LCP
   The Bloody Crown - Continued    
  In that dread desert, beneath the moon’s pale gaze, dead men walk.

They haunt the shifting dunes of the breathless, windless night, brandishing weapons of bronze in mocking challenge and bitter resentment of the life they no longer possess.

And sometimes, in ghastly dry voices, like the rustling of sun-baked reeds, they whisper the one word they remember from life. The name of the one who cursed them to their existence of more than death but less than life.

They whisper the name, Nagash.   
 OOC 

 

 Sieghard, Ludo &amp; Jarla 

 
 Originally Posted by TheSummoner 
 " Any man who wants to start acting like one of Sforza's Tilean thugs and abusing the innocent will be treated like one of them! " 
 

This time the crowd weren't listening. The defeat of the Iron Company had demonstrated just how paper-thin the power of men with swords could be, and now, thanks to Sieghard, their blood was up. They pressed forward together, chanting:

 GIVE US BACK OUR GRAIN! GIVE US BACK OUR GRAIN! 

A merchant at the front fell under the crush, and screamed as if some significant bone was broken. Others among the surrounded well-to-do began to scramble around for an exit, pushing and wriggling their way through the ranks of the Thorns. The crowd kept pushing, struggling with the Thorns themselves to break through towards the fort - presumably where they thought their harvest was being hoarded.

A man cried out in pain as a struggling Thorn cracked him across the temple with the butt of her crossbow, sending him reeling back with blood streaming down his face. Another Thorn was knocked down by a man in a blacksmith's apron, who was promptly set upon by the two soldiers to either side. The Thorns nearest Sieghard looked up to him, their eyes pleading for an order, any order.

"You know," said Sussman, beside him, "if you don't need me any more, I might just... go..."
LeSwordfish
 "If there's any more food anywhere in the castle now would be a very good time to mention it,"  Ludo said. He stepped up onto a horse-trough and gestured over the heads of the crowd, to where Hanna was waiting. This was the signal they'd planned for her and the Thorns to bring around one of the carts with half of Sussman's supplies.
RossN
 Jarla 

Deeply alarmed Jarla stepped ford and fired a pistol shot into the hair with a loud  *crack*  it could hopefully be heard above the mob.

  "Back, back I say!"   she called out at the top of her lungs.   "The Tilean princeling is the enemy not your own neighbours! He and his soldiers took your grain! Those truly guilty will be put on trial you have my solemn word as Lady Schreiber!"  

She could feel the anger of the crowd. These people needed vengeance and they needed it now - better the Iron Company thugs than the hapless merchants.
LCP
 Ludo, Jarla &amp; Sieghard 

Jarla's words were so much more empty sound, before a crowd bent on action - but the crack of her pistol bought enough silence for the wheels of Ludo's cart to be heard. Rattling down the ramp from the gates of the fort, it came slowly towards them, dragged and pushed along by Hanna's Thorns. They hadn't yet had time to find an ox.

Angry shouts turned to jubilant whoops, and the thin line of Thorns parted as the crowd surged forwards, flowing in a human river towards the cart. Hanna and her men kept them at arm's length, trying to dole out its contents as evenly as they could. For the moment, Sieghard, Sussman and all the others were forgotten - even the injured who lay moaning in the dirt.

Ludo could see that this meagre feast wouldn't go far. Now was the time, before the wagon was stripped bare, to decide whether this would be remembered as generosity or surrender. All Sieghard could think of, though, were Mala's words, welling up once more in his memory like an unwelcome guest.

 And when your subjects see that you have called this punishment down upon them, they will see that their rulers are all that is left to eat. 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

Sieghard sighed. This would buy a short reprieve at best and drain Manaan's Keep's stores all the faster.

" Well, Ludo, " he said keeping his voice low. " You've managed to calm them at least. Any other ideas? "

 
 Spoiler 
Sieghard can keep trying if not, but at this point he's bungled things enough that he'd just as soon see what Ludo can do.
 
LeSwordfish
 "Oh, good Esmerelda,"  Ludo muttered.  "We can't just leave, can we?" 

It didn't seem the responsible thing to do. Muttering curses he climbed up onto the horse trough and shouted for attention.  "Friends! We can't bring back what was taken from you, but you can't take from each other! You are not each other's enemies! Your enemy rides south now! Sforza is coming, in only a few days! This isn't the time for fighting! Stand firm! Stand together! Manaan's Keep has survived so many things - don't let it destroy itself!" 
 OOC 
 
 Spoiler 
Charm vs 92:  (1d100)[ 12 ] 
 
LCP
 Ludo, Jarla &amp; Sieghard 

Those who were busy reaching for the contents of the cart were slow to listen, but Ludo managed to grab the attention of a decent portion of the crowd closer to him.

"Sforza's coming?" - one of the well-fed burghers, now looking noticeably more dusty and dishevelled, spoke up in alarm. "He's coming  here? "

A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. Ludo knew this fear could easily turn to panic - but it was also something he could use.
LeSwordfish
 "The Iron Company won't stand for what we've done here today,"  Ludo said.  "Painford is in revolt too, and Arrow Heap! Maybe not tomorrow, but soon, they'll be coming, to take what's yours, to stuff their faces in Savonne! Will they find a squabbling mass - or an organised group like we saw at the windmill, standing up for what's theirs!"

"We're riding tonight, to throw Massimo and his thugs out of Handrich's Cross. We need every man and woman we can take - surely we don't need to stay here? Manaan's Keep doesn't need a boot on it's neck to stop it from collapsing, surely!" 
rax
 Bardhyl, 26th Sommerzeit 

By the time the evening's feast began, Bardhyl was already bone tired. He had been up since daybreak, when he had roused himself to join Wadim in seeing to the burial of yesterday's fallen.

 “I may never succeed you as Raven Speaker, but I still remember the rites,”  he had responded to Wadim's quizzical look when he had made it clear to his mentor that he intended to assist him.  “And besides, I think it will do the people good to see that I still know how to send a soul to Morr's realm.” 

Most of the rest of day was spent in preparations for the evening's celebration. Abbie had quickly taken stock of the supply situation and carefully set aside as much food and drink as she deemed could be spared. There was little luxury to be had, but fortunately many of the goatherds were willing to slaughter some of their animals to make sure there was enough meat for everyone. And, of course, there was no shortage of  koumiss  to wash it all down with!

The feast itself had an odd but understandable rhythm to it. In the beginning, it had been noticeably subdued, with the guests intent only on wolfing down their food as quickly as possible. But as their bellies filled and the generous servings of koumiss began to take effect, the mood lightened perceptibly. Bardhyl took that as his cue to make his speech.

 “Friends and kin, people of Morr's Seat, hear my words! I am Bardhyl, son of Mergim, brother of Neza and Dardan, and a true son of the Vrakos! I am he whom Morr guided to return our Raven Speaker to us! I am he who was dead and now born again to walk once more as one of the  Vrani ! And, I am the wyrm-slayer – it was my axe that struck the killing blow against the great wyvern of the mountains!”  he declared, flourishing the dead monster's barb for all to see.

 “When I came home to Morr's Seat, I found a town beaten down by the Tilean squatters and their paymaster in Savonne! A people starved and oppressed, forced to bend the knee! But no more! Tonight we feast as free men and women, because yesterday we set aside our differences  and stood together  to cast out the lowlanders!” 
 “I raise my cup in honour of yesterday's heroes! A toast to those who now rest with their ancestors in Morr's realm!”  he called out, raising his cup of  koumiss  in an invitation for all to join him.

 “And a toast to each of the friends and allies who heeded my call and Wadim's wisdom to rise as one: Danut! Senka! Valmir! Jakov! Zef! Shkodran! Vjolka!”  Once again, Bardhyl raised his cup, acknowledging each of the leaders in turn.

 “And finally, I offer a toast to all of you who raised their blades, followed the plan, and brought us VICTORY!”  Grabbing a nearby pitcher, he topped up his cup and saluted the revellers before downing the contents in one go. When the crowd had quieted, he continued.

 “People of Morr's Seat! We have lit the flame of hope, and soon word of our deeds will spread throughout the Raven Hills, but all of you know that the fight is far from over. The Tileans will come to avenge their defeat, and when they do – we must be ready! We must stay our course and bring the Karvan, the Ostok, and the Symka with us.” 
 “The days ahead will be hard, but if we face our foes as Dalka and Mavros did, with courage and cunning, then I know we will succeed. So I ask you - will you stand with me tomorrow as you stood with me yesterday?  Will you follow where I lead ?!” 
 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Bardhyl's objective is to raise spirits, strengthen the listeners' sense of unity, and claim leadership of the revolution, so I assume that a Charm test is needed here:

He's no hypno-hobbit, so hopefully there's also a bonus to be had for winning yesterday's fight and getting everyone fed and drunk 😉
 (1d100)[ 83 ]  vs. 68 (Fel 58, Charm +10; Public Speaking allows him to affect 50 persons)
Pre-emptive FP re-roll:  (1d100)[ 37 ] 
 
LCP
 Bardhyl, 26th Sommerzeit 

In the Sommerzeit heat, one thing at least was easy - the people of Morr’s Seat could be feasted outdoors. They filled the space in front of the great hall, dirty, hungry, but hopeful. On the rooftops, the town’s ravens crowded round in anticipation of scraps to steal.

When Bardhyl got up to speak, the crowd went silent (if you didn’t count the sound of chewing). The display of the wyvern’s tail immediately gripped their attention, and his toasts were greeted by cheers - solemn to begin with, but growing heartier and more full-throated each time.


  “The days ahead will be hard, but if we face our foes as Dalka and Mavros did, with courage and cunning, then I know we will succeed. So I ask you - will you stand with me tomorrow as you stood with me yesterday?  Will you follow where I lead ?!”  

The cheering, stamping and table-thumping that greeted his question left no doubt to the answer. Looking round at the faces surrounding him, Bardhyl saw no hint of discontent - even Grim was almost smiling.

Down among the crowd, a drinking song was starting up. Bardhyl recognised it right away - an old favourite among the  vrani , about a bold hill-man stealing progressively larger livestock from his lowlander neighbour. The punchline of the last verse was always that he’d stolen the valley-man’s wife - but this time, they were substituting in Sforza’s name. Bardhyl wondered if any of them knew Irene Sforza as anything more than a name.

“A fine speech,” said Wadim, as Bardhyl returned to his seat. He took a long draught from the goat’s horn he was drinking for, his one eye still fixed on Bardhyl. “We’ll have to live up to it.”

As the evening went on, many others crowded round him to bask in the reflected glory. Friends, old acquaintances, friends of old acquaintances… Bardhyl felt he was being bombarded with more names and faces than he could hope to remember. Arms were thrown around his shoulders, horns of  koumiss  were pressed into his hands, Valmir made his own attempt at a congratulatory speech that ended up more of a drunken ramble. Black-haired Morr’s Seat girls paid him wide-eyed attentions in a way that made their intentions fairly transparent.

All the time, Bardhyl felt the eyes of the crowd on him, but as things began to feel pleasantly fuzzy, he felt that was no bad thing. It was only the eyes of the ravens, still watching from the rooftops, that kept him from losing himself fully in the moment. Morr’s judgement, he knew, was not so easily given as that of the crowd.

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
If Bardhyl wants to partake, can I get a Consume Alcohol test to see how drunk he gets?

We can cut ahead to the meeting with the clan leaders after this, but I’ll break here to give you a space for playing out any one-to-one interactions you want Bardhyl to have at the feast.
 


 

 Ludo, Jarla &amp; Sieghard, Sonnstill 

Ludo’s words seemed to strike a chord, particularly among those roughly-dressed farmhands and labourers who had crowded closest around the cart. Now they pressed in around Ludo in their dozens, shouting out their desire to pay back the Tileans in their own coin.

Towards the back of the crowd, a few less enthusiastic onlookers were taking the opportunity to slip away. Sussman, too, was trying to make good his escape, sidling slowly backward out of Sieghard’s view. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t escape Jarla’s keen eyes - a gentle touch of her hand on his arm kept him from sidling any further.
rax
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  Bardhyl, 26th Sommerzeit 

“A fine speech,” said Wadim, as Bardhyl returned to his seat. He took a long draught from the goat’s horn he was drinking for, his one eye still fixed on Bardhyl. “We’ll have to live up to it.” 
 

  "That's what you brought me here for, isn't it?"  Bardhyl muttered back.

As the revels continued, Bardhyl slowly let himself go and enjoyed the moment. So much had happened in just a few days, who could begrudge him the chance to blow off some steam?

He sang and danced, downing one drinking horn after the other, and soon the night was nothing but a blur of sensations, ending in the warm, eager embrace of...Besjana? Yllka? Denisa? Was that her name...?   No matter, she can hate me tomorrow as long as she loves me tonight,   he thought as drifted off to sleep, spent in more ways than one.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
I'll leave the interactions at that. Ready to move on to the clan leaders' meeting unless Bardhyl's in for some unintended consequences. 😏
 
LeSwordfish
 "Manaan's Keep is united!"  Ludo shouted, freewheeling entirely.  "Manaan's Keep is strong! Nowhere else in the reaches has dealt with as much as you and shown as much strength! Tonight, we're riding out to give Massimo and his thugs a bloody nose - and then who knows? But wherever we are, we're fighting for you, and food in the bellies of your children! Just- make sure the town's still standing when we get back, alright?" 
 Please laugh. 
LCP
 Bardhyl, 27th Sommerzeit 

Morning of the next day came bright and unforgiving for Bardhyl, as he lay in the great hall nursing a hangover worse than he'd had in a while. The hall was still standing. That was good.

He untangled himself from the arms of the woman lying next to him - he was pretty sure now her name was Besjana, ninety-five percent confident - and stumbled over to where the unwelcome sunlight was streaming through the open door. Grim was sitting outside, sharpening a spear. He looked sober as an executioner. Bardhyl thought he detected a mild hint of reproach in his second-in-command's face when their eyes met.

"The old man's out and about," said Grim, turning back to the whetstone. "Said he had to send some messages."


 

 Bardhyl, 29th Sommerzeit 

Wadim's ravens took a little while to come home to roost. In the meantime, Bardhyl and his band were left sitting on the powder-keg that was Morr's Seat. Bardhyl had made himself chief, and people wanted to ask the chief questions, like when would they take the fight to the Tileans in the valley? What was being done with the rest of Orso's stores? What was being done with the rest of Orso's  men ?

Besjana was as persistent as the questioners, hanging around Bardhyl and the hall like a cat who had found a new place to call home. She didn't make herself obtrusive, but she seemed to be testing the waters, seeing if he would tell her to leave. When the two of them were seen together, others looked, and though they said nothing Bardhyl knew that judgements were being formed.

Wadim alone ignored her entirely. He had been waiting each day in the sun by the town gate, sitting on a favourite stone, and watching. One by one, his 'guests' had arrived. On the third day, he informed Bardhyl the last of them was here. They would be waiting at Marjan's at sundown.

Bardhyl recognised some of the faces there from the cave under the forge. There was Shkodran of the Ostok, the old woman Vjolka, and Danut the smith, not to mention Wadim himself. Then there were the new faces - Wadim rose to introduce them.

First were Juraj and Jirina, of the Ostok - a man and a woman in shepherd's clothes, younger than Shkodran but with a noticeable family resemblance to him. Then, Grigur and Branimir, both of the Karvan. Grigur was a lean man with long black hair and a beaky nose, who was missing two of the fingers on his left hand. Branimir was his polar opposite - a giant of a man with broad shoulders and massive hands, and a black beard so bushy it might have been mistaken for a bush. Lastly was Silvija of the Symka, a small, pale-eyed woman. Her hair was cut short, and it was difficult to tell her age. She wore a distinctive necklace of wooden beads, carved with designs of spiders.

"Well, here you have them, Bardhyl," said Wadim. "All the clan chiefs who would answer the call. Let's have Marjan bring us some drinks - I think we have a lot to discuss."


 

 Ludo, Jarla &amp; Sieghard, Sonnstill 

There were a few laughs, but Ludo had done a better job of inspiring fervour than good humour. Though their more violent tempers were fully calmed, they still crowded around, shouting questions - if they wanted to come with him to Handrich's Cross, who should they follow? Would they be given weapons? When would they leave? There were a good number here who were clearly eager to join the fight, but they had no leader of their own. Ludo looked like the nearest one available.
LeSwordfish
 "Help me out here,"  Ludo muttered sideways to Sieghard through a broad smile.  "Do we  really  want to be recruiting right now?" 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

"  Two days should be enough to deal with Massimo and be back, right?  " he muttered.

" Your enthusiasm is good, but Sforza's brutes are trained soldiers, " Sieghard announced to the crowd. " Any of you who want to see them get what they deserve will also need training if you hope to match them. If that's what you want then come to the fort the day after tomorrow. If you have weapons of your own, bring them. If not, arms will be found for you. I'll have you taught to use them and together we'll make sure Sforza never threatens Manaan's Keep or the Thornwood again! "
LCP
 Ludo, Sieghard &amp; Jarla, Sonnstill 

That seemed to go down well. Some people still shouted questions, but their voices were lost amid the other's cheers. Groups at the back began to peel off, off to search for whatever weapons they could lay claim to.

Away from the loudest voices, the enthusiasm of the crowd was far from universal. Particularly among those well-dressed and now rather crumpled-looking citizens who had begun at the front, the reaction to Sieghard's talk of facing down Sforza was more fearful than exuberant. They too began slipping away, but with the furtive, fearful look of people who had more to lose.

"Well," said Sussman, over the noise of the crowd beginning to break. "This has been fun. What now?"
LeSwordfish
 "If there's any more food somewhere that you haven't told us about yet,"  Ludo said,  "now would be the time to bring it up. Otherwise, I think this is probably where we part ways." 

He held out a hand to Sussman to shake.  "Goodbye, Steffan. For what it's worth, I'm sorry it ended like this. I wish you the best, I really do. The reaches are clearly no place to be, you're probably better off out of it." 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

" So long as you don't do anything that'd cause trouble for us, you're free to do as you like, " Sieghard said. " If that means fleeing and taking your chances elsewhere, then that's your choice. I'd just as soon let you keep your position here, but I won't force you to stay any more than I'd drive you out. "
LCP
 
 Originally Posted by LeSwordfish 
  "If there's any more food somewhere that you haven't told us about yet,"  Ludo said,  "now would be the time to bring it up. Otherwise, I think this is probably where we part ways."  
 

"It looks to me like you found all there is," said Sussman. "There wasn't much left at the mill. Those folks camped out at the mill had been eating it."

He looked a little surprised when Ludo offered him his hand, but shook it all the same. "I'll be out of here by morning," he said. "I'd advise you to do the same, but... I can see that's not the way you're headed. Ranald watch you, I suppose." He shook his head. "You'll need him."
rax
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  Bardhyl, 27th Sommerzeit 

Morning of the next day came bright and unforgiving for Bardhyl, as he lay in the great hall nursing a hangover worse than he'd had in a while. The hall was still standing. That was good.

He untangled himself from the arms of the woman lying next to him - he was pretty sure now her name was Besjana, ninety-five percent confident - and stumbled over to where the unwelcome sunlight was streaming through the open door. Grim was sitting outside, sharpening a spear. He looked sober as an executioner. Bardhyl thought he detected a mild hint of reproach in his second-in-command's face when their eyes met.

"The old man's out and about," said Grim, turning back to the whetstone. "Said he had to send some messages." 
 

  "Good, good,"  Bardhyl rasped in reply.  "Gods, I'm parched. You see any drinkable water around here?"  he asked.

 Some time later... 
It was midday before Bardhyl was somewhat recovered from last night's excess, the clearest sign of which was his appetite slowly returning. After scrounging up something to eat, he summoned his crew to share a meal and lay out his plans for the immediate future.

First, he asked Abbie for a rundown on her inventory of Sforza's tax take, explaining that he expected that he would soon have to answer the townspeople as to what he intended to do with it.

Next, he offered the crew their pick of weapons and armour taken from the Iron Company. As his “personal guard” they would need to look the part, and as his loyal crew he wanted each of them as well protected as they could bear in the fights to come.

Finally, he explained that his next target in the campaign against Sforza was Hartmut's Fall. Capturing the fortress would provide a defensible position to continue the fight from as well as removing more of Sforza's soldiers. Just as with Morr's Seat, Bardhyl wanted Hartmut's Fall taken by surprise.

To that end, he detailed Grim, Panteleon, and Waldon to reconnoitre Hartmut's Fall, with the intent to check on the size and composition of the garrison, as well as look for weak spots that could be used to gain access in a surprise attack.

The reconnaissance mission had to be completed as quickly as possible, both to avoid arousing suspicion from the soldiers and because they had one more job after scouting the fortress. Bardhyl explained that he expected Carraciolo to march from Alvarran as soon as he got wind of the insurrection. In fact, it was quite possible that Carraciolo could be knocking on the gates of Morr's Seat in ten or eleven days' time.

If possible, he wanted to ambush the Iron Company before they got to Hartmut's Fall, so Grim and the others also needed to identify a good ambush site near the fortress – preferably one where the road could be blocked off and the vrani could attack from above and the sides with missile weapons and rocks.

He answered any questions his people had, then ordered Grim to get underway as soon as possible.

 28th Sommerzeit 

Next day, Bardhyl sought out Danut the Smith to ask about making weapons to arm the  Vrani  if needed. Nothing fancy; spears, maces and axes would surely do. How many could he make and how quickly?

He also went to speak to Shkodran, seeking the old shepherd's advice on the many goats corralled outside the walls. Bardhyl wanted to know how long Shkodran thought the herds could be fed and watered well enough to remain healthy. He also asked his opinion on slaughtering some of the animals to lay up stores for the people, and to reduce pressure on the available forage and water for the remainder of the herds.

Lastly, he had Afrim fetch the Iron Company recruit who had claimed to have a friend in Hartmut's Fall who could be convinced to let in Bardhyl's men. He offered the man a meal and a drink, then requested that he tell him more about himself and the supposed turncoat in Hartmut's Fall. Who was this person, and why would he be willing to betray the Iron Company on his friend's say-so? As for the recruit himself, why was he so willing to align himself with the  Vrani , and what kind of reward was he expecting for such a betrayal?

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
I don't have time to add Bardhyl's talk with the chiefs tonight, so I'll put that in a separate post tomorrow. Also, this post is long enough as it is.

Re the reconnaissance mission, Bardhyl is specifically selecting members of his gang who are  not  Vrani. He doesn't think he needs to tell Grim how to go about casing the joint, but obviously "weak spots" could be both physical breaches in the defences as well as weaknesses in the garrison routines. He also expects them to spend no more than a day in the fortress itself to avoid suspicion and because they still need to return and report.

Re Danut, I got the impression earlier that there's a scarcity of hand weapons among the  Vrani . If that's not the case, ignore the visit to Danut.

Re the recruit with the friend in HF, obviously Bardhyl will lay on the charm when speaking to him while also trying to gauge how honest this guy is.

I assume a Charm test is needed:  (1d100)[ 38 ]  vs. 68 (Charm +10) or 78 (+10 from Streetwise if this counts as "dealing with the criminal underworld")
Pre-emptive FP roll if needed:  (1d100)[ 2 ]  (this assumes that FP are recovered each day per the standard rules)
 
rax
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  Bardhyl, 29th Sommerzeit 

Wadim's ravens took a little while to come home to roost. In the meantime, Bardhyl and his band were left sitting on the powder-keg that was Morr's Seat. Bardhyl had made himself chief, and people wanted to ask the chief questions, like when would they take the fight to the Tileans in the valley? What was being done with the rest of Orso's stores? What was being done with the rest of Orso's  men ?

Besjana was as persistent as the questioners, hanging around Bardhyl and the hall like a cat who had found a new place to call home. She didn't make herself obtrusive, but she seemed to be testing the waters, seeing if he would tell her to leave. When the two of them were seen together, others looked, and though they said nothing Bardhyl knew that judgements were being formed.

Wadim alone ignored her entirely. He had been waiting each day in the sun by the town gate, sitting on a favourite stone, and watching. One by one, his 'guests' had arrived. On the third day, he informed Bardhyl the last of them was here. They would be waiting at Marjan's at sundown.

Bardhyl recognised some of the faces there from the cave under the forge. There was Shkodran of the Ostok, the old woman Vjolka, and Danut the smith, not to mention Wadim himself. Then there were the new faces - Wadim rose to introduce them.

First were Juraj and Jirina, of the Ostok - a man and a woman in shepherd's clothes, younger than Shkodran but with a noticeable family resemblance to him. Then, Grigur and Branimir, both of the Karvan. Grigur was a lean man with long black hair and a beaky nose, who was missing two of the fingers on his left hand. Branimir was his polar opposite - a giant of a man with broad shoulders and massive hands, and a black beard so bushy it might have been mistaken for a bush. Lastly was Silvija of the Symka, a small, pale-eyed woman. Her hair was cut short, and it was difficult to tell her age. She wore a distinctive necklace of wooden beads, carved with designs of spiders.

"Well, here you have them, Bardhyl," said Wadim. "All the clan chiefs who would answer the call. Let's have Marjan bring us some drinks - I think we have a lot to discuss." 
 

 Bardhyl hated having to wait, but time and exile had taught him the value of patience, so he worked hard at projecting calm and good cheer while deflecting the insistent questions.

“When will we take the fight to the Tileans?”
 “When we're ready.” 

“What's going to happen to Orso's stores?”
 “We will spend them wisely for the good of the people.” 

“What about Orso's men?”
 “They can still be of use to us, so they live until I say otherwise.” 

Besjana was another matter. He knew he needed to find a way to let her down easy, but there was so much else going on that he hadn't yet come up with a good way to do it when Wadim summoned him to Marjan's.

Bardhyl acknowledged each of the chiefs in turn as Wadim introduced the newcomers, waiting until the introductions were done to speak.  “Welcome, friends! I am honoured that you have answered the Raven Speaker's call. There is indeed much to discuss, but I fear there's not much time to do it. By liberating Morr's Seat, we have set events in motion that will soon be beyond our control if we fail to strike while the iron is hot. I have a plan to do just that, but it will require help from all of you to succeed. So, before I go any further, please ask me whatever questions you have already, and I will answer them,”  Bardhyl addressed the gathering.
LCP
 Bardhyl, 28th Sommerzeit 

Danut was making no promises. He was only one man, and even if there were ten of him, he could only make as many swords and axes as he had materials. Without trade from the wider Reaches, those would quickly run out. He had enough iron and charcoal on hand for about a dozen blades, and if they were to be made to a good standard, he could make two a week. He didn't say it, but Bardhyl guessed from the smith's quiet pride that making them to a lesser standard wasn't on the table.

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
As a reminder, since it's been a while OOC - during the occupation, Wadim had arranged for a stash of existing weapons to be collected in a hidden location outside of town.
 


Shkodran was more amenable to Bardhyl's suggestions. In the old shepherd's opinion, the date until which the herds could be kept fed was already receding into the past. They were cropping what greenery remained around Morr's Seat down to the rock, and drinking or fouling water that would be better kept for the people. A slaughter now would upset some of the herders for whom their small flock was all they had left, but well-preserved, might give them food enough to last until they could take what they needed from the Valley.

Last of all came the prisoner. His name, Bardhyl learned, was Dag. He wolfed down the food he was offered without reservation, but still regarded his captors with suspicion and fear.

"Look, I don't love the Tileans any more'n you do," he said, when Bardhyl asked why he wanted to help. "They're hard bastards, same as the Duke was. I just signed up 'cos they paid good money." He swallowed nervously. "And if I help you, you'll let me go. Right?"

The details he could provide about his 'friend' in Hartmut's Fall were unhelpfully vague - someone he'd served with in Alvarr's army, he said, who'd been sent there a month or two back as part of the garrison. None of them cared about Sforza beyond the coin in their pocket and the food in their bellies, Dag said - he was sure his friend would help them, for the right price. But if he didn't want to, there was no need for him to know who was asking, was there?

Bardhyl got the feeling that this friend might be more of a distant acquaintance - Dag was clearly desperate to make the most of any path out of his current predictament.

 29th Sommerzeit 

"Just one," rumbled Branimir, in a voice so deep it practically made the dust on Marjan's countertop dance. "Who died and put you in charge?"

Danut and Vjolka looked stony-faced; the others looked uncertain.

"Wadim says you knocked over some of the Tilean's toy soldiers. I've got four sons who could have done that," said Branimir. "Maybe more, if their mothers haven't told me."

"What's in this fight for us?" asked Grigur. "You want us to help you fight the Sforzas to feed Morr's Seat? Morr's Seat never fed the Karst."
LCP
 Bardhyl, 29th Sommerzeit 
 
 Spoiler: Bardhyl &amp; the Chiefs - taken from Discord, spoilered for length 
Bardhyl grinned wolfishly at Branimir's challenge.  "Sergeant Orso and a fair few of his men did. Before him, the other Tilean, and before him, Rorik. You don't think I came back from the dead just for fun, did you? Morr himself guided me to Wadim and Wadim guided me here. So, I rule in Morr's Seat because the Lord of Ravens himself wants me to. That, and because it was my plan that allowed us to kill and capture the entire garrison in one fell swoop,"  he answered.

 "I'm not asking anyone to fight the Sforzas for Morr's Seat. I'm asking you to fight for all Vrani. This famine is the work of the Jackal, but the Sforzas don't see or care about that, and they'll starve every one of us if that's what it takes to feed their precious army. The only way to make sure we can keep our people fed is by kicking the Tilean off his throne,"  Bardhyl answered Grigur.

Branimir snorted. "Morr himself" he chuckled. He glanced over at the others. "This one thinks he's the Raven King come again."

"You want to topple the Tileans," said Grigur, less amused. "Kicking them out of Morr's Seat is one thing, but out of Savonne? They've got an army. A real one." He gave Bardhyl a hard stare. "Rorik couldn't do it. Why can you?"

 "If there was ever a time when our people needed a Raven King, it's now,"  Bardhyl answered Branimir with steely resolve.  "I'm not asking anyone here to fall to their knees and sing my praises, but I am asking you to join your clan's strength and resources with ours, to give us all a fighting chance in the fight ahead. All for a fair share of the spoils, of course." 

Grigur raised his eyebrows at the word  spoils . That was clearly speaking his language

 "Yes, Sforza's army is formidable, and if he can mass it against us we're doomed. So, we mustn't let him do that. Fortunately, his army is currently divided in two. He has one half of it in Alvarran, the other in Savonne. Also, the locusts hit the Downlands harder than they did Shepherd's Valley and the Uplands. Therefore, our immediate goal must be to defeat his man Carraciolo and then take Alvarran. That will halve Sforza's strength and improve our food situation while drastically worsening his,"  he answered Grigur.  "If we can accomplish that, then there are people in the south who will rise against the Tilean and he will be trapped in Savonne, for all the good it'll do him." 

Branimir laughed again. "Sounds easy when you say it like that. Why didn't we ever try before?"

Grigur still looked less than convinced. "It all has to go right, doesn't it?" he said. "I mean it's a fine plan, I'm sure, but the Tilean has to not see through it. Fight us when you want him to, not fight us when you don't. Not crush his lowlander rebels in a week and turn that half of his army around." He inhaled, looking around at his fellow chiefs to see what they thought. "And even if he doesn't, half his army's nothing to be sneezed at. We fought him with all Alvarr's lowlanders on our side under Rorik, and we still lost."

Juraj and Jirina looked uncertain, and looked to Shkodran as if they expected to find some answer from him. When he said nothing, Jirina leant forward to speak.

"We're at war whether we like it or not," she said. "The Tileans in Alvarran won't care which of us did this. It's done."

"They'll never find us," said Branimir, dismissively. "Not if we don't want them to."

 "That's the truth of it, I'm afraid,"  Bardhyl agreed with Jirina.  "And every day we delay, the closer we come to starvation. That's why we must fight now - every day we delay, we'll grow weaker while the Tilean grows stronger." 
 "This fight will not be easy - I wouldn't insult any of you by implying that it will be. But we do have a number of advantages on our side. I've been speaking to the prisoners we took, and the Company veterans - the men who know him best - are all agreed that Carraciolo will come to crush us once and for all as soon as he hears of our revolt. So, we can expect him to come quickly and with a substantial force. But, the Tileans also have little respect for us. To them, we're ragged barbarians - that we could take them here is an insult, but they don't fear us. So, Carraciolo will not be as cautious as he should be, and he may even set out without waiting for instructions from Sforza." 
 "This is actually a good thing, because I don't intend for us to fight the Iron Company on it's own terms. What we must do is capture Hartmut's Fall, then meet Carraciolo's force in the Karst and ambush them. The more of them we can kill and capture, the fewer there will be to hold Alvarran. I've already sent men ahead to scout Hartmut's Fall and to find a good spot for an ambush - they should be back in about in three or four days." 
 "As you can clearly tell, we Vrakos cannot carry out this plan by ourselves. But with the strength of the Raven Hills united behind us, we have a fighting chance." 

“A fighting chance,” said Branimir. “You want us to stake our lives on a fighting chance? If the vrani had the strength to conquer the lowlands, we would have done it before.”

Grigur nodded. "You take your fight to the Tileans. We'll pick up the pieces, like we always have. Those spoils will come to us either way."

“Friends,” said Wadim, holding a gnarled hand up to Grigur and Branimir. “No-one is questioning the skill or the… bravery of the Karvan. Of course you can outlast these northerners. The question is, can you outlast Nahorek?”

The name fell like a hammer, stifling a room in a heavy silence.

“They speak the truth,” said Silvija, who had up until now been silent. “Don’t pretend you haven’t seen it. There’s death in the soil, and on the wind. The blood of the land is poisoned. The gods turn their eyes away."

 "As I said - time is not on our side,"  Bardhyl agreed.

Grigur and Branimir lapsed into uncomfortable silence. They had nothing they could say to that. Wadim nodded.

"We were all told this time would come. From birth, we've learned the stories. I imagine none of us believed it would be in our lifetime. But it has come, and we are here. Bardhyl has travelled further than any of you. He has learned that the Tilean has a weapon, made to fight the Jackal in the age of the Raven King. We can take it from him, or we can wait here for the darkness to swallow us." He raised his bushy grey eyebrow at Branimir. "Which would you prefer?"

 "I know what I prefer - to strike now, while surprise is on our side and we can still feed our people. Savonne and the Downlands are a powder keg waiting to explode, and I know some of his officers are already grumbling about his treatment of the common folk. The people there just need to know that Sforza can be beaten, and  they will  rise against him. So let us join together and show them the way!"  Bardhyl exhorted the chiefs.

 "Juraj, Jirina, Shkodran - your people already helped liberate Morr's Seat. You knew that this would bring war to the  vrani , and still you stood with me. For that I thank you, and the Vrakos owe you a debt of gratitude. Stay the course with me, and I will see the debt repaid.” 
 "Silvija of the Symka - you are right that the Jackal's breath lies heavy on the Hills. There are people in Sforza's court who have fought the Jackal and who understand that the battle is not yet over. But as long as the Tilean rules, they are fighting with one hand tied behind their backs. Helping them is helping ourselves in the dark days ahead,"  he spoke, mustering every ounce of conviction he could to get the point across.

 "One more thing -  I have said that the Vrakos owe a debt of gratitude to the Ostok. If we pull this off, then that debt will extend to all of you, and we will be facing a whole new situation. Shepherd's Valley is leaderless, and who knows what the rest of the Reaches will be like? We will have a chance then such as we haven't had since before Barbas the Last ruled in Morr's Seat -  a chance to forge a new place for the  vrani  in the Reaches!"  he finished, focusing once more on the possibilities that would come with Sforza gone. As for the matter of Nahorek, Bardhyl suspected that Wadim had driven home the point with more authority than he could possibly muster.
 

The various chiefs looked around at each other, considering Bardhyl’s words. In this moment, they didn’t look like much - just a bunch of grimy old men and women, in a grimy old alehouse. It felt strange to think that the fate of the  vrani  was turning around this table.

Shkodran was the first to speak. “The hills are dying,” he rasped. “We drain our wells, we slaughter our herds, and all these lowlanders will give us are demands. We go east, and take what we need, or we starve.” He gave Bardhyl a firm look. “We’re with you.”

Silvija followed, her fingers playing idly with the beadwork around her neck. “You’re very confident, Bardhyl of Morr’s Seat. You look at the most powerful enemies we can set ourselves against, and you see only the road to victory. Perhaps this one’s been filling your ears with talk of fate?” She looked to Wadim, who just smiled benevolently back. “There are other gods than Morr in the Reaches, Bardhyl, and other fates than what the Raven wills.”

An awkward silence settled over the table. None of the others seemed to know what to say to that.

“Still, Shkodran is right. We walk this path together, or go to our deaths apart. We can’t promise much, but we’re with you.”

“Sounds like so much mystic mumbling to me,” said Grigur, bluntly. “But if the rest of you are decided, we won’t be left out. Assuming we get our fair share.”

“Right,” rumbled Branimir. “And you,  nevid  - we’ll give your plan a chance. But if it starts to come to pieces, we’ll be there to take the lead.”


 

 Bardhyl, 31st Sommerzeit 

The chiefs had gone back to their clans, with the agreement to bring their forces together at Greasy Drop. Dozens of fires burned outside the walls of Morr’s Seat, as the scrawny herds of goats grazing the parched hills were slaughtered and smoked. Inside the town, there was a feverish atmosphere, as all those of fighting age - and more - made their preparations to leave.

Soon enough, they were ready. On the thirty-first of the month, they set out for the meeting place.

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Is there anyone specific, or any specific force, you’re leaving in Morr’s Seat? Are the Iron Company prisoners being left there, and if so, how are they secured?
 


 

 Sonnstill 
 Ludo, Sieghard &amp; Jarla 

Getting the Thorns back on the road was not the most popular move among the company, but the spectre of Sforza’s retribution helped Ludo grease the wheels. It was the longest day of the year, and even if it was now late in the day, the hours of daylight were in their favour. By the time the light began to fail, they had made it to a spot a few miles north of Ardelean’s mill.

This close to Manann’s Keep and the path of the locusts, the countryside of the Vale was still a disheartening sight. The stubble of the lost harvest was withering away, giving way to hard, cracked earth. A shallow stream cut across the road here, still carrying the muddy vestiges of the rains that had fallen over Nath in the winter. A crude shrine to Azriller had been erected on the bank - the figure of the river goddess whittled out of the stump of a dead tree. In Evatt’s time, that probably would have been a minor heresy.

Dark clouds had gathered in the west, hiding the sunset. Still the night felt hot and thick, as if the air itself was infected with a fever. Sieghard was seeing to the posting of sentries when he felt the light begin to change. Morrslieb was rising, the pockmarked face of the Chaos Moon as red as a bloodstain.

Cries of alarm rose from among the Thorns, anxious eyes searching the darkness for what new calamity the red moon might bring. Nothing appeared out of the night, no madman’s laughter or hum of insect wings - but standing by the stream, Ludo saw a drop of something dark well up from Azriller’s eye. It swelled there for a moment, before streaking down the wooden face. The goddess was weeping tears of blood.


 

 Bardhyl 

The  vrani  had been gathering at Greasy Drop for two days, and already their muster was nearing a hundred strong. More were still arriving, turning the abandoned village into a bustling war camp. Many of them were far from warriors in their prime - callow youths or weather-beaten elders - but they were willing to fight, all the same. Even the ravens had come - perhaps drawn by the smell of roasting goat-flesh, they crowded on the roofs of the old cottages, croaking loudly. The  vrani  greeted them as a good omen, despite the dark clouds gathering overhead.

The sun had set on Sonnstill when Grim and the others came riding into the camp, bringing news from Hartmut’s Fall. The fort was not garrisoned to resist assault, Grim said, only to guard the road from bandits. He had counted no more than twelve watchers on the walls - and more than that, they had seen the tax wagons roll in that morning, accompanied by a detail of eight guards.

The wind had been strong all day, and Panteleon was in the middle of excitedly relating the details when a sudden gust almost knocked them off their feet. The campfires guttered and flared, their light seeming to dim as a brighter light suffused the night. Morrslieb was rising from behind torn fingers of cloud, its full face as red as blood.

Squawking in alarm, the ravens took wing, fleeing eastward from the rising wind. The  vrani  cried out in fear and alarm, calling to the sky for Morr’s messengers to return - but only the crimson moon shone down.


 

 Urgrim 

At the close of Sonnstill, Urgrim was a day outside Manann’s Keep, making camp in the shadow of some locust-stripped trees. Chewing on a strip of dried beef, he watched the red moon rise like an old foe.

Somewhere in the shadows of the woods behind him, a pair of shining eyes were watching, the light of the moon making them seem to glow crimson. Slowly, silently they began to prowl closer, keeping low to the ground. They were barely a dozen feet away when the dwarf turned and hucked a stone in their direction. With a frightened  yip , their owner fled into the forest - a jackal, Urgrim thought, the mortal kind.

He checked where he’d set down his crossbow again, and looked back up at Morrslieb’s leering face. It was going to be a long night.


 

 Elsa 

As the sun went down on Sonnstill, Elsa felt the sense of foreboding that had been haunting her all day growing stronger. To her, the air itself felt thick, like there was a storm waiting to break.

Climbing to the tower’s ruined upper storey, she found Tattie already up there, among the pigeons. Elsa was sure her apprentice could feel the tension too. Even Khalida seemed to sense it, slithering up her sleeve as if seeking safety in a burrow.

The two of them took a seat on the edge of the broken stonework, looking out across the Mere towards the distant peaks of the Teeth. The clouds that had gathered there were parting, and a red light was swelling behind them - far too bright to be the last dregs of the sunset. When at last the scarlet face of Morrslieb heaved into view, it made the waters of the marsh shine red with its reflected light - as if the whole of the Mere were a lake of blood.

An agitated cooing went up from the roosting pigeons, the light of the Chaos Moon rousing them from their slumber. With a great noise of whirring wings, they took flight, making Elsa and Tattie shield their heads from the clumsy birds as they flapped off into the night. As the last of them disappeared into the dark, Elsa felt a sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach. Out there, somewhere beyond those jagged, moonlit hills, something was calling - and right below them, in the locked cellar room, something was trying to answer.

The Book of Nagash was awake.
LeSwordfish
Ludo looked at the Goddess's tears and felt a bitter, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 "I should be in Painford,"  he said, as much to himself as anyone else.  "We all should. To help them with whatever this is, this time." 

He shivered despite the summer evening.  "Everybody stay alert! We don't know what's going to happen." 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

Sieghard sighed. Ludo's nervous words would do little to calm men already on edge.

" The goddess weeps for the people of the Reaches, " he observed, keeping his tone calm. " She weeps for the suffering Sforza has brought them. All the more reason we must succeed. Even the gods see how unfit he is. "

 
 Spoiler 
 (1d100)[ 41 ]  vs 54 Charm to spin this as an anti-Sforza omen rather than one that's seen as doom for us.
 
rax
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  Bardhyl, 31st Sommerzeit 

The chiefs had gone back to their clans, with the agreement to bring their forces together at Greasy Drop. Dozens of fires burned outside the walls of Morr’s Seat, as the scrawny herds of goats grazing the parched hills were slaughtered and smoked. Inside the town, there was a feverish atmosphere, as all those of fighting age - and more - made their preparations to leave.

Soon enough, they were ready. On the thirty-first of the month, they set out for the meeting place.

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Is there anyone specific, or any specific force, you’re leaving in Morr’s Seat? Are the Iron Company prisoners being left there, and if so, how are they secured?
 
 
 

 Before setting out, Bardhyl spoke to Danut, asking the smith to lead Morr's Seat in his absence. He had Abbie turn over her inventory of the stores to him and suggested that Vjolka could help in making sure that the available supplies would last as long as possible. To help Danut keep order, he detailed ten of the youngest and oldest Vrakos fighters to remain behind in Morr's Seat.

Finally, he had the unwounded Iron Company recruits brought to the great hall.  "I've been thinking about what to do with you lot. I understand you're eager to be rid of our  vrani  hospitality, but all of you took Sforza's coin to come here and play lord, so you'll understand if just letting you go isn't in the cards - at least not yet. To do that, I'd need assurances that you won't just make straight for Alvarran to let Carraciolo know what's happened here. I suppose I could ask you all to swear on the Lady, or whatever god takes your fancy, but these are desperate times, and in my experience desperate men are wont to forget even a sacred vow if they can see a more immediate way out of their predicament,"  he said with a thin smile.

 "Fortunately, your man Dag here, he's been telling me how he'd like to make himself useful in exchange for his freedom. Maybe I'll take him up on his offer - I still haven't decided, but that seems a fair trade to me. So, here's my offer - you leave Morr's Seat with me and my crew. You'll eat what we eat and drink what we drink, and you'll do what you're told with no fuss. If and when I think you can make yourselves useful, I'll let you know. If you carry out that task in good faith to the best of your abilities, you'll be free to go when you're done, or you can choose to stay on with me - I'm always in the market for reliable men." 
 "If that sounds too risky, then you'll remain here in Morr's Seat as our prisoners. Sadly, our supply situation isn't the best, so all prisoners will be on half rations until further notice,"  he added.  "What say you?" 
 
 Spoiler: OOC 
I'm assuming that Danut is well respected enough that most of Morr's Seat won't mind him being formally in charge. I'm also assuming that he's mostly content with his life as a smith and will be happy to go back to that when (if) Bardhyl returns triumphant. With regards to Vjolka, I'm assuming that she's a) too old to go on campaign, and b) more likely to have experience in making ends meet than Danut.

Re the recruits, Bardhyl is basically offering them a place in his crew if they prove reliable and are interested. I figure that's more appealing than trying to get them to become honorary  vrani . I haven't decided yet if I'm going to take Dag up on his offer to get his "friend" to help us take Hartmut's Fall.

Tossing in a Charm check for the interaction with the recruits:  (1d100)[ 93 ]  vs. 68 (Fel 58, Charm +10)
Pre-emptive FP re-roll:  (1d100)[ 89 ] 

The Iron Company veterans are definitely being left behind in Morr's Seat. They'll continue to be kept separate, with max two of them together in the same location, and all on half rations to weaken them. They should be chained at all times, but otherwise treated fairly. Any escape attempt is punishable by death. I'm hoping Danut will be willing and able to prevent the vrani from seeking revenge while Bardhyl is away.
 


 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  Sonnstill 
 Bardhyl 

The  vrani  had been gathering at Greasy Drop for two days, and already their muster was nearing a hundred strong. More were still arriving, turning the abandoned village into a bustling war camp. Many of them were far from warriors in their prime - callow youths or weather-beaten elders - but they were willing to fight, all the same. Even the ravens had come - perhaps drawn by the smell of roasting goat-flesh, they crowded on the roofs of the old cottages, croaking loudly. The  vrani  greeted them as a good omen, despite the dark clouds gathering overhead.

The sun had set on Sonnstill when Grim and the others came riding into the camp, bringing news from Hartmut’s Fall. The fort was not garrisoned to resist assault, Grim said, only to guard the road from bandits. He had counted no more than twelve watchers on the walls - and more than that, they had seen the tax wagons roll in that morning, accompanied by a detail of eight guards.

The wind had been strong all day, and Panteleon was in the middle of excitedly relating the details when a sudden gust almost knocked them off their feet. The campfires guttered and flared, their light seeming to dim as a brighter light suffused the night. Morrslieb was rising from behind torn fingers of cloud, its full face as red as blood.

Squawking in alarm, the ravens took wing, fleeing eastward from the rising wind. The  vrani  cried out in fear and alarm, calling to the sky for Morr’s messengers to return - but only the crimson moon shone down. 
 

 Bardhyl cursed beneath his breath at the sight of the blood red moon and the flight of the ravens.   Lord of Ravens, if there was ever a time for you to stretch out your hand and show us favour, now would be good!   he thought, but refused to say it out loud.

Hurrying to the middle of the camp, he called for the clansmens' attention.  " Vrani  - kinsmen, warriors! DO NOT FEAR! The wind is in the west, but Morr's messengers show us the way! We have gathered for war and our battles lie in the east - the ravens and the red face of Morrslieb bear witness to this! Let the  Tileans  fear this omen, for it foretells OUR VENGEANCE!"  he shouted above the hubbub, trying to steady their nerves.
-Sentinel-
 The Book of Nagash was awake. 

Elsa traded a glance with Tatiana. Sonstill, of course... Something was to be expected on this night, but it was mighty hard to prepare against a vague  something .

 Is this another ritual? Or is the Jackal merely trying to locate his master's Book? 

Either way, she could not just sit here... but neither did she know what more could be done about it. There was her magic circle around the Book, of course. She had paid a pretty penny to set it up, with the best quality materials she could procure in this Sigmar-forsaken country. There was also the dwarven chest. The fact that both these measures were not enough to significantly muffle the Book's power did not bode well. Then again, they  were  dealing with an artifact created by a being of unfathomable might. The strongest collegiate magisters were like children compared to Nagash, whereas Elsabeth had not even completed her College apprenticeship. Was she a fool to even think to put up a fight against the Great Necromancer?

 "I'm going into that cellar, Tatiana,"  she said, her face ashen but determined.  "I don't know if there's anything I can do, but I can be an observer, if nothing else. I want you and Olga to stay just outside and hold the door open for me, in case I need to make a hasty exit." 

She nervously fingered her bird's-skull pendant. The charm had been expensive, like the magic circle, but that did not necessarily make it effective. At the very least, she did not think it could hurt. It provided some small measure of reassurance, and sometimes, reassurance was enough to bolster a wizard's mental wards.
LCP
 Bardhyl, 31st Sommerzeit 

The captives looked at one another, clearly not sure what to make of Bardhyl’s offer.

“Make ourselves useful?” asked one of them. “How?”

“He’s mad,” said another. “He wants us to join his revolt.” This one raised his face to look Bardhyl in the eye. “I ain’t fightin’ those Tilean daemons again. I seen what they done at Arrow Heap.”

There were fearful mutters of agreement.

“Only place this leads is the end of a pike, or the end of a rope. I’ll take your half rations over that.”

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Nice rolls! 😛 They’re not convinced. Danut is happy to hold the fort, though.
 


 

 Sonnstill 
 Ludo, Jarla &amp; Sieghard 

The Thorns began to gather round, grim-faced and silent. Some of them nodded at Sieghard’s statement - it was as good an explanation as any.

 Elsa 

Tattie nodded, and rose to follow Elsa down. Descending the old stone steps, Elsa felt unease growing in the pit of her stomach. Pure  Dhar  was seeping out of the bloodstained moonlight, and  pouring  down towards the cellar. She could already hear the sussuration of ancient Nehekharan voices, whispering their pleas and curses in her ears.

Down beneath the heavy trapdoor, the candles of her octagram were unlit - but to her second sight, their light wasn’t needed. Shining traceries of  Shyish  were fading in and out of view around the chest - the same strange geometries she had seen on the book’s own pages. This was deliberate magic, not just some omen of Morrslieb - and by its light, she could see the chest was slowly, almost imperceptibly,  rising up off the floor… 

 

 Festag, 1st Vorgeheim 
 Ludo, Sieghard &amp; Jarla 

A night of sleepless watches had passed with no new spectres rising from the darkness - only the baleful moon grinning down. As soon as the sun began to show its face in the east, the camp began to stir, eager to be on the road again and away from the bloodstained face of the shrine.

They had hardly been on the road more than a couple of hours when they saw a horse coming rapidly in the opposite direction. The young man who was riding it reined his mount in hard when he saw them, sitting slack-jawed for a moment in the middle of the road. Then, with a sudden decisiveness, he turned his animal’s head and kicked its flanks, making to ride back the way he had came.
LeSwordfish
 "Take the horse,"  Ludo said decisively.

He was carrying his rifle, ready for danger, and sighted down it briefly, and targetting the horse.

 OOC 
 
 Spoiler 
I'm assuming Ludo can walk around with his rifle loaded - that's what muzzleloadingforum.com seems to think - but if not I assume this will take a hefty penalty for range as the horseman gets an extra turn's movement away as Ludo loads the rifle. I have quick draw so readying isn't an issue. HA Aim, fire at the horse.

 (1d100)[ 13 ]  vs 46 +10 Aim, +10 Single Shot, -X range.
 (2d10b1)[ 5 ] +4 Damage

Hits, and presumably hits even if the horseman gets an extra turn's movement away, but only for nine damage.
 
Thragka
 Urgrim, Sonnstill 
 —'Don't go out above ground on  Zhomerstikul , beardling,'  Urgrim recited to himself, doing an impression of an elder chastising a precocious dwarf youth.  —'It's too bright for honest folk. There'll be  elgi  abroad.'  He sighed. Right now, he'd probably prefer running into some elves.

He stamped out the last embers of his cooking-fire, to make sure even the thinnest sliver of light or heat or smoke couldn't attract any more unwanted visitors. He scanned the denuded trees nearby for a sturdy but accessible branch. As wazzockly as it might make him feel, perhaps he'd better spend the night wedged in the crook of a bough. Even if he nodded off, at least he'd be passibly upright.

He lugged his pack – and then, with more effort, coaxed Gil – over to the base of his chosen perch.  —Aye, aye,  grumbaki , I'm tired too,  he argued back to the mule.  —But you might want me up there with a good shot if you have to start kicking  varagi  to death one at a time. 
-Sentinel-
Elsa's jaw tightened and she held her ground... for now at least. She was not sure if the Book was  doing  something or if something was  being done  to the Book, but given the forces at work—Nahorek's at the Red Pyramid, and Nagash's in this very room—she highly doubted that there was much she could do to stop it either way.


 OOC: 
 
 Spoiler 
Does the Book seem to be paying direct attention to Elsa? Or is she just standing in some kind of area of effect?

Also, is Elsa able to get a sense of whether the Book's power-gathering is only the start of an hours-long ritual, or rather the culmination of one?

Magical Sense 93 if required:  (d100)[ 83 ]  -  Not greaaaat. Good thing her skill is high. 
 Fortune:  (d100)[ 86 ]  

Do note that this is a fluid situation. Just because Elsa isn't immediately bolting out doesn't mean she'll linger much longer.
 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

Sieghard had already started loading his crossbow when Ludo spoke and his shot followed shortly after Ludo's own. Despite the rider's speed, he watched with satisfaction as his bolt found its mark.

 
 Spoiler 
Quick draw to ready the crossbow. Half action for rapid reload. If he's not already at extreme range, Sieghard can shoot at vs  29  (59 BS +10 Single Shot -20 presumably long range -20 (presumably Running) ). If he  is  already at extreme range, then Sieghard has to aim and shoots one round later also vs  29  (59 BS +10 Single Shot -30 extreme range -20 (presumably Running) +10 sharpshooter )

LeSwordfish didn't account for running, but his roll was good enough that Ludo still presumably hits. Sieghard isn't capable of beating Ludo for initiative, so provided that the rider is not already at extreme range and Ludo does hit (I'm assuming you won't let me know if he manages to make the horse throw the rider), I'll spend a fortune point for an extra half action to aim for a target roll of 49 thanks to sharpshooter.

 (1d100)[ 33 ]  vs 29/49.
 (1d10+5)[ 6 ]  Damage
 
LCP
 Elsa, Sonnstill 

As far as Elsa could tell, this enchantment was coming from the book. The power was coming from outside, the flood-tide of  Dhar  provided by the red moon - but it was the book itself that was weaving it into a purposeful design. What that design was, or how long it would take to complete, she didn't know. Perhaps if she had read more of its pages she would recognise the magic being worked here.

Whatever it was doing, nothing about it had changed when she had entered the cellar. If there really was some conscious will inside those ancient covers, it was paying her less attention than she would a spider in the corner of her study.
rax
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  Bardhyl, 31st Sommerzeit 

The captives looked at one another, clearly not sure what to make of Bardhyl’s offer.

“Make ourselves useful?” asked one of them. “How?”

“He’s mad,” said another. “He wants us to join his revolt.” This one raised his face to look Bardhyl in the eye. “I ain’t fightin’ those Tilean daemons again. I seen what they done at Arrow Heap.”

There were fearful mutters of agreement.

“Only place this leads is the end of a pike, or the end of a rope. I’ll take your half rations over that.”. 
 

  "A shame, but if that's your decision, then half rations it is,"  Bardhyl replied, unruffled by the soldiers' response.  "Ortwin, see these lads back to their quarters, will you, and don't forget the chains. We wouldn't want Sforza to think they're getting preferential treatment, would we?"  he chuckled as he waved the men off.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
The recruits get the exact same treatment as the veterans - held separately from each other as far as possible, kept chained at all times, and on half rations.
 
-Sentinel-
Elsa felt as if she had a stone in her stomach as terror warred with duty. Could she halt a ritual of this magnitude dead in its tracks? Almost certainly not. But as the most powerful wizard in the Reaches fighting for the side of life, she was the only one here who could so much as  attempt  to throw a wet blanket on the gunpowder barrel before it exploded.

 The octagram. I must light it. 

By how much would this reduce the power of the dark spell? One tenth? Given the amount of  Dhar  being gathered, even that could be enough to save lives. The decision was an easy one.

 "Tattie!"  she said, running back to her apprentice who was anxiously waiting for her outside.  "Listen to me. I want you to go tell  everyone  to prepare to leave. Wizard's orders. Any direction, as long as it's away from Caerfort. Travel together, let no one fall behind, but only carry the bare minimum. We'll return  after  for the rest of our things." 

After what? She hadn't the slightest idea. They would find out before sunrise.

 "Oh, and take Khalida for safekeeping. I'm about to do something dangerous. If nothing bad happens to me, I'll join you in a minute or two. Don't go looking for me if I don't come out." 

She handed her snake to Tatiana. Though the familiar's reptilian mind was cold and alien, Elsa could sense something approaching relief from Queen Khalida Neferher of Lybaras now that she would not be forced to remain in the pocket of her reckless mistress.

Elsa returned to her octagram. She knew that ritual-casting was ordinarily an incredibly involved process that could not be interrupted under any circumstances, even to deal with a petty nuisance (such as herself). But the Book of Nagash was not necessarily bound to the same rules as human spellcasters. Perhaps it  could  harm her without pausing its casting.

 Only one way to find out, I suppose. 

She lit a match against the rough floor. No magic needed this time—at least, none that was not already gathered in her octagram.
LCP
 Sonnstill 
 Bardhyl 

Bardhyl’s confidence seemed to still the incipient panic in the camp. If he’d been hoping for an answering cry of  VENGEANCE , he was disappointed - it was too much of a leap from fear to fury. Still, he would settle for no more cries of dismay.

Looking up at Morrslieb’s bloodstained face, he did his best to hold its gaze. The shadows of its cratered surface were dark and deep - in this moment, they looked to him for all the world like a jackal’s skull, staring back.

 Elsa 

Tattie began to object as Elsa’s snake slithered up the steps - but before she could finish the thought, Olga was already dragging her away. Elsa’s bodyguard clearly had a more practical approach to self-preservation than her apprentice.

One by one, Elsa lit the candles of the octagram. Five, six, seven - she steeled herself, and touched her match to the eighth.

In an instant, the flow of  Dhar  into the cellar was thrown into chaos, like a river suddenly dammed by a fallen tree. Sparks flashed from the walls, a smell of burning filled her nose, and the chest fell back to the floor with a heavy  thud . A tiny daemon, half fish, half fowl, materialised from the eddies of magic still boiling around it, and landed atop the lid with an expression of surprise in its single yellow eye.

If the Book of Nagash hadn’t noticed her before, it certainly had now. Amethyst light flared from under the locked lid of the chest, shot through with a deeper darkness. The daemon imp screamed, falling convulsing to the ground as its mortal form withered away to bones, then dust, then nothing at all. All around the octagram, the candles flared brighter, burning so hot that their tongues of flame leaped up a foot high. Rivers of wax were pooling around their bases, lengths of wick that should have lasted hours disappearing in minutes…

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
The book is Channelling to try to overcome the resistance of the octagram and keep drawing  Dhar  to itself. Elsa can add her strength to the octagram’s by making an opposed Channelling test - but then of course, she’ll be drawing that  Dhar  to  her .
 


 

 Sieghard, Ludo &amp; Jarla, 1st Vorgeheim 

Sieghard and Ludo both struck the horse, but neither of them brought it down. Holding on to the rearing animal’s reins, the rider turned its head back north, galloping back up the road in a cloud of dust. By the time either of them could reload, he would be well out of range.
RossN
 Sieghard, Ludo &amp; Jarla, 1st Vorgeheim 

Jarla looked grim and reluctantly lowered her pistols as she realised she'd never hit the horse at this range.   "He won't get a far on an injured horse, but probably far enough. Should we go off road or carry on and prepare for a fight?"  
-Sentinel-
Elsa flinched from the violent magical reaction, but held her ground. She felt grimly exultant in knowing that the Book, for all its ancient power, was straining against her octagram. It gave her a sense that counteracting the ritual  could  conceivably be done—though she was well aware that either success or failure might spell her doom.

She began channeling the dark magic away from the Book and into herself, out of the enemy's reach. Having not touched  Dhar  in quite a while, she was both relieved and disturbed by how readily it still responded to her... as if it still  knew  her.


 
 Spoiler: OOC 

 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
 The book is Channelling to try to overcome the resistance of the octagram and keep drawing  Dhar  to itself. Elsa can add her strength to the octagram’s by making an opposed Channelling test - but then of course, she’ll be drawing that  Dhar  to  her . 
 

Quick question. How does spending Fortune points work in an opposed test? Do I have to choose to spend a re-roll (or not)  before  I know what the Book has rolled?

Channeling 93:  (d100)[ 91 ]  -  Yeah, that can't possibly be good enough. I'll re-roll that. 
 Edit:  Re-rolled to a  30  in the OOC thread. Am I allowed to use a second Fortune point to increase it to a 20, or is there a hard rule against spending more than 1 Fortune per test? (not just the rule that all re-rolls are final)
 
LCP
 Elsa, Sonnstill 

The whirling eddies of power that filled the cellar room were instantly drawn to Elsa. She knew she was fighting the tide, battling the much stronger pull exerted by the book - but with her wards and the lead-lined thickness of the chest, the odds were stacked in her favour as far as they could ever be. She felt an electric thrill course through her veins as she drank in the power surrounding her. The opposing pull of the book was growing weaker, as it exhausted the magic still left within the octagram -  she was winning .

There was only one problem - this wasn't a prize any human body was meant to win. There was only so much  Dhar  she could hold, and she knew she was rapidly approaching her limit. Her mouth felt dry, her eyes like red-hot marbles. Black sparks crackled from her fingertips. If she didn't want to explode - or worse, end her days like the beast of Harmugstahl - she knew she had to earth this power  now .

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Elsa wins the tug of war, but she's now accumulated a huge magical charge. Cast a spell, any spell! You must use your maximum Magic dice, you must use Dark Magic, and you get two Chaos Dice on top of that.

Bonus option: you know how Elsa keeps seeing the hieroglyphs of the book in her dreams? That's probably a spell, you can cast that if you want. Casting Value: Who Knows, Effects: You'll See.
 
-Sentinel-
Elsa's fear turned to triumph as the dark ritual came undone, and then back to wild panic as more magic than she had ever channeled coursed through her body and soul.

 Keep it under control, no matter what! You must live to thwart Nagash again! 

She vowed that if she only lost her hair this time, she would count herself lucky.


 
 Spoiler: OOC 

 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
 Bonus option: you know how Elsa keeps seeing the hieroglyphs of the book in her dreams? That's probably a spell, you can cast that if you want. Casting Value: Who Knows, Effects: You'll See. 
 

Ha ha ha ha ha 😁
 No. 

Not gonna lie, I'm...... very curious. But I think a  Dispel  is the most logical spell to cast when trying to ground a large amount of magical power.

Casting:  (4d10)[ 5 ][ 9 ][ 6 ][ 9 ](29) 
Dark Magic:  (1d10)[ 3 ] 
Chaos dice:  (2d10)[ 9 ][ 7 ](16) 
 3 x 9, a Major Chaos Manifestation, but I can re-roll with Voice of Reason, as I'm pretty sure Khalida's familiar abilities have infinite range unless otherwise stated. 
 Edit:  The re-roll gets me only a Minor curse, which is pretty much the best-case realistic scenario. 😉
 Edit 2:  And as a bonus, I easily managed the casting, though I doubt that matters all that much.
 
LeSwordfish
 "Bugger,"  Ludo said, watching the horse's arse retreat.  "Alright. I guess we don't have the element of surprise any more." 

He looked at Sieghard.  "What's the plan, then? Split up and take them from two sides?" 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

" Probably the best option we have, " Sieghard replied. His was still tracing the rider's path with his crossbow as if he thought he might still be able to get off another shot. " I expect they'll hunker down and make ready for us to come to them. We stick together until we near the village. After that, I'll approach directly with the crossbows and you circle around to attack from the flank with the guns. Massimo won't know about the Volunteers and I doubt his runner will have recognized them... They go with you, but I want them kept in reserve until needed. Plan is as it was supposed to be in the field north of Manaan's Keep... Try to draw them out and deny them close combat for as long as possible while whittling them down. Then, when it does come to swords, hit them from both sides. "
LCP
 Elsa, Sonnstill 

Elsa had to fight to speak each word of her incantation.  Dhar  didn’t want to be channelled to such meek and peaceful ends. It writhed in her grasp, filling her mind’s eyes with flashes of ruin, destruction,  power . With a supreme effort, she forced the last syllable between her teeth, felt the rush of magic flowing through her - and then, everything went dark.

...

...

 In the darkness, there were voices.

Elsa knew them. Ghastly, dry, like the rustling of sun-baked reeds, they were the voices she always heard in the presence of the Book. Now, however, they didn’t wail, or plead, or curse - now they whispered to  each other , beaten dogs enjoying the peace of their master’s sleep. Their words were broken, halting, repeating - but they spoke, to those who would listen. 
 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Elsa can try to understand the ghostly whispers with a straight WP test. Failure results in an Insanity Point.
 


 

 Sieghard &amp; Ludo, 1st Vorgeheim 

It was mid-afternoon by the time they reached Handrich’s Cross. Stopping well out of bowshot of the village, they began to divide their forces according to Sieghard’s plan - but Ludo already felt that something was off. Squinting across the open ground towards the settlement, he could see no sign of the Iron Company on the streets. In fact, he could see no sign of  anybody . Handrich’s Cross looked deserted.
-Sentinel-
  . 


Elsa's mind grew still


 __________ as a pond.


 Nary

a ripple. 
 ____________________ After harnessing a roiling vortex of magic, this sense of peace felt... pleasant.


  _______________ The calm after the storm. 

She could live here forever.


 _______________________________________ Had she... succeeded?


 _______________ What would she wake up to?


  Would  she even wake up? _______________________________________________ 


She reached out towards the voices... very gently. 
 They had no reason to be enemies. __________________________________  
  ____________________________ They shared a common foe.





Perhaps 
there was something

 ___________ to be learned

 _____________________ from the dead. 
 
 Spoiler: OOC 
WP 83 (with Link of Psyche):  (d100)[ 86 ] 
Fortune:  (d100)[ 56 ] 
 
LeSwordfish
 "Well,"  Ludo said.  "Obviously I don't like this. Have they all gone and hidden in the mines or something?" 

He looked at Sieghard.  "Not that I want to leave enemies at our back but I womder if the sensible thing to do here is just not to play their game.Get out of here and find snother target. You reckon there's a garrison at Arrow Heap?" 

He shrugged.  "For now, though... Gustaf, pick three scouts, and I'll come too. We're going to circle the town in the hills. See if we can find any sentries, or any signs of them moving out." 
 OOC 
 
 Spoiler 
A few actions in a row:
A command test to Inspire the chosen group of Thorns for a +10:  (1d100)[ 86 ]  vs 82
Then Stealth   (1d100)[ 21 ]  vs 94
And Perception  (1d100)[ 39 ]  vs 68
 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

" It smells like a trap, " Sieghard muttered. " But if I'm wrong and they have up and left, they won't have gotten far. Keep watchful and try to see what's going on. We'll decide what to do next after we have a better idea of what's going on. "
LCP
 Elsa, Sonnstill 
 The voices grew louder, blending together as they filled her head like the sound of breaking waves. The words were memories, pulling her under. She listened - and she saw... 

Elsa was marching through the streets of a city she had never seen. This was not Savonne, dust-caked and desperate, not Altdorf with its grime and fog. Avenues of palm trees ran between palaces of gleaming alabaster, sloping gently down to the sea. A warm breeze blew over the whispering waves, the clean, sharp scent of salt mingling with the perfumes of the night.

She was a soldier, one of a column of forty men. Armed with tall shields and long, bronze-headed spears, they were marching down a long avenue to the gates of a temple. At their head walked a thin, wizened old vulture of a man, dressed in long, black robes. Under his arm, he carried a book. He was carrying  the  book.

Two of her fellow soldiers threw open the temple gates. Inside, the place seemed almost deserted - but the sconces on the walls were lit, illuminating the reliefs that wound around the soaring columns with stark light and shadow. In the alcoves between them, tall, jackal-headed statues stood straight-backed and still.

In the flickering shadows at the end of the hall, something moved. A tall man, with a stern, dark face. He carried a staff like a shepherd’s crook, and wore black robes like the man who had led them here. He looked at that man with undisguised contempt.

“Nakht-Horeb,” said the old man. His voice was dry, sly, self-satisfied. “Still here? I’d thought you would have fled with the rest of them.”

“W’soran,” said Nakht-Horeb. His sonorous, sepulchral voice was instantly familiar. “You should know the priests of Djaf do not abandon the dead.”

“Mm-mm… priest, singular, it seems to me,” said the old man. “I see no sign of your brothers and sisters.”

“They will not be required.”

There was a heavy silence. No-one spoke, no-one moved. The soldiers looked to the old man, W’soran. At length, he sighed, cleared his throat, and began to recite:

“In the name of Neferatem, Daughter of Lahmizzash, of the blood of Hatsushepra, Blessed of Asaph, Glorious Monarch of the Dawn…” - he cleared his throat again - “...etcetera etcetera… you are commanded to come with us to the Hall of Kings, and face judgement for the crimes of treason and conspiracy against your queen.” He paused. “You can still make this easy, you know.”

“I refuse,” said Nakht-Horeb. “The only traitor I see here is the one who stands before me.”

The soldiers levelled their spears. Nakht-Horeb did not move, but began to chant. The scarred, broad-shouldered man who Elsa took for the commander of the spearmen looked to W’soran for orders - but the old man’s gaze seemed focused far away, on something only he could see.

Before the sergeant of the spears could shape his question, there was a noise of grating stone, and a huge blade struck from the shadows, cutting three of his men in half. It was in the hands of one of the jackal-headed statues, which had stepped from its alcove and struck with an executioner’s precision. Cries of fear and alarm filled the temple as three others strode out of the shadows, each of them standing twice as tall as a man.

Blood slicked the polished floor as the statues waded into the ranks of the soldiers, the grinding of their stone joints the only sound they made as their ritual blades rose and fell. Elsa witnessed one fall, the men beside her casting aside their spears to break it apart with clubs and axes - then she felt a sharp, burning pain in her midriff, and watched the world spin around her as the man whose eyes she was watching through crumpled to the floor. Through his darkening vision, she saw the statue that had slain her step over her body towards W’soran and his shrinking circle of guards.

“I know your purpose here, slave of the Usurper,” Nakht-Horeb called out. “I have seen the bodies brought here from the docks. You will tell me what you have done to them. What you have done to the queen.”

“I can do better than that,” said W’soran. Despite the carnage surrounding him, the old man was smiling, his eyes shining brightly in the shadows. When he drew back his lips, Elsa saw the first time the sharp points to his teeth. “I’m going to  show you .”

He opened the book, and darkness poured from its pages. Elsa felt its icy touch, coiling around the broken body of the dying man. Not dying - dead, and watching in helpless horror as he rose to his feet once more…

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Another choice for Elsa - she can take another WP test (at -20 this time) to learn more from the voices, or she can break away. Risk of IP as before.
 


 

 Sieghard, Ludo &amp; Jarla, 1st Vorgeheim 

It took some time for Ludo and the scouts to work their way around east of the town, up into the higher ground where the rocks of the Karst sloped down towards the mines. Wriggling up onto a high vantage-point, Ludo concealed himself behind some dead, locust-gnawed bushes and looked down into the streets.

There was nobody to be seen. Not just a quiet day - the town looked utterly deserted. Or at least, on the outside - there were still wisps of smoke rising from chimneys, and animals in their pens. Every door was shut, and every window closed.

Shimmying up next to Ludo, Gustaf pointed something out. In the dust of the main street that led through the town and up to the minehead, there were a large number of fresh tracks. From here, it looked like they had been headed for the mine.
-Sentinel-
 So Nakht-Horeb once honored the dead, instead of defiling them... 

Elsa shuddered at how vivid the vision was. She had seldom felt as close to death as when the blade clove through the man whose eyes she had borrowed. She knew the experience was exacting its toll on her mind, but she had gotten this far... She could not pull away now. She would not get another opportunity like this one to learn about her foe.


 
 Spoiler: OOC 

  OOC:  Another choice for Elsa - she can take another WP test (at -20 this time) to learn more from the voices, or she can break away. Risk of IP as before. 

Let's do this.

WP 63:  (d100)[ 57 ] 
 Fortune:  (d100)[ 45 ]  
 
LeSwordfish
 "Oh, you stupid bastards,"  Ludo muttered.  "They're all hiding in the mine. If we want to smoke them out or seal them in, we have to do it to the civilians as well." 

He returned quickly to Sieghard and reported the same thing.  "We could search the town if we wanted. But I'm willing to bet that Massimo and his goons have taken all their own things. We could steal their pigs if we wanted to, but I'm not sure that's the glorious revolution we were hoping for."

"Not impossible the civilians are still in the town, just locked up. We should check that before we go. But I bet that's what Massimo's doing. Using what he sees as your weakness against you." 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

" Bold of him to think I wouldn't do it, " Sieghard grumbled. And it was all the more annoying that he was probably right.

" Could be that Massimo told the lot of them that I was coming to put the village to the torch and got them to hide into the caves thinking it's for their own safety. Probably what I would've tried if it were me in his boots. Doesn't really seem like the way the Tileans usually go about things though, does it? " he said, considering the situation. " More likely he just had his men round them up and march them off to the mines to use as shields. Can't imagine they were too keen to go along with it and he would've been in a hurry. We break into groups and search every building. I don't care about their pigs or their coin, but if any of the locals managed to avoid being marched off, I want them found. "

 
 Spoiler 
We're stuck. We can't afford to spend too much time here but we also can't afford to leave Massimo or else he retakes Manaan's Keep the moment we're gone. Smoke or sealing the mines would deal with him, but puts us in a worse position in terms of building support against Sforza.

Unless there's a better suggestion, my thoughts are try to find anyone whose not in the mines and go from there. Maybe there's another way in that Massimo doesn't know about. Maybe we can get the locals out and THEN smoke him our or seal him in.

Assuming no objection to the idea, search roll from Sieghard
 (1d100)[ 74 ]  vs 51
 
rax
 Bardhyl, 1st Vorgeheim 

In the morning, Bardhyl and the other clan chieftains set about rousing the camp and getting them ready to march on Hartmut's Fall. He tasked the chieftains with selecting ten men to remain behind in Greasy Drop with orders to watch the road. If anything threatening appeared from the south or, as unlikely as it seemed, from the Giant'sTeeth, the watchers were to send messengers to find the  vrani  army in the north, while the rest retreated to Morr's Seat. If enemies appeared from the north, the odds were that Bardhyl's plans had failed, and they should immediately retreat to Morr's Seat. Under no circumstances were they to risk their lives to hold Greasy Drop.

Once the  vrani  were underway, he gathered Grim and the chieftains to his side to talk through the options for taking Hartmut's Fall by surprise.

 "Branimir, Grigur. You know the Karst like no one else. This damned drought will have us kicking up enough dust to set Morr himself coughing in his hall. Do you think the Karst will be enough to keep the sentries at Hartmut's Fall from spotting us, or do we need to leave the road and work our way forward in smaller groups, if we want to keep our approach from being noticed? "

 "Grim - I recall there being at least some trees in the clearing around the fortress. Are they still there, or have the Tileans thought to cut 'em down? How close to the walls do they grow - could they provide cover for a smallish group of men to get close and either scale the walls or sneak through one of the breaches? What if the men had to do it at night - would that be more trouble than it's worth?"  
 "What about the Tileans' routine after nightfall? How many men do they have watching from the walls at night and are the rest buttoned up in the keep?" *

 
 Spoiler: *OOC 
In the OOC box  here  I noted that Grim should be looking for both physical weak spots and guard routines that could be exploited. I meant that to include observing the fortress both from outside and - if it could be done without rousing suspicion - from the inside.
 

 
 Spoiler: Collected posts about Hartmut's Fall - I assume Bardhyl would have passed HF before and know most of this 
Sitting on a low ridge of rocks above a sparsely-wooded clearing in the Karst, the fortress could almost have been mistaken for another rock formation. Its walls were built of the same sooty stone, and had the same jagged irregularity: dreadful scars and breaches marred their defensive curtain, great slopes of rubble infill slanting down from where some great violence had smashed them open. They had clearly stood like this for some time: weeds grew in the rubble, and the edges of the broken stones were rounded and weathered.

Over the shattered gatehouse, a faded banner flapped in the rising breeze: a gold boar's head on an azure field. A fire-scarred stone bridge stretched over a shallow chasm in the rocks up to the gates, which stood open. The heads of two sentries were just visible over the crumbled ramparts, looking down on the approach.


 

Despite the gatehouse's ruinous state, the gates themselves were tall and strong. Their iron fittings were battered and dented, but the blackened oak beams of the doors themselves had not been broken. Looking at the stunted, scrawny trees that grew in the shallow soil of the Karst, Brand knew at a glance that these gates could not have been made from local timber.

Inside the tumbledown walls of the fortress, hovels and shacks crouched like feral animals, huddling against the shelter of the curtain wall. Every sign of industry that Adelbert could see was one that would serve the garrison. There was a small smithy, weapons and armour hanging on racks around the forge; a stone-walled grain store and a paltry-looking stable. The peasants he could see were a wiry, fearful-looking lot, much more deferent than the woodsmen of Elmridge. When they saw the party passing with their military guide, they tugged their forelocks and lowered their heads in submission.

They passed a cramped paddock of sheep and goats, crammed in together like sardines in a can. A peasant watched over them from the toppled wall of a smashed cottage, blackened beams protruding from what had once been the roof like the ribs of a great skeleton. Like the fortress walls, the damage had been done long ago: for some reason, it had never been repaired.

Rising above the narrow streets, the central keep loomed over the fortress village like the broken tooth of a giant. Although it had escaped the same damage as the walls, it was not unscathed: its walls were marked as if by fire, and many of its battlements were fractured and broken.


 

Outside, the town went about its business, if it could be called a town - or business. Everything existed to serve the fortifications; where it did not, old houses had been left abandoned, either gutted by some long-forgotten fire or slowly succumbing to the elements. A few of the more badly-damaged buildings were being used as paddocks, the stubs of their stone walls making strong fences to keep in the fractious goats that seemed to be the only livestock that would tolerate the local terrain.

Hartmut's Fall being what it was, finding food for hungry travellers was not quite as simple as it had been in Elmridge. There was no tavern with a convenient sign, no tell-tale lights in the windows of one particular building. Over in the shadow of the wall, Sieghard could see a gaggle of men - sentries? - clustered around what looked like a cooking fire, laughing and joking among themselves. Smoke was rising from the ramshackle chimneys of a few of the peasants' houses, and from some hidden aperture in the top of the keep itself, trailing away against the darkening sky in a thin line of ragged white.
 
LeSwordfish
 "Well, there's always the peaceful method,"  Ludo said dubiously.  "Remember how we dealt with Dragos? I mean, okay, that wasn't peaceful as such, but by comparison..." 

He moved forwards to help with the search.

 
 Spoiler 
 (1d100)[ 76 ]  Search vs 48
 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

" You mean duel Massimo, " Sieghard replied matter of factly. " I would, but would he? And even if he did, would his men throw down their swords after I wiped his blood off of mine? Seems to me they're in a stronger position holding the mines and using my "weakness" to stay my hand. "
LeSwordfish
 "Well, maybe I can have a word with them,"  Ludo said.
RossN
 Jarla 
 "I should go with you Ludo,"  Jarla suggested.  "I'm not in the military so they be as inclined to listen to me or at the very least my presence lend a bit of weight to your words."  
LCP
 Elsa, Sonnstill 

The image faded as the soldier’s story came to its end, dissolving into crushing cold and darkness. Cast back into the whirlpool of whispers, Elsa clung to their voices, trying to glean the echoes of humanity from the inhuman power that bound them. One whispered loud enough to hear, and to see…

When Elsa’s eyes saw once more, she found herself standing again in the temple of Djaf - but a temple that had changed almost beyond recognition. The jackal-headed statues were gone, and chisels had been used to strike the faces from the carvings on the pillars. One wall had been shattered into rubble, and through the opening, the light of the moons shone in. With it came coils of drifting smoke, and the sounds of a city on fire.

In the breach stood Nakht-Horeb, tall, masked and terrible. His fine robes were stained with blood, and the bodies of soldiers lay scattered at his feet - men with curved swords and tall, white shields. In the temple behind him, W’soran stood again, this time among a small coterie of acolytes. Elsa was one of them - a woman in priestly robes that aped her master’s, now stained with smoke and dust.

W’soran was speaking. “The palace has fallen. Abhorash cannot hold them forever. We need to go, now.”

“Why?” Nakht-Horeb replied. Behind the onyx mask, his eyes gleamed with intense anger. “We brought this fate to our city. If Lahmia falls, we should fall with it.”

“Ridiculous sentiment,” sneered W’soran. “Do you think they will honour your memory, these men of Alcadizaar? The valiant last stand of Nakht-Horeb, in the temple of his god.” He gave a dry chuckle. “You can hide your face all you wish… you know can only ever be a traitor to them now. A traitor, and a monster.”

“And whose choice was that?” snarled the Jackal, stalking down through the rubble to stand face-to-face with his master. “I had a purpose. The queen, this  city  had a purpose. You have robbed us of everything sacred.”

“Your ‘purpose’ was always a lie, my friend,” said W’soran, calmly. “I only showed you the truth. Have we not, both of us, seen what waits on the other side of Usirian’s gate?”

“Then why go on? Why keep cheating death, when we have brought it to everything we built? Everything we swore to preserve?”

“ Because what is dead can rise again. ”

The intensity in W’soran’s voice was frightening.

“You cannot bring this back,” said Nakht-Horeb. His anger was spent now - his voice sounded hollow, broken. “What we have lost - it is beyond your power.”

“There is one who can. You know of whom I speak.”

Nakht-Horeb seemed taken aback. “He is dead,” he said.

“No,” said W’soran. “He is  beyond  death. I am taking the queen to him now. Come with me, and I promise you, this city will rise again in glory. Unbroken by the envy of lesser men.”

There was a heavy silence. “You still doubt? Shepenupet,” said W’soran, slipping back into a tone of command. “Show him.”

The woman who was Elsa came forward to stand beside the two of them. She held the Book of Nagash in her hands. With a nod from W’soran, she opened the covers.

The pages fluttered in an unseen wind, turning of their own accord. They came to rest on a nine-pointed star, worked around with hieroglyphs like the husks of flies in a spider’s web. Elsa - Shepenupet - began to read, and felt something -  someone  else reach up out of the page.

 S PEAK.  
The words felt like shards of ice travelling up her windpipe. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe - whatever power or presence was speaking, it had her in an iron grip.

W’soran fell to one knee, subserviently bowing his head. Nakht-Horeb took a step closer.

“Who am I speaking to?” he asked, in hushed tones.

 Y OU KNOW MY NAME.  A S I KNOW YOURS.  N AKHT-HOREB OF  L AHMIA.  
 W’soran’s pet.  The voice did not hide its thoughts from her. To it, the vessel it spoke through was of less consequence than an insect.  A useful tool. 

“Lahmia is no more,” said Nakht-Horeb, his deep voice cracking. “The city burns.”

 T HESE CHILDREN HAVE BETRAYED YOU, AS YOUR ANCESTORS BETRAYED ME.   There was no rancour in the ringing words that came from her mouth - just cold certainty.  M ORTAL MEN WILL ALWAYS FEAR THOSE WHO RISE BEYOND THEIR LIMITS.  
 Wilful. Unpredictable. Only in death could they be compelled to true obedience. 

“But you lived?” said Nakht-Horeb. “You were defeated. Cast into the desert to die.”

 D EATH IS MY SERVANT.  N OT MY MASTER.  
Elsa felt the bitterness lurking beneath those calm words. The spite of revenge, centuries in the making. This dying city was only the first - they would all pay for what the voice had endured.

There was a long pause. “Does W’soran speak the truth?” Nakht-Horeb asked at last. “Can we restore what we have lost?”

 W ’SORAN HAS EVER BEEN MY FAITHFUL DISCIPLE.  C OME TO ME.  A ND YOU WILL LEARN.  
 You will serve. A faithful hound. A loyal slave. 

The book snapped shut, and fell from Elsa’s hands. The iron grip that had held her, body and soul, was gone - but it had taken her strength with it. The body that it left behind was a withered husk, wasted away by the power it had channelled.

Elsa felt Shepenupet’s despair as she fell to her knees, trying and failing to speak for herself. Collapsing to the floor of the temple, she saw W’soran’s feet pass in front of her dimming eyes as the elder vampire scooped the book up off the ground.

“Come,” he said, ignoring his dying acolyte as he turned back to Nakht-Horeb. “We go north.”

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Same choice again - break free or go deeper. This time the test will be at -40.
 


 

 1st Vorgeheim 
 Sieghard, Ludo &amp; Jarla 

At Sieghard’s orders, the Thorns split up to search, with Gustaf and fifteen others holding position at the southern edge of the town. Hanna and Jarla went west, while Ludo led his squad east, past the high ground he had scouted already. Sieghard went straight up the main road towards the town square.

Up close, it was easy to see the signs of people having dropped what they were doing in a hurry. Jarla found the market sellers’ stalls by the shrine to Handrich, their contents unguarded. On the back street that he explored, Ludo found doors locked and windows shuttered. He had a feeling of being watched that made him suspect some of these houses might be less empty than they looked - but if they were, their inhabitants didn’t respond to any of the Thorns’ knocks or calls.

In the town square, Sieghard found an unharnessed wagon drawn up in front of the town’s one tavern -  Bohnen’s Bounty , by the sign that hung above the door. From the bushel of pikes poking out the back, it looked like it belonged to the Iron Company. There was the light of a fire from inside the tavern’s narrow windows, and smoke rising from the chimney - but no-one came out to greet them as Sieghard’s squad emerged into the square.

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Here’s a map to give a sense of the layout of the town.

 

The two squads not led by PCs are marked G (for Gustaf) and H (I’m assuming the second is led by Hanna). Since Gustaf’s squad is supposed to be double-sized, and since I think we have about 40 Thorns and about 10 Volunteers, I’m taking the average squad size to be 8.

Bohnen’s Bounty is the town’s inn. The shrine to Handrich is an open-air shrine; the mine should be self-explanatory.
 

 Bardhyl 

 
 Originally Posted by rax 
  "Branimir, Grigur. You know the Karst like no one else. This damned drought will have us kicking up enough dust to set Morr himself coughing in his hall. Do you think the Karst will be enough to keep the sentries at Hartmut's Fall from spotting us, or do we need to leave the road and work our way forward in smaller groups, if we want to keep our approach from being noticed? " 
 

Grigur scoffed. “The old baron wasn’t a complete fool, you know. You don’t build a guard tower where it don’t do no good.” He sniffed. “We march straight up the road, I’d say they’d spot us coming at… maybe a quarter of a mile. If they’re paying attention.”

“Not hard to get around the back, though,” said Branimir. “Not if you let us lead the way.”


  "Grim - I recall there being at least some trees in the clearing around the fortress. Are they still there, or have the Tileans thought to cut 'em down? How close to the walls do they grow - could they provide cover for a smallish group of men to get close and either scale the walls or sneak through one of the breaches? What if the men had to do it at night - would that be more trouble than it's worth?"   

“I don’t think those trees had a single leaf on them,” said Grim. “And there weren’t that many of them to begin with.” He shrugged. “As far as I could see, no-one’s been working to keep them back, but they don’t need to. Nothing’s growing in this drought.”

“Still, a few picked men could get up close in the dark. There’s sentries by the breaches, but those are on the road side anyway. With a rope and a hook, you could get over the wall behind them easy enough.”

“But why?” said Juraj. “They’re not expecting an attack, are they? We could walk right up to the gates.”

“Or just rush them,” chuckled Branimir. “We outnumber them what, ten to one? They’ve got holes in their walls that you could drive a herd through. How much fight could they put up?”


  "What about the Tileans' routine after nightfall? How many men do they have watching from the walls at night and are the rest buttoned up in the keep?"  

“Two men on the gate, a few on top of the walls,” said Grim. “I couldn’t see more than three. As for the rest, I think they do what they want. It’s true, they’re not ready for an attack. But, the keep has the best quarters so,” he shrugged, “that’s probably where they’d be.”
-Sentinel-
As Shepenupet withered and died—as  she  withered and died—Elsa began to think that the mere notion of opposing Nagash had been pure folly. She was shocked at the sheer casualness with which the Great Necromancer, even in a weakened state and working through the Book, had puppeted and discarded the priestess.

W'soran's words had also sent a spike of doubt into her guts.

 "I only showed you the truth,"  he had told Nakht-Horeb.  "Have we not, both of us, seen what waits on the other side of Usirian's gate?" 

What had they seen?

Nothing...

That had to be it.

They had seen nothing. Hence why they feared death so much.

 But Nagash can lie,  she reminded herself, almost frantically.  Nagash can craft illusions, make his servants see only what he wants them to see. He would conceal Morr's realm from them, for it is fear of death that drives mortals to serve him. 

He was no savior at all, no rebel against the tyranny of death. Only his 'servants' were granted eternal life... and Elsa had just seen and experienced for herself how he treated his servants.

Nakht-Horeb was much mightier than Elsa was, and even he did not rank high among Nagash's servants. Subordinate to W'soran. She supposed that would make her Shepenupet, if she were to join those who sought immortality... less than a 'faithful disciple', less than a hound. An instrument. Little more than one of the hollow-eyed, restless dead.

And now the dead priestess was among the souls held captive by the Book. That must be how Elsa could be made to see all these events as if she were there.

 Show me more,  she besought the trapped souls.  Please. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it... 

How many more times could she 'die' before her sanity began to crack? She had no idea. Perhaps she was going mad already without realizing it. But if she feared death as much as Nagash and his servants did, she knew she would have tried to pull away from the visions by now. That knowledge helped steel her heart against whatever came next.


 
 Spoiler: OOC 
 


WP 43:  (d100)[ 68 ] 
Fortune:  (d100)[ 18 ] 

Deeper in we go...

Hopefully making you write another of those scenes isn't an inconvenience. 😛 I'm down to my last Fortune Point, though.
 
rax
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  Bardhyl 

Grigur scoffed. “The old baron wasn’t a complete fool, you know. You don’t build a guard tower where it don’t do no good.” He sniffed. “We march straight up the road, I’d say they’d spot us coming at… maybe a quarter of a mile. If they’re paying attention.”

“Not hard to get around the back, though,” said Branimir. “Not if you let us lead the way.” 
 

  "Good, then that's how we'll do it - lead the way,"  Bardhyl answered immediately.   Let's see if you're as invisible as you claim,   he thought.


 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
 “I don’t think those trees had a single leaf on them,” said Grim. “And there weren’t that many of them to begin with.” He shrugged. “As far as I could see, no-one’s been working to keep them back, but they don’t need to. Nothing’s growing in this drought.”

“Still, a few picked men could get up close in the dark. There’s sentries by the breaches, but those are on the road side anyway. With a rope and a hook, you could get over the wall behind them easy enough.”

“But why?” said Juraj. “They’re not expecting an attack, are they? We could walk right up to the gates.”

“Or just rush them,” chuckled Branimir. “We outnumber them what, ten to one? They’ve got holes in their walls that you could drive a herd through. How much fight could they put up?” 
 

  "Why? Because in Morr's Seat, we took the garrison completely by surprise, with the ones in the hall in the midst of ****ting themselves thanks to the tainted meal we'd prepared for them, and they still fought like demons. Out of thirty men we captured  nine , and we lost more warriors than I'd have liked doing it." 
 "Maybe this lot aren't as tough as Orso's crew, but I'm not betting our lives on it, and every man we lose before we face Carraciolo is one too many. So, what we really need is for this fight to be over before the Tileans even know they're in one. It's no good sweeping them off the walls only to bottle them up in the keep. The last thing we need is a siege, and an enemy at our backs when Carraciolo comes-a-marching up the Alvarran road,"  Bardhyl explained.


 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
 “Two men on the gate, a few on top of the walls,” said Grim. “I couldn’t see more than three. As for the rest, I think they do what they want. It’s true, they’re not ready for an attack. But, the keep has the best quarters so,” he shrugged, “that’s probably where they’d be.” 
 

  "I'm liking the idea of sending a picked crew over the walls in the dark. Once that's done, we can bring as many men as we need in through the breaches, and either storm the keep if the doors are left open, or wait for them to send someone out to relieve the guards and then rush 'em,"  Bardhyl pondered out loud.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
It's not my intention to make needlessly complex plans if Juraj and Branimir are right, but I don't have a clear idea of how big the area around the fortress is.  Could  a large body of men run across and actually stand a chance of catching the garrison by surprise, at least enough so that they don't all have time to retreat to the keep?

I feel Bardhyl would be able to judge this from having passed through HF on the way to and from Morr's Seat. Likewise, I think he would know if it's common practice to have sentries stand watch all night or if they would be organized in shifts?
 
LeSwordfish
Seeing the smoke from the chimney, Ludo sent Ingwald and his squad on ahead.
 
"Head down to the end of the road, look for any signs of a mass exodus into the mines, and then keep your heads down,"  he said.  "If something happens, fall back to us and we can regroup. I'm going to go and see what's what at the tavern." 

Ludo joined Sieghard in the centre of town and looked critically at the tavern ahead of them.  "Well. Free cart, free pikes, I suppose." 

He stepped forward towards the tavern and raised his voice.  "Ciao, Massimo! Are you hiding in the pub? Finish your drink and come out to talk!" 
 OOC 
 
 Spoiler 
The specific reaction I'm hoping to do is to provoke anyone inside to show themselves or start talking, even if it's "go away, he's not in here." Ludo is trying to provoke, not charm ("ciao" is the closest italian translation to "oi!" i can find) but Charm seems most appropriate:  (1d100)[ 94 ]  vs 92.

If that doesn't work, the next thing Ludo will say is  "Come out! Before we start breaking doors down!" 
 
TheSummoner
  Sieghard  

Sieghard's sense of suspicion only grew as they crept further into the town. His mind raced trying to consider every option Massimo had and which seemed most likely.

 He couldn't have faked the tracks into the mines. The villagers are there, but that doesn't mean the Iron Company are with them.  If they were, then he'd have nothing to fear from the town itself, but if not and if he had led his men into the mines, they could've easily been trapped inside.

" It's too obvious, " Sieghard remarked after Ludo had mentioned the cart and pikes.  Massimo's runner would've warned him that he's outnumbered. He needs a way for his better armor and skill in close quarters to overcome that. He wouldn't choose to fight in the mines, he's no dwarf.  " A few of them might be in the inn, but they're likely spread out among the other buildings as well. The moment enough of us are in the square, they'll pour out of wherever they're hiding and try to encircle us. "

He tensed the moment Ludo spoke again, grip tight on his sword.

 
 Spoiler 
I'll throw in an AK: Strategy/Tactics roll here. Under the assumption that Massimo is indeed trying to lure us into a trap within the town itself, what's the most likely place he'd try to spring it (current assumption being the town square, but maybe I'm wrong), and what buildings offer the best position for him to try to spring the trap  from ?

 (1d100)[ 24 ]  vs 61
 
LCP
 Elsa, Sonnstill 

She walked in an echoing hall of black stone, cut from bedrock without a single gap or seam. There were no windows, but green witchlights danced in sconces on the walls, throwing back the thick, black shadows.

She was not human - but she had been. Her hands were grey and withered, her fingernails thickened and lengthened into claws. She felt the press of sharp teeth against her dry tongue, and the quiet of a heart that did not beat.

Others like her were here too, searching frantically through the shadows. Near the walls, the floor was piled with bones - the bones of men, orcs, and stranger things. The cracked skull of what looked like a gigantic rodent rolled away under her feet.

At the head of the hall stood a dais, bearing an enormous throne. Made from the same stone as the walls, it was far too big for any human frame. It stood empty, and Elsa could see a scar had been cut into its back. Whatever weapon had made it, even the wound it had left in the rock still pulsed with poisonous power.

There was a  boom  from behind them as the gates of the hall were thrown open, and the Jackal strode in. The others stopped in their searching, turning to face him.

“Black Dog,” said one of the others - a withered creature with ears that had begun to look distinctly like those of a bat. “Have you returned with the head of the traitor queen?”

“What have you  done? ”

His words rang out through the shadowed hall, rebounding from rocky walls and empty throne. Bat-ears looked shifty, shuffling a little closer to the nearest of his fellows.

“We have done nothing the master did not command,” he began. In a flash, Nakht-Horeb had crossed the floor and pinned him against the wall, uncomfortably close to one of the witch fire braziers.

“Don't lie to me, whelp,” snapped Nakht-Horeb. “I have ridden the Numas road to come here. The river is  blood.  The land is  dust ! In four hundred leagues I have seen nothing living. Even the birds are dead!”

“It was… part… of the master's Design,” choked out Bat-Ears, wriggling in the iron grip. “To rise again… first… must die…”

“ No! ” With a sudden, violent motion, the Jackal threw his victim aside, sending bones rolling and clattering across the floor. “To rise again in glory. That was the Design. Not this.” He looked around the hall, and the other vampires shrank before him. “Where is the master?”

“The master… is dead,” rasped out Bat-Ears, rubbing his crushed windpipe. “Alcadizzaar…”

Nakht-Horeb’s eyes were drawn to the empty throne. “No mortal could have struck down the Undying King,” he said. “Which of you betrayed him?” Silence. “Where is W’soran?”

“He is above,” croaked Bat-Ears, climbing back to his feet. “Let us bring you to him.” Unseen by Nakht-Horeb, some of the other acolytes began to close in behind him. Elsa felt her own feet lead her forwards - and brush against something beneath the bones. It was the Book.

Stooping, she picked it up. “Melkhior!” she called out. Bat-Ears looked her way, but the Jackal was still speaking.

“No,” he snarled. “I will not be made a traitor a second time.” The lamps flickered, and the shadows began to lengthen around him. Melkhior cried out for the others to act - and in greed or desperation, Elsa watched her hands open the covers…

 Pain. 

That was the first thing that touched her mind. Not her own, but the Book’s. It was no conduit now to the power that had made it, but a remnant, a shadow, still flinching from the blow that had severed it. The Great Necromancer had so feared death that he had put a part of himself into this book - into  all  of his books, all of his greatest creations. And while his works lived on, so would he.

Still, here was a vessel it could use. Not her - she was insufficient, insignificant. But Nakht-Horeb's grief and rage resonated with its own. She felt it reach out to him, even as she fought to bend it to her own will.

 Y ES, MY DISCIPLE. WE HAVE BEEN BETRAYED.  

The onyx mask whipped round, and in a flash, the Jackal had crossed the hall towards her. The crooked staff rammed into her midriff, pinning her to the floor.

 T HE GREAT RITUAL HAS BEEN UNDONE . T AKE ME WITH YOU, AND WE WILL MAKE IT ANEW . G REATER AND MORE PERFECT . 

With his free hand, he reached down to take the book from her. She bared her teeth, fighting to keep hold of it.

 W E WILL RISE AGAIN, AND MAKE THIS WORLD AS IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN.  

With her hands still on the book, she could feel those words, and the wounded spite behind them. The world of Nagash was not a world of restored glories. It was a desert, built to guarantee true immortality the only way he could - by making every hand and heart and mind that could ever wish him harm a slave for him in death.

With a wrench, Nakht-Horeb pulled the book from her grasp, and the visions faded. She felt the  crunch  as he pushed the butt of his staff down through her sternum, crushing her dessicated heart.

 C OME, MY SERVANT  , spoke the voice of the book, as the memory broke apart.  T HERE IS MUCH TO DO…  
 OOC:  
 Spoiler 
Same deal again - do you fancy a roll at -80?
 


 

 1st Vorgeheim 
 Bardhyl 

  "I'm liking the idea of sending a picked crew over the walls in the dark. Once that's done, we can bring as many men as we need in through the breaches, and either storm the keep if the doors are left open, or wait for them to send someone out to relieve the guards and then rush 'em,"  

“Alright then,” said Branimir, cracking his massive knuckles. “What are we waiting for?”

 OOC: 
 
 Spoiler: OOC 

  Could  a large body of men run across and actually stand a chance of catching the garrison by surprise, at least enough so that they don't all have time to retreat to the keep? 

The fort itself is not so large that it takes them any great amount of time to get to the keep. The only level of surprise where they physically couldn't get to it in time is “Surprise! We're already inside!”
 

 Ludo &amp; Sieghard 

Looking up at the solidly-built townhouses surrounding them, Sieghard felt a knot twist in his gut. If he was setting a trap, he would set it right here.

The door of the house on their right flew open with a crash. “ SANGUE E ORO!  came the roar, as armoured men came rushing out. On their left, another door flew open, and another half a dozen Iron Company poured into the street.

Across the square, the door of the tavern swung open, and a man Ludo assumed was Massimo emerged with the rest of his men. &lt; A bottle of Trantio brandy for the man who takes the traitor's head! &gt; he shouted, pointing at Sieghard. &lt; CHARGE! &gt;

 OOC:   
 Spoiler 
Sieghard worked it out just before it happened so you're not Surprised - but they're still uncomfortably close!

I'm away from my computer so can't do maps and such for a bit, but to give you the best summary I can: Sieghard’s squad (+Ludo) have been ambushed by two squads of Iron Company in the buildings immediately to their left and right, at the entrance to the square. These guys are already in charge range.

Each of the three groups of Iron Company is about 6 strong, so Sieghard's squad are outnumbered about 3:2 (not counting PCs). Massimo's squad have further to go (they have to cross the square) but they will arrive before any more Thorns can.

Initiative:

  Sieghard  - (1d10+47)[ 51 ] 
  Ludo  - (1d10+74)[ 80 ] 
  Thorns  - (1d10+36)[ 45 ] 
  IronCompany  - (1d10+31)[ 36 ] 
 

 Jarla 

Several streets over, Jarla heard the shout rise above the rooftops:

 SANGUE E ORO! 

That probably wasn't good.
LeSwordfish
 "Oh I hate how often you're right,"  Ludo said, swinging his gun up and firing a shot at Massimo. As best he could tell, it didn't even break the sargeant's plate.
-Sentinel-
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
 “ No! ” With a sudden, violent motion, the Jackal threw his victim aside, sending bones rolling and clattering across the floor. “To rise again in glory. That was the Design. Not this.” 
 

The Jackal's angry denial was revealing. For a while now, Elsa had been wondering what sort of king would want a wasteland for a realm and slack-jawed corpses for subjects, like the world's loneliest puppeteer putting on a show for an audience of only himself. But it seemed that Nakht-Horeb  truly  believed his kingdom's glory could be restored. Even now, holed up in his Red Pyramid with his sole remaining mortal servant, perhaps he still told himself that the Land of the Dead down south was but a mockery of his master's grand dreams, rather than those dreams made manifest.



 The Great Necromancer had so feared death that he had put a part of himself into this book - into  all  of his books, all of his greatest creations. And while his works lived on, so would he. 

This sudden insight into the Book's true nature would have sent a shiver down Elsa's spine if she could still feel her own body. Nagash's ten Books were not merely his work... they were  him . For the past month, Elsa had unknowingly been planning to cut off one of the Great Necromancer's fingers. This cast a new light on the folly of the whole endeavour.

 But what if I actually succeed? 

Well, in that unlikely event... Nagash would still be mighty beyond her comprehension, but now his undivided attention would be on her. He would swiftly ensure she could not hurt him again.

Before she could fully mull over the implications, she 'died' again. And that was the last straw before her willpower faltered. Even as her mind tried to cling on, her very soul—were those even different things?—wanted out. She could not bear to die another person's death one more time. The next time she died, it had damn well better be her  own  death.


 
 Spoiler: OOC 
Failed the WP test in the OOC thread.
 
rax
 
 Originally Posted by LCP 
  1st Vorgeheim 
 Bardhyl 

“Alright then,” said Branimir, cracking his massive knuckles. “What are we waiting for?” 
 

 Following Branimir and Grigur's lead, Bardhyl's little army snaked its way through the karst to avoid being detected by the garrison at Hartmut's Fall. They set up camp to the rear of the fortress, hidden among the rocks but with a good vantage points to keep it under observation.

As evening fell, Bardhyl outlined his plan to Grim and the chiefs.  "Here's what I'm thinking - when night falls, my men and I will march straight for the main gate, torches lit, and beg to be let in. We've got important news for the garrison commander and need to speak to him right away! If we get lucky, they may fall for it enough to let us in and enable us to take out the guards at the gate, but really it's all a distraction." 
 "While we're making noise and attracting attention, ten picked men scale the rear wall and make their way around the inside, clearing the sentries. If all goes well, they signal the rest of you to make for the breaches quickly and quietly. If they're discovered, there'll be no need for doing things quietly - just bring our warriors through the breaches as fast as you can. I suggest the wall team light a single torch if all's gone well, and a second if there's fighting to be done." 
 "Make sure the warriors are split into equally sized groups to get through the breaches. Even if we have to fight our way in, forcing them to cover all the breaches is our best bet for overwhelming them." 
 "So - who wants the honour of taking the walls?"  he asked the  Vrani  chiefs.

 
 Spoiler: OOC 
I've added some armour to Bardhyl's outlaws as spoils from Morr's Seat. It's heavier than they'll probably want to wear on a day-to-day basis, but I wanted the option for them to armour up for heavy combat. For Bardhyl, I just added a breastplate.
 