Oliver gives the new faces a nod and shakes their hands "Pleasure" he says before resuming his position in the corner, lighting his pipe with a long match as he does. In a short space of time the white clay pipe glows red and Oliver is soon surrounded by a cloud of dispersing smoke.

He is dressed in the green flock coat with silver buttons and silver braiding and a buff waistcoat. Under his arm is a tricorne hat in black felt which looks new and he wears a cross bandoleer with a bayonet and sword hanger for a scabbard. Along with buff breeches and a white long-sleeved silk hunting shirt with high black cavalry boots shined to a high parade polish to finish.

His sword is next to him propped up on a chair, it is a familiar heavy cavalry officers affair, but with rich ascents. The hand guard is a bowl form, and incorporating an elaborate pierced honeysuckle design with a prominent rear quillo all in solid silver as well a silver braided sword knot designating an officer of the Aventinian Royal Lancers hangs off the guard. The ladder grip looks to be white ivory with silver wire in the groves along it's length. The scabbard it sits in is also silver, deep relief Nimschke scroll engraving covers it's entire surface even the two hanging rings. It looks to be a presentation sword of some kind given out for long and outstanding service or extreme acts of heroism on the battle field, perhaps from the king himself.




-

"One thing for certain Professor, where he last saw his murderous Leutnant. He must be made to tell us that much if it is possible."

Hanse set his musket in the corner next to the door before shaking hands with Oliver.



Hanse' grip was strong but not obnoxious as he gripped wrist to wrist in the manner of warriors.

"An honor for certain Sir William. May I also introduce Professor Rachel Cobbleman of the University of Rivai."

The Mercenary's coat, a red so deep it appeared black in dim light, was somewhat longer being in the Krastavan style. It was made of durable but expensive materials and cut to be worn over armor. His chest was crossed by a baldric holding two pistols and a scabbard for his very functional backsword, a long straight heavy bladed and basket hilted weapon.

He turned his eyes to the prisoner but he did not yet speak to him.

The greeting Rachel gives is only a sound in its minority. A noise from the front of her mouth that never really becomes a word. Mostly, though, it's a gesture. A shrug that starts at the bottom of her ribs and lifts all the way up into her shoulders. Traveling visibly through her black dress, every muscle in her involved in the motion. It involves not a trace of eye contact. Equal parts dismissive and exhausted. Only when she's done does she shoot Lira a look that resolves in a deep, dramatic roll of her eyes.

"Fine," she grumbles, "I'll take notes."

Lira scratches her stick of charcoal against her book a bit louder. Notes on what? She was perfectly capable of taking a transcript... it figured that she would run all the way to the hinterlands of Aventaine and still Rachel Cobbleman would swoop in to take her job...


Dobrovit lifted his head just enough to stare blankly at the party, challenging them to speak.

It would seem that Oliver would have to take a more "pragmatic" role in negotiations if they were to get away from this village anytime soon. He pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the prisoner "Dobrovit, Dobrovit are you listening ? Where is the Lieutenant ?"


-

Hanse' face described a bemused expression as the most basic pleasantries were completely ignored. Still he was not here to socialize.

He watched as the first question was put to Dobrovit and added,

"Answer quickly and honestly and it will save us all considerable discomfort."

Dobrovit visibly tenses when Lieutenant Wolenski is brought up. "Gone," the prisoner mumbles through gritted teeth. His voice is deep and raspy from disuse, his words hard to make out. "Went over the rivers and into Golinlund, thought the little ones would sustain him. He's wrong though."

"Better than the chickens though. They tasted like sawdust. I would know, too. Been hungry enough..." His words trail off into an incoherent muttering.

"Little ones, children you mean ?" Oliver had a inkling as to what was going on and gave Lira a glance catching her eye as he did.

"Were did the little ones come from ?"


-

Rachel, meanwhile, has broken out her own charcoal pencil and sheet of paper. Scribbling things down as they're said. Her handwriting moves in quick, precise strokes. Left-handed, she drags the pencil from the right of the page to the left. Taking things down in reverse. It doesn't seem to trouble her any. Glancing up to the interrogation with a frown.

Hanse listened for now.

Lira manages little but to take increasingly erratic notes and look horrified at the mention of "little ones."

Dobrovit, for his part, manages to alleviate an immediate concern. "No, no, not children." He manages a scowl. "Though I wouldn't put it past the Lieutenant. Orlin made them. The... the..."

There is an awkward pause as a frustrated Dobrovit physically pounds on his own temple with disturbing force, likely concussing himself as he attempts to knock the translation loose. "Knockers," he says, slipping into his native Krastavan. "Knockers. Mason damn it, what is the word?"

"Little men," Dobrovit finally says, returning to heavily accented Aven. He relaxes instantly, his manacled hands returning to the tabletop with a faint clink. "Orlin made them. I trusted him, but he's... like the Lieutenant. He made the little men. I think he helped make the meat pies in Klimast. They said to take a horse and fetch the runners. I... I didn't know what for."

Dobrovit falls quiet again, his lower lip trembling. He's talkative, at least, though his babbling makes little sense...

[OOC: Hanse knows that "Orlin" is the name of Lieutenant Wolenski's second in command, and one of the men with a 50 gold bounty on his head. Klimast is the village the unit slaughtered.

Rachel can attempt an Intelligence check and add her Occultist specialty for some information. Lira got a check as well, and made it, but Rachel seems the type to beat her to the punch, so... give it a shot.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:18, Thu 30 Jan 2020.

" Well thank the gods for small mercy's I suppose..."

"So why did your unit attack the village then ? What did you hope to gain ? This....Orlin was he new to the unit, what else do you know of him ?

Oliver decided to keep asking questions and not apply any pressure to the man just yet.


-

"Orlin was the 2nd in command to Wolenski. Not likely to be a new man."

OOC: With two native Krastavans in the room is there any chance we know what he is talking about when he says "Knockers"?

To Dobrivit he says, "So Orlin is a Warlock as well as the Leutnant?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:45, Wed 29 Jan 2020.

"Kobolds..." Rachel grumbles into her notes, without looking up. A few more scratches line onto the paper. She shifts herself from one foot to the other, before she speaks up more.

"Was there something Orlin always kept with him? Or wouldn't give to anyone else?"

Dobrovit shook his head at Oliver's line of questioning. "No, Orlin joined before I did. He was Wolenski's second, and a good cook. I thought he was a good man. We attacked because Wolenski ordered... we were cut off and surrounded by boyar forces. Wolenski didn't trust the villagers, said they were informants. I was sent to catch runners with a horse, and when I returned the fires were already burning."



Dobrovit's heavy brow crumpled into furrows as he thought. "I don't know about warlocks. The Lieutenant knows magic, it is true. He called up something terrible in Klimast, something made of teeth and light. I've never known Olrin to be a practitioner, but I suppose it's possible..."



"Most of the volunteers ditched their uniforms, but kept their arms," Dobrovit answers. "Orlin had a horse, and a saber. Some of the grenadiers might have a few of their bombs left, but ammunition was low even before I made for the border. And then there is his cookware and his utensils. Orlin's father was a restaurateur; he would cook for the company every night, and was very particular. Good goulash."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:13, Wed 05 Feb 2020.

"And Orlin created these "little men" tell me more about them, what did they look like ? What were they for ? Did you take any prisoners from the village ? Why do you now not think Olin is a good man, what changed your mind ?"


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This message was last edited by the player at 00:28, Wed 05 Feb 2020.

Hanse did not care to consider what Orlin was serving his subordinates in that goulash.

"And where is Orlin now?"

Saber? The word merits an underline as Rachel writes. Remaining quiet for the time. Letting the men bang and barge through their questions while her paper filled. Maybe something interesting would come from this.

"He's talking about kobolds," Lira says, piping up for the first time since the interrogation began. Unconsciously, and very much against her will, she looks to Rachel almost as if for approval before continuing. "'Knocker' is a Krastavan colloquialism for kobolds."

Dobrovit nods, his chains clinking as he snaps his fingers in recognition. "Kobold! That is the word, yes. They look... hmm. Like Orlin's little sous chefs? Or butchers? They wear little leather aprons, and stand about this high," he says, waving his manacled hands just an inch or two over the table.


Dobrovit shakes his head when Oliver asks about prisoners. For his next question, he simply answers: "Because he helped Wolenski make the pies."



"Across the border," Dobrovit says vaguely. Then, after a moment's consideration, "Cobble Inn Waystation. They said they were going to the cobble inn." Dobrovit then suddenly doubles over, groaning loudly. "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm so, so sorry."

The prisoner begins murmuring apologies, rocking back and forth in his chair with increasing agitation.

[OOC: Hanse, please give me a Wisdom check. You can add your Bounty Hunter relationship for a +1 to this if you so choose, but it will exhaust the relationship for the day. Everyone can continue to ask questions, though.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:07, Fri 07 Feb 2020.

"You understand the penalty for what you have done Dobrovit? Helping me can at least send you across with less evil on your soul."

"How many men dothey still have with them?"

Oliver stayed silent as he mulled over the last series of answers. As he did so he prepared his pipe and then lit it while standing against the wall. At some point he hoped to allow Lira to have a closer look at the man and see if she can discern if something else is driving him, magic or feral.

Oliver Fitzwilliam rolled 8 using 2d6.  Wisdom check about the Inn.


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This message was last edited by the player at 02:15, Wed 12 Feb 2020.

A Malign Presence:

"He's talking about kobolds," Lira says, piping up for the first time since the interrogation began. Unconsciously, and very much against her will, she looks to Rachel almost as if for approval before continuing. "'Knocker' is a Krastavan colloquialism for kobolds."

"Obviously," Rachel mutters, annoyed. It's obviously a struggle to keep her eyes from rolling out of her head. "If we're going to find this man, we'll need to know what their totem is. I'll need a complete list of everything Orlin keeps with him. Then we'll need a guide."

In reply to Rachel Cobbleman (msg # 37):

"We will not need a guide I can get us to the Inn well enough, from there though..." He places his pipe to his mouth again and inhales letting out a long stream of smoke from his nose.


-

Hanse took a half step forward placing himself on an angle between the prisoner and the others.

With his right hand he quickly drew a pistol from his baldric and pointed the heavy caliber daemonlock weapon at the prisoners head. His left hand more or less casually rested on the hilt of his backsword.

At the same time his voice rose to the sharp edge that had been used to command men by officers and NCOs for as long as their have been soldiers.

"Is there something under the table that you would like to show us Mr. Dobrovit?"

"Bring out your hands! Unless you would rather I carry out your sentence right here?"

When Von Danzig spoke Oliver unsheathed his sword that had been at arms length, he maintained his position where he was as he waited for the prisoner to respond or attack.

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