Trident Meeting 2338 And More Part 1
This year, you travel to Nordland for the annual Trident Meeting. Every single time you do so, you cannot help but think about that first foray into the northern province, of just how the land appeared. The assault upon your senses is that of a much cleaner sort now, the stench of rot and disgusting noise of bubbling decay are replaced with clean ocean winds sweeping in. The chirping of singing birds, the rustle of perfectly natural creatures whose populations exploded with the shifting of the provinces population. As Stephan had told you time and again, the enormous herds of deer and flush amounts of furs the Nordlanders were able to hunt as they progressed back inland were most valuable indeed. It is a substantial change, and one you grow to appreciate more and more every year that you travel to Stephan's homeland. It is a leisurely pace which marks your progress, aided in its languidness by the joining with Ortrud's own gaggle of children and guards.
Frankly, you and Natasha are more than happy to give your children time to interact with their counterparts within the Trident. In the future, as hopefully far off and distant as it may be, it will be Magnus and Reinhardt who will be making the journey. And Mena, of course. You can only imagine what the wolfish young woman may grow up to be like. Already you have heard of her leading patrols of Nordlander troops up and down the province throughout the year, regardless of weather or season, to hunt down bandits, beastmen, and greenskins alike. Not one for the fine courts, you think. Luckily Stephan anticipated such a thing, and Mena's husband Victor spends quite a bit of time at court to make up for the provincial heir's deficit. But even so, it is not Victor, but Mena who arrived at the head of a column of light cavalry to greet your entrance into Nordland proper along the roads. After all, such a personal escort is plenty political enough of a statement.
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"What…is that?"
Magnus stared in something akin to awe. Reinhardt, next to him, merely blinked rapidly before folding his arms together. The three heirs of the Northern Trident had rather unsubtly been shoved together at one of the various cook fires in the camp by their parents, present or otherwise. This was not the first time such a thing had happened, and they were close enough friends by now that they hardly needed to be persuaded. Yet in all the letters exchanged by the heirs, often amounting to twice or more a month, Mena von Kessel had never mentioned this. Frederica, Reinhardt's wife, looked particularly pale, while Sabine just pursed her lips in vague interest.
The latter's reaction heartened Magnus, though he wasn't particularly surprised at this point. After all, he and Sabine had fought back to back more than once on the battlefield now. After sharing the shedding of blood, and standing in the spilled guts of more than one beastman, he knew that something like this would not even begin to affect her. Poor Frederica, on the other hand, for all that she was Mena's sister, appeared to be of a somewhat fainter constitution. Or maybe Reinhardt simply chose not to involve his wife on the battlefield. Which was perfectly fair to Magnus so long as both agreed on the matter.
"My first brand, to show my devotion to Ulric," she bared her teeth in an almost feral grin as she looked from one man to the other.
"Now, you say brand, as if it was just the one," Reinhart finally said, pointing with one finger while keeping his arms somewhat folded, "But that's…quite extensive."
The Ulrican snorted.
"It is just one," she insisted, "The entire process took twelve hours to finish, and all in one go. One go, one brand."
Simple as that, it seemed.
"Oh Mena…," Frederica whispered, hands cupped over her mouth.
Reinhardt spoke true, Magnus knew. It was quite extensive. At camp, Mena had removed the chainmail and studded leather for more regular clothing befitting her station. It was then that the brand had been revealed, a startling swirl of incredibly intricate Ulrican artwork and symbology which stretched from the top of her right shoulder and down to her hand. The reversed 'U' salute, a dire insult by the Cult of Ulric, had been imprinted repeatedly as well. There was even thinly done amounts of scrollwork done along the sides of the fingers. If it had only been a tattoo, that would be one thing, but it was most certainly branding.
"Twelve hours of searing your own flesh is…," Reinhardt began to say, only for Mena to huff at him.
"It's a sign of devotion," she growled, "To Ulric. I've not lost a single iota of strength, dexterity, or range of motion. Just last week I cut apart a gor with my hand-axe!"
"I was going to say," Magnus spoked up, "Wouldn't the finger branding…,"
"It was a smaller brand," Mena waved his words away. "Enough to sear the skin but not ruin the flesh beneath."
Tossing her head of reddish brown hair did not quite have the effect it might have for some women, given how shortly shorn said hair was, Mena leaned back on her appropriated stool and jerked her chin back towards her friends.
"But enough about the brand. I'm thinking of getting pregnant again. Thoughts?"
There was a stereotype about Nordlanders, that they lacked all sense of tact or subtlety. In that, Magnus felt that Mena exemplified such a concept perfectly. He also knew she would be absurdly proud of being told so.
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More than once, as you are on your way towards the port town of Heiligdorf, Mena mounts up with her apparently personal group of cavalry troops and rides into the wilderness. More than once she returns with blood splattered across her armor and weapons, a grin on her face every time. At first, you weren't entirely sure how she seemed to be able to predict such things, but it only took the once for you to recognize the very specific bird calls which appeared a natural portion of Nordland's environment which were in fact being used by her scouts. It took Magnus and Reinhardt two such events to catch on, Sabine three. Even while escorting you in a general period of relative peace, the Kessel is ready for war at all times. Befitting her zealous Ulrican nature, you suppose. You can appreciate that her scouts are devoted enough to her that they're willing to simply be on the constant look out for foes for her to chase down. When Natasha presses her on the subject, Mena, astonishingly, blushes before admitting that they are in fact something granted to her by Stephan as a birthday present several years ago. There is no formal name, but a simple raised eyebrow is enough to get one of her troops to admit that they've privately been calling themselves the Blue Wolves, in accordance to one of the two primary colors of Nordland heraldry and the nature of their leader.
In total, they number about a thousand and a half men and women, spread out in differently sized detachments across Nordland. All on assignment under Mena's direct control. It is something she is quite proud of, and understandably so given the supposed results. Magnus, for one, informs you that the storytelling traditions of Nordland are alive and well, with Mena now capable of constructing quite an expansive length of verbosity whenever she desires. On the other hand, she is not particularly skilled in terms of poetry or even somewhat diverse word choice. Your son blearily told you so one morning after a night in which Reinhardt had prodded the heir to Nordland perhaps a little too much that he'd never heard the words 'slain', 'slew' and 'assault' spoken so many times within the course of a single night.
Eventually, however, you did make it to Heiligdorf. Once a somewhat small fishing village, it has expanded rather significantly in the years past to accommodate its extremely important position. Said position being one of the main anchorage points for the fleet of ships that regularly patrol the Sea of Claws and the coastline of the province itself. The punishing environment is not one which is entirely beneficial for the placement of the 1st Imperial Fleet, but damn if Stephan hasn't worked hard to build it up regardless. Multiple anchorage points, shipyards, coastal fortresses and defensive troops on a constant basis. It's almost like a smaller incarnation of Salkalten, if you're being honest. Not as large, nor as heavily defended, but then it doesn't need to be. Manannsheim, on the other hand? As the current capital, it has similarly extended defenses compared to Salkalten whilst also possessing a far larger population ready to be drummed up into emergency militia positions.
The transport ship you embark on to cross to the island is escorted by a full ten wolf ships, which to the ignorant might possibly seem excessive, but not to you. The Norscans could just as easily cut through the waves on their ships in the small area between provincial shoreline and Manannsheim itself to assault a lone ship. They've done it before, in fact, Mena tells you with red faced anger. The bastards had cut more than one transport or fishing vessel that let its guard down too much. Fortunately, you don't have to deal with anything close to that, and instead reach the port city without any difficulty whatsoever. Stephan greets you all with full fanfare, a wide smile on his face as he clasps hands with you and Ortrud. Odelia is present as well, though she remains well away from the waters of the docks themselves, especially joyful to greet both Mena and her distant daughter Frederica.
A sumptuous dinner is offered and happily accepted by all present.
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"No, no. The 1st Army is stationed along the coast, while the 2nd Army is the one which is continuing to patrol the interior," Stephan gestures with the foaming mug of beer in his hand. "Mena's forces are beholden to neither, however."
"How did that come about, by the way?" Ortrud asks from the couch where she leans into her husband.
The three of you and your respective partners had left behind everyone else in the dining hall to a smaller den within the castle as the night had gone on. Now, the only ones still with you were some of your Greatswords, stationed outside of the room of course. Some in the hallway, and some on the larger balcony which overlooks the well-lit Manannsheim. The room itself is finely furnished, not just with furniture but with some artwork as well in the form of some statues and a frankly magnificent painting of some starry horizon over some unknown city or another. It's so impressive that it's actually making you have to work to pay attention to Stephan and Ortrud's conversation.
"She didn't ask for a pony, she wanted a warhorse. She didn't want dresses or jewelry, only armor and weapons," Stephan grunts as he sits heavily back in his chair, Odelia shifting so that she can rest her likely quite warm head on his shoulder. "The one thing I refused her in was her going off and joining the priests of Ulric outright, and she's been making me pay for it ever since."
"…in the form of a small personal army she's paying with funds from her own personal estates and investments that are constantly battling in the name of the people," Ortrud raised an eyebrow as she smirked. "My, what an awfully demanding girl. Why, she's almost as much a brat as a southern flower."
The sarcasm just about drips onto the floor. Something Stephan doesn't miss. He raises his tankard in Ortrud's direction before tilting it back and drinking some.
"Mena is willful, I won't deny it, but Victor is able to reign her in most days. Her efforts are widely appreciated, however. If you pass by any number of Nordlander village or towns, you'll see at least a few blue wolves thrown into the woven pennants or painted on signs."
His pride is obvious, as well it should be. Mena is effectively doing what Magnus has been doing, but for far longer and with far less forces than your son has been allowed. After all, Magnus has commanded all three of the armies of Ostland at one season or another since Karak Ungor. Yet she is no less worthy of praise than he, considering that even Magnus returns home every few weeks. Mena, on the other hand, has been more than happy to campaign in the depths of a northern winter in the Empire as well as under the burning heat of the summer. The fact that she pays them herself is also impressive, as unlike her or Arthur, Magnus has no personal estates to run. Mostly because he aids in the running of yours with the expectation of inheriting someday.
But this painting…where its horizon from? The Empire? Bretonnia? One of the various southern realms?
"Stephan?" You interrupt the good-natured ribbing between your friends. "Where did you get this thing?"
"What, the painting?" Stephan looks askance for a moment before chuckling. "It was a gift. One of many, apparently. All painted by some Tilean wunderkind of an artist, the daughter of the Prince of Miragliano."
That, finally, drags your attention fully away from the thing.
"Carmen Acciai-Vega?"
"That's the one," Stephan snaps his fingers. "They were sent out far and wide."
Far and wide, huh.
"Well why didn't I get one then?" You can't help but ask, a sentiment shortly followed by Ortrud.
"I'm not sure. She's quite young, perhaps she didn't want to?"
Or maybe this is the faintest of snubs possible by the man whose brother fathered Anna's child. Or perhaps it is something else entirely. The world does not revolve around you, after all.
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The morning after your arrival in Manannsheim is a blustery one, the winds constantly blowing amidst a multitude of grey clouds. Not to the point of being a cause for concern, either from storm or just rain in general, but it is certainly a change from the relatively clear skies from yesterday. You are no more than a handful of hours through the morning, however, when a messenger comes into the castle and heads straight for Stephan. The assembled parties of all three Electors had been spread throughout the castle, some sleeping the days away, others touring the city, others still sparring in the yard with amusing lightness in terms of intensity. But the messenger ignored all of this, and the small smile on Stephan's face as he watched Mena batter away at Reinhardt's shield slips away as his eyes turn to you instead. A few curt words are exchanged as you begin walking over, until the messenger reveals a thin scroll of vellum.
By that point you are close enough to see the curled green wax seal, itself in the shape of a leaf within a circle struck through by a pair of antlers.
"The Wood Elves, eh?" You posit before unscrewing the top of one of your flasks to begin drinking.
"Indeed," Stephan nods, waving the letter at you with a slightly irritated expression on his face.
"What's wrong?"
"They're on my island, and yet somehow none of my scouts either on land or sea noticed them arriving," he growls lowly. "But at the least they actually communicated somewhat properly rather than simply showing up somewhere and expecting to be catered to."
Now, to be fair to the elves, you have to admit that the inhabitants of Laurelorn communicating with Stephan with regularity at all is quite a feat if you do say so yourself. On the other hand, what a security nightmare it is for them to have made it onto the island without a hint of them up until now. Yet before you can comment on that further, a second messenger runs up, this one breathing just a little bit harder, sweat soaking into their doublet. This time, they carry nothing written but their words are gasped out just a bit louder.
"My lord, that is, Count Kessel, there are high elves coming in towards the harbor! They bear the heraldry of the Everqueen of Ulthuan!"
That makes you cough slightly as you finish off the last of the ale in your flask. Stephan, on the other hand, strides to look through the gate of the castle down onto the city and harbor. Sure enough, if one squints, there is a tight squadron of silvery ships cutting their way through the water with grace and speed aplenty.
"Are you certain?" Stephan asks with remarkable calm. "It is not the Everqueen herself, I assume, given that there is not an entire elven armada surrounding it."
"I…the message passed by hawk stated that they escorting a 'Handmaiden', my Count."
"Well…great," Stephan rubbed at his forehead. "And they'll no doubt be docking very, very soon."
"Well, hold on," you interrupt, "What was the first message about?"
"The Wood Elves want to speak with you about…something, they're being cagey about the matter, but you are at least somewhat more trusted than anyone else in the Empire they're currently talking to," your friend sighs. "But so too does the Everqueen's handmaiden wish to speak with you, also something the message kept deliberately vague."
He half-heartedly glares at you.
"But the Wood Elves are using me as proxy to speak to you, so you'll speak to them, but now the high elves are coming and requesting to speak to you directly because they somehow knew you were here," he inhales deeply before sighing again. "But they also both ask that you speak to them first, because of course they know," he waves the message from the Wood Elves, "That the other elves are coming."
Elven politics. Wonderful. You know well enough that now that they've made the request, that you'll have to choose. And whoever you pick will likely lord it over the other, while the one you don't speak to first will be rather annoyed. And you still have no idea about what they could possibly want with this, not for certain. While you think, Stephan is already calling up some of his Greatswords, Ortrud as well, the time for relaxation now quite cut short.
"Well, why can't we just tell them both to come here, at the same time, and we'll talk to them then?"
Stephan shakes his head.
"Could we do that? Yes. But at the same time, it might be a bit of an issue. The Wood Elves don't even really want to come into the city. Even in the past, their trading groups always remain outside the walls."
"Plus," you admit reluctantly, "There'll likely be friction if we just shove them together, considering they want me to talk to them on their own."
You only have supposition about what this meeting could be about, truly. Memories of the past float about your mind. The way the Everqueen referred to them, the sneering conversations between Aurelion and her wayward kin, the word 'colonists' being hissed at. Naraiel is now the ruling Lady of Laurelorn, and yet you figure – pretty reasonably, you think – that her interactions with you have likely strained her relationship somewhat with Athel Loren itself. Hmph. You'll likely only know for certain once you actually speak to one group or the other.
"But this is your capital, Stephan," you point out, grasping for a second flask. "Shouldn't
you be telling
me what's going to happen?"
"Sure, but they're here to talk to you. I have enough trouble with politics amongst the Empire," he shrugs, "If I can offload whatever issues elf politics might have onto you, mores the better."
Ortrud snorts, a quiet chuckle her only answer to your betrayed expression.
"But you've been talking with the Wood Elves far more regularly than me," you place your hand against your chest, as if wounded, "So surely-,"
"I may be talking to their merchants more, but I've certainly never even met Lady Dawnstone more than the once," he shakes his head. "And while they may have used my docks last time, you were the one the Everqueen spoke to more."
"But it's your castle-,"
"I don't believe at any point that we discussed me personally hosting them," he stops you with a raised eyebrow. "But if you truly wish for them to come in, you can try and convince them to both come to the castle. I haven't been able to convince any wood elf representatives to do so…ever, but you might have better chances."
"Wonderful."
Growling, you drain your third flask and are already reaching for the fourth and fifth.
What To Do:
- A party of Wood Elves, led by an unknown leader, have arrived just outside the city of Manannsheim through unknown means. They request to speak to Frederick at his nearest convenience, and further that he do so before meeting with the High Elves.
- A party of High Elves, led by a Handmaiden of the Everqueen, has arrived in Manannsheim at the docks. They request to speak with Frederick at his nearest convenience, and further that he do so before speaking to the Wood Elves.
- How both groups knew of the other is currently unknown. Choosing one group over the other will likely cause them to look on you somewhat more positivity, while the group initially spurned might not feel great about that.
- Voting Moratorium 12 Hours.
[] The High Road: The High Elves have requested to speak to you, you should see what they want. A Handmaiden is clearly someone very, very important to the Everqueen. So this is a group to be treated with respect and caution.
[] The Wooded Path: You have had an odd relationship with the Wood Elves of Laurelorn. Slugtongue. The Bone Gate and Warhoof. Your own interactions with their ruling Lady. After the High Elves leave, they will be much closer, so you should see them first.
[] The Third Way: The Wood Elves do not like being inside human cities. The High Elves likely expect to be somewhat catered to at the very least. Accommodate neither, and have them both come to the castle. They can talk to you then, and possibly each other. You'll be showing neither group favor over the other, while possibly losing favor with both due to annoying them...but hey. They asked for you, and that's what they'll get. 
