"No doubt," Nik responds when the Mayor mentions the messenger and the Sigmarite reinforcements, cocking an eyebrow at the chamberlains; he found himself unsure whether the Mayor had simply been uninformed - in which case he was a poor administrator surrounded by poor servants, or had been actively denied the knowledge - in which case he was an incompetent surrounded by ambitious lackeys. Either way, the Count wasn't eager to point out his admittedly cruel observations, either to embarrass the Mayor or punish the servants.

He bristled a bit at being called a thug, and had to swallow his response at being chided for tactical stupidity by such a man, but let the comments slide past as best he could; his words would not betray him, but his attitude might. "Surely you would not object should we lend our skills to your effort - while we are taking shelter, of course? As you can see, we boast a disciple of Sigmar in our own ranks whose presence will certainly hearten your men while we wait for the grand parade to arrive."

[Private to GM: I'm sorry if I'm reading into the Mayor something that isn't there, but I want to keep up the "failing noble vs. rising middle class" vibe going a bit. Also, if it comes up, I have all kinds of Diplomacy and Savoire-Faire I could roll (mostly at 11)]

 When the guard mentioned that he would have to give up his weapon before entering the counts room he felt his hand tighten around the well worn leather wraps on the dwarven battleaxe and the first tingle of adrenaline flowing thru his veins.

 "I have no intention of letting anyone take my weapon again. I trusted the honor of the sigmarites at the holy site and almost lost my weapon, it aint gonna happen again."

 He glanced at the wagonmaster and shook his head, "whole place is full of foolish soldiers. Dont know what is wrong here but it wasnt like this the last time i was here". He let his steely gaze lock on the spokesman as if asking him if he wanted to try and take it from him.

Grigory smiled as the Dwarf challenged the soldiers. Part of him wanted to see a scuffle just to deflate these country hicks a little.

When the welcoming committee entered the palace, Grigory jumped up onto the wagon with Maurice and prepared to settle in for a cold night of guard duty.

"They're lying."

From out of any of your view, behind a pillar to the Lord Mayor's right, comes an all too familiar voice. A moment later a figure wreathed in shadow, but obviously recognizable. She sauntered over until she stood across from you, and leaned on the city leader's chair.

"Don't be so pompous, Marius. They set guards, because they're good, but they are lying, because they are oh. so. bad. You can hear it in their voices and see it in their bodies if you'd only pay attention."

The Lord Mayor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Clearly not appreciating the Huntress' insulting, casual manner, but also clearly intimidated into submission by her.

Bjorn did not wait till she was finished speaking to yell, "NIGEL!"

 The corner of his eyebrow rose up as the witchunteress stepped into the room and began playing the harlot to the count. He let a tight thin smile to compress his face as his eyes light up in hope of a glorious battle ahead.

 The heavy axe head rose up off the floor as his sense's reach out to where the mayors guards were hidden, he would guess that she would not show herself if she did not have help close by.

 "Well, not only is the mayor stupid, he is blinded by the ex witchhunteress. OY!!, Ask the witch why she fled the road inn as the forces of chaos raided the place, or why she was at the holysite place to attempt to turn the flaggelants against us. Now she is here after most likely being the reason the orcs caught and killed your messenger that we almost rescued from them.

 Now your here and its time for us to settle your pact with the forces of chaos, if you think a slayer would work for the dark gods then your more foolish then i thought. If you doubt my word then ask the priest there which you seem inclinded to do.

 Personally i dont know why we are still talking, lets kill the witch and be down with lying tongue." He moved in front of the wagonmaster  as his muscles bunched up along his arm and he seemed to be growing more solid like a boulder and the cold fury that flowed over his face left little doubt that he was a killing machine.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:12, Wed 27 Feb 2013.

"I will forgive your ignorance, Mister Mayor, for you are likely unaware of the treachery of which this apostate is capable. She brought against us many accusations which were deemed insubstantial by Karl Acht. Though she was shown mercy, she yet sought our destruction and poisoned our foodstuffs. Seeds of destruction are sown in her footsteps. Heed this warning, Mister Mayor, or there is no hope for this city."

15:20, Today: Bjorn Jorgensen rolled 9 using 3d6. Public Speaking 12.
15:20, Today: Bjorn Jorgensen rolled 7 using 3d6. Diplomacy 12.

The Lord Mayor jumped to his feet at Grom's coarse words. "You dare insult me like that, you honor-less Dwarf?! I will not be spoken to in such a manner." He seethed and leaned over the Slayer, trying to be intimidating. "I know not what all this business with Acht, inns, and orcs are but... but" He went visibly pale and fell back into his seat.

"Y-you say that my messenger is dead? Surely this cannot be! and, if it is... if it is the city is lost." He continued to mumble to himself, and wring his hands.

"Dead you say? oh even I didn't expect you to stoop that low. To sic a bunch of orcs on a, likely, unarmed messenger, dooming this city. It is more depraved than even I expected of you."

Despite the dripping disdain and confidence in her voice, her eyes betrayed some concern. Likely, she was thinking of her own letter the messenger was carrying.

Bjorn scoffs at the woman. "Still your tongue, witch, for your false accusations fail the test of reason. Why would a merchant and his guard, including a member of the Order of the Silver Hand, wish the destruction of this city? Who in all the land, when facing potential destruction, would desire to stock up on cloth or any other goods that could be ravaged by the marauders? How would any merchant benefit from such a thing?

"Mayor, you cannot take this woman seriously. Her apostasy is a taint on the face of all Sigmarites. I would see that her lies be put to an end immediately. I can settle this matter here and now. With your permission, I challenge the blasphemer to a dual. May Sigmar illuminate the truth by means of arms."

The huntress chortles. "A duel? my oh my, to think I would lower myself to such foolery!"

"And another thing. I don't have to know your reasons, servants of chaos have now reasons, they are chaotic. But I do know the results. You freed some monster of a girl from justice, sheltered her, let her kill this man's messenger as you slept alongside, and now lead orcs to the very doorstep of this city. Your actions speak loudly enough for themselves."

"Mayor! your city is lost, you know that now. Best to hole up here in your mansion with your guards and hope the greenskins exhaust themselves on the rest of the city before they get here. But, do not let this group go unpunished. Send them out to face the mob, and let them get hacked to pieces. They must pay for their treachery."

The mayor was not paying much attention to the drama unfolding before him, but, instead, staring off into the distance and whimpering slightly. After a moment of silence, the huntress cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

"Snap out of it old man."

"Yes, yes, whatever she says. You must pay and I must defend my house."

He rose from his chair. "Guards! shut these men outside of my palace. Call the knights and fortify the building. We must make our stand here, and hope the city can exhaust the orcs."

Ten men with muskets appeared from the shadows, with the intent of ushering you all outside. If you do not comply, they will open fire.

"Good luck boys!" Benedikta taunted, and gave a flirtatious wave of her hand.

Nothing says that you cannot organize a defense of the city, and gather a force to help keep you and the townspeople alive.

I will be using a modified set of the "Mass Combat" Rules for the upcoming events.

Each of you, with the exception of Grom can use a specific skill to drum up defenders. I would love to see you RP this some if you like.

Bjorn - Can use Leadership or Public Speaking
Grigory - May use streetwise
Nigel - Streetwise or Survival woodlands
Nik - Soldier

Mass combat uses 'elements' as fighting forces. With each of your skills, you will be able to draw a different type of element consisting of 15-20 fighters. Success means you raise 1 element. Success by 5 or more means you raise 2 elements.

- Bjorn can raise Fanatical Heavy Infantry from the Basilica. Those inspired by a sermon to take up their old greatsword and Swing for Sigmar!
- Grigory can raise Light Infantry, thugs, thieves, ruffians and the like from the more poor neighborhoods (tannery quarter)
- Nigel can raise Bowmen (if choosing to use Survival) or Light infantry if using streetwise (also the tannery quarter, huntsmen who are taking shelter in the city for now)
- Nik can raise pikemen, convincing them that as members of the town militia, they have an obligation to serve. From the militia post at the city 'gate'

 He does not change his face as he watches for any sign of attack from the witch huntress or from the guards. Then turning as the mayor shows his true colors and orders them outside.

 Before moving he lifts his axe and points it at the huntress, "We aint thru yet witch, you may have charmed the manling here but i will be back for your head after we save this city."

 Turning with the others he storms out almost like a dark brooding storm cloud and bellowed at the first guard outside the palace. "OY!!, where is the nearest Tavern?" Before storming off to find something to drink and hopefully settle his oncoming bizerker rage.

The Count had been speechless from the moment Benedikta had entered the room. He should have sworn, shouted, debated, made some effort to put forth their side of the story, but his words caught in his throat. Inwardly he calculated the distance between them, the odds that he could wring her neck before the unseen guards rushed him, and the very real possibility of death whether that scheme succeeded or failed.

He blinked incomprehensibly as the musket-wielding guards appeared and ushered them out, having payed attention only to the seething rage in his heart and the blood pounding in his ears. Unable to do anything else, he simply sneered and spat on the floor.

"I'll see you dead, witch. Mark my words, I'll see you dead."

The moment they are outside the barred gate of the mansion, the Count turns to his companions.

"Lads, we are out of options. This city is forsaken by her keepers, but it will not be forsaken by me. No, I will not abandon these people to die while their defenders hide; I will organize whatever fighters I can, and I will make a stand on these walls - I will die as I have lived, besieged and righteous, and go to my grave with a smile. Will you join me, lads?"

The question is rhetorical, and the Count knows it as well as the others, but still he has to ask it.

Excellent set-up, and I wanted to keep posting, but I'd be in danger of building a wall of text so I'll end here. My next step will be to start organizing the defense, but I figure I should let someone else contribute first.

Just as Nigel was nearing the mansion, the other three are ushered out by musketeers, "What happened!?"

"It was her wasn't it?" Nigel glares toward the mayor's mansion, but does nothing, instead listening to Nikolaas.

"Aye M'lord." Nigel says, "If we try to flee now the blood of Akendorf will be on our hands. We must fight."

"I will go and raise hunters, we will fell the greenskins before they ever reach the gate." Nigel says and off he dashes.

Once he arrives in an area where the huntsmen are camping out:

"Men of Akendorf! Huntsmen of the wilds! Here me!" Nigel shouts, "You mayor has abandoned you and cowers in his mansion! It is up to you to defend your city! Bowmen follow me, we must go now to defend the gate!"

09:27, Today: Nigel Plaskitt rolled 17 using 3d6. Survival Woodlands 12. Critical Failure... Dammit!

Gigory fell back into old habits quickly. Despite being not very personable, he seemed to be able to motivate the workers to defend their homes - mostly through exploiting their anger at the Mayor's lack of leadership. They were going to defend their homes from the orcs without the Mayor's help, all Grigory had to do was point them in the right direction.

09:11, Today: Grigory rolled 5 using 3d6. Streetwise=11.

 Rolling thru the front door of the tavern like a dark cloud full of thunder and lightning he slides a stool up to the bar and rumbles out, "Set up the tankard with what ever is in that keg, seems the manling ruler here has chosen to abandon the people outside the mayors keep so that he can live in comfort with that witch huntress Benedicta. She convinced the weak manling to shut the gates and hope that the orcs would be tired by the time they hacked thru all of you before getting to him.

 So lets host the tankards and look forward to a glorious death." Lifting the tankard he drains it and ask's for another.

Grom thunders into a tavern like a cannon ball, bringing every other patron to a nervous silence. Their eyes follow the Slayer as he strides through the room and up to the bar tender. The dire warning he gives is enough to cause a panic, and everyone rushes out in cries of distress and in a rush to find their loved ones. Tankards are smashed, tables overturned, and some almost get trampled, leaving Grom alone. A thirsty Dwarf in a room full of liquor can be a dangerous thing.

Grom, you must roll against your Will to avoid Binging. Even with alcohol tolerance, a binge will get you drunk and make you less effective in the upcoming battle.

Elsewhere, Nigel and Grigory arrive in the tanners quarter to begin recruiting.
The bowman finds a group of hunters out in the Tannery Market square sitting on stumps, drinking, dicing, and telling stories. They all look up and stare at him placidly as he speaks, before going right back to what they were doing before he arrived. No amount of effort can seem to get their attention again.

Grigory, though, had more help. Moving through the crowded quarter, he quietly whispered a word here, another there, until by the time he, too made it back to the Tannery Market, there was a crowd of almost 30 there, armed with slings, crossbows, pistols, hatchets, old rusty swords, and all manner of other weapons and killing implements.

With a satisfied nod as the companions disperse to recruit what defenders they can, the Count stalks like a hungry wolf directly toward the small gatehouse barracks they passed on the way in; along the way, he barks over his shoulder to Maurice "Fetch me pen and ink, I have a letter to write. And build my standard, Maurice - we'll be needing it soon," who dips his head in acknowledgment before drawing his knife and turning off down an alleyway to fulfill his master's order...

Minutes later he arrives and pulls the barracks door open with a creek, stepping inside and casting a long shadow into the room. He says nothing for a moment as he takes in the sight of the militia both in the gatehouse and nearby it then, in a moment of surprising speed and fury, kicks the chair-legs out from underneath a reclining guardsman who lands with a crash.

Using the commotion of the fall to attract attention, and smiling to himself at the rising tempers of the guards, the Count finally deigns to speak to the closing soldiers.

"So there are fighters here, eh? I had no notion. Your Mayor has abandoned you, lads - he seems to think he is safer holed up in his little mansion, surrounded by cronies and strong wine. He says the orcs beyond the walls will tear through this town like wet paper, and tire themselves out by killing your men, raping your women and eating your children. He says he is safe, and you are doomed. I say he is wrong. I say he is a coward, unworthy of your service; I say we fight without him - I say we protect your city while he pisses his pants at home."

As he speaks, Maurice trundles quietly in behind him bearing a banner-pole adorned with a freshly scraped dog's skull maned with chicken feathers - the ragged and terrifying symbol of the penniless mercenary noble.

"And I say we make the orcs piss their pants as they die beyond the walls. What do you say, men? Will you serve the Cur of Averland? Will you fight for the Black Dogs?"

 OOC:08:45, Today: Grom Ironsmiter rolled 7 using 3d6. Will chk /11 binge

Bjorn makes his way through the main streets of the town, holding his war hammer over his head.

"Citizens of Akendorf! Your leaders have abandoned you! Do not wait for them to defend you from the Orcs! FIGHT FOR YOURSELVES! If you can but raise a sword, follow me!"

He makes his way to some venue where a crowd can gather and stands where he can be seen my the whole of them.

"May we never forget that Almighty Sigmar was once a man, like you and me! When he was but fifteen, he drove an invasion of Orcs from his village! Not long after, he lead an expedition against the very Orcs that captured the King of the Dwarves! After saving the King, he was granted by him his most holy symbol: Ghal-Maraz, the War Hammer!"

He lifts up his war hammer, setting it aflame with his divine magic.

"With his War Hammer, he united the tribes of men into this great Empire! But he did not stop there. He proceeded to purge these lands of the Beastmen and Greenskins! When he had rid the lands of their taint, he was crowned the first Emperor! When peace was challenged by Nagash, ancient lord of the undead, he defeated him single-handedly! He did not stop there! He defeated the Great Enchanter Drachenfel, an evil Liche that lived for fifteen thousand years! His greatest victory of all was that against the first Everchosen of Chaos, Morkar! When none yet stood against the might of Sigmar, he left to become a GOD!"

After pausing for a moment, he unshoulders his shield and beats against it with his flaming war hammer, holding them over his head.

"TAKE UP ARMS WITH ME, IN THE NAME OF SIGMAR, OUR FIRST EMPEROR, OUR GREATEST CHAMPION, ALMIGHTY GOD! LET THE RUIN OF THESE FEL BEASTS BE SMITTEN UPON THESE CITY WALLS! SEND THESE ORCS BACK TO CHAOS FROM WHENCE THEY CAME!"

12:53, Today: Bjorn Jorgensen rolled 9 using 3d6. Captivate 12.
     That'll give me a +3 to my subsequent roll, and I'll take the Battle Wizards please, and thank you! ^.^
12:53, Today: Bjorn Jorgensen rolled 13 using 3d6. Public Speaking 12+3=15.
     I actually forgot the +1 from the level of Charisma I wanted to add, so that becomes a success by at least 3.
     I'm hoping for at least a +2 for a good story so I can get more men :)

In the guard quarters, there is dead silence at the end of the count's speech. Either he or Maurice could have heard a pin drop for one... two... three... tense moments before every man in the room jumped to their feet with a cheer. Von Richtgraf and Maurice have to almost jump out of the way as everyone surges out. Orders are shouted, and some runners rush off into the city. Others introduce themselves to Nik as officers and still more begin preparing equipment.

Elsewhere, Bjorn also gets his share of cheers in response to his rousing speech. The others can faintly hear chants of SIGMAR! SIGMAR!. A few stout farmers lift Bjorn onto their shoulders, and begin to carry him about town. as they passed the couple shabby towers in town, wizards with worried looks quietly join the party. None want to be seen as working witch craft in opposition to the town's defenders!

It is now late afternoon, and the Count's company quickly confer on their recruiting efforts and have a brief planning session. They spend the rest of the daylight hours making preparations, and organizing their troops as much as possible. The evening is spent in bunks given to them in the militia barracks (except for Grom who is elsewhere enjoying the hospitality of an empty tavern).

At first light, the party is up, out of bed, and making preparations as quickly as possible to be ready for the orcs. As the day passes, rangers acting as scouts (even if they wouldn't fight) continue to bring reports of of the closing mob. As it stands now, there appear to be around five hundred greenskins bearing down on the city. Grigory works with a detachment of fighters to set traps, while Nik and Bjorn oversee the construction of a barricade where the gates should have been.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:21, Wed 06 Mar 2013.

Your force includes:
- Element of fanatic peasants: TS 4
- Element of fanatic peasants: TS 4
- Battle Mages: TS 5
- Light Infantry: TS 2
- Light Infantry: TS 2
- Pikemen: TS 4
- Musketeers: TS 2

You may also create an element out of any of you who are not commanding at TS 2 per each one of you.

Posture:
You are bunkered

Any PC who accompanies the fighting or logistic force and who isn’t the force commander may try to distinguish himself by performing a significant action during the battle. In mass combat, glory and heroism are the results of being in the right
place at the right time – and PCs are customarily much more likely to find themselves in such situations! Every PC other than the force commander may attempt a
Heroism roll on 3d. The base target number is 5.

Modifiers: The PC’s Risk Modifier; +1 if he has level 15+ in at least one skill that might logically be of some use in a battle, or if he has an especially useful advantage, spell, or piece of gear; +1 if he’s personally in command or second-in-command of one or more elements; +1 if he’s with an element that has the Fanatic or Impetuous feature; -1 if more than one element is involved in the fighting and he’s with a support element (that is, one with parenthetical TS), or if he’s with the logistic force.

Each force commander and any individual PC involved in a battle must choose a Risk Modifier between -3 and +3. The lower the modifier, the fewer risks that person is taking relative to his position in the battle. His choice will also affect his
Misfortunes of War roll later on.

Akendorf represents a defensive bonus of +8

I'm changing the rules a bit for fanatics since it represents such a large portion of your force. Instead of taking -1 to your leadership roll per 10% of fanatics, I'm just going to make you take an unmodified leadership roll to do something other than sally forth.

You may make any preparation and planning posts you like. When the orcs have arrived, I'll get everyone lined up :D

The Count stood over a hastily scrawled map of the town and surrounding areas, stabbing a finger down occasionally to point out where a trap should be set or a rally point established, where a charge should start or a retreat end up. He works tirelessly, obsessively, and is soon calling and cheering men by name as he works and oversees progress.

There is a lightness in his step that is unmistakable, and despite the dire situation they find themselves in and the very real possibility of death the Count is as cheerful as anyone has ever seen him. He checks the men's weapons and shudders at how easily it will cleave through the enemy, jokes about charging the muskets with extra powder, and solidly punches any man wearing armour and laughs at the difficulty the enemy will have harming these men. The grindstone is constantly at work, and Nik spends some time slicing free hanging ropes with freshly sharpened weapons, demonstrating the quality of work the armourers are doing and buoying the spirits of the men as well as he can.

Quietly amid his other duties, Maurice pens wills and farewell letters to be signed by his master and their companions, explaining what has happened and making provisions for their goods and pay to go to their families should the worst occur.