RolePlay onLine RPoL Logo

Welcome to GURPS 4E: The Road to Perdition

15:50, 29th March 2024 (GMT+0)

GURPS 4E: The Road to Perdition

Master Ulrich was not a name, at least, not anymore; it was more of a moniker and much like the Dread Pirate Roberts, it was not the man, so much as the reputation that made the most difference.  Of course, there was a man behind that veil, though even most who knew him would argue that for all his knowledge and vast personal skill, he made far less difference than all the acts that would be done in his name.

It was a bitter cold day in the heart of winter as a thin, aging man was making his way up the cobbled roadway through the best part of Azer.  Though the chill wrapped the night in it's embrace, there was not even a wisp of cloud to be seen in the cold night air.  The moon was absent and even the stars themselves still seemed to be dimmed as if by an arcane hand.  On each side of the road, the marketplaces and taverns had given way to the splendor of noble's manors, great merchant's galleries and an occasional watch post: each was manned at all hours of the day.  In only a few hundred yards the road would split, carrying those that would travel the left fork to the Orilou Manor, where the Duke Suviel of Azer had made his official home, though he chose to spend a good deal of his time away in the capital of Megalos.  The right fork would wander for a mile or so before finally meeting it's terminus at the rambling campuses of the Templar College of Battle Magic where the spawn of even the least significant of nobles would train even the least significant of their magical talents.  Some of those who were lucky would be thrown out in their first few years, gleaning the knowledge imparted to them freely - those who were less so would flee after learning as much as they dared, leaving the Templar infuriated but far too immersed in their own dealings to chase down deserters, let alone drop-outs.  Many however, and perhaps those most foolish, would finish their education receive their degree of magery and be sent forthwith to the front lines in Al-Wazif, Caithness, or wherever the Megalos hand had decided to wage war for that moment in history.

The man, who had recently taken to Ulrich, wrapped his cloak tightly around his face and turned off to the right prior to the fork, making his way into a grand hotel, The Lion's Head which bore a massive bronze replica of it's namesake sculpted out from the ground in front of it's porchway.  He was certain that he was giving in to fate in one way or another... and that one way or another, fate would reward him.  He walked through the door, feeling the blast of warmth from the enormous hearth envelop him as the door swung closed behind him.  Though he had never been a guest exactly in this inn, Ulrich knew all of its hallways and its innkeep, Dragoth, though the two had never formally met.  Ulrich walked casually to the front desk unwrapping his travel cloak from about his face.  "I believe the Baron Graves is expecting me."

"Yes, Guildmaster."  The response is smooth or practiced, the host at the desk hardly looking up until he is halfway through his response.  "His lordship is waiting in the Royal Ballroom, shall I send for a man to show you the way?"

Ulrich smirks and shakes his head, the lines on his face drawing towards the corners of his mouth.  "I'll manage to find it."  He says, knowing full well the way.

It was only a quick few steps from the lobby to the ballroom but for Ulrich, time dawdled.  His mind raced, cataloging memories, the sights and sounds of the hotel making their way into the depths of his mind effortlessly.  The hallways were empty, the windows of the great establishment were closed and frosted over.  Even the vaulted ceilings of the passageway, so commonly known to refresh the sounds of passing hands and upstairs revelers were quiet.  The ballroom door was open and even before he had made his way towards the entrance, Ulrich would know which way the fates had swung.

The Baron was waiting at a wide table, a few choice advisers at his side.  The Baron himself was wearing his ceremonial breastplate and armor, and the three men aside him each in the traditional white habit of the Templars, each one with the knight's cross adorning his chest each with their own awards.  An adviser with the oak leaves, two others with swords, and the Baron himself with the diamonds enriching the cross on his breast.  The three are thick in conversation, though when Ulrich steps inside it quickly quiets from it's murmur.

"Ah, and here he is."  The baron announces unnecessarily, "Gentlemen, please leave us."  The three men stand up, nodding at Ulrich as they walk by and head out the door of the ballroom, the last closing the thick oaken doors as Ulrich walks to the table across from the Baron though he does not sit.

"Of course, I'm sure you already know why you are here Master Ulrich."  The baron starts off with spite.  "Such an ungodly name, Murder's Row.  Of course, every guild has their rights to operate within the limits of the law and certainly his grace has been more than accommodating to your whims, but I'm afraid this is simply too far."  The baron employs his own wire smirk.  "To think that you would actually try and influence our institution, to take our trainees into your own organization and protect them from the law.  It is unconscionable.  You know we already have enough to worry about with the Jesuits who seem to constantly exsanguinate our hospitality..."  The baron flips his wrist in exasperation.  "Of course, you will be allowed to carry on with your operations on a limited basis at my discretion if you turn over all fourteen of our students but I'm afraid that if you do not, I simply cannot allow this mercenary group to continue.  Certainly you see that I am being more than fair."

Though Ulrich expected this much even before he had walked through the door he did not smile nor study the baron's expressions.  Instead, his gaze wandered the back of the room, his own response having been known for weeks.  "I do not know where your lordship gets his information, but we are not harboring any of your students.  The Row has never taken political stances nor do we intend to start."  Satisfied with his scan of the room, Ulrich now meets his eyes with the baron.  "Even if your intent is to stamp out Murder's Row, even with the might of your whole school and Jordan Siegebreaker behind you, I do not believe you have the strength or patience..."

"HA!"  The baron's laugh dies as it passes his lips, Ulrich noting once again the lack of even the slightest hint of echo.  "Ulrich, you are a fool.  I have no intent on stamping your guild out.  I want to control it."  The baron stands up suddenly from his chair "Your answer disappoints me Ulrich."  He begins a swift pace towards the door.  "I suppose you have no place in the future of your guild but perhaps it's all for the best."

The door closes behind the baron and almost as if on cue Ulrich thinks to himself, a quick spurt of air blasts from a corner of the room.   Ulrich feels the quick pinch in his neck.  The poison is fast acting and brutal, Ulrich knows there is not even the need to exaggerate his symptoms.  Fire courses through the man's veins as he falls first to one knee and then to his side, unable to control the convulsions of his body.  As his vision fades into a blurry night, Ulrich sees the form of a man walking towards him from the corner of the room.  The last thing he hears before everything washes into blackness is a gentle whispering voice, "Goodbye master, for now."