Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

It's good to be home, thought Oswald, as he strode beneath the ramshackle gates of Castle D'Ambois. The once-imposing structure had been built during the height of the Errantry Wars, when Bretonnian knights had roamed the Border Princes far and wide to slay greenskins. These days however, the castle's inhabitants were of a less honorable sort, mercenaries to be polite, or bandits to be rude.

Of course, everyone who says that's not got to live in the Border fucken Princes.

As Oswald crossed the dirty courtyard towards the main hall, the doors of his destination flew open, a tall man striding forth between them, anger outlining his frame. Oswald, being a kind soul, took care to not bump the man too harshly as they passed each other. Leaving the angry man sprawled on the floor, Oswald stepped into the main hall.

"So, who was that ponce?" Oswald called out. The main hall of Castle D'Ambois had seen better days. Where once the walls had been solid and painted with murals and covered with tapestries, now they were full of holes, bare of any decoration. The murals had long since faded, the tapestries sold off by the last descendant of that noble house, Artois, who now stood from where he'd been sitting surrounded by sacks of grain to greet his boss.

"Our employer, apparently," said Artois, striding over more sacks to clap Oswald on the shoulder. "Some rich prick from Marienburg with more gold than brains. Didn't like us blowing up that Dwarf ship, so he up and left without paying after screaming at all of us for half an hour. How was the walk boss?"

"Fine enough," Oswald replied, carefully picking his way across the sack and chest covered floor to his usual seat, Artois following behind him. "And we don't need that idiot's money anyway, considering our other arrangements."

Finally finding his seat, Oswald sank down into the worm-eaten plush, propping his feet up on a nearby chest. Had we always had this many sacks and chests? He took a big swig of some wine Artois had kindly handed him before turning to his subordinate. "So, how's the take?"

Artois grinned. "You're looking at it."

Oswald blinked. "So, all these chests and sacks..."

"Aren't all of it." Artois continued, grin growing wider as he flopped down on a nearby pile of sacks, the clinking of coins evident as he sprawled. "The others are arranging more of them in the storeroom."

"How much is there?" Oswald asked, eyes wide as he surveyed the room full of gold. Or, well, full of containers full of gold.

"We don't know, there's too many to count. We've been sorting them based on what's in them."

"So, don't leave me in suspense, what's the tally?"

"Well," Artois said, pulling a small book from his pocket. "For starters, that fop you bumped into wasn't the only Marienburger to drop by. We've got at least a dozen or so of Marienburg guilders by now."

"Heh, seems like Herr Fop's the only unhappy one on that front."

"Yeah. Speaking of guilders, we've got a bunch of those from the Empire too, as well as marks and gelts from what seems like every province in the Empire, even the ones that don't exist anymore, and a bunch of silver to top it off," Artois continued, checking off more items from his list. Oswald smiled.

"Imperial gold, huh. I've been missing the taste of that."

"Moving on, a couple of chests of ecus from Bretonnia, the first in a decade to be housed in my ancestral home, plus at least a dozen chests each from Estalia and Tilea."

Oswald raised an eyebrow. "Really now, there were Bretonnians here? What'd they say about the castle?"

Ärtois sighed. "Nothing good I assure you."

"Well, at least you've got the money to fix it up now, right?" Oswald replied.

"You're right!" Artois cried out, before settling back down again. "Now I can restore this place to its rightful glory!"

"And we won't have to worry about the leaky roof anymore."

"Quite right. Anyway, to round off the tally, at least half a dozen each of Arabyan scimitars and Kislevite ducats, and one of what seems to be Norscan silver."

"Really? Norscan?"

"He looked the part at least."

"Huh. That's it?"

"No. That's just the regular human ones." Artois peered at his book. "No, most of them. There was another one from some fellow claiming to be from some island off of the Bretonnian coast, but I just dismissed that as the ravings of a lunatic."

Oswald sat up in shock. "There's more!?"

"A lot more. Some of it wasn't safe, like a baker's dozen of chests full of warpstone chips from some rat beastmen. We got rid of those right quick."

"Really now. I didn't know beastmen used money."

"Neither did I. Anyway, we gave the stuff away to whoever would take it. A bunch of necromancers were happy to take most of them off our hands, even threw in a tip on top of their payment."

"Great. What else?"

Artois rubbed his chin. "Well, speaking of undead..." he trailed off. Oswald groaned.

"Don't tell me, Tomb Kings? I ran into one on my way back here." Artois nodded.

"The bag of bones wouldn't stop going on and on about their master's titles, so we took the gold and kicked them out."

Oswald groaned harder. "Yeah, I reckon it was the same one, going on about some Curserer or something."

"A bunch of bloodsuckers dropped by too, practically every variety it feels like, even some I'd never read about. One of them smelled like salt and fish."

"No way, how? I thought vampires didn't like water?"

Artois shrugged. "That's what I thought too, but apparently not. Paid in those gold tablets you hear about sometimes."

"The ones stolen from lizards. Lizards who ride bigger, teethier lizards." Oswald said, voice flat.

"One of them showed up next. Cute little thing. Pleasant conversationalist," Artois snarked. "Took the bunch off of our hands, dropped our pay and left."

"And I'm guessing the payment was also in gold tablets?" Oswald asked, making Artois pause in his list checking, face quickly paling. Before either of them could say anything though, there was a knock on the doors. Just as the two stood to make for the doors, they opened, admitting a short, slim, man in long flowing robes which looked to be made of silk.

"Can we help you?" Oswald asked, cautiously edging a hand to the knives at his belt.

The man regarded the two for what seemed like eternity, before reaching into his voluminous sleeves, pulling out a scroll, and reading it slowly. "I am Meng Zhao, a functionary of the Imperial Office of Western Affairs. I have come to render unto thee gifts of gold and precious gems, as a reward for thine valued services to his Imperial Majesty the Dragon Emperor of Cathay, may he live ten thousand years." Having finished his pronouncement, Meng rolled the scroll back up, returned it to his sleeve, and stood at attention, regarding the two mercenaries imperiously.

Oswald looked to Artois, whose face warred between greed and incredulousness, no doubt like Oswald's own face was, before looking back to the self-proclaimed Cathayan and saying exactly what was on his mind.

"Nice."

---

Oswald sat alone in the hall, surrounded by gold, barely warmed by the dying embers of the fire. The Cathayan had long gone, leaving behind ten beautiful chests full of curious gold coins. Artois had gone as well, having finished his tally by recounting the list of gold received from various other polities: various gold coins from all sorts of Elves, strange suvarnas supposedly from Ind, chests of Dwarf gold, both from the regular and tusked varieties, even a bag of Orc teef. Now, Oswald was alone with his gold and his thoughts.

No, not alone.

"Did you get all that, boss?" he cried out, into the silence.

"I did indeed," replied Lord Magister Melkoth from behind Oswald's chair. "I suppose I should leave behind my own contribution to your fortunes, then, Herr Ásvaldsson?"

Ásvaldr Ásvaldsson, last of the Middenheim Ásvaldssons smiled.

"If you'd be so kind, sir, just throw it in the Imperial pile."