[] Go It Alone: Maghda Sprenger wants to talk to you alone? Fine. You'll talk to her alone. If that's what it takes to get this done, you can do that.
Moratorium Until 9AM/EST
Marvelous Marienburg 2
"…yeah, coming," you call back to the Matriarch before looking back down at Natasha. "Be safe, will you?"
"I'm not the one who should be concerned for their well-being here," Natasha cocks an eyebrow at you. "Or did I mishear her words, earlier?"
"Fair enough," you say, patting her on the shoulder and stealing one last kiss before you separate from each other.
Natasha promptly and casually walks over to one of the pews, one made of shaped and smoothed vibrant blue and purple coral, almost lounging in it as she gazes about the innards of the Cathedral of Manann. Unfortunately for the ogres, there are no seats sized or capable of withstanding them, and so they must stand wherever they can find space for themselves. The Greatswords and Kreml Guard slowly spread out, but they are surrounded by the Knights Mariner on all sides. You've got no idea just how many of them there are, but even on initial estimates you'd say that there's a least a hundred of them inside the Cathedral right now that are easily visible, and likely more that aren't. Which means, including the three hundred outside, that there's at least five hundred heavily armed and armored zealous templars of Manann in exceedingly close proximity to you.
You let none of this bother you as you walk over to where the Matriarch waits, and soon enough realize that the doors are actually large enough for Urgdug to fit through, but merely seemed small due to the size of the contained ocean that the cultists have. Despite that, however, and clearly being made of well-polished white marble and golden and silver engravings, the Matriarch proves strong enough to shove the things open, without requiring any help from her attendant pair of Knights Mariner bodyguards whatsoever. Even beneath her priestly robes, her muscles flex and ripple enough to be noticeable. You also notice that the sea water which seems to endlessly leak from her flanged mace never seems to actually cause the floor to become so sodden and puddled as to prove a detriment to walking behind her.
"This way," she calls out over her shoulder as she enters the new corridor.
For a moment, however, you are simply struck into silence as you stare about the hallway, or more importantly its ceiling.
It is made of glass. Or something, at least.
While the walls and floor seem to be made of the same materials and follow the aesthetic of the Cult, the ceiling is a curved half-pipe creation of glass sections that have been melded with sections of unrusting metal and thick marble. Between each archway above, each one with a hanging small chandelier of sparkling crystal lit from a lamp at the center, there is approximately fifteen to twenty feet of glass. Above which, of course, the rest of the contained ocean rests. Here, this close, you can see even more creatures of the water going about their business. Eels, fish, octopi, shellfish, and more. There are even strange bulbous things that glow faintly which seem to just let the current of the waters carry them wherever they go, yet their tentacles are clearly deadly enough to capture and paralyze whatever unfortunate fish floats into them. Small spiney creatures shaped almost like flattened letters swish past above your head as well. In fact, the only thing you
don't see is sharks and whales, the former likely because they are a symbol of Stromfels and the latter because…surely they couldn't fit one of
those in here, right?
"Ah," the Matriarch's voice brings out of your frozen moment, "Admiring the aquarium's inhabitants?"
Aquarium. A word you have never heard before, but you can see the Classical roots of it, and divine the meaning from the example given if nothing else.
"I've…never seen one before," you admit. "It's…incredible."
For the first time, something approaching a smile passes across Maghda Sprenger's rough and weather-beaten face.
"Aye. A wondrous monument to Manann and all His Glories," she grunts, reverence and awe thickening her already rough voice further. "It was crafted, and expanded, by all my predecessors starting in the year 1630 IC, or so I'm told – stocked and made holy by their efforts. Much of the more…exotic…examples within it, however, come from the elves."
"Eh?" You finally wrench your face away from looking upwards to focus on her more fully.
"Gifts, for supporting the Treaty of Amity and Commerce," she adds, hands coming to fold behind her back as she looks up at the passing ocean life. "The sweeping pane of the apse, the hallways," she gestures back to where you'd just come from and then right above, "These were bought and crafted with the wealth of the Cult over the course of hundreds of years, but some life within it come from outside the Old World," she nods, once, "Fair payment enough, I'd say, in the name of Manann."
Her part said, Maghda then turns about and begins walking away again, clearly expecting you to follow. Considering that you've come this far, turning right back around would be downright idiotic. Thus, you follow. She takes you along the pathways, quiet save for the splashing of saltwater and the noisome life above you. They are not tame sea creatures, that is for certain, but rather simply and carefully contained. More than once, you see some of the fish and eels go after one another. At one point, you see a fish disguised as a large pile of sand emerge and suck down a passing pair of fish with incredible force such that they disappear down its gullet in one go. All of this and more you see as you move on, traveling through the hallways that slope upwards and downwards, splitting off in multiple directions. Many go far deeper than you are headed, and you are rather certain that a small town's worth of people could be within this temple, out of sight of all but the creatures that fill Manann's domain. Which is probably how they like it. It is an undeniable marvel of architecture and plumbing if nothing else.
Eventually you realize that you are sweeping around, circling in fact, and then stare, dumbfounded, at the final hallway. It plunges into the heart of the aquarium itself from behind, wholly invisible through the hundreds of thousands of gallons of saltwater from the observation pane back in the main chamber of the Cathedral. The stone marble floor disappears, and instead you must take the next steps upon completely clear glass. Glass surrounds you on all sides, at that point, including above. How the Cultists of Manann managed to get the glass to sweep inwards, oddly reminiscent of being caught in a current underwater somehow rendered into stillness offshore, you have no idea. But it must have been staggeringly expensive.
It is…
immensely disquieting to walk forward, and yet just ahead of you the Matriarch and the Knights Mariner walk with ease. In fact, as you scrutinize them, you realize they are ever so slightly swaying, your ears catching the audible thrum and pull of the waters. They are swaying with the waters of the aquarium which, if you but close your eyes and think of the crashing waves outside of the Cathedral proper, somehow, impossibly, matches seamlessly with the currents there. A deadly amount of water surrounds you, and vicious sea creatures that need not be sharks swim past you on the regular – above, below, and on the sides. Up above, the ceiling of the aquarium is exposed to the sunlight above, or perhaps the clouds depending on the climate, but your experiences in Karak Ungor and your own engineering training lets you see the cleverly disguised cranks and gears within enormous conch shell installations which can rotate over a portion of the Cathedral's dome to close it off, presumably when the aquarium might be in danger. Also present, however, are numerous glowing creatures that swim through the water, and by the time you reach the raised dais of stone at the end of the hallway, held in place with more metal and stone bracing points which run the length of the aquarium, you are actually out of the sunlight almost entirely. Instead, almost two thirds of all light around you comes from the light of the ocean's bounty surrounding you, with large torches hung into the five supporting bands of marble and steel. Maghda herself sits at the center of the dais, upon a large desk made of shaved and shaped coral and shells of the largest clams and mussels that you'd ever thought possible. Piles of papers sit there, dry despite the general moisture that seemingly constantly surrounds the one who must work on them. An even more remarkable feat, you note, as you watch the Matriarch of the Cult of Manann pull her flanged mace free of her belt loop and lean it against the desk. She folds her hands in front of her face, shadowed by the environment, and inhales slowly as you come to a halt before her.
There are no chairs or seats around you. In fact, you realize as you step onto the dais, there is a thin layer of water around the whole of it, soaking just barely past the soles of your boots.
"Leave us," Maghda speaks abruptly, looking squarely at the Knights Mariner, who jump slightly in their armor despite having seemed so impassive while glaring down at you.
"Matriarch-," one of the Knights begins to say, only for Maghda to slam a fist against the desk.
"Did I stutter?!" She barks out, a captain, no, an admiral chastising a subordinate.
The two Knights Mariner leave swiftly after that, but Maghda does not speak another word until the steady thump and clatter of their plate against the incredibly thick layered glass disappears entirely. Only after that point does she lean back into her chair, inhale deeply, and cross her arms over her stomach as she scrutinizes you.
"So. Here we are," she says calmly, her dark blue-grey eyes almost glittering from the luminescence of the sea creatures around them.
"Here we are," you echo.
(Posturing: 60+Diplomacy(5)=65/100)
You end up coming to something close to military attention, arms folding behind your back and legs setting themselves. In return, Maghda tilts her head slightly to the side, and snorts.
"How…," she uncrosses her arm and begins tapping her fingers in a short staccato against her desk, "Are we to fix this…," she muses.
"Fix this?"
"A few years ago, Count Hohenzollern, I could not have given less of a shit as to who you were," she replies promptly, startling you.
You are not, you think, a man full of absurd pride. But the admission, from a human of the Empire at least, is faintly shocking.
"Truly?"
"Truly," she nods curtly. "I am Sea-Born, do you know what this means?"
"That you were born on the ocean, and have lived the majority of your life there," you answer, getting a nod in return.
"Yes. Prior to my unfortunate investiture in this…position," she gesture around herself, at the aquarium and Cathedral, all in a single motion. "I was a Priestess-Captain of the temple-ship
Screaming Trident. I had never stepped foot on dry land once in my entire life. To do so is sacrilege amongst my kind."
You blink and then glance at her and then back the way you came.
"Then…how…,"
Maghda snorts and then stands, coming around the side of her desk, and then pulls her robes up slightly. Higher than propriety would normally allow, but nevertheless you look as she pointedly looks at you. As such, you are able to see the strangest set of trousers you've ever seen, something of cured leather and cinched metal bands affixed with small glass panes. Small glass panes which show the liquid within. Her feet are partly visible, the tops of them at least, but the incredibly intricate tattoo patterns on the skin are difficult to see beneath the murky water and silt which swirls slightly there. Only once you've realized the implications, the surprise showing itself easily on your face, does she let her robes fall back down. Then she continues forward and leans against the desk rather than sit behind it, once more crossing her arms beneath her chest with the faintest metal clank against a previously hidden breastplate.
"Ah. That seems…,"
"Involved? Yes. But worth it to hold to my oaths to Manann," she sniffs and brushes her robes off slightly. "As I stated earlier, I didn't know who you were, and did not care. I have spent my entire life at sea, coming into dock only for vital supplies in dire circumstances when they could not be located in the waters themselves. Are you aware of how I was elected to my position?"
"Not at all," you answer honestly, still trying to figure out the forging and engineering expertise it must have taken to create a self-contained mini-aquarium molded onto the lower two thirds of the human form. "Only that you personally drowned and strangled the Holders of the Shore."
At that, Maghda's eyes widen slightly, her teeth baring themselves to fully reveal flashing ivory prosthetics. Sharpened ivory prosthetics. Not a single one of her original teeth remain in her mouth.
"Yes," she hisses in satisfaction. "Blasphemous bastards. But that isn't the whole story," she folds her arms against herself again and sighs, gaze going distant as her arms tighten against one another. "After the death of the Patriarch, the Holders running rampant, many lashed themselves to the pier, to their ships, begging for some idea of what to do next."
And many of those priests died, broken or taken out to sea to die from the resulting storm.
"I did not. Instead, I was granted a vision, a vision from Manann of two storms, crashing against one another, one shaking the waters as was natural, the other of such winds that it tore Manann's creatures from his bosom and tossed them cruelly to die on the shores to die," she continues after a second's pause. "To me, the meaning was clear. While the rest of the school were splashing about in panic, the sharks still roamed."
Blinking rapidly, she refocuses on you.
"So I hunted them down, one by one. I kept my oath to Manann to never step foot on dry land, however."
"I heard," you nod, "Something about spiking your feet?"
"Correct," she inclines her head slightly. "My own blood to ensure that no ground, whether dirt, stone, or otherwise was dry, and was instead coated in the sacred blood of a Sea-Born."
"Wouldn't that run the risk of dying of bloodloss?"
She tilts her head to the side, her sharpened ivory teeth clacking against one another as she bares her teeth in a small vicious grin.
"It made me inclined to hunt them down faster. Unfortunately," her amusement drains away, "Apparently the landlubber priests decided it meant I was 'fated' for the position. And when I denied them, Manann enforced his Will to ensure I listened."
At that, the corners of her mouth turn fully down, her head rocking backwards as she swallows back some ball of emotion or another.
"Er…," you don't quite know what to say after that.
"The
Screaming Trident was taken from me," she says quietly. "Thrice punctured in the keel, swept out of dock during the storm while I was performing my holy executions."
Maghda shrugs.
"And so now, here I remain," she says faintly before her gaze sharpens and she looks upon you once more. "So, perhaps, knowing this, you might understand why the murders of so many faithful in Ostland might anger myself, the Cult, and Manann, yes?"
Ah. Here it is.
"The Witch Hunters-," you start speaking through gritted teeth.
"Hah! The murderous psychopaths of the Cult of Sigmar," she barks with jagged laugh covered in rusted edges. "Them, we know of, even amongst the Sea-Born, where I heard neither hide nor hair of
you for all my life. You set them on His Faithful, and I refuse to believe you did not expect the consequences of doing so! The Hammer set against the Maelstrom by
ONE!
MORTAL'S! ORDER!"
As she'd continued speaking, her rasp began to transform into a guttural roar, something dripping with barely controlled fury and derision that barely sounded like it was coming from a human throat. The light of the creatures filling the aquarium's waters around you had dimmed significantly, and instead you saw as Maghda Sprenger's eyes became slitted and inhuman yet shockingly bright, ever so briefly between blinks, leaving behind afterimages akin to lightning bolts if you were staring exactly at their cloud of origin during a storm. The waters slam, outright
slam against the glass of the aquarium around you, a microcosm of the ocean given over to an alien fury that, if it did somehow break through, could have crushed and squeezed you to death in seconds. The sea water that trickled from her flanged mace becomes a torrent, spilling water far in excess of what it could ever have carried in any hidden compartment, even if the entire thing were hollow on the inside. Her dirty blonde hair is cast almost greenish blue by the altered lighting, and it ever so slightly hovers and shifts as if underwater, and the sapphires and emeralds inset in the five-tined crown she wears atop her head seem to swirl and glow as whirlpools in miniature. And behind her, appearing from the murky depths of the aquarium, comes a beast of monstrous size. Something capable of swallowing even Oskana whole. You can only see the forelimbs, heavy, webbed, and clawed things that push it upwards through the water. Two luminous orbs the size of wagon wheels blink open, slitted and reptilian, that are nonetheless flawlessly congruent to the current state of Maghda's eyes. Through the darkness, you spy the glint of scale and webbed fringe.
Just as quickly, however, the moment passes and you find yourself sucking down a gasping breath after realizing that that horrible cold pressure had somehow felt like it was suffocating you. The luminescent fish and floating bulb creatures slowly drift back into view, illuminating the dais more fully. Maghda, for her part, breathes almost as hard as you, panting with exertion. It takes another moment for the two of you to get your breathing under control, meanwhile the water which emerges from Maghda's mace slowly returns to the threadbare trickle of before. Her eyes are, once more, wholly human, if given the odd coloration of before. The crown she bears seems like just a mundane assemblage of copper and gemstones. She huffs slightly before placing her arms on the desk to prop her upright. Her voice now is so quiet you have to lean in slightly to hear her, even with the acoustics of the glass chamber. And with the blink of an eye, whatever ocean-going monstrosity that had swum up from the bottom of the aquarium's depths was gone, so swiftly that you are not sure if you even saw it or just briefly hallucinated it.
"There were approximately one hundred and twelve priests and acolytes of Manann along the northern coast of your province," she says with her eyes lightly squeezed shut. "There were another hundred along your riverine settlements, and thirty-four others situated at various shrines. It costs, on average, in feeding, housing, and training a single priest upwards of a hundred gold crowns over the course of their education to becoming a full priest, depending on the branch in question. It takes half again as much for a member of the Order of the Albatross, our most expert navigators, sailors, and pilots, to train them amongst the Cult's fleet of ships, and an average of the same to train a single Knights Mariner."
You blink.
"Fifteen members of the Order of the Albatross were in Salkalten. On average, a single Albatross can bring in upwards of ten thousand gold crowns over the course of a decade, depending on the ventures agreed to, ships journeyed upon, and trips made. The more charitable who charge far less will bring in significantly less than that. The most famous, or infamous, of their Order, is currently Ase Goldbraid, a full-blooded Norscan Sea-Born who was responsible for the immense returns that your in-law, Kattarin the Bloody, made on her own maritime trading venture."
Then Maghda looks up at you.
"She personally made a quarter again of the decade average in the course of that single trip."
The Matriarch slowly trails a finger along the coral edge of her desk, all while still looing at you.
"Ten of the Order of the Albatross within Ostland died, likely because they born blessings of Manann upon their flesh, not merely in their souls. Approximately fifty percent of all priests and acolytes in Ostland died. The more…monetary minded," her face twists in disgust. "Believe that Ostland should pay weregild in recompense for every death of every innocent – but of course after the mutilation dealt to them in the course of their 'interrogations'," she spits the word, "Who can say just how many were, or weren't, innocent of being a Holder of the Shore? Albatross or not."
Her finger flips backwards and she pulls forward a single piece of parchment and scrutinizes it for a moment.
"The most aggressive wish weregild for every death, regardless of being one of the Holders or not. Including potential tithings lost for the lifetime of all the priests, future priests, and the Albatrosses especially" she pauses, looks from the paper to you and then back to the paper, and then deliberately tears a strip off the top and throws it behind her. "You do not have that amount of money in your entire treasury."
It is not a question. It is a statement of utter certainty.
"So we'll not be doing that one. And if any of them wish to make an issue of it, they can come talk in person," she grunts. "Not least of which because the averages of reported tithing for those that were in Ostland meant that they were of said charitable breed, lowballing their fees considerably and consistently, and that level of weregild is far in excess of their projected earnings."
"Well…that's good," you say grudgingly.
"Mmm," she sniffs and looks at the paper again before looking back at you. "The difficulty, Count Hohenzollern," she says gently, a jarring contrast to her tone from before, "Is that the Foamborne possess talents and blessings to know
precisely who and who is not, one of the Holders of the Shore. As such, they know who is, and who is not, one of them."
Her eyes harden slightly again.
"For them, barring the most absolute unfortunate circumstances, there
is no collateral damage."
"If they were so good," you can't help but say, burgeoning anger and irritation bubbling to the fore, "Why couldn't they stop the Holders before they acted?"
Maghda shrugs your anger off.
"I am not so arrogant as to believe that my being Matriarch could have prevented their uprising, but the policies and funding of my predecessor were not allocated necessarily as I would have," she answers grimly. "Furthermore,
no one could have expected them to coordinate so easily. It is the nature of our Cult to have separate branches, free and independent much as Manann's father Taal's faithful are, if slightly more ordered." She shakes her head. "The difficulty, then, is that such independence was carefully utilized against us."
"For the record, I told you of our suspicions," you point out, "The Druchii could have-,"
"I am aware of your reports about the Black Arks near Albion, Count," she interrupts with a raised hand. "The Foamborne investigated thoroughly, well," she gives you a lopsided sardonic smile, "When and where they were able to, at least," she loses the smile and shakes her head. "It wasn't them."
"But-,"
"It wasn't them," she insists, gesturing to the papers behind her. "Extensive investigations by those with the talents, skills, and experience specifically at investigating the Holders of the Shore, of radicals in the Cult in general, are things I shall trust more than the Witch Hunter's methods," she sucks a bit of air through her ivory teeth, "I know the depravity, cruelness, and duplicitousness of the Druchii. It is entirely possible that they could have been responsible for it. But they were not."
"So…what," you sputter, "It's was just all insane maniacs, who decided to work together for once, in defiance of all normal operating procedures for their kind?"
Maghda raises an eyebrow.
"Is that genuinely surprising? Honestly. Answer me, in all your time, have you never dealt with a foe who avoided traditional tactics and methods, and in doing so proved a different magnitude of threat than you were accustomed to dealing with?"
Like daemon-infused greenskins acting with far more tactical cunning than usual while utilizing weaponry that none of their kind had been noted to wield up until then. Or perhaps centigors clad from head to hoof in armor in direct defiance to the usual ramshackle manner of their kind. Or a dryad utilizing the tendency of warfare in Mallus to focus on giant monstrous threats in a complete sacrificial play of effort and magic of absurd cost. Or, going in the other direction, gaining the aid of a Sigmar-blessed vampiress while fighting other vampires. The Empire not merely accepting the use of magic but making an institution out of it to absolutely vital effect during the Great War Against Chaos. Asrai willingly journeying to Ulthuan to help protect the Everqueen rather than remaining wholly within their forests.
All that and more forms the conclusion easily enough. Radical changes in standard operating procedures don't always work, but when they do, they can do quite well.
"But still…they managed to hit across the
Old World," you insist. "That's…,"
"It is what it is," Maghda sighs. "They rose up. The murders and torture of innocent faithful happened. The cells within Westerland and Ostland have been wiped out, and the Foamborne are hunting down the rest," she rubs at her temples with one hand, the other still on the desk, "By acting so openly, they ensured that they could not scurry back into their holes, Count Hohenzollern. We have isolated and destroyed all but some of the cells in the southern provinces, have wiped out all of those in Bretonnia with the cooperation of the Dukes, and numerous petty Kings and Queens in Estalia," she purses her lips. "Tilea has been cleansed as well. Shall I declare the whole of the Cult of Sigmar incapable and impotent for having contributed to the creation of the Era of Three Emperors? For every village dead and burnt for the suspicion of heresy or mutation? For all the dead and damaged property credited to the Holders of the Shore over the course of their one 'glorious' inferno, they cannot hold a candle to the innocents dead from Sigmarite zealotry over the past two thousand years. Or match how many Taalite celebrants have wandered into beastherds in their own holy course. Or Ulricans dead from charging head on at foes rather than flank or hold off."
It is a blow that you cannot deflect or dodge, merely weather and accept.
"I did not come here to compare failings between the Cults of the Empire. None are free of sin or mistake, this I know well enough," you grind out through gritted teeth.
This time, it is Maghda who rocks her head back slightly before she lowers it, acknowledging your point.
"Fair enough, Count Hohenzollern," she says with a very slight nod. "We came here to discuss how best to placate Manann's wrath. A considerable portion of Marienburg's faithful would prefer gold. The
priests, however, are more dedicated to Manann's will and less so the clink of coin."
She sneers at the last word.
"I have found, even in the short amount of time I have been invested in this office, that perhaps too many of my kind not blessed to be Sea-Born have fallen prey to the influence of Haendryk," she growls the words lowly before refocusing on you. "We do not have the luxury or chains of such things when we live the whole of our lives on the open water."
"So," you unfold your stance slightly and reposition your arms by crossing them over your chest. "You won't take gold, then?"
"Unlike some, I do not consider
money to be the be-all answer to all ills in the world," she shakes her head so vigorously that it sends a few wet braids of dirty blonde hair to whip about with the motion. "Manann's faithful are dead. His anger is sometimes swift, sometimes not. You are not blessed by his wrath not crashing upon your shores, for such a reprieve is surely only temporary until his mood turns again."
That part, you knew. Obviously, you could see the signs, even without Sabine panicking and throwing accounting sheets at you. Current contracts and trade agreements are currently keeping things going, but extremely soon, possibly as soon as next year, things will be past the tipping point. Too many ships not coming in, and ever fewer ships going out. Some of the most dedicated to Manann would rather their boats rot in dock and never reach open water again than go out thinking that doing so would displease the Lord of the Waves. Fishing yields are reducing already, but you can't think that Manann has something to do with that across the whole of the Sea of Claws. Or at least you hope not. The fishermen are currently extending their seasons just to make their quotas, which means that on a spreadsheet the numbers look fine, if one doesn't look at how much longer it took to make them.
"And so, again, I ask," you sigh. "How might we resolve this? How can I placate Manann?"
Maghda lifts up the paper once again and gives it a look.
"I'm assuming that the Witch Hunters who participated in the capture, torture, and executions would not concede to come to the Cathedral for chastisement," she plucks a quill off the desk and scratches out another section before looking up at you. "Yes?"
You don't even have to think about it for a second.
"The only authority they would answer such a call from would be the Grand Theogonist, and perhaps not even then."
Some Witch Hunters, you've come to learn intimately, trust none but themselves.
"I suspect they would not enjoy being held down and drowned in the surf either then," she says before looking further down the parchment.
"Likely not."
"Mmm. Then we must return to what we spoke of before you entered the Cathedral. They did not give the order, and those out there," she gestures through the aquarium presumably to the main temple floor where Natasha, Urgdug, and the others remain. "Did not carry it out."
"So it's on me."
"So it's on you," she agrees before lowering the paper slightly to look over it at you. "Does that scare you, Count Hohenzollern?"
The answer is swift, earnest, and completely true.
"No."
"Good," she bares her teeth in a smile again. "Good. I had to do quite a bit of research and learning to try and pick fact from fiction, given the tales that surround you, Count Hohenzollern. You are proving some of those tails correct, and others wrong. Tell me, the necklace you wear," she points at the Light of Summer where it rests against your chest. "It truly does heal you?"
You reach up and hold it in your hand, feeling the gentle warmth of it against your skin.
"It's saved my life many times over," you say, looking down at the green gem. "Its power are prodigious."
"Mmm," she murmurs. "And your retinue bore a Jade Wizard with you, yes?"
"…aye," you answer cautiously.
"And yet you are no stranger to pain, you are not crippled by a fear of it," she goes on.
"Of course not. It's a matter of survival in the world we live in," you say, the words clipped.
"Indeed," she says while looking back at the sheet and then throws it over her shoulder to land on her desk. "Tell me, what do you know of the penances of Manann?"
"Less than I know about Sigmarite or Morrite ones."
"Yes. Well," she holds up her hands and begins vaguely pantomiming in the air. "One of the gravest punishments reserved for those who commit the gravest of sins – such as murder of priests – is keelhauling. The sinner is lashed to ropes which loops beneath a ship, and are dragged across the keel…or, if they have done truly dark deeds, across the length of the ship. Both require being run across barnacles, which tear the clothes and skin apart."
You have to wince at that. You've seen the ships at dock during inspection. Even war galleys and Greatships suffer considerable wear and tear on the bottom of their hulls. The barnacles alone, you've heard, can be quite an ordeal to remove and handle properly.
"On occasion, the sinner might well drown, bleed to death from their multitude of cuts, or be torn to shreds by creatures attracted by the blood spilled into the water," she pauses and studies your expression. "There are no sharks in Marienburg's waters," she adds as an afterthought. "We do not countenance Stromfel's ilk here, not in Manann's city."
"Oh, well that's good," you say only partly sarcastically. "The others?"
"The most zealous, such as those outside? Often favor the tide post."
"Doesn't sound too bad."
"On the face of it," she shakes her head. "You are to be chained to a post fixed on a beach, and left there for however many tides as determined by the severity of the crime that the faithful declare required. The binding and post position might also change depending on such things. Including placing one such that even low tide could drown you."
She cocks an eyebrow at you.
"I assume that you do not have a fifty-three tidal exchanges worth of time to be chained to a post on a beach where low tide is at neck height?"
"Well no, seeing as that would kill me," you reply dryly.
"Precisely," she nods, "That is what many of
them desire. I do not feel inclined to give in to them, however. I did not choose this position, I was chosen for it," she draws herself up slightly, glaring into the middle distance just past your head. "If they didn't want me at the helm of the ship, they damn well shouldn't have made me captain."
"What are the others, then? Might as well hear them all out," you sigh.
"Maritime pilgrimage to hidden islands known only to the Cult," she shakes her head, "Can't do that one, you are not initiated into the priesthood. A test of tremendous sailing skill…which you do not possess and would thus surely fail. An expedition against a known group of Stromfels worshippers, of which we currently have not identified any nearby – certainly, none that you could journey to and kill in a timely manner," she finishes sardonically.
"So…there's really
only the keelhauling," you say slowly, reaching up to rub at your temples again.
"Not necessarily," she cuts her hand through the air. "You do not possess the skills for service. You do not have the wealth required for the fines that many in the Cult would demand. There is, however, another option: sacrifice."
Just behind her, a long brown fish with a concerning number of teeth shoots forward and tears apart a small orange fish in a single bite, the other orange fish that had been swimming alongside the victim fleeing southwards out of sight.
"Sacrifice," you repeat flatly. "Of my skin, flesh, and blood, eh?"
"Perhaps," Maghda nods, "But there are others as well. The sacrificing of one's bounty from the sea back into the water is favored amongst fishermen, throwing back the greatest of the catch back into the waters for instance."
Alas, you are not a fisherman, is the thought that comes to mind but does not pass through your lips.
"And for me?" You say instead.
Maghda looks squarely at you, her chin tilted slightly upwards.
"I have heard tale that you possess a number of captured Druchii vessels, sitting at the dock rotting away. A number of Ravenships."
Well, it's not like that was information you'd bothered to keep hidden from anyone who asked after them.
"Aye. Haven't done much with them. Thought maybe we could try to learn a bit more about them, maybe make some improvements to our own ships. Didn't turn out much useful though, they were damaged in the fighting where they were taken."
And wasn't that just an annoying situation. The bolt throwers of the elves are fascinating things, and yet none were there to be found, having been tossed overboard or utterly shattered to prevent their use during the fierce fighting. As for the ship themselves…they were sleek, strong, and incredibly maneuverable. However, even if you perfectly copied the dimensions of the ships, your shipwrights had informed you that it wouldn't be the same. The wood quality was too different. You don't have Naggarothi trees, and you don't have Druchii with centuries and thousands of years of sailing experience to crew them.
"You wouldn't be the first to try and learn from them," Maghda flaps a hand, "The last notable update to Druchii ship design was centuries ago. The issue is not their design, it is the materials that they are made with, and the elves that crew them."
"Exactly what we concluded," you say.
"The eagleship, the Asur counterpart to the ravenship," she goes on, even speaking a little bit quickly, animated by a topic of genuine interest, "Is sung and shaped into being from individual starwood trees, each ship a living plant on the water. The ravenship, as near as we can tell, are made from twisted mirrors of such works, and are instead grown from malformed trees curated with Dark Magic, consecrated in bloody rituals dedicated to Khaine and their god Mathlann," she then stops to look at you, "The latter being something that I should think none in the Empire would countenance guarding their shores."
You could, perhaps, imagine that the Jade College and Cult of Manann might manage something similar, at some point in the far, far distant future. Unfortunately, the Druchii have had thousands of years to build up their magical knowledge and numbers of sorceresses. Plus, despite your utter distaste for it, you have personally experienced how powerful blood sacrifices can make spells as well as garner the aid of darker Gods that you would not worship. You can't imagine that it would be as easy for, say, a High Priest of Manann to sacrifice a hundred or a thousand sharks to consecrate each wolf ships as it is for a High Sorceress of Naggaroth to sacrifice a hundred or a thousand human souls.
"I suppose so," you answer with a shrug. "So…what, sacrifice the ships?"
"It would be a symbol of defiance to the Druchii and their abuse of Manann's domain," she nods, "However…,"
Of course there is a however.
"True sacrifice costs," she says seriously. "But what does it cost you to sacrifice those ships to Manann? Truly? It gains you needed dock space, reduces the workload on your port's workers, gets rid of otherwise pointless hulks, burns and purifies the taint that their warped wood might leave behind."
Technically, put that way, it doesn't much seem like a sacrifice at all.
"I see what you mean," you admit.
"The hardliners would not be satisfied, and for all that I can comprehend that you were not purposefully malicious, merely ignorant or foolish, it is the nature of our Cult that many are quite independently minded."
Unless you murder half of them and make them go running to the main temple that you are in this very moment standing in, at least.
"As such, even if
I am satisfied, others might not be. I do not aim to turn this into an inter-cult schism because I 'let you off too lightly'," she grimaces as she makes the air quotes. "This is not the Cult of Ulric or Sigmar where I can simply stomp my foot and make men and women cower like children," she snorts. "So, you see the scope of the issue, yes?"
(Insight: 50+Learning(14)=64/100)
You simply can't be sure to your full satisfaction, but you think – and hope – that she's being sincere in her words. That she doesn't want to escalate this to ludicrous extent, but is also constrained by the position she's found herself unexpectedly thrust into. The Cult's members are notoriously mercurial and tempestuous, much like how every other Cult of every other God take on the characteristics and attitudes of the ones they worship. It is the same for the Taalites and Rhyans, for Ulricans and Sigmarites, and for everyone else. Less so for the general faithful, but it is intensely noticeable amongst the actual ordained priests and acolytes.
"Let me guess, you propose something else, then?"
"I do. Generally, there are two methods of sacrifice of ships, both looked upon favorably by Manann…most of the time," she adds at the end, "To burn them at sea, the more prestigious and historied the ship the better. Or," she rolls her hand through the air. "To dedicate them to Manann more fully, giving up control of that which they have fought for, prized, maintained, spent effort and blood and gold on, and give them wholly and forever unto his faithful."
You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. She isn't…
"You have constructed a number of these…Greatships…I have heard them called, yes?"
She is.
"…yes," you say slowly.
"The pinnacle of your fleet. The
pride of them, you could say," she says, both eyebrows raised as she looks at you, "Vessels that have battled Norscans and Druchii and even greenskin ships regularly for the past several years, storied in their own rights."
And sacrifice is not sacrifice unless it actually costs you, in one way or more, as she'd just finished telling you.
"And…sacrificing them…would placate the Cult, and Manann?"
"Yes," she says calmly. "Even the most zealous who wishes to not be regarded as a sunstruck buffoon by their peers would be forced to quiet down, depending on the magnitude of the sacrifice, at least."
For a moment, you simply shut your eyes, trying to block out the sight of everything around you. You cannot, unfortunately, close your
ears off from the sounds of the aquarium.
"I would rather see my ships continue sailing, rather than burn them," you eventually say tiredly.
"As would I," she agrees. "I hear you are already working towards an interesting expansion to the Temple of Manann in Salkalten. That has already begun helping. But as I see it, these are the options open to you, save for the shark dive."
You seize on that one, trying not to think about what you were previously discussing.
"Shark dive?"
Maghda blinks at you languidly.
"Sharks are the creatures of Stromfels, and to be hunted and removed whenever possible. They make for considerably favored sacrifices to the Lord of the Waves but are difficult to capture in large numbers. When they
are, however, they can be prepared for sacrifice."
She then suggests a well of sorts in the air with her hands.
"Generally, they are dredged upwards from their chambers and onto the altar to be split open while alive, their chum and innards fed to other sea-going creatures within the aquarium. However, one of the deadliest acts of penance is the shark dive," she demonstrates with her fingers of someone diving into the 'well' where the sharks are evidently kept. "To slay the fearsome beasts within the waters, ensuring that their blood and lives are given over to Manann directly and personally."
She then looks away from the imagined well and towards you.
"Generally they do this naked with nothing but a knife made of shaped and sharpened clam shell. Nine times out of ten, the one that attempts it dies. Which is why I did not bring it up beforehand. Believe what you may, Count, but I do not intend to somehow set up a war between Manann and Ostland. I aim to
end one before it can start."
Hence why she's not so subtly trying to inform you to not even attempt that one.
You could probably take some sharks, though. Right? Probably. How tough can the bastards be, anyway?
"So. Those are the options as I see them. I'll not beggar your province and I don't aim to kill you, but I cannot simply ask for
nothing, either," she spread her arms out wide. "Tell me, Count Hohenzollern, what can we accomplish together in finishing this matter?"
A moment passes as you think to yourself.
"…can I speak to my wife, at least? Before I agree to any punishment to my individual person, specifically?"
Maghda lips twitch downwards into a frown.
"Perhaps. The matter of your body does, I suppose, involve her. I wished to speak to you in private, both to gain your measure and you allow you to gain mine, without any extraneous involvement on the part of any others," she says grudgingly.
Possibly also to ensure that the knowledge that the blessed Sea-Born Matriarch of the Cult really isn't much at all like the land-born Marienburgers in a number of aspects.
"So…,"
"Make your decision swiftly, Count Hohenzollern," she waves you off with a hand waggle, "
Something must be announced to the mob outside. You may return promptly the moment you've decided," she says while walking around the side of her desk once more and sitting down, immediately setting to work scribbling amongst her paperwork.
"…right."
As such, you walk alone surrounded by the inhabitants of the aquarium back through the glass corridor, which terminates back into the marble passages. A quartet of Knights Mariner turn at your approach, and from this close you can see the surprise and suspicion in their eyes.
"Gotta go back and confer with my people," you inform them.
"What of the Matriarch?" One asks suspiciously, glancing back the way you'd come.
"She seemed to get right to work," you shrug. "If you'll excuse me…,"
One of the Knights Mariner immediately begins striding swiftly back the way you'd come while the other three step in front of you, hands on the hilts of their swords.
"Is this really necessary?" You scoff.
You aren't wearing
Bokdrungni, you came in wearing only regular clothes as befitting your station. At least, enough to make you not look utterly impoverished compared to the wealthy burghers of Marienburg. But the runic gauntlet sits, even now, in a saddle bag on Oskana's flank. Speaking of which, you dearly hope that the poor gryphon is able to decompress and relax slightly. Bringing her into the city might not have been your finest decision, considering just how crowded it was and how dangerously keyed up she'd gotten as a result. It would not have been a good luck for her to go berserk and start attacking the hundreds of irritating noise makers around her, especially as she could likely tell that some were genuinely antagonistic towards her.
"The Matriarch-,"
A thunderous clang booms outwards from down the glass corridor, the crash of metal on metal, followed shortly by the waters of the aquarium churning visibly before your very eyes. A shockwave through the waters emanates outwards, thumping the glass loudly, followed shortly by a single word delivered from Maghda Sprenger's throat but delivered in the voice that is altogether ever so slightly
more than 'just' human.
"
OUT!"
The other three Knights Mariner rock backwards on their heels at the sound.
"Told you," you pat one on the shoulder and push past.
"But…wait, you can't…," one says, still seemingly dazed.
"I remember the way," you say over your shoulder.
In truth, you've no doubt that the winding passages and differing inclines could befuddle many if they had come here for the first time. Much like how a seasoned sailor learns the currents and seas, it likely takes time. For most, at least. For you? Marble and glass, silver and coral-embossed or gold and diamond, you spent more than a year in the tunnels of Karak Ungor. Your mind is not anything more than mildly tipsy, given the sips of your flask you'd taken on the way to this Cathedral in the first place. You know precisely where you came from, how you got here, and how to get back there s swiftly as possible. Still, you only get another minute or so before two of the Knights Mariner are jogging to keep up with you.
"Frederick?"
Natasha is the first one to turn her head when you push the doors open, but Urgdug is second, followed swiftly by just about everyone else. You throw a thumbs up at Urgdug to reassure him that everything is fine before wrapping your arms around Natasha and kissing her cheeks, letting the cold of her body flush you from the humid heat from certain portions of the facility tunnels. She giggles quietly at the sensation before pushing back from you, looking you up and down with concern. You smile at her before your ears catch, just faintly on the very edge of your hearing, the sound of a crowd of humanity. An angry crowd of humanity. Almost wholly muffled by the doors and walls of the Cathedral, but there on that edge regardless.
"That was quick, but…," she frowns. "I don't…what happened back there?"
"I don't have a
lot of time," you admit, "But I can summarize."
As you do so, you watch as Natasha's eyes light up, darken, and narrow depending on the topic at hand.
"No shark dive," she states firmly as you finally finish, "Absolutely not."
"I figured," you tell her with a chuckle, tucking a hair that has come loss over her ear, ignoring the numbness of your freezing fingers. "But…the keelhauling?"
Natasha purses her lips, gaze going distant as she thinks.
"You both seemed to agree that you'll be disappointing at least
part of the Cult, the ones focused perhaps a bit too much on money," she starts, waiting for you to nod in confirmation before continuing. "Now you have to decide how many others you can try to mend fences with."
"Right."
"The absolute zealots would kill you, and she said no to
that as well. Punishment to the body, and punishment to pride, sacrifice and all that," she hums to herself.
"I didn't think you would be supportive of the keelhauling, all things considered," you say in surprise.
Natasha pauses, her mouth snapping shut as she looks at you before holding up a fist.
"First, she asks after the healing capabilities of the
Light of Summer," she raises a finger, "Second, she asks after Adira, if not by name," she raises the middle finger. "And then she specifically mentions that the most fatal and dangerous aspects of keelhauling is the presence of sharks…and that there aren't any in the waters around Marienburg."
Then, rather pointedly, she waggles her raised three fingers and subtly lines them up with one of the nearby statues of Manann, or more specifically the trident that he bears.
"Frederick," she says gently after lowering her hand onto your shoulder, sliding it until she's cupping your face. "You know well enough my feelings on you, fighting, pain, and all manner of other situations. I'm a human being, I'm allowed to be self-contradictory," she smirks, but there is true pain lacing it, which in turn causes your own heart to squeeze.
If you could, you would swaddle her in utter safety and grant her perfect health for eternity. And she the same for you. But too many other desires and duties and the simple nature of reality and the world compels you both onwards, simply having to accept the bittersweet offerings of life while you can.
"Am I happy about it? No. Do I
want you to do it? No. But will it
work?" She hisses the last word, still looking into your eyes with her own – for even with the eyepatch over it you know that her 'blessed' eye can see through it at your 'heat outline' as she's described it. "The possibility is much better than simply walking away and doing nothing else. Besides which, she's right," she pats your cheek before pulling her hand back, leaving a reddened handprint of cold skin behind. "You are one of the smartest men I know, and you know little to nothing about sailing. You
could just offer up the ships," she quickly places a finger to your lips as they'd begun to part. "But it would never have the same effect, not to those here and now, and you know it."
Destroying the Druchii ships and purposefully dedicating said destruction to Manann will be appreciated all around, but it will be the absolute most minimal of gestures, given the nature and purpose of sacrifice. That's practically a given unless some other wild idea strikes you in the next few moments. The more high-minded, the ones with the ability to see further on and appreciate the gesture fully, would appreciate the Greatships, burnt or otherwise. But the rabble, the common faithful, these are the ones that are simultaneously both the most powerless and most dangerous, depending on when and where you are. And, while both you and Natasha agreed that the shark dive was simply not on the table, if Natasha is correct the Matriarch was attempting to explain how the keelhauling might be done without outright killing you without coming out and saying it directly while trying to spare Ostland's treasury at the same time.
"Of course, these are but my thoughts," she pulls back, "Yours to do with as you will when you get back there once again. Who knows, maybe a passing priest will happen by who will give you some revelatory knowledge or option," she chuckles at the idea.
"And your thoughts on the Greatships?"
At that, she frowns.
"It is unfortunate. But consider whether it would be more valuable to have them sailing elsewhere, or burned in effigy to Manann, or to have them rot in dock as the crews and captains refuse to set foot on them, and the clergy fail to bless their passage."
"We…can build more later, I suppose," you muse. "It's not quite the same as cold hard funds being used in a fine, though it does technically cost us. Just not in the usual manner."
Though you do gain some aid on that in the form of the Imperial Stipend that Magnus organizes for you.
"Besides, she didn't ask for
all of them, you know," Natasha adds. "One might not be enough, but all would be far too excessive…hopefully," she shrugs at the last part. "It's a question of how much to try and…hmm…stack the deck in hopes of gaining Manann's clemency, possibly even approval," she looks up at the Manann statue she'd used beforehand as a visual tool. "All who know of Manann know that his wrath is terrible and monstrous, but that his favor is equally as wondrous. It's just that most…usually just manage to live in the neutral area between such extremes."
"I suppose," you grumble before glancing at the doors. "How have things been here?"
"Fine enough," Natasha glances about the chamber, "But the mob seems to be getting a bit…loud. I asked, and apparently the doors of the Cathedral are almost always open, regardless of night and day or weather save for the absolute most sever situations."
Which, on the one hand, shows just how seriously the Matriarch is clearly taking this situation. On the other hand, it's a major disruption in the routine of a vast portion of Marienburg – the city literally dedicated to Manann on its founding – and largely because of your arrival here. Maghda was not kidding when she said that you did not have too much time to think and decide about this. Given what you know of her, you are at least partially sure that she didn't intend for the secondary aspect of this situation to be used as pressure against you. It just rather unfortunately came about as a result of reserving all of this for your arrival and the subsequent discussion.
"I see," you nod. "Well, best get back then," turn to go before a cold hand tugs on your sleeve and spins you back around again.
"No matter what you choose to do," she says with a smile, "All my love, forever."
"Forever," you smile back and lean down to nuzzle your noses against one another before you leave her with a light kiss on the lips.
This time, the Knights Mariner don't even bother to try and bar your path, instead just following silently behind you as you make your way back through the innards of the Cathedral until you once more reach the glass passage into the depths of the aquarium. When you do get there, however, you notice that one of the Knights Mariner, a familiar one at that, is now somewhat lopsided. In that something clearly struck his left pauldron with enough force to deform it terribly to the point that you are surprised he's even able to move his arm anymore. He glares grimly forward, eyes only lighting on you briefly before facing forward once more. The remaining Knights Mariner don't follow after you as you head on in alone. Rather as you expected, the flanged mace is no longer in the last place you saw it, and now leans against the desk on the other side.
Wrathful, capricious, and tempestuous is Manann, and so too are his followers on occasion, it seems.
"Ah, Count Hohenzollern," Maghda says, standing up from her paperwork to walk around the side of her desk to lean against its front again. "That was even swifter than I anticipated."
"Yes, well," you shrug. "Why bother dragging this out?"
"Well said," she bares her teeth, "Well said indeed. So?"
"This…keelhauling, you said that it was either across the keel or down the length, which-,"
"The length," she interrupts, an eyebrow raised. "I think you knew that, though."
"How…barnacled are we talking here?"
"I have five ships, five options," she answers swiftly. "The least is both the smallest ship and is in fact relatively clean. You'd more likely get bruises than cuts. It would also be the least effective in convincing anyone of anything compared to the others."
"And let me guess, the most severe is one I'd be in significant danger from."
She nods.
"Yes. If you did not receive immediate intensive medical attention afterwards, you would be in considerable danger of dying quite quickly."
Of course.
"And, what, I'm naked for this?"
"Oh, not at all," she shakes her head slowly without breaking eye contact. "In fact, you are meant to wear your clothes, another symbol of pride torn from you as much as your skin. Jewelry and such are often included as well. All the better for the punishment."
Funny, how that makes perfect theological sense if stated in that manner.
"And we're not going the monetary route," you reaffirm.
"Correct," she nod, her lip curling into something almost cruel. "If High Priest Rutger wants to keep badgering me about it, he can sit and spin on the tallest crow's nest I can find."
You blink slowly.
"I'm sorry, did you say High Priest
Rutger?"
"Mmm? Yes," she nods, sour-faced. "Been a burr in my side since I got here. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to tell him off like I'd like to yet. My authority remains a bit too shaky for that, despite the events surrounding my ascension to the position."
Because she can command the Knights Mariner and the Order of the Albatross freely, but has less absolute authority over other priests. Hence why the displays of penance need to be big and impactful enough, then. Now you see it unfolding in your mind, even if you don't have every piece available to you. Amongst those that her position gives her high levels of control over, she is secure. In others, she is relatively new and untested, her nature as Sea-Born meaning that she has spent most of her life far more disconnected to Imperial politics and issues than others that might have come to the position instead. And somehow, somewhere, your agents missed that one of House Rutger managed to become a damned High Priest. The only balm to that knowledge being that he has made an enemy of the Matriarch.
"Well…," you pause and tug a flask free, uncorking the Bugman's Best and draining the flask entirely in one go. "I think I've decided."
In the end, the only question is how much the safety and maintained livelihoods of Ostland's people is worth to you. Your pride? Your body? Your ships? And how much of those things?
Choose An Option From Each Category:
Note: Quantity and quality can both contribute to this matter. Remember, always, that Manann's wrath and boons are equally tremendous if garnered. It's just usually easier to gain the former than the latter. The same could be said of his chosen highest servant in Matriarch Maghda Sprenger.
Note 2: Moratorium Until 9AM/EST
Druchii Ships
[] Sacrifice Them To Manann: Set the things aflame, get some dockspace back, and offer a minor but appreciated appeasement to Manann. [Minor Appeasement/Maghda Approval]
[] Something Else: (Write-In)
Actual Sacrifice
[] The Greatships of Ostland: Sacrifice requires
actual sacrifice. Wolfships are common vessels, and war galleys are meant for close coastal patrolling. You can rebuild later. Perhaps even with actual blessings and aid from the Cathedral, if you accept a bit of loss beforehand.
-[] Burn Them: It will hurt. Oh, it will hurt. But that is the nature of sacrifice. If it gains you a true and weighty reprieve from the Cult, it may well be worth it to ensure the prosperity of Ostland's coastal and river settlements. (Write-In How Many If Any/Which Greatships) [Considerable Appeasement/Approval For Each Ship]
-[] Give Them: It stings, yes, but you'll know that the Cult of Manann will not misuse them. It would literally be sacrilege to do so. They will be honored vessels, surely, given what they are they'll not just sit in dock doing nothing. It could, even, show them off to the rest of the Empire in a positive light given time. (Write-In How Many If Any/Which Greatships) [Major Appeasement/Approval For Each Ship]
OR
[] Refusal: Perhaps you can negotiate for other ships, other tasks? Repeated keelhaulings or something? (Write-In)
Keelhauling
[] Accept the Keelhauling: It will hurt. That's rather the point. The only thing to think about is how sever you want to be about it. This is less about appeasing the priests, and more about quieting the mob, the fury of the common flock....and some of the priests who are especially angry. Who wish punishment, regardless of the fact that very, very technically, you were legally in the right. (Choose Ship Choice From Below)
-[]
Blue Bunny: A small sloop, barely barnacled at all. [Minimally Dangerous/Incredibly Minor Appeasement/Approval Gain]
-[]
The Rambler: An average trading ship, regularly barnacled. [Somewhat Dangerous/Minor Appeasement/Approval Gain]
-[]
Five-Tined Hunter: A wolf ship of the Cult of Manann that sails regularly against corsairs, pirates, worshippers of Stromfels, Druchii, and so on. [Dangerous/Appeasement/Approval Gain]
-[]
Marvelous Maisel: An extremely large supply ship, apparently used to confer certain supplies to Sea-Born vessels out on the ocean such as medicines that cannot be sourced out on the ocean. Has not been cleaned at all. [More Dangerous/Major Appeasement/Approval Gain]
-[]
Triton's Fury: A traveling temple-ship of Manann, practically the size of a Greatship, but its structure has been given far less over to battle than to making a mobile living space for its crew of Sea-Born. [Most Dangerous/Extreme Appeasement/Approval Gain]
OR
[] Refuse the Keelhauling: Perhaps if you give them a rather significant amount of ships, or perhaps maybe you could renegotiate with Natasha about the shark dive...? (Write-In)
