Heirs of Sigmar

[Maugan Ra]

The discovery of Gormar Herdkiller, the Orc Warlord dwelling within the ruins of fallen Solland, was taken by most who heard it as a dire insult. Wissenland's own flag bore on its face the livery of its devastated neighbour, and the people viewed the fall of the province with a mix of sorrow and guilt even centuries later. To hear that a greenskin not merely dared to squat within its ruined carcass, but actively proclaimed itself Elector Count of the province? Oh, no. No this could not be born, and if it took the utter eradication of every Orc and Goblin within their borders to see the insult repaid then the men and women of Wissenland would do just that.

Even so, it would not do to go rushing off unprepared, and so meet the same fate as the original rulers of Solland had. No, if this crusade was to succeed, it would need to be done properly. To that end the coffers of Nuln opened, and over the course of a year a string of sturdy forts and supply dumps were constructed just within reach of what the scouts had determined as the edge of Herdkiller's territory. With the workers went the Priests of Myrmidia, lending their strategic insight to the planners of the area and training many of the local populace in methods of drill and massed warfare, preparing for the day when the tense silence along the unknown border broke at last.

Such works were extensive and of obvious purpose, and so it was no surprise to any when Gormar Herdkiller took note. The forts were tested, first by goblin scouts and then by raiding parties of full-grown Orcs, and while the Herdkiller was nowhere to be seen his influence could clearly be felt in the controlled and systematic way that the greenskins approached the coming war. The Orcs were careful almost to the point of caution, and though the Fourth Army of Wissenland stood ready to repel an attack of any size only once did the raiding escalate beyond simple harassment. Fort Bludloft was very nearly overrun by a concentrated push from a swarm of trolls jabbed into motion by goblin handlers, but a counter-charge from the Order of the Blazing Sun was able to save the day in the nick of time.

Solland, however, had not bordered on Wissenland alone, and before long the Orcs thought to test their other borders as well. Crude rafts carried raiding parties across the River Oggel in great numbers, and soon many villages in the south-west of Averland were aflame or staring down famine as laughing greenskins ran off with their harvests. With most of Averland's sons away on campaign only the Blackfire Guardians could be called upon to repel the raids, and they dared not leave their positions at the pass weakly manned. Riders were sent north, begging the Count to return or else do something, but Francis Ludwig was camped in siege outside Wurtbad and could not lightly pull his forces back.

As winter drew in, all present knew that the new year would bring with it a reckoning.

 

[Deadly Snark]

A Recent history of Middenland and Middenheim.​

The Grafs of Middenheim and the Grand Dukes of Middenland - A Pack Splintered

For many in the states of the Empire, Middenland and Middenheims are synonymous. Both the strongholds of the Ulrican faith ruled over by a single lord. However that is a misconception of a rather complex history.

Under the Wolf Emperors, the two were indeed part of a single state. Yet during the reign of the last Claimant Wolf Emperor, Mannfred Todbringer they were almost irrevocably broken apart. While today we remember the Todbringers as one of the most prestigious and long lasting noble lines of the Empire, once it was not so. Though their lineage was historied, at the time it was only recently that they arose to eclipse the Von Zelts in influence and took over their claim as Emperors.

This "usurpation" was not accepted without a fight. As any good Ulricans would do, the Von Zelts and their supporters fought back. At first politically, but only a few years into the reign of Mannfred it devolved into bloodshed in the streets of Middenheim. As the Seat of the Wolf Emperors drowned in blood, the Lords of Middenland made their play for independence.

As Mannfred put down the rebellions against his rule, he found himself lord of only a single city, and one city no matter how mighty it was, did not compare to the prestige of ruling over the whole of the Province. Without such prestige the title of Wolf Emperor died out. Worse still, members of the Von Zelts and their allies managed to escape the city. Allying and intermarrying with the noble houses of Middenland.

So it was that the heart of the Ulrican faith was torn asunder. The Todbringers Grafs ruling over Middenheim and a collection of lords united under the Grand Dukes descending from the Von Zelts ruling over Middenland. With relationships often switching back and forth between brutal wars to reunified the land and cooperation against the outside threats, with the holy Al-Ulric guiding their way. Wolfs might fight over who gets to be the Alpha, but ultimately they were still part of a pack.

It should thus not be surprising that it would take a truly enormous threat to finally bring the two sides together once more. The accursed Von Carnsteins made sure to ravage Middenland and Middenheim in particular, after Grandmaster Jerek Kruger led the devoted of Ulric to destroy Vlad Von Carnstein's army totally. Knowing that if Middenland and Middenheim were allowed to rally their strength the conquest of the Empire would be doomed. Forcing the once warring sides to work ever closer together simply to insure their survival.

It was with the Third Vampire War that the hardship finally bore fruit. At the end of the war, the Lords of Middenheim and the Lords of Middenland agreed to a dynastic marriage. Uniting their two houses forever more. The marriage of Elizabeth Todbringer and Bertrand Heinz marked a period of regrowth and healing in the province, as their line became the rules of a unified Middenland and Middenheim. Though how long this shall last with the disaster in Drakwald, the death of Betrand and his adult heir Albert, leaving behind only the young Leopold Heinz remains to be seen.


The Von Schild - Battered Blade and Sundered Shield

There is not much to say when it comes to the history of the Von Schild house. A minor house whose loyalty was often battered back and forth the lords of Middenheim and Middenland. Its only consistent tie was with the White Wolves. Konrad Von Schild's rise to prominence was the only thing that brought the family out of the dredges of history. The Regent's proven talent with the blade and unshakable loyalty had earned him the trust of his lords. Leading to his Regency in the aftermath of the Tragedy to be almost uncontested. However, those who opposed him, opposed him bitterly. For these houses at seen in him the specter of Mannfred Todbringer Indeed at the beginning of his regency there had been rumors about the Von Schild making a play to usurp control of the province.

But those were quickly proven to be nothing but baseless accusations, likely spread by the agents of the Grand Prince Konstantin as Reikland would benefit from a once more weakened Middenland. The truth of the matter was simple. Regent Konrad did not have the family to usurp control for. Most of his children had died long before in the defense of the province. His grandchildren had been slaughtered in the same battle that saw the deaths of Bertrand and Albert Heinz.

His only living family at the beginning of his regency where his youngest daughter, Ana Von Schild who served as an officer in the Guardians of the Fire. With her avoiding marriage like it was the plague. His eldest son had long been disowned, with his name struck from the family records at his own request. His only surviving grandchild, Siegfried Von Schild was even younger than his young lord Leopold Heinz.

 

[Carol]

Hunting for a Feeling​

Adalwolfa did not understand a lot about the world. Whatever the reason, be it heritage or character, the very concept of 'civilization' alienated her at a fundamental level. It does not feel natural to limit oneself like this: the marriages, the coins, the wars, the schisms, the laws all bound men to servitude -- a self-perpetuating flagellation where they break themselves to atoms for the benefits of others upon the promise of prosperity. They chain themselves and call it safety! And she was to led them. A small part in the wider province and even more in the wider Empire. All in Esk held onto her belt buckle hard. As overlord and provider. She did care for them as any human would but never could she be them. Their fears, their wants, their hatreds were so different than hers.

The Other(The Outsider).
​

When teary parents cried for their lost daughter, sent and never to return from the woods, Adalwolfa found a temporary escape. As lonesome boots hit the evergreen soil, none could find her until she wished to be found. Free at last. But selfish liberation gave way to a deeper mission, the salvation of another soul. For that to happen, the limitations imposed by 'civilization' relaxed. Learned traits morphed into pure instinct. Uncle air, the messenger of the skies, entered her nostrils; Aunt noise, the messenger of the will, entered her ears. In perfect stillness, she stood and stood and stood.

There.(Fresh blood, not yet a day old)

There. (Muttered sobs, not yet dead)​

Adalwolfa burst forward, every stride covering greater ground. Her speed was limited not by the obstacles in the ground, mere child's play to avoid, or the battle ax in her hands, an extra limb if anything. Heart beats increased as sweat was absorbed by tunic. Finally, the source came into view.

Bear(Common).

Child(Alive).​

It did not take her long to understand the situation. Behind the furious bear was its child. Starving. The poor thing must've not eaten in a few days. In desperation it turned to the daughter... a risky but filling meal. Anyone could understand that motive. Adalwolfa clearly did. She, in fact, sympathized with it. But sympathize meant nothing here. Both, bear and human, knew only one could leave alive. The bear roared.

"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"
​

Adalwolfa, no longer quite 'human', roared in response.

"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!" ​

One move. It had to be decided in one move -- the neck. It was the ethical thing to do. It was the respectful thing to do. It was that or death. To fail and be a meal for a starving child and its mother.

The bear charged.
The ax fell.
​

When Adalwolfa returned to the town, child in tow, she was crimson. A priestess of Rhya would call forth her Goddess to heal the daughter. She would survive. The Baron's own maid came in howling of her reckless and irresponsibility. She was meet with sorrowful eyes. Adalwolfa did not understand a lot about the world but she did know this: she shared more with that bear than any townsfolk.

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Havocfett with my approval)

Article:

-It was in Adan when I was set upon by the need for a third pilgrimage, to range even farther east than I ever had before. I had heard tell of Tihomi peoples as far away as Ind and Cathay, and imagined they would have much to gain from my presence.

Fortunately, no sooner did I have this idea, than the Bretonnians arrived. They were part of the entourage of a Bretonnian emperor named 'Oskar Meer', who had loaded all the riches of his land to search for profit and glory in civilized lands. They had little knowledge of proper languages and customs, and I imagined them lost without good guidance, and so volunteered myself as a translator and guide.

Their first issue was the simple scale of their expedition. They had brought too much to unload at one port, and splitting up their trading fleet made them vulnerable to pirates and monstrosity. I discussed the matter with the Emperor, and in doing so recommended him the rich lands of Manden.

Though my travels have driven me to feel that the good reputation of Manden is overstated, the Empire's overwhelming wealth could not be denied. Where there a human port in all the world that could serve as a hub for Emperor Meer, Manden would have it.

Excerpt from The Third Pilgrimage of Mahmoud Abu Shams

The Marvelous Migrations of Mahmoud Abu Shams

The Meyer expedition would, after some probing along the northern coast of the Southlands, find itself landing in the great ports of Manden.

The ports were massive and yet alien to the northern sailors. Grand buildings of adobe lined the streets, ships from two dozen nations rested on the docks, and the riches of half the world were sold in the streets. The people were black, rich, and urbane, fascinated by the wares of the grand trade fleet.

Oskar Meyer himself toured the land, guided by Mahmoud as he secured deals to turn a profit on this journey. He visited many great cities, including the capital at Manden, where he was granted an audience by Emperor Camtah Conde the First. He saw the great Antechamber of the Manden Emperors, decorated in glorious arabesques and tapestries from across the world, the wondrous, personal wealth of the empress, and her great menagerie, pens of hyenas, mardykhor, bastilodon, and the monstrous, crocodilian form of a single gbahali. Their conversation turned to the pets, and the Menagerie of the Reikland, and Emperor Camtah gave Oskar a Bastilodon and handlers as a gift for Konstantin's menagerie. Weeks after the Bastilodon, a second messenger would arrive in Altdorf, alongside a troupe of adventurers, trappers, and guides, requesting permission to negotiate for or capture a Gryphon for the Emperor's menagerie.

From there, Oskar and Mahmoud negotiated with a series of merchants, local and foreign. Oskar's enormous wealth of trade-goods and access to guards and mercenaries allowed him to become the nucleus of a grand trade expedition to the east. And just in time too, for Mahmoud increasingly seemed to be aggravating the locals.

They set out and spent weeks simply travelling across the well-worn roads of Manden. It was well-protected, safe travel, and after the splendor of the cities it was sobering. There were religious tensions in Mali, the rich, the noble, the foreign had taken up Tihomite practices some generations ago, their godly duos, their laws and customs, but the rural peoples hadn't, and neither had many of the outlying towns. They held to older religions, ones that long predated Bilad at-Tihom, or even the Conde dynasty, and while they were more than welcoming of the prosperity that foreigners brought, they were less fond of the throne's abandonment of their gods.

But if Meyer could trade the troubles that afflicted his home for these ones, he would, and the expedition left the Empire without incident. There, things became less safe. Here nations warred, and Lizardfolk claimed their ancient abodes, Orcs fought for an opening in the local kingdoms, and Skaven desperately searched for an edge over their infinite competitors.

They journeyed through the Karbagari states, war-torn Ngazar and the Yao with whom they warred. They rescued slaves from the clutches of Skaven, joined local garrisons against Orcish raids, and Mahmud pled their righteousness to a small army of skinks to be let through a mountain pass. Twelve men were killed as they traveled through ruined Nehekhara, for they had robbed an abandoned temple against the advice of the locals, and were pulled into the ground during the night.

They entered the nation of Tigray on the eastern side of the Southlands, having crossed the entire continent. Now they were faced with a race, for if they did not reach the Medes by the first snowfalls, they would be unable to cross the mountains to Ind before the year was out, without facing the ruinous expense of purchasing ships.

And so they raced to Media. Barely stopping in the birthplace of Bilad at-Tihom for Mahmoud to make a minor pilgrimage and Oskar to purchase new camels and local guns.

They left on the last leg of their journey three days later. It was a week's ride to safety, as Mahmoud described it, and the Southlander merchants who accompanied them were more nervous now than they had been when those poor fools had robbed Nehekhara.

Three days later, Oskar Meyer learned why. He saw the belching clouds of smoke first, coming over the horizon. The braying of oxen, rippling of canons, and bellows of Ogres and Orcs well before he saw the foe. He thought it an orc raid at first, though the quavering of the locals ridiculous, until the first war machine crossed the horizon.

Orcs, Ogres, and Men marched, gonnes and blades in hand, heavy chains around each of their necks. Behind them, a massive, tracked machine rolled over the cracked earth, sand sprayed from its treads and the screams of the damned poured from its smokestacks. Two massive cannons boomed, the entire warmachine swaying with the motion as screaming shot sought out some invisible foe. And watching all of this, directing their slave-soldiers, ordering hobgoblin crew to turn the guns against the caravan, was a red armored dwarf with a long, braided beard and gleaming red armor.

Oskar Meyer had come against one of the great horrors of the Old World. The Dawi Zharr, the Slave-Masters of the Empty Quarter, the Scourge of Orcs, Embodiment of the Lie, the Unfelled Kings of Ator.

For the first time in many centuries, Sigmarites fought Chaos Dwarves.

Article:

To the Shah of Shahs, Protector of Freed Peoples and Foe of the Lie, Shahbanu Zand the Second

Some weeks ago, General Rhahzadh defeated an army of the Atori, slaying their masters, rescuing men, and scattering freed orcs to the wind. In the aftermath he discovered and rescued a caravan from Manden, which had been attacked by retreating Dwarves and was scarcely holdings its own.

This rescue was a righteous and just thing, but he has given me charge of hosting them and accommodating them, and will without so much as consulting me on the matter!

There are hundreds of men in this caravan and they plan to stay through the winter. More, many of them are strange Brettonians whose language I cannot speak, and they have a monumentally rude Tihomi amongst their number.

I beg of you, as your sister if not as a subject, please order Rhahzadh to perform his duties.

Governor Afrin

Article:

To my beloved Sister,

This is your job.

Deal with it.

Your sister, Zand the Second.

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Wade Garrett with my approval)

SMALL, BUT FIERCE

To say that the Ar-Ulric's efforts at promoting unity among the Northern provinces had developed in a way not necessarily to his advantage once they hit the borders of Nordland would... well, probably have gotten the speaker punched in the face for being a smart arse snake tongued Southerner. But it couldn't be denied that these efforts had mostly resulted in shouted arguments, bare knuckle brawls, and duels to the death between Ulrican priests and Nordland nobility, and while these were all good Ulric approved past times it wasn't precisely what the Cult had set out to accomplish.

And so as rumors spread that the Ar-Ulric would be visiting Nordland in person to address the issue, a certain anticipation began to fill the air. Knuckles were cracked meaningfully, swords and axes were sharpened, and priestesses of the Pure Dove set out extra medical supplies and sighed in resignation, everyone having some idea of what an Ar-Ulric personally addressing an issue meant.

And as it turned out, everyone was wrong. Ar-Ulric Kristov had come north not to batter his political rivals senseless with his calloused fists or bring a blade shattering down on their skulls, but to sing the praises of the Elector Countess, and to inform the priests and temples of Nordland that it was their duty to honor and obey her as wolves honor their pack leader, a message that echoed resoundingly to von Moltke's credit coming on the heels of her successful (albeit limited) campaign in the Drakwald.

Exactly how this slip of a girl had convinced the Ar-Ulric to deliver such a message was a matter of some puzzlement, with most Nordlanders not concerned with the details but proud of their Countess for accomplishing it, although there were more than a few grumbles and growls in the Cult of Ulric itself (especially from priests born in Middenland) and no less than four bawdy ballad purporting to be a true account of how the Countess had called the Old Wolf to heel.


BACK IN MY DAY....
The Countess of Ostland had been doing brisk business with the great city of Nuln. A form of reverse alchemy, one might say, turning gold from Ostland's coffers into steel from the foundries of Nuln, into bombards and arquebuses and culverins, heavy engines of smoke and flame shipped upriver at considerable trouble and expense. Into a gaggle of far from home Tileans, led by one grimy Gian Ferraio (bearer of a signed testimonial from the Prince of Pavona for his excellent work of breaching the walls of Trantio with artillery, and one from the Prince of Trantio praising him for breaching the walls of Pavona) who chewed the wad of burning paper and tabac between his lips and vowed to exert his utmost efforts in instructing his gracious liege lady's subjects in the ways of civilized warfare.

And into a new addition to the Wolfenburg skyline, a great Ducal College where the sons and daughters of Ostland would be able to master these newly acquired arms. There was just one small problem. Her subjects hated all of it.

Ostland was a province renowned for the frugality and determination (some might say "stinginess and stubbornness") of its inhabitants, and almost to a man the people looked at these ruinously expensive newfangled weapons, these slow firing, sensitive to rain and damp, as like to explode and kill you as they were whatever you were firing at, made by Southerners weapons, and turned their backs in disdain. Swords and spears had served perfectly well to see off Ostland's enemies since Blessed Sigmar's day, didn't seem to be much point in throwing away money to a bunch of Southerners, just imagine how many pikes and longbows could have been made for what the Countess had spent.

None of this was helped by reports of explosions and strange fires within the walls of the College itself, every instance of which caused heads to nod sagely and tongues to wag about what a shame it was, a young lady getting caught up in Southern foolishness.

BLOOD IN THE WATER

While Countess Jana settled matters of theology and Countess Astrid sought after guns, other eyes were watching their lands, intelligences linked to bestial hungers or brooding on old blood feuds. Many Norscans had set sail to settle in the Westerlands or pursue lucrative oppurtunities along the Reik and Aver, but if the histories of Ostland and Nordland taught any grand over arching lesson, it was this: there were always more Norscans. And many of them found the prospect of the bustling trade between their traditional hated enemies and Kislev a much riper prospect than the distant lands to the South.

Neither ruler was wholly unprepared for this. Nordland warships sailed the Sea of Claws spoiling for a fight with their distant kinsmen, while Ostland had been steadily fortifying its ports and coastline, but when did raiders sworn to the Dark Gods shy away from the prospect of a fight?

And so they came, single ships captained by the bold or the desperate and squadrons of up to a dozen, howling baresarks, stoic huscarls ravaged with the marks of plague and pox, raiders who fought with no armor and shouted praises to those who wounded them, mutants who charted their courses by means of no ordinary instruments, all seeking glory and plunder.

Nordland faired the better in these initial clashes, heavy hulled vessels built in Marienburg shipyards a match for even the largest hunting packs, while Ostlanders could only spit curses or pray to Sigmar and Manaan as the smoke from burning ships or a hamlet caught unawares rose into the sky. At least until the Kislevites arrived.

The Tzarina's fleet swept into the Sea of Claws with the rising sun, led by her cousin Boyar Valentina Karelin aboard the Scion of Dazh, their sails filled with chill winds conjured by Ice Witches. Merchants and coastal settlements alike learned to cheer when they saw the Kislevite standard rise over the waves, while the Norscan sea wolves (save the most devoted servants of the Blood God) learned to flee before them.

And that was how matters stood at the years end, the Boyar in her golden armor the toast of the North's coastline and the Norscans a nuisance but held in check, save for a bizarre incident on the Ostland/Nordland border.

The fishing village of Klaushaven was an unremarkable place, only present on a few maps of the Empire, seemingly bereft of anything that might draw outside attention. But this did not deter a Norscan longship of bizarre design from descending it on and putting it to the torch, just one more tragedy in a year full of them. Or so the coastal fort whose patrols saw the flames leaping into the sky thought.

It was only when a raven settled itself on the commander of the fort's shoulder and croaked a greeting from the Skald-Jarl Othaere Flametongue that they realized something much more sinister was afoot.

The messenger was pinioned to wall by the commander's dagger in a heartbeat, but even run through by steel it continued to rasp its terms. If the Skald-Jarl was given gold and weapons, the population of Klaushaven would die. If not, they would be set free.

After the raven had been thoroughly dismembered by halberds, the decision was made to send a force to the village, where, true to their word, the Norscans were forcing men, women, and children out of their vessel (a thing of ringing chimes and rigging like the strings of a lyre) and back onto the beach. No one was sure what to make of these events, with some whispering dark tales of captives infected with vile diseases and then returned to their families, speculation convincing enough to have the scouts stringing bows and setting halberds to keep the people of Klaushaven at a distance, but in the end a priestess of Shallya offered to approach the bedraggled group on the beach, who for their part simply staggered to and fro, eyes glassy and whistling a strange tune.

The first man she approached turned to her, asking if she could hear the song as well, and then hammered her to the ground with a driftwood cudgel, crying out "Now you hear it! Now you can hear it too!" as the villagers flung themselves on the patrol with any weapon they could pick up or their hands and teeth.

Only three survivors returned from the patrol that had set out to Klaushaven, telling their tale with haunted eyes to the stunned commander, who immediately sent word to the his Countess, the Temple of Sigmar, and Boyar Karelin.

 

[Maugan Ra]

Reikish Charity

Ever the pragmatic sort, or at least inclined to do what he must to keep the unwashed masses quiet and compliant, Grand Prince Konstantin made a great show of charity and state-sponsored development for the common people during the year. A brand new hospital was opened, staffed by orthodox Shallyans and granted all the rights and privileges the Prince could plausibly bestow, and new homes were built as the residential districts of Altdorf were expanded.

It did not escape the gaze of canny observers that many of Reikland's noble families had been gently encouraged to participate in such giving, playing on their inherent rivalries and the grand gesture of piety made by the Prince the year before, or that in the grand scheme of things even such donations were but a pittance of Konstantin's resources. Even so, the people loved him for it, and especially for the grand menagerie filled with so many exotic sights (that only a fraction of them would ever actually see).

Love and Money across the Grey Mountains

Bretonnia! Land of Chivalry and virtue, whose knights bring righteous justice to all, whose faith is strong and unquestioned! Whose great armies even now scour the land of the greenskin menace, and seem to achieve deeds worthy of legend with every passing day!

Who, united beneath the rule of their singular King, could perhaps be among the greatest foes a divided land as the Empire could ever hope to have.

It was with such thoughts in mind that several prominent figures in Reikland and beyond began reaching out across the Grey Mountains this year, seeking to pacify any looming threat before it could truly manifest, wielding gifts of gold and kindly words of friendship in this cause. They found the Bretonnians quite preoccupied, for the greenskins were a persistent threat indeed and even now whole armies of the beasts threatened to spill down from the Massif Orcal like water from a boiling pot, and with such business to occupy them kindly words were welcome indeed. Of course, no lord of note could simply turn aside emissaries of good breeding without at least a meeting or two, and it was through such discussions that the lords of Reikland learned of Bretonnia's other great obsession of late.

Astrid of Ostland had, it seemed, come south on religious pilgrimage, seeking to visit the most sacred sites of the Shallyan faith in Bretonnia and in the process gain acceptance for her own homeland's more austere branch of that faith. Somewhere along the line she had apparently made an extremely strong impression on the Duke of Couronne, and now their whirlwind romance was the talk of bards and minstrels from one end of the Kingdom to another. At least half a dozen songs had been written in honour of the mysterious pale beauty from the north and her strangely alluring ways, how she pared exotic customs with a charming willingness to at least attempt proper feminine behaviours, and by now half of Bretonnia had convinced itself that Sigmar's Empire was home to any number of beautiful women suitable for courting by young knights and unmarried lords.

Not that marriage had been proposed, of course, for that would be grossly improper at such an early stage of the courtship. Still, they seemed to be getting on really quite well, and already the Duke's peers were said to be teasing him for his most evident adoration of this strange foreign woman.

Smoking like a Dwarf

The Dawi had done very well out of their contact with the manlings of late, and while most of the gold given to them in payment disappeared into their mountain vaults, a small portion of it ended up back in circulation swiftly enough.

For the Dwarves had discovered the inestimable satisfaction to be found in smoking a pipe filled with some of the Moot's latest products - tobacco, pipeweed and certain other herbs not commonly shared - and after King Ranulf of Karak Hirn was observed partaking the trade really took off. The fact that puffing away on such a pipe for too long made any manling attempting to keep up with their Dwarf opponent fall over halfway senseless was, perhaps, a minor bonus to a Dawi's sense of humour.

Hochland Scholarship

Hochland has something of a reputation as an impoverished backwater among its more sophisticated neighbours, and while it cannot be denied that the province lacks many of the great universities and colleges of the south, its people were no less bright. The Elector-Countess hoped to remedy this unfortunate mismatch, and with the enthusiastic aid of the Cult of Verena began something of a scholarship program, pairing extensive testing and examinations of the young people across the country with state-funded apprenticeships and training programs of all sorts. The effort was well received, though of course it would take several years before any active good could be measured in response to it.

Of perhaps more immediate interest to Hochland's neighbours was the birth of the province's new heir, a young boy named Franz Conrad Hochen. As soon as his mother was fit enough to travel (perhaps over the protests of her rather pretty but undeniably foreign husband) the family made pilgrimage to the town of Gruyden, where priests and priestesses from all major religions were on hand to offer the child their blessings and hold private conference with Theophania and her senior advisors.

The most prominent guests were, perhaps unsurprisingly, the Cult of Ulric. While Ar-Ulric Kristov himself was busy elsewhere, he did send several of his priests and a sizeable donation of funds and building supplies to represent the Cult in his stead. The Cult of Myrmidia also made an appearance, working with the Army of Hochland to keep the whole region safe and secure, and while there were a few arguments and the odd brawl they even managed to avoid causing too many problems with the Ulricans in the process.

The Winter of Red Gold

Middenlanders have always been prone to xenophobia and violence, the people taking a perverse pride in their willingness to form a torch-wielding mob at the first sign of anything untoward. Typically such energies were directed at the enemies of all mankind - mutants, witches, beastmen and such - but with tensions rising along the Reik and the rising spectre of war it was perhaps inevitable that their fury would wind up directed at a less deserving target.

It was the regent's edict that provided the spark, a command in the name of all Middenland to place under arrest all merchants and nobles who might be connected to Grand Prince Konstantin, the officers of his fleet, or any who might have thought to exploit the situation around Carroburg for their own ends. Their property would be seized, their wealth claimed in fines by the state, and their lives held hostage against the intentions of their southern neighbours. Two whole armies of state troops were seconded to this task, and the sight of them kicking down doors and dragging men and women into the street was, inevitably, taken as sign of the Regent's true intent by far too many.

In fits and starts, uncoordinated but passionate, a pogrom was begun. Anyone that the mob knew to have Reiklander blood or Reiklander sympathies was a target, and what the mob 'knew' was all too often unconnected to what was actually the case. Merchants, burghurs, southerners, the wives and husbands of the same, all were targets. All died, cut down by blades or strapped to pyres and burned alive. Perhaps the Regent had intended this, perhaps he was merely unable or unwilling to stop it, but by the time winter's chill brought the passions of the people down to a more reasonable level thousands had died or been forced to flee.

And in Reikland itself, the drums of war began to sound.

An Elector Falls

Besieged in Wurtbad, Elector-Countess Mathilde van Hel weighed her options carefully, her gaze grim and her mood sour. Her remaining forces were slim - a cohort of knights, most drawn from foreign orders; a handful of demoralised militia; a small army of Kislevite mercenaries paid by another. Wurtbad's walls were tall and strong, but the coalition assembled against her had brought far too many cannon for that alone to be enough, and while the river was yet open and escape an option she knew the enemy would be watching closely.

For several weeks she contemplated her options, trying to find some way out of the deadlock. Desperate gambits were contemplated, fanciful schemes proposed and shot down, and even the odd negotiation with the forces outside her walls attempted. Alas that the last did perhaps more harm than good, for van Hel's opening offer of a complete withdrawal of all Averlander armies and claims paired with compensatory payments to Stirland was taken as a serious insult by all who saw it.

Eventually, with no other option seemingly available and the mercenaries looking increasingly restless, Mathilde van Hel bowed to the inevitable and surrendered. She abdicated from her throne, turned over her runefang, and accepted exile from Stirland and any land where Averland or its allies held dominion. The only condition she imposed was amnesty for all who had fought for her, a clause that Francis Ludwig was more than happy to honour.

The new year would see a grand assembly called, all the nobility of Stirland coming together to choose their new elector as tradition demanded, and though few had any doubts as to the outcome tradition would still be observed.

A Grand Celebration

As the year came to an end, invitations winged their way across the length and breadth of the Empire. The great City-State of Marienburg was throwing a party, perhaps the greatest celebration in living memory, and everyone who was anyone was invited. Even those who felt no particular interest in such elaborate festivities recognised the potential value of the contacts and impressions that could be made, and soon the guest list was filling up. Princes and Counts, Dukes and Lords, High Priests and merchant factors, it was set to be a gathering of some of the Old World's best and brightest.

Some doubted Marienburg's ability to play proper host to this event, but His Illustrious Majesty Luccinanto Yjsbraant van Hoogmans-Palutano was determined to rise to the occasion. Dancers and acrobats were hired, whole orchestras were reserved, and enough fine food and wine was provided to keep even the most gluttonous guest properly sated for the duration. And at the centre of it all, an elaborate retelling of the city's founding at the hands of the legendary hero Marcus the Fen-Wolf.

The party was a tremendous success, days on end passing in cultured conversation and spectacular showmanship. Scholar-priests from the Southlands hosted grand debates of philosophy and the natural sciences, while Kislevite nobles wowed the crowds with the beautiful sword-dances of their harsh frontiers. Storytellers from Norsca recited great ballads that left even the most stoic with heartfelt tears in their eyes, while Bretonnian nobles duelled for the favour of beautiful women drawn from several continents.

Perhaps the most surprising, however, was the appearance of the Elves. Invitations had been sent, of course, for His Illustrious Majesty had no desire to offer any kind of offense to his city's esteemed guests, but no one actually expected any of them to show up, much less half a dozen. Five, it transpired, were drawn from the mercantile families of the city of Lothern, and were simply here to enjoy themselves. Their elegant mannerisms and spectacular jewellry certainly bought them some considerable attention, but it was the final member of the Elf party that drew the most attention.

Asarnil the Dragonlord, Prince of Caledor and resplendent in glittering ithilmar plate, seemed to revel in the attention that he drew from all other attendees at the party. When asked, he claimed that he had come to the Old World in search of adventure. Should any wish his aid in some grand undertaking, they had merely to speak to him in private… and, of course, offer suitable compensation.

The capstone to the whole affair was, perhaps inevitable, a showcasing of Marienburg's ocean-going might. An entire new fleet, the fourth and largest so far to fly the city's flag, sailed past the assembled party goers in perfect formation. Those with a knowledge of the sailors craft noted that the hulls of the ships were somewhat odd, the arrangement of the sails unorthodox, and were smugly informed by native partygoers that the designs had been created and implemented by Elvish artisans from within the city's dedicated embassy-quarter. Each ship boasted powerful cannons purchased from Nuln, and at the centre of it all… a Titan.

Grotgraav Friedryk, it was named, a floating mountain of wood and canvas that cast half the fleet into shadow as it passed. It bristled with cannons, swarmed with veteran marines, and threatened all who lay within its path with the looming maw of a weapon larger than any ever put to sea. When the fleet completed its maneuvers and the guns fired off in salute, the roar of cannonfire was enough to set the stone beneath one's very feet quaking in primordial fear.

In the swamps, a reply was prepared.

 

[Maugan Ra]

It is now 2202 IC
Turn Three has begun​

 

[Carol]

Amidst the steady stream of carts which followed the Old Forest Road to Hergig, there was one designated with the personal seal of Baron Adalwolfa: a miner's pickax and lumberjack's ax crossed over to from a X. The intended recipient was none other than the Elector Countess [ @Mina ].​

Sis,

Congrats on getting a mate you wanted to settle down with. I hear he's "quite the catch" according to my maid. Don't know why you had to capture him but I am sure it was for a good cause. Oh, right, double congrats (dougrats?) on your first cub. I send my many blessings through this letter. But, even more, I send gifts! If you check the cart, there's a coat I made from a bear's hide -- extra thick and comfy for him to grow into. I even styled it after that Kemperbader MS you sent me. Very chic (what a funny word to write) I say. There's also a cute little baby bear there. I hope your cub and the girl can get along.

Best wishes,
A.​

 

[Sidheach]

The Duchy of Carroburg
2202 I.C.



---
​

Faction: The Duchy of Carroburg
Faction Head: Henryk von Bildhofen, the Duke of Carroburg

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

Their Estranged Son, Magnus von Bildhofen, Called Magnus the Absent- Born 2129 IC - Currently in Exile in Nuln after Marrying a Noblewoman of Nuln and Converting to the Sigmarite Faith​

Married to of Brunhilde of Nuln 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.​

Temple of Ulric - Constructed 2201 I.C.​

​

The Wider Drakwald

Fortified Settlements - Constructed 2200 I.C.​

Improved Roads - Constructed 2201 I.C.​

Standing Armies:

Banner of the 1st Drakwald Regulars

---
​

The 1st Drakwald Regulars - Established in 2201 I.C. - Headquarted in Carroburg

Commanding Officer - Sir Leopold von Kornberg​

Uniform - Black and Red with Slashed Sleeves​

 

[Sidheach]

From the Court of Henryk von Bildhofen, Duke of Carroburg
To the Noble Families of the Empire

The Duke of Carroburg, being of a marriageable age, does hereby announce his intention to seek out a wife so as to give new life to his noble House and an heir to Carroburg. Those interested* would do well to make it known to Carroburg so that their offers might be taken under consideration.

*Sigmarites, Reiklanders, Bretonnians, Elves, Dwarves, those without a heartbeat**, those of a Chaotic inclination, other non-Human races not yet listed, people who slurp their food, and Reiklanders need not apply.
**Vampiric applicants will be shot***.
***With garlic laced silver bullets.

 

[EarthScorpion]

Wolfenburg​

It is dark in the Grand Duchess's room. Big dogs sprawl over the floor and huddle around the fireplace. By candlelight, Astrid works away.

"Your grace," the markgraf says at the door. "You'll ruin your eyes. You should light more candles if you're going to work late on your poetry."

"Shut up, Johan!" she snaps at him. "I wasn't writing poetry!"

"Of course you weren't, your grace," he murmurs. "And you're not writing it now."

"I'm not!" She jams her quill into the pot, and grabs for the blotting paper. "It's for the Grand Theogenist."

Ah. At least she's back to herself. He hadn't been comfortable with his duchess doing things like asking the court ladies what men like and reading books of Bretonnian poetry. Having her be an ill-tempered, erratic crosspatch who can rattle off a message to important figures in the Southern lands is much more relaxing.

"And on a related note, your grace, some of the nobles are worried about how much you're spending on..."

"They're fools," she says, without looking at him. "They'll see. This year, they'll see how Norscan ships fare against cannon."

"Some of them would rather you raise a navy in the old way..."

"Then they can pay more taxes," she says acidly. "Oh, but they'll kick up a fuss if I try to extract the coin to pay for the fleet they want. Not all of us are Jana with half-Norscan traders everywhere."

---

@Dovahsith

Article:

Grand Theogonist Wenzel Kraft,

I write to you as a daughter of the faith, born into it and taught by your priests.

Humbly I thank you for your assistance in the ways of the faith. The children of Ostland are taught the ways of the hammer, to be humble and know that service of Sigmar is the greatest duty and honour any man or woman can have.

To that end, therefore, I wish that I was writing with lighter news. These are the dark days we live in, however, such that I cannot.

I have spoken with increasing alarm with the High Priest in Wolfenburg and other fine members of the Order of the Silver Hammer, seeking to know how to counter the witchcraft and sinister ploys of the Norscan barbarians. Whatever knowledge from your grand archives or experts in the field that you could provide would be a righteous tool of the faith in countering their wicked ways.

In addition, I would ask that you might ask the faithful to contribute to the defence of my cold lands, so that I can focus fully on the destruction of this terrible, unrighteous threat to all that is good and sane and wholesome.

Your humble daughter of Sigmar,

Grand Duchess Astrid Hilma Nina Ortud Julia Karen von Wolfenburg, Elector-Countess of Ostland, Protector of the Eastern Reaches, Hetdam of the Udoses

 

[Sidheach]

The State of Carroburg
The Lady von Elsohe



Katerine von Bildhofen

---
​

By design or by providence, Carroburg has survived for another year. The perfidy of wretched Reikland has not lain her low, nor have the depradations of the spectral Goldgather undone her, for if there is but one thing that Carroburg is good at, it is surviving in spite of all efforts to destroy her. As has always been the case with Carroburg, such attempts to undo her have only seen her rise to new heights with Middenlander coin sponsoring the construction of new walls - ones built according to Dwarven plans and boasting Nulner cannons atop the battlements - the Ar-Ulric ordering the construction of a new temple in honour of Ulric - and one christened with Middenlander blood at that - and the Alchemists Guild taking up residence within her bounds to thunderous applause. Though the strangulation of the Reik river trade has still done Carroburg harm, the ancient heart of the Drakwald has nevertheless come out of the affair stronger than ever, especially with the efforts of her Duke, Henryk von Bildhofen, bearing fruit.

All throughout the Drakwald, the good Duke has ridden to and fro, visiting the courts of the many nobles of the Drakwald in order to secure their friendship and support for the coming days ahead. Speaking of the envious eyes of the Reikwalders - whose jealousy of the Drakwald is infamous, for how could they not be envious of the wealth and culture of their far greater neighbour? - and of the past glories of the Drakwald, the Duke has won many a nobleman to his side. Positioning himself as an intermediary between the Drakwald and Middenheim, he has worked to make himself for all intents and purposes the erstwhile master of the Drakwald, all while the rest of the Empire seems intent on catching fire and burning. All of this while also paying for the upgrade of roads throughout the Drakwald, with signal fires and stables scattered along them to link the 'wald together and allow for quicker responses to Beastmen incursions. An act which, the Duke hopes, shall further cement his place as the power of the Drakwald.

At the same time, back in Carroburg, banners once forgotten have been raised once more. Taking up the dragon standard of the former Province of Drakwald, the 1st Drakwald Regulars have been formed under the command of Sir Leopold von Kornberg. Drawing their recruits from all across the Drakwald, with many a noble family handing over their leavings to form the Regulars' officer cadre, the 1st Drakwald Regulars stand as a very stark reminder of the Duke's ambitions. Where once Carroburg relied upon noble sons and peasant militias for her defence, now the whole of the Drakwald would boast a company of it's own, one that would be firmly under the command of the good Duke whose ambitions can be concealed from no one.

Even if he has yet to take the final step with them.

Yet all of this activity has come at a cost and with the Duke constantly away on one matter or another, and with his cousin, Sir Leopold, fully engaged with the 1st Drakwald Regulars, Carroburg would be left without it's ruler. Rather than let the mess spiral out of control, the Duke would appoint his half-sister, Katerine von Bildhofen, as his agent in Carroburg. Arriving with all the piss and vinegar a child of Duke Gottfried could muster, the Lady von Eslohe would take up residence in the Duke's Palace alongside her husband and children and set herself to work carrying out her half-brother's duties. Court would be held, justice dispensed, and the Ulrican priesthood annoyed at every turn - the Lady von Eslohe having long maintained the opinion that she'd sooner marry a Beastman than attend a church service overseen by a Middenlander - whilst the Alchemists Guild would be accorded a place of honour in the Duke's court after their magic shows managed to shut the Lady's children up for a full day.

Even with the Duke's impending return following his diplomatic mission, it is expected that the Lady von Eslohe will contain to maintain a position of prominence within his court, her talent for politics making her an indispensable asset to the ambitious young Duke whose own talent for politics is limited by both youth and a desire to appear as noble and virtuous as possible.​

 

[Deadly Snark]

To the esteemed and honored Electors:
Lady Von Wolfenburg (@EarthScorpion )
Grand Count Von Ellinbach (@ChineseDrone )
Baroness Von Moltke (@Crilltic )
Duchess Brigette (@Scia)
Baroness Ysmay Gloriana Hochen (@Mina)
Chancellor von Schaffernorscht (@Bandeirante )
Graf van Hoogmans-Palutano (@ManusDomini )

Also to the Nobles of Stirland: including in particular the famed Vampire Slayer Count Malasangre (@Wade Garrett)

The rumors about Dragons and other fantastically dangerous beasts being unleashed by the burning of much of Drakwald in the Beastmen purges have been relayed to me by the Cult of Ulric, and the Cult of Taal and Rhya. Being a pious man, I know that with this sign, such tales are likely to be true. Furthermore I also know that even if the tales were not true, the mere ideas would still be enough to drive noble heroes to seek their fortunes and glory. Faced with this dual need of cementing the gains made against the darkness and to honor the courage of the men and women of Sigmar and Ulric, I come with a proposition.

Let us do away with the daggers, the smugglers and poachers. A Grand Hunt shall be organised, and the noble adventurers from amongsts your ranks will be given permission to hunt in the monster filled woods for monsters and indeed also Dragons. I ask that you announce and register yourselves. In return, Middenland shall strive to work with the Cults of the Empire insure that no foul play ensues. Any who breaks this sacred guest law shall be judged by all the gods.

Furthermore, I would urge those participants who wishes it to make donations to the Temples of Ulric (@Zedalb ) and the shrines to Taal and Rhya (@Imrix). Or alternatively, to dedicate to the oldest of mankind's gods the first mighty beast slain by your hands. So that all of us shall benefit from their prowess and protection as we duel with the horrors of the wild.

May the Gods be with you all.

Champion Konrad Von Schild, Regent of Middenland and Middenheim, Protector of the Sacred Flames of Ulric

 

[Rincewind]

From the Grandmaster of the Knights of the Everlasting Light

To Grand Duchess of Talabecland Brigitte II , @Scia

I ask of you in the wake of the end of the end of the war for the Grand County of Stirland , stranded far from our traditionnal headquarters ,
for permission and support in establishing an official presence within your Province and to be granted the right to recruit amongst faithfuls .
Talabheim is home to an important presence of the Cult of Verena already , and it is the desire of my Order to spread her worship under her aspect of the Just. If help is granted , we would stand ready to help you by arms or words , for you have constantly proven yourself honourable in these trying times , while others have shown themselves more than ready to employ any and all means to increase their own personnal power.

May Verena bless you and your line , and rest assured that whatever may your response be our Order will always be inclined to lend help to any Just causes you may be pursuing .​

 

[Maugan Ra]

( @EarthScorpion )

Article:

For the attention of:
Grand Duchess Astrid Hilma Nina Ortud Julia Karen von Wolfenburg, Elector-Countess of Ostland, Protector of the Eastern Reaches, Hetdam of the Udoses

Hail to thee, Ostland.

My esteemed cousin, Boyar Valentina Karelin, speaks highly of your people after a season's hard campaigning in the Sea of Claws. She tells me of their stubborn defiance, their proud defence of their home... and, in truth, of the rather magnificent toasts they raised to her sailors after witnessing Our navy do battle with the Norscan wolves.

Understand that such is duty, one born by all members of my line since the days of the Khan-Queen herself, and in years to come our adherence to it shall not waver. I write to you today not in search of payment, as if some southern mercenary, but in pursuit of mutual interest, one ruler to another. The Fleet of Kislev is proud and strong, and I could not ask more of my servants who crew it, but the harsh realities of this world limit us even so. Erengrad, our great port, is frozen and inaccessible for a considerable portion of the year, and our fleet confined to harbour as a result.

It is my desire to open negotiations with your nation in search of a remedy for this matter. A port, somewhere along your northern shores, that might be transformed into a suitable winter harbour for Our Royal Fleet, that their duty need not be impeded by the simple turning of the seasons. The benefits to all who sail the Sea of Claws should be quite evident, but as a gesture of good intent we are willing to put our name to a treaty of mutual aid and defence in all matters of defence against Norscan and her wolves.

I await your reply with eager ears and a hopeful heart.

Yours in Faith

Tzarina Mishka Romanoff, Heir to the Khan-Queen, Domina of Kislev, Warden of the North

 

[EarthScorpion]

Wolfenburg​

It is not yet spring, and Astrid sits alone in her tower, reading the letter from Kislev. Her cheeks are flushed; her eyes sparkle; her lips are opened. In a snarl.

She knows the whispers about her heritage. That she has the same Kislevite look her mother had; that her grandfather was not her grandmother's husband. It is nonsense, of course. Of course, she assures herself. She is nothing but pure-blooded Udose.

For if she was not pure-blooded Udose, she would not be feeling the towering rage from the insult. The insult from a so-called Tzarina who rules lands that should have been Ostland. That were lost by the incompetent Talabecheim emperors; sold off for a pittance wrapped in a white flag. That offers "mutual defence" if she would only give up lands that belong to her family, to fur-wearing savages who people dare imply she shares blood with. That offers a velvet glove wrapped around a frozen hand that would settle around her throat if she accepted, ready to squeeze at a moment's notice. She dares-

Her shutters - poorly latched, no doubt - tear open in the howling wind that screams outside. The wind roars in, scattering papers and whipping curtains around. It wraps around her, embraces her, so her blonde hair lashes around her like something living.

She forces the rage back down. She's used to it. Feelings are bad. They have to be hidden. She lets out a breath that doesn't steam in the cold air.

Her dogs are whining. She has to be calm for them. Hans, bless him, is there for her. His shoulders are above her waist, and he's a solid mass against her legs. She stoops down, and buries her face in his fur. Lets his deep breathing settle her. Lets his warmth calm her. He doesn't say things about her heritage. He doesn't whisper behind her back. He's there for her.

She doesn't cry. She doesn't. Just like she didn't cry for her parents and her brother and her sister.

"So... so windy," she says eventually, when she feels she can talk. She shuts the shutters again, and makes sure they're fastened properly this time. Methodically, letting mundanity consume her, she relights the candles and picks her papers up.

Astrid isn't just angry. She's terrified. Because Ostland is weak and poor, and Kislev is strong and rich. Most of her lands are perilous forest - she has no huge armies or mighty fleets. Because her people are faithful, but they don't trust her cannons yet and even her soldiers are not well-trained with their guns. Because if Kislev marched against her, she couldn't hold without a miracle, and she believes, she does, but the righteous do not put their trust in miracles.

She will play for time. Campaigning season is short in the North. And throw a party this spring. A party with some important guests.

---

@Crilltic @Mina @Bandeirante

Article:

Dear Cousin Elector,

You are Cordially Invited to the Spring Fête in Wolfenburg this year.

In all Sincerity,

Astrid von Wolfenburg

 

[Crilltic]

Salzenmund
​

The young elector-countess of Nordland sits in her solar, with a roaring fire and a stack of letters to attend to by her side, as the snow continues to pile high all throughout the Salzenmund Keep. Ironically the ruler who never wanted to rule has discovered she has something of a knack for ruling, although Jana thinks wistfully, the hallmark sign of a job well-done in her professions to be yet more work piling up.

Even now, in the dead of winter, there were countless visitors who needed to be hosted and projects that needed to be supervised. Reports on the gold flowing out of Nordland's coffers into Salzenmund and elsewhere, to buy weapons and the great works of men and other such things. Reports on the blood that has and soon will be spilled in the icy waves of the Sea of Claws. Reports on the aftermath of the fires and coin she brought to the Forest of Shadows, and her fist closed involuntarily at the memories of the first time she had truly drawn Crow-Feeder in anger.

Nordland had undoubtedly prospered under her tenure, new rivers of Coin flowed throughout the province, but new wealth brought problems all its own. Still, on the whole, she had found that in the end gold tended to outweigh problems on any scale she tended to name.

Now, though, she had retired to her solar for the night, and the brief respite that reading and answering her letters gave her from the incessant nattering of her court. In the two years she had lived as Baroness of Nordland, Jana von Moltke had developed a certain measure of love for her position, as a way to channel her fiery spirit and "spitfire temper" as one Sigmarite Sister had termed it into something productive. Her mind, however, rebelled at stagnation, and often times she found the rote mundanity of administration to be abhorrent.

So she sat there, in the firelight, and dealt with the trials and tribulations of diplomacy.

~///~​

@EarthScorpion

Article:

Dear Astrid,

Of course I will be attending, we certainly have much to discuss.

Best Regards,
Jana

 

[SirLagginton]

Article:

A LETTER FROM THE OFFICE OF THE ELECTOR COUNT OF WISSENLAND TO THE PEERS AND NOTABLES OF THE EMPIRE OF SIGMAR*

Near five centuries past did Gorbad Ironclaw pillage and despoil the Imperial province of Solland, five centuries past since Wissenlander blood mixed with that of Sollander and Dawi in the desperate fight against the greenskin beast. Since then the Imperial province of Solland has long been one of Wissenland's greatest regrets, a monument to our shame as sons and daughters of the Empire. Long has it been our vow that Solland would once more be reclaimed from the greenskin menace, but it had never come to pass. Now I hear of a new threat, of a beast who feasts even now the ruined carcasses of Solland, Gormar Herdkiller, who has gone so far in his blithe arrogance to name himself Elector Count of holy, Imperial land.

I will not, cannot abide such desecration of our brothers and sisters, and so by the grace of the Father who forged this Empire, I call upon a Conference of Lords to address the issue of Solland. Let all who arrive at Nuln to address the Issue presented know the hospitality of Wissenland and its Count.

If this beast, this "Gormar" believes I will take such insult lying down, that all of Wissenland would even for a moment tolerate his presence for even a second longer than necessary he will be sorely disappointed. Mine own father and sister Gabriel and Anne-Marie have died slaying his kind, and even if I need to follow them into Morr's domain to see this insult repaid then by Sigmar and Myrmidia I will not be found lacking in comparison.

Sigmar bless,

Elector Count Friedrich von Schwarzburg of Wissenland

*With the exception of Brigitte II of Talabecland after that spy fiasco

---

Article:

To the Lords of Karaks Hirn, Norn, Kadrin, and Karaz-a-Karak

No race knows the value of a good grudge as the Dawi, and none are as cognizant of this fact as Wissenland, for when the beast Gorbad Ironclaw visited his brand of destruction upon Solland it was both Imperial and Dawi blood he spilled in those long forsaken hills. It is for this same grudge that I write to you now, for words has reached me of long lost Solland, of the creature that named itself Gormar Herdkiller, and of the unforgivable insult given by crowning itself Elector Count of Solland. We have borne this grudge patiently and with restraint, but no more. If I must see every Orc and Goblin eradicated from the hills to see this insult avenged then I shall do so with mine own two hands if I must. I have called my banners, and I shall see this shame erased from the history of my people or die in the attempt as my father and sister before me.

The Dawi have been our most steadfast of friends since the very earliest of days in the era before the coming of the Man-God, and it would be the greatest of honours to march alongside them to the murder of the greenskin. The integrity of the dawi throng is legendary, and I hope to have the honour witnessing them in action in the coming campaign. I eagerly await your response.

Ancestors bless your reign,

Elector Count Friedrich von Schwarzburg of Wissenland

 

[Floom]

Older than old...

Greater than great...

Whose heart shakes mountains, whose breath fills skies...

Who weeps to fill oceans, who bleeds to grant lives...

That which sheltered in the cruelest of days...

That which gave us the first of our ways...

That which guides the unchanging path...

That which keeps us from ruinous wrath...

Listen... listen...

From heavens high to depths below...

From mountains to forests to rivers to seas...

All that you know...

All that you be...

From day to night...

Each step, a journey...

Chasing your light...

Beyond horizons eternally...

 

[Imrix]

Below is recorded the open letter penned by Heirarch Stromsdottir in the dawn of the year 2202 IC. Copies of this letter spread throughout the Empire, carried partly by the Cult of Taal & Rhya, but partly also by hired mail or commoners bearing it on informal basis. By such haphazard means this letter spread remarkably far - at least one copy is reputed to have reached the Tilean city of Remas during Heirarch Stromsdottir's lifetime, though history does not record the bearer. Most copies were hand-written, and several examples survive which seem to have been transcribed by average citizens. It is generally regarded as the point at which the Cult of Taal & Rhya entered the Crisis of the Twenty-Third Century in earnest.

Article:

To all those who heed the old faith, if you are reading this, I implore and entreat you, carry these words on. Carry them as far as you may and speak them to whoever will listen, until every brook and stream, every branch and brush, every field and hearth hears them, until they echo from one corner of this broken Empire to another.

We live in grim times, my people. The wars of this Age, once optimistically called that of Three Emperors, show no sign of abating. Greenskins, beastmen, norscans, and other horrors assail us as they ever have. The Drakwald rings with the crackle of flame and monstrous roars. Men tear at each other in the streets, the Reik heaves with pirates, and even the most beloved of faiths show they are not immune to greed. Truly, a winter of horrors is upon us, and it is bitter indeed.

If you count yourself one of Taal or Rhya's people, then I say this to you: Ever have the seasons turned. All things happen for a reason, and this shall be no different. This, too, shall pass. If this be a winter of horrors, then let it also be one of opportunity for those fit to meet the challenge. Ever have the wilds been our temple, so let the coming rites shrive us of weakness. Let this winter be our Quickening, that we may emerge stronger for the test. And we will emerge. In the coming days I will call to you, and I ask that you listen, to me and to each other. Together, we will see the end of these days. Spring will come, as it ever has.

To the common folk of these lands, whether you be kin of my faith or not, to you also I have a message: Though your lords may war on each other, and other priests may squabble, neither the King of the Gods nor the Mother of Earth have forgotten you. We, their servants, their hands, have not forgotten you. And we will not abandon you. This is my oath, by earth and tree and bone and all the salt in me, so swears,

Esmerina Stromsdottir, Heirarch of Rhya for Talebecland

 

[TenfoldShields]

Article:

To the Grand Count of Averland Francis Ludwig von Ellinbach (@ChineseDrone),
to the Electorate-Lords and Ladies of Stirland (@Maugan Ra),
to the Grand Count of Wissenland Friedrich von Schwarzburg (@SirLagginton),
to the Burgomaster of the Free City of Kemperbad and All Congruent Reikland Estates (@Dekutulla),

After much discussion and prayer, the Grand Count Francis Ludwig von Ellinbach and the Grand Prince Konstantin Rannulf Engel I have declared that there shall be peace and amiability between their nations. The Electorate-Lords and Ladies of Stirland shall henceforth be restored of their lands with full gladness and generosity, while the Reikland shall retain their possessions upon the Eastern banks of the River Reik, the Southern banks of the River Stir, and the chartered townships therein.

Let us then embrace as friends and brothers, kin and kind.

Sealed and Signed in the Grace of Sigmar Heldenhammer by His August and Imperial Majesty, the Elector-Count of the Reikland, Chieftain of the Unberogen, the Grand Prince Konstantin Rannulf Engel I in the Year 2204 following the Coronation of Our Lord Sigmar, the First Emperor.

Article:

To the Grand Count of Averland Francis Ludwig von Ellinbach (@ChineseDrone),
the Grand Baroness of Hochland Theophaneia Ysmay Gloriana Hochen (@Mina),
the Grand Baroness of Norland Jana von Moltke (@Crilltic),
the Chancellor of the League of Ostermark Frederick von Schaffernorscht (@Bandeirante),
the Grand Princess of Ostland Astrid von Wolfenburg (@EarthScorpion),
the Electorate-Lords and Ladies of Stirland (@Maugan Ra),
the Grand Duchess of Talabecland Brigette II (@Scia),
the Baron of Marienburg Luccinanto Yjsbraant van Hoogmans-Palutano (@ManusDomini),
the Grand Count of Wissenland Friedrich von Schwarzburg (@SirLagginton),
the Most Holy Grand Theogonist Wenzel Kraft of the Cult of Sigmar (@Dovahsith),
the Contemptible Lackey-Dog of Middenland, the Ar-Ulric Kriestov of the Cult of Ulric (@Zedalb),
and the Vile and Rapacious Wolf, the Villainous Lord-Regent Konrad von Schild of Middenheim and Middenland (@Deadly Snark),

WHEREFORE, the Wicked Lord-Regent Konrad von Schlid has committed vast and terrible depredations upon the mercantile fleets of the Reikland and fostered the illegal cult of the God Stromfels upon the River Reik;
WHEREFORE, the Loathsome Lord-Regent Konrad von Schlid has engaged in the wanton butchery of the blood-kin and stalwart friends of the Reikish people and thieved of their wealth and property;
WHEREFORE, the Despicable Lord-Regent Konrad von Schlid, Long May He Rot in Morr's Garden, has declared his eternal enmity for the Grand Principality, its Lords, its People, and its Virtues:

WE THUS DECLARE A STATE OF WAR BETWEEN US
​

To be prosecuted with righteous fury and strength of arms, until such a time as the Grand Duchies of Middleland and Middenheim have ceded control of the Free City of Carroburg and its Attendant Territories to the Grand Principality of the Reikland, been barred, forevermore, from the River Reik, and a safe Haven has been established within their Western Marches to succor the victims of their Endless, Unholy Hunger.

So say we all.

Sealed and Signed in the Grace of Sigmar Heldenhammer by His August and Imperial Majesty, the Elector-Count of the Reikland, Chieftain of the Unberogen, Overlord-Admiral of the Fleet and Supreme Marshall of the Army, the Grand Prince Konstantin Rannulf Engel I and the Assembled Lords and Ladies of the Reiklander Diet in the Year 2204 following the Coronation of Our Lord Sigmar, the First Emperor.

 

[Chehrazad]

Article:

WE, Luccinanto Yjsbraant van Hoogmans-Palutano, Baron of Marienburg and Elector Count of the Westerland, the High and Mighty Lord, the Lord Electoral of the Well-Bred House of van Hoogmans of the Honourable Branch of Palutano and the Most High Well-Born Peers of the Rijkskammer and Most Excellently Thrifty Peers of the Burgerhof in Stadsraad assembled,

Promulgate thus a Decree that since all the Waves of the Reik and Rivers of the Empire and Sea of Claws be infested with Raiders, Pirates and other Enemies of All Mankind, We shall endeavour to cleanse them of this Infestation within a Year. Any Ship that sails upon the Reik or is suspected of harbouring, sheltering or sympathizing with this Piratical Foe must ready itself for Searching and Inspection. Illegal and unwholesome Contraband shall be confiscated and Pirates shall be tried according to the Law of the Sea, which is the Law of Mannaan. Resistance shall be met with a swift Cannonade and the resulting Wreck shall be considered an Offering to Mannaan. Cooperate in Good Faith and We shall not see your Ships, Goods or People harmed.

Henceforth, it shall be promulgated thus that Pirates that hinder and prey upon the enrichening Trade between Good Men be the Enemy of All Mankind and shall be treated as according to the Law offered to Heretics, Witches and Worse, the Scum that litter the Earth.

By the Grace of Mannaan, His Illustrious Majesty, Elector Count of the Westerland, Baron of Marienburg, the High and Mighty Lord the Lord Electoral Luccinanto Yjsbraant of the Well-Bred House of van Hoogmans of the Honourable Branch of Palutano and the Most High Well-Born Peers of the Rijkskammer and Most Excellently Thrifty Peers of the Burgerhof in Stadsraad assembled.​

Article:

To the Duke Henryk von Bildhofen of Carroburg (@Sidheach),
the Lord-Regent of Middenheim and Middenland Konrad von Schild (@Deadly Snark),
the Grand Prince of Reikland Konstantin Rannulf Engel I (@TenfoldShields)

WE, Luccinanto Yjsbraant van Hoogmans-Palutano, Baron of Marienburg and Elector Count of the Westerland, the High and Mighty Lord, the Lord Electoral of the Well-Bred House of van Hoogmans of the Honourable Branch of Palutano and the Most High Well-Born Peers of the Rijkskammer and Most Excellently Thrifty Peers of the Burgerhof in Stadsraad assembled,

Promulgate thus a Decree that pursuant to an Appeal most Heartfelt from his honourable Grace, the Elector Count and Lord-Regent of Middenheim and Middenland the Trade between the Free City of Carroburg and Our City Fair the Electoral Barony of Marienburg shall be uninterrupted by Blockade or Piracy and that Attempts to stop this Trade shall be treated as the Gravest Insult towards Our State and Haendrykian Faith in the Common Wealth of Mankind. Pursuant to This, the Crewed Ships of Marienburg shall hail the Ships of my Cousin Electors upon the Waves with the very first Verse of De Helmariad, as it is a Good and Wholesome Song of the great Virtue of our beloved Forefather and preceding Elector Count, Father of our modern State, Helmar van Hoogmans-Buik, Morr rest his beloved Soul. This shall be followed with a welcoming Blank Salvo as is the Custom of the Sea and the Rivers.

By the Grace of Mannaan, His Illustrious Majesty, Elector Count of the Westerland, Baron of Marienburg, the High and Mighty Lord the Lord Electoral Luccinanto Yjsbraant of the Well-Bred House of van Hoogmans of the Honourable Branch of Palutano and the Most High Well-Born Peers of the Rijkskammer and Most Excellently Thrifty Peers of the Burgerhof in Stadsraad assembled.​

 

[Sidheach]

WHEREFORE, the Wicked Lord-Regent Konrad von Schlid has committed vast and terrible depredations upon the mercantile fleets of the Reikland and fostered the illegal cult of the God Stromfels upon the River Reik;
WHEREFORE, the Loathsome Lord-Regent Konrad von Schlid has engaged in the wanton butchery of the blood-kin and stalwart friends of the Reikish people and thieved of their wealth and property;
WHEREFORE, the Despicable Lord-Regent Konrad von Schlid, Long May He Rot in Morr's Garden, has declared his eternal enmity for the Grand Principality, its Lords, its People, and its Virtues:

WE THUS DECLARE A STATE OF WAR BETWEEN US
​

To be prosecuted with righteous fury and strength of arms, until such a time as the Grand Duchies of Middleland and Middenheim have ceded control of the Free City of Carroburg and its Attendant Territories to the Grand Principality of the Reikland, been barred, forevermore, from the River Reik, and a safe Haven has been established within their Western Marches to succor the victims of their Endless, Unholy Hunger.

So say we all.

Sealed and Signed in the Grace of Sigmar Heldenhammer by His August and Imperial Majesty, the Elector-Count of the Reikland, Chieftain of the Unberogen, Overlord-Admiral of the Fleet and Supreme Marshall of the Army, the Grand Prince Konstantin Rannulf Engel I and the Assem

Click to shrink...

From Henryk von Bildhofen, Duke of Carroburg, Bearer of the Runefang Beast-Slayer, Killer of Beastmen, Champion of the Drakwalders, Heir of the Thuringians, and Other Assorted Titles
To Konstantin Rannulf Engel, Grand Prince of Reikland

I would bid you go to hell, Reiklander, but I fear you are already there.

Should you attack Carroburg, know that I shall bring all the fury of the 'wald down upon you for what friendship once existed between Carroburg and Altdorf, in the days of our forebears when Beastslayer was bestowed upon my House, shall not weather the molestation of the 'wald. So come with your armies if you must, Reiklander, but know that you face not the perfumed fops of the south but hardened 'walders who have done battle with far worse than you.

Yours forever in the love of Ulric
Henryk von Bildhofen

 

[dash931]

Article:

To High Priest Sieghard Eberl (@Dadarian)

I bring grave tidings from the west. It appears the curse of undeath is not limited to creatures that walk the land. In the course of draining the swamps of the Westerlands, the workers uncovered a slain village and what has come to be termed the Carcass. I am afraid I cannot provide any greater description of it save that it the corpse of some unknown sea creature, for all who have seen it in person have vanished into the swamp waters or, in the case of the single man to return, taken their own life. Attached to this letter is the report of the head priest of the Marienburg temple of Morr, who has penned the full and grisly details we currently know.

I beg your assistance with laying this threat to rest, along with all those it has claimed. I have commanded that all missives and persons pertaining to this situation be conveyed with all haste, and will see to all the accompanying tithes to Manann myself that you and yours need concern yourselves only with our enemy.

By the Grace of Manann
Matriarch Leentje Leentje van Moddejonge

 

[Carol]

Mitglieder des Esk-Komitee​

The dawn of 2202 would see radical changes be implemented in the governance of Esk. Power, once consolidated solely under a baron, was granted to a committee of equals -- representing the six biggest interests in the town. It is hypothesized that Baron Adalwolfa desired greater accountability for her administration and thus relied upon men of proven worth to make it so. The rather intimate memoir of her closest servant-cum-secretary, Lulu of Esk, is often used to support this hypothesis...
Christoff Sauer, "Order in Strife: Local Government During the Twenty Third Century."


LUKAS BRESLAU,
Chairman;
Neutral.

He is a man of great fluidity, able to balance the needs and wants of the committee with great skill. He is said to never speak until all else have spoken so as to never show his cards too early.


JAKOB HOPFER,
Member;
Mercantile Faction.

Do not be fooled by his jolly charms and wit-less persona. Countless outsiders have and their pockets bleed because of it. His love of coin is only exceeded by his love of Esk.


NICLAS MARKS,
Member;
Miner Faction.

The mines are harsh. He is harsher.


VEIT KREBS,
Member;
Lumberjack Faction.

Chop, chop, chop the trees fall, fall, fall.


EDGAR BAADER
Member;
Huntsmen Faction.

Once foul beastmen took him to be their food. He returned a day later with ten goat-heads.


HELLA FELLNER
Member;
Faith Faction.

Even Marks listens to her for Nature speaks when she does.


ALBERT LEHNER
Member;
Gentry Faction.

The kindest man in Esk. Not an ounce of nobility's excess is seen on him.