MiskWisk
Hoot
- Location
- Somewhere devoid of wit
- Pronouns
- He
Would Tzeentch reversing the movement controls be reasonable or too obnoxious to consider?
Beyond the Rift (WHF/FFXIV)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Crossover Mature
- Location
- Maryland
The Savage version would have a fake enrage where you need to have full LB for a Healer LB3 to cancel out the death timer, at which point you'd have to DPS race him to death before the actual enrage.
SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
Only at basic levels. On expert difficulties, it trades your controls with another player, with no consistency on the pattern on who you switch with. Which means you're playing their character, and they're playing yours, even though your camera and character remain on your screen, but without you controlling them.
Yes. Just As Planned as the Indecisive Mollusk would say.
XII - Law and Justice
- Location
- London, England
Chapter Twelve – Law and Justice
The Law Quarter was the unflinching granite heart of Talabheim, the single constant point around which the teeming metropolis revolved. Carved from the same bleak stone as the crater wall that shielded the city from its foes, the myriad courts, gaols and halls of record here seemed to loom ominously over all that dared to come before them, blunt monuments to the immortal power and unassailable authority of Law. Elriza had to admit, the architects had done a remarkable job.
"Human work, interestingly enough," Yavinder the blacksmith commented idly, leaning back on the stone bench alongside Elriza and gesturing to the sprawling architecture all around, "an unusual choice for the Empire, who normally prefer to employ dwarf stonemasons for all their major works, but the lords at the time fell prey to political considerations. A runesmith of some kind had been charged an extortionate amount of taxes for his passage through the Taalbaston, and the local community were too busy agitating for special considerations to accept a commission so bluntly authoritative in its aesthetic."
Eltharin truly was a fascinating language, Elriza mused. In an absolute sense the elf beside her had only spoken a dozen words or so, but each was so pregnant with meaning and implication that she could hear entire sentences of subtext running behind those words, and whole oceans of emotional context behind those. Yavinder did not care for the dwarves, she thought, though she did not know enough of the history to catch the allusions she was sure he was making.
"Did they get them?" she asked instead, studying the bustling crowds rather than look directly at her conversational partner, a choice that communicated casual interest divorced of personal investment. Most of the passers-by seemed to be local employees of one sort or another, from imperious judges to scurrying clerks, but there were no few noblemen with their associated entourages as well. Interestingly, she saw only a bare handful of souls dressed in humbler garb; a sign of separate jurisdictions, perhaps, or simple indifference to the legal rights of the common man?
"In a sense. The Stone House hosts a council of dwarven elders, who pass judgement on those matters which concern only the dwarf folk without infringing on imperial law," Yavinder replied, tilting his head to communicate thinly veiled amusement. "Rather less than they hoped for, bought with a surcharge of taxes as well. Oh, and the right to pass without toll through the wall every third day of the week."
Yes, there was definitely a degree of personal animus there. He had spoken to her briefly of his people the night before, the last vestiges of a nation that had once held dominion over all these lands and many others. There had been a war, as she understood it, with the Dwarves and some other faction he had not cared to name, and in the wake of harsh defeat the elves had withdrawn all but entirely from these lands, leaving only Laurelorn as a remnant vestige.
"They expected more?"
"Expected, and likely would have received, in any city save Talabheim," Yavinder lifted one shoulder slightly, admiration and exasperation in one singular move, "The humans here love the law as a vassal their liege, defending its honour as if it were their own. Even the nobility are not beyond its reach. Judge Hindermith has ruled that in times of crisis the highborn are obliged to defend with sword and spear that which they own or forfeit their claim to those who take arms in their defence. The ruling has seen a river of gold expended in legal fees and formal protests, yet even now the highborn commission artists like me to make them weapons worthy of their station."
"Ishgard held to such laws once," Elriza said with a thoughtful nod, casting her mind back into the recesses of memory, "In the waning days of the Dragonsong War, dereliction of such duty was ruled as heresy."
Now that she thought about it, had the Holy See ever gotten around to striking such laws from their books? The end of the millennia-long war might have made such concerns effectively moot, and the reformation of the Orthodoxy had done much to separate religious and secular law, but she'd never thought to investigate the specifics of how it was all done. Perhaps she could ask Aymeric the next time she saw him, assuming they could find the time between the reunion meals and other, more personal celebrations.
"A plausible origin, but Talabheim has never been threatened to such an extent as to justify such a ruling," Yavinder mused, seeming to take some strange pleasure in picking apart the intricacies of local law with someone as foreign to it all as he, "indeed, in their last civil war the city was placed under siege for some twenty years or more, and save for some light rationing came through entirely untouched."
Humming thoughtfully, Elriza tilted her head back to consider the brutal lines of the Taalbaston, the artificial horizon imposed by the great walls of the crater in which Talabheim sat. Defences such as that might have well rendered the city all but impervious to ground assault in the past, but how long would such protection remain meaningful? Ala Mhigo had relied upon natural barriers in a similar fashion, defending the narrow mountain passes of their homeland for generations with the aid of unyielding pike blocks and highly mobile monks, but the coming of Garlemald had changed the face of war. Heavy artillery and airborne deployments had turned Ala Mhigo's inflexible defences against it and were it not for the battle of Silvertear Skies the rest of Eorzea might have swiftly fallen in its turn. How long did Talabheim have, before a similar fate beckoned?
"An older law, then, one forged for a different time and different land?"
"Possible, certainly. The Talabheimers seem to regard the idea of striking down old laws as something akin to blasphemy. Do you see that obelisk?" Yavinder gestured with one calloused hand toward the very centre of the district, an open square dominated by a mighty spire of veiny black rock taller than any of the surrounding buildings. The lower half of it was coated in layer after layer of faded parchment, rustling like grass in the wind. "All new laws and rulings are pinned there, for the edification of all, and never removed. I once saw a drunkard tear one down in a fit of melancholy, wailing at the ruin the ruling had wrought upon his livelihood. A mob tore him to pieces long before the watchmen could get close."
"Truly?" Elriza frowned, missing the weight of her axe. She'd been advised to leave it behind, as to carry weapons above a certain size made one liable for a special tax that their waning funds from the magistrate would struggle to easily pay, but just because it made good sense didn't mean she had to like it. "Well, such concerns are why we are here."
"Yes, to have you registered and such," Yavinder noted, frowning himself now, "Which, if I might note, we could have done close to an hour ago. Why are we delaying?"
Elriza smiled. "I'm waiting for a friend."
On cue, Thancred Waters stepped out of the crowd and took a seat on the bench beside them. It took her a moment to recognise him, for he'd dyed his white hair a kind of sooty black and traded his normal attire for an advocate's sombre robes, but there was no mistaking the smirk on his face or the elegant purple tattoo that cradled his neck and jaw.
"Elriza, my dear, charmed as always," he said in perfect reikspeil, inclining his head to first her and then her companion, "and you must be Yavinder of Laurelorn. I see our dear Warrior has yet to break her habit of associating with dangerous people."
"…a true advocate would wear a mark of his client on the left breast pocket," Yavinder said, a touch frostily, inclining his head in turn, "but for a human your grasp of the art is passable. Another of Elriza's foreign companions, I assume?"
"This is Thancred," Elriza grumbled, shaking her head, "Who apparently managed to get in here without going through a locked gate or knowing the smuggler we used to get under the walls."
"Trade secrets, I'm afraid," Thancred replied with a lazy shrug, the spark of mischief in his hazel eyes undercutting any sincerity he might have held, "but we are indebted for the use of your soul stone. Learning the local language would have been painfully slow otherwise, and Urianger has been having a hard time of it as it is."
Following his rather pointed gaze, Elriza sought out her other companion and sighed. Where Thancred had paired effort, skill and an impromptu mugging to properly blend in, Urianger seemingly only had access to the first. His long robes were undoubtedly of a local style, but he'd insisted on adorning them with the myriad star signs of their distant home and had made no effort to hide the elaborate astrolabe strapped across his back. Nor for that matter had he given any thought to concealing his long ears from view or taken note of the relative scarcity of Elezen in these lands, and so as he made his way down the street it was at the heart of a crowding crowd of curious and vaguely hostile onlookers.
"Even the most magnanimous soul might grow weary of myriad slights and scornful looks," the diviner proclaimed in a tired voice as he approached, "and so do I find the prospect of familiar faces and distant kin a welcome balm upon my aching soul. Urianger Augerelt, at thy service."
"…you are no elf," Yavinder said in a tone of frozen iron, rising to his feet with hands balling even now into fists, "nor would your illusion fool any but the most ignorant child or blinkered human. What is the meaning of this?"
Blinking, Elriza looked from Elf to Elezen and back again. Now that she had the two side by side, there were indeed a handful of minor differences to be seen. The elf was more angular, his build slightly slimmer and his eyes darker, while Urianger's neck was longer and his shoulders a touch broader. Small changes, to be sure, yet distinct, and apparently recognisable on sight to an elf of these lands.
"'tis no glamour, I assure thee – I am an Elezen of the Wildwood, from birth until inevitable death," Urianger replied, splaying his hands in harmless apology, "Yet nor are your words untrue, nor your suspicions unmerited, for it seems abundantly obvious than more than distance doth separate our ancestors. Perhaps the vagaries of evolution have set us apart, compounded by the differing flow of time across the shards – an intriguing possibility, if one troublesome to test…"
"Shards? Differing flow of time?" Yavinder bit the words off sharply, glaring first at Urianger and then down at Elriza, "I demand an explanation!"
Frowning, Elriza glanced at her companions. They'd been intending to keep the truth of their origins secret for now, at least until they could accurately predict how the locals were going to respond to it, but it seemed that errant words had cost them the chance at such discretion. Well, so be it.
"We are not from this world," she said with a brief shrug, "Our homeland, Eorzea, rests upon a foreign star."
Yavinder blinked, raised one finger to point at her, then let it fall slack. He worked his jaw for a moment, then shrugged.
"A singularly ludicrous claim," he said at last, shaking his head in bafflement, "Yet I can bring no other credible possibility to mind. Perhaps the Grey Lords of Laurelorn would know of such things, but…"
"We should be grateful indeed for an audience, if such personages might grant them," Urianger said with a smile, "In truth, we would fane seek all knowledge of this land and its many peoples, from as many mouths as care to tell it. Our redoubtable ally Y'shtola is in particular need of tomes of history and ancient legend, seeking therein the secret behind our separation and resultant differences."
"The dwarves would be your best option in these lands, but no bearded loremaster will let outsiders consult their records in a hundred years," Yavinder said with a humourless chuckle, "So as in all too many things, the second-best choice are the humans. Follow me."
With Yavinder in the lead, the trio of Eorzeans cut a quick path through the centre of the law district, diverting only once to skirt the edges of a massive open plaza that seemed mostly used for public punishments and executions. The nooses hanging from great stone monoliths were thankfully empty this day, but there were at least a dozen wretched looking humans imprisoned in metal cages that offered no shelter from the weather or the spite of their fellow citizens, and Elriza could only look away uncomfortably. Eorzean justice tended towards the summary, meted out swiftly and with immediate impact – whipping, fines or execution, virtually all took place the day of the sentence. Such ritual torture and humiliation was not entirely unknown, but to see it used so freely was still discomforting.
Thankfully, the building the elf took them to was a considerably more pleasant sight. While still built of the same bleak granite as the rest of the quarter, inside was light and airy with a myriad of grand windows and open alcoves, all lined with books and arranged around the central statue of a robed woman with sword and scales in hand. Pausing in the entry hall, Elriza found herself wondering if this was a temple or some kind of public library, though given how she had seen devotees of Thaliak behave she supposed there was no reason it could not be both.
"Welcome, travellers, to the Temple of Verena," a man in robes of rich blue said politely, rising from a small reading desk to approach them with a smile, "have you come to worship, or to study?"
"My guests come from a foreign land," Yavinder said briskly, dropping back into faintly-accented reikspeil as he gestured to Elriza with a calloused hand, "this one needs a primer on the local faiths and a certification as a Blessed Servant of a foreign faith."
"She does?" The priest raised an inquisitive eyebrow, looking her over from head to foot while the Roegadyn tried to look suitably pious and ignore the faint snickers from behind her, "I see. What is the nature of her Blessing? And I shall need to know the nature of the divinity in question."
"She can speak every language," Yavinder said bluntly, shaking his head, "Including those that incorporate nonverbal components."
"Truly? We shall have to test it, of course," The priest turned towards her, looking more intrigued now, and when next he spoke his words carried a rolling cadence to them, "I assume you have no trouble with Bretonnian?"
"Is that what it is called?" Elriza replied, switching to the same tongue with a shrug, "Never did in-depth tests, but if it has a soul, we understand each other."
"Two-way translation? Fascinating," the priest murmured, his pale eyes alight with interest now, shifting register once again, "And dead language, tongue of blessed Nehekhara, such thing no trouble?"
"Such things are no trouble," Elriza narrowed her eyes, "Even when you fuck up the grammar to trick me."
"Hah! Yes, a little trick I like to pull, forgive me," the priest chuckled, extending his hand, "I am Heinz, priest of the Order of Mysteries. A Blessed with your gift would have been of great use on my last assignment, let me assure you!"
"Elriza Kurtwyn," she replied, taking his head in a brisk handshake that left him wincing slightly, "of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn."
"Officially disbanded, one might add," Thancred put in dryly from behind her, "We are Archons of Sharlayan, though our esteemed colleague is more of a… freelance consultant, so to speak."
"Fascinating," Heinz said, and to his credit he appeared to actually mean it, "I shall have many questions to ask, and just as many answers to give – but first! This gift of yours is bestowed by a deity, correct? I'm afraid I shall have to ask for details, lest we accidentally bestow accreditation upon a follower of certain… proscribed gods. It's happened before, very embarrassing for all involved."
"Her name is… was… Hydaelyn," Elriza said, pausing a moment to clear her throat of the sudden tightness, "named the Mothercrystal, and the Will of the Planet. A… creator of sorts, a guardian and patron of heroes, associated with light and the formation of crystal. She had no priests as this land understands it, and was not commonly worshipped."
"I see. Certain similarities to Ptra of the Nehekharans, or Asuryan of the Elves, though both are typically associated with fire as well as light… and, of course, assumed to be masculine," Heinz murmured thoughtfully, before clapping his hands together, "Still! Enough for a provisional license, I should think, one I am happy to countersign on condition that you lend me your aid in translating certain fragmentary and forgotten texts I have access to."
"…just for that?" Elriza couldn't help but raise her eyebrows, "I thought… your people were more cautious in matters of magic."
"Two points!" Heinz said, holding up a pair of fingers in strange salute, "First, knowledge is the foundation stone of civilisation, and my Lady Verena should rightly forsake me should I ever disregard its pursuit for mere political concerns. The second is that you may be underestimating just how many untranslated texts we have here."
"And with that, I must return to my forge," Yavinder said smoothly, bowing briefly at the waist before turning about and departing at a brisk walk.
"Wait, I…" Elriza started, only to realise that Urianger was also on his way out of the door, and Thancred had already vanished, "Don't you dare!"
"Pray forgive our absence, but I recognise yonder light in the scholar's eyes from all too many days at the Studium," Urianger said with a brief bow of apology, "We shall return anon, when fervour is exhausted and more productive discussion may yet be had."
Turning on the spot, Elriza's eyes desperately roamed across the interior of the temple – but no, already more priests were approaching, drawn like flies to honey, their eyes alight with the zeal of faith and the fervour of scientific inquiry.
She was doomed.
The Law Quarter was the unflinching granite heart of Talabheim, the single constant point around which the teeming metropolis revolved. Carved from the same bleak stone as the crater wall that shielded the city from its foes, the myriad courts, gaols and halls of record here seemed to loom ominously over all that dared to come before them, blunt monuments to the immortal power and unassailable authority of Law. Elriza had to admit, the architects had done a remarkable job.
"Human work, interestingly enough," Yavinder the blacksmith commented idly, leaning back on the stone bench alongside Elriza and gesturing to the sprawling architecture all around, "an unusual choice for the Empire, who normally prefer to employ dwarf stonemasons for all their major works, but the lords at the time fell prey to political considerations. A runesmith of some kind had been charged an extortionate amount of taxes for his passage through the Taalbaston, and the local community were too busy agitating for special considerations to accept a commission so bluntly authoritative in its aesthetic."
Eltharin truly was a fascinating language, Elriza mused. In an absolute sense the elf beside her had only spoken a dozen words or so, but each was so pregnant with meaning and implication that she could hear entire sentences of subtext running behind those words, and whole oceans of emotional context behind those. Yavinder did not care for the dwarves, she thought, though she did not know enough of the history to catch the allusions she was sure he was making.
"Did they get them?" she asked instead, studying the bustling crowds rather than look directly at her conversational partner, a choice that communicated casual interest divorced of personal investment. Most of the passers-by seemed to be local employees of one sort or another, from imperious judges to scurrying clerks, but there were no few noblemen with their associated entourages as well. Interestingly, she saw only a bare handful of souls dressed in humbler garb; a sign of separate jurisdictions, perhaps, or simple indifference to the legal rights of the common man?
"In a sense. The Stone House hosts a council of dwarven elders, who pass judgement on those matters which concern only the dwarf folk without infringing on imperial law," Yavinder replied, tilting his head to communicate thinly veiled amusement. "Rather less than they hoped for, bought with a surcharge of taxes as well. Oh, and the right to pass without toll through the wall every third day of the week."
Yes, there was definitely a degree of personal animus there. He had spoken to her briefly of his people the night before, the last vestiges of a nation that had once held dominion over all these lands and many others. There had been a war, as she understood it, with the Dwarves and some other faction he had not cared to name, and in the wake of harsh defeat the elves had withdrawn all but entirely from these lands, leaving only Laurelorn as a remnant vestige.
"They expected more?"
"Expected, and likely would have received, in any city save Talabheim," Yavinder lifted one shoulder slightly, admiration and exasperation in one singular move, "The humans here love the law as a vassal their liege, defending its honour as if it were their own. Even the nobility are not beyond its reach. Judge Hindermith has ruled that in times of crisis the highborn are obliged to defend with sword and spear that which they own or forfeit their claim to those who take arms in their defence. The ruling has seen a river of gold expended in legal fees and formal protests, yet even now the highborn commission artists like me to make them weapons worthy of their station."
"Ishgard held to such laws once," Elriza said with a thoughtful nod, casting her mind back into the recesses of memory, "In the waning days of the Dragonsong War, dereliction of such duty was ruled as heresy."
Now that she thought about it, had the Holy See ever gotten around to striking such laws from their books? The end of the millennia-long war might have made such concerns effectively moot, and the reformation of the Orthodoxy had done much to separate religious and secular law, but she'd never thought to investigate the specifics of how it was all done. Perhaps she could ask Aymeric the next time she saw him, assuming they could find the time between the reunion meals and other, more personal celebrations.
"A plausible origin, but Talabheim has never been threatened to such an extent as to justify such a ruling," Yavinder mused, seeming to take some strange pleasure in picking apart the intricacies of local law with someone as foreign to it all as he, "indeed, in their last civil war the city was placed under siege for some twenty years or more, and save for some light rationing came through entirely untouched."
Humming thoughtfully, Elriza tilted her head back to consider the brutal lines of the Taalbaston, the artificial horizon imposed by the great walls of the crater in which Talabheim sat. Defences such as that might have well rendered the city all but impervious to ground assault in the past, but how long would such protection remain meaningful? Ala Mhigo had relied upon natural barriers in a similar fashion, defending the narrow mountain passes of their homeland for generations with the aid of unyielding pike blocks and highly mobile monks, but the coming of Garlemald had changed the face of war. Heavy artillery and airborne deployments had turned Ala Mhigo's inflexible defences against it and were it not for the battle of Silvertear Skies the rest of Eorzea might have swiftly fallen in its turn. How long did Talabheim have, before a similar fate beckoned?
"An older law, then, one forged for a different time and different land?"
"Possible, certainly. The Talabheimers seem to regard the idea of striking down old laws as something akin to blasphemy. Do you see that obelisk?" Yavinder gestured with one calloused hand toward the very centre of the district, an open square dominated by a mighty spire of veiny black rock taller than any of the surrounding buildings. The lower half of it was coated in layer after layer of faded parchment, rustling like grass in the wind. "All new laws and rulings are pinned there, for the edification of all, and never removed. I once saw a drunkard tear one down in a fit of melancholy, wailing at the ruin the ruling had wrought upon his livelihood. A mob tore him to pieces long before the watchmen could get close."
"Truly?" Elriza frowned, missing the weight of her axe. She'd been advised to leave it behind, as to carry weapons above a certain size made one liable for a special tax that their waning funds from the magistrate would struggle to easily pay, but just because it made good sense didn't mean she had to like it. "Well, such concerns are why we are here."
"Yes, to have you registered and such," Yavinder noted, frowning himself now, "Which, if I might note, we could have done close to an hour ago. Why are we delaying?"
Elriza smiled. "I'm waiting for a friend."
On cue, Thancred Waters stepped out of the crowd and took a seat on the bench beside them. It took her a moment to recognise him, for he'd dyed his white hair a kind of sooty black and traded his normal attire for an advocate's sombre robes, but there was no mistaking the smirk on his face or the elegant purple tattoo that cradled his neck and jaw.
"Elriza, my dear, charmed as always," he said in perfect reikspeil, inclining his head to first her and then her companion, "and you must be Yavinder of Laurelorn. I see our dear Warrior has yet to break her habit of associating with dangerous people."
"…a true advocate would wear a mark of his client on the left breast pocket," Yavinder said, a touch frostily, inclining his head in turn, "but for a human your grasp of the art is passable. Another of Elriza's foreign companions, I assume?"
"This is Thancred," Elriza grumbled, shaking her head, "Who apparently managed to get in here without going through a locked gate or knowing the smuggler we used to get under the walls."
"Trade secrets, I'm afraid," Thancred replied with a lazy shrug, the spark of mischief in his hazel eyes undercutting any sincerity he might have held, "but we are indebted for the use of your soul stone. Learning the local language would have been painfully slow otherwise, and Urianger has been having a hard time of it as it is."
Following his rather pointed gaze, Elriza sought out her other companion and sighed. Where Thancred had paired effort, skill and an impromptu mugging to properly blend in, Urianger seemingly only had access to the first. His long robes were undoubtedly of a local style, but he'd insisted on adorning them with the myriad star signs of their distant home and had made no effort to hide the elaborate astrolabe strapped across his back. Nor for that matter had he given any thought to concealing his long ears from view or taken note of the relative scarcity of Elezen in these lands, and so as he made his way down the street it was at the heart of a crowding crowd of curious and vaguely hostile onlookers.
"Even the most magnanimous soul might grow weary of myriad slights and scornful looks," the diviner proclaimed in a tired voice as he approached, "and so do I find the prospect of familiar faces and distant kin a welcome balm upon my aching soul. Urianger Augerelt, at thy service."
"…you are no elf," Yavinder said in a tone of frozen iron, rising to his feet with hands balling even now into fists, "nor would your illusion fool any but the most ignorant child or blinkered human. What is the meaning of this?"
Blinking, Elriza looked from Elf to Elezen and back again. Now that she had the two side by side, there were indeed a handful of minor differences to be seen. The elf was more angular, his build slightly slimmer and his eyes darker, while Urianger's neck was longer and his shoulders a touch broader. Small changes, to be sure, yet distinct, and apparently recognisable on sight to an elf of these lands.
"'tis no glamour, I assure thee – I am an Elezen of the Wildwood, from birth until inevitable death," Urianger replied, splaying his hands in harmless apology, "Yet nor are your words untrue, nor your suspicions unmerited, for it seems abundantly obvious than more than distance doth separate our ancestors. Perhaps the vagaries of evolution have set us apart, compounded by the differing flow of time across the shards – an intriguing possibility, if one troublesome to test…"
"Shards? Differing flow of time?" Yavinder bit the words off sharply, glaring first at Urianger and then down at Elriza, "I demand an explanation!"
Frowning, Elriza glanced at her companions. They'd been intending to keep the truth of their origins secret for now, at least until they could accurately predict how the locals were going to respond to it, but it seemed that errant words had cost them the chance at such discretion. Well, so be it.
"We are not from this world," she said with a brief shrug, "Our homeland, Eorzea, rests upon a foreign star."
Yavinder blinked, raised one finger to point at her, then let it fall slack. He worked his jaw for a moment, then shrugged.
"A singularly ludicrous claim," he said at last, shaking his head in bafflement, "Yet I can bring no other credible possibility to mind. Perhaps the Grey Lords of Laurelorn would know of such things, but…"
"We should be grateful indeed for an audience, if such personages might grant them," Urianger said with a smile, "In truth, we would fane seek all knowledge of this land and its many peoples, from as many mouths as care to tell it. Our redoubtable ally Y'shtola is in particular need of tomes of history and ancient legend, seeking therein the secret behind our separation and resultant differences."
"The dwarves would be your best option in these lands, but no bearded loremaster will let outsiders consult their records in a hundred years," Yavinder said with a humourless chuckle, "So as in all too many things, the second-best choice are the humans. Follow me."
With Yavinder in the lead, the trio of Eorzeans cut a quick path through the centre of the law district, diverting only once to skirt the edges of a massive open plaza that seemed mostly used for public punishments and executions. The nooses hanging from great stone monoliths were thankfully empty this day, but there were at least a dozen wretched looking humans imprisoned in metal cages that offered no shelter from the weather or the spite of their fellow citizens, and Elriza could only look away uncomfortably. Eorzean justice tended towards the summary, meted out swiftly and with immediate impact – whipping, fines or execution, virtually all took place the day of the sentence. Such ritual torture and humiliation was not entirely unknown, but to see it used so freely was still discomforting.
Thankfully, the building the elf took them to was a considerably more pleasant sight. While still built of the same bleak granite as the rest of the quarter, inside was light and airy with a myriad of grand windows and open alcoves, all lined with books and arranged around the central statue of a robed woman with sword and scales in hand. Pausing in the entry hall, Elriza found herself wondering if this was a temple or some kind of public library, though given how she had seen devotees of Thaliak behave she supposed there was no reason it could not be both.
"Welcome, travellers, to the Temple of Verena," a man in robes of rich blue said politely, rising from a small reading desk to approach them with a smile, "have you come to worship, or to study?"
"My guests come from a foreign land," Yavinder said briskly, dropping back into faintly-accented reikspeil as he gestured to Elriza with a calloused hand, "this one needs a primer on the local faiths and a certification as a Blessed Servant of a foreign faith."
"She does?" The priest raised an inquisitive eyebrow, looking her over from head to foot while the Roegadyn tried to look suitably pious and ignore the faint snickers from behind her, "I see. What is the nature of her Blessing? And I shall need to know the nature of the divinity in question."
"She can speak every language," Yavinder said bluntly, shaking his head, "Including those that incorporate nonverbal components."
"Truly? We shall have to test it, of course," The priest turned towards her, looking more intrigued now, and when next he spoke his words carried a rolling cadence to them, "I assume you have no trouble with Bretonnian?"
"Is that what it is called?" Elriza replied, switching to the same tongue with a shrug, "Never did in-depth tests, but if it has a soul, we understand each other."
"Two-way translation? Fascinating," the priest murmured, his pale eyes alight with interest now, shifting register once again, "And dead language, tongue of blessed Nehekhara, such thing no trouble?"
"Such things are no trouble," Elriza narrowed her eyes, "Even when you fuck up the grammar to trick me."
"Hah! Yes, a little trick I like to pull, forgive me," the priest chuckled, extending his hand, "I am Heinz, priest of the Order of Mysteries. A Blessed with your gift would have been of great use on my last assignment, let me assure you!"
"Elriza Kurtwyn," she replied, taking his head in a brisk handshake that left him wincing slightly, "of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn."
"Officially disbanded, one might add," Thancred put in dryly from behind her, "We are Archons of Sharlayan, though our esteemed colleague is more of a… freelance consultant, so to speak."
"Fascinating," Heinz said, and to his credit he appeared to actually mean it, "I shall have many questions to ask, and just as many answers to give – but first! This gift of yours is bestowed by a deity, correct? I'm afraid I shall have to ask for details, lest we accidentally bestow accreditation upon a follower of certain… proscribed gods. It's happened before, very embarrassing for all involved."
"Her name is… was… Hydaelyn," Elriza said, pausing a moment to clear her throat of the sudden tightness, "named the Mothercrystal, and the Will of the Planet. A… creator of sorts, a guardian and patron of heroes, associated with light and the formation of crystal. She had no priests as this land understands it, and was not commonly worshipped."
"I see. Certain similarities to Ptra of the Nehekharans, or Asuryan of the Elves, though both are typically associated with fire as well as light… and, of course, assumed to be masculine," Heinz murmured thoughtfully, before clapping his hands together, "Still! Enough for a provisional license, I should think, one I am happy to countersign on condition that you lend me your aid in translating certain fragmentary and forgotten texts I have access to."
"…just for that?" Elriza couldn't help but raise her eyebrows, "I thought… your people were more cautious in matters of magic."
"Two points!" Heinz said, holding up a pair of fingers in strange salute, "First, knowledge is the foundation stone of civilisation, and my Lady Verena should rightly forsake me should I ever disregard its pursuit for mere political concerns. The second is that you may be underestimating just how many untranslated texts we have here."
"And with that, I must return to my forge," Yavinder said smoothly, bowing briefly at the waist before turning about and departing at a brisk walk.
"Wait, I…" Elriza started, only to realise that Urianger was also on his way out of the door, and Thancred had already vanished, "Don't you dare!"
"Pray forgive our absence, but I recognise yonder light in the scholar's eyes from all too many days at the Studium," Urianger said with a brief bow of apology, "We shall return anon, when fervour is exhausted and more productive discussion may yet be had."
Turning on the spot, Elriza's eyes desperately roamed across the interior of the temple – but no, already more priests were approaching, drawn like flies to honey, their eyes alight with the zeal of faith and the fervour of scientific inquiry.
She was doomed.
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Elriza, use the Ultimate Joestar Secret Technique immediately!
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
Thanks for the update. I can perfectly understand those priests, most historians would kill to have someone like her at their disposal.
The Grey Lords live in Laurelorn, not Lothern.
- Location
- London, England
Whoops. Not sure how I got those confused... well, actually pretty easy when they're both l-words to do with elves but still. Fixed.
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I forget, but can the Echo translate written texts? I mean, everything in-game is translated just for the sake of convenience, if nothing else - but because it works by basically reading the meaning of the words from the speaker's soul, would a written text have enough of an imprint of the writer to still function?
- Location
- United States
I would think it would vary. In ff14 I'd expect just about any book to have at least minorly magically ink just to help with longevity, so echo could work on the captured imprint of the writer's soul.
Warhammer is much more likely to be entirely mundane books which wouldn't have that imprint to connect to for understanding.
Warhammer is much more likely to be entirely mundane books which wouldn't have that imprint to connect to for understanding.
Probably depends. There have been in-game moments where said writing is unreadable.
SalsaDeGranada
Thankful for our Cradle's Graces
- Location
- Philippines
How well known was Hydaelyn throughout Eitherys anyway?
SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
It's hilarious that Yavinder's response can basically be summed up as:
View: https://youtu.be/N_COP5clGzw?si=AtRp6exBlHX7jBmh
Darik29
Verified Delicious
I just realized. The moment the MC speaks with a Dwarf in proper Khazalid, theres a very real chance one of them will try to take an axe to her. No human that is not a dwarf friend is taught even the basics of Khazalid, and if she can actually Read Klinkarun i expect the entirety of the Runesmith's to descend upon her En Masse to either brutally slaughter her for learning the secrets of Runesmithing so casually, or try to spirit her away to read the ancient runes even the dwarves have forgotten.
If she can though. If she can't then all good.
Still likely to get some dwarves twitchy if she speaks the language yet isn't Dawongr.
If she can though. If she can't then all good.
Still likely to get some dwarves twitchy if she speaks the language yet isn't Dawongr.
Darik29
Verified Delicious
Apologies, got confused for a moment there between Khazalid and Klinkarun.
One even men can learn, if usually only priests and those that deal with dwarves. The other is a secret of Rune Smiths and is pretty much forbidden to teach to any who aren't dwarves, and specifically dwarves learning to become rune smiths
Edit: or am i mistaken yet again and mixing shit up poorly again? Apologies if i am
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- Location
- Drachyench on Discord
You are not mistaken. Dwarves are hesitant to even speak amongst themselves in Khazalid openly when among outsiders (low voices, whispers, swearing, and so-on are another matter). The most widespread demographic of Khazalid speakers in the Empire who aren't Dwarves are within the Temple of Sigmar. And even that seems to be mostly self-taught within the order using older documents and such.
It's a point dropped in a lot of WHFB fanfiction because people conflate "Dawi and Humans share a particularly close and long history with one another" with "They're thick as thieves, like two peas in a pod, inseparable from one-another" as opposed to "They have favorable political and economic relations that is noteworthy compared to historical nations of similar power sharing borders IRL"
It's a point dropped in a lot of WHFB fanfiction because people conflate "Dawi and Humans share a particularly close and long history with one another" with "They're thick as thieves, like two peas in a pod, inseparable from one-another" as opposed to "They have favorable political and economic relations that is noteworthy compared to historical nations of similar power sharing borders IRL"
Imagine how would a Dawi react to an Elezen upon laying their eyes on Urianger and notice something is off since they know Elgi very well.
- Location
- London, England
Not terribly well known, as far as we can tell.
Oh, any given scholar would probably recognise the name, but she was never widely worshipped and didn't have any significant miracles attached to her name. Her most notable and repeated deed was bestowing the Blessing of Light upon a small number of heroes, who would then go on to do heroic and inspiring things, at a rate that increased the closer things got to a Calamity.
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Ironically some versions of warhammer canon have yet another "not even wrong" explanation within their own understanding of the world for Hydaelyn the Mothercrystal, as she is clearly none other than Arianka, the maiden of the crystal coffin, embodying in some way in the petrification of some of the raw Aethyric void into Hysh, the Wind of Light.
Jaesten
The Eye in the Abyss
- Location
- Canada
To add to other people, The Twelve, the actual (maybe? Find out for sure next patch) Gods and Goddesses are very well known throughout. Gaius bringing them up snidely in his Prae speech. Hydealyn however? Her blessing is barely understood up until fairly recently and even then, barely anyone has it. As of the disbanding of the Scions there's only three people with the Echo that we really know of on The Source. I'm not sure how well gameplay and other Adventurers/Player Characters count into this though for this story.
I'm not really counting the, at the moment, one Resonant either.
Only Elves and Dwarfs were like that until the War of the Beard when Malekith broke his promise to Snorri Whitebeard in his deathbed and forever shattered their alliance and friendship.
It got Snorri so mad he came back from the dead as Grombrindal.
Parabola
Divided Loyalties Librarian
- Location
- The Destination of Fate
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It's completely true that humans and dwarves have their differences and that they've had some rough patches, but it's worth remembering that dwarves at the time of canon have had close relations with the Empire for longer than they did with the elves.
This, in spite of humans (and the Empire in particular) being a fractious lot and their society changing so much in 2500 years.
XIII - Echoes of Calamity
- Location
- London, England
Chapter Thirteen – Echoes of Calamity
Two days disappeared in a blur of questions and answers, of inquisitive research and fragmentary translations. Each night Elriza staggered back to her rented room at the Three Apples with a head buzzing with newly acquired knowledge, and each morn she returned to the Temple of Verena to continue their work. The other Scions helped, of course, chipping in with answers and perspective where they could in between delving through the stacks for rare tomes or particular scrolls, but none save she had the echo, and so none had quite the same attention from the priesthood. In the end, though, it was not her work that bore the most desirable fruit.
"I do believe I have it!" G'raha announced proudly on the morning of the third day. He'd left the concealing cloak behind this time, relying instead on a ceremonial chain strung with holy icons and a legal writ from the temple to sanction his lack of mutation, and consequently they could all see the triumphant joy in his scarlet eyes as he marched over to the table. In his arms was cradled a heavy, leather-bound tome older than any present, titled The Great Cataclysm in faded gold lettering.
"Finally," Elriza groaned, taking a seat at the table and pulling him into her lap. G'raha blushed slightly, and Thancred snorted, but she'd already been subject to intense questioning on the meaning of an old wax rubbing of some monolith in the depths of the 'Drakwald' and by any reckoning she was owed the indulgence. "What did you find?"
"Ah, well, its really more of an extrapolation than a fact," G'raha hedged, even as he snuggled into her embrace and set the book down on the table before them. Thancred and Urianger both leaned in, interested despite themselves, but Elriza just resting her chin on Raha's head and waited for him to get to the point. "Which is to say… in the myths and legends of every culture the Temple has records of, there is a single common element. A lost golden age, a time of great peace and prosperity, ended by a mighty disaster. The details of that age and when exactly the disaster happened seem to vary, but most place it as six or seven thousand years ago."
"Sounds familiar," Thancred said dryly, "Though in fairness, one should note that not every grand disaster is the harbinger of a Calamity. More's the bloody pity."
"I see – this tome is a compilation, then, a grand accounting and cross-reference of all such grand stories and mythological elements," Urianger mused, already leafing through the book with evident fascination, "One trusts you have a grasp of the overarching picture of events?"
"Indeed. While accounts differ on the cause and culprit, all agree that great wounds were torn in the fabric of this world at the furthest poles, wounds through which strange and malignant aether poured like a river," G'raha said solemnly, his tail slowly coiling around Elriza's broad leg, "With that aether, either creating or feeding upon it, came great swarms of monsters that wished nothing but death and destruction. Every culture credits its gods and greatest heroes with some role in standing against the onslaught, but here too the tales are near-unanimous – it was only ever a holding action, a last desperate defence against the unavoidable end of the world."
"That explains a few things. Have any of you had a chance to study the maps of this world?" Thancred asked, and when they shook their heads he sighed, "Well I have. We stand within the Sigmarite Empire, bordered to its north by the lands of Kislev and Norsca… and beyond those, nothing at all, save perhaps for some rather creatively horrible illustrations by the cartographers. I saw similar things on the First, whenever anyone cared to draw a map that extended beyond the edge of their new world."
"These monsters doth bear certain uncanny similarities to the voidsent with which we are so woefully familiar," Urianger said pensively, his fingers brushing lightly against a series of fantastical drawings that sprawled across the pages of the book. Glancing down, Elriza saw fangs and claws, ragged wings and madly staring eyes, all melding into one another or sprouting from the flesh of tormented looking men and women. She shuddered, taking comfort in G'raha's warmth and presence in her arms. "If the mechanisms of this great calamity were kin to those of the Flood of Light, it doth stand to reason that one would see such tragedies repeated, man and beast lost to violent transformation and dissolution, spreading outward like ink spilled upon the page."
"A Tide of Darkness, perhaps," Thancred said, shaking his head, "and with no Oracle to stem it, as Minfillia did upon the First. How did they survive?"
"Through the creation of the Great Vortex," G'raha said, nodding in satisfaction at their deductions, "Sources differ as to the specifics, but it seems that the Elves created a kind of… aetheric drain, a great working of their own that would gather the excess aether and return it to the lifestream, or perhaps to the void between the worlds. They credit a man named Caledor with the deed, though it seems he did not survive to take the credit or reveal the details of his technique."
"Sounds familiar," Elriza murmured softly, and in her lap G'raha flinched. It had been his intent to do something similar, in those desperate days upon the First – to absorb all the rampant aether they had gathered and then retreat with it beyond the veil, to become a monster drifting helplessly through the void for all time. It probably would have worked, had fate and its architect not intervened, and she knew her love still felt conflicted about it. Glad to have survived, of course, but never regretting the attempt.
"Yes, well, be that as it may," he coughed, shuffling awkwardly in her grasp, "it would seem to explain our observations. Unlike the First, here the source of the Flood remains active, merely provided with a counterbalance. Consequently, the aether of this world is both limited in quantity and extremely volatile, difficult to control and much more prone to inducing changes to flesh and spirit. We'll need to keep our warding scales close and be sure to equip any further expeditions appropriately."
"Explains the lack of crystals," Elriza nodded, pleased to have an answer to that riddle, "the aether is never around long enough to settle and congeal."
She wondered what it might look like, assuming she was able to isolate some of the ambient aether from the background flow long enough for it to form such a crystal. Would it even settle into a single element if it was so thoroughly volatile? Likely not.
"So too does it offer vindication of Y'shtola's theory," Urianger noted, nodding in satisfaction, "'twould be wise to seek confirmation with some descendent or student of great Caledor, but if this Vortex truly is the destination towards which all the great stones doth channel their ambient aether, the shape of a grand working takes form."
"You know, a thought occurs," Thancred mused, only to raise a warning hand at the sudden gleam in his neighbour's eye, "if this theory of yours is correct, and I see no reason why it might not… doesn't that imply that this world is, in effect, midway through a Calamity even now?"
Elriza paused, struck by the thought. Ridiculous as it sounded at first blush, she couldn't rightly say that Thancred was wrong. If the flow of corrupted, all-destroying aether from the north yet continued unabated, then the creation of the Vortex had not so much ended the Calamity as suspended it. Should Caledor's solution fail, or even falter for but a short time, the entire world could yet be lost.
Well, it looked like she had a northern expedition in her future.
"Attention please, ladies and gentlemen!" The sound of a raised voice in a place of reverent learning such as this seemed entirely out of line, but looking over to the entrance Elriza saw the speaker was a neatly uniformed soldier in red and blue, holding a formal looking proclamation in his hands. "By decree of parliament, all able-bodied adults are hereby commanded to lend their aid to Talabheim in this time of trial!"
Frowning, Elriza glanced at her peers. A conscription notice? And one that applied not merely to citizens, but all able-bodied adults? Had the situation truly deteriorated so rapidly?
"Said prospects are hereby commanded to present themselves in the Court Square no later than two days hence, or else to make it known to city authorities what contributions in kind they shall be making to Talabheim's defence and prosperity!" the herald continued, speaking over the rolling wave of shocked whispers with practiced ease, "Failure to do so shall be construed as desertion, punished via exile of person and forfeiture of all material assets. In the name of Father Taal and Sigmar Imperator, let it be done."
His message so delivered, the herald clicked his heels, bowed deeply to all in attendance, then turned and marched off to repeat the task elsewhere. In his wake he left shocked and murmuring citizens, priests gathering for impromptu conference, and Thancred Waters grinning like his nameday had come early.
"Out with it," Elriza sighed, "why the smile?"
"Because unless I miss my guess, the city is about to be absolutely overrun with poorly organised men in badly fitting uniforms, attending to all manner of strange and inexplicable tasks," Thancred chuckled, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders. "I for one intend to take full advantage."
"Alas, espionage has never been one of my talents," G'raha sighed, still making no move to remove himself from Elriza's lap, "And I do not believe we have sufficient liquid capital to escape conscription via a 'contribution in kind'."
"It may well not come to that," Urianger said confidently, "Though we are but new to this land, I expect it would not take great effort to find some other way in which we might contribute to the safety and wellbeing of our hosts beyond mere material payment. And, of course, the option of continued work in the temple remains open to…"
"Oh look," Elriza said abruptly, "I've just developed a sense of civic duty."
"Are you sure?" Raha asked, twisting in his seat to look up at her with an adorable wrinkle in his nose, "It seems a poor…"
Fortunately, he was far less able to muster reasonable and pragmatic arguments for why she should spend the next week cooped up with a bunch of scrolls and fervent historians for company when she was kissing him. Truly, she was a master of improvisation.
-/-
"Bring out your dead!"
As it turned out, there were surprisingly few jobs available in the newly raised militia for a woman half again as tall as the average man. She couldn't fit into the narrow confines of the sewers and storm drains, to say nothing of the lovingly-titled 'ratholds' in the crater walls, and she refused to join the city patrols shaking people down for their paperwork or brutalising those who earned the ire of their supposed betters. Urianger had finagled a role as personal diviner and soothsayer to the local elite, trading on the superstitious respect they had for his supposed elven nature, while G'raha had returned to work coordinating with the Shallyans, but there was little she could have offered in either case.
"Bring out your dead!"
Thus, she'd been relegated to what the soldiers called "Morr's Round" – dragging a heavy cart through the narrow streets of the poor quarters, collecting the dead for burial. It was ugly, gruelling work, but it gave her an unparalleled opportunity to assess the situation in Talabheim as a whole, and she wasn't the kind of hypocrite to turn up her nose at working with dead bodies. How could she be, when she'd been responsible for making so many?
"Got two in here, love," a plump woman in an apron called out to her from the shelter of a nearby doorway, her voice so tired it sounded almost empty, "give us a hand, yeah?"
Nodding, Elriza set down the cart and made her way over. The woman's house was dirty and cramped, clearly designed for far fewer inhabitants than it had ended up supporting, and in the second room of three a pair of corpses lay curled side by side. Their skin was pale and waxed, and on their throats and chest blossomed the strange grey blotches of the ague.
"I've got them," Elriza said to the woman, kneeling to gather both bodies in her broad arms, grateful for the thick leather gloves that the militia sergeant had issued her before assigning her to this duty, "any others get sick? The Shallyans will want to know."
Officially speaking, the Grey Ague was all but unknown within the city walls, but Elriza had collected enough corpses by now to realise just how much 'bo-shit that position had to be. The disease was present and widespread within Talabheim by now, spreading steadily through the tightly packed populace, but for whatever reason it seemed far quieter, far less lethal than the scythe that had reaped through the port of Taalagad. The city authorities were badly underestimating it as a result, and given what she knew of its origins, Elriza suspected that was exactly what the ratmen had intended.
"No, just these two," the woman said with a low, defeated sigh, "Guess we should be thankful, huh? Just… just make sure they're buried proper, alright?"
Elriza nodded solemnly, and without a word stepped past the grieving woman and carried the corpses back out to the cart. She thought of the first time she'd had to do something like this, all those years ago. Of the bodies of friends and comrades laid out beneath the desert sun, betrayed and slaughtered in moments even as she celebrated her victory over the primal Titan. This seemed distant in comparison, her feelings numbed by anonymity and experience, but she still hoped that Daubler finished his work soon. They needed to know that things could get better.
The cart was almost full, and after a handful of moments spent pulled arms and legs back inside and adjusting the way the bodies lay, Elriza decided she'd be better served cutting this route short. She'd come back tomorrow or send one of the other work teams this way to collect those she hadn't gotten around to. They'd be slower, needing a whole patrol to handle the work and a pair of donkeys to drag the cart around, but there was no helping that. So she hitched herself back to the front of the cart and set off, wooden wheels creaking over the cobblestones.
What she would have called a lichyard the locals called a garden, but beyond the terminology the place remained almost eerily familiar. The god carved into the stone was Morr instead of Nald-thal, clutching a scythe where the Traders would have their scales, but there were only so many ways to conduct mass internment and this sprawling set of grounds on the outskirts of the city was one. There was a priest waiting outside the gate as she approached, a surprisingly young looking man with deep shadows under his pale eyes.
"How many, and which area?" he said briskly as Elriza parked the cart before the wrought-iron gates.
"Thirteen," the Roegadyn said, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck, "From Hook's End to… uh, that square with the one-armed statue in the middle."
"I know the place," the priest nodded, which was a relief, and then frowned, "only thirteen? Hm. Odd."
"Odd?" asked Elriza, who had long since learned how many tangled mysteries started to fray at such an innocuous word, "More or less than expected?"
"Less. Not that I am eager to see great hosts come to Morr before their time, but…" the priest sighed, and shook his head. "For a population that size, in times of plague, there ought to be at least twenty."
"You think someone is taking the bodies?" Elriza frowned, picking up on the inference immediately, "What for?"
"Any number of reasons. Surgeons looking to practice their trade, necromancers seeking raw materials, maybe even ghouls looking for something to eat," the priest grumbled, turning away, "A capital crime in any case, but the templars are stretched thin. We can't spare more than a handful to chase it down."
Elriza nodded, making a note for future reference. It wasn't any of her business, strictly speaking, but if an opportunity arose to do a favour for one of the local cults they'd be well served to take it. Such gratitude could come in handy in any number of places… and besides, she didn't like the ideas the priest had suggested any more than he did. The dead were to be left to their rest, that their bodies might return to the earth and their souls to the endless sea. She'd seen what happened when the cycle was interrupted and given the choice, she'd never have to see such a thing again.
Still, such thoughts were for the future. Right now, she still had a few hours left on her shift, which meant more dead bodies to collect, and more grieving relatives to carefully ignore. The heart could only take so much.
-/-
That night the Three Apples' taproom was alive and bustling, packed with the tired and the exuberant looking to drown their sorrows and chase away bad memories. The Scions were not averse to either, but they still had work to do, so even as they settled in to their little table in the corner they discussed the news of the day.
"Missing bodies?" G'raha said with a frown, "How strange. It would seem the ratmen are the obvious cultists, given the surge in their activities of late, but what purpose would stealing the dead serve?"
"Whatever it is, there will be more corpses joining them soon," Thancred said grimly, slumped over in his chair, "I had a look at the reports circulating among the local officers. Seems just about every patrol the tunnel brigade has sent out has had a skirmish or two with the ratmen lately, and the rate is only growing. They're cycling in reinforcements, but close to half their men are wounded or dead, and most of the former are crippled by infection."
Elriza frowned darkly. That kind of casualty rate wasn't even close to sustainable, even for the most dedicated and experienced of troops, far less so if you happened to be relying on conscripted militia to make up the numbers. Soon she expected they'd see units cutting their patrols short and lying on the reports, or just refusing to go out into the tunnels at all. Assuming, of course, that it wasn't already happening.
"The city's soldiers were hard used by the recent conflict in the north, and what scarred and hardened souls remain are in the main encamped throughout the noble quarter," Urianger put in, frowning in thought as he drew one card after another and laid them out carefully on the table before them. "'Tis a common assumption among my patrons and their staff that the countess fears assassination, for her station is precarious and her enemies mustered in no small number, but I feel such views are made in hasteful error. It seems clear to me that she expects attack, and seeks only to preserve her finest forces in full strength for when such a day might come."
Elriza's frown grew deeper, but she couldn't deny that it made a ruthless kind of sense. To commit the state troops to fighting in the tunnels and ratholds would doubtless result in far better outcomes than the militia could hope to achieve, but it would also attrite what few professional forces the city had to spare. If the Countess truly expected to be invaded, if she saw the plague and the skirmishes as nothing more than the opening moves of a coming invasion, then sacrificing the militia for the sake of the soldiery was a cold but pragmatic solution. Even if all they did was slow the ratmen and give even a few hours of forewarning, that was a trade a general had to be ready to make. It was the prospect of such choices that made Elriza grateful that life had made her a champion, not a leader. She didn't know if she could make that kind of call.
"If the attack comes at all," Thancred shook his head, taking a mouthful of his mead and making a considering hum, "That's the other part of the reports. For every living skaven the tunnel brigade encounter, they stumble across another dead long before they got there. It may be that we are not witnessing preparations for an invasion at all, but rather the fallout of a civil war."
"Truly? If so, perhaps we might see about making contact with one faction, if we can determine how they are divided," G'raha began, only to break off at the sight of a pair of familiar figures entering through the door, "Ah, Doctor Daubler, Frau Kristiane! Over here!"
The doctor and the young priestess turned at the call, then smiled and made their way over. Both seemed tired, worn to the born in the way of those who have been wrestling with the heaviest and most vital of tasks for days, yet their smiles seemed jubilant and when they sat at the time it was with eager smiles and open hearts.
"I've done it, my friends," Daubler said proudly, producing from a satchel at his side a series of small vials, each filled with a soft golden liquid. "The Ague isn't just a disease; it's also been modified to trick the body into producing one part of a binary poison. Alone this is harmless, which explains why the outbreaks within the city have been so mild and limited in virulence, but when paired with the silver dust in the water… well, you have seen Taalagad."
"We have," G'raha said gravely, studying the small vials with a pensive expression, "I imagine such is why healing magics were of limited use. They can cure the disease and eliminate the combined toxin… but the raw ingredients the body has already produced remain in the system, just waiting for them to drink more tainted water."
"When sealed, Talabheim gets its water from the sacred springs," Kristiane put in, smiling happily, "The source is guarded by knights, and Taal's own priests watch over the approaches. The enemy cannot get near it."
"In any case, this booster serves a similarly binary purpose – it targets the same catalyst as the silver dust, locking it tight until it passes naturally from the system," Daubler said, all but radiating pride and satisfaction at his work, "The rest of the serum serves to bolster the patient and aid them in fighting off the ordinary form of the disease, same as they made in Miragliano. Not a total cure, I'm afraid, but the next best thing, and it should be enough to save even those poor buggers at the port. Please, drink up. We couldn't have done it if not for you."
"Well done," Elriza said warmly, taking the vial and adding it to her belt. So far the disease hadn't been able to affect her, either due to her nonhuman biology or simple constitution, but it would be a good idea to keep a sample on hand just in case. "What happens now?"
"I've told the Sisterhood of my findings, and they're going to Parliament even now," Daubler said with a brisk nod, "A day or two to secure the funding and necessary resources to get the proper facilities set up, and then we'll start mass production. Distribution will be a thorny problem, and I expect there will be plenty of arguments over who gets it first and so forth, but the Shallyans are well practiced at such work."
"Then it seems we all owe you a debt," G'raha said with a solemn nod, "And if it is not impertinent, might I suggest that you credit Herr Widenhoft and Captain Nierhaus on the final report?"
"I'll do more than that. By the time I'm done, they'll be toasting them both in every tavern in Talabheim," Daubler said firmly, before gesturing to a nearby waitress, "in fact, let's start now. My dear, a round of your finest schnapps, if you would – ah, thank you."
He stood then, lifting the small cup before him, and nodded to the Scions and the priestess who shared the table with him.
"To Gotthard Widenhoft and Rudolf Nierhaus," he said solemnly, raising the glass high, "May their lives be remembered, and their sacrifices honoured."
"To Gotthard Widenhoft," Elriza said solemnly, thinking of the man with the knife in his spine, the captain with the haunted eyes, "and Rudolf Nierhaus."
Then she drank, and savoured the taste of hope.
Two days disappeared in a blur of questions and answers, of inquisitive research and fragmentary translations. Each night Elriza staggered back to her rented room at the Three Apples with a head buzzing with newly acquired knowledge, and each morn she returned to the Temple of Verena to continue their work. The other Scions helped, of course, chipping in with answers and perspective where they could in between delving through the stacks for rare tomes or particular scrolls, but none save she had the echo, and so none had quite the same attention from the priesthood. In the end, though, it was not her work that bore the most desirable fruit.
"I do believe I have it!" G'raha announced proudly on the morning of the third day. He'd left the concealing cloak behind this time, relying instead on a ceremonial chain strung with holy icons and a legal writ from the temple to sanction his lack of mutation, and consequently they could all see the triumphant joy in his scarlet eyes as he marched over to the table. In his arms was cradled a heavy, leather-bound tome older than any present, titled The Great Cataclysm in faded gold lettering.
"Finally," Elriza groaned, taking a seat at the table and pulling him into her lap. G'raha blushed slightly, and Thancred snorted, but she'd already been subject to intense questioning on the meaning of an old wax rubbing of some monolith in the depths of the 'Drakwald' and by any reckoning she was owed the indulgence. "What did you find?"
"Ah, well, its really more of an extrapolation than a fact," G'raha hedged, even as he snuggled into her embrace and set the book down on the table before them. Thancred and Urianger both leaned in, interested despite themselves, but Elriza just resting her chin on Raha's head and waited for him to get to the point. "Which is to say… in the myths and legends of every culture the Temple has records of, there is a single common element. A lost golden age, a time of great peace and prosperity, ended by a mighty disaster. The details of that age and when exactly the disaster happened seem to vary, but most place it as six or seven thousand years ago."
"Sounds familiar," Thancred said dryly, "Though in fairness, one should note that not every grand disaster is the harbinger of a Calamity. More's the bloody pity."
"I see – this tome is a compilation, then, a grand accounting and cross-reference of all such grand stories and mythological elements," Urianger mused, already leafing through the book with evident fascination, "One trusts you have a grasp of the overarching picture of events?"
"Indeed. While accounts differ on the cause and culprit, all agree that great wounds were torn in the fabric of this world at the furthest poles, wounds through which strange and malignant aether poured like a river," G'raha said solemnly, his tail slowly coiling around Elriza's broad leg, "With that aether, either creating or feeding upon it, came great swarms of monsters that wished nothing but death and destruction. Every culture credits its gods and greatest heroes with some role in standing against the onslaught, but here too the tales are near-unanimous – it was only ever a holding action, a last desperate defence against the unavoidable end of the world."
"That explains a few things. Have any of you had a chance to study the maps of this world?" Thancred asked, and when they shook their heads he sighed, "Well I have. We stand within the Sigmarite Empire, bordered to its north by the lands of Kislev and Norsca… and beyond those, nothing at all, save perhaps for some rather creatively horrible illustrations by the cartographers. I saw similar things on the First, whenever anyone cared to draw a map that extended beyond the edge of their new world."
"These monsters doth bear certain uncanny similarities to the voidsent with which we are so woefully familiar," Urianger said pensively, his fingers brushing lightly against a series of fantastical drawings that sprawled across the pages of the book. Glancing down, Elriza saw fangs and claws, ragged wings and madly staring eyes, all melding into one another or sprouting from the flesh of tormented looking men and women. She shuddered, taking comfort in G'raha's warmth and presence in her arms. "If the mechanisms of this great calamity were kin to those of the Flood of Light, it doth stand to reason that one would see such tragedies repeated, man and beast lost to violent transformation and dissolution, spreading outward like ink spilled upon the page."
"A Tide of Darkness, perhaps," Thancred said, shaking his head, "and with no Oracle to stem it, as Minfillia did upon the First. How did they survive?"
"Through the creation of the Great Vortex," G'raha said, nodding in satisfaction at their deductions, "Sources differ as to the specifics, but it seems that the Elves created a kind of… aetheric drain, a great working of their own that would gather the excess aether and return it to the lifestream, or perhaps to the void between the worlds. They credit a man named Caledor with the deed, though it seems he did not survive to take the credit or reveal the details of his technique."
"Sounds familiar," Elriza murmured softly, and in her lap G'raha flinched. It had been his intent to do something similar, in those desperate days upon the First – to absorb all the rampant aether they had gathered and then retreat with it beyond the veil, to become a monster drifting helplessly through the void for all time. It probably would have worked, had fate and its architect not intervened, and she knew her love still felt conflicted about it. Glad to have survived, of course, but never regretting the attempt.
"Yes, well, be that as it may," he coughed, shuffling awkwardly in her grasp, "it would seem to explain our observations. Unlike the First, here the source of the Flood remains active, merely provided with a counterbalance. Consequently, the aether of this world is both limited in quantity and extremely volatile, difficult to control and much more prone to inducing changes to flesh and spirit. We'll need to keep our warding scales close and be sure to equip any further expeditions appropriately."
"Explains the lack of crystals," Elriza nodded, pleased to have an answer to that riddle, "the aether is never around long enough to settle and congeal."
She wondered what it might look like, assuming she was able to isolate some of the ambient aether from the background flow long enough for it to form such a crystal. Would it even settle into a single element if it was so thoroughly volatile? Likely not.
"So too does it offer vindication of Y'shtola's theory," Urianger noted, nodding in satisfaction, "'twould be wise to seek confirmation with some descendent or student of great Caledor, but if this Vortex truly is the destination towards which all the great stones doth channel their ambient aether, the shape of a grand working takes form."
"You know, a thought occurs," Thancred mused, only to raise a warning hand at the sudden gleam in his neighbour's eye, "if this theory of yours is correct, and I see no reason why it might not… doesn't that imply that this world is, in effect, midway through a Calamity even now?"
Elriza paused, struck by the thought. Ridiculous as it sounded at first blush, she couldn't rightly say that Thancred was wrong. If the flow of corrupted, all-destroying aether from the north yet continued unabated, then the creation of the Vortex had not so much ended the Calamity as suspended it. Should Caledor's solution fail, or even falter for but a short time, the entire world could yet be lost.
Well, it looked like she had a northern expedition in her future.
"Attention please, ladies and gentlemen!" The sound of a raised voice in a place of reverent learning such as this seemed entirely out of line, but looking over to the entrance Elriza saw the speaker was a neatly uniformed soldier in red and blue, holding a formal looking proclamation in his hands. "By decree of parliament, all able-bodied adults are hereby commanded to lend their aid to Talabheim in this time of trial!"
Frowning, Elriza glanced at her peers. A conscription notice? And one that applied not merely to citizens, but all able-bodied adults? Had the situation truly deteriorated so rapidly?
"Said prospects are hereby commanded to present themselves in the Court Square no later than two days hence, or else to make it known to city authorities what contributions in kind they shall be making to Talabheim's defence and prosperity!" the herald continued, speaking over the rolling wave of shocked whispers with practiced ease, "Failure to do so shall be construed as desertion, punished via exile of person and forfeiture of all material assets. In the name of Father Taal and Sigmar Imperator, let it be done."
His message so delivered, the herald clicked his heels, bowed deeply to all in attendance, then turned and marched off to repeat the task elsewhere. In his wake he left shocked and murmuring citizens, priests gathering for impromptu conference, and Thancred Waters grinning like his nameday had come early.
"Out with it," Elriza sighed, "why the smile?"
"Because unless I miss my guess, the city is about to be absolutely overrun with poorly organised men in badly fitting uniforms, attending to all manner of strange and inexplicable tasks," Thancred chuckled, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders. "I for one intend to take full advantage."
"Alas, espionage has never been one of my talents," G'raha sighed, still making no move to remove himself from Elriza's lap, "And I do not believe we have sufficient liquid capital to escape conscription via a 'contribution in kind'."
"It may well not come to that," Urianger said confidently, "Though we are but new to this land, I expect it would not take great effort to find some other way in which we might contribute to the safety and wellbeing of our hosts beyond mere material payment. And, of course, the option of continued work in the temple remains open to…"
"Oh look," Elriza said abruptly, "I've just developed a sense of civic duty."
"Are you sure?" Raha asked, twisting in his seat to look up at her with an adorable wrinkle in his nose, "It seems a poor…"
Fortunately, he was far less able to muster reasonable and pragmatic arguments for why she should spend the next week cooped up with a bunch of scrolls and fervent historians for company when she was kissing him. Truly, she was a master of improvisation.
-/-
"Bring out your dead!"
As it turned out, there were surprisingly few jobs available in the newly raised militia for a woman half again as tall as the average man. She couldn't fit into the narrow confines of the sewers and storm drains, to say nothing of the lovingly-titled 'ratholds' in the crater walls, and she refused to join the city patrols shaking people down for their paperwork or brutalising those who earned the ire of their supposed betters. Urianger had finagled a role as personal diviner and soothsayer to the local elite, trading on the superstitious respect they had for his supposed elven nature, while G'raha had returned to work coordinating with the Shallyans, but there was little she could have offered in either case.
"Bring out your dead!"
Thus, she'd been relegated to what the soldiers called "Morr's Round" – dragging a heavy cart through the narrow streets of the poor quarters, collecting the dead for burial. It was ugly, gruelling work, but it gave her an unparalleled opportunity to assess the situation in Talabheim as a whole, and she wasn't the kind of hypocrite to turn up her nose at working with dead bodies. How could she be, when she'd been responsible for making so many?
"Got two in here, love," a plump woman in an apron called out to her from the shelter of a nearby doorway, her voice so tired it sounded almost empty, "give us a hand, yeah?"
Nodding, Elriza set down the cart and made her way over. The woman's house was dirty and cramped, clearly designed for far fewer inhabitants than it had ended up supporting, and in the second room of three a pair of corpses lay curled side by side. Their skin was pale and waxed, and on their throats and chest blossomed the strange grey blotches of the ague.
"I've got them," Elriza said to the woman, kneeling to gather both bodies in her broad arms, grateful for the thick leather gloves that the militia sergeant had issued her before assigning her to this duty, "any others get sick? The Shallyans will want to know."
Officially speaking, the Grey Ague was all but unknown within the city walls, but Elriza had collected enough corpses by now to realise just how much 'bo-shit that position had to be. The disease was present and widespread within Talabheim by now, spreading steadily through the tightly packed populace, but for whatever reason it seemed far quieter, far less lethal than the scythe that had reaped through the port of Taalagad. The city authorities were badly underestimating it as a result, and given what she knew of its origins, Elriza suspected that was exactly what the ratmen had intended.
"No, just these two," the woman said with a low, defeated sigh, "Guess we should be thankful, huh? Just… just make sure they're buried proper, alright?"
Elriza nodded solemnly, and without a word stepped past the grieving woman and carried the corpses back out to the cart. She thought of the first time she'd had to do something like this, all those years ago. Of the bodies of friends and comrades laid out beneath the desert sun, betrayed and slaughtered in moments even as she celebrated her victory over the primal Titan. This seemed distant in comparison, her feelings numbed by anonymity and experience, but she still hoped that Daubler finished his work soon. They needed to know that things could get better.
The cart was almost full, and after a handful of moments spent pulled arms and legs back inside and adjusting the way the bodies lay, Elriza decided she'd be better served cutting this route short. She'd come back tomorrow or send one of the other work teams this way to collect those she hadn't gotten around to. They'd be slower, needing a whole patrol to handle the work and a pair of donkeys to drag the cart around, but there was no helping that. So she hitched herself back to the front of the cart and set off, wooden wheels creaking over the cobblestones.
What she would have called a lichyard the locals called a garden, but beyond the terminology the place remained almost eerily familiar. The god carved into the stone was Morr instead of Nald-thal, clutching a scythe where the Traders would have their scales, but there were only so many ways to conduct mass internment and this sprawling set of grounds on the outskirts of the city was one. There was a priest waiting outside the gate as she approached, a surprisingly young looking man with deep shadows under his pale eyes.
"How many, and which area?" he said briskly as Elriza parked the cart before the wrought-iron gates.
"Thirteen," the Roegadyn said, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck, "From Hook's End to… uh, that square with the one-armed statue in the middle."
"I know the place," the priest nodded, which was a relief, and then frowned, "only thirteen? Hm. Odd."
"Odd?" asked Elriza, who had long since learned how many tangled mysteries started to fray at such an innocuous word, "More or less than expected?"
"Less. Not that I am eager to see great hosts come to Morr before their time, but…" the priest sighed, and shook his head. "For a population that size, in times of plague, there ought to be at least twenty."
"You think someone is taking the bodies?" Elriza frowned, picking up on the inference immediately, "What for?"
"Any number of reasons. Surgeons looking to practice their trade, necromancers seeking raw materials, maybe even ghouls looking for something to eat," the priest grumbled, turning away, "A capital crime in any case, but the templars are stretched thin. We can't spare more than a handful to chase it down."
Elriza nodded, making a note for future reference. It wasn't any of her business, strictly speaking, but if an opportunity arose to do a favour for one of the local cults they'd be well served to take it. Such gratitude could come in handy in any number of places… and besides, she didn't like the ideas the priest had suggested any more than he did. The dead were to be left to their rest, that their bodies might return to the earth and their souls to the endless sea. She'd seen what happened when the cycle was interrupted and given the choice, she'd never have to see such a thing again.
Still, such thoughts were for the future. Right now, she still had a few hours left on her shift, which meant more dead bodies to collect, and more grieving relatives to carefully ignore. The heart could only take so much.
-/-
That night the Three Apples' taproom was alive and bustling, packed with the tired and the exuberant looking to drown their sorrows and chase away bad memories. The Scions were not averse to either, but they still had work to do, so even as they settled in to their little table in the corner they discussed the news of the day.
"Missing bodies?" G'raha said with a frown, "How strange. It would seem the ratmen are the obvious cultists, given the surge in their activities of late, but what purpose would stealing the dead serve?"
"Whatever it is, there will be more corpses joining them soon," Thancred said grimly, slumped over in his chair, "I had a look at the reports circulating among the local officers. Seems just about every patrol the tunnel brigade has sent out has had a skirmish or two with the ratmen lately, and the rate is only growing. They're cycling in reinforcements, but close to half their men are wounded or dead, and most of the former are crippled by infection."
Elriza frowned darkly. That kind of casualty rate wasn't even close to sustainable, even for the most dedicated and experienced of troops, far less so if you happened to be relying on conscripted militia to make up the numbers. Soon she expected they'd see units cutting their patrols short and lying on the reports, or just refusing to go out into the tunnels at all. Assuming, of course, that it wasn't already happening.
"The city's soldiers were hard used by the recent conflict in the north, and what scarred and hardened souls remain are in the main encamped throughout the noble quarter," Urianger put in, frowning in thought as he drew one card after another and laid them out carefully on the table before them. "'Tis a common assumption among my patrons and their staff that the countess fears assassination, for her station is precarious and her enemies mustered in no small number, but I feel such views are made in hasteful error. It seems clear to me that she expects attack, and seeks only to preserve her finest forces in full strength for when such a day might come."
Elriza's frown grew deeper, but she couldn't deny that it made a ruthless kind of sense. To commit the state troops to fighting in the tunnels and ratholds would doubtless result in far better outcomes than the militia could hope to achieve, but it would also attrite what few professional forces the city had to spare. If the Countess truly expected to be invaded, if she saw the plague and the skirmishes as nothing more than the opening moves of a coming invasion, then sacrificing the militia for the sake of the soldiery was a cold but pragmatic solution. Even if all they did was slow the ratmen and give even a few hours of forewarning, that was a trade a general had to be ready to make. It was the prospect of such choices that made Elriza grateful that life had made her a champion, not a leader. She didn't know if she could make that kind of call.
"If the attack comes at all," Thancred shook his head, taking a mouthful of his mead and making a considering hum, "That's the other part of the reports. For every living skaven the tunnel brigade encounter, they stumble across another dead long before they got there. It may be that we are not witnessing preparations for an invasion at all, but rather the fallout of a civil war."
"Truly? If so, perhaps we might see about making contact with one faction, if we can determine how they are divided," G'raha began, only to break off at the sight of a pair of familiar figures entering through the door, "Ah, Doctor Daubler, Frau Kristiane! Over here!"
The doctor and the young priestess turned at the call, then smiled and made their way over. Both seemed tired, worn to the born in the way of those who have been wrestling with the heaviest and most vital of tasks for days, yet their smiles seemed jubilant and when they sat at the time it was with eager smiles and open hearts.
"I've done it, my friends," Daubler said proudly, producing from a satchel at his side a series of small vials, each filled with a soft golden liquid. "The Ague isn't just a disease; it's also been modified to trick the body into producing one part of a binary poison. Alone this is harmless, which explains why the outbreaks within the city have been so mild and limited in virulence, but when paired with the silver dust in the water… well, you have seen Taalagad."
"We have," G'raha said gravely, studying the small vials with a pensive expression, "I imagine such is why healing magics were of limited use. They can cure the disease and eliminate the combined toxin… but the raw ingredients the body has already produced remain in the system, just waiting for them to drink more tainted water."
"When sealed, Talabheim gets its water from the sacred springs," Kristiane put in, smiling happily, "The source is guarded by knights, and Taal's own priests watch over the approaches. The enemy cannot get near it."
"In any case, this booster serves a similarly binary purpose – it targets the same catalyst as the silver dust, locking it tight until it passes naturally from the system," Daubler said, all but radiating pride and satisfaction at his work, "The rest of the serum serves to bolster the patient and aid them in fighting off the ordinary form of the disease, same as they made in Miragliano. Not a total cure, I'm afraid, but the next best thing, and it should be enough to save even those poor buggers at the port. Please, drink up. We couldn't have done it if not for you."
"Well done," Elriza said warmly, taking the vial and adding it to her belt. So far the disease hadn't been able to affect her, either due to her nonhuman biology or simple constitution, but it would be a good idea to keep a sample on hand just in case. "What happens now?"
"I've told the Sisterhood of my findings, and they're going to Parliament even now," Daubler said with a brisk nod, "A day or two to secure the funding and necessary resources to get the proper facilities set up, and then we'll start mass production. Distribution will be a thorny problem, and I expect there will be plenty of arguments over who gets it first and so forth, but the Shallyans are well practiced at such work."
"Then it seems we all owe you a debt," G'raha said with a solemn nod, "And if it is not impertinent, might I suggest that you credit Herr Widenhoft and Captain Nierhaus on the final report?"
"I'll do more than that. By the time I'm done, they'll be toasting them both in every tavern in Talabheim," Daubler said firmly, before gesturing to a nearby waitress, "in fact, let's start now. My dear, a round of your finest schnapps, if you would – ah, thank you."
He stood then, lifting the small cup before him, and nodded to the Scions and the priestess who shared the table with him.
"To Gotthard Widenhoft and Rudolf Nierhaus," he said solemnly, raising the glass high, "May their lives be remembered, and their sacrifices honoured."
"To Gotthard Widenhoft," Elriza said solemnly, thinking of the man with the knife in his spine, the captain with the haunted eyes, "and Rudolf Nierhaus."
Then she drank, and savoured the taste of hope.