In which the group acquires another companion and heads north, through the mighty capital of Altdorf, and beyond towards the Barony of Eslohe.. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING The group had reached the safety of Unterbaum, lights visible from several windows told them the village remained as it was when they had left. They could actually hear the sounds of the Twin Falls long before they could see the village. They had returned to civilization. To safety. To a well-earned rest, after a long and perilous journey through the Barren Hills. The party considered going to the village, but remember the fine inn The Roaring Falls perched on the other side of the river, and deciding that they needed strong drink, headed there directly. The Roaring Falls was a large, if not particularly fine, inn and as they approached they could see another riverboat was pulled alongside it's quay. Entering, they found it nearly empty, but for two sullent boatmen drinking at the bar, and a gruff-looking innkeeper who looked them once over then returned to whatever tasks he pretended to behind the bar. However, another figure drew their immediate attention. In one corner of the smokey room a man sat back, his figure nearly covered in shadow. A large brimmed hat sat on his head, of a distinctive shape. As the group looked at him, he leaned forward, his aquiline features coming into distinctive shape in the candlelight, grinning. His armor, the purity seals, the hat - all marks of a member of the Ordo Malleus - a Witch Hunter. The Witch Hunter greeted Drake Blackheart, still with a wry smile, calling him by his full name, and addressed each in turn - pausing only at Edmee about whom he said nothing - causing some consternation. 'I am afraid you have us at a disadvantage, sir.' said Drake, continuing 'You seem to know us well, and yet you have not introduced yourself.' The lithe figure stood, his ornate breastplate becoming visible for the first time, worked over with the sigils of Sigmar, and bowed deeply. 'I am Cyrus Aggaron, Witch Hunter..' he lingered on the words '..of his Majesty the Emperor, Karl-Franz. I have been sent to accompany you and aid you in your quest, for our seers tell that you lot, however unlikely..' he looked at Dronk and Red each in turn ' ..are somehow tied to the fate of this great Empire.' THE ROARING FALLS INN Dronk chuckled at the glare and took a seat at the table, calling to the barkeep for a bottle of his finest brandy, on the good Witch Hunter's tab. Cyrus said nothing, and when the barman looked at him searchingly, nodded in approval. The barkeep's mouth widened into a big toothy grin showing his wooden teeth, and he brought forth a crude bottle of spirits, placing it on the table before Cyrus and Dronk, along with a number of tin shot glasses. The rest of the group also sat around the table, except for Red who headed to the bar and began drinking heavily, glowering at anyone who asked him anything, even the barkeep when he asked what he wanted to drink. A tense discussion followed, with some in the group uncomfortable with the thought of a Witch Hunter accompanying them, scrutinizing their activities. Dronk and the others drank heavily, except for Cornelius who sat, staring into his drink, avoiding eye contact, seemingly lost in thought. Cyrus also produced a signet that to Drake and Hugo showed him as a member of the Ordo Fidelis, a sort of secret police within the Empire dedicated to rooting out secret cults of the Ruinous Powers. 'They may have banned the burning of mutants, but these cultists are a real and present danger.' said Cyrus, after listening to the group tell their tale of fighting the daemon-tree, the cultists at the Devil's Bowl, the beastman war-party. 'You say this, this..Eletza..she was a Bright Wizard, sanctioned by the College?' he raised an eyebrow, looking at Cornelius, who was still clad in his bloodied but distinctive Celestial Magister robes. 'A renegade..' muttered Cornelius, and Cyrus said nothing. A GORY TREASURE Cyrus then shared what the Ordo Fidelis had found out since the party had left Bogenhafen over a month previous. Despite putting dozens of mutants - before the Imperial Proclamation, of course - to the Question, none had given any real information on the 'Purple Hand'. However, the Ordo did have some record of the Red Crown, having heard reports of cultists working with beastmen in the past year, from Middenland, who used a similar device. Questioning the group's actions in slaying Eletza before she could be properly Questioned, Cyrus angrily accused Dronk, in particular, of foolishness. As he did so, Dronk produced the sack of severed cultist heads, allowing them to tumble all over the table, gore splashing the floor. The inn went deadly silent and a terrible stink, previously trapped in the sack, now filled the room. Then the noise was cut by Red, who began to laugh at the top of his lungs 'HAW HAW HAW!' One of the bar patrons retched on the floor while the barkeep turned white as a sheet. Cyrus looked at the heads...some of which bore the marks of Chaos mutation. 'See?' said Dronk 'We killed Eletza and her gang of cultists. Maybe time for a little respect, you know?' The barkeep interrupted the discussion, shouting at Dronk to 'Get those out of my inn, you bloody butchers!' Dronk quickly gathered the severed heads and stepped outside, followed by Cyrus. The rest of the group quickly downed their drinks and ordered another round, as Red continued to chuckle for some time. Outside the Roaring Falls inn, Dronk piled the gorey trophies and began to gather brush and grass and twigs to burn them. The pickings were scarce and Cyrus only watched in silence as he worked at his grim task. After some time, Dronk began trying to strike a fire, but found it difficult in the wind. Cyrus stepped forward and stabbed his rapier into the center of the mound, whispering something, and the heads burst aflame, a thick black smoke filling the air. As the severed heads began to burn, Cyrus and Dronk could see a figure approaching from Unterbaum. As he got closer, Dronk recognized him as Bartschval, the druid of the Old Faith, whom they had met earlier, before going into the hills. Cyrus watched him approach, a quizzical look on his face. The Old Faith was an ally against Chaos to be sure, but Cyrus had never shaken his feeling they were all crazy somehow, to worship not the God Taal, but his works, nature itself. The druid looked at the smoldering pile with a look of shock, and quickly passed the figures, entering the inn. They sat at the fire in silence. CONVERSATION WITH BART When Bartschval entered the inn, the group bade him sit and they spoke for some time. He wanted news of the Barren Hills, so the group recounted the tale, as they had to Cyrus. Bartschval was particularly concerned about the beastman war-party, and related that he knew about the daemon-tree, being shocked they managed to slay it but warning this had happened before, and it always returned. He told them that the Devil's Bowl was a crater made from a rock that fell long ago from the sky, a rock made of Warpstone, the condensed essence of Chaos itself. The stone circle around the lake was erected centuries ago by his forebears to try to contain the Chaos taint so that it would not poison the land, but it had failed. The stone circle protecting the village served a similar purpose, he explained. After more drinking, but little celebration, the group headed back to the Wayward Derelict, where they were greeted by an angry Dumpling, brandishing the pistol and shouting about 'Being left alone gods-know-where near a bloody giant river falling down around your ears!'. The Wayward Derelict was safe and sound, their possessions intact. They headed belowdecks while still tied at the dock and along with their new companion, Cyrus, considered their next move. First, Dronk and the others agreed to send warnings, through the innkeeper and the mayor of Unterbaum, to river boats passing through, that Guttow, Torpin and Ravenstein were all possible targets of a beastman attack. Then, Hugo produced the notes that had been carried by Ernst, the 'doctors student' they had met so long ago on the coach-ride to Altdorf. Now his corpse would rot in the Barren Hills, a fitting price for his turn to the Dark Powers. THE CULTIST'S NOTES The notes were written in Reikspiel, but the writing was nearly inscrutable. It took hours to read them, deciphering their probable meaning page by page. It was mostly a mundane recounting of an expedition. Ernst set out from Altdorf, alone, on 23th Pflugzeit, reaching Grissenwald on the 1st Sigmarzeit. Eletza and Ernst departed on the 7th Sigmarzeit, and were in Kemperbad on the 15th. There, they met "Brothers Hagar and Lutke" as well as "Thaddeus of the Hand", gathered provisions, then set out. The cultists were forced to abandon their horses after several were injured while another drowned in the Narn. The notes also referred to meeting with a "Herd..which has grown strong in the shadows, standing hundreds deep within this single branch.." Ernst writes of meeting "our brother" who informed them "Cinder-Eye has joined to the Bray, under Gore-Hoof, with the others, once we find it, and issue the Call." Several beastmen apparently join their band, one of whom is then slain by mutated carniverous plants. Later, the cultists met with a 'divine twig of the Great Mutator' and the writing here is insane babble, none of it making any sense. Arriving at the Devils Bowl, Eletza furious that the stone was not present. However, she had a plan, and collected nearby bones of the fallen, sacrificing the last of the beastmen over the pile that night. She prayed to Tzeentch, the Daemon Lord of Change and was granted a vision, or perhaps, an audience. The feathered emissary, feasting on the memories of the unquiet dead whom Eletza had offered said 'You seek the spittle of Morrsleib ; you will find it in Eslohe.." Armed with this information, the group had a clear direction. Head to Eslohe, to find the 'spittle' - perhaps the shooting star mentioned in the astrological record and in the legend the Druid had shared? They departed at first light, back down the Narn to the Reik, and up to Altdorf. BACK UP THE RIVER The week-long journey was mostly uneventful. They travelled one of the busiest arteries of the Reik, and saw a Roadwarden vessel frequently, some of which made to pull them aside, but seeing the passengers, thought the better of it. They did not stay at riverside inns, but slept on the boat, with Edmee often foregoining a hammock to sleep abovedecks. At Kemperbad, Drake checked for a response to his wanted posters, but the Watch said nothing had happened, and most of the posters had been torn down. Hugo sparred often with the others, while Drake often engaged in meditation. Dronk and Edmee, when not responsible for steering the boat, would also train their skills whenever possible. All got a glimpse of Cyrus's ornate pistols, worked in brass and silver, by master gunsmiths. Edmee and Cornelius also collaborated, using their alchemical equipment to distill the essences of several rare plants Edmee had collected around the Barren Hills. Through this, they were able to create several powerful potions of Invulnerability, as well as some other arcane elixirs. THE CITY OF ALTDORF At the end of the week, they reached the capital, Altdorf, glittering crown of the Empire. All had been there before, but could not help but feel relieved at the comforting press of civilization. Everything they needed could be found in Altdorf, went the saying. Finding a place at the ever-busy docks, they headed ashore, staying for several days. Here, they finished their training, with Cornelius heading to the Magical Colleges, Edmee to a Temple of Manaan, Hugo to the Temple of Ulric, Drake to the Cathedral of Sigmar. Days spent in contemplation and repetition were well-spent, and they emerged the stronger for it. Meanwhile, Dronk trained his skills in other, less legal, ways. All of them used their time to sell those things which were of value, such as a diamond tiara, pocketing the coin and resupplying. Drake had his armor emblazoned with the hammer of Sigmar in bright lacquer, and reinforced with heavy leather padding. Red, the Trollslayer, departed for the riverside taverns, and could not be found again. Drake in particular spent the last night in Altdorf searching for him - and although he heard stories, he could not find their companion. Knowing his propensity for drink and fighting, the group considered waiting, and did for several days before parting, reluctantly. They could only hope their enemies had not gotten to him. Drake also had news from the Order. Woe! his father no longer ruled outside Vodf, having been imprisoned by his rival Liutpold Fortenhaffer, ! This greatly rocked Drake, causing a moral dilemma - to pursue the cultists to Eslohe, or go to seek his father? Seeing though his friends would be helpful in such a task, and knowing his duty, Drake resigned himself to first seeing through their task, before returning to Vodf, hopefully with allies. It was then he first heard it...a female voice, whispering in his mind. He asked his Chaplain about it, who believed the ring he carried was the source, and recommended, but did not order him, to part with it. Drake, convinced the ring would protect his mind from the kind of power that nearly had him slay his friend Hugo back in Bogenhafen, kept the ring. TO ESLOHE After several days in Altdorf, the group set sail again, north up the Reik, towards Eslohe. Before departing, Edmee cut down the now skeletal remains of the goat she had sacrificed in Grissenwald from the mainmast, and led another, purchased from the markets of Altdorf, to the river where she drowned it, then stung up the goat's corpse, as she murmered her prayers to Manaan for a safe voyage. As she did so, many boatman and sailors stopped to watch, their heads bowed in reverence. Again, travelling up the main artery of the Reik was safe and relatively fast, and the weather fair. Little transpired, except for on one calm night, Edmee made her decision. Despite the potential consequences, she would try to conjure the spirit of Eletza - through her severed head that they still carried, a rotting, festering package of maggots and slime. Placing the gorey head on a table, Edmee began to go through the complicated incantations required to conjure the spirits of the dead. The others were aware of her plan and watched, fearful yet entranced. They decided that Cornelius would pretend to be Ernst, and question her spirit, hoping to get more information. A hush came across the room, the swaying of the timbers against the river water seeming to ..diminish. The candles sputtered as a cold wind blew, and Drake's ring pulsed, warm. With a sputtering gasp, the spirit of Eletza Helgen entered her long-rotting severed head. Edmee kept her eyes closed, her concentration entirely focused on the difficult ritual. The plan worked - at first - with Eletza berating Ernst for his idiocy and demanding that he find a vessel for her soul. She confirmed that the beastmen were gathering for war, and that she was trapped in the ring, worn by Drake. She said once they found the spittle, they would unite the disparate beastmen tribes into a mighty army, but she became suspicious and realized the ruse, threatening the entire party with death and eternal torment beneath the loving Eye of Chaos. And then, with a rush of air and a moaning scream, Eletza was gone. Drake could hear a insane cackling echoing in his mind, alternating between long laughter, and screams of rage and threats of death. He removed the ring, and the voice stopped. 'She is within the ring - she spoke the truth, the cultist bitch..' he said, his eyes wide with surprise. Edmee collapsed as the ritual ended, feeling a cold stab deep in her vitals. She staggered to a hammock and collapsed, without saying anything, falling into a deep sleep. The rest spoke little, and went to bed, in the morning resuming their journey, after throwing Eletza's moldering head overboard. THE FLOATING MAN After several days they reached the Barenfahre, where the river Baren cut away from the Reik. The town had a bustling riverfront, but they did not stop, instead turning into the locks and making their may up the narrow river Baren. From here on, they did not see a single boat pass, and the forest loomed close to the river bank. As they travelled, they came across the corpse of a man floating face down in the river, trapped in an eddy near the bank. Cornelius and Cyrus fished out the corpse, throwing it onto the deck where they were confronted with a hideous sight - instead of a mouth, it had a mass of tentacles, and was covered in purple pustules, some of which now burst, swollen from its time in the river, spraying out a pink mist that covered Cyrus and Cornelius, who gagged and coughed. As they did so, the boat came to a shuddering halt, and rubbery brown tentacles burst from the river ahead of the Wayward Derelict, some of them wrapping around the hull, others lashing at Hugo and Drake, who stood nearby, dressed in their hide river-armor. The two began to fight back, war maul and greatsword causing damaging wounds to the writhing mass. Dronk fired his crossbow, then ran inside where Dumpling cowered near the cook-stove, and asked her to hand him the pistol. She hesitated only a moment before passing it to the frantic dwarf. THE RIVER HUNGERS Meanwhile a tentacle found its way around Drake's ankle and began to pull him towards the water. Cyrus drew one of his ornate pistols and fired a shot, causing a spray of ichor where he hit one of the tentacles. As Hugo smashed a tentacle to uselessness, Edmee began casting a powerful prayer, one that would allow all of them to walk on the waters, with the blessing of Manaan. But before Drake could be pulled into the River Baren, towards the waiting maw of the Bog Octopus, Cornelius reacted. His fingers curved inwards, quickly making the incantations as he unleashed a barrage of magical energy which pelted the tentacle holding Drake, forcing it to release him, dropping him to the decks where he landed on one knee. Several tentacles had now been severed as Dronk fired the pistol at the creature, sending another splash of black ichor onto the decks. Severely wounded, the tentacles began to withdraw and the group nearly lost their feet as the Wayward Derelict shuddered then began to move again. The only sign of the battle was the blackish ichor floating in the churn of the River Baren. Weapons at the ready, they did not relax for the remainder of the day. Soon after, a light rain began to fall. A SINGULAR STRONGHOLD In the distance, along the riverside, tall cliffs hundreds of feet high rose, and there perched the most extraordinary castle, as though it had grown out of the rock itself. A inner keep of stout walls - dwarvish made, thought Dronk with satisfaction - was protected by a bridge and gatehouse over a plunging chasm and connected to another, outer keep which faced the forested slope that ran down the cliff. The place had a sinister aspect to it, and was overgrown with ivy and other vegetation. Some lights were visible within the windows. The scene quickly passed as they continued down the river, soon seeing a cluster of ruined buildings, most half collapsed or burned shells. The roads were empty and choked with weeds and evil-looking long dead trees. The single dock stuck out into the River Baren like a diseased tooth, swaying slightly in the waves. Edmee guided the Wayward Derelict skillfully towards the dock, and Dronk and Hugo quickly began to toss ropes around the timbers that held the sagging quay together. The entire mass looked like it could pull off and float down the river at any time and was covered in debris and detritus, discarded fishing nets, rusty nails, half broken blue bottles, fish bones, and the like. THE ARRIVAL As they began to lash the boat to the quay, a group of figures emerged from a nearby building, a shed with a half-collapsed roof that overlooked the dock. As the figures grew closer, the party could better make out their features. They were men, at least they appeared as men, but thin and sickly-looking. Most of them showed some sign of deformity or mutilation - missing an arm, a leg, a hand. All had dark circles deep under their eyes and a look of quiet despair. They hobbled their way down the dock, the crutches of one making a TOCK-TOCK noise, until the small group clustered around the boat. One of the men jiggled a tin cup. 'Food, please good sirs, or coin!' moaned one. 'Just a few clanks!' said another. 'Please! Spare us!' pleaded another. The group looked from one to another as they regarded this pathetic sight. Off to the side of the dock a faded sign could still be read, where the paint had all but flaked away. ESLOHE it read..for they had arrived at their destination.
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The WizardIn time, you will come to know the tragic extent of my failings... Past Journals
September 2017
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