Jocelin sipped her tea and offered her thanks, and tried to put Granny Moescher’s mind at ease.

“Oh dear Granny, there’s none I could tell within a fortnight who would be able to do anything useful with that information, and truly the only useful thing would be to make sure your practices aren’t inadvertently exposing yourself to … foul winds. More likely a word would reach the ears of an Inquisitor — like as not one who couldn’t tell the difference between Ghur and Gawain! Certainly not the captain: brave and faithful he may be, but men have this way of just ruining things, don’t you think? Tsk. They’re so often like bull-terriers: no care for what they damage so long as they get their mark.”

There was a slight pause as she sipped her tea.

“Delicious — the bitterness wakes you up! No, besides, a practitioner as experienced as yourself is rarely the worry. It’s the young and careless that ruin themselves and others through their carelessness. And once that door is opened…” she paused “… but of course you know I can’t say nothing. It’s simply a matter of saying the right thing at the right time. The General Amnesty may have expired, but the Colleges have their own means of shepherding the self-taught.” Jocelin looked earnestly at Moescher. “I do hope you understand my position? … Perhaps if you told me of Ole Dieter, mayhaps he had a happy connection to a College to your favor?”

“But first would you give me your impression? … as I said the young and careless are the worry. Luciana, sweet thing she is, does seem very touched by Ulgu. Whether potential or through use, I don’t know… but foreign ways of training aren’t the Empire’s ways. Pity, don’t you think?”

Fyodor forgot for a brief time about the horrors of war and the hordes of beastmen as he immersed himself in the gambling that evening.

OOC: 14:03, Today: Fyodor Fyodoreski rolled 28 using 1d100.  Gambling - 27.

Lukas sat and watched the flames of the campfire as those around him settled for the night.  Once darkness fell there was little point staying awake once one had eaten.  The townsfolk were weary after another days long march and slowly conversation was quieter and blankets, furs and anything else that was quickly recovered was thrown over families trying to get some rest.

Above the murmurs of games of dice and whispered conversation he noticed the community bonds that formed after the attack were moulding and forming here on the march.  Family groups where one lost a parent or sibling were sleeping closer together, Granny's orphans were part of the camp, belonging to all of them (even though Granny did most of the work looking after them.

Recently, he'd been thinking about what he had lost but sat amongst the townsfolk he was trying to remember what he gained.

Lukas fought back the need to rest and watched the road and the trees around them, looking for any sign of nighttime attackers, keeping his axe handy and trying his best to listen keenly.

Granny Moescher chuckles. "The Tilean gel? I think she's following a different path to the Colleges."

The ancient woman held up her right hand with her ring finger and middle finger crossed. Even Jocelin with her very respectable middle class upbringing could tell the sign of the trickster god Ranald.

Granny Moescher leaned back on her seat, causing an alarming creak. The young wizardness couldn't tell if it was the woman or the wood. "It's not for me to give on Ole Dieter's ways, 'specially to a smart city gel like yourself. He knew about the beasts in the field and the woods and the patterns the make. I suppose by your way of reckoning we'd be Amber Wizards; though he had no truck with the colleges and kept it hidden well enough and me after until you stuck your pretty nose in."

The last is said not with anger but more wistfulness, maybe even a flicker of respect.

Elsewhere in the camp most slept off their exhaustion.

Harkrin lay on his back with his cropped head up against his pack, snoring with such strength and vigour it seemed he was on a one-dwarf mission to inhale the sky.

In contrast Edgar was nestled quietly by the sleeping Nibbles the donkey. The halfling turned in his sleep, mumbling something about pies.

Lukas was fully awake, propped up against against his own to stop him dozing off. He was far enough from Harkrin's olympian snoring to listen to the sounds of the forest - the hooting of owls and scurry of small furry things in the undergrowth. The road they had came stretched deep into the darkness and he knew that somewhere down there lay the abandoned Untergard. He couldn't help but wonder if any of the party would see it again.

Over by the fire there was a different pattern of sounds - the rattle of dice and the soft cursing of the losers. Fyodor was soon in the possession of the winnings, an extra bottle of ale and 8 brass pfennigs. Hilde sighs and gives the Kislevarian a rueful smile. "Good game. So what are you going to do when we reach Middenheim northman?"

The Kislevite slipped the coins into his purse and then opened the bottle of ale. He took a big swig before passing it to Hilde.

Wiping the beer from his beard he shrugged "No plans. Look for work. Search for Light of Green. You?"

Edgar got up early while the others were still sleeping. He fed and watered nibbles then stoked the fire putting some dry branches on it then set up his cooking pot over the flames.

As the camp came alive and his friends woke he was there with a plate of simple but filling beef stew and another cup of sweet honey tea.

The Dwarf was not interested in the game. Human games were usually simple, boring and easy to win. He's seen them all in the mining camp and got used to winning. He had no intention to antagonise the current lot by taking their money. They may need it once they reach a more civilised part of these damned woods. And if they die in the meantime... well, then the money will be evenly shared.

Finishing his last carving (telling everyone about the cursed elves murdering children and skinning their parents alive), he wiped his chisel clean, checked his axe and decided to rest.

"Wake me up if you need someone more competent." he grumbled towards the group gathered around the fire. He didn't know much about the outsiders, but the Northman seemed all right.

A few minutes later he was already snoring.

"Oh dear, I hadn't noticed." Jocelin said in response to the Ranaldians. She tried hard to think of anything in the caravan's direction they might be traveling to steal. "I do hope they're not the malicious types. Practical jokes are one thing, but the Imperial Marches hardly need distractions from dealing with the mutant herds."

She took another sip of the tea. Jocelin liked Moescher, and was happy to understand why the old woman had initially been so cold towards her: the Colleges, and the Inquisition in particular, have given them plenty of cause over the years. But amnesty after amnesty have shown that the Colleges had a pastoral mission. Granny shouldn't be arrested, by Sigmar not at all; but she should walk into the Hall of Archives and enlist of her own volition. But how...

"I'm sorry to have been a source of concern for you, Granny, and I'm happy we can be open with each other." She paused. "I would like you to teach me. Not Old Dieter's ways, I mean, but... well, I've seen how herbs can be useful in the mundane." Jocelin held up her cup of tea as example. "But as you say I'm a city girl and if you asked me where I'd find gooseneck loosestrife, I could only tell you, 'the apothecary's'. While I'm studying in the field, I may as well learn what's in the fields!

"Would you, do you think? It would mean so much to me."

The night wore on and slowly the last hold outs settled down to snatch a few hours sleep.

Granny Moescher proved a kindly host to Jocelin but the old woman was evasive about the Colleges of Magic and clearly had a will of iron so refused to yield to any clever talk. Eventually the two women retired for the night.

Fyodor found his new gambling buddies full of small talk but uncertain about their future. Clearly they were trying not to think about what would happen once they reached Middenheim - if they reached Middenheim.

Edgar and Harkrin actually enjoyed a decent night of sleep. The halfling was experienced in the wilds and the dwarf had found the ability to sleep anywhere after his time as a convict.

Lukas fell asleep at some point and experienced strange and vivid dreams. Luciana the Tilean made an interesting guest appearance in one of them...

And Pieter Marik looked like he'd been lucky to get an hour's worth of shuteye - stumbling back into camp nearer dawn than midnight and collapsing into a troubled sleep by a cold fire.


Everyone wakes to the promise of a quick breakfast and the long road ahead. Captain Schiller's commanding voice is already calling for volunteers for guard duty along this next stage of the march...

One didn't often sleep well when one was mindful there was a watch to fill, but Lukas had take the first watch and it passed by uneventfully and he was lucky enough to get at least some sleep.

A night under the stars never really bothered him but his dreams had been fraught with visions and when he woke he wondered if his decisions had been the right ones.

When he woke and the camp stirred to set off on their long walk to the City of the White Wolf he noticed the dishevelled state of Pieter.

"Troubled dreams too my friend?" he asked with a smile.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:01, Thu 18 Nov 2021.

The Kislevite woke up refreshed. The large man only needed a few hours of sleep to recharge. Packing up his meager belongings and chowing down and even meager breakfast he  heads up to the captain to volunteer for guard duty.

Grumbling as he woke, Pieter blearily grasped at a rag-wrapped bundle that he had cradled in his sleep. His eyes, suspicious at first, softened at the sight of Lukas and he paused to rub sleep from them.

"Nightmares", he affirmed, fighting off a yawn, one hand unconsciously checking the blade strapped to his side and the shield nearby

"Nightmares that mean the others won't be returning", he added more softly, meant not to be overhead but perhaps too tired to ensure it

"They're gone"

"I'm sorry," whispered Lukas.  He knew that whatever had befallen the trio would have caused sadness to Pieter.  He almost hoped they had argued and gone their separate ways, because the alternative was worse - that something awful had happened and Gunther and Luciana were dead.  Lukas had never got close to Gunther, his head always in his book but Luciana had saved his life and he would never forget her.

He eyed the bundle, protectively held by Pieter but knew better to ask.

"Come with us to Middenheim.  It will be safer and a place for a new start."

With half a small town waking up, the less said the better.

At the other man's whispered words, Pieter glanced around, seeming to see the rest of the camp properly for the first time. His hand tightened on the wrapped bundle, the rags inadvertently parting enough for those closest to see a finely-wrought pommel and grip - a blade then - before he noticed and pulled them back up.

His eyes noted where Lukas' had drifted and he sighed a little to himself, but he took the distraction the other had offered, "Aye, Middenheim. Perhaps it is big enough for a new start..."

With that, he yawned and stretched, stood. He had few possessions and gathered them swiftly, finally sling the three or four foot blade on his back, between his quiver and sling bag.

The camp slowly stirs to life around you. Father Dietrich is conducting morning for a small group, Granny Moescher is trying to corral her wards and everyone is gathering up their belongings for the next jaunt.

At the centre of it is the reassuringly grizzled form of Captain Schiller. As Fyodor is approaching the watch leader is assigning orders to his men (or woman in the case of Hilde.) He looks up and greets the Kislevarian with a nod:

"Ah Fyodoreski, good to see you. Hilde and Leopold will be scouting ahead so I want so with good eyes guarding our tail. I don't think we're being followed but I don't want to take the risk."

The old warhorse actually seems to be in good humour today - as do many others. There is a ripple amongst the people of Untergard that the halfway point has been passed.

With his own belongings stowed, Pieter takes a moment to search through though the blankets and bedroll left by Luciana and Gunther, pausing with a sad frown to place a small iron pendant that used to be the woman’s over his neck and beneath his threadbare shirt. His eyes close for a moment and he rolls both swiftly and efficiently, handing them to Lukas, saying gruffly, “Perhaps some of the refugees can use them”

"I'll make sure they're put to good use," said Lukas grimly.  "Many people left with not a lot and they need all the help they can get."

Bundling the bed rolls and blankets together he caught a hint of Luciana's as he gathered them in his arms.  He felt sad that he would see her no more, nor hear her voice as she seemingly got to know everyone around her.  He would distribute the blankets as soon as he could, he desired them no more than Pieter did.

Falling into step with Pieter he spoke quietly, "Was the book false?  The legend untrue?"

"Was that blade the only riches you found?"

It may have been rude to ask, but it didn't seem it mattered anymore.

"It was true", affirmed the Ostlander, equally as softly, his voice normally so hard now wrought with something else, "But the bandit queen was ..."

He swallowed, sweat beading his brow, "She rose. She tore into them... I... I fled"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:01, Sat 20 Nov 2021.

Lukas could hardly believe what he was hearing.  Was Pieter insane or at least possessed by some wild notion?  Was he distressed at the loss of his friends and it led to this?

"It cannot be!" he said incredulously, "She's been dead for hundreds of years...."

Lukas, was at least relived that his moral compass had pointed to his loyalty to the people of Untergard and not the riches suggested by Gunther, but even so, it sounded like a horrific experience (and everyone knew about those).

"Is the sword hers?  The Queen's I mean?"

Pieter shook his head, eyes a little wild. After a moment he whispered, "She still is"

"Da, Captain." the large man said and turned to head back to the rear of the caravan. As he approached the end of it he noticed Lukas and the other warrior known as Pieter were chatting and that Pieter looked a little pale.


"Pieter sick? Kvas cure." the large man said and hoisted his kvas skin out of his backpack and handed it to Pieter.

Klinke woke up in a bad mood. He could not remember when was the last time his mood was anything better than not-too-bad. Collecting his belonging, he made his way to the nearest fire to grab something to eat. Then, chewing loudly on whatever breakfast he could get, the dwarf made his way towards the centre of the camp.

"So, another day smelling the dust and horse shit at the back?" he asked Fyodor "How far to that damn city?"

Fyodor chuckled at the angry dwarf and replied "If no beastman. 4."

Taking the flask of kvas, Pieter grimaced and took a swig, forcing his face to remain impassive as well he could in the face of the harsh liquor. He nodded to the angry dwarf, "Guts and shit, whether beastmen or none"