Of Wolves and Witches (WHF Wizard Quest)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Fantasy
13th Bee
Worker
- Location
- Tennessee, USA.
[X] The Burghers. Dreadfully boring, many of them, but they have money and a quite unseemly interest in the exotic. You, my dear, most certainly qualify. Just try not to smack any of them.
Probably a good idea to get friendly with the people with influence when we know that Erika is about to get a Witch Hunter after her.
Probably a good idea to get friendly with the people with influence when we know that Erika is about to get a Witch Hunter after her.
- Location
- London, England
Vote Called.
The winning vote is the mercenaries.
The winning vote is the mercenaries.
XXVI - Witchcraft
- Location
- London, England
"Well, let us start off with something easy, shall we?" Maria says softly as she guides you through the milling crowds, "A woman has to know how to pace herself."
You make a vague noise of agreement, pushed too far off-balance by the soft warmth of the beautiful woman pressed up against your side to really contest where she wants to lead you. Thankfully you don't think anyone notices, and soon enough you are being lead up to a small collection of… well, if you had to guess you would say they were actors trying to portray hardened warriors, complete with elaborate costumes and almost theatrically exaggerated scars, but their weapons are certainly real enough.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, might I please introduce my champion, Erika Kurtsdottir," the Grafin says smoothly, letting go of your arm and taking half a step aside as you draw to a halt in front of the small group, "Erika has expressed a certain interest in meeting others of a more martial inclination, and naturally, you were the first to come to mind."
You did absolutely nothing of the sort, but saying so in front of these people would hardly seem like the most politic of statements, so instead you incline your head to them in brief semblance of a bow. Now that you look closer, you can see that the men and women in front of you are most likely the officer corp of some private mercenary company, dressed up as best they can to make a good impression on potential clients. They have just the right blend of fancy clothes worn by those unused to such things and practical equipment gleaming with recent polish to sell the impression, and most look at you with the practiced assessment of experienced soldiers.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Kurtsdottir," the woman at their centre says with an expression too polite to be called a genuine smile. She has light brown skin, of the sort common among Estalians and those in neighbouring realms who share some of their blood, and to your surprise she has disdained the fancy silks and linen of her peers in favour of a full-body suit of gleaming silver-blue chainmail. Only a leather jerkin breaks up the shoulder-to-ankle expanse of polished metal, itself emblazoned with the heraldic imagery of Kemperbad. "I am Isabella de Arlest, and these are my Invaders."
"Likewise," you nod, because the fact that you've never heard of them would probably be a poor choice of greeting, "I assume you're… under contract with the city, then?"
"That we are," says one of the other mercenaries, who you think is a rather feminine looking man. It's hard to tell. There's no mistaking the massive two-handed sword across their back, though. "Standing around merchant estates, looking pretty, that's us."
"Hush, Mala," Isabella says fondly, smacking her comrade lightly on the arm, "if you want excitement, our contract renews next month. Bring up an interesting suggestion then and I'll consider it."
The Grafin takes this as her cue to depart, patting you lightly on the arm and then vanishing into the swirling crowd of dignitaries before you can muster the wit to respond. Part of you wants to go after her, but the larger portion refuses to look like a love-struck puppy in front of so many strangers.
"We heard about your duel, in any case," Isabella says, turning her dark eyes back towards you, "it was quite an impressive display, so I'm told, and it's always nice to hear someone using the Tilean school get knocked down a peg or three."
Definitely Estalian, then. The rivalry between the children of that nation and those of neighbouring Tilea is one of the first things that comes to mind whenever any Imperial crosses paths with either, though you can't claim to understand the particulars or any of the root causes.
"My thanks," you say with a nod, "though to be honest, I could have done without losing quite so much blood in the process."
"Ah, see, this is why Myrmidia gave us armour!" The mercenary… captain? General? You know most companies give their commanders some form of formal title but damned if you can guess which one the Invaders favour.
"And if she gives us some that does not interfere with my magic, then maybe I will," you reply, glancing over the armoured woman for a moment and trying not to get distracted by how large her biceps are, "Though I'll admit, I'm surprised you're wearing it tonight. Surely it gets uncomfortable."
The other mercenaries groan theatrically at that, but Isabella ignores them with practiced ease, instead leaning forwards and flexing her arms in a way that sets the chainmail jingling faintly. "If it was human made, sure, but this is elf craftsmanship. We did a job for one of their merchant princes a while back, and he gave me this as a bonus. Light as silk!"
"And twice as pretty, yes Captain, we've all heard it before," Mala, who you think has no business calling anything else unreasonably pretty even if you can't quite work out what's going on there, says with a roll of their eyes, "Anyway, you should ask the fire lady if she's ever considered mercenary work. Would be good to have a wizard of our own, you know?"
"Hush, Mala," Isabella says again, before smiling apologetically at you, "Sorry, they've never been good at this indirect stuff. That said, have you considered it? There's any number of foes that use magic out there, but you Imperial mages are so hard to hire…"
"Sorry," you say with a slightly awkward shrug, because you truly do not wish to spend your evening debating the relevant restrictions of the Articles of Magic, "I'm still a journeywoman. The College will get very upset if I go running off abroad without at least finishing my schooling."
And by 'upset' you mean 'will dispatch magister-vigilants to hunt me like a dog' but there's no need to talk about such unpleasant topics in a public space like this one.
"A shame," Isabella says with a sigh, brushing her long black hair back behind one ear as she looks around, "Still, perhaps we can share stories anyway? Come, there must be something worth drinking around here somewhere…"
You don't get a chance to find out, as with a loud boom the double doors at the far end of the hall fly open. Heads turn throughout the chamber, a crowd of beautiful peacocks peering in confusion at the strange newcomers to their midst, and heralded by slowly spreading silence Matthias Hubkind strides into the room. He wears the same battered leather armour as he did at the duel, but in his hands he holds both sword and pistol, and at his back stride a full squad of eight halberdiers from the judicial guard.
Well, fuck.
"Master Templar," Maria-Ulrike steps out of the suddenly frozen crowd of grandees, her voice as warm and sharp as a freshly-forged sword, "What an unexpected pleasure."
"Save your insipid wordplay, woman," the Templar growls, his dark eyes sweeping back and forth across the room like sharpened knives, "I am not here for your shameful debaucheries. It is your pet witch that concerns me."
Well, double fuck.
"Wizard, if you'd be so kind," you say sharply, stepping away from the suddenly rather nervous-looking mercenaries and into a rapidly clearing space in the middle of the chamber, "I did not earn my license for some yapping dog to piss all over it."
"Erika Kurtsdottir," the witch hunter says, sick satisfaction in his tone as he stares you down, "You stand accused of witchcraft and heresy, of sorcerous enchantment and the foul crime of necromancy. How do you plead."
"Go fuck yourself," you reply simply, because like hell you'll play along with this half-tamed maniac and his delusions of righteousness, "and use whatever half-sane scribblings you claim are evidence for a cock."
You're making him angry, and that is a dangerous game to play, but fuck it you'll not stand idly by and let this murderer of innocents tell you what you did or did not do. He cannot touch you without the approval of your patron or some kind of iron-clad evidence, and you'll not give anyone here cause to doubt your sincerity at that.
"While my champion speaks somewhat rashly," the Grafin interjects, her voice chilled as ice, "the sentiment is one I share. What basis is there to such dire accusations, to justify creating such an ugly scene?"
"The testimony of Heinrich Bӧttcher, that his surrender was compelled against his will," Hubkind proclaims in a thundering voice, gloved hands creaking slightly as he grips his weapons tight, "and the evidence of my own eyes, that it was her blood which called forth the spectre that sought to slay me. Perhaps she thought to save herself from a losing duel, or perhaps it was simply to remove the threat of scrutiny from her patron's affairs… either way, Miss Kurtsdottir is guilty, and will be accompanying me to the temple for trial!"
You are going to kill Bӧttcher when next you see him. Doubtless the Templar leaned on him, made him doubt his own recollection, but to give such testimony as this… or perhaps it was his employer, stewing in bitterness over an unexpected defeat. Either is possible, but it does not change the outcome.
"I will do not such thing," you retort, before Maria can be forced to choose between picking your side or that of the Church, "nor will I let such slander stand unquestioned. The spirit was the ghost of an innocent man that you had burned to death, and Heinrich Bӧttcher was too much of a coward to face it or me in the aftermath!"
Perception test! TN is 33, Erika rolls 19, success with +2 SL.
The Witch Hunter's face goes red, spittle flying from his lips as he denounces you once again, but you have no time to pay attention to him. Even as he speaks, the winds of magic are stirring, whirling in a maddened spray as some foreign mind imposes its will, and with mounting horror you track them as best you can. There is aqshy and chamon and shyish in the mix, far too many different winds for any professional spellcaster to try turning towards a legitimate cause, and you need… there!
Standing behind the Witch Hunter and his party is a young woman, no more than twenty years of age, with curiously pale skin and long black hair held back in an elaborate style by silver hairpins. She wears a long dress of black, like a professional mourner, and as she extends a hand towards your group her pale grey eyes burn with hate.
"WATCH OUT!" You roar, stepping forwards and forcibly throwing Maria-Ulrike back with one arm even as you reach for the winds with the other.
Unknown Witch rolls to cast, TN is ???, roll is 44, critical success!
Erika tests Language (Magick) to counterspell, base TN is 64, roll is 16, success with +5 SL.
Spell countered! Miscast triggered!
"Murderer!" The unknown woman screams, pale grey light gathering around her outstretched hand as an insane medley of eldritch power builds up in her flesh. Hubkind whirls, but he's too slow, the woman is a heartbeat from unleashing her spell at best. "You will not take another!"
You don't have time for anything fancy, so you fall back on one of the very first lessons that your master taught you. As the crowd screams and backs away, you sharpen a strand of aqshy into a blade and turn it to your will, severing the delicate web of magical power that the witch was attempting to gather. Her eyes bulge in shock as the magic turns on her, crackling arcs of lightning splashing out to scorch blackened marks on the ground and walls, and then… flesh becomes stone, her arm below the elbow turning into frozen obsidian, and she topples to the ground under the sudden weight.
For one moment you are triumphant, vindicated in the eyes of all around you… and then Matthias Hubkind rounds on the witch, righteous anger twisting his face into a hateful mask.
"Eliza Weizen," he growls, glaring down at the now-kneeling woman, "I should have known you would join your brother in heresy."
"Fuck you…" the woman spits, staggering back to her feet and clutching her petrified arm in her other hand, "Samrich was innocent, you hateful maniac! You burned him, and… and I… I heard his screams! Every night!"
Your stomach turns, bile threatening to climb its way up your throat. How many times have you heard this story? How many times has a wizard discovered her power in times of such turmoil? To be able to perceive a ghost bound to the earth, to learn that no one else could see what you could…
"And so you bound his soul and sent him for revenge, is that it?" The Templar snorts, holstering his pistol and gesturing to the watchmen that accompanied him into the hall. "Take her. She can join her brother on the pyre."
"No!" Eliza says, sick fear twisting her face as she staggers back, retreating before the looming form of two armoured watchmen as they advance on her, "Stay back! I'm… I'm warning you! Please!"
You can save her.
The thought is a sharp one, cold and painful, twisting your mind like a splinter. Witchcraft is a capital crime under the law of every state and institution in the Empire, necromancy all the more so, and ignorance is no excuse. This woman is destined for the pyre, for an agonising death at the hands of the same man who killed her brother… unless you intervene.
The Colleges take witches all the time. They take them, and they train them, and they name them magisters and turn them to the service of the Empire. If she didn't know what she was doing, if she simply sought to placate her brother's spirit and unknowingly fed it with shyish in the process, you have a right to take her, to escort her back to Altdorf for training. But… if she knew what she was doing, if she knowingly violated the laws on necromancy and tried to kill an agent of the Church, then the law demands you do nothing. No, it demands that you drag her to the pyre yourself if you have to.
An investigation could reveal the truth, could take the decision out of your hands… but there's no time. The Templar has pronounced her guilty already. There will be no trial, no salvation for this woman, not unless you intervene. Unless you defend her, and force the witch hunter to back down, whatever that might take.
You make a vague noise of agreement, pushed too far off-balance by the soft warmth of the beautiful woman pressed up against your side to really contest where she wants to lead you. Thankfully you don't think anyone notices, and soon enough you are being lead up to a small collection of… well, if you had to guess you would say they were actors trying to portray hardened warriors, complete with elaborate costumes and almost theatrically exaggerated scars, but their weapons are certainly real enough.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, might I please introduce my champion, Erika Kurtsdottir," the Grafin says smoothly, letting go of your arm and taking half a step aside as you draw to a halt in front of the small group, "Erika has expressed a certain interest in meeting others of a more martial inclination, and naturally, you were the first to come to mind."
You did absolutely nothing of the sort, but saying so in front of these people would hardly seem like the most politic of statements, so instead you incline your head to them in brief semblance of a bow. Now that you look closer, you can see that the men and women in front of you are most likely the officer corp of some private mercenary company, dressed up as best they can to make a good impression on potential clients. They have just the right blend of fancy clothes worn by those unused to such things and practical equipment gleaming with recent polish to sell the impression, and most look at you with the practiced assessment of experienced soldiers.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Kurtsdottir," the woman at their centre says with an expression too polite to be called a genuine smile. She has light brown skin, of the sort common among Estalians and those in neighbouring realms who share some of their blood, and to your surprise she has disdained the fancy silks and linen of her peers in favour of a full-body suit of gleaming silver-blue chainmail. Only a leather jerkin breaks up the shoulder-to-ankle expanse of polished metal, itself emblazoned with the heraldic imagery of Kemperbad. "I am Isabella de Arlest, and these are my Invaders."
"Likewise," you nod, because the fact that you've never heard of them would probably be a poor choice of greeting, "I assume you're… under contract with the city, then?"
"That we are," says one of the other mercenaries, who you think is a rather feminine looking man. It's hard to tell. There's no mistaking the massive two-handed sword across their back, though. "Standing around merchant estates, looking pretty, that's us."
"Hush, Mala," Isabella says fondly, smacking her comrade lightly on the arm, "if you want excitement, our contract renews next month. Bring up an interesting suggestion then and I'll consider it."
The Grafin takes this as her cue to depart, patting you lightly on the arm and then vanishing into the swirling crowd of dignitaries before you can muster the wit to respond. Part of you wants to go after her, but the larger portion refuses to look like a love-struck puppy in front of so many strangers.
"We heard about your duel, in any case," Isabella says, turning her dark eyes back towards you, "it was quite an impressive display, so I'm told, and it's always nice to hear someone using the Tilean school get knocked down a peg or three."
Definitely Estalian, then. The rivalry between the children of that nation and those of neighbouring Tilea is one of the first things that comes to mind whenever any Imperial crosses paths with either, though you can't claim to understand the particulars or any of the root causes.
"My thanks," you say with a nod, "though to be honest, I could have done without losing quite so much blood in the process."
"Ah, see, this is why Myrmidia gave us armour!" The mercenary… captain? General? You know most companies give their commanders some form of formal title but damned if you can guess which one the Invaders favour.
"And if she gives us some that does not interfere with my magic, then maybe I will," you reply, glancing over the armoured woman for a moment and trying not to get distracted by how large her biceps are, "Though I'll admit, I'm surprised you're wearing it tonight. Surely it gets uncomfortable."
The other mercenaries groan theatrically at that, but Isabella ignores them with practiced ease, instead leaning forwards and flexing her arms in a way that sets the chainmail jingling faintly. "If it was human made, sure, but this is elf craftsmanship. We did a job for one of their merchant princes a while back, and he gave me this as a bonus. Light as silk!"
"And twice as pretty, yes Captain, we've all heard it before," Mala, who you think has no business calling anything else unreasonably pretty even if you can't quite work out what's going on there, says with a roll of their eyes, "Anyway, you should ask the fire lady if she's ever considered mercenary work. Would be good to have a wizard of our own, you know?"
"Hush, Mala," Isabella says again, before smiling apologetically at you, "Sorry, they've never been good at this indirect stuff. That said, have you considered it? There's any number of foes that use magic out there, but you Imperial mages are so hard to hire…"
"Sorry," you say with a slightly awkward shrug, because you truly do not wish to spend your evening debating the relevant restrictions of the Articles of Magic, "I'm still a journeywoman. The College will get very upset if I go running off abroad without at least finishing my schooling."
And by 'upset' you mean 'will dispatch magister-vigilants to hunt me like a dog' but there's no need to talk about such unpleasant topics in a public space like this one.
"A shame," Isabella says with a sigh, brushing her long black hair back behind one ear as she looks around, "Still, perhaps we can share stories anyway? Come, there must be something worth drinking around here somewhere…"
You don't get a chance to find out, as with a loud boom the double doors at the far end of the hall fly open. Heads turn throughout the chamber, a crowd of beautiful peacocks peering in confusion at the strange newcomers to their midst, and heralded by slowly spreading silence Matthias Hubkind strides into the room. He wears the same battered leather armour as he did at the duel, but in his hands he holds both sword and pistol, and at his back stride a full squad of eight halberdiers from the judicial guard.
Well, fuck.
"Master Templar," Maria-Ulrike steps out of the suddenly frozen crowd of grandees, her voice as warm and sharp as a freshly-forged sword, "What an unexpected pleasure."
"Save your insipid wordplay, woman," the Templar growls, his dark eyes sweeping back and forth across the room like sharpened knives, "I am not here for your shameful debaucheries. It is your pet witch that concerns me."
Well, double fuck.
"Wizard, if you'd be so kind," you say sharply, stepping away from the suddenly rather nervous-looking mercenaries and into a rapidly clearing space in the middle of the chamber, "I did not earn my license for some yapping dog to piss all over it."
"Erika Kurtsdottir," the witch hunter says, sick satisfaction in his tone as he stares you down, "You stand accused of witchcraft and heresy, of sorcerous enchantment and the foul crime of necromancy. How do you plead."
"Go fuck yourself," you reply simply, because like hell you'll play along with this half-tamed maniac and his delusions of righteousness, "and use whatever half-sane scribblings you claim are evidence for a cock."
You're making him angry, and that is a dangerous game to play, but fuck it you'll not stand idly by and let this murderer of innocents tell you what you did or did not do. He cannot touch you without the approval of your patron or some kind of iron-clad evidence, and you'll not give anyone here cause to doubt your sincerity at that.
"While my champion speaks somewhat rashly," the Grafin interjects, her voice chilled as ice, "the sentiment is one I share. What basis is there to such dire accusations, to justify creating such an ugly scene?"
"The testimony of Heinrich Bӧttcher, that his surrender was compelled against his will," Hubkind proclaims in a thundering voice, gloved hands creaking slightly as he grips his weapons tight, "and the evidence of my own eyes, that it was her blood which called forth the spectre that sought to slay me. Perhaps she thought to save herself from a losing duel, or perhaps it was simply to remove the threat of scrutiny from her patron's affairs… either way, Miss Kurtsdottir is guilty, and will be accompanying me to the temple for trial!"
You are going to kill Bӧttcher when next you see him. Doubtless the Templar leaned on him, made him doubt his own recollection, but to give such testimony as this… or perhaps it was his employer, stewing in bitterness over an unexpected defeat. Either is possible, but it does not change the outcome.
"I will do not such thing," you retort, before Maria can be forced to choose between picking your side or that of the Church, "nor will I let such slander stand unquestioned. The spirit was the ghost of an innocent man that you had burned to death, and Heinrich Bӧttcher was too much of a coward to face it or me in the aftermath!"
Perception test! TN is 33, Erika rolls 19, success with +2 SL.
The Witch Hunter's face goes red, spittle flying from his lips as he denounces you once again, but you have no time to pay attention to him. Even as he speaks, the winds of magic are stirring, whirling in a maddened spray as some foreign mind imposes its will, and with mounting horror you track them as best you can. There is aqshy and chamon and shyish in the mix, far too many different winds for any professional spellcaster to try turning towards a legitimate cause, and you need… there!
Standing behind the Witch Hunter and his party is a young woman, no more than twenty years of age, with curiously pale skin and long black hair held back in an elaborate style by silver hairpins. She wears a long dress of black, like a professional mourner, and as she extends a hand towards your group her pale grey eyes burn with hate.
"WATCH OUT!" You roar, stepping forwards and forcibly throwing Maria-Ulrike back with one arm even as you reach for the winds with the other.
Unknown Witch rolls to cast, TN is ???, roll is 44, critical success!
Erika tests Language (Magick) to counterspell, base TN is 64, roll is 16, success with +5 SL.
Spell countered! Miscast triggered!
One of the most valuable roles that a wizard can play upon the battlefield is in countering the magic of other spellcasters. If she is aware of a spell being cast anywhere within about fifty yards or so, Erika can choose to make the casting an opposed roll, in a similar way to melee combat. In the above case, both sides succeeded at their roll, but Erika managed to reduce the net SL that the witch achieved to a result lower than she needed to meet the casting number of her spell, thereby cancelling it.
'Witchcraft' is a broad term used to refer to virtually any kind of spellcasting done without formal training from the Colleges of Magic or another recognised institution. It has the advantage of versatility, but cannot allow practitioners to wield the more specialised power of a colour wizard, and critically also runs an increased risk of miscasts.
'Witchcraft' is a broad term used to refer to virtually any kind of spellcasting done without formal training from the Colleges of Magic or another recognised institution. It has the advantage of versatility, but cannot allow practitioners to wield the more specialised power of a colour wizard, and critically also runs an increased risk of miscasts.
"Murderer!" The unknown woman screams, pale grey light gathering around her outstretched hand as an insane medley of eldritch power builds up in her flesh. Hubkind whirls, but he's too slow, the woman is a heartbeat from unleashing her spell at best. "You will not take another!"
You don't have time for anything fancy, so you fall back on one of the very first lessons that your master taught you. As the crowd screams and backs away, you sharpen a strand of aqshy into a blade and turn it to your will, severing the delicate web of magical power that the witch was attempting to gather. Her eyes bulge in shock as the magic turns on her, crackling arcs of lightning splashing out to scorch blackened marks on the ground and walls, and then… flesh becomes stone, her arm below the elbow turning into frozen obsidian, and she topples to the ground under the sudden weight.
For one moment you are triumphant, vindicated in the eyes of all around you… and then Matthias Hubkind rounds on the witch, righteous anger twisting his face into a hateful mask.
"Eliza Weizen," he growls, glaring down at the now-kneeling woman, "I should have known you would join your brother in heresy."
"Fuck you…" the woman spits, staggering back to her feet and clutching her petrified arm in her other hand, "Samrich was innocent, you hateful maniac! You burned him, and… and I… I heard his screams! Every night!"
Your stomach turns, bile threatening to climb its way up your throat. How many times have you heard this story? How many times has a wizard discovered her power in times of such turmoil? To be able to perceive a ghost bound to the earth, to learn that no one else could see what you could…
"And so you bound his soul and sent him for revenge, is that it?" The Templar snorts, holstering his pistol and gesturing to the watchmen that accompanied him into the hall. "Take her. She can join her brother on the pyre."
"No!" Eliza says, sick fear twisting her face as she staggers back, retreating before the looming form of two armoured watchmen as they advance on her, "Stay back! I'm… I'm warning you! Please!"
You can save her.
The thought is a sharp one, cold and painful, twisting your mind like a splinter. Witchcraft is a capital crime under the law of every state and institution in the Empire, necromancy all the more so, and ignorance is no excuse. This woman is destined for the pyre, for an agonising death at the hands of the same man who killed her brother… unless you intervene.
The Colleges take witches all the time. They take them, and they train them, and they name them magisters and turn them to the service of the Empire. If she didn't know what she was doing, if she simply sought to placate her brother's spirit and unknowingly fed it with shyish in the process, you have a right to take her, to escort her back to Altdorf for training. But… if she knew what she was doing, if she knowingly violated the laws on necromancy and tried to kill an agent of the Church, then the law demands you do nothing. No, it demands that you drag her to the pyre yourself if you have to.
An investigation could reveal the truth, could take the decision out of your hands… but there's no time. The Templar has pronounced her guilty already. There will be no trial, no salvation for this woman, not unless you intervene. Unless you defend her, and force the witch hunter to back down, whatever that might take.
Article: Choose one:
[ ] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
[ ] Withdraw. You will not make risk your life and reputation for the sake of a suspected necromancer. No matter how much you dislike the Templar, you must not stand in the way of his holy duty.
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A Nation's Virtue
南國山河南帝居
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
I'm getting reverse Witch-King vibes here.
I'm getting reverse Witch-King vibes here.
- Location
- Titan
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
Correct position to split his head open should it come to that.
Correct position to split his head open should it come to that.
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
Its bad enough this witch hunter burned her innocent brother, and tried to burn us the least we can do is try to save the girl.
Its bad enough this witch hunter burned her innocent brother, and tried to burn us the least we can do is try to save the girl.
[X] Withdraw. You will not make risk your life and reputation for the sake of a suspected necromancer. No matter how much you dislike the Templar, you must not stand in the way of his holy duty.
May be a bit meta, but a previous option stated that "the deed enrages those truly responsible." That makes it very, very clear that this girl is a bona fide necromancer, responsible for the return of her brother as a vengeful ghost, and thus deserves to burn. Even if the Templar is a massive ass and deserves death himself.
May be a bit meta, but a previous option stated that "the deed enrages those truly responsible." That makes it very, very clear that this girl is a bona fide necromancer, responsible for the return of her brother as a vengeful ghost, and thus deserves to burn. Even if the Templar is a massive ass and deserves death himself.
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- Location
- Library
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
YEah, fuck that witch hunter.
YEah, fuck that witch hunter.
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
Withdrawing is, without question, the smart choice here. It's also the less interesting choice. So be it.
Withdrawing is, without question, the smart choice here. It's also the less interesting choice. So be it.
- Location
- Before the Ninth Gate
[X] Withdraw. You will not make risk your life and reputation for the sake of a suspected necromancer. No matter how much you dislike the Templar, you must not stand in the way of his holy duty.
The girl seems like a true necromancer to me. Not a good one, and the Templar is also evil, but being against an evil does not make one good.
The girl seems like a true necromancer to me. Not a good one, and the Templar is also evil, but being against an evil does not make one good.
- Location
- Germany
That is not clean Necromancy.
She doesn't hold Shyish alone to control the other Winds, crush them into Dhar and hold them relativly safely away from her.
This is regular unshaped talent grasping for whatever winds are naturally available. Maybe with a natural slant towards Shyish.
So I'd dare make the guess that she is is acting 90%+ on instinct, doesn't count as a real Necromancer and there is only one right thing to do here.
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
- Location
- London, England
For clarity, Erika is aware that this woman had something to do with the ghost. The question is whether or not she deliberately raised her brother as a spectre and sent him on for revenge, or if she accidentally gave him the strength to manifest and attack like that because she didn't know how to use her powers.
To the Templar, it doesn't matter; necromancy is necromancy. To Erika, it might, but she has very limited evidence to be sure one way or another. Hence the vote.
- Location
- Leeds
I don't suppose we can call his judgement into question? Not even thirty seconds ago he was accusing us of this exact same crime...
- Location
- London, England
That would come under 'intervene', because he's pretty clearly not going to stop unless made to stop.
[x] Withdraw. You will not make risk your life and reputation for the sake of a suspected necromancer. No matter how much you dislike the Templar, you must not stand in the way of his holy duty.
She was probably responsible for the magic that got her brother killed, she summoned the ghost, and she just attempted to lightning the while room. If it was just one or two instances, maybe I would intervene, but she has gone too far.
She was probably responsible for the magic that got her brother killed, she summoned the ghost, and she just attempted to lightning the while room. If it was just one or two instances, maybe I would intervene, but she has gone too far.
Quest
The Great One
- Location
- Everywhere
I presume if we're intervening, that's exactly what we would do. The choice is whether to risk saving her or not, doesn't seem like a middle option tbh.
- Location
- Canada
[X] Withdraw. You will not make risk your life and reputation for the sake of a suspected necromancer. No matter how much you dislike the Templar, you must not stand in the way of his holy duty.
- Location
- PA
Hrrmf.
See I don't like this Witch hunter, because apparently he straight-up caused this whole mess by going after her brother, who was innocent which in turn to me suggests he's more fond of setting people to burn and throwing out accusations then ACTUALLY GETTING TO THE TRUTH, which is VERY important because killing them all and letting the Gods sort things out is precisely what gives the Chaos Gods a foothold.
However...There's the angle that this 'witch' is responsible since she set up the ghostly specter thing willingly. Which...Rrrrgh. Winds don't stir themselves that's for sure, and she certainly has intent enough to be guilty...
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
Quite frankly? I think she's guilty, and I don't entirely like the risk of getting tarred for vouching for her. But on the flipside, he's SIgmarite to our Ulrican, so we already don't like each other, and more importantly, this nimrod is running around doing far more damage then he is helping, given he's torched a perfectly good Empire citizen, and drove a potential magister into going Witch, perhaps even getting to burn her for it. And us since we cannot stand for this, but that's fine- a big attention-getting bonfire may also motivate people to stand against Witch Hunters like this moron.
See I don't like this Witch hunter, because apparently he straight-up caused this whole mess by going after her brother, who was innocent which in turn to me suggests he's more fond of setting people to burn and throwing out accusations then ACTUALLY GETTING TO THE TRUTH, which is VERY important because killing them all and letting the Gods sort things out is precisely what gives the Chaos Gods a foothold.
However...There's the angle that this 'witch' is responsible since she set up the ghostly specter thing willingly. Which...Rrrrgh. Winds don't stir themselves that's for sure, and she certainly has intent enough to be guilty...
[X] Intervene. You will not see another wizard dragged to the pyre when you could do something about it. Gamble on the woman's innocence, and stand between the Templar and his prey.
Quite frankly? I think she's guilty, and I don't entirely like the risk of getting tarred for vouching for her. But on the flipside, he's SIgmarite to our Ulrican, so we already don't like each other, and more importantly, this nimrod is running around doing far more damage then he is helping, given he's torched a perfectly good Empire citizen, and drove a potential magister into going Witch, perhaps even getting to burn her for it. And us since we cannot stand for this, but that's fine- a big attention-getting bonfire may also motivate people to stand against Witch Hunters like this moron.