"Trespass of Drachenfels": Reikland Journey Encounters

Below are all the encounters labelled after type. General Remarks on the venture The Journey shouldn’t take you much more than a dozen-day, if the roads of Reikwald and Vorbergland will prove hospitable. First few days will lead you swiftly through the well worn river side roads, the other few in the hillocks of Vorbergland. It is a journey of 150 odd miles that would bring you into the domain of the Great Enchanter, two breasts of Mother Reikland jutting on either side of your path, the barren Skaag hills with their desolate mines, and the ery forested Haggercrybs whence the fogs claim the ancient Unberogen kurgans, slowly encroaching upon the jutting sharp and torn peaks of the Gray Mountains where the great ruin dwells... Two main rivers cut through your path, the Bögen and Thame. Bögen is the more tame of the two, broader and deeper but nevertheless much slower, warmer and steadier than Thame, foggy and thickly forested Bögen is the domain of a local Deity, one Bögenaur, patron of merchants and fisherfolk. When fording Bögen one gets a +1o% bonus to one’s drive skill but the road is longer, the rout along the Bögen takes eight days of travel, Thame on the other hand only six, the river rout however is a constant of four days, so one can make it back for a price faster than on the land rout. ENCOUNTERS VISTAS: These introduce the players into the geographic regions of Reikland. HAGGERCRYBS; Torrents of sheep stream out from ravines and gulleys cutting through the dark forests of the Haggercrybs. Lead by staggering peasants drunk on cider, droving the sheep off of their hillocks where in comfort of summer days the beasties would merrily devour the grass, trot and fornicate, scattering their droppings over the ancient mounds of Unberogen heroes, to the delight of the slack jawed peasants. The shepherds of the herds, singing daft songs and playing flute, kicking and bashing the bloated eyed heaps of wool with their long staffs, under their slouched rural faded ruby bonnets with a peace of wheat stuck beneath their band in a rustic style... The forest paths sinking in fog of the tall hillocks are indeed an unsettling sight, the roads wind and turn up hill, in strange and foreign ways. The region feels an absolute wilderness, little sign of human habitation beyond the beaten track can be found here. SKAAG HILLS; Barren, stratified rock walls scattered with rotting mineshafts rise along the northern estuary of Bögen from Trossreut to Weissbruck. Once great litanies of pickaxe strikes could be heard on that rout, when great heaps of iron and silver ore flooded the river upon barges that built Weissbruck into what it is today. Now the primitive machine of human industry halted, all the iron and accessible silver was dug up by the crude human means and melted off in Altdorf manufactures. Little luck is found by the locals in mining, even the dwarfs, masters of the minecraft, find little in the Gray Mountains deposits, Skaag hills are now little more than a place for Reikwald outlaws to find refuge for to lay low for a while, turning the rotting holes into cosy hideouts, overhanging with skulls of their victims. Leaving the regions miners destitute drunks, that take any role they can to make up for the lack of work, but mostly drink and cloudlessly prospect the hillocks for any sign of ore. REIKWALD; Bracken, leaf mould, damp and muck, the true Reikwald experience. The reddish-orange bark of the megalithic trees follows the river. The wet forest and its rotting ground of shattered bark scabs and needles bring forth a pleasant wet squelch upon being trodden upon by the flat sole of the Reiklander shoe. All sorts of crawling gives under the muddy step, as one travails the wet banks of the river held together by an invisible twine of ancient dead and living pulsating roots where the grubs dwell. Ferns dot the landscape where trees do not grow, moss devours any site of stone it can. Rotting wood litters the sides of the road, but no Taal’s stock these, not hail broken branches or wind cracked saplings, these were left by the mankind’s uncounted journeys through this tamed forest. In places of great mud planks are thrown over the muck, so one can pass through, in places inexplicable crooked fences follow along the path to keep one company, broken wheels and broken barrels left to rot in the forest are giving off to decomposition in the delimitation twain men realm and that of Taal and his chirping birds. Torches are planted along the rout by the road wardens, to give people idea which way to travel at night, little walkways are built through the caves, so as to allow the wagons to pass without as much as a bump, a strong sharp scent of pine and humidity dominates the air, the birds chirp merrily... VORBERGLAND; Bloated hay fields with a craggy uneven stone wall of the Gray Mountains’ rock grows thickly under the watchful gaze of the Vorbergland peasants. The rich soil sprouts hefty patches of the stuff, making the region seem ever so abundant and rural... Craggy clumsy uneven fence trails the road up towards a great hillocks of Verborgland. Orange heaps of pumpkin in their plenty being harvested and trailing off in rickety wagons to be hidden away for the encroaching winter. Grain stored in the big towns of the region, the bread basket of the Empire capital. A lonely now barren tree stands along amongst the crossroads of the fields laid with heavy heaps of hay demarcating the bounds twain two different land owners’ fields...The rural path scattered with lost grains of corn carried to the big town grain stores, and ears of wheat run over flat by the wagons. GRAY MOUNTAINS; The path from the hilly but verdant Vorbergland disappeared amongst the tall segmented pillars of stratified stone, jutting from the sides of the tight rocky pass. Tall and craggy the mountains Grey, sharp terrain all, rose tall and barren, with an odd forsaken by their kin patch of evergreen every now and then, hopelessly clutching at the little sour earth it had. The ascent was steep and ever so uncomfortable, despite being the shortest rout on your journey from Altdorf it will surely prove the most difficult. No surprise that this rugged inhospitable country was chosen by the most vile, evil and crude creatures the Old World has known; goblins, trolls, evil Necromancers and dwarves! Known to the Elves as Arluii. They’re known to the dwarves as a place of a few holds. Karak Azgaraz, Karak Norn, all somewhat dour, bleak places of little glitter even by the brooding dwarven standards. DETAILED VISUALS:

Old Bone Picker’s Wrecked Bögenhafen Wine Barrel-House Right outside the town, lives an old miserable bearded fat bone picker, known simply as; Bonepicker. He lives in a giant hollow and accommodated barrel, into which he hacked in an entrance. He wears a torn felt hat with a hole through it, and babbles madness all day long. During a particularly failed trip to Bögenhalfen local boatmen had a poorly secured load of wine barrels on board, one of them went loose running over one of the boatfolk it fell out of the barge landing on the shore, smashed and hollowed, it made for a good house for the local destitute.... On a return journey if the party passes through the town again: There is an eviction letter nailed to the side of the barrel and the old Bonepicker is nowhere to be found. Apparently the Bögenhalfen merchants had found out about their barrel being misused by the local destitute, so they sent a bailiff with an eviction notice, pointing to the mark of the merchant house on the barrel (A giant S of the Stainhager family), demanding immediate recovery of the lost property, which was to be sold for scrap. Work of the followers of Haendryk indeed.

Lebentrop the Hedgewise’s Hideout Hut Hidden away from the prying eyes of the commoners, that always like to gawk at the odd and the queer, nigh by the fogs of the Haggercrybs still in the confines of Reikwald a solemn hut stands. One built into a sandy outcropping where two giant trees once rose, now cut into but stumps now serving as the roof of the hiding place of the rogue wizard. One stump, full of rotting reddish-brown splinters the other one, smaller, fully hollowed out and angled giving off strange fay glittering green smoke. A small fence with pots drying upon it, surrounds a small batch of mandrake root, slowly growing by the hut. Strange giant parasitic mushrooms sprout from the bark of the dead tree. The hut created in the small nave where the roots of the two trees meet has a makeshift crooked door. The inside despite being secretive, and likely temporary for the sake of constant shift and fleeing from the iron fist of the Imperial authorities, was however tidy, and full of strange magical things, from pots and crocks and drying frogs to plenty of skulls, not only human. One found among the Reikwald ferns by the clever apprentice to the wizard belonging to a small beastman, was proudly hung up above the hearth glowing a strange green flame. It was however missing a quarter of its jaw and the cheekbone. Lebentrop himself was very wizardly, in a long flowing robe, bald but for a brass headband, with a long white beard. Lebentrop’s hut was cosy, bar all the strange and ery trappings of a magi, its walls were made of compact sand in places reinforced with boards stacked behind long stakes. Road Sign Crossroads A withered skeletal corpse hangs tied to a T shaped post. Two of its arms pointing to different path of the crossroads along the arms of the stake to which its hands are tied. One with its outstretched hand pointing away towards a forested road with a board nailed to its radius bone... (Navigation roll +1o% allows you to realize where you are; failure means you go around the wrong way)...“to Bögenhafen”, the other off hand pointing with a board “to Havelfurt” where the road was much more cleared and lead along a small river, thus you may consider, what this goodly once criminal tells ye of the local regions. To ponder where you are by the visuals and recollections, but that may take time. The mountain rising over the tops a few miles away from where you stand must be the source of the river Bögen, you know of a good few places to spend the night round about here. You also know that the road leading to Havelfurt would in the end lead you off to Schrabwald, a fief of the Auerswald duchy, thus a calling for a separate toll, and at least two river crossings, in a bunch of hinterland backwater towns. Where as the other path would lead through a long patch of wild, but well maintained Reikwald road, leading into the richest of Reiklands townships. Where about you could in comfort, spend the night, and buy whatever else you’d need for the journey. It being a trading town of good passing wealth, the richest in all Reikland, famous for its stingy merchants. Bögenhafen road is much longer however, leading past a Gray Mountain’s pass through a tiny mining village of Amchense... You thought you knew where you were going but some funny trickster, it turned out, or be it Ranald himself, had changed the road-sign boards around. A deed punishable severely by the road wardens. Nevertheless, you find yourself on the opposite road than you’ve expected, and realized it much too late! Turning back will devour a good quarter of the day!

Sigmarite Procession (Tahme on Festag) Coming from a forest road enforced with a few planks on the soft evergreen withered nails strewn soil you approach the city of Tahme. Toll of bells can be heard rang in the air for miles, as it is done on Festag after all, and as you took the few last miles of the forested road, you came upon Tahme. And a fine big township it was, with decent sized walls and tall spire of the local minster. The gatehouse was open, but as you came into the clear view of the gatehouse, you beheld a giant siege engine, you so thought, of no distinct purpose of war, moving about the city. A giant bell hung off of it, and it was pulled by a host of hooded pilgrims and penitents. Before long the wheel wooden machine turned, showing its flank, and a fine lectern upon which an arch priest of Sigmar gave sermon to a throng of faithful following the wheeled pulpit. The whole town followed behind the machine, so it would seem, carrying religious banners depicting Sigmar, and bronze plaques of the twained tailed comet, as well as votive candles. The whole vehicle was covered in candles from top to bottom, which flames danced erratically to the uneven surface of the ride. Some faithful were pushing the machine along its wheels with their bare hands, others pulled on giant ropes. A group of cantors in robes of white and gold, covered in candles carrying instruments played and sung madrigals to Sigmar’s glory, followed by a group of little cherub like, tabard with the twin-tailed comet wearing children, carrying displayed sacred scrolls. A great host of merry burghers and townspeople of all sorts, followed behind in religious perturbation and solemn silence. A grim Warrior Priest in a steel headband, mighty hammer on his shoulder strode foremost proudly in the throng, providing example. A few Sigmarite monks and a whole bunch of pilgrims and flagellants that tormented themselves with flails and whips followed close behind. A reliquary no doubt, was being peregrinated in a procession around the town to protect it from evil, the wooden structure was covered in brass plaques of religious symbols, Imperial cross, comet of Sigmar and the hammer Ghal Maraz, the skull splitter. Figurines of saints and praying skeletons stood around the structure, tall gothic spikes jutted from the top of the structure’s shingled roof of the belfry. Great swaths of incense burning in the slowly swung censers, carried by the faithful priests and hanging off of the structure gave the scene a mystic scent. The only problem was, the whole town was closed down, every shop and smithy. No one was allowed to work for the time the procession went around town ensuring its safe keeping. Thus you had to wait, if you wanted to spend the night in town or buy something or other...

The Twained Tower A great winding tower jutted over the town. Folks say that the wizard, to whom the tower belongs had angered the gods with his ungodly deeds, so thus the very top of the tower was cleft in twain by a thunder bolt. The more learned burghers tend to keep that it was some dark experiment that brought the calamity upon the tower. Nevertheless the tower held out. For the upper few levels, and the attic, were held together by chains and ropes in great amount woven through windows and around the structure. Tightly biting into the shingled roof, deforming it slightly. Still leaving a decent crack that runs along to the mid point of the tower, coming apart ever so slightly one can see through the upper levels of the tower, its the seat of the local wizards’ and alchemists’ guild. Town Square Punishment After a particularly rowdy night of bar-fighting and indecency, drunken misbehaviour and a tavern fire, to make an example, the Schrabwald mayor had the toughest local raconteurs and drunks, closed inside of barrels, so that only their legs and heads popped out. Left so, to the mercy of the townspeople, not allowed to leave the town square, pushed over, thrown trash at and bullied, the drunks were left to the mercy of the people. Rolled about for fun, these barrel folk were suffering for their wrongdoings. Running around the central square’s sculpture of a verdigris covered Imperial cape wearing, orc slaying, Teutonic looking hero. Trying their hung over best, to escape persecution at the hands of the vengeful public. Fool Claiming to have Found Emperor Matthias IV Upon your entrance to the town, little was different about this township to others that you went past on your travels. Passing the rows of crooked iron spiked bound shingled roofs of Imperial fachwerk houses, a joker came out from among the grimy alleys. Running towards you, pushing a wooden single wheeled wheelbarrow that rattled on the cobbles. He jumped merrily, parchment papers with jokes nailed to his body followed like a cape, as he ran clapping his be-belled cracovs, mismatched in colour, laughing and crying out, as his jesters hat jiggled. Apparently in an attempt to entertain, this silly festoons wrapped buffoon, claimed to have found the long lost Emperor Matthias IV, whom one day, as the story goes, simply disappeared from the Imperial palace. As his explanation went, and he told it prolongedly and with a falsetto, the old emperor was turned into a pumpkin by an evil wizard-sorcerer. Said pumpkin, rested in his wheelbarrow. The pumpkin was fairly sized, the biggest you’ve seen in a while. It had a golden circlet wrapped around it’s stem. A mock crown. Asking if you could perhaps help him disenchant the Emperor, grandfather to Karl Franz, the current ruling Emperor. The annoying fool, apparently having nothing better to do, accompanied you through the town, singing songs, making jokes, and talking for the pumpkin. Saying the Emperor does not take to your kind, armed vagrants, and had he been in power he’d have you all put in a geol, but since he’s in a pickle, he needs your help, and will make you all into pumpkin knights. As you were about to leave the through the gatehouse, having lost you for a short while, distracted by something or other, the jester tried to catch up to you. But as he did he slipped and fell over the gutter. When he fell the wheelbarrow turned, smashing the bloated Emperor inside, knocking a good quarter of his skullcap off. The joker cried “Emperor!” a true cry of woe, and on his knees attempted to put him back together. Whispering words of good faith and humor to the injured vegetable. And so in such state you left him, blowing his nose into a parchment with a joke inscribed on it. Rhya’s Effigy in Vorbergland On the road side by a series of stones a large effigy stood. As if the high queen of the scare crows, at her feet a great feast of vegetables was lain. The effigy was that of hay, dressed in a rustic dress, the great bloated head fashioned from a grain sack had a face crudely painted on with thin red lines. A conical hat of straw laid crooked on the head, great bloated bosom stuck with hay upon which laid a necklace of empty eggs shells and vegetables. The face was contorted in something of an angry frown, be it some theological reason, or just lacklustre skills of the local village painter. It was no common scarecrow, but a totem of Rhya, the goddess of good harvest and plenitude. At her feet, fat bloated dandelions and thistles grew, pots of grain, corn-maidens, oversized vegetables and candles were lain before her feet, a bountyfull harvest. (+3o% Survival)

Morr’s Menhir A morose feelings are came upon you, as you were making your way through the dark foggy forests of the Haggercrybs. Something wasn’t right about these hills, so you thought making your way along the overgrown forest path. The temperature seemed to fall as you made your way to the first stream that descended from the hilltops, marking the place where you leave Reikwald for Haggercrybs. Over the streamlet a tall Menhir rose. And upon it, as if a foreign body, so it was fashioned by the artist, a stone skull rested with terrible fangs and deep dark eye sockets. The Morr’s Menhir, for so it was called, surrounded by smaller circlet of stones. An ancient depiction of the classical god by the barbaric Unberogen, Sigmar’s kin. That’s how the local barbarian tribes worshipped Morr once. You were entering the elegiac hills of Haggercrybs and their morbid and ancient laws felt ever so oppressive... Doom Tree A dead tree sacred to Morr, the god of death, stands upon a grey knoll. A places to bring witches and criminals to, to celebrate their end. Skulls of the convicts and grave mounds of those who were not worthy of consecrated grounds lay at this withered oak’s roots. Plenty of fat crows sit in its branches, and a noose hangs off of the sturdiest thickest branch. There is a little altar carved into the hollow of the tree, a skull covered in red candles, an eery place altogether... Peculiar Tree The peculiar tree turned out to stand out mighty fine, no question about it. Turning at a half way mark, it took to turn into a spiral by its peak. It was a twisted and half naked evergreen tree... (It leads to the hut of Lebentrop) Verena’s Gaze Upon this crossroads a tall pole with a tiny shingled roof stands, overgrown with candles, thick nails driven into it, as parchments of wanted posters hang off of the pole. Yellowish and stained by the elements. As you look through the notices you see all the highwaymen, smugglers and daemon worshippers that are sought after by the law, and hiding out in the secluded parts of the Reikwald... Aqshynar Charcoal Kiln Following the road, to the side where a forest clearing stood, the charcoal burners were plying their trade. A great giant kiln of stone, pulsated with flame contained inside. The stony bricks shook and rattled from the fiery heat within, held together with bands of enchanted steel. It behaved as if the furnace held some kind of furious fiery beast. The charcoal burners, unperturbed, plunge a whole evergreen into the fiery mouth with a heave-ho of a couple of sturdy lads. For it to disappear into the inferno. A tall peculiar rune hangs over the entrance to the kiln, a sort of key looking inscription that turns heated orange to the rythm of the heat of the kiln. A symbol of the college of aqshy, the pyromancers, whom took from the local merchant-lords a peculiar comission. A kiln of flame that delivers coal at all times, which wind nor malpractice won’t extinguish. So thus with enough coin this peculiar device was fashioned with the help of a few pyrmoancers and engineers. The flame has to be reignited with spells every couple of months, but other than that it burns within the kiln as if the very inferno. Statue of a Forgettable Rural Reikland Hero A common looking Reiklander hero, stands a statue over this town; demeanour of a peasant, a halberd held as if a pitchfork, sword at the side. Wearing a helmet with a chicken plume on his head and stooping his shoulders under the weight of it. He’s probably killed a few orks or something equally unimpressive in his day. Daft under-bite of a square chin right under the thick brow of the feathered bonnet, heavy, probably straw filled shoe resting on victoriously on the pedestal. (Magic Sense -1o%: You sense a powerful yet strange wind of magic about this one, an Ulgu shadow that blinds men to the hero of this statue. This hero had to really upset a Grey Wizard to get his statue cursed in this fashion.) Lumber Issue A band of tipsy woodsmen, got down to hacking down an old giant redwood tree. It would about twenty men holding hands to span the tree about in a grand embrace, the forest around was full of such great trees. A fine peace of parchment, still dug into the wood with a thick iron nail, and a fat red seal of the local bailiff hanging off of it. A writ issued by the local baron, giving the right to the locals to claim the tree as their own. If the party happens to travel through here again: The tree, that stood towering over the main road, is now blocking the path entirely, so that you may see only a the huge stump, standing over a small sandy outcropping overhanging with roots, and a giant reddish log, laying right on the road and disappearing somewhere deep in the woods on the other side. The woodsmen stand around with their axes and saws, scratching their daft heads. Others trying to lift the log by levering it with long sticks, kicking it with frustration, hacking at it with one handed clumsy strikes of their axes and trying to lift it up, or pull at it with ropes tied to stakes struck into the bark. A little structure stands by the log, sawing stations, horses and carts for transport of the wood, and a few barrels of beer. Ladders are being put up on either side of the log, to place the oversized two sided saws, the deaf elder woodsman in charge explained that they will try their best to clear the roadblock as fast as they can... (Theology +1o%: insufficient offerings to Taal no doubt, brought about this calamity, the woodsmen need to appease the forest god, lest the tree stay here forever!) You may stay and wait for a day; or even help; or go looking for an alternative road with a outdoors survival test. ...after waiting for more than a fair share of your time, an improvised path is cut out from a small layer of the tree, dissected from it’s roots leaving. You ride in between the two parts of the log, pouring with resin, the wheels of your cart churning the heap of wood chips belaying the road. Peculiar Vorbergland Fields The strange array of the long kept crop rotated patches of ground strew the patch of land between Reikwald and the Grey Mountains, admitted to peasants, farm workers, hired help, owned temples and barons twist and match in peculiar shapes. Carrying different crop upon the hillocks of Vorbergland, the network of small paths and roads leads around, past and through some fields in peculiar shapes. (Navigate roll modified by the weather, or drive test modifierd by the waether, to simply cut through the fields smashing the crops) Bracken Stricken Path Whenever the party rolls a cirtical success on the navigate roll: Going round and round the main Imperial road, this side passage was long forgotten and unused. Whatever the reason for it, and the secrets it keeps, a clever ranger eye allowed the party to spot the soft bracken heaps of soft leaves, leading off in between the trees. A more challenging yet much swifter path, around the troubles ahead. (You get to move for free with a -1o% Drive test, doesn't count as overworking your horse) Rickety Fence

A rickety fence spanning a fat vegetable patch would prove a faster rout than going about the main road, a quick charge through the fence would have it in pieces but the wagon would surely suffer. (Drive -1o%) Bloodpine Wood and Amber Hills To the south you spy the unrully knolls twisted by the wild winds of Ghur known as the Amber Hills. They span before your eye, disappearing into the East. These are the haunts of the wild magisters that take to the primordial and grassroots form of magic, wearing their headresses of bear skulls and animal furs, running about their hidden caverns chanting. They shun the city and any civilised place, marked only symbolicaly with their wild totem in the centre of Altdorf. Here they gather to learn and practice their magic. In the Amber Hills the maroon wood of Bloodpine Woods grows, an enchanted wild grove of gorgeous pine amongst these rocky hillocks, feeding off of the wild wind, growing ever so tall. Now the woods, left to no forester to maintaine like the many neighbouring villages in Reikland were bound in a thick spindy web of the overgrown spiders that grazed upon the blowing wind of the wild and savage magic, marching out to devour Imperial citizens, allied with the wild goblin tribes of the hills. With the magisters forced to abandon their official place of meeting in hasty flight, chased by the once admired wild arachind beasts lead by the troublesome goblioids. Thankfully Emperor Karl Franz took to rid these untamed groves of the greenskin menace that plagues it. First taking care of the magisters who in their magics said they did not take any actions against the beast before, as they admired any beasts that could rise and dominate the food chain so easily. Thus the Emperor had them imprisoned for treachery and himself with his legions marched into the woods curbing the spider webs along the way with fire and sword. To the savage wrath of the mindless shamans that take it as an offence, but now helpless as they are held responsible for the unimpeded growth of these monstrous beasts at the heart of the Empire.

Travelling Judgement The only sign of a passing travelling judge was a withered corpse on a pole tied to a wheel. Having rotten over the week its arm had to be nailed back up to the wheel as it feel off due to putrefaction, it was nailed back to it to continue suffering its punishment in the unlife as well. (You can rip the corpse off and take the wheel after spending a quarter a day at it, its perfectly sound and useful) Bögenauerfest (First time in Bögenhafen) As you make your way into the city of the Empire merchants you realize that the streets are bound in festoons. You seem to have made it right on time to enjoy a Bögenauerfest! An annual celebration of the lesser god of the river Bögen celebrated by the mercantile folk of the city! Fireworks, beer, roasted sausages and fine cheeses which in a great stampede, following the great guild wheel, are rolled through the main street off into the river to mark the cheesmaker’s blessing. You might partake of the crazed celebration and following drunken parties for the sake of the experience... (You gain experience for spending a day at drinking and making merry) Overrun Logging Camp On the way to the Amber Hills, in the Bloodpine woods this once a logging facility is overcome with webs. Huge buildings of freshly built lumber mill still bleeding with sap, thickly spun with webs. Forest goblin raid no doubt. A totem pole of scalped hair stands at centre of the timber camp. Cocoons with human victims belay the place attatched over the huge strands of giant cobwebs. Gossomer filled air had a peculiar quality to it, like a stretched string of a lute about to play a disjointed and unpleasant note. Tall tree trunk were used as spinning points by the vile spiders. You can rummage through the camp but must roll for -1o% Drive or get your wagon or horse stuck in the stuff to get out, failure means a quarter day lost at trying to free it: Alas whilst navigating a wooden bridge leading out from the town you got caught on a great big lump of the spider stuff, the wheel got a whole spool of the web wound about its axel, and the cart stopped with a sudden jerk. You’re halted by the webs. Hard Marked Track You stop your cart to behold a peculiar sight. Someone took two twings binding them with a hemp rope, and tied the result about a tree, some sort of secret woodsmen sign no doubt. One could only wonder what it might mean. (Secret Ranger signs +10% ) A blazed trail marked by the woodsmen of Reikwald, following the clues comprised of stone arrows and small wooden sticks pointing your way in an obvious fashion to a forest man but unreadable to a city layman. Cutting through the forest trail, a bumpy ride through cut with tree roots and a large stone cavern, you gain some time over the main rout. (You move an additional quarter a day for free) Smugglers’ Path You see a pair of old worn shoes tied together by their lases cast over a branch of a tree leading off to the river bank, you ponder who might have left them here, and to what end did they do it? (Secret Signs Thieves +10%) With your knowledge of the Imperial ways of the criminal underworld you know the meaning of such sign, following its course and subsequently left seemingly pointless objects and a few rude curseword carvings and crude pictures found cut into the bark of the Reik trees you find your way obfuscated by a great forest brush, surely a fording used by the local smugglers. A few empty crates, bottles and other such refuse littering an old campiste by the crossing. (You gain a quarter of the day through this shortcut) Scout Blazed Trail You stop your cart by a tree with a series of peculiar arrows, rhombi and vertical lines cut into a tree trunk... You scratch your head unsure of their cryptic meaning, the arrows seemingly point right into the thick forest brush. (Secret Signs; Scout +10%) You realize that this here is a shortcut made by some outriders of the caravan of this noble and ancient forest, for the benefit of those who understand the ways of forestry. (You gain quarter of the day through this shortcut) Cavern Path of Haggercrybs You come upon a stretch of the road leading through a shallow cavern over a stream erupting from the wall of the mountains. Cleverly cushioned with an imrpovised wooden walkway. However the cavern proves somewhat small for a cart, you slow down to make sure not to damage it in the dark and cramp space. Or you might shake a board or a nail off during a bumpy ride. (-3o% ride test, or unless you brought a light, normal drive test) Astromancer’s Tower Over the tall ridged roofs of the few townhouses of Mittenfurt, a great peculiar stout tower peaks. Attatched to its summit, a grand old peculiar device. Hefty heap of bronze telescoping lens surrounded with scaffolding and focusing lenses used for some astromantic purpose no doubt. It stands tall over the town, surely being erected for the local resident wizard. It is said that this very tower is responsible for the most accurate prediction of Geheimnisnacht this year. (Common Knowledge the Empire +0%; You happen to know that it was commissioned by the very merchant of Obereik that happens to be  your employer.) Swine Farm of Reikwald Travelling through the Reikwald, you come upon a small forest settlement. A large farmhouse surrounded by adjacent utility buildings like barns and sties. You see the plenty farmhands at work carrying sacks of grain and pushing fat swines into huge transport carts. The fat creatures waddle inside, their award winning fat sides jiggeling with seals of approval and victory gained in town fairs. The whole proud farmers pig farm is surround by a short stone wall. It's owned by one of the settled veteran soldiers of the Imperial army, whom took to the life of a pigswain farmer in his elder age. Ancient Potholes A stretch of ancient road passes this brook scoured part of the hilly Vorbergland. (Common Knowledge Dwarfes +10%; To your horror you realize it is no dwarf work, too shoddy, you mutter a curse to Grimnnir so he would provide you with strength to brave menling mason work...) Overgrown with thick grass slowly eroding at the cobbles, along with its ally the rain. Huge potholes, some as big as a Mootland grave. The origin of its creators lost to time. Alas it can’t be surpassed, one has to brave the bumpy ride of the wrecked road, for centuries mined by the locals for building materials. As the wagon bounces about violently you sight in hope of surviving the break neck ride (Drive -3o%) Hopfberg Hopsfields You see about you the great hills of Vorbergland surrounding Hopfberg. Great poles bound with bands of spiked iron held together with chains, heavily laiden with hop vines. How they surround the town from all sides like a grand hedge. Basket carrying peasants and carts of the green cones of the stuff making its way to the local brewery and beyond. Steadily supplying almost the entire province, to brew Sigmar's favourite drink, beer! Hops Poles Hop You could try and ram through the great wall of hops vines to cut your journey short. That could prove risky however, navigating the dark jungle maze, dodging the heavy wooden poles of iron spikes which are supposed to deter possible thieves or saboteurs. It still might be worth it considering that zigzagging through the hillocks will take you quite a while... (Navigate +1o% and subsequent driving -1o%; failure in one means a different thing, navigation failure means you get lost in the maze and loose some time after which you emerge back in Hopfberg, drive means you damage you cart or horse slamming into one of the hop poles, tipping a few of them over as the townspeople watch on in horror from afar.) Morr’s Garden Detour Instead of going through the winding road amongst the fields you could cut through the Morr’s garden. The rustic dusty road around the garden winds through the hills a long way about, cutting through this poorly placed locale could hasten your journey significantly enough to be worth the risk. The thing is, you need to break or pick the lock on the metal gate. Not exactly a deed worthy of praise, despoiling a sanctum. (Roll for pick lock +10% or WS -2o%; which means you get in) The tombstone grow upon these hillocks, tight avenues lead between family tombs, all clustered together to ensure defencibility from deviant corpse snatchers. (Drive test -15%; Failure means bumping into a few stony graves. Hurting the cart. Going about the cemetery means you spend additional quarter of a day) An Ill Omen As your travels take you through the Vorbergland hills you see upon the great bloated haystacks and gordous pumpkins, crooked fences, a scarecrow and a bald dying old oak a grand flock of ravens. For to then, either disturbed by your presence or some other effect they rise up into the sky, darkening it slightly and sending a chill down your spine as they temporarily form their murder into a shape of a skull, to then fly off towards the mountains to then begin raining down dead upon your heads, each dead crow falling where it flew thudding upon the cart and the road like an ill gotten rain exploding with black feathers. (Witch sight +10%; You see that they’re carried by a strong purple blow of shyish coming from the Haggercrybs, a terribly bad omen; You all lose a point of fortune for today) If the party comes through the place again; This time the fields are empty, not a bird upon them, those that died the last time you were here, were but skeletal remains and feathers scattered by carrion beasts. Or crumpled by wheels of the travellers. A Wheel Matter You come upon a sad scene of a peasant with a huge wagon of wheat sacks stuck on the road, grabbing by his big straw hat, leather skull cap flinging its long straps as he runs from one side of the ruined wagon to the other. His cart run onto a huge nail which burst the wooden wheel at its centre, crashing upon its own weight it left almost nothing of the wheel.  He explains that he’s running late on a grain delivery to Schfachof and that he needs help real bad. (You can give him a spare wheel or load up the grain unto your own wagon; 500 enc.; each small sack 1oo enc. of wheat being worth 7 gc; however the wheat sacks are marked for where they’re from) to bring it to the town along your way. You can also rob him of the wheat or his remaining wheels and a mule, or buy them off of him for a price... (Haggle +2o% if you want to buy the donkey from him or sell him the wheel; if you go to Schfachof you are met by the farmer at the inn and he covers your stay if you helped him) TAVERNS AND INNS Rural Vorbergland Tavern Dingy small and rural. Reikflies swarm the air of this dark tavern, tiny piglet roams the floor for offals, and the tables are roughly hewn with thick splinters coming off of them in droves. The place is ill light and the thatched roof is sunken in as if it were to fall in on itself. Coaching Inn of the Four Seasons A big chandelier fashioned from a giant wheel hanging off of a rope swings slowly illuminating the low one room tavern with a thick medley of waxy candles. Loud racket can be heard from the nearby coach workshop, where one of the servants was knocking a new wheel unto a coach with a wooden mallet. Here you can repair your wagon, and buy a horse need be. Lavish Reikland Inn A grand contrast to the dingy Vorbergland taverns, no hay strewn floor and chickens roaming about on the tables, uneven shingles instead of thatched roof, and a sticky wooden board floor for dancing, live music and a decent selection of ales. One can tell that the capital is at hand! Pilgrims’ House; An austere hostelry kept by the Thame cult attendants. Keeping the religious travellers in a large common room, with straw beds with rough blankets. A thin soup for the day is free however, along with a peace of bread baked by the flagellant run bakery owned by the Tahme minster. Abandoned Barn; A farm building appropriated by you for the dark night to stay. Doors barricaded and a nifty seat by the fire on a wheat sack, the air however thick with fumes, one can only presume might bring about bad miasma... Friendly Ordinary Tavern; Considering for how long you’ve been on the road, there should be a tavern drawing near. The moment you thought those merry thoughts, the grey gloom of the sky gave harvest of rain, which begun to fall upon you in first a slight drizzle, then a stormy torrent. As you went, your cart slipping in the deep now muddied ruts of the road you saw the glimmer of hope on the horizon. A slight orange light, a tavern. As you drew close the establishment turned out to be surrounded by a palisade. Main gate being closed shut, the locals answered non of your call outs. But after a quick investigation it turned out the place had a back door which was unlocked. You helped yourself in, and even opened the main gate for the cart. There was merriment inside of the house, and the lights were on. The moment you knocked on the door of the tavern, silence and hushing could be heard from within, after that, shuffling. Then the door was opened by a giant rotund man, of utter most fat physique. He threw his bulging eyes at you, his apron showing him the proprietor, he smiled and let you in scratching his sickly pockmarked loose skin of the fat neck bulb. The tavern was cosy, bright and neatly warm. The fat innkeeper pointed to the greasy haired hyperteloric eyed bowl cut young man who was washing the boards with a rag intently, as you were entering. Now he heeded the command of the proprietor and run out to help with the cart. The only guest turned out to be no other, than a road warden, a most reassuring visitor considering how many evil vagrants and worse things do prowl the Reikwald regions, a proof of this a huge gaping gash in his chainmail at the back of the neck! He smiled a reassuring smile. And welcomed you to sit, and converse, the fat innkeeper produced neat portions of a stew and ale on the house to make up for the gate mishap. They’ve explained that they were so elapsed in conversation they forgot about the world and its saints. It was a cosy, friendly, and absolutely ordinary tavern... Ruin;  Many a ruin belays the lands South West of Altdorf, ancient and forgotten hewn stone of the Grey Mountains. One can find in them a half decent shelter from the elements amongst these gothic vistas. (+2o% Survival) Favourable Campsite; You decide to just lay your camp where you stand, spending the night spotting star signs upon the dark night’s celling. But one has to remember, that even the tame Reikwald can prove a wicked place... (+5% Survival)

A Tall Rickety Mill;  A dilapidated stone base stands upon a Vorbergland hill, from it, juts a series of wooden walkways splattered around a single wooden staircase leading up into the midway of the tower. From whence erupts a great clunky mechanism, with it’s rope-belts and turn-wheels that allow the wings of the mill to slowly churn. Yellowish torn and shredded fabric is strapped over the skeletal twisting wooden wings as if tanners rotting work. Strapped thinly as if hide on a dried corpse, uneven in shape, turning with loud creaking. Windows of wooden barring that had their place crudely hacked out with an axe. The whole of the building seems to have been raised in a pinch, from the remains of some previous building. A defensive tower most likely, it’s base covered with moss and stone works with skull motifs melted by ancient rains. The top of the rickety building was topped with a crane that completely broke the balance of the building. Which for some reason however, did not topple over. The crane hangs over a ramp that approaches the mill from on it’s awkward precipice of stone, allowing wagons to deliver grain and receive bags of flour. The main part of the mill is slick and sickly thin. The whole structure is covered with roof in strange places, orange shingle was as if thrown upon each in utter disarray threatening to rain down at any second. But the building was abandoned, the air inside is really musty.  (+2o% Survival roll for camp) Collapsed Bridge This ancient stone bridge was probably still around during Sigmar’s times. Now not but a simple two pillars with a walkway beneath it, most of the bridge in the river crumbled into rubble allowing one to try and ride over the craggy detritus stone. But also find a refuge under the remains of the bridge itself. (+1o% Survival roll for camp) Reikwald Woodsman’s Cottage  As you’re making your way past the Reikwald’s deep dark recesses, you come upon a low standing circular mossy hut of stone. With a grassy roof, and a giant elk skull over the rickety door. One can see smoke coming up from the chimney, you pull on the iron rusted door handle but the door is firmly locked. A gruff voice calls from inside “Who goes there?” you may try and knock on the door, seek hospitality of the forester or perhaps simply go on your merry way... (-2o% Charm) ...The gruff voice answers from inside after the daft thudding came upon the door, “Begone in Taal’s name whoever you are!” And no else came from within, it was most impolite to impose oneself...; ...The door was suddenly slightly opened with a loud click of the iron bars and the door hinges. A single yellowish eye popped out from the dark “Guests?” a fur wearing bearded man smiled a crooked smile “I don’t have guests coming’ round often!” And thus you spend the night drinking schnapps with the old hunter, enjoying some venison stew and listening to him babble on and on about his hunting adventures and by the end singing hunter’s songs until he passed out. The next morn he was up and gone before you even woke up, gone for to hunt in the early dew’s grass... Sty Tavern A local enterprising farmer has decided to run his tavern in a peculiar setting. Half of the tavern was a common room for drinking and the like, with rough barstools and tables, the other half divided off with a rickety fence of tide up sticks, was a pig sty, full of neatly rounded up Reikland pigs. One of the rotund porcine jiggly ham-romped creatures with a fat metal ring going through it’s swollen drooling snout looked and grunted at you merrily resting its head on the crossbar of the fence as you sat at your table. Floppy ears covering the bright eyes, a twisting tail protruding from its backside.“He feeds them hogs better than us!” Said one of the regulars laughing. But the innkeeper was not amused. There is beer, and rooms upstairs by the ladder, the constant grunting of the pigs could prove an annoying companion when Morr will be plucking you off to the realm of dreams. A rough blanket strapped over some hay that’s your bed for the night... Riverside Tavern A little establishment stands upon stilts over the river Bögen, from outside one could swear it was rocking very gently back and forth. An approach over a tall rickety peer leads off from one side of the tavern, that’s where the boatmen and fisherfolk can leave their bloated craft behind, and enjoy a lager or a warm meal. On the other side of the tavern an approach leads from the dusty road, the main thoroughfare between Altdorf and Bögenhafen, from whence coachmen and the travelling folk barge in, their heavy coffers carried by the poor coachmen. So the both parties can mingle in this transgressive place, frogs croaking loudly in the muddy reeds ridden waters under the stilts. Slum Side Dive It turns out all the good, and even the decent taverns in town are full for the night. Some event or other caused the folk to override the town, the only place that all the moustached tavern keepers pointed to was the bad part of town, and its slum, where a dingy dive stood, ever so unpleasant seeming. Its roof covered in old shingles was mangy, as if scratched off leaving but a few scaby shingles. In two places at least, the roof had a hole in it. A peculiar walkway went past it. Not to mention the tall bronze hand with fingers crossed in Ranald’s sign stuck right under the gable so it jutted at a roguish angle. A bunch of cats walked the tall spires of the dingy tavern, among the roof line spikes, out and in through the strange windows and over the hatch at the very top. Which seemed to lead off to a weird walkway that landed on the rooftop of the neighbouring house. You could swear you saw a man running past through the roof and into that hatch. Two ill looking lads were gossiping in thieves’ tongue at the back, some kind of exchange was taking place, both wearing deep hoods, laughing about something. A drunk was resting over the stone wall of the tavern heaving into the open gutter that run in front of the establishment, a board walkway placed over the gutter allowed access to the main door. Two windows were broken, the third was barricaded. It would seem that there was a brawl going on inside. A strange ooze run down over the upstairs window, this could be your home for the night... Patriotic Tavern As you’re passing through the pale of military settlement of Reikland, you come by a small farm, run and owned by veteran soldiers and their families. In amongst the farm houses you locate a small establishment standing to the purpose of a tavern. Above the entrance, provincial heraldry. A peculiar goblinoid skull rests impaled on the main spike of the roof, a metal plate with KF is nailed into the door. As you are about to open it you notice the signboard hanging by the entrance: ”No wizards, Northerners and elves admitted!” (Language test for Northeners; Elves roll disguise and so do Wizards, all +1o%; Failure means you're denied service.) The door creaks open, you come upon a pleasant cosy little room smelling of roasted venison. Hunting trophies overhang the walls, along trophy weapons, swords, halberds and even a blunderbuss over the fat stone chimney. A tall, broad shouldered greying man stands proud behind the counter with an eyepatch and a fat muttonchops, a patriotic establishment to say the least. Plagued Tavern The town of Havelfurt is plagued by a terrible malady. The plague stricken lay upon the very streets. Yet this single vestige of hope remains, a tiny tavern with bard up windows and barricaded side entrances. Most of the houses around it are marked with Xs over their doors with chalk, a few boards and messages are left on the tavern; “Survivors inside” and “No sick allowed!” As you enter through the sickly haze of the air, yellowish foggy and full of floating particles.

If you're healthy: A pale balding broad headed innkeeper with a fat giant ginger jiggeling moustache on his lip stands at the tavern with a half crooked smile facing you with his profile of burning up cheeks. “Oy, hello there, you seem healthy enough. Come in, come in!” The tavern is empty but for the owner and about three commoners “Admittance’s free as long as you’re healthy, and you seem to be bursting with life, come in, have a drink!” If one of the party suffers the Green Pox: ...you try the door only to realize that it’s barricaded. “Sorry!” A muffled apologetic voice comes from the inside of the tavern. “We don’t let the sick folk inside, house rules!”. Roadwarden Headquarters As you travel slowly along the forested path, you can hear a song being sung in the distance. Three men ride out on horseback, in a stroll like fashion, right into the wild old Reikwald. The party stops nails, something to a nearby post and goes past you, all men, authoritative moustaches upon their lips, fat barrelled guns at their saddles sway, right by the mean swords, simple uniforms and feathered bonnets on their heads bob, breaking greetings, they continue the song slowly as you leave them behind;

”Oh, my pretty laaaad, what you’ve done to me, my father will do with his aaaaaxe to thee...” Thus going past the merry road wardens you come upon a road sign by a small wooden fence, every inch of it was heavy with notices, ever peace of fence or tree, notice nailed unto notice, in the distance, a tavern. The tavern comes close, a common one story building, undefended despite it being located in the very forest depth. Before it a notice board, heavy with wanted posters and pamphlets. As you come inside, you come to understand, this is a Roadwarden Headquarters for this stretch of the Imperial road. A young man in a cowl, and a broad hat with a feather, sat by table, sword in a scabbard with an Imperial skull embroidered upon it. A few more scattered around the tavern. The innkeeper gives you a nod. A half open beer cellar seems to contain an improvised jail cell, comprised of three cages on wheels, there is a resigned looking men inside of one of them. One can attain the cellar by going along stone stairs downwards along the wall. A safe place to stay the night for sure, provided your conscience is clean. Vagabond Tramp Camp Following the rolling hills, and golden fields of Vorbergland you come upon a camp site. Three vagabonds by a fire, all of them bearded in tattered travel-wear, one wearing a worn bucklehat and holding a wheat ear in his mouth. The other one in a torn wide brimmed old hat is resting seated, on a travel staff, the third tramp merrily jostiling in a kind of awkward dance, by the fire, almost to the awkward tune of the viol of the latter vagabond. They are resting by a log in a clearing abandoned in a field. They hail you and welcome you to join them, their bags lay by, a small cauldron is boiling over the fire. (+1o% to Survival, you succeed a gossip test if you brought any alcohol to drink with them)

Abandoned Mine This abandoned mine is a trapping of the poverty of these mountains, a simple niche carved into the rock, and held up with crooked beams of raw evergreen. A small shaft covered with planks and with a very long ladder leading off into the dark. A great place to stay the night, from here you can see the lights of Amchense as if on the palm of your hand, broken and rotting barrels litter the entrance, along rusting broken mining equipment ditched long ago. (+2o% Survival) Forest Emporium Golden Calcefax the Cockrell sways as a weather vane above the establishment. A fat low standing forest tavern, being so close to Bögenhafen, and considering its prices, the favoured place for Bögenhafen merchants to spend the night at. The place is packed with merchants, with special lift and a cellar turned into a warehouse, stashing grim trinkets and goods that the merchants want to leave behind for a reasonable price. Itself being very well stocked, it belonging to one of the merchant houses, at tiny figurine stands vigil on a small shrine at the heart of the tavern, it’s Haendryk holding a coin over his head, a neck beard wearing fat merchant god of trade and commerce looks over the rotund haunched mercantile worshippers chattering about business over their foaming beer. (You can treat the tavern as a town with availability of things of the least populous township) Haggercryb’s Shephards’ Bothy A Haggercybs hut of thatched roof surrounded by a rickety fence, and supported by a foundation of loose white stones. A rural drinking house, surrounded by sheep and filled with cider barrels, and cider drunk peasant shepherds. A small peculiar figurine stands outside the tavern, a figure of Rhya with a fat gut before which a shepherd pulling on a rope of a bloated pregnant sheep, puts a small pot of honey as a gift granted to it, giving you a peculiar look, and running off yanking on the rope of the bloated ewe following him. The place is crawling with sheep. And someone is playing a pan’s flute. Sideburns wearing, staffs carrying commoners sit about the low tables, drinking cider from clay vessels and singing jaunty pastoral songs. Hollowed out Reikwood   this mighty tree has been gutted by a thunder strike, or some nefarious forest beast. Twisted and contorted at its base, half of its innards missing, disappearing into the great hollowed chasm, amidst the roots, hidden from elements, and acting as a sort of a natural chimney. (+2o% Survive Outdoors) Vorbergland Brewery The small local brewery of Hopfberg uses the abundance of the green hops grown upon the hillocks about the town turning them, along with barley mote into a decent and cheap local stout. Bellaying the great building, a fat chimney used for smoaking of the corns spewing fat clouds of smoke as workers hurry on below, rolling tuns and barrels into proper holding spots, escaping the rogue barrels trundling down from steep ramps used to reach high shelves. Branding the pesky wooden beasts with the local brand with a loud hiss. As barrelmakers work on tiressly to create vessels that will tame the elemental ale. A small brand alehouse is run by the brewery, so visiting merchants can get a taste of Hopfberg stout. (Common Knowledge Dwarfes +10%; Dwarfes turn such places into sacred strongholds. Manlings are content with a fence.) You can buy half price ale here; but still one ought to remember that a cart has a certain encumbrance limit, especially with a statue; 4 gallon cask (32 pints) costs 7 silver shillings and weighs 200 enc. 10 gallon cask (80 pints) costs 12 shillings 6 pence and weighs 500 enc. 25 gallon cask (200 pints) costs 1 gold crown, 6 shillings and 2 pence with 1250 enc. Imperial Oak A small drinking establishment at the outskirts, with fine local ale, and a beer garden dominated by a perennial oak. A massive towering all green oak, covered from its verdant crown to the very roots with awkwardly nailed in shields depicting the initials and names of various bearers of the Ghal-maraz, the regents of Sigmar leading the glorious Empire of Man. All crooked and at peculiar angles, hammered in with rusty nails in amongst the twisting branches, some, one could see, must have required a massive ladder or a master climber. The whole drinking spot is flanked by a small inn, where the innkeeper stores the goods and dwells himself, there are small rooms to rent for a night in alcoves filled with straw. Tables and chairs are scattered all over the garden surrounded with a low stone wall, looking out into the picturesque Vorberglands and the towering Grey Mountains standing over them grimly. (History +0%; You can see that the Emperors were put up on the oak with some attempt at chronology, most of the names are the rather more legendary emperors but some of them seem to contradict each other in years... you see Bloody Beatrice "the Monumentally Cruel" with a few spelling errors, Mandred known as the Ratslayer, Magnus the Pious apparently, according to a local legend, responsible for the planting of this here Imperial Oak during one of his travels in unification wars, you can see Old Boris up there, his shield up side down, as well as his father Ludwig of house Hohenbach, and all meddley of half forgotten Siegismunds and Wilhelms. At the very trunk mighty KF stands at eye level. And ruling emperor’s extended parentage...) Tent Tavern All the drinking in town is carried out in the section of town outside the palisade, in a tent town where the few soldiers are stationed to defend the ferry from beastmen and bandit raids. Inside the quartermaster serves the ale inside of a huge tent, a few tables inside in case of rain, a lot of standing spots and a few outside. Serving straight from the tables where the barrels are crudely perched up straight from the supply wagon, loaded up by camp followers. Offering a spot inside of the tent for the night. Inside the locals as well as the soldiers mingle in a relaxed atmosphere for a military checkpoint. Humble Hostelry You can rent a room in one of the  town houses for the night. The price includes a spacious room in the attic, a comfortable bed. A free laundry service if need be and a full pitcher of ale brought to your room. The establishment is run by a decent enough widow. Her husband, an artillerist in the Imperial army lost long ago, due to a short fuse incident. Now living off of the good fortune left behind by him. The only issue is, there’s no meals provided by the owner, you gotta go out into the town to fix yourself a breakfast by yourself, and that will take time. Miner Locale A low but broad building, built in the local rustic style, of loose unchiselled rock. Filled with the tired and respite seeking miners, their helms with molten candles still on their tired heads as they laugh and chortle and make jests over ale. The walls are lined with picks, and the place is filled with old mining equipment. To the wooden pillars keeping up the roof notices are nailed, mostly regarding the closure of nearby mines. It’s a brotherhood of miners that pays in this place with the meager ore they mine to get a few ales between the gruelling shifts at the mine shaft. Some fist fighting, some sharpening their picks, socializing in this working class taphouse. Auld Alehouse This crumbling edifice must remember the rule of Mandred over the Empire. Old mossy stone, walls propped up with beams stuck into the soil, and a crooked chimney blackened with ancient smoke. Filled with modern amenities however, a proper indoor privy. The folk inside are quite friendly and talkative. The ale is surprisingly fresh, and there’s an odd coroutine on one of the walls, fenced off with a rope, that the locals are willing to unveil for a meager few pence payment, a local attraction they say... Burned Down Taphouse A rowdy party of folk took to celebrate, in a way. In their drunken revelry they’ve done and did burned down the only dive in town. Chased out of town and banned from a few local inns for life...

Beer Bathhouse A public bathing house built upon an ancient elven ruin. Drawing from the natural local springs to bathe the local curmudgeonly folk as they enjoy their ales half submerged with their comrades. Through the insane wisdom of a dwarf engineer the baths were outfitted with a brass plumbing which provides the patrons with not mere water but ale! You can have swim, and have a swig. Long brass pipes drawing from huge tuns of beer brought from Hopfberg. The Bathhouse also offers a bath in a wooden tub of ale, that some of the patrons enjoy as it’s cheaper than buying it by pints sometimes. Laughing, guffawing and drawing ale from their own baths whilst chatting with their half naked comrades. There’s also a small beer fountain filled with pennies, but it’s currently out of order. A basty beer gutter filled with rats issues from the back of the bathhouse, in a great channel filled with frothy beer mud. Famous Pub A beloved drinking hole to many with a daft name proclaimed on a sign hanging outside, layzily swinging on a short chain. With old and faithful clientèle. Shields of various regiments hung up over the bar as the moustached innkeeper serves cheap beer, stale meat pies and cheese. A place of pub games and old traditions taken to heart of the patrons. A feast of beer snacks, handful of cracklings and a beer for breakfast after waking up from an ale stained table with a blanket over you.  TOLL Some well kept bridges have guards posted upon them, to gather gold for repairs of the bridge and skim off some more for the owner and the guard salaries.

Each town executes its own toll, between each of the lands, not towns however, if one has paid the toll in Von Saponatheim lands, one doesn’t have to pay again. Imperial Customs Census In every town one needs to pay the toll, however the necessity stands to state what one is transferring, from whence to where. When asked about the nature of the statue the party can roll for Fellowship and claim it's a; religious statue +0% costing 1 gc, the old scribe shakes his head in disapproval “What is the limit to what will these Altdorf townies not give worship to these days, all manner of strange cults popping up in our cities to the fat merchant’s fancies, the witch hunters should take interest in this business I tell you!” luxury good, 2gc with -1o%, or one can claim that the sculpture is going to be broken into rubble and used for foundations of a house or a fence -2o% which costs meagre 5 pence. Getting caught on a bluff ends one up with a fine of 1d10 silver shillings. Toll Booth The path leading through the forest became narrow, surrounded by foliage on both sides so thickly so that no way could be found in between the trees. A small little booth with reinforced door stands on the forest path, a tall crooked crane protruding from the building, holding a giant old log reinforced with iron bands that were also spiked by a long winched down rope. There was a little stone arch between the hut and the log-barricade, it had shingled roofing and a series of Imperial styled spikes going along its ridge. It was simply an opening connected to the booth that allowed for pedestrian crossing, but was too small for a vehicle for any kind larger than a wheelbarrow. The little wooden building had a spiked roof as well, the chimney was fashioned into a small reinforced towerette. A small wooden hatch opened suddenly, through it and its iron bars looked out a bored toll keeper. “Pay the toll in the name of well being of the Principal Reikland roads...” He uttered with a sigh half heartedly, as if an utterance he greets people with all the time. “Silver shilling a man, six silvers for every beast of burden, the toll box is located on the right hand side as you stand before the toll booth, have a nice (Insert day of the week)” He then shuts the booth closed. There is indeed a small opening in the wall where you can throw your coin into... Forest Toll Booth One of the great redwoods of Reikwald forest stood on your path. The tree has small tunnel cut into it with a portcullis set in it. A peculiar winch mechanism lead to a small booth built on the side of the megalithic tree. A booth reinforced by a tiny stone tower. Aproud flag of Reikland Principality hung from its shingled rooftop, a hatch behind the barred window opened. “Hello there pedestrians of the Reikwald roads, by the virtuous command of our illustrious Emperor you’re obliged to pay silver shilling for a man, and six for a horse for the passage through this here gate, thank you for cooperation!” There was a small price board hung on the side of the booth written in Reikspiel. Tower toll birdge The road over this bridge is cut in the midst with a peculiar jutting tower, the crooked edifice hangs many a flag of the local barony to give itself the necessary authority to extort the toll for passage over these waters. The pennants fly all proud and thin, zigzagging on the wind. A thick wooden portcullis reinforced with brass denies your cart the passage. A tiny window opens all of a sudden, behind it a round faced Imperial toll keeper mutters something in the dark and shakes a small strong box hanging by the window, strapped with chains which disappear somewhere into the tower, along a peculiar winch system. “TOLL” burned into it with a Reikspiel font... Upon paying the toll: The toll keeper smiles when the sound of the coin knocking about in the box reaches him. He begins to winch up the box with a little crank in his booth, loud creaking as the chain is pulled up. The box appears inside of his booth, he empties the strongbox with a little key, counts it, and disappears in the back, sound of a man scaling a ladder can be heard, and then, the portcullis begins to gently go up with loud creaking. Going by a ship, the same takes place but at a little portculis at the base of the bridge. He opens the portculis for you to swim through. Crane Winch Just as you’ve lead your cart unto the ship with the horse over a thin walkway, you realise that the stevedores operating the crane used to load the barge are all stinking drunk, laying about standing on shake legs attempting to tie the Drachenfels sculpture around with the crane ropes to lift up unto the ship, it seems that if you don’t intervene there is a great chance these drunk fools will slam the sculpture right into the deck of the river boat (Ag test; +1o% for every other person participating in the test; the stevodores have 1o% chance of success) River Warden Search A clarion sounds from the mists of the Bögen river, a hefty vessel comes, skeletal remains of a smuggler are tied to the very prow, shields at its sides yellow and blue checkers, the river wardens are hailing your vessel to stop. Your barge ceases its journey in the midst of the river. The wardens board your water craft, asking plenty of questions, dangling their lamps about the board, checking the boat for river-pirates, smuggled goods, and illegals. A fat bemoustached captain is leading the search, a wooden leg, a long pole with wooden board in a shape of a crowned fish on its tip with the words RIVER WARDENS written in Imperial font, and a peculiar bonnet with a dried giant fish pinned to it by the belt and feather, the boatman quickly and implicitly explained that they would be looking for a bribe to let the craft go... (You can send them on their way with a successful test of Blather or Gossip -2o%; Failure means you spend quarter the day talking with them and answering their dumb questions)...You’ve failed to deliver the bribe, and not only that, the daemonic sculpture seemed ever so suspicious to the river wardens, so they took their sweet time searching the water craft, it seemed they had nothing better to do. (You lose a quarter of the day)...Quick exchange of coin and the riverwardens had scarcely time to take a whiff the boat, they were climbing back over the railing onto their bloated craft, off to sail the river.-Reikwald circle

Beastmen Bone Fetishes To dodge the toll on the Trossrout road the party has to take into an alternative forest rout. You leave the civilised roads upon seeing the road blocked by the militia ready to exact a toll upon you further along the river Bögen, where the forest thins out by the little town on the crossroads known as Trossrout, which you can see at the opening of the river where the forest disappears. Leaving the Grauenberg castle a few miles behind you jutting over the Reikwald tress, overlooking the town from a decent mile away. Now hiding among the canopy of the Reikwald you seek an alternative way of crossing the river to reach the other side of the fief of the Obereik Duchy, taking to the side routes and huntsman trails you reach the darker and less frequented forest road. Decent few miles later you stand still on your way stunned by the site. Great bundles of skulls hang off of the Reikwald trees, femurs twined through simple ropes hanging off of the stakes making for primitive trophies, ox skulls nestled in the trees, little human shaped effigies of brambles hanging off of the branches, a skeletal corpse hangs off of a T shaped cross made of tied together mossy boughs, overhanging the road. Beastmen work no doubt, these primitive effigies are the only way these crude ctreatures can express their creative side. Now the question is do you take the perilous rout risking the threat of a beastmen assault or return to pay the toll on Trossreut. You muster on and your wagon is going slower, you don’t chat nor sing nor do much beyond keenly watching the forest edge, weapons at the ready... (Your movement is slowed to 5 miles a day; you spend additional quarter of a day travelling through the forest) occasionally only running afoul of a tittering bone trinket hanging off of a tree...

FORDING A Wild Ford Taal presents before you a thinning out on the river, where it goes ever broad and shallow enough for you to cross. A blessing indeed. (Drive +0% due to current and gravel river bed) Collapsed Bridge The locals were too eager on dodging the tolls, to the point where the bridge was left in its disrepair so that one has to drive off of the bridge into the collapsed rubble left in its wake. (Drive -1o%) River Detritus The locals seem to have been dumping their trash into the river, the detritus carried off into the ford has piled up to the point where one can try and drive over the trash heap to the other side. (Drive -1o%) Fell Log Bridge Raw logs were dumped upon this stream allowing one to drive over the stony river bed with ease. (Drive +1o%). A Precarious Gully Two tall sandy banks are connected by a precarious bridge which is slowly falling apart, one has to drive really slowly, since a fall could seriously damage the wagon and it’s load, the bottom of the gully is full of ferns and puddles. (Drive -1o%; S-3 damage hit, on an Ulric's fury the hit is sustained by a different part of the wagon as well, instead of damage increase) Rocky Fording The ford before you is littered with big heavy sharp slippery rocks making the crossing ever so difficult. (Drive -2o%) Bögenauer’s Sacred Ford You approach yet another fording, wherea leaning statute stands. It depicts the lord of the river Bögen, worshipped locally by fishermen and merchants, for granting the river a steady and warm flow that has blessed the region with prosperity. When in the land of the Bögen-God one has to obey his rules lest suffer his wrath, despite how silly and little the god of the sacred to Bögenauer ford appears. A fat moustached man in a silly bonnet with a fish on top of it, with a oar in one hand and a fish in the other looks with his blind fish eyes into nothingness. The white stone from which the sculpture was cut from looks with daft empty eyes into nothingness, a ruff binds his neck, great heap of offerings stands before the cult sculpture; fish, candles and a small bronze cauldron for gifts, filled with petty coins. You may pay for using this ford to show your gratitude. (Not paying an homage means the party has been cursed by Bögenauer, which in turn means the party loses a fortune point for every time they cross the river Bögen river, the ford is so suitable for crossing that no rolls are needed to pass it...) Reikwald Mud Ford The road and the river suddenly mix on this stretch of the rout, most of the ground was turned into a muddy puddle making the traversing something of a problematic thing, a few boards were chucked over the mud to allow for more grip but that was it, the rest was in luck and the sureness of your reins... (-2o% Drive test or you’re stuck for a quarter day, trying to free the wagon from the grip of the mud) Roofed Bridge A fine rickety old bridge of wood and with a shingled roof, in places suffering holes allows one to pass over the river easily, but provides one with improvised shelter for the night if one is in a dire need (+2o% Survival test) Old stone bridge A fine old bloated Teutonic stone bridge is leading over the river. A creation of the local tax revenues and stonemasons work, the dwarfs scoff at such “pathetic heaps of manling rock” but for Imperial folk it’s good enough... Egregious toll bridge The bridge is sided by a little rotund stony tollhouse, with towerettes jutting from the building, all covered with conical shingled roofs, equally rotund city toll keepers man the bridge, two halberd carrying nose picking guards and a single overseer with a thick spiked club with reinforcing rings of iron. He demands a quite outrageous price for to go past the bridge, all two golden crowns per head, as if it was the Altdorf gatehouse! “You can always seek a different rout” the execisman explained with a tame tone, you can and you should you think to yourself... Timber bridge A decent timber bridge goes over the river here, a lovely pine craft of bloated proportions, symbols of the comet and the hammer were carved in the logs to ensure they would keep the weight of mankind’s sins as it would be going through... Repaired Bridge This fine ancient stone bridge was lost to time, but that did not stop the local peasants from abusing the laws of time and extending the bridge’s lifespan by engaging in architectural necromancy, putting up crooked wooden structures of rotting and half collapsed planks that link the still standing parts of the bridge. This peculiar half collapsed, half rebuilt construct is a bumpy ride. (+0% Drive) Dwarf Bridge by some ancient treaty, a dwarven clan has erected this bridge. Touched by time, yet standing squat and proud, as all dwarf craft does. Screaming faces of dwarfs fashioned into stone, stunted arches carry the hefty stone bulk of the bridge, over to the other side. There are inscriptions in the angular dwarven script on the side of the bridge... (Read and Write +2o% and Khazalid) The runes tell you the name of the author, a few sons of Karazkrink clan and their patriarch, a stonemason clan of Karak-Azgaraz. Fine crafts-dwarfs by all means. Broken Cart Ford A small but broad and shallow stream runs out of the mined out rocky Skaag hillocks, joining the river Bögen. In the midst of the fording, a fat crooked cart rested, with a missing wheel, blocking the path. It’s side was riddled with arrows. The vehicle was precariously stuck under an angle in the stream by the other wheel, the road block however makes the travail over the pebble filled ford ever more so difficult. One would have to remove the creaking heap of wood scrap in order to pass through easily... (In order to go past the ford one needs a -2o% drive test, lest they remove the vehicle with a -1o% S test, failure takes a quarter of the day, if they succeed however they get to go past without a penalty; one can obtain a wheel from the cart with a test of S, failure means you brake it) Weissbruck Lock House Crossing When not operational, the river gate upper rim is used as a transit bridge for the foot traffic. With the toll to the free city paid, you may cross the river. Seeing the great host of quarreling merchants and congested river vessels. Ulgu Bound Bridge   The river here, seems not to have a bridge of any sort despite it being a perfect place for it, the trail simply vanishes into the river.  (Detect magic -1o% to find it) This hidden bridge was obfuscated by the misleading magic of the Ulgu wind. Whoever concealed it trully wanted it hidden from the eyes of their enemies. Great poking out blind eye rune with an arrow pointing down cutting through it looking at you from the both sides of the standing stones as you ride past the ery bridge. Restored Bridge As you trundle along the mains streets of Settenberg you realize that the main thoroughfare of the town, a deeply thronged heartland spanning the river Tahme, is highly congested. The bridge, or whatever is left of it, overgrown with a great addition of scaffolds, great wooden cranes and piles of freshly chiselled brick. Destroyed in a misadventure with a gunpowder wagon. A throng of burghers scuttling about their day through the great dusty building site. A scraggy engineer with a peculiar measuring device of bronze walking about the site, tugging at his goatee and throwing worried looks about the construction from under his pince-nez as gruff labourers with one wheeled wheelbarrows trundle past him. Great loads of bricks swing overhead as the great multitude of potholes and true holes in the bridge are secured with boards plopped over them at odd angles. The engineer seems worried as he runs from one labourer to the other in his fine clothing covered in a great thick layer of dust as he erratically gestures at a piece of parchment with technical drawings on them. The scaffolds at the sides and under the bridge shake dangerously as tough Reikland labourers straddle them with gates of folk who know their trade. Now in this great chaos of the midday labours you’re forced to run your wagon through. The people and the workers make it a true danger. (-3o% drive test) ...at night the bridge works were a peaceful site, however still pothole ridden and uneven, with plenty of dangers (-15% drive test) Rickety Vorbergland Footbridge This shallow Grey Mountains’ stream is spanned by a primitive construct of greenish planks, filled with holes eaten through by wood-worms. This footbridge is used by the local bumpkins to get from one village to the next. Getting a wagon or anything larger than that is a bold endeavour however, but the wheel marks show that it was attempted before already. It shakes about when as much as a person steps over it. You roll -1o% drive, or suffer damage to your cart, if you fail the following happens; ...Once your cart entered the bridge it shook from one side to the next, you thought you had it, when with a sudden creak and the cry of breaking wood the whole construct crumbled upon itself, leaving you, your horse and wagon in the cold stream filled with debris. Your horse hurt by the splintered wood, your cart bashed about by the impact, and you slightly wet from the splashing water, make it out onto the other side with difficulty. You hope the locals are nowhere near as you’ve utterly destroyed the only local crossing through the river. (From now on the place is known as difficult fording -25%) One travelling through the location again: Filled with bright shining splinters of eaten through wood, debirs littering the passage and making it hard for a hoof or wheel to pass without being disturbed. Some nasty vandals destroyed the local bridge to the horror of the local populace.

Bridge Remnants (Vorbergland Ramp) An old bridge used to stand over this stretch of the river, now but a pile of ruined wood at the bottom of a small ravine. Your path is cut short by this act of destruction. Unless... you could use the remaining ramp, and through a risky manoeuvre jump the gap left in the midst of the bridge, that might end disastrously, leaving your cart toppled on its side, horse frightened, and all the crew battered. You can always go aroud... (Drive -3o%; failure means your cart gets toppled on its side and damaged, horse gets damaged, sculpture gets damaged and the driver) Your whole wagon toppled into the ravine, the horse with a nasty snort struck the sharp end of the other part of the bride and fell down with the wagon into the deep stream. (-2o% Strength test to push it on its right side; Drive test to get it to leave the ravine) At least it landed in the shallower part of the river... FERRY Long Line for the Ferry An awfully long queue waits for the barge in a rugged line at the pier. Shepherds with their flocks, common folk and pilgrims, soldiers in liveries, merchants with their carts and a smattering of other Imperial folk. This precarious situation leaves you with two options, to wait patiently or push your way through. Remember, it can get nasty when elbows and cutting in line comes into play! (You roll a WS test, failure means you are pushed to the back and made wait, victory by a single means you push through but you sustain some punches and nudges, or a few rocks are thrown your way; someone has scratched your wagon or your nag with a nail on the side, a standard hit) Bell Ferry Bid A huge fat boatman rung a bell by its handle as he waddled to the front of the ferry as it slowly made it into the harbour, he limped as his wooden leg was shorter than his real one. A great grey moustach bore on his face as he glared at the horison for a moment and then at the wayfarers gathered at the pier. He looks to the horison which brews with flashing storm clouds, it is the last time the ferry could go through the river today, who’s willing to pay the most? The boatman lifts a tiny strongbox on a hempen string with a grin and jiggles it about. Broken Ferry A river accident had the ferry wheel broken, and the ferryman is strapped for part. You can await for the craftsmen to be summoned and for them to put in a new wheel, or you can improvise and use your own cart wheel or some other way to get it to turn properly again. (You must wait a day at the ferry or give up a spare wheel of your own) Bögenhafen Ferry A tiny boat overseen by a riverman, the shaggy old Hannes Kringler is the only ferry in town, and his boat can fit up to four people. It will be a tight squize to get to the other side. Unless you use one of the Cattle Ferries. But these are highly expensive and operated solely by the Ruggbroder family and getting on it would either demand paying off their men or trying to pull some strings in the city. You may also simply take a boat to Altdorf from here. There used to be a bridge at Bögenhafen, but it was destroyed during the Vampire Wars, when vengeful Vlad von Carstein had his head blown off by a cannon ball fired by the brave folk of the city garrison. The headless horseman lead his armies still and destroyed the bridge cursing the river so it would never be rebuilt. (The cattle ferry costs 1gc) Boat Ferry; A decently sized sailed fish boat is used to transfer people from one side of the town to the other over the river Bögen. Men of the empire are no fish, and so the catch of the day is forced to pay their worth in gold, so that the hand of Mannan holding the boat aloft is kept steady. And they make it to the other side.

HAGGERCRYBS Shepherds’ path The drunken shepherds look about themselves and lead you past the village through the forest of Haggercrybs till you reach the mountains. The path proved an almost direct downward descent off of the mountainous Haggercrybs, littered with sharp and jutting rocks and uneven paths, bones of sheep rest scattered in distant ravines... (Three -1o% drive tests) The Whispering Fog A thick fog descents from the hills of Haggercrybs, the forest like a great evil maw spews out the malignant thick mist, which in turn surrounds the wagon, spooking your horse, as it nickers and snores, eyes bulging, moving its hooves up as if trying to get ahead of the fog. Not before long a sudden whisper, a pleasant and delicate sigh, a chatter from afar, the sounds surround you, laughing and voices promising violence, these hills speak their own tongue they whisper to your ears, who be they you’re not sure, all you know their voices grate maddening! (A roll of WP or a penalty of -2o% to all tests in the purview of the Hagercryb’s mist) Sheep Pens A ragtag loose stone wall surrounded a herd of clueless bleating sheep, munching on Hagercryb’s grass at the foot of an ascent amongst the pines. Leaping clumsily as they look on the passing band with fat bells about their necks, chewing. The path winds all around the pasture, yet a few loosened stones allow you to spy a place where the low wall could be breached with a enough determination, a bumpy ride no doubt, yet it would prove surely a faster rout than going around the hillocks... (Drive -2o% allows to save a quarter of the day) Success: You brake through the stony wall, sending the frightened sheep scattering, some running out of the walled field, some simply running deeper into their grazing grounds... Failure: First a bumpy ride, then a daft sheep runs right under your frightened horse’s hooves, later getting churned by the wheels, the wagon gets banged up on the erupting wall of stone, leaving one mangled sheep carcass behind... (Normal wagon damage roll) GREY MOUNTAINS Rockside Cavity A fine spot in a slightly recessed rock face, allows you to set up camp in this inhospitable land, and a copse of evergreens and bramble allows you to start a fire. The stratified rock of the Gray Mountains tends to create these peculiar rectangular shapes in basalt columns, be it pillars or such small shallows cave like cavities. (+1o% Survival test, but it’s the end of your journey for today) Marvellous Yet Stark Waterfall

A fine incline leads up the cliff face, looking down straight into a sea of mist, a waterfall falls over the rocky outcropping facing the cliff side causing the heavy and uneven rocks of the ascent to be damp and slippery. The domain of Drachenfels is nearby and the country speaks for itself, the climb wouldn’t have been too pleasant had you no cart, to you it will prove a gruelling task... (-2o%  Drive; does not stack with rain) Rock fall

Grey Mountain paths are known as treacherous and dangerous at best, sudden rumble and a stony rock fall is on the way, the path is small making manoeuvres difficult, the rugged sharp grey rocks are plummeting with loud thuds on the mountain path. (Drive test lest you suffer a hit to the cart, yourself, the horse or the cargo. S-3) Dark Mountain Stream A black wicked water flows from between the craggy hills, swift and as cold as the afterlife. Plummeting off of the rock side into a great dark gap in between the mountains. The water strikes the side of the cart with passion, as if trying to push it off of the mountain with malevolent intent and not mere daft blind rush of nature. (-2o% Drive) Poor Lost Soul

A sight reminding you of the perilous nature of these mountains stands before you among the pits of the mountains grey, on a stony pillar, a lichen bound outcropping amongst the mountains, a yellowish skeleton rests lazily by a patch of withered mountain grass, its face turned towards you, its ribs cracked and broken by the premortem fall. Who knows how long he’s been here for. And adventurous soul perhaps, or someone driven by darker motives. The soul of the poor bugger lost to the domain of the Great Enchanter. Steep Ascent The road takes a sudden nigh vertical turn to the left, allowing one to shorten the rout substantially. The road however is cracked, steep and very wet. In the midst of the path, a group of daft headed mountain goats stood, as if issuing a challenge. (-3o% Drive or quarter of the day lost going to easier way) Rope bridge

A precarious rope bridge stands between the crags protruding from the mountains as if crooked broken up teeth, between two such stony blocks, a peculiar and clumsy set of rope bridges hung, rotting boards the only thing that would stop the awful fall. Amidst the crags pines grew, protecting the path from the blowing wind, a great sight of the Verbogerland can be seen from the top of the crags. As it lays beneath the grey clouds, a welcoming flatland of lovely cottages and mills. Golden swaths of wheat under the dark sky. (-2o% Drive roll) Night Goblin Scarecrow As you pass this particular stretch of the mountain road you come upon a sight high above, a pole upon which hangs a red withered robes wearing figure, strong winds blowing at its garments, as they flutter violently, a crossing stick making up its arms, and a skull making up its face, a tall spiked hood draped over the bald skull. A goblin effigy no doubt, demarcating the border of some accursed goblin tribe and the enchanter’s domain, as if to ward off or taunt the malefic spirit dwelling in the ruined castle. Many a goblin warchief would like to have Drachenfells his domain and stronghold but even these foolish primitive creatures, drugged by their mushroom brews, are not dumb enough to attempt settling the accursed ruins, though the many tribes, offsprouts of the ancient goblins that ventured under the devilish Drachenfells to raid Vorbergland and had to seek refuge amidst the Gray Mountains' crags after they met the bloodthirsty pursuit of the yelping Unberogen under Sigmars banner, they dwell in these mountains still. If Morrslieb is up and the players are in the mountains, though why would they still be there is a question indeed; they can hear chanting and songs of the goblins at night. If the party visits again after descending: The former night goblin border marker is now but a broken off pole, sharply jutting up from amidst the rocks holding its base in place, a border dispute or a mere strong Grey Mountains breeze, who’s to tell! Two Approaches You did it, you’ve nearly reached the summit of this dreaded domain the great stark edifice of the castle stands before you, yet before you reach it yet there appear two paths, one thin, rocky and winding, leading straight up towards the gothic gates of the haunted and forgotten abode. A steep and treacherous climb yet of great convenience as it situates you right under the very doorstep of the castle. And one leading off up towards the peak of the nearest mountain over which the towers of the castle still stand taller. Upon this peak a ruined gatehouse stands. From there the Imperial crusaders led their bombardment of the castle. You must decide whichever path suits you best. The challenging foot path into which you’ll have to cram your wagon or a wide approach along the wide road. The wide path needs no rolls but it costs you additional day. The other one requires two consecutive -3o% drive tests Village of Felsbrockenburg Cottages rebuilt with the ruined stone of Drachenfels stand before you mockingly, their inhabitants chased out forcefully out of the village at the halberd point, done so during the military escapade against the castle, so that no one could help Drachenfels rebuild his domain. Abandoned Siege Equipment The brave crusaders abandoned a few of their things along the way, whatever fell off of their siege wagons and was dropped by the camp followers, here by the roadside an abandoned heap of wet gunpowder barrels, all rotten through now. All that’s left by is a few deflated tents. And the wagon itself, the wheels, two of which are almost untarnished. The other two broke under the weight of the giant mortar. To see such a giant iron barrel for spewing explosives really puts into perspective how great arcane protection must be weaved upon this bastion of evil, if entire regiments of such hell machines right out of the Altdorf Engineering school failed to level the ruin. There is also a few sacks on broken vagons, full of old salt and powdered silver. Stubborn Beasts From since you past the village of Felsbrockenburg the beast of burden begins to whinny, cry and bite its lead. Not wanting to move unless really forced to. Some peculiar strange opposition of the beast really makes the last day’s travel a hustle. Roll of opposed Strength or a roll of -1o% Animal Care can get the creature to move again. If you stay the night here, the beast will be willing to continue on, however still cautious (-1o% Drive for the duration of the stay in the mountains). Echoing Screams For the longest time you’ve attempted to not focus on the sharp wailing sounds in the distance, trying to ease your mind by saying to yourself it’s surely the strong mountain winds cutting through the valleys. But after a while, with the voices becoming more and more pronounced you realize that the mountain valleys are filled with hoots and screeches of women. And these are filled with pain and hysterical madness. With a -1o% Common Knowledge Empire roll you realize what it trully is: You laugh at your own frightful nature, after all it’s just the hungry cannibalistic cries of the half-blind mountain harpies, bouncing off of the steeps of the grey mountains looking for a living creature to tear apart in a feeding frenzy. With this fact you try to ease your companions worry but they don’t seem to be at ease at all. Legend of the dead Upon entering a narrow path over a gorge of darkness, you spy on the other side a party, which in turn makes your blood freeze in your veins. It’s a party of travellers in dress like you, following a solitary wagon with a horse. But all of them are dead. Skeletons all, even the nag. As if the dour most hearse carrying upon the wagon their own coffins. Their path mirroring your turns at the end, so they push the wagon off to the right along the path surrounding the mountain, and disappear. If you attempt to cry or call to them, they stop and one of them waves at you. (Knowledge Magic +1o% With enough reason you quickly come to a conclusion that it must be the evil glamour of the castle already playing tricks on your mind; Magic Sense You feel a strong breeze of Ulgu, tis but a mere trick of the castle. If you fail your WP test you get a -1o% to all your skill rolls for the rest of the day as you’re frightened and shaken) Nightmares in the Mountains

Terrible sweaty fever dreams of meat, minced meat. Of how a splendid cook upon a rooftop of a tower is readying up to cut a giant Chaos Spawn that drips its greasy juices upon your forehead, but such a hunger burns in your stomach, as you sit tied down to a chair, your fellows about you howl and open their mouths expectantly. The fat cook makes merry faces looking straight into fish-dull eyes of the beast, its many mouths each holding fine baked apple. You thus wake up with panting and a cry, sweat dripping down your brow. Your fellows jump for their weapons, but you calm them down. It was an uneasy night. No one recovers wounds tonight. ”Go back” bones Before your path, in a small patch of withered grass a heap of bones lies pilled up high. A small pile contains a skull and ribs all scattered into a peculiar shape. “Go back” written in Reikspiel on each of the bones, each rib and the forhead of the yellowish old skull... TAVERN EVENTS Full House The tavern was full of revellers, round bellied moustache wearing Reiklanders danced away on tables tankards in hand, an improvised stage was fashioned from a portion of the bar covered with candles. People were dancing laughing and thudding tankards to the sound of the music, which was played on bagpipes, hurdy-gurdy, bombard a drum and a fiddle. Singing the old classics like “The Miller of Middenheim” as well as “The Reik is Wide”. You’ll find little rest in this tavern, with the constant pounding and singing and the late night croaking of the stinking drunk, spewing their innards outside... (You don’t recover wounds in this tavern) Gambling Den A rogue with an unpleasant smile garnered all the attention in the tavern. Joking, laughing, pointing and theatrically speaking over the course of his little game, pulling on his purple stitched cap’s crooked peacock feather, and at his goatee, drinking atrocious amounts of cheap sour wine from a goblet. He energetically welcomed people to join into a game of cards with him, he was surrounded by a bunch of daft looking locals, in vests, balding, bar-moth burghers scratching their heads slowly as the game went by quite quickly with but a mere flash of the cards. The rogue welcomed you too with a pearly crooked smile, pointing with his ring bound fingers to an empty seat by the playing table, “Come sit and enjoy, I’d like to introduce you all good gentlemen to a game I was thought by a certain wizard of far of Cathay” (Gambling -2o%) Success: ...the dealer got a troll, three knights and a tower, which amounts to a ‘Siege’, the rest of the room got nothing. The smiling rogue was about to chuckle with his pearly gold grin when he saw your cards fall on the table. His visage cracked and eyes went blood shot, five daggers ‘hand of Khaine’ took the whole pool. “Cannot be...” He whimpered a morose breathless sigh, as if an ancient sarcophagus. As you smiled and with two wide swipes of your hands took from him the pot. Failure: ...the dealer got a troll, three knights and a tower, which amounts to a ‘Siege’, the rest of the room got nothing. Your hand was no better, some goblins, a dagger and chipped card with a knight. Still you were not very sure you got all the rules right since they were quite foggy all around, nevertheless the pot was lost and the rogue made a cheery remark. “Ranald bless you all my gentlemen. Now if you excuse me!” with a swift move of his hands, which he had time to practice no doubt, he swiped all the pot to a single purse and that was all you’ve seen of him. A Round on Them! A tall foppish adventuring philanderer with a fat soft giant mint blue feather arching from the wide brimmed light red hat stood at the bar. Wearing fine cut clothing of many colours with a roguish smile drinking from a goblet of wine. Finest garments on this Reiklander denote he’s a well travelled man. And a worldly man to add. Striped pants and fine shoes. He speaks of his exploits and travels, as well as what he’s seen in the region, provided you’re willing to pay for a few rounds of his drinks. Every drink bought for the fellow counts as a successful roll on gossip test. Rustic Scene

The night flies slowly by in the rural Vorbergland tavern. Slack jawed peasants sit over their tankards, making jokes with drunken voices. Reikflies buzz about the chamber lit lightly with clumsy stunted tallow candles. When all of a sudden a maiden burst in, sour kraut stomper in hand, she begun beating on one of the drunks, cursing him, screaming, telling him to go home. Blond braids flying behind the stout maiden, loud strikes struck the sides and the scalp of the poor drunk whom staggering made his apologetic way out of the tavern covering his head with his big hands. He was begging forgiveness of the woman, whom proved to be his wife. The woman adjusted the green-white skirt on her round figure and left behind her husband, opening yet another tirade when they left for their own rustic hovel. The tavern went silent for a while, but after the incident everyone went back after their business, proving it a common occurrence...

Search Demand

Local watch stops your cart dead in the gate house. A bunch of mouth breathing watchmen stand before your sculpture, kettle helms covering their daft Reiklander heads. A measly tired looking artisan stood between them frightened, as they stood there crude and proud, halberds in hand. He was quite reserved small, haunched and looking soft, a slouched bonnet on his bald head, he held a fat chisel and a hammer. A demand was quickly made, either you let the local mason examine your sculpture for smuggled goods, or you won’t be admitted to the town. The town economy has suffered at the hands of the smugglers’ ring, so the local watch is very vigilant. The mason would make a series of holes to ensure the sculpture is not hollowed out. (Bribery or fellowship to avoid it, or the sculpture suffers S-1 points of damage)

Angry Aqshynar A local tavern attraction left after a particularly rowdy bar fight is an outline upon a stone brick wall, what remains of a certain racountour with a barstool leg in his hand, preparing to strike. Left behind after a magister of pyromancy took to resolve the drunken brawl in which he partook through ultra violent means. The locals charge travellers for getting to see it. It is even fenced off with a piece of rope and hidden behind the courtain, which is unvailed for a couple of pennies by the proud innkeeper.