Your route decided upon, your three drivers steer their wagons towards the country path. A scattering of farms progressively thinned to wilderness and while you were passing through a small hummock of pine, paused to release your prisoner.

Out from the potato sack came a blonde mess of a dwarf. Filth and straw matted his beard and head, and he cried out, despite himself, at the sudden shock of sunlight. Dwarves do just as well in the dark or outdoors, but sudden changes in light affect them more strongly than humans. There was a gag in his mouth that he quickly loosened with his bound hands, but said nothing. Instead, he lifted those same hands out to you all to be bound to one of the wagons.

Pip eyed the dwarf warily, and, as you all progressed on, kept shooting him curious looks until you stopped for lunch that afternoon. As your prisoner ate awkwardly in his bonds, the boy approached him carefully, stood, and stared. He was of a height with the dwarf, but weighed about half as much. Stanauch took a few more bites of bread, finished his cheese, and offered his apple (you still had some left over) to Pip. "Would you like it lad? my stomach can't tolerate some of the sweet things you humans eat."

Pip reached out, and tentatively snatched the apple. The dwarf continued "You should ask your friends if they're so sure I deserve the fate they're leading me to."

The Count stood off to the side of the wagons eating a loaf of bread and keeping one eye on Stanauch and the other on Wendt, though his real attention was lost in a daydream of home. His reverie had caused him to allow far more contact with the prisoner than he would have otherwise allowed, and he blinked angrily when he realized he had been so lax. He shot a glare to Maurice and inclined his head to Pip and Stanauch; Maurice, looking over with mild confusion and a mouth full of food, instantly comprehended, sighed, and plopped off his seat on the wagon, picking up the whip as he past it.

"No boy," he said patiently as he approached from behind Pip, put a flabby arm round his shoulders and steered him back to the group, "you should do as your told, and you've been told not to be around him on your own, ain'tcha? Ain'tcha? Right, there's a good lad, off you go." He sagged his shoulders, sighed again and fiddled with the coiled whip in his hands before turning around to face the prisoner.

"I'm not here to try and scare ye, and I've no interest in antagonizing ye neither, I'm just going to tell you - just this once - the way things are. That man," he pointed a finger to the Count, who looked on with his usual seething scowl, "has said that you're going to Barak Varr, and to Barak Varr you will go. It could be a pleasant walk through the country, or it could be a-whippin' to mark every mile, that much depends on you minding your manners. That means no mischief - don't look at me like that, you know what you were sayin' to the boy - and no disrespect." He looked over his shoulder at the glowering Count, then turned back a final time. "I know that look: m'lord Von Richtgraf would like me to give you a taste of this already. But I ain't. I'm gonna give us a chance to behave like gentlemen, that's what. So here, let me help ya with your food and we'll have as nice a trip as possible, eh?"

Nigel waves Pip over, "Here lad, sit a moment."

When Pip joins him he begins his lecture, "Now see here Pip, talking to prisoners isn't anything you want to make a habit of; nothing good can come of it. They will say anything, and I mean anything, to try to get on your good side. That doesn't change our job in the slightest, we will guard the prisoner and we will deliver him to Barack Var and that is all that matters for us. Whether or not he is guilty is a matter for the nobility, we follow orders. Understood?"

Bjorn watched and listened from a distance. The others seemed to have the situation well under control, but his hand never left his warhammer in case of trouble. Approaching Ogindur, he leaned in and spoke under his breath: "A query, master dwarf: What fate awaits this brigand in Barak Varr? I have but elementary knowledge of your culture."

Stanauch directed a level look at Maurice. It was clear that he wasn't the least bit intimidated. Quietly, he said "So be it human. But know this, I ain't afraid of a riding crop. I've had far worse than you could ever give."

Meanwhile, Pip nods, doe eyed at Nigel. "I weren't causing trouble Mr. Plaskitt, honest. I just thought he looked sad tis all."

[Private to Ogindur Thundersteel: Your prisoner likely awaits a hammering. A hammering comes in two varieties:
- A beating (likely what Stanauch is referring to in his conversation with Maurice) where the prisoner is unbound and thrust into a ring of hammer wielding dwarves. The hammerers then each exact one blow on the victim. The number of dwarves corresponds to the severity of the punishment, from as few as three to as many as twenty.
- An execution, where the prisoner is tied to an anvil. Each hammerer then takes turns exacting one blow apiece on the victim until he expires.]

"I know Pip, but a man in his position will say anything he thinks will work. I've had child-killers weep and cry about a case of mistaken identity only to have them try to kill a fellow guard to escape minutes later. No matter what he says, no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in, no matter what: Never trust a prisoner. Better to die at the hands of orcs or wild beasts knowing you did your duty, than to think about letting a prisoner loose to 'help' or anything of that sort." Nigel says, "I know it might be hard understand at your age, and believe me there are times I wish I could still trust people, but you have to protect your honor, your comrades, and your life above everything else. You can ask anyone here, they'll tell you the same."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:47, Mon 06 Jan 2014.

"Fair enough, then."" Maurice says as he holds the wooden goblet steady for Stanauch to drink from, using the same patient, paternal voice he used when steering Pip away.

Still at his post by the wagons, the Count watches on; just as the servant had known the master wished a punitive corporal punishment, so the master knew the servant would not oblige. Nik had grown up under the watchful presence of Maurice, and they had a keen understanding of one another despite being as different as fire and ice. The Count simply grunted his derision for Maurice's attempts at civility, saying nothing as he tended to his meal.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:12, Mon 06 Jan 2014.

 He enjoyed the walk and much less the sitting on the hard benches but it did give him time to think and go over where the future lay before him. It seemed that fate had moved him into the path of these merchant warriors who were much more likely fates pawns in the constant war with the vile forces of chaos. From what he could judge it did seem that he should be there at that time for no other reason then to destroy as many of the vile creations as possible.

 He glanced at the others around him and wondered who he could trust and gave thought of what each had responded to him, either good or bad. The man Nikolaas was noble and considered that he knew much and was better then the others,still he did not shirk his duties and worked as hard as any other, he would not ask him what had driven him to these southern mountains and this harsh life style. Could he trust him?, most likely if it involved the caravan or those under his care.

 The Archer with unhuman like skill with his bow made him nervous as well as his willingness to kill with the weapon, still he was good with the boy so that counted for something. Could he trust him?, he was very unsure of the man to do what was right if it was against something he wanted to do.

 The Priest, like most he was assured that everything he did was right and therefore he could not make a mistake,still he fought alongside and risked his life against the forces of chaos, so that was to the good, still could he trust the priest?, he guessed he could on matters against the vile gods.

 The shifty one. He did what was needed and fought well enough to bring justice to the caravans enemies,so that was good. Could he trust him, he was unsure just how far the man would go to bring an end to chaos.

 Sighing he stood up and walked over to Maurice and sat down close to him. "Sir, a moment of your time. I had a thought and wanted to share it with an intelligent mind such as yours. Consider your answer before sharing it widely amongst this group
 What are the chances if this prisoner is what he is charged with, of him knowing the were abouts of this witch hunter that has been troubling your wagons?. If he has such information that is true, what would be the cost for your count to pay for that information?." He leaned back and nibbled at the coarse bread he was tasting.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:47, Mon 06 Jan 2014.

Grigory woke up with a start among the potato sacks, having passed out there binging on his personal stock of alcohol. He was still getting used to having money regularly, and didn't know what else to spend it on.

He was glad to see that the dwarf was secured to the wagon, but not as happy as he would have been to see him still in his sack. After having a quick breakfast, joined the others. He was especially interested in the suggestion that the dwarf might have information regarding Benedikta.

"If that dwarf knows something about the Witch-hunter, I say we put his toes in the fire until he tells us. I'm sure the dwarves wouldn't mind hanging him slightly singed."

Ognindur quietly informs Bjorn of Stanauch's likely fate. Punishment in Dwarven society revolves around an ordeal called "hammering" and it comes in two varieties. In a conventional hammering, the offending dwarf is thrust unarmed and unarmored into a ring of hammer wielding dwarves. Each dwarf will make one strike upon the victim. While this can occasionally be fatal, Dwarves are very tough, and most survive the ordeal. The second form of hammering is an execution. The convict is secured to an anvil, and the hammerers each take turns delivering a blow until the prisoner is extinguished. This second punishment tends to be rare, because most dwarves convicted of a capital offense are sooner killed by grudgebearers from the wronged party.

Since Stanauch mentioned receiving worse beatings than Maurice could mete out, it's logical to suspect the other fate lies in store for him.

Lunchtime over, your group prepares to leave again. Any of you might interrogate your prisoner on the road, but time is money, and it is important to make as much progress as possible in the afternoon. It doesn't seem, though, that you'll get the opportunity right away. As you pass into a treed, and shady cleft between two steep hills, a ragged band of humans materializes in front of you, blocking the path.

Note, hammering is not Warhammer cannon, I made it up.

The area you're standing in is heavily shaded, and obscured from view of the rest of the road. The path itself is about twenty feet wide, and your enemies, about fifteen of them, are ranged in front of you about twenty feet away. Seven are on the path and four are in the trees on either side of the path in partial cover. They have not noticed Stanauch, nor has he noticed them.

Grigory, crossbow in hand, moves up behind the prisoner to silence him while the men in the road were dealt with.

"One word from you and the Dwarves will have to make do with your corpse."

Grigory's threat was reinforced by a low growl from Rufus.

09:38, Today: Grigory rolled 8 using 3d6. Intimidation Default Will-5= 8.
09:38, Today: Rufus rolled 11 using 3d6. Intimidation 13.

Hands: Crossbow

Parry: 12
Dodge:  9

HP:12/12       FP:12/12
This message was last edited by the player at 22:14, Wed 08 Jan 2014.

Am really sorry for being lax in posting again. A few know that I'm kind of having some issues atm...  but it'll all be over soon enough




Ogindur had told the warrior of Sigmar about the tradition of hammering. It was a brutal affair but it taught a dwarf the meaning of their crimes. The dwarf, nowadays, did not partake in such activities after putting one of his clan members to the ground permenantly. It was the first glimpse that Ogindur had of his own strength and he regretted it entirely.

That said, however, it was good practice; the crimes of dwarves needed punishment and prisons were a horrible way to dish it out. Ogindur, proud of his dwarven blood was determined to make his kind better.

"What yer done then?" he inquired, acting nonchalant with his words. He was curious, as always and would make his own judgements about the fate of the ragged looking beardie.

 Noticing the wagons stopping he looks around at the closeness of the tree and ventured a guess that it would a decent spot to ambush someone, so he checks both sides for skulking figures or chaos beast men hiding or attempting to hide in his sight.

 He then glanced towards the front of the caravan to see what might be going on ahead. He could see a band in the road, still that was their trouble he was going to watch the back of the wagon train so that none would use the distraction to sneak into the wagons.

Maurice was unique in the Empire, being a man in a generally good mood despite his circumstances. Even with the threat of danger nearby, even being saddled with the unsavoury responsibility of issuing the Count's punishment, he answered the mage with easy congeniality; he made no effort at correcting his being called "sir", and his brief laughter was unfeigned when Konad described him as having an "intelligent mind".

He thought for a moment, then said "As to this dwarf being in league with that witch," he spat on the ground before continuing, "I shouldn't think even Happy's luck is that bad... that is to say, m'lord's luck. But supposing he is, I think the Count would be more likely to try whipping that from him than he would be to negotiate - a noble's pride is a prickly thing, master mage, and the Count is a prickly man. But who knows? That witch" he spat again "has him rare vexed; he might try anything to get to her." He smiled at Konad as he finished up with whatever chore he had been busying himself with, but faced the ground when he finished "And you needn't worry about me sharin' my opinions around; in my experience, an indiscreet servant isn't a happily employed one."


Lunch over and the wagons again on the move, Maurice was as dutiful and high-spirited as ever, singing his dirty drover songs and basically being the opposite of his master. His song caught in his throat when the path turned a corner and they were suddenly confronted with a band of men. As though on cue, the Count dismounted the wagon and eyed the men before them.

He stood silently for a moment staring down the array of toughs, as ever unable to mask his scowl. He straightened his back with a few popping sounds then, with as unreadable an expression as he could wear on his scarred face he began a slow approach to the pack, holding up a hand to stop any of his own men that might follow him. He walked as far as he could until they made a move to stop him, coming to within easy speaking distance of any spokesman they might name.

"Explain yourselves," he said after a tense moment, unwilling to submit to brigandy without some sort of pomp. "Who are you to block this road?"

Nigel follows immediately behind the count, bow in hand, face expressionless, and mind ready to kill.

Stanauch smiled and shook his head slightly, as though Ogindur could never understand. "Nothing to deserve my fate, I'll tell you that much."

As the wagons creeked to a stop in front of this new mob of brigands, and Grigory gave his warning to the dwarf prisoner, the other nodded grimly, and made a 'lock and toss the key' motion.



"Oh, we be nothing more than poor herdsmen. But yer wagons have be damaging our land." the spokesman starts, and gestures with a sword at the perfectly normal ruts in the trail behind the party. "I'm afraid we have to collect just compensation in response."

Somewhere in the trees a baby goat bleated, and the four men on either side of the trail readied their bows.

The Count sneered - actually sneered, beyond his normal expression - and threw his demi cloak over his shoulder, revealing both the hilts of his sword and pistols... and the small coin pouch he carried along side them. The motion was quick, intended to spook the men as well as show his own disdain for the danger he was in, and the Count gauged their reactions coldly. He hefted the small bag in his hand a few times to make sure the jingle was heard, then tossed it into the dirt before the man that spoke.

"There is for your damaged land. There are ten gold crowns in that bag, along with the only offer of clemency you'll hear from me today. Now stand aside."

He gave the slightest glance over his shoulder to the other Rangers, barely perceptible as anything other than eyeing the archers in the trees, and twitched when he caught someone's glance. Maurice let out a low groan. "Oh, blood and piss... be ready boys."

14:44, Today: Nikolaas von Richtgraf rolled 9 using 3d6. Gesture (12).
14:45, Today: Maurice rolled 10 using 3d6. Gesture (12).

The message is:

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
"any further trouble, target the archers first".

---

The ringleader eyed Nikolaas warily as he edged forward, and slowly knelt to pick up the coin purse. He didn't remove his gaze from the count until the last second when he had to glance down and grab the coin.

The leader is within 1 yard of Nikolaas, the others have stayed back. The archers in the trees have not drawn their bows back, only knocked arrows.

"Don't test our resolve on this matter. His grace has been more than generous to pay instead of bringing you to justice for your blatant extortion, make no mistake, if you do not put away your weapons and let us pass you will be the first to die." Nigel says coldly as he knocks an arrow to match the archers on the hill, "That is not a threat, but a rather a promise. I never miss."

Ogindur growled under his breath as he heard the back and forth between the count and the brigand learder."Little scum sucking brigand bast..." he continued to curse under his breath while considering the options.

He, as usual, was donned in his finest, and most available armour with shield strapped to his arm and axe ready to be retrieved (it was a 'potentially dangerous' journey afterall).

The dwarf looked about to see who would be the closest enemy, should it come to a fight. There were archers of course, but in all his years Ogindur had never once taken a wound from an arrow. This was common amongst the more wellarmoured dwarves as the vast majority of bows would not allow penetration of the lovely metal. Generally, luck or skill had to play a role in aiming for it to ever get past the well-crafted armour of the dwarves.



08:09, Today: Ogindur Thundersteel rolled 12 using 3d6. look at them.
// do any of them look strong enough to penetrate ogindur's armour?

Any reactionary dodge/block

Bjorn made his way slowly to the front, unseating his shield and grabbing his warhammer.

"Those who walk in darkness hate the light, for their deeds are evil," he said. "The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness shall not overcome it."

00:25, Today: Bjorn Jorgensen rolled 10 using 3d6. Intimidation 14.

To Ognidur, it seems clear that the men are just brigands. Poorly armed and in padded cloth or leather armor. They would pose little threat to him it seemed.

As Bjorn stepped forward, the leader of the bandits literally paled, and tried to skitter away. But he slipped and went sprawling right to the ground. He recovered quickly, and got back to his feet, looking past Nikolaas, Nigel, and Bjorn apparently too afraid or ashamed to make eye contact. He mumbled "We'll be thanking you kindly. You can... pass" The last word, had been barely audible. Stanauch had taken a step or two, from around the back of the cart, until about half of him was exposed, and was staring levelly at the human.

"It's Stanauch" the man breathed without inflection. Then they all ran.

Nigel pulls back his arrow and shouts, "Orders m'lord!?"

"Ah bloody hell, you didn't give them the money!?" he said gruffly as he watched the bandits flee at the sight of their prisoner. A curious affair.

"Put a bloody arrow in the man's arm and he'll drop that purse quick enough!" he said dismissively before turning back to Staunch.

"So... why do they run at the sight of yer?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

Stanauch smiled vaguely, eyed Grigory over his shoulder and then spoke. "Because there's a lot of money for whoever offers my men knowledge of my whereabouts."