Wednesday 30 May 2018

Chapter 3: Way over their heads.... (Part II)

Knee-deep in shit (unless you're Jormund...)

No one had sent the beggar, Rikkert began the explanation of the circumstances that had led the crew to this particular predicament.

Over the course of the last few months, several homes belonging to merchants under the protection of the Thieves Guild had been ransacked by a group of considerable skill. Every month, after a gathering of sorts, within a few days of the event, a house would be targeted. This led the guild to believe the culprit was someone who either attended or organised the gatherings. The Captain of the Suiddock branch of the Thieves Guild had arranged for the sting to take place, putting out the word of a house that was vulnerable for a scrimshaw haul. Rikkert seemed surprised that the four had come across this information at all, low and behold at the hands of a beggar, especially one connected will within the Beggars Guild that had been a trusted source of information previously.


It was decided that the crew would lay low in the Doodkanaal region, the darkest and dankest region of all Marienburg. A place where no one would look, a place where so one dared to venture.

As night fell, Rikkert arrived to collect Ras, Jormund, Armand and Goran, loading them onto a strange vessel designed to ride low in the water and navigate canals with ease. The journey was not long, however the canals being traversed seemed to get darker and dirtier with every inch they drew closer to Doodkanaal. Arriving at their destination shortly after midnight, the dock was bare, the timer rotting slowly from the putrid waste that riddled the water. The air was thick with smog, the fowl scent of excrement filling the nostrils of all who dared breathe deep. Jormund seemed the most offended, being lower to the ground a clear disadvantage in this neighborhood.

Rikkert led the men down a series of alley ways, winding left and right several times before arriving at what looked like a once normal establishment, however now its boarded windows and mud smeared exterior making seem more fit for rats than men, ironically, the sign on the door read “The Rat and Pipe Inn”.

“This is a place we use sometimes,” Rikkert explained, “Keep your mouths shut, no one needs to know you are here.”

The five entered with Rikkert in the lead, pushing the creaking door open the interior of the main hall was soft underfoot, the lack of floor boards apparent, the soggy dirt a mixture of spilled drinks, animal excrement, blood and of course drunken urine of patrons.

Behind the barely standing bar, a dirty individual greeted by Rikkert as Albert, his apron almost black with grease, blood and dirt, his face pitted from a lifetime of brawls, alcohol and poor life choices. Albert’s demeanor however was a strange relief to the travelers, pleasant and unphased by new faces. After a brief exchange between Rikkert and Albert, the barkeep led the four down a flight of stairs to a dark basement, explaining that this was to be their lodgings. The floor was again dirt, the straw bundles that lay around the room were stale and rat infested, the air thick with the stink of all things rotten.

“Surely there is something better!”, Jormund exclaimed.


At the complaint, Albert’s face turned from pleasant to a snarling beast, “This is yours,
take it, or take your chances with the swine in the streets that would cut your throat just so they could wear your tattooed skin as a trophy before discarding it as pig leather after an hour!”.

Jormund shut his mouth at the retort, this was Doodkanaal, no law, no honour, no rules, what happens in this district goes unseen, all of the men in the room knew that few who venture into these streets without purpose, seldom return.

His face returning to its pleasant, former self, Albert began again, “Food? Drink?”

All four nodded at drink, however Armand was the only taker for the Pie Albert was offering. The ale was horrible, what was once a fine brew now riddles with floating mould, its colour closer to black rather than the clear brown that was common. Armand, not thinking about anything but his stomach began to chew the semi cool pie, its soggy bread pastry oozing brown slime that he considered meat of some kind. Goran, Ras and Jormund looked on, concealing smirks as thy slowly watched Armand turn green, within minutes, hunched in a corner, more spewing out of him than went in.

The night was long, cold and uncomfortable, Rikkert taking his leave and leaving the four to sleep, sleep that only came in moments few and far between.

As the sun slowly lit the smog soaked sky, the four began to discuss their plans for the day. They all knew, the longer they stayed in this place, the more likely they would never get out, if the street roamers didn’t murder them, surely the food would.

Goran and Armand decided to go in search of better lodgings for what would hopefully be a short stay in Doodkanaal, Ras and Jormund would begin their search for beggars, hoping to find someone willing to point them in the direction of Siemon, the man who gave them the information for the scrimshaw.

It was mid morning when Armand and Goran walked through the barely standing door of the Jolly Boatman, from the outside, the tavern looked similar to that of an abandoned dive, on the inside, not much of an improvement. Walking down the two step entry way, the entirety of the patronage of the bar stopped and stared at the short Estalian and tall bearded Goran. The air was thick with tobacco
smoke and the aroma of Doodkanaal itself. Making their way to the bar, a tall white haired man emerged demanding to know the reason for the two being in his tavern. Ordering two beers, the barkeep was satisfied and produced two steins of liquid that smelt similar to sewage.

Repulsed by what was in the tankard, Armand and Goran looked over the interior of the establishment, both deciding that this was far from an improvement on their current lodgings.
Getting up to leave, a small and slender youth approached from a booth in the corner of the main room, inquiring if he could be of assistance, Goran however felt as though this entire endeavor was a waste of time, shrugging of the youth and exiting with Armand in tow. As they walked down the narrow streets, Armand and Goran both decided to wait, leaning against a somewhat stable wall to make sure they were not being followed out of the Jolly Boatman, something was off about that place, something was off about that youth, however after several minutes, no one emerged, allowing Goran and Armand to continue back towards the Rat and Pipe inn.

Meanwhile, Ras and Jormund had headed west, towards the cluttered market district of Doodkanal, stopping at random walkways in search of anyone they thought looked like a beggar or could know anything.
It didn’t take them long, a beggar by the name of Jaap, producing the information of where to find Siemon, Jormund was disappointed by the ease of which the information was obtained, not even getting the chance to crush a walnut in his hand as a show of force. Ras handed the beggar two gold, the price of learning that Siemon was a regular at ‘The Hounds Den’, a gambling den only open after dark.
Ras and Jormund took directions from the beggar and scouted the den, closed to all during the day, a hole in the wall of an entrance the only sign that it may be what they were looking for. Retracing their steps in order to recall the correct paths to take, they too returned to the Rat and Pipe Inn, discovering Goran and Armand both struggling to drink whatever the contents of their tankards was supposed to be.

*

The Hounds tooth was a busy place after dark, Jormund and Ras were first to enter, electing for Goran and Armand to wait a short time before entering to avoid suspicion. Ras was nervous, looking around the slowly filling establishment, many of the occupants were already involved in throwing coin around their respective tables. Many of the men sitting were, from what Ras could see, all associated with each other, members of the Hounds, all brandishing similar tattoos that covered their bodies and tight chain necklaces from which dangled an assortment of what looked like dog teeth.
Taking a seat at one of the tables, they began looking around the room, not paying attention to the small amounts of coin they were bleeding across the table, it was clear to them that they were also being watched, a keen interest taken by the tattooed occupants.

Goran and Armand entered undeterred. Armand’s eyes lighting up as he felt comfortable surrounding himself with the dregs of society in order to lighten their purses. Goran on the other hand resembled Jormund, both out of place, yet confident that they could deal with any aggression shown to them within the walls of the well lit den. Sitting at different locations around the room, the four all watched for Siemon who was so far undiscovered, only Armand shifting his gaze regularly back to his table as he had already doubled is starting coin, much to the discomfort of those around him. It wasn’t long before the win of a large sum from one of the choker chain wearing thugs forced him to vacate his table and join another.

As time passed, Siemon finally made his entrance, sitting towards the back of the room, engaging immediately at his table with the scraps of coin he had managed to secure from his day of street begging. One by one, Ras, Jormund, Armand and Goran all made their way to the table Siemon had come to rest at. Recognising them instantly, and greeting them with a big smile, it was not long before Goran, Jormund and Ras escorted him to a quieter table where their conversation could be had with minimal risk of being overheard. He admitted he hadn't been sent by Rikkert, but, he had acted in good faith, following the strict instruction from someone of the Thieves' Guild.

Armand electing to stay at the table with Siemon’s associates, again slowly cleaning them out of their hard-gotten gains. It wasn’t long before Jormund was standing next to Siemon who was refusing to give any information with some form of payment, Jormund’s fist giving away his intention, Goran too was slowly massaging the hilt of his dagger that draped across his lap, Ras on the other
hand, full of talk, speaking in his version of Marsh and Thieves language in an attempt to pry information from Siemon.

“If you want the name of who set you up, you will have to do me a favour.” Siemons request was always the same.

“The favour will be your life”, Goran cut across him, “You think you are protected, well not in here, not right at this moment.”

“Your other favour will be your nuts,” Jormund whispered as he cracked a walnut in his hand, letting the shell fall to the floor.

Siemon swallowed hard, the obvious attachment to his life and testicles proving to be a good place to focus the attention of the threats being made.

Armand noticed the table he was at watching intently as to the goings on of Seimon and the others.
“If he screams, you die first.” The man across from Armand whispered, Smiling at the threat, Armand silently welcomed the challenge, three on one, their daggers against his rapier, he only saw one outcome, three slit throats around a table, none of which were his own.

After a lengthy discussion, Goran finally shook the hand of the filthy Beggar, the blackened nails of Siemon scraping across the callused palm of the former soldier, “If the information is good, you will get your favour.”

“The name is Cees, he is the man you want.”

Before leaving the establishment, Armand could not help but realise that the alcohol being served at the hounds den was a vast improvement over any other in Doodkanaal, using his winnings to purchase several large bottles for the crew to drink.
As the four men returned to the Rat and Pipe Inn, they were surprised to find Rikkert sitting at the bar talking to Albert. Tapping him on the shoulder Ras ushered him into the basement they had been staying in, pulling the curtain closed as they all entered.

*

The four allowed themselves a small smile as the air began to clear through their nostrils as they breathed deeply, savouring the difference as they drifted back towards Suiddock, leaving Doodkannal behind. Jormund’s face had returned to normal from its previous shades of white that had occupied it since their arrival. Ras seemed the most unphased, his Marsh background proving to keep his
constritution strong against the putrid nature of the Doodkanaal pestilence, a fact Goran and Armand would exploit as ridicule to his familiar surroundings.

The barge passed towards the norther area of Suiddock, the district of Riddra, where Willem had taken the four upon their capture on
Three Penny Bridge, one of the bases of operations for the Thieves Guild in the area.
Rikkert explained that Cees, the man mentioned by Siemon was a Lieutenant within the guild based out of Suiddock, someone that had been under scrutiny before by Willem amongst others.

Rikkert then went on to explain that the four would be attending a dinner on Riddra the following evening, they are not to acknowledge him, nor anyone they see, they were to only know each other, sent to the dinner by Marenus, the local Lieutenant from Doodkanaal.
A strange request, Goran felt that this was moving faster than he liked, first lay low, then within 36 hours of that instruction, dinner at the Thieves Guild, something was amiss in his mind. The five men passed by the doors of a large stone building, a tavern of sorts where familiar faces guarded the door, Willem’s men, men who had brandished sword and shield at Crispijn’s Jewellery shop.
Permitting Rikkert and the four access, they moved down to the basement they had previously been thrown in, only now made somewhat liveable by the fresh stray, blankets and food provided.

After a good nights rest and full bellies, Ras, Goran Jormund and Armand sat and discussed the events that had transpired, they had been told to lay low, they must have impressed someone with their speed and tenacity having found what was required within two days, now a dinner invitation, maybe they had found some luck. Early afternoon saw Willem arrive with a beautiful woman in tow, Loretta, a member of the guild with a very particular set of skills.

“This is Loretta, she will make you presentable for this evenings festivity.” Will spoke with a sombre tone rather than his previous interrogation voice.
Loretta was an expert at disguise, explaining we would not be attending the dinner as ourselves, but as something different. Looking at Jormund, he had two options, shave his beard, or colour is hair, the dwarf gripped his axe at the very mention of a razor touching his face and the red bearded dwarf soon became black. Goran on the other had was shaved, his bushy beard transformed into a styled moustache and matching goatee, his hair slicked back and clothing that of a merchant. Ras was tougher, his rugged appearance and marsh smell hard to mask. Loretta however had experience, setting small plats in his hair and grooming his face to be clean, something he had seldom seen
on himself. Armand was a challenge, already not having much to work with, his hair c
oloured, his face made up to reflect a different skin tone, the four were complete, ready to dine.

Loretta led the way as the evening arrived, a short walk to a large red brick building, the design was similar to that of a food hall, however build upon in a skyward direction. Upon entering a thick wooden door, a small foyer presented itself, a place to hang cloaks and hats.
Entering the main hall, all of the furniture was stacked against the walls, all but a large “T” shaped series of tables with long benches at either side. Looking around the room, several men stood casually chatting among themselves, taking notice of the new entrants.

Behind the bar at the far end of the room, Rikkert was wiping down tankards and Olaf, the boatman was serving drinks, his attire changing from his boating garb to a respectful yet simple jacket. Above the hall was a small balcony, accessible by stairs close to the bar, currently vacant, but a clear view of the entire room visible for any who stoop atop the railing. Ras, Goran, Jormund and Armand all moved towards the bar, each man thirsty from the tiring process of being transformed by Loretta.

Olaf attended each man, before serving drink, relieving them all of their weapons, the only arms allowed, personal daggers many often used to cut food rather than the knives placed on the
table.

As the four moved around the large room, explaining they were here at the request of their Lieutenant in Doodkanaal, they learned that there were three to four factions of the Thieves Guild Present, Willem and his men, Oldrik, a bald man in conversation with Willem along
with two others, a dark skinned man, Martinus and Cees, a weedy looking individual, the Lieutenants of whom belonged the rest of the men around the room. After a short time mingling with all in the room, Olaf ushered all to sit, the four sitting across the table from the men belonging to Cees, five men in total. Another man appeared from close to the bar who had eluded all view, a hooded man who sat separately at a single table with a single chair.

A door could be heard opening from above, looking up, all could see a tall, gaunt man appear, his clothes fine but faded. As he approached the balcony, all around the table began thundering with their feet and cheering the name

Titus!!!”

Titus made his way down the stairs towards the head of the T shaped table where Willem and the other Lieutenants were standing, also moving to the hooded man and shaking his hand before taking a seat at the head of the table.

“For those of you who are new here, I am Titus, I oversea Riddra, if there is anything you need, you come and see me.” Titus moved slowly with his motions, tired, yet sharp, something strangely fluid in his movements. “Now please, eat, drink, enjoy my hospitality.”

The food started to arrive, each man enjoying themselves with every bite and mouthful.
After a time, the hooded man at the single table stood, commanding silence in the very act of rising.

“You overstep Titus, recruiting new faces without approval can be frowned upon by Grossbart, our master in Suiddock.”

Cees, drunk as could be, barked: "If you don't like the way we work here, why don't you fuck off back to the Long Dragon!"

This resulted in a few sharp intakes of breath among the lower ranking members, apart from Cees' men, who chuckled at it.

Titus smiled at Cees "Please Cees, mind your manner to our guests, that's not the way we do things here." Then he turned to Rolf.

“Yes Rolf, my dear friend, however there is always reason to every action, please take your seat.” Titus replied calmly.

Rolfe was right hand to Grossbart, head of the thieves guild in Suiddock of which Riddra was a district.

Titus continued, “ Cees, what is the most important rule?”

“Cees stood from his seat, “Never steal from your guild, never hold out on your guild!”

Titus also rose from his seat next to Cees, swinging quickly with his cane, slamming Cees in the back of the head with the large silver knob, sending him face down on the table. Drawing a long and slender dagger, Titus then pinned Cees to the table as if he was made of bread with the dagger through his shoulder,

“Then why did you steal Cees? Why did you hold out?”

Cees men were in shock at their Lieutenant being accosted in such a way. Titus motioning for Rikkert to come closer, without hesitation Rikkert leant over Cees, slicing his throat, spilling blood all across the table. Looking up from Cees body to the four who all gripped their daggers, Goran more than anyone, Rikkert motioned for his men to act.

 "What are you waiting for!"

Not having to be told twice, Armand lept across the table lunging at the closest of Cees men who in shock, scrambled to defend himself.
Goran and Ras followed, diving across the table, each picking out a man to attack, Jormund however, far slower stood atop the table, revealing his chained axe head.
Ras sliced and stabbed at his target, missing several times before letting go a thunderous right hand
into the mans face, stunning him long enough to drive his dagger into his neck. Goran too struggled with his chosen victim, managing to carve flesh from bone, yet not able to finish the job as quickly as he desired. Jormund, swinging his axe powerfully, the blade striking its target true, embedding itself in the skull of Cees' man who was too shocked to move, instead sitting still and perishing in place. Armand struggled briefly, his speed and size proving too nimble for his intended kill, parrying the defense of the man and swapping his dagger between his hands before thrusting his blade
upward through the chin of his target. Goran finally saw his opening, headbutting his man twice in the face, breaking his nose, driving down with his dagger and stabbing the man through the right eye.

Each man rising from their battles, the rest of the table remained still seated, watching with intent, some small coin changing hands as Rikkert stood by his men.

“Welcome to the Guild.” Titus smiled.

Rikkert returned to Titus side, dragging Cees body from the table and taking his seat.
Apologizing to Rolfe for the violence, Titus explained that the culprit for the breaches in security had been found and now dealt with. The rest of the evening, more food, wine and ale, all told stories of their exploits and achievements as well as their favourite spots for drink and women. Before the dawn, many of the men had disappeared back to their origins, all that remained were Titus, his staff of Olaf and Loretta. Rolf had retired for the evening, Rikkert and the four the only men left.

Titus addressed them all individually, explaining the rules, anything taken, a share must be paid, no exceptions. After conversing with all, it was Armand who went to Titus, with his first question.

“Sir, do you know of a man names Miguelito Nunez?” Armand enquired.

“Little Round Head, of course,” Titus replied, “What of him?”

“Where can I find him?” Armands face alight with intrigue.

“He is one of our Northern Captains, he runs the Thieves Guild in Handelaarmarkt.”

Armand’s face dropped, those were the rules, do not steal from the guild, do not harm the guild and do not fight within the guilds, there had been a steady truce between all Thieves Guilds across Marienburg for the last six months, to break it would mean war.

A war in the gutters, where water turned to blood and soldiers wore no armour, soldiers who you never see coming.



Tuesday 29 May 2018

Dmitri's Apothecary

“A fine man and a pillar of the community! Most chemists would charge an arm and a leg for the medicines you need, but Dmitri is always willing to extend credit to the needy. And people repay his kindness by going hack time and again.”

In the heart of Kruiersmuur on the Zoutevis canal is the shop of Dmitri Hrodovsky, a Kislevite apothecary who emigrated to Marienburg about 15 years ago. It occupies the ground floor of a two-storey half-timber building, while the upper floor holds Hrodovsky’s bachelor living quarters. A sign hanging over the door proclaims “D. Hrodovsky, Chemist & Herbalist”, with a picture of a mortar and pestle above it for those who can’t read.

Beyond the leaded glass windows and heavy wooden door, the shop is filled with hanging bundles of herbs and shelf after shelf of glass and clay jars holding a multitude of powders, crystals, fluids and seeds. Precisely labelled in Dmitri’s spider-like script, they have exotic names like “Tincture of Ogre Tears”, or “Powdered Web of Giant Spider”.

Behind the stained wooden counter sits Hrodovsky himself, measuring and grinding and mixing his concoctions. Many of his customers regularly travel quite a distance, forgoing their
local apothecaries to do business with Dmitri.

Dmitri Hrodovsky

A heavy-set man in his fifties with a great salt and pepper beard, Hrodovsky seems genuinely concerned about his clients’ welfare – more concerned with their health than with money.

His piggish brown eyes somehow manage to convey deep sympathy from under their wild eyebrows. He is precise in his work, a consummate professional.

Sunday 20 May 2018

Red Lantern Canal

“The red lamps hanging from the corners of the building cast a warm enfolding glow over the crazy, ugly, lascivious, promiscuous, mad bad clientele; the small stalls and rooms stuffed with trinkets, cheap weapons, herbal remedies; the sailors on shore leave looking for their bit of stuff; the pickpockets, toolers and beggars fleecing the writhing crowd for all their worth; the dollymops, lounging by the doors of flop houses looking so inviting in the dim light; the macers and magsmen winning again and again in questionable gambling dens; the 'pads making short work of the unwary, turfing their unconscious bodies into some half forgotten alley; the unguilded heavymen for hire. All such life that is best ignored but that enamours the casual visitor and sucks him in - remember, buyer beware! - all these, creep from their daily crawlspaces to welcome the night.”

This short canal is located on the Riddra, entering the Bruenwasser Canal just to the side of the notorious Three Penny Bridge. At each side of the water, a small stone walkway allows pedestrians to make their way down the banks of the canal, although this is often overcrowded and many folk,
especially those who are inebriated, fall into the water on an average night.
While the buildings around the canal are drab and covered in grime during the day, much like the rest of the Riddra, each night the Red Lantern Canal transforms into a fast, lewd hub of dirty glamour as darkness snubs out the sun. The surrounding buildings, each six or seven stories high, give a claustrophobic, trapped sense to the tiny waterway below.
Narrow stone walkways cross the canal from the higher levels, and each building houses any number of trades and characters, lurking, slouched behind anonymous  doors, crammed into tiny cells.
Red Lantern Canal is not the only place like this in Marienburg, but it is easily the most infamous.

Goran set up a small hole-in-the-wall brothel in this area.

Smugglers Caves underneath Deedesveld Graveyard

A relatively well hidden entrance, accessible only at low tide, opens up to a number of both natural and man-made chambers.

The group found a few smugglers here, dealing in expensive and exclusive fabrics. They seemed to be more of a middle-class bend rather than the rough-cut smugglers they know.

After handling them a bit roughly, they coughed up the name of their leader: Thijs Modegekker.

Oddly enough, they claimed to have no knowledge of the attack on Olaf's boat, which had resulted in the group discovering this hide-out.

At the north end, up a flight of carved steps, they found a stone slab above their heads, that seems to be operated by a lever set into the wall.

Quite some time after their first venture into the caves, Rikkert's crew found out that this smuggler cove was larger than first thought, hiding another set of caverns behind them. From here Andries "The Fish" ran his smuggling operation, keeping an eye on Modegekker's small-time set-up, planning to use his as a scapegoat if anything ever would go wrong.

After the fall of Grossbart, Goran's crew took the operation of the smugglers cave over, and started to  run the Black Lotus trade in the city.


Sharky and Van Dorp


The local constabulary of Riddra. Notoriously hardly to be found at the Islands Watchpost, you have a much better chance Red Lantern Canal.

to find them at the Lighthouse inn, on the

Even though these two are area’s official Blackcaps, they're utterly corrupt and make a good living as racketeers.

Titus knows about them, and doesn't interfere, claiming it's better to let them have some crumbs than to stir up trouble and have them replaced by more motivated watchmen.

Mother Geertruida


The group ran into Mother Geertruida and her son Jasper, two religious fanatics who spend most of their time in the area near Three Penny Bridge, where they preach the worship of Ulric and harangue passers-by for their heathen beliefs.
Mother Geertruida peered deeply into their faces, screeching: "I can read your mind! I can see it in your eyes! I can smell your thoughts and they are of darkness and sin! Do not deny it! You harbor wickedness in your heart. Envy! Greed! Depravity! You lust after that woman, don’t you?" – indicating a very unattractive woman in the area. "Do not deny it! You have the weakness of man! Look to the greatest one to forgive you and strengthen you! Pledge yourself to the archetype of humanity! Give your worship to great Ulric and he will put stone in your heart and make you stand upright! Like a real man! Do not deny it!"
Her son stood mutely beside her, clutching a prayer-book.

Thijs Modegekker

Thijs Modegekker is one of the more colourful characters
of Kruiersmuur – in more ways that one. Son of the reputable tailor, Pepijn Modegekker, Thijs is a walking advertisement the skill and products of his father. From an early age, Thijs determined that part of the secret of success was to look as though you were successful. Clad in the latest off-cuts of many materials and hues, Thijs is invariably a riot of offensively clashing colours. In part, Thijs’ assessment of life is quite correct, those who have met him believe him to be quite a successful and merchant, despite his total lack of aptitude in his father’s trade.

Thijs' small band,comprising of young tradesmen’s sons, run a small smuggling operation, taking goods in through a number of the small Suiddock docks and getting the goods direct to the tradesmen.
They do not deal in anything illegal.

Monday 7 May 2018

Chapter 3: Way over their Heads... (Part I)

Crossing the Reik

As Ras, Goran and Jormund woke, they noticed that Armand had vanished, his empty bottle of alcohol laying silently on the floor of the Rusty Barnacle. After the previous discussions regarding sticking together to make something more of themselves, it was Ras who threw the idea around of Armand being a moody child bloodthirsty foreigner.

Weeks passed without a sign of Armand. Goran, Ras and Jormand all still dwelling in the rooms of Sweaty Olaf’s establishment, filling in their time with odd jobs and the occasional outward venture. Goran had taken to spending most of his time on watch across the waterways, constantly observing the cave entrance given to them by their would be murderer. Jormund has stuck with Ras, attempting to learn the so called secret language of the thieves that was spoken throughout not only the city, but from what Ras had demonstrated, the Marshlands as well.

It was the end of the second week when Armand Rusty Barnacle, the look of disappointment on his face obvious. Jormund was the first to inquire as to his whereabouts. Returning north in search of his Swordmasters, his journey was pointless, unable to find them ,instead spending much of his time drinking and gambling, taking out his frustration with his poor fencing performance by drinking himself into a stupor.
returned to the

Goran had regaled the crew with the comings and gings of the cave, several different boats would randomly enter and exit, constantly moving things in and out, yet never more than three men at a time would enter or exit. Rikkert had made himself scarce, rarely entering the tavern, when he did, it was little more than guard work on offer that several different crews would fight for as the pay, even small in amount, was still pay.

Ras had decided to turn his attention to the waterways, observing the comings and goings of the docks of Suiddock. There was an obvious feud between the guilds of the water, the pilots who controlled much of the large ship docks, and the rivermen, the men, like Ras who transported goods in smaller and harder to detect vessels.
The jobs being brought in were small barely enough to see any profit for the four who were now living rough in Sweaty Olaf’s lodgings.
Goran was the first to start the discussion regarding the cave. As the four sat in a quiet corner of the tavern, the discussion was quiet, how best to infiltrate the cave, so many unknown factors causing Ras the most concern, even the might of a dwarf would prove useless when potentially met by a small army if that was indeed the case. As the four conversed, Free, one of Sweaty Olaf’s men was struggling with a disheveled man who had walked into the tavern. The distance between the door and the booth where the four sat making it hard to hear what was being said, however it clear that the man was motioning towards Goran and Jormund. After his refusal to leave, Goran eventually moved towards the man. Enquiring as to his intent, “Rikkert sent me.” His only response.

After clearing it with Frey, Goran escorted the man to the booth where Ras, Jormand and Armand were seated. The man reeked of filth, as if his days were spent sitting in filth and muck.

“Rikkert sent me, I have a job for you all.” The man explained, “I am Siemon. A courier of information.”

Ras probed with questions, “Why hasn’t Rikkert come himself?”

“He is busy up north and as a trusted friend, I have been sent.”

The discussion was drole, Siemon demanding food and drink in order to pass on the information, the entire time, Jormund’s hands were fists of stone, while Armand flicked the hilt of his sword constantly in annoyance. Goran moved from the table to where Sweaty Olaf had been tending the bar.

“Do you know this man?” he asked Sweaty Olaf.

“Oh yes, he is a member of the Beggars Guild, we use them from time to time, you can trust him.”

Mildly satisfied, Goran returned to the table, allowing Siemon to be heard. Firstly he negotiated hard for his price, gold for valuable information, a bargain was stuck, providing the information was worth the price.

“There is a house up north belonging to one Frederick Den Euwe, an avid collector of whale bone scrimshaw. His collection resides in the west wing of the first floor, he is away for some time and the collection is ripe for the taking. You must take care, he has a small number of guards and some rather large dogs, but once they are dealt with, the spoils will be numerous.”


Siemon spilled his ale down his shaggy beard with every chew of
his cold meat, his plate constantly catching the remnants that failed to make it fully into his mouth as he spoke.

“Head to Three Penny Bridge, there is a Jeweler who works with us by the name of Crispin, he will be your fence, he pays 75% on the coin and will know the location of the Den Euwe house.”

The price for the information was 20 gold, a hefty price for such a vague description. With Sweaty Olaf’s assurance that Siemon was trustworthy, the following morning the four set out for Three Penny Bridge to the north of Suiddock.

By late afternoon Jormund, Ras, Goran and Armand stood at the far side of the bridge. It was a strange sight, across the walkway, a heavily built up area, as if houses had been built on top of one another, overhanging the narrow streets and suffocating the air with their mould and mossy odor. On the streets, thieves were rife, on every corner stood prostitutes and beggars alike. Each of the crew tied their purses to their belts extra tightly, making sure that nothing would be lost through this slow march. The area was void of the patrols known as the black hats, Armand, able to read the hand painted sign boards, it was clear that this place was not friendly to the maw, having driven the Black Cap presence from the area and its near by surrounds.


After walking a short distance once across the bridge, a narrow yet tall, three storey building appeared, a small sign with a picture of a ring hanging above the solid oak doors. It was agreed that Ras and Armand would enter, Goran and Jormund were on guard duty, not knowing who was watching or if indeed this was a trap of some kind.

Crispijn Van Oosserijcker
Entering the Jeweller, the contents of the shelves were poor to say the least, garbage that had been stolen and fenced by anyone who dared. Crispin, a solid fellow sporting a large beard and long cloak emerged. After explaining the nature of the visit, Armand as Ras were ushered upstairs, the second floor, a separate world from the downstairs display. A roaring fire, fine jewels and elegant wall hangings, this was where the real business was to be conducted. The main topic of discussion, “Take it all.”

The location was obtained by Ras, Goldleaf Street in Goudberg, the merchant district filled with middle to upper class families.
Crispin’s gaze was slightly unnerving, he seemed very guarded and cautious when discussing the details with Ras and Armand, his experience dealing with thieves always proving to be treacherous business.

Satisfied with the information, Ras and Armand re-joined Goran and Jormund outside, both looking nervous at the activity of the street urchins who glared and snarled at everyone who seemed out of place. Goran’s first concern, the dogs, he didn’t like dogs, especially big ones, and from what they had been told, there was more than one.
Enquiring around the streets of Three Penny Bridge, Goran led the crew to Dimitri’s Apothecary, his goal was simple, find something he could use to drug the dogs. After conversing for several minutes with the Apothecary, Goran secured several small viles of various powders and fluids, some for the dogs, but mostly for himself.

Loading themselves and Goran’s freshly bought drug stash into Ras’s boat, the crew set off across the water to the district of Goudberg, the horizon transforming in front of them, the dank and degraded docks of Suiddock replaced by elegantly designed wharfs of ancient Tilean design. Newer architecture also present, displaying the Winged Victory wherever a sculpture or banner could fit. Once ashore, it was clear that the four men did not belong, the streets bustling with many different classes of citizen, Courtesans replaced the street walking prostitutes they had seen in Three Penny Bridge, the street urchins replaced by Artisans, duellists, sculptors and aristocrats, and of course regularly patrolled by the Black Hats who’s garb was finer, newer and ever so slightly more sophisticated.

As the four made their way through the busy streets, they caught the eye of a Black Hat patrol, the garb and appearance of the four clearly a sight these men were not accustomed to. It was Armand who tipped his hat politely, causing the black hats to pass slowly, whispering to themselves as they walked, the points of their halberds never lowering.

Breathing sighs of relieve, the four found their way slowly to Goldleaf street, a suburban district filled with walled mansions of stone freshly cleaned and displayed with pride. As the four approached the house of Frederick Den Euwe, a small guard house was visible, an open gate sporting a sleeping guard causing Jormund to let out a snort of humour.
Passing the house without stopping or breaking their stride, it was decided that Armand, the most foreign looking of the group would return and ask directions. Approaching the guard casually, Armand woke the guard with repeated calls of “excuse me sir.” The smell of alcohol emanating from the guards breath as he gave directions to the closest port.

Returning to the group, no dogs in sight, the guard on duty showing signs of complacency with every question and gesture. The information was indeed correct, this house was ripe for plundering.
Night was going to be the best option, Ras and Goran, both gazing upon the wall and assessing their ability to climb it would be more than enough. If the guard on duty was anything to base their assessments on, the dogs would be the only concern.
Goran returned to the bustling market, locating a butcher and purchasing several small pieces of meat with the intent of lining them with the concoction purchased at the apothecary to deal with the dogs.

*

As night fell, four dark shapes emerged from the shadows between the walls of Goldleaf street, two of which scaling the 10 foot high stone wall of the manor of Frederick Den Euwe. Ras took the lead, peering over the wall, the flickering light of candles emitting from the guard house by the gate as well as several rooms in the house. Within the grounds, four sets of eyes caught the moonlight and the low
growls of canine malice filled the air. Goran took his position on top of the wall, throwing pieces of meat to three monstrous beasts that were slowly advancing towards the would be intruders. Two of the dogs snapped up the food, within moments stumbling and releasing groans as they lay on their stomachs and closed their eyes. The third however continued its gaze on the intruders, again Goran threw the tainted meat, again the dog ignored.

“Enough waiting” Goran whispered, releasing a bolt from his crossbow at the hound, striking it on the hind leg, causing it to whimper and limp away towards the far end of the yard where small kennels could just be made out in the darkness.
The fourth set of eyes also growled lowly at the intruders, its growls followed by the sound of clanging chains. The beast thrashing to try and break the bonds that secured it to a stump outside the guard house. Hitting the ground softly, Ras and Goran advanced on the dog, Goran throwing more meat at its feet. The dog, like the previous two snapped it up without a sound, again stumbling shortly after before curling up and breathing deeply. Letting out clear signs of relief Goran moved to the gate, slowly opening it silently to allow Armand and Jormund to enter without alarm.

Passing the gigantic black dog that was now snoring soundly at the entrance to the guard house, Armand took the lead, his sword drawn, the look of excitement in his eyes betraying his attempts to seem calm and collected. Goran followed in line, with Jormund and Ras in order, ready to storm the guard house.
Armand flung the door open and dove boldly into the guard house, Goran shouldering his crossbow as his view caught the sight of two guards sitting at a small table by candle light throwing dice and shuffling cards. “Halt!” Goran’s voice rang out. The guards paying no heed and both moving to the far side of the room where two swords and a crossbow lay on a small side table. Armand wasted no time, lunging at the first man, his blade slicing straight through the guards neck. Goran loosed his bolt at the other, catching him squarely in the shoulder, causing him to spin and hit the floor. “I Surrender!” the wounded man cried.

“Who and how many?” Jormund breathed angrily at the guard, his eyes sharp and his fist clenched around the chain connected to the axe head he wielded.

“Four! There are four of us!” The guard squeaked.

“Thank you.” Replied Jormund, smashing the man’s face with his fist, knocking him out cold.
Moving silently across the grounds towards the house, the light coloured stone of the walls showing their silhouettes brightly as they trudged single file towards the windows of the ground floor. Approaching the doors, everything was locked up tight, peering through the windows, a single candle burned on a table in the centre of the room, bathing the main room in dull light. Ras attempted to pick the lock, with minimal effect, and after Goran attempted it and failed, Ras cracked the window with the butt of his pistol. All hunched silently waiting for an alarm or guard to emerge, all except Jormund, who remained on his extended toes.

After a few minutes of silence and no guards investigating, Ras reached through the broken glass and released the latch holding the window closed. Within moments all were inside, moving silently towards where brighter light was visible.
A staircase moving up, at its peak a guard stood gazing out a window, leaning against the wall, Ras released his pistol from his waist, taking aim at the mans head as he moved as silently as he could up the stairs. Armand in tow, his sword still showing signs of blood from his poor attempt to wipe it clean after skewering the guard outside. Goran was also brandishing steel, his crossbow slung across his back, Jormund, still at the base of the stairs gripping his axe, knowing that his footfalls were not the most silent of the group.
Ras launched himself at the guard, holding his pistol to his temple, the guard stunned threw his hands in the air.

“Where is the scrimshaw?” Ras whispered.

The guard shocked and on the verge of tears pointed to a closed door along the corridor branching to the left of the stairs, “In… in there.”

Ras lead the way with the guard at gunpoint, opening the door to reveal wall to wall elegant scrimshaw, a fantastic collection from different eras and showing multiple designs.

“Where are the others?” Ras whispered again.

“The captain, in the main bedroom.” The guard responded through whimpers. Again Jormund swung his fist, knocking the guard out for Goran to hogtie in record time.
Getting to work quickly, within 10 minutes, all of the scrimshaw had been placed into cloth bags that Ras had been carrying, each full to bursting. Armand and Goran both inquired as to other valuables in the house, opting to investigate the main bedroom and the captain of the guard within.
Jormund was unsure, happy to take what they came for and be gone as soon as possible. The argument was brief as Armand and Goran both set off down the hall towards the main bedroom door.
Inside was a dimly lit room, the large four post bed revealing two occupants, what could only be described as one of the female servants, and the large, fat captain of the guard, both sleeping soundly. Goran took position above the captain, Armand the servant. Striking down hard, the captain was instantly rendered truly unconscious, the servant, shocked at the sound of the blow rose violently, only to look down and find herself run through by Armands blade that had been hovering above her. Armand’s face both shocked and alarmed that he had slain the woman by accident.

Wasting no time, the bedroom yielded little by way of loot, each man returning to the corridor and taking one of the bags of scrimshaw. Three Penny Bridge could not come soon enough, avoiding Black Hat patrols the four arrived at the door of Crispin’s Jewellery shop before sunrise, knocking on the doors. They creaked open as Crispin’s servant, a young lad pulled it open before running upstairs to wake Crispin.

Ushering the four upstairs, Crispin began unpacking and assembling the displays of scrimshaw, within an hour, everything was laid out and appraised. A wonderful collection. Crispin then took his leave to collect payment, allowing the four to drink and warm themselves by the fire.

Something was wrong. Ras hissed a warning to prepare.

The sound of steel and heavy boots thundered from above and below, the stairs became alive with movement as Ras and Jormand readied themselves towards the stairs upward, Goran and Armand towards those descending.
Men in full armour brandishing swords and shield emerged, circling the four. Ras fired his pistol to no effect, taking a chunk out of the stone wall behind the head of one of the shield bearers. Armand managed to disarm one man only to have two others place swords across his throat. Gorant held his finger from the trigger, aiming at the face of the closest man as Jormand barrelled into the shield wall
only to be cast back on the floor within moments.

“Throw down your weapons!” boomed a single voice from the staircase leading up. A tall, older man with an eye-patch over his left eye came into view, his face solemn and stern.

Jormand rose to his feet again, “Make me!”


A crossbow appeared from behind the shield wall, its bolt catching Jormund in his left arm, throwing his axe head in retaliation. It struck one of the men in the shoulder, but failed to penetrate his thick leather armour.

“Alright, now that we are even.” Jormund began, however he was interrupted by the sound of Ras’s pistol hitting the floor, followed closely by Goran’s crossbow and Armand’s rapier.

The four were bound tightly, secured in the centre of the room. The man with the eye patch dictating the conversation. “Who sent you? Who are you? Who do you work for?” Over and over, Jormund offering feeble replies designed to only infuriate the man more.

Nodding his head towards the dwarf, one of the soldiers raised his sword, poised to strike at the neck of Jormund.

“Wait!” Armand began.

Looking towards the other three, Armand began to speak, informing his captors that this was their first visit to the area, the beggar who sent them, everything except the names of the men who they worked for, Rikkert and Olaf.
The man with the eye patch did not believe the explanation, this was a trap laid carefully as several houses in the area had been hit recently, all under the protection of the Thieved Guild. The Thieves Guild, the guild who had just captured four thieves.
“We will find out what you all know. Take them to Solomon…”

The four were gagged and cloth bags placed over their heads, led away across Three Penny Bridge. Coming to a halt, the four were cast down stone stairs into a dark room, their blindfolds removed, they were in a basement, a cold, wet and dark basement.
Left alone, Jormund was the first to break the ropes that bound him, snapping them as if they were string before untying the others. All disarmed, stuck in a room with no light, only time, time to think, with no way out.

Hours passed in the cold and empty room before voices and footsteps held their attention from the top of the stairs. The door swinging open to reveal Rikkert standing tall, “What in the hells have you been doing?”

The eye patch wearing man also appeared, Rikkert explaining that we were with him.
Taken upstairs, the four were sat down at a table and fed. Rikkert explaining that the man with the eye patch, Willem had laid the trap, a crew had been knocking off houses under the protection of the guild, word was sent out of an easy target, whoever showed up to Crispin’s with the Scrimshaw must be the right crew. Ras retorted, explaining about the beggar sent on his orders.

Rikkert silenced Ras, concluding that any jobs would come from Rikkert in person, not a beggar. As the four had been fooled, it was now time to repay their mistake, “You will sort this out, and you'll do it quick. As it stands, you're all dead. As dead men, your job will be to find out who has been doing this, you have no choice. Once you've figured that out, we'll see what we do with you. The best place for you lot to disappear into, is Doodkanaal...” Rikkert's words cut deep in the minds of the four.

It was time to hunt, but hunt who, and how?

Loose Ends

Below are listed a number of storylines that haven't been fully investigated yet.
  • The Caves
    • On their first job (Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings), the gang was ambushed by a group of thugs. after they disposed of most of them, they interrogated a prisoner on who they were working for. One testicle later, the wretch took them to a cave entrance in Kruiersmuur, opposite the base of Heiligdom, the Temple of Shallya.
  • A Sworn Oath

Sunday 6 May 2018

Marienburg's Thieves Guild Who's Who


The Sign of the Sad Face

On a rundown street that looks much like any other rundown street in the Doodkanaal district, is a simple, nondescript building. Its only distinguishing feature is the wooden door upon which is carved
a simple unhappy face. But despite its anonymity people who know the area cross the other side of the street as they walk past. Even the toughest gangers look away from the carved face. Some believe the place is haunted, for faint screams are often heard in the dead of night.

The truth is not much better. The sign of the sad face is where Solomon Ritske plies his trade as a torturer. Famed among the criminals fraternities all over Marienburg, Solomon is ruthlessly efficient. It is said there is not a man he could not crack. Criminal masters will send prisoners to him to extract information, or sometimes disloyal subjects in need of punishment. Having someone “sent to Solomon.” is a common warning among thieves.

The Hounds Den


The Hounds are a small but well-known gang of the Doodkanaal District, led by Pim De Groot. They generally hang out in a small gambling den they own on Crab Lane.

The "Den," as it's known, is a squat building crowded by a dyer on one side and a chandler on the other. The neighboring businesses don't mind the toughs who lurk within since the Den opens at nine o'clock at night and closes around four in the morning.

The Den is not large and the ground floor is one large room with five circular tables at which men play cards or dice games. The Hounds do not take a cut; they simply provide an area where people can meet. Having said that, they try to make sure one Hound is involved in each game, and over time they have become very skilled gamblers.


Pim De Groot

Pim runs a gambling ring from The Hounds Den. Members of the gang are easy to identify by their arms, covered in tattoos of ferocious dogs. The Hounds wear common clothing, including
sturdy breeches, shirts, and leather jerkins.
The Hounds do not keep dogs themselves; instead they often kill
canines they come across and wear the teeth as decoration.
Their leader, Pim de Groot, is a typical Hound, though perhaps more cunning than the others. A shock of white hair runs through his otherwise brown mane.

Hugo Buisman

Regular at the Jolly Boatman

Hans Kleinhopper

Hans is a suspicious fellow and he examines anyone who approaches with his one good eye. The fare at his inn, the Jolly Boatman, is terrible, being burnt or raw.

The Jolly Boatman


A dingy two-story building in the Doodkanaal district of Marienburg. It has one window, but it has been boarded up. A sign hangs above the door, showing a disreputable fellow making water.
The interior is no more welcoming. It’s dark, with a few lanterns making a feeble effort to pierce the gloom. Surprisingly, the place is often busy, filled with sinister men nursing tankards of ale and casting wary glances around them. Conversations are whispered. At the bar running along the side of the building is Hans Kleinhopper, who happens to also be the landlord.
Five pennies buys a meal of meat pie, though the contents are anyone’s guess. Ale costs a standard price, but it has a bouquet of sewage.


The Rat and Pipe Inn

The Doodkanaal has a number of taverns, for the  miserable citizens often want to drown their sorrows and escape the reality of their surroundings. However unlike other districts the area has very few inns renting rooms, for who would want to pay to stay in the Dead Canal?

For Aalbert Brecht, the landlord of The Rat and Pipe, this is only a small obstacle to overcome before better times return to the district. As such his inn is one of the only places to offer a room at a reasonable price (even though it is just a damp and filthy basement).

It seems however that his establishment serves ale better than anywhere else in the area (in other words, it's less lumpy) and has become the favoured drinking hole of many a mercenary and gang enforcer, all eager to keep
the place open. A strange truce has therefore developed inside, and anyone starting a fight is quickly ejected by a dozen men with sharp daggers and angry looks.
After a few visits, it became apparent that a backroom of this establishment was used as the headquarters of the local chapter of the Thieves Guild, presided by Marinus, the local Captain.

PS: Don't try the pie...

Aalbert Brecht

Aalbert, the proprietor of the Rate and Pipe in the Doodskanaal district, is a watery-eyed man with pallid skin. He has a tendency to smile broadly at customers, revealing blackened teeth stumps.

He is affectionately referred to as "Aalbert Shit Pants".


Solomon Ritske

Not much is known about Solomon's early life, and most people can't even recall how long he has been  plying his trade in Marienburg.

He is a tall gaunt figure, seemingly  stretched out, with long tapering fingers. His eyes stare  expressionlessly at his victims as he talks to them in an accent with only  the slightest hint of Tilean roots. He seems to take no particular pleasure  in his work.

He often works for the Thieves Guild, and has been contracted by Titus to train Jormund as an interrogator.

Durak Chubloc


Freelance thief, part of Titus group, contracted mainly to teach new thieves, like Ras, the ropes.

A Dwarf of some renown amongst Marienburg's criminal underworld, Durak is the city’s finest safebreaker. He works rarely and is expensive.

Training as a Smith's apprentice Durak soon grew bored.
Leaving he took his masters money and headed to the city where he became a burglar. He was effective, in part,  because many didn't believe a Dwarf would do such a thing. When he was hired to rob a safe he found his niche in life. He has an aptitude for mechanical locks and  evices and studies all the latest developments. With his earnings he has secretly invested in a number of Marienburg’s and the Empire's safe building firms.


Cees Muysser (DEAD)

Former crew leader of Titus.

Was dipping a bit too deep in the cookie jar, and had been robbing merchants homes in Goudberg. These men were paying protection money to their local Thieves guild, which resulted in some bad blood.

He organised to set Rikkert's new guys up, a plan that failed dismally and resulted in him being assassinated by Rikkert, and his crew slain by the fall guys.

Rikkert and his men immediately usurped Cees' place.

Titus De Grauwe

Ambitious lieutenant of the "Guild We’ve Never Heard Of" or the "League of Gentlemen Entrepreneurs".

Cold and calculated, he rules the Thieves guild on Riddra, in Suiddock, from the "The Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club".

His crew leaders are Oldrik Ivarson, Martinus Kroes, Willem Lander and Rikkert Bot, who recently replaced Cees Muysser.

Other prominent members at the Club are Olaf Thurgansson, Loretta Wakker  and Durak Chubloc, among others.


Willem Lander (DEAD)


One of Titus four crew leaders.

The group found previously found out that he was responsible of the burning of Jormund's inn.

Ended up as one of the many casualties in Grossbart's plan.