Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

Peddling omakes to pimp plans to persnickety posters? Don't mind if I do!

In-case it's jarring: Mathilde's perspective is second-person and present-tense. The other perspective is third-person and past-tense.

Edit bc I'm a genius: [] Plan: Wrong Turn at Albuquerque

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It would be poetic to say that the camp is silent -- however, it would not be true. Food is being prepared, the wounded soldiers who had not been tended to are moaning, crying, or drunk and the wounded soldiers who had been tended to are loudly complaining, gambling and drunk. Anvils are ringing, dogs are barking, Gyrocopters are coming and going. Longbeards are grumbling and an Eonir perched themself atop a canon and had begun strumming a lute.

Not even the command tent can be truly silent -- a sword is being sharpened, feet are tapping the ground. Mandred is engaged in an arm-wrestling match with a priest of Ursun, but you're fairly certain that it's just a pretense to swear a lot.

One messenger cannot halt the noise of an entire army. But as they enter the tent, the wrestling and sharpening stop.

And then your heart stops. "Magister Matriarch Weber."

And it starts again. Priorities first. He'd been vetted before entering the camp, of-course, but you have to vet him again yourself. To your dismay, he is a legitimate Hand.

You respected Algard, you trusted him. And you had fully agreed with his decision to stay in Altdorf. A full mustering of the Colleges, someone had to stay behind to keep the fires burning... You put your feelings aside. "Skaven?"

"Yes, Ma'am." The messenger pauses, "Well, eventually.."

"Eventually." Dread blooms.

"A nobleman returned from Nehekhara with a prize." The messenger taps his foot nervously. "Algard caught wind, but it was too late. Altdorf burned, and the rats came from the ashes."

"Right." You shake your head, then address the room, "The Colleges of Magic are marching almost in full. The Prince of Reikland is here. The Empress is in Praag with the Tzar. Princess Mathilde" despite everything, you feel your lips quirk, "is safely ensconced in Karag Nar."

There is no cheer, no joy. But you feel a little of the tension bleed from the room. You turn to the messenger. "How fares Altdorf?"

"After great effort, the Skaven were repelled." The messenger pauses, then gulps. "However..."

The bottom falls out of your stomach as he relates the most recent Sack of Altdorf. Tomb Kings -- unfortunate, but given Altdorf's history, expected. Skaven opportunism -- bad. And it kept getting worse. The Skaven fell upon the Temple of Sigmar.

That Temple of Sigmar. The Sigmarites fought hard and forced the Stormvermin to bleed... but the best of them were here. They fell. The temple fell. And the heavily guarded and warded room was breached. Those stupid rats.

On the bright side, he repelled the Skaven. Then he looked upon the ruined city of Altdorf and scoffed.

He headed East.

You know what you want to do, but you can't risk it. Stark was confirmed dead, Grey's focused on destroying Chaos Dwarf artifice, Melkoth's leading the Battle Wizards and the rest are too green. Even freshly awakened, you cannot not risk it.

Sylvania's no longer at the point where it could be instantly seized by one Vampire, even him. You will have to pray that they can hold out, and re-focus on the problem in front of you.

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Wurtbad was the same as ever -- though it had grown, as living cities are wont to do, and the riverine trade was booming, which was pleasing. Even an incompetent administrator would have to try very hard avoid the prosperity that could bring.

Drakenhoff was prospering, he knew it. Ready and waiting for him.

Given the state of Altdorf, it was likely that none of his children had succeeded in their ambitions. However, given the state of Stirland, it seemed likely that some sort of accord had been reached. The roads to Sylvania were large and well-maintained -- and more traveled than ever before.

Perhaps war was no longer necessary -- perhaps his children had turned to economic warfare. It was not his preference, but as he crested the final hill, he considered that it may have been the correct decision.

And then he stood atop the hill. A bridge across the river was no surprise. The town was larger even than Wurtbad, which would have been pleasing.

Would have been. The vegetation was wrong. No willows along the river's banks. Brambly berry bushes were entirely absent. Instead, oranges. Actual orange trees, of the sort he had snacked from in his youth!

Upon closer examination, the sun itself was acting differently. It seemed to shine more brightly on the Drakenhoff side, and Vlad could taste the magic. His first thought would have been those Four -- particularly Tzeentch. However, there was no trace of that twisting and twisted magic. There was no dark magic in the air or ground, either. None. It was almost as-if the network was repaired, but that would be ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as this. No dark magic, no Chaos. But orange and mullbery trees, parrots and monkeys and even hummingbirds! In Sylvania, in Drakenhoff.

It was no matter. His eyes slid off the trees, off the town. He would have to interrogate whichever child was responsible for this -- a great working of magic, to be sure, but what was the point. His eyes went to his castle.

His eyes searched for his castle. His mountain. The mountain where he had met her. The mountain where he had found love. His home.

It was gone.

The mountain was gone, and its place was a lake. A steaming lake, surrounded by what his intuition was telling him were Waystones, with a shore of pristine white sand.

'I took a wrong turn somewhere.' It would be easy to say. Too easy.

Someone had done this to him. To his home. To his sanctuary. To the future seat of the Empire, of his Empire.

Hopefully they would make a better child than Manfred.