15th March 2052
Jake appeared in the game flat on his back, with another blinding headache. He dismissed the screen telling him how bad he felt with a glance. Yeah, I get it. At least my mouth doesn’t taste of buffalo piss this time, though. A quick glance around showed him he was lying on straw-covered dirt in what looked and smelled like a stable. Someone was running a buzz-saw next to his head, and he rolled onto his side to see the dwarf, Grim, lying arms akimbo, flat on his back and snoring loudly. There was a small dog sat on his chest, staring at the dwarf’s face with what Jake could only interpret as absolute hatred. In the corner the Ratcatcher, Detlev, was slumped against the wall next to a couple of snoozing horses.
What on earth had woken him up? he wondered. Then the door to the stable burst open, letting blinding sunlight into the building. Jake reflexively covered his eyes and Grim sat up with a start and a scream, dislodging the dog, who started barking loudly. Detlev moaned and let his body fall sideways onto a mound of straw.
“Good morning, everybody!” said Petra loudly. “I did knock but no-one answered, so I came in.” She aimed a kick at Fred, who skipped backwards, barking even more loudly and bouncing with excitement.
“There’s breakfast on the table at the Inn and hot water in our room, which we have for another thirty minutes. You might want to wash,” she said, looking at the rest of the Drunken Bums with distaste.
“A room?” said Jake, looking around at the dirty stable. “Then why are we here?”
“Ah, it seems you were incapable of making it up the stairs, so I pointed you towards the stables. Shame really, it was lovely, even had a breakfast tray included. I slept like a top!”
Dragging himself to his feet, Jake moved into the sunlight, shading his eyes with a hand. Behind him he heard Detlev get up, cursing Fred-the-Dog and begin to follow him. Grim let himself fall backwards onto the straw and did not move.
Thirty minutes later all four were sat at a large table forcing bread and sausage into their protesting stomachs. Detlev and Jake were washed and marginally presentable, whilst the dwarf still had straw in his hair and beard, tangled in amongst the rat bones. He had somehow gotten a tankard of ale and was using it to wash down the slightly stale bread. The others were drinking an herbal tea designed to wake you up and fight hangovers. Coffee would be better, thought Jake. Whatever that is.
Finally, everything on the table was eaten and the scraps were brushed onto the floor for Fred. Petra, who seemed to have decided she was the leader, tapped on the tabletop with the hilt of a knife to get everyone’s attention. “OK, now we all feel a little better, has anyone got an idea what’s going on?”
They all looked at each other. Jake felt a stirring in his memories. “Er, I seem to remember drinking lots, then being offered cheap tickets for the stagecoach. Next thing I’m being shot at by goblins, dodging swords and driving a coach far too fast. Also, I’ve been robbed.” He turned out his pouch and looked suspiciously at Petra.
Grim and Detlev told a similar story and also displayed empty purses. Grim thought it suspicious that ‘piss-weak man-beer’ could put him on his back so easily. Not with the amount you drink, thought Jake. Mind you, there was that weird taste I’d had in my mouth.
“I have a little hidden away,” said Petra, taking out a wallet. “For unexpected events.”
Yeah, hidden away in the pocket of the dead coach driver, thought Jake, but said nothing.
Petra handed out two coppers to each of them. “There, in the spirit of co-operation I will divide my reserves equally.” She returned a suspiciously bulging wallet to an inner pocket.
“So, what to do?” She turned a large smile on the rest of the Drunken Bums and waited for a response.
Grim raised his beer mug in response and finished his ale.
“Other than drinking ourselves unconscious again, that is. Do we think something suspicious is going on?”
Jake had a weird moment of split personality. Part of him was screaming Yes! Yes! Yes! Of course there’s something going on! What do you think the game is all about! It’s the primary story arc. Investigate! A second part of him seemed to remember how common goblin raids were, that his head hurt and perhaps life as a scribe wasn’t so bad at all. There was a brief internal struggle, and consensus was reached. “Maybe,” he said.
Petra looked around the table, and there were nods of agreement from the rest. She looked at Jake again, obviously expecting him to suggest something. “I suppose I could talk to the barman,” he said reluctantly.
Grim, realizing that a legitimate reason for staying in the bar had been taken, muttered a curse. “Blacksmiths like dwarfs,” he said, slamming his flagon down and leaving the table trailing bits of straw.
Petra and Jake looked at Detlev, clad in a ragged grey tunic and a brown cloak, which was more holes than garment. From somewhere he’d obtained a crumpled green felt hat with a feather in it and had placed it at what he obviously thought was a rakish angle on his head. He was not a sight to inspire confidence amongst the more well-to-do clientele of the Inn. Fred was sat on his back legs, looking at his master with adoring eyes.
“You look like a tramp,” said Petra, not one to beat about the bush. She thought for a moment. “I think I saw a bunch of down-and-outs in the centre of the village. Perhaps they’ll talk to you.”
Detlev considered for a moment then nodded. “On it.”
That left Jake and Petra. “What are you going to do, oh mighty leader?” he asked.
“Gossip, play cards, gamble.”
They only had a few coppers each, so Jake worried about her losing all their money. “You any good?” he asked.
She removed a greasy pack of cards from an inside pocket and fanned them, before cutting and riffling them all together in one swift movement. She held the deck out to Jake, somehow making one card slowly emerge from the pack towards him. Jake drew it out. Ace of spades.
“So pretty good then.”
-----
Jake
Profession - Scribe
Strength – weak
Intelligence -good
Dexterity – average
Wisdom – poor
Constitution – average
Charisma – average
Gullibility – poor
Skills
Read and write; numerate; forgery; hit-with-stick; suck up to the man; drive like a mutha; swim (backstroke)
Traits
Alcoholic (addictive personality); moral; pleasant.
Once the others were gone, Jake strolled up to the barman. It quickly became clear that he would not gossip with him unless he had a drink in his hand, so he used one of his precious pennies buying a flagon of not-very-good beer.
“Welcome, oh hero of the stagecoach,” said the barman, obviously bored. He thought about washing Grim’s discarded beer mug, which was on the bar in front of him, then settled on flicking the dregs onto the floor and putting it back on a shelf.
“Well, yeah, it was nothing.” Jake squirmed a bit. “Bit weird getting attacked by goblins this close to the city.”
“Not really. Happens every couple of weeks now. Usually, it’s the merchants that get attacked and have their wagons looted and guards driven off. It’s a first time for the stage, though.”
Jake nodded, trying to think what to ask next. He raised his eyebrows. “Any of the local merchants that have not been robbed, if you take my meaning?” He winked twice; Jake was getting the hang of investigating.
The barman laid a fat finger on the side of his nose. “I take your meaning.” He resumed polishing the bar top. “But no, everyone who trades here has been robbed at one time or another.” Maybe I’m not so great at the investigating, thought Jake.
The barman interrupted his musing. “Mind you, the survivors all say the wagons were carrying weapons of one kind or another as part of their itinerary.”
Jake perked up. “So, is it unusual for merchants to carry arms for sale?”
The fat barman considered then shook his head. “Nah, not really. Everyone does it. You get to a new village, what’s the first thing you adventurers look for? Better weapons. Thicker armour. Arrows. Bolts. Guns. Drugs. Porn.”
Real world Jake was a little intrigued by what hand printed wood-cut porn would look like, and mentally expressed interest, but game world Jake pressed on with the investigation. “Aren’t the Road wardens a little worried about it? About the goblins getting better weapons?”
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“They don’t seem to be. The thing is, the traders here are so money-grabbing, any one of them would just sell swords to the goblins, no need to rob the wagons. It’s just that the little shits have no money. And even if they did, they’d try to trick you out of the cash with an elaborate double cross.” He stopped for a moment. “No, that would be the merchants. The goblins would just kill you, mutilate your body and piss on your corpse.”
-----
Detlev Kunst
Profession – ratcatcher
Strength – average
Intelligence -average
Dexterity – good
Wisdom – poor
Constitution – good
Charisma – poor
Gullibility – poor
Skills
Small and annoying dog; what a cute pet; his master’s best friend; slingshot; dagger; move underground.
Detlev was currently talking to Mad Aggie, who was squatting next to the well in the middle of the village. Her name was one hundred percent accurate, being as how she was as mad as a cut snake and kept going on about demons, devils and possession by evil cults. Also, her name was Agnes. Detlev, it seemed, was safe from the forces of Darkness by dint of owning Fred; apparently evil hell-spawn feared small noisy dogs. I think her name would be even more accurate if she was known as Mad, Smelly Agnes, thought Detlev, moving to place himself upwind of the old woman. He’d used one of his perks, ‘What a cute dog’ to get Aggie to talk to him. This had involved getting Fred to sit up and beg, then chase his tail before finally standing on his head. (Didn’t know dogs could do that! It was quite impressive!). He’d ended up surrounded by a small crowd of onlookers; urchins, beggars and the poorer occupants of the village, but no-one had anything interesting to say or any money to give him. He’d ended up talking to Aggie as she was the only one who hadn’t walked away after Fred had finished his act and Detlev had hopefully put his cap in front of the dog.
Ignoring the hat, Agnes sat and talked, keeping up an endless monologue about evil forces, black powers and the Dark Gods. Finally, she took a breath, and he dropped one of his two precious pennies into her lap before moving away sharpish.
Before he could take more than a few steps there was a gasp from behind him and he turned back to the madwoman. Shit. More doom-and-gloom. Aggie sat straighter and looked him in the eye, thin straggly hair pushed off her face. Her voice seemed to be deeper and clearer, her gaze more knowing. “Beware the Horseman and the Wolf at the Door. Fear for the Gambler and the Sot. Avoid the Tunnel and Prepare for Death!” She pointed a clawed finger at Detlev and repeated “Death!” Fred hid behind his legs.
“Right-oh,” said Detlev, moving in the general direction of away. “Hope you have a nice day!” Time to get back to the bar.
-----
Grim – disgraced dwarf
Strength – good
Intelligence - poor
Dexterity – average
Wisdom – poor
Constitution – very good
Charisma – poor
Gullibility – poor
Skills
Use common weapon; tough; angry; simple blacksmithing; a Good Day to Die.
Grim was having a bad morning. As Jake had bagsied the bar, he’d decided to visit the blacksmith, thinking it was a manly type of a pursuit, well-suited to his dwarfish temperament and physique. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten the most important thing about Smithies – they were loud. Very, very loud. Add to that the most appalling of hangovers, an unbelievable thirst for alcohol and a bottomless rage that seemed to be his default personality trait, and it was a very bad morning. Very, very bad. Also, the blacksmith seemed to be a total imbecile.
“So, what do you know about the attack on the stagecoach?”
The smith stopped hammering on his anvil for a moment. He was big, both fat and well-muscled, and seemed to be naked underneath his thick leather apron. Grim moved a little to ensure he was not behind the man. “There was an attack on the stagecoach? When did that happen?”
“Yesterday. We were attacked by goblins.”
Another pause. “Goblins? The little green fuckers? Didn’t think they could keep up with a stagecoach. Legs are a bit short.” He made little stamping motions with his feet.
“They couldn’t normally, but they were on wolves.”
A pause as the imbecile thought. “Wolves? The big hairy fuckers? Like dogs but bigger?”
“Those are the ones. They shot arrows at us and tried to mount the stage.”
There was a longer pause. “How did the wolves shoot arrows?” He made claw like gestures with his hands. “And I don’t see how the wolves could hold a bow-and-arrow. No fingers, see. And I’m not sure about their eyes. No good for sighting. And why would a wolf try and mount a stagecoach? Wolfcoach babies?”
Grim counted to ten and considered killing the man, dismembering him and burning the body parts in his forge. “Not the wolves, the goblins. The goblins were the ones who shot the arrows whilst sitting on the backs of the wolves. The goblins also tried to get onto the coach.”
“Goblins? The little green fuckers?”
Oh God thought Grim. Let me die now. “Yes, the little green men. The little green fuckers. They were on top of wolves, the big hairy fuckers. They tried to capture the fucking stagecoach.”
The man took a good thirty seconds to process this. “When was this?”
Aaaaaaaaargh!
Petra
Strength – average
Intelligence -good
Dexterity – average
Wisdom – poor
Constitution – average
Charisma – good
Gullibility – poor
Skills
Barely literate; pistol; common weapons; card-sharp; fast fingers
Petra had won a lot of card-games in her life. And lost a fair few, to be honest. However, she didn’t think she’d ever played against less skilled opponents than those she was playing now. She could have won all their money in five minutes, but as she was trying to keep them talking, she was forced to cheat to help them win, giving them better cards just to keep them playing. Problem was that they didn’t seem to have a clue about what was a good hand, discarding cards at random for far worse ones.
Both of her opponents were merchants, and she figured this was as good a place to start investigating the attack as any. Also, it was in the snug of the coaching house, complete with cozy wood fire and was accessible only to the well-to-do, so she got some peace from her three boorish companions. She qualified for entry due to her appearance, now the vomit was off the front of her shirt, and she was working at pumping the other card players for information.
“Weird about the attack on the stagecoach.” She was dealer, so she slipped an ace from the bottom of the pack and gave it to the player opposite. Petra couldn’t remember his name but called him ‘Hairy Harry’ in her head as he had a large moustache and a massive mane of black oily hair. Also, thick black hair on his fingers and growing from his cheekbones, like a monkey or something equally hirsute. Nice clothes, mind, and a full purse she’d have enjoyed emptying on another day.
“Two cards,” said her other opponent, ‘Baldy Ben’. He had a shaved head and a nice blue velvet tunic with slashed puff sleeves. He also sported a tiny diamond earring in his left ear – bit of a player here– and was equally crap at cards. It was his turn to lose, so she ensured his pickup cards were all low denominations.
“Why weird?” said Hairy, considering his cards. He had two pairs at least, aces and sevens, easily the best hand on the table.
“Well, why attack a stagecoach? It’s faster than a wagon, has an armed guard and the Road wardens will be all over the robbery like a rash.”
“These are goblins,” Hairy said. “Not the sharpest tools in the shed. Mind, it is nice that it’s not Herr Karlsberg who’s being robbed. He’s lost a lot of money in the last few months. Bet he’d pay well for any information on the goblin raiders.” He considered his hand then threw it in. “Rubbish cards you dealt me.”
Two pairs thought Petra. Two pairs! Why would you throw in two pairs? I have got to play these idiots for real as soon as possible.
“Yeah, I bet Pietr is thanking the Gods it wasn’t him who lost stock this time,” said Ben. “He’s putting on a brave front, pretending he’s still got money, but we all know he’s one step from the poorhouse. Call!” He laid down his cards with a flourish. A complete mix of suits and numbers; the nine of clubs was the highest card.
“Too rich for me,” said Petra, throwing in her hand face down and feeling like weeping. Three kings. “Guess the lucks with you lot tonight.”
-----
The four companions met again later that evening, assembling in a shadowed corner as Detlev wasn’t allowed in the snug; Grim wasn’t either, but none of the bar staff had the courage to tell him. They exchanged information about the attack, but no-one really had a clue what was going on. Midway through their discussion Jake got a prompt telling him that he had acquired a new skill – Investigate, but even this did not help with the detective work, and they sat around frowning at each other. He also got offered a quest - Investigate the robbing of the stagecoach (part I), which he accepted with alacrity, before forgetting about it instantly.
They talked about the attack a little more, and Grim threw in a few bizarre suggestions like robbing the coach themselves as it was so easy (ha!) or trying to get jobs as guards and driver for the coach as there was now an opening. Luckily, Petra had somehow obtained a purse full of money, so no-one had to consider the horror of getting a real job. She happily bought food and drink for everyone, even booking them spaces in the common room to sleep.
“You’d all do the same for me if it came down to it,” she said, giving them all a significant look. There were embarrassed mutters, and everyone avoided her eyes, before grabbing mugs and toasting her generosity. Before the evening descended into an inevitable boozy haze, Petra took Jake aside with a twitch of her head. She produced a folded letter from an inside pocket.
“Have a quick look at this. I got it off the dead driver, Benny. It looks kind of important. What do you think?”
I think reading is not one of your strong points, thought Jake. He looked at the document, then looked again. It was a letter produced using one of the new block printing presses on really good paper. Really, really good paper, at least fifty percent linen rag it felt like. There was a big wax seal on the bottom, and a purple silk ribbon. Near the top there was a space where the name Benjamin Bertholdt had been inserted by someone with a very decorative hand and a complete inability to stay within the space set aside for their signature. Someone has got ideas above their station, thought Jake. The letter itself started with the typical bureaucratic bumph about access to this communication and penalties associated with its misuse. With a feeling of unease, Jake continued reading. Phrases stuck in his head; “Special Envoy” one said, and “The bearer of this letter is to be given every assistance by Imperial Institutions, Bodies and Forces.” Finally, “penalty for misuse includes partial Asphyxiation, Quartering of the body and Beheading.” At the bottom was the signature, “Emperor Frederick Von Halstein”, right next to the large and clearly Imperial seal. Obviously not ideas above his station, then.
“It’s a Carte Blanche!” He thrust the letter back at Petra, trying to get it as far from him as possible. She looked confused. “It’s a demand for assistance from every organ of the Empire!”
Petra grinned and made a rude gesture with a clenched fist. “That’s gotta be one massive organ! Must be worth a bit.”
“No, you don’t fucking understand. It’s a fucking Carte Blanche signed by the fucking Emperor himself, Frederick Von fucking Halstein.” Jake was upset, and his overuse of expletives showed this. “It means Benny Bengston, or Bertholdt or whatever the fuck his name is, was a secret agent and probably a personal acquaintance of the Emperor. It means that there will soldiers and officials everywhere very soon, looking for him and this paper. A shitstorm of trouble will descend on this place, in spades. Anyone found possessing this letter without a good reason will be in a lot of trouble, of the hanging kind. And the quartering kind. And the beheading kind. And also, any kind of long, lingering death not covered by those examples.”
Petra considered for a moment. “Best not tell the rest, then.” She slipped the letter back inside her shirt and tapped the side of her nose, giving him an obvious wink. “Never seen it before. Our secret, eh.” She turned back to her other companions with a grin on her face.
She’s really not that bright, thought Jake, before reaching for his beer mug.