All of you grew up listening to stories of the Great War Against Chaos. The tale of Magnus the Pious and his victory over the armies of Chaos is well known. While there have been wars and threats in the 200 years since, there has been nothing on that scale. Until now. This year the Chaos Lord Archaon invaded the Empire with five mighty armies. They swept down from the Chaos Wastes, ranks filled with mutant warriors, nightmarish monsters, and power-mad sorcerers. Flagellants and other prophets of doom declared these the End Times. And as these armies pillaged and burned their way through the northern provinces of the Empire, it was easy to believe.

You’ve heard endless stories over the past few months. They say that Sigmar once again walked the earth. They say an army of wolves attacked the Kislevian city of Erengrad. They say the dead rose from their graves to defend the Empire. They say a mighty victory was won at Middenheim. They say a plague has choked the streets of Talabheim with bloated corpses.

You can only believe what is in front of your eyes. You are in the town of Untergard in the Drakwald Forest. A nine-day battle took place here, as Beastmen tried to force their way across the town’s great bridge. They were rebuffed but the price was high. The town is in ruins and its remaining citizens struggle to survive. The Imperial army has long since moved on from Untergard, leaving behind only its dead. You’ve heard tell of more battles up north but the war here seems over. Or so you hope. You have been in Untergard for several days, as rainstorms of utmost savagery lashed the Drakwald. You find two things when you awaken: the rainstorm has broken and there is a commotion in the nearby Ackerplatz...

---

There are - or were - three inns in the town of Unterwald: The Sign of the White Wolf, the The Graf's Lament and The Bawdy Goblin. Unfortunately the White Wolf was in the destroyed Eastern half of the town and now exists only as rubble and the charred skeleton of house timbers. Whatever ale or wine it contained was seized by the foul creatures of Chaos during the battle and the innkeeper and his family also travelled down their gullets.

The Graf's Lament is structurally intact but the owner, Ludwig Bremmer, one of the richest men in town had fled the town with his wife and daughters the morning after the attack began, risking the road south. No one knows whether he made it to safety or not or if the Bremmers lie mouldering in a ditch but it is known he absconded with much of his finest stock and what was left has long since run out. Captain Schiller requisitioned the building as a makeshift hospital during the battle and the once stately inn still reeks of blood and worse fluids.

That leaves the The Bawdy Goblin on the Ackerplatz, owned by Stefan Hauser, a huge man rumoured to be a retired Carrobourg Greatsword. Hauser died on the sixth day of battle (having killed many of the foes facing him) and his son Karl has kept the inn running. An awkward, lanky young man no one would ever mistake Karl for a warrior but having some place that feels normal has kept morale up, even if the ale has grown more watered by the day and the famed spiced sausages of Middenland grown stuffed with sawdust.

Cramped as it is The Bawdy Goblin has also become a refuge for those unlucky to have been caught in Untergard when the storm hit. For one reason or another five such strangers have been here for more than two weeks.






From inside the inn you can hear raised voices coming in through the windows. They sound like they are coming from the Ackerplatz, the town square of Untegard...
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:07, Mon 22 Mar 2021.

The giant Kislevite was sitting at a table and finishing his lunch when he heard the tumult from outside. He had been stuck in the town for two weeks and was itching to move on. He had gotten to know a few other people during the battle of Untergard and glanced at them before getting up."Will check."

He slung his arquebus over his shoulder, grabbed his massive polearm and headed outside to see what the trouble was.

Jocelin sat at her table and wrote a letter addressed to Master Walbrecht.



She sealed it with a stamp of melted wax and considered the means to have it delivered when the commotion started outside and the Kislevite stood to investigate. "Camp followers who missed the Army's departure, I would think!" she said brightly as she heard the ruckus.

After a moment, she too rose to see what was going on - Karl Hauser had made it clear her assistance organizing his storeroom, pantry, linens, and window dressings was not necessary or welcome - she had to find something to help these ignorant provincials with around here before Master Walbrecht summoned her home.

Edgar heard the commotion in the square while he was in the stables behind the inn tending to nibbles. As he came round the corner he pulled out a red spotted flannel and wipes his brow before putting it back in his pocket and rolling down his shirt sleeves.

He'd spent the last days of of the fighting running messages from one commander to the other to keep the troops coordinated his sling had saved not only himself but a few soldiers to and though scarred was proud of what he had done.

After seeing the first beastman breach the defences Edgar's fear of them wasn't as bad as most, perhaps the myth that halflings were less susceptible to the forces of chaos was true, perhaps he was so busy trying to stay alive their monstrous looks didn't fully register with him.

Now he walked over to see what all the fuss was about

Home was a strange concept.  Home was the little hut he had next to his kiln on the fringes of Drakwald Forest.  It was a place where he lived alone with his thoughts, a place where he chopped wood, stored it and fired it in batches daily and waited - alone with his thoughts and an ever watchful eye on the air and the smoke.  It was a dangerous business, a dirty business but also one that needed care and attention.  A wrong move would see a conflagration and dark times until he could build again.

Home was now Untergard, or more specifically 'The Bawdy Goblin' was home now.  He'd never go back in to the forest, not after what he saw that night and he doubted he would be with his bricks again.  He didn't really know what he was going to do next - he traded for coin in the town but was as likely to swap charcoal bricks for bread or cloth.  His work helped fuel the furnaces of the blacksmith, they baked the bread of the baker and heated the homes of the townsfolk but now not a lot of that mattered.  It wasn't as though he had many friends in town anyway, but he felt keenly the loss of those he had known and even felt saddened that he didn't grieve more for their lives.  They deserved someone to feel sorrow.

Now he lived in the inn like a common drunkard, except he didn't really drink that much anyway.  Since the attack his days were spent helping in whatever way he could - tending the sick and injured, helping with securing the bridge and other masonry, scavenging for firewood (there was wood that was worth burning and wood that should not) and generally helping where he could.  He was no warrior, he had few special skills of note but he could do what he was told and he seemingly could survive.  Nights were spent in the inn with other survivors.  It was not a happy place but a certain silent solidarity was forming between those strangers who had lived, as a counterbalance to what happened to those who had not.

'the man from the North, the Wizard and the Dwarf and the Halfling too...'  It sounded like the start of a bad joke but they all had one thing in common - they had lived and others had not...  He sat in the inn lost in his thoughts and remembered how he came to be here...

...On the night of the attack Lukas had fled as fast as he could.  It was inhuman how he managed to maintain a pace to get to the town alive.  By a strange twist of luck he had arrived just as the attack was starting, scaling the barriers almost with the foul creatures from whatever hellish part of the forest they came from.  Imperial Pike and Chaotic Horns both missed their chance to impale him as he had swung his axe left and right before fortune smiled on him again and he found himself behind the Empire's lines caught in the no-man's land of shepherding the survivors across the bridge whilst feeling guilt that he was not on the frontline with his little axe with the soldiers.  The ensuing days gave him many a chance to prove his worth and more by luck than skill he had survived with more than one beastman skull feeling the hilt of his axe buried into him...

The shouting from the square snapped him out of his reverie.  The Northman with his terrifying weapon stood first, followed by the strange wizard who was lost in her letters.  Her cheery disposition in some ways was more frightening in these times than the monsters from the forest.  The Halfling Edgar stood too and headed towards the commotion.  Lukas looked at his dirty hands and shook his head.  Tempers had frayed more than once amongst the survivors and he felt sorry for Captain Schiller who tried to keep the peace amongst the tumult.  The watchman had faced far more in the last few weeks than any sane man should.  The easiest thing in the world to do would be to ignore the shouts and rest in his cups but it didn't seem right - he had to help and since his new accomplices were leaving the inn he sighed and stood to join them.

'What now?' he thought, as he headed onto the square.  He gripped the handle of his hatchet tightly.  Just in case of course...

"What is it? Another feast celebrating our damned victory?" the dwarf stopped carving something on the table with his chisel and looked up with a grimace. Seeing the other guests moving towards the window to check what was going on, he scratched his beard, but stayed by his table.

"Is it worth standing up?" he asked without addressing anyone in particular.

There was the stumble of ill-fitting boots on the stairs and a bleary eyed Karl Hauser appeared in the common room. The gangly young innkeeper winces at the sight of Klinka destroying yet another piece of Drakwald furniture but he has long since given up admonishing the dwarf. Harkrin was more than a foot shorter than the human but probably weighed twice as much.

"Maybe it's good news?" he said hopefully, joining the others outside.

---

As Edgar, Fyodor, Jocelin and Lukas approach the Ackerplatz, you notice that most of the 75 survivors of Untergard have already gathered in the decrepit town square, and are muttering restlessly to one another. Many still nurse battle wounds; whilst others are clearly too old or young to have taken place in the fighting. All are ragged and pale, and some are clearly pinched by hunger.

From the snatches of conversation you can make out something is clearly happening, though to learn more you'll have to ask.

Once a bustling square for a prosperous small town the battle had left the Ackerplatz covered in ash and slick with blood. If the recent storm has brought any good at all it has at least washed away much of that and the cobbles glisten with puddles reflecting the autumn sunlight. A few children are taking advantage of their distracted parents to splish about.

---

OOC: Gossip tests with a Very Easy (+30%) modifier to find out what is going on.

21:39, Today: Edgar Stoutfoot rolled 69 using 1d100.  gossip roll target 74.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:47, Tue 23 Mar 2021.

"The only good news I'm interested in is a barrel of some real ale." Klinka grumbled, stood up, scratched his beard and slowly walked out the inn.

Seeing the whole town gathered at the town square, he grimaced again and decided he was not going to join them. As the only dwarf in town he was not particularly liked and he had no intention to mingle with the locals more than it was necessary. So he stood in the doorway of the inn and watched the commotion without interest.

"What's going on?" Lukas asked one of the surviving members of the town.  He thought the man was a shopkeeper a few weeks ago, but on this side of the river people were typically 'survivors' now until they could get on their feet.

(OOC: 22:12, Today: Lukas Kohl rolled 42 using 1d100.  Gossip Test (54). )

Jocelin saw the town gathered outside and thought this was a wonderful way to raise morale. ~~ They’ll probably start singing one of their local folk songs and dancing in their own quaint way! ~~

“Oh my,” she said aloud, “what an opportunity to see real community togetherness! How delightful!”

She gathered up her skirts so as not to dirty them outside and walked through the door to make small talk with the smallfolk. ~~ Surely someone will be willing to talk with me now! ~~

---

OOC:
18:07, Today: Jocelin Herzog rolled 58 using 1d100.  Gossip roll, success threshold 64.

Fyodor standing as the tallest man and possibly the widest person in Untegard, had no trouble moving through the crowd. People automatically gave him a wide berth when he approached, if it was due to his size, the weapons he carried or the emotionless look on his face was yet to be determined.

But the warrior made his way to the front of the crowd to investigate what the commotion was about.

OOC:
17:03, Today: Fyodor Fyodoreski rolled 50 using 1d100.  Gossip (62).
Dont have gossip so just rolled against Fel 62.


This message was last edited by the player at 00:13, Tue 23 Mar 2021.

Moving into the the Ackerplatz each of you quickly becomes entangled with a knot of other survivors, each only too eager to talk.

Fyodor finds himself talking to Wolfgang, a laky, dark haired trapper who has managed to bring in a little game over the past few days. The local, himself a taciturn sort, nods in greeting an uncharacteristically excited expression on his homely face. "Seems the Captain is going to be making an announcement 'ere in the Platz. Has a letter from the Count 'imself he'll be reading to us. Good man the Captain, I've heard he once led a company of mercenaries up there in Troll Country."

Nearby two excited flaxen haired children who must be brother and sister from their likeness have surrounded Edgar and are telling him much the same: "Papa told us the Count sent a letter but its secret!" the boys says. His sister sticks her tongue out him. "Mama told me an even better secret, that Father Dietrich has a holy relic." She looks delighted with herself and holds a finger up to her lips. "But shh, don't tell anyone - it's so secret!"

The shopkeeper Lukas thought was called either Hans or Jan looked worn and middle aged, but the charcoal burner recalled him as amiable and rotund before the attack. "Captain Schiller has a letter from Count Boris of Middenheim," Hans (Jan?) explains. He looks at Lukas thoughtfully. "You're from out of town Kohl, what do you make of that Granny Moescher? She refused to come into town and still refuses to do and the beastmen never laid a claw on her. Ulric knows we owe her a lot, and she's still looking after a half dozen orphans who lost everyone in the battle but she's stubborn as a dwarf."

Jocelin finally found someone willing to swap more than two words with her: Father Dietrich, the Sigmarite priest. "There is a lot of talk about a letter from Middenheim Frau Herzog," he states. Dietrich is a thin, bony man but his voice his surprisingly strong. "Personally though I'm more interested in a story I've heard that beastmen took some of the missing and are keeping them alive in the forest for their own dark purposes."

Meanwhile back at the entrance to the inn Harkrin is left to his own thoughts, and the decorative potential a well applied chisel could do to the doorframe.

"Hostages?! Oh no... Pfarrer Dietrich, surely the Empire would not permit hostages to come to harm, nor negotiate with the foul creatures holding them..." Jocelin thought for a moment and brightened. "Surely the poor hostages will not have escaped Imperial notice, and the letter will inform the community of actions taken to secure their release, if they haven't been released already!"

Satisfied in her faith in just and effective Imperial rule, a serene countenance settled on Jocelin's face. "And how have you been, Pfarrer? Is there anything I can help you with? I've offer my assistance but I think the Untergardics are so proud they want to show someone from Altdorf they can get along. It's admirable, really. I just wish I could help..."

She sighed.

"At least until I'm recalled to the University to continue my formal studies, that is. Can't imagine it would be much longer."

The Kislevite uttered what could best be described as a combined grunt and chuckle when Wolfgang mentions Troll Country. That was a name he had not heard in a long time, maybe he should ask the captain if Wolfgangs story was true.

He looked up from Wolfgang and scanned the masses for the captain.

"Where Captain?"

Edgar smiled at the child and put his finger to his lip " your secret is safe with me little one I'm a messenger and we swear to keep secrets" and he gave her a wink.

Lukas shook his head at Hans (or was it Jan) and his questions about Granny Moescher.  "I know her, but I don't know her to well friend."  He had heard the whispers about her, for many of the same things he had heard were said about him.  Outsiders were rarely trusted, even those who were recognisable in town (like him) and even those who did a lot of good for the people (like Granny Moescher).  "She'll have her reasons for not coming into town.  Some folk just want to be left alone and be in their own space..."  By Sigmar did he feel like that sometimes!  Even though they had been through so much in the last few weeks he craved the solitude of the Forest and the peace it brought - not that the forest would ever feel peaceful again.  Lukas tried to make light of the subject, "Anyway, you know what she's like...one of those glares or a blast of her sharp tongue would be enough to drive back the whole armies of Chaos!  Even the bestial ones had enough basic intelligence to stay clear of her home!"  Granny Moescher was set in her ways alright....

"Have you seen Captain Schiller?  Do you think he will read the letter to us?"  Lukas doubted that any of them had a right to even ask to know the details of private correspondence between the Count and the town's figurehead.  He didn't say it, but he didn't even know if Captain Schiller could read.  It wasn't the type of place where one knew their letters at the best of times.  Jumping ahead in his thoughts he remembered what the wizard was doing before the commotion, 'she'll be able to read it if no-one else can...'  Still, though Lukas was not prone to gossip he was intrigued at what the contents may reveal.  "I wonder what the letter was about 'ans," he said, mumbling a pronunciation of the man's (possible) name, "Maybe Count Boris is sending relief to rebuild the town.  Maybe supplies are coming to help get everyone back on their feet.  Maybe he'll send soldiers to protect and gold too..."

As he spoke he realised how stupid he sounded.  Of course there would be hope for any news from Middenheim but there was a war on, a war that none of them would have ever imagined a short time ago.  There would be nothing spare for Untergard, and in any case, the benevolence of the Counts was not exactly renown in the Empire.  The Count probably wanted something, 'All able bodied men and women must march to Middenheim to defend the City,' or something similar.

Lukas sighed.  He hoped the letter would be good news but giving voice to the hope made him realise it probably wouldn't be...

A ghost of a smile flickers across Father Dietrich's careworn features. "Remember we are in Middenland my dear girl. Most favour Ulric over Lord Sigmar here and even those who don't look to Reikland as soft and decadent. Then there is you... calling."

He gestures vaguely at Jocelin's attire. The young wizardess had gained the sense that even Father Dietrich, who liked her and talked to her didn't entirely approve of dabbling with magic, legal or otherwise.

Edgar was rewarded with a fit of giggles from the twins. "Can we see you ride your pony?" the boy asked. "Yeah, can we?" his sister chimes in.

Jan (or Hans) seems to have been chastened by Lukas's invocation of Granny Moescher. Biting back whatever else he might have said about the old woman he concentrated on the second part of Lukas's question. "I think the Captain plans to say just that. I saw Middenheim once. My brother-in-law is a priest of Ulric. No finer city in the Empire than the the bastion of the White Wolf and no army will have taken it. It'll be good news, I feel it in my bones."

Wolgang starts to gives a shrug when Fyodor asks about the Captain but then pauses and points a dirty finger to one of the entrances to the Ackerplatz. "There!"

Sure enough it is Captain Schiller and two of his men striding purposefully into the square, all carrying hessian sacks.

A ripple runs through the crowd as Captain Schiller appears. Schiller, a man of about 50, with a headful of gray hair and an impressive, bristling moustache, stands on a box one of his watchmen set up for him. He mounts it spryly for a man of his age. Though his blue uniform is torn and dirtied and his armour dented, Captain Schiller still commands the respect of the crowd. He only needs to motion once before the crowd quiets down. “People of Untergard” he begins, “this is a glorious day. I have received a letter from Count Todbringer of Middenheim. The old wolf still lives and the city of Middenheim also stands strong!”

The crowd cheers and once again Schiller must motion for silence. “Count Todbringer sends his thanks to all of Untergard for the part we played in hampering the invaders. He said, and I quote, ‘the battle for the Untergard Bridge will go down as one of the most glorious battles in Middenland’s history.’ Be proud, people of Untergard, for our sacrifices have not been in vain!”

When the cheers die down, Schiller continues. “To show his gratitude for our valour, the Count has sent us a token of his appreciation.” The captain reaches into a bag and pulls out a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. “We were honoured to receive sixty loaves of bread and a dozen bottles of wine, straight from Middenheim.” The crowd goes wild at the sight of the Count’s largesse, hungry eyes fixed on the fresh bread in the Captain’s hands. They begin to chant, “Long live the Count! Long live the Count!” Schiller holds bread and wine high in the air as the hardened survivors of Untergard shout themselves hoarse.

Suddenly, there is a loud crack and the bottle shatters, showering Schiller and the bread with glass and wine.

Pandemonium erupts as the crowd scatters in panic. People start looking for cover, spooked by the unmistakable sound of a firearm discharging.

---

OOC: Perception tests all!

Fyodor take a +10% bonus on this test due to your knowledge of firearms.

Jocelin wore a confused look on her face, both in why the provincials should think the Reikland soft, and what her profession had to do with anything when the shot rang out and she reflexively grasped onto Father Dietrich. She spun her head this way and that looking for the source but saw nothing. "Pfarrer?? What's happening!?"

---

OOC:
07:35, Today: Jocelin Herzog rolled 51 using 1d100.  Perception - DC 41.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:07, Wed 24 Mar 2021.

The shot interrupted Klinka's thought about what would be the best word to carve along the door frame of the inn. Staying away from the crowd had some benefits - for instance, not being an easy target.

15:51, Today: Harkrin 'Klinka' rolled 16 using 1d100.  (Perception - Int 30).

Fyodor barely winced when he heard the gun discharge. It would take more than a single shot to rattle the battle hardened warrior. As people began scurrying for cover he calmly turned around and prepared his own gun.

He had caught the bottle exploding and the general direction of where the shot had been fired from.

"Get DOWN!" he called out loud in his northern accent.


OOC: 07:53, Today: Fyodor Fyodoreski rolled 32 using 1d100.  Perception - 37.