Jb

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

@POOHEAD189 It is minor, but being at a crossroads has made them fat and wealthy on trade. They can afford some nice things.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

@POOHEAD189@TyrannosaursRex@The Wyrm@Blueskin@Penny@Dusty@BangoSkank

Two whole days since the last update and only one reply... oh no, it's happening again! I'm getting past roleplay flashbacks. No... no... NOOOOOOOOO!

On a serious note, please remember that, should you simply wish for me to teleport your character and refrain from writing anything this 'round', then just say so and it shall be done.

We've got a little more exposition to get done - one post or such - and then we'll be off into the wilderness to kill... Something.

Great, and I mean great, posts thus far everyone - proud to be your GM, and glad to have you. I just hope you'll have as much fun writing as I do reading.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

Righto, post is up.

Feel free to wrap up whatever business you have from the night before, then shift your sorry backsides to the town hall.

That is all. :)

Questions are welcome, as always.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

@POOHEAD189@TyrannosaursRex@The Wyrm@Blueskin@Penny@Dusty@BangoSkank

Johan weathered the entire next burst of speech and masculine gestures with a look of impassivity veiling anything he may have personally thought, although the appearance of both a Dwarf and a Halfling into the blend of Imperial and Bretonnian – the two volunteering far more eagerly than any other for the no doubt hazardous task ahead – at least bought a grudging not form the towering Reiklander.

Unlike the down-and-outs and locals cluttering up the outer circles of the taverns common room, Johan was an old sweat and knew the value of both these more diminutive races, having fought alongside both in his time.

He knew that, although he was not of the Dwarfish warrior-class, they were almost all fighters in their own ways, and from the looks of it (as well as the weapon he ostensibly used as a walking stick) this one was no stranger to violence. As for the Moot-dweller, Johan and his comrades had been present during the Stirland incursion of eighty-two, and the hulking Imperial could even now recall the impact of Halfling sling-stones and the way the little bastards had mercilessly butchered downed Stirlanders – they may seem like lazy and peaceful idlers, but he knew better.

"Schartenfeld and those who's lives you will no doubt save with your undertaking give you their thanks," he said with a nod of gratitude to the small band gathered near the fire, "and to you in particular, Master Dawi. Your things shall be kept here with trusty Davor, if that is acceptable?"

Next he looked to the Sigmarite and the swordsman, knowing that as fellow Imperials they should need little in the way of platitudes, "my thanks to you also, though you may not be Reiklanders, and I know it is a lot to ask."

The black-clad knight... now there was an odd one for, much unlike the other 'shinier' Bretonnian, he had come to the fore and volunteered. Truth be told, Johan had not expected either of them to lend this town their blades or experience, but never say never he supposed.

"Merci monsieur," was all he said to him, more used to killing the high-up cockerals than giving thanks to them.

Lastly he came to Alvin, a smile finally crossing his features as he peered through his one good eye, bobbing his head as he took in the trio of hounds that seemed to belong to the group as well.

"Welcome to Schartenfeld then, Master Gammel - I am certain we can find a use for your hounds and yourself, make no mistake."

This left only the haughtier Bretonnian, whom Johan chose to pointedly ignore - even though he knew it might insult the fool - as well as the young lad and his current physician.

"His spirit is strong," commented the veteran, taking a few steps to stand beside Marguerite and her surprise charge, "and, with your ministrations Sister, I do not doubt he shall make it. For now he shall remain here, but tomorrow I hope he can be moved to more comfortable lodgings in the mayors wing of the city hall."

One plate-sized hand shifted to place itself upon Marguerites shoulder, giving a quick and gentle squeeze of comfort before withdrawing, Johan turning about to address them all one last time.

"I have not forgotten your question, sir," he promised Brandt before moving on, his eyes lingering on the greatsword briefly, "but the night draws in on us now, and they shall have to wait."

Adjusting his cloak and drawing his hood back over his features, Johan spoke his final piece before leaving the tavern.

"Those who are with Schartenfeld - or those who are yet undecided - please present yourself at city hall tomorrow to a man named Sebastian Johan Bock. No relation. He is our chamberlain and shall be waiting at the door to show you to the mayor, who will answer all questions. From there it shall be decided how best to proceed. I bid you all a guten nacht."

Wild winds splashed rain into the taverns interior for a brief moment, and then the large man was gone out into the darkening gloom once more.

Rosine Arenas had been watching and listening to everything as she worked, her shimmering eyes sparkling in the gloom as she lit extra candles and dotted them about the main area of the Maw.

"Excuse moi," came her sweet voice as she addressed those present, "may I ask that those who wish to remain do so, but shall be required to pay. The rest of you, I am afraid zat you shall need to find your ways home or to some suitable lodging."

There was a great grumble as regulars shuffled out, some trying to land a kiss on the nimble foreigner - her slight frame easily skipping out of reach, even as he arm moved them toward the door - and very soon it was only those that had arrived that day who stayed where they were.

"Oh, but of course you are all welcome to stay!" She said with a bright and inviting smile, "alzough mon husband may ask for some coin, I am afraid. He does 'ave a tavern to keep after all."

After sweeping the last of the locals out into the downpour, she wiped her hands on her apron and approached the Sister of Shallya.

"You may take the petite enfant to your own room if you wish, Sister. I too believe that he will survive, the Lady and Shallya willing."

"Now,if zere is anyone wishing for food or drink before bed, please say so and I shall get it for you."

---

The next day...

Morning crept over Schartenfeld as slow as the melting of a glacier, the chill air barely made warmer by the weak rays of the sun pressing onto the awakening township - merchants opening their stalls and shops, cattle-herders and shepherds driving their livestock out of the large gates and off to pasture for the day, and the citizenry going about their lives much as any others across the Empire of Man.

Sebastian Johan Bock, no relation to Johan Sebastian Bock, and chamberlain for the town and its mayor, waited impatiently in the crisp morning air; as a bureaucrat and a 'man of paper' he was always punctual, but admitted to himself that he shouldn't count on coin-pinching adventurers to keep to the same high standards.

Neither was he all that inconspicuous, dressed as he was in finered and green robes of his office, a golden chain wrapped about his vulture-like neck, his rudimentary spectacles perched precariously on the edge of his long, hooked, nose. In his hand a staff was held, topped with an hippogryphs roaring head, the crest of Schartenfeld carved into the broad wood.

Lastly, as if his occupation were ever in any doubt, he was stood before the town hall and its fully functioning clock, a marvel bought from Hochland as it happened.

He did hope though that they would not make him wait all day.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

The post will be up today, so calm thyselves before the blood pressure gets too high.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

@Jb, so you’ll move us along by Sunday type of thing?

@The Wyrm

Yeah, pretty much.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

I'm more than happy for folks to simply say they're 'opting pig's for this round, if they so wish. As long as they tell me. I can then move things along without making things harder for people.

My next post will more-or-less be an answering of questions, a thanks to all those willing to die, the night rolling in (more character interactions/off to bed, as you will) and then proceeding to the next day.

So, post as you wish and, once that's done, I shall proceed.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

<Snipped quote by Jb>
Channeling Elrond I see

@POOHEAD189

For legal and copyright reasons, I have no idea to what you refer.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

@POOHEAD189@TyrannosaursRex@The Wyrm@Blueskin@Penny@Dusty@BangoSkank

Alright then,

Now is the time for questions, pretty much whatever you like within reason and possibility to answer, as well as for further character interaction as you so wish.

Feel free to ask me (as GM) any questions as well, if you're unsure of anything.

This has been where some of my RPs have gotten bogged down in the past, but with you fantatisch people I don't forsee it being a problem.

Warhammer Fantasy: From Small Beginnings...

@POOHEAD189@TyrannosaursRex@The Wyrm@Blueskin@Penny@Dusty@BangoSkank

The evening sky had well and truly opened by the time the son of Malgrim nearly smashed a thick oak tavern door off of its hinges, thick, round droplets hammering down onto the township of Schartenfeld like the tears of weeping gods; by this time all decent folk of the Imperial burh had esconced themselves safely and securely within the four walls of their dwellings - at least those who had that luxury - as strong or flimsy as that may be.

There is always an exception to the rule though, and it was at this point that another figure slipped into the Maw, fresh on the heels of Burungi and his rather ill-advised comments. News travels swiftly you see, and the arrival of a Bretonnian bearing a half-dead youth had piqued the interest and curiousity of many. They came like an elusive shadow, slipping through the half-closed door and into the drying warmth of the tavern of ill-repute, sweeping aside the lower regions of a waterproofed cloak and taking a seat nearby the group that crowded the boy purposefully or not.

Meanwhile, across the room and working as swiftly as he could alongside his beautiful wife, Davor could only give his broad head a shake and release a sigh while he wiped clean another glass. He had been speaking to himself at the doorway, but it did seem that Sigmar - or some more devious deity - had been listening to his words; tonight had seen more interesting individuals come through the door of the place than he had ever seen before!

It was as he looked around at the faces and races that he caught the one good eye of the newcomer, the man who had just entered and pulled down his hood to reveal a face more horrifying than even that of the annoying Halfling.

He must have been six-feet-and-four in height if he was an inch, two broad shoulders supporting a bearing and a back that could only be that of a soldier or other professional, one hand covered in the mass of scarring caused by burning flesh while the other apeared untouched.

The face was what caused unease the most though, a pale-skinned face with a right-eyed empty socket and a left eye of glacial blue, the left-hand side of the man's face showing a jaw that had become infected during childhood, only to fuse together and give the man's visage a distinct and lopsided look.

Clearly he noticed the proprietor looking, turning the one good to Dovar for but a moment, exchanging a look that caused the barkeep to return swiftly to his duties as the owner of the Maw.

"Ladies, gentlemen and strangers from distant lands," rumbled the newcomer as he stood from his seat, drawing his cloak back to reveal simple but stout peasant clothing - a coarse doublet over a pair of pantaloons in the red, white and green of Schartenfeld - as well as a dagger at his hip, "may I have you attention for a moment," when some distasteful looks were thrown his way from the hearth he could only shrug, "I am certain the child will be fine for the moment."

Rising to his full height, he placed one hand on the table next to which he stood, and with another withdrew a scrap of parchment upon which was written a noble-looking scrawl and from which dangled a wax mayoral seal.

"My name is Johan Sebastian Bock, and I hold in my hand a letter from the Mayor which tells me two things and asks but one. It tells me that the magic-wielders in our service already knew you would all be here this night, perhaps not specifically, but that this would be a fine time for me to make myself present here and now. It also tells me to tell any interested party the very possible reason that this child now lays here before us."

Without a word Davor placed a flagon at the man's table, returning behind the bar to find the strongest alcohol for their only Dwarfish customer in the meantime, his hackles risen by all this talk of 'magic' and 'being here' - it was all too much for a simple tavern keep like himself, for the moment.

"While my lord Mayor does keep his own militia, indeed we have the finest militia in this part of Reikland, there have been disappereances in the course of the last month of so."

Pausing briefly, he plucked the flagon up and took a long draught, some of the liquid slipping from his misshapen mouth and onto his doublet even as he continued to slurred speech and sucking breath.

"Brigands and highwaymen have often been a problem, travellers robbed or killed on the roads hereabouts, but recently it had become more than just single travellers or wandering pilgrims. Entire caravans have gone missing without a trace, clearly overcome by a well organised group of assailants, from merchants to simple farm folk, and now we are in desperate straits... yes we are."

Another tossing back of the flagon and it was empty, a sleeve dragged across the mouth and followed by a belch.

"That is why I am here, and why I ask now if there are any among you that consider yourselves fit to do what our militia could not. To achieve, for rightful payment in coin and reputation, the location and rescue of captives and survivors, and the destuction of those that have taken them."

Spreading his arms wide, he gave what on any other face would have been considered a look of honesty and openness, but now came across more as one of a man trying to give that look to those he had interupted and asked to fight and possibly die for a not-entirely-known reason, and for an unknown Mayor and town.

"I am obliged, of course, to answer any questions you may have - and you are well within rights to say no to the offer - but, if I have judged the room correct, there will be fewer questions and more acceptance."