After leaving the van Roker fortress, Lira, Callum and Oliver crossed back over to the Aventaine border. Their sojourn into Fallen Golinlund was a short one, but still they were glad it was over.

Remembering a nearby border village from his old patrol days, Oliver decided to see if the village of Fiwood had survived the Fall. And indeed it had, thanks a strong wooden palisade wall erected in a circle around the small town. A new and, it seemed, very necessary addition. In fact, the Fall had done well by Fiwood. What was formerly a community of humble farmers and lumberjacks now housed a merchant class, catering to freebooters and mercenary companies using it as a last stop before crossing over into Golinlund. Fiwood was bisected by a slow-moving river, down which sawed logs lazily drifted to the workshops downriver. Numerous well-constructed wooden bridges allowed traffic between the western and eastern sides of the town.

Both entrances through the palisade were located on the south side of the town, so the party had to take the long way around. The group found lodging at an inn called The Broken Thorn. Humble but well-appointed, and set up to accommodate persons going to or from Golish ruins. The staff was civil but asked no questions, and did their best not to balk at minor magical phenomena, but requested no summoning on the premises.

After an evening at The Broken Thorn, Callum decided to head on alone, seeking out a Postmaster to give him another missive to deliver. The work of a mailman was never over, after all. He insisted on a pint with both Lira and Oliver before he left. Once he was gone, Lira was able to rent out his room as a study for the investigation and signing of pacts.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:13, Sun 30 June 2019.

The village was a welcome sight for Oliver who even stood in his saddle as Callum noticed the rising smoke first. It would seem he had talked the village down to his companions when they had first sojourned out of the border tower when their route had been set. Now the town was something of a marvel for these disputed lands and Oliver was glad of it, especially when they found the Inn. Paying to have their horses stabled and taking what they need as they entered the tap room. The usual turned heads accompanied them but the watchers did not linger in their assessment and as they greeted the Inn keeper they all went back to their drinks.

”Three rooms, baths as well please.” was all Oliver said as they were offered the top floor as a sort of suite, a nod and some coins and they were on their way up the stairs Lira leading the way. It seemed the three rooms were arranged around a large landing which had a set of double doors that opened to a terrace overlooking the river. Once they had dropped their gear onto the rug Oliver turned to the Inn Keeper ”Chickens, vegetables, cheese, bread, and ale. We will eat here.” more coins were past over and once the man was down the stairs Oliver said Lira and Callum could use the bathroom first as he opened the doors and stepped out onto the terrace.

“Very pleasant.” Oliver thought as he sat and prepared his pipe, cutting off a few discs from the plug in his tin and preparing enough for the night. Putting his feet up on the chair opposite having removed his riding boots he had made himself at home in a very short space of time. Callum joined him and when he turned back he got a view of Lira dressed in a slip and towel disappearing into the bathroom as two girls arrived with steaming pales of hot water in each of their hands and the Inn keepers wife hurrying them along. She carried three clay tankards of ale and a large pitcher of more. A small boy behind her had a tray of nuts and dried fruits as well as cheese and bread. ”The chickens and veg will be here soon my Lord.” He past over another few coins ”Brandy as well, bring the bottle.”

Finding the other tin in his coat pocket Oliver used the table candle to light his match and then he lit his pipe before passing it over to Callum to do the same. They sat in silence for a time as a large cloud of heavily spice smoke surrounded the two men and then to a discussion about the events of the last few days. Callum was unable to accompany them on further investigations of the van Roker properties, but he was more then happy to take Oliver's report on the mission and so he handed over the sealed document into the hands of The Golish Royal Mail for delivery.

After what seemed an age Lira joined them on the terrace, pink, scrubbed and fragrant wearing little more then a cotton robe just as their meal arrived. Ale flowed as did the brandy, even Lira took a glass and as Callum left for a bath more water arrived. It was then that Lira spoke of the pacts and after much discussion it was decided to leave the last two until another time and that Lira would accompany Oliver for the time being. She was more then capable to look after herself, but for whatever reason Oliver though he should at least accompany her to a larger town. The staff cleared away the empty plates as Oliver finished the last of the ale.

It was now his turn to partake of a bath and he was glad he waited the steam was thick and soothing. The bath had been emptied and filled again and was scalding hot. He winched as a couple of his new wounds hit the water for the first time, but something was added to the water which numbed the pain in sort order. He scrubbed himself clean of the dirt and grime of the road and the last few days and left the water a different colour then when he entered.

Oliver decided to clothe himself in something other then military vestments and he left his uniform on his bed as they descended into the tap room for the rest of the night. They found a booth close to the fire and had a jolly time of it making their way to their beds at quite the late hour. In the morning they made their good byes to Callum and after a large breakfast of eggs, bacon and blood sausage Lira and Oliver made their way into the town to gather provisions for the journey to come.

Laden down with parcels Oliver opted to wait outside as Lira used some of her new found wealth to outfit herself in more comfortable styles of attire. Quite a few it would seem by the additional bundles she now carried. They made their way back to the Inn and Lira retired to Callums old room with a plate to study while Oliver stayed in the tap room and had a large game pie for lunch with bread and pickled onions. He was in the same booth as they night before enjoying his pipe and another fine nut brown ale.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:31, Sun 30 June 2019.

Lira was half asleep as Callum gave a yell when the village was finally spotted, she have a start that caused her horse to serge forward mirroring her own feelings. She could not feel her legs and the long ride had rubbed them raw. She was over trail rations and whatever unfortunate animal they were able to bring down and partially cook.

She needed proper food and a warm hearth and a bath. The clothes she wore would need to be burned, it had been a long few days and she would have to find a way to ease extended time in the field. But that was for another day and once they had made it through the gates and found the passable Inn she was the first in and after Oliver had passed over the coin the first up the stairs. She looked over her room while their equipment was unceremoniously dumped on the landing and Oliver made a series of quick orders for food and drink. When she returned Callum graciously offered her the first place in the tub so she turned on her heals and donned a simple shift as she made her way to the bathroom while both men were on the terrace.

Once the door was closed behind her her cares and the dirt of the last few days seemed to melt from her. The bath was hot enough to do just that as she let the slip of fabric fall to the floor and she gingerly entered the steaming water. She let her head fall back and her hair float as she laid back and tried to forget the hardships of the last few days. She fell asleep and after a relatively quick scrub she exited the tub hoping that others did not have to wait to long. The rest of the evening was good food and better company, she did not remember going to be, nut was very glad to wake up in it. Oh how she had missed a mattress and not hard dirt under a thin bed roll.

Before she met the others she made a list of what she would need from the village, better traveling and riding attire, a thicker bedroll and a better winter blanket and perhaps a more comfortable saddle.

She was sad to say goodbye to Callum and thinking back she wondered if they would be be able to tackle the same sort of dangers with only the two of them. It was a subject she broached to Oliver over lunch once they had returned from the shopping expedition. Happy with the reply she decided to do some study over a plate of cheese, bread and a pickled onion. It was time she looked into a summoning attempt of her own.

OCC: So no summoning at the Inn, is there somewhere else we could try ?


-

Rubbing her eyes Lira thought to herself that it was time to try and do this stuff for her own self. She could not rely on others and it was time to put all those years of theory into practice. So she got down on the floor and rolled up the rug and began to trace out the required symbols and apply the regents she would need. She decided to try two different summonings and to see what effect it has on her research methodology. Once she was done she began the first incantation and... nothing, it was several seconds before she had made a mistake in the wording.

So she started again and took her time as well as reading from her book instead of trying to memorise the chant.

Lira rolled 10 using 2d6+4.  Summoning 2.
Lira rolled 6 using 2d6+4.  Summoning 1.


-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:55, Wed 03 July 2019.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lira tried to recall her lessons from Rivai. It's true she had faltered in the incantation, but her professors had always tried to impress upon her that doing the summons correctly wasn't important. Believing that you had performed the summons correctly was all that was important.

With her grimoire in front of her, Lira knew there would be no room for error. She gave her mind over to the lulling rhythms of recitation, letting practice and muscle memory drive the words before anxiety and indecision could bubble up again.

Soon, the words were said, and Lira opened her eyes to the see that the circle of salt she'd laid on the floorboards of Callum's former suite had begun to glow a bright and eerie white. It had worked! And as she watched, the daemonic apparition began to materialize in front of her... vague and formless at first, but soon sharp and as real-seeming as any flesh and blood beast.

The creature appeared to be a dog, trotting eagerly toward the periphery of the summoning circle. It was dressed, oddly, in armor, rather like horse barding. The dog was enormous, standing at least five feet tall at the shoulder, with wild, blazing white fur and glowing yellow eyes. Its mouth was jumble of teeth and fangs, but still the animal-like daemon dressed in a soldier's outfit might be almost cute, were it not for its terrible and thunderous baying...

[OOC: Please make a Morale check for Lira! And a bargaining check, if you're so inclined. I'm going to rule that her Esteemed Alumni relationship adds to the bargaining check, as well as any relevant specialties.]

Lira rolled 4 using 2d6.  Morale check. I fell like I have been here before.

Lira flees the room for some reason and darts past Oliver and into her room.


-

Oliver is somewhat taken aback by the young girl fleeing Callums old room. He steps out a bit more and sees the summoning circle.

Oliver Fitzwilliam rolled 8 using 2d6.  Morale check.

He stepped into the room and looked at the rather comically dressed dog. Oliver waited for the dog to give him a pact.

Oliver Fitzwilliam rolled 7 using 2d6+1.  Bargaining. I don't suppose Oliver can take a pact for Lira as well ?



-

Oliver looked at the pact and rolled it up placing it in his inside hip pocket. He looked at the dog again for a few more minutes before scuffing the circle Lira had made and sending the spirit back to wherever they come from. Taking out his pipe he prepares the last of his tobacco from his tin and puts the plug in the bowl before lighting the whole thing as he folds his arms.

Oliver stares off into the distance for a time thinking of times long gone as he absentmindedly looks at the frame of the window. After a few more puffs on his pipe he decides on a course of action and walks to Lira's room and knocking on the door. He can hear her sobbing so he walks to the terrace and pours a glass of brandy from the bottle from last night. Taking seat and lifting the bottle he reads the label before placing the bottle back down and taking a sip.

"It's good stuff." He thinks to himself as he again takes another drink. Oliver left Lira for most of the afternoon only venturing out to make some inquiries as to additional transport and to secure a large wax paper package tied with brown string. It was stamped in black ink "Gawith, Hoggarth & Co, Brown Gothic X." a rare find in these parts so Oliver brought the lot. Once he was back at the Inn he ordered dinner before heading up the stairs and letting Lira know he was back.

She emerged later and he face was puffy and red, Oliver did not broach the subject of the summoning instead he said ”I have a surprise for you, well both of us actually.” he pointed to the edge of the terrace and they both went to look. Parked next to the Inn was a wagon of the sort tinkers might use to sell their wares. It was basically a small house on wheels and Lira's draft horse should more then be able to pull it. ”We should get both of use in there should we have to camp again and it has a small stove for heat and to boil a kettle or pot." He looked to Lira who made a move to hug him to which Oliver replied ”Ah well... you owe me half for it....” Lira thanked him and was going to say more but the Inn keepers wife arrived with their dinner.


-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:51, Thu 04 July 2019.

The white-furred hound ceases its wild baying as soon as Oliver approaches the ritual circle, its howls choking off into a plaintive whine. Before he can scuff out the summons, the dog-daemon nudges something to the periphery of the ritual circle.

Picking up the pact and reading it, Oliver learns that this daemon is named Boye. The pact reads:

Lira woke up several hours later, it took a few moments to remember her behaviour and she again felt the tears welling up as the shame again over took her. A sharp knock at the door and Oliver announcing he was back quickly roused her from any self pity and she rose from the bed to try and make herself presentable. Oliver was seated with his pipe and the familiar smell of the smoke was somewhat reassuring. Lira took a seat across the table and thankfully Oliver did not speak or ask about Lira running past him on the landing.

The surprise of the wagon sent all the bad thoughts from the day flying away as she looked down from the terrace. Thankfully the Inn keepers wife arrived with a large pie and associated vegetables and more ale to break the awkward moment that seemed to have formed between Oliver and Lira.

As they ate Oliver passed the pact over to Lira and she read it without comment before signing it just as the apple crumble arrived.


-

Rachel Cobbleman and Hanse von Danzig made an odd pair of traveling companions. Hanse would almost pass for an ordinary mercenary if it weren't for the pedigree of his riding horse, or the fine make of the many firearms he bristled with. Rachel figured he was either a very well-heeled mercenary (not uncommon in Krastavo, where soldiers of fortune fought for glory almost as often as coin), a very successful mercenary, or both. Rachel was at least what one expected from one of the Esteemed Alumni from the University at Rivai: haughty, bookish, and palpably smarter than you. Being young and female was about the only thing that made her stand out from that particular crowd, but that didn't change the fact that tenured professors from the most respected university of magic on the Grand Continent were an uncommon sight on the road.

Despite their idiosyncrasies, the two crossed the border into Aventaine and made their way to Fiwood with few difficulties. The Aven back country was haunted by vagabonds, draugr and worse during these dark times, but the pair were smart enough to take seldom-traveled roads and avoid contact with other parties. Other travelers became an increasingly rare sight the closer they came to magic-blasted Golinlund. Fiwood, a tiny logging village bisected by two rivers, was civilization's last gasp before giving way to the no man's land of the Golish interior.

Not wishing to waste any more time in this backwater than they had to, Hanse and Rachel stabled their horses and made their way to Fiwood's jailhouse, where Wolenski's man awaited their questioning...

***

As Oliver and Lira packed up their belongings and prepared to leave comfort of The Broken Thorn inn for the long road to Dunsfort, Oliver was approached by a man claiming to be the local magistrate. He explained that they had captured a dangerous criminal, one with a bounty on his head that a Krastavan mercenary was coming to claim. The magistrate asked Oliver to supervise the interrogation and handover of the prisoner, to make sure everything was on the up and up. Though Oliver questioned why he would be considered qualified for this, it was plain that the magistrate felt very wildly out of his depth. It seems the crimes of this man and his associates were quite heinous, and he wanted to ensure this prisoner was being handed over to the proper authorities... and never coming back.

The jailhouse was really just a cobblestone shack, with the largest portion of the interior blocked off by iron bars to form cells. Wolenski's associate, a square-faced peasant named Dobrovit, had been released from his cell for the interrogation. He was seated at a stout wooden table, with two empty chairs left for the interrogators. Dobrovit had a noticeably muscular body and heavyset features, cutting an imposing figure in the thin prisoner's shirt and pants he was wearing. His hands were shackled around the wrists, though, and his shoulders slumped in a posture of despair and defeat. He had dark eyes, coal-black hair, and a ragged beard that suggested at least a few months of hard living.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:12, Sat 18 Jan 2020.

Oliver saw the man shuffling along the road and knew this was somehow going to have something to do with him. Once the case had been stated Oliver was about to turn the man down, he wanted nothing to do with "local affairs", but the look in the man's eyes changed his mind. As he thought on the matter Oliver removed his pipe and rubbed the whiskers that he was not bothered to shave off.

He gave his consent to the man to be present, but warned he was pressed for time and would only observe "someone else will have to do the heavy lifting..." Oliver continued to load his horse until it was done and then lead it to the jail, tying it up outside so he could leave as soon as this was done.


-

Having housed their horses Hanse straightened his coat before transferring his brace of pistols from their holsters on his saddle to the loops on his baldric. Burdened with a sword and two heavy firearms the leathern strap was quite weighty but the tall broad shouldered mercenary showed no sign of it.

He carried his musket in his left hand as there was no help for it and made directly for the local jail with Rachel.

"Leutnant Wolenski and his men murdered and entire village in the Tsardom. This rat here can, I hope, lead us to him."

"I expect I'll be grateful for the help of someone as clever as yourself when we interrogate him."

Once they arrived at the jail Hanse knocked hard on the door.

Rachel is a traveling companion ranging from barely tolerable to miserable. She spent the length of their journey in various stages and states of pouting unhappiness. It's obvious she'd never been traveling very far for very long, and certainly not under such savage conditions. On good days, she spent time on her horse. Reading or taking notes, letting the horse guide itself while she remained nearly silent. Occasionally, she'd manage some insight or wit. But mostly, she was unhappy.

When they got to the little town, and the little jailhouse, Rachel waited for their horses to be put up. "Do you really think he knows anything worth learning?" she asked, a note of disbelief in her voice. "Whatever." It was how she ended most sentences, along with a resigned shrug.

Lira, for her part, brought along her crossbow, just in case. Stepping into the jailhouse, she pulled out a stick of charcoal and a small notebook. The Golish refugee girl really wasn't quite sure what to do in this situation at all, but figured that a transcription of the interview would be a useful reference later. And it gave her something to do with her hands...

Oliver, Lira and the magistrate arrived first, but only narrowly, giving the trio a few unnerving moments to stare at the downcast prisoner before Rachel and Hanse arrived.

[OOC: Oliver, if you badly want to say or do anything in this moment, you can, just include it in your next IC post.]

Once Rachel in particular entered, Lira's eyes went wide as saucers with recognition. She said nothing in the moment, however, pretending instead to be very interested in the blank pages of her notebook.

Once everyone was gathered, the magistrate, a mousy and avuncular man, formally introduced the Krastavan mercenary to the Aven knight. "Sir Oliver Fitzwilliam, this is Herr Von Danzig, who has come to claim the bounty on this wretched soul. Hanse Von Danzig, this is Sir Oliver Fitzwilliam, a Royal Lancer and knighted by the Dragon-Eater himself. I hope you don't mind that I have appointed a trusted knight of the crown in my stead. I am an old man, and weak of heart, and do not wish to be present for the interrogation of as bloody a criminal as he."

The magistrate's voice, already soft with age, diminished to a whisper as he spoke in the presence of Dobrovit. The magistrate cast an uneasy glance toward the shackled prisoner before continuing. "There is a detail to this man's crimes I didn't dare to speak of in public. He wasn't simply stealing chickens. The guardsmen said he was eating of the flesh and eggs raw, and drinking the slain birds' blood when they found him." The old man shook his head in disgust. "It is a miracle he hasn't been cursed with dysentery or some other illness... but he is clearly a madman. I hope you can get something out of him, but he has been silent since his capture."

Speaking only to Hanse for a moment, he added: "I understand the bounty is dead or alive, yes? If this is man is to be executed, we humbly ask it happen outside of the village limits. My people see enough blood and death as it is."

As he shuffled about to exit the jailhouse, the magistrate's gaze focused on Lira for a moment. "You there, girl. You're Golish, are you not? From across the border? Do you speak the tongue?"

Lira, caught off-guard by the question, managed a meek nod.

The old man nodded back. "I know a phrase or two. Learned them in... warmer days. We have some boys from the village posted outside the door. If there's danger, yell the word 'swords' in Golish, and they will come." With that, he turned to leave, leaving the four alone with the sullen, hulking figure of Dobrovit in his fetters.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:42, Sun 19 Jan 2020.

Oliver gives the new faces a nod and shakes their hands "Pleasure" he says before resuming his position in the corner, lighting his pipe with a long match as he does. In a short space of time the white clay pipe glows red and Oliver is soon surrounded by a cloud of dispersing smoke.

He is dressed in the green flock coat with silver buttons and silver braiding and a buff waistcoat. Under his arm is a tricorne hat in black felt which looks new and he wears a cross bandoleer with a bayonet and sword hanger for a scabbard. Along with buff breeches and a white long-sleeved silk hunting shirt with high black cavalry boots shined to a high parade polish to finish.

His sword is next to him propped up on a chair, it is a familiar heavy cavalry officers affair, but with rich ascents. The hand guard is a bowl form, and incorporating an elaborate pierced honeysuckle design with a prominent rear quillo all in solid silver as well a silver braided sword knot designating an officer of the Aventinian Royal Lancers hangs off the guard. The ladder grip looks to be white ivory with silver wire in the groves along it's length. The scabbard it sits in is also silver, deep relief Nimschke scroll engraving covers it's entire surface even the two hanging rings. It looks to be a presentation sword of some kind given out for long and outstanding service or extreme acts of heroism on the battle field, perhaps from the king himself.




-

"One thing for certain Professor, where he last saw his murderous Leutnant. He must be made to tell us that much if it is possible."

Hanse set his musket in the corner next to the door before shaking hands with Oliver.



Hanse' grip was strong but not obnoxious as he gripped wrist to wrist in the manner of warriors.

"An honor for certain Sir William. May I also introduce Professor Rachel Cobbleman of the University of Rivai."

The Mercenary's coat, a red so deep it appeared black in dim light, was somewhat longer being in the Krastavan style. It was made of durable but expensive materials and cut to be worn over armor. His chest was crossed by a baldric holding two pistols and a scabbard for his very functional backsword, a long straight heavy bladed and basket hilted weapon.

He turned his eyes to the prisoner but he did not yet speak to him.

The greeting Rachel gives is only a sound in its minority. A noise from the front of her mouth that never really becomes a word. Mostly, though, it's a gesture. A shrug that starts at the bottom of her ribs and lifts all the way up into her shoulders. Traveling visibly through her black dress, every muscle in her involved in the motion. It involves not a trace of eye contact. Equal parts dismissive and exhausted. Only when she's done does she shoot Lira a look that resolves in a deep, dramatic roll of her eyes.

"Fine," she grumbles, "I'll take notes."

Lira scratches her stick of charcoal against her book a bit louder. Notes on what? She was perfectly capable of taking a transcript... it figured that she would run all the way to the hinterlands of Aventaine and still Rachel Cobbleman would swoop in to take her job...


Dobrovit lifted his head just enough to stare blankly at the party, challenging them to speak.

It would seem that Oliver would have to take a more "pragmatic" role in negotiations if they were to get away from this village anytime soon. He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the prisoner "Dobrovit, Dobrovit are you listening ? Where is the Lieutenant ?"


-

Hanse' face described a bemused expression as the most basic pleasantries were completely ignored. Still he was not here to socialize.

He watched as the first question was put to Dobrovit and added,

"Answer quickly and honestly and it will save us all considerable discomfort."

Dobrovit visibly tenses when Lieutenant Wolenski is brought up. "Gone," the prisoner mumbles through gritted teeth. His voice is deep and raspy from disuse, his words hard to make out. "Went over the rivers and into Golinlund, thought the little ones would sustain him. He's wrong though."

"Better than the chickens though. They tasted like sawdust. I would know, too. Been hungry enough..." His words trail off into an incoherent muttering.

"Little ones, children you mean ?" Oliver had a inkling as to what was going on and gave Lira a glance catching her eye as he did.

"Were did the little ones come from ?"


-

Rachel, meanwhile, has broken out her own charcoal pencil and sheet of paper. Scribbling things down as they're said. Her handwriting moves in quick, precise strokes. Left-handed, she drags the pencil from the right of the page to the left. Taking things down in reverse. It doesn't seem to trouble her any. Glancing up to the interrogation with a frown.

Hanse listened for now.

Lira manages little but to take increasingly erratic notes and look horrified at the mention of "little ones."

Dobrovit, for his part, manages to alleviate an immediate concern. "No, no, not children." He manages a scowl. "Though I wouldn't put it past the Lieutenant. Orlin made them. The... the..."

There is an awkward pause as a frustrated Dobrovit physically pounds on his own temple with disturbing force, likely concussing himself as he attempts to knock the translation loose. "Knockers," he says, slipping into his native Krastavan. "Knockers. Mason damn it, what is the word?"

"Little men," Dobrovit finally says, returning to heavily accented Aven. He relaxes instantly, his manacled hands returning to the tabletop with a faint clink. "Orlin made them. I trusted him, but he's... like the Lieutenant. He made the little men. I think he helped make the meat pies in Klimast. They said to take a horse and fetch the runners. I... I didn't know what for."

Dobrovit falls quiet again, his lower lip trembling. He's talkative, at least, though his babbling makes little sense...

[OOC: Hanse knows that "Orlin" is the name of Lieutenant Wolenski's second in command, and one of the men with a 50 gold bounty on his head. Klimast is the village the unit slaughtered.

Rachel can attempt an Intelligence check and add her Occultist specialty for some information. Lira got a check as well, and made it, but Rachel seems the type to beat her to the punch, so... give it a shot.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:18, Thu 30 Jan 2020.

" Well thank the gods for small mercy's I suppose..."

"So why did your unit attack the village then ? What did you hope to gain ? This....Orlin was he new to the unit, what else do you know of him ?

Oliver decided to keep asking questions and not apply any pressure to the man just yet.


-

"Orlin was the 2nd in command to Wolenski. Not likely to be a new man."

OOC: With two native Krastavans in the room is there any chance we know what he is talking about when he says "Knockers"?

To Dobrivit he says, "So Orlin is a Warlock as well as the Leutnant?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:45, Wed 29 Jan 2020.

"Kobolds..." Rachel grumbles into her notes, without looking up. A few more scratches line onto the paper. She shifts herself from one foot to the other, before she speaks up more.

"Was there something Orlin always kept with him? Or wouldn't give to anyone else?"

Dobrovit shook his head at Oliver's line of questioning. "No, Orlin joined before I did. He was Wolenski's second, and a good cook. I thought he was a good man. We attacked because Wolenski ordered... we were cut off and surrounded by boyar forces. Wolenski didn't trust the villagers, said they were informants. I was sent to catch runners with a horse, and when I returned the fires were already burning."



Dobrovit's heavy brow crumpled into furrows as he thought. "I don't know about warlocks. The Lieutenant knows magic, it is true. He called up something terrible in Klimast, something made of teeth and light. I've never known Olrin to be a practitioner, but I suppose it's possible..."



"Most of the volunteers ditched their uniforms, but kept their arms," Dobrovit answers. "Orlin had a horse, and a saber. Some of the grenadiers might have a few of their bombs left, but ammunition was low even before I made for the border. And then there is his cookware and his utensils. Orlin's father was a restaurateur; he would cook for the company every night, and was very particular. Good goulash."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:13, Wed 05 Feb 2020.

"And Orlin created these "little men" tell me more about them, what did they look like ? What were they for ? Did you take any prisoners from the village ? Why do you now not think Olin is a good man, what changed your mind ?"


-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:28, Wed 05 Feb 2020.

Hanse did not care to consider what Orlin was serving his subordinates in that goulash.

"And where is Orlin now?"

Saber? The word merits an underline as Rachel writes. Remaining quiet for the time. Letting the men bang and barge through their questions while her paper filled. Maybe something interesting would come from this.

"He's talking about kobolds," Lira says, piping up for the first time since the interrogation began. Unconsciously, and very much against her will, she looks to Rachel almost as if for approval before continuing. "'Knocker' is a Krastavan colloquialism for kobolds."

Dobrovit nods, his chains clinking as he snaps his fingers in recognition. "Kobold! That is the word, yes. They look... hmm. Like Orlin's little sous chefs? Or butchers? They wear little leather aprons, and stand about this high," he says, waving his manacled hands just an inch or two over the table.


Dobrovit shakes his head when Oliver asks about prisoners. For his next question, he simply answers: "Because he helped Wolenski make the pies."



"Across the border," Dobrovit says vaguely. Then, after a moment's consideration, "Cobble Inn Waystation. They said they were going to the cobble inn." Dobrovit then suddenly doubles over, groaning loudly. "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm so, so sorry."

The prisoner begins murmuring apologies, rocking back and forth in his chair with increasing agitation.

[OOC: Hanse, please give me a Wisdom check. You can add your Bounty Hunter relationship for a +1 to this if you so choose, but it will exhaust the relationship for the day. Everyone can continue to ask questions, though.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:07, Fri 07 Feb 2020.

"You understand the penalty for what you have done Dobrovit? Helping me can at least send you across with less evil on your soul."

"How many men dothey still have with them?"

Oliver stayed silent as he mulled over the last series of answers. As he did so he prepared his pipe and then lit it while standing against the wall. At some point he hoped to allow Lira to have a closer look at the man and see if she can discern if something else is driving him, magic or feral.

Oliver Fitzwilliam rolled 8 using 2d6.  Wisdom check about the Inn.


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This message was last edited by the player at 02:15, Wed 12 Feb 2020.

A Malign Presence:

"He's talking about kobolds," Lira says, piping up for the first time since the interrogation began. Unconsciously, and very much against her will, she looks to Rachel almost as if for approval before continuing. "'Knocker' is a Krastavan colloquialism for kobolds."

"Obviously," Rachel mutters, annoyed. It's obviously a struggle to keep her eyes from rolling out of her head. "If we're going to find this man, we'll need to know what their totem is. I'll need a complete list of everything Orlin keeps with him. Then we'll need a guide."

In reply to Rachel Cobbleman (msg # 37):

"We will not need a guide I can get us to the Inn well enough, from there though..." He places his pipe to his mouth again and inhales letting out a long stream of smoke from his nose.


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Hanse took a half step forward placing himself on an angle between the prisoner and the others.

With his right hand he quickly drew a pistol from his baldric and pointed the heavy caliber daemonlock weapon at the prisoners head. His left hand more or less casually rested on the hilt of his backsword.

At the same time his voice rose to the sharp edge that had been used to command men by officers and NCOs for as long as their have been soldiers.

"Is there something under the table that you would like to show us Mr. Dobrovit?"

"Bring out your hands! Unless you would rather I carry out your sentence right here?"

When Von Danzig spoke Oliver unsheathed his sword that had been at arms length, he maintained his position where he was as he waited for the prisoner to respond or attack.

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