# Dungeons and Warhammers (updated March 17th)



## NiTessine (Jun 5, 2002)

This is my new story hour. Yeah, I know, the last one didn't work out, but that was because I delegated the writing of chapter 1 to a player, and you know what lazy buggers they can be.
But, now, the players elected we start a new campaign, again in the Warhammer World, and who am I to object?
This time, I'll be writing the tale, and with regular updates, too. To start with, here is the party. I may or may not post more detailed character sheets to Rogues' Gallery.

*Cast of Characters*

*Franz Hoffmann*
LN male human Clr2 of Sigmar
An arrogant priest who has a thing against most everything not Sigmarite and/or human from the Empire. That thing is a warhammer.
Born and bred in Altdorf, and a firm believer in the letter, if not the spirit, of the Sigmarite dogma, he greatly resents being in the frozen wastelands of Kislev, a country led by a woman, no less. DECEASED.

*Frederich*
CN male human Bbn1/Ftr2
Another Sigmarite, but considerably more tolerant than Franz. He was born in Nuln, and has since found his way up north, to Kislev, where he has fought against Chaos alongside the local warriors and learned the ways of the berserkers.
With his short sword and battle axe, he is a truly fearsome man in combat.

*Kase Galanodel*
NG elf male Clr2 of Isha
Kase is a hermit priest from the woods. Raised by elves, hunted by orcs, and teached by dwarves, he has learned the ways of all three races. Unfortunately, this has led to a hole in his education, and thus he cannot speak a word of Common.
Like most people of his race, he is an expert with the bow, and not bad with his longsword, either. DECEASED.

*Fisibbei Furfoot*
N halfling male Drd3
Fisibbei is probably the strangest of this bunch. He is a hermitic halfling druid, ostracized by his kinfolk in the Moot, and now seeking strange herbs in the northern reaches of Kislev. He is accompanied by a great wolf, which can act as a steed for him, if needed. He acts as Kase's interpreter. In combat, he lets his sickle talk.

*Khaelas*
NG elf male Sor3
Khaelas is the mysterious, green-clad elf who joined the group in Sarbas. He speaks little of his past, but has proved himself as a skilled offensive spellcaster. He keeps to himself, but yet, for some reason of his own, has chosen to attach himself to the group.

*Ranland*
CG elf male Rog3
Ranland is one of the sea elves of Lothern. Despite his upbringing, however, he is at home not only in settings nautical, but also urban and rural. Especially urban, where there are many fat purses to steal...


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## madriel (Jun 5, 2002)

Hey, cool idea.  I don't think I've seen a Warhammer SH before.  I played in a Warhammer campaign in my early 20s.  It'll be fun to revisit my group's old stomping grounds.


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## NiTessine (Jun 9, 2002)

*Chapter 1: The Cold, Trackless Wasteland*

This tale, like so many other, begins in a bar. This particular bar is located in the northern city of Praag, in the land of Kislev.

Now, I could name our story "The Tales of Hoffman", but I'm afraid that not many would get the joke, and anyway, Hoffman is neither writing the story (thank gods), nor is he the primary character (despite what he might think).

But I digress.

Inside the bar, there was an extraordinary amount of people, so that four quite different travellers from quite different places had been forced to take seats in the same table. After they had eyed each other for a few moments of localized silence, one of them, a large man with reddish-brown hair and a short beard of the same colour, spoke:
"Greetings, fellows. I am Frederich, of Nuln. What brings you here to the cold north?"
"Fisibbei Furfoot is my name, and I am here in search of a particular herb," answered the halfling, clad in a plain brown robe. "He," the halfling continued, indicating the third man, a golden-haired elf, "is Kase Galanodel. He does not speak Old Worlder, so I have to translate for him."
The other human in the table was a bald, hawk-nosed man, clad in shining scale mail with not a speck of rust. From his neck hung a small silver hammer, the symbol of Sigmar. With a clipped Reiklander accent he replied:
"Sigmar's blessings to you. I am Franz Hoffmann of Altdorf, and I have been here seeking for an Arch Lector of our church for the past three months. He has disappeared somewhere Kislev, and I fear he might be dead."
"Adventurers everyone, then?" Frederich asked with a broad grin. As reply, he got a number of curt nods.

Finally, one of the few barmaids in this overcrowded and undermanned establishment made her way to the table of our protagonists.
"And vat shall you haff?" the woman asked, in a thick Kislevite accent.
"I'll have an ale," was Franz's reply.
"Zhat vill be two gold crowns."
"Two gold! That's the most expensive drink I've ever had!"
"I am sorry, but ve get our ale from a tribe to zhe east, who are in zhe middle of a var."
"A war? With whom?" asked Fisibbei, in a concerned tone of voice.
"Anozer tribe, one led by zhe varlord Viseslav. Igor, zhe leader of zhe tribe vho makes our ale iz badly outnumbered, zhey tell me."
"Why did this Viseslav attack his tribe? Or was Igor the instigator?" Fisibbei continued.
"Viseslav persecutes his tribe, for Igor follows zhe god Sigmar, and not Ulric, vho is traditionally vorshipped here in zhe north," the serving wench replied.
"A tribe of Sigmarites? Bah, they're probably all heretics anyway," Franz scoffed, his sharp features twisting into a sneer.
"You're thinking going to help?" Frederich asked the halfling druid. Fisibbei nodded solemnly.
"And I Kase will be joining me. Your help would be appreciated, naturally."
"I like you, little man. You are brave, and so is he," Frederich said, gesturing at the elf. "I will lend you my axe and my sword."
"And you? You look like a capable man, and it would be an honour to have you with us," Fisibbei said to the Sigmarite priest.
"And why would I be concerned over the fate of a few barbarians who have chosen to live out there in the cold, trackless wasteland?"
"But they are you brothers in faith. Would it not be right for you to aid them?"
"As I said, they are probably heretics anyway, with a debased religion centred around a hammer, or something."
The priest spat on the floor in disgust.
"But in that case, should you not try to show them the correct way of worshiping, or to destroy the infidels? And, if you are seeking for the Arch Lector, and have not found him in the cities, would it not be logical to seek him out in the wasteland?"
"The good halfling has a point, priest," Frederich said. "I have lived many years with the Kislevite tribes, and they miss little that happens in their lands."
For a moment, indecision wavered on Franz's face. Then, he spoke:
"Fine, then. You've convinced me. I shall join you, and may Sigmar be with us."
With that, the bald priest rose, and walked out of the tavern into the fresh air. Shrugging, the others followed.

                                                                                    * * *

For a few hours, the party of not-exactly-heroes wandered the town, seeking a horse trader. They found one in the outskirts of the city, marked by a great bit sign, with the text "Crazy Ivan's Horses for Hire".

History does not tell what the intrepid adventurers were thinking at the moment, but out of either stupidity or a sense of hurry, they decided to deal with the red-bearded fellow inside. Even his sales speech did not deter them, and they wound up hiring a wagon in reasonable condition, and two horses to drag it.

And thus, they left the questionable comfort and debatable safety of the city of Praag, the agony-contorted faces of the dead staring down at them from the walls.


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## Little_Buddha (Jun 9, 2002)

Mmmmmmm... Warhammer adventures


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## NiTessine (Jun 9, 2002)

That was the first part of the first session... I'll post the second part once I finish it. Should be before Monday, since we have our next game then.


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## NiTessine (Jun 10, 2002)

And thus, they travelled for seven days, each mile taking them further away from Praag, and deeper into the lawless wilds, ruled by the Ice Queen only in name. Perhaps they were indeed watched over by Sigmar Heldenhammer, for they encountered no perils on their way. In the evening of the seventh day, the walls of Ovotsk, Igor's fortified village, stood in sight. 

The village was a loose cluster of houses and small farms, spread around a hill fort. The party noticed a great crowd had gathered to the south of the hill fort. Stopping their wagon, they went to investigate.
As they came closer, they saw a ship, placed atop a great mound. A middle-aged woman in a white robe, with dark blond hair and fair skin, held a torch. There was another woman, an old crone, circling the boat and reciting ancient chants of mourning.
Fisibbei stepped forward, lightly tugging on the sleeve of one of the men gathered.
"Who has passed away?" he asked quietly.
"Our brave lord and protector, Igor Jaroslavich, in a cowardly ambush by zhe troops of Viseslav," the man replied reverently, and then turned back to viewing the funeral ceremony. Now, the blond-haired woman walked up to the boat, and carefully placed the torch in the kindling set around the ship. In silence, the people of Ovotsk watched as the flames took their former leader to the next world.

Franz gazed at the flames with a disapproving expression.
"These heretics do not observe proper Sigmarite funeral traditions," he said quietly to Frederich.
"Old habits die hard, priest. Besides, you can't dig a grave in here. The ground is frozen solid for ten months of the year. The faith of Sigmar is not in the ceremonies, but in the beliefs. They certainly wear the symbols," the big man replied quietly, nodding at the white-robed woman. Indeed, the clasp of her cloak was a small silver hammer.
Franz stayed silent.

The townsfolk stayed there for a long time, standing in respectful silence as the fire died down, leaving only the charred remains of the ship behind. Then, the crowd quietly dispersed.

Soon afterwards, the travellers were making their way to the local alehouse, when a member of the local militia came to them.
"Hold, adventurers. Lady Predeslava would speak vith you."
Glancing at each other, the adventurers nodded, and followed. They were led into a large building, obviously the chieftain's hall. Inside was a wooden throne, covered with furs, and on the throne sat a woman. It was the blond-haired woman they had seen at the pyre, though her attire was now changed. Gone was the white robe, replaced by red and blue woollens, and a great bearskin cloak over her shoulders. It was held in place by a silver clasp in the shape of a warhammer.

"Greetings, travellers," she began. "Sigmar's blessings to you. You look like able and experienced varriors. I could use people like you. Do you know vhat has happened in Ovotsk in recent months?"
"Yes, milady, we have heard," Frederich answered.
"Zhen I vill not bozher to go over it again. Suffice to say, I need help. Ve need help. I vill pay you, each, 800 gold crowns, if you vill stay in Ovotsk, and help my people keep the swine Viseslav's raiders at bay until my brother Ottakar returns from zhe lands to zhe south vith his men. Vill you agree?"
Before any of the others could speak, Fisibbei stepped forward.
"Indeed, Lady, to protect your town and tribe was our very reason of journeying here from Praag. We will protect this town, and its people, until Ottakar's army returns, or until Viseslav is defeated for good."
A faint smile appeared on Predeslava's face.
"Good," she said. "You will be shown to your house, and given food. Now go… I must rest. These have been trying times, and have taken a heavy toll." 

As they left the room, a man came to them. He had a remarkably long moustache.
"Good day to you, travellers. I am Boian, a former warrior of Igor. On behalf of the local militia, I vould like to velcome you to Ovotsk."
"Good day, Boian," Fisibbei replied. "You were a close man of Igor's, then?"
"Yes. I vas vith him vhen ve vere ambushed. I vas knocked in zhe head and fell dovn… Vlaseslav's men left me for dead. It vas a great shame. A good varrior dies vith his master." Boian shaked his head. "If you vill excuse me. I have… things to do."

                                                                                                 * * *

And thus, a week passed, as the party of no longer travellers spent their time in the fort. There was little to do, but Franz, Fisibbei and Kase found more than enough entertainment in prayer and contemplation. Frederich trained with his axe and sword.

Then, one day, a rider arrived in the village. He was fatigued, and had almost ridden his steed to death. People in the village began shouting. Then, the alarm was raised. The heroes were watching from the top of the palisade, as a dozen horsemen galloped over the ridge south of the town, drawn scimitars flashing in the morning sun and warcries at their lips. They descended upon the fleeing villagers who tried to make it to the fort, slashing at their exposed backs and herding them in the other direction.
"We cannot just stand here while they get slaughtered!" said Frederich, unshouldering his great axe and drawing his sword. Kase nocked an arrow and let fly, hitting the dirt in front of one of the riders. The man wore chainmail, and had many gold and silver bracelets. He was obviously the leader.

From the open gates of the hill fort, stepped an enraged Frederich, flanked by the grim-looking Fisibbei and stern Franz. Hefting their weapons high, they charged at the mounted warriors.

Franz ducked a scimitar slash at his head, whirling around and bringing his heavy warhammer in an arc at his enemy's stomach. The powerful blow smashed him off the saddle, killing him instantly. Four other horsemen, including the chieftain, charged at the heroes. They were no match for the blades of their opponents, though, and soon Frederich had downed the second man, his axe glistening red with the fallen opponent's blood. In the battlements, Kase realized it'd be futile to try shooting into the raging melee, and quickly joined his friends outside the fort.

Fisibbei was a small whirlwind of death. The small halfling and his sharp sickle slashed open the throat of a horse, its rider only barely avoiding being crushed by the falling steed. This did not help him, for Kase was there to meet him, and sank his sword into the man's gut.

The diminutive druid claimed his second kill in that battle as Franz smashed the kneecap of the last horseman. Fisibbei came from the other side, disembowelling him with a swift slash.

Soon, only the leader was left. Fearlessly, he charged, hefting his scimitar high, and scoring a slash across Kase's scalp. However, the elf got back, thrusting his blade deep in the man's thigh. Frederich came from the other side, his sword leaving a red streak in the man's side. The last thing Mundiak the Chieftain saw, as he was lying on the ground, his other foot still in the slashed stirrup, was the descending sickle of the halfling druid.

And there, as the noon sun bathed them in its rays, they cried out their victory.


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## Horacio (Jun 10, 2002)

Warhammer! Warhammer!



I like the Old World, I like Warhammer stories. I want to see Skavens!


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## Carnifex (Jun 10, 2002)

Yes, skaven! Skaven are great!


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## Horacio (Jun 10, 2002)

Skaven aren't great! They are little, they are cunny, they are evil!
But not great! 

I like Skaven!


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## NiTessine (Jun 11, 2002)

Well... There was no game on Monday. That can be blamed to a communications glitch, which can be safely blamed on my little brother, the pest.
But the good news is that we have a game today. So, this Story Hour will be getting an update sometime during the next week. I'll try to bang it up today and tomorrow, if I have the time.


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## Ruined (Jun 11, 2002)

I agree that its good to see a Warhammer Story Hour on the boards. I played in a campaign that spanned many years, and it was a blast. Only reason we're not playing now is that the group is currently playing my secondary Planescape campaign.

And no, Skaven aren't cool. Speaking as someone captured, enslaved, and slightly mutated by them, I can testify!  =)


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## madriel (Jun 13, 2002)

Yeah, Skaven are the bad guys you love to hate.


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## NiTessine (Jun 13, 2002)

Yeah, I promised to get this up earlier, but stuff came in the way. Good thing for you, however, is that I just finished another session, which should yield enough material for a while. However, the campaign will now have a break of about five or six weeks, due to some players going abroad. With the players that remain, however, I will be playing one-shot adventures of Spycraft, Call of Cthulhu, and Star Wars, and maybe even Warhammer Fantasy Role-Playing Game, or Ars Magica. I may or may not post up tales of these. We will see.

*Chapter 2 – Fire, Steel, and Blood*

After defeating Mundiak and his horsemen, the adventurers, having thus received their baptism by fire as a group together, rested. There were wounds to heal, dead to bury, and preparations to make. They all knew that this was only the beginning.

Eight days from the first conflict, it happened. In the small hours of the night, three ships landed next to the village. The guards were asleep at their posts. And thus, when the rising sun's first rays hit Ovotsk, they were greeted by screams of death, pain, and fear. The houses were in flames, thick, dark plumes of smoke rising from the thatch roofs. A number of warriors, wielding spears and axes, were looting and pillaging, capturing people and leading them to their boats.

Then, finally, alarm was rung. The heroes woke up, grabbed their arms and armour, and quickly made their way to the top of the palisade, where they met Predeslava and Boian. The town militia was outside, fighting with the invaders.

From the burning chaos emerged three figures, walking towards the hill fort. Thirty feet from the gates, they stopped. One of them unshouldered a large horn, and blew out a battle challenge. Another stuck a long banner pole in the ground. The banner was solid black, thrashing to and fro like it was alive in the wind.

The third man, the one in the middle, took a step forward, and turned his gaze up to the battlements. His Norse goggle helm made his eyes look like black pits. His wild, shaggy hair and beard were white as snow, yet his muscular body betrayed no trace of old age.
"It is over now, Predeslava!"

As a response, the gates of the fort swung open. It quickly became clear, though, it was no surrender. From within, stepped the four adventurers, accompanied by Boian. A silent challenge had been issued, and weapons were drawn. From a loop in his back, Helgi produced an enormous battle axe.

One of the white-haired Norseman's companions grabbed a javelin from his back, and flung it at Franz, going so wide of the target he might have been aiming at Altdorf, for all it was worth. Helgi chucked a small throwing axe at Fisibbei, with similar results.

Chanting the litanies of his faith, Franz charged the Norseman with his warhammer held high. The warhammer and the battleaxe met each other with a resounding clang, striking sparks. Frederich came to help the priest, sinking his axe and shortsword in the whitebeard's side.

Meanwhile, Kase was shooting at one of the Norseman's cohorts. He was interrupted by Boian on his left, who tried to sink a dagger into his side. Nimbly evading the attacker, Kase snarled at the traitor, and drew his sword. Boian answered in kind, and the two locked blades, soon engaged in a fight to the death.

The white-haired Norseman was a good fighter, they could give him that. And strong, too. Batting away Frederich's axe, he twirled his own weapon in the air, bringing it around to strike Franz on the shoulder. Blood burst from the wound, and the priest fell down, bleeding. In response, Frederich stabbed the man under the ribcage, and slashed upwards. As blood stained his white beard red, the warrior fell.

Fisibbei's wolf clamped its jaws down on the standard bearer's foot, tearing away a goodly-sized chunk of flesh. As the man cried out in pain and fell down, the animal went for the throat, quickly finishing him off.

The druid himself saw he was not immediately needed in the battle, and knelt down next to Franz, administering a healing spell. It was not enough to bring him back to the battle, but staunched the flow of blood.

Rising up, the halfling saw Kase an Boian, locked in a duel the elven priest was losing. Silently, the halfling ran up to the traitor, stabbing his sickle in the man's back. The wound was not lethal, but the unexpected pain made him drop his guard, which was all that Kase needed to decapitate his opponent. 

Frederich turned to the last opponent, the one with the horn. Charging each other, the two exchanged a short series of fast blows. Frederich's extraordinary strength and speed prevailed, however, and his adversary was soon dead.

Like a wildfire, news of their leader's defeat spread through his troops, and what had only minutes before been a victorious battle quickly turned to a full rout, as the warriors dropped their weapons and ran for their ships. The Ovotsk militia followed, cutting down all they could, with the same amount of mercy that had been shown on them and their families. At the ships, skirmishes broke out, as the raiders tried to hold off the militia long enough for their comrades to push their ships, filled with captives and loot, off the beach.

There was no rest for the weary adventurers. They saw that at one of the boats, the raiders had successfully held off the militia, and were pushing the ship to the water. They ran down the hillside and to the beach, with Frederich drawing first blood by cutting one of the men down with a single swipe of his great axe. The red-bearded warrior ran to his next foe, who raised a spear to block the blow, but slipped in the mud. A downwards swipe cleaved his skull in half.

The other adventurers weren't doing so well, however. Kase was stabbed with a spear, and he curled up in the ground, bleeding profusely. Fisibbei's wolf bit one of the raiders in the arm, but was rewarded with a spear through the skull, killing the noble animal instantly. Seeing this, the halfling seemed to go into a berserker rage. Charging the slayer of his friend, he lost all finesse, just chopping at the enemy with his sickle, cutting through his spear, his arm, and his heart.

Frederich's opponent found an opening in the big man's guard, and plunged his spear into Frederich's ribcage. Frederich collapsed instantly, but this was little consolation to the raider, who was slain by Fisibbei, with a well-placed blow from behind.

Franz was up against two of the raiders, alone. After a while of inefficient blocking, attacking, and parrying, he took a step back, and then brought his warhammer around in a sideways sweep of terrifying power. It splintered the spear shafts raised against it into kindling, and crushed the skulls of both men opposing him.

Once again, the enemy had been driven back, but at a terrible cost.


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## Horacio (Jun 15, 2002)

Not enogh skaven yet, but good story


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## NiTessine (Jul 30, 2002)

Well, since our campaign is finally getting back on track, I grabbed myself by the scruff of my neck, and started updating... Expect more in the close future.
------------------------------------------------

It was high noon when the heroes finally made their way up to the hill fort, where Predeslava sat on her throne. They spoke for a long time. Ovotsk was no longer safe. That they all agreed on. The threat of Viseslav's army was too great, and most people had already fled to the forests to seek shelter. Predeslava's plan now was to take whoever would come with her and travel southwards on the River Chernak, through the Haunted Wood and Witch Fens, to the town of Sarbas, where Predeslava's uncle, Khuritsa, lived.

The planning finished, they strode out of the fort, and called the people of Ovotsk to them, asking if they would come with their leader. Few did. The Haunted Wood and Witch Fens had foul reputations, and Franz suspected they might actually be tainted by Chaos.
Thus, they departed the burning Ovotsk. Only two dozen villagers came with them on their monoxyla. The druid Fisibbei handled the navigation and steering, along with one of the villagers. They proved to be a rather competent pair, not only managing to keep the ship in the river, but also making it through the rapids in the Haunted Wood, with the boat intact and all men still on board.

The Haunted Wood was an eerie place. In some places, the branches overhead clustered so tightly that no sunlight passed through, casting those underneath into darkness. The usual sounds of the forest were absent, and the could see no animals. Shadows flitted at the edges of their sight, and strange, beautiful faces were seen in the water, only to disappear in moments. They were all wary.

On the fourth day of their journey, they rounded a bend in the river, and came upon a strange sight. There was an enormous obelisk, jutting up from the water. It was covered in strange runes and symbols. On the beach, there sat an ogre, fishing with a line tied to his seven-foot spear. As it spotted them, it stood up, and shouted:
"Pay homage to the River Goddess or sail no further upon her waters! The Pool awaits your gifts."
"Who are you to demand sacrifices from us?" Franz shouted back.
"I am Orimir, humble servant of the River Goddess. Cast your offerings into the Pool, and you may pass."
"Why should we pay to a filthy ogre and his false goddess for our passage?" the priest replied, fingering his warhammer.
"Pay, or face the Children of the River Goddess!"
Franz was about to shout back a reply that would surely have doomed their monoxyla, but was silenced by Predeslava, who stepped forward.
"We shall pay homage to the River Goddess."
With that simple announcement, she tugged a jewelled gold ring off her finger, and dropped it into the pool. It vanished to the depths with a quiet plop.
Grudgingly, the adventurers followed suit, all but Franz sending bracelets or rings down to the riverbed. Seemingly sated, the ogre Orimir stepped forward the beach, and placed his huge hand upon the bow of their small craft. In his guttural voice, he began chanting a strange litany, obviously casting a spell. With a dark expression, Franz made no move to stop him. Then, light flared out from under the ogre's splayed fingers. When he stepped back, the men in the boat could see a strange glyph in the wood glowing briefly, and then fading into a hitherto unnoticeable outline.
"There. Your ship has been given the blessing of the River Goddess. You may pass."
With that, they departed the strange pool.

*  *  *

A day later, they came upon a lake, in the middle of the forest. The Haunted Forest would soon end, they knew, and they would come to the Witch Fens, an even more terrible place, a marsh reputedly tainted by Chaos.
As the monoxyla left the confines of the river to float on the lake's shimmering surface, a strange event took place. The water around the ship began to foam and spray, as if boiling. With a lurch, it shot forward at the river outlet they could see breaking the line of the opposite beach. The craft was speeding forward at an unnatural pace, the sails threatening to rip. They made it across the lake in mere minutes, and travelled a goodly amount down the river before they lost the momentum. None of them could explain this strange phenomenon, though there were mumblings among the Ovotskians about the blessing of the River Goddess. All were silent, however, as the wall of trees on their both sides gave way to the grey and bleak Witch Fens.

The progress through the Witch Fens was even slower than their travel in the Haunted Wood. Here, the stream was choked by mud, clay, debris, and more unsavoury things. A haze of mist hung over everything, and the wind carried the stench of death. They were all wary, constantly on the watch. There were no animals in the Witch Fens.

It was the morning of the second day. The adventurers were alerted by one of the Ovotskians, a fellow named Sergej. The bearded man took them to a water hole, explaining that two of the villagers, young men, had disappeared. They had gone fishing, but never returned.
At the water hole, there were two fishing rods, and a few dead fish lying in the mud by the pool. Two pairs of tracks led off into the dead wood.
"When did they disappear?" Frederich asked.
"Last night. Zeir disappearance vasn't noticed until nov," Sergej answered.
"These Witch Fens are a dangerous region, correct?" Franz asked, peering critically into the deep wood.
"Yes. Very dangerous. Hags live here, it is said."
"The men are most likely dead, then?"
Sergej looked down, and took a deep, wavering breath.
"Yes. Most likely."
"Then there is no reason we should go out there and risk both our and the villagers' lives, just because two boys were foolish enough to wander off. I say we leave them behind and continue." The priest's stern gaze challenged anyone to object. Nobody did.

They travelled onwards without incident, from then on. There was a silent agreement among the people aboard. They were not harassed, for the Witch Fens had already taken their toll.


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## madriel (Jul 31, 2002)

Glad to see you back, NiTessine.  Did Franz steer the party away from a big adventure hook there at the end?


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## NiTessine (Jul 31, 2002)

madriel said:
			
		

> *Glad to see you back, NiTessine.  Did Franz steer the party away from a big adventure hook there at the end? *




Yes, in fact he did. There would've been a hag's lair to empty of all sorts of monsters.


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## NiTessine (Aug 3, 2002)

And here, the final installment of Chapter Two. Enjoy!
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Seven days had passed since the destruction of Ovotsk when the small boat with its survivors arrived in the city of Sarbas. The bodies of criminals were hanging from the trees on the riverbanks, their dead eyes gazing at the monoxyla as it floated past them and into the city.

They docked their small vessel at the piers reserved for such, and paid the docking fee, which Franz equated to robbery. Then, Predeslava led the adventurers and the Ovotskian survivors through the city, to his uncle Khuritsa's estate. Khuritsa was obviously a wealthy man. His house, nay, manor, stood on the edge of the city, circled by its own ten-foot wall. The heavy iron gate was guarded by two rather tired-looking guards, who immediately sprung alert as they saw the motley party walking up the path to the gate. As the guards challenged them, spears held at ready, Predeslava stepped forward, announcing their identity and intent. One of the guards, much more respectful now, disappeared inside the compound to get Uncle Khuritsa. He soon returned with a huge bear of a man. The large fellow was in his sixties, as evidenced by the traces of grey in his enormous beard and balding hair. Laughter twinkled in his blue eyes, as he ran up to Predeslava, sweeping her up in a bear hug. His joviality was contagious, and soon, the survivors of Ovotsk were at ease, unburdened by their recent troubles. The journey was over, and they had survived it.

They soon found that Uncle Khuritsa was an excellent host. Soft beds, warm meals, and hot baths were soon prepared for the weary travellers. Khuritsa was always there, ready with a tale of the adventures in his youth, when he was one of the Kislev Winged Lancers, elite knights, who fought against the followers of Chaos, the greenskins, and whatever else threatened their northern country. Khuritsa had inherited his father's horse-trading coster, and was now reaping great profits after signing a deal with his former knightly order to supply them with the best warhorses the frozen steppe had to offer.

Food and drink were plentiful in Khuritsa's estate, and the next two weeks went past quickly. Then, one day, a runner appeared to the gates, with an important message: the warlord Viseslav had been seen selling slaves in the market. At Predeslava's command, the group quickly armed themselves, and made their way to the marketplace, accompanied by five men of Khuritsa's house guard, and the runner boy, who was to point out Viseslav from the crowd.

"He is zat big, bristle-haired man over zere, talking vith the small noble. The nobleman is Liut, a local fop. Killing him probably isn't smart," the boy said, pointing at a pair of men haggling over the price of a slave.

The adventurers and Khuritsa's men stealthily wandered through the crowd, fanning out and circling Viseslav, Liut, and their respective retinues, both five men strong. Then, without warning, they attacked. Two of Viseslav's guard were struck down immediately by Frederich and Franz. Kase shot a third on in the shoulder with his longbow, and the man was soon run through by one of Khuritsa's men.

The marketplace soon emptied of all but the warriors, as the innocent bystanders tried not to get brained by a stray axe swing. Liut's men joined the fray at the command of their employer, and the adventurers suddenly found they were being outnumbered. The guards of Liut and Khuritsa crossed axes and swords, as Fisibbei was stuck in single combat with their dagger-wielding leader. The fight was soon resolved, as Fisibbei nearly disembowelled him, and then cast a minor curative spell so the nobleman wouldn't die of his injuries.

Meanwhile, Frederich and Franz duelled with Viseslav. The warlord swung his bastard sword with deadly accuracy and strength, and the Sigmarites were hard-pressed to defend themselves. The warrior whirled around, swinging his sword in a wide arc, killing one of Khuritsa's men and forcing Frederich and Franz to retreat. The two then pressed their attack, Frederich scoring a deep wound in Viseslav's side with his sword. This seemed to only enrage the warlord, whose return strike pierced Franz's leg, taking the priest out of the fight.

Kase and Fisibbei were fighting against three men, their backs against the wall, when they saw their companion fall. The elf reacted to this by uttering a terrible warcry, and then cutting down his surprised opponent. A few long, running strides took him to Franz, and he began incanting a healing spell. The Sigmarite priest jumped up, his wounds cured, and new life coursing through his veins. Shouting his god's name, he crushed the skull of the last of Viseslav's men.

Frederich and Viseslav were in their own world. Steel clanged on steel, attacks were parried and returned. Both combatants were bleeding from dozens of small injuries. There was no finesse in their attacks, only brute strength and uncanny speed. And then, the death came from behind. Franz's warhammer shattered three of Viseslav's ribs with an audible crunch. The agony caused the warlord to momentarily lower his guard, and with a single swipe of Frederich's axe, his head was cleanly separated from his body.

The battle was over. Sixteen men lay on the ground, dead. The four adventurers were the only ones standing. The crowd of horrified, but entertained, onlookers parted before a group of armoured, halberd-wielding soldiers. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a face that looked like it had been used as a dartboard, stepped forward and announced:
"By the lav of Kislev, I place you under arrest!"


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## madriel (Aug 6, 2002)

Excellent.


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## madriel (Aug 19, 2002)

When's your next session, NiTessine?


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## Ruined (Aug 19, 2002)

Yeah, your fans eagerly await your return!  =)


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## NiTessine (Aug 24, 2002)

I have fans? Cool. Expect a new installment soon-ish.


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## NiTessine (Aug 25, 2002)

Here, the beginning of Chapter Three, for your enjoyment.

*Chapter 3 – Row, Row, Row Your Boat…*

The trial was short. The judge was a red-bearded priest of Ulric, with a great warhammer he used as a gavel. The merchant noble family of Dzugashvili wanted the party's heads, for the assault upon the young Liut. It was soon pointed out that they acted only in self-defence, and actually healed the man after wounding him. Both Khuritsa and Predeslava spoke for the adventurers, praising their honour and valiant deeds, and saying that Liut himself had been at fault, for attacking them.

In the end, the judge banged his great warhammer, and gave his verdict: the adventurers were banished from Kislev for twenty years, and were to be escorted to the border by a man named Khaelas. As it turned out, he was a wood elf, clad in green, and claiming to wield sorcerous powers.

By the end of the day, they were well on their way up the river Lynsk, in a small, leaky wooden barge, captained by a greasy man of impressive girth. Kase calculated that if they were to chuck him overboard, not only would the boat travel faster, but the river would flood, and with all that fat, the man would float. However, as they found no way of lifting the fellow, let alone extracting him from his cabin, they resigned to their fate of spending the next week watching the idyllic and monotonous Kislevite countryside slip by as the barge ponderously made its way downstream in the slow-moving water.

During the voyage, it quickly became clear that Khaelas couldn't have cared less about his duty. He'd got his gold already, and was to leave country along with the heroes. He was also an adventurer who'd had disagreements with the law, after some irresponsible spellcasting.

As they sat in the boat, day after day, confined to the company of each other, and forced to listen to Fisibbei teaching Kase how to speak Reikspiel, tensions began to rise. Franz was irritated at the two elves, for being elves, and at the world as a whole, for getting him exiled of Kislev, where he was on a mission from the church.

The barge's skipper didn't help things. He was rude, smelly, and made constantly fun of the elves and Franz. The corpulent man was so large he could barely fit inside the small cabin where he steered the barge, and apparently was unable to leave it. Huge, drooping folds of flesh concealed his legs.

All that considered, it wasn't such a surprise when Franz got it in his head that the man was tainted by Chaos. 

They were a day away from their destination, when the Sigmarite decided to take action. With great protest from the captain, Franz smashed apart the cabin that held him. The others were too afraid to stop him. Immediately, like a huge glob of jam, the captain's flesh expanded out of its constraints. It was as if he had no muscles or bones at all. Now, thoroughly disgusted, the others joined in, and with a great wail, the strange, jelly-like man was hurled overboard, to disappear into the black waters of Lynsk.

The next day, they arrived in Erengrad. The great port city was bustling with traders from the Empire, Marienburg, Estalia, Tilea, and even Araby, all peddling their various wares. As the five adventurers were jumping to the pier, a great tendril of flesh shout out from the water, wrapping itself around Khaelas' leg. The elf cried out in pain as he was violently yanked from the pier to the barge.

Fisibbei was the fastest to act, taking his sickle and jumping down in aid of the elf to hack at the strange tentacle. As the weapon drew blood, the creature rose out of the water. It was their former captain, now grey-skinned and looking like a drowned corpse. Yet, it was still very much alive, as proved by the wicked grin and red-glowing eyes. It formed its fleshy body into more tendrils, attacking the halfling druid, who was quick to dance out of the way. From the pier, Kase was shooting arrows at the creature. Franz and Frederich joined their comrades in the boat, bringing their weapons down on the creature's body, prompting a great scream of pain. The creature still had fight left in it, though, and it hauled its entire body on the barge. 

Repulsed by the creature, Khaelas cut off the tendril holding his leg, and scrambled away. Fisibbei and the others stabbed it again and again, and the deck ran red with the unholy creature's blood. However, the fleshy mass of the creature was still coming forward, forcing the heroes to jump back to the pier, all the while fighting off the pseudopods trying to snare their limbs. Finally, it was Khaelas who brought about the creature's death. He flung a ceramic jar from his backpack at the barge. It shattered, spraying the creature and the deck with black fluid. Oil, the creature realized, but too late. A jet of flame burst from the elf's hands, and the liquid caught fire, prompting another scream from the Chaos-tainted captain.

Soon, the barge was a blazing inferno, and the smell of smoke and charred flesh filled the air. The adventurers, along with the crowd of onlookers they had managed to collect, watched the grim bonfire, departing only when the last the boat had sunk in the deep waters of Erengrad's harbour.


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## madriel (Aug 26, 2002)

Chaos is eeeevil.  I love how dark and grim Warhammer is.  Please keep posting!


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## Jodo Kast (Aug 27, 2002)

Great story hour!  The writing really sets this apart from many story hours which have failed to hook me despite otherwise interesting content.  In the end, it is the writing style that really grabs me.  This one is particularly well written.  NiTessine, I notice you live in Finland, is that correct?  Is English your first language?  If not, then your work here is even more impressive.  Please keep it up, I'm hooked.


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## NiTessine (Aug 27, 2002)

Jodo Kast said:
			
		

> *Great story hour!  The writing really sets this apart from many story hours which have failed to hook me despite otherwise interesting content.  In the end, it is the writing style that really grabs me.  This one is particularly well written.  NiTessine, I notice you live in Finland, is that correct?  Is English your first language?  If not, then your work here is even more impressive.  Please keep it up, I'm hooked. *




Yeah, I live in Finland... And English is my second language, learned at an early age due to the corruptive influence of TV and video games...  
*Goes back to writing the next installment.*


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## Ruined (Aug 27, 2002)

Ahhh. Smells like Nurgle...   =)


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## NiTessine (Aug 30, 2002)

'Ere you go... Chapter III, part II. I have lots of biology and geography classes during the next month or so, so I should have lots of time to write... 
---------------
Despite their escort's indifference to whether they were going to leave Kislev or not, the party soon began seeking passage aboard a ship bound for the Empire. After a few hours of touring the waterfront taverns and buying people cheap ale, they found the captain of such a vessel, in one of the better inns of the area, where the ale wasn't quite so watery, and the rats were fatter. 

The captain, Hans Versenkung, was a portly man, with the strange accent that seems to develop to all who spend long times at the sea, regardless of where they actually grew up, and a great, bushy white beard. He regarded the adventurers thoughtfully for a moment, and then said:
"The price of tickets be ten gold, each. If ye can 'elp us fight 'gainst pirates or monsters, ye'll get yer coin back when we reach Marienburg."
It was a deal.

The captain's ship was a small and fast merchant vessel, with the name Das Minnow written on its side in bright red paint. After the party of five had taken their heavy backpacks and cumbersome armour to their cabins they soon found themselves in the dining hall of the ship. Since the ship was primarily a mercantile one, it rarely carried passengers, and the hall was almost empty, with the notable exception of a large noble family occupying the long table in the middle of the hall. They were a noisy and boisterous bunch, and were already deep in their cups. Frederich and Franz could identify quite a few popular drinking songs from the taverns of Nuln and Altdorf. The remains of two large pheasants were lying on their silver platters.

Kase, in his heavily accented Reikspiel, inquired about the noblemen from the cook, who supplied him with much information on them. It was the Von Hedon family, he knew, from Nuln. It was the entire family, apparently, every member of it, right down to the house priest, the jester, and their own halfling cook, returning from Kislev where they'd spent a holiday.

The adventurers quietly finished their fish stew, and then retired for the night, to the three cabins assigned to them, on the second deck. Kase and Khaleas took one, and Fisibbei and Frederich the second. Franz was quite vehement on sleeping alone.

It was good to sleep in a proper bed, after long weeks of bedding down with blankets in forests and waking up stiff and sore after a night spent on the deck of a riverboat. It was nothing compared to Khuritsa's silken linens, but compared to the other places they'd spent nights lately, it was a definite improvement. They were determined to enjoy their night's sleep.

Hence, it should've come as no surprise when a shrill cry cut the night after less than two hours afterwards. Running feet were heard in the hallway, and a woman's voice cried:
"He's been murdered!"


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## madriel (Aug 31, 2002)

I love that line about the ale and the rats. 

This sounds like a fun plot twist coming up.


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## NiTessine (Aug 31, 2002)

I swear, it looked longer in the word processor....


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## sword-dancer (Aug 31, 2002)

madriel said:
			
		

> *Chaos is eeeevil.  I love how dark and grim Warhammer is.  Please keep posting! *



*Destroy the cancer of chaos*


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## Jodo Kast (Aug 31, 2002)

*Hoffman's Island*

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale
A tale of a fateful trip
That started down in Kislev
Aboard this tiny ship
Aboard this tiny ship

The cook was a half-pint halfling
The skipper portly as a friar
Five passengers set sail that day
Bound for the Empire
Bound for the Empire

The weather started getting rough
The tiny ship was tossed
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
Das Minnow would be lost
Das Minnow would be lost

The ship set down on the shore of this
Chaos infested desert isle
With Franz Hoffman, Frederich too
The halfling, and his wolf
Kase the elf
And Khaelas the sorceror
Are here on Hoffman's Isle!

Sorry, couldn't resist.


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## NiTessine (Sep 7, 2002)

And the final installment of Chapter III! Sorry for taking so long with it.
---------------------------
The five adventurers burst from their cabins. As they soon ascertained, the source of the cry was one of the nobles, Marya von Hedon.
"Hans is dead!" she cried as she ran down the hallway, her eyes large with terror. Franz grasped the woman by the arm, and after some vigorous shaking and demanding questions, calmed her down enough to get her to lead them to the body.

The cabin was a large one, almost opulent, with carpets on the floors and a great bed, with silken sheets. On the bed lay the late Hans von Hedon, his eyes bulging out and black tongue jutting from his mouth, leaking green drool. There was a greenish cast to his pale skin.
"Poison," Fisibbei said, after a mere glance at the body. "And not any natural one, either. Alchemical one, I'm thinking, and a strong one at that."

*  *  *

An hour later they were in the captain's office. The white-bearded man was pacing back and forth in front of them.
"This be a really filthy piece of business, this is," he spoke. "There's me reputation as a skipper at stake, here."
He turned to look at the adventurers.
"I want ye to find that scurvy dog who did this afore we reach Marienburg. Ye'll be well paid, and I think the lords high and mighty have a few crowns in it fer ye, too. 'Less they killed the man themselves, that is." Versenkung barked a bitter laugh, and waved them out of his office.

And so, the investigations started. Franz assumed a leadership position so naturally that nobody thought to even question him. They began to work immediately, as they were only four days from Marienburg. Franz took it upon himself to do the interrogations, as he'd worked with a troop of witch hunters in his earlier days, and picked up a few things on how to get people to admit things. Frederich went off to question the guards and the sailors. Fisibbei, Kase, and Khaelas rummaged through the room, searching for clues.

Lady Marya was not very forthcoming with information. Waking up in the middle of the night to a strange smell, and finding her husband's face, contorted in agony next to him had been a rather shocking experience. Lady Marya's mother-in-law, the matronly Gertrud von Hedon was vehemently opposed to Franz's interrogation, and had to be forcibly removed from the room by the cleric.

In the end, Franz gleaned little from the woman. Hans and Marya had retired for the night soon after the adventurers. They'd slept peacefully for a while, and then Marya had awoken to a sharp smell. After that, she'd woken up the ship with her screams of terror.

*  *  *

Frederich's inquiries with the ship's crew and the nobles' guards were marginally more fruitful. One of the deck guards mentioned he'd heard a splash from the poop deck's direction, but when he'd gone to investigate, he'd seen nothing. One of the guard who'd patrolled on the lower decks had thought he'd heard steps in the shadows, but had seen nothing.

Fisibbei and the elves worked hard in the room, investigating the different manners Lord von Hedon might have been poisoned. They scraped lint off the carpet, went through the sheets with a fine comb, analysed the strange grease found on the doorknob, individually opened and tested each and every bottle and jar in Lady Marya's cosmetics chest, and even darkened the room to see if there were any cracks in the ceiling or walls. In the end, they came up with nothing. Kase tried to analyse the drool from Hans' body, but could not divine anything from it. They came to the inevitable conclusion that Hans had been poisoned at the dinner table. And that meant the guilt lay upon to shoulders of one of his kinsmen.

*  *  *

Franz, knowing that inquiring about the family's internal matters from the adult family members would only alert them to the fact that he knew something, requested permission to have a friendly little chat with Lisette, the eight-year-old daughter of Henrik von Hedon, Hans' brother. They were given an hour.

Franz sat on the chair opposite the little girl. She was dressed in noble finery, just a smaller version of what her mother wore. She also wore makeup, and her hair had been carefully plaited. The priest thought she looked rather like a porcelain doll. After regarding the girl for a moment with a friendly smile, he raised up the small hammer that hung on a silver chain around his neck.

"You know what this is?" he asked.
"Yes. That is the symbol of Sigmar, the god. Our priest, Father Ulrich has one, too," the girl replied in the clipped accent of the Empire's upper class.
"Good. I am also a priest, like Father Ulrich. I am Father Franz. Now, I am going to ask you some questions about your family. You should answer truthfully. Father Ulrich has told you what happens to those who lie, hasn't he?"
"Yes. Father Ulrich says liars burn in the fires of hell. I never lie."
"Good, very good… Now… Who were in the table at the dinner last night?"
"It was mom and dad, Uncle Hans and Aunt Marya, Uncle Bocher, Grandfather Adolf and Grandmother Gertrud, and Father Ulrich. Oh, and Canio. He's a bard, from Tilea. He's funny." The girl giggled.

"And who sat next to Hans?" Franz continued.
"Aunt Marya, and Uncle Bocher. Father Ulrich was sitting opposite to him."
"What did you all eat and drink, by the way?"
"Pheasant. The adults drank wine and I and little Peter drank water."
"How many bottles of wine were there in the table?"
"Many. All except Uncle Hans' Bretonnian wine were from our own yards."
"Bretonnian wine?"
"Yes… Uncle Hans does not like the wine of our yards, so he drinks Bretonnian. Uncle Bocher and Uncle Hans had a fight over it a long time ago, when he insulted our vintners."
"Did anyone else drink the Bretonnian wine?"
"No, I don't think so. Father Ulrich might have. He likes it, too."
"Hmm… Thank you, Lisette… You have been a great help. You may go."
The girl smiled, curtsied, and left. Franz departed soon after in a great hurry, to tell his comrades.


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## madriel (Sep 8, 2002)

Fantastic.  Investigating a murder mystery instead of just more combat is a great idea.


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## NiTessine (Sep 8, 2002)

Too bad most of my players are pure hack & slashers.


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## NiTessine (Oct 2, 2002)

Okay, I am terribly sorry about the recent lack of updates. Real life interfered in the form of the exams week, which was a rather grueling experience. But, today is the last exam, and I have tomorrow off, so an update will be showing up soon. And for real, this time. I promise.


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## Kosh (Oct 4, 2002)

*snap*...

What's that sound?...

Is that the sound of a promise being broken?...  

...

Great story...

Don't rush to throw something up here...

Take your time...

We'll keep bumping...


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## NiTessine (Oct 5, 2002)

*Chapter 4 – Man Overboard!*

With the information Franz had gleaned from the little girl, the five adventurers were certain that Bocher von Hedon was somehow involved with the death of his brother. They needed further proof, however, as accusing one of the Empire's nobility of murder with merely circumstantial evidence was a rather quick way to the gallows. So, they devised a plan.

Fisibbei was the nimblest among them, and natural inclination towards larceny ran in his very blood. Thus, it was determined he would do the deed itself. When Bocher and his wife left their cabin for dinner, they were followed soon after by Khaelas, who sat in a table near the door keeping an eye on them. Kase and Fisibbei went to the empty cabin. Kase stood watch outside, while Fisibbei picked the lock and rummaged through the room.

When the von Hedons would rise from their table, so would Khaelas, who'd then run to the cabin and signal Kase to knock on the door, letting Fisibbei know it's time to split.

The lock on the door was a cheap piece of work and did not take long to pick. It clicked, and the halfling eased the door open gently, avoiding making noise. He slipped inside.

The cabin was much like Hans' in that it was richly decorated, and much larger than the small, bare rooms the adventurers were using. A large bed stood against one wall, flanked by a massive, forbidding wardrobe. The floor was covered by a thick carpet. Kislevite, the halfling decided after a moment. But he wasn't here to admire the furniture.

Armed with several spells to detect toxins, poisons, and venoms, Fisibbei examined Lady Elsa von Hedon's cosmetics box, as well as the several bottles of dwarven ale and wine from the von Hedon vintners that stood next to the bed. As he knelt to examine the bottles closer, he happened to glance under the bed. Of course, too obvious.

Carefully, the druid-turned-burglar drew the heavy ironwood box from under the bed. It was reinforced with steel bands, and bore three locks.
"Well, well," the halfling murmured as he examined the locks. Untrapped, at least by any conventional methods. Still, one could never bee too careful. Fisibbei grasped the small root hanging from his neck, and touched the box with it, murmuring words in Druidic. A verdant glow shimmered around the root, and disappeared. No magical traps, either. Too easy, he thought. Carefully, he began examination of the locks, feeling the insides with his picks, locating the tumblers, counting their number and noting their shapes.

After twenty minutes of work, all three locks were undone. As it happened, they had been identical. How foolish. Smiling faintly, the halfling moved on top of the bed, and carefully lifted the lid, with two fingers, pressing on the wooden parts. The metallic ones could be charged with electricity. No poison darts flew out at the opposite wall, nor did a deadly viper strike out. Copious amounts of deadly spiders also failed to manifest. Breathing a sigh of relief, the halfling moved to examine the box's contents closer.

The strongbox contained several pouches of gold coins, a large tome bound in black leather, and a pair of small amulets on silver strings. They were identical, and strange in shape. Fisibbei pocketed them. Then he opened the book. It was written in no language he knew, and used a most singular set of alphabets. The characters had strange forms. They were twisted, and shaped most obscenely. Fisibbei snapped the book shut, disgusted by the odd script. He stowed the book away in his backpack, shut and locked the box, and pushed it gently back under the bed. After quickly making sure the room was in proper order, he departed.

*  *  *

It was much later that they met in Franz's cabin to discuss the strange items Fisibbei had found. The Sigmarite's only reaction to the news they'd been stolen was a shrug.
"Ends justify the means," he said. "Now show me that book."

None of them could read the book. Kase actually felt ill after leafing through for but a moment. 
"Unholy texts of Chaos, I'm betting," Fisibbei muttered.
"Perhaps we should show this to Brother Ulrick," Franz suggested.
"Perhaps, but he might be in league with the murderer," the druid countered.
"I doubt that. I spoke with him, and he is a good man. I say we take the book to him," Franz replied, the steely edge of resolution creeping in his voice.

And so they did. The cleric was not at all pleased with being bothered after he'd just gone to bed, but agreed to take a look at the tome when he noted their urgency.
"You were right to bring this to me," he said after reading a few pages. "It is a fell tome dedicated to the Chaos gods."
The priest looked at them, his chiselled face pale, and his expression grave.
"I must request that you relinquish this to me, so that I can have it destroyed and purified once we reach Marienburg. How did you come upon this?"
"It was among the possessions of Bocher von Hedon," Fisibbei replied.

The priest was taken aback.
"Lord Bocher's? Are you certain?"
"Positive."
"This is a grave matter indeed. That one of the most upstanding nobles I have met be a follower of the Dark Gods… But we cannot take action yet. We do not know his power. It is too dangerous to confront him on this ship."
The priest took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. Then he continued.
"We will do this… Wait until we get to Marienburg, and contact the local temple of Sigmar, and the authorities. With their help, even the most terrible powers he may summon should be countered."

They discussed the plan at length that night, and when the adventurers departed Ulrick's cabin, fear gnawed at their minds. Two days in the same ship with a Slaaneshi cultist, possibly more. What long days those were going to be.


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## Ruined (Oct 6, 2002)

Very cool update. The ship ride from Hell...  And hey, they're visiting my turf. We've been in Marienburg a long, long time. Come on down to the Suidock, we'll show you around (after your purse is lifted, of course).


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## madriel (Oct 7, 2002)

Two days for the cultist to find out somebody's stolen his stuff.  They might be two long days, but they definitely won't be boring.


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## NiTessine (Oct 14, 2002)

Here. Chapter Four, second installment. I'm trying to fall into an installment per week rhythm, posting on the weekends. We'll see how long I can keep that up... 
But, anyway... Here it is! Have at it!
------------------------------------------------------------------

The following day dawned bleak and grey, fog hanging over the cold sea like a soft blanket. Frederich had decided to start the day early, and was sharing a large bottle of Bugman's ale with a few of the deck guards. Franz was also outside, bare-headed and –footed, letting the cold sea wind whip against his face. He reminded the others of flagellants. Fisibbei and Kase were down in the dining hall, breaking their fast. Khaelas was asleep.

The elf and the halfling were enjoying a light meal of fish, the only edible thing on board that wasn't crawling with worms. Suddenly, a bell started to sound. It was a loud, frantic clanging. After going on for five seconds, it was cut short. They both knew what this meant. It was the ship's alarm bell. And there was no time to run to the cabin and get weapons.

Fisibbei, thinking it was most likely a pirate attack, smashed his chair against the floor, and picked up a leg. As he ran towards the deck, he grasped his root and chanted words of Druidic. A bold green light settled over his makeshift weapon, which grew heavier and sturdier in his hand. No longer was it a chair leg, but a hard cudgel.

Kase followed after the halfling, running swiftly. As the two spellcasters ascended the stairs to the deck, they were greeted with a scene of carnage. Dead and dying sailors littered the deck, losing the battle against the invaders. The attackers were no ordinary pirates, but strange, blue-skinned goblins, wielding crooked spears, tipped with sharp bone. Snarling, they were butchering the helpless sailors.

Among the bloodshed, two beacons of hope arose. Frederich had littered the deck with sea goblin corpses, making his way for their leader. He was wielding a spear of a slain warrior, evidently stabbed to death with a broken bottle. Franz was keeping a doorway to the lower decks clear, staving off his blue-skinned attackers with a broken spear shaft, wrested from the hands of a defeated enemy.

However, where Frederich was cutting a swath of death across the ranks of the troglagobs, as the water-dwelling goblins were called, the priest was in dire trouble. He was encircled by the creatures, and for every one he slew, two another rose up to take its place. The dead lay around him in numbers, yet they came on, prodding and thrusting with their crooked spears. Again and again they plunged their bone blades in Franz's flesh, and the bleeding priest slumped down.

The goblins were upon him like vultures at a carcass, tearing him apart, taking his items, and making for the sea. And then, Fisibbei was there. He crushed the skull of one troglagob with his cudgel, then smashed it into another's face. He slew four of the sea goblins before they even realized he was there. And when they did, they ran. The druid's furious attack drove the scavengers from the fallen priest, leaving many of their number dead or incapacitated. But, as Fisibbei came to his comrade, he saw that he was too late.

For they had taken Franz Hoffman's head.

*  *  *

An hour later they were sitting in the dining hall. Eight sailors had fallen, in addition to Franz. Most bodies had been taken overboard by the goblins. The troglagobs had suffered greater casualties. Frederich, in his mad dash to get to their leader, had struck down seven of their number, even though their chieftain and shaman had both gotten away.

Even more worrying were the news of Captain Versenkung's disappearance, brought by the first mate, a Lothern elf named Ranland. He'd gone missing during the night, along with one of the ship's three lifeboats. The conclusion was obvious, but his motives remained unclear. The possibility of him hiding – or being hidden – somewhere on the ship was also brought up.

Thus, into the cargo holds they descended, them being a logical place for a man to hide. The cabins were few and had been quickly checked, leaving only the damp darkness where merchandise was stored. Fisibbei cast a few spells of detection, grasping the knobbly root that was his holy symbol, and chanting in Druidic. When he was finished, he stumbled and fell.

"Magic! Immensely powerful!" he shouted as he clambered up from the floor. The halfling was pale in the light of their lanterns. "Downwards. It is deep… Must be below the waterline!"

The four adventurers ran down the stairs, the ever darker and damper holds, deep in the bowels of the ship. They reached the bottom level. It was spooky, down there. The wood groaned and creaked, every now and then, and they were all too aware of the ocean pressing in on them, cold and lethal.

After a moment's concentration, Fisibbei pointed at a crate at the far side of the hold, almost hidden by the shadows. The box was made of flimsy wood, and painted with the text "VON HEDON". Nervously, sweating even in the coolness of the cargo hold, Frederich grasped the box's lid, and pulled. Nails bent and wood shattered as it came off. They all crowded around to look at what lay within.

And that which lay within looked back at them.


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## Ruined (Oct 14, 2002)

Ouch! Brutal battle, with the end of Franz.  So I wonder, is the thing in the crate something dangerous, or perhaps is it the player's new PC?  Inquiring minds want to know.


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## NiTessine (Oct 14, 2002)

theRuinedOne said:
			
		

> *Ouch! Brutal battle, with the end of Franz.  So I wonder, is the thing in the crate something dangerous, or perhaps is it the player's new PC?  Inquiring minds want to know.  *




Well, Franz's player isn't going to make a new character... We parted less than amiably, and a number of death threats were made. Our playing styles were notably different, and though we continue to play Warhammer together, I doubt he'll be showing up in this campaign again.


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## NiTessine (Oct 20, 2002)

Here, the fifth chapter, first installment! And right on time, too! Be warned, though... The story takes a darker turn as the powers of Chaos start to manifest. Reading is not recommended for anyone, especially minors, pregnant women, or others with impressionable minds or weak stomachs.

*Chapter 5 - Like Rats from a Sinking Ship*

It was a painting. A painting of a boy, facing the viewer. Next to the boy, there was a doll of a girl, her empty eyesockets staring at nothingness. The boy's expression was frightening. It was a cold, calculating stare, thoroughly unfit for such a youthful face. Behind the boy and his doll, there was a window, and behind the window was blackness, out of which dozens of small, disembodied hands reached out to them.

The adventurers all took an involuntary step backwards, shaken by the sudden sight. After a tense, silent moment, they had all regained their wits and calmed their nerves. Fisibbei was the first one to speak.
"That painting… it radiates unspeakable evil, and powerful magic."
"I can feel it, too, even though I have cast no spells to detect such," replied Khaelas.

For a short while, they discussed their next course of action, speaking in hushed tones, and trying to avoid looking at the painting, all the while keeping an eye on it. For all they knew, it could start moving.

In the end, they decided to hide the box in another part of the cargo hold. None of them wanted to take the vile portrait to their cabin. With his eyes averted, Frederich carried the large crate into the deepest, shadowy recesses of the room. They did not even attempt to destroy it. Anything that powerful was most likely indestructible by any mundane means, and probably capable of defending itself. The evil painting was left in the darkness, as the heroes made their way back to the upper decks, still pale and nervous of what they had seen.

When they ascended the final steps from the hold, they were met with a woman's keening wail. Quick examination revealed its source as Lady Siegfrida von Hedon, crumpled in front of an open doorway to the cabin they knew was occupied by her children, Lisette and young Peter. Fearing the worst, the four adventurers quickened their steps to a run.

What was in the room was terrible enough to make even Frederich retch. The walls, the floor, and the bedsheets were covered in blood. White feathers from the torn pillows and eiderdowns were spread about the room, in stark contrast to the bright red liquid. In the carnage, they could see bits and pieces of something that may once have been human. 

*  *  *

The remains had belonged to young Peter, only four years old. Lisette was still alive, fortunately. Lady Siegfrieda was still paralysed by her discovery, and the adventurers were severely shaken, overcome by feelings of guilt, for they had failed to unveil the assassin in time. Lord Henrik von Hedon had not come forth to speak with them, apparently being content with an accusing glare. It was enough, and they all knew it.

*  *  *

That night, none of them slept well. All four were plagued by horrible nightmares of daemons and undead. Terrible winged fiends hunted them, and rotting cadavers rose from their graves to grasp at their ankles.

It was early morning when they started awake in their beds, all at the same time. The ship was still silent. Frederich was wandering towards the poop deck, when he stumbled upon one of the guards in the corridor. Literally. The man's throat had been cut, and he was lying in a pool of his own blood. 

Hissing a curse, the massive warrior sprinted back to the cabins, and alerted the others. Kase's first reaction was to shout:
"The painting!"

A scant few minutes later, they were all in full armour, running to the cargo hold. When they arrived, their fears were confirmed. The crate was empty, the painting was gone.

Their search soon took them to the upper deck, to see whether any more lifeboats had disappeared. There, they were quite surprised to see the entire von Hedon family packed into the three lifeboats, beginning to lower them into the water. Father Ulrich was also there, as was Canio, the Tilean jester, and a halfling who was presumably their cook. Khaelas spotted a cloth-covered rectangle that he suspected was the missing painting.

When he saw the adventurers approaching, Henrik von Hedon stepped from the boat. The man was tall and thin, and his features were sharply defined, angular. In the hazy light of the early morning, they looked even sharper, caricatured, as if drawn with a ruler. He was dressed in olive green, with a cloak of the blackest silk. No hat or helm adorned his head, the pate crowned only by his hair, raven black and arrow straight. The nobleman looked at them coldly.

"Turn back," he called. "Do not attempt to interfere, and you might yet live."
"You murdered the guards and the crew, didn't you? It was you, all along!" cried out Fisibbei.
"Yes, as was necessary. Now, go back to your cabins, lest you suffer their fate."
"You know we will not do that. Fight or surrender, those are your options," Frederich shouted, raising his axe in challenge.

"Very well, if that is your wish," the nobleman replied, drawing forth a long rapier. Its sharp blade glinted in the morning sun with a malevolent light, promising death. "Who will be the first one, then?" he asked calmly, as the three lifeboats descended to the ocean behind him.

Not uttering a word, Kase drew forth his longsword, hefting it high, and charged Henrik. The thin man's hand flashed into the folds of his cloak, and there was a loud noise, a crack of thunder. As Kase Galanodel slumped down on the deck, bleeding from a wound that pierced his heart, they all saw the weapon. It was a duelling pistol, a finely-crafted firearm from the workshops of Nuln. It was an item of tremendous destructive power and accuracy, as they had seen.

But they all also knew that loading it was a long and complicated affair. Cold fire burning in his eyes, Frederich took a step towards the nobleman, who holstered his gun, smirking.

At that moment, Khaelas also fell to the deck with a cry of pain. As they turned to look, they saw his thigh had been pierced by two crude javelins. The wounds seeped blood, and the incapacitating pain made the elven sorcerer lose his consciousness.

The javelins had been thrown by a pair of troglagobs that stood, with several of their friends, behind them. Their leaders were the same as in the previous attack, a bone-armoured brute, and a smaller, black-clad one. Another troglagob raised a spear for the throw, but was taken down by a long, blue-fletched arrow that suddenly sprouted from his throat.

"Nobody does this to my ship and lives!" came the cry from the shadows in the ship's foredeck. There stood Ranland, the elven former first mate, current captain of the ship, with a longbow in his hand. He quickly shot another arrow, taking one of the troglagobs in the shoulder, causing it to drop its weapon and cry out in pain. Frederich quickly swung his axe, cleaving the wounded sea goblin's head in twain.

Fisibbei turned to face the nobleman as Ranland and Frederich dealt with the goblins. He hefted his sickle, measuring it against the nobleman's greater reach. He was preparing to strike the first blow, when something, a flash of black shadow, with hint of a tail, fell from the rigging to the deck and darted towards von Hedon. The nobleman's hand flashed again to his cloak, bringing up a second duelling pistol, and again the sharp sound of gunshot sounded over the placid sea. All this happened so fast the halfling druid could not keep up, marvelling at the speed of his opponent. 

The shot missed the shadowy shape by a hair, and it was upon him. It was a skaven, black cloak billowing behind him, and a hairless, scaly tail flicking back and forth in excitement as the ratman stabbed Henrik von Hedon in the stomach with his long, wavy-bladed dagger, faintly glowing with a green haze. Black blood gushed forth from the gaping wound in his abdomen, and he collapsed, dark froth already specking his lips as the potent venoms of the skaven took action.

The black-furred ratman stabbed the prone noble again and again, until his silken cloak was but mere shreds, and his oily black blood, tainted by the power of Chaos, was thick on the deck. Then, satisfied with his work, it turned its bestial face towards Fisibbei, red eyes burning with hatred. And the halfling knew fear.

Yet, he steeled himself. Dropping his sickle, he willed into being a sword spun from flame, a weapon of fire given form. Thus armed with magic, he struck at the skaven. Their weapons clanged and struck sparks, and the duel had begun. 

Steel soaked in warpstone struck off solid fire, as the assassin and the druid circled each other, striking out at the opponent, only to be blocked or deflected. The flaming sword's heat singed the skaven's fur, and the unholy magic of the sword made Fisibbei's hairs bristle as the two struck, parried, and struck again in their dance. Their instincts took over, shutting off the outside world.

And thus, neither of them noticed the death from behind.


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## Jon Potter (Oct 22, 2002)

Very, very well written.

I particularly enjoyed the description of von Hedon.

And of course, the skaven.  

You keep writing and I'll keep reading.


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## NiTessine (Oct 24, 2002)

Kase's death, by the way, was a result of his player being kicked out of the group because he never showed up. He was replaced by another player next session.


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## madriel (Oct 24, 2002)

That was fantastic.  Your writing is getting better and better, NiTessine.  You captured the creepiness of von Hedon and the Skaven perfectly.


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## NiTessine (Nov 11, 2002)

Here it is, the last part of Chapter 5. Sorry about the short length and the long delay. Had this evil thingy called school invade my life, and then I spent four days in Hungary. But now, I'm back home, the school stuff's been taken care of, and I can concentrate on important stuff, like keeping my readers happy. Have at it!

---------------------------------------------------

Frederich's axe came down, sweeping the skaven's head clean from its hunched shoulders. The body slumped to the deck. The fight was over.

Dead troglagobs were laying in heaps where Ranland and Frederich had slain them. Khaelas was quietly whimpering in pain. The skaven and the nobleman lay in a tangle, their blood mixing into a pool that ran in rivulets over the side, to the sea. Kase lay still, his sightless eyes looking at the sky, where dark clouds had gathered. It began to rain.

And as they thought things just couldn't get any worse, they did. They smelled smoke. A thick, grey column wafted upwards from belowdecks, carrying with it the certain knowledge that Das Minnow had just made her last journey. With the amount of smoke, they could not even go down to check how widespread the fire was, let alone attempt to put it out.
"My ship! They burned my ship, the savages!" Ranland could be heard muttering. 

During the battle, the morning fog had lifted, unveiling the city of Marienburg only a mile away. That mile was of cold sea. Its deceptively placid surface was broken in three places near the ship by the triangular dorsal fins of sharks. Unbeknownst to the heroes, they were the pets and mounts of the late troglagobs. In the end, that knowledge wouldn't have done them much good.

However, they hadn't come that far just to die on a burning ship. Frederich, being from Nuln, knew enough of firearms to load and fire one, and managed to injure one of the great sea beasts with a lucky shot from von Hedon's handgun. The effect was far more than they'd expected, however. The two other creatures immediately rushed towards their friend, and soon the water was as blood, as the three creatures fought each other in a feeding frenzy, tearing great chunks off their sides and reducing fins to ribbons. 

In the end, only one remained, injured. Frederich put it out of its misery with another shot.

*  *  *

The swim was a long and hard one. As flames engulfed Kase's body and the ship, along with most of their gear, the adventurers let their fates to the hands of Manannan. Frederich and Ranland were both adept swimmers, but Fisibbei and Khaelas both nearly drowned before they finally pulled themselves on the stones of the Marienburg harbour. There they laid for many long minutes like so many dead fish, regaining their breath and their strength.

Then, they rose, still dripping water. Their muscles aching from the long swim, shivering from the icy water, the four made their way to the closest inn with hot baths, and paid them for a week.


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## Kosh (Nov 11, 2002)

*Applause*

Excellent...


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## NiTessine (Nov 27, 2002)

Again, I must apologize for the long wait. I had an exams week at school, and so on. Well, you've all heard that before. On the good side, this update is considerably longer than the previous one.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Chapter 6 – Shadows in the Night*

It took two days of rest before any of them could even think of trying to find out where the von Hedons were headed. The cold water and injuries suffered in the battle had not been a healthy combination, even after the sharks had been killed.

The elf Ranland melded into the group quite smoothly. He had lost his ship and all of his worldly possessions, and wanted to avenge the Chaos-worshipping nobles, and with Franz gone, nobody even questioned him joining the party. And they had all seen his skill with the bow.

Once they judged themselves to be in sufficiently good condition to do so, they started thinking up a plan. The von Hedons must have had arrived in Marienburg, they reasoned. They were in three small boats, and the Marienburg harbour was the only place where they could some to land in the region. The shoreline was mostly jagged rocks and sheer cliffs for a dozen miles in each direction.

The first step was to gain new equipment. They had had to leave most of their weapons and all of their armour in the burning ship. They'd only retained their gold and the magical sword they'd taken from Viseslav in Sarbas.

Soon they had bought what they needed. All were decked out in brand new armour, and carried sharp steel at their belts. Frederich had paid a veritable fortune for a full set of half-plate, reasoning that after spending several years in Kislev, living in the ways of the land, he should do the same in Empire. Fisibbei commissioned a carpenter to make him a wooden breastplate, hoping that someday he might be able to transmute it into ironwood.

Thus armed and armoured, they began asking questions. Frederich, after buying a few rounds for the dock guards, found out that the von Hedons had indeed come ashore that day. That verified, it was time for Ranland and Khaelas to step in. Posing as a wealthy merchant from Lothern, Ranland went through every high-quality inn and tavern of Marienburg, claiming the von Hedons to have cheated him in a trading venture. His played the part of the suave and debonair merchant noble convincingly, and, in the Red Lion Inn, after a moment's chat with the butler, he found they had signed in the same day the ship had burned, and left the following day, leaving no clue of their eventual destination.

Not to be deterred, the high elf next headed to the caravan yards, where the merchant companies assembled their weekly, slow-moving caravans for their dangerous journeys to Nuln, Altdorf, and Parravon. There was strength in numbers, and those numbers were great indeed. Noble entourages and merchant wagons alike formed into massive, long, and well-guarded formations. With the mercenaries, hired guards, and the occasional adventuring band, they had enough manpower to stand against anything short of a full-scale orcish waaagh.

After dropping a few discreet gold crowns in all the right places, Ranland gained access to the normally confidential records of those who travelled with the caravans. The names of merchants and their companies, along with references to other documents listing their employees, were listed on the yellowish papers. Bocher the butcher, Ulrich the baker, Marya the chandler, Fritz Shickelgrüber the scribe, Johann the Knife…

A few minutes later, after dropping a few more crowns to the record keeper as thanks for his time and insurance for his silence, Ranland left with a smug smirk on his face.
"Really," he muttered as he walked towards their inn, the Three Spoons. "You'd think Chaos cultists in the Empire were a little more skilled at hiding their trails…"

*  *  *

The von Hedons' destination and means of travel now known, the four adventurers began planning how to catch up with them. The next caravan would not be leaving in another five days, and in any case, it would travel too slow for their liking. They would have to brave the Wasteland and the Reikwald Forest alone on their way to Nuln, the city named by the papers as the destination of all the von Hedon wagons.

Their funds were starting to run low, when they had all bought (and in Ranland's case, stolen) steeds. Fisibbei had to ride on the same horse with Khaelas, as the small ponies ridden by halflings would have been too slow for their journey. They set out at dawn of the fourth day of their stay in Marienburg, trotting at a brisk pace along the dusty road.

Their first day on the road went uneventfully, and they managed to cover a good distance, bringing them within sight of the Grey Mountains, the great natural barrier that separated the Empire from Bretonnia. The night went peacefully, with Khaelas and Ranland doing the watch. 

On the noon of the second day, the road had snaked to the foothills of the mountains, the horses suddenly grew restless, and Fisibbei had to dismount, lest he be painfully thrown off. The reason for the steeds' unease soon became apparent, as they spotted the silhouette of a mountain lion, outlined against the sky on a hilltop. This gave the druid an idea. Digging a few strips of beef jerky from his pack, he sneaked closer to the great cat. The lion noticed him, and, curious about this strange little creature that did not fear him, began to pad closer. Smiling reassuringly, Fisibbei offered it the strips of beef.

In their saddles, the others tensed, certain that the animal would bite the halfling's arm off. Contrary to their expectations, however, this did not happen. The lion ate the offered food, licked the druid's hand a bit, and then examined the smiling halfling very closely. Then, it yawned and sat next to its new friend.


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## NiTessine (Jan 19, 2003)

*Sigh*
Well, now... Been a long time since this one was last updated... And may be longer yet. The campaign went defunct in December. I still have a couple of chapters' worth of stuff to be written, though, and I intend to type them up, at least. Perhaps the campaign will be revitalized in time, though that is still uncertain, as I have already started a Godlike campaign, and I try not to get trapped into running two campaigns at once. DMing will become a chore too easily, that way.

But, now... I'm off to write up the last of Chapter 6.


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## Jon Potter (Jan 20, 2003)

NiTessine-

Good to see an update from you here - even if it isn't more story hour.

You've got at least one reader who's waiting for more of the Old World.


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## Kosh (Jan 26, 2003)

...Make that two...


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## Kosh (Feb 10, 2003)

Bump...


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## Kosh (Feb 24, 2003)

Umm...

Bump, again?...


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## Kosh (Mar 16, 2003)

*Beats a horse, hoping it is not dead*...


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## NiTessine (Mar 17, 2003)

Well, here is the next one. I am very sorry for the delay, but there has been the usual medley of real-life problems, and I just haven't been inspired to write about a campaign that's defunct, and will never rise again.

It's short, and thrown together in a hurry. I'll try to get the next part written sometime. At least it's good to know there are people who like my writing...  

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two nights after, they camped off the road, under the boughs of the Reikwald Forest. They made a fire, ate, and went to sleep, leaving the first watch for Frederich.

The Nulnish warrior walked the woods around the camp at a leisurely pace, axe in hand. He seemed relaxed, but appearances could be deceiving. He was born in Nuln, and had heard stories of the horrors of Reikwald all his life.

An hour passed. Fisibbei snored like an Ostlander lumberjack, and the others were fast asleep as well. Frederich muttered something under his breath, when he heard a snap of a twig.
"Who's there?" he barked, his arm poised to throw the axe. There was no response but a nearly silent 'thwip' as a small dart flew from the darkness and embedded itself in the warrior's neck. His eyes rolled back, and slowly, he toppled down.

At the same time Ranland the elf abruptly awoke to the feeling of a two hundred-pound warrior falling on top of him. Letting out an inarticulate cry, the scrambled from under the large man. After regaining his wits, he quickly reached out to check the warrior's pulse while his other hand seeking out the longbow near his pack.

The elf's nimble fingers soon ascertained Frederich to be still alive, and brushed the dart. Picking it out, he examined it shortly.
"Blowgun," he muttered, poking Fisibbei awake with his bow.

A second dart flew out of the darkness, this one hitting Fisibbei's leather armour and sticking there. The halfling quickly jumped to his feet, grabbing for his sickle. After some nudging, Khaelas was also wide awake. Another dart sped from the shadows, missing Ranland's head by a hair's breadth.

"There!" Fisibbei pointed at a shadow-cloaked tree. Khaelas jumped up, shouting Fan-Elthárin words and pointing at the tree. His concentration was foiled, however, when yet another of the small darts hit him in the cheek. The elf reflexively brushed it off, saving himself from the sleeping venom, but the magic was lost.

At the same time, however, Ranland began pouring a steady stream of arrows at the tree. A high-pitched squeak was heard, and then, the thump of a body falling to the ground from high up.

"Go, get him!" Fisibbei shouted at his lion, pointing towards the direction of the tree. The great cat bounded across the clearing to the shadow-cloaked wood, roaring as it went. A short scream was heard, and then the sounds of pursuit. Glancing at each other, the three adventurers ran after.

The assassin had a head start and was a fast runner, but the mountain lion had a head start and smelled prey. The outcome of the chase had been decided before two steps had been taken, yet the prey fled with an endurance that only a man running for his life could muster. The inevitable happened only after the two had led the adventurers almost two miles deep into the forest, as the lion took one last great bound, landing squarely on the shoulders of the assassin with a sickening crunch as bones snapped. There was a whimper as the cat's jaws closed, and then silence.

The elves appeared to the scene a few minutes later, the halfling bounding after them with admirable tenacity.
"A skaven," Ranland remarked as he examined the chewed-up cadaver by torchlight.
"Indeed. We seem to be running into them a lot," Khaelas replied.
Ranland rummaged through the rat man's pouches, and soon came up with a blowgun, a dagger, and a folded piece of leather.
"It's a map of the Reikwald Forest, I think," he said after opening and examining it for a moment.
"Yes, it is… I think we are here, this here is the River Reik, that there is Altdorf… I think our camp site would be about here… but what is this?" Fisibbei pointed out several marks on the map, bringing his finger to rest upon a strange triangular design on the map, a short way north of where they estimated their campsite was.
"I think it might be a hideout," replied Ranland.
"Only one way to find out…" Khaelas said, with a grin.


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## Jon Potter (Mar 17, 2003)

Ahhh, skaven. Can you ever really have too many in a campaign?

If you're the DM, I mean.

If you're a PC then just one can be too many. Just ask Frederich when he wakes up.


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