Red RustThe ride from Nuln to Übersreik had been a swift one at first. The roads closest to the capital of the Empire were well-kept, the stay at Dunkelberg pleasant and the toll-bridge at Stimmigen easy enough to dodge, but as Jan van Boschterp ventured yet further to the northwest, the imperial road thinned out to little more than a dirt track, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse.
Jan felt a strange tug at his heart as he ventured north, unsure of whether he wanted to return to the monotony of his overly-controlling family at Marienburg, or stay in the Empire.
The tall trees of the Reikwald forest did little to shield Jan from the heavy rain, as did the city-boy’s shoddily made shelter. Jan had been warned that the Drakwald was a haven to outlaws, so he and his manservant Friedrich Egelmann had agreed to stay awake in turns to watch the other’s backs and belongings. As night gave way to day, Jan’s horse and manservant had most inconveniently disappeared, and no amount of searching, waiting, or praying made the servant reappear.
Jan continued on, grumbling over the journey’s misfortunes, but at least relieved that he had kept his most precious belongings – his journal, sword, pistol, and jerky – on his person, and trudged along as best he could to Übersreik.
It was dark by the time he reached the town, but the rains had at least abated. Jan von Boschterp made his way into Übersreik, noting the place was a thriving, if not affluent, market town, and that there was a certain tension in the air. He saw a hastily scribbled note spiked onto a nearby planking – something about a witch hunter seeking new hirelings for his personal crusade against the innumerable forces of darkness in the world? Despite his initial misgivings, Jan could not help but feel tempted. Joining a mercenary army would only mean being one nameless soldier among thousand and dying from infection from a poorly cleaned musket-wound or dysentery from an uncleaned latrine, but membership in a small and chosen company of do-gooders in a more… familiarly urban… setting might win him some glory.
First, however, he needed a bit of rest, and ventured to the nearest tavern he could find that looked somewhat decent. He saw one that felt strangely compelling.
As it turned out, that tavern was full of soldiers, and a certain haggard face, looking strangely familiar from a certain recently seen scribbled note, was there on the other side of the room. A similarly-aged boy was standing in the room, looking only marginally less sheepish than Jan.
Verily, this must be a sign from fate.
Jan felt a strange tug at his heart as he ventured north, unsure of whether he wanted to return to the monotony of his overly-controlling family at Marienburg, or stay in the Empire.
The tall trees of the Reikwald forest did little to shield Jan from the heavy rain, as did the city-boy’s shoddily made shelter. Jan had been warned that the Drakwald was a haven to outlaws, so he and his manservant Friedrich Egelmann had agreed to stay awake in turns to watch the other’s backs and belongings. As night gave way to day, Jan’s horse and manservant had most inconveniently disappeared, and no amount of searching, waiting, or praying made the servant reappear.
Jan continued on, grumbling over the journey’s misfortunes, but at least relieved that he had kept his most precious belongings – his journal, sword, pistol, and jerky – on his person, and trudged along as best he could to Übersreik.
It was dark by the time he reached the town, but the rains had at least abated. Jan von Boschterp made his way into Übersreik, noting the place was a thriving, if not affluent, market town, and that there was a certain tension in the air. He saw a hastily scribbled note spiked onto a nearby planking – something about a witch hunter seeking new hirelings for his personal crusade against the innumerable forces of darkness in the world? Despite his initial misgivings, Jan could not help but feel tempted. Joining a mercenary army would only mean being one nameless soldier among thousand and dying from infection from a poorly cleaned musket-wound or dysentery from an uncleaned latrine, but membership in a small and chosen company of do-gooders in a more… familiarly urban… setting might win him some glory.
First, however, he needed a bit of rest, and ventured to the nearest tavern he could find that looked somewhat decent. He saw one that felt strangely compelling.
As it turned out, that tavern was full of soldiers, and a certain haggard face, looking strangely familiar from a certain recently seen scribbled note, was there on the other side of the room. A similarly-aged boy was standing in the room, looking only marginally less sheepish than Jan.
Verily, this must be a sign from fate.