Heirs of Sigmar

[Mina]

@Maugan Ra

Article:

Grandmaster Herman,

I have been privy to discussions on both sides of this dreadful business, and it's a rotten spot for all. If someone kidnapped my little Franz Conrad or Theodelinda I'd be mounted and off to tear them limb from limb in an instant. I'd make it slow, probably with some manner of dwarven mechanism as horses tend to be a little too hard to coordinate properly. I may drip hot oil on them as well. Or scorpions. Or cover them in ox blood and have their genitals abused by my dogs. It would Not Be Good.

So, think of a father and mother's rage, and how it spreads. How dangerous this is for every parent of noble breeding in the Empire. I've assurances you did not order these knights to action, if that is so do not continue on in their nastiness. Carlotta is my sister by-law, and my husband is dreadful provoked with the rest of his family. Return the girl to her parents. Turn over the damned renegades for Sylvanian justice. And while it may not be something my bosom mother and father from Tilea my require--retire. A man who could so poorly handle his Order's affairs as you have has no place continuing on. Let the bad blood out and renew.

Whatever you choose, remember that Sylvania is not without friends.

Grand Baroness Theophaneia Ysmay Gloriana Hochen, Baroness of Hergig, Chieftain of the Cherusen, Marshal of the Talabec Reach, and Defender of the
Shrines

 

[Bandeirante]

Bechafen

Chancellor Frederick sits by the open window of his office, heedless of the wet breeze as he stares listlessly into the narrow streets of Bechafen, with its thin, tall houses and gloomy, foggy atmosphere.

These are troubling times. Chaos, war, unrest and worse. Talabecland spreads its legs to Kislev even as that cursed Ice Witch tries to get her cold hands on Nordland. How long until she moves against the rest of the Black League? If she does, no support will come from the rest of the Empire. The Union and the Pact too busy fighting each other. Not that Frederick blames the southerners. If it were not for the hundred other threats and bushfires and disasters and shadowy, dreaded implications hanging in the wings, he would have already sent Lachinko and Hertwig orders to storm the border with an army of Dwarves at their back. What better chance to strike than now? When the entire might of the South strikes against the Union of Seasons?

So instead he quells the voices calling for war and negotiates. A spared glance towards the diplomatic communiques neatly arranged at the edge of the desk does little to dissuade his bitterness, however. Still, he swallows it. The Black League is not ready for war, not yet. Nordland is broken, Ostland bled dry and Hochland for all its advances has little appetite for this war.

He could still send the letters, send the armies forward, open the treasury and assemble the largest host in Ostermark's living memory. Send everything he has into one single punch against Talabecland while its distracted. Make common cause with the Wissenland Emperor and ensure that his people's ancestral rival is crippled for a good couple of generations. Take their land to give Ostermark a land link with Ostland, make sure his home can never be isolated from the rest of the Empire again.

Strike without calling the rest of the Black League

He doesn't do that. The memory of the worm things in Sylvania is still too fresh. Of vampire ratmen and their tainted meat. That conspiracy, though apparently dead, still merits his attention. Who's to say there aren't worse plots hiding in the shadows? And with the Cult of Sigmar broken the Chancellor must act fast. The Witch Hunters need to be rallied and reinvigorated. This time there is no Grand Theogonist to stop him from doing what he must to safeguard his people.

Besides, he doesn't trusts Middenland or its puppet Ar Ulric to not use the chance to destroy what is left of Nordland. And for all that he profess to not care about what happens to the rest of the Empire, Nordland is still a member of the Black League and Frederick has grown somewhat fond of Countess Jana. So for their sake too he will hold off from war and let the negotiations reach their end. Trust that the Union will stick to its terms while praying that Sigmar will give the Pact the strength to beat them.

"Northern Unity" was always a hollow concept to him. Too often used to advance Middenland or Talabecland interests over their smaller neighbors under a pretense of solidarity. The Black League is driven partly by necessity, its members know they need each other. Middenland and Talabecland are too big, too powerful, too proud to truly fit into its framework.

Yet, the war is but one of the issues occupying his mind. Kislev's ever increasing reach and audacity keeps the entire Council awake at night. Mordheim is an ever present cancerous threat at the edges of their minds. Then there were the Beastmen, who could say how the border clashes may have affected those monsters. And of course, the latest crisis from Sylvania.​

Article:

@Wade Garrett
@Maugan Ra
@100thlurker
@EarthScorpion
@Cavalier
@Mina

TO ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

When I first heard of Count Luciano Malasangre's ascension in Sylvania I gave him little thought. In my mind, and in that of the rest of my fellow Councillors and countrymen, he was but the latest among the overambitious, desperate and mad to try to impose their rule over the cursed land of Sylvania.

When he brought me word of Van Hel's crusade, I set aside any previous prejudice to work together with the man for the common good. That he was able to recognize the sheer stupidity of the damned Van Hel and all others involved in that doomed enterprise at least pointed towards some measure of common sense.

When the Blood Dragon awoken due to Van Hel's Folly and the good Count told me of his plans to challenge the beast, despite my insistent advice otherwise, I was hit by a measure of sadness. For during our then short time working together, I had come to deem Luciano Malasangre a competent, if unconventional, professional partner.

That he killed the monster by himself came as a surprise to all of us. In the following years, the Count continued to surprise. For has he not proven himself a stabilizing influence in Sylvania? Who else can claim such successes in containing such haunted and godsforsaken land?

Luciano Malasangre is a foreigner, he and his family came from distant lands, grew under a different culture and a different faith. But perhaps this is what has allowed him to do so well in his duties. This fresh perspective and insight that led him to this measure of success and prosperity.

It's not much compared to the other realms of Sigmar's Empire, even my humble Ostermark. And it's also a queer sort of success that Luciano brings. And that gives men cause to be suspicious, after all, one can never be too sure with Sylvania.

I cannot fault a man for being cautious and vigilant. But I can fault rashness. I can fault short sighted, petty grudges placing years of work in jeopardy.

So I call for Grandmaster Hermann to release Lady Carlotta Malasangre posthaste. I call for my good friend Luciano to hold his righteous anger at bay and let us try to fix this disaster with words before drawing our blades.

Furthermore, to quell the suspicions and accusations laid against Count Malasangre and his miraculous recovery of the Custode, I have, at his request, assembled a team of Ostermark's best Morrite priests, vampire slayers and witch hunters to ride under appropriate escort to Sylvania and judge whether Custode Sieghard's miraculous recovery is an act of divine grace or the work of foul necromancy.

Let their judgement be righteous and true.

 

[Cavalier]

@EarthScorpion

Article:

To Her Highness Astrid, Grand Duchess of Ostland, Lord of Wolfenburg, Chieftain of the Udoses, Holy Elector of Sigmar's Empire;

I write to Your Highness as a supplicant.

The true faith of Sigmar is imperiled in Stirland by divisions among the Church and innovations in practices. Too many of our people have lost sight of the duties they owe and seek only personal advantage and wealth. Our County has been punished for this laxity by invasion and ruin from without as well as within. I have come to see the necessity of restoring a true, authentic Church of Sigmar in the lands of my ancestors.

Even in Stirland the piety of Your Highness is known and remarked upon. The victory of the forces of Sigmar in Nordland among the Black League are a clear sign that Your Highness' efforts have been well-rewarded. Sigmar verily smiles upon the efforts of Your Highness to bring needed strength and reform to the Church in Ostland. I therefore beseech the aid of Your Highness in acting to aid the reformation of the Church in Stirland, for the greater glory of the Empire and that we might be restored to honor in the sight of Sigmar.

It is my intent to found a chapel and seminary in Wolfbach, that will employ only the most devoted and godly of men in training as priests of Sigmar. It is my hope such an institution will be the seed that will bring forth such bounteous fruit as has blessed the efforts of Your Highness. I ask that Your Highness send forth martial and learned priests, of upstanding character, to serve as examples for the students of this seminary and to spread the doctrines of the reformed and austere faith to my lands.

While I cannot offer Your Highness much of personal advantage at present, I believe the honor of aiding this holy endeavour will bring further renown to your House and the blessings of Sigmar upon Your Highness and upon Ostland.

As a fellow in the faith of Sigmar, I remain & etc
Maxmilian von Wolfbach, Archduke of Wolfbach, Lord of Franzen

 

[Wade Garrett]

Article:

Your Illustruous Majesty, the High and Mighty Electoral Lord, Baron of Marienburg, and Elector Count of the Westerlands Luccinanto Ysjbraant;
@ManusDomini

You invite me to your shining city, fabled across the Empire, across all the lands of men. You bid me to take my place at the table of peace, to negotiate, to strike an accord for the benefit of all parties to this dispute, amidst the Stadspaleis themselves. You do me much honor.

But my lord, my lord. You see, yet you do not understand.

I am the Lord of Sylvania. Not so fair, not so favored as your Marienburg, but it is mine. Its people are mine. Mine to rule. Mine to punish. Mine to defend. That is the duty of a prince, to be as a great oak that all beneath him may shelter under, and yet to the world present a face more fearsome by far, that the terror of his wrath acts as a shield against those who would do them harm. And that duty, I have failed in.

You speak of bloodshed prevented, blades left undrawn, La Vendetta remaining in Beloved Myrmidia's shadow, Her dread visage concealed from the sun for another day. My lord Ysjbraant, I tell you She walks among us already.

I tell you of a temple, not so fine as your Exalted Guildhall of Great Haendryk, not so wondrous as Prince Konstantin's Grand Cathedral of Mighty Sigmar, but a holy place, reared by love and devotion. A dwelling for a God, in a land that has been apart from Him too long. And in this temple, Lord Ysjbraant, this god's priests and his faithful are cut down by knights sworn to His service.

By knights I brought among them, knights I gave leave to journey across my lands, to man strongholds among them, knights that I, Lord of Sylvania, told them would watch over them and defend them, as Father Morr defends the dead, as I myself would defend these lands. Every priest, every worshipper cut down, that is my burden, my failing, and I will stand before Father Morr and I will give account for that.

I will give account for the temple I did not defend, for the priests and the faithful whose dead eyes look up at me, for the serpents I brought among them. The serpents who have taken my daughter, and I do not know if she...

If these were your lands, Lord Marienburg. If you stood amidst such a slaughter in the Great Guildhall, if you knew that one you loved, a wife or child or brother or sister, friend or a parent, if you knew those who had done this sacrilege held your dear one, what would you do?

What would you do, Lord of Marienburg? Would you sit at the table of peace, would you seek an accord?

Or would you turn and call to Her. Cry out, to Dread Vendetta, beseech her, ask that she venture forth from Our Lady's Shadow, that she would grant to you to slay and slay and slay again, slay those who had wronged you until you held your dear one safe in your arms...or you had joined them at Father Morr's side. What would you do?

You ask me to journey to Marienburg. I cannot. I cannot walk a road that leads away from Carlotta and those who took her.

You speak of a mediation, with myself and my lady Eliana von Ellinbach, Countess of Stirland. I see no need for one. I have no quarrel with my lady. No quarrel with any soul in this Empire save those who took my daughter, butchered those I swore to defend, and blasphemed the gods I hold dear, and any who would shield them from the justice they have earned.

While thanking His Highness for the honor, I must therefore respectfully decline.

Luciano Malasangre, Count-Palatine of Sylvania, Lord of Drakenhopf, and Chieftan of the Fennone

 

[Maugan Ra]

@Wade Garrett @Mina @Shephard @100thlurker

Article:

Lords and Ladies of the Empire

There has been much made of late regarding the issue of one Carlotta Malasangre. I have received demands, entreaties, reasoned proposals and naked threats concerning the girl from so many quarters my squire finds his hand cramping. Let me, then, make the position of the Knights of Deserved Rest and the Cult of Morr in this position clear.

The arrest of Carlotta Malasangre was not done on order of the Cult hierarchy or my Order, but neither was it an act of senseless aggression. Lady Malasangre stands accused of heresy, consorting with the enemies of man and with involvement in the murder of my friend, the Custode de Portale. She will stand trial. If her innocence is as true as her many advocates proclaim - if my friend is as alive and well as people would have me believe - she will be found as such and released with all due apologies.

If, however, the Count-Palatine imagines that the Cult of Morr can be threatened, that we can be browbeaten into compliance by some cur that flies the banner of the Von Carstein, he is sorely mistaken.

- Grandmaster Herman, High and Chivalric Order of Deserved Rest

 

[Imrix]

If you asked someone to describe where a Priestess of the Earth Mother lived, most would imagine a comfortable tent or perhaps a cave made homely by diligent effort. Some, those more given to flights of fancy or with their heads muddled by elf-tales, might describe a hollow tree, enchanted so as to grow into the perfect dwelling for a priestess of the wild.

It was lamentable, how many couldn't keep the difference straight between Taal and Rhya. Esmerina Stromsdottir lived in a cottage on the outskirts of Talabheim. It was, she would grant, a rather nice cottage; two floors, good thatch, walls of stone, and even glass in some of the windows, though she'd never asked for it. But people paid things forward however they could, and part of looking after them was letting them have that sense of clearing debts.

It also, naturally, was surrounded by a sprawling herb garden, and her one great regret over becoming Heirarch, though she'd never say as much, was that the position left her with not nearly the time to tend it. But between keeping up her local rounds, keeping up with her students (she reminded herself that young Arda was due a refresher in midwifery, judging by her last showing), her duties as Heirarch, her duties as Voice, corresponding with other Heirarch's, with secular nobility... There were no end of matters weighing down on her mind, on her time. Nevan did his best, darling lad that he was, but he was just as swamped as her.

It wasn't solely her effort, of course. Root and Trunk and Branch no, every hour it seemed the birds came with messages, word from priests across Talabecland, reports of the doings of other realms from her fellow Heirarchs, from common folk whose wisdom had become known to her over the years (there was a whitesmith in Gersdorf who had a remarkably good head on his shoulders about organising groups of people), even from the occasional noble. The Grand Duchess was a conundrum there. Half the time, Esmerina had nothing but approval for her. She had a good head on her shoulders, that girl. Listened to people. Listened to them as people, more's the point.

The other half she didn't know what was going through that mind. Middenland? Then? Well, they'd been allies in the past. Noble politics wasn't for her, anyway. Couldn't be 'avin with it.

Kemperbad, though...

She'd had other things on her mind, granted, but that was her mistake. She'd given her grudges too much their head. Taken her eye off the work. Thought two years of good work were enough to let the job lie a spell. Thought lords could be trusted to do what was needful, and do it right. Hah. Well and so, it was always worth the reminder: the work is never over. Taal's realm will always have horrors to test his folk. There's no mastering that, only the rising and growing. As it should be, she supposed. Ever the seasons turn, ever the next crop would need their own tests. And, as she sat at her table, staring holes in the messages scattered across the gnarled wood, she was reminded again that all things happened for a reason. There is always winter, and there is always spring. Kemperbad demanded attention, yes, but there was opportunity there, too.

Sitting at her table, Esmerina Stromsdottir let out a deprecating little chuckle that gave the apprentice sweeping behind her a terrible fright, and reached for a quill to pen her own letters. Letters to lords, letters to knights, and leeters to... Well. She didn't actually know any mercenary captains, herself. But she reckoned she knew some folk who would.

Article:

To his grace Francis Ludwig von Ellinbach, the Grand Count of Averland and Stirland (@100thlurker), her grace Eliana von Ellinbach, Countess of Stirland,

I gather you have a beastman problem, and on behalf of my peers, for our negligence in allowing this, I apologise. You may rest assured we will see the horde scattered and slaughtered, and soon.

I also gather you've been having trouble with some folks as get a mite restless about how they're ruled. We sorted it out here in Talabecland comfortably for all concerned, and I see no reason the same shouldn't happen over there, so we'll see that settled as well while we're about.

I look forward to your blessing on the matters.

Esmerina Stromsdottir, Heirarch of Rhya for Talabecland

 

[SirLagginton]

Article:

IMPERIAL CHRYSOBULL PROCLAIMING AN EDICT OF TOLERATION OF THE SECT OF AUSTERE SIGMARITES​

We, the Imperial & Princely Highness Friedrich do hereby promulgate the Right of the Sect of Austere Sigmar to be safe from persecution.

With the Consent of the Imperial Diet the Signatories of the Pact so hereby agree to tolerate the Austere Sect and their worship of Our Lord Sigmar. No Hand of State shall be raised against the Adherents of Austere Sigmar, and all their followers shall know welcome in the lands of the Pfeildorf Pact. Those found to be in violation of this Edict shall be Judged Accordingly.

Sealed and Signed in the Grace of Sigmar Heldenhammer and the Grace of Blessed Myrmidia by,

His Imperial & Princely Highness Friedrich von Schwarzburg the Dragon of Nuln, Emperor-Elect, Grand Count of Wissenland and Grand Prince of Solland, Chieftain of the Merogens, Count of Nuln, Armourer of the Empire and South-Warden, Defender of the Rivers Soll and Echoes, Holy Elector of Sigmar's Empire.

 

[DeMarcheese]

OSTERMARK
(Nagenhof - Winter of 2205)


​

A very loud sigh could be heard across the room.
Village elders, guild masters, burgomeisters and bailiffs alike turned their heads at the same time.

This time, Elena did not apologize or tried to politely hide her boredom.
They had been there for half a day, secluded like sigmarite monks on prayer but instead of silence, there has only been petty disputes and endless hearings about imagined grievances or blatant attempts to curry her favor with gross displays of nonexistent charm.
When she rode from Middenheim to Nagenhof, she spent the entire journey spinning her head with ideas and fears about what problems might be suffering her homeland, what terrible creatures might be planning to attack and what could she do to avoid it. As it turned out, everything was terribly boring and mundane. The disappointment came down on her as hard as a cannon ball.

The lands where she grew and left so many years ago were exactly the same as she remembered them. It was as if she never left, all these years of hard work and crusade nothing more than a distant dream. Even the people stayed the same, preserved as if by some magic prevented the passage of time. Sure, there were a few wrinkles here and a few gray hairs there, but the faces around her were almost the same. Even when war consumed the Empire and flames engulfed all around them, these lands stayed the same. Seemingly oblivious to the world outside the squalid villages and their misery.
Elena's tutors teached her about statesmanship and the importance of the small things in life, no matter how humble they were. Unlike many of her peers, she did not despised or reviled the peasants. But she could not help to find them incredibly... simple.

"Perhaps we have overstayed our presence far more than anticipated" ventured Cranach with a mild tone of voice.

Several nods of approval and the occasional mumbling were quick to follow the comment of the gaunt and elderly burgomeister.

"Indeed" spoke master Röntgen "After such a long and exhausting journey, I am sure my lady is in dire need of rest. There are many things that require her attention but I am sure we can postpone this meeting one more day to allow the Gravine to resolve them with fresh eyes and rested mind"

The obese, greasy and wretched Röntgen offered a false smile under an unkempt beard with lascivious eyes fixed on her. In another time, Elena would have ordered the man to be flayed alive on the spot. Now she just shook her head and silently prayed to the Verena for patience and clarity of thought. Master Röntgen was not only one of the richest men in her newly acquired fiefdom, he was also the guild master of the most important guild on Ostermark: The Horsing Guild.
The fertile and green pastures of the region known as 'The Veldt' by the people of her province, were the main and most valuable economic resource of these otherwise poor and undeveloped lands. Some parts of the Veldt were inside her fiefdom and therefore the guild payed special attention at decisions taken in Nagenhof.

As such, it was to be expected Röntgen will appear when she summoned the Bürgermeisterrat the day after her arrival.
Elena was expecting to find counsel and guidance on the people more accustomed to less adventurous lives, but it was becoming increasingly clear that all she will get were complaints about cows, broken fences and fat man trying to earn a noble title through marriage.

She remembered with certain envy her days as a novice on the streets of Altdorf: Every corner hiding a danger or a marvel, new wonders on display across the streets every day... even the peasants were interesting to talk with, surprisingly colorful and cultured, well informed about many things and seemingly aware of the world around them. her mind briefly thought of her son and where he could be now.
Here there was only this dreadful feeling, the long and silent nights and people brooding alone or in pairs on streets choked by the mud left after the last storm. The gravine was no longer the cruel and childish girl of the past. Her ways were now different, just and noble.
But perhaps she could do something to remedy this boredom yet noble at the same time. Something daring, new and dashing!

She could... uplift the commoners. A school certainly will require teachers. Teachers were all talkative, clever and interesting people, full of strange and novelty ideas.

"You are right, master Röntgen" spoke the gravine with soft and polite yet firm voice "I do require some time and I thank you all for coming on such short notice" she looked away from the grinning guild master to look at each one of the civil representatives gathered at the table "I am aware you all have pressing matters to attend as well as mine" she slightly bowed her head before them as humble apology, prompting rumors to fly from one side of the table to the other "If you can but spare a few hours, we can reconvene after lunch and finish before Mannslieb shines on the nightly sky"

This seemed to sit well with everyone and earned her many smiles and nods of approval.

"You can leave that here" she said to Röntgen when he was about to leave the table and follow the others "I am in dire need of rest and a dense reading no doubt will dull my mind enough to fall asleep as quick as any spell"

'That' was the book detailing land properties, sales and purchases made by the guild around the lands of Nagenhof and the Veldt. She smiled at Röntgen, looking the part of another uninterested noble making jokes in poor taste. She immediately got a response in the form of another chilling grin and a wink. No doubt he thought this as a favor in exchange for future concessions in his advances towards her alcove.

"Of course my lady" the guild master laughed "Have a sweet dream while we drain your kitchen stocks for the winter!"

Elena managed to maintain a laugh until Röntgen finally left. She sat down again as soon as the door closed and poured her entire attention on the contents of the book. The guild master was a neccesary evil, but the guild weighed too much influence for her liking. As long as they thought of her another uncaring noble, she could have an advantage over people like Röntgen. While she studied the numbers, she thought how to began to lessen the influence of the guild on her lands. Something or someone as dependent and interested on horses like the guild with the same riches.
A brief chill came down her spine when the cold wind of winter came down the door. The Gravine rose from her chair to add more wood to the fireplace and put on her old but comfortable panther pelt.

Elena suddenly stopped and blinked a few times while his mind processed the sudden revelation he had just had and she finally smiled.
The Gravine had her answer.

​

 

[Sidheach]

The Duchy of Drakwald
2205 I.C.



---
​

Faction: The Duchy of Drakwald
Faction Head: Henryk von Bildhofen, the Duke of Drakwald
Faction Heir: Johann von Bildhofen, son of Magnus von Bildhofen

Family Tree:

The Late Duke of Carroburg, {Gottfried von Bildhofen, Called Gottfried the Decrepit} - Born 2102 and Died 2199 IC of a Broken Heart

Married Seven Times to Reputable Ladies from the Drakwald, Middenland, Nordland, Hochland, and Reikland​

His First Wife, {Matilda Gottschall} - Born 2111 and Died 2129 IC in Childbirth

Magnus von Bildhofen, Called Magnus the Absent – Born 2129 I.C.​

Married to Brunhilde of Nuln – Born 2128 I.C. - With Issue​

His Second Wife, {Elena Hebamme} - Born 2114 and Died 2144 IC of a Bad Stomach

No Issue​

His Third Wife, {Petra of Nordland} - Born 2123 and Died 2147 IC of a Chill

Their Daughter, {Karin von Bildhofen} - Born 2144 and Died 2171 IC of Wounds Inflicted by Beastmen​

His Fourth Wife, Theodore von Bernloch - Born 2131 IC

No Issue, Divorced Three Years After Being Married in 2156 IC​

His Fifth Wife, {Katerine von Bernloch} - Born 2136 and Died 2171 IC

Their Daughter, Katerine von Bildhofen, Called Lady von Eslohe - Born 2167 IC​

Their Son, {Magnus von Bildhofen, Called the Golden} - Born 2170 and Died 2198 IC in a Duel of Honour​

His Sixth Wife, {Engel Seyler} - Born 2160 and Died 2173 IC in Childbirth

Their Daughter, {Matilda von Bildhofen} - Born 2173 and Died 2173 IC a Stillbirth​

His Seventh and Final Wife, Eloise von Kornberg - Born 2151 IC

Their Son, the Duke of Carroburg, Henryk von Bildhofen - Born 2175 IC​

Unmarried as of the Current Date​

Holdings & Improvements:

The City of Carroburg

Improved, Dwarf-Built Walls - Constructed in 2201 I.C.​

Alchemists Guild Guildhouse - Constructed 2201 I.C. - Destroyed in 2203 I.C.​

Temple of Ulric - Constructed 2201 I.C.​

​

The Wider Drakwald

Fortified Settlements - Constructed 2200 I.C.​

Improved Roads - Constructed 2201 I.C.​

Reinforced Fortifications in the East - Constructed 2204 I.C.​

​

Miscellaneous

Giant Wolf Pack - Introduced in 2204 I.C.​

Standing Armies:

​

The 1st Drakwald Regulars, "the Duke's Own Guard" - Established in 2201 I.C. - Headquarted in Carroburg

Commanding Officer - Sir Leopold von Kornberg​

Uniform - Black and Red with Slashed Sleeves​

​

Full Strength - Reduced - Bloodied - Decimated - Destroyed​

---



The New Borders of Drakwald

---​

 

[Bandeirante]

Bechafen.

Sir Heinrich von Schaffernorscht entered his father's office with the lightness and a spring in his step that can only come from a few good cups of free beer. The morning since his arrival from Bretonnia had been spent sharing tales of his foreign adventures at his favored watering hole. And if he happened to have a way with words just as good as he had with a blade, well, who's to tell him he didn't deserve a few complementary drinks?

"Father!" Heinrich greeted jovially as he made to sit. "Herman." He added soon after noticing the Prince of Bechafen looming by the open window.

"Sir Heinrich." The Prince greeted

"I need you to travel to Nagenhof, son." The Chancellor declared. "I do not yet trust the intentions of the new Gravine and I want you to be among my eyes and ears to judge whether or not she will prove a disruptive element."

"Why, good morning to you too, father." Heinrich replied. "I had a wonderful time in Bretonnia and I can assure you the wedding was amazing and the whole mission was a success, thank you for asking." He cleared his throat. "Now that we established I spent the last year elsewhere, can one of you please actually explain what's going on?"

"Swamp Rot killed the von Midwalds." The Prince offered. "All of them save for that Elena girl who they shipped off to the Panthers years ago."

"And do we have any reason to be more suspicious than usual?" Heinrich asked. "Was she behind the plague? Has she already made any moves to break the status quo?

"Elena came straight from Middenheim, son." The Chancellor replied somberly. "And, of course, she was the family's shame even before that. Sent to the Knights to stop from further embarrassing the family. For all we know she might as well have had a hand in her family's demise. But I have other people working on investigating that."

"In my defense I wasn't here at the time." Heinrich raised his hands with a chuckle. "But I see your point, father. It wouldn't be good to have a Middenland patsy with a knife at our backs. Specially not now"

"Then you agree." The Prince prompted, leaning away from the window.

"I had business with the von Midwalds. We were never really close." Heinrich shrugged. "But it wouldn't be too odd for me and Helena to drop by to offer our condolences and revise contracts and deals." He stopped, leaning forward as his tone grew more serious. "But what happens if it turns out she's as bad as you expect?"

"If you find evidence of any misdeeds on her part, pass it along to me and we will deal it entirely within the bounds of the law." The Chancellor replied. "Don't worry, son. You aren't the only one keeping an eye on her. Or in that general area.

"How soon can you leave?" The Prince asked.

"A few days maybe. I could use the rest after the voyage, and I promised Sofia I would write her upon my return." Heinrich shrugged again. "Is that a problem, father?" He asked turning to the Chancellor.

"Not really." The Chancellor waved a hand dismissively. "It's about time you took some days to keep me and your mother some company. And I'm sure little Sofia could use your words out in the western marches."

"A couple of days won't really matter." The Prince agreed. "But we would like to see this done sooner rather than later."​

 

[DeMarcheese]

OSTERMARK
(Nagenhof - Winter of 2205)



​

Most esteemed and honorable Grand Master,
As you may be aware already, I had to depart from the order before the first snows could settle across the Middle Mountains. The tragic loss of my father and elder brother has forced my hand on this matter, for much is the responsibility that carry my name in these lands. While I miss them terribly, I do not grieve for my family, for I know them to be loyal sons of the Empire and pious servants of the gods, no doubt earning a place of eternal rest at their side.
Today I write to you about matters concerning the new duties as Gravine of the von Midwald lands. The good works of Chancellor Fredereick have done wonders to preserve the peace across my homeland. The commoners are well tended, fields are plough and markets brimming with all manner of travelers. It is almost as if the war that consumes the Empire has yet to notice Ostermark.

I pray every night such a thing never happens.

Yet rumors have reached my ears of trouble across the river Stir, into the accursed land of Sylvania. We both know better than to believe vague rumors and tavern talk, particularly from superstitious peasants. However, it seems these rumors do not only persist but grow in strength and I fear they may hold a grain of truth. Word is slowly spreading of foul creatures walking once more under the Mannslieb pale light, Morr's faithful slaughtered and the dark taint of necromancy spreading across the land.
To ensure we do not see another von Carstein ever again, I have devoted myself to keep a close eye on the situation. Nonetheless, strong arms and cold steel will be sorely needed should my fears are confirmed. There are also no small amount of troubles on the horizon as the greenskins, usually so bellicose and loudly, have not been seen nor heard of since the war began. This bodes ill for the fragile peace of the land.
Therefore, I must implore you to heed my plea: I ask of you to send some of your faithful knights to my lands. Construction had already began of a fort to provide temporary accommodation near the Brunwasser and I am in talks with the Horsing Guild to provide them with a steady supply of our finest mounts.
Should you see any wisdom in conceding to my request, I could also leverage the might of the Order in my negotiations with the merchants and secure a supply of the greatest steeds one can ever find for our brothers and sisters of the Panther.


Ever faithful:
Elena.

​

 

[EarthScorpion]

Wolfenburg​

Northern winds howled at the walls of the cathedral of Ostland's capital. When drafts crept under the stained-oak door, they made the candles flicker. Black and white banners hung in the looming stone cathedral. The ceilings were painted in a deep blue, that of the night sky, and silver stars caught the candle-light and seemed to flicker. The bones of the faithful were interred here, emplaced in positions of honour to look upon their descendants.

And there were so many people here for the new year prayers that the pack of bodies took the edge off the chill. The cathedral of Wolfenburg was crammed to the rafters. The cushionless pews were packed, and the black-and-white greatswords around the edge of the chamber shared their place with people who had managed to get in but hadn't found seating.

Lector Arnold Becker's booming speech echoed through the hollow space. Eyes ablaze, words accompanied by the fleshy sound of his ham-sized fists against the pulpit, he preached for iron-hard resolve, of the certainty that only faith could bring, and the devotion that would save mankind. For ornamentation and indulgence was a weakness – a blight! – on the lands, and dark gods waited, lurking, to snatch up those who let their greed and their decadence rule their actions. With a crescendo, he condemned the Cult of Ulric that sat upon its fortune, dressing in falsely humble wolf-furs when they lounged on thrones of gold. One who had heard his speech last year, however, might have noted that while he just as vigorously condemned gluttony and envy, his disavowals did not name the elector counts of the south this year. Instead, he turned his vitriol on those who would willingly consort with the dark and seek to make use of its wicked power for their own ends.

"For in the end, those who wish to wield the beastman at arm's length will learn that they have allowed those creatures within their reach – and they will turn on them, as all such creatures of Chaos always do!"

By the conclusion of his great lecture, his shoulders were shaking and his brow was scarlet.

"And in the end, we must be true! For Sigmar is the King of the Gods, and he leads them to watch over us and safeguard us from the forces of evil! Only the treacheries of atheism, heresy and blasphemy will fail them! Did not mighty Manann reach out and strike down the fleets of cruel Kislev when she sought to aid traitors to righteous Jana of Nordland? Does not kindly Rhya watch over mothers and serene Shallya extend her guarding hand to safeguard us from the sickness of the soul that consumed the Moot? Faith! We must have faith! For in the fight against evil, only faith is our hammer and only faith is our armour! And in the end, only faith will save us!

"Now pray! Pray, each and every one of you! Follow me and give thanks to the gods!"

After the prayers came hymns, and after that the traditional speech from the grand duchess. A serene expression on her features, blonde hair braided back and entirely unadorned, dressed only in an undyed flax smock; Astrid von Wolfenburg walked bare-footed down the aisle, ascending the lectern. Hand at her neck, she clutched the little iron hammer hung around her neck. A few murmurs from onlookers were audible, for her midsection was notably more prominent than it had been for the slender grand duchess's last new year speech.

In a clear voice, she spoke to her people. She spoke of faith, of devotion, of the need for honesty and parsimony in these troubled times. She spoke too of love, and of kindness and human warmth - for, as the grand duchess expounded, only through the strength of men united could one stand against the horrors of the world. A southerner might have found her devotional speech quaint, and even a little twee for its thematic contrast between the figures huddled around the firelight and the monsters ringed around its outside - but this was Ostland. Such was reality. Word had only come a week ago of raids by starving goblins on the walls of Dassel, and they had been repulsed, though terrifying bouncing squigs had leapt the defences and rampaged within the town. That was winter in the Forest of Shadows.

"Hard times are coming for our poor divided lands," Astrid preaches, hands clutched together. "War! War, that grievous spectre that has stalked Sigmar's benighted states for hundreds of years, lays his bloody hand upon us once more. Pestilence has reaped the once-fertile Moot, called down by the wickedness of those who would willingly consort with the Forces of Evil! Decadence lurks in every corner, his lulling words stirring inclement passions and dangerous desires. And Hubris, that awful cawing raven, that eater of the dead who whispers in the ears of those who sneak in the shadows and stirs lords to conspiracy and faithlessness, his is the most dangerous of all!

"So we must stand together! Stand together in faith, in loyalty, in fellow-feeling and in strength! When the smith takes his hammer and beats hot iron rods into a greater whole, it becomes stronger! So too must we let the hammer grant us strength!

"I know there are many of you who would see me as Empress. And if it is Sigmar's will, it will be so. If he speaks through the electors of his long-divided tribes, then I will gladly take up the burden of leadership, to speak with faith and grace in His name. But my friends, my children, my brothers and sisters, I cannot – will not – act with such distemper, such arrogance, such boundless hubris as to declare myself empress without the vote of His chosen Electors. I tell you, if we are faithful and devout then His will will make itself known in the world, and if he desires my service as his champion in this world nothing would make me more delighted. But I have not heard his voice yet, and so I will not stir up War by such Hubris and Decadence to put myself against His will.

"But I understand your strength, your passions, your desire to serve him. Trust me, my people, I know well that desire. I feel it every day. And we will do so! For until He chooses a new champion to sit upon his throne, I tell you this; I will be a defender to the people of Sigmar. There is no Grand Theogenist to protect those whose childish hearts cry out for our father, and so I will take up the duty to serve and protect the tribes who he gave his fire to." She raised her arm. "I will defend our faith, and see it furthered, for Sigmar is our Lord and God; our protector in the darkness of this terrible forest; our fire raised up to light our path! And I will serve him! Gods, I vow this, I will serve him!

"And as the iron the blacksmith works on, we must rid ourselves of weakness and flaw." Her voice fell. "In the face of such horrors, we must not turn brother against sister; faithful against faithful. We have, each of us, seen the great flaws of the southern Cult of Sigmar. We have seen how they turn their blind eyes look not to the North, and we were grossly betrayed by the foolishness of the knights of Sigmar's Blood! Those men were consumed by Hubris, thought that we of Ostland were cowards, and like the fools they were charged in. They were seeking glory in the Forest of Shadows and found only death and, worse, undeath.

"But we will not turn our backs against our brothers and sisters in Sigmar. The faith of the Hammer must be held aloft. And we are, all of us, brothers and sisters in Sigmar. We do not bow to the declaration of the Pfeildorf Pact that an Emperor has come, but for many years Ostland has stood alone. They have vowed to preserve the right of those of us who are austere and wise in our humility to worship as we see fit, without persecution. And for that, we will raise our voices in thankful grace to the gods. Sigmar has shown them the light of unity, at least in that aspect, and so we will thank him that the humble souls of the south will be saved from ill-will. That is, truly, something we should be thankful for.

"I tell you, therefore, our choirs shall sing thanks for this; our mendicants will commend their names to the heavens; our priests shall mention such grace in their prayers. And so, too, shall those of us of the Hammer spread the good word of Sigmar through the lands. I tell you now, some of the most skilled brothers and sisters of our seminaries even now are headed to Stirland to raise the light of truth in that mist-choked land. It is our devout hope that His fire will lead others back onto the path, and the Hammer be raised aloft to smite the beastman, the orc and the Dead. Meanwhile, our missionaries head to Norsca, to the Wasteland, to the lands of the Pact and the League, offering salvation to any who will listen.

"And united in Sigmar's grace, we will stand. Aid the sisters of the Pure Dove, my friends, for they give of themselves to save the flesh of all men! Fear and thank the sea, for two-faced Manann can be cruel and kind and those who put themselves against his wrath will be devoured, but those who honour and respect him will know his grace. Give thanks to the gods of the harvest and of the wilds; be wary of the Winter Lord who howls outside but do not dishonour him! The Ostland Third calls for your sons and daughters to be ready to fight the horrors of the corrupted knights of Sigmar's Blood, so that we might free them from their hubris-wrought damnation. Live with humility and simplicity, turned away from the lure of Decadence himself.

"I tell you this, though, my people." Her voice cracked. "My children. I will not let the disunity of our Holy Mother Temple weaken the faith in Holy Sigmar. We are Sigman! We are of his chosen tribes. And we must not forget this, though many do. We reject the ways of the dark gods! We reject their lures. Hold your hammers high, my children; live a life of iron in the mind and do not let indolence and sloth bring rust to your thoughts! Serve in Sigmar's name. Die with Sigmar's name on your lips! But above all, live for Sigmar!

"Rise, Ostland, rise together! Rise under the sign of the hammer!"

---

The grand duchess was swaying and light-headed by the time she was helped back to her seat, supported by the lector. He conveyed her to her husband's arms, a hint of moisture in his eyes.

"She speaks like a woman inspired," the lector said huskily. "By the Hammer, if she had not been called to lead Ostland, who knows how high she would have risen in the Holy Temple. But the light of inspiration burns. Make sure she gets rest."

"I will do that," Charles said. He was not happy. His slight, pale wife should not be giving long speeches, and if it was needed, she should be wearing shoes and be dressed more warmly.

Groggily, she stirred and opened her eyes. Astrid smiled up at him.

"Je suis inquiet pour toi," Charles said, shaking his head as he wrapped her in a fur coat. "Il n'est pas bon d'être pieds nus par ce temps."

Astrid shrugged, lost under the furs. "Je vais bien, merci," she said, her Bretonnian still clearly accented. Her chin was mulish. She had done this since ascending to the throne, and would not let little things stop her.

"Tu es enceinte, mon amour," he said, resting his hand on her midsection. "Vous devez prendre plus soin de vous. Et tu dois dormir plus." The sound of her writing during the watch hour woke him up at night. She wrote day and night. And then there was her cavalier approach to the icy weather.

She shook her head, and kissed him on the cheek. "Le froid ne m'a jamais dérangé de toute façon," she said fondly.

 

[Sleater]

Nachtdorf, Blutriver, Ostermark

• My respected Herr Oroksson -Baron Von Blutstrom said while accompanying the dwarf merchant to through the doors of Nachtdorf- your ideas on infrastructure are very interesting, and I'll have them into account... once the budget allows it!

The guards around them weren't paying attention to their superior essentially talking about rocks. Not the humans and neither the dwarfs who ported Oroksson merchandises.

• Herr Baron -the dwarf answered- you really should consider it more an inversion than a luxury- Acceptable walls save a lot of money in the long term.
• I understand -the human stated- but for now the security of my roads and river is everything that matters. No ammount of effort is ever enough to have peaceful conversations as these with cultivated people like you and your kind, don't you agree, my good sir?

The merchant, more familiar with pleasantries than most dwarves, smiled as they were reaching the town square: if any, the free escort was something. And of course, the Baron had a much more varied conversation than the average human... or their average porter. Now that he came to think about it, the Baron had mostly asked him questions and allowed him to give his opinions. Even the worst opinions. Of course Oroksson had been... polite. To the extent that an interested dwarf could be in front of a human noble. But overall, the journey had been safe and ad felt sorter thanks to him.

• Anyhow, please allow me to express my grattitude for honouring me with this personal escort. You learned well your father's lessons. -The dwarf said, halting in the square- How is it that we no longer have the pleasure of his company?
  
• Im afraid -the Baron said- that my father fell to his old age a few years ago.
  
• Oh!... Oh!... I'm very... sorry to hear that.
  
• Thank you, Herr Oroksson. My father was a wise man. His only regret was …

Blutstrom halted. All those days of travel, and now he had screwed it up! Ancestors never do anything wrong! To a dwarf that's like declaring onself atheist!:

• … to not... have been seen... the last greenskin... skinned alive!.

It was not desperation. It was not ill-election of words. It was just saving the family's jewels. But as said, Oroksson was a merchant, and thus, a reasonable dwarf. As reasonable as a dwarf could get.

• Ha! Me Myself will not see that happening! But the good part is we'll never get out of opportunities to try!. I suggest we discuss that interesting project of your father in the tavern, after I've made my men confortable.
• It'll be my pleasure. -Blutstrom answered- please, tell the innkeeper you're the dwarf they have been specting. If you have any problem, I'll be at your complete disposal.

Both men parted ways. The Baron dismissed most of his men but two, and reached back for the city gate. There he was saluted by the militia and headed towards the lower level of the guard house. The makeshift cell there was small, humid, and guarded by a guy so ugly and ill-clothed that his humanity could be disputed in front o a tribunal. At sight of the Baron, he raised from the dirt pile he was sitting in and opened the door, revealing two prisoners, beaten and tied up. The Baron stepped into some fresh blood when he entered the place.

• "Squig" Valois and Hans Ruger "Rothand"... Am I right?. Well. I've been told that your boss has decided to hang from a tree rather than cooperate. And you don't look better headed. So I've decided to give you an opportunity to talk.

Blutstrom unseathed his decorated handgun, idly:

• In a civilized way.

The guard closed the door behind them.

 

[Carol]

Memories​

---

In the air above Esk, a sense of peace existed. Not touched by foreign schemes or raging hordes those left behind by greater events cherished their irrelevance. A season of celebration took hold. Mead ran free the streets as pompous nobility shred thin wealth for momentary acclaim. It was a sweet vice that did not enter Adalwolfa's lips. The Committee had forbidden it, her wife had forbidden it, and the pubs had forbidden it. They did not forget her first drunken merrymaking. Not allowed to be repeated when her departure to lands far neared so close.

Instead she stood rigid as a statue with Lulu by her side and Bem below. Her free hand grasped by the love of her life. Shackles harder than any steel. In front, the painter looked on amused at her imprisonment. A rare event for Beate von Drachenherz.

"You're doing good, mom," she said as a dab of paint colored another spot on the canvass. "Keep this up and we'll be done in a few days!"

Rigid. As. A. Statue.

Spoiler: Art

Big thanks to @DanBaque for making this happen and @Renu for drawing it​

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Havocfett with my approval)

Blood in the Snow​

The first actions in the Middenland War would be taken at Carroburg, before the campaign season even began. Militias would be raised en masse, nobles levied for war. Whatever fervor the Pact had over recent transgressions, over the Union's perceived betrayal, the Drakwald made up for it with simple, unyielding hatred for their former overlords. Henryk von Bildhofen had been promised that he could keep anything he took during this war, and he intended to take full advantage.

But this close to Carroburg, Middenland was far from defenseless. Scouts in the forests, garrisons in the towns, and, more importantly, monsters. Ulrics kin and Taal's favored. Great stags and terrible werewolves, stalking between the trees, tearing at militias where they could, turning the land against their foe.

But this was the Drakwald as much as it was Middenland. The peasants land as much as the monsters, and they gave as good as they got. Corpses littered the Mirror Moors and the Drakwald's forests, and as Henryk found himself falling behind schedule he called his advance early, setting garrisons as he returned to Carroburg for the War. By the time he returned home, the moors south of the River Kristall were Carroburg's to hold.

The Ash Princess Rides​

The Cult of Taal had been offered a singular honor. To mediate bribes for The Dragon's service. This new role found use immediately, as Middenland and the Cult of Ulric put forth truly immense sums of money to generate the hammer-blow they needed.

As the first of winter's snows began to melt, The Ash Princess descended from her peak.

Heat radiated from her in waves, and for miles about villages swore that spring was coming early. Aqshy waxed with her coming, and for days caravans would deliver wealth to the Cult of Taal who, in turn, would ferry it up the mountain.

Crocodilian didn't even know she was coming.

A lance of raw Aqshy accompanied the dawn, setting the flagship ablaze as the fleet prepared to sail for Altdorf. Prepared to muster for the war ahead. Sailors scrambled and crews manned their guns, but too late. The Dragon was upon them.

Firey breath swept across the fleet. Powder-stores detonated, ships burned, and sailors jumped from their ships and swam for shore. Within minutes, the deed was done. What few ships had survived fled south, the Union's warships chasing them all the way to Altdorf, stalking the survivors like wolves among sheep. Only at Altdorf itself did they break off the pursuit, retreating back north with their plunder and their share of glory, the city's massive cannons having warned them off.

For all intents and purposes, Crocodilian was destroyed.

Hammerblow​

But it wasn't enough. The armies would gather at Altdorf, march from Altdorf, and the Marienburg fleet would sweep the river, besides. Already, ships with thrice-slashed sails ventured up the Talabec, slaughtering Union shipping and tearing apart patrol crews; pirates, northern reavers, a hundred different kinds of scum whose sins Marienbug promised to annul in exchange for service. No, the Union's commanders knew, their plan relied upon keeping the Pact from forming its forces, ensuring that the great guns of Nuln could not be brought to bear.

So as Marienburg rallied her fleets, slowed, always slowed, by lobbying and complaint, Talabecland's ships stole down the rivers, weighted down with troops. They relied on tributaries and cover of night to get upon the Stir and sneak past Kemperbad. Then, between Altdorf and Nuln, they waited.

And when they saw the false-Emperor's banners on the march, saw his dragon in the skies, they struck.

Marine-Knights and wolf-priests, supplemented by Kislevite mercenaries and Middenlander troops, disembarked from the ships of the Talabec. Eagles swooped from a sunny sky, which grew more dark and more grey as Duchess Brigitte stepped from her ship. Her speech was short, her orders blunt, and with a cry on her lips, the first snowflake on her brow, she charged.

Wissenland had seen them coming. Sigismund had spotted them and warned his human friend, and Emperor-elect Friedrich had called a halt to the march and ordered the lines dressed. The formation was in flux, cannons ready, pikes set, but most of the troops still scrambling to get into position. From across the battlefield, he spotted Brigitte and his assailants, and as he ordered the cannons to aim, the skies broke and a freak storm blinded all.

Would that it hadn't, gunnery and a clear look at the odds may have ended the fight before it began. But steel would have to carry the day.

Fortunately, Wissenland had plenty of it. An army of veteran dwarves, furious at the broken peace treaty, eager to help the Emperor who'd killed Gormar, who'd freed Solland, who'd given vital space to so many dwarf holds, accompanied him. Count Francis-Ludwig of Averland, along the Averland Second, accompanied him. Knights from the Fiery Heart, Blazing Sun, and both nations accompanied him. And, of course, he had brought two of his own armies, and though Nuln was famous for their cannon, their pikes and heavy armor were not to be underestimated.

Neither, to be frank, were the Ogres.

Ursine cavalry broke through the snow, a single, miraculously-placed volley of cannon fire shattered its momentum, but they fell upon still-forming infantry and bowled them over. Union infantry charged into the fray, hoping to force a route before numbers might tell. Eagles dived from the sky, some distracting the Emperor and his dragon, taking advantage of their relative inexperience with aerial combat to keep them away from the fight, others leapt upon the cannons, throwing them in all directions and shredding crews. Brigitte lead her River-Knights into the fray, cutting her way towards the Emperor's banner.

But the Dawi held. Shields locked. Spears out. Handgunners firing over their first ranks, into men a stone's throw away. Kislevite infantry screamed of the death of dwarves, and the Dawi bellowed grudges in return.

And slowly, surely, the rest of the army reformed around them. Heavy cavalry swept into the fray, smashing Union soldiers and driving away Kislevite cavalry. The Chacal, a masked Tilean duelist, decapitated one eagle and warded more away from the guns. Priests of Sigmar and Myrmidia rallied troops around them, the storm clearing in unnatural alleys, Ogres crushed the backs of cavalry, pikemen and halberdiers threw back charge after charge, while gun lines opened fire at point-blank range.

The storm was fading, the battle lost, and Brigitte saw it early enough to call a retreat. But in defeat, the bold approach of her army worked against her. Now she had to board her ships under enemy fire and escape the field, against an army ill-inclined to allow such a thing.

Her Wellenritter and the Kislevites formed a rear-guard, holding the line as the rest of the strike force retreated to their boats. The Middenland troops boarded first, the eagles lifted off and soared for home, but as Brigitte headed for the boats a unit of Demigryphs slammed into her Greatswords, and The Chacal stepped down from his mount. He was a generous man, gallant in his way, ever-ready with a rakish smile and a sincere compliment even as he drew his steel... but he owed these northern men a great deal, for it was their gold that had returned his beloved to him, and his aid they had sought in return. By his honour, he could not simply allow Brigette to withdraw unharried.

The two dueled and were well matched, but The Chacal was the greatest duellist in Tilea, and Brigitte had not truly fought for half a decade. Skill won out, Stone Breaker flew through the air, and a Tilean rapier was leveled at Brigitte's throat alongside an offer to surrender.

And as she surrendered, those who hadn't made it onto the boats surrendered with her. The Kislevites threw down their arms first, then the Wellenritter, and a hundred infantry whose boat had been smashed asunder by Wissenlander guns. The others escaped, carried to safety on agile river-going ships, but the severe damage inflicted to their foe's artillery was a poor salve indeed for the loss of an Elector.

The Butcher's Tally

Carroburg:
2 Militias: Reduced
1 Militia: Bloodied
Knights: Light casualties, mostly injuries.
1st Drakwald: Light Casualties

Reikland:
1st Fleet: Crocodilian: Destroyed

Wissenland:
2nd Wissenland: Reduced
3rd Wissenland: Bloodied, heavy casualties in Artillery train
Dawi Mercenaries: Light Casualties
Priests: Negligible Casualties

Averland:
2nd Averland: Reduced, heavy casualties in Artillery train.
Averland Knights: Negiligible Casualties

Knights of the Fiery Heart:
Light casualties

Knights of the Blazing Sun:
Light casualties

Talabecland:
Grand Duchess Brigitte II: Captured
Wellenritters: One chapter Reduced, One Chapter Decimated. Many captured.
Kislev Cavalry-Mercs: Reduced, Surrendered in-total
Kislev Infantry-Mercs: Bloodied, Surrendered in-total
Talabecland Fleets: Intact

Middenland:
Middenland 3rd: Reduced
Middenland 4th: Bloodied
Great Eagles: Reduced
War-Priests of Ulric: Light casualties

 

[Maugan Ra]

Though the war between the Pfeildorf Pact and the Union of Seasons would see steel drawn and bloodshed across half a dozen states, it was at Kemperbad that the first shots were fired, and few expected the city to be spared further fighting. Even if the armies of the twin alliances clashed elsewhere, the area was still infested with beastmen warbands, rapacious monsters that demanded culling before their destructive impulses claimed any more lives.

For their part, the Union of Seasons were content to leave this mess for their enemies to clean up. If Kemperbad asked for aid, of course, if they surrendered and begged for assistance on bended knee, then of course their armies could march forth and provide relief… until then, however, they would do nothing, focusing all their efforts on enforcing a cordon around the infested area and seizing control of key locations along the borderlands.

Meanwhile, the Pfeildorf Pact was on the move. The Reikland Third, those bloody-fanged Lions, were withdrawn from the city in good order to be replaced with fresh troops from Averland, while the mercenary hosts of Kemperbad were reinforced and organised for a prolonged campaign. They were joined by sable-clad knights from the Order of the Black Rose, and complemented by a sizable force of Taalite priests and hunter-knights, the fearsome Longshanks famed in story and song the length and breadth of the Empire. Only then, when all was in order and the full sum of the forces arranged, was the order given and the campaign of reclamation begun.

What followed was a long, bloody and almost entirely inglorious war, for the beastmen are loathe to stand and fight and there is little fame to be one in the merciless butcher's work of land clearance and target hunting. The Taalites provided scouting, the Black Rose a mobile hammer-blow, and the state troops a reliable core to base it all around. Inch by inch, mile by mile, they scoured the countryside clean, paying in blood for every tiny victory.

Of the three great Bray Shamans responsible for leading the horde out of the hills and into the vulnerable lowlands, two were brought down over the course of the campaign, falling amid storms of green-black lightning and swarms of shadowed monsters. The third slipped away, sighted half a dozen times but never soon enough to be properly engaged, and eventually vanishing from the reports entirely.

Perhaps, had there been greater cooperation between mankind's forces, this incomplete victory could have been brought to a clear and satisfactory conclusion. Alas, even the scourge of the beastfolk will not cause man to put aside his grudges, and as the campaign brushed up against the limits of Kemperbad's territory the forces of Averland and Talabecland frequently found themselves exchanging blows. More than that, the local bandits and pirates seemed to have thrown in with the Talabeclanders, offered amnesty for their crimes in exchange for their service as an irregular force against those who might threaten their homeland.

Faced with the prospect of pressing the attack against fresh state armies backed up by such informal guerrillas, the commander of the Averland Third made the decision to focus on less disastrous goals. Freiherr Burkhard von Focht-Bergenwald had earned his commission for his willingness to listen when others spoke, and what he heard now was more than enough to convince him of the need for discretion and the preservation of what he held.

Having reviewed the reports and found them satisfactory, with the beastmen culled and the majority of the casualties taken by those untrustworthy mercenaries, he gave the order to fall back and regroup. Garrisons were deployed in Kemperbad and the surrounding townships, and save for a handful of roving patrols kept up for the sake of proper diligence, all involved were content to declare victory over the perfidious foe.

Word of the successful campaign spread far and wide, carried by all manner of mouths to any who would listen. Kemperbad's council was eager to encourage the return of trade to their war-torn region, of course, while soldiers and mercenaries bragged of their exploits or made concise reports to paymasters and superiors alike. And then there was the Cult of Manann.

In eras to come, historians and politicians would come to view the aftermath of the Kemperbad campaign as one of the first major attempts by an organised body to control the state of public opinion on an international scale. The Cult, making full use of its established credibility and expansive network of news-sheets and dockside criers, did not merely report the factual result of the campaign, but used it as an opening to attack the Union of Seasons on every front imaginable.

The Union had made use of Beastmen proxies. The Union had encouraged the spread of piracy and tolerated the worship of Stromfels. The Union had inspired bloody revolts in neighbouring lands, then callously left their pawns to die. The Union was, according to the Cult, incompetent and treacherous and blasphemous and mad, and they were willing to announce as much to crowds in every town and village across the Empire. Though the White Wolves and their allies protested, claiming that the beastfolk had merely fled like cowards from the righteous armies of the Union in their own campaign of cleansing the previous year, their words were drowned out by the priests of the Storm God, who many trusted as both neutral observers and pious servants of the divine.

Not everyone believed the reports, of course, especially not within the nations being so boldly criticised. The citizens of Talabecland and Middenland largely perceived the effort as an act of blackest treachery by those who they had trusted, and by the years end several dozen priests had been murdered in retaliation for their lies, their corpses hung as a warning and their temples burned to the foundation, but elsewhere the preachers found their message eagerly received. Everyone likes to think themselves better than their neighbour, after all, especially with a priest's testimony to back it up.

Elsewhere, the fires of war burned ever higher...

The Butcher's Tally

Pfeildorf Pact
Averland 3rd Army: Reduced
Kemperbad Mercenaries: Bloodied
Knights of the Black Rose: Moderate Casualties
Taalite Longshanks: Light casualties

Union of Seasons
1st and 2nd Talabecland State Armies: Minimal casualties
Assorted 'irregular units': Minimal casualties

 

[Maugan Ra]

Natternland
(Written by @EarthScorpion with my approval)

Article:

My dear Annalise,

Oh, poor Maximilian! My heart grieves for how he has been affected by the death of his father. I had thought he would be up and raring to go, bloody fiery to shed the life of those cowards who shed the blood of old man Horst, but that is not the case. I do believe that he saw how the Countess worked his father to the bone, calling on his loyalty for crisis after crisis, and above all he is determined to avoid such demands on him for fear that he too will be left to spill out his blood in some measly port-town on the river.

Still, he has been keeping himself busy. He has made good use of the slightly sour soil down by the river which has previously lain fallow, planting both hemp and pipeweed strains, and has signed contracts with the Marienburgers who stop over at Wolfsbach. Indeed, at his dining table he has been serving these delectable treats made from pipeweed which he has found as an ancient meal of Asoborn kings, and I can tell you; these baked treats make one feel quite mellow indeed, as well as raising a fearsome appetite. Indeed, the old chap has been digging through his family archives and pulled out all kinds of strange traditions from olden days. Why, yesterday I caught him trying to train some of his men-at-arms to do some of the famed cavalry tricks he read about, but their horses were none too happy about it. Perhaps the new studs he has imported from the south, from Estalia and beyond will be better suited for it, because he has taken such an interest in breeding better warhorses that one might even think him a trifle Bretonnian!

But I fear that perhaps he has taken queer in the decisions he makes. Do you know, he has freed all the serfs on Wolfbach lands? What possessed him to do that? I think he mourns the death of his father too heavily, and it has left him grief-struck and running afeared of the Levellers and other such peasant trouble-makers. I do not think his finances will much like the cost of paying his former serfs, and doubly so now that others have come to his land seeking work; runaways and freemen alike. It makes me doubt his judgement - and no small number of his neighbours are grumbling at him for giving their peasants ideas.

Mind you, Wolfsbach is right next to Averland, and there has always been a little Averish blood in the archdukes. His father was plenty staid, but the boy is more wild. Maybe he will calm down when he has a few years under his belt - and no doubt his new freemen will prove themselves quite incapable of looking after their affairs. It would not surprise me if most of them had accepted the yoke again after a decade or so.

But I digress. As I mentioned before, Annalise, there is nothing to be done here. Maximillian has no interest in helping the Countess, and I doubt his interests can be pressured to aid her in the current Great Question.

I will stay for a few more weeks and see what can be done, but I doubt he can be pressed on to send his household guard to aid her in suppressing the problems in the Slice.

All my love,

Samuel

---

Article:

"In light of the situation in the Slice, particularly in the Nattern Forest, Countess Eliana of Stirland found herself in a troublesome situation. While in theory the death of Archduke von Wolfsbach had strengthened her position and removed her major rival, the reality was not what she might have wished for. The west of her country was bubbling with revolt, she had growing problems in the east, the recurring Problem of Sylvania, and her nobles demanded consequence for the death of her steward even if she might have been not-displeased that he was no longer around. Archduke von Wolfsbach, although unpopular among the peasantry, had enjoyed widespread support from the Stirlish nobility including prominent Diet members, and his faction - now headed by the new archduke - was notably obstructionist to her efforts.

"To that end, she ordered the Stirland First, aided by mercenary free companies, to suppress the Black Cats and all other radical factions in the Slice. Her orders were explicit - she could not be seen to tolerate the death of an archduke, and so it would be necessary to use an iron hammer to flatten dissent in the most troublesome of provinces."

Christoff Sauer, "The Crisis of the Early Twenty Third Century"

---

Article:

"You have your orders, Justinian. The Many-Headed Hydra of Insurrection and Chaos cannot be permitted to rampage within Stirland. Take up the burning sword of truth, and take out each head, one by one."

Note from Countess Eliana of Stirland

---

Article:

"This miserable slice of land is Ulric's own arsehole, pardon my Reikspiel. I tell you, there's a peasant with an arquebus behind every tree in the Nattern Forest, and there's a mad preacher up in the branches shouting his nonsense to all and sundry. Someone is shipping in guns and powder and pikes and even cannon, too - we've stopped some of the shipments, but I know we're missing them. Those mercenaries from the Taalites have proved… amenable to some negotiations and we've reinforced our hold on some of the coastal villages, but there's little profit to be had here. I heard that the Stirlish are decorating each tree with rebel fruit, and I can't help but applaud."

Claud Stock, Kemberbad merchant

---

Article:

My prince,

Reports from the Slice, as per your orders. The province is swimming with money. The rebels and partisanen have found outside backers. The Ranaldian criminal organisation is stirring them into a frenzy, providing them with weapons, assistance, and intelligence reports.

However, we also found clear support from Talabheim. We believe elements of the Cult of Taal have been funneling resources from across the South to the Slice, all in the pretense that they are 'arming the peasants against beastmen'. However, this is not a question of a few bundles of pikes or the like finding their way across the river from Kemperbad. We estimate that the resources which have 'fallen into the hands' of the Stirlish rebels could generously equip an army - our spies in Nuln report suspicious purchases of cannon which we cannot trace, so should your highness wish to intervene in the Slice again, we fear the resistance will be more comparable to an army than rag-tag revolting peasants.

We will monitor and see whether they pose any further threat to your interests.

For Reikland!

Hans Ulmer, Kaiserjaeger spy

---

Article:

"At Jenbach the free companies under Captain Itter rode out to engage a sizable formation of peasants and partisanen numbering around 3000 known as the Ladis Haufen from nearby Ladis. The peasants were well-armed, with cannons with powder and shot as well as a goodly number of arequebuses. The partisanen had taken an advantageous position by the nearby river, and sent in the priests of Taal and Sigmar among their number to negotiate the surrender of Jenbach. The free companies had among their number veterans of the campaigns in Solland, and called for reinforcements from the Stirland First. Four companies of the Stirlish marched up to join Itter's men.

"Bolstered by these forces, Itter sent his free lancers around, fording the river upstream to approach the partisanen cannon from behind the cover of the sparse wood. At around noon, the skirmishers from the free company began to engage scattered fire with partisanen light infantry. The well-paid skirmishers - many of whom carried well-made Nulnish guns - inflicted casualties on the partisanen, who pulled back.

"It was at this point that the Stirlish sent riders out to negotiate with the peasants. They came to an agreement that they would retreat, and did so - leaving the free companies outnumbered and lacking their flank guard. Upon this retreat a number of light field guns that the partisanen had managed to maneuver to the wooded slopes began to bombard the free companies from an unexpected angle. With their allies deserting them, the free companies wavered and several formations pulled back. Seeing this, the peasants pushed forwards, and though relatively few casualties were inflicted by their long-ranged arequebus fire, the free companies retreated.

"Ironically, the reiters had been distracted by the village of Schmirn, and had been occupied by plundering it. Had they been in position, they could have been able to destroy the guns of the peasantry, removing the major threat posed by the Ladis Haufen and potentially winning the day for Countess Eliana's forces. However, by the time they were done, the field belonged to the partisanen and so they withdrew having never once engaged the Ladis Haufen. This was far from the only such fortune which had blessed the partisanen, and for good reason they said that Ranald and Taal smiled on them."

Hansel Tiecher, "Battles of Natternland"

---

Article:

"Throughout late winter, the market town of Vorau had been effectively under the control of the former magistrate and partisanen leader Otto Stoss. Stoss had been one of the leaders of the insurgency against the Kemperbad occupation, and had taken his amnesty from von Wolfsbach and a role as magistrate, before being stripped of that role for his over-eager prosecution of 'collaborators'. Despite that, he still called himself a magistrate, and was known to have extensive ties to the partisanen-sympathising magistrates.

"Such a thing could not be tolerated in a time of Leveller violence especially in the aftermath of the short-lived Common Republic of Ettingeborstelde. The local landholder, Rupert von Vorau, sent a message to the Stirland First to put down this gathering and arrest Stoss. However, the first company ordered in refused to leave their barracks. This insubordination was born of the heavy partisanen influence in the oversize Stirland First - and while the First might have listened to Horst von Wolfsbach, they held no respect for his replacement.

"As a result, reiters under the command of Captain von Gerlos were ordered to disperse the meeting. They charged in with lances, before drawing their sabres, and killed upwards of twenty people, trampling women and children under foot, before coming under heavy fire from fortified houses in the town. The reiters retreated, calling for reinforcements to subjugate the rebels and the guns to be brought up to flatten the heavy-walled earthen huts.

"Unfortunately for von Gerlos, he had lit a fuse and only then realised that he was riding a barrel of blackpowder. The news of the massacre reached the barracks of elements of the First, and while the senior leadership was still planning the attack, the radical elements of the soldiery decided where their loyalties lay. And that - as it so happened - was not with Stirland.

"At approximately half-past four in the afternoon of the 32nd of Jahrdrung, elements of the infantry of the Stirland First stormed where their commanders were meeting, and placed them all under arrest for crimes including murder, withholding pay, violation of the rights and privileges of the common man, and many other offences. These officers were marched at pikepoint to Vorau, where they were tried before a committee made of twelve citizens - one for each of Sigmar's tribes - plus a priest of Taal, Sigmar and Ulric. All were found guilty, and were hung in Vorau's town square.

"The loyalist elements of the First had no idea what was happening, but the networks of partisanen which now riddled it moved swiftly. It is believed from modern reports that well over three quarters of the First mutinied in the next week, with those who remained loyal to the Countess disproportionately drawn from among the reiters and one company which had recruited from her lands.

"The rebellion among the Stirland First grew rapidly, as it had recruited extensively from the inhabitants of the Nattern Forest and the partisanen during the previous summer - and more than that, the common soldiery (often short on rations, frequently with their pay in arrears) had been exposed to the radical ideologies of their new comrades. Countess Eliana had either not been aware of this, or simply had not understood that the Stirland First could not be relied on."

Herman von Gloggnitz, "Reformation and Reostianism: The Radical Religious Roots of the Crisis"

---

Article:

When their holy inspiration through the peasants' blood does run,
There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun;
Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one,
But Sigmar makes us strong.

Chorus:
Holy Natternland forever,
Holy Natternland forever,
Holy Natternland forever,
For the gods won't lead us wrong.

Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite,
Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might?
Is there anything left to us but to organize and fight?
For Ranald makes us strong.

[Chorus]

It is we who plowed the meadows; built the cities where they trade;
Dug the mines and built the workshops, 'till our beaten spirits fade;
Now we stand outcast and starving midst the wonders we have made;
But Lord Taal makes us strong.

[Chorus]

In our hands is placed a power greater than their hoarded gold,
Greater than the might of armies, multiplied a thousand-fold.
We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old
For the gods won't lead us wrong.

Revolutionary song of the Natternland Folk Guard

---

Article:

"As the revolution grew, at Vorau gathered a great diet of the peasantry of the land, a goodly number of priests of Taal, Rhya, Sigmar and Ranald, and representatives of the mutinous Stirland First. The Black Cats were there in force, as was Erika Soll (also known as Red Erika) and the famed scholar and theologian Arnold Tirol, banished from Nuln by its Traditionalist arch lector. This eclectic mix of religious radicals, mutinous soldiers and the partisanen of the Slice nevertheless achieved something without precedent in the history of the Sigman peoples. During the Diet of Vorau was written the Sixteen Articles which is historically recognised as one of the first attempts at human rights legislation in human history. At the same time was written the Federal Code of Holy Natternland, this new fledgling state rising out of the smoke of war. Elected as its First Speaker was Otto Stoss, the new leader of this young nation.

"Unlike the previous peasant revolts of the Crisis this time was different. The revolt several years earlier in Reikland had been trivially crushed by Prince Konstantin, but Natternland had its Folk Guard, built around the solid and professional core of the Stirland First. The partisanen were hardened fighters. The religious support from Sigmarite Fundamentalists, Ranaldians and Taalites served as a moral core and the backbone of the proto-state. But the truest difference was in the financial situation of Natternland. Put simply, it was not lacking for coin, blackpowder, guns and artillery, and steel.

"And at the time, many wondered if the gods did truly smile upon it. Stirland was in no position to respond immediately, and the south was turned against the Union of Seasons.. Perhaps this new state, Holy Natternland, would stand where other rebellions had fallen.

"And so the new Natternlish prayed to the gods, and polished their arquebuses, expecting the iniquitous and unjust eyes of the old aristocracy to fall upon them.

Herman von Gloggnitz, "Reformation and Reostianism: The Radical Religious Roots of the Crisis"

---

Article:

A Summary of the Sixteen Articles of Natternland

1. No priest or preacher shall be imposed upon a municipality without the due consent of the peasantry of that municipality. Should a municipality find that a preacher is dishonest, or preaches the subjugation of man, or distorts the words of the gods for his own gain, or any other reason, a vote by the people of that municipality shall remove him.
2. The tithe shall be used to pay the wages of recognised preachers of a municipality. The tithe shall only leave the lands of the municipality with the consent of its people, though the gods frown on any so uncharitable as to allow the faithful to go without priests.
3. The merchants of Kemperbad and the lords of Stirland alike have held us as serfs. This is against the will of Sigmar and our nature as free men, for in his time the abominable institution of serfdom which enriches the rich and leaves the drawers of water and cutters of wood penured did not exist. Henceforth and from thereon in, all within Natternland are free.
4. It is unfraternal and against the will of the gods that the lords prevent the common man from his gods-given right to catch game, fowls and fish. All citizens of Natternland have the right to take wild game, fowl and fish as he sees fit.
5. The lords of Kemperbad and Stirland take possession of the woods, and cruelly deny a freezing man the right to take firewood lest he pay them for it. Therefore all the woods which were appropriated unjustly are to be returned to the municipalities which once held them.
6. The services demanded of the citizens of Natternland are to be held only to the Old Traditions, and anything on top of that must be paid for by coin-hire.
7. The nobility shall not force more services or dues from the peasant without payment. The peasant should help the lord when it is necessary and at proper times.
8. Many properties are not worth the rent demanded. Honest men shall inspect these properties and fix a rent in accordance with justice
9. There are constantly new laws being made. One does not punish according to the offence but at discretion. It is our opinion that we shall be judged according to the case's merits, and not with partiality
10. Several have appropriated meadows and acres that belong to the municipality. Those we want back to our common hands.
11. The Morrfall shall be abolished altogether and never again shall widows and orphans be robbed contrary to honour and the proper will of the gods.
12. The worship of Ranald shall never again be rendered contrary to the law, and all due honour should be given to Ranald the Liberator and his priests.
13. Those who own land are obliged to keep the land free from beast-men, orcs, goblins, and other such Night-Creatures. Those lords who do not keep their lands clear of the horrors of the forests shall lose the rights to such land, which shall be given to their municipality.
14. No man shall be impressed to serve neither any army nor navy save by his consent, or the consent of his municipality.
15. As our freedom from Kemberbad's cruelty and Stirland's malice was bought in blackpowder through the strength of our militias, the right of a municipality to raise and maintain men under arms shall not be obstructed.
16. Any man under arms shall be paid on time, in full according to his due wages. A soldier who is not paid for his service owes no loyalty to his commander, and is free to leave as he wishes.

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Havocfett with my approval)

The Muster​

The armies of the Pact met at Altdorf. Three of Reikland's, heavily armed and out for vengeance. Two of Wissenland's, mauled and proud, and accompanied by a full army of Dawi. Three Marienburg fleets, too late for the earliest bouts, and a full army of marines. One of Averlands and enough of her knights to equal entire Orders. The Fiery Heart, the Blazing Sun, the Knights Dragon, and, dragged from the annals of history, a Steam Tank. Their logistics were a fortress of wagons, their outriders the Hochland 1st Army. The simple undertaking of keeping those with grudges away from each other took more planning than some wars.

There were days of prayer and preparation. Coin flowed quickly from soldiers pockets to the vices and vendors of Altdorf. In a grand ceremony, Emperor-Elect Friedrich declared himself a devotee of both Sigmar and Myrmidia, heralding his conversion with a grand ceremony. Those who had attended the Festival in Nuln were unsurprised, but gleefully shared the news of that ceremony, the cooperation of the two cults in blessing the victory at Solland and its reclaimed Crown, over the next days.

Then they marched. The armies ferrying to the northern shore. The navies heading up the Talabec and down the Reik to secure the rivers. The blood had already been flowing for months, but now it would get worse.

The Talabec Runs Red​

Even before Marienburg's war-fleet set out, violence had come to the Stir. With Talabecland's fleet on the wrong side of their homeland, brutal privateers had set upon Union shipping. Marked by three, ragged gashes in their sails, these pirates were merciless, well armed, and, worse, Marienburgers. Any ship flying the Union Flag was valid prey, and the Middenland fleet was hard pressed to keep up with them. Even a few patrol boats went down, and the pirates were more than happy to vanish behind Altdorf and Kemperbad, where the merchants asked no questions about their cargo and were more than happy to accept their prizes.

But it was a professional fleet against pirates and with the return of the Talabecland Fleets progress was being made. Pirates killed or warded away from the majority of the river traffic, ports turned into safe havens, convoys organized across the river.

Then Marienburg sailed forth in force.

The Reik was secured in days, no Middenland sailor willing to take to river for fear of pirates and merchant cannon. For a time, port-towns lived in fear of pirates and sailors deciding to make their lives hell, but within a week of the muster they all answered to Carroburg, and the raids stopped. But the Talabec would resist, and because of this the Talabec would be by far more bloody.

With Crocodilian dead, the fleets could not pursue their foes into the smaller rivers of the Empire. But outside of those rivers, they were uncontested. Shelling towns, sacking ports, making river travel unlivable for the citizens of the Union and functionally cutting the alliance in half. Sallies, fireships, and night attacks harried them, but would-be-boarders found the marines of Marienburg more than ready, cutlasses sharp and pistols lethal. As such, decisive battle was avoided, both sides bleeding over the long campaign season.

And with decisive battle avoided, Marienburg worked to make life along the Talabec a living hell. Town after town was shelled by Marienburg cannon, marines sacked many, others simply had their docks set ablaze. Even Taalgaad, deep-dock of the capital, was attacked. Its militia slaughtered, its warehouses looted.

As the Marienburgers left the burning dock, two salvos were fired into Talabheim's crater, letting the inhabitants know that Marienburg would be back. The only mercy was an unnaturally early winter, cutting short the raiding season early.

Butcher's Bill:

Talabecland:
1st Fleet: Reduced
2nd Fleet: Light casualties
Every port south of Taalgaad shelled and/or sacked. Taalgaad sacked.

Middenland:
1st Fleet: Light Casualties
All towns along the River Reik taken by Carroburg. Schoppendorf and Ahlenhof shelled and raided along the Talabec.

Marienburg:
1st Fleet: Moderate Casualties
2nd Fleet: Moderate Casualties
3rd Fleet: Reduced
Ubrigsflotte: Reduced

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Havocfett with adjustments and tweaks by myself)

Hell in Middenland​

Mustering any army is a long and involved task; bringing together a grand host of allied troops from four nations and auxiliaries to spare is a titanic undertaking. It took months for the combined forces of the Pact to muster at Altdorf, fighting their way past Talabeclander raids in the south or slipping along hotly contested waterways under the protection of Marienburg's fleets and foreign flags. The Electors made best use of the delay, attending grand religious services and hosting allied nobles in order to steady their vassals for the war to come, until at last all was in order. As spring turned to summer the armies of the Pact crossed the Reik, ferried piecemeal by indentured barges and hired cargo ships over the course of three laborious days. Once on the far side they assembled in a grand column, Averland and the Hochland 1st in front, the rest stretching out behind until a massive wagon train that carried their supplies. Ferries and armoured caravans followed, bringing up massive stores of grain.

Before them the people of Middenland fled, grabbing what they could that the invader could not use it, leaving behind home and hearth in the hopes they would come back later. Delberz, Middenstag, and the great fortresses of the north threw open their gates to accept these refugees, while the Shadow Hunters, Tilean mercenaries, and the Ulrics-Kin of the forests prepared themselves for long months of raiding. Prepared themselves to live off the land as they harrassed the invaders.

Alas, the Pact had prepared.

The Hochland First Army had been hired for the duration of the war, their loyalty bought with southern coin and promises of future considerations, for the Pact's electors knew well the threat of Middenland's forest-hardened sons and the danger they would pose to any prolonged campaign. The Hochlanders had hunting dogs, long-rifles, mobile mortars, and the power of faith behind them, while the Middenland 2nd had centuries of bloody experience against the beastmen of the forests to sharpen their skills. All the way north the two forces skirmished, men and women killing each other beneath the shadowed boughs of the Drakwald, their blood watering the ancient forest as it had for as long as human history could recall.

The Ulricskin had better luck; shapechangers blessed by the God of Battle, they could operate freely in the nighttime wilderness and possessed the strength and speed to rend any lesser warrior clean in two. Their aid had been entreated by the Todbringer scion, and in Ulric's name they answered, slaughtering isolated hunting parties and mounting savage raids against the flank and rear of the great invading column as it ground its way northward. Unfortunately, their ability to inflict crippling losses was thwarted by the existence of the Wagonberg, a great mobile fortress of supply wagons and firing platforms chained together and garrisoned by the Dawi and the guns of the Reiklander Third.

In the following days, the Pact army began to set Middenland ablaze.

Anything that could be used or eaten, and carried was returned to the wagons. Everything else was lit ablaze. For miles, homesteads and farms burned, and soon that spread to the forests. Too damp and too wet to truly burn, but fires swept through the underbrush, scared game, even frightened beastmen retreated deeper into the Drakwald. Attempts were made by local militia forces and mercenary Tileans to defend the land and people, but the Pact forces were simply too many - even tired and stressed by weeks of constant skirmishing and unnaturally foul weather, the invaders still outnumbered the defenders more than two to one in soldiers and knights, and they had artillery besides. Knots of resistance were smashed asunder by the thunder of handguns, the survivors cut down by cavalry as they retreated, and the Pact pressed on.

When the army came to Kusenholz, the inhabitants were given a day to surrender or evacuate. When they did neither, The Steam Tank blew open the gates, the city was sacked, and survivors taken as hostages and local guides.

The army continued north. The raids continued, but the siege-train was well protected, the wagon-train near impenetrable. What slowed them was the damage dealt in the first raid, and that the Middenheim road was not close enough to the river for resupply by boat. Grain had to move overland, protected by detachments of Knights and infantry. Attacks were made against the shipments, and many Knights and Tilean mercenaries died valiantly to burn shipments.

But it was not enough. Kuplengruhe surrendered without a fight, and was treated far more kindly for it. Brockel suffered the fate of Kusenholz. And then, the Pact was in Middenland's heartland. Among its fields and vineyards, its industries and cleared frontiers. Land that had been given to veterans of the Carroburg war, land that fed territory far further north. Many of the people had been evacuated. Some of the food had been taken. But so much was still there, too many were still there, and Middenland could not afford for it to lose it.

But the soldiers simply weren't there to stop the Pact. The Knights of the White Wolf, seemingly tireless and possessed of an unerring instinct for vulnerable targets, mounted a series of assaults on those first pillagers. The battles were short and brutal, the heavy warhammers of the Wolves ideally suited for cracking open southern armour and the shining edge of Legbiter in the hands of their commander an unstoppable force, but they could merely bleed the enemy, not stop them entirely.

Guthugel burned. Then the farms started to burn. Those given to veterans were razed to the ground, hostages taken where they were found, the promised lives of hundreds, of thousands of soldiers reduced to ash, and the promise of the fate to any soldier's farm the Pact reached in the future.

Still, Middenland deferred battle - with half of her armies away in the south, and their ally's troops stuck enforcing the cordon around Kemperbad, they simply lacked the numbers to do more than grit their teeth and endure. Those displaced forces were rushing home even now, slipping past Marienburg river patrols wherever they could and hurrying to regroup at Delberz, but the promise of future strength was cold comfort to Leopold Todbringer as he listened to report after report of slaughter and rapine inflicted upon his proud nation.

The raids continued. Freak storms blocked the sight of guns, only to miraculously clear around the faithful servants of Myrmidia, opening firing lanes at onrushing foes. A Giant smashed into the Wagonberg one day, inflicting a terrible toll before the Steam Tank and Reikish steel felled it. Wolves, men, knights, all harried the column, and were hunted in turn. A suicidal strike by Ulrican priests and desperate knights spiked the Wissenland 3rd's artillery train. As Autumn approached, Mittelweg was besieged, lasted two days, and then the Wissenland siege train arrived and its wall fell and the city was sacked.

The next day, a freak snowstorm announced the arrival of an unnaturally early winter. The sky glowed red from fires set, and the Emperor-Elect weighed his options.

After consulting with the other electors, with their baggage trains and commanders, Friedrich decided that they would hold at Mittelweg. Winter had come early, and a further march was too risky to undertake.

Butcher's Bill:

Middenland:
Giants of Albion: Bloodied (One killed, three remain)
Ulricskin: Bloodied
Stags of Taal: Reduced
Giant Eagles: Reduced
Middenland 1st: Reduced
Middenland 2nd: Reduced
Tilean Mercenaries: Reduced
2 Chapter White Wolves: Reduced
1 Chapter White Wolves: Bloodied
Inner Circle White Wolves: Fine.
The Middenland Road south of Delberz is either Conquered or Destroyed.

Averland:
One Chapter of Knights: Reduced
Three Chapters of Knights: Negligible casualties.

Wissenland:
Knights of the Fiery Heart: Reduced
3rd Army: Artillery destroyed, light army casualties.
Dawi: Reduced

Reikland:
1st Army: Negligible Casualties.
2nd Army: Reduced
3rd Army: Bloodied
Knights Dragon: Light Casualties
Knights of the Blazing Sun: Light casualties
Steam Tank: Doing Fine.

Hochland:
1st Hochland: Reduced

 

[Maugan Ra]

The Hydra Stretches
(Written by @EarthScorpion with my approval)

Article:

"The summer of 2205 was a summer of revolution in the southern Sigman lands. Under the sweltering summer heat, the nascent peasant country of Natternland watched and waited for Stirlish attack. It did not come. But it did not come because the insurrections spread like fire in dry grass, spreading beyond Natternland in the void left by the war.

"Their demands were manifold; relaxation of taxes, exemption from the corvee, a relief from the tithe, the return of common lands and the right to hunt within the woods. The Sixteen Articles of Natternland was spread far and wide, and taken as a banner of the rights of the rebel peasantry. This is no exaggeration - printed copies of the Sixteen Articles were used as a flag of identity by peasant militias. Despite the best efforts of the nobility in Stirland - and Averland, Wissenland, and Reikland too - the source of the printing presses which were turned towards helping the spread of revolutionary pamphlets and counter-hierarchal dogma could not be identified. Suspicions were of course directed towards the sinister and shadowy Cult of Ranald and its Black Cat smuggling rings, but too many printed materials escaped the raids that tried to crack down on them.

"The common folk knew who to blame for the situation, where their children were taken away to war and their corvees called in early. It was not the lords - no, they had been misled by their debts, corrupted by the wealthy merchants of free cities like Kemperbad. Yes, it was Kemperbad, or so they claimed, who had forced this war on them, sending their men off to die because fat merchants were unused to the threat of a few beastmen. The brave knights who had been fighting the vile orcs had been tricked by filthy lucre, and pulled away from their righteous duties. Throughout Averland and northern Wissenland there was widespread civil disobedience organised by the Shallyan Red Doves, and a deliberate campaign to conceal the scale of the harvest. The effects of this are clear in tax records from the time; tithes from many areas fall to famine levels, despite 2205 IC showing no signs of crop failure in the region. Landholders in those areas demanded that their overlords break this peasant insubordination, but armies of the Elector Counts were in the north.

"Quite naturally, though the Sigman nobility are nothing compared to the flower of Bretonnia they still knew their rights, and old men and beardless boys backed by household guards strapped on their shields and drew their swords. They would take what was owed to them, especially when they heard word of the latest events in Stirland."

Louis du Bosque, "Le déclin et la ruine des états de Sigmar"

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Article:

"Stirland has already been simmering, and the Cult of Taal raised it to the boil. Suddenly Stirland was full to the brim with armed men, who did not answer to the Countess Eliana. They came from Solland; hardened veterans of the war often with sympathies to the Kinships of the Hammer and other such radical groups, taking Taalite coin to stir up the peasants against their lawful masters.

"Put simply, on their own, the peasantry of Stirland lacked the courage to truly stand. Even when they rose up, they often broke and ran in the face of the smallest adversity. The lords of Stirland had long been able to isolate and suppress the upstart peasantry. However, with the free companies of the Kinships of the Hammer backing them and the ill-begotten insurrectionists of the Cult of Taal publicly siding with the rebels, the stakes were changed.

"Two demonstrative examples make clear just how influential the Taalites were. Near Oberalm in eastern Stirland the peasants were not aided by foreign allies. As a result, a rough mob of nearly a thousand peasants were cornered in the river lands by reiters. The attempts by their leaders to get the peasants to stand were in vain, and they were cut down and scattered as they fled from their attempt at a wagon fort. Over a hundred rebels were hung there, dancing the traitor's tango.

"By contrast, near Rauris, just east of the Stirhugel, the free lancers under Baron von Muhr were ambushed on the outskirts of the town when they tried to shut down one of the so-called 'commoners courts' that the Taalites had been supporting. The river road approaching the town had been barricaded, and as the lancers attempted to tear down the barricade to allow their horses to pass, they were caught in an enfilade of fire from across the river and atop the barricade.

"Of note, the wayward new Archduke von Wolfsbach seemed resilient to the troubles sweeping the land. Earlier that year, he had freed the serfs on his land, and as a result the Taalite preachers gave order that none of their hirelings were to bear arms on his land, nor would they preach against him. Wolfsbach lands were an island of stability in western Stirland thanks to that suspect action of the young archduke, and many faithful Stirlish have wondered if he had some secret deal with the Taalites. Certainly, he benefited from the influx of merchants and traders who headed to the docks at Wolfsbach for a safe port where they would avoid the confiscations and banditry common in the rest of the land.

"And what of poor, betrayed Countess Eliana? Alas, by summer's end her authority did not reach over much of western Stirland - not just because of the traitors of so-called Natternland, but simply the attempts to crack down on the insubordinate peasants had produced unprovoked violence from the Taalite thugs. Wurtbad remained under her control, as did much of eastern Stirland, but when there were more men under arms loyal to the Taalites than her in many of her provinces, could she truly be said to be Countess? Already many in the Diet grumbled about their wishes to return to the good old days of Horst von Wolfbach."

Anders von Vichtenstein, "Treachery and Insurrection in the Crisis"

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Article:

HOW MUCH BLOOD HAVE THEY SHED IN THE NORTH SO KEMPERBAD CAN GROW FATTER?
MERCHANTS ARE VAMPIRES
Example of early 2200s Revolutionary Scrawl found in western Averland. Similar examples are found in Wissenland, Averland and eastern Reikland.

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Article:

"Solland was spared the worst of the insurrectionary sentiments of the Levellers and their fellow travellers, thanks to the wise actions of Friedrich von Schwarzburg. While Averland and Stirland had done little to blunt the fangs of their surly peasants, the Tilean-leaning sensibilities of the count and his advice from his Myrmidian advisors led him to take ideas from the established model of the republics of Tilea. To that end, wishing to show that he was not deaf to the complaints of his people, he established the Senate of Solland. While some surly Sigmans made ridiculous complaints about how it should have been a Diet, the clear-sighted count selected wise and brave men who had proven themselves in the campaigns to liberate the province.

"To quiet the dissent, intelligent Friedrich offered the Kinship of the Hammer a seat at the table - not a vote, of course! - but a role in assisting his Senators in safeguarding the lands of Solland from such threats. That, they seized, and through the hot summer of 2205, many wicked beasts and foul goblins were slain. The attempts by the wise priesthood of Myrmidia to reconcile with the more savage Sigmarites of the Fellowship were less successful, but at the very least they managed to somewhat reduce the tension. Still, some of those Myrmidians earned the trust of the Sigmans when they helped them resolve an issue over rights to the river near the town of Lessach - trust which was preserved due to the quick thinking of one of their number who hid artwork of the Divine Marriage.

"Still, the generous count knew well that there might be risks in humouring such ill-tempered common folk, and as autumn came such foreboding hints started to come into sight. One senator, the Baron of Anif Markov bon Bergheim, was beaten to death in a shabby duel by a priest of the Kinship, who accused him of failing to keep his lands clean of goblins and so being responsible for the deaths of members of the Fellowship who had resolve this issue for him; three men, two women, and a particularly heroic dog who had died taking down a goblin spider-rider.

"All in all, though, compared to the state of Stirland one can only look at the genius of Wissenland's count in defusing the rage of the peasantry and justly applaud him."

Mario Pizzari, "Friedrich the Dragon, a Biography" (first draft)

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Article:

DID YOU KNOW?

In the Summer of Revolutions in 2205 IC, the nobility of northern Averland attempted to crack down on the peaceful Red Dove Levellers. The Levellers were saved by an army of Taalite mercenaries who crossed the Aver and protected the Shallyans from their lords. With the armies of Averland absent, the nobles raised their own armies to wipe out the Red Doves. At the Battle of Burgau, Ernst von Arnfels ordered his field guns to shell the temple at Burgau but his Averlish free companies turned on him. They raised the banner of the Sixteen Articles, and saved the Shallyan temple.

(Next to the text box is a cartoon of a soldier standing in front of a Shallyan priestess, squaring up to a knight. The soldier has a speech bubble, saying "Oh yeah, picking on a pacifist? What a hero!")

Thaddeus Lieb, "Avaricious Averland" from the "Cruel Chronicles" series

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Article:

"You know what terrifies me, Hana? It is what the events in Stirland have shown us about the Sollandish mercenaries. The mercenaries are infected by the ideology of the radicals, and I fear they cannot be trusted - nor perhaps anyone they march with. Even the state troops are susceptible to this distasteful ideology - did you hear that Stirland has had an entire army turn traitor? I've heard what's happening with the Averland Third - they say that after spending an entire season fighting beastmen, when their pay got in arrears they started rioting in Kemperbad, taking everything they could get in back pay. And the only reason they stopped was because Shallyan priestesses told them to - and they did! But the thing is, I heard the Shallyans over there are all Red Doves. What does it mean if the soldiers will listen to priestesses but not their own leaders?

"And think about what waits for us after this war. If Talabecland and Middenland are left in ruins to settle Konstantin's grudge… what happens when the radicals spread there, too? Do we really want Middenland to become Stirland's larger, hairer brother? Anarchy is a fertile seedbed for such dangerous and Chaotic thought. It scares me, Hana, it truly does. Our wise count is trying his best, but who else has his forethought?"

Anne-Marie von Straßwalchen, Wissenland noble

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Article:

"As winter came in 2205, the barons and the grafs of Stirland shook in their boots. The partisanen of Natternland, the mercenaries of Solland and the cults of Taal and Ranald had made unsteady the order of the world. Averland resembled Stirland a year or two prior, and Ranaldian pamphlets and provocateurs spread far and wide from those provinces into Wissenland, Solland, and eastern Reikland. The merchant elite of these lands blamed the Strigany for this, speaking darkly of their ties to Middenland and their obvious wickedness and their role in spreading these revolutionary papers, but viewed in retrospect this can be seen as an attempt to blame an old scapegoat. In truth, the rise in the price of bread following the destruction of the Moot, combined with the rapidly growing accumulation of wealth by the lords of these lands while peasant incomes fell in real terms, did far more to prime the south for rebellion than any number of imagined Strigany conspiracies."

Karline Zeichen, "Der Einfluss"

 

[Maugan Ra]

A Faith Divided

Though recent years had not been kind to the Cult of Sigmar, it remained undeniable that the faith was a major power in the lands that had once been the Empire. The fact that the Grand Theogonist possessed an electoral vote was merely the most obvious expression of how deeply interwoven the cult had become with the structure and popular image of the Empire, and though currently broken and divided there were no end of people capable of seeing the potential in such a prominent faith lending its weight in support of their own imperial ambitions.

Even as war wracked the land and resentment bubbled over into outright revolution, time was found and resources allocated to the support - or perhaps control - of the Cult. Three broad factions had been identified by those who cared to measure such things, three potential sources of allies and rivals, and as spring rolled into summer orders were penned in every corner of the land.

First on many lists were the Fundamentalists; instrangent, plunged into disarray with the death of the Grand Theogonist, they seemed to many as being both poor allies and easy pickings. The purge was a quiet one, subtle, easy to overlook in individual cases, but to those among the faithful who communed with any number of distant kin it was far too obvious. Priests of staunch faith and unbreakable will began to recant their beliefs in public or stepped down in disgust, while others simply vanished in the night, leaving only brief notes behind that they had decided to 'follow in Sigmar's path' or 'walk to the east'.

The exception, rather surprisingly, was in Hochland, where the Grand Baroness Theophania felt both a debt of gratitude to Wenzel Kraft and a deeply personal sense of loss at his untimely passing. In pious duty she flung open her doors and opened her coffers, promising safe harbour and patronage for all of the late Grand Theogonist's students and proteges, offering them positions of stature and ample funding in her province for as long as they would need it. Many took her up on the offer, moving to Hochland and establishing there a true branch of their unyielding faith, one protected by political writ and a rapidly forming army of 'low templars'.

Such a development rendered the 'crossroad of the empire' into something of a bulwark in matters of faith, a buffer zone that complicated both the spreading wave of Austere Sigmarism from the north and Arch-Lector Ulrich's ongoing attempts to consolidate his own successes in the south. What had seemed to be an inevitable contest between two radically different interpretations of faith instead became a far more diverse and confusing affair, as faithful of all stripes engaged in envangelistic efforts to sway as many of the populace to their way of thinking as possible.

In the east, this conflict was evenly balanced and surprisingly peaceful, with Chancellor Frederick of Ostermark hosting a series of informal meetings, conclaves and assemblies with the devout of every faith in his land, offering an attentive ear and undeniable respect to all involved. He recognised all three branches of the Sigmarite split as legitimate, granting each the right to preach on his land, and under the steely gaze of the Deathfriends disputes between the factions were kept broadly civil. A few bold souls ventured across his southern border, seeking the ultimate test of their commitment in damned Sylvania, but virtually none found much in the way of wide-ranging support, and more than a few simply disappeared in the trackless gloom.

In the nations of the Pfeildorf Pact, it was perhaps no surprise that the majority of the faithful swiftly rallied behind the fiery figure of Arch-Lector Ulrich. The Traditionalists had lent much of their support to the war effort against the Union, and the steady stream of triumphs and easily-explicable setbacks coming back from the front bolstered the faction's stock among even the most hardline fundamentalists - if there was one thing that any two Sigmarites could agree on, it was the importance of ensuring their supremacy over followers of the Wolf God. While Ulrich did not fight himself, and indeed had a military career encompassing nothing more dramatic than a few rote engagements with greenskin raiding parties in his younger years, his success in convincing Emperor-Elect Friedrich to convert to Sigmarism on the eve of the campaign was a major feather in his cap all the same.

The only two exceptions were among the Hammer Kinship of Solland, who largely trended towards Fundamentalist and provided sanctuary to the faithful that fled the invisible purges, and the minority of Sigmarites in the Westerlands, many of whom had learned their faith from the Godscoin. The Norscan minority was growing larger in the Westerlands with every passing year, and their faith had always tended towards the rough and militant, finding the preaching of the Austere much more to their liking than the overly political Traditionalists… or, it was said, the shamelessly mercenary Manannites. Rumours swirled that Yric Godscoin himself had floated the possibility of a holy war in the south, a chance for glory and plunder unmatched by any other foe.

In Stirland, meanwhile, the Austere found their champion in Maximillian von Wolfenbach, whose public conversion and ardent evangelism had won them a number of converts among the higher nobility in an increasingly fractured land. Though Stirlish attitudes rendered the resulting faithful rather more dour and phlegmatic than the fiery preachers of the north, their faith remained unquestionable, and their strident criticisms of Grand Countess Eliana for failure in the course of her duties an ever-present thorn in her side. For her part, Eliana made a grand show of her Traditionalist sympathies, playing on her people's conservative streak to sway them into supporting the 'proper way of doing things'.

And then, of course, there was the north. The north, where the Austere movement had grown, where Austere priests had helped Jana von Moltke secure her throne, where virtually all other faiths had fled or been rendered unquestionably subordinate, where many saw shockingly little difference in the practices of those who killed each other over the slightest deviation. The north, who lacked a candidate for Empress solely because Astrid had declined to proclaim herself one in advance of any legitimate vote.

It was no surprise, therefore, when the atmosphere in Altdorf ahead of the Grand Conclave was somewhat tense. Lectors from all across the land converged on the Cathedral of Sigmar to elect their new Grand Theogonist, and though there were many who could not make the journey due to the ongoing war there were still enough to form a quorum. Thousands watched as the priesthood sealed itself away behind closed doors, and thousands more prayed for a swift and decisive resolution to the matter; better a poor choice for leadership of the faith than this interminable separation.

Their prayers were to be denied, for as days and then weeks ground by without a resolution it swiftly became apparent to all that no one singular candidate had enough of a majority to be proclaimed as the new Grand Theogonist. Rumours - for there could be no official announcement, not while deliberations remained in progress - suggested that Ulrich was the closest, but lacked the real strength of support to convince those wavering or moderate in allegiance to support him over all prospective alternatives.

Calamity engulfed the Empire, but the Cult of Sigmar would remain absent from the field a while yet.

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Havocfett with my approval)

Our Greatest Weapon is Central Organization!​

Spies had become...a concern in the Black League. The attempted assassination of Eliana, the Leveller uprisings in the south, the Nordland uprising, and the bad tendency for Witch Hunters not to tell anyone jack shit until a problem was solved or apocalyptic, had all driven home the need for a change.

So, the Commission.

The Witch Finder's Commission mandated the registration of all Witchhunters in the Black League. They would have evidence standards, operate under civil authorities, have oversight from the Order of the Silver Hammer and Lord Protectors appointed by the League's member states. They would be efficient, they would root out threats to the state as well as supernatural evil, and they would set fewer teenagers on fire for fucking in the woods.

The Witch Hunters hated it.

Unfortunately for them, the cults and local authorities loved it. The Cult of Mannan was an early and enthusiastic adopter, impressive for a Cult that didn't have Witchhunters in the League before the years start. The Magistrates Mariner were formed, registered, and deployed in short order, policing the water, watching for Sharks and Stromfels cultists, and generally playing the word of the Lord of Waters in a primarily land-locked alliance.

They did, however, have early success in the form of keeping League shipping safe from rogue members of the Ubrigsflotte, a move that likely prevented diplomatic incidents and gave them excellent press in the first days of the Commission.

Other cults followed, some more willingly than others. The Austere leaped at the opportunity once Astrid made it clear that this was her will, but Fundamentalists in Hochland preached long and loud of how the state should not interfere in the holy duties of Witchhunters. The Cult of Ulric had little interest in compliance, especially after some of their agents were caught and executed by Witchhunters for attempted bribery. The Cult of Taal cooperated but found itself investigated repeatedly by Austeres and Mannanites suspicious of their new evangelizing efforts, especially its focus in rural Ostland.

The largest success in these early operations was the Incident at Blut River, where Witch Hunters discovered that members of Dieter von Blutstrom's new Crossbow Corps were using his crackdown on local bandits to enrich themselves. Taking bribes to let brigands go, or turning them into their own enforcers while taking a cut of the money. There were several executions and a degree of performative outrage from Blutstrom, but the case itself was clear and uncontroversial.

Our Greatest Weapon is Legal Ethics!​

In the south, similar measures were beginning in Nuln. The Cults of Verena and Myrmidia were not entirely on board with the modern institution of Witch Hunters, especially in the things their mono-focus on religious and spiritual matters often missed. As such, the Justiziars were formed.

Witch Hunters of the state. Investigators into the secular and esoteric. The genteel investigator Witch Hunter's angry man with a pistol. Hammerites called them pathetic half measures, Witch Hunters called them an unacceptable trespass onto their holy work.

Despite the words of their detractors, they proved their worth swiftly. Several Ranaldite printing presses were caught, agitators dragged to court for sedition against their lords and the presses themselves handed over to local lords or kept by the twin Churches for their own use. From there, keen-eyed detectives tracked down distribution networks and, for once, the spread of Leveller propaganda was slowing.

And it didn't even involve mass executions.

Breaking Baggins​

The halflings had their own problem, of course. The new apothecaries and their wondrous drugs had proven immensely popular and, more worryingly, deeply destructive. The Haffengilde, so recently forced into the role of government, was faced with the possibility of a deep, festering rot at the heart of the halfling nation and no easy ways to deal with it. Simply arresting or killing those responsible would leave behind a trail of impoverished families and traumatized folk looking to some other treatment for their ills.

So the New Moot turned to regulation.

The Halfengilde declared that they would be the sole regulator and distributor of "Moot Herb". They would control it, decide where to sell it, and how it got sold. There was resistance, but it was...very literally short lived.

The landed had been powerful once, had been the government once, but if the Moot Herb issue proved anything, it proved that the Haffengilde had become the government of the Moot.

Distribution in Halfling communities, and especially to Halfling children, was banned. Personal use was heavily regulated, business-minded cooks found better pay as middlemen, and a kind hand and gentle treatment extended to those cooks hooked on their own products. As local governments started to form, community councils were grievances could be aired and communities governed properly, Herb Regulation and the treatment of Addicts quickly became a signature issue.

It was humane, community-minded, generous, and, quietly, incredibly violent.

And with the issue handled in halfling communities, the Haffengilde started export. Dockers, the Guild of Courtesans, and similar were marketted hard Spice, a powerful drug for powerful folk. University students and, increasingly, politicians were offered Nerve Tonics for trying times. The middle-class and comfortable were offered home-made, herbal remedies to all the things that ailed them. And the rich, oh the rich.

Custom concoctions. Designer brands. Consultations with apothecaries on the best and brightest goods, the most exotic brands and tasteful infusions, to insure that they had an experience worthy of their time.

Sure, technically they were getting something basically identical to a Docker's spice. But they didn't know that. And the halflings, oh, the halflings were getting rich.

 

[Cavalier]

Maximilian von Wolfbach turned in his saddle to address his companion, who had fallen into a trot alongside him well ahead of the rest of the hunting party. "What do you see here, Lothar?"

They were on the road winding into the small forest at the foot of the Stirhugel, with the ruins of Wolfsbach Castle standing out on the distant horizon atop a locally impressive peak. Fields of wheat stretched out on both sides of the road, with a spur leading to a small village that had once serviced the castle. The sun was climbing up overhead, having long since dispersed the thin fog that had clung to the ground in the morning.

"I see... fields, and woods, and peasants out working, your Grace?"

The aforementioned Lothar, heir to the Barony of Woerden, made a quizzical face with his faltering answer. The sturdy lad was still a youth, learning how to be a knight and how to govern an estate. His mother the Baroness Joan had been an ally of Maximilian's father, and his presence here was one way of keeping up ties. A boar hunt would teach the man to read terrain and to wield a lance, and not to let his fear get the better of him. But Maximilian had another lesson for the boy, who might have been himself less than a decade ago, in mind.

"It's peace. The peasants are working in the fields or on their way to market. The crops are growing. No armies are trampling over them. Your mother thought I was mad to free my serfs. So did most of my other peers. But I tell you, Sigmar has graced me for making the right choice."

"You knew the Leveler scum would revolt?" Lothar seemed shocked, but his youth let him voice a suspicion that had been whispered from time to time.

Maximilian reined his mount Ghalid to a halt and looked up at the ruins of the ancestral castle, just barely visible. He waved at it to draw Lothar's attention. "I saw it like I can see Wulfsbach in the distance here. Or rather my father saw it coming. He warned me, and he warned our present Countess too. And after he was shot down by the Reiklander scum the Countess worked as hard as she could to bring it to pass. Aye, I knew it was coming the way anyone could have seen Van Hel's folly coming. So no I didn't know when or where or how. Only that it would come in time."

"So then you freed you serfs... to lull them into a state of quiet?" Lothar's eyes widened as he considered what had been said.

"Of course not. I did it because when Sigmar visited the Asoborn, they had no serfs. Neither did the Unberogen or any of the tribes. They were all free men in those times, under their chiefs, and it was those chiefs that elected Sigmar to lead the Empire. So it was too after Sigmar left. Thus serfdom must be against the will of Sigmar."

Lothar pursed his lips, seemingly unconvinced. "I don't think Sigmar said anything about serfdom one way or another. Wasn't it expensive, too?"

"It's been less expensive than losing the entire harvest would have been. Free men paid in coin work harder than serfs resenting every minute they spend on their lord's fields. Fight harder too, I'll wager. And that's what we as nobles owe to Sigmar. Our duty is to defend his Empire and to crush the enemies of Men. He has rewarded those who do his will. And those who neglect those duties will suffer. Such explains our poor state of Stirland."

"Is that the Austere doctrine, your Grace?"

"More or less. A priest might explain it better. I'm building a seminary to help them do it. But we all have duties to Sigmar, according to our station. And duties to those above and below our station. But all duty is owed to Sigmar in the end. Now, it's time to get back to the hunt. Killing dangerous game is one of those duties, and if we don't take down a good sized boar we won't eat well tonight."

Ghalid snorted and broke back into a trot. Lothar followed on his mount.

 

[Wade Garrett]

Waldenhof

He doesn't want to be here.

Even thinking it feels like a betrayal. He has to be here, could not possibly be anywhere else. Duty and honor demand it. Family, blood, they demand it. Myrmidia Herself demands it. It is right and proper that he has come here, every code, every oath, every lesson that he has ever learned, they all point to the same conclusion.

But Alessio Malasangre-Hochen desperately, oh so desperately wishes they did not. Not that he will ever say so. Not to his father, absolutely not. The elder Malasangre no longer speaks, he snarls, red rimmed eyes narrowed and stubble lined jaw clenched, a gray maned wolf looking to close its jaws on prey. There's no doubt or hesitation there.

Not to his brother, either. Insofar as Thiago can be read under his carnivalia mask, the younger man is absolutely spoiling to put wrongs to their family honor right, almost giddy at the thought of what is to come.

Even Theophenia...she's proud of him. So proud, her calloused hands smoothing his hair, loving kisses on his cheeks, so proud of her husband who will go to war to save his sister. Who could never dream of betraying a blood tie, of turning away or turning on his kindred. And they're right. All of them. They are all absolutely correct, this action is honorable, it is just, no man or women could do anything less. They are, all of them, absolutely right to think and act as they do, and his doubts and hesitation are base, loathsome things to be cast aside.

But he misses Theophenia. He misses Franz-Conrad and Theodelinda running to see him, to be picked up and lay their heads on his shoulder, he misses the sunlight shining through the boughs of a Hochland forest. And the thought of never seeing any of them again...he doesn't think he is afraid to greet Morr. He's been trained to arms since he was Franz-Conrad's age, schooled as a condottieri and a duelist, spilled blood and had his own spilled. But when the thought of passing away in this gloomy murk, of being parted from his three dear ones, never to see them again on this side of Morr's gates, in the deep hours of the night when it rears up in front of him like a revenant clawing its way up from the grave...he wonders if Theophenia feels the same.

The arms and armor she commissioned for him, the lifeguard she charged to stand by his side, their last night together, the hunger as she drew him to her and set her jaws on his neck, but he won't ask. Won't say it aloud. Won't do anything that might scar her pride in her loyal, courageous, handsome husband. Even now, even putting quill to parchment, perhaps the last words she will ever hear from him...at this moment he envies his brother.

Thiago would have the words, he'd find them or invent them, somehow he'd set this curdling knot of fear and loneliness and duty down on ink and he'd assure her, he'd find the words for how much she's loved, how much she's missed. But he isn't his brother, and the idea of asking Thiago to write Theophenia for him, he can screw his spirits to face war, fire, and death, but there are some things that are better not contemplated and that is one of them. And so he slowly, carefully commits his own words to the scroll.

Article:

Beloved,

Arrived safely in Waldenhof. Am well. Hope you are well also. At bedtime please give Theodelinda and Franz-Conrad extra kiss from their Poppa. Do not forget offerings to Myrmidia, Sigmar and Ulric. Hope to return to you and the little ones soon.

Your loving husband,
Count-Consort Alessio Malasangre-Hochen

@Mina


Alessio Malasangre-Hochen, 2205

Article:

To His Most August and Imperial Majesty, the Elector-Count of Reikland, Prince of Altdorf, Chieftan of the Umberogen, Overlord-Admiral of the Reik And Its Tributaries, Supreme Marshal of The Ever Victorious Legions Konstantin Rannulf Engel, the First So Named

Your Majesty,

There is a quarrel between us. A matter of honor and a sacred trust betrayed, a poisoned stiletto thrust murderously into an unsuspecting bossom, a wrong of such dark dye as set Verena herself to hewing about with naked blade. A wrong that you, your majesty, have done to me.

I refer of course to the matter of The Tragedy of Doktor Hohenheim, the opera you commissioned from me before your faithful sojourn among the Carroburgeans. An opera whose ending you well knew, whose conclusion we agreed upon long before you first set foot in the Weald of Drakes. An end that would chill the blood of all who beheld it, that would paint the late Doktor's name in history in the same hue as that of Vlad Von Carnstein, as that of the first Van Hel, as that of the Great Necromancer himself. A monster so vile the very gates of the Hells yawned open and a great company of the damned dragged him to his fate, we agreed THIS was the end all people of all the lands would know of.

And then you...even to think of it now, still I gnash my teeth! None other saw what became of Hohenheim, bar you. The nature of his demise was in your hands alone, no others, Morr and Myrmidia handed you this gift of invaluable, of VALUE BEYOND ALL PRICE, and you hurled it to the swine and uttered some inanity about his drinking Nekeharan fire. Waste, utter and profound waste.

I believe my previous letters adequately laid out my position upon your actions. Your cruel, backstabbing, dull witted, malicious, loathsome, unconscionable TREASON against the compact we had made, and I stand by each sentence, by each word, by each letter, you blackhearted CAD.

And here, now, before all the gods, I wish to inform you that I have forgiven you. For I ride into peril, as you ride into peril, and perhaps we shall never again meet, save in that Garden where all meet in time. And what profit it to hold a Vendetta then? No, I have set my mind upon Shallya, dear Shallya, offering her grace to even the most wretched fiends, offering it to those who in no way ever have or ever will merit it.

And so I emulate Our Lady Of The Bleeding Heart, I set vendetta aside, and as you ride forth to doom and fury, set your heart at ease, know that despite the thousand wounds you have carved into my back, I bear you no ill will.

Thiago Malasangre, Duke of Waldenhof

@TenfoldShields


Thiago Malasangre, 2206

 

[Carol]

@Wade Garrett

To my big sister's husband,

Don't you dare even think about dying out there. My sister and her children need you. Make them cry and I'll break you in the after life. Good hunting.

Baroness Adalwolfa von Drachenherz, Markgraf of the Middle Mountains, and my sister's keeper​

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