Warhammer: Shadows of Empire - Stoking the Coals (Heln)

[Adrian Moss]

There were times when Heln Ironwight wondered whether or not she would ever see her beloved forge again. There were other nights when she wondered if the day’s orders would ever be finished. Heln was having both of these kinds of days. The militia was being called up and that meant some of her membership were going into service and their shops wouldn’t be able to fulfill their orders. Work loads had to be shifted around to keep everyone in business until the emergency was over.

There was also the question she had to dodge around. That was the meaning of the emergency. She couldn’t come out and say Plague because of the panic that would set in, but she could and did set up accounts with Physicians and Apothecaries to tend to her people on Guild accounts … in case of civil unrest, she claimed.

She knew she wasn’t alone. She knew she was doing right by her constituency. She knew that not enough was being done to prepare for the crisis, but that her hands were tied. She knew she hated this job.

Merchant Freisch came back with news, of course. He passed on word that the plague was worse in Taalagad, but didn’t seem to be anywhere else. He told her he was counseling that the Gate’s be closed as soon as possible. He also warned that Mikhail had hooked up with the Lord Fang of the Church of Ulric and the two seemed to be gathering information on the illness. He remarked that they had better be back soon.

Heln’s information told her they didn’t make it before the first cries of plague were heard inside the city and the cry went up the seal the Taalbaston. Now the city was under siege by the touch of Nurgle. At least the Smithies guild was more prepared than most. What more could she do?

Now that the first smith had fallen sick, the man was well taken care of. Heln had to plead with the militia to disperse a crowd that threatened his shop, and family, from an impromptu burning. Right now, the mania was very minor and a few armed guards were all it took to disperse the fearful. What would happen if things go worse?

(feel free to explore some of what it is to be the head of a medieval guild in a city under the plague. If you like, I could move along some encounters right away.)

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Tensions were incredibly high, so when Heln rounded a corner in the market and found that the shouting voices weren't engaged in barter but in rioting, she just sighed. It was no surprise, and she started to leave, to find her meal elsewhere.

Then she saw a familiar face in the crowd - one of her smiths. With a roar, Heln's hammer rose and she pushed into the crowd, intent on saving one of her own. Hitting the crowd was like running into a wall - a yielding one, but a wall none the less. Still, she didn't stop her forward surge. She had to rescue him.

[Adrian Moss]

As she pressed into, through, and in one case, over the mass of bodies between her and her beseiged guildmate, she discovered it was him, his wife, two sons, and a daughter who needed saving. They had been pinned just outside of his shop. One son held a stought stick, while his younger sybling held a broken flagstone. They formed a barrier around their women folk.

Only when she was inside the wall of the angry mob, did she really start paying attention to what was being yelled. She had so suspected the plague she hadn't put real sense to what was being said until now.

"Ulric carries the plague. Burn 'em!"

"They don't worship Taal. They brought the plague!"

"This is Taal's judgement for allowing the unbelievers!"

And so on.

In their racism and bigotry, the Taal-worshipping majority was laying blame for this catastrophy on the small faiths, and soon no doubt on the non-humans. Heln had heard of this happeing, but had never though to see it. Talabheim was so ... lawful.

Well, she could see how well that mattered now. A man grabbed at her, calling her with his brown teeth and foul breath, a Ulrican whore. She brought a hammer into his gut and an uppercut to his jaw, breaking it. This bought her a little time which she used to fall back to the Blacksmith, Kurt Uller by name. Normally she would barely recognize his face, but she did now recall he followed Ulric, though he was no fanatic. They must have caught him coming back from Church then.

A man with mad eyes and wild hair stared at Heln.

"Whore! We follow the old ways."

"Breathren, turn these failed seeds back to the Earth the same way you cleanse a field. With FIRE!"

The Zealot wielded a torch and a sickle and was clearly out for blood. Just before the mob roared, Heln thought she hears another cry.

"Geldhammer!" It was Guild speak for a member of the Smithies being in trouble.

The youngest boy was behind her. Kurt's teenage son in the middle and Kurt was defending the other side. The Mob looked ready to surge forward and do their twisted version of Taal's will. Funny, but had they knowns she followed an elven god, they would have been burning her first.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

"Everyone back the fuck up!" Heln roared, her hammer coming up and promising death to anyone who disobeyed. She shouldn't kill people, she knew, but at this point, her primary concern was her people, not this damned mob. The mob had, in fact, signed themselves over to whatever fate they met at the end of her hammer by attacking her smith.

The scream of 'Geldhammer!' brought relief to her face. When she looked at the crowd, they didn't see a woman desperate to fight and win anymore. They saw a woman who knew she was going to win this fight now. With her people at her side, she was unconquerable.

The mob failed to see this and came at her again. Laughing, her hammer came down on the first to reach her, driving into his head, and driving it into his body. The three guys closest to her tried to backpedal, but they were fighting the surge of the crowd. She controlled the swing of the hammer, letting it slip to the left of her body before circling it around and bringing it in at head-height from the right. She missed two head, and hit two with glancing blows.

Blood was thick in the air, and she was aware of her companions helping her. As she started to come around yet again, the knife-yielding man slipped under her defenses and stabbed her in the side.

[Adrian Moss]

Her knife-wielding assailent only had a moment before the boy next to her brough down his flagstone onto the assailent's foot with a bone-crunching result. The man had little time to worry about his permanent limp before Heln brought her haft against the side of his head, felling him.

Her hero's older brother went down with a cudgel to the collarbone. His father took a strong blow to his vast stomach, which staggered the man. The wife screamed uselessly. There was a moment of panic thinking that her only strong ally was a boy of maybe ten years.

"Geldhammer!"

Heln spun he head and saw five hammers falling in unison. Five was not alot, but most mobs aren't in if for the cracked skulls and broken bones. The tall dark-haired leader could see over the crowd and thus how much danger Heln was in. It was Rudolph Drakkenhaur, a Middenland refugee only two years in the city. He layed about him right and left, clearing a way to the family's side.

The Zealot, only a body away, howled at Heln and threw his torch at the downed boy beside her. He turned and made ready to make his get away. At the same time, three more smiths arrived and took up the cry. At the same time the whistles of the watch could be hurd from the other end.

The mob had enough and most began to fade away, running down the streets and alleyways. A few tried to help their fallen comrades, or crouched down trying to shield their brother, spouse, or sister. How quickly the nature of people changed.

Heln staggered back and felt her wound. It was painful, but not deep (she hoped). Rudolph was by her side and grinning like a tall, black wolf.

"What happened here, Guildmaster? What brought this attack on ole Uller here?"

He looked on with little pity on the people they had felled. The other smiths were checking to Kurt Uller and his family. One of them suggested they get a healer for Berne, Kurt's teenage son. The boy had a nasty burn on his neck and face. More smiths kept running up and the stituation seemed will in hand. A watchman came up, looked around then walked up to Heln and Rudolph.

"Okay, what's the problem here? Who started what?"

It was to laugh.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln rested her bloody hammer on the ground. She seemed to be dousing it in blood more than forged iron since becoming Guildmaster, and she wondered if that was an omen of how bad this position was for one's general health. Stepping forward, she quickly explained what she had seen to the Watch. She didn't want to be caught up in this, but she had had little choice. And she was glad that she did in this case; Kurt and his family would be dead save for her intervention.

"Can you see these rioters punished as fully as they can?" she asked querulously. She wanted an example made of them. No one attacked the people she was responsible for and got off with it. If the Watch's justice didn't satisfy her, perhaps she could buy something more to her liking.

[Adrian Moss]

"We are on the look out for these Zealots", the Watchman said, "but with all the sickness and crime on the rise, we are hard pressed. Now they are telling us the militia will be put on the streets and that will be more fights to break up and hands to hold when things like this happen."

"I tell you, if any of you know somebody important, tell them we need the different wards locked down."

Obvious this mere watchman has no idea who he is dealing with. Rudolph glowers but holds his tongue. One of the other Smiths, having missed the exchange, comes up to Heln.

"Guildmistress Ironwight, I've sent Boris off to get Apothecary Heinern. Good idea that we have these fellows on retainer."

The man grins and walks back over to the fallen teen.

The watchmen suddenly finds his feet interesting and clears his throat.

"We'll get right on hunting those responsible down and I'm sure they will get the pillary."

Still, it didn't look like the over-stretched Watch could really do much. She knew the truth of the matter concerning the militia too. If this professional didnt' think the measure would help, Heln had to wonder what level law would devolve to.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

"See that you do," Heln nodded, letting the men slip away. The second she was alone with her smiths, she turned to her smiths. "I want the smiths to pull together on this," she murmured softly. "I want one smith in Guilrow and one in Nordgate to serve as ward leaders, and I want them to organize the stockpiling of food. If they close the wards, none of our people starve."

She glanced around. "Keep this quiet, but if the wards are closed, none of us starve, understood?"

"Who do you want to serve?"

Heln thought through the names she'd pick and finally said, "Karl Fitz and Ranold Mitzier. They'll do good jobs of it."

[Adrian Moss]

"I'll tell ole Karl. His shop is near mine," says Rudolph. "Mitzier is that uptown armourer, right? We'll get some some people organized around her, but you'll need to open the guild chest. Food is already getting steep. Best we take a wagon or three with us when we go."

With that, the big Northerner strides back the way he came. More Dogfaces arrive as does the Apothecary. The woman checks Heln and brooks little disturbance, lifting her shirt and probing the wound.

"Clean cut, Missy. You were lucky. Could have nicked an innard and that coulda got poisoned."

She stuffs a ball of wool over the wound. She binds it around her waist several times befor tying it off. Heinern the apothecary moves on to the wouned body, calling for cold water and puls out some tools of her trade. She's going to be a while.

In all this mess, Heln has almost forgotten what brought her here. She is wounded, going through post battle jitters, and still has business to attend. What an interesting day? Plague and now religious controversy. Will a class war, or guild struggle be next? Does she warn her other Guild heads of what she herself has done for her guild (driving prices up even further)?

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Grumbling, Heln picked her way over to a food vendor, selecting a rump of meat. To her shock, the man snorted at her reasonable offer of six silver and demanded an entire gold. "Are you mad?" she snapped. "I would not pay a marc for this meat until the animal had solid gold running through its veins! I know that people are scared, but gauging them for food won't help, either."

[Adrian Moss]

"Well," haggles the vendor, "were do you think this magical golden cow with come from, Missy? From the Earthwerks or nowhere at all. Plague's got us under-seige."

"Besides, I got children to feed and a mother-in-law too. Can't you see the God's make me suffer enough without your tongue lashings. Prices are going up everywhere and what it costs me to butcher, I am forced to pass on to you. See, it's not my fault."

"Okay, since you are such a beautiful young woman, I'll shave a silver off the price. Nineteen shilling! What say you?"

As Heln opened her mouth to haggle, she spotted something on the edge of the alleyway behind the meet vendor. It was a Terrier ... an ugly, wet terrier ... no, it was a rat ... a rat the SIZE of a Terrier ... and it had one friend, now another friend, and a fourh one appeared and their eyes were red and they didn't seem all that afraid ... and they were eyeing the meats ... and the vendor ... and her.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln snapped her hammer off her shoulder and stepped forward, advancing on the brave pests. To her complete shock, they attacked her. One shimmied up her leg, tearing at her pants, while the other two jumped high in the air.

She kicked out at the rat on her leg and kicked it into the shadows; she heard the shopkeeper cursing as he fought the fourth. The ones jumping at her got swung at. She hit the first in mid-air, and it exploded like a ripe melon; the other landed on her arm and tore through the thinner cloth there to her arm. Cursing, she slammed into the side of the booth, knocking it loose, then smashed it as it tried to recover. The one that had grabbed her leg came at her again, but she had time for an underhand shot that reversed it's direction violently and bloodily.

Panting, she glanced at her torn arm, which was bleeding. "Are all the rats that bad?" she gasped to the butcher.

[Adrian Moss]

The look of fear and something akin to horror ont he man's face was her answer. Clearly he had not expected to be in a real fight. They were RATS after all.

"I've never seen the likes of this before. Oh, I've heard such things happening in the Tallows, but we have ratcatcher's in the Guildrow. And do you see the size of these bastards," he says, kicking at one of the ones Heln killed.

Going back to his stall,

"You can have that Haunch for six schillings. They would have eaten all my stock and me too, if you hadn't been here."

He took took her money and wrapped her meat in sackcloth before sending Heln on her way. She stopped by a local apothecary (not one of the best one's mind you) and he wrapped her arm. He confessed to her that that she was the third such bite in this morning. A young boy in the Weavers quarter had nearly lost a leg.

With such ominous signs, and business concluded, Heln made her way back to her side of town. Here the Dogfaces were in stronger numbers and people acted much more like life was still normal. It hit Heln that here in the place she most belonged, people were aping the nobility. It fundementally disturbed here. Her arm wound brough worried looks and muttered speech.

At the 'Blades' stood half a dozen militiamen. They lounged about around the front of the shop holding the reigns of a horse. One figure was inside, barely visiable do to the dim light of the forge.

"Out of my way," Heln said brusquely. She didn't tolerate loafers. Inside she stopped. Her was a man she didn't expect to find here at all. Things must really be getting bad.

"How did you get the wound?" Von Kritzer growled. "It's not going to work if its a dodge."

The aristocrat stood up. His mail chinked and he pushed his sword aside. He pulled our a scroll and handed it over. Heln was forced to put her meat on the tool bench. The paper didn't have the seal of The Countess - it was from the Hunter's Council.

"Blah, blah, blah ..." she muttered, "able-bodied man and person of substance - Vaul - must assemble for the muster of the militia ... time of crisis ... noble authority - singe my ass - will assume the role of officers, to be selected by lot unless selected ... blah, blah ... duration of the crisis."

She looked up the Baron.

"And I take it I'm going to be in the militia. So, I expected it."

She was tall,healthy, and could be counted on in a fight. It was a no-brainer.

"What you missed, Fraulien Ironwight, is that I have been selected, upon my request, to become Ward Captain of the Militia in Schwartz Hold-Nordgate. I'm chosing you to be one of my Sub-Captains so that I can keep an eye on you."

He stands up.

"Since you seem so convinced that the watch is enough for this city, I aim to make sure you are in the forefront of the effort to back them up now in their time of need," he snears.

As he walks out to his horse,

"Report at sundown to the Rusty Market (a local favorite of the blacksmith crowd). You will meet with Captain Merscher of the Dogfaces for night patrol. You are responsible for your own kit."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

"Thank you for this honor, Baron Von Kritzer," Heln said, trying to keep her voice flat and without rancor. Her blue eyes were bemused at the concept of 'keeping an eye' on her, but she swallowed all of her joke relating to the married man eyeballing her.

She tried to decide if she should talk about the rats; he was likely to sneer at her and walk off mocking her. "You should be aware that rats have started to attack," Heln added, pointing to her arm. "I'd show you, but I'm afraid that I must keep it covered and clean to avoid infection. But it is a threat, they are large and have become aggressive. We need to warn people to take care."

Von Kritzer looked at her, and Heln was shocked to see he wasn't disbelieving of her. She'd have a hard time believing him if he were reporting to her. "Very well, I'll have word spread," Von Kritzer replied. "Sundown, Guildmaster."

After he was gone, Heln moved. She wasn't sure what a kit consisted of, but she would need to find out. She asked the smiths, found what she needed and sent one of the shop boys for the needed supplies.

[Adrian Moss]

A kit for an officer in the militia consisted of a set of full mail armor, from the padded headcover and mail coif, to the leather boots that secured the mail leggings on. It also required that you have either a two-handed weapon, or a shield and hand weapon of some kind (hammers work nicely). Richer captains added steel plate breastplates and helms to the ensamble.

While her apprentices were preparing her for her new nightly duty, a somewhat familiar face road up. It was Magister Petrovich, the Master of the Jade Tower. He looked like someone had strangled his kitten. In the same moment, he held the mantle of his innate power around him like a warning for the wicked ... or the foolish.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln sighed and stirred, hiding a wince at her sore arm. Wish the blighted ale would start working already. "Magister Petrovich," she said in greeting, nodding her head at him once. "What brings you to Donner's Blades?"

[Talos]

"Fine weather, good health, and nothing better to do," he smirked wryly. "I came to see how you made out getting people out and away from the plague zone. Mostly at the behest of the Countess. It would seem I have taken up the role of errand boy." He shook his head slowly, "Also a warning. There seems to be a group working against us, actively promoting the spread of this plague."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln grimaced. "The smiths are doing fine, thank you," she said with a grunt. "Ale?"

As one of the apprentices poured him a cup, Heln stood. She waved him back into the shop, into the small room that served as her office. There, she turned to him and asked, "What group, and what proof do you have?"

[Talos]

"Well I was attacked when I tried to return from finding the apothecary who was working on a cure dead. That's proof enough for me. As for who. I'm not sure, some kind of rat-like beast men, some called them Skaven. They attacked us as we entered the city." Perhaps I should have taken one of their heads for proof.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

"Rat-like," Heln said thoughtfully. The news of the dead apothecary was troubling. "Not to doubt you, but an apothecary can end up dead for many reasons," she said easily. "Give some man's wife the prevention tea, and he could take offense and kill. People get touchy about their health.

"And these Skaven... can they compel rats? Make them behave abnormally?"

[Talos]

"I didn't take the opportunity to ask. It seemed rude of me not to fight back in the defense of my comrades." Mikhail made a face, "I am sorry, things lately ... I had no idea that I would find myself forced into such actions less than a fortnight after arriving in the city. I feel as though I am spread out like too little butter on too much toast."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln blinked, unsure how to handle this near-stranger confessing this to her. She licked her lips and shifted, then offered, "I don't think any of us planned to be in this position. I know I wasn't expecting a plague or killer rats the size of the terriers that are supposed to keep them in line."

She lifted her chin. "What was the name of the apothecary?"

[Talos]

"Widenhoft," Mikhail said, taking a seat and a drink of the ale. He winced at the taste, "He was working on a cure, was close too I suspect. Back to stone one now however. The man's house was bolted up tight as an army drum, no angry peasant killed him. Even if it had nothing to do with the plague it is still a shame."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

"Is there anyone who can continue his work?" Heln asked, noting the wince. Clearly, the man didn't know a good light ale. "If he was close, perhaps someone can finish it." She didn't add that they needed that cure.

[Talos]

Mikhail wanted to tell her that indeed there was somebody working on it but he had no idea who he could trust and that information was too important to reveal. "His notes were gone, taken, probably by his killer," he lied. "All we can do now is hope that one of the other apothecaries might stumble upon the same discovery."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she watched his eyes slide away from her in a classic tell of lying. "This'll go a lot better if you don't lie to me," she told him. She rather understood why he'd just lied, but she still didn't have to like it. "You don't have to tell me who is working on it. In fact, I don't want to know. But it's hope to think that a cure is forthcoming."

Click to reveal..

[Adrian] 3:39 pm: (17:38:57) ChatBot: (Adrian) rolls 1d100 and gets 29 out of 43.

[Adrian] 3:40 pm: (17:39:34) ChatBot: (Adrian) rolls 1d100 gets 19 out of 62! You know he's lying.

[Talos]

Mikhail frowned, "I'm sure I don't like being called a liar. As such I'd suggest that you be careful when you speak as such. Widenhoft is dead and his cure with him. Perhaps if the gods favor us some other man will recreate his work. I am no apothecary however, and would not deem it wise to speak on their behalf."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln sighed. "I understand that you're no friend of mine," she said, "that we are barest acquaintances, and that we know each other only through political circles. But I will be limited in my help if you don't tell me the truth. You don't have to say all.

"I am a blunt woman, Magister," she added. "As such, I have little time for lies or half-truths, or even evasions. If you have no wish to be called a liar, then don't lie. I'm not sure what you are not being honest about, but something you said was not true.

"My mother told me of a plague that ravaged her village as a child. Horrid stories of dogs eating bodies in the streets, and people who'd have eaten them too but for plague fear. It was terrifying to hear of and I have no wish to see it. Let me help, however I can."

[Talos]

Mikhail pinched his nose between his fingers. "Bloody hell!" He scowled, then sighed, "There is no cure." He paused, it was a pregnant pause and then he said, "Yet. But I don't know who I can trust, who's ears are safe and who's walls are deaf. And if you have a problem with that I suggest you get used to that feeling. Its uncomfortable ... I certainly have grown used to it."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln stood up, leaned close to him and whispered, "I assume by 'yet' someone is working on it? Just say 'no' if I'm wrong. All I need to know is if someone is working on it, to have hope. I don't want to know who are where, only that something is being done to save our city."

Blue eyes considered him from inches away, steady and level, as if her entire world walked easily on a balance beam. She was the anvil that took the hammer blows; the water-barrel that quenched the hot iron's thirst. It might be a trick, or she might really be someone who is what she is, and nothing more.

[Talos]

"Miss Ironwright, I would feel infinitely more comfortable if you would provide me a little more breathing room." He considered her for a moment, wondering if she was as forthright as she claimed, or if this was a yet another layer of political deceit.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln sat back, getting irritated. "Don't you tire of the word games?" She shook her head. "They are played and played until people forgot to stop playing and start talking. Bah!"

She drained her ale and set down the mug. "I want to talk about this problem. So talk or go."

[Talos]

Mikhail sat down and took and other sip of the ale, "You know, this swill is pretty awful. Well you want to talk, talk. I'll listen, for now anyways." He took a pull from the mug and shook his head. He waved his fingers over it and willed some of the stuff of chaos into the fluid and then took another drink. "Better. OK, what is it you want to talk about?"

[z-Heln Ironwright]

"What I want to talk about is the bleeding plague, but you have no interest in that," Heln said, her jaw showing an impressive amount of tension. "You can tell the Countess that I've had two incidents of smiths being attacked by mobs, and that I'm awaiting word from my underlings about how many smiths we got safely out before the Taalbaston was sealed."

Swill my ass, Heln growled at him. She wasn't getting into a fight with the man over his taste in beer, no matter how much she wanted to at this point.

[Talos]

"I've plenty of interest ma'am, but precious little trust left. If you can't understand that I can't much help you. I've got people dying. I've got another injured because a guest of mine got him into a fight. I've got no experience and nobody I can turn to for help. I'm at my god damned, bloody, wits end! And ... and, to top it all off, there's probably every chance that the only thing between me and this damned plague is a simple matter of my mastery of life magic." He stood, "I'm sorry if you can't accept that I'm not willing to risk the wrong ears hearing what I know." He turned to leave, "I don't know you and so I can't trust you. Maybe once this is all over we can rectify that."

[z-Heln Ironwright]

"If there's anything left when this is over," Heln said coldly. "You won't share your vital information because you won't trust, and you won't even attempt to give me some. Fine, you want to know me? Ask me about myself. Ask the members of my guild. Better yet, ask my enemies who I am. They'll tell you more than you ever needed to know about me, if you can trust them.

"Or don'," Heln sneered, finally losing her temper. Her gutter accent showed through, swallowing some of her syllables as she added, "Ah don' do fa'r weath'r friends, though. Ya shoul' rememb'r that."

[Adrian Moss]

When Heln's language turns to the inner city argot, activity in half of the forge diminishes then stops. The two youngsters who certainly must be apprentices, plus a slightly older gentlemen stand ready to come to Heln's defense ... knowing that Mikhail is a Magister, they are exhibiting this level of loyalty to their master.

[Talos]

Mikhail just stared, he looked out back into the forge at the workers suddenly putting aside their livelihood to figuratively stand by their employer. "Its rare that somebody speaks so to me." He turn toward the door and took a few steps. He stopped, and looked over his shoulder. "Come to the Jade Tower this evening. Seven bells. If you trust me to seek me in my tower I will trust you enough to know what I know." Mikhail didn't wait for a reply, he simple strode out of the forge and into the mid afternoon sun.

[z-Heln Ironwright]

Heln watched him go, trying to not be frightened by his offer. She didn't care for magic much; give her a good hammer and hot ore any day. Fine, she thought. I'll gird you in your den.

"Thank you boys," she said to the gathered smiths. "Let get some work done now." She set aside her mug and stripped down to her undershirt. Grabbing a leather apron, she went to work.

{Mikhail will continue in Master and Commander}