Your skimming through the books you've acquired on Morr and the beliefs of his faithful gives you enough of a theoretical framework to justify the insights into burial practices you've picked up from the Liber Mortis. Before the Skaven arrived and Frederick picked up Necromancy to combat them, Frederick was as deeply involved with the Cult of Morr as one could be without surrendering his rank of Baron. When the Plague swept through Sylvania and left more dead than living, he was ordained despite his title and given access to the full secrets of the God of Death, including how one could deal with more dead than could practically be put to rest individually.
Hmm, sounds like theres more to the story than that. You don't usually ordain a lord unless he was uniquely useful, or you're so short on qualified Morrite priests to fulfill their religious strictures that you offered anyway. Or I suppose, if theres so many dead you don't have time to ordain a new one, and its faster to flash-ordain a literate and pious noble over a few weeks than it is to raise one from the surviving peasantry over a few years.
Dude must have had really high Piety.
20-25 sounds about right pre-ordaining if he was to be worth the political fuss afterwards.
You meet with Francesco Caravello, and as well as congratulating himself on his newfound leadership and passing him your now-redundant Torc of Fire as a sort of symbol office, you also ask him to go amongst the Undumgi and find out who among the fallen were sufficiently devoted to the Death God for your purpose.
I read somewhere the Torc was a bit of a morbid symbol of office because in times of famine, the chief could be sacrificed to appease the gods by strangling him with the torc.
Its a reminder of mortality even as its a very shiny mark of status.
Gunnars listens intently as you outline the general concept. Those suitably devoted to Morr are posthumously given the title of Lay-Priest, which can not only be done as an emergency measure, but is also explicitly allowed in the absence of Priests of Morr by followers of Morai-Heg, Gazul, Quinsberry, the Lady, and the Ancient Widow. They are then entrusted with the souls of their fellows, and are then entombed with them in a mass ossuary, where each type of bone has its own compartment rather than each compartment holding a single corpse. While a proper burial would be safer for the souls of the lost, better they be banded together for protection than linger for months or years without being put to rest. Though they understand that human funereal traditions are different than Dwarven ones that consider the first three days after death to be the most important and dangerous ones for the spirit of the departed, they still seek to put the departed to their rest in as timely a manner as possible.
The pair of you work together to come up with a plan for reworking the excavated tombs into suitable ossuaries, with much careful review of the relevant parts of the Morrite tomes you bring to bear. Swift and efficient Dwarven stonework makes the plans a reality and Gunnars and his acolytes are able to set to work performing the morbid but necessary task of grouping the dead together so that each room contains at least one of the Lay-Priests is in each. This method almost allowed Frederick Van Hal and the few surviving Priests of Morr to put all of the fallen to rest, and the history of Sylvania may have gone very differently if the Plague hadn't been accompanied by a rain of warpstone meteorites that attracted the attention of the Skaven.
So ritually speaking, using the souls of Morr's faithful, connected through their remains, as a sympathatic connection to the similar type remains of their fellows(sorted by bone type), and bridging from that to Morr, who inherently has a tie to his worshippers.
The Lay Priest would sound to be the weak link there, can't really gauge the strength of their devotion posthumously. But better than nothing.
Would also make it pretty difficult for a necromancer to raise all the bodies I reckon, mostly because the bones are separated widely and you are going to have hell reassembling a complete skeleton.
With months or even years shaved off the task, Gunnars is able to call for a halt on expansion of the tomb complex and leave several unused rooms for further expansion. As Kragg is sequestered away on a separate task, Thorek takes a break from his raiding with King Kazador to apply and empower the necessary runes and the doors of the tomb seem to melt into the stonework.
Reckon thats' pretty damned well sealed!
While performing the work of Morr, you make sure not to neglect your relationship with your own God. You and Ranald might have a fairly unstructured relationship, but it's good manners to set up a shrine to your God whether it's strictly necessary or not, and besides that the Karag currently lacks one for those that aren't quite so close to Him as you are. Remembering the fate of the idol of Stromfels, you gather up the inert chunks of the Idol - obsidian, thankfully, as you've heard of idols made of dung - and consider their amount and size. The colour of the rock makes it obvious what the idol should be, but it's easier said than done and you're no artist.
Thankfully, being in a Karak means it's never going to be difficult to find an able stonemason, and you enlist the help of those with unexpected free time on their hands after the tomb's requirements had been reduced. They're not all that familiar with cats in general, but you show them an etching in one of your books on the subject of Ranald and they nod and get to work. Under your careful eye they first chisel and then sand the separate fragments, and only begin to put the entire thing together at the last minute, with drilled holes and carefully-applied molten iron to hold it all together. The grey of the iron-pinned faultlines is a pleasing effect on the black of the obsidian, and a protective lacquer goes over the top to prevent rusting. The stone cat stares smugly down at you from its perch, tail curled along its body, and you're rather pleased with the effect.
Its a calico cat!
An obsidian figurine is pretty kickass and REALLY expensive without dwarf meticulousness because obsidian is relatively fragile and you can't undo the mistakes.
[Anything unexpected? Piety, 9+25=34.]
The rest of the job is a matter of gathering up the remaining religious paraphernalia of the Orcs and storing them away securely for use in later religious displays, and as you're packing up the last of it a soft sound has you turn your head and, inevitably, you see a cat just as black as the obsidian one perched atop the idol's head, chewing it's happy way through what looks like a substantial slice of cured ham. You roll your eyes and continue your work, and as you approach the door with the last crate, it opens to reveal Oswald Oswaldson. "Magister!" he exclaims. "I was just looking for- have you seen a cat?" You indicate behind you with a jerk of your head. "No, I meant- oh, there she is. Get down from there!" With the shrine revealed to one of the foremost and definitely the chattiest of the Undumgi, you likely need do nothing more for news of it to spread. "This sort of thing is why you got demoted, Corporal Snuggles," Oswald scolds as you carry away the last of the former furnishings of the Shrine.
Well, where rolling meh is concerned this isn't a bad spot. And that cat is a thief!
With that job taken care of, you follow Oswald's lead and spend some quality time with Wolf, who's through with growing and would match you in height if he put his paws on your shoulders. He's certainly clever, knows a great deal of commands, and shows a great deal of skill in finding people who might have excess food to share as he wanders freely through Karag Nar and the Eastern Valley, but as far as you can tell he doesn't yet show the advanced intelligence that a bonded Familiar is capable of. And though he certainly doesn't hesitate to bark at your command, he's yet to expand his vocabulary past that. Your books on the subject suggest this isn't unexpected, as the mental development of a Familiar need not correspond to its physical ageing, as plenty of animals who become Familiars do so as grown adults. So far, apart from the magical power you can see flowing between you and him and his habit of obeying orders you haven't actually given yet, he seems no different than an ordinary dog - though he does, of course, exceed them all in the realms of Being A Good Boy.
If not for all the stairs I think Wolf is going to be one chunky boi.
Link of Psyche, the books called it. The ability to convey complex thoughts over any amount of distance, and the sharing of mental resources to improve problem-solving abilities. You must have been subconsciously broadcasting your return each time, and Wolf had picked up on it and joined you for the climb up to your home every day.
What a good boy.
[Link of Psyche acquired: +2 Stewardship, +2 Learning.]
Now we just need him to be able to talk.
It turns out very easy indeed to gather the materials for the speech you'll be putting on twice, once here and once in Stirland. All you have to do is walk into any tavern in Karag Lhune - and there's more than a couple now that the Dwarf population has begun moving into the Chiselwards in earnest - and announce that you want to hear about times that unfaithful dealings by humans received its just desserts, and all you have to do is prepare your notebook as those present argue about who has the best stories and then jot down notes as the flood of anecdote begins.
Its like THE Longbeard hobby to talk about the Old Days.
Much less a human willing to take notes!
You heard five different versions of it, few of which agree on details, and are not entirely convinced that it happened; but if it did, you don't have much sympathy to whoever it happened to. Contrary to what some might think, it's hard to get on the wrong side of a Grudge by accident. Even the most cantankerous and hair-trigger of Dwarves will make their problem clear before they skip straight to the violence, and if you believe that their case against you is unjustified the matter can be escalated to their Clan Elders, then to the Hold's Loremasters, then to the King of their Hold, and even to the High King if you believe it necessary. It's only when one wrongs a Dwarf and makes it clear they will make no redress whatsoever that the Dwarves go to war.
The important part for the perpetual grudge panicking.
The scales can be balanced. If its hard to balance there are experts to consult and settle the matter.
If you tell them there will be no recourse this side of death...well they'd just have to do it the hard way.
But though the tale might be an exaggeration, it very definitely gets the message across, as do the dozen other tales you gather from the taverns and the relevant laws and precedents pulled from your library. First to the local EIC representatives, who are still getting established here, and then to a full meeting representatives from every branch of the EIC, you very thoroughly lay out not just what not to do, but also why not. You describe the Book of Grudges, and cite several examples - not from the Dammaz Kron, which describes only the most terrible of wrongs done to the Dwarven race, but from the local Books of Grudges maintained in each of the hold, which records every unsettled score. One in particular seems particularly relevant: an unsettled debt between Zhufbar and the Asoborn tribe, where tribesman made a delivery of a cartload of wild grains in exchange for three good axes, only for it to be later discovered that the grains were mouldy and cut with sawdust. After the destruction of Castle Drakenhof, several Grudges against the Vampires were struck out as settled, but so too were several accumulated Grudges against the rulers and population of Stirland - and then, when it was judged that the Grudges struck out were almost but not quite sufficient, they kept going back until they found a Grudge of just the right severity, and only then were the sins of the long-dead Asoborns forgiven.
Judging by the horrified stares you get, the message has been successfully communicated. What you didn't tell them was that the sins of those Asoborns would likely never be pursued, or at least not until the more important Grudges against greenskins, Skaven, Chaos Gods, Chaos Dwarves, Ogres and Elves were settled first. A little terror would be good for them.
[Instil Corporate Policy: Stewardship, Breakpoints 40/80: 64+18+4(Library: The Karaz Ankor)=86.]
Mathilde: "I can into diplomacy. You just need to scare them until they fall in line."
Longbeards: "This is a most proper way of doing things."
The infection progresses.
While in Stirland, you also make a small detour to follow up on a request from King Belegar, but what you thought would be a simple job turns out very frustrating indeed. Finally, in a tavern in Nachthafen you get an answer. "Codrin Petrescu's sort of a Sylvanian joke," says the barkeep, who has been seeing a lot more business from Stirlandian soldiers than Sylvanian locals of late. "Though it's a matter of opinion how funny it is. If an outsider wants to know who did something or who's responsible for something and you want to give them the runaround, you tell them 'Codrin Petrescu' and point them to the next village along. The next village will hear the name and know to point them to the next village, and so on. If you know the old language, the name sort of means, erm... forgive my language ma'am, but 'in the forest, son of my privates'. Like, um, if a man answers a call of action against a tree?"
You're familiar with the general idea, having been sent looking for a left-handed grounding rod a time or two yourself. You hand over some silver in gratitude for the straight answer, and make your way back to Eight Peaks feeling very unamused indeed.
Well, I suppose thats one guy missing out on his commemorative gift!
And also missing out on a pissed off Roswita.
Skaven adventure review for tomorrow. Its 1.30 AM