Luther at the Base of the Fauschlag
"So ya see, boss, me lads an me we'uns r tellin t'truth 'bout dis, and as 'e came runnin up all crazed, we towt dat 'e otta be laid low afore e attracted more a'them beasts we's been beein attackered by." Nat said, his thick city-bred accent difficult for Luther to understand, even after several weeks employing the old teamster. Luther spat off the side of the cliff before replying, the act a placeholder to give him time to make sure he had interpreted the older man's rough accent correctly.
"'E was screamin sometin' aful, beggin Ulric t'deliver 'im." Nat continued, nervous that his boss was angry with him over the death, and that was the reason for his silence. Igor stood sullen by the second wagon, looking ready to flee.
"Let me think a moment, Ol' Nat. You and your boy did right, the man put you all at risk and needed to be silenced." Luther lifted a hand to silence the old man before he could respond, thinking hard as he looked at the body for the second time since Nat and Igor had driven Luther's wagons into camp.
Nat said he and his sons had been coming north on the hunter's road, as it was quickly becoming known and had seen a few beastmen. They were quickly driven off by Igor and Wat, who loosed a few crossbow bolts at them.
A few hours later and the man had staggered out of a thicket at the base of the Fauschlag screaming that he was pursued and would die if Luther's men did not protect him. Nat and his boys had tried to calm the shouting, distraught man down, but could not. Soon Nat had heard a horn in the distance, and knew that he had to get the wagons to camp and silence the man or more beastmen than he could handle would fall on them. He'd told Igor to quiet the man, and Igor had tried to, finally having to resort to the cudgel he carried. They had loaded the man they'd thought unconcious at the time into the wagon and driven on in silence, avoiding contact with the warherd. Luther himself had heard the lowing of a great warhorn audible for miles here at the base of the Fauschlag.
'Would that Igor was less... strong in his efforts to silence the lunatic.' thought Luther as he surveyed the body. The man lay at the bottom of the lead wagon. A brown-haired, bearded fellow wearing common clothing. Short the massive lump on his forehead from where Igor, Nat's elder boy, had struck him with his cudgel, he could have been any commoner from Middenhiem. City bred for sure, the soles of his boots were good for nothing but paved areas, not a true wilderness. His clothes were a bit torn, but not severely damaged. He had a few marks on him as well, bruises and a fading scar, but no immediate indications of his profession. A faint shit smell emanated from him, but that could be the head injury. Luther had seen that before.
Luther climbed into the back of the wagon, thoroughly searching the man from head to toe as he learned from watching Rudiger. No earrings, no necklaces, a belt with an empty dagger scabbard and a coin pouch. Luther removed those. Searching the arms, Luther grunted as he found a dagger strapped to the inside of the man's left forearm. Under the man's tunic, Luther found a tatoo on the front of his left shoulder depicting a gate, the portal open. Luther gazed at it a moment. It did not look much like any of the gates he had seen. Nor did it look like the stylized gates found at the entrance to the Morrsparks Luther had seen.
Taking a deep breath, Luther began searching the man below his waist, only to let it out when he realised the man's leather breeches were not full of shit, as he had feared. The smell came from where the man's boots had partially dried shit on them, up to points well above the ankles. Luther felt a pang in his chest as he remembered the last place he had slogged through such, then looked up the stone slopes of the Faushlag above him, calculating distances. Had this man climbed down the side of the mountain from the sewer outlets, or exited someplace from someplace lower in the great mountain? The man's fingers were not mauled as Luther's own were when he climbed stone for more than a few yards.
Picking up the belt, Luther opened the pouch. Inside were fourteen gold crowns from the Middenhiem mint, a small crystal, and a note written in a tongue Luther could not understand. Sitting on the sideboard of the wagon, Luther made up his mind to tell the watch they had found a dead man. He replaced the coin, stone, and note in the pouch, putting them inside his tunic, then called Wat and Igor over. Luther told the two brothers to bury the body deep below the rocky promontory he had chosen as the base camp. When they had staggered off with the corpse, he called his hunters and Nat over, setting them to loading the game from this last trip. It would be a long ride up to the City of the White Wolf, and his friend Nicodemus, of that City's Watch.
"'E was screamin sometin' aful, beggin Ulric t'deliver 'im." Nat continued, nervous that his boss was angry with him over the death, and that was the reason for his silence. Igor stood sullen by the second wagon, looking ready to flee.
"Let me think a moment, Ol' Nat. You and your boy did right, the man put you all at risk and needed to be silenced." Luther lifted a hand to silence the old man before he could respond, thinking hard as he looked at the body for the second time since Nat and Igor had driven Luther's wagons into camp.
Nat said he and his sons had been coming north on the hunter's road, as it was quickly becoming known and had seen a few beastmen. They were quickly driven off by Igor and Wat, who loosed a few crossbow bolts at them.
A few hours later and the man had staggered out of a thicket at the base of the Fauschlag screaming that he was pursued and would die if Luther's men did not protect him. Nat and his boys had tried to calm the shouting, distraught man down, but could not. Soon Nat had heard a horn in the distance, and knew that he had to get the wagons to camp and silence the man or more beastmen than he could handle would fall on them. He'd told Igor to quiet the man, and Igor had tried to, finally having to resort to the cudgel he carried. They had loaded the man they'd thought unconcious at the time into the wagon and driven on in silence, avoiding contact with the warherd. Luther himself had heard the lowing of a great warhorn audible for miles here at the base of the Fauschlag.
'Would that Igor was less... strong in his efforts to silence the lunatic.' thought Luther as he surveyed the body. The man lay at the bottom of the lead wagon. A brown-haired, bearded fellow wearing common clothing. Short the massive lump on his forehead from where Igor, Nat's elder boy, had struck him with his cudgel, he could have been any commoner from Middenhiem. City bred for sure, the soles of his boots were good for nothing but paved areas, not a true wilderness. His clothes were a bit torn, but not severely damaged. He had a few marks on him as well, bruises and a fading scar, but no immediate indications of his profession. A faint shit smell emanated from him, but that could be the head injury. Luther had seen that before.
Luther climbed into the back of the wagon, thoroughly searching the man from head to toe as he learned from watching Rudiger. No earrings, no necklaces, a belt with an empty dagger scabbard and a coin pouch. Luther removed those. Searching the arms, Luther grunted as he found a dagger strapped to the inside of the man's left forearm. Under the man's tunic, Luther found a tatoo on the front of his left shoulder depicting a gate, the portal open. Luther gazed at it a moment. It did not look much like any of the gates he had seen. Nor did it look like the stylized gates found at the entrance to the Morrsparks Luther had seen.
Taking a deep breath, Luther began searching the man below his waist, only to let it out when he realised the man's leather breeches were not full of shit, as he had feared. The smell came from where the man's boots had partially dried shit on them, up to points well above the ankles. Luther felt a pang in his chest as he remembered the last place he had slogged through such, then looked up the stone slopes of the Faushlag above him, calculating distances. Had this man climbed down the side of the mountain from the sewer outlets, or exited someplace from someplace lower in the great mountain? The man's fingers were not mauled as Luther's own were when he climbed stone for more than a few yards.
Picking up the belt, Luther opened the pouch. Inside were fourteen gold crowns from the Middenhiem mint, a small crystal, and a note written in a tongue Luther could not understand. Sitting on the sideboard of the wagon, Luther made up his mind to tell the watch they had found a dead man. He replaced the coin, stone, and note in the pouch, putting them inside his tunic, then called Wat and Igor over. Luther told the two brothers to bury the body deep below the rocky promontory he had chosen as the base camp. When they had staggered off with the corpse, he called his hunters and Nat over, setting them to loading the game from this last trip. It would be a long ride up to the City of the White Wolf, and his friend Nicodemus, of that City's Watch.
posted by Semper Septum at 23:12
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