Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

After some thought, you returned the grimoire's box to Van Hal's effects; it would be too great a risk to carry it on you, and here it is likely to continue to be overlooked. The doctors being called into the tent started a blaze of rumour that swept through the tent; them leaving so soon, and the expressions on their face, set off another. By the time you finally emerge from the tent, there's no need to spread word. Everyone already knows.

You grab the nearest soldier, and tell him to bring you his commanding officer. You tell the man that arrives the same thing. Soon you've got a Colonel, almost certainly the highest ranking man not currently engaged with the assault on the town.

"Your sole task is to guard this tent," you command him. "And every man in this camp is to dedicate their lives to this task until I order otherwise. Sylvania has claimed his life, do not let it claim his soul."

The order is overheard by the nearest soldiers, and burns its way through the camp. Before a single order is given, men are checking their arms and the watch on the camp is redoubled.

"What if-" the Colonel tries to say.

"Nobody," you growl. "If you think they have good reason to enter, tell them to come and find me. The spells I've woven within will destroy anyone who attempts to enter." All you could weave was an Alarm spell, but that will have you speeding back on a steed of shadows and then you'd personally destroy whoever triggered it, so it amounts to the same. "Am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am," he barks obediently.

"Good. Give me your sword." The man turns his blade over to you without a moment's hesitation, and stares at awe at the roiling fog that billows forth from it the moment your hand closes on the hilt.

Without another word, you summon your steed of shadows and are on your way to the gatehouse that claimed Van Hal's life.

---

The entire area surrounding the gatehouse is knee-deep in corpses - those of the Army of Stirland, those of the skeletal foe, and mixed in among them, what you assume were Drakenhof townsfolk. You push your horse to wade through undeterred, then jump from its back into the stairwell that leads to the walls. The dwarves hold these still, judging by the train of cannon that you passed, and have wonderful, terrible plans for what to do with the high ground.

From said high ground, the view of the town is awe-inspiring. An entire district is lost to the brilliant-white fires that are all that remains of Jovi Sunscryer, and conventional fires have claimed another. The sounds of battle rise to your ears, and you see flashes of various lights as gunpowder weapons are fired and Shyish is unleashed. And in one of the towers atop the walls, you find what you were looking for. Gustav, the generals of the 1st, 2nd and 4th, the general equivalent of the Halflings, the Amethyst Patriarch Hexensohn, the dwarven engineer Narfi, and Asarnil are gathered, looking over a crude sketch of the streets of Drakenhof.

"Weber!" Gustav calls as he sees you. "How is-"

"Dead," you interrupt bleakly, and his face goes pale. Around the room helmets and hats are removed.

"Blast," he mutters. "Damn and blast."

"How goes the battle," you say, moving forward to view the map.

Looks are exchanged across the table, but Gustav knows betters than to do anything but obey. "The whitefires have claimed this district," he says, pointing, "and this one is full to bursting with villagers - mostly staying out of the fight but there's those among them that turn berserk and attack, so it would be too costly to push through. That leaves the main road to the city hall, where the dead seem to be emanating from - either that's where they've been... stored, I guess would be the word, or there's enemy necromancers operating out of there."

"The fourth has taken so many casualties that they effectively no longer exist; they've been folded into the first and second," one of the Generals reports.

"The Dawi continue strong," Narfi reports, "but apart from a brief sally earlier..." the memory hits you like a physical blow, and it's all you can do to keep your expression schooled. "We've been entirely occupied with holding the walls. They've no compunction against sending a solid stream of infantry along the walls to our positions, even though we've set up organ guns to reap them."

"The picket holds," reports the halfling, "though we've had to stop asking nicely after several of them went berserk and caused heavy casualties. Now any that try to escape are greeted with arrows, and we hope the sight of their bodies just outside the gates dissuades the innocent."

"There are no battle magics at play here," reports the Patriarch, "save those that we deliver. If there are enemy spellcasters, they are focused on reinforcing their numbers, and as such my fellow wizards have been able to act unfettered."

You move to the window facing the town; unlike the arrow slits facing outwards, this was wide enough to present you with an unfettered view. The generals report to Gustav, and you're theoretically Gustav's equal and you've seniority as a councillor over him, and besides that he's always been a bit uneasy around you; you can use that to browbeat him if necessary. Hexensohn would take a wizard's lead over that of a mere horseman. You know Narfi, and Asarnil. You've enough leverage here to push them to do what must be done, and if necessary to take over completely.

"We were just discussing when you arrived," one of the generals says uneasily, "whether we should, well..."

"Withdraw?" Silence answers you. "Let Abelhelm's death be in vain?" Though facing away, you can easily visualize the uncomfortable looks being exchanged behind your back. "No. Even if the men of the Empire were cowardly enough to flee at this juncture, they'd take more casualties in trying to disengage than they would from pushing forward." You turn, and glare at the generals. "Besides which, desertion in the face of the enemy is a capital offence, and in the absence of the Elector Count I will be more than happy to carry out the sentence." They exchange looks at that; to these men, you are not a mere journeywoman who has learned only a few of the least of the secrets of Ulgu; to them, you are a wizard equal to any, capable of mysterious and terrible feats if roused. There is no objection as you return to the table.

Gustav points to the main road between you and the town hall.
[ ] "The knights are fighting dismounted to reinforce the line. If we pull them back, remount them, and charge them along, we can clear a path for the infantry to push through - like the initial assault on the gates."

Hexensohn nods.
[ ] "Or we could do the same with infantry, with my Battle Wizards providing support, sapping the strength of the enemy while bolstering that of our forces - though if there are necromancers in the Town Hall, they could try to counter the spells."

One of the generals shakes his head.
[ ] "The enemy has numbers but no tactical acumen. We can push the front line through a dozen streets and alleys and hold where we face resistance and push where we don't until we spill through to the town center."

Another points to the portion of the map containing most of the townsfolk.
[ ] "The reason pushing through here would be so risky is that we can't tell which are civilians and which are enemies. If we treated them all as enemies..."

Narfi waves towards the view out the open window.
[ ] "We have the high ground. We have artillery. We level the town hall, and any other pockets of resistance, and the infantry pushes through the rubble."

The halfling shrugs.
[ ] "Fire has taken a quarter of the town, why not give it the rest? Some fire arrows from here, and over the walls around the rest of the town, and we can consider the town pacified once the fire burns itself out."

Asarnil clears his throat.
[ ] "If you've no desire to take this town intact, Deathfang is only a horn's blow away."

---

After you had given your orders and the assembled leaders had filed out, Narfi approached you, holding out the Runefang. "The lads found this," he says. "We were going to present it back to your man, but, well..." He shrugs, and sighs. "He died a good death for a noble cause. That's all that one can ask, these days." You accept it with thanks, and he nods and leaves you alone in the tower.

- These choices are ranked roughly from least to most destructive; Gustav's plan will capture the town essentially intact (apart from the damage already done), while Asarnil's will basically result in a field of ashes inside the town walls. Weigh the casualties that will be taken here against the value of the town, both strategically in the current campaign and in the peace that will follow it - if you are in the mood to consider anything but vengeance.