Trident Meeting 2339-1
Though it burned at you to wait, each moment a galling wound to your pride as a just ruler, Sabine proved herself once again. As did Alexandra. But of any of those principally involved, it was Hagrid that you were the most concerned about. Your rage against him had been unkind, yet your mood was so dark as to compel you to it regardless. Such was your conclusion as the week had gone on, your frayed nerves recovering slowly. For so many months, it seemed that the better Natasha felt the worse you were, pride and rage combatting one another with your utter uselessness in aiding her. As such, with the fatal and inevitable conclusion of events, both slavers sentenced to death with immediately carried out sentences, you made it a point to apologize to him both in private and publically amongst the rest of your council. It had been no fault of his, you declared, but rather your own fugue state of perpetual anger and lethargy. Thankfully, he seemed to forgive you, and his work proved exemplary both during the investigation and afterwards.
It still shamed you that it had come to that in the first place. Never before had your anger simply been incapable of finding a target, not for so long. It had curdled in your soul, and reviewing how you'd acted for the past half a year left you disquieted. It was both unbecoming of you and dangerous, something you discuss not only with Natasha but with Jorgen Albrecht, the Priest of Sigmar that sits upon your council. Arthur also proves helpful, gentle and unjudging as only a man who looks after the dead can be towards the imperfections of the living. While you were forgiven for how you acted by others, forgiving yourself will take some time yet. But you cannot simply wait around either. In truth, as much as Natasha was recovering, so too did you require healing and recuperation though obviously not to the same extent. Rather, you were in the opposite situation to Natasha, whose mind was completely hale with her body uncooperative while you struggled heavily with throwing off the malaise which has come upon you. Even once that appeared to be somewhat banished by your talks with the priests and with your family, all was not well. Your physical conditioning depleted itself disgustingly as you spent days and nights sitting at Natasha's bedside or resting alongside her. Five months had gone by without a single spar, without running the yard in full armor even once. Perhaps rather obviously, your finely honed musculature had suffered. Your gut ballooned outwards as you did nothing but sit and eat and heavily drink by Natasha's side, your arms grown slightly flabby, a second chin firmly ensconcing itself on your face, your thighs wobbly with fat, your stamina tremendously reduced. Crying and just sitting in darkness as well had not done wonders for your skin either.
In short, you were awful. And Natasha let you know it. Repeatedly. And at length.
After that conversation, your meals were cut down to a single one in the afternoon, and none of it was standard halfling-based fare any longer. That you could have dealt with easily, you absolutely had the fat to burn. But getting your access to any alcoholic drinks restricted was far worse, yet under your wife's restored constitution and authority as both your wife and Countess it was done. Not a single drop of Bugman's either. The same horrifying day that you learned all of that, you were dragged out into the yard by Urgdug at which point he spent the next three hours smacking you up and down the yard as if you were a raw recruit. Your armor didn't fit you anymore, but Alexandra was happy enough to supply a new set of weighted armor that she'd apparently been forging in secret on Natasha's word. It's more than three times the weight of standard plate. You did laps, striking practice against a dummy with over-weighted weaponry, more laps, and then after those three hours were over the rest of your family got together and began beating you to pieces. For the first time in your entire life, you lost every single spar, even to the barely recovered Natasha. Of course, she didn't bother with actual armor or swords, instead just forming a mace of ice to shatter over your back as she sidestepped away from your lumbering and painfully slow charge.
It is viscerally and violently humbling, to not only see but very much experience how far you'd fallen in these past five months. Worse, you only had three to try and recover before the final month of the year, Vorhexen, would arrive and with it the annual Trident Meeting that Ostland is hosting this year. And as Natasha noted, oh so sweetly, every effort would be made to restore you to 'proper' condition now that she was on such a path herself. A training schedule is devised, and seeing as how Magnus had essentially run the entire province from the throne room for the past five months, Natasha thinks that it would be a perfect time for him to continue doing so while you saw to fixing yourself. It is, unfortunately, something that you find yourself agreeing with. Not only because your slovenly descent would be most unwise to display to the court, but also because it is providing valuable experience to Magnus. He stumbled occasionally, yes, his inexperience with the attitudes and natures of the nobility and richer burghers that stomp into the castle for court, but when that occurs the family is able to stand behind him.
Disturbingly, Alexandra easily installed herself as his second in such matters, her vast experience as Kattarin's royal aide proving incredibly valuable to Magnus as he stumbled his way into ruling continually for all five months of Natasha's convalescence, the longest single period ever. Now, it seems, that will be extended until the Trident Meeting proper, as you and Natasha work tirelessly to recover yourselves. With the wounds in Natasha's soul healed, her mind as bright as ever, all that needs to follow is her body. And, apparently, your own, though you can't say for certain if the former two things have quite so recovered for you. The total lack of alcohol rather shocks your mind into painful and sharp relief, and only the priests and Gods could say for certain about your soul. Then Natasha levies the training schedule on you. It is, frankly, completely unworkable for any average human being. On the other hand, you have several Jade Wizards on hand to keep you from suffering the worst effects of it. In fact, that's the only reason it seems possible in the first place.
Of course, Natasha's health being restored enough to do this in the first place comes at an expected cost. Eventually, Alexandra has to leave, her self-sworn duties compelling her to return to Kislev, but at the very least she has spent her time well. In the five months she has been more than welcome amongst her family once more, albeit now with that clearly defined if hazy line that she has drawn into the sand.
She leaves at the very end of the month of Erntezeit, departing on her carriage once more into the bleakness that she has chosen.
That very same day, your training, or perhaps retraining, begins.
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Gallons upon gallons of water sloshes over you, causing you to almost explode out of the bed in shock and anger, if only you could actually manage that much. Instead you sort of flop about, your roar more of a guttural bleat, a noise that is accompanied by spluttering by Natasha. Standing above you, a big grin on his face, is none other than Urgdug, a now empty and dripping barrel held in one hand. Your bed is, rather predictably, completely soaked. Going by the embers in the fireplace and the fact that the sun cannot even be seen through the edges of the curtains, it has to be only a large handful of hours after midnight. Natasha is up out of the bed faster than you, her shock and outrage dissipating quickly as she instead slaps Urgdug on the auroch-sized thigh as she passes by him to the dresser. You, by contrast, are far slower out of the bed, legs and arms already grumbling at you from how you'd flailed about initially. Which, considering you quite clearly remember hours of hard combat in Karak Ungor without faltering, is intensely distressing. It is as if your own body had become a blind spot for you. No longer, though. Natasha is dressed before you, but she's the one who came up with this ridiculousness. Also, while you've gained a large amount of weight, Natasha lost a good portion.
"Come on, Frederick!"
With a growling harrumph you straighten as you stand, hands pushing at the small of your back, your gut flopping slightly with the motion.
"I'm coming, I'm coming…, gah, Sigmar's balls."
A few minutes of dressing and trudging later, you blearily look about the courtyard. A trio of barely awake Jade Wizards are also present, as is Urgdug of course. Thankfully no one else is going to be around to see this for at least a few more hours yet, going by the relatively clear skies.
"All right, what's first."
Natasha just looks at you with a full-toothed grin.
"Laps, of course."
"Of course," you grunt, pressing your hands against your back once more.
"Then combat training," Urgdug follows up with a grin.
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It is…excruciating. You vomit more times then than you think you ever did as a result of drinking in your entire life. Joints crack and pop before dislocating, shins snap, and toes break on the cobblestones as sheer exhaustion makes for misplaced feet that can't raise up high enough to properly leave the ground. In combat training, you suffer heat exhaustion and dehydration more than once, skin rubbing beyond raw on to fully bleeding from the weighted armor you wear. You work yourself beyond exhaustion, digging deep into the buried wells of energy required of a soldier, of a fighter, until finally you have no more to give at all. Your muscles give out plenty of times, from simply failing you and preventing you from even gripping a weapon or mug of clean water properly to outright blowing out. Teeth clench so tight that they crack themselves against one another as you fall forward onto your face more than once. Your body is already sluggish after so many months of no activity, but the exertion takes it far beyond that. There is no alcohol to numb anything, and so the only numbing that comes is the natural result of so much activity.
Then, finally, when you can do no more, the Jade Wizards are there. They heal what would have become a dozen crippling injuries, soothing magical energies filling and restoring damaged and overworked joints, muscles, and bones. They revitalize you, but it is a curious thing. To find yourself on your feet once more almost entirely on energies that are not your own. It is not a second wind, you already had a second, third, and fourth wind. Instead, it is something else entirely, a wind of succor brought about with magic. Then you trudge back into more laps, more combat practice, simply more movement, until that too fails you. The Jade Wizards prop you up a second time, then a third, and after that they say they can simply do no more. Perhaps one far more powerful and learned could, but they are but journeymen. By that point, you'd actually moved down into the castle's bowels, to one of the cleared out basements.
No one needed the courtiers and nobility and other such dignitaries coming through the courtyard to see you and Natasha.
In the end, you are not even dragged but hefted to your meals and then to bed by Urgdug, your first day coming to a close with you so weary that you can't even walk or crawl to get there, many hours before midnight. The food is filling, but only just barely enough considering the exertion you've gone through. There are no four-chicken soups or duck and lard chowders here.
Then the second day arrives with another barrel of water sloshed onto you. Then the third. Again, and again. Even on the eighth day of the week, Festag, you get no holiday or relief. Natasha is doggedly determined to reclaim the conditioning she once possessed before her Goddess' blessing laid her low. And, you must admit, after a few days, you can't help but find yourself sharing similar sentiments. It would be one thing if it was age that had done this to you, but it simply wasn't. It was just you, nearly collapsed as a functioning human being because of Natasha being so bedridden. But she isn't anymore, and you are not trapped by that same bedside. Not any longer. It is an incredible weakness, you conclude, that you rise to such heights of fury and fall to such depths of consuming depression when it comes to family, but Natasha especially. It is, you think, the price of loving so fiercely and so strongly.
But it's not one you think you could bear to be without.
So you pick yourself off your consistently soggy morning bed, put on your weighted armor, and damn near kill yourself in the yard and then in the basements of the castle again and again.
(Fighting That Depression Body: 81-Five Months(25)+Frederick Martial(19)=75/100)
(From Coma To Crushing: 85-Five Months(25)+Natasha Martial(11)+Bulking(10)=81/100)
Of course, there is only so much that can be done in a few months, even under the most grueling of diets and exertion. But as the months continue on from Erntezeit first to Brauzeit, then to Kaldezeit, and further on still to Ulriczeit, you make extremely good progress. Progress that, ordinarily, would be flatly impossible, but with the blessings of the Gods and the tireless work of the wizards, is achieved nevertheless. Though there are no priestesses of Shallya that would indulge you, as was their right when you looked to be purposefully nearly killing yourself daily, they offer more mundane aid as is their wont that you gratefully accept. Their salves and smelling salts are more than welcome. And, admittedly, you should have expected such. The priests and priestesses of the Gods are not servants to be called upon frivolously, those few who are granted true divine connection especially. Though, in your defense, you'd just gone through your first month of what would be body-shattering work were it not for the Jade Wizards. As it is, rather than running your body into the ground, quite possibly six feet deep, you instead feel the lethargy steadily leave you. The fat starts to melt away, strength returning to your body rather quickly.
While much work remains, by the time that Vorhexen rolls around, you merely look considerably thicker than the last time Stephan or Ortrud saw you, instead of the bulging misshapen sack of hairy potatoes that you'd let yourself become. Natasha, on the other hand, looks fantastic. Unlike you, she was not restricted in her foods and drink, and as such quickly recaptured her preferred weight that had been taken away from her, even considering the hours and hours and hours of daily exercise. She and you will still have work left to do, of course, onto next year in fact, but the progress that you have made is nothing short of miraculous. Thanks, of course, to the Jade Wizards, who found themselves straining their own stamina as they fought to keep you and your wife as healthy and hale as possible during the training.
Of course, the rest of your family was not idle in those three months.
Magnus has ruled admirably in your stead, and is perfectly capable and more importantly willing to come to you and Natasha with questions. Of course, it is a bit nonconventional to ask you questions onto whether or not he should take one noble's bluster seriously or not while you're dragging around a block of stone with rope, but you are able to answer him regardless. It is good to see him uncomfortable at first as he sits for month after month on the throne, if only because you are able to watch as that same discomfort and lack of ease smooths out as time passes. He finds his own voice, and his questions for you and Natasha grow more infrequent. Not that they cease entirely, but you are proud of him regardless. Of course, what also helps is Evangeline being present as a powerful reminder of the Emperor's authority. That young woman has certainly become quite a prestigious warrior in her many years amongst the dwarfs, something she is perfectly willing to show in spars against the rest of your family. You and Natasha, of course, are not allowed in such things, relegated as you are to a far more intensive schedule. Yet she is ever respectful towards you, including when she first met you at the gates of Wulfenburg, stuffed as you were into constricting clothing that forced your body into a vague appearance of what it should have been.
Still, perhaps harkening back to how she'd fallen into her own malaise, she seems to understand quite well.
While there might be other criminal elements within the city that would require violent extermination, they all likely went to ground the moment the news was delivered to the public at large as to the reasons why both Guildmaster Schultz and Guildmaster Tatiana were killed, as well as a bevy of other powerful burghers and merchant representatives. Evangeline's continued presence within the province likely adds to that. In the meantime, the young Hertwig seems willing to aid Sabine in a smooth transition of power and investigation that is more in depth than the initial week you gave your permissions for. After all, surely none of them are also engaging in unlawful activity, right? Lesser corruption is rooted out as time goes on. While ordinarily the Emperor could or at least should not be exerting his authority over individual citizens in other provinces, at least based on historical precedent before the Era of Three Emperors, certain Imperial Edicts remain set in stone, with the banning of slavery being only one of them. Apparently, Magnus pored over the various ones announced during the opposing claimants during the previous era, and though most were frivolous things largely meant to be used against their rivals, some few had merit.
Beyond that, in a gesture of friendship and loyalty to the Emperor, Evangeline was given leave by Magnus to accompany the armies of Ostland as they went about their duties and on occasion even lead certain detachments. It gained your troops the aid of not only Evangeline but her Owls as well, and in turn gave them even further experience and accolades for the victories they win within your province against beastmen and greenskins alike. She works not only with the Army of Ostland and the Army of the Forest, but the Army of the Range and your mercenaries as well. She continues to prove herself time and again. Something which, you also know intellectually, only helps her represent Magnus all the better. After all, as he cannot be in two places at once, it is a good thing that one who is so representative of him can be more respected. Or, as the case may be for Evangeline's enemies, feared.
As for Sabine? She apparently already had a few nascent plans in place, ones that were rather forcibly accelerated by recent events. With the upper crust of two guilds cut away and hung or otherwise executed, the Southern Commerce Guild and Eastern Commerce Guild floundered with so much leadership gone. Into that newly created gap steps, of course, Sabine. She reformats the two guilds into one as the months go by towards the end of the year, formalizing it all under her as reigning Guildmaster. The fatal end of so many and Evangeline's own investigations ensure that not a single voice rises up in discontent, and by the time they feel brave enough to do so the time has simply passed by for there to be any chance of stopping it. Of course, a noblewoman as such a Guildmaster is quite a sight, but then again Sabine swears it is only a temporary measure until a proper Guildmaster can be raised from the ranks of the new guild according to proper standards. What those standards are seem to be a bit nebulous, at the moment.
The considerable wealth of all those dead, however, were claimed by Sabine due to the fact that being such unscrupulous individuals and slavers as they were meant that any wills or posthumous wishes were disregarded. Alive or dead, people like Emil Shultz and Elle Tatiana do not get to decide on such things. Both were, however, burned into ashes and are kept in unmarked urns within the Garden of Morr. You aren't having some mad necromancer raising them from the dead after all, or anything of the sort. The accounts, however, are of more interest. Seeing as how much wealth they hoarded to themselves, it is the prerogative of Sabine who came into possession of the deeds and writs of ownership for their funds to decide what to do with them. Much she donates to the Cults, with much especially going to the Shallyans, but considerable portions are given to all of the proper places. Some she likely keeps to herself, but you aren't going to begrudge her that, it simply isn't worth it. Finally, the rest she gives over to the treasuries of the Electoral Family of Ostland, and most direct rulers of Wulfenburg. Of course, the fact that she's married into that same family essentially means that her incredibly generous donations to the Cults are, effectively, under the name of the Hohenzollerns. Magnus, especially, being Sabine's husband, finds the next few days after the funds were donated that he is receiving effusive thanks from various priests and priestesses.
Given extra time and with the success of the rolls, Sabine accelerated previously planned actions and taken command of Southern and Eastern Commerce Guilds, forcibly merging them into the South and East Commerce Guild, with herself as Guildmaster. Accounts of all executed individuals working with the slaving ring have been claimed as restitution for their vile acts to the treasury. Significant donations to Cults made in the name of the Hohenzollerns and Nassau. +2,000 to Treasury.
Frederick Does Not Gain Martial/Diplomacy Malus.
Natasha Does Not Gain Martial Malus.
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"So, I do have to ask," you say, straining with your entire body with the sound of clinking chains. "About the elves?"
"Ah, yes?" Evangeline blinks rapidly as she watches you. "What about them?"
Anna had thrown the harness you now wear together in a single week. It is a weighted metal and leather contraption with hooks and anchors for a half dozen thick looping chains, all of which came back around to lay in a bundle within Urgdug's fist. It looks like your brother hasn't shifted even an inch along the stone, nor he hasn't even really had to set his feet. Infuriating, but understandable. He's blown through castle walls with nothing more than his own strength and weight, and you aren't even trying to throw him around. Instead, you're simply straining yourself, resting to recover, and straining again. As the day was Festag, there was no one in the castle or its grounds other than those trusted not to talk much about your appearance, and Evangeline had quickly acquiesced to your request to meet. All while you throw your lesser strength against the indomitable physical power of Urgdug.
"Any details at all would be nice, actually."
Of course, it had only been a few weeks after Evangeline had taken up temporary residence in Wulfenburg to extract the tale of her fighting alongside Lord Belegar Ironhammer. Delving into a skaven hold, recovering prisoners, and all that came afterward. Though you could easily tell that she was editing certain things, though the actual specifics were beyond you by virtue of being simply flatly unsaid. Still, the tale was a bittersweet one, of vengeance won but at what Evangeline clearly regards as too high a cost. Frankly, you agree. You don't regret the slaughter of skaven, or the burning down of one of their stinking holes in the earth, but for so many dead? No, perhaps not. Still, she shocked you all with tales of her trusted knight Thorkell, an apparent Norscan who has sworn himself to Verena. Feeling abandoned by the Ruinous Powers, he nevertheless threw himself most fervently into the service of Verena after being rescued by one of Her devotees in the form of Evangeline. In the time since, he's apparently even become far more literate in Reikspiel and studied deeply the religious texts provided. He is, you learn quickly, the massive knight that you saw previously. For now, you suppose you'll have to trust Evangeline on the man's trustworthiness, or at least on her swearing to you that she'll put him down herself if her faith in him turns out to be misplaced.
"Well, as you know I made the decision to rescue them from the skaven," she says calmly as you grunt and strain. "It took quite some time to get them to recover. Their conditions, even after we freed them, were dire."
The details she keeps vague, but suffice enough to say that they were crippled for life. Even with the absolute best medical care that the dwarfs could offer, which they absolutely would not for two elves, that fact remained indelible. From what little they'd been able to figure out, both of the elves, both Asrai, had been under the tender mercies of the skaven for years. They were delicacies, body parts sawed off for visiting skaven 'dignitaries' to savor, granting prestige to the skaven who ruled Fester Pike. Fed on filth that Evangeline would not even describe, save to say that Thorkell who had been a prisoner for only one year found it 'disgusting enough to be worthy of the Plague God's gruel'. Mentally they were…not very well, not even now after quite some time in the sunshine and open air. Even now, they cannot stand to reside below ground level, nor under anything with four walls and a roof. They'd taken to camping on top of the castle, the highest point in the entire city from the ground.
"But they did…eventually get healing…," you grunt and strain, growling as Urgdug chuckles. "That's not helping, Urgdug."
"I know…still kinda funny," he replies cheerfully. "You know, if you were an ogre, your belly would be nice and good."
"You've…said so…before…," you hiss, feet digging into the stones as you lean as hard as you can, ignoring how the harness presses into your skin.
A faint cough enters the air.
"Being the Sword of Justice carries with it some privileges," Evangeline nods with a small smile on her face. "Matriarch Hildegard personally saw to their bodies, while Matriarch Bruna…," the smile flickers out. "She aided their minds as much as she dared."
"Afterwards, they declared that they would accompany on my own journeys, speaking of life-debts," she shrugs. "When I questioned them further on it, they admitted that technically the debt ends with my own eventual death…which by elf standards is likely to come soon enough."
Even a century of service and aid could be a blink of an eye to elves, you know that well enough.
"And their names?"
"Kyoni and Ferrolnelle," she answers promptly.
The name spark something in your mind.
"I know those names…," you mutter, "Did they ever say where they came from?"
"Only Athel Loren," she shrugs again. "I have not found much reason to pry. They are…skittish."
Then it comes to you.
"The Nighthawk!" You suddenly declare, straightening, your sudden lack of pulling on Urgdug not shifting him whatsoever.
Well, there went the hope that secretly he was having to work for it, even a little. What silly arrogance. He can toss Greater Daemons and punch out giants if only he can get his fist into their faces. What hope did you have?
"Hmm?"
"The Nighthawk, one of the Glade Lords of Athel Loren," you state, only to get a tilt of the head in return.
Right. You have a far more personally comprehensive level of knowledge than most humans, no doubt.
"One of their…Elector Count equivalents, one who died recently. Apparently her daughters left Athel Loren ages ago, and nobody knew where they went. And their names…,"
"Were Kyoni and Ferrolnelle," she finishes for you, her lips pursing. "That is…quite a thought, Count Hohenzollern. I could speak to them on it, but they are…," she trails off and shakes her head. "I suspect it will be many years before they could truly be described as…better."
"I see."
"I would ask that you give me leave to approach them myself, as well. They are reluctant to allow almost anyone near them, save for myself."
"That is perfectly fine, Evangeline," you give her a tired smile before a tug on your harness almost sends you to the ground.
"Gotta keep working, brother," Urgdug says cheerfully as he sucks down alcohol from his massive wineskin.
Growling…you set yourself and begin pulling once more.
"If I may, Count Hohenzollern…I have some questions, if you would do me the honor of answering?"
Blinking, you stare at the young woman and the tome she's somehow pulled out, a quill held in the other hand.
"…about?"
"Karak Ungor."
"Sure thing," you growl, throwing yourself forward ineffectually. "What about it?"
"Oh…everything."
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Eventually, Vorhexen, the last month of quite a long year, arrives. And, with it, the annual Trident Meeting.
"Evangeline!"
Ortrud makes for a small blond cannon ball that impacts solidly into her daughter's body, rocking the Sword of Justice back slightly from the force behind it. Unluckily for the Elector Countess, Evangeline has taken on the height of her taller than average father, making for quite a gulf in terms of height. That still doesn't stop Ortrud from wrapping her arms around her daughter and locking them together, squeezing Evangeline hard enough that the air in her chest is forced out as she is lifted up off the ground and swung back and forth for a moment. It's easy to forget just how much stout strength Ortrud possesses, as the billowing sleeve of her heavy winter dress disguises much of what lies beneath. The rest of the Hertwigs, all of them in fact, quickly swarm afterwards as well, spouses and children included.
It is a heartening sight.
"Frederick," Stephan greets you, looking somewhat melancholy.
"Stephan, it is good to see you," you embrace him warmly, only asking the question afterwards. "How is Odelia?"
He frowns and shakes his head.
You'd learned of just how badly Odelia's attempt to save her son from certain eventual death by letter, and though you'd done your best to convey support to Stephan and Odelia, the Magister had grown incredibly morose in a manner disturbingly similar to your own. Only this time, there would be no miraculous recovery from Draken von Kessel. It was enough that Stephan has come to Ostland alone out of all the Von Kessels, leaving the rest of his family to surround Odelia and hopefully comfort her. It makes for an unhappy comparison between him standing there with only his Greatswords while the Hertwigs cheerfully babble over one another as they talk to, at, and with Evangeline.
"Well…come inside then, maybe some Bugman's might cheer you up."
The Hertwigs are happy enough to come as well, to the point that you are uncertain whether or not Evangeline is so much walking with them surrounding her as being so tightly squished by her family members that they are carrying her. Afterwards you set to the regular celebratory feast of another year survived, another year that the Ruinous Powers haven't overrun everything, that you have homes and families and warmth and love that outweighs the pain and grief of life's wounds that are inevitably left on all. For a brief time, painfully brief, the world becomes just the dining hall, the castle, the food and drink. It is just unfortunate that you are not allowed to partake nearly as much as you'd like. A bit more food, but nothing particularly strong in terms of drink. Still, all find their bellies full of food and hearts full of cheer, at least for the most part.
Alas, it cannot last forever. Towards the end of the evening, near on full to the night proper, you and your fellow Trident leaders abscond to a smaller study with its own roaring fire, everyone else led to their rooms to slumber in peace. Three large chairs with side tables for drinks and snacks as the case may be, all sitting before the fire. Natasha had gone to bed early, allowing herself the luxury of a bit of extra slumber, the grueling schedule she'd devised temporarily put on hold while the Trident Meeting went on. Fritz, Ortrud's husband, also begged off, though his course was to speak to his daughter in private. It has been quite some time, after all, since he has seen her.
"I am so sorry to hear about Draken," Ortrud speaks up as she nurses a mug of beer, laying a hand on Stephan's shoulder, voice weighty with compassion. "Is Odelia going to be all right?"
"I can only hope," Stephan replies after a moment, hand landing atop Ortrud's. "I appreciate your concern, though. I'll pass on your well wishes to her, of course."
Ortrud nods at him before sitting back into her chair.
For a few minutes, the only sound is that of the fire and everyone sipping at their drinks.
"So…anyone have anything big they want to bring up?" She eventually says, eying you and Stephan. "Anything major? Perhaps something related to elves?"
In the end, the culprit was obvious. While she'd sworn to edit her stories, as had her wolves, the Heiress of Nordland could not stop herself from boasting somewhat. And the tales had spread, of a lot of beastmen and other unknown creatures, so vile in their existences that the elves of Laurelorn had fought alongside forces of the Empire. And, also obviously, Mena had seen no reason whatsoever to not involve you in her storytelling. Maybe you should have taken a page out of Sir Tyrion's book and thumped the little wolf a bit, but then you simply could not have cared less at the time. All you'd wanted to do was to get home, to see to Natasha.
"Would you like us to tell you about Laurelo-,"
"Of course I want you to tell me about Laurelorn," she rolls her eyes.
And so you do. Here, now, you don't feel the need to edit yourself, to keep watch in case unwelcome ears might hear. The good and the bad, when you entered to when you left. It takes quite some time to get through it all, despite the fact that it was but a single day, to the point that it feels more like months. Stephan's heard most of it before but not with this much detail. Ortrud asks few questions, but she does give you a few whole-hearted hugs here and there before settling back into her chair. Apparently seeing her daughter again has made her quite the hugger for the time being. Regardless, you go through it all once more. Even the end parts, which you frankly only remember portions of, with massive sections simply gone entirely. You move on from that, though, to returning to Laurelorn, and to your conversation with Naraiel. Stephan knew it, you'd told him, but Ortrud gets quite the set look on her face.
"And you forgave her. Really?" She asks in an arch tone.
"It was my choice to do so, and she was truly regretful. She
could have never told me at all, let me go on in ignorance with almost no chance of discovering it on my own," you point out.
Ortrud just huffs at you and leans back in her seat, shaking her head.
"I suppose. You agreed to that idea of a tri-generational pact, then?"
"I'd like it if there was no fighting between Laurelorn and Ostland for just about forever if I can help it, yes."
Ortrud just rolls her eyes again at your flippant tone before shifting her gaze over to Stephan.
"And you, Stephan?"
"I've principally agreed, yes," he nods absentmindedly, slowly swirling the Bretonnian brandy in his glass as he looks into the fire. "Naraiel is going to be working on the paperwork for a bit, I suspect she'll send a messenger to get us to sign it properly sometime next year."
"That reminds me," you speak up, causing him to look from the fire to you. "She spoke as to something more than just non-aggression with regards to Nordland, but was pretty vague on it."
He nods, looking momentarily furtive before he relaxes a bit.
"Right. That. Yes."
He then stops and drinks the rest of his brandy, reaching for the glass bottle on his side table and uncorking it again to refill his glass.
"Would you like to tell us anything more than that?" You tilt your head at him.
"It's…a territorial thing. Showing sincerity by surrendering a bit of nominally held territory."
He elaborates when he looks up again and finds both you and Ortrud staring at him with unamused looks on your faces. Apparently he's gone and given up everything west of the Salz except for the Silver Hills, Oldenlitz, and the Salzenmund Crater. It is, obviously, shocking to you. Traditionally the Empire for all of its history has absolutely hated surrendering claimed territory. One only needs to look at your own family history for just how stubbornly some hold onto that sort of thing. But Zweedorf, Dietershafen, Ueblingen, Schlaghügel, Hargendorf, Beilen, and Pugsblatter are all apparently being abandoned. More precisely, Stephan informs you, it's just formalizing their losses. Even before Gruber, the coasts were hit hard by the Norscans during the Great War Against Chaos. In all the years since then, none have been resettled, not even by squatters. Whenever Norscans attempted to use the razed ruins as temporary beachheads, they apparently found themselves cut down by the elves of Laurelorn, with proof given to Stephan when he asked for it in the form of certain trophies taken.
"And the ruling families aren't complaining?"
"No," he shakes his head to Ortrud's question. "The Köhlers are gone, thanks to the Ruinous Powers, while the Von Hargenfels…," he sneers, "They joined themselves to Gruber, and did not survive his passing," he nods in satisfaction. "Each of those settlements were carefully negotiated for, up to and including allowed populations, immigration rates, and so on. And yet, while the Counts of Nordland have reneged in plenty of ways before, the elves of Laurelorn have allowed them to remain as a point of pride," he looks at you.
"Let me guess, as a point of them being more capable of holding to agreements than humans?"
"Not so explicitly stated, but…yes," Stephan nods.
An odd and frustrating method of showing one's superiority, that. One that you can't even necessarily disagree with.
"It's been more than thirty years since Gruber got put down," he continues. "I went and visited the ruins with Naraiel. Even the foundations are mostly gone, the Norscans and Gruber were…thorough. Some of them, you can't even see any sign of there being a settlement being there any longer. It's paper and ink in question, not blood."
"And you're doing this…what, to show them you're serious?" Ortrud frowns over her beer.
"Precisely," Stephan nods. "Formalizing it will take time, but things are in motion. In return, we have a chance to make lasting steps towards peace. Real ones, that will hopefully outlast me."
"I remember Naraiel talking about fighting together?"
Ortrud makes a noise of interest when Stephan nods.
"Right. It's small and slow going right now, but yes," he smiles, "It took a few months after I agreed about the lost settlements, and who knows how long in the forest, but yes."
That's enough to bring you and Ortrud closer out of interest.
"Oh?"
"What are we talking here?"
"For now?" He leans back as the two of you crowd him. "Reconnaissance and passed on information by their scouts. It's allowed us to already move in and ambush several smaller warherds and greenskin warbands as they tried to carve out a few safe places for themselves to hold through winter."
"For now…," you repeat leadingly.
"For now," he repeats. "Some of the more…adventures waywatchers are being discussed as more direct accompaniment to patrols."
That's…a staggering change. It shocks Ortrud into silence as well as yourself.
"That's…huh," Ortrud says as she falls back into her seat, "All things considered that is quite impressive indeed. You'll have to forgive me for my skepticism that it will work out, though."
For some reason, the woman who by geography is more tightly bound to the dwarfs than any of the rest of the Northern Trident saying such a thing does not surprise you.
"There's a good share of them in Nordland as well," Stephan informs her politely. "I'm sure there are plenty of skeptics in Laurelorn itself as well."
Ortrud just shrugs.
"Still, she's making the effort. It would be shameful if we could not say we are doing the same," you say, sadly looking down at the water in your glass.
"Mmm."
Silence fills the air for a bit before Ortrud speaks up again.
"So there's a skaven city that's starting to try and grow again in my province," she says idly, ignoring how you and Stephan spit out your drinks.
"I…you…," you sputter just as Stephan does.
Ortrud just looks back with complete innocence on her face.
"What?"
"A
bit of warning next time," you growl at her as you thump your somewhat fleshier-than-usual chest.
"But this was more fun," she chuckles before growing serious. "But no, there is one. This mad dwarf ranger that's been running around underground for years found it. Apparently the skaven took out a target he'd sworn a grudge against, and he turned it onto the skaven instead. I checked with some Grey Wizards from the Imperial Colleges and they confirmed it."
All levity and uncertainty from before dissipates, the warmth of the fire suddenly not reaching quite so far.
"How big?" You ask curtly.
"Large," she responds just as quickly. "Apparently they're calling it 'Festermarsh'. It is, appropriately, beneath one of my southern marshes," she growls at that. "They've just resettled it, but they've got plenty of bodies to put into it."
"They always do," you note absentmindedly, a fact she nods at.
"What's the plan?" Stephan asks.
"Block the tunnels completely except for a handful, come down on them like the angry hammer of Sigmar," Ortrud sniffs. "Dwarfs from Karak Kadrin are mapping such routes alongside the Grey Wizards. We don't want any escaping. I figured you two would want in on this."
"I don't have nearly as much experience fighting them as you two do, but I'll of course help," Stephan raises his glass towards Ortrud.
"The question is how much help do you want, not if we'll help," you tell her.
"I'll take what you're willing to give," Ortrud shrugs. "Baragor is sending a hefty amount of sappers, but the rest of his troops are tied up fighting underground from skaven surges. Think that's rather the point, assuming that Ostermark would go running to help the dwarfs and not realize what was beneath our feet. Which we
are, just not all of our strength."
And yet it is a dwarf with a grudge who helped find them out. Ironic, that.
"When's the assault going to happen?"
"Middle of the year at the soonest," Ortrud waggles a hand. "Depends on the dwarfs and the Grey Wizards." At that, she presses a hand to her forehead. "Getting those two to cooperate properly has been some work and a half, I'll tell you what."
"We could make it the Trident Meeting. Less reason for the skaven to suspect anything, if they're keeping an eye on the surface," Stephan suggests. "Joint military exercises, then flip it into discovering a large 'warherd' or something similar that we fight together?"
You and Ortrud just look at him.
"What?"
"Nothing, just…more devious than I would expect. It's a sound idea," Ortrud takes a quick drink to hide her surprised expression. "Frederick, what do you think?"
"I'm always happy to kill some skaven, you know that," you tell her with a raised eyebrow. "Army of the Forest can keep an eye on things, I can bring the Army of Ostland and my mercenaries."
"Is that wise?" Stephan asks. "Mercenaries and skaven?"
"They'll keep quiet enough, I suspect," you reassure him, "And if they don't, most won't believe them, I'm sure."
"I suppose," he says with a shrug. "I can send in one of my two armies, sure."
"You don't have to commit, you know," Ortrud offers, "Not quite yet. We all know that things can come up unexpectedly. I'm merely letting you two know now. I'm sure we can send messages during next year beforehand in case you find yourself forced to dedicate your forces elsewhere."
"Fair enough, then."
"That's my only big thing," Ortrud shrugs. "What about you, Frederick? Anything enormous or significant to bring up? Or small, whatever."
Choose One (1):
Moratorium For 3 Hours
[] Write-In
OR
[] End of Trident Meeting, End of Turn 35, End of Year 2339, Move On To Turn 36.
.
