It Belongs to a Museum

[Shogeton]

Some time in the future.

On an elven ship, a beaten down elven warrior coughs up blood as the undead captain inspects the jewels in his hand.

"You... abomination... you don't understand... what you hold..."

"Aah... but I think I do, my pointy eared friend! This here be the jewels once worn by Galifal the Bold, retrieved from the hands of yer dark kin, sadly never to arrive in Ulthuan."

"What... how do you..."

"Oh, the descriptions in the tales were rather clear. Three small emeralds, surrounding a priceless ruby, showcasing the flames burning away the poison and disease. And if ye look carefully right here..." He motioned to the crew, that had stopped hauling things off the stricken elven ship. "Ye'll see the mark of Saphery. But more than that, if ye look at the metalwork, this be Gromril. There be no mistaken'."

"But cap'n." One of the crew said in a shock. "That be meanin' this gem dates from before the War of the Beard, thousands of years even afore the Birth o' Sigmar. Yet Galifal the Bold fell to the blades of the Druchi in the 1200's"

"Ehh...." The elf said.

"1268 to be precise. But aye. This thing was an heirloom. It has seen some of the greatest moment's of this world's history, aye. Some of Ulthruan's moment's of great pride and shame. Only to be captured in the depths of their cities as a trophy after the fall. Yet Dreadlord Sakalath used it to save himself form the poison in Druchi politics, given Ulthuan a chance to take it back... and for us to snatch it."

"But why would they spare so much effort gettin' it captain? It is a magnificent piece, but any man jack on this ship can give at least five pieces o' greater cultural and historic impact for Ulthuan to try an' recover."

"Wait... what?" The elf looked around.

"Aah, but that is the enchantment. Ancient magics even Teclis would be hard pressed to reproduce. Aye, tis of little use to the likes of us with no more blood coursing through our veins. But this jewel will hold off any poison or disease. Arr, all the plots of the Plague Lord, or the canniness of Clan Pestilens or Clan Eshin could not hope to touch it"

"Pfft... I been readin' the studies and lookin' at the stuffed specimen." One bold new crewmember said. "University of Nuln showed a study that it just be a variation of Beastmen dedicated to the Flylord, an' Tilean old wives tales."

There was a cry of rage, and the sailor's decaying head exploded with one shot from the captain's flintlock. "Damn and blast! I'll not have some barnacle headed Skaven-denialist among me crew! Any other want to start a debate with yer captain?"

The crew was silent. The elf spoke. "Eh... alright... you eh... you do know what you're holding. We eh... we really need it. A great hero depends on it!"

"Oh no, we'll all be paid a king's ransom for this bauble, enough to get even the dead drunk! But..." He handed a piece of parchment wiith text in various languages, some of which the elf hated to admit, he couldn't read, as well as a picture of what looked like a very old human. "If ye bring yer sick hero to this place, with some treasure ye nay be needin' so heavily as well as some stories, mayhap ye'll be able to use it for a lil' while. If ye do go, tell 'em I sent ye right?"

 

[Dragonofelder]

What was once a stately captain quarters, now cloaked in darkness and grime, yet somehow no less grand. Upon the large desk, resting on top a cloth the colour of dried blood, rests a leather bound book. Under an icon of an eye-patch wearing skull, crossed by blade and staff, is the title of the tome: MAGDA WESSEN & THE MUSEUM OF MYSTERY

---

DISPATCHED by her SUPERIORS within the ARCANE UNIVERSITY, KNIGHT-WIZARD MAGDA WESSEN sails across the WORLD'S END OCEAN on a MISSION of DEEPEST IMPORT! An ANCIENT RELIC of TRENENDOUS POWER has been located, and must BE RETURNED to the UNIVERSTIY'S SHADOW VAULTS! But the RELIC rests in the WRINKLED HANDS of the MAD CURATOR PANTSENHEN, an UNLIVING CLERIC of the CRYPT LORDS! MANY have TRIED to STEAL from HIS MUSEUM OF MYSTERTY, but NONE have ESCAPE to TELL THE TALE!

ARRIVING on the HIDDEN ISLE of BURNING LIZARD ATOLL, MAGDA is SWIFTLY CAPTURED by the CHIROPTERIAN CARTAKERS of the MUSEUM! PANTSENHEN FORESAW MAGDA's attempted HEIST - INDEED, he has LONG has his WIZENED EYE UPON on the KNIIGHT-WIZARD, seeing her as a PRIZED ADDITON to his COLLECTION! For the TRUE FATE of all ATTEMPTED THIEVES is to BECOME PART of the VERY EXHIBITS they tried to pilfer from - EITHER in LIFE OR DEATH!

MAGDA will have to use all her CHARM and WIT to UNITE a DISPARATE GROUP of ALLIES and FOES, and NAVIGATE the EVERCHANGING LABYRINTH of the MUSEUM! FOR it's CURATOR is NEVER SATISFIED, and MAY YET DECIDE that his NEWEST STAR ACQUISITION should be PUT AWAY - PERMANENTLY! Can MAGDA ESCAPE, or shall SHE be RELAGTED to the HISTORICAL DISPLAY?

---

I had to. Also posting on the DL Thread, for those that might not have joined this one (yet)

 

[Briefvoice]

Conquest of Death​

Selafyn opened her eyes with a start, awakening suddenly. The pirates! No, not just pirates, undead monstrosities. They had swarmed the ship, overwhelmed her. Killed her, she had been sure-

Selafyn tried to sit up, but realized she was tightly restrained, strapped to a table. Unable to do more than shift her head, she looked wildly about. It was some sort of stone chamber barely illuminated, unwholesome looking tools and mystical artifacts scattered about on a stained wooden table. There was no sign of sunlight, but with her limited perspective there was no way to tell if she was underground or if it was simply night. In the corner of her vision a figure moved, shifting into her field of sight.

Oh. Oh no. It was Princess Fallenstar, a friendly smile on her face. She was dressed in dark robes, very unlike her usual clothing. Robes that wouldn't show a stain, Selafyn thought.

There was probably no point in pretending to ignorance, but Selafyn tried anyway. "My lady! Have I been rescued from the pirates? I-"

Still smiling, Fallenstar waved a letter in the air and shook her head solemnly. Selafyn was too far away to read the letter, but she still recognized it. Selafyn had authored it. But- not until she had boarded the ship! Selafyn hasn't dared even begun to write down what she had learned about the Princess's activities, about the deals with Luthor Harkon, and more- Not until the ship had safely left the Citadel of Dusk and they had been on their way back to Ulthuan.

"How did you know?" she asked the princess.

Fallenstar spoke for the first time. "There are many watchers in the citadel, and not all of them can be seen. But I appreciate your discretion my friend, I do. Had you begun shouting accusations, or even whispering them in secret, I would have had more cleanup to do. How fortunate you kept your silence until you were on the seas and my... friends... could safely intercept you."

Of course Selafyn hadn't said anything in the Citadel. Not with a hostage so close at hand who could easily have suffered for it. Not with her son- Her son!

"Yelgrin... where..." The rest of the question died in her throat. She wasn't sure what to wish for. At least a death by the pirates would have been quick.

"Don't worry, I know how terrible it is to be separated from those you love by death. That pain is what started me on my journey," replied the princess. She frowned, an expression of pain crossing her face that made her look like a tragic maiden rather than the monster that Selafyn knew stood before her. So beautiful. So terrible.

Fallenstar turned and walked outside of Selafyn's field of view, but only for a moment. Soon enough she returned, wheeling Yelgrin atop a small mobile cart. He looked so small, so vulnerable her boy. His eyes were closed and he didn't move, but his chest moved up and down indicating life.

"What are you going to do with us?" asked Selafyn.

"My friend, I am going to give you a gift. I'm going to make sure the two of you are together forever," said Fallenstar, a terrible light in her eyes. She pulled out rune-covered chunk of obsidian and placed it on Yelgrin's chest over his heart. Then she drew a knife.

"No, please, anything, I'll do anything! Whatever you want, I'll be yours, please just don't hurt him," screamed Selafyn.

"You will do whatever I want," agreed Fallenstar. "You will, but in a form more useful to me than some functionary. In death you will have power. I am sorry, genuinely, but extremes of emotion at the moment of death can make a wraith far stronger, and I wish you to be... strong. Strong, yet controllable. I was pondering the contradiction, and I thought of a most agreeable solution. You will be with your son forever, and my control over his soul will be my control over yours."

"Please, don't, I-:

The sound that Selafyn made when Fallenstar slit her son's throat was not one that should emerge from the throat of an Asur.

Dark, foul magic swirled in the air and a translucent outline of Yelgrin appeared briefly before it screamed and was sucked into the runestone. Fallenstar chanted over the stone, weaving yet more magic, as Selafyn watched and moaned over and over. Then the princess turned to her.

"Yes, that's it. That's the feeling. Grief, anger, loneliness, these will drive your power. Feel it. Know that the warmth of life is gone forever, for both of you, but you can still be together. That I will promise."

The point of the knife, still covered in blood, rested against Selafyn's throat.

"I promise it for now I, too, am one who has conquered death."

 

[theretrodragon]

AN: Here's a little omake that probably doesn't match either her characterization or her husbands, in a scenario that might not even happen. Alas, mine is a fickle muse. Also yes, this is propaganda for Grief, how could you tell?

"I am one who has conquered death."

Princess Aelsabrim Fallenstar twists and turns in her bed, unable to sleep even as the sun has long ago set. Those words keep echoing in her head.

Death... Conquered death…

She turns around again, grasping at the empty space where she knows there should be warmth and joy.

"My princess… I regret to inform you that-"

She shoves the memory away, grabbing his pillow and burying her face in it as if it will change anything.

The hole in her heart gnaws, love twisted into a bottomless hole of grief. Her eyes sting, but she feels too empty to even cry.

He's gone. Gone and never coming back. Never laughing at her stupid little jokes, or telling her about this neat animal or that annoying customer. He's gonegoneGONE-

'Except.' A voice whispers in her mind. Her own. 'He doesn't have to be.' She tries to ignore it, to shove it down like she does all her other thoughts, but it persists. 'I could bring him back.'

"He wouldn't be the same." She murmurs weakly into the pillow. "He would be undead." And she is well acquainted with the undead, far more so than most elves.

And yet that disgustingly cloying hope still clings to her chest, growing like a mold despite her efforts to kill it, because it would still be his soul wouldn't it? The very man she loved.

"I would be exiled, maybe even killed." She tries again, from a different angle. For all that necromancy itself wasn't illegal, she doubted people would be happy about it. Why she may be the catalyst that makes the art illegal. How marvelous, she can go down in the history books.

Except… 'They've already abandoned me, haven't they?' She turns around, looking up into the ceiling. 'In this far off land beyond the sea.' She looks at the beautiful woodwork, and can't help but think of when her beloved had enthusiastically told her about how certain birds lived differently in these lands trees than the ones of Ulthuan or the old world.

"Would it really be worth it to give up everything to be with him, even as an undead?" She asks herself, even as she knows the answer deep down. "Yes." She whispers, as if the admission could summon a Swordmaster to cleave her in twain if said too loudly.

He was her world, her everything. 'Didn't you say you'd do anything to get him back when he died?' She scolds herself. 'Why are you afraid now when you can finally do it.'

She steels her eyes. "So be it, whatever comes I will face it with him by my side."

And thus was born, the first elven necromancer.

 

[somewhatLazy]

"...and, it was at that very spot underneath the mast, that Harkon rammed a spear through that elven pirate-prince's throat, pushed him down against the swaying deck, and wrenched his head off!" Fjolnir, ancient vampire pirate and more importantly the Vampire Coast's best skald, dramatically flourished his hands at the Tilean merchants. They'd been nervous when they entered the museum, eyes constantly darting to his fangs like rabbits cowering before a wolf, but as his tour has continued they had become increasingly engrossed. Now, their shining eyes saw only the saga he wove, surely as if they'd been enchanted.

Fjolnir grinned. The sight was sweeter than any blood. "Blood poured down like the storming rain! Thunder cracked and the elves prayed that it was their gods come to smite Harkon for his blasphemy! But he only raised his conquest's head up high and cried out that he'd meet any who dared challenge him, the new rightful Prince of the coast, in glorious battle!"

The merchants stared, tense with anticipation. Fjolnir let the silence stretch out, out, until one of them finally raised his voice to ask - "and then what?"

Fjolnir clapped his hands together, too fast for human eyes to follow, like the thunder that day. "They bowed to their new prince. Two to one, a battle I feared was lost as I cut my own leg off to escape their sea beasts, and they yielded!" A moment to let it sink in. "For, they saw that the bloodthirst within Luthor Harkon was simply too great for them to battle!"

The merchants looked suitably impressed. It was a good tale. One of the very best Fjolnir had, and he didn't even need to exaggerate it all that much!

He took the opportunity to start showing them all the other brilliant features of the Dread Abyssal that were served it well in those exciting bloody early days of Harkon's conquest. The replica flag that he'd flown in his early days which was an honestly lazy alteration of his flagship's original flag, the spot on the deck where Black Jens had nearly died after taking a blow for Harkon, the planks in the hull which still showed the faint scars of being torn at by a gigantic squid…

Each and every detail was both part of an epic skald and of Fjolnir's own history that raised him up from a purposeless oarsman to a vampire warrior.

And now, the second curator of Harkon's new museum, alongside his immortal former mentor.

He couldn't suppress a happy smile as he showed the guests the exhibit that he and Pahtsekhen had designed together. He'd thought that things were going well for him before, but now, officially told that he was the one that the Pirate King Luthor Harkon was trusting to turn his tale into one that would awe the whole world?

There was nothing a skald could wish for more.

When his tour was done and the museum finally closed for the night, Fjolnir returned to the museum's private quarters with a satisfied slink. Oh, he expected that the merchants would look at all his stories with cynical doubt after a night's sleep. That was just the way of merchants. But their hearts, oh, their hearts would still remember the beauty of his tales.

The museum's curator, Pahtsekhen, was reading some book about Lizardmen artifacts in the break room, so absorbed he didn't even breathe. The priest was a fun sort of person, which was to say flighty and prone to chasing down whatever seemed interesting at the moment. He wasn't the best manager… but more importantly he had a talent for getting into new and exciting kinds of trouble.

"New Lustria exhibit coming up?"

"That's my plan."

"Then, are we heading in ourselves?" Fjolnir grinned. He'd been on his share of expeditions before. Nothing beat the boredom of immortality like plunging into that mysterious continent.

"Mayhaps," Pahtsekhen said. He closed the book. "But first, young Princess Aelsabrim finally accepted my invitation to visit the museum, so I mean to give her a personal tour."

Case in point.

"Well." Fjolnir grinned widely. "I'll have to bring out my very best outfits and songs, then!"

How exciting! How wonderful! Even after all his centuries of existence, Fjolnir had never had the pleasure of entertaining an elven princess before!

It would be a night to remember even for immortals.

 

[Dragonofelder]

Lore of Grief
Although it draws upon the Wind of Fate, Azyr, this lore is a rejection of fate. As Necromancers are often those that wish to defeat their own mortality, those that wield Grief deny inevitability, the decline of life and the paths laid before them. They may even attempt to reverse fate, undo unfavourable actions, return those lost back to life.

The Lore draws upon a number of others, with three main sources - the Lore of Death as practice in Nehekhara, as well as the unique lore practiced by that land's Liche Priests, and The Lore of the Deep, itself Necromancy melded with the divine power of the Shark God.

Roiling Fate
As what is becomes detached from what could be, the air itself flows strangely
Lore Attribute (active after casting)
Speeds up allies and slows enemies for a short while

Widow's Wail
Hear the scream of purest grief, and know it is for you
Debuff
Leadership debuff
Overcast affects multiple units

Returned Fury
Return to the sky it's fire, against the laws of nature
Explosion
Does magical & armour piercing damage
Overcast just does more damage

Return Of The Departed
Those claimed by fate return to fight alongside their fellows
Summon
Summons a unit of ethereal High Elf Spearmen
Overcast summons an ethereal Lothern Sea Guard unit

Inevitable Fate
Feel the heavy weight of grief yet to come
Direct Damage
Damages and slows single target, most effective on single entity
Overcast deals more damage and slows more

Dredging Storm
The pain of the past, brought to wrath
Vortex
Slow moving area of affect that does magical damage
Overcast gives a larger area of effect

Final Denial
...and so you must deny Death his due, and spit in his eye...
Augment
Gives "Cannot Die" to a single unit for a short while.
Overcast has longer duration
High cost

 

[theretrodragon]

AN: I think it would be neat if our museum created a small culture of relic hunters among the pirates. Also, I tried to upload this one three times and nearly crashed my laptop every time, so I'm currently posting this from my big girl gaming pc. For a name, I guess Tavern of Curiosities works, I couldn't really think of a better one.

Franz of no name sits quietly at the bar and sips at a drink. It does nothing for him any more, now that his heart no longer beats, but it's nice to take a moment and pretend.

The doorbell jingles, and the music slows as everyone inside takes a moment to size up the newcomer.

He's a young man, noticeable not in his face, but the way he moves. It's the swagger of the newly undead, those who were recently raised and think they understand the world now that they've faced it's end.

'He'll learn.' Franz grouches to himself. 'As all young men do.' That did nothing to quell his irritation, nor the memories of his own embarassing youth.

The young man, to his credit, merely nods in acknowledgement, and slinks into the tavern, sitting down to Franz's right, and more importantly, Karl, the old vampire a seat further.

Franz subtly perks his ears and listens in. It's rude, but he's an old man now, he loves the gossip.

"-Heard there was a museum that was looking to buy old artifacts, and that I should talk to you for it." The young man says, before taking out an old silver chalice, covered in intricate carvings. A nobleman's chalice, perhaps, though a bit tacky with so much decoration. "How much for this one? It's elven."

Karl smiles in that grandfatherly way he always does when he's trying to teach the youth a lesson. "It's in good condition, and certainly seems elven, but where- and more importantly when is it from?"

The youth splutters something about just taking it from some other ships hold, but Karl silences him with a single raised hand. "The museum isn't interested in valuables themselves, but the history they represent. Without knowing anything about this chalice you won't get much more than if you sold it to a silversmith to be melted down."

Franz agrees, the museum- lovely place that it is, doesn't need just any old chalice. Except something gnaws at him. Something is off about that chalice.

"Karl, could you pass me that chalice?" The young man gets annoyed and opens his mouth but Karl, good man that he is, slides it along the bar before he can say anything.

Franz picks up the chalice and studies it intently. The carvings are certainly elven, but there are way too many of them, almost like…

He smiles and nods towards the youth. "You've got a good thing here lad, it's dwarven made."

The tavern quiets for a moment, as everyone stops pretending not to be listening in, curmudgeonly old fools they all are.

"Have you lost your bloody mind Franz?!" The one who speaks up is Edwina, an old friend and rival captain, still looking good even in death. She walks up to him and points at the chalice. "You think a dwarf would carve this? And this inscription is in Eltharin!"

Franz nods, and then points to the base of the chalice. "Aye, and this makers mark they tried to cover up is in Khazalid."

Everyone quiets once again, muttering as they digest the revelation.

"Khazalid would mean it's before the war of the beard." "But why cover it up then? Nothing shameful of having old shit from before it all went down?" "Maybe it was just before the war? More embarassing then." "I wonder how much it's worth, has to be a good amount." "You think there are any more?"

A single voice breaks out of the din of speculation.

"I've heard of a chalice of elven make, in a dwarven style. Could be this one has a partner." it's Jonah, a younger man, but famous for his treasure hunting. "Might track it down myself." He muses before returning to his drink.

A wave of excitement spreads throughout the patrons, many leaving outright to try their luck. The poor youth who started it all just sits there, bewildered.

Franz gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and slides the chalice back to him. "You get that to the museum and tell 'em what you heard here lad, you'll get a good price for it."

The young man nods and stows the chalice away in his coat, before walking out the doors.

Franz goes back to sipping his drink, but his mind still wanders to the chalice's supposed 'partner'.

'Maybe I'll have a go at it.' He thinks. 'Would be a nice change of pace.'

He looks down at his empty mug and smiles wryly. 'After another drink.'

 

[Adrian XXIV]

Tale of Captain "Greedy" Gorg, Chapter 1: The Beginning

On one of many pirate ships that swim across the Great Ocean, Ogre Maneater called "Greedy" Gorg overlooked result of his coup against its previous Captain, with his trusty Blood Vulture perched on his shoulder.

"Burg, Grub, we will be eating plentiful today. Let's just 'be nice' about this and don't feast in front of crew. Morale is always shaky after change of leadership" Gorg told his twin sons, who killed and feasted alongside him through his whole career as Mercenary.

"What about Captain's room? Crew can't access it if you don't agree with it." Burg responded, before starting to lick blood from his Ironfist.

"Good idea, Burg. As reward, you will be able to pick best parts of meat, just after myself" Gorg complimented his son for cunning, while proudly smiling. Maybe Grub was better at smashing heads, but Burg was more cunning.

"Gulp! Move your lazy ass! I want all corpses in the Captain's Room by dusk!" Gorg shouted to his pet Gnoblar, which moment later caused whole group of them to 'move to work'.

Meanwhile, human crewmen on the ship could be divided into two groups: less wounded returned to their stations, while more severe wounded lined up for treatment by so-called Green Witch, who healed each one with her Life Magic.

For position of First Mate, newly-titled Pirate Captain picked most experienced amongst human pirates, who called himself "Slippery" Stefano for his talent at jail-escaping.

He told Grog about "Pirate Heaven" called The Awakening, so cunning Maneater tasked him with "making sure the ship will get there in one piece"

Hour later, when Gnoblars finished their work, Gorg gave Stefano direct order to "only interrupt in really important cases".

Moment later, after door of Captain's room was closed, trio of Maneaters (and Gorg's Blood Vulture) began their feast. Its 'centerpiece' was corpse of ship's previous Captain.

---++++-------------------

Crew of "Greedy Gorg":
- Pirate Captain "Greedy" Gorg (Maneater with brace of Ogre Pistols)
- Burg & Grub, Gorg's twin sons (Burg dual-wields Mace & Ironfist, while Grub dual-wields Mace & Scimitar)
- "Slippery" Stefano, First Mate
- small group of Gnoblars, lead by Gulp (Gorg's pet Gnoblar)
- much larger group of human pirates (wielding warious weaponry)
- "Greedy" Gorg's Blood Vulture

After "Greedy" Gorg's successful coup, he renamed his (Tilean-made) ship to "Sea Gorger"

 

[Dragonofelder]

"What's up, Lion Butts, it's ya boy Uncle Paht! Back at it again with another unboxing video, this time we'll be opening a booster box for the Lizard Lords of Lustria Pack. I hope you're excited as I am to see what we get, and hopefully we can get a legendary Slann this time!

But first, let me tell you about today's sponsor! Do you ever look at a guy, and think "Wow, I hate that guy"? Do you ever wish you could have them killed, then have their souls bound eternally in service to a ghost ship? Just send a bat to Harkon The Sorcerer's Mighty Ziggurat, and you'll receive a response with 12 to 13 business days! Term&ConditionsApplyLuthorHarkonIsNotLiableForAnyInjuriesDeathsOrHauntingsCausedNorIsResponsibleForLossOfPaymentToPiracyPaymentMustBeDoneUpFrontOrWillBeDoneAtGunpoint

Alright then, let's get into it! Just need to apply my Van Hal Crowbar... 'ere we go... now! First we have, lets see... aha! A Saurus Scar Veteran. A simple collector would simply say it's a simple warrior, but we can tell from the size of the teeth... and the amount of bone scars... yep, this is a Veteran. That's a pretty good find, I have a few already but more are good.

Now, what else... ah, a skink, of course. Always one of those... Not even a Red Crested, hmm. Next, we have a... a Cold One? No, ooh, it's a Horned One! Rarer, and it's quite easy to mistake one for the other, in spite of the, well, it's a bit obvious... still, this will be good for the cavalry exhibition! If we combine it with the Scar Veteran, we'll have something special too.

Second to last... a Saurus, just a standard warrior this time. A shame, I still need a few Temple Guards for my Temple exhibition... and speaking of... for our last find... come on now Lion Butts, pray with me... oh Ptra and Usirian, bless us with fortune... grant us the gift of... a Slann!

Slann? No, its... another Skink. Why I oughta... oh hold on. This is... oh my, this isn't just a Skink, it's a Skink Oracle! They're very rare, probably the rarest non-character Skink you can get. Seems like he's come without his Troglodon... which is a bit cheap. Still, quite a find! I don't have on of these yet, so I'm quite happy with it, although if I'm honest I still would have preferred a Slann.

Alright, I've got to go put these all in storage and decide where they'll go in the museum! Next time we'll be unboxing a High Elf Horde pack, with a very special guest! Until then, stay fleshy, my Lion Butts! Peace!"

---

I do not apologise. Much.

 

[Dragonofelder]

Personality 13: Lootfur The Rat
My Dearest Lady,

It seems your once-servant has many surprises left to show. A new personality has revealed itself in the last few days, with some quite surprising behaviours. I am also at a loss to explain where this identify has come from.

From the beginning then; I first became aware something was afoot when the Steward began to make several large purchases of two differing items. One needs no explanation - warpstone - although I was not aware of any upcoming rituals or such, so it did cause some interest. The second item was far stranger - cheese. In staggering amounts, might I say. There were some I recognised - Bretonnia cheddar, Tilean Parmigiano, even some hard Dwarf Cheese. A few more were rarer - Kurgan Byaslag by the saddlebag, Ussingen Red Cheese. And there were also several barrels filled with a vile mix of mould, which I have been informed - against my will - is a delicacy to certain Skaven Clans.

My interest fully piqued, I decided my Host was either enacting some plot, or something far stranger was occurring. I devised a reason to meet with him, and despite the objections of the Steward I was able to do so. Upon entering the throne room, I discovered where the warpstone and cheese had gone - it was piled under, on and a top the throne! Perched a top was my Host, although he was not sitting. He hunched over the pile, like a dragon guarding it's hoard. As I approached he began to stare at me with piercing red eyes, a different kind of madness evident with them. His teeth were also prominent in his face - not his canines, but two front incisors.

His initial response was to demand I keep away from his pile of "shiny-glowing warpstone" and "tasty-chewy cheeses". He inquired if I came to offer tribute - thankfully I had prepared, and offered a crate of warpstone, and one of fine Rushan. He was most pleased, and I took the chance to question his gathering of such items. He seemed legitimately confused - he was collecting them because "they are mine-mine, all the greeny and cheesy is mine, all mine! All belongs to me-me, Lootfur Harkhark!" He then seemed to loose himself in mutters about "filthy lizard things" and "disbelieving council-rats", and so I took my chance to swiftly depart.

That was a few nights ago. Just this morning a large number of crates were taken from the castle and dumped into the swap - those seem to have been the most foul or pungent cheeses. The rest, I understand, have been held onto for now, in case of a resurgence. My Host is back to his more normal self, and I suspect quite eager to forget his lapse into stranger madness.

Until such a time something of note occurs, I remain your devoted servant and loyal sister,
Lady Zang Shi

P.S. Your uncle's latest project is progressing well. I have attended a few of his exhibit openings, and they have all proven educational and enjoyable, regardless of the subject matter. I wish you could come and see it for yourself.