18th Ulriczeit 2511 (Festag): Boss Fight!; Clean Up; Drinks; Reconciliation; A Note; Exposed; Janna; Another Note;
Gunnar’s momentum was robbed by the poor traction of the grey water. The massive beast filled the sewer. It took the opportunity to jab at the dwarf with a massive tentacle. The Slayer slapped the strike aside with the side of his axe, putting additional effort into closing on the fleshy body. As he strode closer, he slid the keen edge of his great axe along another of the limbs, slicing open the dense muscle. The Bog King screamed, an alien hiss escaping its beaked maw. Another tentacle, swung low, trying to trip Gunnar. The dwarf planted the head of the axe, hoping his momentum would vault him over the swipe. It didn’t. The axe head slipped and he landed with a thud in the grime. A massive limb swung down, the whomping force smashing into his chest winding him. Gunnar regained his feet, his face flushed as he attempted to find his breath. This didn’t stop his relentless axe… his anger putting it straight through the ‘tripping tentacle’, severing it cleanly. Purple ichor glistened in the flames that rose from behind the octopus. The sliced tentacle lunged desperately at Gunnar, but he ducked below it, taking the opportunity to close within striking distance of the beast, his axe a blur of motion as it clove deep into the fleshy core. The King roared and snapped with his chitinous beak. It caught the haft of the great axe and tugged. It was everything Gunnar could to do to hold on to it. The creature wouldn’t release it, large black eyes fixed on his prey and a foul chuckle emanating from its beak. A tentacle doubled back to punch towards Gunnar, but his frenzied reactions sensed it and he dropped to his back, one hand still holding the axe. The beast hit itself, just about pulling the strike so it wouldn’t take out an eye. Gunnar grabbed the other axe from his belt, swinging it up into the bog octopus’s jaw (if they have a jaw). It reeled, releasing the axe and backing up despite the searing pain of the flames. Gunnar jumped to his feet, dropping the smaller axe and swiping at the retreating creature. The sharp edge catching its two eyes in a slicing strike at the extent of his reach. It slumped instantly, all volume gone from its now bloodied body. Gunnar had single-handedly skilled the Bog King.
Salundra and Ferdinand had made haste through the tunnels after hearing the sound of conflict ahead. They arrived to a desperate scene; flames licking the ceiling of the sewer, a destroyed mass of brown and purple flesh cast in the shadow from the light, and Gunnar, covered in filth and ichor, brandishing his axe. He turned, his demeanour that of rage and violence. Instinctively they, and the accompanying Watch, took a several steps backwards. Gunnar returned to himself, the frenzied possession leaving. He took in scene in the tunnel as if for the first time. He had lived it, done it, but the blood rage had consumed him. He shrugged, reclaimed his smaller axe and went to leave. “What?”, his only utterance as he walked past Ferdinand and Salundra. Gunnar felt nothing other than vacant; a hole left by the now completed hunt… left by the frenzied version of himself no gone. The others knew better than to follow him.
Salundra had seen battlefield carnage before and the horrendous things that can be done to living bodies. The scene beyond the octopus was worse than anything she had ever witnessed before. The confined space, the raw power of the beast and the flimsy nature of human bodies made for a grim visage. Broken, pulped, smashed, destroyed were the words that came to her before she looked away. While looking at the general scene Ferdinand spotted something crude carved into the wall… an eight-legged icon with a bulbous torso. Simple as it was, it was clear what it represented. Captain Pfeffer arrived on the scene with one of the detachments of Watch that had entered the sewers. She stood for a moment… shocked by the horror of the aftermath. Before long she was issuing orders, arranging the recovery and clean up. Salundra asked to speak, but the Captain indicated she’d be fully occupied for at least the remainder of the day (also suggesting that there may be too many ears around for a discrete chat). She asked that they come to see her tomorrow whenever they can. She’ll make time for them.
Salundra and Ferdinand left the sewers, soon spotting Gunnar and trailing him at a reasonable distance. Not wanting to intrude on his solace. Salundra knew little of the reasons he found himself on the path of the Slayer, but knew enough to give him space now. She was also still annoyed at him for leaving the Karstadt-Stampf house, with no real concern for his comrades. The dwarf could be completely self-absorbed at times. It was clear he was making his way towards the Red Moon Inn. He presented quite the sight, covered in filth, an ichor covered axe in each hand. All street goers made way and kept their distance. Salundra and Ferdinand were conscious of the state of their own attire – no where near as disgusting as Gunnar, but below their knees had been well splashed with dirty water.
Gunnar ordered a drink and grabbed a table. Franz knew better than to comment on the dwarf’s attire, though the few patrons who were here at this relatively early hour discretely moved away from the stench. Ferdinand and Salundra entered, but decided to take another table – leaving Gunnar to his thoughts. Franz dropped a note to Salundra, saying a young girl had left it with him yesterday. They kept a close eye on Gunnar. Already the smells of lunch wafted from the kitchen, smoked bacon of some kind. Separate, but having the same idea, the all ordered food, more drink and ate. Gunnar was swallowing pint after pint, hardly waiting for one to finish before calling for another. He remained remarkably composed. Ferdinand and Salundra decided to join them. Rather uncharacteristically Gunnar realised something was up, but they sat in silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”, Ferdinand asked. “It’s done. The beast is dead, Pfeffer lives. I win.”, came the flat response.
Ferdinand decided a card trick was warranted to try to lighten the mood, and he fumbled in his robes for the deck. He had enjoyed a few drinks at this stage… as he shuffled the deck and tried to do a fan merge, the cards sprung from his hand. The only trick he managed was failing to land any cards on the table. Salundra rolled her eyes, “Oh, I didn’t realise the trick was the one hundred and twelve card pick up!”. The silliness solicited a slight smile from Gunnar. Eugen, Salundra and a tipsy Ferdinand collected the cards together and the camaraderie returned to something a little more normal. Maglyn offered to wash their soil-covered garments, so Salundra changed into her spare clothes, but Ferdinand only had a robe, but reasoned it was better to wear that than could smelling clothing.
Salundra had read the note when she’d received it. She chose now to reveal its contents to the others: “I know where she is. Come see me in the Boatmans’ Guild any evening. Information ain’t free. Ask for Rolf.” The handwriting was sloppy and the parchment cheap.
They pondered its meaning, though Ferdinand unwisely decided to keep pace with Gunnar’s drinking. Soon the room span and as the winter light faded from the day Ferdinand felt very much the worse for wear. Salundra reasoned that the note referred to Brunhilde, the cook from the Karstadt-Stampf household who had gone messing, only blood covered evidence remaining. She spun the whole situation in that strange house. The ridiculous wastefulness of nobility increasing her anger and desire to do something for the poor Brunhilde. Ferdinand was passing out into a stopper, but Gunnar, despite having consumed his weight in ale, was holding together remarkably well. Salundra and Gunnar carried the drunken Ferdinand up to the room, not showing enough care to the arrangement of his loose robe, giving the Red Moon Inn’s a surprise mooning!
With Ferdinand safely tucked up in bed, Salundra and Gunnar made their way to the Boatman’s Guild, just a few streets west of the Red Moon Inn. Snow had started to fall again, not terribly heavily for now. When they got there the door was barred by two very large bouncers, the Boatman’s was for guild members only. Salundra mentioned they were told to meet Rolf here and one of them went inside. A couple of minutes later a balding head, belonging to an unimpressive looking man popped out the door. “It’s alright Janus, they ‘guests’ of mine”, Rolf said and went back inside. “You’ll ‘av t’ leave yer weapons ‘ere’”, the large man said, still blocking access to the door. Gunnar and Salundra exchanged a glance and she handed her weapons to the dwarf, knowing there was no point arguing and that the axes were part of Gunnar. Gunnar scooped up handfuls of ice and snow to clean some of the grim from his body.
Inside was warm, a hubbub of voices and an eclectic array of peoples; the Boatmans’ Guild had a broad membership. She saw the man seated at a round table, two others with him. Her presence was noted by many, her uniform an odd sight in the tavern. “‘Ave a seat, love”, Rolf invited with a grin, obviously enjoying the power the information he held had over someone of noble birth. She sat and he snapped his fingers, pointing for a drink to be brought over. “Where is Brunhilde?”, she asked impassively, ignoring the drink when it arrived. “Who?”, he responded, genuine confusion on his face, “I is talking’ ‘bout a little girl, Love. ‘bout sic year old she’d be now.” Realisation dawned on Salundra. This had turned into a very different conversation. “Yeah, that’s right – now she gets it!”, Rolf smirked, “Twenty gold”. Salundra was stunned. “That’s ridiculous – you know I don’t have that kind of money”, she hissed through her teeth. “Twenty gold or no information about that little girl”, came the response, the sickly smirk on all three faces now. Salundra didn’t know what to say… she simply stood and went to leave. “Be seein’ ya soon, Love”, yelled Rolf as she exited.
She nodded a direction to Gunnar and they made their way around the corner. “It’s extortion!”, she murmured, as much to herself as to Gunnar. Catching on quickly he returned her weapons. Gunnar was half hoping there’d be another fight in this day! Salundra said they’d hide and wait for Rolf to emerge… they could ‘chat’ to him then. The hours passed, but despite steady comings and goings Rolf wasn’t to be seen. Janus appeared in front of them – “What you two at?”. “Enjoying the weather”, was Salundra’s response, but it was clear they’d been rumbled. They moved off to seek another hiding place. Another hour passed before a rather nervous looking server from the tavern appeared with another note: “You hurt me, I ensure she get’s hurt”. Deciding they weren’t going to get the on-on-one meeting with Rolf they’d hoped for, they began to make their way to the Red Moon Inn. They walked slowly… Salundra had something she wanted to explain.
“The note earlier was about Janna… my daughter. She’s six years old now… I was too young, too drunk, too stupid. Janna was conceived on the night of Geheimnisnacht 2504, the Night of Mystery at a masked ball held in this very city. I danced with the Graf, yeah von Jungfreud, the masks allowing something that would normally not be allowed. It wasn’t the only thing that shouldn’t have happened that night…”, she trailed off.
“She was born on the 2nd Sigmarzeit 2505, almost a fortnight premature, but that didn’t stop them taking her from me. I haven’t seen here since. All I had was the promise they’d care for her. But, how can anyone trust the word of these people, though? When we heard of the troubles in the Ubersreik I knew I needed to return. I needed to try to find her.”
Gunnar absorbed it all. “Don’t worry lass. We’ll take the fight to these people when we’re ready. You’ve got a family and we’ll help you find her.”, came his heartfelt pledge. They returned to the Red Moon Inn and their beds in silence.
19th Ulriczeit 2511 (Wellentag; morning): Hungover; Deflated Pfeffer; A job?
Despite being unconscious for the whole night, Ferdinand had slept badly. His dreams a distorted jumble to disturbed imagery. He was groggy… so groggy. They ate and decided they’d seek out Captain Pfeffer early in the day. They made their way to the Barracks and were admitted to her office immediately. Pfeffer signalled to the chairs in front of the desk and they sat. She looked wretched, indeed, looked as though she had not slept. A pile of papers on her desk were instantly recognisable to Salundra. One of a hardest tasks a commander faces is writing to the loved ones of those lost under their command. Captain Pfeffer had had to write ten such letters.
The party filled her in on what they had been up to since they last met, the necromancer, the strange visit to the Karstadt-Stampf residence, the details of the slaying of “The Bog King”. Pfeffer took some notes, but Salundra suspected that was so she wouldn’t have to think. They mentioned a boatman they suspected of causing trouble, a man called Rolf. Pfeffer knew nothing, but said she’d have some trusted Watchmen look into it. The captain called her orderly and ordered that they be paid. As they were about to leave, she spoke up again… “Actually, I have a role for you to perform”.
Until next time,
Owen