Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

BoneyM said:

Though he should definitely be taking it easy, Johann insisted on being present for the usual meeting of the Wizards. And though they're much too big to ride atop him these days, his wolf-rats haven't left his side since he returned from Altdorf and insist on following along. So your meeting room is rather crowded, and all those present are fairly distracted with shooting sympathetic looks at Johann.

"Okay," you say with forced cheer. "Johann and Max and I have been occupied with classified projects, which just means the rest of you are going to have to carry this meeting. Panoramia, you're the most industrious of us, how goes pulling food out of the ground?"

"The Eastern Valley is still going to take a lot of time and attention, but it's all work the Halflings can take care of themselves, so we're starting to draw up plans for the Caldera itself," she says. "The whole..." she waves a hand in a vaguely upwards direction, "death tower thing seems to have dealt with the worst of the spore infestation, but it's a lot of earth that's suffered a lot of neglect."

"Don't you ever get sick of just... preventing everyone from starving to death? Ever want to branch out into some sort of dubious megaweapon?"

"Duty comes first," she says primly, "and there's a sense of satisfaction to a thriving topsoil."

"Speaking as someone who enjoys not starving, thank you," Max says with a nod.

"You're quite welcome," she says, giving you a smug look.

"Moving on to what I hope is more interesting levels of megalomania, Adela, how has your past few months been? Have you reached a decision on your future?"

She looks quite proud of herself. "The Gunnery School here settled it, I managed to get one of my brothers in and I'm looking to get some cousins into the next intake."

"You're from Nuln, right? Like Oswald is."

"His..." she screws up her face, thinking. "Great-uncle was the mentor of my first cousin once removed. I think."

"I'm picturing an entire platoon of Burgstallers and Oswaldsons and it is terrifying. Going to throw yourself back into engineering, then?"

She shrugs, looking self-conscious. "I wanted to, but apparently the visiting Dwarves are a lot touchier about that sort of thing than Prince Gotri's lot."

"Oh, they would be. See me about that later, I've got a book or two that might give you some direction. Hubert, how about you?"

"I've been spending a lot of time at Ulrikadrin lately," he says. "Training and praying with them. I'll stay for now."

"And with Soizic," Gretel says with a smile.

"Okay, yes, and I've been training under General Soizic."

"Training under?" Adela asks, her smile a mirror of Gretel's.

"Drilling, then," he corrects himself, a tinge of red to his cheeks.

"Drilling," Gretel says thoughtfully.

"Okay, leave him alone," you say, and Hubert is foolish enough to shoot you a grateful look. "Whatever form of dismounted swordplay he practices with the General is between him and her." Gretel and Adela dissolve into laughter, and Max and Johann are both fighting back grins. Panoramia, to your surprise, is blushing almost as much as poor Hubert. Weren't Jades supposed to be more worldly? "Gretel, though it's certainly within your power to retire to a life of shiftless debauchery, I doubt you'd still be attending these meetings if you didn't aspire to more. What's on your horizons?"

She seems like she wants to speak up in defence of shiftless debauchery, but she apparently decides against it. "I've been talking to the Besiegers, and while they'd be happy to have a Wizard amongst them, they'd be doubly so to have someone who can perform Morr's rites. If they get a contract that's not too far away, I'll go with them."

"You want to be a mercenary?" you ask doubtfully.

"I want to see more battlefields," she corrects.

"Ah." That, you suppose, makes more sense. You've never had to look too far for shadows and mists, but the Amethyst Wind wasn't quite so omnipresent. "Well, there's never too long between trouble in the Border Princes or Tilea. Just make sure to come back in one piece."

"As you wish, esteemed Magister," she says with a sarcastic little bow.

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BoneyM said:

"So!" you say brightly at your accumulated underlings. "Year's coming to a close. What have we accomplished in 2480?"

Maximilian shrugs. "My teacher's finally let me start on steel instead of iron. Dwarves aren't really fast teachers."

You turn your gaze to Johann, who opens his mouth and then closes it, thinking. "Classified?" he says doubtfully.

"Damn right it is. Good man. Now I don't have to mess with memories." The Ducklings look alarmed, but Panoramia's rolling her eyes. She's caught on to your ways. "Panoramia! How go things with the Halflings?"

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Ask me again after Karagril," she says, frowning at the callouses on her hands. "Soil exhaustion is bad on its own, soil exhaustion when your source of nutrients needs to be cleansed of greenskin spores is a nightmare, but water rationing on top of those is torture. If we don't get that tarn, we're going to need to start hauling water from Ulrikadrin, start trusting the local water table, or give up on growing crops altogether."

"Trust me, Karagril isn't going to know what hit it. The rats cut them off from the rest of their tribe in Karak Drazh and they're on the verge of slaughtering each other for us." You turn to the most junior members present. "Gretel's my favourite, so she goes first. The subtext is that you should push yourself harder to compete for teacher's affections. Go."

"I've been working with Priest Gunnars," she says. "He wishes to know Morr." You narrow your eyes suspiciously, but you can't tell if the pun was deliberate. You'll say this for Shyish, it gives you one hell of a poker face.

"Technically outside the remit of the Colleges, but I'm glad someone's doing it. The Dwarves get upset about not doing things properly, and King Belegar is insisting any Undumgi that fall should be properly entombed. Dwarves only bury the dead if they have to, so a typical Garden of Morr would seem wrong to them. Hubert, what about you?"

"I've been preparing for the assault on Karagril, Magister."

"Sword or spell?"

"Sword, Magister."

His reticence catches your attention, and you show no mercy. "Training alone, Journeyman?"

"No, Magister." He hesitates, but it's clear there's no getting out of this. "With Sir Soizic."

"Aha. Is she skilled at dismounted swordplay?"

"Yes, Magister." He's trying not to blush.

"I suppose she'd have to be, since she doesn't have a horse. Well, I certainly can't criticize someone for studying the blade. Adela, lucky last."

"Accuracy, Magister. I've been using the Halfling archery butts."

"Which spell?"

"Fires of U'Zhul."

"Good. If you want to train something trickier, do it somewhere else. They've grown familiar with Wizards, let's not undermine the goodwill with an untimely miscast. I take it the three of you plan on being part of the Karagril assault?" A chorus of yeses. "Alright, we'll work on a plan for that when we're closer for the day. Keep preparing, and make sure you can throw up Aethyric Armour quickly and reliably. Hubert, visit me in my quarters when you've got a minute, I've got some books on Bretonnian swordplay that might help." And a skull chair to show off, is the unspoken part of that sentence.

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BoneyM said:

Johann greeted the arriving Wizardlings, showed them to the Wizard quarters, had an account set up for them at the newly-opened EIC general store, and was generally constantly on hand to be a friendly welcoming big brother to the out-of-their-depth little darlings.

In short, he was the perfect Good Magister to pave the way for your Terrifying Magister.

When you decide to put your own projects aside to inflict yourself upon the Wizardlings, you had word passed through Johann that someone important wanted to meet them, and he didn't for a second hold back in inflating your reputation. The Dämmerlichtreiter. The Sängerkritisch. The woman that cowed the nobles of Stirland into obedience, killed Castle Drakenhof, and cut a bloody swathe through the greenskins of Karak Eight Peaks. History's first and only Court Wizard to a Dwarfhold. The one and only Mathilde Weber.

You're keenly aware that you don't quite have the height to properly loom, but between the greatsword, Abelhelm's hat, your unruly shadow and your growing reputation, you can still manage a striking first impression.

Aww, the Bright Wizard is standing at attention.

"Adela Burgstaller," you say conversationally. "What brings you to my mountains?"

"Journeying, Magister!" She's definitely had some military training. Not surprising, the Brights always have been close to the army.

"You could Journey anywhere from Wissenland to Ostland. Burn some Beastmen, kick over a bandit camp or two, find a roadwarden patrol or a local captain to latch onto and have a relatively comfortable time of it. Instead, you're here. Why?"

You consider her as she summons an answer. Many Bright Wizards have red hair, but hers seems to be natural rather than the result of Aqshy attunement. But she hasn't fully avoided the touch of fire - her pupils are normal but appear lit from behind with the smouldering red of flames, and wisps of smoke occasionally drift out from her eye sockets. Slightly taller than you, damn her, slim, bordering on willowy, sensible black robe but with just a touch of tasteful lace trim. With that name, she's no noble, so a burgher family. "Engineering, Magister," she finally responds.

"Mind your step. Dwarves are generous to their friends but brutal to thieves, and if you get caught trying to take what they don't want to give, I won't do a damn thing to save you and the Bright Order will apologize to me for my trouble. Clear?"

"Yes, Magister!"

"Armament?"

"Aqshy, Magister!" Acceptable answer. Fire solves a lot of problems.

You glance at her belt and raise an eyebrow. Not a grounding rod, that's... you'd call it a staff, but it's barely the length of your forearm. "Your work?"

"Yes, Magister!"

You frown at it, trying to make sense of what you're- ah. "Don't they tell you not to try that in the Bright College?"

"They did, Magister."

"And you did it anyway." You're only vaguely familiar with the general principles, but one of the intermittent steps to creating a power stone was gaseous. Not nearly as good as the finished product, but every now and then someone with more ambition than sense gives it their damnedest, realizes they're not quite there yet, and makes the best with what they've got. This girl has entrapped the gaseous Aqshy inside a wand. What better for channelling Aqshy than Aqshy? Hideously dangerous, but when you were at her stage, you had developed a habit of avoiding anything reflective out of necessity.

You move on to the next Wizardling. The Celestial, unfortunately. "Hubert Denzel."

"Yes, Madam."

"I am a Knight and your name tells me you're of the peerage, but here and now we are two Wizards." You didn't actually know every noble house in the Empire by heart, you had the Grey College send all the information that the letters of introduction didn't. Unusual, though. Most Middenheim noble houses wouldn't let a scion tainted with magic continue to bear their name. "What brings a Celestial Journeyman to a Dwarven Karak?"

"Glory in battle, Magister." No military training, but he's got steel in him, and steel on his hip, too. He's definitely leaning into being a Wizard - billowing cloak and a star on his hat. Some muscles on him, which must have been tough to maintain at the Celestial College. No visible signs of Azyr's touch, but it did trend towards the ephemeral.

"Has Ulric given you the fangs of the wolf, then?" The information from the Grey College didn't actually cover his faith. Journeymen aren't worth watching that closely. But either he was an Ulrican and take your question the straightforward way, or he was a non-Ulrican Middenheimer and will take your question as a barb. You find out which he is while giving the impression you always knew.

"Yes, Magister. I bear His lightning." You doubted the mainstream Cult would agree with that interpretation of magic, but whatever kept him going.

"Have you been trained in that blade you're wearing?"

"Since my fifth winter." Ulricans. Though at least that's better than the standard Celestial twit.

Last but likely not least, she of the Amethyst College, and you're glad you observed them from a distance because her appearance does tend to take one aback at first. Shyish can be cruel, and if you had to guess, Gretel Maurer had been in the coltish and gangly stage of puberty when it had visited itself on her, and the Shyish-induced withering of muscle had frozen her there and resulted in the unnerving impression that she had limbs significantly too long for her body.

"May shadows guide you," you intone.

"May death pass over you," she replies in an unexpectedly musical voice, and you fight back a smile. The Grey and Amethyst Colleges didn't actually have ritual greetings for each other, but Apprentices and Journeymen of both liked to pretend they did to mess with the other Colleges.

...then again, the joke had been going on for at least twenty years by now, so maybe it actually was a ritual greeting at this point.

"What brings you to my mountains?"

"I seek wealth," she replies plainly.

Your smile widens. "Honesty is a virtue. Your weapon?"

"I bear Morr's Scythe." That she doesn't summon it to demonstrate shows her good sense, and that she uses that name rather than the secular ones reveals something else. You pass an open-palmed hand in front of your face, from top to bottom, and surprise causes her to hesitate for a fraction of a second before she returns the ritual greeting. Not quite a cult secret - sticking to cover stories is important, but so is not committing an actual blasphemy - but it did imply a familiarity with Morr that you certainly had, albeit secondhand.

"Fire, lightning, death," you muse. "That sounds like an arsenal to me. Let's go."

"Magister?" Hubert asks.

"Don't want to take you too far from what you know," you say, false kindness dripping from your tone. "So let's pretend we're back at the Colleges and go on a field trip."

---

You're beginning to feel like a mother duck. Three separate magical lights bob through the air behind you from the tail of increasingly nervous Journeymen nearly clinging to your back as you lead them through the Underway. You'd taken them through the Citadel, partly because this was the clearest part of the under-Karak but mostly so you could casually say hello to a passing giant spider and get a cheery wave from its pedipalps back while your ducklings stared.

"Pop quiz, class," you say with a smile. "What do you call a rat with a gun?" You get silence back, but there's silence and then there's silence. Two significant silences, one bewildered silence. Oh, Celestial College. Why must you be this way? "Two correct answers, one dead wrong. You're letting your College down, Hubert."

"What? But, Magister-"

"Take Beastmen, swap the livestock for rats, give them their own god, a terrifying affinity for magic and technology and magical technology, and you've got... don't tell him girls, he has to learn on his own. Okay, I'll give you a hint. The cognomen ex virtute of Emperor Mandred was..."

"The Beastslayer?" Hubert asks, and you groan.

"The Skavenslayer. I'll run you through this real quick so try not to let the existential terror hit you too hard. There exists under every city on every continent the network of a sprawling and more-or-less-but-mostly-less unified rat-man civilization called the Skaven. They worship the Horned Rat, who might be the-one-with-the-diseases but we're pretty sure is separate, they use warpstone to cheat at technology and give the Dwarves a run for their money, and they probably number in the billions. They've been grinding the Karaz Ankor away for four thousand years and believe me, the Karaz Ankor is not easily ground. The only reason we're not all doomed is they constantly fight amongst themselves, and in fact the reason you've never heard about them before is because them thinking we don't know about them makes them feel secure enough to fight amongst themselves even more. Any questions so far?" Except for shoes on stone, you hear nothing but silence. "Alright, let's have some class engagement. Gretel, Clan Moulder. Go."

"Um. One of the four Great Clans. They use warpstone and breeding and surgery to try to make bigger and stronger creatures to fight for them."

"They're under Karagril. Been selling wolf-sized rats to anyone that's buying, including Goblins. The upside is that they're between Karagril and Black Crag, so there's no concern of the greenskins in Karagril receiving reinforcements, hence why we'll be marching on it next year. Adela, Clan Skryre."

"Oh, they're the technology one! They use warpstone to power guns and devices that shoot fire or lightning!"

"I hear enthusiasm. If you like that sort of thing, talk to Johann and let him know you've been read into the Conspiracy of Silence. They're in Karag Zilfin. Gretel, Clan Eshin."

"Assassins. They're the most loyal to the central authority of the Empire."

"You forgot the obligatory 'they use warpstone to' part. It's poisons with them. They're under Karag Yar. Adela, Skryre was an easy one, so here's a tough one. Clan Mors."

A pause. "They're... one of the Warlord Clans?"

"Are you telling me or asking me?"

"Asking."

"You're right. Arguably the Warlord Clan. They're disturbingly unified for Skaven and they just about rivalled the Great Clans for power. Hubert, can you spot the most important part of that sentence?"

"...past tense?"

"Bingo. They've been very naughty rats and now it's open season on Clan Mors. They're underneath the centre of the Karak aaaaaand..." You've been dropping your voice gradually as you walked and you drop it all the way to a hush now. "They're right over there."

Three lights snap out, and while you give their eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness you lean in to speak in Hubert's ear. "You've just been blindsided by all this. If you want to sit the practical portion of today's exercise out..."

"I will show His enemies the mercy of the wolf," he says, and his voice barely quavers.

"Good man." You raise your voice just enough to reach all three of your ducklings. "Once your eyes adjust, formulate and execute a plan of attack on this guard post. If everything goes to hell I'll step in, but while you're not going to die today, you might get stabbed today and it sucks, so do your best to avoid that. I do not grade on a curve. Your time begins: now."

As the eyes they're reliant on adjust to the darkness, they begin to see the guard post up ahead, lit faintly by dozens of crude tallow candles. You've no stomach for needlessly tormenting an enemy when you could dispatch it instead, but getting these ducklings blooded without losing one takes priority, so you've set this one up ahead of time. For the past week, any rat at this guard post that stepped into the darkness unwittingly volunteered to help you work on your greatsword techniques. They quickly learned to avoid that, and now the rats are already on the verge of fleeing and lit up enough for your ducklings to see them, and also so their night vision is ruined so the Skaven can't see your ducklings. On top of that, their position on the far side of Clan Mors' many rivals means they're poorly armed.

As the ducklings confer, you shape Ulgu and melt into the shadows, listening in on their halting and hesitant plans. "Okay, Magister," Adela says, "I think we're-" She turns and looks right at you, but of course that doesn't mean she can see you. "Oh. Um. Okay."

[Adela's debut: Martial & Learning. 55+12=67 / 27+16=43.]
[Hubert's debut: Martial & Learning. 65+16=81 / 39+14=53.]
[Gretel's debut: Martial & Learning. 40+15=55 / 42+17=59.]

It's not the worst demonstration you've ever seen, you suppose.

Gretel flanks and approaches until just out of the candlelight, then with more enthusiasm than accuracy Adela and Hubert begin to pelt the Skaven position with fire and lightning. There's a moment of hesitation and cowering, but the lack of casualties emboldens them and they charge out with a shrieked battlecry, and then Hubert draws his sword, Gretel summons her scythe, Adela projects a fiery sword-blade from her wand, and you nod in approval as the three of them strike down several of the rats each and send the rest fleeing.

There's a moment of silence, then the three ducklings begin to cheer, and it just about breaks your heart to interrupt them with a gunshot.

Then four more.

Five bullets for four of them. You should practice more.

"Passing grades all around, but on future exams I'll be marking down for escapees," you say. "Any guesses as to why?"

Adela answers instantly. "'Thinking we don't know about them makes them feel secure enough to fight amongst themselves even more'."

...did you just get quoted back to yourself? "Well done. Extra credit. Anyone wounded? Don't just say no, check. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing." Shockingly, none are.

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