Chapter 1: The Enemy in Shadows

On the surface, the Empire is all but invincible. It is the greatest of the Old World’s realms, both in extent and in military might. Founded two and a half millennia ago, it has withstood countless assaults by Greenskins, Skaven, Chaos, and its many neighbors. Beneath the banner of the twin-tailed comet, emblem of its founder-god Sigmar Heldenhammer, the State Armies of the Empire take to the field behind their mighty Griffon-Riding Emperor, confident of victory.

However, scratch the surface and peer just beneath, and things take on a different aspect. There are worrying rumors concerning the Emperor’s health, and he hasn’t been near his Griffon for months. Deep in the remote forests of this vast realm, Beastmen and worse still lurk, even though the forces of Chaos were expelled from the land two centuries ago. The taint of Chaos touches everywhere, inflicting strange mutations that force good folk to hide from their neighbors or face the flames of the witch hunters. Strange and secretive cults worship blasphemous gods with titles like "the Changer of the Ways," "the Prince of Pleasure," and "the Father of Decay."

Beyond the Empire’s borders, past the icy fringes of Kislev and Norsca, the swelling forces of Chaos in habit the twisted and unnatural Northern Chaos Wastes. Leaders rise and fall, amassing armies to raid and plunder, only to have them disperse again.

It has been two centuries since any Champion of Chaos has arisen with the strength to unite the Enemy Without. But, rumor suggests a new Chosen of the Ruinous Powers walks the north, and is binding the warlike tribes together. So, the rulers of the Old World do not relax their vigilance. They keep their eyes steadily on this terrible external threat. And, in doing so, they overlook the Enemy Within.

On the Northern road, ironically enough, heading southward toward Altdorf, our party thought they were on the homeward stretch of a journey that would be relatively straightforward. The chills of winter had at last abated, and a heavier than expected Spring rain season had caused many of the rivers of glorious Talabecland to flood. Boatmen of the Reikland, long accustomed to shipping grain from the vast bounty of the province were left with no ships capable nor river men daring to make a crossing in those waterways, and so, our own boatmen is off to Altdorf at the behest of his longtime friend, Josef Quartjin, a bear of a boat captain, truly one of the nicest, most generous men to ply the rivers of the Empire, wrote him a letter (dictated as he cannot read, and read, as neither can our intrepid boatmen), to join him in Altdorf for a job and vacation opportunity all in one! Josef even generously sent the messenger with coin to pay his passage to the great City of Sigmar.

The white wizard sharing his coach had also come from Talabecland, though her errand, far more grave, could strike a terrible blow to the Empire: assigned to assist her Master by singing to aid in his channeling of spells, they were sent to find and eliminate the taint of Nurgle in the vast woods of the province, only to find treachery and politics in their path. Ostland, a province of strong, curt people, saw a terrible tragedy, as the Prince’s only son was murdered. Often at odds with his neighboring province, he immediately declared it to be the work of Talabeclanders. Her teacher, called to assist the government as wizard and as advisor, has sent her to the Colleges to reassign her to a less dangerous post, send a replacement, and request instructions.

Two dwarves of Middenheim, one a soldier in good standing with his clan, has been dispatched with a petition to give to a clerk or messenger of the Emperor, to hear his case: the Graf of Middenheim is set soon to levy unnecessary, unwarranted, injurious, and insulting taxes on all dwarves of the city, and the dwarves, incensed, have decided that apart from fiery protest, must petition his Imperial majesty himself to intervene diplomatically on their behalf: was Sigmar not a dwarf friend? A Slayer, a mysterious, solitary figure, took to the road beside the soldier, perhaps at last to see for himself what manlings could build in the south.

A priest of Shallaya, sworn to do no harm, had also been along the roads of Middenheim, healing the sick and infirmed. As spring is a time of hay fever and infections, he was kept quite busy… when a vision came to him: Altdorf is an open, infectious sore: it festers, and must be cleansed!

After changing coaches to take their final leg of the journey, they began talking, and began to form something of a… tolerance… to one another. (If you wish, you may roleplay this), until, their coachmen were attacked suddenly! Mutants, or Beastmen, or both, in a torrential downpour surrounded and killed the horses, causing the coach to crash. The downpour made the powder of the coachman’s blunderbuss misfire, and he was consumed by a mutant vomiting acid on him! The mutants screamed in murderous rage "Pigs!!! Filth!!! We are the true heirs of this Empire!!! You live a lie!!! Join us, or we shall…!" The slayer dug his axe into the disgusting creature, and destroyed the monologuing miscreant, as the others ran away, disappearing cowards in the thick, horrible rain.

And so it was, wet to the bone, they were forced to trudge the last mile in the mud and muck and rain to their next stop: The Coach and Horses inn.

Feel free to roleplay your reactions to this opening, and everyone roll me a Perception test

Roll perception please, Master Dwarf!

The Adventurers, soaked to the skin, and miserable, find it a bit difficult to see what’s coming, eyes full of rain water. Finally able to just barely make out smoke from the chimney of a nearby Coaching Inn, their steps grow lighter, defying the leaden heaviness in their legs. The sound of an approaching Coach barely registered, as they finally could make out its approach, slowly moving out of the road… all except Anders. Weighed down by misery, cold, and trembling, he had inwardly been wondering if food and warmth yet awaited him, when the coachman, an angry looking, hideous man, sitting shotgun, and carrying the instrument of his duties, shouted "Out of the way, ragamuffin!!!" At the bedraggled boatman!

Roll a Challenging (+0) Dodge test, our beleaguered Boatman!

Tripping in the mud as he flung himself aside, Anders was very nearly crushed under the weight of the massive coach, but more terrifyingly, a sound, like thunder, as the coachman riding shotgun blasted the Blunderbuss! Anderson was not struck, by the grace of Sigmar, but Anders landed hard onto packed mud, winded.

You suffer 1 Fatigued condition until you have the opportunity to rest for 1 hour

The rest of the journey is relatively dull, but the closer they get to the nearby inn, The Coach and Horses, the second to last stop before you were to reach Altdorf. The Coach outside (horses stabled, leaving the coach, belonging to Ratchett Coaching Lines (the main competition of the Four Seasons Coaching lines, like the Coach you had all been sharing), is at least a hope that you have a chance to reach Altdorf on time. The smells of reducing strew and the sounds of raucous singing comes from inside the inn’s common room. Upon at last flinging the door open, you immediately see a gaunt, slim barman bringing a wooden tray of beers to a raucously singing couple of revelers… dressed in coachman’s livery, as they drink and sing. A balding, chubby landlord immediately breaks into a massive smile upon seeing you all enter.

"Welcome to the Coach and Horses, gents! Make yourselves at home, and come on in out of the rain! You must be soaked to the bone, friends! Pull up a chair and sit close to the fire if it suits you! My, but your boots are muddy, don’t tell me you walked all this long way! Can I get you a meal, maybe something to drink? Herpin! Herpin, take their order, would yeh?! Tell me, good friends! What news have you? Where have yeh come from, and where will yeh go?"

The innkeeper, obviously a friendly sort, clearly has something of the endless ability to chat. Your fellow tavern patrons are few and far between, though an eclectic group to say the least: apart from the barman, innkeeper, and rather boisterous coachmen, you see a very gorgeously dressed woman, apparently a noble, seated with her servant, who doesn’t even look at the door as it opens. Her servant, a pretty young thing, keeps her head down and her mouth shut as she embroiders quietly, serving her lady ship if, and when required. At the end of their table sits a lady who could not be more different: muscular, armed with a sword, and wearing leather armor, with "Lady’s Bodyguard" written all over her.

A handsome, mustached man sits at a table near the bar by himself, shuffling cards, and making a show of being lonely as he sips a glass of red wine. In a corner nearest the fire sits a rather slender man with a puddling bowl haircut, reading a boring looking book that Agnes can read as "Leeches and their Curative Properties".

What does the party wish to do?

The coach drivers either ignore or don’t hear the request, as they continue to sing drunkenly, downing mug after mug of beer. The innkeeper, chuckling at their boisterousness, answers for you. "I’s expecting a coach from the Four Seasons coaching line several hours ago! Not sure what became of them, perhaps they’ve broken down! The next coach after them won’t be for days yet, I’m afraid. A pint of ale at the tap’ll run you 3 pennies, a shilling for a nice bowl of rabbit stew! A pint o’ Bugman’s Best, as it is my finest ale is 9 pennies! What with the grain running short, I may have to raise prices on it with the flooding in Talabecland! Any bloodcurdling takes from the road? Any gossip? If so, I might be inclined to see a pint or two your way on the house! I’m a man what loves the spoken word, I am!"

Try roleplaying what you tell the innkeeper as you succeeded, and in exchange you will get some interesting gossip!

The coach what nearly run you down was headed in the opposite direction, but the two coachmen, drunkenly laughing riotously wore the livery of the same coaching company. They laughed uproariously, sounding like braying jackasses as they continued to pour beer down their throats.

Great job! Though it’s Talabecland and Sigmar for future reference!

The innkeeper listens intently, mouth going more and more agape with every passing word! He made the sign of the hammer at the mention of mutants attacking your coach!

"Sigmar preserve us from the Ruinous Powers!" The innkeeper intoned, "Herpin! Herpin, bring this man a pint of Bugman’s Best, and a bowl of stew! In fact, that rabbit’s soon to turn, bring every one of them a bowl of stew and a pint… a pint of… simpler ale for t’others, mind, that Bugman’s got to last!"

Herpin, the slender, stoic barman, merely nodded in response, fetching bowls of hot rabbit stew and ale. You lot must’ve been on the coach I’s expecting’! Well, make yourselves good and comfortable, the Four Seasons coaching company ain’t soon to set foot in ‘ere for a few days yet… the coach leaving in the mornin’ is run by those fellows." He pointed to the drunken louts singing loudly, already calling for more ale. "The roads’ll only get worse, as the Emperor’s recently pulled the soldiers off regular patrol to go to bleedin’ Ubersreik to quell the place, since ‘e found out the Jungfreuds were all traitors to the Empire! Good to root them out, I s’pose, but it does ‘amper road travel, as you lot clearly found out! My family and I ‘ave always been strong supporters of the Emperors, but even the best of them make questionable decisions! Look at Magnus the Pious! Establishing the colleges of magic, setting wizards loose in Altdorf a… and…" The Innkeeper suddenly noticed that one among your number, despite being soaked and muddy, was clearly wearing a wizard’s robe. He cleared his throat, "And we certainly can’t thank him enough for that!"

Obviously desperate to change the subject, he went on, "Speaking on strange goin’s on, the village of Teufelfeuer was recently burnt down by that famous witch hunter, Faberous Heinzdork! Supposedly, ‘e found out the entire town were in league with Daemons! I ‘eard some nonsense that a warrant were issued for ‘is arrest over the affair, but that can’t be! Imagine arresting a right decent witch hunter for doin’ his Sigmar given duty!"

The stew is warm, the rabbit meat falling off the bone, though a bit ripe: the innkeeper spoke true when he said it was close to going bad. The parsnips are tender, as are the carrots and cabbage. It’s hardly fancy fare, but the ale is far from the worst you’ve ever drunk, and a warm bowl of stew does wonders to chase off the chill.