110: Letter from Blume

Dearest Father,

You will be pleased to know that your daughter, though abandoned to her fate in Middenheim, has survived yet another evening surrounded by my unfortunate comrades.

We laid our trap at Hausnung. Rumours of cursed books and a tome about rat-men were the bait. Guido was insistent thieves only ever strike at night (apparently criminals all respect bedtime etiquette), while Vinnie assured us that “statistically” daylight robberies are far more efficient. I could almost admire his confidence, if he weren’t sitting there with his arm falling out the socket, claiming his “two pairs of trousers” were form of double layer security. I call it delusion.

Fred, tried to keep order and moved mattresses into the study so we could all take turns sleeping and “on watch.” I agreed, I have always secretly wanted a proper sleepover. Alas. Harry, of course, was absent, felled by an excess of Nanny’s porridge.

I impressed myself with clever foresight. A pail of hot oil, placed at the top of the stair, my blunderbuss at my side, pistols ready. Naturally, Vinnie assumed the oil was for cooking sausages. One can only marvel at the mind of a sixteen-year-old would-be thief.

After scaring us all with phantom footsteps during our watch, the thief ended up leaving us something on the bottom step, a note reading: “The well at Pity Square in one hour.” All that preparation, and not a single burglar to burn with hot oil. Guido muttered something about destiny, Fred sighed, and Vinnie nearly toppled off the desk he’d perched on like some ridiculous gargoyle.

So off we went. At the well, Guido and Vinnie were lured by a black cat into an alley (superstition is clearly in fashion). Fred and I followed close behind. There we met Bors of Marienburg. He was blond, bearded and thoroughly unimpressive – judging by the way Vinnie blushed it really does seem that everyone is his type.

Bors confessed to stealing the artifacts wed been put in charge of recovering on behalf of a bunch of students who called themselves the Yellowfang. Bors admitted though that after the job was completed he no longer felt Ranald’s blessing. Guido did a sermon about repentance, while Vinnie asked Bors for lessons in thievery to which he replied that the gold snotball suit might be a problem. I am not sure which was more embarrassing. They, in the end, managed to convince Bors that by helping us get the artifacts back he may be looked upon fondly again by his patron.

Bors led us to student club in the Friberg district. Outside, Guido strategised, Fred argued for restraint, Vinnie bribed an urchin for clothes (which were far too small, even for Vinnie, so he looked like a child caught playing dress-up), and I, as ever, kept my powder dry and looked fantastic.

Bors said the students were in the basement of this townhouse. The upper storeys were for the parties they’d throw, in hindsight probably to hide the noise of whatever business they were up to in the basement. After some back and forth, Vinnie goes in to ‘sell the book’. He discovered that the basement was empty except for a large tunnel carved out in the centre of the room so he came back out and got us and we just walked in.

Following this dark and dirty tunnel we ended up in a cavern. This is where we found the four students (or cultists more likely) handing over the horned helmet to a large ratte-hombre with misshaped horns. He yells ‘Stab-Stab!’ as he sees us and with the helm darts down another tunnel. From the shadows came this giant and disgusting beast, an ogre of a rat man, it was grotesque and towering and I had never seen a ratte-hombre that large.

Fred leads the fight and Guido places himself beside him. Shield raised and swords outstretched, Guido prays to Sigmar and Myrmidia in equal measure. The ogre crashed towards them with two of the cultists.

Vinnie, of course, tried to dart in like a street cat, stabbing one cultist with surprising accuracy before immediately walking into another’s blade. Down he went, trousers and self-respect in a heap.

Bors hid in the corner of the cave only lit by Fred’s lantern. He loosed crossbow bolts from the shadows, sinking one deep into the ogre’s back, other clattering uselessly away.

I took position and fired. My first shot slammed into the ogre’s chest with a thud, the beast roaring with drool and rage. I reloaded, cocked the pistol, and shot again this time tearing into its arm, ripping muscle from bone. The creature staggered, wounded but far from finished.

The cultists pressed hard. One slashed Guido’s arm, forcing him to drop his sword, only for him to snatch it back and continue parrying with sheer bloody stubbornness. One of Vinnie’s cultists came at me, blade flashing, but like an elegant deer I leapt, disengaged, and shot him cleanly in the chest at near point-blank before being ganged up on. Finally, father I must admit, I was over powered with a stab to the leg, to which I fell gracefully to the cavern floor.

The rat ogre charged. Guido braced, Fred swung, but still it came on. Its fists crashed down, its tail whipped like a hammer. One blow split Guido’s helm, nearly taking his face with it; another crunched his arm, but still he stood, teeth clenched, challenging the ogre with a roar before getting womped and thrown in relative safety off into the corner of the cave.

Fred, sensing weakness, hacked at the ogres wounded arm. With a steadfast determination, he severed it clean through, the monster collapsing so heavily that it shook the cavern.

Fred delivered the final blow, coming to save me by cracking the last cultist’s skull which his blade. He then looked around the cavern as though wondering how in Ulrics’s name he would drag us all back to the surface.

My outfit is ruined, im beaten and bloodied and my patience threadbare. And yet, I suppose I must admit it, we survived together. Guido with his self-righteousness , Fred with his steady hand, Vinnie with his ferret-like flailing, and Bors.

Your forever loyal and fashionable daughter,

Blaume Hoffnung

KITUM

Ps. Please write back to me and tell Mama I miss her