[WFRP 2e] Renegade Princeps 48

Vaervenshyael - Female Elf Assassin

My companions
Tankred "Silver Bear" Tenneckermann - Human Artisan/Mercenary/Champion
Wilhelm Hechland - Human Pistoleer/Engineer/???
Doctor Johann Wilhelm Woeller - Human Physician
Imultrud - Knight NPC, liaison to Mathilde

(Previous Notes)

Events as written by the GM:

The knocks wake each of you almost at the same time.

The cock hasn't crowed and it's pitch dark outside your windows. Each of you rouse yourselves from slumber to make out the knock becoming a pounding on your door. Someone curses and its answered a throaty voice of a dwarf to shut up.

"Wake up! You're summoned to the high council of Barrak Varr. Quickly now. Don't keep them waiting! Dress. Collect all your belongings as well!" The message is the same to each of you, if varied only in the gruff or emphasis of the pounding on your door.

Outside your room waits two armed dwarves, one less so than the other, both holding lanterns. You see others at your companions doors. "Help them with their belongings and too the carriage with haste."

You hand what you don't want to carry to the porter. In the common room Giffrose stands holding a mug and dropping a ring of hot metal into her beverage. Her eyes sleepy but open as you're escorted out of the Stonecutter's Thumb. She doesn't speak and only looks slightly worried.

A carriage stands at the ready. An armed guard of a half dozen dwarves mounted on stout war ponies, tabards of the High Council hang without life in the chill still air of the night. The frosty breath of the ponies and dwarves are joined by your own.

Unceremoniously, you're one by one escorted into the carriage as your extra belongings are stowed. The only answer you've been able to get from your firm, gruff, and assertive, escorts: "the high council summons, you attend or you leave Barrak Varr, with less formality."

A fight is always an option each of you think in your own idiom. But these dwarves mean business... And you were going to leave anyway. 

The silence of the night is emphasized by the springs of the carriage, steel rims of the wheels, and shoes of horses and ponies, blending into a cacophony of creaks, pops, and bangs on the cobblestone.

Outside the carriage the streets are empty and the renowned Dwarven thoroughfare lighting warms the cold night of Barrak Varr.

The carriage slows a few times to make the switchbacks as the ride nears the highest part of the center of the city. Outside each of you catch a glimpse of the port below. Lit by lamps and more. Past mitternacht to be sure, but still the dock stirs with activity. The city walls are clearly defined by the bright braziers strung along its length at precise intervals.

Your summons surely did not go unnoticed, but the hour makes it likely to be forgotten well past the cock's crow. Too much to take care of in the morning the thinking goes: headaches to nurse, pots to empty, fires to stoke, all before anyone starts talking about the High Council guard riding through the night.

Vaervenshyael clenches her fists with every bump in the ride. She toys with the pommel of her rapier with a sour visage the appears to be a mix of annoyance, anger, and exhaustion.
The lot of you were summarily—and somewhat narratively—kicked out of Barak Varr by the Small Council (and rubber stamped by the High Council). Handler Russman, a merchant with a caravan bound for points south, was volun-told by the same to take the lot of you on as guard. Only character witnesses saved you from "colluding with Ruinous Powers." Zamrag the Rune Master being the greatest. Gerturde will be finished and Tankred may return to take possession when it is done. Zamrag was not present of course, only his apprentice. Zamrag was busy with Tankred's commission.

Under the cover of night, and with the added deniability of a departing caravan, the High Council solved the problem of "associates of the 'corrupted Verenan temple' by getting rid of you. The caravan consists of seven (7) loaded wagons of goods, 21 draft horses,14 teamsters, including you and Russmann, is 20 men.

As everyone prepped for departure, Sergeant Orthradin's brother, a dwarf runner, alerted Russmann, and then you, an greenskin force is moving up the coast of the Black Gulf, intent unknown, but the bridge over the Blood River lies between them and Barak Varr.

Russmann intended first to only leave Barak Varr and camp a short way beyond the walls, But the news of the threat approaching, the threat to the bridge, and the fording options further east, were unappealing. So the intent is to push to the bridge before the sun rises.Show less

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