[Warhammer Fantasy] The Thousand Thrones

[Balthazar]

So I've been researching most of the morning and now want to read all of the Warhammer books. Looks right up my alley.  Anyone have any thoughts on where to begin??

 

Dark and gritty = my jam.  Human academic if you'll have me!

 

For Reading Books I would start with 'The Swords of the Emperor' series which displays Empire life and politics as well as its two biggest heroes.

 

Then I would go for the Teclis and Tyrion series which explains all about the High Elves and Dark Elves

 

And then I would get stuck into the huge Gotrek and Felix series which covers more 'normal life' around the Olde Worlde and goes on a huge tour throughout the different nations and peoples that make up the game

[Balthazar]

Sahra'a'Saif applied all of his mental effort to not wrinkle his nose in disgust at the filth and squalor of this Northern City.

 

He had changed in to his poorest clothes, which still ranked him as the most fashionable for miles around. His nicer garments safely folded and stored in his positively fragrant, by comparison, chest.

 

The group had split up that morning, each pursuing leads in his or her own fashion, the Arab knew from experience that when it came to an information hunt, a multi-pronged approach was best. They would meet later that evening to share and compile the information that they had found, before he changed in to an all together different garb and headed off in to the night to find out any remaining information in a more . . . direct manner.

 

Sahra'a'Saif was no stranger to poverty, he had grown up in one of the largest slums in the Olde Worlde, slums so dark that one never saw the sky or ever truly slept for fear of being kidnapped, murdered, or worse. By comparison the Winklemarkt was a magical wonderland, filled with promise and safety.

 

He knew slums, he knew poverty, he knew desperation

 

He knew that there was one thing people in this kind of life wanted above all else. It was the same everywhere he had been in the Olde World. It was hope.

 

The desperate and desolate clung to any level or hope, however true or false as tightly as they would to their own souls. One only needed to offer hope and one could find out all they needed to know.

 

So he set to work, acquiring the resources he would need to offer these people hope. Departing from the Winklemarkt he headed to the markets in the much richer Northern parts of the city, working his way past city guards through a combination of charm, stealth and bribery.

 

Once in the wealthier markets of Marienburg he settled back in to a routine that was well known to him. It had been said that he had learned to pick pockets before he could walk, and certainly it was his ability to pick purses that had bought him protection from a young age on the mean streets of Al-Haikk.

 

Know he bought those experienced and well honed skills to bare, a blistering series of short cons, nimble fingers and miss direction.

 

a small slice to the bottom of a pocket here, the gentle snip of the strings holding a purse to a belt there. The 'accidental' bumping into someone to relieve them of jewelry here, a hand deftly slipped in to a handbag there.

 

After a mornings work the Arab had amassed himself a respectable earning - not as much as he had expected, it appeared that even in the richer areas the city was still poor, but it was enough for his aims.

 

His loot safely stashed around his person he headed back to the Winklemarkt to a promising looking tavern he had spotted earlir on during his reconnaissance of the area.

 

The arab order a drink and then made his way to one of the gambling tables. He knew that desperate men bet it all on luck in hope of winning enough to solve their problems.

 

He eased himself in to one of the games, the locals initially resentful of letting him play soon changed their mind when he 'accidentally' let them see the coin he was bringing to the table.

 

For the rest of the afternoon the Arab worked his way around the gambling tables of the Winklemarkt - a skilled gambler he knew exactly how to purposefully lose, stringing men along, emboldening their confidence and feeding their hope that soon they would "win a big score from him"

 

None ever did, but their happiness, confidence and desire that built throughout the games soon loosened their lips, telling the Arab all he needed to know

[Wild Wolf]

It was a particular smell that guided Lanric along the narrow and surprisingly deserted streets of Winklemarkt. It was sweet, spicy and pungent all at once, but this smell made the former pit fighter's stomach ache with hunger. The market area here in Winklemarkt was known for its sausage and if there was one thing Lanric knew better than a good fist pummel into an opponents face, it was good food.

 

Lanric smiled at the simple thought of being able to walk the streets, as a free man. Well, as free as he could possible get. A man like Lanric knew other simple things. Things like the sick, wet sound the skin makes when his large sword lops off a limb. Or the screams of a man getting his eyes dug out. The Pits were unforgiving. They swallowed men, dwarves and elves alike. If you were spat out, you were considered lucky. Lanric ran into Lady Luck more often than not.

 

To the commoners of Marienburg, Lanric was an outsider by sight alone. Pale of skin, with a large, muscular frame, Lanric walked with a slight limp, favoring his left side. Limps, breaks, sores and aches all came with the territory of being a pit fighter, and Lanric wore his scars with pride. How could you not? He had survived Hell. Roderick had freed Lanric from his chains as a demon in the pits, for reasons truly unbeknownst to him. Lanric fought with expert skill and deadly precision. If Roderick hired him for anything it was simply to be the muscle of the group. But Lanric was more than sinew and muscle.

 

The smell of the sausage grew closer as Lanric made his way around a tight corner, nearly knocking over some patrons passing by. By instinct, Lanric always wore some form of protection and carried at least one knife and his knuckle dusters at all times. His mail armor lay back at the inn, which would make the streets of Winkelmarkt easier to navigate for someone his size.

 

Finally, arriving at his noses destination, the pit fighter stood in front of a small inn. The lack of people made it easy to fit through the small door frame and grab a seat at the bar. Nothing like a pint 'n' sausage. The inn seemed to be going through some rebuilding process with a mess of boards and nails sprawled throughout. A portly man, bald with a thick brown mustache, was commanding orders to two younger boys attempting to set up a cross beam. With a severe lack of coin, Lanric would use his strength to mingle and get a free meal.

 

"Excuse me, but ya seem to be in need of help?" Lanric enquired, standing tall and strong. The two boys gawked up at Lanric and nearly dropped the beam had Lanric not placed a hand underneath for support.

 

The portly man had to be the inn owner with the authority he took. Easily a heads shorter than Lanric, he showed spirit twice the size of him. "Help?!" He asked bewildered. "What's it to you?" You're type is the reason for the place needs a fixin' up er two!" He was almost yelling at Lanric, pointing a chubby finger at the large pit fighter. Lanric smiled. He liked this man.

 

"My type, my good inn keep? Don't let the winning smile and charm shy you away, sir, NO! I come bearing only my rough hands to help for a pint and maybe some of that fine smellin' sausage ya got?" Lanric knew his battle hardened appearance would intimidate most but not the inn keep. "Lanric." He said, stretching out a muscular arm.

 

The portly inn keep looked at the outstretched hand of Lanric, looking more surprised than anything. "Yer serious, eh? Well I would say 'at's a fair trade off IF ya help putting up the rest of dem cross beams. They're might heavy and me back isn't what it uztabe.." He trailed off, lost in some glory day memory. "Tha names Bastian." The portly man said, taking up Lanric's large hand in a handshake. "And I've heard of ya, Lanric. But tha gossiper's call ya something else...they say yer a man possessed in a fight... That you took a mans head clean off with yer bare hands. Scary stuff if ya ask me."

 

Lanric stiffened a little, hoping his infamous reputation in the pits didn't put him out of a possibly free meal, but Bastian smiled underneath his mustache and ushered the pit fighter over.

 

Lanric stayed at the inn for a good hour or so, lifting the heavy blocks of wood and getting all the beams in place. The place was still rickety but there was a hint of pride and hardiness to it. Bastian and Lanric spoke of many things going on within the city while they worked. Lanric made mental notes to remember everything the man said, hoping his Intel could match up with the other's.

 

After the job was done, Lanric had barely worked up a sweat. He was finally rewarded with a cool pint and some of the infamous sausage that had taunted him since entering the inn. He smeared some mustard on the sausage and enjoyed each bite like it was his last. It wasn't every day a pit fighter could enjoy the simple spoils of a pint and spiced sausage...

[Wild Wolf]

[OOC]

 

Some strrrong entries by my fellow questarians!! I really like everyones style of writing

 

Wolf

[shaar]

[OOC]

Some strrrong entries by my fellow questarians!! I really like everyones style of writing

Wolf

[OOC]

YESSSS this is super exciting!!! I'm having a blast already

[DarK_RaideR]

Agreed. I love the output and enthusiasm. Once kzacher posts his part as well, I'll write up a few scenes where each of you digs up some rumor and then get back to all of you meeting at the inn, exchanging information and deciding what to do next.

 

On a side note, please try to edit your story posts using colour and/or italics to differentiate them from the OOC talk which should be in plain writing. Saves us from spamming the [OOC] disclaimer all the time

[Wild Wolf]

[OOC]

 

Weird...it wont let me use a different color on my computer at work. BUT I did bold and italic so I hope that will suffice. The enthusiasm is infectious so keep it up guys-I'm having a good time as well. Can't wait too see what DR has in store for us

 

Wolf

[Buff Brogan]

 

 

Optional quest: Challenge your terror of talking to people and try to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger!

 

Waiting for everyone's RP posts and then the story will continue with what you've found out. Welcome and let's get this party started!

 

do you mean on the boards or real life?

 

also, trying to catch up on everything, will post soon

[DarK_RaideR]

Hadn't really thought of that... I guess I meant actually in your life, otherwise it would be phrased as "post on some random member's tread" or something similar.

Waiting for your post

[cn3wton]

I did the optional quest as well.

[shaar]

Hadn't really thought of that... I guess I meant actually in your life, otherwise it would be phrased as "post on some random member's tread" or something similar.

Waiting for your post

OH SWEET, I thought it was IC and realized after I made my post, whoops!! But I talked to many strangers at a soccer game yesterday so win!

[Buff Brogan]

i talked to a few strangers at the In This Moment show.

and made some contacts.

[Buff Brogan]

Name: Kalomikai

Race: Elf

Hometown: N/A

Height: 6'3"

Weight 170

Hair: Black w/white streak just right of center

Eyes: Grey

Noticeable feature: hair is to mid back, shaved on the sides and usually pulled back. wears high boots with tan pants along with a green over shirt. under the shirt on the arms are leather arm guards which also double as a sheath for a small dagger. somewhat tall and thick for his kind, it has been widely speculated that Kalomikai's existence is the result of interracial breeding, though this could never be confirmed. Kalomikai talks to himself more than others and prefers the comfort of the outdoors/woodlands to that of the city.

 

as Kalomikai entered the city of Winkelmarkt he briefly wonders why he stays away from the cities so much. this one seemed a bit quieter than most. as he continues to walk through the town people become less scarce, which is a quick reminder to him as to why keeps himself in solitude.

a few of the towns people give him odd looks, if it's because of his unusual hair style, surprising stature for an elf, or being an elf in general, he cannot tell.

 

he thinks briefly about turning around and going back out into the woods....*i don't need money. all i need is the land*

"what's that, friend?" a older man, pushing sixty, said with a bit of hostility in his tone. Kalomikai often forgot not to speak aloud when talking to himself.

the young man continued, "if'n you don't need yer money, i know who does. there games down at the way fer ya."

 

Kalomikai continued walking past the man, hardly giving any attention to what was said to him. "thanks" he casually slurred at him. he was headed to the local pub anyway. People had a habit of sharing gossip and the like whenever their bellies were full of drink.

 

"just follow the road a bit, and you'll know where to stop!" the man shouted behind him.

*people....* sigh

 

a short while later the elf found his way to the local watering hole. he found a spot at the end of the bar and ordered a pint. he knew he could sit there and not be bothered by anyone, and still be close enough to the local patrons that frequented the place that all gossip would be easily overheard by him.

 

"...cults"

"witches..."

*perhaps there is something of worth here. the trouble with people is they are people, and generally full of shit*

 

the bar hushed just a little while stranger's glances fell his way.

*i've GOT to stop doing that* he said, actually to himself this time.

*it's gonna be a long day*

 

[DarK_RaideR]

Just as Yussie navigates the alleyways to make it back to the inn, the old woman that had been eyeing her appears from around a corner so suddenly, that they almost bump into each other. It does not appear to be an accident. Yussie gets the impression that the elder lady knows the area much better than her and took a shortcut to catch up. "And what ye might be doin' 'ere?” she asks. “Don't get many dark-skinned lasses round this neighbourhood. If ye‘re running away from some nasty place in the Doodkanal, I suggest ye keep running. This part of town is quickly becoming like that wretched place, ever since the refugees and their blasted Crusade took off. They’re off to the capital, y’know. Word is the Emperor invited him to Altdorf, gonna step down and offer him the throne! Bad times to be ruled by a child, if y’ask me. Sigmar or not, a child leading an army? Not to mention the politics he’ll deal with. I hear the nobles are afraid they’ll lose their land and titles if the boy becomes Emperor. Poor little child’s probably gonna get butchered in his sleep!” The woman nods to herself in disappointment and Yussie finds the chance to slip away, before the old lady starts asking any personal questions about her again.

 

As Ziegel and Dusty share their hard-won meal, two men walk down the alley, their loud discussion sounding like it’s about to quickly break into an argument. “You’re delirious, Heinrich!” says the first man, a chubby middle-aged man dressed in a typical Marienburger merchant’s clothes. “I’m telling you, my brother was there at the smithy and saw the boy with the mark of the comet on his chest, hammering away at them!” answers the other man, a man whose face and hands tell the story of a life spent toiling in the fields. “I heard that hammer was a gift was a gift from Shallya, the Daughter of Mercy herself. Her priestesses raised the boy and gave him the blessed weapon!” His eyes fall on Ziegel, munching a bit of bread. “I saw a beggar like this, diseased and filthy, but when the boy let him touch the hammer, he was cured I’m telling you!” Dusty barks at them as they pass, or maybe he barks at the comment, but Ziegel calms him down. Nothing’s gonna ruin his lunch.

 

Sahra’a’Saif sees the pupils of the man across him at the table widen. He knows it’s excitement, the kind that drunken men with a good hand can’t hide. Playing along, he pretends to bite the bait and puts up more of his money for grabs. “Crusade! Haaaahahahahaa….” shouts the man as he slams his cards to the table. The other gamblers react with a laugh or a bit of disappointment at a wasted decent hand they held, but the Arab raises an eyebrow in question. His opponent pounces on the opportunity to flaunt his victory and let the outlander in on things. “There’s Helmut…” he runs a thick finger over a Jack, “...there’s the Abbess…” as he points to a Queen “...and there’s the boy who would be king!” his finger stops on a King card. Sahra’a’Saif tries his best to still look puzzled, acting as much as he can like a stranger who needs to be explained of even how breathing in this place works. "You haven't been in town long enough, eh?” another gambler asks, as he pats him on the shoulder. “The Crusade of the Child is all the big news lately. Formed by a flock of faithful who witnessed the boy's miraculous deeds. They found him in a smithy, shirt open to reveal the mark of the two-tailed comet on his chest. Boy had a hammer in its hands and half a dozen cultists of the Dark Gods around him, they say he smashed their skulls with ease! Then they took him to the temple, where the local priest, Helmut, recognized him as the Heir of Sigmar. An Abbess of Shallya was also present to offer blessings from the godess of mercy. Now the crowds march with him to the North, where he will meet the Chaos Hordes and banish them back into their dark homelands." The Arab smiles condescendingly. To the drunken men around him, it’s the smile of someone who still doesn’t understand but pretends to do so in order to avoid displeasing others. But Sahra’a’Saif now knows what he wanted to know. It’s the smile of a predator.

 

“Although lately it seems like you have some competition, Lanric” says the innkeeper with a smile under his moustache. The pit fighter seems intrigued, but Bastian breaks into a hearty laugh. “Not the kind you would be facing in a fight, though” he continues. “Lil’ boy called Karl, ‘bout nine years of age. Raised in secret in a local orphanage of Shallya, the goddess of mercy, in the Doodkanal. Not the most menacing start, I know, but bear with me, it gets better down the road. So, the sisters there kept him a secret and never gave him up for adoption, it is said that they knew something about him and planned to raise him until he was a full blown man when he could claim his destiny. Bunch of crazy talk on any other occasion, but turns out they were right! Boy was kidnapped by servants of Chaos who tried to murder him. They never made it though; the boy broke free of the bonds and slew his attackers with a hammer before everyone’s eyes. A dozen or so men, hammered to death by a child! A miracle by any other name, no wonder people flocked to him and formed the Crusade.”

 

Kalomikai downs some alcohol to ease the tension. The bub is cheap in the watering hole he entered, but he doubts there’s any better in establishments around. After a few drinks, he silently slips into an empty seat around a gambling table. The other players give him some all too familiar looks. He is used to that, being an elf. He wasn’t expecting it that much, knowing that Marienburg is the Imperial city with the largest elven population, but perhaps his kin keep to their quarter and don’t mingle much with the lowlifes of the Winkelmarkt or the Doodkanal. Either way, he’d much rather be out in the woods right now. “Ye won’t be foolin’ us with yer crazy manners, elf”. Kalomikai isn’t sure what angers him more, the words or the stinking breath that comes along with them. “Round these parts we call bluffs easy” the man continues. “Heard what happened with those heretics that tried to denounce the sacred child in front of Sigmar’s Old Temple? Helmut, the priest there, saw right through their trick. The crowd killed five of them, so don’t get any ideas about bluffing. Don’t believe me, go see the witch that led ‘em, she’s left to rot in a hanging cage in front of the temple."

 

By nightfall, the five meet back at the inn where they reside for now. Over mugs of ale, they share what they've heard, trying to seperate fact from fiction. Two locations appear to be the most likely candidates for their next visit; the Shallyan orphanage at the Doodkanal or the Old Temple of Sigmar at the Templewijk.

[Balthazar]

It's a public holiday in England today so will reply tomorrow!

[cn3wton]

Ziegel finishes his meal, every morsel. When Dusty begins to bark he places his hand at the small of his back and buries his fingers in the fur there. The dog quiets down instantly at his touch. As the men walk away Ziegel continues to pet his faithful friend. A short time later his companion finishes his meal and heads in begins yet another trek through the city.

 

After heading here and there through the city they find themselves outside of the inn the rest of the group stays in. Ziegel and Dusty preferred to sleep outside. Stepping through the door he sticks to near the walls as Dusty bounds in and greets the rest. After the dog makes his rounds he looks to his friend, still shying away from the group and barks. A sign for Ziegel to step forward. He does, remembering that there was something he was suppossed to say. "Boy, comet, hammer." He stops and thinks for a moment. "Shallya." Content that he has done all that was expected he motions for the dog and goes to head outside. As they leave they overhear a member of the group speak of the Orphanage in Doodkanal. Dusty barks and sits. Ziegel turns and nods.

[Wild Wolf]

With the group busy in their discussion of the days findings, Lanric let loose a genuine smile and sipped his pint. He was born to fight, this he knew with certainty, but he also loved and laughed and lived. The latter only being somewhat of a faded dream, now that the infamous pit fighter was 'free'. Though this ragtag group of companions didn't make any sense to Lanric, he enjoyed their company nonetheless. For a man used to sleeping on the unforgiving dirt floor, sharing a bunk with a shit bucket and the flies that swarmed the fecal matter, this, this was paradise.

Lanric eyed the little one called Yussie, admiring her spirit. She looked way to young to be apart of this fellowship. She seemed a little more at ease with the group now, and even managed to look Lanric in his deep, blue eyes once or twice. She would turn away quickly, blushing when their eyes met. Lanric listened intently to her information.

Ziegel, the rat catcher. He was an interesting one, Lanric thought to himself. And his dog, Dusty. Lanric ripped off a piece of roast and gently held it underneath the table, patiently waiting for the dog to come. When he did, he nibbled gently from Lanric's hand, like he had done so many times for the rat catcher. Ziegel and Lanric never broke their stair while this went on. Lanric wanted him to know he respected the two of them. Once Dusty had satisfied himself with the tasty morsel, Ziegel nodded in thanks.

The Arab made Lanric uneasy. He couldn't trust a man with that kind of smile. The smile that said he could be trusted, but the second your back was turned, that smile would become fangs and those fangs would sink deep. With many trials ahead, Lanric was thankful that he was on their side and not the other.

The elf, that Lanric like to call Kal was intriguing as any of the group. Nimble of hands and feet, he was an expert hunter. Lanric knew him and his pointy eared friend would get along.

When it came time for Lanric to give his updated report, he paused for a split second, thinking carefully of what to say. "Five of your strongest drinks!" He bellowed out and relaxed in his chair. The group rolled their eyes at once. They enjoyed a drink with their warrior friend but they all prayed quietly that tonight wouldn't turn into a fight. Lanric, when drunk, would use any excuse to flex some muscle. And say something unfriendly about him, he would laugh it off boisterously. Say something about his friends...and that's when the real pit fighter came out.

"Lads and Lassies! Let me begin by saying, the boys name is Karl..."

[shaar]

Yussie pushed the tips of her fingers together gently in a steepled formation, watching them intently with a furrowed brow as she relayed her tale of the vagrant's market and the intensity of the old woman's ramblings.  A child as an emperor just seemed laughable, honestly.  Rabid cultists saw the signs they wanted to see, the ones that would feed their frenzy.

 

A small crooked smile flickered over her features as the rat catcher, seemingly of few words, announced his findings and retreated with his companion.  She sympathized - still, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Stumbling across that fateful note had allowed her to escape a life of slavery and brutality, but was it a ruse?  Yussie kept her trust close to her chest.

 

The other Arab of the group caused her spine to prickle, the one with the bright blue eyes.  Surely it wasn't just coincidence that he happened to be here, garbed in finery.  How did she know who was behind the Hashishin ambush that snuffed her freedom in an instant?  She fiddled idly with the odd assortment of leathered straps on her wrist, reminding herself to just keep playing it cool.  If they were expecting someone else in her place, wouldn't someone have made it known by now?  You are here for a reason.  Be cunning.  The thought reaffirmed her confidence, and she sat up straight once more.

 

The big guy seemed jovial enough, laughing and drinking as he told his tale, giving her an off-handed wide grin now and again.  It was interesting to see someone of such stature so open - she'd seen enough heads crushed by giant compound guards to make her think otherwise - and she relaxed back a bit in her chair, drinking the ale quickly.  It was more bitter than the lightly sweet drinks she was used to, but the simple action of giving the drinks freely hadn't escaped her eye, so she cupped the mug in her hands and shifted slightly in her chair.

 

The conversation lulled for a moment and Yussie dipped her chin a bit, thinking to herself.  She really doesn't want to visit the orphanage, it won't be easy.  But she is a woman, petite and surely well-meaning and not suspicious looking... and they needed more information to go on.  Surely she could sweet-talk some information out of someone there? Exhaling through her nose, she voices her decision, the faintest hint of an Arabyan accent mingling with the tinkling bell-like tone of her voice.  "I will visit the orphanage tomorrow as well.  Surely they will see me as non-threatening and will slip some information through for my own safety."  She quirks a narrow ebon brow at the end of her sentence, hoping the women there will go along with her ruse.

[Wild Wolf]

Woot woot! Loving it you guys! I'm sitting here at work reading what Shaarawy wrote and I can envision the 5 of our heroes in the midst of their conversations.. It's greatness!

Are you having fun DR? [emoji1]

And am I doing ok with the RP'ing? My lack of knowledge Warhammer wise makes me nervous when I write cuz I want to be correct when I mention things or name drop.

Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[DarK_RaideR]

Everyone's doing fine. Taking a few liberties here and there, maybe some minor inconsistencies, but having fun is more important in my book than being 100% true to the setting, especially when the players aren't too familiar with it. I try to slip in info when able, such as an explanation that "Shallya" is the godess of mercy, to make it easier for everybody.

 

I put plenty of thought as to the finish of my last post, specifically if I should point out the options for your next move or leave it completely up to you. I went for the first, in order to better streamline the story/plot and help you all not feel lost now in the beginning. Once things get going, they way will be much more obvious and I won't have to gently shove you towards the right direction.

 

From what I'm getting, the 3 of you that have posted, voted for visiting the orphanage. Unless ItsDaniel and kzacher decide to visit the Temple on their own, I'll wait for their RP and write up the next part. As mentioned, some railroading of the story will happen, for practical purposes.

[Balthazar]

The Arab smiled politely, listening to the feedback of varying levels of depth from the other members of the group. Whilst to all intents and purposes he appeared to be giving the discussion his undivided attention he was really focusing on a hundred different things

The sounds of the tavern downstairs, his ears straining for anything out of the ordinary, his awareness of how uncomfortable he made some of the members of the party feel, over Yussies shoulder he watched the streets below, alert for anything out of the ordinary

His honed senses picked up on the slight strain in the woman's voice when she offered to go the orphanage, unsurprising really considering her past, he wondered how much she truly knew.

With other members of the group showing a desire to go with Yussie to the orphanage he offered to go to the temple by himself. Whilst most of the Empire gods were not shared in Araby he knew enough about religious types to know how to work them into doing what he wanted and to tell him what he wanted, oh how quick the religious are to believe anything put in front of them

[cn3wton]

I as well as anyone know how hard it is to try to figure out the line and how to navigate it as far as how you should run these kind of things.

 

I for one am enjoying being on this end of it very much, your doing really great DR!

[Buff Brogan]

Kalomikai listened intently to the others speak. giving each his undivided attention.

when it was his turn he shared all the intel he had acquired, and briefly thought to tell the crew how he had obtained the information, thinking they may get a laugh. but, he decided against it. he spent so much time away from society he always feared his sense of humor was unique only to himself.

 

*no one wants to hear about your dumbass getting called out by some drunkard on account of you talking to yourself* he said aloud - mid explanation - to himself. the rest of the group shared a bewildered look.

 

"if Sahra'a'Saif wouldn't mind the company, i'd like to check out the temple as well. religious places have always interested me..."

 

he was still trying to get used to his new companions, and hadn't quite figured them all out yet. though the elf was a bit socially awkward, he could still sense when people were uneasy. and he sensed a bit of tension in this group. though, the big guy always seemed to go out of his way to make sure everyone was comfortable(though he seemed the least likely to do so, based upon his appearance and past).

 

yes, the temple could hold some interesting answers... and adventure

[Balthazar]

"It would be my greatest pleasure to be accompanied by one as wise, as a member of the fair race, your council will no doubt be invaluable"

 

The readiness of his complimentary reply, flowed out of his mouth like honey

[DarK_RaideR]

The next morning brings a sense of purpose with it. Or perhaps a sense of progress. Having gathered some information, the group feels confident enough to pursue more specific leads.

 

Yussie, Lanric and Ziegel with Dusty head towards the Doodkanal just south of Winkelmarkt, in search of the Shallyan orphanage. As soon as they cross over to the district, they understand why the sisters chose to base their institution there. Easily the most run down area of Marienburg, though it is apparent that it was once a thriving district where trade flowed freely. Slowly, as the canals and waterways of the rest of the city changed, the currents of the watercourse through the canton became sluggish. The canal clogged with waste and barges no longer traveled that way. In Marienburg where there is no trade, there is no money. The district fell into disrepair as merchants moved away, closer to the active trade routes. Those who could afford to leave did so, leaving the poor and desperate behind. The Dead Canal district has since turned into a hub of crime and villainy, a haven for those who wished to hide from the more civilized areas of the city. The group can't help but feel that Sahra'a'Saif could have been useful in helping them navigate the area. That, or perhaps if they need to hook up with the city's underworld. The city guard, known as the Black Hats fear to enter and the ruling guilds ignore it in their bustling city. There is no City Watch post in the Doodkanaal and the responsibility for maintaining law and order theoretically falls to the Winkelmarkt Black Caps as the nearest barracks.Whilst seemingly lawless, some sort of civilization still exists within shops and taverns, as people attempt to claw their way out of the direst of circumstances.

 

Asking around, they are directed to a narrow alley that runs parallel to a stinking canal, and to the run-down sagging building at its end. Although the building has freshly whitewashed walls, it has clearly seen better days. A low fence runs in front and beyond it, protecting a small courtyard where three Shallyan initiates sit surrounded by a circle of children singing with varying amounts of enthusiasm. Other initiates supervise older children behind them as they work to erect a large stone platform. As the trio approaches with obvious intent to enter, the initiates quietly gather up the children, while one scampers off inside the building. Yussie, Lanric and Ziegel (plus Dusty) are left in the courtyard, abandoned by everyone but for a red-faced initiate who stares at her feet with intense concentration. She moves quickly to block the entrance into the orphanage but otherwise says and does nothing. After a moment or two, the Abbess appears through the doorframe. She is reserved and a bit stern,a regal sharpness about her with intense blue-grey eyes and well-kept, iron-grey hair. “What is your business here?” she asks and leans forward, cocking an eye at Ziegel, her cheeks reddening. Yussie steps forward to introduce herself and her companions, politely mentioning that they would be interested in discussing about Karl. At the mention of the boy's name, the Abbess' guarded nature vanishes and her rather plain features light up. "Of course! We'd be delighted, please do come into my office" she smiles, before snapping into her previous sharpness. "Sister Kuhn!" she barks. Moments later, a young initiate appears behind her, eyes fixed to the ground. "We have guests. Gather their cloaks and weapons, then bring us some wine in my office" she says with a tone that is reminiscent of a whip cracking. It is common knowledge that tradition and etiquette prevent weapons from being brought into a place devoted to Shallya, so the weapons are surrendered without objection as the initiate silently performs her duties. The Abbess watches with a smirk and after they are left alone again, she answers a question everybody has been thinking of but never asked; "Sister Kuhn is being disciplined. We pray her labour and silence teach her the humility proper to her station." Yussie catches herself unconsciously grinding her teeth. How can such a sadistic woman be associated with the goddess of mercy?

 

 

“We always knew Karl was a blessed child" the Abbess begins, once everyone has settled into a chair and offered some wine. "The very night he was left at the orphanage door, a twin-tailed comet was seen to shine overhead. He was the finest of the children, even as a baby—strong and clever, and yet kind. We would have raised him with the other, less fortunate, children, but the ready jealousy of the other youths caused us to keep him separate to prevent any… difficulties." She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Every day he grew more noble and handsome, yet who could have suspected his true destiny. A few weeks ago, a pair of unseemly men came and asked to see the children, saying their master wished to hire one of our boys as a manservant. We do not know how they noticed Karl, for he was kept to an upstairs room, but the boy could be willful and sometimes would slip out. However they saw him, their intent was made clear when a week later, they broke in, killed poor Sister Hirtzel, and stole the boy away. Oh the rage that filled us at the thought of him in the hands of those evil men!" her fist clenches, almost as if she's re-living the scene. “We had not doubt they were servants of some foul power and we instructed all the sisters to leave their duties and search the city for him. But we need not have worried, for Shallya herself was watching over him. That very morning the boy was seen to kill his kidnappers with a hammer, single-handedly. All who saw the miracle recognized the boy as holy and rushed to worship him. The crowd brought him to Helmut, a priest of Sigmar in the city, and before the multitude, Helmut proclaimed the boy was Sigmar Reborn! The faithful flocked to him and we hurried to add our blessing as well, for even then there were those filled with jealousy and hate who spread awful lies about him. But those voices have been silenced and now his faithful have carried him out into the world to fulfill his glorious purpose. We only regret we did not witness the miracle of him slaying those terrible men with our own eyes!”

 

Sister Kuhn is summoned again to lead the visitors out to the courtyard. As the four of them walk, they pass the children singing and working out on the courtyard again. Oddly, it appears like the Shallyan initiates are leading the children in a religious song about Sigmar, not Shallya, and that stanzas have been changed to refer to Sigmar’s return. Ziegel's ears, sensitive from picking up the subtle rat sounds for so many years, notice something else as well. One of the girls building the stone platform whines “Why do we have build a shrine to dumb old Karl?” before an initiate boxes her painfully on the ear. On the edge of his field of vision, he sees Sister Kuhn shake her head at this, then silently leads everyone to the gate before returning their cloaks and weapons. Once back out on the street, the group looks to pick up some safe distance from the orphanage before discussing anything. The steps feel like a year, their heads bustling with thoughts and questions. As they walk, Yussie feels something prick her torso. Checking the inside of her cloak, she discovers a note pinned to the lining. Taking it out for a closer look, it is written in rushed calligraphy.

 

"Lutzen is a fool who lies to you and herself. You must speak to the True Abbess, outside the old Temple of Sigmar in Tempplewijk, while she yet lives. The boy is dangerous

- One who is still loyal"

 

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Meanwhile, Sahar'a'Saif and Kalomikai have left the Winkelmarkt and passed through the Old Money Ward, a place that once housed Marienburg’s nobility but has suffered as the blue bloods have drifted away from the squalor in favour of the posh Goudberg Ward. Making their way through its cluttered streets, past the peeling paint of once-fine estates and beneath the watchful stares of spinsters and drunk lords fallen on hard times, they come upon the breathtaking and wondrous Templewijk, intellectual and spiritual centre of the city and home to nearly all of the city’s temples and their servants. Templewijk stands in stark contrast to the Winkelmarkt in that it is remarkably cleaner and also far busier than the Winkelmarkt. Three structures dominate the Temple District: the Cathedral of Manann the Sea god, the Temple of Haendryk, a minor deity of trade and the College of Navigation and Sea Magicks.

 

All three buildings tower over the crowded streets, symbolizing, in their way, great wealth, success, and influence in the city. The Cathedral of Manann is notable for its great golden spires and is easily the finest structure in the city, and for the Cult of Manann, the world. With its white limestone walls and three bell towers sheathed in gold forming Manann’s great trident, it is a testimony to the cult’s power in the city.

 

The Temple of Haendryk is nearly the equal of Manann’s Cathedral, even though Haendryk’s cult is quite small in the Old World. However, given Marienburg’s place as a commercial centre, the Haendryk cult has managed to carve out a place for itself. Its members have elevated themselves to figures of great importance to the city’s merchants and people. Gaudy in its gilt and overly wrought exterior, one can’t help but be taken aback by the temple’s excess.

 

Finally, the College of Navigation and Sea Magicks stands at the end of the Templewijk. As Marienburg’s premier university, this college rivals the University of Nuln and the Academies of Altdorf in terms of faculties and curriculum. In fact, there is no better place in the world to learn the principles of navigation. Aside from nautical studies, the College also offers courses in the arts, history, sciences, and other mundane subjects. The College also has an extensive department specializing in training magicians.

 

The Temple of Sigmar feels tiny in comparison. Knowing the tangled history of the city and the connection of Sigmar's cult with the Empire, this comes as no surprise. Asking around why this is called the "Old" temple, Sahar'a'Saif and Kalomikai are informed that when the priests of Sigmar were found to oppose Marienburg’s independence, the temple was forcibly closed and worship of Sigmar moved to the Ostmuur (East Wall) District. The old temple has remained locked and unused for years and shows signs of growing deterioration. In front of the temple pillars is a small stone plaza with a raised, lidded well. The plaza is surrounded on all sides by large residences that can be accessed by any one of four covered lanes. Just to the side of the well, a 12-foot iron post has been bolted to the stone. Chained to the arm of the post is a four-foot-tall, oval, metal cage. The cage hangs six feet above the ground and contains the small, ragged form of a woman dressed in rags. Her fingers hang in abnormal angles from her hands, leaving no doubt that they have been smashed by a hammer. A rag bearing an embroidered hammer of Sigmar is stuffed into her mouth—a universally tried and true method of thwarting the evils of witchcraft.

 

Two Black Hats are positioned on either side of the prisoner, standing guard to prevent her escape. A little observation reveals that locals are permitted to harass her in a variety of ways such as spitting, cursing or throwing refuse at her, but the Black Hats sternly warn and prevent anyone from any unsanctioned behavior, such as comforting, speaking, overly harming, or freeing the prisoner. Since they are subject to the town and not the cult of Sigmar, it seems reasonable that they are most likely performing their duties without any religious zeal. Some extended, discreet observation is likely to reveal the guard shifts. There is also a chance that things are different during the night, although uncertain if security is higher or more lax. Such knowledge would require devoting many hours. For those willing to take a shortcut, the guards are Marienburgers, which means that money is their native tongue. Of course, this is common knowledge, so they are probably being paid above average to prevent such attempts. There is certainly room for negotiation, but they can be expected to be hard bargainers.