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The Enemy Within: Grapes of Wrath (S5E01)

Captain's Log:

By the holy hammer, I've dreamed things no fine citizen of the Empire should suffer! Shifting shadows of a terrible realm that both tempts and dooms in equal measure. Constantly changing and forming new creatures and things more horrid than the last. I have been given glimpses of an impending tide of Chaos and the visions grow clearer with each passing day. Sigmar help me, I don't know if I should prefer these visions having complete truth to them or as just plays within a mind that lost its wits. Both are frightening to consider. Sleep has been harder to earn from these restless trials and time has become errant and elusive. I had hoped that my knightly training would give me some respite from these dark thoughts but it hasn't helped. I really do miss the simplicity of being a barge captain...

I couldn't even tell you the exact date right now. The year is 2514. Has to be. The boat building and return to the Tsar's palace took longer than I imagined. I suppose that my mind can't help but think of time as something to quickly flow through like a river. There are greater things to track down these days instead of the date. The best use I have for dates are for knowing when cultists are going to try to do something. You can easily surprise them and humiliate them in front of their own daemon masters. Horror, at realizing their own misdeeds, runs down their face before you strike them down. I sound bloodthirsty but I really just want to give those not afflicted by Chaos some hope. A realization of how the righteous path will serve you better than temporary, hell-spawned pleasures. That is why we fight the enemy within.

Sorry, I like to ramble. Jim and I were requested by Bogdanov to return to the Graf and report our exploits in Kislev. Or something like that. I was more concerned about leaving this land of fiends and frost as soon as humanly, and halflingly, possible. We were entrusted with escorting a noblewoman named Anastasia all the way from there to Talabheim in Talabecland. I myself know it for the River Stir and River Talabec which are a huge part of the flow of trade in the province. Knew a sailor who frequented the Talabec. She told me never to go near the forests around the Urskoy. After our time in Kislev I now truly understand what she meant. Anastasia was absolutely no trouble to deal with and we gladly accepted our quest. If she had any drug problems or terrible court secrets then she hid them incredibly well. Ha, good old Middenheim! I wonder how the Sir Infinite is doing?

She was going to be married to Rolf Krieglichten- Rolf Kriegzilch- Rolf of Talabheim, a noble man of great repute. I think. I had personally never heard of him before. Anastasia had a chaperone who eh, she wasn't the WORST chaperone I've ever spoken to. She absolutely detested all of us except for The One. The chaperone made the next few days of travel southward much more difficult than necessary. Eventually we prevailed and found ourselves before the magnificent sight of Talabheim. A city built into a gigantic crater like the valley of a long lost civilization. They worship Tal and Rhea here with as much fervour as Middenheim venerates Ulric. It explained the harmony between civilization and nature in Talabheim.

After we were done staring it was time to find Rolf and make sure that Anastasia arrives safely. He wasn't too difficult to track down and we found him outside his manor with several soldiers dressed in very fancy uniforms. I've learned from experience that you ultimately need pants that are both fancy and practical for the life of a warrior. Lad had all eyes on the girl and barely a glance and thank you were thrown in our direction. Bastard was a spoilt little shite with a limp handshake. Anastasia didn't seem to mind too much and was even happy with the powdered goblin. Love is funny. I turned away in disgust and let them enter their home. Wait, we needed a place to stay and weren't even invited inside! The rain felt heavier when we realized this. Sir Marine Captain Werner had been very irritable recently and now he was mad. He slammed his fist upon the door. The sliding peephole gradually revealed two wide, frightened eyes. His name was Karl and he was a very good man. Absolutely no bilge would come from his mouth. Werner stated several times the importance of us making sure that Anastasia was safe but it was to no avail.

He recommended us a snug little place called, give me a second this always gets me, The Golden Bucket. By Sigmar I wish I thought of that name first! It dealt as much in rumours and gossip as it did ale. Heard of fighting going on down south between Talabec and Ostland. A dispute of who owns what part of the border. Southern Ostland is supposedly aligning themselves with Chaos, possibly to gain the upper hand in the dispute. The Emperor has fallen terribly ill and it has caused great strife in Altdorf. His son is supposed to have bat wings and a tail as well as being a rat boy. That would explain the recent mutant laws... I heard something about a butler being a devout follower of "Slanosh" and the Emperor is planning to call a council of the rulers very soon.

Our fears were confirmed the next morning when a messenger informed us that we needed to report to the Law Lords in Middenheim. Travelling down there by land was out of the question. The river was decided to be the consistently quicker choice. On the barge we met Ulrica and Bertha Jung. They were indeed related to Kirsten from Middenheim! They both seemed very confused when Werner told them that he knew her very well. It was fine after they realized that he was the minotaur destroyer and champion-beater of the arena. Gunther, their bodyguard, was an interesting fellow to have right beside two noblewomen. I thought he was one of Haablo's warriors for a second, to be honest. I wouldn't pick a fight with him without a very good reason.

Suddenly, an abomination flew towards our fine barge. It was a skull, not sent flying by Werner's blade but rather of its own accord! Two eyes like burning stars and a wicked grin on its face as it flew like a master archer's arrow. We were stuck to the main deck, afeared and with mouths agape. The bastard made the hull take a fierce wound and continued on its ungodly way. We were sinking, and fast! Those below deck, the noble women and The One, rushed above and were full of questions. They assumed it to be a brief collective madness, a strange flickering sight of an owl, but we knew what we saw. Every passenger survived, thankfully, and there was a dispute of whether to use the remains as a shelter near the woods or to trek towards Grubensreik. The crew and I were of the former camp but eventually the latter option won. It was a shame. I had a really good idea in my head of how to make a barge house. Bloody flying skulls.

The Jungs had an aunt and uncle, Matilda and Edward, that owned a tavern in Grubensreik. Edward reckoned it was the sight of a bat in the setting sun. We knew what we saw. A wine merchant advised us to head down to Pritzstock to experience the wine festival. We might as well go to another festival. Third time's the charm, after all. Three fellows, led by Hans Krug, agreed to bring us there by cart. Arriving at Pritzstock made me realize that the place was sorely lacking. There was no tavern and it was more of a hamlet than a village. Actually, what's less than a hamlet? A hamling? Don't look at me that way Doctor, I'm trying my best to figure this out. A fellow with a wide, toothless grin struck up conversation with the crew. I gave a full, formal introduction of the entire crew before realizing that he didn't seem too interested. Wanted to talk about the wine and food in quite simple terms. He announced that he was hungry and we told him to get some chicken or something. He then proceeded to run after a live chicken and he was gone. The One declared him a fool but I believe that he could be a key intelligence man for our stay in Pritzstock.

The mayor invited us to his small manor and we began chatting. He was a Bretonnian named Henri Phillip and showed the usual liking for various wines each more obscure, old and strangely named than the last. I guess that was our fault for telling him we were wine merchants. We were all very confused for a brief moment because of the accent. Apparently he wasn't talking about mouse holes, ice holes, OR arse holes but rather the households of Pritzstock. He considers the local wine, the Riesling, to be a new wine for a new age. However, the local flying skulls have been bothering the workers trying to get the wine. To make matters worse, the festival is happening in seven days. Seven days, that's less than a week! We agreed to solve the flying skull problem and are about to set out to do so.

I fear the worst headbutts imaginable. I wish I requisitioned that suit of plate armour...

  • Johann Dasbuut.

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