Large Funeral wins! It'll be a pretty big update, the way things are going. I have a wedding to go to this weekend though, so it'll take me awhile to knock the next update out. Thanks to everyone for your patience!
Victory! Even as an iron fist unclenches around your heart, you cannot rest on your laurels just yet. Torvald died delivering Logrhorn to you, as well as a handful of levymen. As their Knight, it is your duty to make sure they are properly mourned.
As the word spreads throughout Hringsdalr, the city's atmosphere changes immediately - where the streets were once empty, they soon fill with jubilant citizens, each one singing your praises.
Though Torvald's loss will hurt your realm, claiming Logrhorn was a relatively bloodless affair.
You arrange for Torvald's funeral - a small kavr will bear him down the Dustfloe river, its hold filled with his worldly possessions and any mementos the citizens of Thromrhold wish to contribute. But that is a matter for tomorrow - music and dancers fill the streets of Hringsdalr, while Sable drags you into a spare room in Lunus' manor for a more personal celebration.
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Torvald's funeral goes smoothly. The docks are crowded, timbers creaking under the weight of Hringsdalr's citizenry. Fuschia gently lays the body of his master atop the kavr, placing a crown of thorns upon his head. The serfs are next, a group of fifty men and women that have prepared small votive offerings for the fallen Huntsman to carry with him into the Silverlands. There is no doubt to his soul's ultimate destination. Most of the funerary gifts are thorn-crowns, but there are a few white-painted grimm figurines to represent the hordes of beasts he's slain.
The lighting honors are given to Fuschia, as befits his relationship with the dead. You unmoor the kavr, and, with dread respect, hand Mistilteinn to the Huntsman apprentice. In truth, he is an apprentice no longer - according to Daff, the bulk of his training was completed, the only parts remaining were mere formalities. Soon, Fuschia will find his own apprentice.
A flaming arrow splits the night in half, arcing towards the kavr. It strikes Torvald's body center mass, immediately catching the craft alight. At the far ends of the docks, local tellers begin their chanting, each one bearing a mask depicting their favored Progenitor. The center figure wears the fell mask of the Thorned One, fresh blood from her scalp trailing down her neck, soaking her black-red robes.
You and your serfs sing along, though Sable is silent. If she had seen a Progenitorist funeral before, it had never been one this large. She doesn't know the words, but is intrigued by the other associated customs. With a sly grin, she links her arm with yours and leans against your chest, eyes alight with curiosity.
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Thromrhold.
Home.
Seeing it nestled into the mountains, banners flapping in the chill autumn breeze, the pillars of chimney-smoke that climb above the grassy rooftops… You smile. Not the first smile in the past few days, but certainly the most relaxed. Victory was not easily won, and a few missteps would have meant that the vision of austere yet arcadian beauty before you would be one of terrible grief. If Lichtra's family had escaped, if you had been spotted climbing the castle, if the Knight had decided to sic Wine and her Revenant on you and damn the losses…
You have been pondering when the screaming nightmares wake you, and it is these three moments that would have broken the Stenbergs.
"You're stewing," Sable chides, sidling up alongside you.
"Mm," you concur. A stew sounds delightful… your last meal was a cold porridge in Lunus'... in Mayor Ubrecht's manor. The breakfast atmosphere was even more frigid.
"We won," your wife continues. "If you linger too long in your head, you'll age years beyond your winters."
"That sounds like a Grimmsbane saying," you reply.
Sable grinned her real grin, the mocking one with its dangerous, alluring glint. "They never lingered very long in their own heads," she said. "Never more than a few seconds that is."
You share a small laugh before Sable sprays puke across the hardpacked road.
"Guh," she manages, wiping vomit from her lips with a silken rag. All you can do is wince in sympathy.
"No more blood-spilling or castle-seizing for you," you say, offering her your waterskin. "Lots of bedrest."
Sable chuffs before rinsing her mouth. "A few weeks ago, I'd have a snappy retort, but now… I think you're right. I feel bloated. And riding a horse all day is not helping."
"Mother will know some remedies."
"I helped three of my mothers give birth," Sable says. "No offense to your lovely mother, but I doubt she'd have anything tremendously insightful to add."
It seems you've touched a small nerve, so you back off the subject for now. Your wife is exceptionally reserved when it comes to her previous life, but the way she spat the word 'mothers' leads you to believe that concubinage is not a recipe for a harmonious household.
What a strange practice. The concept of keeping misters and mistresses is hardly foriegn to you, but to formalize your dalliances, put them under one roof? You think of Mother, the cold eyes she would wear if Auric had taken another woman to bed. Sable's twinge of naked anger now seems understated.
A low horn shakes you from your thoughts as it echoes against the mountains - the Knight Returns. The watchman atop your gatehouse salutes you, his booming voice reaching you with practiced ease.
"Hail, Sir Stenberg!"
"I return victorious!" You cry, as loudly as you can manage. "A Knight of Two Estates, my ancestral lands returned!"
"Drums!" The watchman cries. "To welcome our Knight!"
Cheers rise up along the wall, and the castle village holds its breath at the sudden swell of noise. Soon, the drums begin, a rhythmic surging fury that calls all to attention.
The gates part before you. A throng of villagers is gathering, elated whoops and shouts filling the streets as you enter, your banner held high.
It is a sight you resolve never to forget. The future may hold greater glories, more personal triumphs, or untold wonders. Fate might even have a crueler end in mind for you, but this was your first real trial as Knight, your first true victory. It is a taste you will savor forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Edelweiss impacts against you, embracing you more forcefully than the bullets that rang off your aura a scant few days ago.
"Gerhard you fucking lunatic!"
"Missed you too," you wheeze.
"We were so worried!"
"Gerhard!" Wolfram cries, joining the sibling-crush.
Your mother, resting at the head of your hall, is silent. It is hard to see past the lack of oxygen and a tangled mess of grey hair, but you may have glimpsed a tear running down her face. In her arms, Aurleg stirs, awoken by the sudden commotion.
"You seemed pretty confident when I set off," you manage.
"I had to be!" Edelweiss protests. "But you could've died! More importantly, Sable could have gotten hurt!"
"Well now my feelings are wounded," you counter.
"We're proud of you, Gerhard," your mother says. "We truly are."
She's lying.
It's something to unpack later, but for now it's of no consequence. Sable notices but says nothing, excusing herself to your quarters to rest. She's not far along enough yet to be truly bedridden, but an extra precaution after a strenuous start to her pregnancy would not go amiss.
"We should celebrate!" Edelweiss says.
"No feasts," you reply. The curtness of it startles her. "Sorry," you continue. "The matter of food is a tender one."
Edelweiss' stunned face defrosts before bursting into an explosive laugh. "A tender one?" She demands.
"I… oh, Frost take it."
"You were never an accomplished punsmith," Mother says. "At least not a purposeful one."
"Puns!" Wolfram shrieks.
"I… I'm sorry," you repeat, hoping to return to the topic at hand. "I know your nameday is at hand," you nod to Edelweiss. And no small nameday either… her sixteenth. In a month, she'll be an adult.
"No, it's quite alright," she replies. "When our larders are fatter, we'll host something grand. For tonight, I think we should at least get properly drunk."
"Yes," you say. "Yes indeed we should."
Later that night, you stumble back to your quarters. A year ago, you did so in a naked red stupor, fury consuming you. In your current drunken haze, it seems distant enough to be a bad dream. When you collapse onto your own bed for the first time in weeks, Sable is there. She is warm. The furs are warm.
Tonight, there are no bad dreams, no nightmares, no puddles of screaming, burnt flesh.
Tomorrow… tomorrow the real work begins.
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Rolling out of bed the following morning, you take a cold bath while slamming a pitcher of near-frozen water - the traditional Atlesian cure for a hangover. There is much to be done in the months ahead - you have countless lessons to attend, a greenhouse to build, dust to sell, courts to visit, and a pregnant wife to attend.
Only the final item brings a smile to your face - despite her earlier reluctance, the former Princess is taking well to the idea of a child. Yet even the hormonal swings of pregnancy cannot faze Sable's practiced facade. You resolve yourself to crack that veneer as often as possible in the coming months.
But first comes business. It consumes you so suddenly that the days begin churning like the Dustfloe itself.
You have two new vassals arriving in a few days to swear fealty - Mayor Nettle Ürikson of Illilundr, and Deacon Asval of Temple of Dust Overflowing, a diocese near the rocky cliffs east of the Dustfloe delta, and one of the few places that serve to gather the Nameless One's faithful in the Keep of Hvitr.
Nettle is rather pleased about the change in liege-lord. Though he will be losing his position (and salary) as Logrhorn's Steward, the promised reduction in taxes thrills him - he shouldn't pose too much of a threat. You mark him in your blood and move on to the Deacon.
Asval is a much harder read, but he doesn't seem overly grieved by Lichtra's defeat. Still, he is something of an outside force in the new realm of Thromrhold. The Children of Remnant aren't a significant presence in Daarheim, and you have no control over who will succeed Asval upon his death. You mark him in your blood, resolving to worry about it later… and keep him well away from Thorlaug - nothing good can come of that.
Ever.
Onto the Huntsmen. Though they are not landed vassals, they enjoy special privileges afforded by their fighting prowess - they are not marked in blood, but they still must swear fealty.
As they approach your throne, you realize that these people are far more dangerous than your actual vassals. For one, they almost certainly hate you - you killed two of their comrades during the assault on Logrhorn, humiliated their patron Knight, and will now force them to serve under a conquering Huntsman. Daff strokes his braided beard at the sight of them, and Lightning keeps his hand on his mace.
The first huntsman is a scraggly and unkempt old man, wrapped in a simple traveler's cloak and a wide-brimmed hat. He carries no weapon but a simple staff. Even though he is the humblest of the four Logrhorn huntsmen before you, his crackling aura informs you in no uncertain terms that he is the deadliest.
He calls himself Evenhigh, his apprentice Ofni. Compared to her master, Ofni is blindingly flamboyant, a hulking bear faunus clad in a neon-dyed deerskin and antlered hairpin. Most of her stomach and legs are bared to the elements, revealing a network of fluorescent tattoos that conceal rippling muscle. They swear their fealty, albeit blithely.
The next Huntsmen pair are opposite in appearances, though they share their comrades' wary looks. They claim to be uncle and nephew, a claim supported by their matching mops of long black hair and aquiline noses. Aelfred and Aethelwulf, master and apprentice respectively. Like their predecessors, they swear fealty to you and the realm of Thromrhold.
Once that matter is concluded, there are a handful of other concerns that must be addressed, namely that of Logrhorn Castle, taxes, and other administrative efforts.
On your first return visit to your new Estate, you find the castle empty and eerie - after your soldiers' thorough looting, the halls look more akin to a dungeon's than a proper castle. Perhaps you will return some of its glory later, but that isn't a pressing concern. Far more important is the castle staff, who must be replaced entirely. Many were either too close to the Lichtras or refused to disavow their former Knight altogether, and cannot be trusted.
There is also the matter of who shall sit in judgement at its halls. Though Logrhorn is your Estate, a Castellan - a trustworthy representative of your will - must attend it in person to collect its requisite rents and taxes and enforce your guidance.
Once more, however, that is a matter for later.
The legacy of Auric Stenberg must be restored, but the men, money, and materials to reconstruct the greenhouse must first be acquired. To do so, you decide to sell a third of your Dust stores at the bustling markets of Illilundr.
You only make a handful of inquiries before a potential buyer leaps at the chance to acquire ten whole units of dust. He is a… flagrant individual, and will only meet you in one of Illilundr's brothels, attended by its many employees. Yet his drunken complexion cannot hide a cruel glint in his vibrant blue eyes.
Nor can it hide the gem-facet tattoos that cover his neck - a member of the Diamondskins. What he's doing in Illilundr is anyone's guess, but more importantly, he has the lien to purchase your Dust, and is currently intoxicated.
Applying all your charms and bartering skills, you sell your dust to the drunken tribesman at a premium - five extra lien per unit. His betters might be infuriated , but he'll get his dust. You grin as you pack one-hundred and fifty lien into a pig-iron lockbox.
This will come in handy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On your return from Illilundr - the Dustfloe river is becoming familiar territory - you decide to finally switch Popolla and Thorlaug's positions. Popolla is all but useless, entertaining though she may be.
Thorlaug is pleased at being named the Head Teller of Thromrhold - it seems no Knight could tolerate her presence for long, though that claim has yet to be truly tested in your own court. However, through the alcoholic mists that cloud Popolla's eyes, there is a gleam of sadness when she hears the news she's being replaced. It seems she greatly enjoyed being a part of the council, even if her utility could generously be described as 'minimal'.
As a favor for her many years of service to your Father, you allow her to continue attending council meetings. She perks up at the news - as long as there's booze on hand, she'll be there.
With Thorlaug now in a more visible position, she might be more easily assessed. After all, there is much you don't know about her. The longer you are in her presence, the more you suspect that might be intentional.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Edelweiss's nameday, the Stenbergs gather to lay the foundations for the new Greenhouse. The site shall be the same, and many of the same laborers who built the original have been recalled to repeat their work. It will take around two to three years to complete, but investing in the foodstores of your newly expanded realm is of the utmost priority.
For now, the fishers and whalers of Illilundr will keep the people of Thromrhold fed. Your people's tongues might recoil at the sudden infusion of brine and blubber into their diets, but they are Atlesians - they will endure. Edelweiss has repeatedly stressed that great care must be taken to ensure that these food sources are not disrupted. Besides your fragile stores, the people of Illilundr will be forced to share their catches with the serfs of their new conqueror… more than a few hundred hungry mouths in the port city could swell into riots.
Speaking of Illilundr… although securing Mayor Ürikson's loyalty was quite convenient, you've found that his levymen are not so easily swayed - a handful of pity-lien cannot assuage the grief of widows. For now, their loyalty is tied to their Mayor's, and only time will tell if forgiveness for the killings can be earned. Frustrating, given how you endeavored to keep them alive, but "be glad I wasn't forced to kill more of you" is hardly a small pill to swallow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Gerhard?"
"Hm?" You ask.
"You're drifting off again," Sable says, patting your arm.
"Oh, sorry." You force a grin. "Burdens of Knighthood."
Sable smiles, resting a hand on her belly. She has exchanged her slim-fit embroidered tunics for looser garb, and has shown a great fondness for a few of the Lichtra matron's former maternity clothes - a set of elegant black robes with nautical cloth-of-silver shoulder patterns.
So far, her pregnancy has been without issue. Sable reported feeling unusually bloated and sessile, but Eucalyptus assures you both that this is normal for pregnant women who lead active lifestyles.
"I'm sure it can wait," she says, nodding at Popolla, currently declaiming a bawdy, drunken tale atop a table, replete with rude hand gestures and errant hip-thrusting.
Edelweiss is weeping with laughter, drops of wine splashing out of her goblet and staining her fingers. As you agreed, her nameday celebration is a small, private affair, limited to friends and family.
Mother is doing her best to stifle her laughter, hands clamped firmly over Wolfram's ears. Ura has seen to little Aurleg's early night.
"And then!" Popolla booms, sloshing her drink about, feet stumbling atop the table she has claimed as her perch. "And then Burgundy said, 'Oh fuck, I thought this was a block of cheese!"
Peals of raucous laughter fill the great hall of Thromrhold Castle, though you manage little more than a chuckle… until Popolla takes a drunken tumble off her table. Lightning catches her effortlessly, settling her on a bench and splashing a horn of water on her face.
"Everyone's a critic!" She complains.
You smile, but a cold bite of brass between your fingers summons your thoughts to more unpleasant matters. In your hand lies a Steward's pin. Terra's pin. Tonight, it will go on Edelweiss' chest. You've decided to formally name her your Acting Steward, now that she is an adult. Will it be a permanent move? Once more, a question for later.
You push down the thought of Terra as deep as it will go. It's Edelweiss' night, and you won't deny her an ounce of joy. Despite sharing a year or so of tension with her after your father's death, things are… better between the two of you.
Before Auntie Kara can launch into a similarly inappropriate story about the drinking days of yesteryear, you clap your hands, summoning your own meagre gift.
Everyone turns to you, heads tilted.
"A little something for my little sister," you declare. "To celebrate such an auspicious day!"
A pair of servants shuffle in, carrying a pewter platter between them. Setting it before your sister, they uncover it, revealing the fluffiest, fanciest lemon meringue pie ever to enter the halls of Thromrhold.
Edelweiss' jaw drops.
It's more than just her favorite dessert - the pie was made with the very last lemons grown in Auric Stenberg's greenhouse, recalled and reheated from the depths of your family's icebox.
Her lips part in the biggest smile she's ever worn. Despite yourself, despite that brass needle in your hands, you find yourself matching her grin.
Nailed it.
As is tradition, Edelweiss cuts the pie and distributes it among her guests, although you politely refuse your portion. You insist that it belongs to the nameday girl, and she, for her part, does nothing to dissuade you of the notion.
Sable devours her slice, with more gusto than you've ever seen her eat. Perhaps it's the pregnancy, or perhaps there's another reason, but she looks awfully pleased after the dessert.
A good night, a good party.
As it reaches its end, you present your other gift to Edelweiss. Only as you are handing it to her do you realize that this should have been done much earlier, before the joyous party. To your tremendous relief, your sister accepts her new duty without comment, drunkenly sticking herself with the pin as she attempts to don it.
You share a small laugh before a big embrace.
"We're gonna do great things," she says.
"Yes," you reply. "Yes we are."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The winter months are such a flurry of activity, you only notice the plunging temperature when it begins freezing your nostrils shut. Besides your lessons, daily duties, and occasional trips to your new Estate, you have little time for any one thing.
You try to pay attention to Thorlaug's stories and glean the wisdom within them, but so far they seem to have little to say besides 'be precise' or 'be observant'. Maybe it's her horribly thick accent, but you find your attention lapsing.
An even greater problem, as you intended to use this time to glean some useful information about Thorlaug herself. So far, you've learned she really likes the Knight of Frost. Supremely useful, actionable intel.
After a few weeks of trying, Thorlaug called for a halt, much to the relief of you both. She needed time off to prepare a different lesson plan, and she wants you to work on your prayer and meditation, advice you promptly ignore by joining Cedar at Lord Jollerkalt's castle.
A visit so short, it ends before it begins - the snows are so bad this year, there is no travelling to your Lord's Estate. It's so cold, even the icebreaker knarrs are frozen to their moorings in Hringsdalr and Illilundr.
Instead, you resort to letters.
Although most of your fellow Knights don't deign to respond, you receive a relatively normal reply from Sir Emeric Spahr of Tolgr Estate, your western neighbor. He expresses regret that your father's Greenhouse was destroyed, and adds that the two of you might help each other replenish your respective food stores in the months to come.
Cedar's reply is curt, saying that he'd rather report in person once the weather clears.
As the howling winds and biting snows create more and more freetime in your days, however, you are able to devote some time to Sable. On the coldest nights, you huddle together in a nest of furs before a roaring fire in your chambers. You often find yourself with a glass of heated wine, and Sable with a steaming mug of imported tea.
Although your physical intimacy is hampered by her growing pregnancy, you are still able to spend some time doing what you've wanted to do for a long time - talk.
As you come up with a plan for the birth and the baby's name, you find yourselves discussing the future more seriously than you have in the past. While setting down plans for one child is simple and exciting, there are lingering questions both of you dance around - one partner more skillfully than the other.
How many children? What comes now? What of King Jarlfar and his poor management of his heirs? What about the recent assassination attempt in the Black Castle? What about Lord Jollerkalt's reaction to your seizure of Logrhorn?
Troublesome questions, but you find yourself not caring that they go unanswered. Sometimes, talks veer into personal matters, although you are often the one doing the vast majority of sharing. A few probes are made into Sable's rearing at the von Grimmsbane court, but these are deftly deflected, sometimes so sharply you estimate that you will not learn the full story until you are well into your thirties.
Still, talking with her is the easiest thing on Remnant. Worries are shared, hopes established, amusing anecdotes bandied about.
These are treasured nights.
You imagine that one day on some frozen battlefield, Mistiltienn in hand, you will think back on these nights, and it will give you the strength to soldier on. When you share this with Sable, she laughs so hard that snot shoots from her nose.
Rarely is her demeanor shattered so completely, and it delights you every time.
The joy only fades when you retreat to your bed, and the nightmares begin. Sometimes, the screaming comes from the woman you killed in Logrhorn. Sometimes she has Terra's face. Sometimes she is Terra. The dreams always end with the smell of burnt flesh and bolting awake, dripping sweat, shedding furs as if they were aflame.
Once you've cooled, you return to bed. Sable looks at you, but her expression is unreadable.
You cannot deny it any longer - you are haunted.
Lightning has told you that such things may happen to veteran warriors, the faces of their victims returning at night. You never imagined such a thing could happen to you, and never so soon into your Knighthood.
The dreams are fiercely irregular. Sometimes you go days without restful sleep. Sometimes you go weeks without incident. The servants have been preparing more and more fish as of late. You tell yourself it's because seafood is more plentiful now, and not because roasting pork or venison turns your stomach.
It's maddening. Perhaps something to broach with Eucalyptus? You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. His contract is coming due at the end of Winter, and his tremendous efforts do not come cheap. The thought of slaving yourself to a sleep-draught seems even worse.
One sleepless night, you slip from Sable's arms to visit Terra. You've been talking with - or rather, to - her in hopes of providing her company. Sometimes, you find peace in sharing your troubles with her.
You find your words growing more and more confident each time you visit. At first it seems futile, and Terra's bandages are difficult to look at for long. Despite your logical, studious side whispering to you that your efforts are pointless, a cinder of hope still burns within you, that she hears your words and gains from them a small measure of comfort.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cedar returns as soon as the worst of the ice breaks. Snow is crusting his beard, and it looks as though his journey has cost him a few pounds, but he does not care. He mutters that Glasholm was even more frigid.
A spike of terror shoots down your spine at his words, but Cedar shrugs them off. If Lord Jollerkalt was truly enraged by your claiming of Logrhorn, your Chancellor reasons, the Stenbergs would have already fallen, winter storm or not.
Instead, Cedar relays that Lord Jollerkalt prefers speaking directly to his subjects, and not through intermediaries such as himself - especially after such a dramatic change in the Keep of Hvitr.
It's enough to relieve you. There's no doubt you'll have to face Lord Jollerkalt in person eventually, but his truest thoughts on the Logrhorn matter are still a mystery to you, and all the more worrying for that fact alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More disappointing is Marble's attempts to modernize your levies. Neither of you are ignorant of the importance of endurance and acclimatization to Atlas' extreme clime, and to that end he proposes a training exercise with your levies to find the best among them.
These men and women, he reasons, can be trusted with better equipment, more rifles, more advanced aura training. Then they can be used to disseminate these lessons among their inferiors.
A bold plan, one you agree to wholeheartedly.
One that fails spectacularly.
The night before the exercise, yet another blizzard rips through Thromrhold. Only half of the desired levies show up. The ones that do are frigid and ill-prepared for exercise of any kind, let alone rigorous combat training.
Marble attempts it anyway, and is forced to call you and your retinue for assistance before the day is done. Thankfully, you manage to rescue your levies before night falls and they freeze to death, but many were forced to abandon rifles and weapons that had been in their families for generations.
A setback, and not a small one.
Marble is frustrated with himself and apologizes profusely, but you're too tired and cold to care. As the shattered moon rises, you decide to drink with Popolla. The third whiskey is the last thing you remember from that night.
Your ordered military stockpiling has yet to materialize - especially given the crippling weather - but maybe in the coming seasons, newer weapons could be returned to your loyal levies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Despite the tremendous momentum with which you began the reconstruction of the Greenhouse, the weather soon soured progress. Frozen ground delayed digging the foundations, a frozen Dustfloe hampered shipments of stone from northern quarries, and unbearably slicing winds kept workers behind schedule.
Were it not for Edelweiss, you could have lost lien and dust. Instead, she bundled up every morning and marched into the cold, her features set into a rictus of determination behind three layers of scarves. She would not return until late in the evening, gulping down boiling whale stew and asking for seconds, the fire in her eyes as hot as the food she devoured.
She is certainly her father's daughter.
Both your mother and yourself repeatedly stress that she take her own safety into consideration, but on this matter she is as stubborn as you.
When she collapses into bed at the end of the day, it's with a smile.
You can't help but be inordinately proud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sable, however, does not disappoint. She's able to gather whispered truths from the faintest threads, and has been very, very active spreading these threads into every corner of the Thromrhold court.
On another frigid night, she invites you under your favorite furs by the fireplace, her smile wanton, violet eyes alight with glee.
"Am I in trouble?" You ask.
"Hardly," she purrs, holding you close with one arm and collecting a scroll with the next. You lean in for a kiss, but you're stopped by a piece of parchment. "Not just yet," she says. "Don't you want to know what your loyal Spymistress has learned at the behest of her foolish, brutish husband?"
"I do," you admit.
"First, you have to guess."
"Guess what? What you found out?" You ask. "You realize that's impossible, right?"
"Make judgement calls," she insists.
"Okay," you demur, staring into her eyes. She resets her face into a placid nothing, before settling on a very Sable-ish smirk, unable to bite it down. "Let me see… since you're grinning like a lunatic and telling me now while we're not wearing any clothes, I'm guessing it's good news."
"Well done!" Sable tells you, as patronizingly as possible, bopping you on the nose with the parchment. "But also, very, very wrong."
"Well it's not bad news," you argue. "Unless you've gone completely crazy, I think you'd at least pretend to look upset if you had something horrible."
"Also astute," Sable says, this time allowing you a kiss. "No, I'm 'grinning like a lunatic' because I've finally cracked a problem that's beset me since I arrived at Thromrhold."
"Oh?" You ask, interest piqued.
"Your Auntie Kara and Mayor Lunus Ubrecht."
"They've always been very buddy-buddy," You say, searching for a reaction. "I've guessed an affair, but if so they've been very good at hiding it."
"Very good," Sable confirms. "Although one of my maids let it slip she saw a woman who looked like your aunt rutting like a rabbit at our wedding, there's another layer to the story… and the other reason why I'm grinning."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." Sable nods solemnly. "Are you ready to hear all the details of your aunt's sexual exploits?"
"Please no."
"Well," she continues, as if you had remained silent, "it turns out that this is only an 'affair' in the strictest sense of the word. You see, your dear Uncle doesn't have much interest in men or women, but as for the Mayor's wife…"
"Please no."
Sable unfurls the parchment. "Dearest Page of Glaciersheer Holdfast," she reads. "Lunus and I yearn for you in these frozen months. Our bed seems colder without you between us, but our minds are alight with ideas for our next encounter! I've-"
"ENOUGH!" You squeak, burying your face in your hands. "Please. I don't want to know the rest. Please."
"I'm only relaying pertinent information," Sable protests, her husky voice dripping with wicked glee. "After all, I do as my husband, the esteemed Knight of Thromrhold, commands."
"Okay, you've had your fun," you manage, still not able to look her in the eye. Sable giggles, a perfect opportunity to snatch the parchment from her fingers.
"Hey!"
"This is gibberish!" You realize, looking over the mess of letters and numbers.
"I thought you couldn't take any more?" Sable huffs.
"I had to be sure you weren't fucking with me," you reply. "Looks like I was right."
"It's a cipher!" Sable protests. "Look at the repeated strings," she says, pointing at small groups of scrambled text. "This one is 'Lunus', that one is 'Hringsdalr', and that one is… well, I won't translate it."
To her credit, there are a number of repeated scribblings, encoded in a code you can't make sense of. Without Sable's help, it might have taken you months to deduce who sent the letter, let alone its contents.
"This is awfully risky of them," you mutter, unable to look at the evidence a moment longer. "Feh," you manage eventually. "It doesn't seem like anyone's getting hurt, so it's fine with me. Whatever… whoever Auntie does in her spare time is none of my business. Let me emphasize," you say, jabbing your finger into Sable's chest, "none of my business."
Sable laughs. "And if someone was getting hurt?"
You frown. "I don't know. Odd that they're still writing in code if no one involved really cares."
"It's still important information, Gerhard!" Sable says. "These letters are more valuable than gold. Let's say I'm Lord Jollerkalt."
"I don't think we should be sharing furs then," you say, before she can continue.
That gets a genuine laugh.
"Fair, but what if I was Rutus and I decide to punish you for seizing Logrhorn? If I have this letter, I have three targets I can obtain leverage on. I could kidnap Kara, and tell Lunus that if he doesn't betray you, I'll send her to him in pieces. Or I could grab Lunus' wife and torture her until she spills Glaciersheer's every weakness. Believe me," Sable says, shaking the parchment, "she's visited!"
"Frost," you hiss. "You think he'd do that?"
"He might." Sable says. "And that slim possibility is enough to justify planning around it," she adds. "Gerhard, I… I like you, but you have too much of your father in you. Everyone you know could have a dagger hidden behind their back. And the ones that don't can have one stapled to their palm and pushed in your direction."
You don't have a response for that.
"Promise me you'll remember that?" She asks. She takes your hand and puts it on her belly. "Promise?"
"That's cheap," you reply.
"Promise."
"I promise!" You ensure her. You kiss her neck in her favorite spot. She hisses in delight, like she always does.
"Okay, okay, back to the fun stuff," she says, parting from you before you can work your charms.
"Are you planning to torture me more?" You ask.
"Would you consider Edelweiss' latest romantic adventures torturous?"
"Okay!" You declare, attempting to wriggle out of the furs. "I tried! It's been fun. You're out. Have a nice flight back to the von Grimmsbanes."
"Oh stop," Sable says, rolling her eyes. "It's not nearly as bad as your dear, sweet Auntie. Get back in here."
"You're having way too much fun with this."
"You have to enjoy what you do, Gerhard darling," Sable purrs. Retrieving a small notepad, she flicks a few pages. You acquiesce, cuddling up to your cruel, cruel wife.
"So, Edelweiss has been sending a good number of letters, but seems particularly invested in her conversations with Lunus' son. They have a lot in common, but it's been some time since their last meeting face-to-face."
"Okay," you say. Not too bad.
"There's also a local noble she's been having a scintillating conversation with, one on the list you gave her. Siggy's nephew. Good kid, supposed to be a wizard at shipbuilding."
"You're building up to something, I can tell," you say.
Her smile nearly reaches her ears. "Oh Gerhard, very good."
"Just get it over with."
"Your sister hasn't been coming directly home after her days spent working on the greenhouse."
You pale. You've remembered some nights when she came home very late.
"Nothing indiscreet," Sable promises. "She's simply been spotted at the Drunken Huntsman, warming herself by the hearth with some spiced wine and the company of a certain individual… the foreman's new journeyman apprentice."
"Well… lowborn or not makes no difference to me," you say, brow furrowed. It's been awhile since you made time to visit the construction site. You can barely remember the foreman's name you've been so busy. "And there's no issue with a skilled tradesman. I mean if I was a Lord-"
"The foreman's new journeyman apprentice is his eldest daughter."
Oh.
"Oh."
Oh.
"Oh." You say again.
"'Oh' indeed, Gerhard Stenberg, my fool of a husband."
"That's… certainly news. I'm guessing you don't know more than that, otherwise you would have tortured me with it by now."
"Again, very astute." Sable notes. "This friendship could very well be platonic - your sister is a chatty sort after all. It is, however, a near-nightly occurrence. Something to be aware of. I know you and your sister aren't the closest of siblings, but you have to make a better effort to talk with her. She's an adult now, a woman. What if some lordly Prince sweeps her away to Vacuo or something, and you never speak to her again?"
"Unlikely," you huff.
"A typically masculine response," Sable notes. "Any Prince visiting Thromrhold is, I admit, unlikely. But you have to keep the possibilities in mind. No matter how insane. You do love your sister, right?"
"Of course."
"Then be a little more active in her life. So you won't get blindsided."
"Alright," you deflate. "I submit to my most intelligent and skillful Knightess. You are truly wise beyond your years."
Sable smirks, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "Never forget it."
"So, anything else about the Stenbergs' sex lives you'd like to share?" You ask, eyebrow raised. "My mother's new boyfriends? What about my many trips to the Illilundr brothels? What about the fact that I've converted, and will shortly be adding a secondary wife to my household? Her name is Candi - yes, with an 'I'. You'll love her."
Sable gently slaps your chest. "Gerhard, I'm really glad I married you."
"That excited to meet Candi?" You tease.
"People tend to bore me," Sable explains. "You… you're not boring." She pecks your nose. "So congratulations."
"I'm truly touched."
"Well don't get sappy yet, not done with my-" she flicks her hair, and it settles perfectly on her shoulders, framing her face into a picture of stunning beauty, "official Spymistress report."
"Oh so you have something pertinent to share?"
"I do."
"I'm glad," you say.
"Yes. Thanks to all that chaos in Logrhorn, I've managed to place a dozen agents into the Illilundr levies, and seven into the new Logrhorn castle staff. They keep me updated weekly, and are especially attuned to any signs of unrest or dissent. Also, something terribly unfortunate happened to one of Mayor Nettle's best cooks, so I've sent him a replacement as a gesture of goodwill. Shame about the weather, otherwise I'd have some eyes in our neighbor's courts as well."
"You're amazing," you manage.
Sable beams. "Never forget it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Results in Summary
None.
Torvald, Huntsman of Thromrhold
The surviving Lichtras are currently held under light house arrest in Hringsdalr.
+1.5 Units of Dust (Dust Mine)
-10 Units of Dust (Sold)
-5 Units of Dust (Greenhouse Components)
+1 Units of Food (Illilundr Fisheries & Whalers)
+.5 Units of Food (Thromrhold's Meagre Agriculture)
-1 Units of Food (Withdrawn from Storerooms)
Morale: Good (Trending Even - Thromrhold jubilation is matched by Logrhorn grief)
-2 Piety (Poor Learning Stat)
Nothing of note.
Haunted - you are beset by sporadic nightmares, and the smell of cooking meat leeches all color from your complexion, your stomach roiling as you recall blue eyes and Terra's sloughing skin.
Haunted: -1 to all Stats.
Assorted treasures from the Lichtras. Namely tapestries, garments, and assorted personal jewelry. Prized above all is the Valfangr, the Lichtra's ancestral weapon.
Why yes, this Quest IS still alive. I've got too many projects now to truly give it the time it deserves, but I know now that I'll always poke it with a stick when I feel like it… it's just too much fun to stop writing entirely.
To this effect, I'll also be changing a lot of how this Quest works. This will mostly be simplifying how I'm tracking Resources, as well as Decisions - y'all know how to Crusader Kings by now, I'm not gonna overwhelm you with a thousand different options. Just pick a course of action per category, be reasonable with the task, ask questions if you like.
Oh, one more thing...
CALL THE BANNERS! With the arrival of CK3, I've decided I'm going to try my hand at actually creating an Age of Grimm mod for the newest installment in the series. However, I can't do it alone! If you're a fan of the Age of Grimm and you'd like to help out, shoot me a PM - I have an extensive Design Document up in Google Docs to check out, and we can go from there. I've also massively expanded the setting to fit all the new systems in CK3… although most of the changes WILL NOT be retroactively added to FaSE.
Hope you guys enjoyed the update! I'll be posting the new decisions sheet in a bit, along with some news you've collected!
May i ask @RedrumSprinkles does salem exist if she did she's definitely dead (could explain why the world is in a apocalypse and so why the Grimm conquered the world some what.
May i ask @RedrumSprinkles does salem exist if she did she's definitely dead (could explain why the world is in a apocalypse and so why the Grimm conquered the world some what.
In the Age of Grimm, neither Salem nor Ozpin are around any more. They did exist before the Cataclysm, but how they were eventually killed will be left a mystery. For what it's worth, this setting was conceived, developed, and posted just after V2 ended. I've also gone on record as not being a big fan of any of the lore developments post-V3, where most of the Salem/Ozpin stuff was revealed.
It's good to see you Cthulhu! I definitely ported most of your stuff from TSF into the massively expanded Culture section for the mod, and I'm excited to see what comes next in the Quest itself!
Well the plans beyond V3 were kinda short on Monty idea of how It will go so the Writers had to go what was left though i will say they should of gone with the traditional length of anime since really their web series does not explain most of it and well if Monty was still alive he would of voices Qrow (#kickVic sucked he didn't deserve to be treated like that) and also expand character development rather do just fight scenes, also we would have a different Adam who would just been blakes mentor (student mentor relationships) and also get to see more of his semblance(He would also be an antihero rather then an abusive boyfriend.) We May see more on why the Gods wanted balance then an explanation cut short by Salem outburst on the GoL. We could of seen characters more grey then Black and White, We could of seen more fighting styles then the same one over and over. We could of seen more on Ozpin (justified detailed) lying on the group to stop Salem (if you take lines on the show bit by bit more closely and think about it it wasn't that they made him a scapegoat it was because he lied to them rather then tell them more truths truthfully) There is so much they could have done that would expand multiple episodes but they had other projects to do. All I'm saying is that they should just focus on just one project instead of all of them.
A flaming arrow splits the night in half, arcing towards the kavr. It strikes Torvald's body center mass, immediately catching the craft alight. At the far ends of the docks, local tellers begin their chanting, each one bearing a mask depicting their favored Progenitor. The center figure wears the fell mask of the Thorned One, fresh blood from her scalp trailing down her neck, soaking her black-red robes.
Cheers rise up along the wall, and the castle village holds its breath at the sudden swell of noise. Soon, the drums begin, a rhythmic surging fury that calls all to attention.
The gates part before you. A throng of villagers is gathering, elated whoops and shouts filling the streets as you enter, your banner held high.
It is a sight you resolve never to forget. The future may hold greater glories, more personal triumphs, or untold wonders. Fate might even have a crueler end in mind for you, but this was your first real trial as Knight, your first true victory. It is a taste you will savor forever.
As they approach your throne, you realize that these people are far more dangerous than your actual vassals. For one, they almost certainly hate you - you killed two of their comrades during the assault on Logrhorn, humiliated their patron Knight, and will now force them to serve under a conquering Huntsman. Daff strokes his braided beard at the sight of them, and Lightning keeps his hand on his mace.
Nor can it hide the gem-facet tattoos that cover his neck - a member of the Diamondskins. What he's doing in Illilundr is anyone's guess, but more importantly, he has the lien to purchase your Dust, and is currently intoxicated.
You smile, but a cold bite of brass between your fingers summons your thoughts to more unpleasant matters. In your hand lies a Steward's pin. Terra's pin.
The joy only fades when you retreat to your bed, and the nightmares begin. Sometimes, the screaming comes from the woman you killed in Logrhorn. Sometimes she has Terra's face. Sometimes she is Terra. The dreams always end with the smell of burnt flesh and bolting awake, dripping sweat, shedding furs as if they were aflame.
The night before the exercise, yet another blizzard rips through Thromrhold. Only half of the desired levies show up. The ones that do are frigid and ill-prepared for exercise of any kind, let alone rigorous combat training.
Marble attempts it anyway, and is forced to call you and your retinue for assistance before the day is done. Thankfully, you manage to rescue your levies before night falls and they freeze to death, but many were forced to abandon rifles and weapons that had been in their families for generations.
Sable unfurls the parchment. "Dearest Page of Glaciersheer Holdfast," she reads. "Lunus and I yearn for you in these frozen months. Our bed seems colder without you between us, but our minds are alight with ideas for our next encounter! I've-"
And it's good to see you too @Icipall! Hope things are well in whatever jumbled mess of umlauts and consonants you call home! Glad to see you enjoyed the update.
And it's good to see you too @Icipall! Hope things are well in whatever jumbled mess of umlauts and consonants you call home! Glad to see you enjoyed the update.
The solution to haunted is a matter of how Sprinkles chooses to approach it. It could be a bit of a call over to the changed stress system of CKIII, and we need to do things we like to get our head back on straight. It could also just be a difficult bad thing we'd need to make efforts to heal.
Plus, we get that little teaser and no more? Just who are Diamondskins, as an organization? Clearly they've got a thing for dust, a taste for riches, too. If we're just going on the unpleasant sliminess of the character, I wouldn't call them much better than Torchwick, if maybe a little bit more legitimate.
We have several problems to fix, but most of them are willing to wait and be unlikely to be an actual issue. Considering the situation, I would suggest dealing with Jollarkalt first, then the Huntsmen, as they are both the most powerful and likely to blow up, respectively. Sidelong to those would be setting up a Castellan, as possession is 9/10ths of the law and Jollarkalt is less likely to be a pain if someone's at least managing things there, though we will have to weigh the benefits and risks of trying to assign family to such a post. Next is the town levy, which is unlikely to pop, but is just good sense to deal with in a freshly conquered region. From there, we need a read on the temple so there's no shit flying from there, though Sable is ostensibly of the faith, so that will lend us some help.
In direct actions, a secondary diplomatic concern is building alliances with our peers, preferably strong enough that they would side with us over Jollarkalt were he to come knocking.
Militarily, we need to fix the crit fail and get back on track towards discipline and advancement (while considering whether we should cycle out the Illiundr levy or try to smooth things over with them).
We probably have to buy more food, just to be safe.
Intrigue is the least-fraught action, with us having a lot of leeway to expand in any direction, though I would go for either scoping out peers who might allow us to ascend in exchange for rival holds, or trying to get into Jollarkalt's court, ideally to replace him with his heir outright, since Jollarkalt will not forget what we did, but his heir may not care.
Learning is still a toilet stat, and all we can afford to do is fix it.
The solution to haunted is a matter of how Sprinkles chooses to approach it. It could be a bit of a call over to the changed stress system of CKIII, and we need to do things we like to get our head back on straight. It could also just be a difficult bad thing we'd need to make efforts to heal.
I don't think I'll be porting CK3 systems into this quest, so I'll probably be sticking with the trait-based stress system that CK2 uses. It's a lot more flexible in the Quest format since Gerhard and co. can be characterized more directly by the text, and your meta-knowledge isn't NEARLY as strong as it is in vanilla CK2. That also means that decisions, events, or even the simple passing of time may change your traits...
Plus, we get that little teaser and no more? Just who are Diamondskins, as an organization? Clearly they've got a thing for dust, a taste for riches, too. If we're just going on the unpleasant sliminess of the character, I wouldn't call them much better than Torchwick, if maybe a little bit more legitimate.
As for everyone who'd like to create a plan, start thinking about what you'd like to do - all decisions (outside of some special decisions) will be write-ins from here on out. I'll be posting the official news and decision page this evening!
Haunted is probably the local understanding of PTSD, if so we can't so much solve it as ensure Gerhard grows enough emotionally that there's room in his head For evrything else as well as the PTSD.
So having read the update, in sum:
We are victorious, with little Gerhardt Junior on the way! Shame Sable still remains so frosty when motherhood is brought up. I wonder if she's worried she'll end up falling into the same mistakes her own mother made. Teaching your daughter how to torture somebody doesn't strike me as being a great parent-child bonding activity, and we know that Sable already fears that she's a monster, deep down. That surely must induce a lot of brooding introspection about her suitability for bringing a child into the world.
The winter, I'd argue, was actually a good thing. Flunking these actions was a bit rough, but we've achieved the most time-sensitive of our objectives. Seeing as it's fairly likely we're one of Jollerkalt's only Knights with recent combat experience against a sentient opponent, and likely also one of the wealthiest once we get the greenhouse back in operation and unleash Illilundr's potential and that economic groundwork Dad was kind enough to do for us before he died, I'd say that the civil war that seems to be brewing holds a lot of promise for us. And war is always good for thinning out the number of people between us and the next big shiny chair.
The Diamondskins guy seems like a thoroughly innocent fellow. Quick, everyone practice looking innocent when they use our Dust to blow up Argus or some shit.
"And then!" Popolla booms, sloshing her drink about, feet stumbling atop the table she has claimed as her perch. "And then Burgundy said, 'Oh fuck, I thought this was a block of cheese!"
"Dearest Page of Glaciersheer Holdfast," she reads. "Lunus and I yearn for you in these frozen months. Our bed seems colder without you between us, but our minds are alight with ideas for our next encounter! I've-"
Kinda fucked they couldn't just use the poor bastard's name. I hope they don't actually call them that while they're... Conducting their activities, too.
Sorry Ma, but unlike Dad we've got a hankering to fill up that demesne limit! Look, here's a present to make you feel better, I found these lovely tapestries while I was sacking Lichtra's castle-
The joy only fades when you retreat to your bed, and the nightmares begin. Sometimes, the screaming comes from the woman you killed in Logrhorn. Sometimes she has Terra's face. Sometimes she is Terra. The dreams always end with the smell of burnt flesh and bolting awake, dripping sweat, shedding furs as if they were aflame.
Haunted - you are beset by sporadic nightmares, and the smell of cooking meat leeches all color from your complexion, your stomach roiling as you recall blue eyes and Terra's sloughing skin.
Y'know what? Maybe we should just lean into it. Paint Born To Kill on the Paladin we got. Buy a Bullhead so that we can experience waiting at the LZ, cradling a dying Marble in our arms while the sound of rotors fills the air. Pass an edict that the Grimm must now be referred to as "Charlie". Cultivate the best thousand-yard-stare in Remnant. You weren't there, man. You weren't there.
Y'know what? Maybe we should just lean into it. Paint Born To Kill on the Paladin we got. Buy a Bullhead so that we can experience waiting at the LZ, cradling a dying Marble in our arms while the sound of rotors fills the air. Pass an edict that the Grimm must now be referred to as "Charlie". Cultivate the best thousand-yard-stare in Remnant. You weren't there, man. You weren't there.
Before you act for the Spring and Summer Seasons, you should curate what news you've collected from around the world of Remnant.
Estate of Thromrhold: Word around the Estate.
Victory! With stunning alacrity and decisiveness, both Knight and Knightess descended upon the villainous Lichtras and stole their castle from under their noses. With much of his family in captivity, the former Knight Lichtra was forced to surrender his stolen lands to their rightful owner. The Estate of Thromrhold has doubled in size, most notably securing the harbor of Illilundr, a vital trade port and arsenal for Atlesian Lords. A boon to the Stenbergs, for sure, but a highly-trafficked holding that may cause problems in the future.
Keep of Hvitr: The news regarding the local lords and your fellow courtiers in the court of Lord Jollerkalt.
Showing stunning ability for such a young man (and in stark contrast to his staid father), Knight Gerhard Stenberg seized the Estate of Logrhorn from the Lichtras alongside his new Grimmsbane bride. Although doing so secured a food supply for the next few years, only time will tell if the expanded Thromrhold can maintain its new borders. Currently, the defeated Lichtras are considering their future options.
Lord Rutus Jollerkalt continued his unusually lengthy stay at his ancestral homelands, though this is likely due to the particularly brutal winter making travel unappealing.
Kingdom of Daarheim: News in the Kingdom of Daarheim, the centermost Petty Kingdom of Atlas.
Besides some minor quibbling in the Keep of Hvitr, the Kingdom of Daarheim was quiet, in no small part due to the savage winter suffered across the entire continent. However, the mountain clans cared not for the innumerable blizzards, and marched across the frozen Kingmaker's Eye to raid Daarheim's northernmost estates. This has brought King Jarlfar to a boiling fury, and it's rumored across the Black Castle that reprisal fleets will be sent in the Spring… should the weather improve.
Mantle: How the northernmost continent is faring.
A clear victor has arisen in the Onyx's warring clans - Yenna Blackarm, now Queen of all Onyx lands. In a stunning move, she marched her bloodsworn and a contingent of Revenant over the coldest peaks during the winter's height, where they descended upon her rival's impregnable castle with wingsuits. Its owner, her uncle, was tried under ancient law as a Kinslayer, and executed via the dreaded Week of Knives. None question Yenna's rule, and her neighbors eye her warily.
The mountain clans marched across the Kingmaker's eye, but found little plunder and cold steel. King Grimmsbane was ruthless in his pursuit, shelling the Eye as the Clans retreated, causing dozens to freeze in seconds in the icey water. Sable, due to correspondence with her family, was also informed that her father's wrath cost him a precious artillery piece and its irreplaceable crew, which sank to the depths of the Eye after firing its salvo. Sable mentions that her father will likely hire some skilled salvage teams in the near future, noting acerbically that only her father would bother rushing artillery from its secure position and onto the Eye just to punish a handful of dubiously successful raiders.
On the western edge of the continent, the Kingdom of Uberth sent a colonial mission to the islands off Atlas' western coast. Although reports are still scattered, it is likely the brutal winter will have strangled these colonial ambitions in their cradle.
Vale: How the centermost continent is faring.
The Daric peoples of the southernmost Valesian reaches exploded into a complex war along blurred factional lines, and still remain engaged on multiple fronts although the fighting has largely ceased. The exact nature and cause of this conflict is still unknown.
A recruitment drive began across all Lords in the Grand City of Vale, allegedly funded by the Queen herself. Whether a punitive measure for past disloyalties, or a preparatory measure for some future conflict, remains to be seen.
Just outside of Vale, Facet warriors paraded a collection of panzers, draped in furs and warpaint. Few panzers are new in the Age of Grimm, but these looked clean and well-built under their tribal decorations.
Mistral: What the populous City-States of the easternmost continent are up to.
Access to Illilundr has expanded your knowledge of Mistral, but for once things are quiet on the continent. Cities in the League of Hoarfrost also suffered tremendously from the harsh winter, but they are in a far better position to recover than many Atlesian states.
It also seems that the Republic of Hyliodora has seen a dramatic uptick in trade activity, as this year's coming elections are the most lavishly-funded campaigns seen in decades.
Vacuo: How things fare in the badlands of Vacuo.
Several of the larger Vacuan states have ended their war, but their distance and insular nature still obscures the details. Current conjecture is an inheritance conflict over unsettled (and grimm-held) lands.
As ever, the Caravan-Kings remain deep within the dunes. However, some internal violence was reported amongst one of the larger Warbands, but details are sparse.
Menagerie:
You have neither ears nor eyes in this part of the world.
Special Decisions:
After an eventful Autumn and Winter, you have some decisions to make.
[] Appoint Castellan: Write-In. Although you are now the Knight of both Thromrhold and Logrhorn, a Castellan may be appointed to watch over the Logrhorn lands from its Castle. The appointed Castellan will appreciate the honor, but will have a new set of responsibilities to consider. You could do the job yourself and enjoy the benefits of direct oversight, but this is hardly efficient. A Castellan at this level will collect 1 Lien per Turn in salary.
[] Appoint Steward: Write-In. Edelweiss has been acting capably as your interim Steward while Terra is in a coma, but the time has come to choose an official replacement.
[] Pick a name for your firstborn: Write-In. Your child will be born in mid-spring, and should the Knight of Frost be kind, they will live to see their nameday at Summer's dawn. You may choose names (male and female), or let the Gods decide when the day arrives.
Personal/General
[] Write In: Pick two things that you would like to accomplish or work at this turn that do not fall within the other categories.
Diplomacy
[] Write In: Pick two statecraft measures that you would like to accomplish this turn. You may, should you wish, select a single item to work at twice as hard.
Martial
[] Write In: Pick two martial measures that you would like to accomplish this turn. You may, should you wish, only select a single item to work at twice as hard.
Stewardship
[] Write In: Decide upon two administrative actions that you would like to accomplish this turn. You may, should you wish, select a single item to work at twice as hard.
Intrigue
[] Write In: Craft two acts of subterfuge that you would like to accomplish this turn. You may, should you wish, select a single item to work at twice as hard.
Learning
[] Write In: Select a single act of faith to work upon this turn.
Councilors
In the Age of Grimm, each Carrion Lord holds court with his vassals. As the Knight of Thromrhold, you are no different. The members of your Council will advise and aid you in your rule - no one man or woman can do it alone. According to their station, they can perform a variety of tasks or provide you with sage advice and assistance during tenuous situations, should you decide to keep them close at hand. Keep in mind - they are your vassals, and will perform any task you assign them to the best of their ability… but they may have their own ambitions and goals as well.
Chancellor - Cedar Blackthorne is an excellent diplomat, able to smooth ruffled feathers, entertain a group of stuffy Carrion Lords, and represent your interests to the best of his ability.
[] Write In:
Marshal - Marble Grisbane is a capable leader of men. What shall you have him do?
[] Write In:
Steward - Currently, Edelweiss is serving as your Acting Steward, but that might change soon. Regardless, a Steward must work… what shall they do?
[] Write In:
Head Teller - Now Aslaug is your official Head Teller. A highly mysterious woman to be sure, but her dedication to the Knight of Frost is unassailable. How should she administer to the souls of your realm?
[] Write In:
Huntsman Superior - This year, Daff adds two new Huntsmen to his list of responsibilities. Your training has been floundering as of late, but you are both exceptionally busy men. What tasks should he be set to?
Uh, wow, a whole week, huh? Seems kind of excessive to me. Not that I'm mocking anyone's traditions or anything, it just seems like there's better things people could be- you know what, Yenna, your fists make an excellent point, he's your kinslayer uncle, after all. Maybe we should make it a whole month of knives, honestly. Might start a trend.
Sable mentions that her father will likely hire some skilled salvage teams in the near future, noting acerbically that only her father would bother rushing artillery from its secure position and onto the Eye just to punish a handful of dubiously successful raiders.
To be fair, I doubt that sophisticated use of artillery and indirect fire support is still common military knowledge these days. I wouldn't be surprised if it had regressed to Napoleonic War levels. Although, the more esoteric forms of Dust do provide some rather horrifying possibilities for specialized rounds...
Just outside of Vale, Facet warriors paraded a collection of panzers, draped in furs and warpaint. Few panzers are new in the Age of Grimm, but these looked clean and well-built under their tribal decorations.
Where the fuck did they get those? On the other hand, they would be trying to invade Vale with them, and as far as knowledge of combined arms and armored operations in dense urban areas probably goes in the Age of Grimm, see the point above. Probably scares the shit out of anyone not behind the walls, though.
[] Appoint Castellan: Write-In. Although you are now the Knight of both Thromrhold and Logrhorn, a Castellan may be appointed to watch over the Logrhorn lands from its Castle. The appointed Castellan will appreciate the honor, but will have a new set of responsibilities to consider. You could do the job yourself and enjoy the benefits of direct oversight, but this is hardly efficient. A Castellan at this level will collect 1 Lien per Turn in salary.
Wary of putting Edelweiss in the hot seat here, especially with an upset city levy and several possibly mutinous Huntsmen skulking about. She really does seem like the only game in town, though. Maybe if certain hoes stay mad about the war we could put them in charge and let Evenhigh and co take care of it
[] Appoint Steward: Write-In. Edelweiss has been acting capably as your interim Steward while Terra is in a coma, but the time has come to choose an official replacement.
