Andreyich — Roleplayer Guild

Credits to @Lucian, The Arrival of Galadred

As the first droplets of rain began to sprinkle from the sky, a merchant caravan meandered through the city of Nuln's southernmost gate. The merchant's wagon was a hefty thing, drawn by two pairs of two horses, and packed to the brim with silks and other expensive textiles, all rolled into thick spools of a multitude of colors and patterns. The wagon was a veritable rainbow of color in the otherwise drab gray of this first section of the city. Once past the relatively ornate gate, the city's stonework seemed to have been washed of any brightness that may have once been there by the sort of rain that threatened even now to fall in a deluge from the grey-clouded sky overhead.

 The merchant who sat the wagon, driving the horses along with the occasional yip or flick of the reins, was as vibrant as the wagon itself, bedecked in the very textiles he intended to trade and sell. Showing off the goods, one might say. Surrounding the merchant, however, was a loose collection of sellswords and guards who matched the surrounding grayness of this part of Nuln far better than the merchant. Scruffy swordsman in dented plate, road-weary faces shaded by the hoods of the cloaks they all drew about their heads in preparation for the rain. All but one.

 Walking a few paces behind the wagon was an elf, though one might have to look twice to tell him apart from a tall, well-built man. His short-cropped blond hair was being plastered to his head by the rain as it increased from a light drizzle to a proper rain. Unlike the others, his cloak had no hood. The white lion's pelt wrapped around his neck and came down to the middle of his calves, testament to how massive the creature had been in life. The monstrous lion's head rested on his right shoulder, staring out in a perpetual roar. This was the first thing that caught most eyes, the second being his pointed ears, which began to cause the upper lips of the more superstitious commoners to twitch upward in xenophobic judgement. 

 If the elf noticed those looks, he gave no outward sign. His sharp eyes continued to scan the streets for some last potential threat to his current charge before his contract was complete, his elven mind working quickly to consider every potential angle of ambush or attack. Fortunately, Nuln seemed safe enough, and especially well patrolled so near to one of its gates. The merchant's wagon made it to its intended stopping point, and the mercenaries were all handed their wages. After a brief moment of chatting (the shedding of the loose bonds of road-born camaraderie,) the guards left the merchant to his own devices as he set up shop in the rain, and set off toward the nearest inn. The elf did not join them. 

 Without word, the well-muscled Asur began to help the merchant with the heavier-lifting. He had somewhere to be, and though the clouds hid the sun, he could tell he was already late, but the merchant had been jovial and kind on the journey, and watching him toil alone in the rain gave the elf a pang of guilt that he'd struggle to ignore if he didn't return the kindness in some way, so he spent the better part of the next hour helping the man lift the heavy spools and arrange his stand in the market. 

 "I thank you, elf." The merchant said in his strange accent when the work was done, "Though I've nothing left to offer until business starts up. Maybe you could stick around, help protect my stock (and myself.)" The last bit was a whispered laugh, "For a fixed rate of pay, of course. After all, now that I've seen what that axe can do, I'd hate to hire anyone else as a guard. My wife back home would feel much better if she knew you were protecting me on the roads, Gar-uhh... errr, Galor..." The merchant trailed off. The elf had only said his name once, and spoke rarely on the road, except when it was necessary. The man fidgeted awkwardly.

 "Galadred." The stoic elf offered mercifully in his deep voice after watching the man stammer a moment. He gave a small laugh, a sign that the man had not offended, for which the merchant seemed visibly thankful. "I'm afraid I must decline your offer, friend. I have my own business in this city, as it happens. I bid you safe travels, nonetheless." And with that, Galadred turned on his heel and walked off back into the rain, heading for a very specific tavern.

 It had been some time since he had set foot in Nuln, and Galadred had never been to the tavern that was his current destination. As he walked the city streets alone, dogged by the rain, his mind wandered, comparing the architecture to that of his homeland, which brought on the inevitable bitter ache in the pit of his stomach. The longing. The echoes of his shame and the betrayal that lead him to be here. His brow furrowed, and he forced himself to focus, purging the creeping depression from his mind. Finally, he had something to do besides guard human merchants and prevent drunken tavern-brawls. Finally, he had a duty that was, just maybe, a match for him. The thought burned like a torch, the creeping shadows of regret and shame melting away in its light. It was with this renewed mindset that he entered the tavern, striding quickly to the bartender and giving the woman a curt nod of greeting. 

 "I am here to speak with Agniezka Voorman." Galadred said. The barkeep mumbled something about 'another one,' though The Lion did not hear the full extent, and didn't care to, judging by the tone. He was too focused on this rush of almost boyish excitement to finally be a part of something worthwhile, and perhaps to some deeper degree, interesting again to bother with the thinly-veiled vitriol of such an individual.

 The pathway from the tavern he entered, to the one in which he now stood made no sense. While he was no worker of the winds himself, he could tell that he had walked paths that had been magicked. Surely they were designed that way to keep unwanted visitors from reaching this place. It also explained why he was allowed to keep his great battleaxe, Argent Roar, slung over one shoulder with a thick leather strap. He had the feeling that if he had not been invited, he never would have found his way to this place.

 He had been invited though, and so the sorcerous pathways had lead him true, and now he stood in the doorway, beckoned to the table where four others sat. He stepped forward, pausing in his stride a moment as he noted another of the Asur among them. This instantly put him a little on edge, but he continued to the table and unslung Argent Roar from his back, laying the axehead on the floor and leaning the haft against the table. He gave a brief look to the others, eyes focusing for a brief moment on the other elf, then passing to the table. He picked a bottle of alcohol, seemingly at random, poured himself some with the glass set in front of him, and drank without hesitation, not saying a word. The one who had summoned them all here surely had enough to say for the lot of them.

The briefing.

As the table slowly filled with new members it was hard for Hugo to not drift off into sleep after his great meal, perhaps some of the teas and other select items he consumed being the only thing truly preventing this. He only politely smiled to the arrivals, even if he couldn't actually fathom looking upon his new comrades with a friendly view. They were so... well, when he was a student in this very city's university many used the term "buzzkill." What was with all the Sigmar-cursed black? Or the faces, from the Elves to the Brettonnian they looked as if they had a powerful force of suction push all of their faces to the centre. Still, these were the people entrusted to him and even if they were not the type one could have a chat with at the very least they looked capable. 

Hugo was not born with a very good memory truth be told, and he'd be among the first to admit this. But he was quick to acknowledge this weakness and as such he adopted a method one of his professors called the library of the mind, cataloguing and associating everything so that information could easily be retrieved from memory forced into the depths of his brain. It all came to him, the Elf being a wizard of sorts and the Brettonnian lad being a nasty bastard with a kill-count extending into the hundreds over the decades of his life, if reports were to be trusted. The Cultist was far younger, but he could nevertheless be depended upon to do good work if the dossier spoke true. Yes it was a very, very capable group. Alas, it paled compared to the group that had been devastated prior to this one. The fact he now had to hunt a quarry that greater men than he failed to defeat did not give any confidence to the noble.

But he'd make do.

"Thank you all for coming!" he said, straightening out in his seat, and bowing before the assembled company. "I shall leave the mutual introductions for later, I know who you are and seeing as none of you appear to be talkative company in the traditional fashion we can then save time by getting through that on the road. You are all here because you have unique skills that some in our organization believe can be used to safeguard this world from the End Times that are oft prophesied. Our first assignment is somewhat of a probationary one for you new inductees into our Order, but to describe it as simple is... well, a futile effort in trying to boost your morale. Should this assignment be successful, it shall be part of a long string of operations to hunt a greater foe that this team is being groomed for."

It was at this moment that Hugo wondered if any of them would question how so much was known about Zartai, and yet this team would be - to their official knowledge - the first sent after it. "The Old World has been maligned by beastmen from before the foundation of the Empire, their threat at most an auxiliary one to that of the Northmen. However, one of their kind has become worrisome for those that represent Order on the grand scale of this planet. A creature we know as Zartai, an ungor, one of the lesser beastmen typically a mere mutated human has managed to become a chosen of three of the Dark Gods, now seeking to find favour in the Lord of Change. In conjunction with great artifacts that have come into his possession it will be a catastrophe if he ascends to become a Champion of Chaos Undivided in the true sense that he represents all four of their malign Gods, rather than none." At this point several papers on the wall were pointed to including a drawing of the vile fiend and a map indicating where he had been.  

"After an extensive session of interrogation of one of his followers it has been revealed that to gain favour of the Lord of Change he must incite war between races or failing that at least incite war within them in memory of the war millennia ago waged between Asur and Dawi supposedly aided by the foul deity's hand." The man stopped to drink some water, both lips and tongue rather dry.

"Agents of our Order have strong reason to belief he is at work in Marienburg and the nearby Seas. We have been informed that somebody is smuggling warpstone to Ulthuan, ground up in the manner that lets it have narcotic uses, this in turn correlating with strange occurrences in that far-off land. The ships that get caught with it seem to have little in common, those of High Elven merchants and human or even Dwarfen ones seemingly being used to carry crates of the stuff. A long investigation revealed that the only commonality between the vessels is that they all went to port in the Wasteland before coming to the Asur Coasts. Typically Marienburg, but a few have docked in Broekwater, Mannansport Zee, and some smaller villages by Reaver's Point. As of late a reverse effect has been noticed by the Marienburg directorate in the Wasteland's ports, and rather than cooperation we are only seeing hostilities grow between the two realms. We, the Black Badge, are tasked with investigating this and putting a stop to it. Given a previous Northward trek of our furry friend there is little doubt he is at least in part responsible. We leave for Marienburg at first Sunlight, there are accommodations for all of you to rest until the morning. I have been given a hefty sum to finance this venture and should any of you need something for our investigations and possible confrontation then I suggest you ask now, for after this meeting I shall be going right to bed."

Most of the speech had been recited from memory of about half an hour with quill. He stuttered a few times, but ultimately he said everything he wanted to in good time, though no doubt many thoughts would have by now come into the minds of the people before him. "Thoughts?" Hugo asked, slightly shifting his weight on his chair as the dark got darker.

Chapter One: The Sending of Four

Hooray, Hooray for the Emperor's Benevolence! — In which friends are made — It becomes clear man and elder race aren't all that different — The Paradox of the Wasteland — On the Prudence of being a Polyglot

Hugo groaned, but it was a groan of pleasure. The table before him was truly a mess, yet there was method to the madness. On the right were all the finished drinks ranging from wines red, white, and sparkling of Brettonnia combined with good Gisoreux Brandy, to Bugman's ale, to a sampling of Kislevite Kvass and Vodka with a cup of Arabyan coffee and two Nipponese teas. On the left was the charred stub of a hanscha roll-up from Araby, an expended tube of Cathayan pipeweed, a sniff of mints from Khuresh. In the middle was a veritable genocide of animals surrounded by the harvest of many plantations, the man not even remembering every single thing brought to him that had by now been consumed. 

Such moments were rare, but when they could be organized they were bliss. The music played in the... tavern wasn't to his liking (at least when brought before the current weather and time of day) but it was good, and as workers of the establishment cleared the table in the rather large booth the Agent of the Black Badges looked out of the window. He'd been here many times before, but the effect was still something that made his brain feel upside down. 

This Chapter-house of the Black Badges was under one of Nuln's more reputable taverns, not quite good enough for the upper nobility but good enough for the growing bourgeoisie of merchants and lesser nobles. Except looking through the window the word "under" felt disingenuous. Agents of the Black Badges would ask an elderly barmaid with red hair to speak to Agniezka Voorman, before being lead down a set of stairs. Through the stairs they would navigate a complicated passage of many turns, ramps, and for some even a ladder and staircase or two before finding themselves in a tavern with a wholly different clientele; the fact that through windows one had a good aerial view of Nuln despite having had such a long downwards journey simply demonstrated that the Black Badges had very, very good Shadow Wizards under their employ. 

Though it would almost certainly play havoc with the minds of the three invited agents, they would certainly have to be thankful for respite from the rain. It wasn't a downpour that blocked the skies, but few people liked being wet for very long. Having been given a physical description of the men that were to join him, Hugo looked at the doorframe for them to enter the scene as well as through the window to perhaps catch a glimpse of the motley assembly. Even in the streets below, a High-Elf, a dark Brettonnian, and a disciple of Morr wouldn't be hard to spot. 

Once they entered Hugo would wave towards them and motion for each to come over and sit at the table he was at. Though there was a great board covered in papers within the booth, Hugo would tell the arrivals for now to simply order refreshments not wishing to discuss business until all the agents were assembled.

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AS THOUGH A THOUSAND MOUTHS CRY OUT IN PAIN

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