Männerholz is a town of about 1200 residents, mostly human but with a few dwarves and halflings, situated along the Middenheim-Erengrad road, about 50 miles west of the much larger town of Salkalten.  The adjacent forest provides more than enough lumber, but also enough rumors of monsters to keep the local militia always vigilant, and to keep most people from venturing too far in.

And while those rumors can usually be counted on to be little more than fantasy and exaggeration, there are sometimes real threats to go with them.  Such as the recent reports that some sort of non-human marauders have been attacking traders on the way over from Nordland.  Details of the attackers vary, but those travelers who have survived the attacks all speak of their ferocity.  The Elector Count's army is busy dealing with some kind of trouble on the Kislev border, and the town militia is better suited to stay around here than to go out hunting, so it has fallen on Baron von Kennicht to hire some mercenaries to solve the problem.

For the price of 30s per person for up to a week's work, it turned out that your little band was available.


Aldwin - this mercenary company may be more diverse than most, but being a mercenary in the Empire still feels more like fighting for the humans than fighting for the elves - what drew you to this?

Gertrude - the hard work you do now is definitely different from the hard work you did in the past, even if there is some overlap.  What's been the hardest change for you to adjust to?

Glorin - of course you've made your vows and there's no turning back, but what do you miss most about being able to live in the mountains with your people?

Louis - you're a Breton on the opposite end of the Empire, working for your pay like a chump.  Whatever your private thoughts about this might be, what's the public face you put on?

Ludwig - you've left your old life behind, but there's something about it that still nags at you from time to time - what is it?

Maberos - what bothers you the most about being in human towns?  What helps you put up with them?

Milas - your family was kind of a big deal where you came from; do the local halflings know who you are?  Do they have opinions about that?

And for all of you - if the old rulebook is to be believed then 30s per week is above average for a mercenary in the Empire; are you okay with that rate?

This message was last edited by the GM at 18:32, Thu 23 Nov 2023.

Grimm sat by the fire, watching the flames jump and dance as he sharpened the edge of his great axe. He missed the feeling of being underground, the safety of a mountain overhead protecting him from the cold wind and rain that seemed to bite all too often out here in the eastern reaches of the Empire.

As usual he cursed the day he made his fateful mistake and landed himself in exile, but at least now he was able to count himself one of a company rather than being all alone in this bleak land. He still struggled to adapt to these lands with their trees and rivers and vast open grey skies. At least with the company he was able to earn some coin to feed and clothe himself. Though he wasn't sure that 30 silver a week was going to amount to much.

So this Baron von Kennicht had hired them for a week. Ludwig was not one to haggle with a nobleman. Leave them nobles to themselves and hope they don't get an interest in you, that was his motto. Well, 'motto' was exaggerating it for truly his earlier contacts with any nobles could be counted with one hand. And none of those had involved any talking on his part.

One week out of town, crawling through the forest. Well, he sure had to compensate for not being in town for so long. Not that he cared much for settlements either. But you got one thing in those that you usually had to miss out while in the wilderness.

With a grin to Grimm who seemed to get most enjoyment from sharpening his massive axe he suggested
"Come on Grimm. Let's get down to the Whistling Tinkerer and get some beer."
Oh, he would not drink to much. Would not do to get on the bad side of that Baron from the very start. But one, maybe two, mugs of that dark beer that had caught his attention at the start of the week sure would not hurt.

As he plodded down the cobbled main street he looked left and right. Not that he had any money to spare to spend at the various shops arrayed along the street but just as a matter of common sense. He pondered the various rumours about what they might face. By Morr, he sure hoped these were not undead, he hated undead. Then again, most people from Ostermark did. But he did with a vengeance. His little sister had been eaten by some foul creatures summoned by a damn necromancer. He hated those, too. Coming to think on it, it sure would not hurt to drop by at the local shrine of Morr. Problem was, most Morr Gardens were outside town. Which meant no beer. Or less of it at least.
Ludwig quickened his stride.

As the fire in the background danced playfully in the small mirror, the gruff-looking halfling reached for the dagger to his side. After he dipped the dagger into the small bowl of water, Milas carefully trimmed the edges of his muttonchops with practiced hands.

Seeing himself in the mirror reminded him of his father. He was a stern man with heavy expectations. When he and mother were murdered and the estate sacked, somehow all of the possessions were quickly dissolved. Milas still suspected foul play but he had been unable to find much detail of what happened. Though 20 years later, a lot of halflings still remember the name Peterson well, but Milas has little use for it. He rarely mentions the name, or his family. It is the past.

The past has a tendency to rear it's ugly head from time to time.

As Ludwig called out to the dwarf, the barber-surgeon injected in jest, "Sorry Ludwig, Grimm asked me to take care of his beard." The halflings spoke fast, with a thick voice and a heavy halfling accent, "Isn't that right stoner?" "Come-on, you need to look good when you cleave through those beastman we are going to find in the woods...", Milas continued, eyeing the broad-shouldered dwarf with mischief in his eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:52, Tue 21 Nov 2023.

"Come on Grimm. Let's get down to the Whistling Tinkerer and get some beer."

Grimm laughed at the great big bald human, shaking his head. "Ah, Ludwig, you call that swill beer!? You know there's only one folk that can brew real ale.."

Milas cut in with his jest and Grimm laughed again, though this time it was full of dark humour. "Yeah, you just try and touch my beard and you'd be joining the beastmen in their early graves."

Grimm clapped the halfling on the shoulder to let him know he was only half joking before he went back to sharpening his axe.

The young knight gestured dismissively towards his companions when they brought up the prospect of beer. At least Louis and Glorin could agree on the fact that whatever they served down at the pub wasn't really worth it. "Please..." He said with his heavy Bretonnian accent. "When will you people start drinking wine like us civilized folk?"

What he said was clearly in jest, Louis missed home dearly, the wine, the horses, the food, the women... But his circumstances was partially his own fault, both through ambition but also naivety, and he was determined to make the most of it. Even on the worst of days he wouldn't falter, he was born and raised to be a chivalrous knight and he knew he had to uphold an inspiring and charming demeanour. After all, only the best of the best would be allowed to indulge in a sip of the Grail, the highest blessing the Lady of the Lake could give someone.

"Ugh." Glorin shuddered at the prospect. "You and the elf would get on." He said, giving the young lad a disparaging look.

His accent was even more difficult to follow than the other humans, but at least it didn't come with the arrogance that accompanied anything that came out of an elf's gob.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:37, Fri 24 Nov 2023.

Gertrude laughs as Glorin disparages the beer. All Dwarves were true connoisseurs of only two things: drinks and metalwork. They certainly would've made hard workers in the Industrielplatz. Though, the Dwarf does have a point: the beer here can hardly be called proper. The watered-down Elf piss being labelled beer isn't even worth a second glance. Gertrude can only hope the 30s being offered -- more than she made working in the Faulestadt district -- would be enough to buy some proper brew for the road.

Being in a mercenary company was certainly different from breaking worker's backs and spirits -- having someone to watch your back and certain rules to follow, for one -- but it was a welcome change nonetheless. The change from maiming to killing had to be the hardest, though. Whereas Gertrude could get away with just shattering kneecaps once upon a time, mercenary work tends to require more permanent solutions. Still, a conscience only gets you killed, so Gertrude is careful to keep hers in check.

Aldwin eyes the motley crew with some distain.  How had he fallen so far.  His life had been one of wealth and reputation until he had met the princess.  She had concealed her identity well but when they had been caught in the compromising position the guards had known who she was.  He had managed to escape but nothing would bring the honor back to his family.  So he stayed away with this rabble.

Wine would be great but the beastmen would have you drink as much as you can.  Easier to kill off.  No thanks I'll keep my wits about me.  Enjoy your beer.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:25, Tue 28 Nov 2023.

Ludwig returned from the Garden of Morr back to his companion's camping site just outside the town in a small copse near the small  brook he did not even the name of.

He had put some coins in the collection box to stay in the favour of the God of Death and had pondered the other gods and godesses of the Imperial Faith.

In the end he had not gone to the Whistling Tinkerer at all, but had also stopped by at the shrine of Shallya and, of course, at the local temple of Sigmar.
Leaving coins at each, he had simply lost his enthusiasm to indulge in drink, especially since none of his companions had joined him. Rather than drink what was available and be happy with it, and in his opinion any alcohol was better than water, they had each for their own reasons bemoaned the lack of whatever the considered acceptable beverages.

Sometimes he did wonder about his companions' backgrounds to be so picky about basic requirements. Clearly they were all used to better lives than his. How they had thus ended up in the company was anybody's guess. And how they accepted to stay out of town rather than enjoy a bed was beyond him. Ludwig himself had rather kept his money, though he had almost succumbed to the wish for a warm bath tub.
Anyway, he did not know his friends well yet, he was not exactly the sort to make people talk comfortably around him.

As he did return, his appearance was noted well before he was in sight. Noticeable by his friends' seeming inattention when indeed they had long before determined that it was him and thus no danger to them.

He waved hello anyway.
"Should we buy rations or rely on Alwin's luck... ahem... skill to hunt and Milas' cooking?", he asked aloud and cheerfully even though Milas had, as far as he remembered, not cooked for the company even once. Ludwig certainly avoided looking at Gertrude, not daring to imply the Imperial stereotype gender role.

---

left a total of 20silver at the temples/shrines

Aldwin makes himself a bed near the closest tree.  Laying out his shield and spear. Then takes out his bow and begins oiling it and waxing the string.

Buy rations.  Better to be safe than sorry.  We don't have any idea where we are headed.  I can suppliment our supplies with game but if you have trail rations we won't go hungry.

So since we are be going to be watching each others backs, let's go over our skill sets.  I am a Scout, trained in survival in the wilderness, I have some healing skills, I can hunt and can handle myself in a fight.  I am proficient in Shield and spear tactics and good with a bow.  What about you, Dwarf?  I assume you can use an Axe.

"Dwarves, great beards", Milas sighs while shaking his head, "no style".

After cleaning himself up, and packing up his tools, the halfling joins the crew at the campfire. "Barber-Surgeon, as you know", he says with a grin while looking up at the elf, then  he continues with the palms of his hands forward, "unguilded I'm afraid; was a bit of a thing". He shakes his head as he puts up a large frown.

"I can trim your beard or moustache if you ever grow one, and when you discover a few holes in your body which weren't there before, I can help plug them.", the barber-surgeon shrugs as he continues, "but then you also seem to know your way with the poultrice".

"I'm obviously known for my easy manners as befits a good barber, if I say so myself, and ...", Milas wiggles with his fingers, "and I have also been known to open a lock here and there."

"Should we ever find a strong-box or something."

"As for fighting", he shrugs, "Sure, I've been in my share of scraps, but I'm not much of a frontline fighter. I can help you in an alley knife-fight or by slinging a few stones."

Ludwig shrugged.
"Not much use in the wilderness myself I guess."
"Given enough time I can repair your shoes or armour."
"I fought in the pits for a couple of coins. Brawls really, fists, feet, head, biting even, you name it."
"Sometimes they threw animals in it, too."
"Don't like much fighting animals."
"Had a one-eyed, one-eared dog I called 'One'. While I was snoring off some hard liquor they threw her into the pit. She was killed. I beat the man to death. Thought it was wiser to leave then."
While said rather non-chalantly the observative noticed that the large man had to swallow.
Ludwig then laughed and drummed his big belly.
"I like eating."

Gertrude ignores Ludwig's tragic dog story. They had all suffered at some point in their lives. That didn't matter now. What mattered is what everyone made of themselves. Figuring she might as well get show-and-tell over and done with, Gertrude speaks up next.

"I was a racketeer, extortionist, mugger, and general thug. I convinced workers to work hard, to not think about striking, and to pay what they owed. And, when words failed, I broke bones. I was taught to fight by a Dwarf in the same profession, so I know how to handle myself. Spent most of my life in Nuln, so I can't say I've experienced much of the wilds before."

Well as far as I am concerned we all have a clean slate here.  Your past is your past.  It is time to make something of ourselves.  If we do well the Roadside Raiders will be know for their ability to get the job done.  It could make a big difference in our lives and how well off we all are in the future.  For those of you who have not seen a beastman, you have a surprise coming.  They are savage stupid things that attack and kill for the pleasure it brings them.  I will do my best to make sure each of you is healed the best that I can provide and that if anyone should die, that you will be buried in accordance with your wishes. We should talk and get to know each other since tomorrow we may count on each other for our lives.


He sits back down on his bed roll and picks up a rock and starts to sharpen his dagger.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:45, Wed 29 Nov 2023.

Glorin listens to the others and Aldwin's statement about his axe, which he still sharpens while keeping one ear on the conversation around him.

"Aye, dwarves are good with axes, they kills things, greenskins mainly." He growls. "I've lived off the land a while, I can brew better ale than any of these humans."

He sullenly goes back to his axe sharpening.

Well, I guess we should set up watches. Anyone want to volunteer for the first watch? Glorin and I should probably take shifts during the darkness.  Beings that we both can see in the dark better than everyone else.

He sheaths his dagger.  Stand up and starts gathering firewood.  Making a pile close to the nearest tree.

"So you believe the threat is a group of beastman?", Ludwig asked, "You better be a better tracker than them then. Hurts to turn from hunter to hunted.", he said with a wink.
They knew pretty much next to nothing. He was interested to learn how they might come up with a plan to find the culprits.
"Maybe we could hire as guards to some merchant and hide until these foul creatures attack.", he offered.

Beastmen fit the tales.  Heavy wooded area where they usually hangout.  Could be something else but I have learned that there is usually some truth to the tales.  Hiring as body guards or caravan guards isn't a bad idea.  Could get paid double for that but then we may have to travel farther than we want.

He stands still for a moment and thinks.

What if we travelled to this heavy forested area and camp out a few days.  But we stuff out blankets with dirt and hide in the trees. Lay a trap for them, make it look like we are merchants.