No, jotta saataisiin tähän foorumiin jotain muutakin kuin tuo outo jatkokertomus... D&D-peliporukkani seikkailun kronikka, Warhammerin maailmassa. Oon aiemmin postannut tätä ENWorldiin, mutta tokkopa kukaan täällä on huomannut... Päivitän kun saan materiaalia ja jaksan kirjoittaa...
This tale, like so many other, begins in a bar. This particular bar is located in the northern city of Praag, in the land of Kislev.
Now, I could name our story "The Tales of Hoffman", but I'm afraid that not many would get the joke, and anyway, Hoffman is neither writing the story (thank gods), nor is he the primary character (despite what he might think).
But I digress.
Inside the bar, there was an extraordinary amount of people, so that four quite different travellers from quite different places had been forced to take seats in the same table. After they had eyed each other for a few moments of localized silence, one of them, a large man with reddish-brown hair and a short beard of the same colour, spoke:
"Greetings, fellows. I am Frederich, of Nuln. What brings you here to the cold north?"
"Fisibbei Furfoot is my name, and I am here in search of a particular herb," answered the halfling, clad in a plain brown robe. "He," the halfling continued, indicating the third man, a golden-haired elf, "is Kase Galanodel. He does not speak Old Worlder, so I have to translate for him."
The other human in the table was a bald, hawk-nosed man, clad in shining scale mail with not a speck of rust. From his neck hung a small silver hammer, the symbol of Sigmar. With a clipped Reiklander accent he replied:
"Sigmar's blessings to you. I am Franz Hoffmann of Altdorf, and I have been here seeking for an Arch Lector of our church for the past three months. He has disappeared somewhere Kislev, and I fear he might be dead."
"Adventurers everyone, then?" Frederich asked with a broad grin. As reply, he got a number of curt nods.
Finally, one of the few barmaids in this overcrowded and undermanned establishment made her way to the table of our protagonists.
"And vat shall you haff?" the woman asked, in a thick Kislevite accent.
"I'll have an ale," was Franz's reply.
"Zhat vill be two gold crowns."
"Two gold! That's the most expensive drink I've ever had!"
"I am sorry, but ve get our ale from a tribe to zhe east, who are in zhe middle of a var."
"A war? With whom?" asked Fisibbei, in a concerned tone of voice.
"Anozer tribe, one led by zhe varlord Viseslav. Igor, zhe leader of zhe tribe vho makes our ale iz badly outnumbered, zhey tell me."
"Why did this Viseslav attack his tribe? Or was Igor the instigator?" Fisibbei continued.
"Viseslav persecutes his tribe, for Igor follows zhe god Sigmar, and not Ulric, vho is traditionally vorshipped here in zhe north," the serving wench replied.
"A tribe of Sigmarites? Bah, they're probably all heretics anyway," Franz scoffed, his sharp features twisting into a sneer.
"You're thinking going to help?" Frederich asked the halfling druid. Fisibbei nodded solemnly.
"And I Kase will be joining me. Your help would be appreciated, naturally."
"I like you, little man. You are brave, and so is he," Frederich said, gesturing at the elf. "I will lend you my axe and my sword."
"And you? You look like a capable man, and it would be an honour to have you with us," Fisibbei said to the Sigmarite priest.
"And why would I be concerned over the fate of a few barbarians who have chosen to live out there in the cold, trackless wasteland?"
"But they are you brothers in faith. Would it not be right for you to aid them?"
"As I said, they are probably heretics anyway, with a debased religion centred around a hammer, or something."
The priest spit on the floor in disgust.
"But in that case, should you not try to show them the correct way of worshiping, or to destroy the infidels? And, if you are seeking for the Arch Lector, and have not found him in the cities, would it not be logical to seek him out in the wasteland?"
"The good halfling has a point, priest," Frederich said. "I have lived many years with the Kislevite tribes, and they miss little that happens in their lands."
For a moment, indecision wavered on Franz's face. Then, he spoke:
"Fine, then. You've convinced me. I shall join you, and may Sigmar be with us."
With that, the bald priest rose, and walked out of the tavern into the fresh air. Shrugging, the others followed.
* * *
For a few hours, the party of not-exactly-heroes wandered the town, seeking a horse trader. They found one in the outskirts of the city, marked by a great bit sign, with the text "Crazy Ivan's Horses for Hire".
History does not tell what the intrepid adventurers were thinking at the moment, but out of either stupidity or a sense of hurry, they decided to deal with the red-bearded fellow inside. Even his sales speech did not deter them, and they wound up hiring a wagon in reasonable condition, and two horses to drag it.
And thus, they left the questionable comfort and debatable safety of the city of Praag, the agony-contorted faces of the dead staring down at them from the walls.
* * *
And thus, they travelled for seven days, each mile taking them further away from Praag, and deeper into the lawless wilds, ruled by the Ice Queen only in name. Perhaps they were indeed watched over by Sigmar Heldenhammer, for they encountered no perils on their way. In the evening of the seventh day, the walls of Ovotsk, Igor's fortified village, stood in sight.
The village was a loose cluster of houses and small farms, spread around a hill fort. The party noticed a great crowd had gathered to the south of the hill fort. Stopping their wagon, they went to investigate.
As they came closer, they saw a ship, placed atop a great mound. A middle-aged woman in a white robe, with dark blond hair and fair skin, held a torch. There was another woman, an old crone, circling the boat and reciting ancient chants of mourning.
Fisibbei stepped forward, lightly tugging on the sleeve of one of the men gathered.
"Who has passed away?" he asked quietly.
"Our brave lord and protector, Igor Jaroslavich, in a cowardly ambush by zhe troops of Viseslav," the man replied reverently, and then turned back to viewing the funeral ceremony. Now, the blond-haired woman walked up to the boat, and carefully placed the torch in the kindling set around the ship. In silence, the people of Ovotsk watched as the flames took their former leader to the next world.
Franz gazed at the flames with a disapproving expression.
"These heretics do not observe proper Sigmarite funeral traditions," he said quietly to Frederich.
"Old habits die hard, priest. Besides, you can't dig a grave in here. The ground is frozen solid for ten months of the year. The faith of Sigmar is not in the ceremonies, but in the beliefs. They certainly wear the symbols," the big man replied quietly, nodding at the white-robed woman. Indeed, the clasp of her cloak was a small silver hammer.
Franz stayed silent.
The townsfolk stayed there for a long time, standing in respectful silence as the fire died down, leaving only the charred remains of the ship behind. Then, the crowd quietly dispersed.
Soon afterwards, the travellers were making their way to the local alehouse, when a member of the local militia came to them.
"Hold, adventurers. Lady Predeslava would speak vith you."
Glancing at each other, the adventurers nodded, and followed. They were led into a large building, obviously the chieftain's hall. Inside was a wooden throne, covered with furs, and on the throne sat a woman. It was the blond-haired woman they had seen at the pyre, though her attire was now changed. Gone was the white robe, replaced by red and blue woollens, and a great bearskin cloak over her shoulders. It was held in place by a silver clasp in the shape of a warhammer.
"Greetings, travellers," she began. "Sigmar's blessings to you. You look like able and experienced varriors. I could use people like you. Do you know vhat has happened in Ovotsk in recent months?"
"Yes, milady, we have heard," Frederich answered.
"Zhen I vill not bozher to go over it again. Suffice to say, I need help. Ve need help. I vill pay you, each, 800 gold crowns, if you vill stay in Ovotsk, and help my people keep the swine Viseslav's raiders at bay until my brother Ottakar returns from zhe lands to zhe south vith his men. Vill you agree?"
Before any of the others could speak, Fisibbei stepped forward.
"Indeed, Lady, to protect your town and tribe was our very reason of journeying here from Praag. We will protect this town, and its people, until Ottakar's army returns, or until Viseslav is defeated for good."
A faint smile appeared on Predeslava's face.
"Good," she said. "You will be shown to your house, and given food. Now go… I must rest. These have been trying times, and have taken a heavy toll."
As they left the room, a man came to them. He had a remarkably long moustache.
"Good day to you, travellers. I am Boian, a former warrior of Igor. On behalf of the local militia, I vould like to velcome you to Ovotsk."
"Good day, Boian," Fisibbei replied. "You were a close man of Igor's, then?"
"Yes. I vas vith him vhen ve vere ambushed. I vas knocked in zhe head and fell dovn… Vlaseslav's men left me for dead. It vas a great shame. A good varrior dies vith his master." Boian shaked his head. "If you vill excuse me. I have… things to do."
* * *
And thus, a week passed, as the party of no longer travellers spent their time in the fort. There was little to do, but Franz, Fisibbei and Kase found more than enough entertainment in prayer and contemplation. Frederich trained with his axe and sword.
Then, one day, a rider arrived in the village. He was fatigued, and had almost ridden his steed to death. People in the village began shouting. Then, the alarm was raised. The heroes were watching from the top of the palisade, as a dozen horsemen galloped over the ridge south of the town, drawn scimitars flashing in the morning sun and warcries at their lips. They descended upon the fleeing villagers who tried to make it to the fort, slashing at their exposed backs and herding them in the other direction.
"We cannot just stand here while they get slaughtered!" said Frederich, unshouldering his great axe and drawing his sword. Kase nocked an arrow and let fly, hitting the dirt in front of one of the riders. The man wore chainmail, and had many gold and silver bracelets. He was obviously the leader.
From the open gates of the hill fort, stepped an enraged Frederich, flanked by the grim-looking Fisibbei and stern Franz. Hefting their weapons high, they charged at the mounted warriors.
Franz ducked a scimitar slash at his head, whirling around and bringing his heavy warhammer in an arc at his enemy's stomach. The powerful blow smashed him off the saddle, killing him instantly. Four other horsemen, including the chieftain, charged at the heroes. They were no match for the blades of their opponents, though, and soon Frederich had downed the second man, his axe glistening red with the fallen opponent's blood. In the battlements, Kase realized it'd be futile to try shooting into the raging melee, and quickly joined his friends outside the fort.
Fisibbei was a small whirlwind of death. The small halfling and his sharp sickle slashed open the throat of a horse, its rider only barely avoiding being crushed by the falling steed. This did not help him, for Kase was there to meet him, and sank his sword into the man's gut.
The diminutive druid claimed his second kill in that battle as Franz smashed the kneecap of the last horseman. Fisibbei came from the other side, disembowelling him with a swift slash.
Soon, only the leader was left. Fearlessly, he charged, hefting his scimitar high, and scoring a slash across Kase's scalp. However, the elf got back, thrusting his blade deep in the man's thigh. Frederich came from the other side, his sword leaving a red streak in the man's side. The last thing Mundiak the Chieftain saw, as he was lying on the ground, his other foot still in the slashed stirrup, was the descending sickle of the halfling druid.
And there, as the noon sun bathed them in its rays, they cried out their victory.
Dungeons and Warhammers
Dungeons and Warhammers
Games are very educational. Scrabble teaches vocabulary, Monopoly teaches cash-flow management, and D&D teaches to loot the bodies.
-Steve Jackson
-Steve Jackson
)No, päätin vihdoinkin postata tähän jatkoa, kun sitä on nyt kerran kirjoitettukin kohta kolmattakymmenettä sivua...
Chapter 2 – Fire, Steel, and Blood
After defeating Mundiak and his horsemen, the adventurers, having thus received their baptism by fire as a group together, rested. There were wounds to heal, dead to bury, and preparations to make. They all knew that this was only the beginning.
Eight days from the first conflict, it happened. In the small hours of the night, three ships landed next to the village. The guards were asleep at their posts. And thus, when the rising sun's first rays hit Ovotsk, they were greeted by screams of death, pain, and fear. The houses were in flames, thick, dark plumes of smoke rising from the thatch roofs. A number of warriors, wielding spears and axes, were looting and pillaging, capturing people and leading them to their boats.
Then, finally, alarm was rung. The heroes woke up, grabbed their arms and armour, and quickly made their way to the top of the palisade, where they met Predeslava and Boian. The town militia was outside, fighting with the invaders.
From the burning chaos emerged three figures, walking towards the hill fort. Thirty feet from the gates, they stopped. One of them unshouldered a large horn, and blew out a battle challenge. Another stuck a long banner pole in the ground. The banner was solid black, thrashing to and fro like it was alive in the wind.
The third man, the one in the middle, took a step forward, and turned his gaze up to the battlements. His Norse goggle helm made his eyes look like black pits. His wild, shaggy hair and beard were white as snow, yet his muscular body betrayed no trace of old age.
"It is over now, Predeslava!"
As a response, the gates of the fort swung open. It quickly became clear, though, it was no surrender. From within, stepped the four adventurers, accompanied by Boian. A silent challenge had been issued, and weapons were drawn. From a loop in his back, Helgi produced an enormous battle axe.
One of the white-haired Norseman's companions grabbed a javelin from his back, and flung it at Franz, going so wide of the target he might have been aiming at Altdorf, for all it was worth. Helgi chucked a small throwing axe at Fisibbei, with similar results.
Chanting the litanies of his faith, Franz charged the Norseman with his warhammer held high. The warhammer and the battleaxe met each other with a resounding clang, striking sparks. Frederich came to help the priest, sinking his axe and shortsword in the whitebeard's side.
Meanwhile, Kase was shooting at one of the Norseman's cohorts. He was interrupted by Boian on his left, who tried to sink a dagger into his side. Nimbly evading the attacker, Kase snarled at the traitor, and drew his sword. Boian answered in kind, and the two locked blades, soon engaged in a fight to the death.
The white-haired Norseman was a good fighter, they could give him that. And strong, too. Batting away Frederich's axe, he twirled his own weapon in the air, bringing it around to strike Franz on the shoulder. Blood burst from the wound, and the priest fell down, bleeding. In response, Frederich stabbed the man under the ribcage, and slashed upwards. As blood stained his white beard red, the warrior fell.
Fisibbei's wolf clamped its jaws down on the standard bearer's foot, tearing away a goodly-sized chunk of flesh. As the man cried out in pain and fell down, the animal went for the throat, quickly finishing him off.
The druid himself saw he was not immediately needed in the battle, and knelt down next to Franz, administering a healing spell. It was not enough to bring him back to the battle, but staunched the flow of blood.
Rising up, the halfling saw Kase and Boian, locked in a duel the elven priest was losing. Silently, the halfling ran up to the traitor, stabbing his sickle in the man's back. The wound was not lethal, but the unexpected pain made him drop his guard, which was all that Kase needed to decapitate his opponent.
Frederich turned to the last opponent, the one with the horn. Charging each other, the two exchanged a short series of fast blows. Frederich's extraordinary strength and speed prevailed, however, and his adversary was soon dead.
Like a wildfire, news of their leader's defeat spread through his troops, and what had only minutes before been a victorious battle quickly turned to a full rout, as the warriors dropped their weapons and ran for their ships. The Ovotsk militia followed, cutting down all they could, with the same amount of mercy that had been shown on them and their families. At the ships, skirmishes broke out, as the raiders tried to hold off the militia long enough for their comrades to push their ships, filled with captives and loot, off the beach.
There was no rest for the weary adventurers. They saw that at one of the boats, the raiders had successfully held off the militia, and were pushing the ship to the water. They ran down the hillside and to the beach, with Frederich drawing first blood by cutting one of the men down with a single swipe of his great axe. The red-bearded warrior ran to his next foe, who raised a spear to block the blow, but slipped in the mud. A downwards swipe cleaved his skull in half.
The other adventurers weren't doing so well, however. Kase was stabbed with a spear, and he curled up in the ground, bleeding profusely. Fisibbei's wolf bit one of the raiders in the arm, but was rewarded with a spear through the skull, killing the noble animal instantly. Seeing this, the halfling seemed to go into a berserker rage. Charging the slayer of his friend, he lost all finesse, just chopping at the enemy with his sickle, cutting through his spear, his arm, and his heart.
Frederich's opponent found an opening in the big man's guard, and plunged his spear into Frederich's ribcage. Frederich collapsed instantly, but this was little consolation to the raider, who was slain by Fisibbei, with a well-placed blow from behind.
Franz was up against two of the raiders, alone. After a while of inefficient blocking, attacking, and parrying, he took a step back, and then brought his warhammer around in a sideways sweep of terrifying power. It splintered the spear shafts raised against it into kindling, and crushed the skulls of both men opposing him.
Once again, the enemy had been driven back, but at a terrible cost.
Chapter 2 – Fire, Steel, and Blood
After defeating Mundiak and his horsemen, the adventurers, having thus received their baptism by fire as a group together, rested. There were wounds to heal, dead to bury, and preparations to make. They all knew that this was only the beginning.
Eight days from the first conflict, it happened. In the small hours of the night, three ships landed next to the village. The guards were asleep at their posts. And thus, when the rising sun's first rays hit Ovotsk, they were greeted by screams of death, pain, and fear. The houses were in flames, thick, dark plumes of smoke rising from the thatch roofs. A number of warriors, wielding spears and axes, were looting and pillaging, capturing people and leading them to their boats.
Then, finally, alarm was rung. The heroes woke up, grabbed their arms and armour, and quickly made their way to the top of the palisade, where they met Predeslava and Boian. The town militia was outside, fighting with the invaders.
From the burning chaos emerged three figures, walking towards the hill fort. Thirty feet from the gates, they stopped. One of them unshouldered a large horn, and blew out a battle challenge. Another stuck a long banner pole in the ground. The banner was solid black, thrashing to and fro like it was alive in the wind.
The third man, the one in the middle, took a step forward, and turned his gaze up to the battlements. His Norse goggle helm made his eyes look like black pits. His wild, shaggy hair and beard were white as snow, yet his muscular body betrayed no trace of old age.
"It is over now, Predeslava!"
As a response, the gates of the fort swung open. It quickly became clear, though, it was no surrender. From within, stepped the four adventurers, accompanied by Boian. A silent challenge had been issued, and weapons were drawn. From a loop in his back, Helgi produced an enormous battle axe.
One of the white-haired Norseman's companions grabbed a javelin from his back, and flung it at Franz, going so wide of the target he might have been aiming at Altdorf, for all it was worth. Helgi chucked a small throwing axe at Fisibbei, with similar results.
Chanting the litanies of his faith, Franz charged the Norseman with his warhammer held high. The warhammer and the battleaxe met each other with a resounding clang, striking sparks. Frederich came to help the priest, sinking his axe and shortsword in the whitebeard's side.
Meanwhile, Kase was shooting at one of the Norseman's cohorts. He was interrupted by Boian on his left, who tried to sink a dagger into his side. Nimbly evading the attacker, Kase snarled at the traitor, and drew his sword. Boian answered in kind, and the two locked blades, soon engaged in a fight to the death.
The white-haired Norseman was a good fighter, they could give him that. And strong, too. Batting away Frederich's axe, he twirled his own weapon in the air, bringing it around to strike Franz on the shoulder. Blood burst from the wound, and the priest fell down, bleeding. In response, Frederich stabbed the man under the ribcage, and slashed upwards. As blood stained his white beard red, the warrior fell.
Fisibbei's wolf clamped its jaws down on the standard bearer's foot, tearing away a goodly-sized chunk of flesh. As the man cried out in pain and fell down, the animal went for the throat, quickly finishing him off.
The druid himself saw he was not immediately needed in the battle, and knelt down next to Franz, administering a healing spell. It was not enough to bring him back to the battle, but staunched the flow of blood.
Rising up, the halfling saw Kase and Boian, locked in a duel the elven priest was losing. Silently, the halfling ran up to the traitor, stabbing his sickle in the man's back. The wound was not lethal, but the unexpected pain made him drop his guard, which was all that Kase needed to decapitate his opponent.
Frederich turned to the last opponent, the one with the horn. Charging each other, the two exchanged a short series of fast blows. Frederich's extraordinary strength and speed prevailed, however, and his adversary was soon dead.
Like a wildfire, news of their leader's defeat spread through his troops, and what had only minutes before been a victorious battle quickly turned to a full rout, as the warriors dropped their weapons and ran for their ships. The Ovotsk militia followed, cutting down all they could, with the same amount of mercy that had been shown on them and their families. At the ships, skirmishes broke out, as the raiders tried to hold off the militia long enough for their comrades to push their ships, filled with captives and loot, off the beach.
There was no rest for the weary adventurers. They saw that at one of the boats, the raiders had successfully held off the militia, and were pushing the ship to the water. They ran down the hillside and to the beach, with Frederich drawing first blood by cutting one of the men down with a single swipe of his great axe. The red-bearded warrior ran to his next foe, who raised a spear to block the blow, but slipped in the mud. A downwards swipe cleaved his skull in half.
The other adventurers weren't doing so well, however. Kase was stabbed with a spear, and he curled up in the ground, bleeding profusely. Fisibbei's wolf bit one of the raiders in the arm, but was rewarded with a spear through the skull, killing the noble animal instantly. Seeing this, the halfling seemed to go into a berserker rage. Charging the slayer of his friend, he lost all finesse, just chopping at the enemy with his sickle, cutting through his spear, his arm, and his heart.
Frederich's opponent found an opening in the big man's guard, and plunged his spear into Frederich's ribcage. Frederich collapsed instantly, but this was little consolation to the raider, who was slain by Fisibbei, with a well-placed blow from behind.
Franz was up against two of the raiders, alone. After a while of inefficient blocking, attacking, and parrying, he took a step back, and then brought his warhammer around in a sideways sweep of terrifying power. It splintered the spear shafts raised against it into kindling, and crushed the skulls of both men opposing him.
Once again, the enemy had been driven back, but at a terrible cost.
Games are very educational. Scrabble teaches vocabulary, Monopoly teaches cash-flow management, and D&D teaches to loot the bodies.
-Steve Jackson
-Steve Jackson
It was high noon when the heroes finally made their way up to the hill fort, where Predeslava sat on her throne. They spoke for a long time. Ovotsk was no longer safe. That they all agreed on. The threat of Viseslav's army was too great, and most people had already fled to the forests to seek shelter. Predeslava's plan now was to take whoever would come with her and travel southwards on the River Chernak, through the Haunted Wood and Witch Fens, to the town of Sarbas, where Predeslava's uncle, Khuritsa, lived.
The planning finished, they strode out of the fort, and called the people of Ovotsk to them, asking if they would come with their leader. Few did. The Haunted Wood and Witch Fens had foul reputations, and Franz suspected they might actually be tainted by Chaos.
Thus, they departed the burning Ovotsk. Only two dozen villagers came with them on their monoxyla. The druid Fisibbei handled the navigation and steering, along with one of the villagers. They proved to be a rather competent pair, not only managing to keep the ship in the river, but also making it through the rapids in the Haunted Wood, with the boat intact and all men still on board.
The Haunted Wood was an eerie place. In some places, the branches overhead clustered so tightly that no sunlight passed through, casting those underneath into darkness. The usual sounds of the forest were absent, and the could see no animals. Shadows flitted at the edges of their sight, and strange, beautiful faces were seen in the water, only to disappear in moments. They were all wary.
On the fourth day of their journey, they rounded a bend in the river, and came upon a strange sight. There was an enormous obelisk, jutting up from the water. It was covered in strange runes and symbols. On the beach, there sat an ogre, fishing with a line tied to his seven-foot spear. As it spotted them, it stood up, and shouted:
"Pay homage to the River Goddess or sail no further upon her waters! The Pool awaits your gifts."
"Who are you to demand sacrifices from us?" Franz shouted back.
"I am Orimir, humble servant of the River Goddess. Cast your offerings into the Pool, and you may pass."
"Why should we pay to a filthy ogre and his false goddess for our passage?" the priest replied, fingering his warhammer.
"Pay, or face the Children of the River Goddess!"
Franz was about to shout back a reply that would surely have doomed their monoxyla, but was silenced by Predeslava, who stepped forward.
"We shall pay homage to the River Goddess."
With that simple announcement, she tugged a jewelled gold ring off her finger, and dropped it into the pool. It vanished to the depths with a quiet plop.
Grudgingly, the adventurers followed suit, all but Franz sending bracelets or rings down to the riverbed. Seemingly sated, the ogre Orimir stepped forward the beach, and placed his huge hand upon the bow of their small craft. In his guttural voice, he began chanting a strange litany, obviously casting a spell. With a dark expression, Franz made no move to stop him. Then, light flared out from under the ogre's splayed fingers. When he stepped back, the men in the boat could see a strange glyph in the wood glowing briefly, and then fading into a hitherto unnoticeable outline.
"There. Your ship has been given the blessing of the River Goddess. You may pass."
With that, they departed the strange pool.
* * *
A day later, they came upon a lake, in the middle of the forest. The Haunted Forest would soon end, they knew, and they would come to the Witch Fens, an even more terrible place, a marsh reputedly tainted by Chaos.
As the monoxyla left the confines of the river to float on the lake's shimmering surface, a strange event took place. The water around the ship began to foam and spray, as if boiling. With a lurch, it shot forward at the river outlet they could see breaking the line of the opposite beach. The craft was speeding forward at an unnatural pace, the sails threatening to rip. They made it across the lake in mere minutes, and travelled a goodly amount down the river before they lost the momentum. None of them could explain this strange phenomenon, though there were mumblings among the Ovotskians about the blessing of the River Goddess. All were silent, however, as the wall of trees on their both sides gave way to the grey and bleak Witch Fens.
The progress through the Witch Fens was even slower than their travel in the Haunted Wood. Here, the stream was choked by mud, clay, debris, and more unsavoury things. A haze of mist hung over everything, and the wind carried the stench of death. They were all wary, constantly on the watch. There were no animals in the Witch Fens.
It was the morning of the second day. The adventurers were alerted by one of the Ovotskians, a fellow named Sergej. The bearded man took them to a water hole, explaining that two of the villagers, young men, had disappeared. They had gone fishing, but never returned.
At the water hole, there were two fishing rods, and a few dead fish lying in the mud by the pool. Two pairs of tracks led off into the dead wood.
"When did they disappear?" Frederich asked.
"Last night. Zeir disappearance vasn't noticed until nov," Sergej answered.
"These Witch Fens are a dangerous region, correct?" Franz asked, peering critically into the deep wood.
"Yes. Very dangerous. Hags live here, it is said."
"The men are most likely dead, then?"
Sergej looked down, and took a deep, wavering breath.
"Yes. Most likely."
"Then there is no reason we should go out there and risk both our and the villagers' lives, just because two boys were foolish enough to wander off. I say we leave them behind and continue." The priest's stern gaze challenged anyone to object. Nobody did.
They travelled onwards without incident, from then on. There was a silent agreement among the people aboard. They were not harassed, for the Witch Fens had already taken their toll.
The planning finished, they strode out of the fort, and called the people of Ovotsk to them, asking if they would come with their leader. Few did. The Haunted Wood and Witch Fens had foul reputations, and Franz suspected they might actually be tainted by Chaos.
Thus, they departed the burning Ovotsk. Only two dozen villagers came with them on their monoxyla. The druid Fisibbei handled the navigation and steering, along with one of the villagers. They proved to be a rather competent pair, not only managing to keep the ship in the river, but also making it through the rapids in the Haunted Wood, with the boat intact and all men still on board.
The Haunted Wood was an eerie place. In some places, the branches overhead clustered so tightly that no sunlight passed through, casting those underneath into darkness. The usual sounds of the forest were absent, and the could see no animals. Shadows flitted at the edges of their sight, and strange, beautiful faces were seen in the water, only to disappear in moments. They were all wary.
On the fourth day of their journey, they rounded a bend in the river, and came upon a strange sight. There was an enormous obelisk, jutting up from the water. It was covered in strange runes and symbols. On the beach, there sat an ogre, fishing with a line tied to his seven-foot spear. As it spotted them, it stood up, and shouted:
"Pay homage to the River Goddess or sail no further upon her waters! The Pool awaits your gifts."
"Who are you to demand sacrifices from us?" Franz shouted back.
"I am Orimir, humble servant of the River Goddess. Cast your offerings into the Pool, and you may pass."
"Why should we pay to a filthy ogre and his false goddess for our passage?" the priest replied, fingering his warhammer.
"Pay, or face the Children of the River Goddess!"
Franz was about to shout back a reply that would surely have doomed their monoxyla, but was silenced by Predeslava, who stepped forward.
"We shall pay homage to the River Goddess."
With that simple announcement, she tugged a jewelled gold ring off her finger, and dropped it into the pool. It vanished to the depths with a quiet plop.
Grudgingly, the adventurers followed suit, all but Franz sending bracelets or rings down to the riverbed. Seemingly sated, the ogre Orimir stepped forward the beach, and placed his huge hand upon the bow of their small craft. In his guttural voice, he began chanting a strange litany, obviously casting a spell. With a dark expression, Franz made no move to stop him. Then, light flared out from under the ogre's splayed fingers. When he stepped back, the men in the boat could see a strange glyph in the wood glowing briefly, and then fading into a hitherto unnoticeable outline.
"There. Your ship has been given the blessing of the River Goddess. You may pass."
With that, they departed the strange pool.
* * *
A day later, they came upon a lake, in the middle of the forest. The Haunted Forest would soon end, they knew, and they would come to the Witch Fens, an even more terrible place, a marsh reputedly tainted by Chaos.
As the monoxyla left the confines of the river to float on the lake's shimmering surface, a strange event took place. The water around the ship began to foam and spray, as if boiling. With a lurch, it shot forward at the river outlet they could see breaking the line of the opposite beach. The craft was speeding forward at an unnatural pace, the sails threatening to rip. They made it across the lake in mere minutes, and travelled a goodly amount down the river before they lost the momentum. None of them could explain this strange phenomenon, though there were mumblings among the Ovotskians about the blessing of the River Goddess. All were silent, however, as the wall of trees on their both sides gave way to the grey and bleak Witch Fens.
The progress through the Witch Fens was even slower than their travel in the Haunted Wood. Here, the stream was choked by mud, clay, debris, and more unsavoury things. A haze of mist hung over everything, and the wind carried the stench of death. They were all wary, constantly on the watch. There were no animals in the Witch Fens.
It was the morning of the second day. The adventurers were alerted by one of the Ovotskians, a fellow named Sergej. The bearded man took them to a water hole, explaining that two of the villagers, young men, had disappeared. They had gone fishing, but never returned.
At the water hole, there were two fishing rods, and a few dead fish lying in the mud by the pool. Two pairs of tracks led off into the dead wood.
"When did they disappear?" Frederich asked.
"Last night. Zeir disappearance vasn't noticed until nov," Sergej answered.
"These Witch Fens are a dangerous region, correct?" Franz asked, peering critically into the deep wood.
"Yes. Very dangerous. Hags live here, it is said."
"The men are most likely dead, then?"
Sergej looked down, and took a deep, wavering breath.
"Yes. Most likely."
"Then there is no reason we should go out there and risk both our and the villagers' lives, just because two boys were foolish enough to wander off. I say we leave them behind and continue." The priest's stern gaze challenged anyone to object. Nobody did.
They travelled onwards without incident, from then on. There was a silent agreement among the people aboard. They were not harassed, for the Witch Fens had already taken their toll.
Games are very educational. Scrabble teaches vocabulary, Monopoly teaches cash-flow management, and D&D teaches to loot the bodies.
-Steve Jackson
-Steve Jackson
Niin, tätä kai kutsutaan jääräpäisyydeksi...
---------------------------------------------
Seven days had passed since the destruction of Ovotsk when the small boat with its survivors arrived in the city of Sarbas. The bodies of criminals were hanging from the trees on the riverbanks, their dead eyes gazing at the monoxyla as it floated past them and into the city.
They docked their small vessel at the piers reserved for such, and paid the docking fee, which Franz equated to robbery. Then, Predeslava led the adventurers and the Ovotskian survivors through the city, to his uncle Khuritsa's estate. Khuritsa was obviously a wealthy man. His house, nay, manor, stood on the edge of the city, circled by its own ten-foot wall. The heavy iron gate was guarded by two rather tired-looking guards, who immediately sprung alert as they saw the motley party walking up the path to the gate. As the guards challenged them, spears held at ready, Predeslava stepped forward, announcing their identity and intent. One of the guards, much more respectful now, disappeared inside the compound to get Uncle Khuritsa. He soon returned with a huge bear of a man. The large fellow was in his sixties, as evidenced by the traces of grey in his enormous beard and balding hair. Laughter twinkled in his blue eyes, as he ran up to Predeslava, sweeping her up in a bear hug. His joviality was contagious, and soon, the survivors of Ovotsk were at ease, unburdened by their recent troubles. The journey was over, and they had survived it.
They soon found that Uncle Khuritsa was an excellent host. Soft beds, warm meals, and hot baths were soon prepared for the weary travellers. Khuritsa was always there, ready with a tale of the adventures in his youth, when he was one of the Kislev Winged Lancers, elite knights, who fought against the followers of Chaos, the greenskins, and whatever else threatened their northern country. Khuritsa had inherited his father's horse-trading coster, and was now reaping great profits after signing a deal with his former knightly order to supply them with the best warhorses the frozen steppe had to offer.
Food and drink were plentiful in Khuritsa's estate, and the next two weeks went past quickly. Then, one day, a runner appeared to the gates, with an important message: the warlord Viseslav had been seen selling slaves in the market. At Predeslava's command, the group quickly armed themselves, and made their way to the marketplace, accompanied by five men of Khuritsa's house guard, and the runner boy, who was to point out Viseslav from the crowd.
"He is zat big, bristle-haired man over zere, talking vith the small noble. The nobleman is Liut, a local fop. Killing him probably isn't smart," the boy said, pointing at a pair of men haggling over the price of a slave.
The adventurers and Khuritsa's men stealthily wandered through the crowd, fanning out and circling Viseslav, Liut, and their respective retinues, both five men strong. Then, without warning, they attacked. Two of Viseslav's guard were struck down immediately by Frederich and Franz. Kase shot a third on in the shoulder with his longbow, and the man was soon run through by one of Khuritsa's men.
The marketplace soon emptied of all but the warriors, as the innocent bystanders tried not to get brained by a stray axe swing. Liut's men joined the fray at the command of their employer, and the adventurers suddenly found they were being outnumbered. The guards of Liut and Khuritsa crossed axes and swords, as Fisibbei was stuck in single combat with their dagger-wielding leader. The fight was soon resolved, as Fisibbei nearly disembowelled him, and then cast a minor curative spell so the nobleman wouldn't die of his injuries.
Meanwhile, Frederich and Franz duelled with Viseslav. The warlord swung his bastard sword with deadly accuracy and strength, and the Sigmarites were hard-pressed to defend themselves. The warrior whirled around, swinging his sword in a wide arc, killing one of Khuritsa's men and forcing Frederich and Franz to retreat. The two then pressed their attack, Frederich scoring a deep wound in Viseslav's side with his sword. This seemed to only enrage the warlord, whose return strike pierced Franz's leg, taking the priest out of the fight.
Kase and Fisibbei were fighting against three men, their backs against the wall, when they saw their companion fall. The elf reacted to this by uttering a terrible warcry, and then cutting down his surprised opponent. A few long, running strides took him to Franz, and he began incanting a healing spell. The Sigmarite priest jumped up, his wounds cured, and new life coursing through his veins. Shouting his god's name, he crushed the skull of the last of Viseslav's men.
Frederich and Viseslav were in their own world. Steel clanged on steel, attacks were parried and returned. Both combatants were bleeding from dozens of small injuries. There was no finesse in their attacks, only brute strength and uncanny speed. And then, the death came from behind. Franz's warhammer shattered three of Viseslav's ribs with an audible crunch. The agony caused the warlord to momentarily lower his guard, and with a single swipe of Frederich's axe, his head was cleanly separated from his body.
The battle was over. Sixteen men lay on the ground, dead. The four adventurers were the only ones standing. The crowd of horrified, but entertained, onlookers parted before a group of armoured, halberd-wielding soldiers. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a face that looked as if it had been used as a dartboard, stepped forward and announced:
"By the lav of Kislev, I place you under arrest!"
---------------------------------------------
Seven days had passed since the destruction of Ovotsk when the small boat with its survivors arrived in the city of Sarbas. The bodies of criminals were hanging from the trees on the riverbanks, their dead eyes gazing at the monoxyla as it floated past them and into the city.
They docked their small vessel at the piers reserved for such, and paid the docking fee, which Franz equated to robbery. Then, Predeslava led the adventurers and the Ovotskian survivors through the city, to his uncle Khuritsa's estate. Khuritsa was obviously a wealthy man. His house, nay, manor, stood on the edge of the city, circled by its own ten-foot wall. The heavy iron gate was guarded by two rather tired-looking guards, who immediately sprung alert as they saw the motley party walking up the path to the gate. As the guards challenged them, spears held at ready, Predeslava stepped forward, announcing their identity and intent. One of the guards, much more respectful now, disappeared inside the compound to get Uncle Khuritsa. He soon returned with a huge bear of a man. The large fellow was in his sixties, as evidenced by the traces of grey in his enormous beard and balding hair. Laughter twinkled in his blue eyes, as he ran up to Predeslava, sweeping her up in a bear hug. His joviality was contagious, and soon, the survivors of Ovotsk were at ease, unburdened by their recent troubles. The journey was over, and they had survived it.
They soon found that Uncle Khuritsa was an excellent host. Soft beds, warm meals, and hot baths were soon prepared for the weary travellers. Khuritsa was always there, ready with a tale of the adventures in his youth, when he was one of the Kislev Winged Lancers, elite knights, who fought against the followers of Chaos, the greenskins, and whatever else threatened their northern country. Khuritsa had inherited his father's horse-trading coster, and was now reaping great profits after signing a deal with his former knightly order to supply them with the best warhorses the frozen steppe had to offer.
Food and drink were plentiful in Khuritsa's estate, and the next two weeks went past quickly. Then, one day, a runner appeared to the gates, with an important message: the warlord Viseslav had been seen selling slaves in the market. At Predeslava's command, the group quickly armed themselves, and made their way to the marketplace, accompanied by five men of Khuritsa's house guard, and the runner boy, who was to point out Viseslav from the crowd.
"He is zat big, bristle-haired man over zere, talking vith the small noble. The nobleman is Liut, a local fop. Killing him probably isn't smart," the boy said, pointing at a pair of men haggling over the price of a slave.
The adventurers and Khuritsa's men stealthily wandered through the crowd, fanning out and circling Viseslav, Liut, and their respective retinues, both five men strong. Then, without warning, they attacked. Two of Viseslav's guard were struck down immediately by Frederich and Franz. Kase shot a third on in the shoulder with his longbow, and the man was soon run through by one of Khuritsa's men.
The marketplace soon emptied of all but the warriors, as the innocent bystanders tried not to get brained by a stray axe swing. Liut's men joined the fray at the command of their employer, and the adventurers suddenly found they were being outnumbered. The guards of Liut and Khuritsa crossed axes and swords, as Fisibbei was stuck in single combat with their dagger-wielding leader. The fight was soon resolved, as Fisibbei nearly disembowelled him, and then cast a minor curative spell so the nobleman wouldn't die of his injuries.
Meanwhile, Frederich and Franz duelled with Viseslav. The warlord swung his bastard sword with deadly accuracy and strength, and the Sigmarites were hard-pressed to defend themselves. The warrior whirled around, swinging his sword in a wide arc, killing one of Khuritsa's men and forcing Frederich and Franz to retreat. The two then pressed their attack, Frederich scoring a deep wound in Viseslav's side with his sword. This seemed to only enrage the warlord, whose return strike pierced Franz's leg, taking the priest out of the fight.
Kase and Fisibbei were fighting against three men, their backs against the wall, when they saw their companion fall. The elf reacted to this by uttering a terrible warcry, and then cutting down his surprised opponent. A few long, running strides took him to Franz, and he began incanting a healing spell. The Sigmarite priest jumped up, his wounds cured, and new life coursing through his veins. Shouting his god's name, he crushed the skull of the last of Viseslav's men.
Frederich and Viseslav were in their own world. Steel clanged on steel, attacks were parried and returned. Both combatants were bleeding from dozens of small injuries. There was no finesse in their attacks, only brute strength and uncanny speed. And then, the death came from behind. Franz's warhammer shattered three of Viseslav's ribs with an audible crunch. The agony caused the warlord to momentarily lower his guard, and with a single swipe of Frederich's axe, his head was cleanly separated from his body.
The battle was over. Sixteen men lay on the ground, dead. The four adventurers were the only ones standing. The crowd of horrified, but entertained, onlookers parted before a group of armoured, halberd-wielding soldiers. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a face that looked as if it had been used as a dartboard, stepped forward and announced:
"By the lav of Kislev, I place you under arrest!"
Games are very educational. Scrabble teaches vocabulary, Monopoly teaches cash-flow management, and D&D teaches to loot the bodies.
-Steve Jackson
-Steve Jackson
Chapter 3 – Row, Row, Row Your Boat…
The trial was short. The judge was a red-bearded priest of Ulric, with a great warhammer he used as a gavel. The merchant noble family of Dzugashvili wanted the party's heads, for the assault upon Liut. It was soon pointed out that they acted only in self-defence, and actually healed the man after wounding him. Both Khuritsa and Predeslava spoke for the adventurers, praising their honour and valiant deeds, and saying that Liut himself had been at fault, for attacking them.
In the end, the judge banged his great warhammer, and gave his verdict: the adventurers were banished from Kislev for twenty years, and were to be escorted to the border by a man named Khaelas. As it turned out, he was a wood elf, clad in green, and claiming to wield sorcerous powers.
By the end of the day, they were well on their way up the river Lynsk, in a small, leaky wooden barge, captained by a greasy man of impressive girth. Kase calculated that if they were to chuck him overboard, not only would the boat travel faster, but the river would flood, and with all that fat, the man would float. However, as they found no way of lifting the fellow, let alone extracting him from his cabin, they resigned to their fate of spending the next week watching the idyllic and monotonous Kislevite countryside slip by as the barge ponderously made its way downstream in the slow-moving water.
During the voyage, it quickly became clear that Khaelas couldn't have cared less about his duty. He'd got his gold already, and was to leave country along with the heroes. He was also an adventurer who'd had disagreements with the law, after some irresponsible spellcasting.
As they sat in the boat, day after day, confined to the company of each other, and forced to listen to Fisibbei teaching Kase how to speak Reikspiel, tensions began to rise. Franz was irritated at the two elves, for being elves, and at the world as a whole, for getting him exiled of Kislev, where he was on a mission from the church.
The barge's skipper didn't help things. He was rude, smelly, and made constantly fun of the elves and Franz. The corpulent man was so large he could barely fit inside the small cabin where he steered the barge, and apparently was unable to leave it. Huge, drooping folds of flesh concealed his legs.
All that considered, it wasn't such a surprise when Franz got it in his head that the man was tainted by Chaos.
They were a day away from their destination, when the Sigmarite decided to take action. With great protest from the captain, Franz smashed apart the cabin that held him. The others were too afraid to stop him. Immediately, like a huge glob of jam, the captain's flesh expanded out of its constraints. It was as if he had no muscles or bones at all. Now, thoroughly disgusted, the others joined in, and with a great wail, the strange, jelly-like man was hurled overboard, to disappear into the black waters of Lynsk.
The next day, they arrived in Erengrad. The great port city was bustling with traders from the Empire, Marienburg, Estalia, Tilea, and even Araby, all peddling their various wares. As the five adventurers were jumping to the pier, a great tendril of flesh shout out from the water, wrapping itself around Khaelas' leg. The elf cried out in pain as he was violently yanked from the pier to the barge.
Fisibbei was the fastest to act, taking his sickle and jumping down in aid of the elf to hack at the strange tentacle. As the weapon drew blood, the creature rose out of the water. It was their former captain, now grey-skinned and looking like a drowned corpse. Yet, it was still very much alive, as proved by the wicked grin and red-glowing eyes. It formed its fleshy body into more tendrils, attacking the halfling druid, who was quick to dance out of the way. From the pier, Kase was shooting arrows at the creature. Franz and Frederich joined their comrades in the boat, bringing their weapons down on the creature's body, prompting a great scream of pain. The creature still had fight left in it, though, and it hauled its entire body on the barge.
Repulsed by the creature, Khaelas cut off the tendril holding his leg, and scrambled away. Fisibbei and the others stabbed it again and again, and the deck ran red with the unholy creature's blood. However, the fleshy mass of the creature was still coming forward, forcing the heroes to jump back to the pier, all the while fighting off the pseudopods trying to snare their limbs. Finally, it was Khaelas who brought about the creature's death. He flung a ceramic jar from his backpack at the barge. It shattered, spraying the creature and the deck with black fluid. Oil, the creature realized, but too late. A jet of flame burst from the elf's hands, and the liquid caught fire, prompting another scream from the Chaos-tainted captain.
Soon, the barge was a blazing inferno, and the smell of smoke and charred flesh filled the air. The adventurers, along with the crowd of onlookers they had managed to collect, watched the grim bonfire, departing only when the last the boat had sunk in the deep waters of Erengrad's harbour.
The trial was short. The judge was a red-bearded priest of Ulric, with a great warhammer he used as a gavel. The merchant noble family of Dzugashvili wanted the party's heads, for the assault upon Liut. It was soon pointed out that they acted only in self-defence, and actually healed the man after wounding him. Both Khuritsa and Predeslava spoke for the adventurers, praising their honour and valiant deeds, and saying that Liut himself had been at fault, for attacking them.
In the end, the judge banged his great warhammer, and gave his verdict: the adventurers were banished from Kislev for twenty years, and were to be escorted to the border by a man named Khaelas. As it turned out, he was a wood elf, clad in green, and claiming to wield sorcerous powers.
By the end of the day, they were well on their way up the river Lynsk, in a small, leaky wooden barge, captained by a greasy man of impressive girth. Kase calculated that if they were to chuck him overboard, not only would the boat travel faster, but the river would flood, and with all that fat, the man would float. However, as they found no way of lifting the fellow, let alone extracting him from his cabin, they resigned to their fate of spending the next week watching the idyllic and monotonous Kislevite countryside slip by as the barge ponderously made its way downstream in the slow-moving water.
During the voyage, it quickly became clear that Khaelas couldn't have cared less about his duty. He'd got his gold already, and was to leave country along with the heroes. He was also an adventurer who'd had disagreements with the law, after some irresponsible spellcasting.
As they sat in the boat, day after day, confined to the company of each other, and forced to listen to Fisibbei teaching Kase how to speak Reikspiel, tensions began to rise. Franz was irritated at the two elves, for being elves, and at the world as a whole, for getting him exiled of Kislev, where he was on a mission from the church.
The barge's skipper didn't help things. He was rude, smelly, and made constantly fun of the elves and Franz. The corpulent man was so large he could barely fit inside the small cabin where he steered the barge, and apparently was unable to leave it. Huge, drooping folds of flesh concealed his legs.
All that considered, it wasn't such a surprise when Franz got it in his head that the man was tainted by Chaos.
They were a day away from their destination, when the Sigmarite decided to take action. With great protest from the captain, Franz smashed apart the cabin that held him. The others were too afraid to stop him. Immediately, like a huge glob of jam, the captain's flesh expanded out of its constraints. It was as if he had no muscles or bones at all. Now, thoroughly disgusted, the others joined in, and with a great wail, the strange, jelly-like man was hurled overboard, to disappear into the black waters of Lynsk.
The next day, they arrived in Erengrad. The great port city was bustling with traders from the Empire, Marienburg, Estalia, Tilea, and even Araby, all peddling their various wares. As the five adventurers were jumping to the pier, a great tendril of flesh shout out from the water, wrapping itself around Khaelas' leg. The elf cried out in pain as he was violently yanked from the pier to the barge.
Fisibbei was the fastest to act, taking his sickle and jumping down in aid of the elf to hack at the strange tentacle. As the weapon drew blood, the creature rose out of the water. It was their former captain, now grey-skinned and looking like a drowned corpse. Yet, it was still very much alive, as proved by the wicked grin and red-glowing eyes. It formed its fleshy body into more tendrils, attacking the halfling druid, who was quick to dance out of the way. From the pier, Kase was shooting arrows at the creature. Franz and Frederich joined their comrades in the boat, bringing their weapons down on the creature's body, prompting a great scream of pain. The creature still had fight left in it, though, and it hauled its entire body on the barge.
Repulsed by the creature, Khaelas cut off the tendril holding his leg, and scrambled away. Fisibbei and the others stabbed it again and again, and the deck ran red with the unholy creature's blood. However, the fleshy mass of the creature was still coming forward, forcing the heroes to jump back to the pier, all the while fighting off the pseudopods trying to snare their limbs. Finally, it was Khaelas who brought about the creature's death. He flung a ceramic jar from his backpack at the barge. It shattered, spraying the creature and the deck with black fluid. Oil, the creature realized, but too late. A jet of flame burst from the elf's hands, and the liquid caught fire, prompting another scream from the Chaos-tainted captain.
Soon, the barge was a blazing inferno, and the smell of smoke and charred flesh filled the air. The adventurers, along with the crowd of onlookers they had managed to collect, watched the grim bonfire, departing only when the last the boat had sunk in the deep waters of Erengrad's harbour.
Games are very educational. Scrabble teaches vocabulary, Monopoly teaches cash-flow management, and D&D teaches to loot the bodies.
-Steve Jackson
-Steve Jackson
*Aikoo postata näitä vaikka maailman tappiin saakka, luetaan niitä tai ei.*
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Despite their escort's indifference to whether they were going to leave Kislev or not, the party soon began seeking passage aboard a ship bound for the Empire. After a few hours of touring the waterfront taverns and buying people cheap ale, they found the captain of such a vessel, in one of the better inns of the area, where the ale wasn't quite so watery, and the rats were fatter.
The captain, Hans Versenkung, was a portly man, with the strange accent that seems to develop to all who spend long times at the sea, regardless of where they actually grew up, and a great, bushy white beard. He regarded the adventurers thoughtfully for a moment, and then said:
"The price of tickets be ten gold, each. If ye can 'elp us fight 'gainst pirates or monsters, ye'll get yer coin back when we reach Marienburg."
It was a deal.
The captain's ship was a small and fast merchant vessel, with the name Das Minnow written on its side in bright red paint. After the party of five had taken their heavy backpacks and cumbersome armour to their cabins they soon found themselves in the dining hall of the ship. Since the ship was primarily a mercantile one, it rarely carried passengers, and the hall was almost empty, with the notable exception of a large noble family occupying the long table in the middle of the hall. They were a noisy and boisterous bunch, and were already deep in their cups. Frederich and Franz could identify quite a few popular drinking songs from the taverns of Nuln and Altdorf. The remains of two large pheasants were lying on their silver platters.
Kase, in his heavily accented Reikspiel, inquired about the noblemen from the cook, who supplied him with much information on them. It was the Von Hedon family, he knew, from Nuln. It was the entire family, apparently, every member of it, right down to the house priest, the jester, and their own halfling cook, returning from Kislev where they'd spent a holiday.
The adventurers quietly finished their fish stew, and then retired for the night, to the three cabins assigned to them, on the second deck. Kase and Khaelas took one, and Fisibbei and Frederich the second. Franz was quite vehement on sleeping alone.
It was good to sleep in a proper bed, after long weeks of bedding down with blankets in forests and waking up stiff and sore after a night spent on the deck of a riverboat. It was nothing compared to Khuritsa's silken linens, but compared to the other places they'd spent nights lately, it was a definite improvement. They were determined to enjoy their night's sleep.
Hence, it should've come as no surprise when a shrill cry cut the night after less than two hours afterwards. Running feet were heard in the hallway, and a woman's voice cried:
"He's been murdered!"
The five adventurers burst from their cabins. As they soon ascertained, the source of the cry was one of the nobles, Marya von Hedon.
"Hans is dead!" she cried as she ran down the hallway, her eyes large with terror. Franz grasped the woman by the arm, and after some vigorous shaking and demanding questions, calmed her down enough to get her to lead them to the body.
The cabin was a large one, almost opulent, with carpets on the floors and a great bed, with silken sheets. On the bed lay the late Hans von Hedon, his eyes bulging out and black tongue jutting from his mouth, leaking green drool. There was a greenish cast to his pale skin.
"Poison," Fisibbei said, after a mere glance at the body. "And not any natural one, either. Alchemical one, I'm thinking, and a strong one at that."
* * *
An hour later they were in the captain's office. The white-bearded man was pacing back and forth in front of them.
"This be a really filthy piece of business, this is," he spoke. "There's me reputation as a skipper at stake, here."
He turned to look at the adventurers.
"I want ye to find that scurvy dog who did this afore we reach Marienburg. Ye'll be well paid, and I think the lords high and mighty have a few crowns in it fer ye, too. 'Less they killed the man themselves, that is." Versenkung barked a bitter laugh, and waved them out of his office.
And so, the investigations started. Franz assumed a leadership position so naturally that nobody thought to even question him. They began to work immediately, as they were only four days from Marienburg. Franz took it upon himself to do the interrogations, as he'd worked with a troop of witch hunters in his earlier days, and picked up a few things on how to get people to admit things. Frederich went off to question the guards and the sailors. Fisibbei, Kase, and Khaelas rummaged through the room, searching for clues.
Lady Marya was not very forthcoming with information. Waking up in the middle of the night to a strange smell, and finding her husband's face, contorted in agony next to him had been a rather shocking experience. Lady Marya's mother-in-law, the matronly Gertrud von Hedon was vehemently opposed to Franz's interrogation, and had to be forcibly removed from the room by the cleric.
In the end, Franz gleaned little from the woman. Hans and Marya had retired for the night soon after the adventurers. They'd slept peacefully for a while, and then Marya had awoken to a sharp smell. After that, she'd woken up the ship with her screams of terror.
* * *
Frederich's inquiries with the ship's crew and the nobles' guards were marginally more fruitful. One of the deck guards mentioned he'd heard a splash from the poop deck's direction, but when he'd gone to investigate, he'd seen nothing. One of the guard who'd patrolled on the lower decks had thought he'd heard steps in the shadows, but had seen nothing.
Fisibbei and the elves worked hard in the room, investigating the different manners Lord von Hedon might have been poisoned. They scraped lint off the carpet, went through the sheets with a fine comb, analysed the strange grease found on the doorknob, individually opened and tested each and every bottle and jar in Lady Marya's cosmetics chest, and even darkened the room to see if there were any cracks in the ceiling or walls. In the end, they came up with nothing. Kase tried to analyse the drool from Hans' body, but could not divine anything from it. They came to the inevitable conclusion that Hans had been poisoned at the dinner table. And that meant the guilt lay upon to shoulders of one of his kinsmen.
* * *
Franz, knowing that inquiring about the family's internal matters from the adult family members would only alert them to the fact that he knew something, requested permission to have a friendly little chat with Lisette, the eight-year-old daughter of Henrik von Hedon, Hans' brother. They were given an hour.
Franz sat on the chair opposite the little girl. She was dressed in noble finery, just a smaller version of what her mother wore. She also wore makeup, and her hair had been carefully plaited. The priest thought she looked rather like a porcelain doll. After regarding the girl for a moment with a friendly smile, he raised up the small hammer that hung on a silver chain around his neck.
"You know what this is?" he asked.
"Yes. That is the symbol of Sigmar, the god. Our priest, Father Ulrich has one, too," the girl replied in the clipped accent of the Empire's upper class.
"Good. I am also a priest, like Father Ulrich. I am Father Franz. Now, I am going to ask you some questions about your family. You should answer truthfully. Father Ulrich has told you what happens to those who lie, hasn't he?"
"Yes. Father Ulrich says liars burn in the fires of hell. I never lie."
"Good, very good… Now… Who were in the table at the dinner last night?"
"It was mom and dad, Uncle Hans and Aunt Marya, Uncle Bocher, Grandfather Adolf and Grandmother Gertrud, and Father Ulrich. Oh, and Canio. He's a bard, from Tilea. He's funny." The girl giggled.
"And who sat next to Hans?" Franz continued.
"Aunt Marya, and Uncle Bocher. Father Ulrich was sitting opposite to him."
"What did you all eat and drink, by the way?"
"Pheasant. The adults drank water and I and little Peter drank water."
"How many bottles of wine were there in the table?"
"Many. All except Uncle Hans' Bretonnian wine were from our own yards."
"Bretonnian wine?"
"Yes… Uncle Hans does not like the wine of our yards, so he drinks Bretonnian. Uncle Bocher and Uncle Hans had a fight over it a long time ago, when he insulted our vintners."
"Did anyone else drink the Bretonnian wine?"
"No, I don't think so. Father Ulrich might have. He likes it, too."
"Hmm… Thank you, Lisette… You have been a great help. You may go."
The girl smiled, curtsied, and left. Franz departed soon after in a great hurry, to tell his comrades.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Despite their escort's indifference to whether they were going to leave Kislev or not, the party soon began seeking passage aboard a ship bound for the Empire. After a few hours of touring the waterfront taverns and buying people cheap ale, they found the captain of such a vessel, in one of the better inns of the area, where the ale wasn't quite so watery, and the rats were fatter.
The captain, Hans Versenkung, was a portly man, with the strange accent that seems to develop to all who spend long times at the sea, regardless of where they actually grew up, and a great, bushy white beard. He regarded the adventurers thoughtfully for a moment, and then said:
"The price of tickets be ten gold, each. If ye can 'elp us fight 'gainst pirates or monsters, ye'll get yer coin back when we reach Marienburg."
It was a deal.
The captain's ship was a small and fast merchant vessel, with the name Das Minnow written on its side in bright red paint. After the party of five had taken their heavy backpacks and cumbersome armour to their cabins they soon found themselves in the dining hall of the ship. Since the ship was primarily a mercantile one, it rarely carried passengers, and the hall was almost empty, with the notable exception of a large noble family occupying the long table in the middle of the hall. They were a noisy and boisterous bunch, and were already deep in their cups. Frederich and Franz could identify quite a few popular drinking songs from the taverns of Nuln and Altdorf. The remains of two large pheasants were lying on their silver platters.
Kase, in his heavily accented Reikspiel, inquired about the noblemen from the cook, who supplied him with much information on them. It was the Von Hedon family, he knew, from Nuln. It was the entire family, apparently, every member of it, right down to the house priest, the jester, and their own halfling cook, returning from Kislev where they'd spent a holiday.
The adventurers quietly finished their fish stew, and then retired for the night, to the three cabins assigned to them, on the second deck. Kase and Khaelas took one, and Fisibbei and Frederich the second. Franz was quite vehement on sleeping alone.
It was good to sleep in a proper bed, after long weeks of bedding down with blankets in forests and waking up stiff and sore after a night spent on the deck of a riverboat. It was nothing compared to Khuritsa's silken linens, but compared to the other places they'd spent nights lately, it was a definite improvement. They were determined to enjoy their night's sleep.
Hence, it should've come as no surprise when a shrill cry cut the night after less than two hours afterwards. Running feet were heard in the hallway, and a woman's voice cried:
"He's been murdered!"
The five adventurers burst from their cabins. As they soon ascertained, the source of the cry was one of the nobles, Marya von Hedon.
"Hans is dead!" she cried as she ran down the hallway, her eyes large with terror. Franz grasped the woman by the arm, and after some vigorous shaking and demanding questions, calmed her down enough to get her to lead them to the body.
The cabin was a large one, almost opulent, with carpets on the floors and a great bed, with silken sheets. On the bed lay the late Hans von Hedon, his eyes bulging out and black tongue jutting from his mouth, leaking green drool. There was a greenish cast to his pale skin.
"Poison," Fisibbei said, after a mere glance at the body. "And not any natural one, either. Alchemical one, I'm thinking, and a strong one at that."
* * *
An hour later they were in the captain's office. The white-bearded man was pacing back and forth in front of them.
"This be a really filthy piece of business, this is," he spoke. "There's me reputation as a skipper at stake, here."
He turned to look at the adventurers.
"I want ye to find that scurvy dog who did this afore we reach Marienburg. Ye'll be well paid, and I think the lords high and mighty have a few crowns in it fer ye, too. 'Less they killed the man themselves, that is." Versenkung barked a bitter laugh, and waved them out of his office.
And so, the investigations started. Franz assumed a leadership position so naturally that nobody thought to even question him. They began to work immediately, as they were only four days from Marienburg. Franz took it upon himself to do the interrogations, as he'd worked with a troop of witch hunters in his earlier days, and picked up a few things on how to get people to admit things. Frederich went off to question the guards and the sailors. Fisibbei, Kase, and Khaelas rummaged through the room, searching for clues.
Lady Marya was not very forthcoming with information. Waking up in the middle of the night to a strange smell, and finding her husband's face, contorted in agony next to him had been a rather shocking experience. Lady Marya's mother-in-law, the matronly Gertrud von Hedon was vehemently opposed to Franz's interrogation, and had to be forcibly removed from the room by the cleric.
In the end, Franz gleaned little from the woman. Hans and Marya had retired for the night soon after the adventurers. They'd slept peacefully for a while, and then Marya had awoken to a sharp smell. After that, she'd woken up the ship with her screams of terror.
* * *
Frederich's inquiries with the ship's crew and the nobles' guards were marginally more fruitful. One of the deck guards mentioned he'd heard a splash from the poop deck's direction, but when he'd gone to investigate, he'd seen nothing. One of the guard who'd patrolled on the lower decks had thought he'd heard steps in the shadows, but had seen nothing.
Fisibbei and the elves worked hard in the room, investigating the different manners Lord von Hedon might have been poisoned. They scraped lint off the carpet, went through the sheets with a fine comb, analysed the strange grease found on the doorknob, individually opened and tested each and every bottle and jar in Lady Marya's cosmetics chest, and even darkened the room to see if there were any cracks in the ceiling or walls. In the end, they came up with nothing. Kase tried to analyse the drool from Hans' body, but could not divine anything from it. They came to the inevitable conclusion that Hans had been poisoned at the dinner table. And that meant the guilt lay upon to shoulders of one of his kinsmen.
* * *
Franz, knowing that inquiring about the family's internal matters from the adult family members would only alert them to the fact that he knew something, requested permission to have a friendly little chat with Lisette, the eight-year-old daughter of Henrik von Hedon, Hans' brother. They were given an hour.
Franz sat on the chair opposite the little girl. She was dressed in noble finery, just a smaller version of what her mother wore. She also wore makeup, and her hair had been carefully plaited. The priest thought she looked rather like a porcelain doll. After regarding the girl for a moment with a friendly smile, he raised up the small hammer that hung on a silver chain around his neck.
"You know what this is?" he asked.
"Yes. That is the symbol of Sigmar, the god. Our priest, Father Ulrich has one, too," the girl replied in the clipped accent of the Empire's upper class.
"Good. I am also a priest, like Father Ulrich. I am Father Franz. Now, I am going to ask you some questions about your family. You should answer truthfully. Father Ulrich has told you what happens to those who lie, hasn't he?"
"Yes. Father Ulrich says liars burn in the fires of hell. I never lie."
"Good, very good… Now… Who were in the table at the dinner last night?"
"It was mom and dad, Uncle Hans and Aunt Marya, Uncle Bocher, Grandfather Adolf and Grandmother Gertrud, and Father Ulrich. Oh, and Canio. He's a bard, from Tilea. He's funny." The girl giggled.
"And who sat next to Hans?" Franz continued.
"Aunt Marya, and Uncle Bocher. Father Ulrich was sitting opposite to him."
"What did you all eat and drink, by the way?"
"Pheasant. The adults drank water and I and little Peter drank water."
"How many bottles of wine were there in the table?"
"Many. All except Uncle Hans' Bretonnian wine were from our own yards."
"Bretonnian wine?"
"Yes… Uncle Hans does not like the wine of our yards, so he drinks Bretonnian. Uncle Bocher and Uncle Hans had a fight over it a long time ago, when he insulted our vintners."
"Did anyone else drink the Bretonnian wine?"
"No, I don't think so. Father Ulrich might have. He likes it, too."
"Hmm… Thank you, Lisette… You have been a great help. You may go."
The girl smiled, curtsied, and left. Franz departed soon after in a great hurry, to tell his comrades.
Games are very educational. Scrabble teaches vocabulary, Monopoly teaches cash-flow management, and D&D teaches to loot the bodies.
-Steve Jackson
-Steve Jackson
-
Warped Creme
- Viestit: 204
- Liittynyt: La 22.06.2002 22:14
- Paikkakunta: Sipoo