Following your night in the Coaching inn, the party continued their journey to Altdorf. The journey is a (thankfully) boring one as the path through the Drakwald forest is a peaceful, iof not droll, one. Speeding southwards for hours, finally finds our intrepid heros at the cusp of a grand, white-walled city of towering buildings. Altdorf, the capital of the
Empire and its largest, richest city, laid before you in all of it's wonder.

One of the grandest sights to behold is the Imperial Palace that can be seen rising
high above the river Reik, dominating the city. Gunnar tells you how this place was chock full of nobles in the streets, supposedly here for the universities that they never really attend. he makes a good paycheck driving them places around here. You're driven into the coaching inn within the walls and let loose as the two drunkards hobble to a nearby bar.

As you walk away, you find something feels off about this place. Not just 'off', wrong. The buildings seemed to be either refurbished and freshly pained, or nearly falling in on itself. Criers were shouting news of some 'well-regarded' Altdorf philanthropist was found guilty of corruption and jailed, whilst another claims a penniless street rat was found to be heir to the Rickard-Goellner estates... There's a feeling of unease in the air here. The locals dont seem to notice it, but you find yourself getting turned around easily. Separated if you aren't careful. Places you once thought were here, were suddenly there, and a new corner popped up as if the streets themselves don’t meet up correctly. Scores upon scores of agitators were on the street corners all clamoring for a new order, desperate for the capital to be better. To be different.

Many of the city’s bustling burghers are acting oddly, too - though few notice it, simply presuming Altdorf life breeds a permanent state of hustle and fuss. Everyone in the capital is filled with an impatience permeating their very souls. Coachmen crack whips and bellow at others to get out of the way. Scholars rush about clutching books, all seemingly on omportant tasks that cannot wait. Shoppers refuse to buy from the same place twice, sure the next vendor may have a better deal. Everyone has somewhere to go, and they never get there fast enough. Altdorf is restless, irritable, and anxious. Even the stray dogs are agitated, barking at walls and each other, prone to dashing at the slightest threat, eyes wide, teeth bared, drool slopping from their quivering chops.

And then, suddenly, it was night.

Your minds seem puzzled, befuddled, overran and overworked. Did you not JUST arrive? How long have you been walking the streets? Where did the time go? If by only some miracle, you are still entirely together and unseparated outside of a tavern called the Ranauld's Blessing. I guess it's a good time to think up a gameplan for what to do with the rest of the night. Or morning. What time was it again?

All characters must roll a 1d10 EVERY day they are in Altdorf. The first day is exempt.

Being such an enormous city, all services can be found in Altdorf if you look hard enough, and nearly all goods are available — for a price. When checking for availability of goods in Altdorf, if you fail you may retry an Availability Test daily, not weekly, and Exotic goods gain an Availability rating of 10%. Further, if you are willing to pay double the price for an item, you may reroll one failed Availability Test daily.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:57, Wed 28 July 2021.

You blink.

It takes several hours to navigate the roads and causeways that lead through Altdorf Flats, the vast marshlands surrounding the imperial capital. Eventually the land rises to a patchwork of farmlands and small villages, and not long after that the white walls of Altdorf can be seen glimmering in the distance, stretching far to east and west. Just after dark, the Characters’ coach pulls in through the intricately carved Wolf Gate at the
north of the City. Altdorf is enormous, and it takes some time before the coach pulls into the open expanse of the Königplatz (King's Square)near the centre of the city.

Eager bawds representing various inns converge on the passengers, each offering accommodation at ‘the best inns in city, guv’ - all ‘at very reasonable prices, with the best possible entertainment’. As the Königplatz is near the top of the Street of a Hundred Taverns, the city’s most notorious night spot, it could not be better located for tired travelers seeking food,drink, and possibly good times... Or so the cries would have you belive.

Stepping off the coach, you are greeted by cries of ‘Angelino's, best grub in town!’ and ‘Stay at the Cat and Fiddle! Finest music and the best beds!’ The cries are accompanied by ready hands reaching to take any passenger’s luggage in order to lead them in the general direction of their chosen inn. Arguments soon break out, and fists clench...

Before anyone can attempt to press through the gathered throng, they are brought to a halt by loud trumpeting and the sounds of marching feet. In no time, a procession of soldiers belonging to the Reikland 1st Regiment of Foot, The Imperial Guard (As denoted by the cries marching in front of them do proudly declare), pushes its way through the platz. The Emperor, looking square of jaw and proud in full armour, and mounted on a magnificent ebonysteed barded in gold, rides behind the marching phalanx. Beside and behind him march ranks of knights in their full ceremonial regalia. The assembled crowds cheer as the procession proceeds. Only once the entire parade has passed does business resume.

What a magnificent sight. Though, just stepping off of the coach now to be overwhelmed for a moment, did leave it's toll on you...

Why does it feel like you've done that once before already?

Before you can really stop to think about it, A man pushes into Agatha and pulls something off of her waist, cutting the leather ties and was running away with it!

All spellcasters gain +10 to any Language (Magick), Magical sense, or Channelling Tests. Unless their roll includes a 9 on either die (such as 19, or 92), where they instead roll another +1d10 to your casting roll and suffer a Major Chaos manifestation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:44, Wed 28 July 2021.

Aver blinks.  For a woman who has spent most of her life in a quiet, idyllic village, the city was somewhat overwhelming.  The bustle of people in the streets, the speed at which carriages fly around corners, and the sheer number of merchants barking their wares on the side of the road...  She takes Mefodiv by the arm, hoping to brace herself against something- no, someone- stable.  The passing of time in this city seems... odd.  She swears days have passed, while at the same time knowing she had only just arrived.  'Given the Magical Colleges within the city, perhaps something arcane is afoot!'  She takes a moment, squeezing Mefodiv's arm, and attempts to open her third eye to observe the passage of time.

Anxiety builds in her, at least until He arrives.  The Emperor!  A wave of energy passes through the crowd as He passes, and Aver cries out in cheer!  The legends surrounding the man, Karl Franz, were grand indeed; however, upon seeing him, Aver begins to doubt that the legends are mere tales.  And just as quickly as He had arrived, He was gone.  His detachment was gone.  Once again, the group was standing in the streets, the busy, busy streets.  But they were not alone, nor ignored.

"Agatha!  You, stop!  Somebody stop that man!"  Aver cries out, hoping to overcome the din of the crowd.  Her hand moves immediately to her side, where a heavy leather satchel held a book of arcane importance.  She begins to run after the man, hoping to do... something?  'Think, Aver!  This isn't the country.  There is real danger here.'  She looks around, hoping to see her companions running beside her.

---

12:41, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 94 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 73.  Magical Sense.
12:41, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 61 -- 1 degree of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 73.  Fortune Point: Magical Sense.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:45, Wed 28 July 2021.

Mefodiv crosses his arms and smirks as he thinks to himself, watching the Emperor's procession. Not his first time in a city, but certainly the first in one this big. Sure, is nice. Impressive, even. But Ice Queen would make Emperor quake in boots with her majesty, and these buildings, these people.. Need to stop and quit with rush. Life is not race.He snaps out of his thoughts with Aver's shout, doing a double-take at the man running away from them.

"Oi! Thief!"

He runs forth, giving chase, and attempts to tackle the thief to the ground.

_{20:00, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 58 -- a simple failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 51.  charge attack at thief.}

Agatha was too distracted looking around at the sights of Altdorf to realize the thief sneaking up on her. Once her party members begins to chase, she does as well.

She yells out as she chases them, pointing at the thief.
"Stop, Thief! They stole my things!"

Agatha rolled 32 -- a simple failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 31.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:29, Thu 29 July 2021.

To say that the experience in Altdorf was disorienting once beyond it's walls would be an understatement. The highest number of houses Halvi had seen together up close was six, this place looked and felt like a maze. No two buildings looked the same yet she couldn't tell them apart. Not to mention the sea of humanity that flooded the streets... Trying not to get separated from the rest was a full time job for Junttila.

Only when the Emperor came through did she get some respite. It was hard to tell if what she felt was purely awe at the sight or a sense of relief for the momentary lull from the usual bustle. When the others dashed afterwards, Halvi went after them not really grasping what was going on.

---

19:14, Today: Halvi Junttila rolled 91 -- 4 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 50.  Agility test.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:15, Thu 29 July 2021.

As the group takes off running after the thief, Aver quickly learns the difference between weaving through trees and livestock compared to cobblestones and crowds.  She quickly loses sight of the thief, her own passage blocked by the throngs of passersby.  It is only through providence that the rest of her companions seem to fail as well, as losing sight of one another here would be a terrible sentence.

---

10:12, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 59 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 30.  Agility Test.

Dietrich was...distracted. Though Seyoux was a small stretch of Carcassonne country land, he had spent the past ten years in the city of Nuln. Long ago had the wonders of the cosmopolitan metropolis ceased to awe him, and he had assumed that Altdorf would be the same. After all, Nuln was only slightly smaller in area and population, and arguably had institutions that rivaled the importance of the Imperial capital. But still, he kept finding himself further along in the day than he had expected.

He was almost grateful when the hue and cry of the thief went out. It gave him focus, and something to do.

However, despite his adequate physical status, his distraction was greater than he thought. It took him a few extra heartbeats to get his body moving correctly, and by the time he was in full flight, he was too far behind the pack to catch up.

"Putain de bordel de merde!" Dietrich cursed, switching to his native language as he always did when he was angry or frustrated.

OOC Mechanics
17:47, Today: Dietrich Baudelaire rolled 42 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 22.  Intelligence Check.
14:17, Today: Dietrich Baudelaire rolled 46 -- 3 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 11.  Agility Test.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:28, Thu 29 July 2021.

Your cries of 'Stop thief' and similar fall on deaf ears, as everyone seems too preoccupied with their own business to care about anyone else’s problems. Swimming through the mass of people proves problematic, as every turn holds some rube holding wares in your way, a crossing of performers getting in your way, all of the city was conspiring against you at this point, as the thief begins to slip away. "M-My lord?!" Cries an older, rickety voice, as a man in flowing purple robes and a two tufts of white hair clinging to the sides of his head joins in and begins following the five of you on your run. He holds a book aloft and seems confused but determined. (None of you recognize him)

OOC Last chance to catch the thief before he escapes for good. You can try an opposed intimidation test, throwing an improvised weapon (stone) at him, or continue the chase. Other options are available if you can think them up.

"You were warned!"

Agatha yells out as she unstraps a knife from her hip, and throws it at the thief as she continues her pursuit. A simple wound with a knife should be enough of a message to get them to stop.

Rolls
Agatha rolled 21 -- 1 degree of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 31

Wounds
Agatha rolled 0 using 1d10-3.
I messed up the command, it should be a 3 since I have at least a 30 in strength.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:38, Thu 29 July 2021.

The thief yelps in pain and drops the pouch he cut from Agatha's waist, and continues to attempt to flee from the party.

The old man in the long road was wheezing and in the midst of a coughing fit, but despite the thick beads of greasy sweat rolling down his forehead (And staining his robe) he does his best to keep up with you all.

Mefodiv growls in frustration and readies his lasso, tossing it towards the runner. However, it barely leaves his grasp before getting tangled on a signpost.

"Kurvafix paska vittu!"

With Agatha's pouch removed from the thief, Aver stops to catch her breath.  Turning, she finally spots the old man chasing after the group.  She nudges whoever is beside her, and nods her chin towards the man.

Once he arrives, she speaks.  "Who are you, and what do you want?  We're in no mood for trouble, sir."

Agatha slows before stopping at her pouch on the floor, bending over to pick it up and go through it just to make sure everything was accounted for. She looks up afterwards to see if her knife fell out as the thief ran away, or if there is a noticeable trail of blood that she could follow.

Always happens in Altdorf...

The old man in the robes was of a spindly sort. He smelled heavily of incense and pipeweed, a true feat to have it pungent enough to notice over the muck of the streets. Now that you can get a better look at the man, you can tell he's a scribe of some sort, holding a chain from his purple cloak that offered his prices for his literacy in both numerical and symbols to cater to the illiterate. He was old and greyed, evidenced by the emanciated hand he holds up to ask for a moment before he can speak properly. A short coughing fit later, the man pulls a bundle of hearbs from his pocket and breathes deeply in hopes to catch his breath. "...Him." Is all he can manage in a rhaspy whisper. He points to Dietrich, but is unable to continue further due to his ongoing issues.


Agatha feels another tugging at her waist, but this time finds a filthy woman clad in freshly made, and still bleeding, deer pelts. The mangled head of the deer sat upon her head like a trophy, and partially obscured her face. "You are from the temple of Rheya and Taal. I see your devotion. Is good cloth." The woman says, pointing to Agatha's banner. She doesn't have the best grasp on language, but doesn't seem to let that stop her from taking Agatha's time. "Is busy now. Good fortune has been with me, good hunt. Saved the first one for offering, but I cannot go to temple. Will you bring for us?" The woman asks as she offers a bloody sack with a few patches made to it and the symbol of Taal sewn into it. Lucky sits beside Agatha, and walks in place for a moment, controlling itself from what it believes to be tasty morsels.

A pair of men approach beside Mefodiv, watching the scene for a moment but begin to act strangely. One of them turns his back to him and begins to scan the crowd in earnest. Squinting and slowly looking back and fourth. The other does his best to look Mefodiv clear in the eye with an unblinking stare, and scratches his left ear with his right hand's pinky.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:34, Fri 30 July 2021.

Mefodiv finally tugs his lasso free, turning to look at the gathering crowd of strangers trying to converse with everyone, a look of confusion and slight worry on his face.

"Well, this new. Since when we so, eh, popular?"

He takes special concern with the man looking him over, crossing his arms and wiping his nose with a thumb, a distant memory of worse times crossing his mind.

"What? Here to cut throat? Maybe break leg?"

Agatha ties the pouch back to her hip, making sure it's secure before looking down at the old woman, seemingly unfazed by the ordeal that had just taken place. She takes the sack and takes a look inside.

"Yes I can, I was going to pay the temple a visit as I have just brought in a few pelts myself."

She turns away and walks over to her party, looking at the elderly man who had ran alongside them, or at least attempted to. She looks a bit confused.

"Who is this?"

With the very conspicuous lady approaching Agatha and more importantly, the item on her head, Halvi felt naturally drawn to the pair and the homely sight. "Did you find such majestic game close to the city?" She inquired to the stranger with some surprise, taking a closer look to the animal's head.

"...Moi?" Dietrich asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Placing on hand on the pommel of Armel in suspicion, the young cadet cautiously approached the stranger who was currently having trouble breathing. While he certainly looked aged and currently ailing, Dietrich knew that appearances could be deceiving. For all he knew, this man was a wicked warlock, sent to curse a noble child. He doubted it, but the Old World was a place where there was always a nonzero chance of such things happening.

"Bonjour! Well met mein herr, a pleasure to make your acquaintance! I am Dietrich Baudelaire, son of Brion Baudelaire, Baron of Seyoux, youngest of the Von Dornhain family of Nuln, and recent graduate of the great Aquila Academy. And these are my companions. You have indicated that you are looking for me. May I have your name, and how may I be of assistance?" he asked, extending a hand to the old man.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:41, Mon 02 Aug 2021.

Of the two men standing beside Mefodiv, the one looking at the crowd looks back at Mefodiv with his eyes half closed. The weight of the exasperation on his face must've been pulling them down. He shakes his head slightly before returning to watching the crowds. The other man closes his eyes and takes a breath out of frustration. With only a small glance at his surroundings, he stares at Mefodiv again. He raises his right hand with an open palm, sloooowly closes all of his fingers aside from his pinky, and then carefully moves his right hand to his left ear and begins to scratch it. He continues to glare at Mefodiv intently all the while...


Agatha opens the bag and see the bloody head of Doe inside. It's glassy eye looks back at her as the blood inside was still fresh and dripping through the bottom. Couldn't have been dead for more than a few hours. Having the priest agree to her wishes, the bloody huntsman gives Agatha a slight bow. "Yes. I did. Something nearby is scarring them out of the forest and closer to the city. Make hunt very easy for us. Make sure to give first of hunt to Taal as thanks for this blessing." The hunter explains to Halvi. She begins to pick her bags bag up to depart back to whence she came.


The old man was quite out of his depth, but was trying valiantly to regain his composure. He reaches onto the satchel on his side and pulls out a small horn with his shaky hand. He takes a large breath, (or as large as he could manage), and tries to blow in it... It doesn't work well. A slight, rhaspy, toot was all that it could manage with his poor lungs be fore he drops the thing back in his bag. Huffing and puffing, the man wipes his brow with a stained cloth from his sleeve as he fights for the air in his chest to cooperate with him before he passes out. "An-announce... Diet...trich..." The man leans forward onto his knees and continues a coughing fit. "Baudelaire... arrival..." With that, the old man reaches into his satchel again and offers a small letter with a wax seal on it. Dietrich's family crest was pressed upon it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:20, Mon 02 Aug 2021.

"Dear gods man, catch your breath. Sit down. Here, drink from my water-skin..." Dietrich said exasperatedly, handing over his full skin and taking the letter.

Dietrich examined the seal and was surprised to discover that it was his family's. It would be a swift courier indeed to beat him to Altdorf from Nuln. And why would his mother send this elderly man to deliver it? Snapping the seal, the Bretonnian turned from the others and read the letter with the mild privacy of his body cconcealing the letter.

The old man happily accepts the flask and sit down in a heap of himself. He sputters and seems fit to sleep on the spot just of the way of the streets. A few urchins were already looking him over and searching him for things of value.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:46, Mon 02 Aug 2021.

"Oh, shoo you little deviants," Aver tells the street-children as she tries brushing them away with her staff.  After moving them away (and knocking one on the head), she turns to Dietrich to see if he reacts to the letter.  When turning, however, she notices the strange staring match between Mefodiv and the men.

She whispers to him, "Perhaps return the gesture?  Altdorf is full of secrets, perhaps you stumbled upon one..."  Nothing in her hushed voice is confident, as Altdorf is also full of strangers and misunderstandings.

Mefodiv turns slightly towards Aver, talking to her without taking his eyes off the two men,"This better not get me killed, or I be very upset with you."

He grumbles, and mimics the motions, scratching at his left ear with his pinky.

"Yesli etot sekret k chemu-to znakom, potoropites'. Net vremeni na igry, yest' chto prodat' i s kem vstrechat'sya."

The two men flash faces of confusion as they look at each other for just a moment with furrowed brows. They move to speak, but soon have their expressions melt to ones of relief. They move past Mefodiv and the bustling city to an open door way where a stocky man was standing. As the two men walk inside, the stocky man narrows his watery-blue eyes at Mefodiv for a moment before closing the door behind him. Strange.

"Well, you're not dead yet my friend, but I feel I speak for the both of us when I say, what in the blazes was that?"  She gives a shrug, then turns back to Dietrich to observe his reactions.  Altdorf is weird.

Agatha hefts the bag over her shoulder as she looks at the scene that was starting to take place in front of her. She watches the urchins passing by her, just to make sure she doesn't get robbed again. She looks over at Dietrich, looking a bit confused.

"Do you often get arrival announcements like this? You seem a little surprised that it transpired like this."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:56, Tue 03 Aug 2021.

"Not usually, no..." Dietrich replied to Agatha, brows furrowed in mild confusion.

"...The only time I can ever remember being announced is when I was a boy and went to a few parties in Seyoux's neighboring lands with my father, and only one or two events with my mother as a young man while in Nuln. But a message delivered in the street is...quite different," he explained, looking down at the collapsed old man with a frown.

"My mother is being much more cryptic than usual. I gather there is some kind of misfortune that has befallen the Von Dornhain estate, which is an impressive feat given that I have only been gone for two weeks. But there is no information as to the nature of this calamity. She indicates that there is someone at a location called The Boatman Inn who might illuminate the matter. Might I ask the group's indulgence and seek this place out? We need lodgings for the night anyway, and we might kill two birds with one stone," the young nobleman asked, looking at everyone in turn.

"Mein herr...mein herr! Gather yourself!" the cadet said forcefully, gently slapping the face of the old man, so that he might awaken and no longer be at the mercy of street urchins.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:44, Tue 03 Aug 2021.

The urchins retreat with one rubbing it's head, but simply reside down the alleyway, watching from afar. "Buh?! My...My apologies. Did I? ...I just had a small lapse there I feel. Just a bit winded is all. A good pint will set me straight." Says the wheezing old man. "My health isn't exactly my selling point these days. Forgive me." Strangely enough, not a single person on the bustling streets seems to notice or care about any of the commotion going on amoungst your party. Indeed, the local agitators and criers were busy enough as it is trying to vie for the attention of the common rabble. "I was sent to aid you on these harsh... streets and help you with the navigation aspects. I didn't expect you to be so taken with the Altdorf pace... or to embrace it as soon as you have." The man feels around for his glasses in his cloak that seemed to hold a large number of pockets within it's seams. Placing them gingerly upon the bridge of his nose, the natural grease of his sweat causes them to droop to the bottom, where the bulbous end of his nose was wide enough to catch and hold them into relative place. This doesn't seem to stop him from constantly adjusting them, and pushing them back up, however. "Should you need a place to purchase, trade, vend, or elsewise, I can be of relative service. I've lived here for many a year."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:12, Wed 04 Aug 2021.

Aver listens to the Bretonnian make his request, and nods.  "Aye, I will stand by you in this endeavor.  And it is true, we could use a place for rest, though the magicks of this town are acting strangely.  Have the rest of you noticed time passing... oddly?  No matter, let us head for the inn.  But do not forget that the rest of us have tasks to attend to while in town.  I have need to seek out the college, for example."

Turning to the winded old man, "Sir, if you would not mind directing us to this "Boatman's Inn".  Let us be off."  She takes a step or two before pausing, then checking her pockets and pouches to ensure they were still present.

Agatha puts a hand on her hip as she listens, starting to scowl as she listens to Aver.

"Now that you mention it, yes. I've had this strong sense of deja-vu since we've arrived. Only time will tell as for why, perhaps. I also need to spend some time at the Temple of Rhya as I have an offering, and prayer to do. I also need to report my travelings to the temple, but I would like to visit the Inn first."

She pulls the bag up as it had begun to sag out of her grip. Seems like she's starting to get blood on her from the sack...

"Right... Right-right. Tally-ho, aye? No rest for the wicked... Hrrng. Or the elderly it seems." Whines the old man as he rises to his feet. He pushes on his back and you hear a sequence of cracking that would give an orc's favorite choppin stik a run for it's money. Feeling more lumber, and still looking like a sweaty travesty, the old man begins moving into the crowd, quickly adapting to the rushing pace. "First rule of Altdorf. Keep the pace and don't stand out. You all stick out like sore thumbs stuck in rotten plumbs. Which, was nice for me to be able to find you. Been waiting quite a while for someone to match your picture Mister Baudelaire." Already huffing and puffing from the walk, the old man was wiping his brow again as he makes his way down towards the docks of Altdorf. The roads were filled to the brim here as well, but with more river folk rather than the usual merchant and agitator. "Ah, here we are. Thought it might've burnt down last frostfall, but it's a resilient little hole." Before you was a long line shoddy buildings with various offers of solitude, entertainment, 'entertainment', and cleaning services. All of this was heralded in by the large sign, lovingly named 'the Street of a Hundred Taverns.'

The Street of a Hundred Taverns runs downhill from the Königplatz to the riverfront. Signposts and road signs mark the many names the street has borne in the past, including the weathered Street of Many Taverns sign on the junction with Universitätsstrasse, and the Street of a Thousand Taverns signpost that leans drunkenly by the Breasts of Myrmidia, one of the less salubrious establishments on offer. It looks like when something falls down here, the solution is likely to simply build atop it, as evidenced by some of the leaning, taller establishments. Betwixed all of the calling and cooing escourts and tarts in the street, lays a simple and smaller building. 'The Boatsmann's Ine' Sitting just outside of the boatsman was a Strange, flabby creature with large tusks, chained to the floorboard. Just above it read a sign that said; 'Do not feed the bear'.

Mefodiv quietly follows the old man with the others, confused from his interaction with the strange men earlier, and slightly worried over the unwanted attention from strangers. A look that can best be described as "slight disgust mixed with discomfort" forms on his face as they walk past the Breasts of Myrmidia and groups of escorts. Upon arriving at the Boatsmann's, his eyes narrow, a grunt of confusion coming from his mouth as he looks the "bear" over.

"You call this bear? Eyes go bad or something? Is walrus, look at tusk!"

_{21:48, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 82 -- 5 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 30.  common knowledge kislev - identify animal.}
This message was last edited by the player at 01:51, Thu 05 Aug 2021.

"Thank you. Setting aside the need to sleep, I would have answers to this unusual message. I would not part company at this time if I had the choice. Especially in an unfamiliar city. Speaking of which..." Dietrich said gratefully, giving a slight bow to the group.

"...thank you for your assistance mein herr, but I will have your name, for the second time," he said curtly to the old man as he lead them.

"Now that you mention it...I have felt like I keep waking from a daydream since we have arrived. I simply assumed it was the grandeur of the largest city in the Old World," the young mans shrugged.

"Perhaps 'the Bear' is simply the poor creature's name?" the Bretonnian replied mildly to Mefodiv as he stepped past him and entered the Boatman's Inn.

"By the gods, what is a walrus?!" Aver asks Mefodiv, eyeing this strange creature.  "I have so many questions about this beast, but don't know where to start?  Your land must be a strange one, my friend.  Are they dangerous?"  She keeps a cautious distance from the 'walrus/bear', but lingers outside observing it.

After some time has passed, she heads into the tavern, where Dietrich has likely been waiting.

Having a small army of people along the street trying to ger her attention was both confusing and amusing an experience. Never mind that they did the same for the countless other people prancing up and down the street. Were she not part of a larger group, she would should fall prey to their attentions and end up with an empty purse before nightfall, whenever nightfall was in that strange place. Halvi kept a respectful distance to the creature, unsure of what it could do with those tusks. "What is it doing here? Some kind of city watchdog?"

The 'bear' roars a gruff grunt, but does little more than lift it's head to stare sidelong at you as it's chain leash rattles. The discoloration around it's neck lets you know it's been here awhile. You can roll an animal care if you want to learn more about it in-depth with an examination. It seems passive enough. Agatha's dog sniffs at it inquisitively, but flinches backwards when the thing blows a puff of air at them.

Strolling into the boatsman, you can see a number of tied up boats behind through the large bay windows. All manner of vessels are tied up along the riverfront, from high-masted ships to smaller barges and houseboats. The Boatman Inn is just one of many establishments along this embankment, but it appears to be one of the more cheerful places; a little tatty, but inviting. A number of riverfolk are inside the inn. Many were in colorful waterproof fishing gear, while others were clad in much less, but held with the royal navy's colors. All walks of the ocean's proverbial family. The atmosphere is cordial and friendly, with the food
and drink reasonably priced and of good quality!

No one takes very much interest in the party as you enter aside from a gleeful bellow of a portly dwarf with a peg leg, and a luxurious triple braided beard lined with golden bones. "Mefodiv! You old sodden mess you! You're alive! What are you doing here?!" Asks the dwarf who moves to stand, and catches himself on the table...where his peg leg was still sitting. He grumbles a few curses in Khazalid and moves to attach it so as to stand when he meets the party.

In the corner sits a man who stands out entirely from the ruffian crowd. Rather than ale, grog, whiskey, or beer, he sat drinking wine politely as he was scratching somethings into a book with a quill and ink. Seeing the party enter, he stands and removes the hat upon his head to hold it respectfully to his chest. "Young master, over here."
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:33, Sat 07 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv heartily chuckles, motioning to the animal before heading inside.

"Walrus not to be afraid of! They good meat, plenty of fat and oil for soap. Plus, tusk make good drinking horn. Or normal, playing horn. Forget which."

His eyes light up as he hears a voice within call to him, rushing over to the dwarf's table.

"Oppa! Gorrim you stubborn goat! How do?"

Halvi lingered a little while longer observing the strange creature. However, there wasn't much more she could tell about it other than it wasn't a bear, without getting so close as to touch it, which she wasn't going to. And so, she went inside after the rest, where they seemed to be as popular as everywhere else. Suddenly, Halvi was glad to be in her current company, her peers surely seemed to have friends everywhere in this strange place, who hopefully extended them some hospitality.

12:23, Today: Halvi Junttila rolled 48 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 20.  Checking the mighty bear!

Finally, a place where the crowds are mostly stationary.  A place where Aver can breathe.  She goes off to grab two plates of food, for herself and Mefodiv, before returning to find him with a strange friend.  The man had been such a mystery before, it is a wonder that he should find a friend here of all places!  She approaches the two, but stays silent.

Agatha follows the party, looking around as she does while keeping her dog close after the bear scared it. She frowns at the sight of it, looking fairly disappointed.

Might as well just butcher it, pretty foul. But on par with Altdorf...

Once Mefodiv runs off to his dwarven friend, she follows behind at a casual pace, still holding a bloody sack like it's some sort of luggage.

"You two know each other, I take it from back home?"

"Ah ha ha! Knew I smelt somethin different in the air today, had I known it was you, I would've held onto a bottle of bugmans!" Gorrim says cheerfully with a bump to Mefodiv's shoulder. He offers all four of you to pull up a chair. "Striking out on your own at last, eh?" He says with a grin. "Not before time, you young rascal! I knew you had more in you than your old life could satisfy! Come! Tell me of your story, how's it been? A trustworthy manling's hard to come by, and there's been an awful drought since you up an vanished! Where've you been? And what're you doin' here of all places?" Gorrim waves over the barman who brings out a large bottle wrapped in decorative fish netting and fish hooks. As he listens to the party, he pours glasses for everyone up to the brim. It was a golden-amber liquid with a strong scent to it.

Mefodiv waves dismissively, sitting down at the table and laying his jerkin against the back of his chair.

"Bah! Run of bad luck is all! Nothing change of, eh, scenery and company cannot fix! And what bigger change than to go from ice and snow to cobbles and street? Even have new scar, and few stories, but that is for later. Where are Mev's manners?"

He turns back to his travelling companions, motioning to the dwarf, before pointing to everyone in order.

"Is Gorrim! Old friend from home, and good businessman beside. Gorrim, is Aver, Dietrich, Halvi, and, eh.. Agatha? Yes? Now, I tell of us, what of you? What bring to Altdorf?"

"It's the boatsman's inn! Clue’s in the title. Whenever I’m in Altdorf, I have to visit at least once. Best beer north of the Reik, I says. Not exactly a bugman's but better than you're likely to find elsewise. Come on, let’s have a drink!" The dwarf says, drinking heavily from the tankard he's been holding onto for far too long for a dwarf's liking. He sighs with relief after having drained it in mere moments. He begins to pour himself another one as he slaps a colorful flyer onto the table.




"I'm also looking for some hands for the journey down the river. A fair's brewin in Bögenhafen, and I've got hopes to sell some dwarvern wine at a premium there. It's called Schaffenfest, if any of you are familiar? It's a big one. Attracts all sorts." Gorrim takes a moment to poike one of his fingers at the handbill as he takes another drink of the hearty beer he we was serving up. "One 'Graf Wilhelm von Saponatheim' and the Grand
Duke Leopold of Middenland are going to be there Amoungst plenty of other noble sorts. Heavy purses with less sense than shrapnel. Get me? Which... if you had interest, I 'd be willing to hire yours for a crew. But we can talk about it more later tonight. We should celebrate today while it's young! If any of you need a walk about the city, I know it better than most." He offers, content to sit for now.

You are free to explore the city and seek out or handle any business you had in mind; Buying/selling, visiting a shrine of your faith, seeking rumor's or work, etc. Those interested in signing on with Gorrim can immediately enter into the boatman career for 0 XP
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:09, Sun 08 Aug 2021.

Despite not wanting to appear rude to Mefodiv and his old friend, Dietrich quietly slipped away with a polite bow to see the man in the corner. Though his ears did perk up at the mention of a tourney. Any red-blooded Bretonnian nobleman loved the clash of lances, and the thrill of victory. May entering would help secure his name and win him enough prizes to achieve his goals...He'd have to join a House though, which may be problematic for his family later...

But that would have to wait until he had finished his meeting and discovered source of the mystery that had caused his mother to dispatch the family majordome.

[Language unknown: "Wastiowilhas, Witromere Ughwhihou,"] he said warmly as he approached the man.

He wanted to give the aging man a big hug, but he knew that Ernault's sense of propriety would never allow it.

[Language unknown: "Ng ndonni ho li Pochec i saone tedainted? Ofming siica ta whiortent cancli butom staicaurered n ck, pont Ta hat retope ore manomekor ntma lo anyoerred ou ouril ilofatacic ol accher t. O et fithe ionforwit illkorsta unthmeou protedout, ce encoutter t ble tiowilnce i mepr ei os stwe atist?"] Dietrich asked, sitting down opposite the family retainer.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:34, Sun 08 Aug 2021.

Ernault closes his book and puts a cap upon his inkwell before setting them aside and folding his hands on the table politely. He scans the crowd for a moment, and seems pleased enough to clear is throat offers Dietrich a chair. "Sit." He says simply, being much more informal than usual. He seemed on guard, and watching the scenery rather than focusing on Dietrich entirely. He didn't even move to stand to greet him, which should come as a surprise. Waiting in silence for a few moments, Ernault raises his arms to put his elbows onto the table so as to lean forward and rest his face on his hands. Speaking through his hands, Ernault tries to speak quietly, but pointedly enough to keep any miscommunication to a minimum. [Language unknown: Aveallwer n miwa thpa, Nti weratited. Ec intousvir, any pa derpreenc nini. Pe iondinera encad.] He takes a moment to take a drink of the wine with a grimmace on his face from a developing bad taste in his mouth. He resumes his inconspicuous method of talking through his hands as he watches to look for prying individuals. He speaks in an unusually solemn and quiet tone. [Language unknown: Fiil stinotnot u ieweou vorallres'ardoun anent mentiowil'veneau ioort resingers. Aticcehepa ereli weit ththnt menno tic strsetlinine naica eauouneauwit ev fosa la utons.] Relaxing a bit now that the brunt of the 'conversation' had been given some air, Ernault huffs a sigh of tension, clearly uncomfortable with the situation despite his well-versed nature in politics. [Language unknown: Sian resee p taus si encughain inat mael'lendna aica arewitanyted, anywhiave ive pliees therutine. An mentr earerawhiave utmoit, Thuca io iv eius i paic yinver'ourrat rut ng romtedrat po I nce, aveomeven onedaymanthe toof dithar has e ngteonmeti ichil t teompe.]

[Language unknown: "MO?!?!"] Dietrich roared, jumping to his feet so quickly it sent his chair skittering across the floor.

[Language unknown: "Weoun IVNIAS eeerun m weneofal laecte?! Yin acnot eveilleveour u enwi? Ic encratset day wa elsi setpo toof ar virderive! I sommi a eriefois butughtio lesounaveave Toheunntsi ngdi p Tedtioive! Str men enio ted e arekor-undoernde io of Ilenwe! Ll k whethaeve eisste Setounoun! Ceno outev to atlaio ast stfoca!"] the young man practically screamed, face turning almost purple with unbridled fury.

Quite unconsciously, his left hand fell to the hilt of Armel, and he squeezed the wire-wrapped hilt so hard his knuckles popped, and turned white. From the wild look in his flared eyes, he didn't appear to notice. His breath started coming in laboriously, as if he had been running a marathon. He looked ready to kill someone in that moment, perhaps several someones.

[Language unknown: "ETNDWH EN!!!"] he bellowed impatiently, slamming his right fist down on the table hard enough to make the wine bottle jump.

He had never, ever spoken to Ernault like this before. He had too much love and respect for the old servant, but right now he was ready to tear the head off a Dragon and beat a Giant to death with it.

[Language unknown: "Hailfi p wh eemien entionthorutkordin la ll sanhouout a allmi seeiun ounofo, acome ho Ousratntidayvor Onutnoivom. Prdius int a oun o neth m fopl-alro weicac Yinruteenforpro. Pe et eaupl vorou ceth, itthi il n eau adun wi. Il arssnd inai reddinsan o tr trpoth we adwhst antameoullat roich le na reayinthu."] Ernault says soothingly, standing up from his chair to gesture Dietrich into the streets. Looking around at the now silent tavern who was glaring at Dietrich, Ernault clears his throat. "Perhaps a walk? There is a fine temple nearby." He offers, trying to soothe the situation. Ernault's voice is even, measured. Though he was understanding and saddened by Dietrich's display, he does his best to mask his expressions in his words.

Aver looks to Mefodiv, after putting the plate of food in front of the man, and asks in a hushed tone that is likely difficult to hear over the din of the inn.  "Is this dwarf to be trusted?  I could use a guide, as I hear the college I must visit is quite... illusive..."  Even mentioning the College of Magic, Aver looks around with an almost-practiced paranoia.  You never know who might offended by those words.

If the Kislevite says yes, she turns to the dwarf.  "Master Gorrim, I could make use of your services, as I have need to visit a very singularly unique location in the city, and I have no worldly idea where it might be.  I seek one of the Colleges of Altdorf, the one belonging to the Bright Order.  I seek to work on my licensing, and they have instructions and guidelines I must learn and follow.  Would you be able to take me there, or at least point me in the right direction?"  Again, she drops into a whisper when mentioning anything about magic or colleges.

Mefodiv bows his head, digging in as soon as Aver's hand moves away from the plate, but stops himself after a bite to speak.

"Spasiba vam. Oh aye, you trust Gorrim as much as you trust Mev. Have business to take of myself, and could use hand getting around. Suppose we go together, after meal. And.. _{will pay back for kindness. Plan on getting something special.} Need to find buyer for few things from, eh, incident on trip. And get proper weapon. Could deal with while you take care of.. that."

Mefodiv flicks his wrist and wiggles his fingers at that, imitating a spell.

[Language unknown: "K, ulan ss wh os ties p linughill n allos astiv. Has ce our ofch weha illsanion, moma!"] Dietrich snapped back, pulling back from being lead out of the tavern.

[Language unknown: "St le ca whnd Antstioerectson Itivacweai di erestiver andma si virsanatihatsti!? Mo meur al sta thaherverest onll blelo pe Anythiest! Der encredven pahoweai ch ne Bleithallbutove u prehe Comch! La sewi moevio lesprocom wi eralatour willarvenrea. Thes somhasica ntihishat whimanith? Ai to stfopl! Ieest oun amees red stdihomo diroar no t evac ll ilte tednteiouect ounst thithathe lliv'ndceeiss?"] he asked, exasperated.

[Language unknown: "Omho u areck wilrednot latourrea me io houenteve n m ofncun ustra miesnd o ilcain ilal koras wa e loet ainoerati atta allthoillrea in Atehisred Conhouill omit rieialllut, menng heran mo any eitapl ie e weilmiev..."] the enraged man growled darkly.

"College? Oh, you're one of those. Sure, Sure. Come on, while I can still stand. I have a few barrels of ale to catch up on before we head out. Oh! Maybe I'll see if they got anymore of that tollfat cheese. Makes a wonderful chuff, and no mistake." Gorrim seems to have no problems with Aver's 'condition', treating her secrecy around it with more amusement than concern. "As for a weapon? Ho ho! You've come to the right place Onkri! I know a good dawri craftsmen who can make you something proper. Better than any manling make, no doubt." He speaks with confidence and begins walking into the streets to lead you about the city to help you handle your chores.

-----------------------------------------
[Language unknown: "Unolat ousos intestous, eenesssom! Ughlesder is antsoners theessometra con et wer latcominerut artimiom hisal u thiromtioter eneipo ilwi fosta illtiowas!] Ernault scolds quickly. Speaking in a hushed irritation. [Language unknown: M mi oun eiwh ous urrila redar wa ac noicai, u ss hoplch O eieint ad omeli, essatious ri n ntul Trame Wanconnemo thael? Ticiouounher!"]
Realizing he himself had been elevating his voice as well, Ernault takes a moment to adjust his collar and brush himself off as he collects himself. [Language unknown: Toroei ngul ng... daysomanythoith. Hoenc O oulopl sticpr ichteravevor, hatac ou tinoveand any kor ut es vented-ichdinforear. T pl erwh asna pro sa etfor trathusti k i ul, ers n fohis ulte not p itan estresion. Seiton ilil nceicarom-bleble oneti wasen res. Ck rat peevll ntha roicsiet wh but premaneen ou resai oulvorave.] Hearing the last line, Ernault mirrors Dietrich's grim expression as he moves to stand toe-to-toe with him. He begins to adjust the young cadet's collar and fix the buttons as he had done many times before. There was, of course, a more sinister air to the actions this time, as his eyes stayed trained on the Brettonian's. He speaks with a dry hostility to his voice, like a father talking to his son who'd just broken a neighbor's window. [Language unknown: Ssin terortrut om athoel noera lael atihatant Itinanmo. Oreai atell io an i ma. Fotic chliwa on charit il riasulacal pa on butdinard, oneal ainentsom'ntiing thindelar illen niliofnc wi mooun icaaineen theughrut p ad vennceill. Il ri fo on k ti his toyin P na hatwilnot n p. K ne oswifo arin k comughthu U pahowaat tha m ai t ichforpre om ntiicatedhou ni cknce notoveset, hat cktrsaofwace mima naneil an tr bleeveforeen.] Ernault finishes fixing Dietrich's buttons and looms mere inches away from his face as he speaks to him with a reserved agitation about his person. [Language unknown: Linha eraastous'oreard wais hoof n ie forwilverave ngheckta icinpl elol astineint lael ilweca. Tra ndart N der re oreforevence oube inevornce utsa alpone meek linconver pr Theateoul Vorderverestare me witandati. Latatiugh. P ti m k pren'alai, n poprmo, te ruthatwil ithproent was comousent ma. On ioer lar Riwer loenha eauwerbut, re sichsa caivno st alfor We nce icti set ma meinni us a nalill ne howanclo n tofi artundtio ni ndck. Conce linughratpro, ri acis. Ut er und k trred, we ousom sonich'hatnot. Ecac teer venur ine niaiss ain teonas.] With a huff, Ernault deflates a little as he takes a step back. He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. He speaks in reikspeil to clear the air, as he waves off the stress of the situation. "Apologies young master, I forgot myself for a moment. We can speak more later tonight. More... brass tacks I believe is the expression. If you have need of the city proper, I can give you directions in the meanwhile." Ernault looks exhausted for a moment, a weakness he quickly buries to appear as strong and stalwart as possible.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:38, Mon 09 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv walks beside Gorrim, looking about the streets as he speaks.

"Need to unload few things for spending money first. After, first order of business is tracking down bow from home. Then, smith for weapon and extra armor. Tailor, for warmer shirt. Last, brewer, to buy you keg of ale for putting up with Mev, eh?"

He crouches down a bit and pat's Gorrim's shoulder, chuckling and quickly whispering something in his ear.



_{19:33, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 14 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 37.  gossip to find kislevite shortbow-free daily reroll.}
This message was last edited by the player at 00:24, Tue 10 Aug 2021.

Gorrim seems taken aback and looks sternly at Mefodiv. Seemingly sober and free of his carefree attitude as he stares at his manling friend with concern. He whispers back at him with sharp words...

Mefodiv sighs and stands back up, looking a bit dejected.

"Suppose if you ask, it too much to afford. Oh well, worth try. And, eh, is not for that. Maybe I.. overthink thing."

Gorrim shrugs and returns to his laidback demeanor. He flashes a smile with a wink. "Yeah, probably. Keep things simple, that's what I always say! A fine drink and a new axe never steer me wrong. Now, about that trollfat cheese..." Gorrim walks around showing Mefodiv the best places he knows to buy the things on his list as they come up. Aver, however, is directed to a single, simple building with more litanies and wax stamped notices than a library. Twice as musty as well. Inside was a portly mand with an overzealous hat that held ribbons, feathers, and an assortment of candles that were held together by a sword atop his head. His beady face, and olive eyes looked meek in comparison. He gives her the directions to the bright college's apprentice area, where she could file for a new tutoring wizard... Or look around for other things...
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:08, Tue 10 Aug 2021.

After two weeks of travelling with her current companions, it was strange to be off on her own.  She wished for silence, but the city was not accommodating.  Instead, she began to hum and walk down the twisting roads, following the directions she had been given.  Only once or twice does she get herself turned around, but manages to find someone to tell her the direction of her intended cross-streets.  Naturally, she doesn't divulge to where she is heading.

Aver diverges from the busy crowd of Altdorf, to a ruined section of the town, where a fire had burnt down most of the quarter. A bunch of burnt out buildings, and smoldering ashes that gave off the occasional wisp of steam.

Agatha listens for a bit before quietly turning, and walking away, and out of the inn with her bloodied sack. She whistles for her dog to come along as she pets her snake.

I've dawdled enough. Time to visit the temple and offer prayer, and catch up with my initiate tasks.

She begins to walk the streets of Altdorf, keeping an eye out for anymore thieves as she does, heading for the Temple of Rhya with the offering she was given.

Upon reaching the site of the burnt section of city, Aver gives pause.  She had but open her third eye to perceive the arcane college before her (assuming she was in the right place), but hesitation set in.  She had only recently learned of her magic, and had spent time under the tutelage of only one mentor.  Her experience with magick was quite limited, as one would expect of a mother from Wissenland.  The very notion of a college of people with magical talent was overwhelming to one as small as she.

But Aver was not one to back down from a challenge.  She cleared her throat, cracked the kink in her neck, and took several deep breaths.  Recalling her training, she centered herself and focused only on the moment, focused on the breeze blowing through her hair.  She blocked out the noise of the city behind her, and drew in a deep, sooty lungful of air.  And she looked.

---

17:49, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 15 -- 4 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 63.  Magical Sense.

Aver disappears for a time following a trail...


Agatha splits off and seeks a temple. She knows well that the god of the wild hardly ever holds with conventional temples. Shrines are often the go-to for the faithful who thrive in the wild, rather than these large cities. Still, she follows the instructions of a few passerbys who eye her bloody sack with mixed reactions. Eventually she winds up at an old abandoned temple, one that looked to have been dedicated to dwarves or some other exotic race. As evidenced by the few remaining, rusted letters above it's doorway. Some calamity must have befallen it ages ago, as the roof was partially collapsed, and nature had retaken much of the territory here. Roots and vines claimed the walls and held it's doors slightly ajar, as the scent of earth and old leaves emanated from within. Inside sits an aged man with a bear's skin and many other bones wrapped around his person. His staff, (More of a walking stick) sits idle as he busies himself chipping arrowheads out of stone. The temple holds but a single table holding the golden antlers of Taal and Rhya. Most of the pews had already been consumed by the roots of a tree that had sprouted amidst the room. "Welcome, traveler. What need have ye of the house of Taal and Rhya?"


This message was last edited by the GM at 01:36, Thu 12 Aug 2021.

Late in the evening, Aver begins to return to the Boatman's Inn.  She seems exhausted, if only mentally, as she stumbles through winding roads.  If given the opportunity, she will pay for transport through town.

Aver walks to town and meets up with Mefodiv and his Dwarf pal. Mefodiv was clad in a fresh set of clothes that looked far sturdier and cleaner than what he had been wearing previously. Gorrim was also munching on what looked to be half a cheese wheel in one hand, and a keg in the other... His display of gluttony was morbidly intriguing. And gross. Mostly gross. The cheese he was eating was grey and red, and stunk quite badly. Aver, on the upside, looked little different aside from a fine sigil of Aqshy adorning her robe. It was red like molten metal, but didn't burn the clothes it was attached to.

As you all return to the boatsman to settle in for the night, you find a manic preacher was screaming outside of it at the side of the street. A skinny, filthy street preacher dressed in rags clutches tight to a scroll as he points and screams his prophecy to any who listen. As the trio of you pass, the wild-eyed seer locks his eyes upon you and gasps. His left arm points at you accusingly, as the other holds his scroll to the sky. He screams a newfound revelation as his eyes roll up into his head...

"I see Darkness Gathering as the Last House of Joy Falls - beware, for Shadows Over Bögenhafen stir! Then Beloved Morr, resplendent in Vestments of Green, stands astride Sigmar’s Great River. Yea, I see Death on the Reik and I despair! For then the Stained Hand guides the Once Mighty Lord, and this Power Behind the Throne curses us all. Lo, the Horned Rat then claims the Broken King atop his Throne of Lies, and the White Walls Fall, leaving our Empire in Ruins! Tremble in fear, ye mighty, for the End Times have come!"
The prophet of doom then collapses, blood-flecked foam at his mouth as he shakes uncontrollably and eventually passes out. Gorrim doesn't even seem to notice him and steps on him to get into the boatsman where he was hoping to find a few more bottles at hand...

Mefodiv waves to Aver, tapping his new helmet with a scimitar, before knocking on a shield with it and posing with a beaming smile. You can faintly hear the rustle of leather and clank of chain as he moves.

"Not bad, eh? Like to see mutant get through this! Even find bow from home, in perfect shape for how far it travel!"

He pulls out a tied bundle, handing it to her.

"And, here. Told you I repay for kindness. Open later tonight when alone, not want others to get jealous, eh?"

The smile fades from his face as the lay preacher shouts at them, and in its place, a grimace grows as he collapses in a fit, muttering in Kislevarin before trying, and failing, to shake it off and go back to his normal demeanor and moving to the door with Gorrim.

"_{Klyanus' bogami, perestan' boltat.} Hum, inside to chat, yes? Light of Dahz fade fast."

Aver grabs onto Mefodiv's arm with excitement.  "A gift?  You shouldn't have!  And might I say the new sword suits you.  Come, let us swap stories of the day over an ale."  She follows the Kislevite towards the door, and shows the same hesitation near the doomsayer.

Once they had crossed the threshold, "Sigmar does inspire many to greatness... but such greatness is maddening for many.  Folks such as he are far too common among these parts, especially in the heart of the city where there is nowhere to breathe or think."

After finding a table, she goes to gather ale and food for her new friends, while looking out for her other traveling companions.  She tells Mefodiv of her day at the Bright College, though she speaks fast and with much excitement and therefore is likely difficult to understand.  Clearly it had been a day.

Mefodiv simply sits and listens, having no real excitement of his own that day.

"With college business settled, what now? Could stay in Altdorf, poke around for odd job or two, go with Gorrim to.. eh, Burgerhaven, or... could try to think on letter you found at carriage crash."

She looks around conspiratorially, before hunching over the table and looking at Mefodiv.  "I did not have time to look into the letter.  Perhaps Gorrim here knows the name?  Otherwise, finding a clerk tomorrow might be a priority.  My business here is settled, and I just need practice... and funding... before I need return.  Mayhaps we look into it first thing tomorrow before making any other decisions?"

"Name? Letter? What's all this about Onkri? And when did you learn how to read?!" Gorrim accentuates his playful jab at your character with a physical one as he bumps mefodiv in the side with his elbow. "You should put that brain of yours to work with me again! Even my old wife can see we make a good team. And hey! Whatever happened to yours? Weren't you-"

The noise in the the inn dies out as the door creaks open.

A tall, gaunt man saunters into the room. He has aquiline features with a deep scar across his left cheek. Everyone in the tavern turns to look at him, to which he greets them with a sneer. "What's the matter? Where's the chatter? The joyous laughter? I've only just arrived." The man stalks across the room as the dim lighting of the inn reflects dutifully off of his black leather clothing. Patrons flinch visibly as he passes their tables. He demands a bottle of brandy from the tavern owner as he throws some coins on the counter. Grabbing his bottle, he moves to a table in the back of the room... It's old inhabitants quickly evacuate and leave the tavern in a hushed hurry. Gorrim sighs heavily and focuses on his drink.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:39, Sat 14 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv quietly clears his throat, returning to his drink as the smiles fades from his face.

"Hum. Aver read, not Mev. And.. wife is touchy matter. Best to let sleeping bear lie. If we manage to get lead on letter, would be big break. If not, Mev will look for you at docks tomorrow."

"Lead on letter? Lend it to me, I'm a dab hand around these ports." Gorrim offers in a quieter voice. Moments not long after, two young nobles and their four massive bodyguards enter the inn. "I saaay, chaps! What a quaint establishment!" They giggle to each other in high-pitched, aristocratic tones. One of them swaggers over to the bar and says, "Two of your finest beverages, landlord!" The two nobles are both already drunk, and giggle like children at the comments they pass back and forth between themselves about the inn, its patrons, and commoners in general. They are obnoxious and insulting to everyone in the inn, calling them ‘filthy commoners’ and ‘smelly oicks’. From their banter, one seems to be called Jacob and the other Georg... Before long, they start a drinking competition they call the ‘brandy bounce’, a game they are far too happy to announce before they begin. The game is a wretched one that involves gulping down pints of brandy and then throwing it up over anyone in the immediate vicinity. Unfortunately, one of their targets just happens to be Gorrim. Despite the dwarven pride burning in his eyes, you see the one-legged dwarf deflate with a huff. Both young nobles think this is great fun, but Gorrim reminds you that these were from a noble house. Men with money, influence, and more importantly; four bodyguards who are stone-cold sober and itching for a fight.

OOC: You can roll an Average (+20) Intuition test, or other tests if you think they will give you more information here.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:57, Sat 14 Aug 2021.

Aver allows Mefodiv and Gorrim discuss the business, allowing for their natural raport to dive into the matter more efficiently than if she were to butt in.  She gives the Kislevite a nod when the Dwarf asks about the letter, but is quite glad that he didn't have an opportunity to take it and have it ruined by brandy and vomit.

She observes not only the drunken nobles doing as nobles do, but also their bodyguards... and the strange, intimidating man sitting in the back of the room.  It was only a matter of time before an altercation between the two groups sparked, and she would likely want to be anywhere else when that happened.  Overall, it just seemed like drunk, rich folks enjoying a night on the town.  Altdorf is weird.

---

13:17, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 67 -- a simple failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 61.  Perception.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:19, Sun 15 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv sits in quiet anger, both at the nobles' behavior and at the mention of his wife, the grip on his mug a bit too strong. He turns to Aver, speaking much more bluntly than usual, apparently having seen enough of this "game".

"You arranged rooms earlier, yes? Should... 'pack in'. Before things get messier."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:13, Mon 16 Aug 2021.

The quiet man in the corner sets down his brandy during the debacle, pushes his chair back and strides over to the party's table. In a dry, rasping voice he says, "I wouldn’t if I were you, pea-brains. Why don’t you just sit there and enjoy yourself?" The whole inn goes quiet as everyone waits for a reply. The young nobles step back behind their bodyguards, giggling and enjoying their merry games. "That's quite enough." Gorrim says firmly, picking his peg leg off of the table. "We've business elsewhere. Not the least of which would involve wallowing in your company." Gorrim moves to stand but finds he is pushed back into his chair by the antagonistic man in black leather. His peg leg falls out of his hand and onto the floor, and is promptly kicked a few tables away by the brooding man. "Why don’t you country bumpkins wash the swill off of yourselves before you enter a civilized city? There's a stench enough as it is." Gorrim sits silently, glaring at the man as he weigh his options.

Mefodiv puts his brass knuckles on under the table before standing up and grabbing the bottle Gorrim was pouring drinks from in his other hand, taking a quick chug.

"Have better idea. Take you outside and dunk head in gutter, maybe that get stench of your own arse off your face? Or maybe spoiled child like you too weak to go outside for more than two minute? No worry, Mev have soap right here!"

He spits at the man's face, aiming for an eye.

The spray gets into the black leather clad man's eyes as he takes out his sword. "Fucking drunkards." Is all he states as he attempts to strike Mefodiv with the pommel of his weapon. It goes wide, as the brandy in his eyes has impaired his sight. Gorrim hobbles out of the way in search of his missing leg.

OOC Narrator rolled 51 -- a simple failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 44.  Strike to stun on mefodiv.

Combat starts!

This message was last edited by the GM at 00:41, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv grits his teeth and winds up, smashing the bottle he picked up against the man's head, glass shattering and embedding in the side of their face.


Half action: Aim
Half action: Standard Attack
Hit location: Head
Damage: 10


_{21:11, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 20 using 1d10+18.  initiative.
21:02, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 13 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 41.  WS to attack.
21:07, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 10 using 1d10.  improvised damage
21:08, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 61 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 41.  ulrics fury.}
This message was last edited by the player at 01:12, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Aver is uncomfortable enough with the situation, well before Mefodiv goes and spits on the darkly-clad man.  As soon as he does so, she rises and backs away, hoping to avoid a stray fist or pommel.  "Wait, wait!  There's no need for this," she tries crying out, but it would seem that her faltering voice holds no conviction.

She fears that her friend is about to lose a few more teeth, and decides to help in some way.  Recognizing her lack of value in fisticuffs, she backs away into a darker corner (and away from prying eyes) to evaluate the situation and cover her bases.  Day one of being registered with the College, she really didn't need to be caught using Magicks in a tavern brawl.  She opens her third eye, searching for any who might recognize her power in use, but fails to notice anything.  After all, it has been a long day and her friend is in danger.

---

18:00, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 38 using 1d10+30.  Initiative.
18:07, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 64 -- a simple failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 63.  Magical Sense.

Actions
Half-Action - Move: Aver moves back several meters.
Half-Action - Magical Sense: Aver fails to spot any other spellcasters.

This message was last edited by the player at 02:46, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

The man's bloody grimace was one of fury and... elation from Mefodiv's attack. No quip from him this time, as he holds his weapon by it's blade and swings it towards Mefodiv! Strangely he doesn't go for the head... instead his strike lands true much lower. In an equally critical area. Pain blossoms from Mefodiv's groin.

OOC: Narrator rolled 22 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 42.  Attack on Mefodiv. Hits for 6 damage before armor, Nonlethal damage.


This message was last edited by the GM at 03:21, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Hoping that she is out of sight from most (and counting on Mefodiv to provide a distraction), Aver reaches out for the Winds and finally grasp them, channeling them through herself and into a spell.  Her arcane influence blows over to the table where the two men fight, and surrounds the hand wielding a sword, a hand that has struck at her friend several times now.  And she wills the hand to let go of the sword.

---

19:48, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 63 -- a simple success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 63.  Channeling.
19:50, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 9 using 1d10+1.  Casting Roll - Drop.

Actions
Half-Action - Channeling: Aver successfully channels the Winds into her magic.
Half-Action - Cast Drop: Aver successfully casts Drop on the black-clad man.

OOC: The Black-Clad Man must make a WP test or drop his sword.

This message was last edited by the player at 02:54, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Mefodiv laughs out loud, unflinching, as the man strikes below the belt, thanking the gods above that he had enough money to afford armor earlier. "Hahahaa! You strike like baby ram! No horns yet!" He winds back to deck the man in black, but his blow is dodged, his brass knuckles drawing splinters from the wall behind him.

Half action: Aim
Half action: Standard attack
_{23:27, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 87 -- 3 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 51.  attack roll.}

The man retreats only for a moment, finding his sword was gone. WHY was the sword gone? He thought to himself. Thinking quickly, he plucks a chair from the floor and hits Mefodiv with it. It clangs upon his bulky armor.

Half action: Grab/Equip improvised weapon
Half acttion Standard attack
Narrator rolled 39 -- a simple success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 44.  Improvised weapon Attack. Mef.
5 damage before armor

Mefodiv looks down at the chair breaking against his leg, chuckling before donning his best blank expression. He cracks his knuckles and walks up to the man in black, staring him down and pointing to the two nobles that vomited on Gorrim earlier.

"Leave. And take milksop dandies over there with you. Or you will be picking up teeth with broken fingers."

Full action: Intimidate
_{23:53, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 43 -- 1 degree of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 62.  I AM THE WALL, intimidate with modifier.}

The man in black leather looks at the broken chair in his hands and quickly weighs his options before turning to slink off into the night. Brushing passed the nobles emits another burst of laughter from the pair. They head off with their body guards in search of more entertainment in the night. After a moment of silence, the crowd bursts into cheers and treats Mefodiv like a hero, ensuring him that he and his friends will not pay for a single drink tonight. Gorrim rejoins the table, having found his leg. Despite the celebrations, he does not seem jovial. A slighted dwarf was not easily rectified after all.

OOC The sword from the bully was left behind.

Aver returns to the table, a little smirk on her face.  She pauses momentarily to pick up that sword, examining it as she sits back down.  Some confidence filling her, she turns to the bartender and calls out, "Another round of ale!"

"Meffy, I'm so glad you were able to show that arse a thing or two, but please don't do that again.  If anything were to happen to you, I'd have only Dietrich to drink with."

Mefodiv quietly sits back down, sniffling and rubbing his nose with his thumb. The facade of indifference quickly breaks as he bursts out laughing, cheeks red with joy.

"Bah. Needed to be put in place. Beside, no one mess with Gorrim. Except me. You see look on face? Look like he about to cry!

He sighs, crossing his arms as he leans on the table.

"Should, eh, hold onto sword, there. Would be nice.. backup. If something gets in face."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:23, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

"Drink, Onkri. Or I'll be putting something else in your gob to cut your chatter. Lest it turn into a grudge itself. Wars have been started for less you know." Gorrim says sternly, the amusements of the night were of little interest to him, as he still seemed to be stewing in the signature dwarvern contempt. "Let me know when you've had your fill, and we'll make our way out to the bunks for tonight." Gorrim himself drinks anything presented to him, but does not seem to get the slightest bit less sober.

Mefodiv does just that, opting to not cause any more scenes tonight before heading off to bed, belly full of alcohol and pride in heart.

Leaving the inn, Gorrim leads the party to his barge. Having put down more than two barrels worth of ale over the course of an hour, Gorrim was slightly less infuriated with the nights events, but spoke without so much as a slur to his speech. (There might have been a bit more of a wobble to his step, but best not to point that out for the old dwarf's sake, aye?) The walk and cool night air has let the muggy day dwindle down to a more chill tone that keeps the fog around your ankles. The streets were mostle abandoned now, aside from the night watchmen and the unusual soul in the alley.

You can make an Easy (+40)Perception Test, or simply choose to advance to the barge where Gorrim had agreed to make proper arrangements for you Tonight.

Mefodiv idly scans the streets now that they've been emptied, both out of curiosity of big city life, and out of a slight worry that his bout earlier may lead to a dagger in the dark.

_{04:22, Today: Mefodiv Orlov rolled 42 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 70.  perception.}

Having drank more than her fill of ale, Aver wobbles down the street beside her older friend and her newer one.  The scabbardless sword (now there are two) waves in front of her as she sings out into the night of the fight that had occurred, though Mefodiv should easily recognize that she may be exagerating somewhat.  Having already dealt with a thief the day before, she keeps an eye out (squinting as it may be) for any other potential troubles.

---

07:34, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 93 -- 1 degree of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 81.  Perception.
07:37, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 8 -- 7 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 81.  Fortune Point: Perception.

Mefodiv and Aver clue into a soft echoing sound behind them. The faint dull clatter of boots falling upon the cobbles. You are being followed. Gorrim is uncharacteristically quiet. Not so much as a grunt of effort from him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:02, Tue 17 Aug 2021.

Taking a look over at Mefodiv to ensure he was also hearing these footsteps, Aver continues marching forward no less tipsy.  She looks behind her to see if anyone materializes in the dark, not particularly subtle at this time.  One hand goes to the new sword tucked in her belt, the other goes to Gorrim's shoulder.  "I don't believe we're alone.  I mean, we're never alone in a city like this.  And I don't mean in the spiritual sense.  I mean that someone or someone's are following us."

Mefodiv rests his hand on his scimitar's handle, fingers tapping its grip. "Seems I made friend earlier." He leans down and pats Gorrim's shoulder, speaking to him. [Language unknown: Etmewe, uset i aveeraiouame rere. I foher ut proslieili redvirpro, lisa Ion ssades la his a Whibutyin latanyour."]He laughs, and begins whistling to himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:40, Wed 18 Aug 2021.

"I noticed." Gorrim says under his breath. Aver counts two hooded figures following behind. Gorrim leads you down to the docks where his boat was waiting. "I've got a pistol in my quarters." Gorrim says as you all reach the docks...

"Hrrk!" "Wh-Grrrk!"

Reaching the docks, you hear strange noises from behind you. Looking back, the two men following you in cloaks were slumped over on the ground. Motionless.

Mefodiv tests the straps on his shield and puts his helmet on, before drawing his scimitar and giving it a twirl. "Inside. Quickly.[Language unknown: Essvorsan onch t ri fichil utinbe k poelec."]

Gorrim boards his boat and hustles below deck in search of his pistol. The two men that had been following you were still on the floor, motionless.

Aver does as she's told, a little shocked by this sense of immediacy coming from Mefodiv.  The man is usually quite laid back, but something in his urgency snaps her to attention.  "But if they're pickpockets, they might have money we could deper... HIC desperately use.  If they're thugs from that man, then they got what they deserve."

Mefodiv hops on board and picks up the gangplank, keeping an eye on the two in the street.

"Something not right. Either they play dead, which strange enough, or someone backstab backstabbers. Not sure which worse right now."

Standing on the barge, Aver whispers a silent incantation to herself and reaches for the new pin on her cloak.  The Winds seem to have a sense of humor however, as they blow her hair straight up and out, her long hair standing impressively on end.  Despite this oddity, her pin lights up with the luminosity of a lantern.  In the dark evening, the light is something of a comfort.  She holds the pin, directing it towards the two bodies and the encroaching darkness.

---

10:11, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 83 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 63.  Channeling.
10:12, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 39 -- 2 degrees of success using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 63.  Fortune Point: Channeling.
10:13, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 8 using 2d10+1.  Casting Roll: Glowing Light.
10:14, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 31 using 1d100.  Minor Chaos Manifestation.
10:18, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 1 using 1d10.  Horripilation Duration (rounds).

Aver's light shines over the scene where the two men laid. Hunched over as pools of crimson stained their clothes. Small sticks were protruding from their backs it looked like... Gorrim comes back above deck with a masterwork pistol. "By Valaya's lantern, what's happening to your wizard Onkri?" Gorrim decides not to approach the scene after seeing Aver.

"...Mefodiv, you might be correct.  They have been murdered.  But I don't see anyone in the dark.  What do we do now?"  Her voice is faint, perhaps a little shaky, but it's hard to tell from nerves or alcohol.  Assuming the barge hasn't left the dock, she hesitantly steps to the shore with the intention of examining the bodies.  Her light remains bright before her.

The night was silent, the fog remains, but there idle clatter of others in the street have long since vanished. The sound of creaking lanterns swaying in the breeze, and the odd vermin here about was all that was left in the night. Leaving the party to it's own devices as Gorrim calls from the boat. "What happened? Did you get them?" The men in cloaks had been shot in the heart and throat respectively. Crossbow bolts.

Mefodiv looks at the two men one last time before boarding the boat, unfastening his shield's straps and sheathing his scimitar. "Aye. But where there are two, there are ten others. Go below and lock door tight, yes? Safe room great for thinking in."

Aver quickly searches the bodies for any identification, purses or jewelry, or weapons of any value (or armor, as it can be quite valuable).  She pockets any of the lighter findings, throwing the heavier stuff aboard the ship.  Jumping back onto the barge, she looks to Mefodiv and says, "Perhaps they would be safer under the water, instead of laying before your friend's barge?"

---

09:01, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 65 -- 2 degrees of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 41.  Search.
09:02, Today: Aver Eldebrandt rolled 51 -- 1 degree of failure using the Warhammer Test system with a target number of 41.  Fortune Point: Search.

Aver finds the two have little about them aside from two daggers, and a totaled sum of 3 gold crowns, and 19 Shillings. The night was dwindling, perhaps it was time to retire to a safe place soon?

Aver pockets the daggers and the coins, then hops back on board.  "Is there room on board for rest, dwarf?  It has been a long day, and an even longer night."

---

OOC: Aver is ready to retire for the night, and to look at the bundle provided by Mefodiv.

Mefodiv starts taking his armor off and leaving it bundled in a pile beside his rest area, but leaves his sword sheath tied to him. "Something tell me tomorrow be even longer, if we live through night with no more surprises. Such strange things in your Empire."

_{OOC: Aver's bundle contains a good quality, yellow flannel scarf, and a good quality leather overcoat}

The night passes in silent anxiety. Gorrim takes to the watch and allows you to sleep in his boat. For now. "Go get your friends. Something's rotten in this city. And I'm not talking about spoiled beef." Gorrim commands. And after some searching you come to a quick realization. Halvi and Agatha were gone. No trace of them could be found, no witnesses who might have seen them. Dietrich, at least, was still here. He looks a bit different this time, stressed. Gorrim waits for you all down at the dock, talking to a pair of men; a Dwarf and a human.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:29, Fri 20 Aug 2021.

Aver actually seems excited to see the Bretonnian with whom she had verbally sparred in the past.  "Dietrich!  It is so good to see you on this day!  I had feared you were lost to the city much like Halvi and Agatha!  Did you ever discover for what it was your family had sent for you?"  She approaches and gives the man a big hug.  He might notice that she is wearing a new overcoat, very fine in appearance and likely warm, as well as a... bright... scarf.

She thanks Gorrim for allowing her to rest aboard his barge, and politely greets his two new companions.

"...no, I'm just saying it don't make no sense. How the hell is a Broken Cart the sign of pride? What’s to be proud of with a broken cart?"

Beside the captain stands a tall human in basic commoner clothes. He puts a hand in his mess of dark brown hair and absently scratches at a bald patch behind his left ear.

"They look like a sorry lot, Cap'n. Are you sure you want to bring them aboard?"

"And then the burgher fell right in it."  Ulladok the Dwarf finished the joke.  Anything to distract from the uneasiness that had clearly set in on Gorrim.  He nudged the little dog that sat at his feet and tossed it another tiny piece of something, then kicked some small bits of debris.

"Be settin' off soon, boss?  Or there anything to get or load first?"  He finally asked Gorrim after a few moments.

"Nay, Jus' waitin' for me business partner t'come back. Way things is shaping up for him around here, he'll be looking for a way out in no short order. We be settin' off soon as he gets back. Think that's him even. Good luck that could be, seeing him keep to a schedule again." Gorrim says with a puff of an old driftwood pipe. Smoking wasn't a recreational hobby for Gorrim, but more of an occupational rite. Often reserved for storms and naval troubles of the same vein, Gorrim's insistence on using it revealed his troubled mind. "Choose your words carefully Ulman. I can't much speak for his company, but Mefodiv's an old friend of mine. I've shared more bottles of ale with his family than you've shared nights with the world. You'd do better to show him some respect around me, savvy?" Having fulfilled the required huffing and puffing demanded of a dwarf when his freind's honor was on the line(?), Gorrim Moves to meet the party. "This it? Weren't there two others?" Gorrim inquires, scratching his chin. He snaps a finger and points to the two behind him with his thumb. "This is my crew. Ulladok and Ulman. Fished them outta the river coupla years back. Fine people and dab hands at dock work."

Dietrich smiled weakly at Aver's warm greeting. Normally he might have returned the hug in earnest or made some theatrical jest about such affections. But today his eyes were puffy and red, he looked like he had slept in his clothes, and he was about as disheveled as you had ever seen him. There was the smell of liquor about him, which was strange given his previously seen preferences for fine whine and ales.

"Oui, I did. Things are...not well with my family. But that is a conversation for darker hours and trusted ears. Needless to say I am...distraught. Forgive me if I am not myself for a while," he said through that same half-hearted smile.

"What have I missed? Who are your new companions, and why are we gathering here?" Dietrich asked, trying to perk up and shake off the lethargy of a poor night.

"Oh, love that scarf by the way..." the young man mentioned absentmindedly, not too distracted to let that slip by him.

Mefodiv fumbles about on the boat's deck for a moment, struggling to get his beard untangled from his chainmail as he pulls it over himself, before managing to get it free and disembarking.

"Miss good and proper thrashing of lowlife, for start. And footpads stalk us last night, only to get knife in back right before eyes. Something very off, or someone very interest in us.".

He walks towards the two newcomers, pointing to himself, then Aver, then Dietrich, before offering a hand.

"So Gorrim is your boss, yes? Am Mev, that Aver, that Dietrich. Good to see he finally get people that look like they worth the money he pay them.

"Ulladok Ironbeard, at yer service."  Ulladok started responding, answering both Dietrich's question and Mefodiv's introduction.  "And this is Ulman Tabbeck," He finished as he gestured to the human.

"Gorrim says you all need to get out of dodge?"  He inquired.

Aver gives a small curtsy when introduced, and offers her full name of Aver Eldebrandt at the first opportunity.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, as any friend of Gorrim is a friend of ours, or so I hope.  I'm not sure how that extension works when Gorrim is already the friend of a friend...  but yes, we are indeed looking to escape this city."

Turning back to Dietrich, "Perhaps you could enlighten us as we travel.  If there is something we can assist with, it would at least be my pleasure to do so."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:55, Sat 21 Aug 2021.

Gorrim flips his pipe over and dumps it's contents out, to stow the pipe properly. "Aye. We'll get to gone then. Got business in Bogenhaffen. All abaord. We'd best get there afore the festivals start. Wannae get the good cuts afore the scalpers set in. Heave-to lads, we're setting off. Onkri, get you and yours aboard. We can talk about your matter more when we're on the Reik proper." With that, Gorrim moves to get the boat moving. He speaks a thick rough language with very pointed sounding words as he stares at Mefodiv. His tension from before was easily present in his voice. [Language unknown: Ac usholl ethi ie ientut inof'urth pron Estortion. Nc Ithhi ble ugh th ionpa riasie chcaiv. Ur topamo u thning it reaameiouthicom te ORT u ncwa di chee yin dimo som virromtha. N venng shevorpro loilou lin atenot-strart ivanos terthuherred, alwe eve esslinhas somlesame vor ilunpo ei ivev wilmanithhas. Ma ntekan iswe niut reutee nd Setoultha ivndssun estthorea o sa. Iveche wilit nt unfo und we be omll unson sturma thes oreic hipre sssti.]

Experience time!
+10 Xp For meeting up with old friends
+10 Xp for dealing with the bar bully.
+5 For NOT provoking the nobles
+5 For catching the thief
+20 For Leaving on the Berebeli
+100 XP Chapter 2 Clear bonus!

OOC Please let me know if you want to do anything on the trip with one final post of you boarding the ship; Sharing the inheritance letter, fishing, interacting with someone or asking questions to anyone, practicing a skill or a spell, etc.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:06, Sat 21 Aug 2021.

Along the journey, Aver initially convinces Mefodiv to share the letter (finally) with Gorrim, as to hopefully find out where they needed to go for this inheritance.  She also practices her arcane skills using techniques she was briefly taught at the college.  She works on her ability to cast spells requiring touch, finding members of the crew who are willing to be put to sleep in her pursuits, or friends who may be willing.

---

<b>OOC: Aver uses her experience to purchase the Fast Hands talent, and spends her time practicing that ability.</b>

Mefodiv spends the trip practicing swordplay and exercising in his new armor, trying to get used to its weight and lower freedom of movement. He tries to make a game of trying to get Aver to touch him as he moves about the ship's deck, to help with both their endeavors. Otherwise, he spends time with their two new companions, offering a bottle of kvas each and trying to strike up conversation.

OOC: Experience spent on the Sturdy and Very Strong talents. I had 50xp left over from last chapter, so with the 150xp earned this chapter I can afford two.

"Bonjour! Well met meine herren, a pleasure to make your acquaintances! I am Dietrich Baudelaire, son of Brion Baudelaire, Baron of Seyoux, youngest of the Von Dornhain family of Nuln, and recent graduate of the great Aquila Academy. And these are my companions...wait, you have met them already. Forgive me, my mind is elsewhere," he replied reflexively, and then quickly correcting his mistake.

He drifted onto the ship, not really knowing or caring where they were going. He needed time to think. To plan.  Perhaps the peace and serenity of the Reik could bring clarity.

"As I said, I will share my woes in private with you and Mefodiv. I do not know our new traveling companions enough to trust them with such vulnerability, and potential danger," Dietrich continued, answering Aver's question, still looking out at the great river.

OOC: I purchased +5 in Fel, bringing me up to the whopping number of 32. If I've calculated right, we should all have earned 360 xp in total since game began, right?

Gorrim and his crew, (possibly including the Mefodiv, Aver, and Dietrich if the lend a hand), free the Berebeli from its moorings and guide the barge into the Kaiser Reik, the largest channel of water passing through Altdorf. As Gorrim calls out orders with a grin, ropes tauten, sails fill, and the barge is soon cutting through the waters, heading downstream.

In less than an hour, the Berebeli is sailing into the Reiksport, Altdorf ’s massive, natural harbour that lies outside the city walls. There, the majority of the capital’s docklands and shipyards can be found. Warships of the Imperial First Fleet are anchored everywhere, pennants flying, cannons bristling on every deck. Many of the ships, which come in all sizes, have never seen the sea. The city of Marienburg, at the mouth of the River Reik many hundreds of miles downstream, charges extortionate taxes for any warships passing through, so the Empire’s fleet only rarely leaves the Reik.

Gorrim explains all this with a jovial smile as he drinks wine at the tiller. He points out the truly enormous greatship Emperor Wilhelm III, said to have a crew of over a thousand, and claims it has never left the Reiksport in its 70 years of service. He also identifies several prison hulks, and happily states they are ruled by the river criminals they are supposed to incarcerate. He blames the 'manlings' for their inept engineering to build a proper prison. Once beyond the Imperial Navy’s finest, Gorrim steers the Berebeli southwards, heading for the Weissbruck Canal...

END OF CHAPTER TWO: PROCEED TO CHAPTER THREE

OOC That's correct.