[:plant:] [WFRP] The Oldenhaller Contract

1 Die Roll searching

Since paying attention to the conversation does Dazhyn no good anyway, he passes the time by looking around the room, looking for anything interesting or suspicious. Like a trapdoor under his feet, or a large weight above his head. Or maybe something actually hidden. He knew that these types of people liked the idea of pulling levers and dropping unfortunate visitors to their doom. They liked the drama of it all.

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

The dwarf smirked slightly at the magic inhibitor. His race was naturally resistant to magic, and outside of runes they didn't quite understand all the fuss. Whole thing seemed like a pretty nifty way to get yourself possessed and dead.

Either way, he was definitely up for this job. In that he needed start up funds and frankly this seemed more fun then tending bar. He showed his joy by scowling for three solid minutes.

I was speaking idiomatically.

1 Die Roll haggle with me, will you

"One hundred and fifty? I'll forgive your insolence this once, since it's not as if your kind knows the value of a crown. By the look of you, you won't be making it back to be paid anyway.

As for you, the question of my further patronage is something we can discuss when ? no, if you actually follow through. Perhaps the composition of your little... entourage will be a little different then, if you take my meaning."

Ignoring the negotiations, Dazhyn glowers all round the office in search of any sinister traps. His brief experience in the city had been nothing but hassle, and while it seemed preposterous to invite strangers in just to throw them down a well, no treachery seemed likely to be beyond these Imperials. He had plenty of time to get a good look around while Yarogni glad-handed the merchant, but nothing seemed to be amiss.

"What are you staring at, you slack-jawed... oh, forget it. I'm glad we understand each other, gentlemen. My man Heinrich will escort you to our best guess regarding where the Totengelds may be hiding out: underneath the dockside shantytown there is a network of old sewer tunnels and cellars they call the Asylum. We have a fairly good idea of which areas of the Asylum the Totengelds currently control, so you'll be entering the tunnels there. A certain unlucky gentleman has provided us with the Totengeld's password for this week, though that was the extent of his useful knowledge. It's 'Sweet Hanna', in the unlikely event that they actually bother with dialogue.

You begin at nightfall, so take the rest of the afternoon to gather any supplies you left in whatever stable the lot of you slept in last night, and purchase anything else you may need. I would expect violence. Be back here at dusk, and do take care not to mention any of this to anyone, hmm?"

Heinrich escorts the group out perhaps a little more brusquely than is necessary, leaving them on Oldenhallerstrasse to determine their own preparations for the evening.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

The dwarf climbed aboard his pony and slapped Yag firmly on the shoulder, jerking his head in the direction of the local smith. "Supplies." He said simply, indicating that should probably be their first stop. He also planned to stop by the local cartographer's guild to see if anyone had mapped out the tunnels they'd be taking. For the right amount of coin, a cartographer was usually pretty good for keeping his mouth shut. If there was going to be violence, he wanted a nice, heavy weapon and the knowledge of what wall was safe enough to have at his back.

He sniffed as he pulled out his maps and began down the street towards the smiths, slowing his pace so the crew could keep up easily. A hand smoothed his beard as he squinted at the parchment. Tonight should be fun, at any rate. He, for one, was looking forward to the confines of the sewers. His kind grew up brawling in tight quarters, so this was slightly more to his liking. He may have been a mapmaker by trade, but when you grew up under the banners of the Oathbearers, you learned your way around hammer and axe; just as a matter of personal pride. Plus, tunnels like this often had secret places and secret ways. He liked those. It is what attracted him to cartography in the first place. Only a fool read what a map said. The wise man read everything it didn't.

FELIPE NO

1 Die Roll gossip

Dazhyn gets the gist of the developments from his friend, and scowls when he hears about the sewers. So much for getting out with Hrim tonight. He proceeds to go searching a stable to put up Hrim and Sasha for the night, as well as a fighting dagger. If tonight was going to get rough, he may as well be some semblance of prepared.

Go looking for a Main Gauche - if i can't find one, just find a buckler instead Nevermind, can't use them as effectively as the dagger i have now anyway. Stupid weapon groups. Just find myself a leather hat instead.

Also scope out price on a stable, assuming they're not so cheap as to be negligible. Generally be paranoid as to why we are being paid more than twice the yearly salary of a mercenary for a one night job. Also, find out how much medical treatment for myself / the others will cost. Drag Yarogni around to all of this since i am absolutely useless on my own

Most amazing jew boots

1 Die Roll GOSSIP FOLKS MISSY ELLIOT

The dwarf did not have high hopes to find himself a set of golden plate for the 9 gold he had in his pocket, so he settled on trying to track down a leather jerkin and the maps he sought. The leather jerkin would be easy, the maps... maybe not so much. Cartography guilds fancied themselves as hoarders of secrets and prized their maps greatly. He personally considered himself more of a navigator in training than a cartographer, truth be told. He was always far more skilled at reading the stars and maps than he was at making them. However, a trade was a trade, and he would make his way into the navigator's guild eventually. For now, however, he sighed deeply and steadied his nerves to deal with the cartographers. The best in the world were elves, and luckily they were not good at reading the deep emotions of the dwarf people. They missed the little facial twitches and relied on the calm tone of voice to indicate how we felt about them. Wankers. All of them. However, as his grandfather had said, in times of need enemies can be friends for as long as they are necessary. And hopefully it wouldn't be elves, anyway. Just a map was all he needed. Not that it was overly necessary. A dwarf in a hole was as at home as an elf was in a gay orgy in a field of daffodils.

As they approached a shop, he slowed his pony and put a hand on Yag's shoulder to hold him back a few strides from the rest. He spoke quietly, so the other's would be hard-pressed to hear over the din of the steets.

"Don't trust magic at face value. One of us should investigate what this thing is before we hand it over so readily." He took the hand off his shoulder and shrugged. "A thought."

He glanced over at the human once and glanced up at the darkening sky, commenting: "Lanterns." After all, not everyone could see in the dark as he could. With that he spurred his pony forward with his heels.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Having stopped to buy a sling on the way to Oldenhaller (due to the dangerous exursion last night, he figured he could rely on his other skills with stones), Hamit found that the group had left him behind. By the time he caught up, the man had haggled them and shut them out. Merely 10 minutes worth of briefing, and he had missed it all.

Strangely enough, they'd manage to bargain quite a deal for the work. But when he found out the nature of the work from the other halfling, he was taken aback. He needed the money, but did not nearly wish to trudge around in sewers and provoke fights with local cretins.

Perhaps he would just tag along and see what unfolds. He did need the cash, after being stranded in the city.

Shop for a sling. Pick up rocks?

There's nowhere I can't reach.

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

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

3 Dice Rolls how well

Oldenhaller's groundskeeper is kind enough to keep Hrim and Sasha in the councilor's private stables for the night. With a certain degree of wild gesticulation combined with Yarogni's helpful insistence that the tanner fetch a "head shoe for brains safekeeping", Daz gets himself a leather skullcap and protects himself not only from violent hoodlums but the frequent droppings of Nuln's many pigeons and seagulls. Small consolation for a third of his savings.

That done, he half-drags, half-guides the elf to the city's Shallyan temple (thankfully, not far from the Oldenhaller estate), where the priestesses readily agree to treat Tan's alarming variety of bruises; the rest of them may be a little banged up but nothing worth bothering the Shallyans over. Of course private physicians will agree to see anybody who can pay their exorbitant fees, but 5 shillings a day is nothing to toss away casually, especially when half of them are quacks. Tan looks a little better by dusk. A little. The big purple lump on the side of his head had faded to a more mellow blue, what little of it you could see through the ointment-smelling bandages wrapped all round his head.

As he was heavily wounded, the nonmagical treatments of the Shallyan initiates can only do so much; 1 wound recovered by Tan. He's now lightly wounded, so the next time he rests he'll actually get something out of it. Assuming he doesn't get hurt again. Which he will.

Kaz's jerkin is more expensive, leaving him only 3 crowns to negotiate with the guild; the negotiations consequently don't go well. The tired-looking clerk concedes that the guild has some partial maps of the Asylum, but those date back at least 3 years and are likely unreliable by now due to the underground's essentially chaotic nature. Any number of passages could have been sealed off or blasted open by now. Regardless, Kaz's paltry remaining funds could scarcely pay for the vellum and scroll cases, let alone the labor cost of having one of the guild's scribes make copies for him. Worse, he certainly doesn't have enough to purchase even one decent lantern; hopefully the Totengelds liked keeping things nice and bright.

Hamit was a little put out about being left out of the negotiations; if he hadn't even been there, Oldenhaller was under no real obligation to pay him after the job was done. He's grousing about this to Bulkbelly, when the other halfling suddenly plummets into an open sewer drain. To his credit Tallowman doesn't even scream on the way down, and the frantic splashing cuts off after only a second or two. No one else seems to notice, too occupied with their own preparations. Humans were notoriously poor at discerning one halfling from another; Hamit could probably take Bulkbelly's place at the settling-up without issue.

The soft crunching noises from below make him even less enthusiastic about this evening's adventures, though. If that's possible.

At length they regroup at the Oldenhaller estate, where Heinrich waits to escort them to their evening's destination. In the end they find themselves only a few blocks away from the Reaver's Return, led into a dim alley behind an unmarked warehouse. Heinrich silently indicates a door on the warehouse's rear wall, then hurries away as quickly as his feet will carry him.

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

1 Die Roll PERCEEEEEPTION

The dwarf slowly scanned the area before moving forward. He kept his eyes and ears open as he approached the door, his hand checking his hammer to make sure it was loose in its home at his hip, and then reaching up to tug the hood of his cloak forward over his face.

If he met no resistance as he approached the door, he would place himself beside it and let one of the others open it. Perhaps someone with a slightly more silver tongue. It had been his experience that hardened thieves very rarely ran away from the dwarven hero just because he scowled a little. Not like in the stories, o no. Not at all. He'd received a blackened eye for making that mistake once.

I was speaking idiomatically.

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

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

With the dwarf ready for action at his side, Yarogni fearlessly kicks in the ragged warehouse door. Disappointingly, no immediate mayhem erupts. The door opens on a very brief set of stairs, descending into cramped corridor with a single door at the end. There's a note pinned to the door, but Yarogni can't possibly read it at this distance.

FELIPE NO

1 Die Roll perception of THINGS

The dwarf ducked his head around the corner and sighed, rather audibly. Inside he thought: "Well, that was underwhelming." But on the outside all that showed was a slight twitch of some whiskers on the left side of his upper lip. He glanced at the human who had laid such fierce foot to the now splintered door and shrugged. In his head he couldn't help but consider the plight of his ancestor Methed'Mann of the Clan of Wu and his friend, the terrifying warrior Airic the Redman. Two warrior brought together when they were both accosted in an alley outside a local alehouse. The fight escalated when the Redman kicked in the door of a nearby crime lord, leading to a misunderstanding of epic proportions that could only be solved by axe and hammer.

The resulting affair led to Kaz's ancestor taking to troll slaying and traveling the land with his new friend. Their tales were the stuff of songs in the south-central area of the mountains of his homeland.

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The dwarf walked down towards the note, keeping his eyes peeled for any suspect activity from the walls, floor or ceiling as he did so.

Most amazing jew boots

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.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

Nothing around seems suspicious; just your typical corridor. The butcher and the dwarf peer at the posted notice on the door.



There's nowhere I can't reach.

The dwarf shrugged and rapped on the door firmly twice. He'd done this once, behind a waterfall. Felt like bloody forever before someone opened up. He glanced up at his human sidekick and shrugged, glancing back at the horde of drooling husks hanging conspicuously behind. He muttered something under his breath, an old Dwarven axiom, roughly translated: "Sometimes the whole world feels like a Canadian and a British person with shitty shoes playing with themselves."

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

Dazhyn, as always, keeps up with Yarogni and keeps an eye on his surroundings. He starts to wonder whether he should have brought Sasha along to track should they need the help, but decides that she wouldn't be much help in such an unfamiliar environment anyway. Daz hopes deeply that this job doesn't take too long. The Dwarf may enjoy sleeping underground, but Dazhyn would really rather not be down in this hole for any longer than is absolutely necessary.

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.

Kaz knocked and waited. And waited some more. Quite a while really. Nothing much happened as a result. Well, some things happened. Dust settled. They all aged a little bit. A passing pie vendor attempted to sell the group meat pies with rat tails obviously protruding from beneath the crusts. A block or two away, a cat yowls.

But nobody answers the door, so in that respect nothing really happens.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

Dazhyn grows tired of standing around and not doing anything. Making ready for trouble, he decides to kick down the door. It was rude, sure, but it's also rude to leave a note saying to wait for someone to open the door and then not have someone there to open it.

FELIPE NO

"Oh, door kickings!". It's go time now, ladies. "Alright. Time to make himself even more useful."

Pick up a rock and ready it to throw through at the nearest asshole

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

9 Dice Rolls arbritrarily good enough

Dazhyn kicks down the door. Eventually. It's a pretty heavy door. After about 15 minutes of nonstop kicking, the latch finally gives way. It wasn't locked or anything.

Technically you needed to roll a 1 to actually break it but you'd get it eventually I suppose

Behind the door lies a small, disorganized room. A table in the center of the room has been overturned, and two wardrobes on the far wall lie open and ransacked. A few worthless items lie scattered on the floor. On the south wall standsdoor much like the one Daz just painstakingly ruined.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

The dwarf was in no state to move across the room. His shoulders were rising and falling rhythmically as he used every ounce of his willpower not to burst out laughing as the elf flayed the door to pieces with the power of a blade of grass. He wiped his eyes with his beard, took a long breath to steady himself, looked over at the elf, laughed once more and then made his way towards the door, using his hammer to poke at the wardrobes and table to see if there were any nice clothes.

He'd eventually stand to the side of the south door and fling it open.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Dazhyn feels satisfied with the results of his kicking. And sure, it hadn't been necessary, but it had been incredibly cathartic. Sometimes, when you're stuck in a situation that is completely out of your element, you just have to wreck something to get your head back on straight. This was one of those times.

He looked around the room his handiwork had revealed. If there was supposed to be someone here all the time, it must be a pretty lousy job, sitting around all day in a room with no seating. Daz wanders over to the south door, and waits for someone even remotely capable of diplomacy to take the lead.

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

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.

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