- Location
- yorkshire
can we get a giant
Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
- Start date
- Mature
-
- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns (guns) if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
- Location
- United States
The most realistic path to acquiring the services of a Giant would be to do a successful expedition to Albion, but even then the probability is so unlikely that I wouldn't even really consider it.
Massgamer
Advance toward the Future
- Location
- The Future
Baring lots of luck it is unlikely. There maybe a few lesser degenerate ones on Albion but that requires we actually get there and likely a questline.
ShyPerson
Guardian of the dead’s final rest.
- Location
- Sweden
- Pronouns
- Him/He
Not without an incredible series of unlikely events. Speaking of unlikely troop types, the manticore rider Marco the Mad died. Guess it's only a matter of time when dealing with volatile creatures like those.
iggyfan
Verified Man-Thing
- Location
- Kentucky
Ok so someone is apparently stealing 515 crowns a year from us. Anyone got any ideas about how to find and kill this person?
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- Location
- United States
With that much money moving around, there's almost assuredly a paper trail. We can probably sic Sabine on it to see if she can find out where it leads.
- Location
- yorkshire
it will be the closist if we get to a 40k titan if we make it wear armour meters thick
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
We didn't have the population to expand our military. We can afford it. There's probably a shit-storm heading our way.
- Location
- yorkshire
is their not always a shitstorm heading or way
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
We never actually took that option because flooding a baby with magic might not be the best thing. He might lose the weak and smallness though vigorous activity like Teddy Roosevelt or he might just be small in general which is fine we can have small members of our dynasty as long as they pull their weight in other ways
Warhammer.txt
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Restalaan
What do you mean i am not a real cowboy?
- Location
- U.S.
breed ogres with giants to make 40k Knights then? find a bonegrinder to turn into a Emperor class titan?
Aramis
An unwilling witness
- Location
- Who cares?
On the subject of the giant, Ostland is probably the human faction that actually doesn't need one, given that we have so many ogres at our beck and call, who have many of the benefits that a giant would bring to the table; even better yet, they are disciplined and our population has integrated them already into being productive members of society. If we were to get a hold of a giant for some reason, I would actually suggest giving it to another member of the Trident.
- Location
- Mackay, Queensland, Australia
I agree. Plus having Talabachland say we're copying them would be insufferable.
NCRTrooper
Wishing For A Nuclear Winter
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
If anything, they're the one copying us in that regard.
- Location
- Home
Absolutely no one would take them seriously if they start complaining that others are getting giants. It'd be like a kid whining that he ain't the only one with a BB gun.
Turn 34 Addendum
GM Note: Last bit before next turn, I swear this time.
Turn 34 Addendum
The end of the year meeting was going well, all things considered.
"So, final numbers on the potential recruitment pool census?"
Stephan shuffled his papers about and looked up at you with a pleased expression. He was growing out that enormous salt and pepper mustache of his again, though there was a lot more salt than pepper lately. Honestly, all these years the Von Raukov had been with your council, he'd been more solid than most. If in health than nothing else. But lately it seemed like Morr's hourglass was pouring faster and harder for him. Despite numbering more than a few years younger than you, it was he who looked all the older. Even seeing less combat than you, having stopped joining in on the yearly and bi-annual battles within the forests long ago, he possessed quite a few more lines on his face.
"We have more than enough men to raise up new halberdier regiments, both for the Army of the Forest and for the Army of the Range," he says cheerily. "Your daughter has found also number of men and women willing to strap on those wing-suits of hers as well – filling the gaps they'll leave won't be too hard either."
Mad as they may be, but you can't deny the potential value upon the battlefield for the use of such individuals. Unfortunately, you are far too heavy with muscle to ever be usable for the things, plus the plate and chain you'd prefer to wear wouldn't help matters. Perhaps one day, of course, for more recreational purposes a personalized creation might be within your purview.
"Ah, I have a question." Sabine pipes up, looking from you to Von Raukov. "Do you still want to add crossbowmen to the ranks? Because I've found a few quality suppliers who might be able to help out. Northern Trident sourced, even."
"I do," Stephan shrugs, arms folding across his chest, "They're still in service across the Empire, and for good reason. When the rain shuts the matchlocks down, it's crossbows that can still properly fire."
Despite the best efforts of a great many alchemists and engineers over the years to make a match that can burn despite such things. On the other hand, they're a bit more acceptable to worshippers of Taal and Ulric than handguns, meaning that the recruitment pool is larger than one might expect. You simply…never rebuilt the regiments lost in the Great War Against Chaos, deployed north into Kislev with your father. Not sure why you didn't, only that you hadn't. The banners were lost in those snows, never recovered since and likely destroyed by the elements at this point.
"Only if we had the numbers," you look at Stephan with a raised eyebrow, "But I don't want to bank everything we have on such matters."
"Oh we do, I assure you Count Hohenzollern," he nods rapidly. "Six regiments, one for each army? Entirely possible! We can pull from a number of folk in the Middle Mountains as well as from the coastal settlements, Salkalten included."
He's been on you for years about this. Have to respect the determination.
"There are plenty of youths ready to be snapped up and given some proper sense of direction," he continues. "And, as I've said before, a few good crossbows firing over the heads of the enemy will always help the pikes hold the line."
And he has, indeed, said so repeatedly. An artifact from his time in Tilea, where he fought in more than one army which was almost purely made out of pikes and crossbows.
"What about my troop concept?"
The empty voice of your daughter cuts through the well-worn discussion between you and Von Raukov.
"The grenadiers?"
"Yes."
"It's quite a dangerous proposition," Stephan murmurs, folding his fingers underneath his chin. "Not to mention, you'd need people able to cast well above the shield wall or pike line."
The potential damage from a grenade, noise and stink of black powder aside, is rather immense when one considers that sort of thing. All it would take is someone not capable of throwing the bomb far enough and it could cause catastrophic damage to your own soldiers. A mistake in the manufacture of the shell itself, a mistimed throw, and the result could be the same. But nevertheless, Anna seemed resolutely determined to bring the topic up since she'd had it sometime last year. Unlike Von Raukov, who was all passion when it came to trying to get crossbowmen into the ranks, Anna was mercilessly logical. And, frankly, the potential pros were quite something when she put it to paper. At the same time, she was perfectly willing to list the many cons.
"The cocktails we possess are perfectly capable of fulfilling the task of incendiary explosives, but larger blasts are possible," she speaks slowly, eyes locking onto you. "A specialized set of equipment, with a grenade carrying case that protects from both attack and the elements, would not be hard to produce at all."
Which is when she brings out the sketches again. Page after page of the stuff. It started as a simple harness and sack of grenades, or bombs, or whatever one wished to say. Rapidly, however, it advanced. Anna was now on her twentieth version. The harness had become a specialized set of armor, now heavily padded and covered in protective plates. There was also the addition that she'd made. It was essentially a backpack, if only one made of metal with a lockable slat at the bottom, one which opened wide enough for a single bomb to roll through and not the entire payload all at once. It was, based on her sketches and prototype notes, built so that the grenadier in question could continually pull out another explosive, lighting one and throwing before grabbing another. Or a number of other things, such as double fisting them or some such.
"Has anyone actually been in this suit, tested the bombs in combat conditions?"
The answer, this time, surprises you.
"Yes. Me."
Natasha nearly chokes on the wine she was sipping from, turning to look at your daughter with horror marring her beautiful face.
"Excuse me!?" Natasha hisses. "The wing-suits were one thing, the wizards can set some broken limbs, but even they would struggle with you being in bits and pieces!"
Anna opens her mouth to respond, reassesses whatever it was she was going to say, and closes it to think for a moment.
"This is true. However, I was lobbing the grenades over our testing barriers, and was in almost no danger at any time. Samwise was on hand for smothering if required."
No doubt, Natasha will be hunting down the halfling for letting Anna perform self-testing again. She's never been particularly happy about that aspect of engineering life – even if Anna is essentially the premier of their number in the Northern Trident.
"We'll look into it," you finally decide, rubbing at your temples with one hand. "But considering the danger of the things, pay will have to be increased for any prospective grenadier troops. It's one thing to cut a finger on your sword, or accidentally bleed from the snapping of a bowstring. It's entirely another to explode because you got jostled on a march."
"That is all I ask," Anna sits back in her chair, becoming akin to a statue as she does so. "I am already looking into your proposal on heavy blastguns father for a cavalry answer to pistoliers. I simply wish you to be willing to look into mine."
Sometimes, you can't even tell if she's breathing or not. It's enough to make a man take another drink. But with her part done, you can move on from such matters.
"Sabine, you said that your report was finished?"
Coughing daintily, your son's wife straightens slightly in her chair before hefting a rather enormous set of papers and journals onto the table with a heavy thud. If this were when you first met the girl, she'd have required a servant's aid to do so, but beneath the long sleeves of her dress lies a healthy amount of muscle. It's not even slightly a strain for her to stack them up. She pats the top of the stack in satisfaction before looking out at the rest of the council.
"I have here the taxation evidence that I previously spoke of."
Ah, now here was something you were quite interested indeed. Everyone was, really. Despite your aversion to such matters in your youth, you simply could not avoid the truth. You were a politician. Everyone present was, all of them leaning in slightly. And when it came to taxes? There was an interest!
Castle Wulfenburg Council Chambers 2331
"Does anyone have anything else to bring forth?"
Sabine's hand shot upwards with surprising speed. Though, unfortunately, it trembled as it stayed up there. Honestly, she'd married Magnus an entire year ago. Why was she so skittish? Natasha had convinced you to bring the girl into the council the first few times, but so far you weren't sure if she should remain.
"The numbers aren't right. Taxes, I mean. The tax numbers aren't right."
Her words bounce and jumble about, but at least she manages to bring the sentence to a close this time around. Whenever it wasn't about money, Magnus, or the Nassau? Sabine had a nasty habit of trailing off. Still, her words are enough to grab your attention, and so you turn slightly in your chair to face her. Everyone else present does so as well. But, remarkably, she doesn't shy away. Instead, you watch as she firms herself up and takes a deep breath before speaking. She has some spine to her, just have to draw it out.
"What I mean to say is, based on my preliminary studies, the tax drawn from various portions of the populace are…lower, than they should be."
You and Natasha exchange a look with an unspoken paragraph or two before looking back at Sabine – Natasha somewhat smugly and you with begrudging acceptance.
"Go on, daughter-in-law."
Clearing her throat, Sabine brings up one of the two pieces of vellum she's got. This one is rather old, the age of it noticeable on sight alone, let alone the cracking of its substance from even Sabine's gentle handling.
"I was just looking over some of the older tax laws and agreements set up," she then picks up the second piece of vellum, "And some of the more modern information. Well," she shrugs, "At least considering the one is a great number of generations old and the other is less so. But there's more, I mean, more documents that I'd have to pull from, but the initial evidence is…"
"Sabine," Natasha says gently.
"Right," the younger woman blushes. "You should be drawing more money from your taxes, because your economy is that much stronger than it was in the past." She sniffs. "Considering standard percentage requirements and income differences over the past three decades-,"
A raised finger from you brings her to a halt.
"Sabine."
"Yes, Count Hohenzollern?"
"Would you be willing to research this in depth?"
She does an odd shrug and nod.
"Absolutely."
"Fantastic!" You smile brightly at her. "Bring me an actionable plan. It sounds like something I'd be quite interested in."
She then huffs and grunts while pulling another stack of papers, books, records, and so on onto the table. Thank goodness your ancestors had it built as sturdily as possible back in the day.
"Reported incomes from noble estates, burghers with increasingly profitable businesses, even peasantry who have larger farms and larger herds, flocks, and so on," she says with satisfaction, patting the new stack. "For the past few generations. Things were largely nominal, before increasing significantly lately in the past few decades – with a major dip during the…," she worries at her lip, looking between you and Natasha, "Vampire War."
An old ache, but one so well worn into your soul that you are more simply aware of it than actually stung in any major fashion.
"However," she goes on, "The bounce back since has been rather incredible, especially with the addition of new industries, a vibrantly growing populace, and increased mercantile links between the Northern Trident, Kislev, and even more recently, Karak Ungor and its resettled territories."
Apparently, even that Imperial Fighting League thing is finding more success. As of the most recent reports, Sabine was reporting that the established rules were even doing good work in ensuring repeat shows. Far too often in the older pits of the Empire an up and coming fighter would simply die in the ring, rather than continuing on. Or be irreparably crippled.
"As such, the actual income that you should be receiving from taxes is, considering the amounts and percentages set down, higher. Because the amount of money that they – they being the citizenry, burghers, and nobility – have access to is notably higher."
"Now Sabine," you trade a look with Natasha, "You know that just saying that sort of thing would get you lynched in some towns."
Sabine just tosses her hair and sips some more wine. She is no mere flower of Talabecland, Sabine, not anymore. No, she's grown into a fine, well-thorned woman. Good for her, and good for Magnus, you think.
"I have fought back to back with my husband against bestigors and giant spider-riding greenskins. I have gutted such creatures with my own blade, more than once by now. I don't fear lynching. Could it happen? Certainly. But that will not prevent me from saying it."
Fair enough.
"I will provide you a summary of my notes if you wish, as well as the collected materials used to create it. But, overall, my conclusion is this: you need not necessarily raise new taxes, or anything of the sort. You should, however, ensure that you are receiving the proper amount of tax revenue per year as per the agreed percentages laid down."
With that, she sits back in her chair, primly but clearly more than a little satisfied. A motion from Natasha has the large slip of parchment handed to her, your wife scanning down the stark realization of Sabine's years of research. A moment later and you are reading it yourself. As you expected, as you should have known, frankly, Sabine was correct indeed. Up until this point, you'd been focusing on taxation from the perspective of disentangling the horrific collapse of webbing that was Ostland's tax rights. The actual numbers therein had not yet entered into the equation, but now it surely must. When your work is complete, this will, for one, streamline everything by stripping the rights of many to tax different territories for different things. On occasion, for things that don't even happen anymore but are still requiring payment – such as paying off a near institutionalized bandit kingdom which had existed in the Forest of Shadows…five centuries ago. Who had, you also knew, ceased to be a few decades later. But once that was done, the amounts would change as well.
Another thing to incorporate, perhaps. Or maybe you should wait until the project itself is complete, and then do something about the taxes?
"Well, all right then," you gesture for some servants to drag the two stacks of documents and tomes over to you for later perusal. "Natasha, anything new on your front?"
"I have a few new proposals," she smiles at you, "An attempt to further increase our trade through Bordeleaux merchants into the rest of Bretonnia, possibly opening minor relations with their Duke later on," she begins leafing through the parchment in her hand, "Another for possibly attempting to connect with Estalia…or at least, some of them."
The initial reports the two of you had gotten were painful in their anarchy. While the war there has been over for some years now, recovery has been in wild spurts and stops due to their unity collapsing with the departure of Lucrezia Vega to Tilea. But they were, nevertheless, an entire nation. One that, when not being devoured by the forces of Chaos, beastmen, greenskins, and skaven, was populous and rich. They were also famous for their steel and Diestro duelists. The latter of two you are, personally, far more interested in.
"Their steel and fencers are famous even in Kislev," she continues, "And without a central ruling government like the Vega Siblings seemed near to creating, it should be much easier to pull in experts from Estalia looking for less chaotic climates."
A bit brutal, if you consider it. Taking advantage of the constant conflict – if low intensity compared to the past – throughout Estalia to pull in expertise? If it helps Ostland and the Empire, it's not something you're not going to ignore.
"Understood. Do we want to send anyone down to try and make contact with that Bretonnian ambassador now stationed in Nuln?"
"Who would we send, Frederick," she shrugs at you, "And why? We could, perhaps, say hello to the King of Bretonnia, but…,"
The mass amount of guns, cannons, explosives, and so on, no doubt. You've had this conversation before, but who is on each side depends. Sometimes Natasha is the one pushing for you to try and go past a simple Duke to the King of Bretonnia, other times it is you. Inevitably, the two of you end up agreeing that the Bretonnians in general are not likely to be supremely positively inclined towards you. Roland notwithstanding. Still, the effort should be made, presumably. All you need to do is try and come up with a reason. On the other hand, the Emperor just opened up an embassy presumably to do just that, so perhaps you should stick with Dukedom and Province level relations.
"Tilea?"
"I don't think we need to speak to Tilea," Anna cuts in. "As I recall, Prince Axeblood is not well inclined to like me, and by extension, our family."
Another look passes between parents before two different but caring gazes find Anna's stoic face. She cannot feel, precisely, but she can remember feeling.
"Do you think he holds a grudge?" You ask gently.
"I do not think so, no. But if there is anything our repeated…efforts…towards Talabecland have taught me," she does not react as both you and Natasha wince, "Some wounds are better left untouched."
Well, it's not as if there aren't other cities in Tilea. Perhaps that one currently being run by an elf of all things. On his dragon. It would be quite a thing to see a dragon that wasn't in the process of trying to kill you and everyone around you.
"I see. Is there anything else, Natasha?"
"At the moment? Nothing really. With time, we might be able to work something out with Stirland, but we need time for Arthur's efforts in Sylvania to bear further fruit before we do anything on that front."
No one brings up Middenland.
"Oh, oh I have something!"
"Morgan?"
Unlike Stephan von Raukov, Morgan von Bernhardt retains all the fire she had when you first met, even if she's got a lot more wrinkles than back then. She's even waving her hand about like a student in class.
"I want to build a lighthouse!"
That actually does pull you up short.
"What?"
Her answer is to bring up the largest single piece of parchment you've seen thus far, slap it onto the table and then frantically work to keep it from rolling back up again. You'd been wondering what it was about when she brought it into the council chamber, but over the past few hours she'd not really acted on it so you'd put it mostly out of mind. It was rather hard to do that now that she was freely pulling books and mugs across the table to weigh down the corners. The wild scrawling that covered it end to end were also a trial simply to try and discern. It wasn't that she was a bad architect, far from it, she had a hand in a vast number of the projects over the past few years. It was more that her handwriting was more akin to a spastic chicken's steps after its head had been cut off.
"A lighthouse! Every major port city should have something of prestige about it, and some even have things that are practical! Bordeleaux has their massive wine market, Bilbali has their massive bronze bell, Barak Varr has the Eyes of Morgrim, and so on."
Every sentence is punctuated by her slapping on the sheet repeatedly.
"And I've been talking to the Bright Wizards, and they say that there exists a way to make flames that burn inexhaustibly, that cannot be extinguished by wind or rain!"
Oh, well that's actually intensely interesting –
"And it'll take them a bit to make it actually last as long as I'd like, but the refresh period shouldn't be too long, but I also want it to be a big lighthouse, possibly as an extension of the temple of Manann in Salkalten, and also-,"
"Morgan-,"
"And I also want to make it a bell tower, because sometimes the sound will help in times of heavy fog, we can make it work-,"
"Morgan-,"
"Obviously there will need to be quite a strong base, but I already looked up some good quarries under Karak Ungor control for-,"
"MORGAN!"
Finally, she comes to a stuttering halt as you raise your voice. Blinking rapidly, she just stares at you.
"Ah, yes, Count Hohenzollern?"
"Get the proposal to me, as in," you wave your hand over the schematics she'd put on the table, "An actual proposal – time, money, so on and so forth. Then we'll see if the treasury could sustain it."
A light dusting of pink covers her cheeks as she rapidly rolls the thing back up and hugs it tight in her arms.
"I…of course, my lord. I just…I'm just a little tired of making walls."
"Understood, Morgan. I promise you, I will give it attention, all right?"
"Yes, my lord."
She sits down rather heavily, the manic energy suffusing her clearly still running up and down her spine.
"Well then, does anyone else have anything to bring up?" You look about the council chamber. "Does anyone know where Hagrid is, by the way? I know he sent word he would be late, but the damn meeting is practically over already."
As is per usual, fate enjoys having a laugh at you. Because it is just as you finish speaking that the door to the chamber swings open. Hagrid trundles through, puffing away merrily at his pipe. Immediately behind him however are two men who can only be described as 'toughs', their bodies made up of slabs of muscle from long hard hours of lifting crates or some such. Between them, however, they drag someone forth who you actually recognize, somewhat. Though his mustache is certainly a lot droopier than you last saw, and his monocle has been broken yet left on his face. The black eye caused by the punch that broke it is quite severe. He hangs limply from their arms, still breathing but clearly wavering on the line between consciousness and passing out.
"I'm here, I'm here," Hagrid calls out as he strides up to his chair, hopping up into it in one smooth motion. "Apologies for my lateness, Count Hohenzollern, fellow members of this august council. However, I was waylaid by duties most important." He points towards the man still held by the toughs. "I presume that most of you know who this man is?"
A series of affirmative murmurs comes from most in the room, only Morgan and the three priests not doing so.
"Mr. Lorenz," you say over interlaced fingers, "Currently the head of the Mercenary Office."
He had been selected from a number of potential candidates. An accountant of skill, having lived in Wulfenburg for most of his life. He'd received his education in Altdorf before returning to the north.
"Why, precisely, has he been so badly beaten?" Your voice is quiet, but then with how quiet the rest of the room has become it is not as if you are unheard.
"Theft, my lord," Hagrid says gravely.
A series of gasps and general noises of surprise comes from just about everyone in the council. But you are silent save for the grinding of your teeth.
"Explain."
The word is not a growl, though it dearly wishes to be. Instead what comes out is something akin to Morr's scythe given verbal form.
"Mr. Lorenz here has been stealing from the treasury by using his position in the Mercenary Office, claiming payments for the mercenaries far in excess of what their actual contracts stipulate. He has been doing so for some time."
An odd noise escapes Sabine, though when you cut your eyes towards her she is simply staring at the man of the hour without blinking.
"How much?" You ask quietly, standing up and moving around the table towards the man.
Brain Wounder, laid against the table, is picked up in one hand as you do so.
"Approximately one thousand, two hundred, forty-five golden crowns."
Another noise escapes Sabine, somewhere close to a quiet teakettle, but it is gone the second you begin looking back towards her. Mr. Lorenz barely has enough left in him to look up at you and whimper as he hangs between the two tough's arms.
"How could this have happened, Hagrid?" You say without looking away from Lorenz's bloody face.
"He saw an opportunity, and took it. With the deaths caused by the battle of the Blood Fane, he decided to keep some contracts open with groups that had turned defunct in the fighting."
Hagrid speaks cheerily, all things considered, but you can see the faint whitening of his knuckles on his pipe. Considering the state of the thief, the halfling likely got his anger out before actually getting here.
"Four hundred and fifteen crowns a year, every year, since," he continues, puffing a particularly large cloud from his pipe. "Covered his tracks well. His internal decorating? Less discreet."
Then Sabine stands, a faint tremble in her arms as she too moves around the table.
"I apologize for my incredible failure, Count Hohenzollern," she speaks with a voice so sickly sweet you're surprised your ears aren't dripping syrup.
"What do you mean, Sabine?" You glance at her as she joins you, shoulder to shoulder.
"Gustav Lorenz was brought on by my suggestion," she keeps talking in that intensely disturbing voice of hers. "I was the one who added him to the pool. It is my fault."
Her hands keep clenching and unclenching at her sides as she looks down on the man.
"Well hells, Sabine," you shake your head, "I'm the one who approved his hiring."
"Even so," she whispers back. "He stole from us."
In the times when you and the rest of your family – in-laws included – have fought in the forests and on the roads of Ostland, you have seen many things. Sabine, particularly, has a shrill but strong war cry. But you have never heard her sound so violently offended in anything she's ever spoken about.
"Hagrid, you've recovered his stolen funds?" You ask over her head to where the halfling sits, pouring himself a mug of ale.
"Most of it. Some was artwork, jewelry, paintings. I'll have to sell those off to fully recover things, but it'll be done."
"I see."
Then you look back at Lorenz.
"Do we know why he thought it was a good idea? Is he a Ranaldian, eager to hoodwink an Elector Count?"
Sabine just stands there, staring down at the man. Her breathing is remarkably even.
"Actually?" Hagrid drinks half of the mug, "He denied that he ever needed any Gods help to do what he did. Spat on the idea of needing a God to help him do anything. Was very snooty about all of it," then he glances at you, grinning with slightly yellowed teeth around the stem of his pipe. "For a bit, at least."
"What is the punishment for this, Count Hohenzollern?"
A huff escapes you.
"For a few stolen coins? A hand removed or at least himself exiled from Ostland. A few hundred, a life time in prison. Over a thousand? Over the course of three years? I've a mind to have him hanged."
For goodness sake, that amount of money could have been put to far greater purposes! But no, the greedy fool decided to profit off of the death of a number of good men. If this truly did start with the conclusion of the destruction of the Blood Fane, then he was practically blasphemously driven in his actions. It should have been a glorious thing, for Ulric to show his strength as he had, for the destruction of that accursed obelisk. But all this man could apparently see was a way to make money.
"When I questioned him, he claimed that the treasury was already making so much money, it would easily be missed and not make a difference."
Sabine snarled like an animal from where she stood next to you. Blinking, you turned to look at her but it was already too late. Such was the speed and strength of her movements that she managed to rip the rapidly terrified man out from the grips of the toughs holding him. Her silk dress whirled about her, gold and silver jewelry jangling loudly, while Sabine herself wrapped her two slender hands around the thief's throat and slammed him upwards. His back hit the stone of the council chamber wall before his head cracked against it. Then, you watched with surprise as Sabine slowly lifted him upwards, his feet only just beginning to kick and spasm.
"EVERY COIN MAKES A DIFFERENCE YOU PATHETIC! MISERABLE! BASTARD!" She bellows as she continues to heft him upwards until her arms are fully extended.
Then she shakes him back and forth, her grip tight as his face begins to purple.
"You don't steal from me – from the – you don't steal from us!" She sputters angrily.
"Sabine," you say casually. "I did say I was considering sentencing him to death. Are you sure you don't want to watch him hang or something?"
She doesn't appear to hear you.
"I've destroyed families for half as much money as you stole," she hisses up at him. "More than a dozen smaller villages would struggle to make a fourth of that in a year all together!"
Lorenz's already weak motions are beginning to slow. A look back at Natasha to communicate whether or not you should do something to stop Sabine is met with a shrug, a shrug which quite clearly says that if you were intending for him to die then why not this way?
"Sabine," you tap your daughter-in-law on the shoulder. "I'm not opposed to him dying, but I'd rather you pull the lever on some gallows than just outright do it here."
Only then does the man drop to the ground, wheezing and, you think, pleading albeit near inaudibly. Sabine just breathes hard, glaring down at him.
"Fine," she bites out.
Well! This was a far better meeting than most. At least this one had some excitement to it!
"Are you feeling all right, Sabine?" You have to ask, considering you haven't seen her like this anywhere except on a battlefield.
"I'm pregnant, no I'm not feeling all right," she growls back before blinking. The anger on her face drains away to worry. "Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry, Count Hohenzollern, I did not mean to speak to you like-," whatever else she was going to say is swallowed up in you hugging her.
"Hah! Congratulations, Sabine!"
She struggles to speak through your beard, her voice coming through muffled.
"Thank you, Count Hohenzollern. We'd wanted to announce it at dinner, but I suppose I'm slightly off center at the moment."
"Oh, don't worry about it," you release her, smiling down. "Another grandchild should be...well, grand!"
What a good end to the year!
Turn 34 Addendum
The end of the year meeting was going well, all things considered.
"So, final numbers on the potential recruitment pool census?"
Stephan shuffled his papers about and looked up at you with a pleased expression. He was growing out that enormous salt and pepper mustache of his again, though there was a lot more salt than pepper lately. Honestly, all these years the Von Raukov had been with your council, he'd been more solid than most. If in health than nothing else. But lately it seemed like Morr's hourglass was pouring faster and harder for him. Despite numbering more than a few years younger than you, it was he who looked all the older. Even seeing less combat than you, having stopped joining in on the yearly and bi-annual battles within the forests long ago, he possessed quite a few more lines on his face.
"We have more than enough men to raise up new halberdier regiments, both for the Army of the Forest and for the Army of the Range," he says cheerily. "Your daughter has found also number of men and women willing to strap on those wing-suits of hers as well – filling the gaps they'll leave won't be too hard either."
Mad as they may be, but you can't deny the potential value upon the battlefield for the use of such individuals. Unfortunately, you are far too heavy with muscle to ever be usable for the things, plus the plate and chain you'd prefer to wear wouldn't help matters. Perhaps one day, of course, for more recreational purposes a personalized creation might be within your purview.
"Ah, I have a question." Sabine pipes up, looking from you to Von Raukov. "Do you still want to add crossbowmen to the ranks? Because I've found a few quality suppliers who might be able to help out. Northern Trident sourced, even."
"I do," Stephan shrugs, arms folding across his chest, "They're still in service across the Empire, and for good reason. When the rain shuts the matchlocks down, it's crossbows that can still properly fire."
Despite the best efforts of a great many alchemists and engineers over the years to make a match that can burn despite such things. On the other hand, they're a bit more acceptable to worshippers of Taal and Ulric than handguns, meaning that the recruitment pool is larger than one might expect. You simply…never rebuilt the regiments lost in the Great War Against Chaos, deployed north into Kislev with your father. Not sure why you didn't, only that you hadn't. The banners were lost in those snows, never recovered since and likely destroyed by the elements at this point.
"Only if we had the numbers," you look at Stephan with a raised eyebrow, "But I don't want to bank everything we have on such matters."
"Oh we do, I assure you Count Hohenzollern," he nods rapidly. "Six regiments, one for each army? Entirely possible! We can pull from a number of folk in the Middle Mountains as well as from the coastal settlements, Salkalten included."
He's been on you for years about this. Have to respect the determination.
"There are plenty of youths ready to be snapped up and given some proper sense of direction," he continues. "And, as I've said before, a few good crossbows firing over the heads of the enemy will always help the pikes hold the line."
And he has, indeed, said so repeatedly. An artifact from his time in Tilea, where he fought in more than one army which was almost purely made out of pikes and crossbows.
"What about my troop concept?"
The empty voice of your daughter cuts through the well-worn discussion between you and Von Raukov.
"The grenadiers?"
"Yes."
"It's quite a dangerous proposition," Stephan murmurs, folding his fingers underneath his chin. "Not to mention, you'd need people able to cast well above the shield wall or pike line."
The potential damage from a grenade, noise and stink of black powder aside, is rather immense when one considers that sort of thing. All it would take is someone not capable of throwing the bomb far enough and it could cause catastrophic damage to your own soldiers. A mistake in the manufacture of the shell itself, a mistimed throw, and the result could be the same. But nevertheless, Anna seemed resolutely determined to bring the topic up since she'd had it sometime last year. Unlike Von Raukov, who was all passion when it came to trying to get crossbowmen into the ranks, Anna was mercilessly logical. And, frankly, the potential pros were quite something when she put it to paper. At the same time, she was perfectly willing to list the many cons.
"The cocktails we possess are perfectly capable of fulfilling the task of incendiary explosives, but larger blasts are possible," she speaks slowly, eyes locking onto you. "A specialized set of equipment, with a grenade carrying case that protects from both attack and the elements, would not be hard to produce at all."
Which is when she brings out the sketches again. Page after page of the stuff. It started as a simple harness and sack of grenades, or bombs, or whatever one wished to say. Rapidly, however, it advanced. Anna was now on her twentieth version. The harness had become a specialized set of armor, now heavily padded and covered in protective plates. There was also the addition that she'd made. It was essentially a backpack, if only one made of metal with a lockable slat at the bottom, one which opened wide enough for a single bomb to roll through and not the entire payload all at once. It was, based on her sketches and prototype notes, built so that the grenadier in question could continually pull out another explosive, lighting one and throwing before grabbing another. Or a number of other things, such as double fisting them or some such.
"Has anyone actually been in this suit, tested the bombs in combat conditions?"
The answer, this time, surprises you.
"Yes. Me."
Natasha nearly chokes on the wine she was sipping from, turning to look at your daughter with horror marring her beautiful face.
"Excuse me!?" Natasha hisses. "The wing-suits were one thing, the wizards can set some broken limbs, but even they would struggle with you being in bits and pieces!"
Anna opens her mouth to respond, reassesses whatever it was she was going to say, and closes it to think for a moment.
"This is true. However, I was lobbing the grenades over our testing barriers, and was in almost no danger at any time. Samwise was on hand for smothering if required."
No doubt, Natasha will be hunting down the halfling for letting Anna perform self-testing again. She's never been particularly happy about that aspect of engineering life – even if Anna is essentially the premier of their number in the Northern Trident.
"We'll look into it," you finally decide, rubbing at your temples with one hand. "But considering the danger of the things, pay will have to be increased for any prospective grenadier troops. It's one thing to cut a finger on your sword, or accidentally bleed from the snapping of a bowstring. It's entirely another to explode because you got jostled on a march."
"That is all I ask," Anna sits back in her chair, becoming akin to a statue as she does so. "I am already looking into your proposal on heavy blastguns father for a cavalry answer to pistoliers. I simply wish you to be willing to look into mine."
Sometimes, you can't even tell if she's breathing or not. It's enough to make a man take another drink. But with her part done, you can move on from such matters.
"Sabine, you said that your report was finished?"
Coughing daintily, your son's wife straightens slightly in her chair before hefting a rather enormous set of papers and journals onto the table with a heavy thud. If this were when you first met the girl, she'd have required a servant's aid to do so, but beneath the long sleeves of her dress lies a healthy amount of muscle. It's not even slightly a strain for her to stack them up. She pats the top of the stack in satisfaction before looking out at the rest of the council.
"I have here the taxation evidence that I previously spoke of."
Ah, now here was something you were quite interested indeed. Everyone was, really. Despite your aversion to such matters in your youth, you simply could not avoid the truth. You were a politician. Everyone present was, all of them leaning in slightly. And when it came to taxes? There was an interest!
==============================================================
Castle Wulfenburg Council Chambers 2331
"Does anyone have anything else to bring forth?"
Sabine's hand shot upwards with surprising speed. Though, unfortunately, it trembled as it stayed up there. Honestly, she'd married Magnus an entire year ago. Why was she so skittish? Natasha had convinced you to bring the girl into the council the first few times, but so far you weren't sure if she should remain.
"The numbers aren't right. Taxes, I mean. The tax numbers aren't right."
Her words bounce and jumble about, but at least she manages to bring the sentence to a close this time around. Whenever it wasn't about money, Magnus, or the Nassau? Sabine had a nasty habit of trailing off. Still, her words are enough to grab your attention, and so you turn slightly in your chair to face her. Everyone else present does so as well. But, remarkably, she doesn't shy away. Instead, you watch as she firms herself up and takes a deep breath before speaking. She has some spine to her, just have to draw it out.
"What I mean to say is, based on my preliminary studies, the tax drawn from various portions of the populace are…lower, than they should be."
You and Natasha exchange a look with an unspoken paragraph or two before looking back at Sabine – Natasha somewhat smugly and you with begrudging acceptance.
"Go on, daughter-in-law."
Clearing her throat, Sabine brings up one of the two pieces of vellum she's got. This one is rather old, the age of it noticeable on sight alone, let alone the cracking of its substance from even Sabine's gentle handling.
"I was just looking over some of the older tax laws and agreements set up," she then picks up the second piece of vellum, "And some of the more modern information. Well," she shrugs, "At least considering the one is a great number of generations old and the other is less so. But there's more, I mean, more documents that I'd have to pull from, but the initial evidence is…"
"Sabine," Natasha says gently.
"Right," the younger woman blushes. "You should be drawing more money from your taxes, because your economy is that much stronger than it was in the past." She sniffs. "Considering standard percentage requirements and income differences over the past three decades-,"
A raised finger from you brings her to a halt.
"Sabine."
"Yes, Count Hohenzollern?"
"Would you be willing to research this in depth?"
She does an odd shrug and nod.
"Absolutely."
"Fantastic!" You smile brightly at her. "Bring me an actionable plan. It sounds like something I'd be quite interested in."
======================================================
"So," Sabine coughs lightly, taking a large sip of wine afterwards, "The general strength of Ostland's economy in the modern day." One part of the stack of documents is tapped. "Compared to previous incomes and tax revenue." She points to another smaller portion of the stack. "There has been, to my knowledge, no actual update in tax code and thus the income from it in somewhere close to three hundred years."
She then huffs and grunts while pulling another stack of papers, books, records, and so on onto the table. Thank goodness your ancestors had it built as sturdily as possible back in the day.
"Reported incomes from noble estates, burghers with increasingly profitable businesses, even peasantry who have larger farms and larger herds, flocks, and so on," she says with satisfaction, patting the new stack. "For the past few generations. Things were largely nominal, before increasing significantly lately in the past few decades – with a major dip during the…," she worries at her lip, looking between you and Natasha, "Vampire War."
An old ache, but one so well worn into your soul that you are more simply aware of it than actually stung in any major fashion.
"However," she goes on, "The bounce back since has been rather incredible, especially with the addition of new industries, a vibrantly growing populace, and increased mercantile links between the Northern Trident, Kislev, and even more recently, Karak Ungor and its resettled territories."
Apparently, even that Imperial Fighting League thing is finding more success. As of the most recent reports, Sabine was reporting that the established rules were even doing good work in ensuring repeat shows. Far too often in the older pits of the Empire an up and coming fighter would simply die in the ring, rather than continuing on. Or be irreparably crippled.
"As such, the actual income that you should be receiving from taxes is, considering the amounts and percentages set down, higher. Because the amount of money that they – they being the citizenry, burghers, and nobility – have access to is notably higher."
"Now Sabine," you trade a look with Natasha, "You know that just saying that sort of thing would get you lynched in some towns."
Sabine just tosses her hair and sips some more wine. She is no mere flower of Talabecland, Sabine, not anymore. No, she's grown into a fine, well-thorned woman. Good for her, and good for Magnus, you think.
"I have fought back to back with my husband against bestigors and giant spider-riding greenskins. I have gutted such creatures with my own blade, more than once by now. I don't fear lynching. Could it happen? Certainly. But that will not prevent me from saying it."
Fair enough.
"I will provide you a summary of my notes if you wish, as well as the collected materials used to create it. But, overall, my conclusion is this: you need not necessarily raise new taxes, or anything of the sort. You should, however, ensure that you are receiving the proper amount of tax revenue per year as per the agreed percentages laid down."
With that, she sits back in her chair, primly but clearly more than a little satisfied. A motion from Natasha has the large slip of parchment handed to her, your wife scanning down the stark realization of Sabine's years of research. A moment later and you are reading it yourself. As you expected, as you should have known, frankly, Sabine was correct indeed. Up until this point, you'd been focusing on taxation from the perspective of disentangling the horrific collapse of webbing that was Ostland's tax rights. The actual numbers therein had not yet entered into the equation, but now it surely must. When your work is complete, this will, for one, streamline everything by stripping the rights of many to tax different territories for different things. On occasion, for things that don't even happen anymore but are still requiring payment – such as paying off a near institutionalized bandit kingdom which had existed in the Forest of Shadows…five centuries ago. Who had, you also knew, ceased to be a few decades later. But once that was done, the amounts would change as well.
Another thing to incorporate, perhaps. Or maybe you should wait until the project itself is complete, and then do something about the taxes?
"Well, all right then," you gesture for some servants to drag the two stacks of documents and tomes over to you for later perusal. "Natasha, anything new on your front?"
"I have a few new proposals," she smiles at you, "An attempt to further increase our trade through Bordeleaux merchants into the rest of Bretonnia, possibly opening minor relations with their Duke later on," she begins leafing through the parchment in her hand, "Another for possibly attempting to connect with Estalia…or at least, some of them."
The initial reports the two of you had gotten were painful in their anarchy. While the war there has been over for some years now, recovery has been in wild spurts and stops due to their unity collapsing with the departure of Lucrezia Vega to Tilea. But they were, nevertheless, an entire nation. One that, when not being devoured by the forces of Chaos, beastmen, greenskins, and skaven, was populous and rich. They were also famous for their steel and Diestro duelists. The latter of two you are, personally, far more interested in.
"Their steel and fencers are famous even in Kislev," she continues, "And without a central ruling government like the Vega Siblings seemed near to creating, it should be much easier to pull in experts from Estalia looking for less chaotic climates."
A bit brutal, if you consider it. Taking advantage of the constant conflict – if low intensity compared to the past – throughout Estalia to pull in expertise? If it helps Ostland and the Empire, it's not something you're not going to ignore.
"Understood. Do we want to send anyone down to try and make contact with that Bretonnian ambassador now stationed in Nuln?"
"Who would we send, Frederick," she shrugs at you, "And why? We could, perhaps, say hello to the King of Bretonnia, but…,"
The mass amount of guns, cannons, explosives, and so on, no doubt. You've had this conversation before, but who is on each side depends. Sometimes Natasha is the one pushing for you to try and go past a simple Duke to the King of Bretonnia, other times it is you. Inevitably, the two of you end up agreeing that the Bretonnians in general are not likely to be supremely positively inclined towards you. Roland notwithstanding. Still, the effort should be made, presumably. All you need to do is try and come up with a reason. On the other hand, the Emperor just opened up an embassy presumably to do just that, so perhaps you should stick with Dukedom and Province level relations.
"Tilea?"
"I don't think we need to speak to Tilea," Anna cuts in. "As I recall, Prince Axeblood is not well inclined to like me, and by extension, our family."
Another look passes between parents before two different but caring gazes find Anna's stoic face. She cannot feel, precisely, but she can remember feeling.
"Do you think he holds a grudge?" You ask gently.
"I do not think so, no. But if there is anything our repeated…efforts…towards Talabecland have taught me," she does not react as both you and Natasha wince, "Some wounds are better left untouched."
Well, it's not as if there aren't other cities in Tilea. Perhaps that one currently being run by an elf of all things. On his dragon. It would be quite a thing to see a dragon that wasn't in the process of trying to kill you and everyone around you.
"I see. Is there anything else, Natasha?"
"At the moment? Nothing really. With time, we might be able to work something out with Stirland, but we need time for Arthur's efforts in Sylvania to bear further fruit before we do anything on that front."
No one brings up Middenland.
"Oh, oh I have something!"
"Morgan?"
Unlike Stephan von Raukov, Morgan von Bernhardt retains all the fire she had when you first met, even if she's got a lot more wrinkles than back then. She's even waving her hand about like a student in class.
"I want to build a lighthouse!"
That actually does pull you up short.
"What?"
Her answer is to bring up the largest single piece of parchment you've seen thus far, slap it onto the table and then frantically work to keep it from rolling back up again. You'd been wondering what it was about when she brought it into the council chamber, but over the past few hours she'd not really acted on it so you'd put it mostly out of mind. It was rather hard to do that now that she was freely pulling books and mugs across the table to weigh down the corners. The wild scrawling that covered it end to end were also a trial simply to try and discern. It wasn't that she was a bad architect, far from it, she had a hand in a vast number of the projects over the past few years. It was more that her handwriting was more akin to a spastic chicken's steps after its head had been cut off.
"A lighthouse! Every major port city should have something of prestige about it, and some even have things that are practical! Bordeleaux has their massive wine market, Bilbali has their massive bronze bell, Barak Varr has the Eyes of Morgrim, and so on."
Every sentence is punctuated by her slapping on the sheet repeatedly.
"And I've been talking to the Bright Wizards, and they say that there exists a way to make flames that burn inexhaustibly, that cannot be extinguished by wind or rain!"
Oh, well that's actually intensely interesting –
"And it'll take them a bit to make it actually last as long as I'd like, but the refresh period shouldn't be too long, but I also want it to be a big lighthouse, possibly as an extension of the temple of Manann in Salkalten, and also-,"
"Morgan-,"
"And I also want to make it a bell tower, because sometimes the sound will help in times of heavy fog, we can make it work-,"
"Morgan-,"
"Obviously there will need to be quite a strong base, but I already looked up some good quarries under Karak Ungor control for-,"
"MORGAN!"
Finally, she comes to a stuttering halt as you raise your voice. Blinking rapidly, she just stares at you.
"Ah, yes, Count Hohenzollern?"
"Get the proposal to me, as in," you wave your hand over the schematics she'd put on the table, "An actual proposal – time, money, so on and so forth. Then we'll see if the treasury could sustain it."
A light dusting of pink covers her cheeks as she rapidly rolls the thing back up and hugs it tight in her arms.
"I…of course, my lord. I just…I'm just a little tired of making walls."
"Understood, Morgan. I promise you, I will give it attention, all right?"
"Yes, my lord."
She sits down rather heavily, the manic energy suffusing her clearly still running up and down her spine.
"Well then, does anyone else have anything to bring up?" You look about the council chamber. "Does anyone know where Hagrid is, by the way? I know he sent word he would be late, but the damn meeting is practically over already."
As is per usual, fate enjoys having a laugh at you. Because it is just as you finish speaking that the door to the chamber swings open. Hagrid trundles through, puffing away merrily at his pipe. Immediately behind him however are two men who can only be described as 'toughs', their bodies made up of slabs of muscle from long hard hours of lifting crates or some such. Between them, however, they drag someone forth who you actually recognize, somewhat. Though his mustache is certainly a lot droopier than you last saw, and his monocle has been broken yet left on his face. The black eye caused by the punch that broke it is quite severe. He hangs limply from their arms, still breathing but clearly wavering on the line between consciousness and passing out.
"I'm here, I'm here," Hagrid calls out as he strides up to his chair, hopping up into it in one smooth motion. "Apologies for my lateness, Count Hohenzollern, fellow members of this august council. However, I was waylaid by duties most important." He points towards the man still held by the toughs. "I presume that most of you know who this man is?"
A series of affirmative murmurs comes from most in the room, only Morgan and the three priests not doing so.
"Mr. Lorenz," you say over interlaced fingers, "Currently the head of the Mercenary Office."
He had been selected from a number of potential candidates. An accountant of skill, having lived in Wulfenburg for most of his life. He'd received his education in Altdorf before returning to the north.
"Why, precisely, has he been so badly beaten?" Your voice is quiet, but then with how quiet the rest of the room has become it is not as if you are unheard.
"Theft, my lord," Hagrid says gravely.
A series of gasps and general noises of surprise comes from just about everyone in the council. But you are silent save for the grinding of your teeth.
"Explain."
The word is not a growl, though it dearly wishes to be. Instead what comes out is something akin to Morr's scythe given verbal form.
"Mr. Lorenz here has been stealing from the treasury by using his position in the Mercenary Office, claiming payments for the mercenaries far in excess of what their actual contracts stipulate. He has been doing so for some time."
An odd noise escapes Sabine, though when you cut your eyes towards her she is simply staring at the man of the hour without blinking.
"How much?" You ask quietly, standing up and moving around the table towards the man.
Brain Wounder, laid against the table, is picked up in one hand as you do so.
"Approximately one thousand, two hundred, forty-five golden crowns."
Another noise escapes Sabine, somewhere close to a quiet teakettle, but it is gone the second you begin looking back towards her. Mr. Lorenz barely has enough left in him to look up at you and whimper as he hangs between the two tough's arms.
"How could this have happened, Hagrid?" You say without looking away from Lorenz's bloody face.
"He saw an opportunity, and took it. With the deaths caused by the battle of the Blood Fane, he decided to keep some contracts open with groups that had turned defunct in the fighting."
Hagrid speaks cheerily, all things considered, but you can see the faint whitening of his knuckles on his pipe. Considering the state of the thief, the halfling likely got his anger out before actually getting here.
"Four hundred and fifteen crowns a year, every year, since," he continues, puffing a particularly large cloud from his pipe. "Covered his tracks well. His internal decorating? Less discreet."
Then Sabine stands, a faint tremble in her arms as she too moves around the table.
"I apologize for my incredible failure, Count Hohenzollern," she speaks with a voice so sickly sweet you're surprised your ears aren't dripping syrup.
"What do you mean, Sabine?" You glance at her as she joins you, shoulder to shoulder.
"Gustav Lorenz was brought on by my suggestion," she keeps talking in that intensely disturbing voice of hers. "I was the one who added him to the pool. It is my fault."
Her hands keep clenching and unclenching at her sides as she looks down on the man.
"Well hells, Sabine," you shake your head, "I'm the one who approved his hiring."
"Even so," she whispers back. "He stole from us."
In the times when you and the rest of your family – in-laws included – have fought in the forests and on the roads of Ostland, you have seen many things. Sabine, particularly, has a shrill but strong war cry. But you have never heard her sound so violently offended in anything she's ever spoken about.
"Hagrid, you've recovered his stolen funds?" You ask over her head to where the halfling sits, pouring himself a mug of ale.
"Most of it. Some was artwork, jewelry, paintings. I'll have to sell those off to fully recover things, but it'll be done."
"I see."
Then you look back at Lorenz.
"Do we know why he thought it was a good idea? Is he a Ranaldian, eager to hoodwink an Elector Count?"
Sabine just stands there, staring down at the man. Her breathing is remarkably even.
"Actually?" Hagrid drinks half of the mug, "He denied that he ever needed any Gods help to do what he did. Spat on the idea of needing a God to help him do anything. Was very snooty about all of it," then he glances at you, grinning with slightly yellowed teeth around the stem of his pipe. "For a bit, at least."
"What is the punishment for this, Count Hohenzollern?"
A huff escapes you.
"For a few stolen coins? A hand removed or at least himself exiled from Ostland. A few hundred, a life time in prison. Over a thousand? Over the course of three years? I've a mind to have him hanged."
For goodness sake, that amount of money could have been put to far greater purposes! But no, the greedy fool decided to profit off of the death of a number of good men. If this truly did start with the conclusion of the destruction of the Blood Fane, then he was practically blasphemously driven in his actions. It should have been a glorious thing, for Ulric to show his strength as he had, for the destruction of that accursed obelisk. But all this man could apparently see was a way to make money.
"When I questioned him, he claimed that the treasury was already making so much money, it would easily be missed and not make a difference."
Sabine snarled like an animal from where she stood next to you. Blinking, you turned to look at her but it was already too late. Such was the speed and strength of her movements that she managed to rip the rapidly terrified man out from the grips of the toughs holding him. Her silk dress whirled about her, gold and silver jewelry jangling loudly, while Sabine herself wrapped her two slender hands around the thief's throat and slammed him upwards. His back hit the stone of the council chamber wall before his head cracked against it. Then, you watched with surprise as Sabine slowly lifted him upwards, his feet only just beginning to kick and spasm.
"EVERY COIN MAKES A DIFFERENCE YOU PATHETIC! MISERABLE! BASTARD!" She bellows as she continues to heft him upwards until her arms are fully extended.
Then she shakes him back and forth, her grip tight as his face begins to purple.
"You don't steal from me – from the – you don't steal from us!" She sputters angrily.
"Sabine," you say casually. "I did say I was considering sentencing him to death. Are you sure you don't want to watch him hang or something?"
She doesn't appear to hear you.
"I've destroyed families for half as much money as you stole," she hisses up at him. "More than a dozen smaller villages would struggle to make a fourth of that in a year all together!"
Lorenz's already weak motions are beginning to slow. A look back at Natasha to communicate whether or not you should do something to stop Sabine is met with a shrug, a shrug which quite clearly says that if you were intending for him to die then why not this way?
"Sabine," you tap your daughter-in-law on the shoulder. "I'm not opposed to him dying, but I'd rather you pull the lever on some gallows than just outright do it here."
Only then does the man drop to the ground, wheezing and, you think, pleading albeit near inaudibly. Sabine just breathes hard, glaring down at him.
"Fine," she bites out.
Well! This was a far better meeting than most. At least this one had some excitement to it!
"Are you feeling all right, Sabine?" You have to ask, considering you haven't seen her like this anywhere except on a battlefield.
"I'm pregnant, no I'm not feeling all right," she growls back before blinking. The anger on her face drains away to worry. "Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry, Count Hohenzollern, I did not mean to speak to you like-," whatever else she was going to say is swallowed up in you hugging her.
"Hah! Congratulations, Sabine!"
She struggles to speak through your beard, her voice coming through muffled.
"Thank you, Count Hohenzollern. We'd wanted to announce it at dinner, but I suppose I'm slightly off center at the moment."
"Oh, don't worry about it," you release her, smiling down. "Another grandchild should be...well, grand!"
What a good end to the year!
- Multiple New Troop Types Suggested Into Military/Research Actions
- Imperial Fighting League Income Increased +50 Per Turn
- Recovered Funds Embezzled By Mercenary Office Total To 1245, Returned To Treasury
- Mercenary Fees Amount Corrected From 2005 to 1590 [25+200+100+50+50+50+100+100+95+55+75+40+350+150+50+100=1590] This translates to an additional +415 To Net Income Per Turn, With Expenditures Reduced Accordingly
- Based On Sabine's Independent Action Research, Tax Levels Have Been Re-Categorized To Properly Reflect Actual Taxation Amounts Compared To Wealth Levels. Also, she's pregnant again.
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well, how do you do.
That is impressive. Way to go Sabine!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
A significant amount of income gained and a good bit of money regained, a traitor punished, new ideas put forth, and a new grandchild.
A good end to the year indeed.
A good end to the year indeed.
- Location
- Mists of Albion
Sabine currently has about six if I remember correctly.
She also has a tendency to have multiple children per birth, much like Natasha.
At the rate she and Magnus are going they'll have over a dozen kids by y he time he ascends to the position of Count.
And that's ignoring any kids they may have later like Natasha did.
Mopman43
Mountain-Hermit of Nitpeak
- Location
- Vermont
Ah, that was great.
I know this isn't how you usually do things, @torroar, but I really loved the bits of the post with the council interaction and interplay. It was nice seeing them as characters, and the discussion of the options we're going to have next turn, not just as a list to pick from.
I know this isn't how you usually do things, @torroar, but I really loved the bits of the post with the council interaction and interplay. It was nice seeing them as characters, and the discussion of the options we're going to have next turn, not just as a list to pick from.