Alrighty, sound off here.
Marika sounding off.
Dot
Alright. It's morning, and there is a light mist from the rain before. The road seems dry enough to walk upon. The trees are all wet. The grass is wet too. It seems that the rain that came last night watered the crops and the fruit trees.
Gerson walked behind the wagon kicking rocks as he went, his head down for the most part, but occasionally looking side to side for anything interesting.
Dang... I hope I get the 10-bits still for my investigation. I know old lady Gustavson wanted the mule to be possessed, but the truth is it was a donkey.
Marika is ill at ease, today feels off, like everything is waiting for something bad to happen. She skips between checking the horizon and looking at Aristea, wondering if she can feel anything with her other senses. Was that a thing? Marika never really understood how that worked...
While it was raining, Gerson sees Marika. Everything was off to her, and Gerson was awaiting payment from a client.
Aristea splashed along the road, hoping to look far more inconspicuous than she felt. The clean air of the rain-washed road felt refreshing after the close and smelly confines of the city, but she hadn't thrown off the vestiges of her nightmares. Blades, witch hunters and fire still roamed the borders of her thoughts.
She glanced ahead at Marika as she continued walking. It was good to have her friend with her. Someone she could confide in. If things got desperate, Marika was good in the forests as well.
Altdorf lay ahead. Capital of the Empire, Seat of Sigmar, and home to the Colleges of Magic. The last sent a shiver down her spine. She dreaded what lay in store if the wizards found her out. She would have to be cautious.
Aristea splashed along the road, hoping to look far more inconspicuous than she felt. The clean air of the rain-washed road felt refreshing after the close and smelly confines of the city, but she hadn't thrown off the vestiges of her nightmares. Blades, witch hunters and fire still roamed the borders of her thoughts.
She glanced ahead at Marika as she continued walking. It was good to have her friend with her. Someone she could confide in. If things got desperate, Marika was good in the forests as well.
Altdorf lay ahead. Capital of the Empire, Seat of Sigmar, and home to the Colleges of Magic. The last sent a shiver down her spine. She dreaded what lay in store if the wizards found her out. She would have to be cautious.
Dieter could probably want some spices that are only available in Altdorf. So he sent her on an errand for some.
Are we ready to go?
yep
Alright. Give me a reason why you want to go to Altdorf.
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Great place to start... This is the sort of story building I like.
I figure not all priests are created equal... given my pure soul, and bless traits I figure my God occasionally drops some inspiration on my or at least the odd dream etc. I got a prod in that direction.
Plus I also figure I've pissed off some of my peers or near peers (reason to follow but I figure Jealousy will do in a pinch) who are only too eager for me to head to the big smoke... not normally a place for nature priests.
Gerson is going to report his findings on the possessed mule and collect his fee... if he can find his patron that is. :-)
Okay.
You all take a ride in the coach towards Altdorf. Describe if you are enjoying the ride or find it bumpy. Also, you can also describe what you are wearing. Is it something fancy or not?
Gerson has a festering boil on his Arse that makes sitting in the bumpy coach almost unbearable. He is constantly leaning to one side, standing and bumping into the others and taking advantage every time, the coach stops. At first, he apologizes profusely but after a while the pain and general orneriness make him only frown and curse under his breath.
He is wearing worn but clean travelling clothes except for his hat which he keeps covered in ornaments... at this time a section of grape vine and a large turkey feather.
Aristea rode uneasily in the carriage. The dress 'Ma Hahnel had given her before as she left were sturdy enough she'd thought...they were sewed nicely and weren't threadbare yet. They'd even pass for clean if you didn't look close.
All of that failed to hide their obvious inferiority next to the clothing worn by the dwarf sitting beside her though. The cut and quality of cloth, not to mention the colors and feather, made her dress plainly inferior. She'd been grateful for the gift, as her own clothing had worn out long before, but the shift's color was somewhere between brown and grey--obviously lacking in dye.
In raw terms, the inferiority didn't bother her: Aristea had never had clothes approaching anything like quality. But that was on the street or alongside a muddy road. In the coach, she obviously didn't belong. And that would invite questions.
Absorbed in her worries, Aristea barely noticed when the coach jostled as it ran over a rut in the road.
She tried to put on a brave smile. Being out of place wasn't nearly as bad as being out of place and seeming uncomfortable about it. They would probably assume that she and Marika had stolen their fare if she didn't say something. She turned to the dwarf beside her and tried to start a conversation. "Hi. I'm Aristea. Sorry if I'm crowding you...do you mind if I ask where you are headed? I'm going all the way, I think. To Altdof."
A particularly rough pothole almost caused Gerson to cry out in pain... but gritting his teeth he realized he was being addressed.
"Oh! Sorry. Didn't mean to bump into you. I guess not being able to sit with my feet on the floor to brace myself makes the ride especially hard on one as short as myself".
He then doffs his fancy hat and performs a slight bow. "Where are my manners? I'm Gerson, and yes, I have business in Altdorf. Do you have business there or are you visiting for some other reason".
He reaches for the side of the carriage as the coach leans to the side.
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The jolting carriage and conversation caused the bearer priest awoke with a snort. Dressed in simple homespun clothing with a ragged woolen shawl around his shoulders he seemed out of place here in a carriage but up until now had been peacefully sleeping the day away. The main thing that gave him any credibility as a potential passenger with the large copper amulet that sat in his chest... a symbol of Rhya, Goddess of Naure, Farming and Community.
Aldolf? We there already?, he said with a yawn.
Confused he looked around a moment then shook his head.
I think I heard introductions. So sorry. Gerson and... Aristea?, he hazarded, dredging through short term subconscious memory. I am Turac, a humble priest and scribe. I have NO idea what I am to do in Aldorf but I feel like it will be revealed to me as I go.
Not there, already. Just traveling in the night and it starts to rain.
"My mother is poor and couldn't afford much. It got so bad that my aunt's family in Altdorf sent for me," Aristea lies. It was the best story she could come up with to explain her circumstances while staying far from the truth.
The coach abruptly stops as the coachman sees a dead body in the road. One of you should investigate.
Aristea climbed out of the coach after Turac, feeling uncertain about the task at hand. She'd never handled a dead body before, and all sorts of rumors swirled around the concept of doing so. When miners had died in the camp back home, the men handled carrying them to the burial grounds without great complaint.
It's probably safe, right? she thought.
Gerson is eager for any chance to get out of the cramped and uncomfortable coach, and rushes to the door to look at the corpse.
"Stand back... stand back. I've got a lot of experience with dead bodies".
Perception of investigation (Embalmer trade).
Oh, he's dead. And he looks like Turac, in black!
Can Gerson tell how he died?
Can Gerson tell how he died?
Yes. Although we can make it a roll to figure out how he died. A simple test for you. (see WHFRP page 149)
Aristea yelped when she saw the man's face and looked at Turac, making a sign against evil. "Wh..who are you? Why are there two of you?" she stammered.
It had been a long time since she had been scared of someone more than herself.
Gerson more concerned with how this person died than its appearance looks over the body for what killed it.
TRADE (embalmer)
He was killed by two crossbow bolts. Both of which are sticking out of his back.
"Well. At least you don't have this distinguishing difference". Gerson points at the two protruding crossbow bolts.
He then grimaces as he stretches his legs and back before awaiting the next action.
You hear sounds coming from the forest. They sound like mutants.
"Ah! Yes! Good idea. I might know an individual or two who would be interested in purchasing the body... for scientific research of course".
Suddenly Aristea's worries about touching the dead man seem less important than haste, and she tries to help move the body onto the carriage.
Lifting the body on to the coach requires a simple strength test. :)
The mutants are coming closer.
With a final pocket check for coin purses he springs for the wagon.
That deserves a simple test.
That's enough to liberate two coin purses.