarrassed to admit I had not considered the full consequences of who I am and how it would affect how long I would be free for when I ran. I explained that my father is Johann Eisenjaeger. One of the wealthiest, most successful and consequently probably one of the most powerful Marienburgian merchants alive. Though the power struggles and posturing of merchants is a politically turbulent and wholly labile affair. At home, to me, he is just ‘father’. I admitted that I had assumed very naively that I would be free to make my way in the world and that the loss of one daughter would not be of much consequence. It seemed I was wrong.

Grunnd agreed that it was rather short sighted of me but that we would deal with what came. He then asked me out of interest what the circumstances were that caused such a well placed young lady to run away in the first place? From a life with such promise as to be the daughter of a highly successful merchant? What was so wrong?

This brought back memories I would rather not have faced at that time of night. I decided to be brief and not delve into a history that would go dredging in the deep.

“I am sorry. I am not trying to be awkward but I do not wish to discuss in full my reasoning tonight, another time perhaps, but here is the quick of the tale. My father wished me married to one of his close friend’s sons, an ally if you will. I could not dissuade him from this decision as I had done in the past. I lost my heart long ago to the seas of Manann and I will not be forced to settle for less than what I lost. On the day of our wedding my brother helped me make my escape. I did not arrive at the temple where my groom and future family waited. I took flight and stayed with some of Andreas’s friends before deciding to make my own way. You know the rest. I chose the wrong man to fish from.”

Later after sleeping what felt like moments, I woke. I threw myself from where I slept into a bleary upright. My limbs trembled with the urge to run or fight while my eyes fought to remain open, trying to make sense of why I was standing. The sound of Grunnd’s voice told me this was it. I loaded my pistol hastily, fumbling and turning to the door as I heard the sound of men outside in the hall. Within a heart beat Grunnd threw the chair through the window with no warning. The shattering glass shocked my tired nerves and my pistol went off, firing through the closed door. Then, the shriek of a man in pain. I’d shot someone through the door! A voice yelled “Get the girl!”. It was me they were here for.

It all happened in a blur of confusion after that. Grunnd ordered me away from the door. Moving toward the window and I caught the tip of a pistol edging round the jagged frame. I threw my back against the wall and began hastily reloading. If only I had a second pistol, a rapier, something. Grunnd gave our assailants the opportunity to rethink their course of action before the repercussions began. He gave me the choice. This was it. Did I want to end it all and go back to my father, or did I want to stay here? “What will it be little mouse? Predator or prey?” I chose the now, my freedom.

All but one of the hired men died in what ensued. The one Grunnd tackled down the stairs as he tried to flee, I am not so sure of. I believe he and Storm Breaker may have had some unpleasant words. I think Grunnd would have left him as a messenger to go back to Albrecht.

Not wanting to have to deal with the Watch he bade us move quick. Stefan gave the dead their rites as we looted the bodies. I was quietly pleased to find myself that second pistol and a hat to add to my disguise. I was to go with Stefan and Hans as men together to the Temple of Sigmar, to await the morning before going to the Blue Bird. Grunnd took Danielle but not before I had given her one of my brother’s coats to make her disguise as me all the more convincing.

No more excitement happened that night. We left the temple with the rising sun and arrived at the quayside to find Grunnd and Danielle were safe also. As they approached Grunnd smiled “That’s a fine hat mouse.” I nodded and smiled. No use for pleasantries, Stefan in is inimitable style handed me his bag and strode up the gangway to rouse the captain.

I followed his course with my eyes. Watching his serious expression. His gate full of importance. The man who appeared was not who should have been there. It was Albrecht. My heart fluttered and ice ran under my skin. A trap! I drew my new hat over my eyes and whispered to either side of me who it was. I squinted sideways down the wharf but could not see any armed men. Grunnd rattled along the gangway after Stefan and demanded what was happening. I could not hear much but I imagine from what I know now Albrecht was asking if anyone had seen me as he had heard I was to be onboard. Grunnd yelled at me “You boy! Bring me my belongings.” Against every voice in my mind I made my way on to the boat at which Albrecht took his leave. With not so much as a look at me he handed me a note while passing with instructions to give it to ‘my master’. I made sure to keep my hat tilted but did not have a problem disguising my voice. My throat rasped tight as I spoke "Yes sir".

You already know what the note said. Albrecht knows Anya Eisenjaeger is now in service to the Empire for thievery and is most probably on the Blue Bird to Talabheim. Other than that? Nothing. For we ourselves do not know what the future holds. Snow I suspect, or rain. Rain is one of the few certainties in this life. Considering the clear sky for now and the frost we may have a reprieve to catch our breath.

~ Mäuschen ~

[Previous entry - What It Takes]

[Next entry - Women's Talk]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] What It Takes

2012-01-14T01:28:00.000Z

Konistag 6th Ulriczeit 2522

I needed to know where I stood. My new status as the Empire’s most hunted left me vulnerable to all.

I went up on deck and found Grunnd taking some air, leaning against the side of the boat. The sun was not long for the day as it was already sliding into the trees. Darkness like spilt ink was already coloring the landscape, blotting out the details. I quickly scanned around to make sure we would not be overheard.

“On the water again, eh? I for one will not miss the cart.” I leaned on the rail to look down at black water. Grunnd huffed a side smile in reply.

“Grunnd...” I sighed, swallowed hard and took my chance. I needed to know. The rest followed fast.

“I will not go back. You are right. I made my decision back at the Inn and it is the path I choose now. I would not blame you if the 1000 crowns changed your feelings towards me.” I held my hand to stop any interruptions and and closed my eyes against any tears. Deep breath.

“You do not know me from Morr, Grunnd. You have shown me kindness but you are a mortal and I am now a very wealthy ‘commodity’.” Now I looked him full in the eye and through clenched teeth continued, “I would not blame anyone for being swayed by that. Not you, not Verstohlen, not them.” I jerked my head intimating the others. “But know this...” at this I pulled my blade out, lifting it to press it against my throat for only him to see my conviction. “I will not go down whole for I would rather die than go back. I am no longer an Eisenjaeger. I am not Anya. This is my choice.”

Grunnd had stood watching me silently, letting me speak. As quickly as I drew my dagger he gently but firmly put his hand over the blade and lowered it, shaking his head, expression grim.

"Never draw steel mouse, unless you intend to bloody the blade. Too many fools in this world too keen to get their blades out. Few are willing to deal with the consequences."

His expression softened as he regarded me. "It’s not fair mouse. You being forced into this life but it’s not too bad a life. Aye, ours is a dangerous ...deadly path even, but we’re free are we not? You and I. I'd take freedom over a life of servitude any day. Why do you think a dwarf of the Grey Mountains plys his trade in death on the streets of the Empire and not in his homelands fighting the greenskins? Nah, we're not so different you and I mouse. We both have a home we'd rather not return to."

A gentle smile crossed his face with a thought. "A thousand crowns, eh? What would old Grunnd do with a thousand crowns I wonder?” Another laugh. He looked up at the sky and back again.

“I'd have a stinking hangover for a start! And we both know how i feel about them. I could buy a nice shiny new hammer? But what hammer is better than Storm Breaker? No mouse, you have nothing to fear from me on that part. A king’s ransom in gold means little to me as long as I have enough coin to get a room, eat a hot meal of an evening and payment for services I'm happy just being on the road doing steady honest...just work for an honest pay."

“The others I can’t speak for - the longshanks, he doesn’t strike me as the material type; the wench, she has a good heart; and the boy? Well him I’m undecided about. Of all of us he might have the most reason to turn you in, but again, I don’t know if he is quick enough to realize it." With that he reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. My eyes were watering a little with relief.

"Don’t worry mouse. I'll keep you safe as best I can and soon lass, maybe old Grunnd will need protecting, and I'd gladly have no other watching my back than you." He gave me a wink and looked back out across the water again.

That was all I needed to know and more. A hot tear rolled down my cheek and my heart leapt with happiness. Very quickly I lifted his tricorne and kissed his bare head with a whispered “Thank you.” before striding away back to the shared guest sleeping quarters. I didn’t look back to see his reaction.

Danielle is already sleeping. Her face shows dark marks below her dark lashes, tired. She still wears the coat I gave to aid in her disguising as me. No wonder she sleeps after the night of interrupted rest and midnight happenings we’ve had. Not that I am not tired also.

Stefan is reading his holy book by a dim candle stub. Hans too is asleep. He is laying full out with his legs crossed at the ankles and arms stretched back with his hands cradling his head. He looks as if there isn’t a care in the world. I wonder what a hunting boy dreams about? Chasing down prey and poachers I suppose.

I think I will bed down too now. Before Grunnd retires for the day.

~ Mäuschen ~

[Previous entry - Precious Commodity]

[Next entry - Blind Beggar Inn]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Precious Commodity

2012-01-13T01:34:00.000Z

Konistag 6th Ulriczeit 2522

Life presented me with the embodiment of Grunnd’s question. It demanded my answer.

“What are you little mouse?

Are you a predator or are you prey?”

Today I made the decision - I am a predator. I will not run. I will stand and fight. I will live. I will feel. I will make my own decisions.

My life has been spent as the pawn in a game controlled by the hand of my incredibly wealthy and seemingly power-hungry father. I am not his piece of property to be traded and used as a ‘commodity’. I am no longer an Eisenjaeger. No longer the merchants daughter. The child has come of age and makes her own life for herself. However long that is will be the decision of the gods.

No matter how I found my way to this point from now on I am here because I chose to be. Not because life and other beings overtook me. I am on this quest to find the Van Tanncred sword - an opportunity of a lifetime to fight in saving the Empire from destruction. I will do the will of the Witch Hunter because his is the fight against chaos. Chaos does not play by rules, it is not pretty, it is not remorseful, not merciful. Fire must be met with fire. All or nothing. I see this now.

News will reach my father that I am now a thief serving my sentence in servitude to the Empire by serving the Witch Hunter Verstohlen. Grunnd told no lies. Pulled no punches.

When Albrecht left the Blue Bird he passed a letter for my ‘master’ Grunnd. Here is what it said -

“He will never let you go Anya, you are

his most precious commodity.”

Whether this meant he knew I was on board, could see through my disguise; or that Albrecht hoped the letter would be given to me ‘back in the Temple’ where Grunnd said I was in refuge, is unclear. I feel the sickly tendrils of politics and the stench of money in this. 1000 gold crownes is what is offered for my safe return. A price on my pretty little head. I wonder how much I am truly worth to him if back in his grasp?

No doubt my father would tell me he has nothing but my best intentions at heart. That he loves and misses me and that is why he has flexed all influence he can to set the mercantile guilds in his reach to be on the alert for me. To bring his lost dear precious golden child home safe to her family. Of course behind the closed doors of Marienburg where loose lips chatter and twist the fabric of life, home of poisonous gossip, his authority will be in question. “Oh my! He cannot control his own household?” My leaving my ‘groom’ at the altar has most likely offended that most ‘honest’ of families the Ehrlichmann’s. It will be of the utmost scandal among the stalls, the inns, along the wharfs, among the harbourmen, in the washhouse by now.

If the Eisenjaeger’s were nothing but paupers. If I was a young son. There would not be this furor. No one would care to look for me. I would be considered the lost son - off to become a hero and find his fame, or his fate. There would be no mercenaries risking their skins for the reward. A king’s ransom! Enough to raise an army!

I wonder if I would still be a precious commodity if I were scarred, missing an eye, a limb, my teeth? Would I still be precious if I was found to be with child? My honor sullied? If I had brands or ink marks on my skin, better - my face, like some of the more exotic servants found in the ports? Maybe I could take a vow of chastity at a religious order? Maybe I should forfeit my life in full to Sigmar to fight to restore the balance of Order over Chaos replete?

I must go for now. We are aboard the Blue Bird and ‘safely’ at the beginning of a weeks passage to Talabheim. I shall tell the tale of the Blind Beggar in time.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - Sigmar's Hammer]

[Next entry - What It Takes]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Sigmar's Hammer

2012-01-12T02:49:00.001Z

Behzaltag 5th Ulriczeit 2522

I did not plan on taking up the pen anymore this evening but I have just had a conversation I feel I should take note of.

Grunnd had been watching me write. Not that there is anything else to do as his equipment and belongings are now in fine fettle.

"What’s that you’re writing there little mouse?" I looked up to see his good eye watching me from below a raised thick black eyebrow. His wide mustache twitched a sly smile as he took his hat off to sit it on one of his knees. As if he didn’t know what I was writing.

He leaned forward with his elbow on the other, hand rubbing his chin musingly.

"A journal of your adventures, eh?” he winked and smiled widely.

“Grunnd gives this Inn three hammers....” he said laughing to himself for a moment then looked distant. “Heh... just remembering a jest I shared with my last companion. We would go from town to town on Verstohlen’s affairs. I remarked we should keep a journal of the towns and give them a rating based on the fights we were in or the trouble it caused us...a silly notion i suppose..."

I like this notion of his. Humour to lighten the severeness of the road.

"What does it say about old Grunnd I wonder? Am I dashing hero of a heroic fable?” I couldn’t help smile and laugh as he flexed an arm and posed in profile for a moment. “No, I should think not. You probably have Grunnd penned as a fearsome half man of furious temper and terrible wrath I imagine, and you wouldn’t be far wrong would you? But don’t be too harsh on Grunnd mouse. I have seen and done terrible things to men, but I am also a fair dwarf and, if I can avoid it all, I'd rather not spill blood.”

All I could do is nod quietly in agreement. There was an inner voice that laughed that he may not enjoy killing if he can help it but that bruising backsides was another matter. I bit my lip, trying hard not to let my amusement show.

"Any questions you'd like to ask of old Grunnd, mouse?"

By this point I had put my pen down and capped the ink lest either drip or dry. Queries came to mind. Most of our conversations had been like this. A query from me and an answer from Grunnd. He is a dwarf of little unsolicited words but if you take the time to ask he will answer.

I asked him about his and dwarven drinking habits. I had heard tell of their legendary thirst for the cask but was confused by his now self-enforced drought.

He nodded and wagged his finger at me. Serious now.

“You are quite right but I can do without the sore heads and the clouded senses. On a job like this the caress of a stupor can be the death of a man, especially in these dark times. I'll keep my wits sharp and the hammer blunt thank you very much." with that he patted the weapon in recognition.

It was valid reasoning, honest. I believe he will not lie to me without good reason. There is no pretense with Grunnd. I went for one of the bigger questions hanging in my mind, plucking the courage from somewhere.

“It is Sigmar you follow? He has chosen you, no?”

Grunnd nodded. I swallowed and fidgeted with a little braided lock of my old hair I had saved from the cutting. I looked down, a little shy to be asking such a direct question. If I was going to speak of this then there was no better time or person.

“How did you know he had chosen you? How do you know who walks your path and keeps watch over you? I fear none watch me.” I caught myself at that and smoothed the grimy strands between my fingers. Gold glinted in the candle light. Is it not the same in life? That the most precious is to be found within the most base?

I looked up when no answer came. The dwarf was looking at me with both eyes now.

Grunnd exhaled and nodded thoughtfully. He began to recant his tale.

"What Verstohlen told you about the sword and the thing that now wields it, was all true, but he didn't tell you all that happened in that crypt. With a single word that thing bade us to kneel. Compelled by some overwhelming force we fell to our knees in front of its spoken command. As I looked to my companions I saw the fear and anguish in their eyes. Thankfully the Van Tanncred ancestor sought only to bore us to death with more talking, but felt we needed to be a captive audience for that. I found myself ...defiant? I can’t explain the thoughts I had or the sense of injustice I felt. Slowly, ever so slowly, I got off my knees feeling empowered, unafraid, like someone was giving me the strength to stand and fight one more battle. I gripped Storm Breaker and with a voice I can barely call me own, I challenged this Van Tanncred wight to face me, words are for poets after all, put that sword to use and fight me." he went quiet, thinking on the memory.

"Was it just old fashioned dwarven stubbornness that got me to my feet? or was I chosen by some higher power? This Sigmar of the Empire. I've seen his work. It’s more obvious than the myths and legends of my gods. I believe he got me to my feet. Even my name - Grunnd - roughly translates as hammer to your tongue. Sigmar’s hammer, that is what I think I am now." he smiled wryly. "Anyway, the wight didn't accept my challenge, although he did promise me a swift death next time we meet. I look forward to it."

After another moment of quiet reflection Grunnd gestured at me, "Go on and get to sleep little mouse, I don’t think the nights adventures have begun, and you need to sleep."

It almost made me grin the thought that not even my own father has shown such open care for me and my physical wellbeing and safety in such a long time. It is comforting to know I am not so alone in the dark.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - Mäuschen]

[Next entry - Precious Commodity]

[First entry - Ranald's Luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Mäuschen

2012-01-10T23:33:00.002Z

Behzaltag 5th Ulriczeit 2522

One day in this city and so much to tell.

Altdorf isn’t so much different from Marienburg. Unsurprisingly it is crammed with the hustle and bustle of visitors from far and wide. The stench of so much life in the narrow stony streets does make even a Marienburger’s eyes water. Muck and beggars as much as any city I suppose. It does have these tall spires which it is famous for but not the sea and the tides to wash the filth out twice a day. I am not fond of the sea, for my own reasons, but I do actually miss it. Comes from being a child of the coast. A starfish child as my father sometimes called me as I clung to him as a little one, all arms and legs.

When we arrived this morning the market was in full sail and the first request when we got out of the cart was to stretch our legs and stock up on supplies and other items. Verstohlen has gone to the Temple of Sigmar for his own duties but at least left us with some crowns and instruction to come here to the Blind Beggar Inn once finished.

In our trip for provisions Hans was kind enough to purchase a chain shirt on my behalf. We are not too different in build and I would have been sure to raise some eyebrows- a young woman purchasing armour for herself. While this was taking place Grunnd poked me in the side and winked, gesturing me to follow him.

Around the corner he admitted that though in Verstohlen’s presence he did things by the book. He had no problem if I needed to do any wealth liberation while in the city. His moral code is not so narrow. Within minutes we found ourselves in a washhouse doing our own errands. By the time we left I had myself britches, shirts and other small clothing items of the common variety, some sheeting too and some soap as it happened to be laying around and could come in useful. Danielle and Hans had barely noticed us gone when we got back. It was heartening to be back to the old tricks. Grunnd and I exchanged a quick grin before composing ourselves back to nonchalance.

I made sure to ask Hans to purchase some more ammunition for my pistol while I perused some of the stalls to find what else I needed. Namely some warm gloves, a belt, and a warmer coat. The merchants took on a different tone when they heard my voice. Seems we Marienburgers don’t hold much respect among the Empire’s merchants, no doubt it is jealousy of our free status and wealth. In saying that they treated me well enough as I was the one with the purse.

When admiring some of the exotic caged birds for sale by an Araby spice dealer a large warm hand pulled me round. It was Albrecht. One of my father’s fellow traders and close guild friends. I was shocked to see someone I knew but I shouldn’t have been as we’re not too far away by boat from home. I did my best to look pleased to see him. Pleased to see another of my father’s fat old friends with their overindulgent frames and patronising manners. The silly little girl smiled stiffly.

He wanted to know why I was in Altdorf. Why I wasn’t with my father and why I wouldn’t go back home. Not that it is any of his business. It seemed to be the most important thing in the world that I return, as if he should care. It was not until later that Grunnd hit on the true possible reasoning- Albrecht would be the hero for bringing home the wayward Eisenjaeger daughter to Johann, my father. I guess maybe it must be an embarrassment, an affront to father that I ran from the marriage he had arranged. That he could not control the women of his house. Maybe my father has even been at the guild asking the others to keep watch for my whereabouts? Why had I not thought on this? I have been busy lamenting my haste and short sightedness in running from my home and my future but now that I could be returned to the gilded cage so quickly, I am not so sure I wish my wings clipped. I may be under the authority of Verstohlen, and I may be closer to death now than ever but I am at least my own person. I may be faced by soul torturing choices but at least I feel alive. Not trapped in the drudgery of the home to dress like a lady proper. I do miss Andreas though and Beatrix with her sweet laughter and heart touching affection. Not that I do not miss my older siblings too but I have not seen Annette since she married. Her husband Meinhard took her away to his home in freezing cold Erengrad, though I see him of course as he returns to Marienburg with his trade. He is a good soul but did he really have to take her so far away from her family? Bernhard is always busy consorting with our father in their dealings, I mean business. I miss Bernhard my brother but not Bernhard the merchant. He is another creature altogether.

When Albrecht told me to wait where I was I followed him a little to see where he was limping off to. Gout, a rich mans mark. I watched as he called the attention of what looked like more of a hired thug than a guard and that was enough for me. I wasn’t being taken back kicking and screaming by a brute. I retraced my steps quickly through the crowd. Scanning faces to find the others. Thankfully they were not far away. I explained to Grunnd what had happened, possibly not very well as my heart was racing and my hands shaking. Flustered girl. I really need to get my nerves under better control. I can shoot a man at close range but not tell one of my father’s friends where to go? Ridiculous.

He shook his head and sighed deeply. He told me that there are two kinds of people in this world - predators and prey. What am I? I said that as much as I wished I were a predator, I know for now I am prey, a mouse. He reminded me of his advice from the banks of the river Reik. To stick the blade in their neck and twist, they die faster. A stranger perhaps but I could not do that to someone I grew up knowing.

Danielle, Hans and I went back to the Inn. Grunnd however took my description of Albrecht and went off looking for him. I am glad he did not find him for as much as I do not like the man, I do not wish his bearded face smashed to so much ground meat by that hammer.

A few hours ago Danielle and I worked some magic and transformed me from merchant’s daughter to working boy. I wished so hard to be able to wash myself in some warm water and that soap but the guise needed to be convincing. The long hair I once prided myself on was hacked away from waist to shoulder length, all grubby and rat tailed. I tied it back with some leather thong at least all the grease kept it where it should be. We bound my female curves down with torn lengths of the re-appropriated bed sheets. On went my new clothing. By luck they fitted but so much rougher than the finery of my brothers. They will do the job.

I was shocked when Danielle asked me how much of a man I wanted to be? I was doubly shocked as she shoved her hand down my britches with padding she had fashioned into my new ‘manhood’. ‘Not too big to be a joke and not too small to be a pity.’

I am unsure I wished to go this far in the pretense but she has convinced me for one night. I felt exposed as I came back down to the bar but was relieved to see Pieter was not there. No one lifted a brow at my change in person, even the others. I was relieved and glad.

I am now Andreas, also known as Mäuschen ~ Little Mouse ~.

I do not think I shall use my family name anymore. It is far too well known among the merchant class and could pose me a threat of more unwanted attention. I had not thought on it but a family member of the Eisenjaeger’s could fetch a pretty penny in ransom if I fell into the wrong hands. Would my father pay it? I believe he would.

I am sitting in the sparse sleeping quarters of one of the rooms upstairs. I am sure the others will be asleep now but not Grunnd. He is sat on one of the two chairs this room possesses. The other is opposite him, jammed against the door. He says he will not sleep this night for he believes Albrecht will have men come to take me away. I hope not. I hope it is just the imagination of a dwarf too long on the hard road but I guess you cannot be too careful. The others are all in the next room bar Verstohlen who is still at the Temple with his brethren.

Hopefully I will awake on the morrow. We have passage booked on the Blue Bird to Talabheim to chase the iron-forged ‘end of the world’.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - musings]

[Next entry - Sigmar's hammer]

[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Musings

2012-01-08T16:46:00.003Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~ Marktag 3rd Ulriczeit 2522 ~

A few days have passed dear friend since I spoke to you the silent listener of my innermost thoughts. I have put to one side my moral grumblings and faltering faith in order to get through the boredom of this journey. I really wish we had not lost the barge in Reiksbruck. At least it had shelter and a more ready access to warmth and sustenance. A cup of warm something would be welcomed by my fingers today. Bitter again.

There are other things we do still have. Stefan is still putting his heart and bruised skin into learning with his father’s sword. When Grunnd and Pieter are not stretching their legs and arms in beating him senseless they ride in the cart. I am impressed the mule does not spook at the sounds of the fighting behind. It must be deaf or dense. At least the fray is a source of amusement for Danielle and I. Hans too splits his attention between keeping an eye on the mule and on watching the sparring. Though the mule honestly seems to drive itself as there is only the muddy track to follow. There are no juicy tempting shoots this side of Mondstill.

I am glad. The sky has remained surprisingly kind to us on the open road. Only light showers have fallen over the woods, just enough to make us damp and a little grim. I think the sword practice of Stefan has helped in keeping our spirits on the more pleasant side of humour, and the little ditties Danielle sometimes serenades us with help too. I do not wish another confrontation between the Witch Hunter and Grunnd, and certainly not one between either of them and anyone else.

In speaking of the sky, when we do catch more than a branch-webbed view of it, it is turning a more threatening hue. I fear snow may be on its way soon. For that reason I hope we reach Altdorf before it does. I did not dress for the icy breath of Ulric, though we are in his month.

Another source of amusement is Danielle. She is merciless in her chiding of Stefan. He on the other hand feigns indifference- stoically hen-pecked.

When I came out of my tristful fog I turned to my friend in the hope of helping the time pass at a faster clip, and maybe to lift my heart a little. She did not fail me. Danielle seems not to have been touched by the mental pain I have been afflicted by since the burning. I do not believe she is happy about what took place. In fact I know she is not, but she is wise enough not to goad Verstohlen on the matter, or to dwell on it. We have spoken of many things. Mostly inane in nature. Nothing of too deep an importance. Just banter of where she is from and her view on our city. Places and people we both knew of. Shared experience on the opposite ends of the social ladder.

I find it beautiful. She has a light in her heart, a bright flame of joy and strength that cheerfully infects those who wish it. I wish I had such a gift. At least I am blessed to have her with me.

I have dipped back into the sorrow again. This is getting tiresome. Maybe I should put my writings away. To write is to look inwards and for now my insides are cold and sad like that of a blue winter twilight. They cannot help leak out to soak the parchment with the aid of my pen.

Let me see. Something else. Lifting or practical.

Grunnd is currently sitting meticulously cleaning and repairing all of his worldly belongings. I swear if this journey took any longer his mail shirt would shine like the stars. I cannot help but smile a little when I watch his little routines and rituals. His hammer is like a corporeal part of him. It does not stray far from his grasp. His hand checks for its whereabouts without his mind even asking it to- a reassuring pat to his trustiest friend. I think I would not be surprised to find an eye open on it and a mouth to speak.

Danielle seems to have taken a leaf out of Grunnd’s book and is repairing some clothing in the absence of my attention while I scribe. She is humming something familiar under her breath though I cannot remember the words to this one. Her needlework is astounding. It is not the rough ‘that will do’ of some maids work but is precise, fine and even. No doubt that some of the embroidery is of her hand too perhaps. For a someone who does not wish the marriage bed she would make a very fine wife for a deaf man. That’s a little harsh, I jest of course. Maybe a man of expansive humour and patience. She certainly deserves that at least. Someone to love her and tame the shrew within.

Hans does not speak much but his laughter is almost infectious. Danielle seems to think so at least. It sounds like it comes from his heart through the soles of his boots. His blue eyes twinkled with his wide smile while watching the sparring earlier this morn. I am glad he does not seem too affected by the loss of so much. Reiksbruck was his home and by all accounts his only family of a sort was the Baron. All who knew him in this life are now dead. How does a boy cope with such knowledge? Maybe he has not thought on it’s implications yet? Maybe I think too much.

Stefan is sitting with his huge tome of a book open and weighing down his legs as he sits. His legs and fingers are all I can truly see behind it’s leather-bound cover. I wonder if his feet feel numb or prickly yet? I do not think he would let such a trifling bodily discomfort cause him to move. Strange, he does not read as much as I thought he would, though far more than most who can. A lot of his time is spent sitting quietly contemplating. Not looking at anything in particular. As if he is waiting for something. Death I suspect, but maybe I am wrong.

Ah, Verstohlen. I try and keep my back to him as much as possible for I do not wish to illicit conversation, not that I think he enjoys such pursuits. When I do watch him during Stefan’s training he looks serious and humorless. I think it is important that though he has accrued companions like a net gathers flotsam and jetsam, we must not pose too much a danger by being helpless or useless. Though it was Stefan who requested his beatings, and only he who is practicing so maybe I am wrong. It is interesting that he gave Hans and myself a choice, admittedly between death or joinging him, but still he could have saved himself the trouble and blown our faces off too. I wonder how his brain works. I wonder if he is still a man or if in becoming a Witch Hunter you give your humanity over to a higher order, namely Sigmar. Does he have anything of the true Pieter left in his soul? Who was that boy before he became the fearsome man? I saw a crack in that armor during a well timed comment from Danielle as Stefan faltered and landed in the sodden ditch by the wayside. An almost smile softened on Verstohlen’s face but the iron mask came down just as quick. Interesting, like watching one of the ferocious beasts the men made fight for sport and money down by the market. Hard animals with all sorts of scars and learned behavior through the hardships of life with man, but sometimes, just sometimes when they let their guard down they looked as if they could be touched in friendship. Maybe best not to try lest my hand be ripped off.

Not long now. Hans says there is just under two days before we reach the City of Spires by the stone marker we just passed. I think I will walk for a bit. Keep the mule company at the front. Poor beast has no one to speak to.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - chill in the air]

[Next entry - Mäuschen]

[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Chill in the Air

2012-01-07T02:40:00.000Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~ Angestag 32nd Kaldezeit 2522 ~

It is a whole week since I tried my hand at pocketing from the Witch Hunter Pieter Verstohlen. A week since I chose life over his pistol, and since that choice I have found myself many other dangerous means of death. So many options to pick from if I was so inclined. Thus far I have survived and plan to continue doing so. I cannot believe it has only been one week past as it feels more like a lifetime. Now I am sat numb on a cart to the Greatest City of the Empire. The City of Spires - Altdorf. My father’s next favoured city after Marienburg for the wealth it brings him in trade.

Yesterday we thankfully pulled into the next town, a days ride from Reiksbruck. It was a welcome change to be able to stretch my legs and enter the almost steamy warmth of the inn. We were relieved to find no trace of the pox there. No speak of what had happened downriver. It is sometimes good fortune that news does not always travel fast.

An odd matter I noticed was that our friend the dwarf did not drink himself under the table. He stuck to small beer the strength of bog water. I wonder if the event of the burning did bother him after all, or maybe so much cart travel had upset his stomach. I know it is upsetting my joints for sure, and my buttocks. I think I could sit on glass and not feel it.

Maybe I will ask him of this some other time.

We are back on the road once more. A fairly wide track through the thick forests of the Reikland. Once you have seen a days worth of woodland in winter you have pretty much seen it all. The same scene rattles past with little change. Sometimes we pass worn paths leading off the main road, sometimes seeing a clearing through the maze of branches and dead-growth: a homestead here, a fallen tree there, a small burn or marshy pond. I haven’t seen anything untoward. No brigands or beastmen. No creatures either, or signs of life, tis winter after all. Maybe it really is the will of Sigmar that protects us on our journey, if Pieter and Grunnd are right. I do not know anymore.

I sometimes see crude little altars by the wayside, for offerings to Taal I believe. For we are definitely in his lands from what the farming traders said when they spoke of their homes whilst visiting Marienburg. Our own family altar revered Handrich and Manaan both. I know that my father also had a small shrine to Ranald hidden in his personal study, as if a nosy young girl would not have searched there. Better to hedge your bets in life I guess.

I have honoured Ranald for some time since my brother started taking me out on his little adventures. Andreas told me that at least he was honest about his trade instead of the ‘backstab with a smile’ of our fathers dealings. Merchants and pirates are robbers all the same he said, except one thinks he is better than the other with the pretense of honesty and the aboveboard-facade.

When we went out with Andreas’ friends he used to dress me up in some of his clothes; all fashionable and bonneted so my hair was hidden and my girlish looks disguised in Marienburg garb. It is not too hard when you are young. In the times when I wasn’t playing his younger brother we dressed for shadows and light-fingered work. The thrill of the theft was addictive. To gain goods and wealth so easily. The merchant doesn’t notice a few small wares gone from his stall in fact he plans for it. The lady does not believe her trinket stolen, but merely lost or misplaced. It was not long before our adventures were curtailed by my ‘blossoming’ into womanhood and the rise of my responsibilities at home with my older sister marrying.

Thievery was how I planned to make my way in the world, at least for a time, when later marriage to the son of one of my father’s fellow merchants - Olof Ehrlichmann - proved unavoidable. The boy Klaus, or I should say man though he is far from it, was not a bad one but he was not my Marcel. No one could be my Marcel.

I used to find it amusing- a merchant with a surname meaning honest man. I stopped finding it amusing when Olof and my father intended Klaus to make me an ‘honest woman’. Disgusting. Two fat old men conniving to ruin the life of a young woman all in the name of a business deal like exchanging goods and money. A product of my father’s to be bought and sold for a profit among his friends.

My older sister Annette and oldest brother Bernhard are both married well so my father should be happy that his business is done. I lost my husband before we could marry through the wrath of Manann. I would have happily kept house for my father for the rest of my earthly days - to care for him in his dotage, care for my sweet little sister Beatrix, even cow-tail to her loathsome mother the saintly ‘lady’ Nadine Fuchs Kaufmannstein, or Amsel as my father calls her. His little blackbird, how quaint. I could find other more appropriate names but I shall not waste my ink. How sweet in love my father is. Blind man. My poor mother is cold in her crypt sleeping far away from his conscience. To see an old man with such a young beautiful wife, they do say there is no fool like an old fool. I do so wish her beatific countenance would reflect her heart, she’d then be a true sight to see.

I digress a little me thinks. It passes the time. This venting of my spleen on parchment should be good for the soul I would think. I may not be the most valorous being in the flesh but here in my head I can right the wrongs and slay beasts with my pen. Mäuschen is what Grunnd calls me, he is right you know.

There was a point to my writings before it got lost and travelled into much venom. Ranald.

Yes, Ranald. I am not so sure he approves of what I have done. My mind is a thing twisted and taught with the morality of my, our, actions. I agreed that I did not have a choice. I agreed with Pieter that they all posed a threat with their possible harboring of the pox and all the chaotic possibilities that entailed. I even agreed that the best way to deal with such evils is with the cleansing of fire, indeed I even held one of the torches that set their deaths in motion. However I cannot bear that they could have died a quicker, more humane death. Apothecaries have tinctures to bring the eternal sleep calmly. Worse still some may have been free from the affliction. Does the death of one innocent constitute murder? Does the blessing of them in Morr’s name before the fiery death absolve the torch bearers of any guilt or blame? I do not know.

It is in Sigmar’s name that we now journey the deadly road, dance the merry dance, to find the Van Tanncred sword before it kills all. It is in Sigmar’s name that Pieter Verstohlen dons his tall black buckled hat and roots out all chaos and evil in his work, nay, his calling as Witch Hunter. It is. Sigmar, patron of the mighty Empire, Hammer of Heroes and god of the twin tailed comet.

I do not know where I stand in this matter other than in a place of sad hurtful thoughts. I feel I cannot speak of them lest my faltering faith mark me as one weak to the powers of chaos and have my face blown off for ‘my own good’.

Where is my faith now when I need it? Has Ranald left me? For such a god of trickery, luck and thievery to have the high morals to abhor violent crime and murder. Manann lost me when he took my love, and we are far from the sea. Handrich never knew me. I was a merchant’s daughter not the merchant himself. Who do I follow now? Such wayward lost sheep are prey for many a wolf. We pass through the wilds of nature, Taal’s heartland. We have come from the cultured fields of Rhya. They know me not. Morr might know me soon but I hope Verena is not watching. Shallya would cry to see what I have done, and Myrmidia would laugh if I called her, for I would laugh too. There are many gods in this land and in others. I have heard their names and seen their followers, their altars, in the hub of life that is the port of Marienburg. I do not feel the hand of any upon my shoulder. I feel I have lost part of myself again. Not that there was all that much left if I am honest.

How do you go forth from here? From a place so dark? I cannot speak to Danielle on such a matter, and certainly not in this blasted cart where even the mule can hear me breathe. Hans is a boy, a simple villager, and a stranger. Stefan is hardly impartial and I don’t believe he has any understanding outside of his own small world, being a man. Maybe when the time is right I can speak with Grunnd. He seems to care whether I live or die, and even for my welfare. I do not think the fervour of the witch hunt has such a hold on him as it does Pieter. Maybe we will talk in Altdorf. Maybe I will die tomorrow. Catch a chill from sitting in the cold. Would that not be an irony?

~ A ~

[Previous entry - chaos afoot]

[Next entry - musings]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Chaos Afoot

2012-01-06T15:41:00.001Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~ Behzaltag 30th Kaldezeit 2522 ~

I can still taste the acrid smoke. Still hear the screams in my mind. My eyes still sting from so much woodsmoke.

It was only some hours ago I watched the flames catch the first homes and work places of Reiksbruck. Fire is a terrible thing when not contained in the hearth or by torch, but to know what would come without it is worse still. Before the sun sets on this day I am stunned by the knowledge that I have taken my first life. More than one in fact, as I have now been accomplice to the deaths of a whole towns worth of people.

When we made it to Reiksbruck from the Baron’s house via the garrison, so Pieter could rouse the guards, we found the market square beset by the powers of chaos. A being most foul stood butchering the cattle sent to infect the people with the pox in the name of Nurgle. In this Pieter had his suspicions made real from the words of the Baron and the letters we found in his study. The townspeople were all imprisoned in cages guarded by cultist strangers in league with the dark forces. Their breath steamed in the winter air- women and children’s faces wet from crying, cold stone of no comfort underneath.

The butcher creature itself towered above the height of a man with its pallid sore-marred corpse-flesh heaving with maggots and dripping putrid effluence. The stench was worse than a Marienburg gutter in the summer sun; thick with flies and miasma. It’s face was from the realm of nightmares with its horned brow, fang hungry mouth and a single staring eye. Pieter and Grunnd called it plague bearer.

I was glad of the leather jerkin I had picked up from the garrison and the two muskets Grunnd had passed Danielle and I. We needed them.

The fight itself did not last long. Pieter and Grunnd took on the beast of Nurgle, felling it with violent flare and the eruption of its’ innards onto the stones of the market square, but not without injury. The chaos guards didn’t stand much chance against the garrison’s guards. Three made a line for myself and Danielle, and both of us defended ourselves well in light of such a baptism in battle.

As soon as the agents of chaos were dispatched Pieter ordered the town raised to the ground.

Fire cleanses all.

The discussion on the matter was short for a Witch Hunter is not a person to be argued with. I myself am in no position to argue the methods of cleansing, though something more humane for the men, women and children would have soothed my womanly conscience. I cannot think on it now for it would lead to madness and upset. Out of the safety of the family home is not the place for gentle virtues. This is the real world where death will take you as soon as look at you, and there are worse things than dying in this world.

Stefan did the work of Morr in offering blessings and the last rites to ensure all departing were taken into his sleep to be judged by him on the other side. He then took the protesting Danielle and sombre Hans quickly away past the gates with the guards who were ordered to ensure no one escaped the cleansing. I helped Grunnd with the torches and we all retired to the safety outside the town walls to watch the flames lick from roof to roof. Not all roofs in the river towns use tile with reed being so plentiful; a boon for the terrible task.

Now my buttocks hurt from so much sitting on this cart. My mind pains me from knowledge I do not want.

Almost as soon as Hans guided the mule away from the palisade and towards Altdorf, Grunnd tucked his trusty hammer into his side, lay back, propped his hat over his eyes and folded his arms snug over his broad chest. It’s almost enviable how quickly he falls to snoring. No jarring of his mind to keep him awake. Maybe some day I will take such horrors in my stride as he does. Will I wish to be so someday?

Danielle looks like she could sleep too from the rocking of the cart. We’ve left the fields and the ever-watching presence of the Grey Mountains in the western distance. We plunge head-long into the winter woods of Reikwald Forest as Hans tells me. The light is almost gone with the shadowy branches swallowing us up, and the sun sliding west-home for the day.

I will finish quickly. My fingers stiffen in this bitter air. I need to find myself some gloves soon.

When we were not long on the road Pieter turned in his seat beside Hans and decided to speak to us. He looked grim. He said that now we had shown ourselves somewhat trustworthy he felt we should know more of why we are on this journey with him, a journey which we won't see the end of.

We are journeying to find the Van Tanncred Sword which came out of the Crusade of Sun and Sands a thousand years ago. It entered the empire through Marienburg where it was sold to a merchant and then onto a man with some sort of a family claim on it. Grunnd and another, now no longer with us, were recruited to find information on the Knights of the White Rose who Van Tanncred- the man who fought in the crusade and brought back the sword as his own - was a member of. One of Pieter Verstohlen’s ancestors was squire to this knight and so the Verstohlen family fell in tandem with the Van Tanncreds. It seems this sword is not just a piece of sharp forged iron but an object with the power to bring the whole world to its knees with a deathblow. So now we are on the road to Altdorf where we shall gain passage to Talabheim further up the river in pursuit of the last clue to its whereabouts.

We should reach Altdorf in over a weeks time. A long uncomfortable journey in the open on a cart.

~ A ~

[Previous entry- sleep of morr]
[Next entry- chill in the air]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Sleep of Morr

2011-12-14T04:08:00.000Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~ Behzaltag 30th Kaldezeit 2522 ~

So much for sleeping soundly in this comfortable bed. Over an hour ago I woke to the sounds of grinding stone against stone and voices.

I was bleary eyed from being awake longer than anyone else while writing here. Stefan strode past me quickly with something about ‘Who dares defile those who rest?’ with his sword in hand. A moment later I manage to get my heavy eyes open and focused. While pulling my boots on a loaded and heavy crossbow landed in my arms. “You’re with me Mouse. Just point that at whoever I'm shouting at and stay back." I had to dash to keep up with Grunnd.

Down at the mausoleum it all happened so quickly. The Baron was there with another man. I don’t even know who said what but it was quickly clear that they shouldn’t have been there. Grunnd stepped forward and after a short exchange, ordered the Baron to stand outside and for me to keep him in my line of sight of the crossbow. Then all within the same moment the other man made a move to presumably draw a weapon. Grunnd closed the distance between them in a blink and with complete devastation, brought his warhammer down on the mans skull to crush it into his chest.

I have never seen anything so vile in all my life.

My stomach agreed and I vomited violently. My innards felt as though they were trying to invert me. The smell of the man’s remains and my vomit made it all the more sickening. Time still moved quickly. Danielle and the cartboy were somehow there now as well, or were they there when Grunnd delivered that blow. I do not know. Danielle joined me in sickness and the cartboy heaved and dropped- passing out from the horror I think.

I looked up to make sure I still had the Baron in front of me. There was no cause to worry for he looked like he had seen his own death. Still panting and retching, I wiped the filth from my mouth with my sleeve. My eyes ran and my mouth watered.

“All right little mouse? Seen your first dead body, gets better here in.” Grunnd came forward and patted me on the back in a comforting way. Thoughtful, but little solace. He then moved into action. Whilst slapping the cartboy a few times to bring him round, he ordered Danielle off to find Verstohlen immediately.

I was vaguely aware of Stefan mumbling angrily about anyone else wanting to defile the sanctity of the dead with their stomach contents. No one answered. There were more important matters at stake than the half digested dinners of a few shocked individuals.

While Danielle ran away all in a trembling fluster, Grunnd demanded the Baron explain the meaning of all this. I don’t believe he got far enough because it wasn’t long before she returned with Pieter. The Witch Hunter looked grim. The dark mass of his tall buckled hat and dark coat made my stomach churn in warning. The flames reflected off the brass of his pistols. It looked like more than just anger that burned in his eyes, was it fervor? Possibly, when chaos is involved for these people I’d imagine it would be.

To cut it short, the Baron explained something about after his wife dying he was approached with the offer from a man that he could bring her back, and that all he would need would be some offerings- a few peasants. The Baron stupidly agreed in his grief, and the man returned with some cattle that he said the people could eat and that when they fell ill and died the bargain would be fulfilled. I do not know if anything else was said but no more will be given for Verstohlen blew the mans face off with a close range pistol shot.

Seeing his body collapse into another faceless mess on the floor didn’t seem to affect me the way the other did. Not that I could make out anything from the mess of gore in the half light of torches. I have seen the dead before, but not any taken in such violent circumstances. Corpses usually have a face.

Pieter turned on the cartboy and gave him almost the same ultimatum he gave me less than a week ago. Join us in silence or die. Luckily Hans, as I now know him to be, chose life. I can only imagine what he is going through. He said the Baron was almost a father to him. I guess we are now orphans together in the world, of a kind.

Stefan ordered a still shaking Danielle to fetch him a mop and a very large bucket, “I have Morr’s work to do.” Mundanity returns, how comforting. I could hear him talking to himself of all the mess; of all the blessings he would need to perform; that he’d get no more sleep this night; on how to perform a rite on a body without a head or face, where would he anoint the oil? He stopped at that thought and shouted after her to bring his book as well. “Much work of Morr.” he shook his head and tutted, rolling his sleeves up.

Still gathering my thoughts, I made a move to return to bed. I startled as the crossbow was snatched quickly out of my hands. Grunnd grinned widely up at me, a twinkle in his eye. “You get that in serious situations only." he looked a bit more serious "Now scat! Off to bed with ye.” he gestured with the bolt as he unarmed the weapon.

I couldn’t really think when I got back to this chamber. I just sat and stared at one of the cracks that ran from the ceiling to the small window frame. It was something easy to focus on in the dim. Cracked plaster and crumbling brickwork.

When Danielle came to bed she was still a bit shaky. I did my best to comfort her with a hug, which she accepted. As she curled up under her blankets I combed her hair with my fingers, shushing her mutterings of the horrors. I sang her one of the songs my mother used to sing to me when I was ill. I smoothed the hair from her forehead until her breathing lengthened into carefree sleep.

I wish I was so lucky. My mind is thrumming with thoughts now that the shock has faded.

I have had a very real awakening to the situation I am in now. Chaos is a visceral threat to my life and those I am bound to who stand against it. This isn’t just a forced potato-boat trip by gun point to see the wonderful world we live in. People will die. It won’t be pretty. They may be evil or innocent but in the end they will die just the same. I am going to be one of them very soon unless I stand up and prepare myself. Pieter Verstohlen’s pistol may be the least of my concerns now.

I have decided I will not be a passive victim in all this. I ran away from my future as a merchant's wife, if I had got to the temple that is what I would be now, I could even have been with child by now. Who knows? Instead I didn’t think very far ahead and ended up being a thieving vagrant for a matter of weeks. Hardly impressive. Now, through a poor choice of target I am in the company of a Witch Hunter on a crusade against chaos along with his right hand dwarf and ourselves: a rag-taggle band.

So, what can I do?

I will take Grunnd’s advice and guise myself as a boy. I shall now be known as Andreas. I can think of no more fitting a name than my brother’s. After all it is his clothes I wear; his dagger he gifted me that I carry; and he was the one who taught me this trade. I do so miss him it pains my heart but at least now he will be with me. I will have to find myself some more boys clothing: very base items so as not to attract attention. After I cut my hair I think I should find myself a hat to wear to dissuade anyone from looking too closely. Maybe a pair of gloves too, it is cold and will only get colder, my hands are small and delicate even for a boys.

As for surviving I will need to find myself better protection than the clothes I stand up in and my warm padded jerkin. Maybe I can find me a leather one to start with. I shall ask Grunnd what he thinks as he clearly seems to care for my well being and trusts me; he gave me his crossbow, for a time at least. I should like to learn to use it if he will teach me. A rapier would not go amiss either. I used to enjoy watching my brothers practice. Andreas would sometimes tutor me in private so I knew what to do. I miss our little adventures.

However, the past is gone now. I would like the future to go on for as long as possible if I can help it. If I am going to meet Morr I want to die fighting by my own choice. Not as a helpless bystander.

Let us see what the morning brings.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - a pox on you]
[Next entry - chaos afoot]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] A Pox on You

2011-12-10T03:56:00.001Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~ Backertag 29th Kaldezeit 2522 ~

Not even a day has passed since I wrote here and already the danger of life outside of the city has come home to roost. I’m not sure which I would prefer: a shot to the head or death by plague? I'm sure my options here in the world are far more open than those two imminent ones, but they are the most likely at the moment.

It’s funny. The hardest decision I had not long ago was what dress to wear, or how I would like my hair braided. To wear a dress now would be a dangerous luxury, and caring for my hair will be easy once it is short. I will miss my long hair. It is repulsively filthy just now, almost brown from the grime, but when it is clean it shines like spun silk the colour of spring honey. It keeps my back warm in the winter chill. Like a dress, it is a luxury I cannot afford to have.

Grunnd took me by surprise today with a show of compassion. He advised me of the dangers a woman on the road has in these dark days. I had figured these on my own but it was nice for another to care enough to point them out, especially someone I had marked as one who could kill me when I am no longer useful or convenient. He suggested I take the guise of a boy; quite appropriate given my frame and soft female voice for I am certainly no man. He also handed me a dagger with the wish that he hoped I never need to use it, but I shall speak more of this later.

I have not long finished caring for my weapons under Grunnd’s watchful eye; another kindness. I asked him to show me what to do. Very efficiently he went through the steps, and gave a few words of wisdom about my weapons being what stands between me and Morr. I handed him back the dagger he had given me earlier, as I already have my own. Or, my father’s if you want to be correct about it. I guess it is mine now as I don’t know if I will ever see my father again. A few days ago I might have said that I would never wish to see him again, but now it seems like that possible wish has come true. I am not entirely sure I really meant what I said - the foolish words of an angry girl perhaps.

Let me see if I can quickly take note of what happened today, lest my memory fail me and I need this information in the future.

Within seconds of closing the bindings of this journal earlier, we were rudely roused by a hammering fist and a commanding voice. My head wished there was neither, I had been looking forward to that quiet riverwalk. I thought Pieter had gone to fetch Grunnd from his drunken berth at the inn, but he had not yet departed as he was on deck with the captain and a somber looking guard when Danielle and I came out.

It seems this little town of Reiksbruck, as the captain calls it, is afflicted by plague. More specifically red pox as Stefan would later tell us. We are now not permitted to leave the town as we may be infected. Wouldn’t want the pestilence spreading any further now would we? Not sure I want to be trapped in a plague town.

Full of importance, Stefan quickly asked the guard to take him to the sick and left with his bag of items in tow; being the one with an idea on how to care for the ill, and with his natural morbid duties to possibly attend to. Pieter disappeared off to retrieve Grunnd from the inn. But before long they were all back with a new objective- to travel to the Baron of the town to inform him of Reikbruck’s predicament - a job which the initiate of Morr managed to accrue while at the sickhouse.

As the others were moving their belongings from the boat and packing them onto a farm cart that had been enlisted to take us to the Baron, a firm warm hand grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me to the side. “A moment little mouse.” It was Grunnd. I didn’t know what to say so obeyed.

~ Now that I have had time to mull it over I quite like this name he has given me. ~

Once out of the way he peered up at me from below the rim of his trusty tricorn. First the good eye and then the scarred one taking me in with an assessing look, his black mustache bristled and twitched for a moment. "The wench I cannot talk to. She belongs to the longshanks; she walks her own road. But the road we're on, the road you've been forced into, tis a dangerous one for a lass, specially a fair lass like you. If you would heed my council: cut that hair short; muddy your face; and find some stable boys britches to wear. Men who travel these roads want little from a stable boy, but there's more than coin to be taken from a pretty girl." Grunnd left the implied threat hanging and turned for the cart, paused briefly then looked back. He produced a wicked looking boot dagger, "Should that happen, bury this in their neck. Don't forget to twist the blade- they bleed more and die faster..."

At what the townsfolk termed the ‘big house’, not as grand as even my family home, we found a sad place indeed. This feeling wasn’t helped by the coming down of the dark. Short days these with winter riding in. Cold.

The Baron is a somber man with a very deliberate, slow manner. His wife died just six months back with the last wave of plague that hit the area. The weight of his grief hangs around him like an oppressive deadweight.

Within the conversation with the Baron I learned some interesting things from listening to Pieter. Firstly that his name is Pieter Verstohlen. Secondly that he is a Witch Hunter, this is not a necessarily good thing for me as they are not the kind of persons you wish to travel with. Dangerous isn’t the word. I am surprised I am still alive if the tales in Marienburg are to be believed.

If I am honest, I have been too frightened to ask him anything of where we are going and certainly not what we or he were doing. Now I know that we are headed for Altdorf the Empire’s capital; somewhere I have never been but always wanted to visit. We also need to be on our way as time very much is of the essence- Grunnd has made this perfectly clear. There is evil afoot and if this quest that Pieter and Grunnd seem to be on, and ourselves of course, isn’t successful. Then the Empire and possibly further afield is in very grave danger.

The Baron does not wish to let us go until he is sure we are safe to travel, despite the pointed protests from Grunnd. Verstohlen seems to agree with the Baron in some respects and does not wish to spread this pox for the harm it could do. This sparked the first disagreement I have seen between these two men, the forces of their wills are like forces of nature. Grunnd riled at Pieter's’ refusal to put their goals first, to understand the urgency, to brush all this plague aside in the usual manner of ‘burning the whole village, and it’s people, to let Morr sort them’.

To burn the whole village? This was another reminder of the people I am with. They are dangerous and not the kind to grow comfortable with. Though they also mentioned something about the last burned out town being corrupted by chaos as well as plague.

Grunnd hit a sore point and accused Pieter Verstohlen of being feckless towards the situation. This outburst to such a man shocked me. He demanded that he show some passion. I haven’t seen such a powerful explosion of fiery anger. Verstohlen cowed Grunnd into his place as his agent, he roared of the pressure of the quest they are on and that somehow his family are involved. Grunnd backed down. I am not sure if he is afraid of Verstohlen, or if he was angry, by his reaction. My stomach lurched at all the fire and shouting in the air, eyes misty, I must have looked pale to see. I haven’t seen Pieter since he stormed out of the room. I am glad that I haven’t.

In the relative silence after the outburst, Stefan apologised to the Baron for having to witness such an outburst in his great hall considering he was providing us all with such kind hospitality. He apologised on his companions behalves and moved the subject, saying something about wishing to visit the mausoleum to care for those in sleep eternal, and to perform some blessings. I guess a man of Morr has no rest because there are always the dead. It is interesting. I was considering how unshakable Stefan is; so composed and reserved. I have come to the conclusion that once you have made your peace with Morr then I guess not much else disturbs you. Personally I do not fear Morr or death but it is the reaching them that bothers me. An eternal sleep is harmless. The many ways of reaching them are often agonising and slow if you are not lucky. I would hope to go in my sleep like mother did; to go from one dream to another, but I don’t think I shall be so blessed.

It is my own time for sleep now. I can hear Danielle’s quiet peaceful breathing behind me. Stefan and the boy who brought us here are also soundly sleeping somewhere in this room. Grunnd isn’t quite so quiet. In the little light I have here by the candle, among the moving shadows, all I can see is a mound and his beloved hat. He even sleeps in it, or rather below it. Maybe my candle was disturbing him.

Anyway, to bed. Goodness knows what will happen tomorrow, and when I shall sleep in a soft bed again, so I might as well make the most of it.

~ A ~

[Previous entry - inn and ale]
[Next entry - sleep of Morr]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Inn and Ale

2011-12-04T03:18:00.001Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Backertag 29th Kaldezeit 2522~

Yesterday afternoon we finally pulled in at a town, Reiksbruck, to trade them potatoes and such like. What a release to visit an inn! To be in the busy warmth with other people! So much so that my head now throbs with the ‘release’. Danielle assured me I should drink some of the ‘finest’ ale- she can drink steins of the drink. I knew to at least order something to eat, a change from the gruel- the innkeeper provided stale bread, cheese and cold meat. Rich fair to what I eat nowadays. Just a quart of the ale and my head spun. I listened to the happy chatter of Danielle, vaguely aware she was pleasantly drawing information from alcohol loosened lips, least alone my own. I gave up on the dark brew and ordered some of my customary watered wine. It wasn’t quite a quality Tilean variety but it was better than what I surrendered to my friend. Though we could have slept at the inn for a change in surroundings, Pieter and Stefan had other thoughts and we came back to the boat. Grunnd stayed the night. Probably asleep under the barrel of ale if what I hear of dwarves is to be believed. Pieter has gone to fetch the stormy short one. I think I’ll see about some fresh air and a walk along the bank before we cast off again today.

~ A ~

[Previous Entry - steady passage]
[Next Entry - a pox on you]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Steady Passage

2011-12-03T03:15:00.000Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Aubentag 27th Kaldezeit 2522~

Time has passed as quickly as the countryside has. Withered reeds and dead brush passing us by, succeeded by frozen fields, clouded marsh, muddy villages and shadowy forrest. The cold water fog that lifts from the deep dark of the rippling Reik surface is like smoke. Crows croak at our slow steady passage.

It’s liberating to see new things; to be out of the city. It’s been a long time since I was that little golden child sat in her fathers lap watching in wonder as we travelled on one of his trading ships. Those few adventures were over too quickly.

Pieter doesn’t reveal anything of himself. He is like a closed man cloaked in silence, even when he speaks. Danger like the charge before a storm surrounds him.

Stefan continues to present himself for a beating from Pieter every day. He's stoically stupid but there is hope for him yet. I guess I am being a little unfair. It's actually admirable that a man with no obvious weapon skills has taken a leap to learn on the run in front of strangers, in fact more remarkable that he came at all. He remains professional and ungrumbling as usual. I wonder what his weak spot is? Maybe when you make your peace with Morr little else phases you.

Grunnd is interesting. I'm not well acquainted with dwarven kind so to be in close quarters with one is an education. He is fastidious about his appearance and his equipment. Today I watched as he took a wickedly sharp dagger from his boot to shave his head and chin free of hair; odd as the few dwarves I have seen usually have a full beard and head of long hair. Every evening he carefully sharpens his blade; oils his warhammer and its grip; and checks his mail shirt before repairing any missing links. I can understand now why he is so insistent in teaching Stefan how to care for his weapon; I imagine he must have been horrified by the state of it!

Danielle is quickly growing to be like a sister to me. She honestly seems to like me, care for me dare I say? She seems to enjoy the companionship my company offers. She is also a great one for the things she reveals from the bags she packed for her and Stefan her master. I am very grateful for the treats that make eating gruel almost stomach-able. I still don’t know where we are going but hopefully we’ll dock soon. I would like to see what the towns are like here in the Wastelands.

~ A~

[Previous Entry - fish out of water]
[Next Entry - inn and ale]

[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Fish Out of Water

2011-12-02T03:13:00.000Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Festag 25th Kaldezeit 2522~

It’s funny. Stefan, between bouts of dry retching, has challenged Pieter to teach him how to fight with some drift wood. Grunnd has already started tutoring him in how to care for his rather old and pitted sword he owns. To fight he put on armor that made him look as if he’d taken his fathers, it even fell clean off his shoulders at first fitting, all the while he remained perfectly composed. He is impressively serious, phlegmatic. This one is what my maid Helga would have called a cold fish, or a fish out of water. At least I’m not the only one.

Pieter thrashed him up and down the deck of the ship with alarming regularity today and Stefan picked himself up, dusted himself off and presented his ‘weapon’ again for more practice. He is stoically receptive to the abuse. He amazes me.

~ A ~

[Previous Entry - Ranald's luck]
[Next Entry - steady passage]
[First entry - Ranald's luck]

The Van Tanncred Sword [Warhammer] Ranald's Luck

2011-12-01T03:09:00.000Z

Memoirs of Anya Eisenjaeger

~Angestag 24th Kaldezeit 2522~

I don’t know why I write my memoirs anymore. They seem a silly thing now. Though everything in my past seems silly and childish. The trappings of a sheltered fool of a girl who would not follow the gentle supplicant path of a lady of these times. I could not play the loving daughter who’d kiss the hand of her father, and marry the wondrous husband he had been able to convince to marry an unlucky aging bride as myself.

Luck: another joke of life, or Ranald, depending on how you think.

Speaking of life I almost died today. You could say that this is an occurrence that happens with alarming regularity in my city, but I think I am fooling myself if I believe the sun shines brighter beyond the Vloedmuur. It certainly doesn’t shine in this ‘city of gold’. City of Gold. The only thing golden about Marienburg is the fabrics we dress ourselves in as we stride through and over the muck. It’s a city of filth if you ask me. Rotten to the core with a shiny bright sweet skin like an apple (be careful not to bite) - can’t have your dinner and eat it.

By Morr’s breath I thought I was gone. I’ve been improving on my bumbled first attempts at picking pockets now I don’t have my old ‘brother in crime’. ~How I miss him.~ Passing through some of the hawkers and others on the street a man piqued my interest. Tall with a black buckled hat, long coat with big pockets and a shadowed face; I thought it wouldn’t hurt to try (certainly not on an obvious visitor). Might even cheer me up a bit to see what I could win from a fish. I pulled the old stumble trick and quickly found myself a side alley to check my winnings.

A scrap of parchment. Parchment! I risked a fumble for some parchment that talks about scrolls, and a name I’m not permitted to use on pain of a swift pistol to the head if I’m lucky, guts if I’m not.

Yes. Parchment.

A few seconds later there’s a cold pistol cocked at the back of my head and I surrender up my hard won ‘prize’. The man pistol marches me some distance through the freezing shady back alleys. By this point I have seen him up close, far too close. He’s tall and armed like you would not believe. I won’t even try describe the look he gave me lest it make me cry. Foolish girl. The thoughts that ran through my head ranged from a quick shot to the head, to being sold into slavery, or stripped for the enjoyment of lesser men before being beaten to death. At that point I would have offered anything to Manann to take me back to the temple and my new husband; life with him might be better than death after-all.

We quickly came to the door of a townhouse and I was shoved inside. I was trying so hard to remain calm and composed. My teeth and hands wanted to betray me with the ice shakes, my eyes stung.

In the warmth of the house I came face to face with three more strangers- a priest of Morr with his silver raven pendant, the house obviously his own from the items and belongings there; a moustachioed dwarf wearing a tricorne hat, he just as terrifying as the pistol pointer; and a very loud and talkative woman about age with myself. There was talk and the woman seemed to win me a visit to the less intimidating back room with it’s stove where she gave me my first hot meal of the day. She fussed over me like my old nurse maid. Though very common in her demeanor I found her to have a sharp mind and a likable nature. This one, Danielle, I believe she has a good heart. Like a sister from the other side of the city so to speak. It seems odd but she has a strangely calming influence with her confidence.

Very quickly the tall one with the pistol came back and dismissed the servant from the room. I wished he hadn’t. He took a chair at the small table and removed his wide hat to reveal an unshaven grizzled face with the serious humorless eyes I imagine my father would have if crossed in his dealings. The pit of my stomach dropped into nothing. He could ask me anything and I would answer. No guile here.

My heart stopped. I watched as he silently placed his cocked weapon lightly on the table, pointing it in my direction. I could smell the leather of his coat, the smell of unwashed clothing, gunpowder and streetmuck. Carried on the air of his close breath was the musk of man, intimidation, a whole other world from that of sweet boy. This was a man who would not be messed with. Thoughts raced. Oh how I wished I had kept my fingers to myself. Ranald was having his fun. This was far from reappropriating a ladies coin purse or taking my lunch from the busy market trader’s cart. This man would kill me.

I breathed out. My heart beat again, so fast I could barely hear anything else. My palms were clammy. Lightning in my veins. He asked me about what I had done. What I had understood. He told me why a piece of information that was essentially meaningless to me had the importance to bring the entire Empire to it’s knees. He presented his options to me, all with the continued unrelentless look of a man who was judging my very soul. I would either take a shot to the head and spend the rest of my earthly remains in the garden of Morr; or I would be taken against my will, with himself and his companions on their quest, to use my skills when required and be a loyal attendant, paid for my services, and never to breath a word of the parchment again. It was down to my decision. I chose life.

There was moment of a moment where my heart whispered what luck it was that I was being presented with an adventure beyond measure that would take me from the gilded cage of Marienburg to a future unknown. The next heartbeat faltered and brought me back to the grim reality of the presence before me. I naturally chose service. He removed his pistol from my line of sight and left coins on the table, with the closing warning of what would happen if I failed any of the clauses. I would not fail this man.

Danielle bustled back bringing the warmth and life back to a room where the shadow of death had passed through. She continued to chatter and coo over me. It was soothing.

Back in the first room the others discussed what they would and wouldn’t need to venture out on this quest. The young priest reminded me a little of my brother, except he was thinner, much much paler with ingrained inky fingers; I learned this is Stefan, initiate of Morr. The dwarf had the a similar aura to the other man, a being not to be messed with, possibly less charitable or reasonable than the other would be. He was a sight to behold with his wide black mustache lively and animated as it occupied the breadth of his serious face, marred by the deep crease of an scar over his left eye. This one is Grunnd, and gruff. Pieter is the one who could well end my days. At least my last will be brightened by the humour and warmth of Danielle, Stefan’s servant through her mother’s canny deathbed request.

The talk was that we were to leave with the night and the turn of the tide. There wasn’t enough coinage to buy us all passage up river. Stefan was arguing over the selling of some of his belongings. I felt a little lighter, this was something I could manage. I stepped forward and offered my services to gain the finances needed. Stefan looked disgraced, offended at the idea of a spot of wealth liberation. I explained that I merely knew where to exchange his goods for a fine price. Danielle offered her expertise too as she had her contacts as well. It was with this we were grudgingly freed into the quickly dimming crisp afternoon air. Winter days are short and cold here in the North. I felt like I had a purpose, the first in a long time, and a ‘friend’ to keep me company.

We quickly made our way with Danielle in the lead. She took us to the backdoor of one of the more up-town inns; she had a friend in the kitchen and knew the lady of the house. The land lord answered. With as much polishing of his ego, and selling of the benefits the fine silver cutlery and pewter wares could bring to his business, we in the end had to resort to the card of the woman- a heart felt story and tearful plea - to bring the price up to an acceptable standard. Yes. My poor grandmother was on her sickbed and closer to death each day, I needed the funds to reach her far-away-in-whatever-place-we-made-up before she dies. Luckily it worked. Men don’t like strange women crying in their presence. Sometimes.

On our way back we swung by the wharf to find a riverman heading up river. If we brought our own food and caused no fuss we could have passage for 25 shillings each, which was very good considering we had charmed a crowne and half from the innkeeper. We accepted and said we would be back before the tide turned. I gave the coinage to Danielle, not wanting to get close to the buckled hat again. Danielle cheerily talked about her life and derided her pale and wan master as much as possible. I think there may be affection there, somewhere.

We, all five of us, made it in time for the cast-off. The barge carried potatoes and other grown goods for the markets upstream. I made a point before leaving the ‘death house’ to change into the grubbiest of all my clothing and cover my hair, hands and face as much as possible. Travel at night is cold. Travel with more strange men is best not done when tempting Ranald more. I didn’t appear to attract any unwanted attention. Danielle has gained the familiar surreptitious looks and words that superstitious sailors give to women. Stefan tried to look, what I imagine he was trying to, dignified as he threw up not long after setting sail. The sailors quietly kept their amusement to themselves, that was good of them. The dwarf however showed his jovial side in his mockery of the poor creature’s shaky legs and grey skin, pale even the lamplight. I have avoided any more close contact with Pieter. I just want to observe these people, try to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into here and how to survive. I do not wish to anger any of them. Least alone Grunnd or Pieter.

My eyes are tired and my fingers are sore now from so much writing. I said I don’t know why I write my memoirs here in this journal anymore. Maybe because it’s the only familiar thing I have left from the frivolous life of a merchants daughter. The cage has opened and the bird has taken wing. I wonder where my little wings will take me? What hunters and hawks wait to tear me from the skies?

Good night my silent friend. You may be the only one I have.

~ A ~

[Next Entry - fish out of water]

[Session 6.5] Fireside Reverie - Saturday 12th November 2011

2011-11-12T02:49:00.000Z

Fireside reverie was conducted away from the gaming table and on the campaign's Facebook group. Moderated by myself the write up I wrote was edited by the DM- Dangerous Brian. All player's speech/writings were kept true as much as possible in the edit whilst giving priority to the game setting and the DMs decision as he wasn't present of the actual play itself. It is set after the end of session 6. The party and their new found companions felt it safer to make camp outwith the cave for the night before another day trying to complete it's clear out for the home-less troglodytes.

~ o 0 o ~

The moon rides high her silvery disc shining like a new coin. Ha, money! What use is it here, on an island out of time or place? Inhabited by strange and foul creatures. Even the island itself seems bent on killing those newly stranded there.

Some of it's newest inhabitants sit huddled round a roaring camp fire for the precious warmth it provides. Some speak, some merely gaze as though lost in thoughts of happier times. The ground and land outside of the roaring glare is ridden with shadows and forms too dark to make out or understand. The shifting dark is the place where nightmares are born, only to fade when another dawn rises.

The party hope for the dawn to come soon. Sleeping out in the open is a restless past time. It would be nice to sleep soundly again without the worry of darts and daggers. That kind of thinking breeds fear, suspicion and discontent.

Bare chested and huge in scale, Boagris stands near the slender fire-haired Thoht. He speaks: "Can you believe we are marooned on this stupid island surrounded by lizard men, and the God’s know what else, because some ‘God’ took a dislike to us?” The big ex-gladiator laughs, drinking some water from his flask.

“The Gods have no patience with us! I say screw the Gods! All of them! They seem no more different than I. Piss me off and I’ll maroon everyone of the guilty to places they can never come back from." Boagris continues laughing at his own bravado, a bit more aggressively now, patting Thoht on his shoulder.

Boagris changes the focus of his attention, "Laugh Shadowdancer! I want to see a smile out of that face! Smile! Or am I not funny enough for you?" he growls staring towards a corner where he last thinks he saw Shadowdancer.

Looking back at Thoht, Boagris continues: "Creepy little thing that one. I should have smacked him harder the first time, so he knows I mean business. I don’t like him, I don’t like the other sneaks, and I damn as hell don’t like that slaver.” He growls again, glaring in the direction of the slaver in question, Xenos.

Grinning now Boagris speaks with a little less mirth, “Don’t worry Thoht, I didn’t forget you. You I despise the most: always praying to your Gods, that one or the other one. What good did the Gods do when I was in need of them? We're all alone I tell you! Forget them and learn how to use a sword, you bloody priest."

At that Boagris leaves the campfire to stand on his own, looking up to the stars and back to a small object he holds in his paw-like hand... a toy made out of cloth.

Thoht mutters quietly to himself in Elvish, shaking his head. "Poor dumb brute, had he only the wit to know how much stronger he would be did he only believe in the Gods?”

Euthalia looks up from her fire-gazing. She wishes she could be doing something more useful just now. She cannot get out of her mind the image of Glykeria's mangled body. Grey clammy skin, torn gaping shoulder and the putrid black pile of maggots that was once her fair arm.

A vision no one should have to see.

That had been the first time she had not been able to save someone with her gift. To feel the rush of power channeled from on high and to see it dissipate like so much smoke into air. Even worse that she could do no more afterwords than a simple prayer for a departed soul. To leave a fellow priestesses remains to the creatures of decay in a cave did not sit well with her. Even knowing as she did that there had been no-way to bring the body back through that narrow, twisting shaft.

Hot tears well in Euthalia's eyes, flowing freely down her cheeks. She wipes them away quickly when the bulky shadow of Boagris passes over.

Euthalia sighs and gathers her chiton around her closely to guard against the night chill. She walks to his side. It seems she is not the only one who may be in need of comfort. She sees he is fumbling something carefully in his great hands. Holding it so gently, lovingly.

Being such a tiny female, especially in comparison to a man so large, she cranes her neck to look up to him. "Boagris?”, she touches her hand to his elbow, hoping not to startle him with her icy little fingers.

"What troubles your mind, friend?"

Shadowdancer observes Euthalia from the concealing veil of deep shadows, noting her distress and presuming its cause to be the fall of Glykeria.

He shrugs slightly. Glykeria had been reasonably useful to them all, had seemed level-headed enough, but then she given into a moment of stupidity and greed...and died.

He hoped the message was not lost on the others. He was well aware that they held him in little regard and in truth he held them in even greater contempt. To his eyes they were like children playing at being wise. If they chose to ignore his words and hold the wisdom her offered in contempt then so be it. It mattered little to him, beyond the increase in his own prospect of survival that their presence offered, and there were times he felt that their sheer folly made them more a detriment than aid.

His eyes glittered with vague amusement while they followed Euthalia's graceless – by Shidhe terms, at any rate- movement towards the hulking and scarred gladiator, Boagris. Wondering if perhaps she sought more than the comfort of a friend from the male. The young priestess seemed the sort to give into the attraction his looming form offered in the dire fate they all shared.

'Best not to get too close Euthalia' he thought to himself. Though Boagrius obviously had his uses in a fight, and there seemed likely to be many of those in their future, Ailil had still not forgiven him for striking him down when he had merely sought to arm himself with one of the many weapons Alexis had been fortunate to gather from the wreck.

That day neither Boagris nor Alexis had been able to look beyond the petty humans concerns of property and ownership to see that survival was their greatest challenge. Some day there would be a reckoning for their insult.

Boagris looks down at the slender form whose hand rests upon his elbow. But only for a moment. His gaze returns to to the small cloth toy dwarfed by the cage of his mighty fingers. After a moment, the gladiator speaks:

"It has been long since I had time to think. Most of the last 10 years I've spent fighting. You priests are lucky. You read and learn. I sat for years in a cell, then traveled for years more in a cage. I didn’t know where I was, or how I got there. They would always mask me. After some time I stopped caring. I tried to escape but it was the lash when they caught me”.

The big warrior laughs. “Now we are marooned here. My master is no longer in business. Odd, is it not? I lost all I had. My home... " He turns to fully look at the priestess, "Don’t pray for me girl! The Gods don’t know me." With that Boagris returns to the fire where his bedroll awaits. His eyes linger on the flames, his hands still fumbling with the little doll.

A mocking smile plays on Shadowdancer’s lips; Boagrius’s dismissive words to Euthalia drifting to him through the night. A blatant rejection to her subtle advances and an insult to her beliefs and her Gods too! As good as a slap in the face, though he doubted the plain spoken gladiator saw it that way. No doubt the fool felt he had likely never been closer to - and revealed more deep heartfelt to- anyone in years.

The shihde shook his head softly from side to side, as if disbelieving the eccentricities and foibles of humans, once again reminded of how like children they were. Unaware of the subtleties and nuances hidden in all things. Even their own actions.

Watching Boagris lie down and roll over, apparently intending to sleep, Shadowdancer quelled the rising Unseelie urge to simply glide across the camp the moment Euthalia's back was turned and slit the man's throat. Instead he let his gaze slide back to Euthalia, waiting to catch a glimpse of her reaction so that he could glean more about which way the wind blew between her and Boagris, and indeed discern greater insight into her character.

Close by, Andros too gazes up at the night sky. Hoping to at least see a star, a beacon of some hope. After gleaning much from the short interactions between Boagris and Euthalia, she needs to take her mind off events. Everyone has a story. Everyone has hopes. And everyone stranded upon this isle has a life awaiting their return. The blacksmith sighs, receiving no love from the sky. She asks the Goddess why she has been punished? Punished from the very moment she was pulled squalling from her Mother's womb. She could easily imagine her father's disappointment at the knowledge his wife had delivered to him yet another daughter. She could not help being born a woman, but dammit, she was born a brilliant blacksmith also!

Andros fumbles in the darkness for her blacksmiths bag. Withdrawing a square of cloth, she absently begins cleaning her blade, still tainted with the rotting, fungal pus of slain plant-men. The lingering smell making her gag even now, after many such cleanings. Absently, she wonders what price she would not pay for a simple bath. A proper one. In a hot tub of beaten copper filled with fresh water from the well. The muscled yet still feminine woman smiles weakly to herself in the darkness, imagining if her sister Vasilias could hear her now! She would laugh and remark, "You? Bathe? You would sleep in the ashes and soot of father's forge and think it better even than a king's bed!" The smile fades quickly at the thought of her sister. At the sudden pangs of longing. She thought again of the practice fights they shared with father's sword. Andros rarely won. Vasilias was a champion of the blade in her own right. But Andros had learned more from her -improved more- each time they had crossed blades.

Leaving her reverie behind for a moment, the blacksmith directs her gaze towards Boagris, wondering if he is asleep. She could hear the sadness and anger in his voice. So much hate. She wishes that he could find peace. Mostly, she wishes he has the sense not to direct his rage at any of their companions.

Euthalia listened to the troubles of the gladiator without a word, reflecting upon the teachings of the ancients. The wise tell us that the Gods gave us two ears, two eyes and one mouth. It is the way of things that we should watch and listen twice as much as we speak and act.

She allows the big man to say his piece and remained where she stood when he returned to his place by the fire. Such a huge man, blessed with the shoulders of a giant and, it seems, the weight of the world to settle upon them. Yet lying as he does, curled and vulnerable, he seems to her in that moment little more than an ailing child. Poor creature.

In a gentle and even voice she turns to address the gladiators broad back.

“I will pray for whom I wish, though it is kind that you bid me not waste my efforts upon you. You say the Gods do not know you. The Gods know everyone. Haestia knew you before you arrived screaming forth from your mothers womb. Just as a parent must let a child go forth and experience the ills and trials of life so that they might grow into manhood, so the Gods must allow we mortals to experience what we must in order to become the people we are fated to be. It is possible that you ignored the help offered to you by the old ones in your ignorance. Just as you shun my simple act of friendship. I feel your pain and wish you a peaceful rest.”

Without waiting for a reply she strides back to fire, bedding down for the night. Perhaps sleep would help ease the pain of her loss.

Thoht watches quietly while Euthalia attempts to ease the troubled Boagris, to little avail. Despite the harsh words the gladiator directed towards him, Thoht knows that he must find common ground with such ex-slaves and dregs as he finds himself among if they are all to survive. His thoughts turn darkly to the recent loss of his fellow priestess, Glykeria. such senseless waste of one so blessed by Far Seeing Miranda.

Why did not Ki & the elf prevent her from such a reckless act? Damn them both! Worse still, the cleric considered darkly, the others seem intent on ignoring my own wisdom - and even that of the Haestian Priestess! Are they fools? I must pray for guidance and hope that the Lady Of Oracles grants me understanding of their brutish ways. Still, I may not belong here, but I shall place my faith in the knowledge that the Gods have placed me here for good reason. I must only determine what that reason is...

The cleric of Miranda moves to sit at the edge of the light cast by the fire. Reverie comes slowly and the restless movements and grumbles of those by the fire are a constant background to his thoughts. Thoughts of the elf, Shadowdancer, impinge briefly upon his reverie.

I must watch that one. For good or ill, the Lady grant me the sight to see our fates.’

Shadowdancer, having held by a derisive snort on over-hearing Euthalia's cutting reply to Boagris -cold words veiled behind a kindly voice- switches his gaze to Andros. The elf notes that she watches the interaction as intently as he himself, but the blacksmith seems somewhat lost in recollections of her own. Idly, he wonders what secrets lurk there in her thoughts.

'It is possible that you ignored the help offered to you by the old ones,' He mouths silently through a wry smile, mocking Euthalia's words.“What would any of you monkey's do if you knew the truth?”

[OOC: Shadowdancer is old. Very old. Old enough, in fact, to remember the forms the God's re-shaped to produce the race of man.]

He muses upon his esoteric knowledge in a soft whisper, his first words spoken out loud in the fragile, false lull from danger that is the campfire they all share.

Boagris’s neck-hairs are aquiver, the familiar sensation of being watched learned from long, brutal nights in the slave pens. His eyes slowly roam around that portion of the camp visible from his bedroll. He relaxes somewhat when his eyes settle upon his observer. Just the blacksmith. It occurs to the warrior that no one is sleeping well this night. He beckons Andros to come closer.

Andros glances around the campfire, as if unsure to whom the gladiator beckons. Sighing, unsure what the gladiator could possibly have to say to her, she approaches him. Sword and rag still in hand.

Boagris looks at his reflection mirrored in the polished blade of her weapon. His gaze moves to study the striking figure of the female blacksmith standing before him. He wonders at her story. Why was she aboard a trade ship carrying envoys to the mighty city of Zama? Feeling the unfamiliar desire for conversation, he struggles to form his questions. Settling instead for the simplest of questions. One he has already asked himself. "What's your tale blacksmith?”

He shifts himself, lifting his muscled, scarred frame out of his bedroll to sit upon the cold stone, his legs crossed before him.

Not distant, a single elfin brow lifts with jaded curiosity. Shadowdancer watches as Andros stalks over in apparent response to Boagrius's summons. The unspoken words of 'This had better be good' seeming to hang in the air as she very deliberately slaps the blade of her sword into the palm of her left hand.

The elf could not help but feel there was an outside chance that Boagrius might boldly invite her to share his blankets. The fallout from that might prove to be deliciously amusing indeed.

Folding his long-cloak closer around him, ward off the night's chill, he settles against the rock that guards his back and waits to see how events play out. A soft blue glow of delight at imminent mischief radiates from the shifting constellations of stars that glisten in his fae eyes.

Curled up tightly in her canvas blankets, sails rescued from the wreck of their ship, Euthalia finds sleep to be a reluctant bed-mate tonight. Her mind is sore and roiling from the remembered images of a pale face and clouded eyes. A dead stare that seems to her full of recrimination. Desperate to find at least some rest this night -for her prayers will not doubt be needed on the morrow – she decides upon quiet meditation as a means to settle her mind.

Eyes closed, the cleric attempts to block out all noise of the activity around her. The fire flickers as it should. Mortals speak, and cough, and move, and breathe as they must. She breaths herself. Slowly. In and out. Trying to still the waves of sound and focus on the inner silence. Distractions fade away beyond the tightening circle of her awareness. A point of light in her inner eye becomes all, she knows that light. The sacred-hearth. It is the gentle blessing of the Goddess Haestia, whom she serves.

“My story?” Andros clearly could not be more surprised! This man, this brute whose arms seem wide and brutal enough to snap the likes of Shadowdancer in twain; wants to hear her story? She stares at him, perplexed for a moment and, her sword still ready at a hand and wearing a face that promises trouble at the slightest hint of any lascivious intent on the gladiators part, she sits by him and tells the story of her father, Vasilliakos Tsiminis, a great warrior in his time. The gladiators slow, respectful nod tells her that Boagrius knows of whom she speaks. She tells on of how the great Vasilliakos had always felt sure he was fated to have two sons. One to become a warrior like himself and the other, to adopt his second passion: that of the forge. And yet, his wife bore no sons. Only daughters. Andros and Vasilias. Both women. Both cursed to bear the names of men all their days.

After a moment more, Boagrius asks, "What of your sister?"

"Oh, she is intent on winning fame as the greatest warrior of Mysos.” replies the blacksmith, shrugging carelessly.

Boagrius frowns for a moment. Thinking, he admits, "I knew your father, you know. I fought alongside him once. In the Arena. At Mysos. He seemed a happy enough man. Not the sort to find fault in his family."

The gladiator glances upon the sword and then at the darkness, looking for the being he thought of as the ‘creeping one’. "He would happily kill me that one.” Boagrius states, not feeling any need to explain whom he means. Sure that the blacksmith will know. “But he needs me. As we need him. One day I will save his skin and neither he, nor I, will like it.”

“Speak. Tell me more. I have time to spare." Boagrius turns his cold eyes back to the fire.

Deep within her meditations, a voice reaches out towards Euthalia, from the darkness.

“Euthalia. Do you hear me? There is much that has been left unsaid. I must speak through you to the others.” Though she knows her body sits in warmth, by the fire, within herself she feels the cold grasp of hands upon her shoulders. Icy chills make her shudder, a motion so sudden and violent that it captures the attention of all those still awake within the confines of the camp.

Though her mouth opens in a pained gasp, a familiar acerbic tone issues from her mouth- the voice of Glykeria.

“Listen to these words I tell!”

Euthalia shivers with the chill of channeling a presence from beyond the grave. Understanding at least the theory behind the strange events that have befallen her, Euthalia squeezes her eyes tightly closed with the effort to maintain the link.

Shadowdancer surges to his feet, a move so fluid and quick that a single flickering blink and the human eye would miss it.

“Release your hold on her, shade of Glykeria! It is unseemly for the dead to possess the living so!”, the elf calls out while striding angrily from the shadows.

“If you have come to speak of some warning or insight then do so quickly, the strain you place on Euthalia's frail human body is great indeed. Many lives depend on her strength.”

Euthalia hears the voice from outside her link, but it is distant. Faint. Almost as though she wear hearing a conversation mumbled through wadded cloth. A strange fierce blue light like that of the frozen moon enters her mind. With barely a twitch from her body. The other-wordly voice erupts from her mouth once again.

“Oh for the sake of.... do you really think, oh high-and-mighty lord, that I would endanger her? The only reason I can speak through her voice at all is because she allows me to do so. And because she got so very near at the time of my soul's passing. Not to mention close to perhaps becoming my friend. I do her quite an honor by using her as my vessel. Although she is not presently aware of events in the mortal realm any more than mortals are aware of events in the Summerlands.”

“I do agree with you however. I cannot pass on much knowledge of what fate has been chosen for you. Yet you are correct in that you will need her aide. More than hers alone actually. I am doing what is possible, but even having passed so recently, it is difficult to influence events on the mortal realm directly.”

“You met your fate through your own folly shade of Glykeria,” comes Shadowdancer's growling retort, “do not expect me to credit you with gaining much in the way wisdom in the few hours since your passing.” As if to emphasis his glaring disapproval, the elf leans back, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the shade which has bound itself in the body of another.

Glykeria's half-cackle echoes eerily from a place not quite inside the body of Euthalia.

“Of every being in the presence of my voice, I expect YOU to comprehend the afterlife the least. But time is wasting. Chastising you is not a priority.”

My second gift is to offer answers where I can.” Euthalia's head jerkily glances at the moon's progress through flickering lashes. “And while I can! Be quick! Ask your questions!”

The strange and otherworldly conversation has finally caught the attention of more than those involved. Andros looks on mouth agape while Boagrius dashes desperately to Euthalia’s side.

“Glykeria! Is that you?” the gladiator calls, “What of my wife? My child? Are they with you in the Summerlands?”

Euthalia’s body shakes a little at the startling new voice and presence barging it's way into her awareness . A thought crosses her mind, this one feels red and warm. Like a bale fire.

The thought disappears, there is a pause where her face freezes a moment. "Your wife... I cannot reveal to any mortal what lies beyond the paths of the dead. There is no comfort I can offer you, mighty Boagrius. Only in death may mortal man learn such secrets.”

Quietly watching and listening to all that transpires, Thoht keeps his own council, knowing that his past is not for the likes of these to know or hear. He will observe and no more.

Overhead the Goddess Tanith reaches the peak of her nightly patrol of the heavens. Euthalia's body takes on a faint glow.

Euthalia speaks, “My time is up and over. Know you have at least one voice beseeching the Gods on your behalf. Hold fast to your hope, worse is yet to come....” Her voice fades out a little, and with a faint pop the glow dissipates. Euthalia's sense slowly return to her body, leaving her weak and tired as a day old kitten.

Suddenly, she inhales with explosive sharpness, her eyes thrown wildly open. Her eyes frantically searching for some sign, some landmark with which to once again anchor her perceptions in this reality. She slumps to the side, numb from the sudden emptiness of feeling. She closes her eyes against the confusing visions that swirl within her still. Fatigue overcomes her at last, and she descends into a dreamless sleep.

Thoht lets out a muffled and somewhat enigmatic chuckle at the specter’s visitation before slipping into reverie once more.

"En-lil lugal kurkurra ab-ba dingir reneke inim ginanita dninĝirsu dšarabi ki ene sur." Ki Oman takes out his lyre and plays a low slow melody, singing softly in a strange language. The bard’s voice and music comforting all those who wish to listen. Food for the hopeless soul on a dark night.

Boagris settles back down to sleep, a different man from the one who stood earlier, gazing down upon the doll that once belonged to his lost daughter. When last they had walked the world together she had been only four. At his leaving, she had presented him with her fondest toy. Saying: “Take it daddy, will keep you safe on your travels.”

How little she had known of the evils that walk the earth in the guise of men. After the battle, he had returned home to find his wife dead upon the floor of their coastal home. But she had given him one last glimmer of hope. His daughter had run from the men who had defiled their mother. She had escaped and was free. Somehow, he would find her. He knew it in his mighty heart. For it must be so.

[Background] Dragon Age - The Life of Lady Nimue

2010-01-23T15:39:00.000Z

The Life of Lady Nimue, or:
The Tragic Life of a Fereldan's most Reknowned and Beautiful Daughter:
b: 9:53 (53rd year of the Ninth, or Dragon, Age) d 9:98

The Lady Nimue, already reknowned for her beauty at the tender age of seventeen, became the richest of Ferelden's great heiress upon the death of her first husband, Arl Loxly of Ironkeep. The death of this worthy soul, whose early death robbed him of issue or near-relative to carry on his line, was mourned throughout Ferelden. for truly was he amoung the wisest of men and the most famous of poets.

Alas, as a young widow and heiress, Nimue's fate was not her own. King Larian, son of the Hero King, Alistair the Warden, took her as his ward. For some years thereafter he kept her unmarried at court, adding the wealth of her lands to his own treasury. Yet in time, he married her to his drunken, aging crony, Bann Luthor of Restenford, a near-impotent old relic desperate to sire an heir and living in hope that so fine a beauty as bed partner could serve to wake his long slumbering member.

Yet he, too, died soon after– again leaving no heir or living relatives to carry on hisline. It was in this manner that Nimue, thought cursed by some and blessed by others, became heiress of both Ironkeep and Restenford and, at twenty, had come to outlive not one but two husbands.

Twice widowed, Nimue became her own woman subject to no mans wishes, and could marry whom she pleased. Still a young lass, barely twenty, many a young man turned her fine head with whispers and empty promises. It was not long before she had been sufficiently bedded as to produce her first, natural child, a daughter. Thus giving lie to the cruel whispers of jeoulous wives and eager male paramours.

In time, the Prince himself caught Lady Nimue's eye, or rather, her eye was caught by him. Leobold, son of the King, cared not for her somewhat deserved slatternly reputation. He saw only her lands and her youthful beauty.

However, before they could be wed, the lady's marriage train was set upon and waylaid by the army of a powerful Bann, Ofric of Blackwood, who bore a name blacker than that of any robber lord there ever was. Forcibly raped by Osfric and married in the ruins of a broken Chantry by a corrupt priest, not even the Prince or the King, nor even the church itself, could dissolve this travesty of amarriage, For without evidence of consanguinity to rule the marriage void, their flesh (and lands) were one.

Adding Ironkeep and Restenford to Blackwood, Osfric became the most powerful noble in the Kingdom, his lands and armies rivalling even that of the King. Osfric arrogantly named himself Tairn Osfric, seizing for himself this powerful title that could be bestowed only by the King. Though the title was never rightfully his, he possessed lands enough, and power enough, to ensure that all, even the King himself, addressed him so in his presence. He made no secret of the fact his “wife” had born a royal bastard shortly after the “Shameful Wedding”. But, as was his right, he had the babe put to death as another mans child. Yet never could he find that other vexing child, Nimue's first-born, carried away to safety in secret, and concealed by loving hands long since.

In time, Nimue, in her torment, bore the foul knight Osfric a son, Maleguant, who at the tender age of eighteen would already rival his father in infamy. But by this gift of life, this, the darkest portion of Nimue's ordeal came to an end. No longer needed for the production of an heir, Nimue was banished to a tower atop a high peak in the Frostmounts, where Osfric ensured that even the King and his son must pay dearly in political favours to visit.

Poor, ill-used Nimue was not entirely friendless in this cold place. Grand Master Dolgan of the Grey Wardens was a visitor who could not be turned away, lest he carry out his threat to perform the Rite of Conscription on Osfric and Malegaunt both. Mother Thinistra of the Chantry, another frequent visitor, came often in the company of her bastard nephew Rolland Henli, to provide comfort and solace to a woman sorely in need of Andraste's blessing. As Rolland grew older, so too grew the the rumours that he was her lover. Yet if this were so, evidently Osfirc cared not. He had already taken steps to ensure that fair Nimue could never again concieve a child.

Finally, when Nimue had spent but a half-score years in her high prison, Osfric fell in battle with the King. Third time (and perhaps third time happily) widowed, Nimue took her hated teenage son as her ward. Vowing to do all she could to ensure this hateful child came to possess but a fraction of the power of his despised father, she made a gift of her sons ancestral lands, the Bann of Blackwood, in "perpetuity", to that young gallant, Rolland Henli. Rolland thereafter became Bann of Blackwood with the King himself named by Nimue as his Overlord. But alas, Nimue could not bear to kill any child as her husband had done, even a foul viper such as Malegaunt. And so would this mercy become her undoing.

Nimue thus retreated from public life, though continuing to rule from her castle of IronKeep (where she could keep an eye of her cruel and hateful son) visited Denerim often to consult with the king. She died there, soon after her son's majority, in her bed.

Seemingly, of poison.

Alas for Maleguant, he is not Nimue's only living heir. And though his half-sister be but a bastard and in hiding, there remains the right of the widows portion. Fully one third of Osrics lands rightfully passed to Nimue upon his death and these lands Nimue may dispose of as she may.

Somewhere out there, in the wild lands of Ferelden, lives a daughter who is about to inherit a throne - and an enemy.

[PreGame] Dragon Age: a Throne in Peril

2010-01-22T14:43:00.000Z

Dragon Age is a table top RPG of the pen and paper variety. The DM's background notes, game mechanics and other blurbs can be found here at RPG.net. Reading this will further your understanding of the game and setting before delving into the story that will unfold here.

I would be dishonest to claim this story for purely my own writings for, in truth, they are a joint venture between myself and my other half who happens to be the DM. I, as in the other game, am chief note taker and here he has transformed them from rough notes into a story for your perusal. He can also be found here on Blogspot as Dangerous Brian.

Session 8 - WotBS - Sunday 10th January 2010

2010-01-10T22:23:00.000Z

Dara- Elf- Druid

Aramil- Eladrin - Warlord

Sonea- Human - Wizard

Shadowdancer- Eladrin - Avenger

Mikal- Human- Rogue

Adahan (Boomer) - Human- Swordmage

Bomilcar-Human- Undisclosed Defender Class

Now at the cave site we find dawn is rising, Mikal has gone off scouting and we’re left with our captive. We've tied him up and left him in the cage where we found the body of a dead mage. There are no jars left except some shards.

Sonea recognises him as Trehan Finner, a hedge witch who’s a pub owner from Gate Pass. We seem to think he may be the publican of the Poison Apple Pub. He could have been a member of the resistance as the Pub was used as a safe house. On question from Shadowdancer, Bomilcar assesses the body and feels he probably died to starvation.

Bomilcar is chosen as the one to speak with the captive. He bashes a hand against the bars and barks at him to wake up. The captive is lying curled up like a child as we’ve taken his clothes. He sighs and turns, rolling his eyes in the way one does when they can’t be bothered, very much a ‘here we go’ look.

Shadowdancer offers the human the shroud and holds it out to see the human’s reaction. Finding he can’t read him he speaks with Aramil in Eladrin. Saying how he just can’t read these mortal monkeys. Aramil shrugs explaining he thinks he’s being a hard man.

Bomilcar is speaking with him but there is a feeling this man may be of the philosophy of Stoic. He finds he is Cathar, a Patrician. Meaning he is of a family that has produced a president in the past. His family must have been very illustrious as they had afforded funerary masks.

They find that the cleft helm is a sign of shame. He failed at a task. It must have been bad as his families funerary masks were smashed, the helm cleft, his name shows something. He only as one name, he’s lost the right to his other ones or he has chosen not to show dishonour to his ancestors by using his full name.

Most senatorial families are Tiefling. For a human family to have risen to such a level and to have a president in their family is quite a thing.

Cathar really is of a high family. He despises silly questions and those low-born.

After all is said and done we find that we can’t get any more information from one so tightlipped and that we would do well to hire him.

Mikal arrives back to report a farmstead further down the valley. Some good news as a blizzard is forming, not the kind of thing you'd enjoy getting caught in outside of the city. Hurrying toward the stone building a young female beckons urgently, she seems to be expecting us. Gestures to put the mules in the line of sheltering pines near the stead. Mikal takes the mules to settle them in.

Entering it is a welcomingly warm home with the kind of rooms you would expect- main room/study and bedrooms. There are scrolls stuffed in bookcase, littering a table; a roaring fire warming a rather unfriendly looking old man; and many paintings on the walls. The young woman smiles and offers up wooden cups of steaming soup, she tells us that she is Kristin and to forgive her father Hadrir.

Rudely but expectedly, Bomilcar and Cathor take up positions on eitherside of the door.

Hadrir looks disgustedly at the people cluttering his home. Spying the black horse bands he laughs, he says it reads ‘murdering bastards’. Cathor is shocked that is was meant to read ‘Black Horse Company’. The old man says the language is Infernal.

Dara's ears bristle with attention, above the din of soup slurping and chat that there is scratching at the door. She raises her hand to Bomilcar ‘Can you hear that?’.....'There is scratching at the door’. He disagrees but opens the door to find two small goblins.

Kristin looks delighted ‘Ah there you are.’

Cathor mouths looks shocked and mouths ‘Arkanis’ to the others.

Taking the hint, Dara steps to the side of the door out of view and skittering sneaks into a mouse form and quickly sneaks under the book case.

Boomer walks towards the door and plants his battle standard.

The inquisitor shouts ‘We’ve come for the wizards, bring them out and no one will be harmed.’

The goblins squeak ‘Much.’

Shadowdancer steps to the side and teleports through the window to the outside.

Aramil throws alchemists fire out the door. He kills two skeletons.

The Arkanis growls something and casts a spell at Boomer.

The goblins take pot shots at Cathor, missing.

The sword man attacks Cathor and the spearman attacks Bomilcar.

Kristin runs and hides behind the cupboard. Hadrir just smokes his pipe.

Dara finds her way out of the house and into the thick foliage beside the house.

Boomer uses sword burst at those infront of him.

Cathor marks the nearest goblin. ‘You are mine!’

Bomilcar attacks the same goblin but misses.

Shadowdancer moves to the corner of the house and loads his crossbow, stepping out slightly from the house and releases his bolt. Unfortunately it just clicks.

Sonea kills a goblin with a magic missile and wounds the swordman.

Aramil throws alchemists fire at the enemies. He kills the final skeleton, singes a goblin and the inquisitor doesn’t even notice. He then uses Commanders Strike for Cathor but he fluffs it.

The swordsman misses Cathor, the Spearman stabs and hits Boomer.

Bomilcar gets hit by a goblin.

The bowman shoot at Cathor, one hits. Bolt of fiery arcane energy, black necrotic energy that you can see stars in banebolt.

Boomer invokes the Aegis of Ensnarement- teleporting the swordsman to a square beside him.

The goblin moves to a space where the swordsman was, he then swipes at Cathor.

The goblin comes screaming in attacking Cathor, Aramil and Boomer (hit). Warriors Rampage (anger of the shortarse)

The inquisitor tucks away his axe and casts a spell. Energy from his fingertips, red energy lash goes for Boomer. Boomer manages to duck and dive out of them all.

Dara shifts back to human form, moving to the teleported door and shoots flame seed. The...turns and cancels my spell.

Cathor swipes and hits the goblin.

Bomilcar swipes too and decampates the goblin with his shield ‘Don’t you dare try to stick me in the balls!’

Shadowdancer tries again with his crossbow, hitting at the goblin perched on the tomb. He steps back round the corner to hide.

Sonea blows a hole in the swordsman killing him.

Aramil attacks the goblin but misses.

The inquisitor shouts ‘Smarr! There’s a nest of them!’ the arkanis group all move for the inquisitor. He touches a bracelet and they all disappear.

After a moments silence after the clamour of the encounter Kristin comes out of hiding ‘See father, I said it would be ok, now you have lots of light’ Ever the optimist it seems.

__________ o 0 o __________

Unfortunately for the story and myself our game became untenable and the players disbanded. Playing with Dungeons and Dragons 4th edition makes combat a lengthy process and the rate of game play really killed our enthusiasm. I still hold out hope for this campaign to be rebooted with the OSRIC rules system. Shadowdancer lives on in the world of Edarnia. At the moment of typing this addendum we are playing Isle of the Earthshaker set mainly with Myceneans closer to the Protectorate of Zama 50 years on from the War of the Burning Sky.

~ Amber Renarde

Session 7 - WotBS - Sunday 6th December 2009

2009-12-07T15:43:00.000Z

Tonight our tale is brought to you, once again, by fellow resistance member- Shadowdancer- and fellow gameplayer- Ridh. The party find themselves back at the Temple. Will the party escape the city? What of the Arcanis?

Dara- Elf- Druid
Aramil- Eladrin - Warlord
Sonea- Human - Wizard
Shadowdancer- Eladrin - Avenger
Mikal- Human- Rogue
Adahan (Boomer) - Human- Swordmage
Bomilcar-Human- Undisclosed Defender Class

Since, in all the rush Dara appears not to have noticed the absence of her journal I shall continue to keep the diary of the exploits of myself and my group.

~Shadowdancer~

At last it seems the others begin to see the need to get out of this dreary city, which, need I mention seems likely to be overrun by troops any day. Dara goes off to check that the mules are ready enough to travel in a blizzard, since the discussion of what we intend is somewhat moot if they are not. She finds that they could do with another couple of days rest but she should be able to coax them through if the group takes it easy on them. She returns and advises us of this and we agree that our need is greater than the mules, an obvious decision if you ask me.

Mikal suggests that in order to make our deadline of a nightfall departure we should begin loading the mules as soon as possible. I suggest that we also allow Bomilcar to advise since he has done this sort of thing before, a task I admit I have left to subordinates in the past.

Dara asks whether we have a backup plan and I reveal that I have an idea of one that shall be revealed when necessary.....though I am not sure how those resistance members that we have allowed to tag along with us shall take the suggestion that we exit dramatically with blade and magic, but sometimes drastic measures are necessary for the greater good.

After having pulled Mikal aside I am able to convince him to loan me the longsword in return for a favour in the future. Since humans seem to drop like flies at the slightest provocation this situation may never even come to pass.

Once the mules are loaded with supplies from the quartermaster, Dara transforms into a similar beast and she and Mikal depart to our rendezvous point.

As we are readying ourselves for the breakout, Torrent arrives and enquires how we are proceeding on the mission that Buron had assigned to us- that of taking out the Arcanis cell operating in the city. I later found out that Aramil showed her the kindness of being polite as he sets her straight on the relative importance of this task when compared to that of unlocking the box. I passed her as she stormed out to trot out yet another dreary complaint to Buron about us. It never fails to amuse me that humans can be arrogant enough to assume they can give orders to one of the feywild born.

We graciously decide that since we have a few hours to spare we shall at least attempt to point these fools in the right direction before we go. Perhaps they shall stumble their way to success by sheer dumb luck. So with that in mind we head to a tavern, perhaps to overhear an interesting piece of gossip that may provide us a lead.

After a pointless discussion with the drudge of a tavern keeper we realise that the working human’s tavern we have approached is not the kind of place where we can pick up any useful information, so we retire to a quiet table in the corner and have a discussion about how to proceed.

Aramil recalls that the Arcanis’ usual modus operandi is to be sent into an area in advance of an army and they typically use summoned creatures, sent in accordance with targets perceived by divinations. Sonea advises us that the summoning would likely be through a circle and would likely be enhanced by the infernal pacts that the Arcanis often have taken upon themselves to enhance their ability.

Boomer heads out and investigates the site of the last attack and we are persuaded to head out with him. Boomer seems a little downcast after discovering that so many people have cast divination and other magic at the site that any trace of the attacker’s casting is overlaid and so intermingled in other weaves as to be unravel able.

After a few minutes thought on the subject, and a few questions put to the (occasionally useful) other members of our group, I reach a few very insightful conclusions, particularly concerning the infernal pacts of such practitioners quite often granting the use of an imp....a creature immune to normal weapons and quite capable of shapeshifting between rat and crow forms.

As we turn to leave the scene of the attack a roguish gentleman steps out of the shadows in an alleyway, apparently a semi-well known individual known as Rantle, he claims to have been searching all over the city for us and has a request for Boomer. He wishes him to pass on a coded message to his somewhat fiery sister Cassandra, who apparently headed off to the Lyceum some months ago to study....and also a somewhat sarcastic request for her to return soon since a fire mage would be quite handy with the city under siege.

Shadowdancer pulls Rantle aside and fills him on the conclusions about the Arcanis that he has reached, after ascertaining that Rantle can ensure these conclusions reach people within the Resistance that are more competent than Buron and his cell.

We then turn and head off towards the townhouse that Mikal had picked out as having the best chance of a covert exit to the city. On the way I have a quiet word with Bomilcar about leaving my insights with another competent member of the resistance, he assures me that Rantle is more than up to the task.

When we arrive at the townhouse, which apparently is a smuggling house and overhangs the wall intentionally, Sonea blasts the lock off discreetly and, after barring the door after us so that following us is difficult, we climb over the wall and down.

Dara, now in owl form, finds us and settles on my arm, leading us to where Mikal waits with mules and we gather up our supplies ready to head out. As we gather the supplies Sonea spots a crow perched a few dozen feet away, the crow is joined by a second one, and the two stare uneasily at each other, as if both recognising the fact that neither is natural. She points this out to the rest of us and Dara also adds in a few insights about how unnatural their behaviour is.

We all head out, travelling as far as we can before the growing light and the chance of being intercepted and we make camp, as concealed as we can. As we rest we take turns with the watches. Being an Eladrin and a far superior being to these mortal humans I allow myself to be persuaded to take a second watch....it is sometimes good to remind mortals that we Eladrin are so much more than they.

During our rest break several of us are able to take the opportunity to study the rituals in the book that Sonea obtained.

As we travel on by night, several of us spot the two crows at various points of our journey; however they do not approach close enough for us to take action against them. As dawn nears we stop to camp again, dividing into the same watches as before. During the second watch, when Boomer and Sonea are on watch we are surprised. Alas, those of us asleep who possess only metal armour are consequently ill prepared for combat.

Two crossbowmen rise up from behind bushes and shoot at the two on watch, both missing. Two spearmen rush me when I am still in my bed roll, one of them manages to nick me as I roll aside in my blankets. The other nearby spearman foolishly rushes Bomilcar and misses his attack.

Across the camp, two other spearman rush our group one manages to nick Aramil, the other misses Dara. Boomer is charged by a gentleman in Imperial armour, with a cloven helm and a crow on his shoulder, a gentleman I last saw dumped on his backside as I caused his horse to bolt. Boomer realises that his attacker is at least as good with a blade as he is. An armoured figure bearing a gold hilted runic sword and with a longbow strapped to his back charges Sonea striking her hard, at first glance it is apparent that most of our attackers are wearing armbands of the Black Horse mercenaries and the one attacking Sonea has the Black Horse symbol embossed on his breastplate.

Boomer steps towards Aramil’s attacker, marking his target and shouting “To arms! To arms! Bomilcar hold the west flank, I will hold the east!” and unleashes a booming blade attack against his unfortunate target, bloodying the thug.

The two crossbowmen hurriedly reload their crossbow.

The bloodied thug attempts to attack Boomer back but is made to look the fool as Boomer dances aside.

The thug attacking Dara misses, seeming to not know what end of the spear is which.

The two attacking myself only manage to land a single hesitant hit.

The figure in imperial armour rushes Boomer, a purple glow infusing his entire body and lands a hefty hit, bloodying him.

Aramil grabs the sword that he planted in the ground when he began meditating and rolls out of his blankets to his feet swinging the blade at the bloodied thug, striking him down.

Sonea unleashes a phantom bolt against her attacker but he seems to have the will to resist the effect. He then steps forward as she steps back and strikes her again.

I grab my sword and use Otherworld stride to escape the trap, blasting the three fools near me, also immobilising them and allowing me to appear next to the crossbowmen and curse him, though the passage through the flames is both painful and aggravating. When I find who has dared tamper with the abilities of the Fey I shall truly make them suffer.

Dara shifts whilst in her blankets, shaping into a savage mastiff, pouncing at her assailant but her back legs get tangled in the blankets as she lunges and her jaws snap closed a few inches from the thug’s manhood. The thugs face drains of colour.

Bomilcar rolls out of his blankets, grabbing his shield as he rises. He then swings the rim of the shield up under the nearest thug’s chin, sending him stumbling back and toppling to the ground as the thug’s face slides off his head, severed instantly by the brutal hit. He then strains himself a little by grabbing for his spear in the brief instant that his sudden surge grants him.

Boomer sidesteps and swings another booming blade at his imperial armoured assailant, but the man deftly parries. He then catches his breath in that quiet moment and feels a little better after that surge.

The two crossbowmen fire at Aramil, one hits, this draws an open attack from myself which bites hard.

A thug attacks the mastiff that Dara has become but misses.

Korthan (in imperial armour) steps forward and takes on both Boomer and Aramil at once, he swings his sword at Aramil and hits.

As Aramil stumbles back from the hit, he catches sight of Sonea and her opponent, he calls out “Dear God, blow his fucking balls off!” heartened by Aramil’s word she seems a little less fragile and more up to the battle. Aramil turns back to his and Boomer’s opponent and creates and opening that Boomer can exploit.

Sonea tries another phantom bolt at her opponent but shoots wildly. She steps backwards with a surge of effort and then fires Gabal’s magic missile at him, hitting him with all three blasts.

Sonea’s opponent, who we later learn to call Reynard, steps forwards, and swings his blade at her as she stumbles back but misses her as she ducks.

I swing my sword at the crossbowmen beside me, bloodying him most satisfactorily; the thugs are now free to move.

Before they can do so however, Bomilcar stabs his spear through the nearest of the thugs, and with a shift of his feet and a flick of his spear he tosses the dying man aside and steps into his place instead.

Dara bares her teeth in a terrifying display and the thug flinches back, opening his defences unintentionally. She lunges forwards in a bite and takes a chunk out of the screaming man before backing up a step with a her hackles raised.

Boomer quickly takes a moment to assess his opponent, looking for weaknesses in his opponent, discovering that Korthan seems to favour the phalanx fighting style, he uses the opening to slash a Booming blade at him, hitting him and causing him to stumble forwards, Boomer then darts round and interposes himself between Aramil and Korthan, freeing Aramil to come to Sonea’s aid.

The crossbowman I faced drops his crossbow and yanks a morning star from his belt, catching me as he desperately swings it to fend me off, bloodying me a little and not improving my mood, the other shoots at Dara and hits. The thug that Dara is fighting decides to abandon the battle, and runs away, throwing his spear to one side and yelling “fetch!” in the desperate hope that she will follow it.

The thug now left facing Bomilcar manages to slip a speartip past his shield and opens up a nasty gash in his neck.

Aramil yells out to me “come on you Pussy, rub some dirt in it!”....when we return to Faerie I may have him assassinated...but at least the anger he causes manages to let me shrug off some of the pain I am in. He then swings at Reynard and misses....serves him right, though he does have the presence of mind to call out Sonea to attack as Reynard ducks his blow and opens himself to attack...though regrettably she also misses...I sometimes wonder at the abilities of these resistance fools that luck has saddled us with.

Sonea then leaps back a step so she can cast without fear of leaving herself open and unleashes another Gabal’s magic missile on him, followed by Empowering Lightning, though the latter misses.

Reynard swings at Aramil and hits him, forcing him back and using the opening to step after Sonea.

I slash twice at the man I face, missing but driving the man away from me long enough for me to sidestep behind him.

Bomilcar uncharacteristically misses, I wonder how bad that wound to his neck must have been.

Dara leaps at Reynard biting into his sword arm as she uses the feral harrier manoeuvre, she then springs back and shifts back to her human form to weild her staff.

Boomer unleashes Dimensional Thunder, swiping at Korthan and folding dimension around himself and appearing next to Reynard in the usual gout of flame that accompanies teleportation these days, leaving both of them covered in dancing motes of electricity.

My opponent swings and misses, whipping round wildly and catching only air, and across the clearing his accomplice shoots at Dara and also misses.

The thug fighting Bomilcar, is emboldened by his previous strike and stabs him again, sneaking past his defence again, bloodying him.

Korthan chases Boomer, straining himself a little as he dances past Aramil two steps and attacks Boomer, though he misses, probably distracted by the dancing motes of electricity which fade, their job done.

Aramil calls out “Its only a flesh wound!” to Bomilcar, who seems to draw strength from the somewhat sarcastic words, perhaps drawing on his anger to stand tall again. Aramil then unleashes a flurry of ringing blows, like a steel monsoon, drawing attention and opening up an opportunity for Sonea to step back and Bomilcar to step closer as Aramil yells out “Cover the wizard!” his hasty flurry of blows miss Korthan.

Sonea fires a Gabal’s magic missile at Reynard, aiming all three blasts at the man, the missiles crackle and disperse off his armour. She follows up with a phantom bolt of psychic fire, staggering him backwards a yard or so as it hits, she then turns and withdraws behind the cover of the nearest tree.

Reinhard swings at Aramil, who he assumes to be the leader...fool...he strikes and causes a nasty hit, then, on the backswing, the hawk moulded on his pommel screeches and seems to empower the blow, making it enough to drop Aramil unconscious to the ground. The electricity around him disperses as if spent, though it seems to have done the job it was intended for.

I swing half heartedly at my opponent, keeping my actions defensive as I once more step behind the man, keeping him swinging at shadows.

Bomilcar shouts angrily and swings his shield at the thug beside him in a hefty blow like a steel wall rushing towards him, but the man backsteps just far enough to avoid the hit, and Bomilcar steps after him.

Dara flings a flame seed at the crossbowman, enveloping the bushes where he skulks in fire as she ducks behind a tree, putting its solid trunk between her and him.

Boomer lures Reynard into stepping the wrong way, allowing Boomer to sidestep, setting up a deceptive strike with his khopesh that takes Reynard’s head off as he raises a parry in the wrong direction. He then kicks Aramil and shouts “get up” attempting to rouse him enough that Aramil can gather himself for one final surge.

The crossbowman in the burning bushes yells out to his companions to escape and turns to flee, still blazing as he runs away.

The thug facing Bomilcar again manages to beat past his guard...he seems a lot less like a towering fortress of fighting ability without his armour.

Korthan whistles loudly and a horse (still bearing the wound from my bolt a few days ago) bursts out from the brush, Korthan swings himself up into the saddle and whips the horse straight into a canter, Boomer taking several futile swings at him, loosing his khopesh as it catches in the saddle.

As he canters away, Sonea looses another Phantom bolt, seeming to drop him unconscious over the saddle horn, she then runs forwards and blasts a Gabal’s magic missile at him, which dissipates harmlessly on his armour.

Ducking a blow from the foe beside me, I sprint after the running foe and blast apart his saddle, just as Dara shapeshifts back into a mastiff and pounces through the air, dragging him from the horses back. The horse tries to defend its fallen master but is put down as unconscious as its master in short order as we pummel it with a ranged offensive. The crow takes flight with a raucous caw, and none of us are quick enough to stop it.

Bomilcar finally drops his opponent, and furious, covered in blood, charges the wounded crossbowman I had been toying with, pummelling him unconscious as he turns to flee.

We begin sorting through the various items of loot we find and tending to our wounds. It hasn't missed my attention that this Dara is not the human she wishes to appear to be. Rapid shapeshifting can ruin a well intended disguise I see.

Mikal finally returns from his scouting expedition, though, truth be told, I had hardly noted his absence during the fight. At least the fool managed to locate our foes camp. What a pity he could not do so in time for us to ambush them, rather than the other way around.

Session 6 - WotBS - Sunday 1st November 2009

2009-11-01T18:12:00.000Z

Tonight our tale is brought to you by a fellow resistance member- Shadowdancer- and fellow gameplayer- Ridh. Hope you enjoy seeing the action from his point of view as our party finds themselves in combat between two foes.

Dara- Elf- Druid
Aramil- Eladrin - Warlord
Sonea- Human - Wizard
Shadowdancer- Eladrin - Avenger
Mikal- Human- Rogue
Adahan (Boomer) - Human- Swordmage
Bomilcar-Human- Undisclosed Defender Class

Hmmmmm, so Dara keeps a journal of our exploits does she? Well readers, I think I will hold onto this for a little while and tell our tale in my own words.

~Shadowdancer~

Whilst myself and Mikal hung back and clung to the shadows to see who was following us, the others went on ahead with the mules. Suddenly from up ahead we could hear the sounds of an ambush as some of the damn armband wearing idiots try to make things even more difficult than they already are.

The mules stampede forwards, knocking down three of those that bar the way. Dara shouts something and turns into a hawk to fly after the mules.

Mikal and myself were the first of the others to react. Mikal throws a dagger and hits one of the hoplites taking him down. Fighting down an urge to exclaim against the fool’s stupidity for being hasty and taking out what may yet prove to be allies, I withdrew deeper into the shadows of the alleyway, only to hear the shout of pain as Mikal hits another with a dagger, in a critical place no less, judging by the shout of pain.

Boomer drives his sword into the ground in front of him, electricity discharging from the point of the strike, catching all three of his assailants in the blast, downing two of them. Bomilcar shield rushes the one who stayed upright, clipping him under the chin and knocking him to the ground.

One of the hoplites scans around and catches sight of Mikal, he shouts out, “There he is!” as he points and slings his shield onto his back, drawing his crossbow and starting to load it.

Aramil turns away from the ambush at the front, heading back the way we had all come, at which point he catches sight of the two other assailants approaching from another alley. He readies a bottle of alchemist’s fire, ready to throw.

The man that Bomilcar had knocked down leaps to his feet in a deft movement that allows no opportunity to attack as he stands. He swings his axe at Boomer and Bomilcar but they use their sword and shield to deflect his blow.

The two ambushers at the rear rush towards Aramil, one swings but Aramil ducks it, the other catches him with a painful slash. Of the two remaining hoplites, one catches sight of Mikal, slinging his shield and also drawing his crossbow, the other, unable to spot Mikal, advances into the melee around Aramil.

Mikal throws a blinding bomb at the two hoplites, obscuring their vision as he doubles back. I meanwhile headed further up the alleyway and up the stairs I found there, seeking a vantage point where I could snipe from.

Boomer shouts “Bomilcar, go help our allies, I will take care of these three”, he then attempts to use his booming blade against his opponent but is unable to beat his defences.

Bomilcar stabs at the axeman in front of him with his spear, but the man sidesteps and avoids it. Bomilcar snorts in disappointment and disengages, backing off.

The wounded hoplite dashes over to the water trough and splashes his eyes, trying to take away the blinding stinging from the bomb.

Aramil tosses his alchemists fire just behind his opponents, catching both of the ambushers and the hoplite in the blast, the two ambushers drop, flailing and on fire, out of the fight. The hoplite manages to catch most of the burning liquid on his shield.

Aramil backs off, readying his sword, ducking under the blow of the hoplite as he retreats.

The axeman swings at Boomer, striking him hard with his axe and dazing him temporarily.

The spearman near Aramil takes a quick step after him and throws his spear at him, hitting him and bringing him to the point of being greatly wounded.

The last of the hoplites stumbles around rubbing his eyes and screaming in pain.

Mikal throws a dagger at the hoplite who is staggering around rubbing his eyes and hits hard enough to take him down. Mikal then climbs onto the roof above him.

I climbed up onto the roof and, hoping to salvage Mikal’s foolishness somewhat, made myself known as I stood up to shout “Brave hoplites of Gate Pass, stand firm, we shall see off these ambushers. One foe lurks in the shadows, but there, with the axe, is a foe you can see and fight!”

The hoplites give a “Huzzah” and seem heartened.

Boomer strikes the axeman with a booming blade, wounding him further.

Bomilcar moves up to engage the hoplite who had thrown his spear, but holds back from striking.
The hoplite by the trough tries to spot Mikal again but can’t see him, he yells out “Where are you? You murdering bastard!”

Aramil rubs some dirt on the spear wound, slowing the blood flow.

He then attempts to shoulder past Bomilcar and get back into the fight but Bomilcar shoulders him back saying “Dont...Step... In... Front... Of... Me”

Aramil backs off towards where Boomer is still fighting the axeman.

The hoplite in front of Bomilcar attempts to draw his sword but is too nervous to slide it from the sheath.

The axeman swings at Boomer and hits again, blooding him and dazing him once again.

Mikal jumps down off the roof and engages the hoplite by the water trough, his short sword flashing into his hands, but the hoplite dodges by diving into the water.

Attempting to salvage the situation I stood up and put a warning blast past Mikal’s head, shouting out “Stand firm hoplite, drive off the assassin!”, hoping that the fool would take the hint and run off, to rejoin us later.

Seeing another possible problem I also yelled out “Bomilcar, stay your hand, the hoplite is a friend!”

Boomer goes on the defensive and catches a second wind.

Bomilcar looks up as I call out, he swings his spear at the hoplite’s knees, knocking him to the ground before levelling his spear at the man’s throat and growling out “Stay down boy”

The hoplite rises out of the water and swings his crossbow like a club at Mikal, clipping him with the improvised weapon, the bolt discharges and flies off into the sky.

Aramil advances on the axeman but the axe wielder takes a sudden unexpected swing at Aramil as he steps forwards, hitting him.

Aramil takes a step back and readies a dagger.

Mikal continues to act the fool and performs a riposte strike against the hoplite he faces, cutting him before stepping back

Deciding to give Mikal a final chance to regain his wits, I put a radiant blast into the ground between the two of them and I yelled out “Flee, vile assassin!” gesturing to Mikal to make himself scarce before the hoplites vision was fully clear.

Boomer uses foesnare followed by booming blade on the axeman before stepping back.

Bomilcar stays with his spear levelled at the hoplite.

The hoplite in the trough grimaces in pain as his already stinging eyes are hurt by the bright light. He stops trying to reload his crossbow and once more splashes water in his eyes to clear them.

Aramil takes a second wind and calls out an inspiring word to Boomer to bolster him. He then backs off a little further.

The axeman assumes a defensive posture but is unable to move.

Mikal finally seems to lose the red haze that clouds his sense and leaps up on top of the awning and away over the rooftops..

Hoping to complete the deception of Mikal’s involvement I stood up and yelled “He’s getting away!” and then pursued him up onto the rooftop.

Boomer shifts back onto the offensive and strikes the axeman.

Bomilcar keeps his spear levelled at the hoplite.

The hoplite by the trough levels his crossbow at Bomilcar and yells out “Drop the spear!”

Aramil hops onto some crates and from there onto the roof, where he turns and throws his dagger at the axeman, hitting him under the armpit.

The axeman swings his axe but is stunned by the dagger hitting him and drops the axe, he then turns and runs off into the alleyways.

Bomilcar steps back and raises his spear into a parade position.

Boomer heads up and joins Bomilcar. The hoplite twitches his crossbow, covering the two of them.

The wounded hoplite crawls back towards his companion.

Boomer attempts to approach the hoplites but the crossbow wielder calls out “Get away from him you murdering scum!”

Boomer attempts to explain that he merely wants to check the hoplite’s wounds. The crossbowman tells him that his own man will see to the downed hoplites.

Aramil jumps down from the roof and heads over to where all this is happening and tries to negotiate.

A few moments later two people reappear. Mikal (now wearing grey trousers and a green tunic) comes walking up the street. Shadow Dancer reappears on the roof, out of breath and brandishing a red armband with a black horses head – one that he lifted earlier from a corpse at the Poison Apple. “He got away, but not before he snagged this on a wood pile.”

(As well as being a very cool move, this act had a number of wide reaching implications for the game. At the risk of metagaming, I chose to reveal a few things to the players that their characters hadn’t learned yet. The Black Horse were a mercenary company working with the City Guard to arrest magic users, in the employ of the pro-Imperial “Appeasement” faction within the assembly. So not only did he shift blame to the Black Horse, he just completely discredited their position in the city, having suggested they had tried to kill members of the Guard to cover up an assassination attempt. I`m sure I don’t have to expand upon the effect this would have on the standing of the Appeasement faction within the Assembly – or the resultant boost in the stature of the Independence faction. This just struck me as so cool that I had to do the big reveal there and then. It will not escape the notice of the citizens of the Pass that the Black Horse were trying to assassinate pro-independence citizens. No doubt the citizens of Gate Pass will be wondering if it’s the Black Horse and not the Imperium who are bumping off their elected representatives).

Mikal circles back, changes his clothing and appearance, he pauses to loot the two downed foes at the end of the alley, taking their weapons and scale mail.

The hoplite lowers his crossbow and seems to reach a hesitant truce with the adventurers.

More guards arrive and citizens gather and the story of the attack begins to spread like wildfire, a city guard Optio arrives and takes charge of the scene, he thanks the adventurers for their aid and allows Mikal to take the daggers that the “assassin” had left for study as evidence, once it has become clear that Mikal is a scout for the City Guard.

The Optio sends runner the Strategos and begins sending missives off about the Black horse mercenary companies, the adventurers help the wounded hoplites to the temple where they meet up with Dara again, who tells them that some of the mules were injured in the stampede and will not be fit to depart for at least a day.

Buron and the senior resistance members express their satisfaction with the efforts of the cell in discrediting the Black Horse mercenaries. We have clearly risen a few notches in the estimation of the leadership. Finally, it seems, they are beginning to recognise our skills.

Session 5 - WotBS - Sunday 11th October 2009

2009-10-12T01:01:00.000+01:00

Dara- Elf- Druid
Aramil- Eladrin - Warlord
Sonea- Human - Wizard
Shadow Dancer- Eladrin - Avenger
Mikal- Human- Rogue
Adahan (Boomer) - Human- Swordmage
Torrent- Human- Cleric
Bomilcar-Human- Undisclosed Defender Class

After leaving Torrent with her resistance superiors the group find themselves sitting in the temple guards common room, surrounded by a few of the men. Sonea never returned with Boomer as she was in the middle of business with her father the mage Diogeanese. Dara, Mikal, Aramil, Shadow Dancer and Boomer are sitting with Bomilcar, trying to formulate a plan of action. As it sits they need to get out of the city and head south to the Lyceum with the box Aramil carries. They also need to do something about the Arcanis cell, which as far as rumour goes, is in the city now and planning to assassinate some of the key political figures.

Much discussion occurs as they take time to kick back and refresh themselves.

After many ideas being banded around the Eladrin, Shadow Dancer, retrieves a piece of folded cloth from his person and throws it down for all to see.

‘Do any of you recognise this or know who they are?’ He speaks in particular to those new to the party.

The others recognise the red arm band from the attackers at the Poison Apple Pub- red fabric with a black horse head with strange arcane symbols below. Mikal and Boomer explain that they have indeed seen people in the city wearing such armbands but they don’t know who they are.

Discussion shifts to the Arcanis cell and who brought the news to Buron’s and Dara’s attention. Dara explains it was a dwarf she recognised as being the one on the gates to the depositary tower. His news was the reason Buron pulled Mikal off the city walls.

Mikal makes his way around the common room asking the guards if they have seen or know of a dwarf here at the temple. Most clam up and avoid speaking with him but one takes the time to explain the situation to Mikal.

‘My friend let me give you some advice. We operate in a cell structure. Even if we knew who this dwarf was we couldn’t tell you much at all. There was a dwarf here a few days ago wearing black armour with glowing symbols on it but that’s all I know. Y’know all sorts work for the resistance.’

Mikal comes back to the table. The description is quite obviously Torthen, so of no use.

Discussion still ensuing Dara stands up, obviously growing tired by what she sees as possibly useless talk. ‘We need to speak with Torrent. Regardless of whether or not she is still our leader on this mission, she has information above our knowledge and could be yaying or naying a lot of what we are discussing here. I suggest we carry this conversation on in her presence.’

Those present agree with this plan and with Dara’s decision to go speak to Torrent first as so far the others have nothing but rub the senior resistance members up the wrong way.

The others make their way down from the common room to the main hall of the temple while Dara climbs down the spiral staircase to the armoury. Just as she reaches the door there is a sudden silence and the door opens as she reaches her hand out to knock. Torrent looks out at her, looking drawn and shocked. Quietly she says ‘Bring the others here quickly! There have been new developments.’

As Dara turns to run back up Torrent adds ‘Don’t bring that Zaman Bomilcar. Keep him elsewhere!’

‘Duly noted.’ Dara nods curtly and continues upwards to retrieve the others.

___________________oOo___________________

Bomilcar is left in the temple hall with Aramil while the others return with Dara. Inside the room they find just Buron and Torrent looking drawn and pale. Badger is no longer with them.

It is explained that the Imperials have demanded that inquisitors be let into the city as part of a truce. The appeasment faction in the assembly are pressing for them to be allowed in to the city. Therefore the box and ourselves need to get to the lyceum before the assembly lets the inquisition in. The wolves at the door.

Torrent and Buron argue over the matter of escape from the city. They mention Diogeanese and Aerdum Menash.

Torrent turns back to what was her party. 'No one is being allowed to leave the city. The reason being they now have confirmed reports that imperial troops are now in the east of the pass. At the moment the numbers are described as being small but there is a presence. It’s time we planned our escape and got out of here. Or rather that it’s time we planned our escape and you got out of here. Given that you’ve not been paying any attention to my orders anyway. From now on you’ll be on your own and I’ll go back to the temple.

Speaking of which, I have more news about the assembly. It seems that during the start of the attacks that earth elementals killed assembly members in their homes. A further five began this morning. The pro-resistance and anti-appeasement assembly members and families have been killed.'

Mikal thinks for a moment then asks if we have access to a good forger and some of the passes from the assembly members who died.

Shadow Dancer agrees and asks if Buron can get these.

'It’s rather unfortunate as any passes signed by dead assembly men become void unless ratified by a living one.' Buron sighs. He suggests seeking out a certain gaudy house owned by Aerdum Menash.

'He has been known to sponsor some disreputable characters in the past. But...'

Torrent and Buron snap at each over the suggestion.

Buron explains 'Torrent prefers we go through Diogeanese as you have spoken with him before.'

Discussion ensues again, questions over whether Dara has any contacts within the Gryphon riders, or if she know any druids who might be able to help. Do we have contacts with the cavalrymen? Many options are explored in quite a flurry of talk.

In the end it is decided that we should get through to Diogeanese to discuss how to get out.

Quietly, Boomer leans over and tells Mikal about the gem he’s noticed on Bomilcar’s pommel. He mentions that it’s a Cat’s Eye gem which are linked with divination magic.

Shadow Dancer attention prickles on them. 'Really?'

Boomer nods.

It is agreed that they will have to be careful with Bomilcar in what he is privy to.

The party divide into groups as they leave for Gabals. Mikal and Boomer leave first.

Just before leaving himself Shadow Dancer asks Bomilcar about the crows and rats that have been following. As he has come to expect Bomilcar curtly denies it being some of his peoples, adding that he doesn’t pay attention to vermin.

Bomilcar leaves with Aramil. Dara and Shadow bring up the rear at a sensible distance, senses on edge for any sign of the followers.

___________________oOo___________________

Out of her peripheral vision Dara spots a rat high up in the gutters of the rooftops following their progress. She gives a hand gesture and the Eladrin takes aim and shoots with his crossbow. The bolt flies true to its target but just before hitting home it deflects off in another direction. The rat is under protection.

Dara moves closer throwing out thorn whip that strikes the rat but finds it immovable as if it were a much larger creature. Eldritch blast fires out from Shadow Dancer to no effect.

The rat looks round surprised, jumping a foot in the air as the second eldritch blast does nothing. The rat scampers out the way quickly transforming into a crow, flying up and over the rooftop to disappear into the city.

'What the hell was that?' Aramil’s voice is clearly heard by all.

Shadow and Dara quickly catch Aramil and Bomilcar up. 'That’s it gone for now. Let’s go quickly.'

___________________oOo___________________

Arriving at the academy we find it’s guarded by the red robes and city hoplites. Boomer does the talking, only getting us through when Sonea comes to get us.

Bomilcar stays outside Diogeanese’s house with Aramil and the box.

Diogeanese looks absolutely shattered. He is not happy. He’s dishevelled and it seems we’ve got him out his bed.

Diogeanese looks crossly at the group in his home again. 'What do you want from me?'

Mikal continues 'We need help to get out of the city.'

'You would need an assembly man to get you out.' He waves his hand impatiently.

Sighing he continues. 'I know of one who is mad enough. He’ll want something in return- wearing his gaudy adventuring equipment no doubt. Of course if he can help you then there is always a chance I can get you out by giving me ten minutes to charm the guards. However charming guards gets risky and tricky.'

Mikal finds this isn’t good enough. 'I’m sorry but in ten minutes I’m sure I could knock everyone one of them out.'

Diogeanese’s eyes flash 'I’m sorry you’re either very sure of your abilities or you are rudely impugning mine!'

The conversation is taken onto other ideas for escape with Mikal bringing it back round again.
'Can you think of a way to get us out of the east gate?'

'Hhmph. You could always try sneaking over one of the other walls. There are north and south goat paths leading away from Gate Pass. The outlying farms have paths off the mountains.' Suggests the wizard.

Boomer nods his head respectfully. 'Thank you Diogeanese.'

'Stop grovelling!' Diogeanese grunts and waves them out. No rest for the wicked he thinks to himself sourly.

When they get outside they find Aramil is finishing a very dirty joke- 'So the halfing says are you kidding me that was me trying to get on the bed!'

Bomilcar looks unamused.

Mikal fills them in on what they missed.

Boomer agrees. 'There are two options we can go to Menash, he may get us out but we’d have to wear his advertisement. The other option is to climb over the walls to the south or north. The south seems like the better bet.'

'We should climb over the wall and outfit everyone in dark clothing.' Mikal adds.

Shadow Dancers eyes look at him pointedly.

Mikal smiles 'Everyone else then.'

He explains that the citizen hoplites are guarding the walls. Even though it is still daylight, darkness will be in a few hours. He suggests that Shadow could climb the wall and drop down rope for the others to follow and he can leave via a gate and set up a fire or a distraction to keep the guards busy.

Bomilcar coughs. 'If we are climbing through the mountains we need to get supplies. So stop talking and get your gear. Menash’s supplies are effective, reputable but gaudy. Though while we were in that temple I noticed there were large amounts of supplies.'

Boomer asks 'How long till the Lyceum?'

'Three hundred miles as the crow flies.'

'Ten to fifteen days by foot.' adds Shadow.

Bomilcar continues. 'If we are going through the mountains and west we will be going through imperial territory.'

___________________oOo___________________

Everyone agrees to head back to the temple, arriving to hear the various bells on the towers tolling out of sequence at a time when there should be none. Something has happened. They can't let themselves be distracted so get to work.

Shadow Dancer suggests getting Mikal to lead sturdy horses to the returning scout patrols so they can leave again. It will get the supplies carried; there is no official notice of us leaving the city and no notice that we are mounted.

Bomilcar agrees. 'The mounts should be carrying supplies for scouts.'

Shadow asks what he would suggest.

He rattles off weights of meat, how much mules eat, how many you need, how much equipment, that mountain ponies would be better. You are better on foot going through. We need a pack mule for each of us and two or three to carry the extra food. He has already prepared a list of supplies.

Aramil smiles 'You’re a handy person to have around!'

Bomilcar nods. 'As Shadow Dancer said I am a very seasoned campaigner. The temple can provide us with food and firewood. Mules need to be bought or stolen.'

Mikal turns to Dara. 'Can you transform into a mule?'

She glowers at the idea saying something in Eladrin that means go fuck yourself.

Aramil raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Buron and the quartermaster arrange supplies for two weeks but no mules.

Boomer asks if Dara knows anyone who may have mules.

'Yes I do.'

Mikal tries again. He explains that it would helpful if she turned into a mule so he could smuggle her out with the rest of the creatures. It would be helpful to have a second person outside with the train.

Dara agrees now that she understands she isn’t expected to be a fulltime pack animal for the trip.

___________________oOo___________________

Now ready, the party make their way east for about three quarters of the city, taking them past the Grand Square with the statue of Coal-Tongue, and past the gaudy house of Mr Menash. The road they follow is Emelk Way, the most direct main road in the city. They hurry as Dara knows her acquaintance will shut up shop by nightfall.

At the mule dealer we find the house is boarded up with some dead mules in the yard. The remaining mules are scrawny and look undernourished. Mikal examines them. They are scrawny but actually just under-exercised so are worth a try.

Knocking on the door there is no answer. Mikal unlocks it.

Dara enters finding a huge hole in the roof and the sour odour of a dead gryphon. Shadow
Dancer, Boomer, Mikal spread out to loot the place for things they can use.

Shadow finds the bills of ownership for the mules and they are blank. Boomer carves up the gryphon body for steaks. Mikal finds a black bladed long sword above a fireplace. He also finds many items of female clothing, expensive looking and on the dresser he finds a locked book. There is also a small box containing four vials of red liquid, a 500gp pearl ring, 100gp worth of costume jewellery and a lock box of 400gp in mixed change.

Aramil and Dara have busied themselves with finding tack for the mules. The others arrive and Shadow shows Mikal the blank ownership papers. Mikal advises they be assigned to him. It is agreed and completed. Just as they’re tacking up outside they hear a loud explosion from a district or two west of where they are. A pillar of flame shoots into the air near the statue of Coal-Tongue.

The tacking is finished in a flurry.

'Let’s just go!' calls Shadow as he fastens a mules’ bridal.

As they get onto Emelk way they find it is now thronging with panicked people. Rumours abound about the Torch of the Burning Sky, volcanoes, and invisible dragons. Large numbers of Gryphon riders circle above, calling down to tell everyone to get into their homes.

Menash’s estate has been blown-up, he was a member of the assembly after all.

The sheer number of people and guards begins to force us off the Emelk Way down into a side road away from the crowd. The sharper senses of Dara, Mikal and Shadow notice that as the tumult fades there are footfalls behind us, scrunching in the snow and ice. Mikal glances behind seeing torchlight reflected off the homes behind us. Shadow Dancer calls to Aramil. 'Go ahead and make preparations.'

Shadow and Mikal go to hide to wait for those that follow. Aramil and Bomilcar shoot ahead while

Boomer and Dara will follow with the painfully slow mules.

From their hiding place they notice four men dressed in city hoplite armour. The guards follow their footprints to the closed doorway and look up startled. They see nothing. Shadow Dancer and Mikal are hidden completely.

Aramil and Bomilcar turn a corner and find four men in red armbands in front of them. Standing four abreast across a tiny street

Aramil calls out in a mock friendly tone. 'Evening gents!'