The Old Watermill

[The Raven]

Along the Red Fork, a mile east of Medway's main dock, sits an old watermill. It is useless now, the machinery that turned the great wheel long destroyed from war and neglect, but the main structure still bears a roof and its cellars lead to a small tunnel leading directly to the river, where a small boat sits obscured by the high reeds and the wheel itself. On the land side, owned by House Wylchester, the grass is tall and the willows hang low. Only a passing boat might spy the old edifice as it sails down the Red Fork, another dilapidated locale in a wartorn land. It was Longinch who first discovered the old building, after its owners had fled south during the war. It held three floors, not including the maze of cellars and tunnels. Based on this evidence, the bandit chief had suggested that perhaps it's owners had trafficked in more than grain.

Of course, Longinch had claimed the master bedroom on the the second floor, overlooking the overgrown field. He had secured the door with a fine Braavosi lock, though as the wood was practically rotting, the only real barrier to Longinch's privacy had been Longinch's wrath. The disgraced knight always kept the key around his neck, beneath his famous plate armor.

***

This morning, a mile from his sanctuary, Ser Lucas Inchfield was hanged in his armor from a great oak that marked the turn one made to reach the Medway township itself. Across his cuirass, especially cleaned for the occasion, were painted the words, "Thus to all feends who pray on the good and gintle!"

[Tim of Raventree]

Tim had been out hunting, shooting down a pair of fat woodpigeon before he spotted the corpse of the bandit leader hanging from the oak. Unable to read he was both suspicious and contemptuous of the written word. He liked to say that no good could come from putting words on paper and that he did not believe that the written word had any power over him. So he looked at the mysterious symbols written across the bandit leader's cuirass and scowled. He wasn't even sure that it was proper writing. For all he knew, it was a spell. Perhaps some hedge witch had cursed Inchfield and that had got his neck in the noose.

"Arrogant bastard," he muttered. "Well rid o' that one. Never liked him anyhow."

At least this time the other bandits would actually pay attention to him. This time he would bring news that mattered to them all, whether they liked Inchfield or not. He turned to go then it occurred to him that it would be a pity to waste useful items, so he decided to search the corpse.

Observation 20

[The Gambler]

(Passed. +2 Observation.)

While it is clear that the armor has substantial value, Tim also notes that this is a particularly busy road. If he wishes to cut down and loot a corpse, it would likely be best to wait for nightfall, as this constituted criminal activity.

[Tim of Raventree]

After a moment's thought, Tim decided to head home and break the news. Besides, looking at corpses gave him a thirst. So he set off back to the watermill, his prey in hand.

When he arrived back at the watermill he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled to attract attention. "I've brought food!" He called. "And news too. Longinch is done for."

[Harlan]

Harlan burst into the Old Mil and immediately started ransacking the place. He rummaged through drawers and cabinets looking for whatever supplies he could find, loading them into a satchel he had strung over his shoulder. He was in a frenzy, fantically moving about in chaos, which resulted in an obnoxious clatter.

He stopped in front of Longinche’s door, letting out a sigh and dropping his head. “So long, old friend,” he said mostly to himself. He had followed Longinch for nearly a year now and life had been easy. Harlan hadn’t expected all of that to end so abruptly.

Considering his peace made, Harlan attempts to kick in the door. If it doesn’t open by force, he will attempt to pick the lock.

(Sleight of Hand: 50)

[Boros]

Immedeatly, at the sound of Tim's words, Pete stopped hi was doing- which was a very fun activity called "looking into the fireplace and stabbing a the wooden wall in an autistic manner"- and turned,eyes gleaming in anger at the supposed Noble bastard.

"What did you fucking say?" His knife hand's grip tightened, he could feel his veins pulsating beneath his skin.

"Say that again." Pete barked threateningly.

[Tim of Raventree]

Tim was so happy to be the bearer of important news that for once he didn't even notice Pete's threatening manner. Normally he gave Pete a wide berth since the man's obsession with fire was just not normal.

"Longinch is dead," he said. "Dangling from the big oak a mile away. Probably had it comin', though. They hanged him in full armour. "

[The Gambler]

Apr 5, 2018 19:59:57 GMT Harlan said:

Harlan burst into the Old Mil and immediately started ransacking the place. He rummaged through drawers and cabinets looking for whatever supplies he could find, loading them into a satchel he had strung over his shoulder. He was in a frenzy, fantically moving about in chaos, which resulted in an obnoxious clatter.

He stopped in front of Longinche’s door, letting out a sigh and dropping his head. “So long, old friend,” he said mostly to himself. He had followed Longinch for nearly a year now and life had been easy. Harlan hadn’t expected all of that to end so abruptly.

Considering his peace made, Harlan attempts to kick in the door. If it doesn’t open by force, he will attempt to pick the lock.

(Sleight of Hand: 50)

(Strength Roll: 0+59=Failed)

Despite the rotted wood, Harlan's weak kick didn't budge it in the slightest. It was apparent why drugged and barely conscious women were his prey of choice.

(Sleight of Hand Roll: 50+9=Failed)

While the wood might be weak, Inchfield's Braavosi lock was apparently top of the line, its intricate foreign tumblers out of Harlan's depth. He breaks three picks in the attempt before giving up.

[Boros]

"Fucking liar, I'll rip off your fucking tongue." Pete let out a roar darted at Tim's throat, pressing him against the wall.

A whirlpool of feelings was raging inside him. Anger, sorrow, bitterness... It all came out in a burst, as it most often did. Pete was not know for dealing with his feelings, he was well known for being a bipolar bastard who'd beat the shir out of a toddler if it looked crooked at him.

"YOU FUCKING LIE" He shouted at Tim's face. Speckles of spit flying.

[Harlan]

Harlan shook his head in frustration, embarrassed he couldn’t break through a rotted wooden door. “It’s not worth my neck,” he said to himself as justification for his failures.

Hearing the commotion outside, Harlan walked to the front door to catch Tim and Pete at each others throats, literally.

“Get your shit together, If we don’t move quickly, we’ll end up like our good friend back in town, a few long inches short of the ground.”

[Tim of Raventree]

Tim began to be afraid as Pete pushed him against the wall and called him a liar. He fumbled for his table dagger in panic but didn't have time to draw it before the interruption. He felt a wash of relief as Harlan approached.

"You saw 'im too? I told this one 'ere, only he don't believe that ol' Longinch is dead. It's true, Pete. Unless you're going to call us both liars," Tim said, desperate.

[Harlan]

Harlan looked at Pete, seeing the fire in his friends eyes. “It’s true Pete, the bastards hung him in his plate. They even wrote us a warning across his cuirass.”

[Boros]

Pete slowly softened the grip on Tim's throat, his anger vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. Harl was a filthy rapist but he'd not lie, not like Tim did.

"It's true, then, Harl?! The Boss is dead!?!" He said,voice quivering. Pete wanted to kill something to stab it with his bare hands and then set it on fire. Longinch had given him protection when he was about to hang, he owed the man his life.

"They are coming for us now. We are fucked, Harl. FUCKED! We ain't got the boss no more." His started getting fiddly, his hands making stange fidgety movembts in anxiety. "They will fucking get us!"

[Barley]

Barley sighed lightly as she heard everyone fighting, why were men so men like.

She’d not bothered much of a look at the swinging corpse, when she’d seen it abd she couldn’t read the threat, so what did it matter. Can’t until the dead.

Not bothering to talk to the others, Barley went to the door to try her own luv at picking the lock, it it failed she’d look for a second way in.

Sleight if hand 35

Observation 55

[Harlan]

“That’s why we have to move quickly. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were men searching every property on the outskirts of town. Seeing as our fearless leading is swinging no more than a mile from us, it won’t be long until they find our hideout.”