Death in the Mountains - IC

Irritated, Slythe lets the chest down, dropping the edge to the dusty ground.

"If you inssssissssst."

he looks around, and shrugs.

"What to do now? Sssssee if the ssssskaven will attack tonight?"

Valgard nods. "Aye slithers. Le's block off tha' door then. We can 'ead up after an talk ta the big guy, maybe we can 'elp prepare summore. Less there's somethin h'ere y'all wanna look over more?" He says, walking back up to the entrance.

Daemaer looks around, seeing if anything else of interest might catch his eye.

After he sweeps the room and takes anything that caught his eye he nods to the others.

"I am finished here. Lets go!"

As they move out of the chamber, Slythe attempts to block the door, wether by boarding her up, ur by stacking any heavy items in the way.

In any case, he doubted such feeble fortifications would do more than stall a full scale skaven incursion.

"I am not tired, but a quick ressssst could be beneficial."
he says to the others. Indeed, he could last several hours longer, but he didnt want to be exhausted in case a fight turned out to be protracted.

Serestre continues to look around the room, taking it all in. Why did a monk of Taal have a Skaven god-marked box? What type of heresy was going on? Was it heresy? So many questions flooded her mind that she almost missed Valgard's comment.

"Oh...yes. Let's be off then."

With the other entrance to the crypt barracked up as best you can; desk, bed and other furniture pilled high you make your way out of the crypt. Its early evening, the sun is down, the monastery and surrounding village is illuminated by torches and bonfires to ward against the skaven. Monk and villager patrol about. All is quiet and there have been no disturbances.

Reginald on clocking you makes his excuses with Sam and heads over "Well then, what did the learned Daemaer and Serestre discover?" he inquires.

Serestre worried about what they had found, the implications for it could rock the foundations of the monastery. Or perhaps they were all in on it? From the sound of it, this Horned Rat was something akin to heresy, something to distance oneself from, so why was a coffer with its symbols down below the monastery?

There was much to discuss, but in a hushed tone, she relays some information to Reginald.

"The coffer has something to do with a Horned Rat god...something related to the Skaven. My question is...why was it down there so close to the monastery? What exactly is going on here?"

Daemaer looked puzzled.

"That is really it. When someone touches it magic activates, but i havent had a good chance to study it so we arent going to know anything for a while. At this point i feel just keeping it away from the rats is the main thing."

"You dont ssssupossse sssssomeone here isssss in league with the sssskaven?" he asks lowly, for a saurus.

"Did the sssshort onessss find any collapsssssed tunnelssss? Maybe they came in and dropped it off?"

Serestre sure as shoot hoped not. But you never knew where heresy could spread, even into the very foundations of Taal.

In a hushed tone, Serestre replies to the lizardman.

"I don't know...but it is odd to have found that so close to here. And in the possession of someone whom probably was or is close to this monastery. Could even be one of the monks around us now..."

Daemaer pondered for a moment.

"If it was chaos cultists we had found snooping around I would be much more inclined to believe someone was helping them...but skaven? Only the rats worship the horned god."
He thought for a moment before continuing.
"Of course it is possible...sigh. Let's just kill the rats and go from there"

[Conversation before Reg rejoined the group]

Reginald turned to Sam. "If I wanted to have someone look at a journal I found, maybe give me some insight into its author or its significance, who would I speak to?"

He oiled another blade while he waited for a response.

[Conversation before Reg rejoined the group]

"Jean-Louis is a bit of a scholar or the Padre but his eyes are failing." Sam takes the two blades and hands them to the villages who nod their thanks. "I have other tasks I must attend to, I'll be about the perimeter if you have need of me."

Valgard grumbled when they began talking about traitors "We begin doubting our allies and well end up killin eachother. Innocent 'til proven guilty friend." He said to them as he looked over the chest once again.

"Fer all we no tha man tha' owns this took it from tha rats an' are holdin it from them. An' I don' think they'd be tryn ta' kill us if they 'ad a friend 'ere, aye?"

Reginald nods to his brother. He saw merit in what he was saying, but wouldn't be surprised if someone was double crossing someone else in this whole fiasco.

"Got two more crossbows on the walls tonight and sharpened up some blades. Tried my hand at some runes, but the magic isn't with me tonight. We'll just have to make due. I retrieved a journal while I was in the crypts."

He pulls it out and shows the group, letting them leaf through it if they desire.

"Sam told me that the padre or Jean-Louis were scholarly enough to tell me its significance. That's where I'm headed next. While the father's eyes are failing, I trust him more. Nothing like pure, unadulterated bigotry to know when someone is honest at least."

Daemaer's ears perked up at the mention of the journal.

"Could I look at that briefly before we show the padre?"

Slythe settles into a corner, and rests himself. It would be a short nap, 2-3 hours at most. But he expected a siege, and did not want to be the first to fall of exhaustion.

Reginald offers up the journal without hesitation. It would be best that trusted members - that is, members that have been blooded together - see what they could make of things first.

"I've given the journal a cursory look over. If what it says is to be believed, it's the journal of Jean Louis's predecessor De Muscadet. Apparently he found that box attacking some skaven, so it's a safe bet they're back here after it."

Reginald puts his hands on his hips, hoping the next bit meant something to anyone.

"Apparently it's called the 'Arca Chaotis.' According to legend, the little mangy bastards used it against dwarves in a century-old battle, killing them by the score with arcs of green lightning. Needless to say, De Muscadet never was able to open it. If the legend is true, then its for the best."

[The Padre]

Reginald questions a passing monk and persuades him to give directions to the Padres' room, there is some reluctance, as its explained thats it the old mans bedtime but he gives up the directions. As the monk walks away you hear him mutter "Its your funeral."

Back inside the monastery you knock on the Padres' door. Immediately there is a screech from within "Go away, can't you hear that I'm asleep. Here, listen." a few moments later a loud snoring noise can be heard beyound the door.
...

"Gah, well what is it? Don't keep an old man awake, this evenin' has already tired me considerably. That elf was most vexing!"

Reginald [and company if anyone is with him] enters the room, the heat is stifling within, the Padre is sat in a rocking chair by a roaring fire a blanket pulled about him.  

"Well?" the old man inquires.

Serestre was curious about the journal and of course about the coffer they had found. She followed Reginald to the padre's room to find out some more answers. She knew the old man would be in quite a mood and more than likely he'd put forth some harsh words considering the time. Or maybe he was up. Old people tended to keep the midnight oil burning bright.

She listens to him speak, her head slightly bowed at the harshness of his tone. She fans her face a bit due to the heat, sweat beginning to form on her brow.

"Apologies, padre. We just have a few questions for you about a few mysterious things. Did you know anything about what is under this monastery? A retreat of some kind?"

Daemaer followed the others along, scanning through the journal.

"Hmmm Slythe. Dont hit the chest. It says it has some kind of defense mechanism...."

He glances up and sees Reginald.

"Reginald. Did you happen to find an iron ring along with the journal? It says that the statue can be controlled using an iron ring."

He flips through a few more pages, seeing that the chest wasnt really researched. More hidden and kept from the skaven.

"I feel its very important we keep this out of the rats hand...im still very curious as to what is inside, but that can come later ha!"

[With the Group]

"Aye, I did." He ruffles through a pocket and pulls out the iron ring. "I had attempted to place it on one of the statue's fingers, thinkin therein might lie the key. Obviously it was a foolhardy attempt. Did it say what the use of controlling the statue was? I can envision its merit in a fight, of course, but anything else?"


[With the Padre]

Reginald begs his pardons when he entered the room. He wasn't expecting so many of the others to come with him. No doubt the padre would be less keen on talking to so many. He allows Serestre to speak without interruption and then follows up.

"Found our way down there - keeping out the rats, you see - and I stumbled upon a journal of one De Muscet. Do you know of it?"

[With the Padre]

The Padre settles into his chair by the fire, pulling a blanket over his legs as he listens to the pair of you. “So you found it then. Its been a rumour for some time, so I’d expect you to know more about it than I, since you've been there.” his face sours “Who do you think I am to be snooping about crypts, eh girl!?” he shakes his head a disappointed look upon his wrinkled face “the youth of today always sticking their noses in places they probably shouldn’t, causes all sorts of trouble.”

The Padre then peers closely at Reginald “Well stone the crows, I’ve never met a gnome before, how marvellous. I’ve heard you live in burrows, what’s that like? Dirty I imagine, still it takes all sorts”

Valgard piped up at the mention of gnomes, "Cancha see tha's a dwarf? Old eyes I spose. Still, figured you'd be more interested in tha old man's journal than the shape of tha man tha' gave it to ya." He said, resting on his axe, as he often did.

Reginald winces a bit at Val's reaction. He had expected it, of course, but he was thankful it was less harsh than he imagined.

"It's like my brother says, sir. We two are dwarfs. But that's neither here nor there. We did find the man's... hideaway as it were. His journal, a robe, and an iron ring were among the valuables left there. Do any of those items have any significance to you?"

The Padre rubs his eyes and then peers at Val and Reg "Oh, its you two from dinner, I suppose you look like dwarfs, gnomes are certainly not as fat.” He waits for a brief moment “Well? Are you going to show me these ‘treasures’ that you have found or not? I’m not a mind reader to snatch the images from your thick heads.”

The old man drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair while Reginald gets the items from his pack. Finally you seem to have him focused on the task as the Padre peers closely at the objects “Hhmmmm” he mutters as he rubs his thinly whiskered chin, after leafing through the journal he settles back into his chair and lets out a large yawn “I can sense magic on both the ring and robe, their significance I do not know although I might have seen De Muscadet wear it on occasion. As for the journal…” the Padre shrugs “… I’ve not seen it before.”

"Well, if it helps..." Reginald retells as much as the Padre would like to hear from what he himself knows of the journal and his own additional knowledge on the lore it mentions.

When the robe and ring are handed back, he turns to Daemaer and Serestre. "Can either of you decipher their use? Suppose I could just try it on..."

The Padre will scoff and scowl as Reginald recants whats has been learnt so far from the journal "What, think I'd delve into such things do you? Dirty my mind like the youth of today!" he screeches out which triggers a deep chesty cough, once that has passed he seems a little calmer and tired, he's eyelids start to droop a little "Look, I'm afraid I know nothing of what de Muscadet did in his retreat, he was a private man with his studies."

Reginald nods and puts away the book.

"Well then, I have only one more question. Was he a man of scandal? Any rumors mill around him?"

The Padre chuckles, which almost sets off another coughing fit but he manages to keep it under control "Man of scandal? Ha. No, no. Only that he had a retreat, but that is rumour no more."

Serestre concentrated on the ring and the robe, trying to find some clue as to their significance. The robe was stitched together with magical thread that seemed to aid the wearer during battle. The ring she couldn't quite figure out, although as long as someone was wearing it, the statue would probably be able to be controlled.

"It seems the robes aid those in combat through magical means and wearing the ring might just help do something with the statue...just by commanding it."

The night passes...

For those on patrol the night passes quietly with not even a false alarm for a chance to see how the monks and village folk might react to danger.

The journal of De Muscadet is leafed through further; the statue can indeed be simply commanded by the person that wears the ring. The monk mused over its applications from heavy lifting to combat, but noted his creation was slow and pondersome and only responded to the simplest of commands. Much of the journal is given over to his dabbling in Alchemy, with mostly details of failed experiments. There may be more to learn given time.

Sleep will at some point call, it has been a long day…

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Morning will come with the cock-a-doodle-do of a cockerels early wake up call. The cockerel is loud and persistent, but for those that turn over in their beds sleep can be found again… eventually. For those that venture out it is a very still day, a soft mist lingers on the settlement and there is a heavy dew underfoot. The patrols continue around the perimeter but for everyone else the day starts early, with chickens and other animals needing to be tended and fed.

The breakfast bell is rang a few hours after dawn and those that attend will be rewarded with warm porridge with a dash of wild honey and strong tea, those that linger in bed will likely look forward to trail rations.

Shortly after the meal Sam finds you all together as you've gathered to talk through whatever plans you have for the day. He throws a cheerful “morning” at those he didn’t see at breakfast, despite the dark rings about his eyes. “A traveler has just come in, says she’s looking for a lizardman.” He looks pointedly at Slythe “guess she means you.”

Daemaer is enjoying breakfast when the monk comes up.

"Oh. That reminds me. You there. Have you seen a black coach come by?"

He finishes his question, and takes another mouthful.

Slythe patrolled most of the night, he walked around and got a good overview of the layout of the monastery, not to mention making his presence more comfortable to the men and women taking shelter inside.

In the morning, he eats a dozen eggs, raw and still in the shell. He ate the things whole, sliding them down his scaled gullet.

Until Sam announced someone was looking for him.
"A traveler? Who?"

Then his attention became fixated on Daemer's question about the black coach.
"Yessss. A black coach?" he adds.

"Calls herself Victoria Alba, funny, she also asked after a black coach. You know her?"

Sam waits for a reply before the carrying on "There was a coach that passed through here three or four weeks back. It killed two of Petre's goats that did't get out of the way in time as it came thundering through. Best that you speak to Petre as he saw it."

Travelling during the night had been hard, specially after seeing the signs of turmoil along the road and in the way stations along the old path. After that, every shadow in the woods had turned into an attacker, only to fade when she turned, her old father's rapier in hand.

The bonfires next to the monastery had guided her through the dark and she was grateful when she finally reached the sanctuary at dawn, even after some nervous monk had aimed a crossbow at her. She was restless, and the damn cold bit deep. She hadn't realized how good they had it down in Tilea until she had left her beloved land. She missed the long sunny days and the gentle sea breeze more than anything.

And to think that her father had lived his whole life ever farther north, no wonder he had seem made of boiled leather and spite...

It had been worth it, though. The trail of the lizard man hadn't run cold, in fact, it seemed like she had finally caught up to him. She had felt relief when one of the monks told her the strange creature was there. She wondered how it would look, she had heard the sailor stories but her father had always dismissed them as nonsense. Then again, he had said the same about many things, including philosophy, reading too much, playing, or anything that didn't yield an inmediate practical result, really, so maybe he was as wrong with the lizard as he had been with the rest.

Right now, however, sitting under the arch of the wall's gates, her whole world was limited to the warm feeling of the hot beverage she hold between her hands. She needed the rest, it wouldn't help to find the lizard only to make a fool of herself due to exhaustion.

She looked around, at the working monks and their simple lifes. They were not sigmarites, in fact they didn't look much different from the monks back at Tilea. Perhaps people only turned crazy and hard after you crossed the mountains?

"What a bunch of pallosos" she uttered to herself, not really feeling it but wanting to enjoy the sound of the old tilean curse. Here people spoke like an axe hitting wood, no poetry at all.

Slythe didn't know the name. He wondered who she was and if she was looking for him in particular, or maybe another of his kin?
Maybe there was another survivor.....
"Ssssso the coach came through weekssss ago? Hmmmm. We lag too far behind!"
He snapped at Daemer.

He stands up, leaving a dozen more raw eggs untouched. His tail sways from side to side, anticipation of something interesting about to happen

"I will ssee this...Victoria you sssssspeak of."

Serestre perked up at the thought of a newcomer out of nowhere. Who could she be? What did she bring with her that seemed so urgent? The priestess calmly finishes her simple meal and follows after Slythe, curious more than anything else to see what was happening.

"I'll come with you. I am curious as to who needs our attention."

Reginald looked annoyed. "Well don't just run off. Who is watching the damned box?" He throws his brother a look of bewilderment and moves off after them.

Victoria had regained some of her cool after the brief rest. Though most of that was lost when she saw the strange group approaching. Two dwarves, what could only be an elf, flowing, rather than just merely walking, a priestess of Shallya and... the thing.

She had fought with her own doubts since she walked the first step of her journey, but seeing the lizard man, mouth bloodied, with the stink of death around him, all claw and teeth, made her feel those same creeping doubts again. She felt like she was just a girl, playing something she was not.

Instinctively she grasped her father's old holy book, searching for reassurance.

"Father, help me... you too, Sigmar, if you are around" she uttered to herself while scratching her nose, where a scar had slit her bridge side to side, a nice memory from her first scrap with swords, still back at Tilea. The humidity of the mountains had also turned her hair into something that could only be navigated via machete. As far as first impressions go, she guessed hers was not a good one.

She will have to make up for it with words. She could do that. She was good with them.

She looked at the group again. Her father had always spoken highly of dwarves so she assumed they were trustworthy folks. Probably the Shallyan woman too, though Victoria was cynical about her creed. Pacifism was deep into the territory of good ideas that will shatter when in contact with reality. What happened with her family had made her a bit cynical, she realized, but she felt an instant closeness at the sight of another young woman in such dire circumstances. That feeling was stronger than her bitterness. It took an special kind of strength to remain so adamant about your values as Shallyans did.

As for the elf and the lizard, she had no frame of reference whatsoever so she will have to hope for the better.

"Greetings" she said, her accent a thick and chaotic mix of influences,  "My name is Victoria, of the Alba. I've come from Tilea, a long journey, chasing a carriage, black as night, emblazoned with a D, and its occupants... I've heard a Lizard man and his group were after such a carriage as well."

She stood straighter, looking at each of them in the eyes, even if the Lizard's gave her the creeps "I don't know what they did to you, but whoever travels inside that carriage killed my father. It was only with his dying breath that I learned he was a Witch Hunter, from the Empire" She grasped the old, worn-out sigmarite symbol hanging from her neck "I'm here to finish what he started"

She turned to look at the dwarves, hoping for some sort of understanding "Only revenge is worth travelling this much."

Slythe regarded her carefully, she didn't look too intimidating, but humans often never did.
Even the biggest and best of them seemed frail, even by his standards for warm bloods.
Still, she looked like she had seen plenty of fighting, especially with a scar across her face.

"What do you know about the carriagessss?' he grumbles/hisses.

Who was she? And what was she after?

"Yes, revenge can be quite the motivator, I agree." Reginald spoke his common tongue very eloquently. He took pride in the fact that his studies had allowed him to "lose" his dwarfish accent if and when he so desired.

But inwardly he was thinking of a few other motivators that could merit such travel.

Reginald said no more for the time being. The Witch Hunter and Slythe clearly had a lot to talk about. None of which he would allow them to talk about out of ear shot if he could help it. It sounded far too intriguing.

Serestre stared at the newcomer for a second, a bit surprised by what she saw. She expected a traveller similar to Slythe. Not a girl looking for revenge and so closely connected to their own motivations. Serestre listened to her story, nodding her head, and found herself feeling rather sad for the poor girl. No one deserved to be put on a path of vengeance at any point in their life.

"Greetings, Victoria. May Shallya bless you. It is fortuitous that you have found companions with the same goals in mind. We were just having breakfast, would you care to join us and perhaps we can hear more of your tale?"

"Breakfast... does sound nice, thank you" Not that northeners knew anything about proper cooking, mind you, but another hour without a bite and she woud have been willing to have a go at the lizard.

"I... don't know much about the carriage" she continued once they were all back at the table "Other than it was seen leaving my old house after it was torched and... well; my father's old diary hasn't been much help either, plenty of it got affected by the fire, the rest is encripted. I was hoping to learn more about him and the enemy he was hunting in the Empire, perhaps some remain that knew him, back in the day"

She attacked some of the cheese, still hungry. It was fine, not Taleggio, sure, but fine "I... I was actually hoping you will be the one with answers. I'm sorry."

Well, now it was the time for the difficult part "I'm afraid I have questions too, though. No offence but, you are an... strange group, are you all after this misterious enemy? What do you know? I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but I'm willing to prove myself. If it turns up we all are facing the same threat there should be no gaps in the pikewall".

He snarled, "We've been on the carriage'sssss trail for while now. They killed an envoy of my people with magicsssss. I alone ssssurvived."

Serestre listened intently to the story of this poor girl, nodding her head at times and truly trying to empathize with her fully. With a concerned look on her face, she followed up the comment made by Slythe.

"Unfortunately, I don't have many ties tot he carriage, but I have similar goals. I am on my own mission involving my parents, so I can empathize completely with your plight. I am sure you are more than welcome to accompany us..."

She looks at the others, wondering their opinion on the subject.

With a sigh to his brother, Valgard took hold of the mystery chest with one hand and a few eggs with the other, the latter of which he ate whole as he walked with the group. When they arrived to the woman, he smiled, she seemed pleased to see dwarves, and he was in a good mood. At least, until she spoke.

"Wha'? A lizard man and his group? I think quite naught. These folk stuck with me and Reg' fer safe passage through the mountains. Only one worth 'is weight is the lizard though. No, we 're not with tha carriage folk, I'm a slayer, see?" He says, pointing to his defining orange mohawk. "Means I'm try'in ta die proper, Reg' is me witness. So tha' makes us too tha leaders, right. Valgard and Reginald. And tha's tha' mayor, serestre, and slithers. No manners, any of 'em." He introduces the rest of the party with a point to each person, and a hand over his mouth, to hide the chuckle.

At the breakfast table, he continued to eat with little care for ceremony, nabbing cheese and bread with one hand and downing water and a warm something with the other. Between bites, he conjectured with them again "Right, ya. Dinnae care about a carriage, but sounds like a nice fellow to kill. Any who we're workin' ta' take out some nearby rats what looking fer this here box. After tha' I'd be plenty happy to keep marauding are way through the mountains after yer' carriage, should be plenty to fix up in 'is wake."

Daemaer nodded at the information about the carriage.

At the word of someone looking for Slythe, he had taken up a chunk of bread, walking over to see what the fuss was.

Daemaer had listened with an amused look on his face as he munched on his bread.

"The name is Daemaer. We are pursuing the carriage, but have diverted slightly to deal with a bit of a pest problem."

He gestures around the monastery with the half eaten bread.

"Would be any better than skaven had we left these humble monks?"

"But come, sit a while. Breakfast awaits."

He turns with a flourish and heads back to the table.

Reginald nodded to everything his brother said, even if he would have said it differently. Didn't matter that he didn't particularly agree with every word either. United front was what he had promised he would be for Valgard since their reunion.

He winced slightly at Valgard naming him the "witness" to his brother's honorable death. He would do everything in his power to see that it did not come to that. Tradition be damned.

"I am a Runesmith. I don't know how familiar you are with dwarf culture or magic, but with my tools I suppose I am the equivalent of a mage elsewhere... sort of. Anyways, they have the right of it. We are defending these humble monks for the time being. Though, if the Skaven truly are after the box, our presence may be a detriment to the settlement overall."