[:plant:] [WFRP] The Oldenhaller Contract

It was a warm night and Yarogni would have been quite happy to spend the night tucked up in a barn somewhere. When you've endured a few winters on the border of Troll Country, the rest of the Empire seemed positively balmy in comparrison.

The Kislevite wasn't convinced that giving money to a stranger for any reason was a good idea, let alone merely on the promise of a warm bed but it hadn't been his money so he followed the crowd, mildly surprised to see the dwarf and elf heading off together and not having come to blows yet.

His holiday was not going well so far. He'd traipsed across half the Empire with his new friend Dazhyn in tow and not seen a single one of the legendary knights his father had told him about during those long evenings around the fire. From his father's tales of his time as a member of the retinue of the Yarl's, the knightly orders of the Empire were the most impressive examples of soldiery in the known world and it was those stories that had inspired this vacation. That and the silly business about the bargain bucket, mystery meat but it's not like anyone had actually died, there was no need for the rest of the townmen to get so angry.

Getting a similar bad vibe now to the one he had got the night he had to skip town in such a hurry, Yarogni loosened the tie round his club and hid it up his sleeve, just in case.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

2 Dice Rolls Damage

Yarogni rolled his eyes. Bloody typical, the old here's a warm bed no actually it's an ambush routine and they'd walked right into it. Still, he'd been there when enough deals went bad to know how to handle himself in situations like this. Sliiping his club into his hand he took the initiative, charging towards the ruffian to the left, swinging as he went using his momentum to add weight to his strike.

Charge attack on Red Footpad.

Hit! 7 minus toughness bonus damage to footpad's head

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2 Dice Rolls Damage

The sudden ferocity of the Kislevite's attack had clearly surprised the footpad but Yarogni knew that uncontrolled agression was not the way to win streetfights, not without picking up a few cuts and bruises anyway and he was not about to start this leg of his holiday resting up from a serious injury. Adopting a more defensive posture, he swung at his assailant again.

Attack footpad, adopt parrying stance
Hit to the head, 4 more wounds

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

2 Dice Rolls Damage

His opponent defeated, Yarogni cast a string of Kislevite curses towards the fleeing footpad before turning to watch the triumph of his companions.

To say he was disappointed was an understatement. Clearly none of these soft Westerners had ever had to fight their way out of a tavern full of angry villagers when they found out exactly what the surprise was in a rat sausage surprise!

He was of half a mind to just slope off and find a bed but despite his history of dubious business deals, the Kislevite had a sense of honour of sorts. Having seen enough wolf packs hunting bison on the Steppes, Yarogni knew the trick was to take out the weakest one first. Raising his club, he launched himself at the nearest foe who appeared to be weakened already by the ineffectual flailing of his companions.

Charge Green, unless I'm too close in which case move and attack
Hit to the head (Again). 9 Wounds

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Yarogni spat in the general direction of the fleeing footpads and uttered another string of curses in his native tongue, primarily aimed at the useless bunch of Imperials the gods had decided to grant him as allies in this little scuffle.

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he quickly rifled through the dead footpad's belongings, hoping primarily to find enough cash to buy a few drinks to keep him entertained until it got light. Once the corpse was picked clean of all but his clothes the surly butcher headed back the way they had come to the inn, muttering to his kinsmen as he went in Kislevite.

Brother, what say we leave these idiots to their doom and go find a couple of cold drinks and hot wenches for the night, eh?

He turned his head and spoke loud enough for the whole group to hear in broken Imperial.

Me and my frund here, we go drunk now. Drunking is for real man only but if you ladies liek come vith us, you maybe learn about how real men act, no?

He stowed his club and tramped off back to the pub.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Yarogni was getting annoyed now. He was tired and hungry, had been attacked, was being followed around by a bunch of useless Imperials, had found nothing more useful than a leather jack on the corpse of the footpad (Which he had put on, a gruff stare daring any of the others to object. He had slipped the brass knuckles into his pocket too, discarding the rest of the dead man's gear for anyone who wanted it) and now could not even get a drink. The Kislevite was starting to hate this city already, what kind of place has no bars open through the night?

He took out a measure of his frustration on the door, rapping heavily and repeatedly on it with his club whilst enquiry loudly in his mother tongue as to the exact parentage of the innkeeper who had lights on and a locked door when there were thirsty men about.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

I pay for your door? I pay for door when you pay for being closed at reasonable drinking hour. Now me and my friend we drink! These ladies probably have milk from cow or something.

The surly butcher laughed deeply at his own joke and plonked himself down on a stool at the bar, pulling one up for Dazhyn and staring pointedly at the barman.

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Yarogni was glad the innkeeper had seen sense. One pointless fight a night was more than enough for him and who knew what kind of protection rackets were in place round here to quash any attempts to beat up barmen. A link to the local criminal fraternity was useful in any town but ideally nto when they were brandishing weapons and pissed off.

Since he felt he was building a raport with the innkeeper, the Kislevite questioned him further.

Nice place you have here, although bit draughty no?

Another unpleasant belly laugh.

So what can man do round here for entertainment? Maybe make a little coin too ya?

Turning to his companion he explained the situation.

Eh, we need some money right and this joker might know of someone looking to hire some help. I say we get good and drunk, leave the Imperial ladies to guard our gear and have a good sleep then tomorrow see about scrabbling together enough cash for a proper room. This lot look and act like milksops but they might come in handy, we should try to keep them sweet.

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

Yarogni settled in for a hard night of drinking. Once he'd finished his own drink and his friend's, he motioned for the barman to pour another, jabbing a thumb at the smaller halfling and grumbling something about putting it on his tab.

Seeing that his companion was once again in no mood for drinking, he handed over his meagre posessions to Dazhyn's safe keeping just in case he passed out where he sat, which was after all his intention.

How ya doing, buddy?

Yarogni was roused from his drunken stupor by the sounds of conflict from above. He attempted to leap to his feet, only to fall flat on his backside, slipping in the large pool of vomit someone had left congealing around him. Deciding standing up was a mission too far, he crawled over to the stairs before beginning the arduous and frankly, in his state of inebriation, rather dangerous task of climbing them to the room above. It wasn't that he cared about the wellbeing of his new companions, in fact after consuming half his body weight in ale he could not have recalled their name if the Grand Theogonist himself was torturing the information out him. No, what Yarogni cared about was his money and his club. The money he needed for without it, how could he hope to build a new "trade" empire here in the West and the club had seen him through more business deals gone bad than his mother had eaten luke-warm meals.

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Yarogni hears shouting from above him and quickens his pace, slamming the full weight of his drunken body against the door in front of him, uttering a bestial roar as he fell through it.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Yarogni awoke, as he had so many times before, on the floor of a strange room. The remains of a door were scattered around him and the side of his face had stuck to the matting on the floor. Staggering to his feet he tried to reconcile the events of the previous evening.

There had been a fight, that much was certain although he was sure he recalled a halfling trying to bodyslam someone, that much have been the grog. There had been some drinking too, there often was.

Kicking Dazhyn awake, the burly butcher retrieved his belongings and stumped down the stairs to see what kind of fleapit they had lodged in and see what kind of ale was being served for breakfast.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Yarogni finished his breakfast with a derisive snort. While he had been eating, the rest of the tourists had made it downstairs. In the clod light of day they were as sorry a bunch as they had been the previous evening, a couple of them looking a worse than he did, which after the keg he'd drained the previous evening was something of an achievement.

The butcher was tempted to spend the day sitting and getting drunk but this was his first full day in a new, big city and before he could get to drinking, he needed a source of income and that would mean he'd need a group of vaguely like-minded individuals in order to muscle his way into whatever rackets were to be had round here. Sure he could have looked for honest work but that had never been his way and dishonesty was far, far more lucrative.

Eyeing up the travellers, the Kislevite made a snap decision.

Hey, Dazyhn, these guys look pretty wet behind the ears but they could come in handy. We're new in this town and we're going to need some muscle if we're going to get any sort of foothold here. What say you we make this gathering a little more of a formal affair, hit the streets and try to make contact with some of the local businessmen, beat them down a peg and set ourselves up here? We take this lot out for a walk and it won't be long before we meet a pickpocket or two and where there's pickpockets, there's the kind of businessmen we want to meet.

He turned to the assortment of travellers.

Comrades, comrades! Dazhyn here, we had a talk and we decide that in new town, new people best to stick together da? We find much good work as team no? You want we go out and see what the city hold? The city like some big lady bits, all it wait for is some sexing no?

Yarogni laughed raucously at his own joke before heading towards the remains of the Inn door, assuming the others would follow him. His plan was simply to wander the streets and wait for trouble to find him, from experience, he knew it wouldn't take long.

I was speaking idiomatically.

There were certain to be plenty of petty thieves hanging around somewhere like a gallery, one of which Yarogni could slip away and "have a chat with" while the others were looking at art so he was more than happy to go along if this was the consensus.

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Yarogni was more than a little disappointed when their path led not to one of the swanky private galleries but instead to a guildhall. Any pickpockets they met here would be on the guild payroll and taking on the might of a guild was beyond the scope of some of the biggest underworld organisations in the Empire, let alone someone trying to start out with five accomplices, four of whom weren't even aware they were founder members of Nuln's newest crime family.

Feeling a little disconsolate, the Kislevite made a show of looking at some of the exhibits, making a note of the names of the artisans who'd produced the highest priced pieces, in case he ever needed some quick cash and could pay an urchin to burgle their houses.

FELIPE NO

Relax my friend, this could be just the opening we're looking for! What are the alternatives anyway? We need some cash and following these idiots around all day is getting us nowhere fast.

Yarogni rejoined the group and cleared his throat noisily.

Comrades! It would seem that lady fortune she is smiling on us today yah? The man he say he looking to hire and here we all are, looking for money no? Like peas in pod as they say. See, all legitimate work for legitimate businessman. You want come with us? See how the biscuit crumbles no?

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

Yarogni sighed inwardly at his new companion's attempt at bargaining. He knew you didn't try to shake down a man like this.

Forgive my friend, he new in town. We happy to track down gang and get back gem for you. After we do this then perhaps we talk some business no? Maybe we become associates too da?

Yarogni steadfastly refused to even look at the box. You didn't survive for long living as close to the Chaos Wastes as he had by mucking about with magic trinkets and anyway, it wasn't the boss's job to carry the gear.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Yarogni had no real interest in shopping. He had pretty much everything he needed on him already and what he didn't have he had no intention of paying for. Instead he followed his compatriate about town, translating where necessary and trying to avoid the kind of special prices usually reserved for tourists.

Haggling help on any purchases by Daz

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Yarogni had no time for sneaking around or negotiating. Club in hand, he strode up to the door and kicked it open.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

This was more like it. Yarogni was never happier than when on a shakedown. Admittedly, he would have prefered some more proven muscle behind him but Daz was solid enough in a fight and the dwarf seemed pretty keen. If nothing else, most people hated elves enough that the pointy-eared fop would attract a lot of attention and as for the halfling, well, every gang needed someone to blame when it all went wrong.

Sidling down the stairs, the Kislevite examined the note.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Yarogni was a little disappointed that the dwarf had chosen to obey the note. A proper shakedown should be conducted by smashing your way in, beating the hell out of anyone you find, stealing anything not tied down and then leaving a note to let the people you'd just taken out know who the new boss in town was. Knocking politely didn't feature often in these things but then neither did attempting a heist with a couple of bumpkins in tow as your muscle.

Letting out a deep sigh, the butcher hid his club behind his back in at least a pretence of being here in good faith. There's be plenty of opportunity for smashing heads in later he knew but his hangover was making him grumpy and impatient. They definitely should have stopped for a pint on the way here.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Now this was an interesting although potentially costly development. It was clear that someone else had got here first and that a shakedown had either already occured or was in process. Either way, it would make their trip to the heart of the den a lot simpler. All they had to do is follow the trail of devastation, safe in the knowledge that what they were looking for wasn't in any of the already ransacked rooms and pretty confident of not meeting any aggressive opposition, until they found the other raiders of course.

With the faintest hint of a smile crossing his lips, Yarogni headed through the next doorway, hoping that whoever had done this place over had left something to drink lying around. Watching his friend touch up a door had really given him a thirst.

Onwards through the new door, keeping an eye out for something to drink.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Yarogni had lived within rampaging distance of the chaos wastes long enough to know when to leave a plague-ridden corpse well alone. He was also aware however of how effective a deterrent to would be looters an apparently plague-ridden corpse could be.

Grabbing a plank from the busted door, the butcher gingerly prodded the corpse at the desk, trying to knock him over and away to allow a proper look at the desk.

FELIPE NO

With nothing else of interest in the room with the desk, Yarogni followed the trail of destruction, looking for signs that whoever had been here had found what they were after and left. He was getting a sinking feeling that they were far too late and someone had beaten them to the prize.

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With scant regard for his own safety, Yarogni barged past the dwarf, launching himself across the room and attempting to kick the crossbow out of the man's hand. They needed answers and it was going to be a lot easier to get them from an unarmed man.

Jam it back in, in the dark.