Heirs of Sigmar

[Cavalier]

Wurtbad, Grand County of Stirland

Horst von Wolfbach scowled at the carriage as it stopped before him at the gate of the Golden Eagle. It was nothing in particular. He scowled a lot these days. His liveried servants shuffled nearby, readying to load up his luggage once the carriage stopped. As they did so a side door, marked with the wolf's head crest of family, opened. Out of it bounded his youngest, Elsa, barely a woman, but bedecked in a fine Tilean gown that was being strained to the utmost by her enthusiasm. He submitted as she hugged into him, her head with its golden flax hair so like that of her mother nestling just under his chin. Finally, at last, he allowed himself to slip and arm behind her back and let out a sigh that released weeks of tension and frustration.

"Daddy, I'm so happy to see you again." There was evident relief in her voice. "We heard the war didn't go well."

We referred to her older brother Maximilian, who was waiting for them in the carriage. He carried more of his father's dark hair and height. Horst released his daughter and nodded to his son before turning back to her.

"The former Elector-Countess was an incompetent fool." He breathed out through his teeth. "I must rue not having taken a hand in the Diet after the disappearance of Blessed Martin. It was an ill result for Stirland, and worse still waits us." With that he started into the carriage, Elsa dutifully following.

As the door closed and servants loaded up the carriage he filled his children in. "Imagine an Elector-Count, allowing the Cult of Morr to offer such disrespect! Seizing her on the field, and leading her to abandon the army before its final confrontation. I have never been so furious in my life. Except on the retreat to Wurtbad. Imagine a field littered with the flower of our knights. Cut down by the Runefangs of Averland and Wissenland. And for what? Van Hel was unworthy of her station and in her fall she brings us into the power of Averland."

"There is the next Electoral Diet," Maximilian carefully broached. "And grandmother was a Haupt-Anderssen too."

"Of course," the Archduke answered sourly. "Perhaps I disappointed your mother not pressing my claim at that time. By Sigmar, if only-" He shook his head. "Well. No more Stirlish blood will be spilled for foreigners if I can help it."

The carriage began rolling. The cobble-streets of Wurtbad were smooth compared to the tracks outside the city, but its white-washed buildings attracted little enough notice from those inside save a wish from Elsa that she might have visited the famed baths. The two men though were deep in counsel about their upcoming plans for the Diet.

"Those who fought with Van Hel will be bitter about their loss," Maximilian noted with a mirthful smile. "So if you put yourself forward you'll be able to gather support from them. And Eliana's Averland groom will make a lot of the country barons nervous, even if they revere Blessed Martin. I say though, I've heard of country bards passing through Wolfbach singing the praises of Francis Ludwig and his veneration of our late Count, so I think they've got a head start on us."

"I don't doubt they have. But there are a few other cards to play. First of all those wretched halflings." Horst reclined back in his chair and recounted how Wurtbad had been in an uproar over news of the Moot buying up the estates of fleeing nobles. "I bear no great love for cowards but fleecing men of Stirland and putting those creatures above honest Sigmar-honoring Men is outrageous, and something we may yet use as well."

"There's another advantage we can use too," Maximilian noted, his head nodded toward Elsa as she looked out the window. Horst scowled but finally acknowledged his eldest son with a nod.

Slowly within the carriage a plan was coming together. Many missives would be sent out once they reached Franzen along the Aver, and more still would be sent from Schloss Wolfbach. And after the briefest of rests, Archduke Horst would ride out again with a new sense of purpose.

 

[Bandeirante]

Dear Cousin Elector,

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

In all Sincerity,

Astrid von Wolfenburg

Click to shrink...

To Astrid von Wolfenburg

I shall make time to attend. There's much we all should discuss, in person

Frederick von Schaffenorscht, Chancellor of Ostermark

 

[Carol]

To Her Majesty Theophaneia Ysmay Gloriana Hochen, Grand Baroness of Hochland, Marshal of the Talabec Reach, Defender of the Shrines, and Baroness of Hergig [ @Mina ].

Sire,

Since Her Excellency Baron Adalwolfa is not acquainted with matters of finance and trade, I write to you in her stead. We wish to report an alarming trend against Esk's fiscal well-being: the rising cost to export our natural resources due first to Middenland privateers and then the subsequent reaction to it. Our most profitable route for ores, Hergig-Altdorf-Nuln, has been disrupted thanks to these malcontent southerners. While the situation has mostly been contained to the lower-western Reik, the forthcoming war between the Grand Duchies of Middenland and Middenhiem and the the Grand Principality of Reikland have already sent secondary shocks to our distributors. This during a time of ever increasing demand in Nuln! Until such time that peace has been restored, we plead for new charters to trade with the dwarfs and the newly enriched mercantile houses of Ostermark so so to diversify our export market.

On behalf of Baron Adalwolfa,
JAKOB HOPFER.
​

P.S.: I have too much gold, sis. I don't know what to spend it on!!!

 

[triumph8w]

GOOD NEWS AND BAD NEWS.​

Herman breathed in the cold and dreary Sylvanian air through the slits in his helmet. Moving towards his tent he thought on the campaign against the ghouls, and on news he had received. It was a success, ghouls have been driven out of their burrows and slaughtered to the last and then buried in the Gardens of Morr. No longer to trouble the villages and hamlets that dotted Sylvania. And good news came from Count Luciano's way, the blood dragon, Roland, was dead. Decapitated and no longer able to trouble the world, Herman, to make sure of this, had him buried with the proper funeral rights. His soul should trouble the world no more.

That brought a comfort to Herman, that the beast he helped riled up was well and truly dead. What did not bring comfort to him was the news of Van Hels defeat, and indeed the manner of which she was defeated. The Cult of Sigmar had declared her clean and pure, of no dark intent, and that, like many others, was enough for Herman.

It was not, it seems, enough for the Custode del Portale. News of his actions had reached Herman all the way in dread Sylvania, actions that had confused him, and as they essentially destroyed Van Hels armies and war effort. Turned into shock, a bit of anger, and a tiny nugget of disgust. He knew that Sieghard was extremely detached from the affairs of nobles or the common folk when it did not involve the taint of undeath. But he was not aware of the poor sense of timing he seemingly possessed.

He entered his tent, plated clanking with each step and movement, and sat down on a chair. He slowly removed his gauntlets and rummaged around for paper and a quill. He knew not of the events that led to Van Hels fall, but he knew she did not deserve to lose as she had, forced into the humiliation of stepping down from her position. He had, still does in fact, respect Van Hel. He had not worked with her often before she had gained her seat as Elector, but those few moments that he had, and their time campaigning together, had culminated into a feeling of respect for the young, fiery women. No matter about her cursed family name. And for that respect is why he was writing the letter he currently was. Taking a tone with the Custode del Portale that he would not normally dare. As he writes it, quill scratching on paper, he hopes that wherever she is, she is doing fine, and that the follies of an old man have not doomed her as well.


@Dadarian

Hail, Custode del Portale,

My mission in Sylvania is so far successful, ghouls are dead, rooted out of their burrows, and the people of this land are less hostile to the ways of Morr. The blood dragon itself is dead, having been decapitated, and he has been put to rest. Though however it surprises one, news tends to reach us even in this dread place, and I have received a most unfortunate bit of news. Van Hel defeated, not through her armies clashing against Averlands, but because you had her tested. While normally I would agree entirely on this course of action, but the Cult of Sigmar saw to it to search her for any hint of corruption. They found nothing and declared her pure, and yet you went through with your own investigation, right when she was about to lead her armies out into the field. This lead to their defeat, and to whispers I do not like much about the Cult, about it being a puppet to Averlands wishes. And while I know you, I still cannot help but be suspicious myself. Why was the Cult of Sigmars investigation not enough, and why did you have to pick such a poor moment to do your own?

May Ravens alight upon you.
Grandmaster Herman of the order of High and Chivalric Order of Deserved Rest ​

 

[Dadarian]

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

Click to shrink...

In Nomine Morr Scriptor​

The taint of undeath cannot be left alone, I shall ensure proper vigilance is brought against the monstrosity.

S.E​

@Dadarian

Hail, Custode del Portale,

My mission in Sylvania is so far successful, ghouls are dead, rooted out of their burrows, and the people of this land are less hostile to the ways of Morr. The blood dragon itself is dead, having been decapitated, and he has been put to rest. Though however it surprises one, news tends to reach us even in this dread place, and I have received a most unfortunate bit of news. Van Hel defeated, not through her armies clashing against Averlands, but because you had her tested. While normally I would agree entirely on this course of action, but the Cult of Sigmar saw to it to search her for any hint of corruption. They found nothing and declared her pure, and yet you went through with your own investigation, right when she was about to lead her armies out into the field. This lead to their defeat, and to whispers I do not like much about the Cult, about it being a puppet to Averlands wishes. And while I know you, I still cannot help but be suspicious myself. Why was the Cult of Sigmars investigation not enough, and why did you have to pick such a poor moment to do your own?

May Ravens alight upon you.
Grandmaster Herman of the order of High and Chivalric Order of Deserved Rest ​

Click to shrink...

In Nomine Morr Scriptor​

You will know your place. I was asked to hold the Countess, by her own tongue, to official account. That was done. The petty politics of those that seek weakness whilst the undead grows holds no place in my heart. Mind it holds no place in yours. There lies in the Westerlands a beast known only as the Carcass. Ensure it is laid to rest in the Gardens.

S.E​

 

[triumph8w]

You will know your place. I was asked to hold the Countess, by her own tongue, to official account. That was done. The petty politics of those that seek weakness whilst the undead grows holds no place in my heart. Mind it holds no place in yours. There lies in the Westerlands a beast known only as the Carcass. Ensure it is laid to rest in the Gardens.

S.E
​

Click to shrink...

​

Hail, Custode del Portale,

I know my place well, Custode. My place is to fight the monsters of the night, my place is to fight those who would steal the dead from their rightful rest for their own, disgusting, selfish gains. That is not the place of some mindless toady, some spineless yes men who field no questions, no protests when they feel that their superior has done wrong. And I am far, far too old to accept being chastised like some young pup who pissed in the house. However I will do as you demand, for I know my duty well and I will not shirk it, even if it lies on the other side of the Empire.

May Ravens alight upon you.
Grandmaster Herman of the order of High and Chivalric Order of Deserved Rest


​

@dash931

Hail, Matriarch Moddejonge,

The Custode del Portale has informed me of your request for aid, and I will oblige. I am, as always, busy with action in Sylvania but I can spare men to send your way. They will be led by Fredrick Von Shwarnburg, a capable and veteran knight, I have confidence that he will be able to assist you well in your efforts to root out this evil. I do not, however, know how many men I will be able to send with him. As such I urge to look towards some of my sister orders, like the Knights of Morr or Order of the Black Rose, to name some of them.

May your death be easy, when it comes.
Grandmaster Herman of the order of High and Chivalric Order of Deserved Rest
​

 

[dash931]

Hail, Matriarch Moddejonge,

The Custode del Portale has informed me of your request for aid, and I will oblige. I am, as always, busy with action in Sylvania but I can spare men to send your way. They will be led by Fredrick Von Shwarnburg, a capable and veteran knight, I have confidence that he will be able to assist you well in your efforts to root out this evil. I do not, however, know how many men I will be able to send with him. As such I urge to look towards some of my sister orders, like the Knights of Morr or Order of the Black Rose, to name some of them.

May your death be easy, when it comes.
Grandmaster Herman of the order of High and Chivalric Order of Deserved Rest ​

Click to shrink...

To Grandmaster Herman,

You will have our gratitude for any and all assistance granted. If all goes as I expect, it is likely Ser Fredrick shall lead the campaign. While there are many holy wars this year drawing off our cult's coffers, rest assured your order will not want for soldiers in executing the Carcass campaign.

I've spread word among our temples that the Order of the Raven is to be assisted with transportation and communication for the duration of the campaign. If all goes well, perhaps we may forge this arrangement into a more longstanding compact.

By the Grace of Manann,
Matriarch Leentje Leentje van Moddejonge.

 

[comradepitrovsky]

It was a Knight of the Blazing Sun, resplendent in shining armor, festooned with banners and faith seals, who brought him.
The knight had ridden slowly through the Moot, greeted by reluctant processions of halflings who watched the knight's slow journey. He had ridden up from Solland, leaving the rest of his order still caught up in the fighting between the Knights of the Blazing Sun and the "Elector Count" Gormar Herdkiller. From Solland, he had made his way through Wissenland, then from Nuln caught a ship up the Aver, heading west, purchasing a horse and going deeper and deeper into the Moot. He had a grave and solemn duty.

He was bringing the body of Mungo Greentoe, son of the Elder of the Moot, home.

Eldrood Greentoe had heard of the coming of the knight long before he had actually arrived. He met the knight outside the Moot's Councilhall, on the road. The Elder wasn't a fool, and he knew what it meant, what it had to mean, when a lone knight of one of the Empire's famous orders, freshly come from fierce fighting with the Orcs in the same area as where Mungo and his fellow adventurers had vanished into, rode into the Moot. But still . . . Eldrood had hoped, dared to hope, that he had been wrong. He had fantasized that riding behind this lone knight, or sitting on his horse, would be his son, not only returned, but apologetic, ready to stay in the Moot.

It wasn't to be.

The knight swung off his horse, taking down a small pine box from it. "Prince Eldrood," he said in thickly accented Reikspiel, "on behalf of the Order of the Blazing Sun, and with our sincerest apologies, I bring you the body of your son."

Eldrood took a step forward, then another, then another. He reached forwards, touching the simple box with one worn hand. "No . . ." Eldrood said. "No, no no no no no. This . . . this can't be true. This can't be possible." His knees buckled, and he collapsed, tears streaming from his eyes. "My son . . . my only boy, my little Mungo, it can't be true, it can't be . . ."

Other halflings rushed forwards, two guards who lifted the coffin, and Rose Greentoe, Eldrood's daughter and Mungo's sister. "Father, please! We need you to—"

"No!" Eldrood pushed her aside. "Leave me be with my son. My boy, that brave young fool, throwing himself into the world, trying to prove something to me. It's my fault, Rose. All my fault. If I hadn't – if I had been kinder, closer to him, then, who knows . . ."

Rose knelt next to him. "We still need you, father. Lead us. Make his death matter."

Eldrood waved her away. "I don't . . . he's my son, Rosie. My only boy. I can't – I just . . ."

The knight handed Rose a bag. "We recovered some items. A journal, a shortsword, a Lex Sigmar, and a Sigmarite hammer icon."

She tossed them aside. "Had he more of the former and less of the latter, then maybe he'd be alive." She rolled her eyes. "Sigmar . . . Mungo put all that time and energy into 'Sigmar' and he ended up a corpse."

Eldrood looked up at her. "Don't . . . you shouldn't . . ."

"Don't worry, Father." Rose put one hand on his shoulder. "We won't let this happen again. I swear."

 

[Dovahsith]

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.

Click to shrink...

It saddens Sigmar to witness his heirs spill one another's blood so. However, men who prey upon the honest faithful souls through murder and the rapacious appetites of the Norscan, devouring the innocent like wolves only deserve to die like dogs.

---

​

@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

Click to shrink...

Child of Sigmar,

It grieves me to hear of your troubles, that once more the foul Norscan assail the Northern Provinces as they too strike at the rest of the Empire, their purses filled with traitor gold. I see what I can do to offer succor in these times of woe, though it troubles me to tell that you are not alone in seeking aid against those that would take dark delight in ending the Empire of Man.

I have instructed the Knights of Sigmar's Blood to march to the aid of Ostland. I would hope they make contact with you soon and do what they can, whether it be patrolling the shores of your coast or defending those who live under the shadow of your forests, so that you might spare your forces unwanted distraction by the creatures that dwell there.

A servant of Sigmar,
Grand Theogonist Wenzel Kraft

 

[Floom]

Barret looked over the charred ruins of the villages that had only wished for their own safety, and the pangs of regret washed over him.

He was no stranger to this sight, and indeed, it was all the more sadder that he had seen it so many other times. Perhaps they might still be around were it not for their existence. Or perhaps they would have been slaughtered all the same. He would never know.

All that was left was ash, still smoking to his Sight, emitting smoke that smelled of flames and death.

Left alone, it would do nothing but curdle and curse, filled with the lamentations of the dead.

He could offer no prayers that would soothe their souls, though he prayed regardless.

Indeed, there was only one more thing he could do for them.

A muttered word, a tap of his staff, and across the charred ruin, the soil stirred. Turning and churning, it swallowed and mixed the ashes of the village into itself, returned to the Earth's embrace, in the hope that they may yet find peace.

Where before there was ash, now there was freshly tilled soil, waiting for nature to reclaim it.

Barret released a sigh. It was days like these that made him feel even older. Yet the work was not done. More would meet this sad fate if he did not act.

Once more, Barret turned and vanished into the woods.

 

[Cavalier]

A TRUMPETE-BLASTE AGAINST THE MONSTROUS REGIMEN OF COUNT FRANCIS LUDWIG, INFAMOUS LIAR AND TYRANT OF FOREIGN LANDES SUBJUGATING OUR FAIRE COUNTY OF STYRLAND

Click to shrink...

Being the Sworn Testamente of Sir Niemand of Nirgends, A Knighte of Honour in Service of the Late Elector-Countess of Styrland, the Honourable and Vindicated Witche-Finder Mathilde Van Hel; published by the House of Ludwynjk in Marienburg, in the Year 2202 IC.

That we Styrlish Men are oppressed by the dithers mischiefs and wrongdoings of the Count of Averland, the liar and tyrant Francis Ludwig, a foreigner and would-be usurper of the rights of Styrland, is hitherto demonstrated in the following proofs offered by the testimony of Sir Niemand; and that such men as doubt the verity of Sir Niemand, may be assured that he hath sworn the holy oath of Sigmar to proffer no untruths, as witnessed by the Priestesses of Verena in the faire city of Marienburg.

1. The aforesaid Francis Ludwig, by his infamous lies before Sigmar and the Grand Theogonist, hath profaned the Holy Name of Sigmar to maketh false accusations of witchecraft and necromancy most foule, upon a dedicated fellow-servant of Sigmar. That this moste cynikal and abominable abuse of our shared Faithe is reminiscent of the practices of false and wicked Tilea, where Princes doth embrace and atheistickal pursuite of power and deny the power of the gods in their rampante arrogance.

2. Dithers false accusations against the Witch-Hunter and our goode late Elector-Countess were delivered in the wake of our misfortunate loss to the VICIOUS UNDEAD OF SYLVANIA, an enemy of Men in general as vile and loathesome as might be encountered among the barbarous Norscans or the degenerate greenskins. That the Elector-Countess was focused upon doing the Good Works of Sigmar, maketh this ploy even more wretched. Francis Ludwig, who hath made no efforte on his own parte to combat the Enemies of Men, instead sought to encompasse the invasion of the County of Styrland, that he might gather to himself a greater lande and more victims of his tyranny.

3. Having launched his invasion of our faire County, he suffered the rapine and pillaging of hordes of mercenaries and so-called "State Troops" of Averland and Wissenland, looting the best districts of our lande up to the very walls of Wurtbad. Villainous rogues employed by the aforesaid Francis Ludwig hath profaned sanctuaries of Sigmar and other most worthy divinities that they might steal every ounce of tithes donated by our good nobles. And furthermore, not having satiated their wicked hungers and perverse appetites they pursued the lure of gold even the peasant hovel and committed savage acts upon the humble peoples of Styrland, and devastated the fields and holdings of our most noble Lords of Styrland.

4. By the devastation that the invasion of Francis Ludwig, the infamous liar, caused, he hath left Styrland to the depredations of our foreign enemies who hath wronged and besieged our faire County. This usurper hath on his own authority, with no Cause or Justice, surrendered divers bounteous and beautiful lands unto the Lord of Reikland, without the merest consultation with the Noble Estates of Styrland. He hath claimed right to do so by pretence to his marriage of Elianna, good niece our late beloved and Blessed Elector-Count Martin; and yet having launched his invasion under the false and wicked lie of deposing a tyrant, as though our late Elector-Countess Mathilde were not confirmed by a Diet of the Noble Estates of Styrland, he hath substituted his own judgement and authority for that of the righteous Lords of Styrland without so much as any cause or righte, save that imposed by conquest by a foreigner.

5. That amongst the sad resulte of his invasion, he suffered the expansion of the Moot, inhabited by the infamous vile thieving Halflings, who are not proper Men and harbourers of vile MUTATION, to encompass the downfall of divers goodly Lords of Styrland. With their cunninge and deception, so unworthy of Sigmar, the Halfling vermin cheated our lords of their good holdings for a pittance. A true Elector-Count of Styrland would have taken up the cause against this intolerable injustice, not have aided in the surrender of lands held by Styrlish Men for generations even before the coming of Sigmar.

6. Having claimed our lande by force, he hath yet encompassed a greater danger for our beloved County, by presenting his good wife Elianna as his face of rule. And yet the husband cleaveth to the wife, as the wife cleaveth to the husband. A half-Averlander heir, to inherit both Averland and Styrland, is the ultimate aim of this wicked and cunninge plotter, so that he may displace the Lords of both of his domains to create a monstrous hybride liketh unto the WICKED BEASTMEN of the Great Forest. Should he succeed our next Elector-Count will knoweth not of the virtues of the Styrlandish, and will drink cold lager like a decadent and effete Reiklander rather than our good hot ale, and will not offer due homage to our Styrlish godes Albaulea and Narvoga that our fieldes might go fallow, and neglect Manhavok so we mighte be punished with floods; and with the worship of Strange and Foreigne gods will destroy our Styrlish customes and traditions to fashione a singular powere unknown to Sigmar.

Thus as many good Man of Sense and Discernmente may see, we Styrlish faceth tyranny and oppression not ever hitherto seen before save perhaps in the anciente slaveries of before the coming of Sigmar, or in the decadente and atheistickal regimens of the debaucher-lords of Tilea. Thus it behooves all Sigmar-honouring Men of Styrland to resist the designs of the Tyrant and Liar Francis Ludwig, with the election of a TRUE STYRLISH LORD as our Elector-Count.

Click to shrink...

 

[Wade Garrett]

My Dearest Daughter of the Law The Contessa Priori Theophaneia
@Mina

I congratulate you, my heart overspills with joy, my eyes fill with tears, you and my Alessio, Shallya, Myrmidia, and Verena bless you, have blessed you, I am blessed, I am a Grandame, all of us, your family, mine, ours, we are all blessed together.

I must see the little one, he and my most precious and beloved daughter of the law, I beg pardon of you, I fall supine at your feet, that I could not be with you, share your joy and your blessing, matters of import most grave detained me but they are past and now a bebe! Such joy for the two of you, I must share it in, there is a gathering in the North, closer to your signory, I am to attend as guest of the Doge of Ostermark, further my joy! Say you shall attend, say you shall bring the little one, permit me to embrace him and you, dearest daughter of the law, and until then I place my lips to parchment, a kiss for the little one, and a second for you as well, it is a time of kisses, that this trial is past and a little one, even for my son there is a kiss, I pass all three into your keeping, one to keep, two to be given on my behalf until I may give them myself.

Your Radiant Mother Of The Law, The Contessa Bianca

 

[ChineseDrone]

THUS IS DECREED BY HIS SERENE HIGHNESS FRANCIS LUDWIG VON ELLINSBACH, GRAND COUNT OF AVERLAND

THAT the seizure of land made by the Elders of THE MOOT, having been purchased by its previous occupants under the duress of conflict, represent an unjust and intolerable intrusion of the laws and customs of Sigmar's Empire which ought to be undone post-haste, and the lands therein returned to their previous owners, lest it be necessary for such usurious arrangements to be nullified by force.

Click to shrink...

(@comradepitrovsky )

 

[Skippy]

Article:

To the esteemed (@ChineseDrone):
Imperial and Princely Highness Francis Ludwig von Ellinbach,
Count of the Grand County of Averland,
Rock and Defender of the Black Fire Pass,
Chieftain of the Brigundians,
Holy Elector of Sigmar's Empire,

Honoured Sovereign, House Underhill and your loyal friends in the Mootland wish the blessings of Esmerelda and Taal on you for a bountiful cattle drive this year, and may Shallaya look down upon peace in the Black Fire Pass. Your continued friendship to the Moot is of the greatest comfort to Halflings everywhere, and a testament of your blessed rule. After discussions with your Chancellor in Marienburg and in Averheim, we are writing to confirm that arrangements for the trade caravan along the Ivory Road are proceeding apace.

With your benevolent indulgence and sanction, we hope to be underway by Nachgeheim. Provided with your introduction and seal, our factor was able to make contact with Condottieri Giovanni dalle Cesaro Nere of Miragliano, and has concluded a condotta with him for escort of the caravan. We have begun the buying up mules to mount his soldiers and for the use of the convoy, with the assistance of your steward, and it may prove to be a good year for the muleteers all along the Aver and Stir.

When there is a date for the caravan to begin assembly at the Black Fire Gate, we will write to you post-haste. May Sigmar bless our endeavours!

Your Humble Servant,
House Underhill of Marienburg

Article:

To the esteemed (@Bandeirante):
Imperial and Princely Highness Frederick von Schaffernorscht,
Chancellor of the League of Ostermark,
Protector of the Eastern Marches,
Chieftain of the Ostagoths,
Holy Elector of Sigmar's Empire,

Honoured Sovereign, House Underhill of Marienburg and the folk of the Moot give their heartfelt thanks for your investment in our caravan. With your sanction and your illustrious name as part of undertaking, surely the Gods will smile upon us. We will not hesitate to inform you and your Steward as the date of embarkation nears, which we hope to be no later than Nachgeheim, and ideally some time before.

We have also spoken to your steward regarding the renewal of our contract to import your grain and root stock to the County of Slyvania. Truly, the Count Luciano Malassangre is a shield to all the living, and his presence to our north does much to reassure all the folk of the Mootland. It is an honour for all pious folk to support him in any way. May Sigmar smile upon our endeavours!

Your Humble Servant,
House Underhill of Marienburg

Article:

To the esteemed (@SirLagginton):
Imperial and Princely Highness Friedrich von Schwarzburg,
Count of the Grand County of Wissenland and the Lost Realm of Solland,
Armourer of the Empire and South-Warden,
Chieftain of the Merogens,
Holy Elector of Sigmar's Empire,

Honoured Sovereign, House Underhill and the folk of the Mootland wish the blessings of all the Gods upon Wissenland, and beseech that Sigmar may ride with you in your efforts in the South. In making war upon the Herdkiller, you are the shield of men and halflings alike. There may be no greater testament to your divine and princely authority than making war on the Greenskin in Sigmar's name.

Although it is a matter of vastly lesser significance than your holy struggle, we are pleased to report to you that preparations for the Great Ivory Road Caravan are proceeding apace, much helped by your generous investment and support. After discussions with your Chancellor and your foundry-master in Nuln, they assure us that initial castings for the artillery train are proceeding well. With the stout falconets and petronels of Nuln, we shall endeavour to instruct the despots of the East in the benefits of Sigmarite Civilisation. We shall inform your Chancellor when a date for embarkation is set upon, and await letters regarding the fitting of the guns.

May Sigmar and the Gods smile upon our endeavours, and the brave gens d'armes of Wissenland who go to fight Mankind's foe!

Your Humble Servant,
House Underhill of Marienburg

Article:

To the esteemed and holy (@Lord_Asmodeus):
High Priestess Hildrun Steinhauer,
Spear of the Grey Eyed Maiden,
Eagle of the North,
Red Lion of Wissenland,
High Priest of the Cult of Myrmidia in the Empire,

Honoured Priestess, may the blessings and wisdom of Myrmidia and all the Gods be upon you always. The Grey Eyed Maiden looks down upon us all, and so too I hope that she looks down indulgently on our venture together. My factor in Nuln has sent me news of your Order's decision to support our caravan, and this news of your estimable favour cheers us more than words can describe. With the wise scholar-paladins of Myrmidia at our side, there can be no threat to our venture which we will not outwit.

It is certain that through your noble example, the many peoples of the East will come to see the virtue of the Grey Eyed Maiden, and so all shall profit from our expedition. When we have a certain date for departure, our steward shall write to yours with all possible haste, currently we expect assembly of the caravan to begin at Averheim no later than the end of Vorgeheim. We are assured that your steward will inform us of your own preparations and requirements as the months continue.

Your Humble Servant,
House Underhill of Marienburg

Article:

To the esteemed (@ManusDomini):
Imperial and Princely Highness Luccinanto Yjsbraant van Hoogmans-Palutano,
Lord Electoral of the Well-Bred House of van Hoogmans of the Honourable Branch of Palutano,
Master of the Peers of the Rijkskammer and the Peers of the Burgerhof in Stadsraad assembled,
Baron of Marienburg and Elector of the Westerlands,

Honoured Sovereign, the work is proceeding apace, with the usual complications. With your letter of introduction and the assistance of your factor, we were able to make contact with the Gryphon Company without too many difficulties, and gain their contract for escort of the caravan. The only serious issue occurred when a number of Ogre guards thought the Kislevite horse-herd had been provided for them as a complementary banquet, but we were able to avoid further bloodshed through some judicious bribery. As the Seer tells us, the trials of each day are proving sufficient thereof.

Your own assistance in organising the long tail of this expedition at home is more esteemed to me than I can express in this letter, especially as duties have taken me away from Marienburg for much of this year. I hope to return by Brauzeit, at which time I will be able to thank you personally, and we can discuss other matters.

Your Loyal Vassal and Friend,
Lotho Longshanks, Stadtholder of Marienburg

Article:

To the esteemed (@comradepitrovsky):
Prince Eldrood Greentoe,
Elder of the Moot,
Master of the Shirrifs of the Muster and Head of the Village Elders in Moot assembled,
Elector of the Mootland,

Honoured Elder, my factors in Averheim, Marienburg and Sauerapfel assure me that preparations for the caravan are going as best as expected, which is to say frantically and confusedly. With the support and sanction of our Princely benefactors, we have gained the contracts of many of the discards of the Stirlish War, as well as a considerable artillery train and the Paladins of Myrmidia. Such a force has probably not set forth from the Empire in centuries. With your continuing support I have every confidence that we will miss our expected embarkation date by only a month or so, just in time for the beginning of Troll Season in the mountains. Such is the exciting life of merchant adventurers everywhere. Nonetheless, I am more confident than ever in our venture with every passing week.

My duties and the organisation of this caravan take me far and wide this year, but rest assured that the Moot enjoys my fullest devotion, as it always has done. May you enjoy the fruits of your efforts for our people, and may the Gods look upon our endeavours. May we also offer our most sincere Condolences upon the loss of your son. To fall selflessly in Sigmar's cause is noble, even if it is not the usual way of our folk. These dark times test us all.

Your Loyal Vassal,
Lotho Longshanks, Thane of the Moot

 

[comradepitrovsky]

(@comradepitrovsky )

Click to shrink...

From the desk of Eldrood Greentoe, Elder of the Moot, titles titles etc.

While the Moot continues to recognize said purchases as legitimate and legal, under the laws of Sigmar's Empire, in recognition of our dear friendship with the Grand Count of Averland, our continuing arrangements with said Grand Count, and the necessary practical realities thereof, the Moot has instructed our landholding proxies to surrender said landholdings to representatives of the Grand Count, with the expectation that the fees originally paid for said landholdings will be returned at some point in the future.

 

[Mina]

Article:

Dear Cousin Elector,

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

In all Sincerity,

Astrid von Wolfenburg

Click to shrink...

Article:

Ostland,

Happy to attend. I want to talk to you about those dogs of yours.

Regards

Theo

To Her Majesty Theophaneia Ysmay Gloriana Hochen, Grand Baroness of Hochland, Marshal of the Talabec Reach, Defender of the Shrines, and Baroness of Hergig [ @Mina ].

Sire,

Since Her Excellency Baron Adalwolfa is not acquainted with matters of finance and trade, I write to you in her stead. We wish to report an alarming trend against Esk's fiscal well-being: the rising cost to export our natural resources due first to Middenland privateers and then the subsequent reaction to it. Our most profitable route for ores, Hergig-Altdorf-Nuln, has been disrupted thanks to these malcontent southerners. While the situation has mostly been contained to the lower-western Reik, the forthcoming war between the Grand Duchies of Middenland and Middenhiem and the the Grand Principality of Reikland have already sent secondary shocks to our distributors. This during a time of ever increasing demand in Nuln! Until such time that peace has been restored, we plead for new charters to trade with the dwarfs and the newly enriched mercantile houses of Ostermark so so to diversify our export market.

On behalf of Baron Adalwolfa,
JAKOB HOPFER.
​

P.S.: I have too much gold, sis. I don't know what to spend it on!!!

Click to shrink...

Article:

Sister,

The dwarves have done good work for me in Hergig, and some timbermen and farmers of the upper valleys have ties with that sacred spot of theirs. The one with all the angry little fellers with the axes and the hair. Not the regular hair. The BIG hair.

We will put in word for you, as we've some business with them. Remember, be respectful. We don't want to act like Middenlanders to them, all rude and haughty.

Theo

PS. Come see the baby and have a drink whenever you can. I miss you.

My Dearest Daughter of the Law The Contessa Priori Theophaneia
@Mina

I congratulate you, my heart overspills with joy, my eyes fill with tears, you and my Alessio, Shallya, Myrmidia, and Verena bless you, have blessed you, I am blessed, I am a Grandame, all of us, your family, mine, ours, we are all blessed together.

I must see the little one, he and my most precious and beloved daughter of the law, I beg pardon of you, I fall supine at your feet, that I could not be with you, share your joy and your blessing, matters of import most grave detained me but they are past and now a bebe! Such joy for the two of you, I must share it in, there is a gathering in the North, closer to your signory, I am to attend as guest of the Doge of Ostermark, further my joy! Say you shall attend, say you shall bring the little one, permit me to embrace him and you, dearest daughter of the law, and until then I place my lips to parchment, a kiss for the little one, and a second for you as well, it is a time of kisses, that this trial is past and a little one, even for my son there is a kiss, I pass all three into your keeping, one to keep, two to be given on my behalf until I may give them myself.

Your Radiant Mother Of The Law, The Contessa Bianca

Click to shrink...

Article:

Mum,

He's a shitting, screaming little monster. Howls like a bunch of drunken Ulricans beating the piss out of Sigmarites every night. How did you do this three times? Do I need a bigger castle? Why do I want another one so he's got company? You can embrace him all you want Contessa, and me, and Alessio. I want a bloody hug. He's just so precious and his little toes and fingers.

Gods of Old, it isn't fair they're so soft and kissy.

Theopaneira...

The letter trails away in a scribble, stained with wine and what might be tears

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @EarthScorpion with my approval)

Far away, in the World's Edge Mountains, and months later as winter gripped the freezing peaks…

… something stirred. A slitted eye opened. Great lungs inhaled. A puff of flame escaped from colossal nostrils, illuminating a cavern that gleamed and glistened with gold and gems.

She could hear them.

A clutch she had laid, so very long ago. None of them had hatched. The world had grown too cold. So she had hidden them away, buried her neverborn children below hills and within caves, and left them in this withering world.

But she could hear them. She could hear them chirping, through rock and stone and time.

Her eggs were hatching.

The dragon picked herself up from her bed of precious things, gold and dust and rocks cascading off her, and slowly she stretched, her heart beating like an old drum, her blood pulsing in her veins. With raw strength, she pulled aside the collosal boulder she had used to seal herself in, and saw the light of the sun for the first time in over a thousand years.

Her yawn set a forest of pine alight. She stretched again, sharpened her claws on granite, and pulled the rock back in front of the entrance to her lair.

And then with a great beating of wings, she took off, flying towards the setting sun. Following the echoes of her babies' chirping.

Sighting a small camp high in the snowy hills, she descended, and as the tiny green-skinned beings shouted and threw rocks at her, she burned them to a crisp and ate them. And then gobbled down the boars they had been keeping.

She always did like bacon with her breakfast.

But the land had changed very much. From on high, the trees; the rivers; the hills and the coastlines - they were all different. Where had she even laid those eggs? It was hard to remember, with a mind still blurred with sleep. It didn't matter. She would find them. They were hers.

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @EarthScorpion with my approval)

Article:

"While unbeknownst to them tragedy was fast approaching, the southern Reikish folk spent the early parts of 1324 CB wasting their efforts with petty struggles and foolish endeavors. The peasant revolt around the Reikish town of Bögenhafen was soundly crushed, and by the time it came to sow the crops, the trees were dangling with hanged criminals and bandits. Prince Konstantin was distracted with greater affairs of state.

"On both sides of the Reik, the two sides gathered their forces, knowing that war was inevitable. The southern lords rallied to the banner of Prince Konstantin, and were joined by the priests of Sigmar, the god of the Reikish. Not only did war-priests join Konstantin's armies, but - unexpectedly - a goodly number of flagellant-fanatics, Reikish madmen longing for death and stirred up by the peasant revolts, answered the call of their Holy Temple.

"To the north, the lords of Middenland gathered in the style of civilised men - a great gathering of chevaliers, the flower of northern nobility. However, they did not gather in Carroburg, instead forming up some distance away from the expected focus of the war, following a deal with the avaricious lord of Marienburg for use of his ships as transport. This did not serve them well, for while the least Bretonnian child might be fiercely aware of the land required to support a man and his horses, the land of Middenland is wooded and has no rolling hills like our own. They were forced to lodge widely, simply to ensure their steeds were fed. The ones stationed on the Delbz fared better than the ones on the Reik, whose ranks were depleted by outbreaks of dysentery and typhoid plague and who could not be reliably supply themselves by water due to the pirates Middenland itself had unleashed. They were joined by ill-bred cutthroats, brigands and hunters - peasants who only stretched the supplies of these southern villages further.

The boisterous and unchivalrous order of the White Wolves gathered the main body of their chevaliers, splitting their forces. The Grandmaster took a smaller body of their forces and rode south to Carroburg. The rest of the chevaliers rode to the eastern border near Talabecland where starving beastmen tribes were rampaging during the winter months. The wicked shaman Aarvan had unified many displaced packs under the vile auspices of the Changing God, and their services were needed sorely.

"But the centre of the war would be Carroburg, and it was there that the upstart merchants of this once-mighty former state of the Empire rallied their forces. They eagerly took the money of the Regent of Middenland to raise a militia, and the self-proclaimed Duke of Carroburg was - to great controversy among Middenlander ranks - given supreme command of the armies defending his town. That, however, was not enough for him. Perhaps that is why he sought power from darker sources."

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

Article:

"It was undoubtedly the conniving of the impotent Prince of Altdorf that led to the dwarves refusing to do any business with the righteous men of Middenland. Konstantin, a known elf-lover, also had undue influence over the once-trustworthy dwarves. When the too-trusting Regent of Middenland tried to arrange for dwarven artillerists and well-armoured soldiers to protect Middenland from the depravities of the wicked Konstantin, none of the notoriously greedy race would even accept the coin of Middenland. How much of the seemingly bottomless vaults of Reikland had been spent to buy their loyalty? What vile lies had Konstantin told them?"

"Kostantin the Blackhearted: a Biography", published by the University of Middenheim Press

Article:

"I'll no more work for you than I would for an orc, Middenlander! At least an orc has the excuse that it could be no better!"

Entrak, leader of Entrak's Shields

Article:

Article:
"So where have all them dwarves buggered off to, then? Last year they were everywhere, greedy little bastards. Now, of course, they're wonderful folk, can't say anything against them, but you can't help but notice that prices have gone back down now that they're gone? Makes you think, doesn't it?"

Wilma Zweihoff, Carroburg Burgher

Article:

"My king,

"I have done as you asked, and warned the local sun-blind dwarves. Fortunately for them, they had already divested themselves of their holdings in Middenland, after those wolf-bothering fools went on a killing spree of Middenlanders last winter. Prince Konstantin might be a drunken fool, but he's holding his own grudge about that like a real person.

"On the topic of the prince, I damn near well laughed first time I saw the suit of armour Prince Konstantin commissioned for himself. Oh, it's functional-enough armour, if you're as big as he is, but he's not a man to be happy with good honest steel even if it's Dawi-forged. No, he needs to be all uppity. Man's ordered it from Hotrek the Eccentric, and I can say, Hotrek deserves that name. It's all black and gold, covered in fine engravings, and - this is the funniest part - old Hotrek's put two of his fine music boxes in the shoulders. I asked the prince, and he says there's a mechanism that winds them up when he swings his arms. And they play a song the prince chose! So he walks into his throne room, wearing this showy thing, and he's playing this musical thing and he's even got servants with fans to make his long cape flap like a breeze is blowing through it. And it's all I can do not to shame myself by laughing at his display!

"I tell you, manlings, eh? Don't have the sense their gods gave them!

"Speaking of a lack of sense, there is a Caledorian dragonlord in Altdorf. He's an arrogant pretentious jackass, like all elves. Only more so. Prince Konstantin seems besotted with him, as expected from a vain, wine-sodden manling, and parts of the court have been adopting elven styles. I'm telling you, manlings have less sense than a pebble.

"On top of that, someone has been publishing anonymous poems saying mighty rude things about us Dawi in the Altdorf journals. I'm telling you, when I find out who's behind it, that's a grudging.

Ach, listen to me. I've been in Altdorf too long. I'm getting soft. Day was, I'd just have hit people with my axe until they told me who was behind it. I'll talk more in person when I head back home - some things, I'm not going to trust to a letter. It'll be nice to see you again, great-uncle. And just as good as to drink something that isn't weak manling pigswill.

"Your loyal servant,

"Haldi"

Haldi Bashfuldottir, Dwarven Emissary to Reikland

Silvery spurs clink against the slate tiles of the floor. The occupant of this room - the finest suite in the palace, made by a former Emperor - has refused to take his ithmil boots off no matter the damage he is doing to the surfaces. And no one has dared to suggest otherwise.

At least they know their place.

Sun-golden hair flows luxuriously down his back, reaching his thighs. He is tall - taller than any of the merely human men of this place His skin is flawless, save for a single scar on his face which somehow only accentuates his perfect beauty. No robe in Altdorf is as white and spotless as his; it makes the fresh snow outside look filthy. His eyes are emeralds; his nails pearls; his teeth ivory. He wears a blade, even in the presence of the prince; all men know he could likely kill him even with his bare hands. The great cats in the prince's menagerie move in a pale imitation of his lethal grace; never off balance, never flustered, and never uncertain that he is the single most lethal thing in the city.

Asanil the Dragonlord has come to Altdorf, to watch the apes run around all a-tizzy at the sight of their betters. And goodness, is he having fun.

Prince Konstantin, the lord of a hovel-city of rotting wood and gauche sedimentary stone is spending a small fortune in entertaining him. A very small fortune by the standards of a civilised being, of course, but these Reikish humans are desperately poor and backwards, so they're impressed by really quite insignificant sums. And it is not merely gold and silver he has spent; court beauties and handsome younger sons find themselves pressed into service to see to his needs.

Some of them even seem to have asked for the privilege of serving him. Asanil has made sure to give them things to do. They need to understand their place, and having to clean an inferior red wine off the floor keeps them busy.

Yesterday, he ran across a number of bow-legged human horsemen in one of the courtyards, practicing their childlike sparring. They were from… oh, he can't remember the name of the place. Ostland? Ostermark? Humans are bad at naming places. One of them looked at him in a discourteous manner, so he deigned to privilege the man to draw his blade against a prince of the Asur.

Then he slapped the man until he was crying on the floor. He hadn't drawn his blade, or even made a fist. Just delivered stinging blow after blow to his face until he looked like a plum and could no longer see out of either eye.

Goodness, what hilarity! And mildly impressive. He had expected the man to start crying much sooner.

Of course, demonstrating his superiority over the humans couldn't have entertained him for this long. There have been other things to do while slumming it in Reikland. For example, directing barbed comments at the dwarven ambassador until the little fool turns an amusing shade of maroon. Writing poetry on the similarity between dwarves and beetroots, and having it published anonymously and a copy delivered to the Grand Theogenist. Adopting a particularly vicious goose from Konstantin's lake on a whim and turning up to court with it and watching the humans be unsure on how to react. To his delight, some of them tried to take their own geese to court and were viciously attacked. And of course, the one worthwhile thing in this stinking town; the menagerie.

Asanil is actually vaguely impressed. It's a feeling he doesn't often express, and he doesn't like it much. Some of the creatures from the lands south of here are ones that he hasn't seen before. Of course, none of them hold a candle to the beasts of Ulthuan - least of all his gracious mount - but still, he needs to put Konstantin back in his place. Perhaps when his entertainment grows thin in Altdorf, he might have to go on a grand tour of the human lands, gathering beasts and making a gift of them to this petty prince. Just to show him that no matter how many creatures he collects, he will never rival the might of Asanil, lord of dragons.

Or perhaps he might give him a unicorn, and see if the man can avoid being gored by it.

The elf sprawls out on a barely tolerable divan, made for merely human kings, and decides that he will go out riding with Konstantin today. He will make the humans gasp in surprise and swoon when he shows how a lord of the Asur hunts.

He might be slumming it, but at least the change is pleasant. And humans have such low standards.

And Prince Konstantin has a rather amusing proposition for him. He's still considering it. He will see how much he can make the man grovel before he decides whether to accept it.

Article:

Article:
"Franz.

"Might be my last message. If you're reading this, the sailor came through. There aren't many of us left in Carroburg now. Martin is dead - 'bar brawl' with Ulricans. I had to identify him at the temple of Morr. They'd beaten him so badly I couldn't recognise his face . Only the tattoo on his back made me sure it was him. But I couldn't abandon my flock. They might kill me, but I'll stay here to minister to my people as long as possible. I'm no Reiklander, but the Middeheimers the Ulricans sent in don't see a difference. But the priests are the only Middenheimers here. It seems every other man in town has been conscripted, but I haven't seen hair nor hide of the so-called 'brave knights' of Middenland here.

"The Alchemists are up to something. The Duke lets them do what they want. I think that's why all the dwarves vanished. Snorri - he was my friend, he told me to get out too. Said something bad is coming. He doesn't need to tell me. There have been weird fires around the halls where they work, and they're building contraptions up on the walls. Not cannons, but I don't know what they are. Witchcraft, I reckon. They're working night and day, and the workers say they're feeding them some strange black liquid that means you don't need to sleep. Some of their workers have these bulky metal collars on them. More evil things. Please, my brother, make sure word gets out.

"There is something rotten in Carroburg. And Reikland is marching to war on us. I've always considered myself a loyal Drakwalder, but right now, I'm wondering; Franz, are we the villains?

"Stay with Sigmar,"

"Gustav"

Father Gustav Hoffer, Priest of Sigmar in Carroburg

Article:

"GUSTAV HOFFER, formerly a priest, has been found GUILTY of the crimes of HIGH TREASON and ESPIONAGE against Carroburg and Middenland. The ALCHEMISTS' GUILD has begged for clemency and it has been granted by our gracious Duke. His punishment shall commuted to TEN YEARS OF LABOUR FOR THE ALCHEMISTS in the service of our great city."

Sign outside the law courts of Carroburg

Article:

"Within Carroburg, the tensions in the city grew to a fever pitch. The common folk, unnerved by the deeds of the Alchemists and unaware of the planned military strategy, became restless. They felt they had been abandoned by Middenland, and Duke Henryk von Bildhofen was barely able to keep the tensions in his city under control. Still, yet more murders happened over the winter and early spring months. The cruel Justice Wilhelm Schafhirt. who had hanged many Reikland sailors the previous year was found in his bedchambers, molten gold poured into his eye sockets, as were several prominent merchants in the city who had benefited from the confiscation of Reiklander ships. Duke Henryk was torn between those merchants who blamed him for failing to catch the Reikland assassins behind this, and those who bought into peasant superstition and blamed the ghost of Boris Goldgather for these deeds."

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

Article:

"I seen him again, I'm telling you - I seen him again! It were on top of the Alchemists's place, the place that make all the stinks all the time and where the fires are! Ol' Goldgather is still out there, and the priests and the lords don't care! I was talking a fine gentleman to… uh, to get 'is hair cut, see, and we cuts through an alley because I know a flophouse that do very reasonable beds for an hour a'cos you have to rest after a trimmin', and I sees him on top of the spires! He raises 'is hands, and in one, he's got a rope and in the other a knife! And then there's the bell's chiming, bong-bong-bong, thirteen times it rings, and then I lose sight of him in the smoke from the Alchemists.

"No, I ain't been drinking! Not much! And… well, sure, the smoke around the Alchemists makes you all light-headed, see, but that don't mean I don't see what I did!"

Rosalind Handteller, Seamstress

Article:

MY EMPIRE FELL AND I FELL
HOW WILL FARE CARROBURG?

Graffiti found on the walls of Carroburg

 

[Maugan Ra]

@bookwyrm

Article:

The KARAZ ANKOR'S RUNESMITH GUILD, also known as the CLAN OF THUNGNI, hereby declares a GRUDGE against the manlings of the ALCHEMIST'S GUILD, and specifically against the person and clan of PHILIP VON HOHENHEIM, its guildmaster.

Let it be known that the Alchemist's Guild have besmirched the good name of the Clan of Thungni, in their production of the devices known as "Phillip's Periapt of Portent", proclaiming them to be derived of the sacred lore of the Runesmiths as handed down to us by the child of Grugni himself. Furthermore, that the Alchemist's Guild was not merely content with passing off their pale imitation as anything worthy of true runecraft, but that they went so far as to bastardise the sacred work with Elgi enchantment and blasphemous prayers to the Dead Gods of Nehekhara.

A CONCLAVE OF LONGBEARDS is being assembled to properly ascertain how honour might best be satisfied. Until such a decision is reached, no Dawi of Clan Thungni will work for any Alchemist, or for any manling associated with the Alchemist Guild, or with any Dawi associated with either of the above. In Grimnir's Name, let there be no peace until this grudge is settled in blood and gold.

Letter delivered by Dwarf messenger to every knight, lord, guildmaster and burgher in Reikland and Middenland

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @EarthScorpion with my approval)

Article:

Act 3, Scene 2

The WASTELAND. HANS and FRANZ, the two brothers of the Knights of the Raven, have lost their way seeking to meet up with their brothers. They enter stage left, their black armour splattered with mud. Their visors should be up.

FRANZ
My brother, I do declare we are lost.

HANS
I disagree. We are not lost. We simply do not know where we are.

FRANZ
That is what being lost means.

HANS
Not to me. I know where I am and where you are. So we cannot be lost.

FRANZ
Then where are we?

HANS
Knee-deep in this miserable mire.

FRANZ
But not lost?

HANS
No, we know exactly where we are. We just don't know where everything else is.

FRANZ
You're no help.

HANS
You need to be more precise. For while we are temporarily misplaced…

FRANZ
Lost.

HANS
… in truth we are not lost. Spiritually, we are not lost, for we are brave and noble knights of the Raven. Mentally, we are not lost, for we retain our wits about us. Physically we are… not exactly where we need to be. But surely if we are not lost in the matters of the mind and soul, then the impermanent flesh is surely outweighed. Hence, we are not lost.

FRANZ
Yes, but it was your job to read the map.

HANS
I was reading the map for our souls. And that is why we have not lost the way of our spirits.

FRANZ
I really do not know why I put up with you, brother. For… wait! Hark! I hear a stranger. We must not speak, and must instead glower.

Enter OLAF, a Norscan immigrant.

(A's N - Johan, can we hire someone who can actually do a Norscan accent for this role? Last time we tried young Christian, and he just sounds like he's from the Bretonnian fens)

OLAF
Ah! My lords! I did not see you It is dark, and you are dressed all in black.

HANS
Hmm.

FRANZ
Frmm.

OLAF
By any chance, have you seen my hippopotamus? It escaped again! And this is the third time this week! This time it ate three people!

FRANZ
Frmmm.

HANS
Hmm.

OLAF
Well, do tell me if you see him.

OLAF turns to the audience.

OLAF
And that goes for you, too. What do you say if you see him? You say 'He's behind you'. Let's hear it. All together now, 'He's behind you!'. No, no, louder. Yes, that's it, boys and girls. Very good.

Enter the HIPPOPOTAMUS from stage rear. The audience should be shouting at this point

OLAF
I heard you already. We're not practicing now.

Let the AUDIENCE call out for a while - banter with them as needed. The HIPPOPOTAMUS should hide, poorly, behind the scenery. OLAF turns and looks around, but can't find it.

OLAF
You naughty audience. He's not there.

The AUDIENCE will be calling out 'Oh yes he is'. If they're not, the plants in the audience should start it.

OLAF
Oh no he isn't!

AUDIENCE
Oh yes he is!

OLAF
Oh no he isn't!

FRANZ notices the HIPPOPOTAMUS

FRANZ
Frmmm!

HANS
Hmm?

FRANZ
Frmm!

HANS
Hmm? Hmm?

FRANZ
Frmm

HANS
Oh, for the sake of Morr! He's behind us!

FRANZ
Ha! You spoke while you're on duty!

HANS
Oh no I didn't!

AUDIENCE + FRANZ
Oh yes you did!

HANS
Oh no I didn't!

Let this go on for a while. When the audience look like they're getting bored, the HIPPOPOTAMUS exits stage rear.

HANS
Anyway. you spoke first! And that hippopotamus is behind us!

FRANZ
No he's not.

HANS
Well, he was. He must have gotten lost.

FRANZ
We're lost!

HANS
No we're not. For if we were lost, we would be where the hippopotamus is. And since we are not where he is, we cannot be lost. Therefore we are not lost, since he is lost.

FRANZ
I hate you.

HANS
Hmm. Unless he's not lost. In which case, we might be lost. But if he's not lost, he'll know where he is. Let us help this fine peasant find his hippopotamus, so that we can ask it directions.

FRANZ slams his palm into his face, sliding the visor of his helmet down.

OLAF
Well, thankee for your help, kind sirs. Who are you?

HANS
We aren't knights of the Raven.

OLAF
You aren't?

HANS
No, we're not

(the audience may shout 'Oh yes you are' at this point, but ignore them)

OLAF
You look like you're knights of the Raven.

HANS
But if we were knights of the Raven, we wouldn't be allowed to talk on duty. And since we are on duty and talking, we cannot be knights of the Raven. What would a knight of the Raven on duty even say?

OLAF
You got me there. I never heard one talk. Well, noble sirs, what order are you from?

HANS looks at his shield.

HANS
Knights of the… Crow

OLAF
That makes sense. Come on, then. Let us find my hippopotamus!

HANS, FRANZ and OLAF exit stage right

Excerpt from "Much Ado About Hippopotamuses", a Marienburger comedy of the era

 

[Maugan Ra]

The Thing In The Pit
(Written by @EarthScorpion, again, with my approval)

Article:

Dear mother,

How are you? I am well. As Lydia is due soon, she cannot raid the ships of the hammer-god. We have bought a house near Uncle Olaf's. As a result, I have found a new job. I have signed onto what is known as a 'Free Company'. This does not mean you work for free!

The priests of Mannan want soldiers to protect some knights who are hunting monsters in the swamp. It sounds like an honourable way for a man to prove himself and they pay well.

The Mannanites say they will carry letters to Norsca, and they are giving us cheap transport for letters, so I will write again soon.

Your loving son,

Sven Svenson

Article:

Dear mother,

I have found out more about what they are doing in the swamp. The Marienburgers are making the water go away, using pipes and magic. They found an ancient sea-god last year. It dreams in death, and bad things happen around it. Fortunately I have bought a holy necklace from the Mannanites so I will be safe.

Your loving son,

Sven Svenson

Article:

Dear mother,

I have not been well. The shits are going around the camp.

They tried to pull the sea-god out of its pit two days ago. Because I am a married man with a baby on the way, I did not volunteer to help even though they were paying triple pay for that day. Yesterday, all the men who were on the ropes went crazy. The Raven Knights killed the ones who didn't kill each other.

Do not worry. I will refuse to go near the sea-god. I have also bought more holy necklaces. I have one for all the southern gods. I think they are working. I have not wanted to cut out anyone's spines, except for Derek. But that is because he snores, not because I worship an ancient god of the sea!

Your loving son,

Sven Svenson

Article:

"My lord! A terrifying creature has wandered through our camp! Two of us are down, and they say that Eric might not last through the night! The beast was larger than a horse, and it shrugged off sword blows! What fiendishness is this? Did it crawl out of the carcass?"

Sir Jakob von Brockel, Knight of the Raven

Article:

"On further investigation, it appears that the creature was not a mutated product of the tainted carcass, but was in fact a water-dwelling creature of the south which the fools in Marienburg imported. They have not been able to tame them nor hold them and so they are now wandering loose in these wretched fens. Just what the Wasteland needed. More monsters."

Sir Jakob von Brockel, Knight of the Raven

Article:

Dear mother,

The god is angry. There are many worms who walk whose spines have been removed. The spines form chains tied together with squirming pale things, like the parasites you find in fish. They are angry. They attacked the camp in the night, and many men were taken. The raven knights, who are wise in the ways of one-eyed Morrin, laid the drowned corpses and spine-chains to rest.

Do not worry! My spine is fine!

Your loving son,

Sven Svenson

Article:

Dear mother,

The priests have decided that the sea-god must be made happy again. I could have told them that trying to drag it out of its grave was a bad idea. I saw inside the pit with the sea god and all those squirming worms, and there were ancient wooden walls there. Someone else tried to bury it before. The Mannanites have sent us to take the stone from the basalt outcropping known as the Giant's Footsteps. Do not worry! There are no giants there! We have been working hard to cut blocks out and ship them back.

I have not been feeling well. I see Lukas in my nightmares, flopping around without his spine. This may be a sign from the gods. I have said my prayers to Kurric to protect me from its godly power, like you taught me.

Your loving son,

Sven Svenson

Article:

Dear mother,

I am glad I was one of the ones who was mining. They have been fighting hard, and many men are dead or have killed themselves because of the sea god. They are building something with the stone we dug up. The priests are praying all the time. They are not as good as our wise men and priests back home. That is probably why so many men have chosen to worship the sea god instead.

Your loving son,

Sven Svenson

Article:

Dear mother,

They have built a tomb over the sea god made of black basalt, and now the knights who follow Morrin are building walls around the tomb. They say they are building a monastery there, to keep it happy with prayer and persuade it to die. This whole area will become one of Morrin's fields, and the one-eyed lord of crows and ravens will feast on the dead and maybe even eat the sea god too.

I am not sure it will work. It is a god of the sea. Morrin is strong, but is he this strong? The men who follow Mannan also follow a god of the sea. We will see which sea-god is stronger. I wonder - if the sea comes back and the Marienburger's magic of dry land fails, will the sea-god wake up?

Still, I have been paid well for this work. I think one of my holy amulets must have done its job. I will make sure to keep them all in our house so that our baby is kept safe from the sea god if it gets angry again.

Your loving son,

Sven Svenson

---

And so it waits there, in the Wasteland. A black tomb, where no moss or lichen grows. They covered over the pit and lined its walls with stone, so the squirming pale parasites that fed on its undying flesh could not escape. They said prayers for it and sprinkled it with grave earth. They laid flowers on it, and built statues of the Graveyard Watcher to stare inwards, always vigilant.

Around the tomb, the followers of Morr built graveyard walls and blessed the ground and purified it. They would make this a holy place of the God of the Dead, so that he might keep this thing of an ancient, forgotten world dead - and asleep, if it is not truly dead. They laid their dead to rest there, The Mannanites built a second layer of walls around the Garden of Morr, so that the waves would not wash away this bleak fortification.

In Marienburg, letters were made and entreaties were made. Other priests came, and put their blessings - or their curses - on this stark tomb. It was not a place of honour. The horrors within could not be moved.

Within the monastery on the coastline, the salt air was always colder than it should have been. Many of the monks there complained of unease or creeping night terrors. Still, compared to the things that had happened before, this was nothing. Maybe what was down there could be forgotten.

Only gods - or things akin to them - are not forgotten so easily. The dead have no end of patience, and dreamers no know the hours of the outside world.

And so it remained down there.

Waiting. Quiescent. Until the statues of Morr fell. Until the tomb was breached. Until the men of Marienburg grew tired of pumping water from their sodden land. And when the stone crumbled and the waters rose and the works of men abandoned this place…

… well. Perhaps it would still just lie there. Dead; dreaming.

The ways of gods are not for men to know.

---

Article:

"Yes-yes, sir! I stole some of the parasites from the pit before the man-things covered it up again, yes-yes, all on my own, no matter what the others say! They were just there to carry the pale-things for me! What will you do with them, sir?"

Mysterious cloaked figure

 

[Cavalier]

My dear Katarina,

A local factor has promised to deliver this letter to the hospital in Altdorf. By the time it finds you, the Diet in Wurtbad will be underway. I can only say that I will do my duty to Sigmar and to the County. You asked where this ambition came from in your last letter.

I harbor no illusions about what you have encountered as a priestess. Therefore I will be frank to you in a way I cannot with your young sister. During the late campaign I found myself temporarily in command of the field after skirmish with the Averlanders. We recovered some of the wounded from the fighting the day before, those who had been left in place over the day. Their piteous cries for water had drawn in the enemy and they had been stripped of possessions and left to die. Sir Wulfred, you knew him, son of Baron Kessel, your brother Klaus' playmate, was one of them. I comforted him as he died.

When I comforted your mother, she was in our great bed. I held her hand as she passed, peacefully, into the embrace of Morr. Sir Wulfred did not pass peacefully. His entrails were stuck out of his stomach from some frightful gaping wound. He stained my surcoat with his blood and viscera. The smell was indescribable. I expect you know what I mean. I gave him water and he babbled on, mostly begging for his mother. I told Baron Kessel his last words were some heroic nonsense about his dedication to Stirland or Sigmar or something of that fashion. He was hardly the first young man I had seen mangled in war, and it wasn't as terrible as some of the tortures I have seen inflicted by Beastmen and other such vermin. Nor am I so sentimental and foolish and to be swayed by the prospect of death in war.

What I was instead struck by was the uselessness of this war. The boy died in part because we had allowed a fool to place herself on the throne of Stirland. Your mother will reproach me when I join her for wallowing in my grief over her death instead of riding to Wurtbad for the first Diet. I reproach myself for that all the time as well, despite what your sister Elsa has told me. And perhaps I too would have succumbed to the tales of a "curse" that had killed Blessed Martin; there were many ill portents about that time, though I think now those had nothing to do with Blessed Martin save by his absence.

Of course the other part of the boy's death was brought about by an Averlander sword. Or some great sharp iron swung by some hulking Ogre mercenary paid by Averlander masters. This following the foolish avaunt into Sylvania by our former Lord. I was furious. I am still furious. These foreigners conquered our lands and killed our people. I too long for the days of a united Empire, but I will not see Stirland used as a stepping stone to elevate some ambitious and reckless young whelp like Francis Ludwig unto the throne. How dare they come into our lands and proclaim themselves liberators! How dare they exchange Stirlish territory like chips in some game of cards with the lords of Reikland, and other such Elector-Counts. Even if Elianna be the niece of Blessed Martin, I'll not suffer Averland to destroy our independence by foisting upon us some half-foreign prince and expect us to be grateful for their machinations.

I imagine you'll hear the outcome before I get another letter out to you.

Elsa remains the spitting image of her mother. Her gentleness has soothed my grief and kept my anger within productive bounds. And your brother Maximilian has been a fitting steward of our lands. I have not heard from Klaus in some time, I regret, save to ask for an increase in his stipend. If you are in contact with him please encourage him to write more often. As a young man in Nuln I know he has many pastimes and amusements to occupy his attention but I should like to hear more from him than of money woes and debts to barkeeps.

And should the Diet go well, please visit. Perhaps I shall raise a temple to Shallya, or a full hospital in Wurtbad, if only you would consent to return. But I know you well enough, despite our disagreement on your path. And I know your mother would be proud of you. Sigmar bless and protect you, as you bless and comfort his people.

Your father Horst

Click to shrink...

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Havocfett with my approval)
War in the West

The Bretonnian Wars of Chivalry Against the Abominable Greenskin would continue throughout the year, but escalate wildly as spring arrived. Shattered remnants of Greenskin tribes would attempt to flee west and south, crashing against Helmgart and Estalian border forts, then fleeing into the mountains. There they would mingle, and hide, and join forces to survive, and soon enough the flower of Brettonian chivalry found themselves not hunting Greenskins for sport, but fighting for their lives against a growing green tide.

Tales of heroism, valorous death, and the wounding of the Royarch in Bordeleaux trickled across the mountains. More peasants fled to Marienburg, and the realm found itself too hard-pressed against the Orcish menace to protest.

Then, as Summer turned to Autumn, a great battle was fought under the walls of Carcassonne, and the Grail Knights speared Warboss Tooth-Hide, scattering his Waaagh to the winds. Orcish raids would tick up in Tilea, Estalia, Reikland, and Wissenland, and there could not have been a poorer time for it.

For in Tilea, the border princes and city-states warred over control over the River of Echoes and the border with Wissenland, with more than a few reaching out to purchase guns from their possible neighbor, and in Estalia the rule of Arbel of Bilbali faces threats of succession and demands for independence from Magritta, Novareno, and Obregon, demands made worse by both Reikish meddling and the surge of Orcs in the north.

The Southern Passage

Though he had not yet returned, Oskar Meyer's expedition was already seeing results. The nations he visited, and that Marienburg and Reikland had begun trade with, had learned of a new, lucrative, exotic market north of Brettonia, and they wasted no time seeking to exploit it.

Traders now sailed down the Reik, past Mariensburg. Piracy remained an issue and depressed trade past Altdorf, but foreign ships reaching Altdorf, Kemperbad, and even down the Talabec were not unheard of. Prince Konstantin sent letters alongside the Griffon captured by the King of Manden's hunters, and soon the two monarchs were trading letters regularly. In Marienburg and Zenata, 'Arabyan' and 'Brettonian' dueling, respectively, underwent an enormous and nigh-inexplicable surge in popularity.

But for the common citizen of the Empire, the big change was the very nature of the eastern trade. The Ivory Route, perilous as ever, remained the only true route to Cathay and its grand riches, but thanks to Meyer's expedition an entire world that the Ivory Route ignored had been made aware of the empire. Medean finery, Arabyan coffee, Manden gold, a disturbing number of Hippopotami, and a dizzying array of new foods and spices. Items that were kingly gifts but a year ago could now be afforded by many merchants, and even particularly prosperous peasants. Cathayan, Indan, and Ogrish goods were as rare as ever, but so much else had become vastly more common.

And on the lips of every trader from the South and East was a single name:

Oskar Meyer

Oskar Meyer Has a Way

Oskar's expedition had been forced to winter with the Medes, for the mountain passes east were snowed under, and those to the north were infested by feuding Ogres in the midst of dynastic struggle. It was the longest he had spent in one place during his expedition, and a deeply informative winter.

Media was ancient, moreso than Zenata and Manden and the Bilad at-Tihom. Dynasties came and went, yes, and sometimes the Chaos Dwarves won for a time, their Lie holding sway over much of Media, but as an institution, a land, and a people, they had been here a long time. And they had fought the Chaos Dwarves for most of it.

It was an unsettling thing, to see Dwarves more reviled than Orcs and Norsca. To see greenskin invasion as a welcome reprieve, a tool to throw at an implacable, ancient, and horrifyingly intelligent foe. They did not quite believe Oskar when he spoke of the Dwarves he knew, and when he saw brutalized columns march back into the walls, the corpses of two, three, four red-armored dwarves as prized trophies, he saw why.

They brought back two dozen once, and people celebrated in the streets. Some of the freed slaves were Kislevites, and Oskar had been called to translate (Which had been difficult enough). There was a war in the north, evidently, and by the state of the slaves, he did not think Kislev was getting the best of it.

But there was more than Dwarves to Medea. There was its cult, the Behyasna, an odd religion that reminded him of the more monotheistically-inclined Sigmarites. Its priests commanded fire and light and pulled the truth from the tongues of any save a Dwarf, and while Oskar was no theologian, and Mahmoud utterly uninterested in non-Tihomi theologies, they reminded him of the better Witch Finders back home. Utterly opposed to Chaos in all its forms, distrusting of magic, and trusted to root out evil.

More alien was the acceptance of other magics in Media and, as he spoke with Mahmoud, across the South and South-East. The Tihomi priests had their own few magics,delivered by their worship of Khasr, Sokth, and Usiri, preserved from fallen Nehekhara, but most magic was a newer, weirder thing. Alchemies far divorced from their northern counterparts, and individual spells stolen from and filtered through the Djinn of the land to make them safe. They were rarer in Media, but he met an Alchemist tolerated by the local priesthood, and purchased a vial of ice that would not melt, even when exposed to flame. The woman seemed no chaos cultist, nor did calamity and magical mishap follow her, and the Medean priests seemed content to leave her to her trade.

The thaw came, and with Abu Shams leading the way, Oskar's caravan swiftly passed into Nabhivarsha, what his maps had crudely termed 'Ind'. The mountains were peaceful enough, though the Ogres in the passes had demanded a heavy toll, but as they descended into the lowlands they found a land deep in revolt.

Swiftly, they learned of Khamesie Khan, self-proclaimed lord of Nabhivarsha and aspiring Chakravartin. The Athoi had led an army of hobgoblins, men, and more alien things and had been expanding his grip upon the land for near sixty years. He had exploited ethnic tensions, the hatred of the forest-folk for the settled, and the settled for the forest-folk. Between the Avedi cults, and the Tihomi, and the local religions that predated them both. He had taken most of the continent, ruled from his indolent city of Jahanpannah, and had taken to wanton slaughter to enforce his rule.

The neighbors knew of this, but there was little they could (Or, in the case of the Ogres, cared to) do, and his subjects could not even dream of the ravages of time saving them, for Khamesie Khan was an elf and would outlast the palaces he lived in. Until the last winter, that was simply the tragic state of the land.

But now the entire realm was in civil war. Wild-man marched with monkey-bodied beastmen, Tihomi nobles, and Nabhi warrior castes. The djinn-binding and god-spawned and snake priests joined forces against elvish magic. Vast armies clashed, war elephants fired cannon in anger for the first time. Everywhere rebellion, freedom, and a better future was on the tongues of the people.

Trade became less important than survival, than crossing the land and reaching distant Cathay without becoming collateral of the war, or another atrocity. They saved many as they travelled, beating bandits away from refugee caravans, helping priests hide their treasures ahead of the looters. Oskar was blessed by a god of war, Mahmoud married a local woman, and their ranks swelled with refugees eager for a better life in the mythical realms of Araby and Reikland.

Then they crossed, the war behind them, and entered Cathay.

On some level, it was a disappointment. Oskar had heard legends of dragon-emperors who had sat the throne for a thousand years, Mahmoud had been weaned on stories of the horizon-spanning mosques and impossible Wall. But what they found was a new dynasty, and a new emperor, and locals unsure if this new era would be safe.

But once they acclimated to Cathay, it was as impressive as they might dare to hope. They were in the south, far from the Emperor, walls, and courts, but still the architecture was grand, the history impressive, the dragons….non-murderous. They met wizards, not chaos-besotted wretches or men endlessly experimenting with alchemy and the secrets of Djinn, but wizards to rival any elf. There was a dragon, fat and lazy, but grand nonetheless, and it offered a shed scale for tales of their faraway homes There were local courts, and local ministers, with halls fit for kings in smaller lands, and architecture the rival of any in the world. They even convinced a mercenary to come home with them, to prove they had truly reached Cathay rather than simply traded with some tributary kingdom. She was fleeing some sort of trouble, and didn't let anyone look at her cargo, but those seemed acceptable tradeoffs.

And with their journey done and their cargo much reduced, Mahmoud helped Oskar charter a boat, and they spent the winter sailing to the Dragon Isles and then Najd, trekked overland to Al-Haikk, and then finally sailed to Oskar's home of Altdorf, richer and wiser than they had left.

They arrived in Altdorf on new year's eve. An Ibex, three peacocks, a camel, a painting of a Nabhian War Elephant, and a family of hedgehogs that had stowed away during the trip were added to the menagerie. Then, before Oskar had the chance to count his profits, he was informed of the events of the previous two years.

Mahmoud, helpfully, opined that perhaps they should have stayed in Manden another six months.

 

[triumph8w]

AS DUTY DEMANDS
​

Sir Fredrick Von Shwarnburg stood in the camp, much smaller than it was weeks ago now that the efforts with the carcass have been concluded, for the most part. He was clad in the traditional plate armor of his order, with his helmet attached onto his hip, letting his long black hair, which was in need of a shave sometime soon, occasionally drinking out of a wine flask, reaching up to wipe his beard, also in need of a shave, with a somewhat dirty cloth.

For the first time on some months he was alone, there was no pressing need, no old horror to deal with, no men to put down or nightmares to sooth. It had been trail and error, costing many men, most of them laid to rest by Raven Knight blade, but they had managed to complete what they set out to do. The carcass had been pacified, a garden of Morr built around it in order to make sure it remains as such. And most of the men felt that it was enough, certainly it had stopped the beast from further interfering with the living, but Fredrick himself was not so certain that it was enough.

He took a final swig of the flask, sighing in disappointment when he found it to be empty, he did not drink often, saving his wines for special occasions. Most of them being when he was on a particularly stressful mission, like the failed crusade into Sylvania. That had emptied most of his small stock, and the carcass campaign, as the mannanite priests called it, had taken care of the rest of it. To be more specific the mercenaries the mannanites hired had, when Fredrick handed out what was left of his wine, baring the flask he just finished, to them in an effort to raise their morale.

They had certainly earned it, his own men had not faltered, as he expected from them, for they dealt with horrors similar to this for most their lives, but the mercenaries had not. Or at least he could say that about the non-norscans, the norscans themselves seemed to have a...comfort with it. No, no, that wasn't the right word, a...recognition of it, they were used to horror not unlike the carcass. At least, thats what Fredrick assumed, he hadn't bothered to ask being far to busy as he was in trying to keep the expedition together and fighting the cursed men and whatever monsters the carcass or the wasteland had spat out.

Perhaps Sir Jakob knew? Fredrick had certainly relied upon him much as a second for this campaign, being the most....personable, Raven Knight in the expedition. Fredricks musings were interrupted when he heard the sound of plate moving, with his hand moving instinctively to his sword pommel, but not yet drawing it, he turned around to see who was approaching him. He relaxed when he saw it was Sir Jakob, the mans abrun hair and startling blue eyes being signaling that it could be no one else.

"Hail, Sir Jakob." Fredrick said tiredly lifting a hand in greeting. Jakob nodded back and moved to stand beside him, for a few moments both men stood and stared at the newly built Garden of Morr. Eventually Jakob spoke. "We're ready to move at your command, my lord." Fredrick nodded and turned to look at Jakob, studying the man for a few moments before clasping him on the shoulder. "You've been of great help Jakob, I fear this whole thing would have fallen apart without you." He said sincerely, Jakob in response, laughed. "Do not put all the glory on my shoulders Fredrick, many men have been of great help, not just me!" He was not wrong, Fredrick mused, but as always he took to little credit for himself.

Before he could insist on the matter Jakob said "I'm glad to be done with this place, the bloody marsh and all its monsters, it doesn't help that the bloody bastards in Marienburg seem intent on adding more to the mix with those damn Hippotomuses, or whatever in Morrs name their called!" He laughed and Fredrick, after a few moments, joined him.

Eventually they stopped laughing and Fredrick turned to regard his friend and second seriously. " I do not like just putting a Garden over it, it does not feel secure enough." Jakob looked at Fredrick, then to the Garden that held the carcass" Aye, I know what you mean, but theirs little more we can do." Fredrick's brows had furrowed, and a calculating gleam had come to his tired eyes. "There is something, old friend, it will cost much and I know not if the Grandmaster will go for it, but I wish to build a fortress over it."

Jakob looked for a few moments startled, the sheer amount in man, material, and gold, it costs to make a fortress was great indeed, and he blurted out the first thing to come to mind. "Where will we get the money?" he asked "The order does not have much stashed away, you know. Not enough to expand the order in such a way, at least." To that Fredrick actually smiled, a rare sight on followers of Morr, and said "The order has become fast friends with the Cult of Mannan, and if not that they certainly seem to have as much interest as us in making sure the carcass is secure, we'll petition them, and the Elector-count of this place for funds and permission. With the threat the carcass poses, I do not believe we'll have a difficult time convincing them."

Jakob was silent for a few moments as he digested the information, a gauntleted hand on his chin. Eventually he spoke up "And what of the Grandmaster?" At that Fredrick winced somewhat, in the middle of his cooperation with the rising star that is the Count of Sylvania, the old man might not like the diverting of resources. "He sent us all the way over here, didn't he? I'm sure he'll want this creature truly under lock and key."

Jakob nodded, then sighed before smiling ruefully. "And here I thought I was done with this blasted place, ah well, I suppose its like the Grandmaster says, 'as duty demands', right?" Fredrick nodded solemnly as they both turned away from the tomb that held the Carcass.

"As duty demands."

 

[Maugan Ra]

(Written by @Imrix with my approval)

The need for security was made abundantly clear by the cursed witch-crop of the year before, and Chancellor Frederick was only too willing to swiftly act upon the League's desires.

The foundation of what was essentially a new Ostermarker army could have been sorely contested. The expense was considerable for a province not widely known for its wealth, and there was much cause to protest the expansion of the Chancellor's troops for those who cleaved true to the League's democratic principles. But no such objections came forward, for Ostermark's coffers were flush with northern gold, and their thoughts filled with grisly tales of children eaten by ensorcelled fields, and wild stories of rampaging dragons and civil wars just beyond their borders. The formation of a body of troops charged with patrolling the moors and forests of the League to safeguard it against all ills thus enjoyed popular support from nearly all quarters, especially when it was made clear that the army would be a mounted patrol, for Ostermarkers have always loved their horses.

Thus was born the 1st Ostermark Rangers under the cognomen of Torchbearers, with heraldry of a rampant horse set against a bonfire upon the black and purple of Ostermark's colours, a design which many of its members embellished by adding impressions of ears of wheat to the bonfire of their shield.

Despite these macabre allusions, the Torchbearers seemed blessed from birth, as their first proof-of-concept patrols coincided with a growing number of Taalite warrior-bands ranging into the Gryphon Wood in search of the enemies of humankind. The two forces readily banded together, and some even dared the foreboding depths of the Dead Wood to return with grisly trophies and harrowing tales of the creatures which dwelled therein. Indeed, several Torchbearers sought permission to leave their Chancellor's service and take orders alongside the templars of Taal.

Yet, this was far from the full extent of the Chancellor's efforts, for not blind was he to the doings of other realms. Word had reached Frederick of the river pirates of the south, set loose upon gods-fearing folk by the belligerence of other lords. Already these reavers were known to have pillaged as far as Averland, and with Stirland so paralysed with its own troubles, the Chancellor felt it prudent to commission a riverine fleet of his own should these pirates venture yet further north.

The River Talabec to the north being under the watchful eye of Talabecland, it was judged to be of lesser importance, and only a few perfunctory hulls were laid down in the Bechafen docks, albeit to satisfactory fanfare. Instead, the greater share of effort was focused upon the River Stir to the south, where it was reckoned that the greater threat of piracy lay. Unfortunately, the River Stir ran beside the Dead wood, the ruins of Mordheim, and the village of Essen, all together most assuredly the greatest convergence of cursed ground within the League. It was judged that only the walled town of Bissendorf would serve as an acceptable port, which sharply limited the amount of work that could be undertaken at once, and even so complaints of evil spirits and twisted things outside the walls caused frequent delays.

Bissendorf's complaints did not go unheard. The redoubtable Ostermark 1st, Deathfriends one and all, were ordered to maintain a heavy guard along the River Stir, watchful of any further blasphemy from that benighted stretch of land between Mordheim and Sylvania. Without the presence of a local castle, the army was supplied to construct a string of fortified camps upon the Bleak Moors and further, past Burgenhof and on to Fichetal, and when those camps were full, surplus troops were billeted primarily in Kiel and Burgenhof. A rough wall was thus assembled, if not of stone, then of flesh, of regular patrols along the edges of the Dead Wood. Although their presence did much to reassure the shipwrights of Bissendorf, and assuredly kept the Chancellor's desires for a fleet on track, many of the soldiers would have cause to regret this posting.

It is unclear precisely what drew the creatures out. Perhaps whichever malefic warlocks worked their foul sorcery over those villages in the first place gathered their servants to avenge their wretched works. Perhaps they were provoked by League and Taalite patrols, roused to anger by previous skirmishes. Perhaps the scent of those cursed fields carried on the winds as they burned, tempting the wretched things forth with the prospect of sustenance suited to their corrupted flesh. Perhaps the bubbling cesspool that was Mordheim had simply swollen too much, so that it could no longer do anything but burst. Perhaps one of the world's old monsters saw an opportunity. Perhaps the hammering and sawing of shipwrights disturbed their slumber.

Whatever the reason, General Lachinko and his Deathfriends did not find themselves idle. Stories of hauntings became sightings of evil creatures in the woods' edge, became the discovery of travellers murdered on the roads, until all at once a tide of filth surged out of damned Mordheim and through the Dead Wood like a vomitous spew. Wet rivers of twisted flesh flowing around the malformed chunks of misshapen creatures, the gutter trash of a blighted ruin.

In the final accounting the creatures were not so many, less than a thousand in all, but they scattered themselves across southern Ostermark in a dozen dozen warbands, starveling wretches with ragged clothes and warped flesh and ferocious, chattering hunger for rapine and pillage. Many of these groups were gathered around some manner of hulking monstrosity whose bodies were so swollen with mutation that their origins could not be identified beneath the obfuscation of their suppurating flesh.

Many, but not all. General Lachinko's defense was able and valorous, and his soldiers equal to the horrors they faced, but Bissendorf was left stranded, the army fully occupied with ensuring nothing slipped past into the heartland of the League. Work on the river barges reached a fever pitch, as the townsfolk wondered if they might be their only hope of escape from the gibbering horde outside the walls, and twice the main gate was battered in by a pair of ponderous behemoths of spasmodic, glistening offal, though each time they were driven squealing and braying back into the darkness by blade, bolt and oilfire.

At last, after a fortnight of siege Lachinko was able to effect the town's relief, and with the aid of Taalite templars, both monstrosities were tracked down and hacked to pieces, a fevered butchery that persisted for more than an hour after they ceased twitching, so prodigious was their gore-slick bulk. The Dead Wood drank deeply of corrupted blood, assuredly growing only more twisted, but Bissendorf held, and no body of raiders was allowed to pass into the heartland of the League, and again the corpse-pyres burned hot and strong.

It was thus a rather grim welcome which greeted the arrival of the lauded Contessa Bianca, her retinue, and her youngest son Thiago to Ostermark, one to which the boy remarked, 'why, it's like we never left!'

Fortunately, Ostermarkers have always had a grim sense of humour, and the remark did not go over too badly after Bianca elbowed her son pointedly. This brief hiccup aside, Contessa Bianca and Chancellor Frederick left Ostermark together, travelling onwards upon a diplomatic mission while plans for the League's further development were entrusted to capable subordinates.

There had always been an intent to acknowledge and repay the cults for their aid in resolving the witch-crops, but recent bloodshed had only further stressed their importance. Such a ripe harvest of blasphemies could only urge all right-thinking people to seek the succour of faith, and so significant monies were released to the priesthood of Sigmar and Morr to fund the expansion of temples, the furtherance of their duties, and most especially the support of Witch Hunters in their investigations.

More than funding, the councillors of the League pressed their weight behind these efforts. Heralds and public notices spread throughout the realm, carrying the full (approved) story of the witch-crops, of the insidious offers made to those who should have known better, and especially of the hideous, inevitable prices they paid for accepting such methods among them. Fanaticism met Ostermark's curiously democratic sensibilities and saw many small communities hold public ceremonies to elect a form of confessor-in-exile, devout souls competing for the 'honour' of hearing their neighbour's sins and ritually taking those wrongs upon themselves, before setting out into the world to seek redemption in death.

If nothing else, all of this showed that the League's announcements had successfully spurred the people to cooperation. Indeed, one Witch Hunter was driven to remark that never in his life had he found a populace so willing to aid his investigations, and it was this helpfulness which provided several hunters with promising leads pertaining to the underground trafficking of a new source of meat, alluring beyond reason and of uncertain providence…

The year was not kind to the Ostermark. But in its challenges and travails, the times allowed the League, historical footnote that some called it, to demonstrate its strength and assert itself by right of triumph. Perhaps a new power was stirring in the east?