Mordheim

Prince or Pauper?
By Bill Stripp <[email protected]> and Tachyon <[email protected]

The door to the Twisted Goat opens letting in some of the chill night air. It was late in the year and the fates had been less than kind to the ruined city and its inhabitants. Driving sleet forced even the most fool hardy indoors, or at least into some of the now nameless ruins.

For the regular patrons of the Twisted Goat, only a casual glance was spared at the tattered, sleet soaked man entering. He took his time to brush the thin layer of ice off his battered coat and hung it near the door.

The massive stone fireplace contained a bright, glowing fire. Years of its use had infused the Inn with a pleasant smokey odor that mixed well with the evenings dinner fare. Although there were few establishments left in Mordheim, the Twisted Goat would have ranked among the best had they still existed.

Slowly, the man made his way through the varnished Oak tables and benches to the bar.

"Perhaps you would have a cup of warmed ale?" The man asked, his eyes fixated on a joint of beef not far away.

The barkeep, a large and practical man looked the raged customer up and down before replying, "I have some of this towns finest... although I'd like to see some coin first."

The pained look that crossed the mans face was a sight that the barkeep had seen all to often in the god cursed city. It was a mixture of hunger, sorrow, and a longing for times when food and drink were plentiful.

"I'm sorry mate, if you have no coin, you're going to have to look elsewhere." The bartender spoke quietly.

The man sighed, and turned back to the door. As he was pushing his way through the maze of tables, a meaty hand grasped his arm.

"Sorry, sir..." He mumbled as he tried to continue on his way.

"Wait a moment, good man," came a heavily accented Tilean voice. "What brings you to such a sorry state?"

"Sir, I need to be on my way. I have need of coins or I shall surely starve before morning. I mean you no slight, but I must go."

Donato Ranzato, famed duelist, looked over the man and saw just one of the countless tragedies of Mordheim. Another shell, apparently walking through the deserted streets trying to eke out a living.

"There is a custom here that might help you, for tonight, at least," pausing slightly he tried to think of a way of giving the man some coins. With a brilliant idea, he quickly continued, "Since there is little enough cheer and entertainment in this city, we pay for stories. I'm sure you have some tale that you can barter for a joint and some ale."

The barkeep rolled his eyes, knowing that Donato, in addition to being a deadly duelist, was generous to a fault. "Of course that's right Donato," he said, not really wanting to hear this mans tale, and doubting that anyone would be entertained by it.

Looking for support Donato turned to Rolo and Iala, who shared the table with him. "Coins for tales, is how it has always been. Right?"

Rolo, who had been busy pocketing some of the flatware, looked up with mild interest. "Sure, Donato. That's how it's always been... at least tonight."

The man looked at the three of them with some skepticism. A glance at the door and out into the sleet soaked streets made his decision. Moving to the hearth, he rose a little taller and pulled his torn and muddied shirt a bit straighter. There was pride there, under the mud and grime.

"Very, well ladies and gentlemen. If the custom is a tale for food, then I will oblige, for I most certainly can use the food." He spoke.

The noise in the bar was a loud hum. Few of the patrons had seen or heard the exchange, fewer still cared enough to pay attention. Even though he had only the attention of Donato's table and the barkeep, he continued.

"I will tell you a tale, true as the fact that I stand before you. You see, I was there to witness it first hand. I was an envoy from Marienburg, and the Countess, well she is looking to sit as Emperess, was courting favor here. Traveling with a large group full of ambassadors, nobles, and their entourage, we made good time to Mordheim."

"Our gift was to be presented on the 1st of the year, gold, gems, and precious materials in abundance. What is mere wealth to the Countess of Marienburg whose coffers overflow? I tell you, I could have bought most of Karak Eight Peaks with the gold we traveled with."

As the man spoke, the Barkeep noticed the hum of conversation had died down. This vagabond had a smooth tongue and a fine voice that filled the Inn and left no one straining for the next word.

"The march to get here on the eve of the millennium was harsh. I won't bore you with the details, suffice to say that we Marienburgers hire the best guards that money can buy. Orc's, Skaven and other pests of the Empire were no match for the elite cadre of swords that accompanied us."

"Even with the difficulties of travel, we made it to the outskirts of Mordheim on the eve of the new year. Of course, getting through the crowded city streets with a kings ransom would have been impossible, so we petitioned the Chancellor to allow us to make our way through the sewers."

"The City Guard, already had their hands full, so they spared us a wretched guide named Guiaume. I have spent many a night cursing his name, and know it well. He was to lead us to the palace, where we could enter into out quarters and set out Marienburgs offering."

"I know a rat when I see one, and mind you all, that this man was a god cursed traitor. Instead of taking us directly to the palace, he took us through enough twists and turns that even our best guides had no idea where we were."

"All along you could hear the sounds of the city. All of the revelers were making a right noise, and you could hear their merriment through the rock and dirt above. Finally, Dargo, our head armsman, asked this worm of a man how much furtherit would be. The answer was just a bit more, your destinationis just around the corner."

"Well he was right, for around the corner waited the rest of his gang. The set upon us with the fury of men possessed. Before many of our band could even draw steel they were cut down. I was one of the lucky ones. I was near the back of the caravan and was able to draw my blade and fight for my life."

Most of the noise in the bar had dropped to a whisper. Several of the regulars had crowded around the hearth to be closer to the man as he described the battle in the sewers. His voice carried the clash of steel, the anguish of the wounded and betrayed as well as the exhilaration of dropping an opponent.

"I don't know how long the battle raged, for Sigmar had other plans for us. While we fought for our lives, the noise of the revelers had been present, but ignored. However, the sounds of terror from the gathered throng was enough to stop the battle cold."

"There is nothing I have ever heard like the collective screams and anguish of an entire city. You see, for
before the terrific strike of Sigmar's hammer, the heavens opened up with fire and brimstone. The gathered revelers were burned alive even as they celebrated Sigmar's gathering. Their pain and the heat from Sigmar's wrath made their way into the deep corridors we were trapped in."

"Fear shone in every man's eye, and our petty squabble over gold seemed small and insignificant. I was just wondering what to do, when it hit. The earth moved and the city fell in one instant. From there I remember little else."

"Later, maybe days, maybe weeks, I woke. Battered and bruised I found myself lying on the cobbled streets of this damned city. How I made it out of the sewers is beyond me. Where I was, I did not know. All that I do know is that I lost a kings ransom inside the sewers of Mordheim, for that the Countess will never forgive me."

"I have been told by other men from my fair city, that the Countess speaks my name as she would any curse and that she has renounced me as her son. For what heir of her would loose money to a miserable rat of a man or the wrath of a god?"

Even the barkeep was astonished by this, and so were many of the patrons as a quiet murmur went through the crowd. Here stood before them a prince of one of the wealthiest cities in the Empire, reduced to telling tales for his mead.

"So, good friends, like you, I have lost everything to this place, friends, goods, gold, and even my name.
However, the gold is still out there. It still waits to be found, buried in some sewer junction. A kings ransom I tell you, gold and jewels enough to fill this room..."

He paused a long moment before continuing, "and I am the man that lost it."

It looked like he was going to say more, but stopped. His posture sank a bit, although Donato was sure that there was a little more life in his eyes. The silence that gripped the room during the man's tale waned as people drifted back to their prior conversations.

Donato stood as the man moved back towards him. "I am sorry I did not recognize you, your grace."

"No longer anyones grace, however, my thanks for the courtesy."

Donato turned to Rolo and said, "Pay the man for his story, I think it has been well worth the price of a meal."

"Why should I pay for his meal when you offered the gold?" Rolo demanded indignantly.

"Because you have my purse in your left pocket."

"Oh, that's why." Rolo said with a sly grin as he handed the gold and purse over.

-----------------------

From the Darkest corner, of the Twisted Goat Inn. Where the man, known to the more established guests of the Inn as Ser Tachyon, always can be found alone. A voice is raised:

"O-mi-khee Sharif, from now on, this man will eat, drink and rest on my Tab! I recognise his fate, and share his doom. Untill he has found a way to provide for himself, I take it upon me as a duty to get him back on his feet. And I don't accept no, as an answer!"

After having said that Ser Tachyon sits back behind his Mug of ale, reverting back to his silence.