- Pronouns
- He/Him
You don't know when it will be time to eat it though.
Warhammer Fantasy: A Dynasty of Dynamic Alcoholism
- Thread starter torroar
- Start date
- Mature
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- Tags
- warhammer warhammer fantasy fantasy intrigue happens male protagonist ck2 quest belief stronk count of cannons drunken wisdom foes in the shadows graf of guns (guns) if you have a question check the front page first it begins... mountain vietnam ogres paranoia rising unseen enemies everywhere use the search function before asking waifu wars wake the bull
Based on my analysis of Torroar's mean posting times, the next update will come tomorrow at 7:22 pm EST
- Location
- Winchester
Well, even if there's a good option and a bad option, I doubt Torroar would make a bad coin flip catastrophic. That's more for for hitting a 1 out of 100.
- Location
- Somewhere
Could be nothing, like a pregnancy roll, or a will they get married this turn or not roll. It is a d2 after all. The Beast-tide is not expected to occur this turn from the OOC info, so an enemy attack is not highly likely.
The only other important thing, I can think of, that might require a roll is if Freddy took the land or sea route home. The players didn't specify which route to take, just that they wanted to leave. Some effort was put into a sea route home, but... it wasn't specified to take it home.
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Marvelous Marienburg Finale
[] Plan: We are done, time to go home
-[] The Prince's Rest: Located in the Gold Mound and the most elite inn in the entire city that could have bulk rooms booked ahead of time, the Prince's Rest is famous for its high grade accommodations, including a specialized coachyard and stable for those fellows who might be eccentric enough to have non-standard mounts up to and including gryphons, pegasi, and in one notable instance a camel of Araby. (Cost: 100 Gold Crowns A Night For Entire Retinue)
-[] Gather Your Retinue, And Set Out For Home. You've had quite enough of this city for now, you think. (Begin Journey Home)
The Gold Mound is, even more than the Palace District, or just about any of the others, a place of true wealth. Here, for the first time, you start seeing those who you would normally associate as nobility, and yet after walking around Marienburg for a day the line is certainly far blurrier here than anywhere else. The sheer wealth on display is considerable. There is not just gold leafing and filigree, but actual solid gold here and there, capping the Classical colonnaded buildings as well. The gargoyles which sit upon more modern Imperial style are disturbingly realistic but are also oddly regal as well. Instead of being hunched monstrous creatures, whoever carved them made them appear more like simply winged men and women with minorly bestial additions, wielding spears and swords with shields and armor. The shrines here to the Gods are incredibly richly furnished, and even as you walk past in the evening you can see that every minute or so a passerby donates yet more coinage or otherwise expensive donations to them. To the point that there are a pair of Templars of the Gods for just about each one, a priest on staff not just to talk to the passerby who wish a momentary blessing of spot of conversation, but to also scoop the donations out of sight so that they don't start toppling off the altars of the shrines themselves every now and then.
There are cries and shouts even here of barkers, charging exorbitant prices for things that could be found elsewhere in the city for less, but the added prestige of being something purchased here is what gets those same street seller's sales. You, personally, don't much partake. No one in your retinue does. A wide berth is created around you, as by this time just about everyone in the city knows about what happened in the Temple District. And for all that this district seems far more likely to be in tune with Handrich, the Gold Mound itself is broken up into four different sections, all of which are connected not just by canals but by the greater waters themselves. Manann is directly responsible for the wealth of a great many of these merchants, in one way or another, not just in sea travel but in the incredibly vital arterial rivers which reach from one end of the Empire to the other. Your deed has them sweeping aside before you, some inclining their heads, others shouting up at you indistinctly with generally praise-related tones. As near as you can tell, at least. It's not like you were going to stop and talk to each and every one of them. Instead, you head directly for The Prince's Rest, because at this point you are dead on your feet. Oskana absolutely hated the traveling from the Temple District to get to this point, and so you are especially grateful that she is granted a large stable section solely for herself. Even then, you realize you'll be having to station some of the ogres nearby on rotation through the night, as the noise of the city still penetrates quite well.
Wealthy men and women from the Empire and beyond are within the establishment, but none of them elect to try and bother you as you and your retinue march up to your rooms.
"What a day," you huff as you fall back onto the bed, wrapping Natasha in your arms fully, letting the cold utterly banish the sticky heat created by the massive crowds of Marienburg.
"Please tell me that you're not planning on keeping us here any longer than necessary," she mumbles against you.
She may not have gotten keelhauled, but simply moving about for so many hours surrounded on all sides by the people of the city is plenty exhausting in its own way. Watching you get keelhauled, and that entire event in the Kislevan Way, was even more exhausting emotionally.
"No. We're done here. If we can't get a ship tomorrow, we'll head back the old-fashioned way," you say quietly, trying to will your body to ignore how it's beginning to redden and grow numb from so many points of contact.
"Good. I don't…I don't know what we should do about my sister. I'm pretty sure that if I tried to head to Kislev City to talk to her in person that I would be in danger of not making it," she mumbles.
The hot flush of anger is a scorching and sour serpent which comes to life in your belly at the possibility of that.
"Then I'd just have to burn every Bohka alive," you reply before running your hands through her hair.
"I know," she says with a smile before she snuggles a bit more into the bed and yawns. "Frederick?"
"Mmm?" You begin the frustrating process of extricating yourself and grabbing blankets to cover and warm you enough through the night despite laying next to her.
"All my love, forever."
"Forever."
(Ulric's Fury: 9/100)
You wake up to snow on the roof and filling the streets and alleys. The chill doesn't really affect you as much as it clearly has so many others, but it's astonishing to wake up and see a city that is so much more sluggish than it was when you arrived. The frantic, almost violent vibrance of the city has been cast in white molasses. The steady movement this way and that remains, but it is throttled nearly beyond belief. Even some of the waters in the bay, the lagoon, has chunks of ice floating about in them. Ogres and especially burly men are pushing plows down the streets, but this in turn makes thick piles which block the way of the stalls who have to shovel the snow further into the alleys to the sides and behind them. At which point still others shovel the snow as best they can into the canals and waters. Only enough, however, to make sure that people can still move about. Or, at least, that is how it is in most of the city. The menial workers of the Gold Mound are definitely paid enough to clear it out almost completely, leaving only some of the roofs piled on.
(Finding A Ship: 43-15(Cold Snap)=28/100)
The difference is immediate the moment you step out of the Gold Mound and start heading for the Dealers Market and on through Knife Alley. The markets are not shut down, you suspect that Marienburg itself would have to be wiped off the map for that to occur, but they are far more tepid than before. Half of the stalls are closed or shut temporarily from the cold, but those selling furs and thick layered clothing are certainly making a killing. In fact, you note that several people in the Dealers Market have changed out their wares entirely, apparently just for such a day, despite the fact that you know more than a few of them were selling things like pottery or wood carvings just the day before. Because of course they planned for such a thing.
"Ulric picked a hell of a time to give us a beating with Nachexen," you growl as you stare at the thick blanket of cold white which covers the road and plains equally outside the gates of the city.
In truth, however, you aren't too surprised. Not exactly, at least. Winter always lasts just a bit longer in Ostland than even for Nordland or Westerland. With Middenland, for all you know it's related to Ulric, given their propensity for especially powerful winters, but you suspect that Ostland suffers from a bit of cold bleeding over from Kislev, whose winters are as strong and often longer than those in the Empire. Which, just as with Middenland and Ulric, likely has a lot to do with its own nature. For all of that, however, the change is sudden. It is as if the God of Winter has personally exhaled his freezing breath down from the north, enough to strike the muggy warmth of Marienburg down. You'd not really studied the weather and seasonal patterns of Westerland, but then again they are facing the open water whereas that same cold has to fight its way down through the Northern March and the forests of Ostland just to get to Wulfenburg.
The most important thing is that this is going to severely slow down your travel back to your home. While you'd had blessed weather coming to Marienburg, the coin has flipped in the other direction.
Or, at least, it would be a nearly impassible obstacle if you weren't married to Natasha.
"Well. Here we go," she says cheerfully, outright, and undeniably energized as she strides at the head of the entire small train of bodies.
She doesn't sweep it aside in overt gusts of wind, or anything like that. That would be exhausting. Instead, she casts some sort of spell over the entire group, which is also somewhat tiring, that makes your travel easier. You don't pretend to know the specifics, or even the generalities, but your boots don't seem to sink into the snow nearly as much as they should. The slush never hardens into ice in a manner that would prove a detriment to your movements, or for anyone else further back in the train. This holds true even for the Pulverizers, though Natasha clearly has to put a bit more work into them than anyone else. Your wife, by contrast to just about everyone else, almost appears to be skating back and forth atop the uppermost layer of the snow, or otherwise dancing on it without ever sinking into it at all. The chill hangs about you all, but it does not leech the heat from your meat and bones like normal.
It's one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen.
(Traveling Out Of Westerland: 50-15+Cold Pathing(15)=50/100)
Though your speed is noticeably reduced, it isn't like you are rushing to get anywhere anyway. Beforehand, you'd pushed the entire group at breakneck pace to just try and get there as soon as possible. The weight off what might or might not happen with Manann is no longer pressing upon you, and frankly, you're happy just to see your wife enjoy herself as Nachexen shows that even with Winter's waning that it can still have some pretty sharp claws. The merchant trains traveling too and from Marienburg are significantly reduced in number, the traffic even reaching such an anemic point that you can go a few stretches without seeing anyone for miles. On the other hand, when you do, in fact, reach the coaching inns they are full to bursting, the innkeepers making an absolute killing as many have to stay much longer than they initially intended. It ends up costing you a bit more in your coin purses as well, but that's to be expected.
This time around, your passage through the toll station is waived once more, the good will of the Cult of Manann still holding strong. Of course then you reach Middenland, which, despite being technically south of Nordland and east of Marienburg, is suffering an even stronger winter than Westerland.
"Oh, aye, it's a cold northeastern wind that came barreling down in the night, I tell you," a burly Middenlander confesses as he warms his hands before the fire. "Ulric's Will, toughening us all up! The spring'll come, for sure, but Lady Rhya is gonna have to work a bit harder than usual for it!"
The man's sentiment is shared by the many Middenlanders in the coaching inn. It's winter, it's Ulric's time, and it is when the strong are winnowed from the weak. After all, one of the guiding principles of the Cult is that the lambs die in the cold where the wolf survives the winter. In the ancient days of the Empire, winter was a glorious time of war, even. All the harvesting that could be done, was done. There was no more gathering to be done. And that was when the devoted of Ulric went on the hunt, went to war. Something which allowed them to shock and overwhelm many of the other tribes they waged war against, at first, frothing zealots willing and able to march in the depths of winter to fight and kill. In time, the other tribes adapted, some turning to worship of Ulric out of fear and desperation, some simply accepting that the winter would not be as much a blanket of quiet and lowered activity as before. Of course, back then you mostly wore furs instead of plate armor and you kept what supplies you could on your body, rather than in wagons.
"I'm sure She'll do just fine," you reply absentmindedly on the way to bed.
This time around, you didn't get any White Wolf escorts. Either that's because you were done faster than you would have thought, or Gunthar or the Cult of Ulric was focused on other things, you don't know. Or, at the moment, particularly care.
(Traveling Through Middenland 1: 63-Ulric's Realm(20)+15=58/100)
It is cold, it is freezing, in fact, but for all of that, it is largely peaceful. You do not run across a rabid warherd, you are not ambushed by greenskins, and if there are any bandits trying their luck upon the roads of Middenland, you don't run into any of them. Regular flights on Oskana up into the air lets you keep a good eye on your surroundings, though Natasha has to remain on the ground to maintain the magic which ensures your progress is actually as good as it is. Even if Ulric hadn't decided to get one last good swipe in before Rhya starts booting him away from the land, your pace would certainly be relaxed. This period is just one more test for Magnus, in truth. He is, as of this moment, the main leader of Ostland, militarily and politically. It is also a test for Sabine, and you're already quite interested in hearing the reports of how she did sitting in the chair while her husband was out at war. Luckily, she has Anna on hand if things get too sticky, your daughter being especially good at locking down over rambunctious courtly proceedings. Sure, Sabine is a Nassau by birth, but she's a Hohenzollern by marriage and bloodshed both.
They'll be fine. Probably. Maybe.
(Traveling Through Middenland 2: 50-20+15=45/100)
On the latter half of your journey through Middenland, you do get some excitement. The rest of the retinue was currently camping out, piling snow high and forming it into small walls, fire built up with the aid of a few ripped off trees thanks to the ogres, while you and Natasha had gone for a flight together. It was pleasant time together, and private as well, insomuch as one could be private while riding a gryphon together. It's just lucky that neither of you were foolish enough to go flying around in the wilderness unequipped. Hell, you have to wear your armor anyway, if only to keep from freezing outright with Natasha pressed against you. As such, you are both able to witness a small merchant train under attack a few miles up the road from where your own retinue rests. The fires, the movement, all far too aggressive for anything pleasant to be going on.
"Should we try and get the others?" You shout through the winds.
"Let us see what can be done first!" Natasha shouts back, her grin fierce and bright in the darkness of the night air.
"WAAAAAAAAAARK!" Is Oskana's contribution.
(Dealing With Excitement: 46+Frederick Martial(19)+Natasha Martial(11)=76/100)
As it turns out, it was beastmen. Burly bastards, too. By size and stature, you would initially have assumed them to be bestigors, but that impression only lasts for a minute. As the merchants, those that are still alive, are thanking you and Natasha effusively, you inspect the bodies of the slain attackers. It was only two dozen, but they had still taken nearly twice their number in guards and merchants. Their fur was shockingly dark, but the amount of equipment and the quality meant that they were either just coming away from having the rest of the warherd wiped out, or were just regular gors that happened to be so extant in their physiology.
"These are practically as big as the gors in the Middle Mountains get sometimes," you muse aloud, "But we're a hell of a long way away from there."
"Well, that's some luck, then," one of the merchants says, stuttering from the cold and trying to shrink further into their furs. "The Graf is sending a hell of a lot of folk into the Middle Mountains this year, says they're gonna find the Brass Keep once and for all, then burn it to the ground."
"Really," you and Natasha say at the same time. "Is he now?"
"Oh yeah," one of the shivering guards speaks up as the rest of the merchant train assembles the dead and the living, trying to see what wagons remain viable. "I saw 'em, marshalling in Middenheim. White Wolves, wizards, tons of mercenaries."
Well. That explains the lack of White Wolves escorting you every step of the way.
"Is he leading them himself?" Natasha asks, wiping her blade clean on the fur of one of the beastmen.
"Dunno," the guard shrugs.
"Thank you again, both of you," the lead merchant says, shaking your hands vigorously as you prepare to leave.
"We're just down the road, we can help try to escort you back to town, if you'd like," you end up offering.
He doesn't really take that much convincing, seeing as over half his group is dead. You can't make money if you're dead, after all. Of course, once you and Natasha actually manage to introduce yourselves properly, that sets off a whole new round of thanks, of well wishes, and so on. You were somewhat surprised, given the reputation that you figured you must hold in Middenland, but then again, saving someone's life by swooping down out of the skies atop a gryphon can do wonders for your reputation for some individuals. As such, your groups join together for safety and warmth on the way to the next town before you and yours keep moving on towards Nordland – you could, technically, attempt to push through the roads Middenland has carved into the Middle Mountains to the territories you own, but that doesn't particularly interest you at the moment. You could also try to scoot past Middenheim to investigate this intensive marshalling, then east through Hochland.
But, if you are honest with yourself, you've had enough of neutral to hostile territory for a bit. It makes your teeth itch, if such a thing could make any sense. The pervading sense of suspicion, of potential threat, you have had enough of such things.
So, instead, you head up north through Nordland.
Besides, you have some thoughts to work your way through regarding your friend's province.
(Traveling Through Nordland: 75+15-15=75/100)
The face of so many Norscans that you met in Marienburg are stark and fresh in your mind as you meander your way up through Nordland. It is for that reason alone that you are so intensely aware of how far the blood has mingled. It likely means little and nothing at all to those who have never met a Norscan, or perhaps not in as large numbers as you have, but you can't help but remember the old saying which is often turned against Nordland – character runs in the blood. It's true, and yet it is not, at the same time. It really does seem to depend. You have witnessed a handful of those who have turned away from the inertia and weight of their entire civilization and history and can't help but wonder what it would take to do the same to you – not that it ever would, but if it could.
It's a question that you can't manage an answer for.
But you can see it now that you're really focusing on looking for it. In their builds, their faces. Even with those who have been helped by Stephan to resettle the southernmost Nordland settlements, it shows. When the Norscans came and colonized the land after the Great Plague, they came in great numbers. But now, so many centuries later, it is the Imperial blood which has shown supreme. Old runes are carved into the oldest homes, the largest ones, for protection and good luck. Things that might be Norscan, but have since been altered into an Imperial interpretation. The people of Nordland, most of them at least, are amongst the most vocally loyal and anti-Norscan, proud of their faith in Ulric and the Gods of the Empire, who actively work to continually prove their faith to an Empire that has steadily regarded them as ever so slightly 'other'.
It is a contemplative mood that fills you for the rest of your journey through Nordland as you ponder the matters of blood, home, and the Gods while you go through the latter half of the month of Jahrdrung.
(Heading Back Home: 51+15-15+Military Ostland Actions(20)=71/100)
You see a hell of a lot of movement on your way back to Wulfenburg as detachments of the Army of Ostland and the Army of the Forest rush this way and that. You also see a goodly number of mercenaries under contract to Ostland. Magnus is truly working hard on this. You hear tales being told by the citizenry already of the progress he's made, and the pits that have been dug to be filled with the dead greenskins and beastmen he's killing. Your heart swells almost to bursting at the news, and you are further pleased when you hear of how cautious some are being about Sabine sitting the chair. It would be too easy to denigrate her as some up jumped merchant, but there are literal tapestries that she paid for to be made which describe the minotaur that she and Magnus slew together, as well as dozens of other battles that they've fought alongside one another in the yearly fighting.
The both of them are doing, by all accounts, quite well.
You don't get to see Magnus upon your return to Wulfenburg, however, as he's busy out in the field, and you're more than happy to let Sabine keep sitting the chair. At some point in the distant future, she'll be doing so for Magnus just as often as Natasha did for you. And, on occasion, it might well be Magnus sitting while Sabine is out on her own independent ventures. The greatest weight off your back, however, is sitting at council and hearing Hagrid speak as to the increased fervent movement and actions of the faithful of Manann. Fishing, sailing, transporting, all of it. Faith restored, buoyed, supported. It might have been a bit violent, hellishly painful, and odd, but your time in Marienburg was not, in fact, as bad as you'd feared.
"I know you and Lady Hohenzollern took it easy getting back," Hagrid says towards the end of the meeting, "But by Esmeralda, I'm glad you started to head back to hearth and home when you did."
You blink, slowly, and lower your eighth mug of beer to look at him.
"I feel like there's more to than you just being happy to see us again," you say, bemused.
"Oh yes," he nods vigorously. "Reports are confused, but we ran the numbers, and a day after you left Westerland, there was an explosion in the Dead Canal, and fighting at the Baron's school."
You feel your relaxed heart rate start to speed up again, thumping in your chest as everyone present leans forward in their chairs.
"Excuse me?" Natasha says, head tilted as she looks at the halfling.
"Undead poured out of the sewers, and there was an entire…," he waves his hands about frantically for a moment, "There was a lot of fighting and chaos going on. Apparently, some of the sorcerers of Marienburg tried to escape being taken to the Colleges, while simultaneously the Sword of Justice did some investigating into the local criminal syndicates…and ended up waking a vampire lord? Or something like that? There are all sorts of rumors, separating the truth from fiction is proving difficult."
Shit.
A vampire. A vampire in Marienburg? Undead, pouring out of the sewers? It has been many years since the Vampire War, but your distaste for almost all undead remains as fierce and angry as ever.
"Do we need to rally the troops?" Is, surprisingly, a question from Sabine, her expression a mix of terror and fury. "Marienburg is too vital a point of trade to lose!"
"The matter was dealt with," Hagrid says quickly, "Honestly, Count Hohenzollern, the news was basically just behind you, by a day at most, all the way here to Wulfenburg."
At that, you slump back into your chair, rubbing at your forehead.
"So, rebellious magic users and a hidden vampire lord right beneath Marienburg. What, precisely, do you mean 'the matter was dealt with', Hagrid?" You ask, already tired enough by it being the end of the day.
"The Magic Colleges proved their superiority over the former, and the Sword of Justice handled the latter," he says as he looks through his notes. "Again, rumors abound, but the nearest account I have shows her fighting a running battle against him throughout the city streets and skies – the vampire upon an undead dragon and the Sword of Justice borrowing a Pegasus of a slain visiting Bretonnian noble. Or it might be a terrorgheist. Hard to tell."
He continues after realizing that no one was saying anything, merely staring at him.
"Uh…yes, ah, here we go," he throws some more notes to the side. "It apparently ended in the Cathedral of Verena, fitting I suppose, as they crashed through the roof. Or, rather, the dragon or terrorgheist did, after she cut one of the wings off. At which point they landed in the main area of the temple, dealing some damage to the statue of Verena…and…according to many witnesses, the Sword of Justice managed to impale the vampire upon the toppled spear of Verena as it lay upon the ground, along near half its length, before decapitating him with her blade. So ended the self-proclaimed Master of Shadows. Ahem," he coughs a bit at the end.
And you were only a day at most ahead of the news as it propagated through the Empire. Sweet merciful Shallya.
"Handrich's split purse," Sabine swears in shock.
"After that, there were a number of lesser vampires that were hunted down throughout the city, clearing out the rest of the undead. By now, the Knights Griffon are apparently heading to the city in their entire force to maintain order, the armed forces of Westerland being, well…," Hagrid trails off.
"Mercenaries," you grimly finish for him. "Tell me, is it possible that Westerland loaned out the majority of its troops to Middenland this year?"
Hagrid jerks back and stares at you.
"I…yes, how did you know? I was just coming to that."
"Heard it on the road," you shrug. "So, now the Knights Griffon are heading to keep the city safe in the meantime. How badly will this affect trade this year?"
"Less than you'd think," he says after a moment. "An 'Otto Steinroth' just escorted a fleet of ships from Lustria back to Marienburg, rather than use elven ships, which helped re-energize the masses."
"Plus, reconstruction efforts easily get funds moving," Sabine adds, a finger tapping at her lips. "I've heard of this Otto Steinroth. 'The Red Pirate of Marienburg'."
"He apparently prefers the term privateer," Hagrid snorts. "He's growing more famous for his deeds, certainly. Rejuvenated the city after the damage, at least. Doesn't seem to care overly much for the elves, though. Something about an incident which embarrassed him, I believe."
"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," you say, tapping a finger on the table, "And frankly, I'm rather sure that Marienburg has more than enough money to fix everything. It's just a matter of them being willing to do so."
In the end, that's where the matter ends, for now at least.
The world moves with, and without you, as it wished.
Even when it is against how you wish things might go.
-[] The Prince's Rest: Located in the Gold Mound and the most elite inn in the entire city that could have bulk rooms booked ahead of time, the Prince's Rest is famous for its high grade accommodations, including a specialized coachyard and stable for those fellows who might be eccentric enough to have non-standard mounts up to and including gryphons, pegasi, and in one notable instance a camel of Araby. (Cost: 100 Gold Crowns A Night For Entire Retinue)
-[] Gather Your Retinue, And Set Out For Home. You've had quite enough of this city for now, you think. (Begin Journey Home)
Marvelous Marienburg Finale
The Gold Mound is, even more than the Palace District, or just about any of the others, a place of true wealth. Here, for the first time, you start seeing those who you would normally associate as nobility, and yet after walking around Marienburg for a day the line is certainly far blurrier here than anywhere else. The sheer wealth on display is considerable. There is not just gold leafing and filigree, but actual solid gold here and there, capping the Classical colonnaded buildings as well. The gargoyles which sit upon more modern Imperial style are disturbingly realistic but are also oddly regal as well. Instead of being hunched monstrous creatures, whoever carved them made them appear more like simply winged men and women with minorly bestial additions, wielding spears and swords with shields and armor. The shrines here to the Gods are incredibly richly furnished, and even as you walk past in the evening you can see that every minute or so a passerby donates yet more coinage or otherwise expensive donations to them. To the point that there are a pair of Templars of the Gods for just about each one, a priest on staff not just to talk to the passerby who wish a momentary blessing of spot of conversation, but to also scoop the donations out of sight so that they don't start toppling off the altars of the shrines themselves every now and then.
There are cries and shouts even here of barkers, charging exorbitant prices for things that could be found elsewhere in the city for less, but the added prestige of being something purchased here is what gets those same street seller's sales. You, personally, don't much partake. No one in your retinue does. A wide berth is created around you, as by this time just about everyone in the city knows about what happened in the Temple District. And for all that this district seems far more likely to be in tune with Handrich, the Gold Mound itself is broken up into four different sections, all of which are connected not just by canals but by the greater waters themselves. Manann is directly responsible for the wealth of a great many of these merchants, in one way or another, not just in sea travel but in the incredibly vital arterial rivers which reach from one end of the Empire to the other. Your deed has them sweeping aside before you, some inclining their heads, others shouting up at you indistinctly with generally praise-related tones. As near as you can tell, at least. It's not like you were going to stop and talk to each and every one of them. Instead, you head directly for The Prince's Rest, because at this point you are dead on your feet. Oskana absolutely hated the traveling from the Temple District to get to this point, and so you are especially grateful that she is granted a large stable section solely for herself. Even then, you realize you'll be having to station some of the ogres nearby on rotation through the night, as the noise of the city still penetrates quite well.
Wealthy men and women from the Empire and beyond are within the establishment, but none of them elect to try and bother you as you and your retinue march up to your rooms.
"What a day," you huff as you fall back onto the bed, wrapping Natasha in your arms fully, letting the cold utterly banish the sticky heat created by the massive crowds of Marienburg.
"Please tell me that you're not planning on keeping us here any longer than necessary," she mumbles against you.
She may not have gotten keelhauled, but simply moving about for so many hours surrounded on all sides by the people of the city is plenty exhausting in its own way. Watching you get keelhauled, and that entire event in the Kislevan Way, was even more exhausting emotionally.
"No. We're done here. If we can't get a ship tomorrow, we'll head back the old-fashioned way," you say quietly, trying to will your body to ignore how it's beginning to redden and grow numb from so many points of contact.
"Good. I don't…I don't know what we should do about my sister. I'm pretty sure that if I tried to head to Kislev City to talk to her in person that I would be in danger of not making it," she mumbles.
The hot flush of anger is a scorching and sour serpent which comes to life in your belly at the possibility of that.
"Then I'd just have to burn every Bohka alive," you reply before running your hands through her hair.
"I know," she says with a smile before she snuggles a bit more into the bed and yawns. "Frederick?"
"Mmm?" You begin the frustrating process of extricating yourself and grabbing blankets to cover and warm you enough through the night despite laying next to her.
"All my love, forever."
"Forever."
============================================
(Ulric's Fury: 9/100)
You wake up to snow on the roof and filling the streets and alleys. The chill doesn't really affect you as much as it clearly has so many others, but it's astonishing to wake up and see a city that is so much more sluggish than it was when you arrived. The frantic, almost violent vibrance of the city has been cast in white molasses. The steady movement this way and that remains, but it is throttled nearly beyond belief. Even some of the waters in the bay, the lagoon, has chunks of ice floating about in them. Ogres and especially burly men are pushing plows down the streets, but this in turn makes thick piles which block the way of the stalls who have to shovel the snow further into the alleys to the sides and behind them. At which point still others shovel the snow as best they can into the canals and waters. Only enough, however, to make sure that people can still move about. Or, at least, that is how it is in most of the city. The menial workers of the Gold Mound are definitely paid enough to clear it out almost completely, leaving only some of the roofs piled on.
(Finding A Ship: 43-15(Cold Snap)=28/100)
The difference is immediate the moment you step out of the Gold Mound and start heading for the Dealers Market and on through Knife Alley. The markets are not shut down, you suspect that Marienburg itself would have to be wiped off the map for that to occur, but they are far more tepid than before. Half of the stalls are closed or shut temporarily from the cold, but those selling furs and thick layered clothing are certainly making a killing. In fact, you note that several people in the Dealers Market have changed out their wares entirely, apparently just for such a day, despite the fact that you know more than a few of them were selling things like pottery or wood carvings just the day before. Because of course they planned for such a thing.
"Ulric picked a hell of a time to give us a beating with Nachexen," you growl as you stare at the thick blanket of cold white which covers the road and plains equally outside the gates of the city.
In truth, however, you aren't too surprised. Not exactly, at least. Winter always lasts just a bit longer in Ostland than even for Nordland or Westerland. With Middenland, for all you know it's related to Ulric, given their propensity for especially powerful winters, but you suspect that Ostland suffers from a bit of cold bleeding over from Kislev, whose winters are as strong and often longer than those in the Empire. Which, just as with Middenland and Ulric, likely has a lot to do with its own nature. For all of that, however, the change is sudden. It is as if the God of Winter has personally exhaled his freezing breath down from the north, enough to strike the muggy warmth of Marienburg down. You'd not really studied the weather and seasonal patterns of Westerland, but then again they are facing the open water whereas that same cold has to fight its way down through the Northern March and the forests of Ostland just to get to Wulfenburg.
The most important thing is that this is going to severely slow down your travel back to your home. While you'd had blessed weather coming to Marienburg, the coin has flipped in the other direction.
Or, at least, it would be a nearly impassible obstacle if you weren't married to Natasha.
"Well. Here we go," she says cheerfully, outright, and undeniably energized as she strides at the head of the entire small train of bodies.
She doesn't sweep it aside in overt gusts of wind, or anything like that. That would be exhausting. Instead, she casts some sort of spell over the entire group, which is also somewhat tiring, that makes your travel easier. You don't pretend to know the specifics, or even the generalities, but your boots don't seem to sink into the snow nearly as much as they should. The slush never hardens into ice in a manner that would prove a detriment to your movements, or for anyone else further back in the train. This holds true even for the Pulverizers, though Natasha clearly has to put a bit more work into them than anyone else. Your wife, by contrast to just about everyone else, almost appears to be skating back and forth atop the uppermost layer of the snow, or otherwise dancing on it without ever sinking into it at all. The chill hangs about you all, but it does not leech the heat from your meat and bones like normal.
It's one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen.
(Traveling Out Of Westerland: 50-15+Cold Pathing(15)=50/100)
Though your speed is noticeably reduced, it isn't like you are rushing to get anywhere anyway. Beforehand, you'd pushed the entire group at breakneck pace to just try and get there as soon as possible. The weight off what might or might not happen with Manann is no longer pressing upon you, and frankly, you're happy just to see your wife enjoy herself as Nachexen shows that even with Winter's waning that it can still have some pretty sharp claws. The merchant trains traveling too and from Marienburg are significantly reduced in number, the traffic even reaching such an anemic point that you can go a few stretches without seeing anyone for miles. On the other hand, when you do, in fact, reach the coaching inns they are full to bursting, the innkeepers making an absolute killing as many have to stay much longer than they initially intended. It ends up costing you a bit more in your coin purses as well, but that's to be expected.
This time around, your passage through the toll station is waived once more, the good will of the Cult of Manann still holding strong. Of course then you reach Middenland, which, despite being technically south of Nordland and east of Marienburg, is suffering an even stronger winter than Westerland.
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"Oh, aye, it's a cold northeastern wind that came barreling down in the night, I tell you," a burly Middenlander confesses as he warms his hands before the fire. "Ulric's Will, toughening us all up! The spring'll come, for sure, but Lady Rhya is gonna have to work a bit harder than usual for it!"
The man's sentiment is shared by the many Middenlanders in the coaching inn. It's winter, it's Ulric's time, and it is when the strong are winnowed from the weak. After all, one of the guiding principles of the Cult is that the lambs die in the cold where the wolf survives the winter. In the ancient days of the Empire, winter was a glorious time of war, even. All the harvesting that could be done, was done. There was no more gathering to be done. And that was when the devoted of Ulric went on the hunt, went to war. Something which allowed them to shock and overwhelm many of the other tribes they waged war against, at first, frothing zealots willing and able to march in the depths of winter to fight and kill. In time, the other tribes adapted, some turning to worship of Ulric out of fear and desperation, some simply accepting that the winter would not be as much a blanket of quiet and lowered activity as before. Of course, back then you mostly wore furs instead of plate armor and you kept what supplies you could on your body, rather than in wagons.
"I'm sure She'll do just fine," you reply absentmindedly on the way to bed.
This time around, you didn't get any White Wolf escorts. Either that's because you were done faster than you would have thought, or Gunthar or the Cult of Ulric was focused on other things, you don't know. Or, at the moment, particularly care.
(Traveling Through Middenland 1: 63-Ulric's Realm(20)+15=58/100)
It is cold, it is freezing, in fact, but for all of that, it is largely peaceful. You do not run across a rabid warherd, you are not ambushed by greenskins, and if there are any bandits trying their luck upon the roads of Middenland, you don't run into any of them. Regular flights on Oskana up into the air lets you keep a good eye on your surroundings, though Natasha has to remain on the ground to maintain the magic which ensures your progress is actually as good as it is. Even if Ulric hadn't decided to get one last good swipe in before Rhya starts booting him away from the land, your pace would certainly be relaxed. This period is just one more test for Magnus, in truth. He is, as of this moment, the main leader of Ostland, militarily and politically. It is also a test for Sabine, and you're already quite interested in hearing the reports of how she did sitting in the chair while her husband was out at war. Luckily, she has Anna on hand if things get too sticky, your daughter being especially good at locking down over rambunctious courtly proceedings. Sure, Sabine is a Nassau by birth, but she's a Hohenzollern by marriage and bloodshed both.
They'll be fine. Probably. Maybe.
(Traveling Through Middenland 2: 50-20+15=45/100)
On the latter half of your journey through Middenland, you do get some excitement. The rest of the retinue was currently camping out, piling snow high and forming it into small walls, fire built up with the aid of a few ripped off trees thanks to the ogres, while you and Natasha had gone for a flight together. It was pleasant time together, and private as well, insomuch as one could be private while riding a gryphon together. It's just lucky that neither of you were foolish enough to go flying around in the wilderness unequipped. Hell, you have to wear your armor anyway, if only to keep from freezing outright with Natasha pressed against you. As such, you are both able to witness a small merchant train under attack a few miles up the road from where your own retinue rests. The fires, the movement, all far too aggressive for anything pleasant to be going on.
"Should we try and get the others?" You shout through the winds.
"Let us see what can be done first!" Natasha shouts back, her grin fierce and bright in the darkness of the night air.
"WAAAAAAAAAARK!" Is Oskana's contribution.
(Dealing With Excitement: 46+Frederick Martial(19)+Natasha Martial(11)=76/100)
As it turns out, it was beastmen. Burly bastards, too. By size and stature, you would initially have assumed them to be bestigors, but that impression only lasts for a minute. As the merchants, those that are still alive, are thanking you and Natasha effusively, you inspect the bodies of the slain attackers. It was only two dozen, but they had still taken nearly twice their number in guards and merchants. Their fur was shockingly dark, but the amount of equipment and the quality meant that they were either just coming away from having the rest of the warherd wiped out, or were just regular gors that happened to be so extant in their physiology.
"These are practically as big as the gors in the Middle Mountains get sometimes," you muse aloud, "But we're a hell of a long way away from there."
"Well, that's some luck, then," one of the merchants says, stuttering from the cold and trying to shrink further into their furs. "The Graf is sending a hell of a lot of folk into the Middle Mountains this year, says they're gonna find the Brass Keep once and for all, then burn it to the ground."
"Really," you and Natasha say at the same time. "Is he now?"
"Oh yeah," one of the shivering guards speaks up as the rest of the merchant train assembles the dead and the living, trying to see what wagons remain viable. "I saw 'em, marshalling in Middenheim. White Wolves, wizards, tons of mercenaries."
Well. That explains the lack of White Wolves escorting you every step of the way.
"Is he leading them himself?" Natasha asks, wiping her blade clean on the fur of one of the beastmen.
"Dunno," the guard shrugs.
"Thank you again, both of you," the lead merchant says, shaking your hands vigorously as you prepare to leave.
"We're just down the road, we can help try to escort you back to town, if you'd like," you end up offering.
He doesn't really take that much convincing, seeing as over half his group is dead. You can't make money if you're dead, after all. Of course, once you and Natasha actually manage to introduce yourselves properly, that sets off a whole new round of thanks, of well wishes, and so on. You were somewhat surprised, given the reputation that you figured you must hold in Middenland, but then again, saving someone's life by swooping down out of the skies atop a gryphon can do wonders for your reputation for some individuals. As such, your groups join together for safety and warmth on the way to the next town before you and yours keep moving on towards Nordland – you could, technically, attempt to push through the roads Middenland has carved into the Middle Mountains to the territories you own, but that doesn't particularly interest you at the moment. You could also try to scoot past Middenheim to investigate this intensive marshalling, then east through Hochland.
But, if you are honest with yourself, you've had enough of neutral to hostile territory for a bit. It makes your teeth itch, if such a thing could make any sense. The pervading sense of suspicion, of potential threat, you have had enough of such things.
So, instead, you head up north through Nordland.
Besides, you have some thoughts to work your way through regarding your friend's province.
(Traveling Through Nordland: 75+15-15=75/100)
The face of so many Norscans that you met in Marienburg are stark and fresh in your mind as you meander your way up through Nordland. It is for that reason alone that you are so intensely aware of how far the blood has mingled. It likely means little and nothing at all to those who have never met a Norscan, or perhaps not in as large numbers as you have, but you can't help but remember the old saying which is often turned against Nordland – character runs in the blood. It's true, and yet it is not, at the same time. It really does seem to depend. You have witnessed a handful of those who have turned away from the inertia and weight of their entire civilization and history and can't help but wonder what it would take to do the same to you – not that it ever would, but if it could.
It's a question that you can't manage an answer for.
But you can see it now that you're really focusing on looking for it. In their builds, their faces. Even with those who have been helped by Stephan to resettle the southernmost Nordland settlements, it shows. When the Norscans came and colonized the land after the Great Plague, they came in great numbers. But now, so many centuries later, it is the Imperial blood which has shown supreme. Old runes are carved into the oldest homes, the largest ones, for protection and good luck. Things that might be Norscan, but have since been altered into an Imperial interpretation. The people of Nordland, most of them at least, are amongst the most vocally loyal and anti-Norscan, proud of their faith in Ulric and the Gods of the Empire, who actively work to continually prove their faith to an Empire that has steadily regarded them as ever so slightly 'other'.
It is a contemplative mood that fills you for the rest of your journey through Nordland as you ponder the matters of blood, home, and the Gods while you go through the latter half of the month of Jahrdrung.
(Heading Back Home: 51+15-15+Military Ostland Actions(20)=71/100)
You see a hell of a lot of movement on your way back to Wulfenburg as detachments of the Army of Ostland and the Army of the Forest rush this way and that. You also see a goodly number of mercenaries under contract to Ostland. Magnus is truly working hard on this. You hear tales being told by the citizenry already of the progress he's made, and the pits that have been dug to be filled with the dead greenskins and beastmen he's killing. Your heart swells almost to bursting at the news, and you are further pleased when you hear of how cautious some are being about Sabine sitting the chair. It would be too easy to denigrate her as some up jumped merchant, but there are literal tapestries that she paid for to be made which describe the minotaur that she and Magnus slew together, as well as dozens of other battles that they've fought alongside one another in the yearly fighting.
The both of them are doing, by all accounts, quite well.
You don't get to see Magnus upon your return to Wulfenburg, however, as he's busy out in the field, and you're more than happy to let Sabine keep sitting the chair. At some point in the distant future, she'll be doing so for Magnus just as often as Natasha did for you. And, on occasion, it might well be Magnus sitting while Sabine is out on her own independent ventures. The greatest weight off your back, however, is sitting at council and hearing Hagrid speak as to the increased fervent movement and actions of the faithful of Manann. Fishing, sailing, transporting, all of it. Faith restored, buoyed, supported. It might have been a bit violent, hellishly painful, and odd, but your time in Marienburg was not, in fact, as bad as you'd feared.
"I know you and Lady Hohenzollern took it easy getting back," Hagrid says towards the end of the meeting, "But by Esmeralda, I'm glad you started to head back to hearth and home when you did."
You blink, slowly, and lower your eighth mug of beer to look at him.
"I feel like there's more to than you just being happy to see us again," you say, bemused.
"Oh yes," he nods vigorously. "Reports are confused, but we ran the numbers, and a day after you left Westerland, there was an explosion in the Dead Canal, and fighting at the Baron's school."
You feel your relaxed heart rate start to speed up again, thumping in your chest as everyone present leans forward in their chairs.
"Excuse me?" Natasha says, head tilted as she looks at the halfling.
"Undead poured out of the sewers, and there was an entire…," he waves his hands about frantically for a moment, "There was a lot of fighting and chaos going on. Apparently, some of the sorcerers of Marienburg tried to escape being taken to the Colleges, while simultaneously the Sword of Justice did some investigating into the local criminal syndicates…and ended up waking a vampire lord? Or something like that? There are all sorts of rumors, separating the truth from fiction is proving difficult."
Shit.
A vampire. A vampire in Marienburg? Undead, pouring out of the sewers? It has been many years since the Vampire War, but your distaste for almost all undead remains as fierce and angry as ever.
"Do we need to rally the troops?" Is, surprisingly, a question from Sabine, her expression a mix of terror and fury. "Marienburg is too vital a point of trade to lose!"
"The matter was dealt with," Hagrid says quickly, "Honestly, Count Hohenzollern, the news was basically just behind you, by a day at most, all the way here to Wulfenburg."
At that, you slump back into your chair, rubbing at your forehead.
"So, rebellious magic users and a hidden vampire lord right beneath Marienburg. What, precisely, do you mean 'the matter was dealt with', Hagrid?" You ask, already tired enough by it being the end of the day.
"The Magic Colleges proved their superiority over the former, and the Sword of Justice handled the latter," he says as he looks through his notes. "Again, rumors abound, but the nearest account I have shows her fighting a running battle against him throughout the city streets and skies – the vampire upon an undead dragon and the Sword of Justice borrowing a Pegasus of a slain visiting Bretonnian noble. Or it might be a terrorgheist. Hard to tell."
He continues after realizing that no one was saying anything, merely staring at him.
"Uh…yes, ah, here we go," he throws some more notes to the side. "It apparently ended in the Cathedral of Verena, fitting I suppose, as they crashed through the roof. Or, rather, the dragon or terrorgheist did, after she cut one of the wings off. At which point they landed in the main area of the temple, dealing some damage to the statue of Verena…and…according to many witnesses, the Sword of Justice managed to impale the vampire upon the toppled spear of Verena as it lay upon the ground, along near half its length, before decapitating him with her blade. So ended the self-proclaimed Master of Shadows. Ahem," he coughs a bit at the end.
And you were only a day at most ahead of the news as it propagated through the Empire. Sweet merciful Shallya.
"Handrich's split purse," Sabine swears in shock.
"After that, there were a number of lesser vampires that were hunted down throughout the city, clearing out the rest of the undead. By now, the Knights Griffon are apparently heading to the city in their entire force to maintain order, the armed forces of Westerland being, well…," Hagrid trails off.
"Mercenaries," you grimly finish for him. "Tell me, is it possible that Westerland loaned out the majority of its troops to Middenland this year?"
Hagrid jerks back and stares at you.
"I…yes, how did you know? I was just coming to that."
"Heard it on the road," you shrug. "So, now the Knights Griffon are heading to keep the city safe in the meantime. How badly will this affect trade this year?"
"Less than you'd think," he says after a moment. "An 'Otto Steinroth' just escorted a fleet of ships from Lustria back to Marienburg, rather than use elven ships, which helped re-energize the masses."
"Plus, reconstruction efforts easily get funds moving," Sabine adds, a finger tapping at her lips. "I've heard of this Otto Steinroth. 'The Red Pirate of Marienburg'."
"He apparently prefers the term privateer," Hagrid snorts. "He's growing more famous for his deeds, certainly. Rejuvenated the city after the damage, at least. Doesn't seem to care overly much for the elves, though. Something about an incident which embarrassed him, I believe."
"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," you say, tapping a finger on the table, "And frankly, I'm rather sure that Marienburg has more than enough money to fix everything. It's just a matter of them being willing to do so."
In the end, that's where the matter ends, for now at least.
The world moves with, and without you, as it wished.
Even when it is against how you wish things might go.
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How coincidental. And I honestly mean that in a non-sarcastic manner.
Nicely done child.
split off the paragraph here
Did you mean to live off the =75/100 because +15-15 cancel out?
- Location
- barking
well lets wait and see if this guy I wonder what else he will get up to
- Location
- Poland
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Damn. Almost wish we brought more damn soldiers.
Wherever we go, we get in trouble.
...
Except now. SUCK IT, MARIENBURG!
It's honestly nice to avoid trouble for once. Especially the "everything is in chaos" kind of trouble.
Wherever we go, we get in trouble.
...
Except now. SUCK IT, MARIENBURG!
It's honestly nice to avoid trouble for once. Especially the "everything is in chaos" kind of trouble.
- Location
- Spain
Are we lucky because we managed to barely miss this mess?
Are we unlucky because we managed to miss something that looks extremely fun to read?
Are we both?
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I wonder if that was Mundvard the Cruel...
But I imagine casualties and damage would have been significantly greater.
As is, by dint of the Sword and the Knights Griffon, Magnus has saved Marienburg. It will probably help balance the backlash from aiming to change their post-Great War way of governance.
I suppose their relatively recent habit of loaning out their troops wouldn't have been so nearly fatal if not for the fact the attack came from within. Well, I say fatal but they could have probably handled it on their own even without the Sword of Justice. It's a big city.
But I imagine casualties and damage would have been significantly greater.
As is, by dint of the Sword and the Knights Griffon, Magnus has saved Marienburg. It will probably help balance the backlash from aiming to change their post-Great War way of governance.
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Fixing, thanks.
- Location
- Right behind you
This has to be a gag. If we stayed another day then by pure random chance we get another Lovely Laurelorn only we would have been much more prepared for it?
Nuh-uh. That's way too convenient. And if it isn't a gag, then someone sacrificed a goat to the dice gods.
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I knew Marienburg was lousy with vampires!
There was an option to try to track down Evangeline after we were told she was busy kicking over rocks to see what crawled out. She seems to have handled it well but probably would have liked to have our retinue to smash something with. Oh well!
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Local criminal syndicates...yeah, I'm positive that the vampire was Mundvard.
ConfusedCanuck
Where did it all go wrong?
- Location
- Neverland
Wow we actually missed the danger for once! This is a pleasant surprise and better yet no one can blame us for this since it's probably well know we where there for the cult and nothing else which is further proven when we leave the day after our trial!
And hey at least Marineburgs own little "magic school" will be shut down after this and the showing the colleges gave them. And I'd hope that Marineburg will learn from this and keep their troops near home in case of emergencies like this but I doubt their greed will let them.
And hey at least Marineburgs own little "magic school" will be shut down after this and the showing the colleges gave them. And I'd hope that Marineburg will learn from this and keep their troops near home in case of emergencies like this but I doubt their greed will let them.
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Convenient weather I suppose for the faithful of Ulric...maybe not so much the rest. It remains to be seen how the Beastmen fare in such weather.
Mundvard was a relatively big deal, considering he equalled the Glottkin in battle. Also a really cool Vampire, a Necrarch Criminal Mastermind who knew how to move carefully in society and had a fierce loyalty to his chosen home? Way to buck the mad-evil sorceror in his dark tower preparing the end of the world of the living stereotype for Necrarchs.
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