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.