A l'auberge du poulet à deux têtes
General Summary
Après avoir traversé le village délabré de Wittgendorf et gravi le chemin principal depuis l’appontement, les aventuriers atteignent le haut du chemin. Là, ils aperçoivent une scène qui contraste violemment avec la misère ambiante. Une jeune femme d’une grande beauté, vêtue d’une élégante robe bleu foncé, se tient sur un magnifique cheval blanc. Elle est entourée de six gardes armés et casqués, formant un cercle de protection autour d’elle
Les aventuriers ne peuvent s’empêcher de remarquer la ressemblance entre cette femme et les visages figés sur les portraits observés auparavant dans le bureau de l’observatoire de Dagmar Von Wittgenstein. Cela laisse présager qu’elle est un membre de la famille, probablement une figure influente. Cependant, avant qu’ils n’aient le temps d’agir, un mendiant, étendu sur le sol à quelques pas de la femme, pousse un cri de douleur. Son bras, estropié et ensanglanté, pend le long de son corps. La foule, composée de mendiants et de villageois décharnés, reste figée, observant la scène en silence, comme hypnotisée par la présence de la jeune femme.
À cet instant, le mendiant, ses yeux fixant désespérément les aventuriers, lutte contre les soldats qui le maintiennent violemment, mais il parvient à crier :
Jeune homme : “Aidez-moi ! Ils… ils nous…!”
Son appel à l’aide est interrompu par un coup brutal qui le frappe en pleine poitrine. Il s’effondre, le souffle coupé. L’un des gardes, sans la moindre hésitation, lui assène un coup de crosse en plein visage, le laissant étendu et immobile sur le sol, inconscient. La femme, toujours perchée sur son cheval, fixe froidement les aventuriers, évaluant leur réaction, ses yeux scrutant chacun d’eux comme s’ils n’étaient rien de plus que des insectes sous son regard glacial.
Rayaar : (murmurant) “Nous devrions intervenir…”
Mais avant que le groupe ne puisse décider de la marche à suivre, la femme fait un léger geste de la main, et les gardes se mettent en marche, traînant le jeune homme inconscient derrière eux. La foule se disperse avec précipitation, s’écartant sur leur passage. Sans un mot de plus, la noble dame tourne son cheval et prend la direction du château, suivie de ses soldats. Elle s’éloigne, son regard se posant une dernière fois sur les aventuriers avant de disparaître sur le chemin qui monte vers le manoir.
Les aventuriers restent quelques instants figés, perturbés par cette démonstration de cruauté et d’autorité. La présence de cette femme, qu’ils soupçonnent être une membre de la famille Wittgenstein, ajoute un nouveau niveau de menace à leur mission.
Angela : “Elle nous a vus. Elle sait que nous sommes là.”
Karl : “Oui, mais je pense qu’elle ne nous considère pas encore comme une menace. Profitons de ce moment pour nous renseigner plus en profondeur sur ce qui se passe ici.”
Le groupe décide de rester prudent et de rassembler des informations sans attirer l’attention. Ils se tournent alors vers l’auberge délabrée du village, un lieu qui pourrait s’avérer utile pour en apprendre davantage sur les agissements de la famille Wittgenstein et sur les conditions de vie des habitants de Wittgendorf.
Après l’intimidante rencontre avec la jeune femme et sa garde, les aventuriers décident cependant de faire une nouvelle tentative pour obtenir des informations auprès des mendiants. Cette fois, c’est Karl qui prend les devants. Il s’approche de l’un d’eux, une ration à la main, espérant qu’un échange pourra délier les langues. Le mendiant, affamé et visiblement faible, saisit la ration avec avidité, mais dès qu’il l’a en main, il s’éloigne rapidement sans offrir la moindre information en retour. D’autres mendiants, attirés par l’odeur de la nourriture, se précipitent sur lui et, dans une scène pitoyable, se battent pour essayer d’en récupérer quelques morceaux.
Un peu déçus par cette nouvelle tentative infructueuse, les aventuriers se dirigent ensuite vers l’auberge du village. En pénétrant dans l’établissement, ils sont accueillis par un homme d’âge moyen à l’air usé, mais visiblement ravi de voir des visiteurs. Cela fait visiblement des mois qu’il n’a pas eu de clients.
Aubergiste : (souriant maladroitement) “Vous êtes les premiers voyageurs depuis… depuis des mois !”
L’aubergiste, malgré ses efforts pour paraître accueillant, est nerveux. Il tente rapidement d’épousseter le bar, camouflant maladroitement la poussière qui s’y est accumulée. Malgré l’état délabré de son auberge, il semble déterminé à donner une bonne impression. Après quelques échanges, il propose au groupe de passer la nuit dans son établissement contre une somme modeste. Le groupe accepte, désireux de se reposer un peu avant de continuer leur mission.
Aubergiste : “Je vous préparerai le meilleur repas que j’ai cuisiné depuis longtemps !”
L’homme semble sincèrement heureux d’avoir des clients, mais son enthousiasme paraît presque forcé, comme s’il tentait de fuir la réalité morne de Wittgendorf. Quelques villageois sont déjà attablés, buvant de l’alcool de mauvaise qualité dans un silence résigné, cherchant sans doute à oublier leur condition. L’ambiance dans l’auberge est lourde, et les aventuriers sentent que la méfiance règne dans ce lieu.
Karl, toujours à la recherche d’informations, tente de questionner l’aubergiste sur le château Wittgenstein. Cependant, l’homme se montre immédiatement réticent. Son visage se ferme, et il évite de répondre de manière directe, préférant changer de sujet dès que Karl mentionne les Wittgenstein ou leur château perché au-dessus du village.
Aubergiste : (évasif) “Je… je ne sais pas grand-chose, messire. Mieux vaut ne pas trop parler de ces choses-là, voyez-vous.”
Comprenant que l’aubergiste ne dévoilera rien de plus, les aventuriers décident de ne pas insister pour le moment. L’après-midi étant encore loin d’être terminé, ils choisissent de partir explorer les environs du château, curieux de voir de près cette forteresse qui domine Wittgendorf et ses habitants.
La montée vers le château est assez raide. Le chemin serpente entre les rochers escarpés et la pente est difficile, mais en moins d’une heure, le groupe atteint les abords de la forteresse. Devant eux se dresse une structure impressionnante : le château Wittgenstein. Il est composé de trois pitons rocheux, chaque piton étant relié par un pont de pierre au suivant. La première fortification, celle la plus proche des aventuriers, est une immense muraille surmontée d’un donjon. Ils peuvent apercevoir des silhouettes de gardes se déplaçant lentement sur le chemin de ronde, leurs mouvements trahissant une certaine apathie, mais leur vigilance reste indéniable.
Après avoir observé la première partie du château Wittgenstein, les aventuriers décident d’explorer davantage. Plus loin, ils aperçoivent une porte fortifiée, qui barre le pont reliant les différents pitons rocheux. Derrière cette porte, la troisième et dernière section du château domine le fleuve Reik. De leur position, peu d’activité est visible à part quelques lueurs provenant de fenêtres lointaines et une fumée sombre qui s’échappe paresseusement d’une cheminée. Le cœur du château semble reculé, mystérieux et, pour l’instant, inaccessible.
Rayaar : “Pénétrer dans ce complexe sans un plan réfléchi serait de la folie…”
Le groupe, bien conscient des dangers, décide de ne pas tenter d’entrée immédiate et retourne prudemment au village.
Sur le chemin du retour, ils traversent un vieux pont en pierre au nord de Wittgendorf, passant près du grand temple de Sigmar. C’est alors que Karl ressent une étrange sensation, comme s’il était observé. Se retournant, son regard croise celui d’un homme, adossé à une vieille maison délabrée. L’homme est relativement bien habillé, un contraste frappant avec les villageois misérables qu’ils ont croisés jusqu’ici.
Les aventuriers s’approchent de l’inconnu, qui les salue d’un sourire poli.
Inconnu : “Bienvenue à Wittgendorf. Excusez-moi de ne pas être venu vous saluer plus tôt, j’étais occupé à soulager les souffrances de ces pauvres âmes.”
Il se présente comme Jean Rousseaux, le médecin du village. Il semble affable et leur propose de le rejoindre chez lui le lendemain pour un repas. Après un échange bref, il s’éclipse rapidement, laissant les aventuriers perplexes quant à son rôle dans ce village en décrépitude.
Alors que la nuit commence à tomber, une sensation de malaise s’installe. L’ambiance oppressante du village, associée aux récents événements, pousse le groupe à ne pas s’attarder dehors. Ils décident de retourner à l’auberge pour profiter du gîte et du couvert promis par l’aubergiste. Cependant, alors qu’ils approchent du quai, ils aperçoivent des torches près de leur bateau, l’EHR.
Rayaar : (serrant les dents) “Quelque chose ne va pas…”
Le groupe se précipite sur place pour découvrir une vingtaine de gardes armés près de leur embarcation. Huit d’entre eux montent à bord du navire, tandis que les douze autres, armés d’arbalètes, braquent leurs armes sur les aventuriers. Un sergent, au visage durci par l’autorité, leur ordonne d’arrêter.
Sergent : (criant) “Ne montez pas sur ce bateau, bande de racailles ! Éloignez vos carcasses du quai ou vous finirez en pâture pour les corbeaux !”
Rayaar et ses compagnons hésitent. La situation est tendue, et les arbalètes pointées sur eux ne laissent aucune place à l’erreur.
Interrogé sur ses motivations, le sergent éclate de rire avant de s’expliquer.
Sergent : “Ce bateau est confisqué ! Vous n’avez pas fait escale au château pour payer le droit d’amarrage à ce magnifique quai. Trop tard pour payer maintenant, même si c’était votre intention !”
Quelques gardes ricanent à cette plaisanterie sinistre. Les mendiants, rassemblés à une certaine distance, semblent soudain plus agités, comme si la perspective de voir les aventuriers se faire capturer ou pire, excitait leur appétit morbide.
Sergent : (menaçant) “Avancez tranquillement et personne ne sera blessé. À moins que vous ne préfériez finir en pitance pour les mendiants.”
Rayaar, consciente de l’infériorité numérique du groupe, serre les poings. Malgré la frustration qui monte en elle, elle sait que ce n’est pas le bon moment pour se battre. Les circonstances ne leur sont pas favorables, et provoquer un affrontement ne ferait qu’aggraver la situation.
Rayaar : (amère) “Laissez-les… Nous ne pouvons rien faire pour l’instant.”
Sous les rires gras des gardes, les aventuriers regardent, impuissants, leur barge s’éloigner lentement du quai, confisquée par les forces de la famille Wittgenstein.
L’ambiance est morose lorsque le groupe retourne à l’auberge. Même le repas, censé être un moment de réconfort, ne parvient pas à apaiser les tensions. L’aubergiste, visiblement fier de lui, leur annonce avec enthousiasme qu’il a tué son plus beau poulet pour préparer un ragoût en leur honneur.
Aubergiste : “Vous allez voir, messires, c’est un festin comme on n’en a pas vu ici depuis des mois !”
Cependant, lorsque les aventuriers s’installent pour manger, ils découvrent quelque chose d’étrange dans leurs assiettes : deux têtes de poulet et trois cuisses… bien trop pour un seul oiseau. Le malaise général ne fait qu’augmenter, et la méfiance envers cet endroit et ses habitants grandit encore plus.
After crossing the dilapidated village of Wittgendorf and climbing the main path from the landing stage, the adventurers reach the summit of the hill. There, they witness a scene that stands in stark contrast to the surrounding misery. A young woman of striking beauty, dressed in an elegant dark blue gown, sits astride a magnificent white horse. She is flanked by six armed, helmeted guards, forming a protective circle around her. The adventurers cannot help but notice the resemblance between this woman and the stern faces immortalized in the portraits they had previously observed in Dagmar von Wittgenstein’s observatory. It is clear she is a member of the family, likely someone of great influence. Before they can act, a beggar, lying on the ground only a few paces from the woman, lets out a cry of pain. His arm, crippled and bloody, dangles lifelessly at his side. The crowd, composed of beggars and emaciated villagers, remains frozen, silently observing the scene, seemingly hypnotized by the young woman’s presence. At that moment, the beggar, his eyes locked desperately on the adventurers, struggles against the soldiers who hold him down, but manages to shout: Young man: “Help me! They… they…!” His cry for help is cut short by a brutal blow to the chest. He collapses, gasping for breath. One of the guards, without hesitation, strikes him in the face with the butt of his weapon, leaving him unconscious, lying still on the ground. The woman, still perched atop her horse, stares coldly at the adventurers, assessing their reaction. Her eyes sweep over them one by one, as if they were mere insects beneath her icy gaze. Rayaar: (murmuring) “We should intervene…” But before the group can decide on a course of action, the woman makes a slight gesture with her hand, and the guards begin to move, dragging the unconscious young man behind them. The crowd scatters hastily, parting before them. Without a word, the noblewoman turns her horse and heads towards the castle, followed by her soldiers. She rides away, her gaze lingering on the adventurers one last time before she disappears up the path leading to the manor. The adventurers remain motionless for a few moments, shaken by this display of cruelty and authority. The presence of this woman, whom they suspect to be a member of the Wittgenstein family, adds a new layer of danger to their mission. Angela: “She saw us. She knows we’re here.” Karl: “Yes, but I don’t think she sees us as a threat yet. Let’s use this time to gather more information on what’s going on here.” The group decides to proceed cautiously, gathering information without attracting attention. They head towards the village’s dilapidated inn, a place that could prove useful for learning more about the Wittgenstein family’s activities and the lives of Wittgendorf’s inhabitants. After the intimidating encounter with the young woman and her guards, the adventurers make another attempt to gather information from the beggars. This time, Karl takes the lead. He approaches one of them, holding out a ration, hoping the offer might loosen their tongues. The beggar, starving and visibly weak, snatches the ration greedily, but as soon as he has it, he quickly walks away without offering any information in return. Other beggars, drawn by the smell of food, rush towards him, and in a pitiful scene, they fight over the scraps. Disappointed by this failed attempt, the adventurers head towards the village inn. Upon entering, they are greeted by a middle-aged man, worn and weary, but visibly pleased to see visitors. It is clear he hasn’t had customers in months. Innkeeper: (awkwardly smiling) “You’re the first travelers in… in months!” The innkeeper, despite his efforts to appear welcoming, is nervous. He quickly dusts the bar, clumsily hiding the accumulated dirt. Despite the dilapidated state of his inn, he seems determined to make a good impression. After some exchanges, he offers the group a place to stay for the night in exchange for a modest sum. The group accepts, eager to rest before continuing their mission. Innkeeper: “I’ll prepare the best meal I’ve cooked in a long time!” The man seems genuinely happy to have guests, but his enthusiasm feels almost forced, as though he is trying to escape the grim reality of Wittgendorf. A few villagers are already seated, drinking low-quality alcohol in resigned silence, likely trying to forget their bleak condition. The atmosphere in the inn is heavy, and the adventurers can sense a pervasive air of distrust. Karl, still intent on gathering information, tries to question the innkeeper about Wittgenstein Castle. However, the man becomes immediately evasive. His face closes off, and he avoids answering directly, preferring to change the subject whenever Karl mentions the Wittgensteins or their castle perched above the village. Innkeeper: (evasively) “I… I don’t know much, sir. Best not to talk about such things, you see.” Realizing the innkeeper won’t reveal any more, the adventurers decide not to press further for the time being. With the afternoon still ahead, they choose to explore the area around the castle, curious to get a closer look at the fortress that looms over Wittgendorf and its people. The climb towards the castle is steep. The path winds through rocky terrain, and the ascent is arduous, but within an hour, the group reaches the outskirts of the fortress. Before them stands an imposing structure: Wittgenstein Castle. It is built upon three rocky spires, each connected by a stone bridge to the next. The first fortification, closest to the adventurers, is a massive wall topped by a keep. They can make out the silhouettes of guards moving slowly along the battlements, their movements betraying a certain lethargy, but their vigilance remains undeniable. After observing the first section of Wittgenstein Castle, the adventurers decide to explore further. In the distance, they spot a fortified gate barring the bridge that connects the rocky spires. Behind this gate, the third and final section of the castle overlooks the River Reik. From their vantage point, little activity is visible apart from a few flickering lights in distant windows and dark smoke lazily rising from a chimney. The heart of the castle seems distant, mysterious, and, for now, inaccessible. Rayaar: “Entering this complex without a well-thought-out plan would be madness…” Aware of the dangers, the group decides not to attempt an immediate entry and prudently returns to the village. On their way back, they cross an old stone bridge north of Wittgendorf, passing near the large Temple of Sigmar. It is then that Karl feels a strange sensation, as if he is being watched. He turns around and locks eyes with a man leaning against an old, dilapidated house. The man is relatively well-dressed, a stark contrast to the miserable villagers they’ve encountered so far. The adventurers approach the stranger, who greets them with a polite smile. Stranger: “Welcome to Wittgendorf. Apologies for not greeting you earlier, I was busy easing the suffering of these poor souls.” He introduces himself as Jean Rousseaux, the village doctor. He seems affable and invites them to join him at his home the following day for a meal. After a brief exchange, he quickly slips away, leaving the adventurers puzzled about his role in this decaying village. As night begins to fall, a sense of unease settles over the group. The oppressive atmosphere of the village, coupled with the recent events, urges them not to linger outside any longer. They decide to return to the inn, hoping to find some respite in the promised shelter and meal. However, as they approach the dock, they notice torches near their boat, the EHR. Rayaar: (clenching her teeth) “Something’s wrong…” The group hurries to the scene, only to discover a score of armed guards standing near their vessel. Eight of them board the ship while the other twelve, armed with crossbows, aim their weapons at the adventurers. A sergeant, his face hardened by authority, orders them to stop. Sergeant: (shouting) “Stay off this boat, you filthy scum! Step away from the dock, or you’ll end up feeding the crows!” Rayaar and her companions hesitate. The situation is tense, and the crossbows pointed at them leave no room for mistakes. When asked about his intentions, the sergeant bursts into laughter before offering an explanation. Sergeant: “This boat is confiscated! You didn’t stop at the castle to pay the docking fee for this fine pier. Too late to pay now, even if you planned to!” A few guards snicker at this grim joke. Meanwhile, the beggars, gathered at a distance, seem suddenly more excited, as if the prospect of seeing the adventurers captured—or worse—stirs their morbid appetites. Sergeant: (threatening) “Walk away quietly, and no one gets hurt. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to be dinner for the beggars.” Rayaar, aware of their numerical disadvantage, clenches her fists. Despite the rising frustration, she knows this is not the time for a fight. The circumstances are not in their favor, and provoking a confrontation would only worsen the situation. Rayaar: (bitterly) “Let them go… There’s nothing we can do right now.” Under the coarse laughter of the guards, the adventurers watch helplessly as their barge drifts away from the dock, seized by the Wittgenstein forces. The mood is somber as the group returns to the inn. Even the promised meal, meant to provide some comfort, fails to lift their spirits. The innkeeper, visibly proud of himself, announces enthusiastically that he has killed his finest chicken to prepare a stew in their honor. Innkeeper: “You’ll see, sirs, it’s a feast like we haven’t seen in months!” However, as the adventurers sit down to eat, they notice something strange in their plates: two chicken heads and three legs… far too much for a single bird. The general unease deepens, and the group’s distrust of this place and its inhabitants grows even stronger.
After crossing the dilapidated village of Wittgendorf and climbing the main path from the landing stage, the adventurers reach the summit of the hill. There, they witness a scene that stands in stark contrast to the surrounding misery. A young woman of striking beauty, dressed in an elegant dark blue gown, sits astride a magnificent white horse. She is flanked by six armed, helmeted guards, forming a protective circle around her. The adventurers cannot help but notice the resemblance between this woman and the stern faces immortalized in the portraits they had previously observed in Dagmar von Wittgenstein’s observatory. It is clear she is a member of the family, likely someone of great influence. Before they can act, a beggar, lying on the ground only a few paces from the woman, lets out a cry of pain. His arm, crippled and bloody, dangles lifelessly at his side. The crowd, composed of beggars and emaciated villagers, remains frozen, silently observing the scene, seemingly hypnotized by the young woman’s presence. At that moment, the beggar, his eyes locked desperately on the adventurers, struggles against the soldiers who hold him down, but manages to shout: Young man: “Help me! They… they…!” His cry for help is cut short by a brutal blow to the chest. He collapses, gasping for breath. One of the guards, without hesitation, strikes him in the face with the butt of his weapon, leaving him unconscious, lying still on the ground. The woman, still perched atop her horse, stares coldly at the adventurers, assessing their reaction. Her eyes sweep over them one by one, as if they were mere insects beneath her icy gaze. Rayaar: (murmuring) “We should intervene…” But before the group can decide on a course of action, the woman makes a slight gesture with her hand, and the guards begin to move, dragging the unconscious young man behind them. The crowd scatters hastily, parting before them. Without a word, the noblewoman turns her horse and heads towards the castle, followed by her soldiers. She rides away, her gaze lingering on the adventurers one last time before she disappears up the path leading to the manor. The adventurers remain motionless for a few moments, shaken by this display of cruelty and authority. The presence of this woman, whom they suspect to be a member of the Wittgenstein family, adds a new layer of danger to their mission. Angela: “She saw us. She knows we’re here.” Karl: “Yes, but I don’t think she sees us as a threat yet. Let’s use this time to gather more information on what’s going on here.” The group decides to proceed cautiously, gathering information without attracting attention. They head towards the village’s dilapidated inn, a place that could prove useful for learning more about the Wittgenstein family’s activities and the lives of Wittgendorf’s inhabitants. After the intimidating encounter with the young woman and her guards, the adventurers make another attempt to gather information from the beggars. This time, Karl takes the lead. He approaches one of them, holding out a ration, hoping the offer might loosen their tongues. The beggar, starving and visibly weak, snatches the ration greedily, but as soon as he has it, he quickly walks away without offering any information in return. Other beggars, drawn by the smell of food, rush towards him, and in a pitiful scene, they fight over the scraps. Disappointed by this failed attempt, the adventurers head towards the village inn. Upon entering, they are greeted by a middle-aged man, worn and weary, but visibly pleased to see visitors. It is clear he hasn’t had customers in months. Innkeeper: (awkwardly smiling) “You’re the first travelers in… in months!” The innkeeper, despite his efforts to appear welcoming, is nervous. He quickly dusts the bar, clumsily hiding the accumulated dirt. Despite the dilapidated state of his inn, he seems determined to make a good impression. After some exchanges, he offers the group a place to stay for the night in exchange for a modest sum. The group accepts, eager to rest before continuing their mission. Innkeeper: “I’ll prepare the best meal I’ve cooked in a long time!” The man seems genuinely happy to have guests, but his enthusiasm feels almost forced, as though he is trying to escape the grim reality of Wittgendorf. A few villagers are already seated, drinking low-quality alcohol in resigned silence, likely trying to forget their bleak condition. The atmosphere in the inn is heavy, and the adventurers can sense a pervasive air of distrust. Karl, still intent on gathering information, tries to question the innkeeper about Wittgenstein Castle. However, the man becomes immediately evasive. His face closes off, and he avoids answering directly, preferring to change the subject whenever Karl mentions the Wittgensteins or their castle perched above the village. Innkeeper: (evasively) “I… I don’t know much, sir. Best not to talk about such things, you see.” Realizing the innkeeper won’t reveal any more, the adventurers decide not to press further for the time being. With the afternoon still ahead, they choose to explore the area around the castle, curious to get a closer look at the fortress that looms over Wittgendorf and its people. The climb towards the castle is steep. The path winds through rocky terrain, and the ascent is arduous, but within an hour, the group reaches the outskirts of the fortress. Before them stands an imposing structure: Wittgenstein Castle. It is built upon three rocky spires, each connected by a stone bridge to the next. The first fortification, closest to the adventurers, is a massive wall topped by a keep. They can make out the silhouettes of guards moving slowly along the battlements, their movements betraying a certain lethargy, but their vigilance remains undeniable. After observing the first section of Wittgenstein Castle, the adventurers decide to explore further. In the distance, they spot a fortified gate barring the bridge that connects the rocky spires. Behind this gate, the third and final section of the castle overlooks the River Reik. From their vantage point, little activity is visible apart from a few flickering lights in distant windows and dark smoke lazily rising from a chimney. The heart of the castle seems distant, mysterious, and, for now, inaccessible. Rayaar: “Entering this complex without a well-thought-out plan would be madness…” Aware of the dangers, the group decides not to attempt an immediate entry and prudently returns to the village. On their way back, they cross an old stone bridge north of Wittgendorf, passing near the large Temple of Sigmar. It is then that Karl feels a strange sensation, as if he is being watched. He turns around and locks eyes with a man leaning against an old, dilapidated house. The man is relatively well-dressed, a stark contrast to the miserable villagers they’ve encountered so far. The adventurers approach the stranger, who greets them with a polite smile. Stranger: “Welcome to Wittgendorf. Apologies for not greeting you earlier, I was busy easing the suffering of these poor souls.” He introduces himself as Jean Rousseaux, the village doctor. He seems affable and invites them to join him at his home the following day for a meal. After a brief exchange, he quickly slips away, leaving the adventurers puzzled about his role in this decaying village. As night begins to fall, a sense of unease settles over the group. The oppressive atmosphere of the village, coupled with the recent events, urges them not to linger outside any longer. They decide to return to the inn, hoping to find some respite in the promised shelter and meal. However, as they approach the dock, they notice torches near their boat, the EHR. Rayaar: (clenching her teeth) “Something’s wrong…” The group hurries to the scene, only to discover a score of armed guards standing near their vessel. Eight of them board the ship while the other twelve, armed with crossbows, aim their weapons at the adventurers. A sergeant, his face hardened by authority, orders them to stop. Sergeant: (shouting) “Stay off this boat, you filthy scum! Step away from the dock, or you’ll end up feeding the crows!” Rayaar and her companions hesitate. The situation is tense, and the crossbows pointed at them leave no room for mistakes. When asked about his intentions, the sergeant bursts into laughter before offering an explanation. Sergeant: “This boat is confiscated! You didn’t stop at the castle to pay the docking fee for this fine pier. Too late to pay now, even if you planned to!” A few guards snicker at this grim joke. Meanwhile, the beggars, gathered at a distance, seem suddenly more excited, as if the prospect of seeing the adventurers captured—or worse—stirs their morbid appetites. Sergeant: (threatening) “Walk away quietly, and no one gets hurt. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to be dinner for the beggars.” Rayaar, aware of their numerical disadvantage, clenches her fists. Despite the rising frustration, she knows this is not the time for a fight. The circumstances are not in their favor, and provoking a confrontation would only worsen the situation. Rayaar: (bitterly) “Let them go… There’s nothing we can do right now.” Under the coarse laughter of the guards, the adventurers watch helplessly as their barge drifts away from the dock, seized by the Wittgenstein forces. The mood is somber as the group returns to the inn. Even the promised meal, meant to provide some comfort, fails to lift their spirits. The innkeeper, visibly proud of himself, announces enthusiastically that he has killed his finest chicken to prepare a stew in their honor. Innkeeper: “You’ll see, sirs, it’s a feast like we haven’t seen in months!” However, as the adventurers sit down to eat, they notice something strange in their plates: two chicken heads and three legs… far too much for a single bird. The general unease deepens, and the group’s distrust of this place and its inhabitants grows even stronger.
Report Date
28 Sep 2024
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