Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

[Neshuakadal]

A New Home. A New World.

Spoiler: Omake

The mountains blocked out the worst of the sun's glare and Markus hated it. Looming mountains closed around him like a cage. He wanted the beautiful skies of his home. The wide open fields that stretched endless before him. The thing he wanted most though was his friends. Matha's legs dangled outside the covered cart as she waved and giggled to whoever was near. It grated on his ears. Didn't she realize that she wouldn't see any of her friends again? That they might be stuck here surrounded by dull grey mountains for the rest of their life? He hunched down and drew his cloak around him. Hopefully sleep would have dreams of better things and he could spend time away from the tragedy his life had become.

A jolt of the cart had Markus slammed into something hard. Head spinning, he groaned and opened bleary eyes to his sister leaning away from him holding her head. "Martha what happened?"

"What happened is your head is a brick! I was trying to wake you up and what do I get? A cracked skull! Sigmar does it hurt!"

"Why were you so close?"

"Well, I called out to you and you didn't wake up. So… I was going to slap you awake."

"Slap me?" Markus said in disbelief. "Why would you slap me?"

"Well, the water we have is for drinking." Martha replied primly. "So I couldn't pour it on you. What else would you have me do? Tickle you awake?"

"Please sis. I don't want to be tickled."

"What's that? That moppy face makes me want to tickle you. Cheer up or be tickled!"

As Martha moved to attack Father peered through the curtain separating the covered cart. "I hear Markus is awake. Thank you Martha. Why don't you two come up front? We are almost to the East Gate. It's quite the sight."

Martha smirked. "You got lucky today!" Then she scuttled forward taking care to avoid knocking over any of the precious few knicknacks they carried with them to the ends of the world.

Markus grumbled while he spread his cloak over his space of the cart before he reluctantly made his way to the front. Crisp blue skies spread past two monstrous peaks and the gate that saddled them. The great gates of aged wood had been opened for the small cavaren. All around Markus could see spears of shining silver and banners fluttering over the harsh stone of the walls.

The silence that had overtaken the family as they gazed on the sight before them was rather peaceful Markus thought, until Father broke it with a whimsical tone. "It certainly is regal looking. Don't you think so sweetheart?"

Mother giggled. "It certainly is! Just look at all those brave, and young, men. It's almost enough to make my heart flutter. You must be so excited Martha. Just you wait. We'll find someone right for you soon."

Markus thought he saw a shadow flicker behind his sister's eyes before the usual cheer returned.

Inch by inch their cart crept towards those great gates. Inch by inch dread grew in Markus' heart. As his family passed through the shadows of the entrance he knew that he had passed a threshold. Now he could only look forward to a life of misery.

The process of getting a place in what was apparently called Karag Nar was surprisingly simple. Father had been schooled in numbers and letters so many businesses would likely compete for his services and Mother was a midwife, something the Karag apparently needed badly, which made the process go smoothly. Soon a grizzled man with a fiendish scar running over his eye and through his lips introduced himself as Abel and guided them into the Karag.

A grand staircase seemingly riven from the very mountain stretching far into the peak was the first sight that greeted Markus. A black stallion shedding wisps of fog speeding past was the next. Abel had guided them through one of the smaller side entrances and Markus was glad he did. It gave a sense of detachment from the streams of people drifting through the passages around the staircase. And it prevented them from getting run over by a galloping shadow horse.

"What was that?" Markus said as he peered around the door and watched the horse disappear through the main gates of the mountain.

"That was Loremaster Mathilde Weber." Said Abel. "She lives at the peak of the mountain. Usually she moves slower. Must be something important to ride so fast."

"How does she keep a horse at the peak? Must be a lot of work to move all that food up the mountain." Martha said while peeking past Markus to look at the bustle filling the center of the mountain.

Abel chuckled. It was soft and scratchy sound like dry hands rubbing. "The loremaster is a wizard. I think she just summons the horse from the shadows or something. Don't know where it comes from but she uses it almost everyday to get up and down the Karag."

Mother tittered. "A wizard? Truly? I have met many people claiming to be wizards but they were all charlatans. It is hard to believe a wizard would be here."
Abel shrugged his shoulders. "Saw her shadow crush an orc on its own. Pretty sure she's a wizard."

Markus saw his mother's redding face and tried to shift the conversation. "Do we know where our rooms will be yet?"

"Probably in the first couple levels." Abel said. "Almost everyone lives there. Mountains have a lot of room so there's no point in walking up a lot of stairs yet. We have some rooms set aside in a tavern for you tonight. Why don't we walk that way?"

Markus sighed in relief when he saw Father start talking with Mother. He couldn't hear their whispers but Mother's face started taking a much softer complexion. Disaster averted. The gloomy stone around him seemed to lighten as they entered a new section of the mountain. Yet even as Markus saw familiar clothing styles he felt an invisible pressure pushing him closer to his family. He couldn't understand anyone around him. Words always flowed like water. Following conversations had been easy for him for as long as he could remember. Sharing the juiciest pieces of news had always been fun with his friends, but here Markus felt like he was drowning. Only a word in three or four seemed familiar. He couldn't understand anything being said. He couldn't understand. What was being said? Were they talking about him? He didn't know. He couldn't…

"You alright there kid?" Abel's voice pierced the fog that had descended.

Markus wiped sweat away from his neck. "Y… Yah. I'm fine." His voice was shaky and weak. He hated this. He hated those looks of concern. He was fine. He was strong.

Abel simply hummed before turning around and walking again. It was Martha that broke the uneasy silence that settled over their little group.

"Everything sounds really familiar but I can't really understand what people are talking about. What language is it? Estalian?"

Abel cocked his head. "Hmm…? Ah, we don't really speak Estalian but some words are used. It's really a mix between Imperial, Estalian, Tilean, Bretonnian, and Dwarf. It's a mess but it's pretty easy to pick up. There are plenty of people who speak Imperial like me so if you don't understand something just ask around and someone will explain it."

Markus felt his breath lighten. People spoke Imperial here. At least some. That would help.

It was only a couple minutes later that they arrived at the inn they would stay the night at. They got two rooms. One for Father and Mother and one for Martha and him. Abel left shortly after the rooms were paid for leaving the family alone for the first time since they stepped into the mountain. They sat around a single table in the corner of the inn. A fire roared pleasantly in the hearth and before long bowls of steaming soup with sides of roasted meat were served. It was the best meal Markus remembered having since they had left home. The soup had an enjoyable earthy taste and the meat was still tender. The peace of the meal was soon broken by Mother.

"This has been an exciting day! New people and new places! How exciting! I do wonder how that man, Abel, got his scar. Positively dreadful looking. He would have been quite the looker without that. Has anyone caught your eye Martha? I saw you looking around. Anyone pop out at you?"

Martha sputtered. "No Mother. I haven't seen anyone yet. I have just been enjoying all the new sights. Not really looking for anyone."

Mother tisked. "It's never too early to start thinking about marriage Martha. I will help you as much as I can, but you need to put your best foot forward too." Mother smiled at that. "If we work together we will find you a lovely man in no time. Just you see!"

Martha looked down into her soup. "Of course, mother."

"Don't be gloomy Martha. It won't take long at all. We can talk about this later of course. Speaking of gloomy though, Markus have you seen anyone your age to be friends with?"

Markus froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. The last thing he had been looking for was people to be friends with. "...Yes."

Mother clapped. "That's great Markus! I know the trip has been hard on you, but you should see if you can make some friends tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Won't we be moving everything in tomorrow?"

"Well yes." Mother said. "But we don't have much stuff and it won't take long. You should take the chance to run around. You have been stuck in one place for too long I think. Just meet up here for lunch tomorrow and then we'll show you where we are staying."

"Yes, Mother."

Having said her piece Mother turned and started talking to Father. Markus tuned them out. He needed to figure out how to spend an entire morning in a place he didn't know around people he couldn't understand. He already felt sick. He hadn't figured anything out by the time he fell asleep. His roiling stomach was his only companion in the dark. And Martha's snores.

Markus often enjoyed mornings. The sun's rays just barely peeking over the horizon. Birds slowly waking up and singing to each other. There was often a peaceful beauty in mornings. None of that existed here in the mountain. The only way he realized that it was morning was hearing the other doors around him open and close. He stumbled around in the pure blackness of the room until he found the door and cracked it open. The wavering light of lamps inched into the room and let him see enough to prepare for the day. He didn't even manage to finish breakfast before Mother thrusted him out of the door and told him to enjoy the day.

The piece of bread still in Markus' mouth turned to ash as he looked around the carven street. Already he could feel that pressure isolating him, pushing him back. He was strong. He was brave. He could do this.

He stood in the entrance of an inn and looked around. A small copper coin found its way to his hand and he flipped it. Heads. Alright time to turn right. He wandered down the street for a while, looking at the different shops and stores. Most of them looked new. Crates still on the floor new. People and filled shops vanished at steady rate as he wandered. He had yet to see a single kid his age. That was good. He could just tell Mother that he hadn't seen anyone. That would work. If he found a quiet corner he could just nap until Mother's time limit expired. A couple of twists and turns later there were almost no people in the streets. This would be perfect. He peeked into a door that no one seemed to be near and griminced. On second thought this wouldn't work at all.

It looked like the gambling hall from back home but much grander. Solid tables sat evenly spaced apart. A fighting ring with fresh sawdust dominated one corner. The ceiling was tall and the room was well lit. There was even a large cat made of black and grey rock at the back. Several people ambled about cleaning the tables and mugs. It was in every way the complete opposite of what people normally pictured when someone mentioned a gambling hall. Yet, it was still clearly a gambling hall. If Mother learned he put one toe in here he would be lucky if he had a hide left. Just as he started to pull back a familiar voice spoke up from behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Abel said.

"Abel? Ahh… Mother sent me to look for kids my age so I am just wandering around."

Abel snorted. "Markus right? Well you won't find anyone your age here."

"I know!" Markus snapped. "That's why I was leaving."

Abel looked him over and then sighed. "Do you want to find friends Markus?"

"Mother told me to find friends."

Abel rubbed his hair. "You did say that but what do you want? Do you want to meet some kids?"

Markus shrugged.

"Fine." Said Abel. "It looks like today is your lucky day kid. I know a group of rascals your age hangs about near here. I'll show you where they are."

With that Abel turned away and motioned Markus to follow him. Markus paused for a second before following him. Abel seemed like a good guy but he might tell mother if he slunk off to take a nap.

It wasn't long at all before Markus stood inside a room with other's his age. It had been maybe a five minute walk with Abel.There were about five other kids sprawled out on some broken pieces of what Markus thought may have been furniture at one point. Now though Markus stood off to the side while Abel explained the situation to the other kids as they eyed him up. At least that is what Markus thought Abel was doing since the words flowing back and forth were as alien as they were yesterday. The apparent leader of this group finally acquiesced and Abel turned back to Markus.

"Alright. These rascals will show you around the mountain and get you back to your inn by lunchtime. Enjoy."

With that Abel disappeared into the maze of stone they had left. Silence stretched on for a while as everyone sized each other up. Finally one of the leaner kids walked up and offered his hand.

"Good to meet you Markus. I'm Otto."

"Nice to meet you Otto."

"So here's the deal. I am the only one who can speak a lick of Imperial. You'll be sticking with me today."

Markus shrugged. "Alright."

"First things first though. We are all part of the Undumgi here. The Undumgi are brave so you have to pass a test of courage. Make sure you're brave enough to hang with us."

"Hang with you? Why would I want that? I'm out here because my mom wants me to be."

Otto nodded sympthically. "I hear yah. Mums can nagg something fierce. But you've been bored haven't yah? Nowhere to run free in the mountain."

Markus nodded slowly. "Doesn't seem like much to do around here."

Otto grinned. "That's where ya wrong. There are plenty of awesome places to go or see. And we'll show ya. You just have to pass the test."

"What's the test?"

"Come on! We'll show you." At that Otto said something to the other kids. Everyone else whooped and started to move towards the door. Markus got jostled some as everyone pushed past him and then Otto started pushing towards the door.

"Hurry up!"

The small herd dashed through the passageways. Whizzing around corners and seeing who can make the tightest turn. Or maybe racing to the end of a long stretch of hallways. Markus found himself caught up in the moment. Even found himself laughing with the others when someone misjudged a turn and tumbled. It was fun. Fun to finally be able to run instead of sitting on a cart all day. Fun to just be around kids his own age. Those feelings dimmed quickly as they approached the test. Everyone paused to take a breath and Otto patted him on the shoulder before directing him to an innocent looking door.

"Alright let's take a peek so you can see what the test is."

Markus looked into the room. A pillar greeted him. It rose from floor to ceiling looking like it was made from steel yet there was an unearthly glow to it. If one could call a tinge that seemed to eat light a glow. Markus' hairs stood up and he felt shivers start racing down his spine.

"That's the Rod of Doom." Otto said. "It runs straight up the mountain. All the way from dwarf hell to the top of Weber's tower. We call it the Rod of Doom because it burns things up. A couple months ago a huge, and I mean huge, waaagh came by. The Rod of Doom flashed once and they all died. Or at least almost all of the orcs did. Burned them right up. I heard their eyes popped out first. Just pop!" At this Otto squished his eyelids together with his fingers. "As the orcs eyes rolled around on the ground the orcs started burning up from the inside. They shriveled up like grapes in the sun before turning to ash."

"That didn't happen." Markus said. His skin felt clammy and his stomach churned.

"By Sigmar I swear it happened." Otto said. "I was here when the orcs invaded. I was watching them and in one instant that sea of green turned black."

"Alright. Alright. What's the test then?"

"Just walk into the room." Otto said with a jaunty grin.

Markus stared into the room. The pillar stood undaunted. He was brave. He could do this. He just needed to touch the pillar. Step by step he walked into the room. His own footsteps sounded like the steps of Morr. Inch by inch he crept closer. He was well into the room by now. An aura that seemed to eat light danced right before his finger tips. He looked down at his feet. A chasm stared back. The rod descended down and down into the inky blackness. If he were to see the flicker of some unearthly flame for a moment he would not doubt his eyes. His fingers strained as he pushed them forward begging him to go no further. He could do this though. He was brave.

A heavy hand twisted him around just before he succeeded. Otto stood there with his hand on Markus' shoulder.

"Alright!" Otto said as he continued to pull Markus away from the pillar. "That was fun. Why did you try to touch the pillar?"

"That was the test right?"

"No. You just had to enter the room. Which you did. So good for you. But..., lets not touch the rod of doom."

"I just had to enter the room?"

"Yah. We would have stopped you sooner but Travis here," Otto nodded at one of the kids who looked away and tried to whistle, "wanted to see how far you would go. I jumped in when I saw you leaning forward. It's not likely anything would have happened, but the pillar is sacred so we probably shouldn't touch it."

"I only had to enter?" Markus muttered. Then he caught the last part Otto said. "It's sacred? To who?" Markus could not imagine who that ominous pillar could be sacred too.

Otto nodded. "Yah. It's sacred to Gazul, the dwarf god of death. He can be a big deal around here."

"Really?"

"Yah. Not as big as the big three but there are a lot of super old tombs in Karak Eight Peaks. My Pa told me that when they first got here a dwarf stopped by the undumgi and told the do's and don'ts of tombs just in case they stumbled on one while fighting."

"Who are the big three? And what are the do's and don'ts? Why are there old tombs here?"

Otto looked back at Markus. "Ehhh… We can talk about that later. We'll teach you everything you need to know about living here at the Karak. Right guys?"

At this everyone else stuck their hand out. Markus shook each one and they all welcomed him. At least that is what Markus thought. He still couldn't understand a word they said.

"Right! Welcome to the gang Markus. For now though let's get some sun."

"Sun?"

Otto laughed. "Did you think that we would huddle under the mountain all day? We might be Undumgi but we're not dwarfs. Keep up!"

With that Otto sprinted off followed closely by the rest of the group. Their laughter echoed down the stone passageways. They followed a series of narrow paths until they came to boulder. Markus looked around the dead end while Otto fiddled with something near the ground.

"Why are we here?" Markus asked.

"This is the door." Said Otto as he patted the boulder in front of them. "It's all about finding the right leverage. And here we go!"

The door slid open with a whisper and blazing sunlight swept into the mountain. Markus stepped out onto a small alcove in the mountain. Above him was a cloudless blue sky. Below him on the left he saw the stout East Gate with it's banners snapping pleasantly in the breeze. The bright light chased away a chill he had forgotten about and he was tempted to lay down on the rocks and simply enjoy the sun. Then he saw Otto and the others doing just that. The rocks were warm and the breeze cool. If he closed his eyes he could imagine that he was back in the open plains. His thoughts started to drift and his eyes grew heavy as the others in his little group started to talk with their nonsense.

A poke brought him back and he looked at Otto who was grinning at him. The rest of the boys had crowded near one of the outcroppings and were peering over at something.

"You're in luck!" Otto said. "Adela is practicing today!"

"Adela?"

"Yah Adela!" Otto nodded vigorously. "You have just gotta see her!"

Markus almost stumbled as Otto pulled him up but he got his footing and crouched next to everyone else. Down below it looked like a small practice range had been set up. Like the ones back home. The interesting thing was the small almost barely visible girl stepping up.

"What's happening Otto?"

"She is a wizard Markus!"

"A wizard?" A red flash flew between the girl and the targets as if to prove the point.

"Yah! She can do all of these cool things with fire." Otto said. "She doesn't come out here as often as she used too, but it's always fun to watch things burn."

"But… Isn't she scary?" Markus said while he rubbed his arms. The hairs on his arms were standing up as he witnessed the unnatural blur of red whiz through the air.

"Scary? Not really. The wizards tend to stay to themselves but when they pop up they are so cool." Otto said.

"Cool how?"

"During the Battle of the Caldera, the big epic final fight for Karak Eight Peaks, some of the dwarf runelords started boiling the soil."

"Boiling the soil?" Markus asked in disbelief.

"Yah! Boiling the soil. Anyway two of the wizards are immune to heat, Adela is one of them, so they fought the orcs on boiling soil. I couldn't see it of course but I heard about it from the halflings who watched them. Just imagine. Fighting on soil that's bubbling and popping like stew on the fire all while it's hot enough to cook meat from bone." Otto sighed. "If only I could do something as cool."

Markus looked back towards the mountain and the rod of doom that laid inside. "I thought the rod of doom cooked all the orcs from the inside out."

Otto laughed. "Only most. Some of the cowards managed to dig themselves underground in time to avoid being cooked so they got boiled instead."

Markus flinched as he saw another red blur speed across the ground below. "Well, magic isn't something I should be dealing with. Mother would tan my hide if she caught me thinking about magic. She doesn't like it at all."

Otto nodded. "A lot of people from near the empire are like that. Wizards aren't that scary. Speaking of mothers we should get you back to yours."

Markus noted how far along the sun was in the sky. "That might be best. Looks like it's getting close to lunch time. How should I meet up with you guys later though?"

Otto tapped his chin. "Do you know the staircase?"

Markus nodded. There was only one staircase big enough to be a landmark. "What about it?"

Otto nodded decisively. "Good. We don't have time today to show you all the places we meet up, but I can meet you there tomorrow. If you're free?"

"I can probably convince Mother to let go."

"Great! We'll need to hurry though to get you back!"

The group once more moved through the cleanly cut stone passageways. Markus made sure to remember the path taken. He would enjoy spending more time in the sun. Soon enough he was waving goodbye to the group as they disappeared into the crowd around the inn. He stepped into the inn he was greeted by Mother's smile.

"I saw that you made some friends. Did you enjoy the morning?" Mother asked.

Markus shuffled his feet. "Yah… It was fun. There was a nice spot where you can get out of the mountain and enjoy the sun so that was nice."

"That's great! Oh I am so happy you found some kids your age. I was worried about you on the trip you know but I think everything is going to turn out all right. Please get your sister. She went to your room a little while ago. I would like to eat lunch with everyone before we finish moving everything to our new place." With that Mother hummed to herself before setting up at one of the clear tables.

Markus walked down the corner and counted the doors until he got to the room he was currently sharing with his sister. He hoped that situation would change quickly. It should. There was a lot of room in this mountain. He opened the door and saw his sister stiffen at the noise.

"Hey. Mom wants everyone together for lunch. Are you ready?"

"Yes. I'll just be a second Markus."

"Alright."

Markus closed the door and leaned against the opposite wall. A little while later Martha walked out. Before he could stop himself he spoke up.

"Are you alright?"

Martha looked at him with slightly puffy eyes. "Yes."

"It looks like you've been crying. Are you sure everything is alright?"

Martha snapped. "I. Am. Fine. Mother and I have had a bit of a disagreement. Nothing to worry yourself over."

Markus tightened his shoulders. "Sorry for asking." As he started to make his way down the hallway Martha sighed.

"I am sorry Markus. Things have been very stressful for me lately. Mother is pushing very hard for me to get married."

Markus looked up to see Martha staring off into the distance and rubbing her arm. Rubbing the scar that Markus knew has never stopped itching.

"I thought you wanted to marry?" Said Markus. "At least you've never said anything against everytime Mother has brought it up."

"I've said everything I could think of. Nothing has moved Mother at all."

"What do you want to do?" Asked Markus.

"I would like to fight. It's just a silly dream, but I have always wanted to swing a sword." Martha responded.

Markus could see tears trailing down her cheek.

She was picking at her dress, right where the scar was, now. "I just don't want to be helpless. Like… like last time. I thought moving here was a chance to learn. That's why I was so excited. But, maybe those rumors were just lies in the end."

"What rumors are you talking about?" Markus asked.

"Oh. It's nothing really. Some of the other girls back home were talking with me about how women could fight like men here at the ends of the world. That a girl managed to carve out a kingdom for herself with just her sword and even led armies into battle. I am doubtful of that now. Don't know why I ever believed it in the first place really."

"It might be true."

Martha turned to face him. "What was that Markus?"

"I said it might be true. I was hanging out with some guys today. We watched a girl using some archery posts for practice. She was really good. I think almost every shot landed somewhere on the target. I could ask the guys for you. To see if they know a way for a girl to start picking up some practice."
"You would do that for me?" Martha asked. "I know you don't like being around people most of the time."

"Of course."

Martha laughed a quiet bitter laugh. "What a sight I must be. Comforted by my younger brother. Normally I'm the one cheering you up."

Markus scratched the back of his neck. "I mean if you don't want help…"

Martha was quick to respond. "Thank you for offering. If you can find out anything it would set my mind at ease. Could you give me a minute though. I need to make myself presentable to Mother.

Markus nodded. Martha dipped back into their room. A few minutes later she emerged looking like her normal cheerful self. They walked down the warm stone hallway together.

Omake for the Omake throne @BoneyM

Well this one got away from me so I put it into a spoiler so people don't have to scroll past it constantly. All in all I enjoyed writing this piece. If you have critiques please share them with me as they help me become a better writer.

 

[storybookknight]

I had the idea for this omake ages ago, but since the quest has caught up to the time period it's set in, I decided it was time for me to get up off my ass and finish it. Hope you enjoy!


"All right, that concludes the official business for this council meeting," Belegar said, the eight sapphires on his crown sparkling in the runic lamplight of the Citadel's main council chamber. "Does anyone have any matters to bring up before we go our separate ways?"

Princess Edda raised her hand. As a matter of total coincidence, it was the hand bearing the gleaming new engagement ring that she had received from Kazrik during the ebullient celebrations after retaking all Eight Peaks - just like all of the other total coincidences where her gestures and postures during the meeting had just so happened to put her new adornment on display. "Actually," she said with a hint of embarrassment, "I had a question for Thane Weber."

"You sound serious," Mathilde said with a raised eyebrow. "Must be important, if you waited until the council meeting to bring it up. What is it?"

Princess Edda bit her lip slightly. "Well… it's halfway a question about reikspeil, half a question about undumgi. You see… I spoke to Francesco, recently, asking about if there was anything his troops needed, or anything that they were asking for, and he told me something that just couldn't be right. He said… that they were asking to be punished!"

"Punished?" Mathilde asked, blinking rapidly. "Why on earth for?"

"That's the thing! He kept insisting that it'd be a worthy reward for them, and… well, I started figuring that perhaps I had mistranslated him, somehow. I should have asked him to clarify what he meant, but at the time I just assumed I'd be able to clear everything up by taking a look at the dictionary in my quarters, so I decided to put the matter off and told Francesco that I'd talk to the Council and let him know." Edda's cheeks pinked slightly at the admission of her mistake. "But when I looked it up in the book, I saw I'd gotten it right, after all. Or, more likely, the dwarf who compiled the dictionary made the same mistake I was making. I mean, the undumgi can't really be asking to be punished with Naiang, can they? They've done nothing to deserve their work being taken away!"

"Oi, if they are, just let me know an' I'll go down an' set 'em straight, lass," Marshal Dreng spoke up and offered. "Sure an' they're only umgi, but they've fought hard as dwarves these past months, an' if they're thinkin' they're anythin' other than a credit to their profession, I'd be glad to give 'em a pep talk. I mean, they acquitted themselves passably in comparison to those fancy bastards from Tilea, and that lot's famous, so they've no cause at all to treat themselves like beardlings who need to be shamed into appreciating work responsibly or -"

Mathilde held up a hand, merriment dancing in her eyes. "Hold on, Dreng, I think I understand what's going on here."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Edda turned to Mathilde. "Oh, thank Valaya. What is it?"

"Edda," Mathilde asked, a grin beginning to steal across her features despite her attempts to suppress it, "was the Reikspeil word that Francesco used perhaps... 'vacation'?"

"Yes! Exactly! I knew it must have been a common mistranslation!" Edda said with a smile of relief. "So, what are they really asking for?"

Mathilde coughed. "Well… it's less of a literal mistranslation, and more of a cultural one. They're asking for time without work, but not as a punishment. The translation is more like… 'sabbatical', maybe?" She stated, using the Khazalid word for 'a time in which one pursues alternate projects'.

"Really?" Edda said, blinking slightly. "Well… I suppose that's alright, then? As long as they'd be happy with it… but what will they all be working on? And where? Do I need to speak to the Guilds, ask them if they can clear out some workspace to accommodate umgi workers?"

Mathilde shook her head, trying to hide a growing smirk. "No, I shouldn't think so. They'll be working on…" She stalled for a second, groping for the right concepts in Khazalid. "... well, you could call it 'personal maintenance'. Mostly they'll be drinking and gambling, I should think." At Edda's continued look of incomprehension, Mathilde's poker face slipped a fraction, then reasserted itself as she did her best to avoid causing her friend embarrassment. "You know how umgi can't work as long or as hard as dawi before their muscles tire? And how as a result umgi need more frequent rest breaks?" Edda nodded, so Mathilde pressed on. "Well, that's true for their minds and spirits too. A vacation is just a form of extended mental and spiritual rest."

"Oh," Edda said softly, looking down at the table in contemplation. "So, you're saying it's restwork, then? Just, with less of the 'work' part? Huh." There was a brief pause. "Wait," she said, her chin jerking up as she turned back to Mathilde in sudden panicked understanding, "is that why Francesco kept insisting on including a day for 'equipment maintenance' every eightday in the undumgi's work contract?" Mathilde didn't answer out loud, instead choosing just to smile mysteriously; Edda, interpreting that as an affirmative reply, promptly buried her face in her hands. "Ancestors! I thought it was because umgi gear was just… really shoddy or something! Back when we were negotiating, I kept trying to explain that we'd be giving them weapons that didn't need to be sharpened nearly so often as once an eightday, and Francesco just kept telling me that even so, morale would suffer without giving them repair time…"

"If it helps," Mathilde interrupted, "the fact that Francesco wrote his soldiers' rest days into the contract as 'gear maintenance time' suggests that you aren't the first dwarven employer he's had who's been confused about the issue."

"I suppose not," Edda muttered into her hands, before taking a deep breath and straightening up. "Anyway, I don't think there'll be a problem with letting the Umgi rotate through a, um, 'vacation'? With the Karak clear of grobi and thaggoraki, we don't need to be at full readiness for now."

King Belegar nodded solemnly. "Aye, best to make sure morale stays high among the Undumgi; especially if all we have to do is avoid giving a few of them duties around the Karak." His eyes twinkled as he turned to Mathilde. "Speaking of which, Mathilde. If you need a 'vacation', now would be as good of a time for you to take one as any."

Mathilde scoffed. "I appreciate the offer, your majesty, but I just took a trip to Altdorf and back. I've already been away from my duties long enough."

Gunnars made a grumbling noise of discontent deep in his throat. "If this 'vacation' concept is something that umgi require in order to stay in good condition, it's best that you take it. Magic is an unreliable enough tool even when well-maintained."

Mathilde waved his concerns away. "I don't disagree, but I know how to handle myself. In fact, I often take what are called 'working vacations'. I saw some friends while I was presenting in Altdorf, for instance, and whenever I visit Stirland I like to drop in on Wilhelmina and Roswita…"

Gunnars looked at Mathilde coolly. "And was it also on one of these 'working vacations' that you tracked an ancient Vampire down to its lair and slew it in one-on-one combat?" Mathilde didn't answer for a second. "I see. That does sound very restful."

After a second or two of awkward silence, Belegar coughed. "Well. Loremaster Mathilde, just let me know when you plan to take time off. We'll work around you."

 

[bookworm702]

That's kind of the impression I get from the current Emperor--nothing special, but stable, reasonable, and trustworthy.

Click to shrink...

Baron Anton Kiesinger II Blutdorf arose from the breakfast table with a spring in his step, making a quick sojourn to his study. Mornings had been busy ever since production on the rifle factory had begun, filled with the review of forms and reports. At first, getting through them had been a chore, but they had grown on him over the years, and now he saw them more as letters from friends than actual work.

However, atop his usual pile of paperwork on his desk was a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. Huh, that was unusual. Sitting down at his desk, he carefully unwrapped the package. Inside was a stunningly vivid portrait of the Imperial Family, Emperor Luitpold standing with a stern but content expression, his hand upon the shoulder of the Empress Heidi who sat in a comfortable chair with young Prince Mandred on her lap. The portrait was framed by polished dark wood, and at the bottom was a plaque of brass which read... "This Could Be Us, But I'm Playing".

How...odd. Was this from an admirer? Well, as far as advances go, this was certainly more welcome than some he had received. He hoped that one day this strange admirer would stop "playing", and they could meet in person. Until then, it was still a beautiful portrait. Anton set it at the corner of his desk, and turned to his paperwork with a smile.

 

[Neshuakadal]

Patrolling in the Hunger Woods

Rotten twigs snapped beneath Aldric's boots as he carefully combed the Hunger Woods. Gnarled and sickend trees stretched their branches above him. Thorny vines spread across the ground and trees and branches blocking out what little sunlight would have reached him. Aldric would guess it was near midday but the gloom and shadows that surrounded him made it impossible to tell. He moved his crossbow from shadow to shadow. The vampires may have been forced out but that just meant that the dangers remaining were uncoordinated. A soft cracking of twigs behind him gave him warning.

"Hey Aldric! Camp is all set up. You coming back?" Otto called out from behind through the gloom of the woods.

"Yah. Just a second. I'll do one more sweep." Aldric said.

"Alright sir. Don't complain though if there is less food for you though." Otto responded.

Aldric just laughed him off before returning to watch the shadows. Several minutes passed before he was convinced that nothing overall malicious was hiding from his sight. He shouldered his crossbow and turned around searching out the beacon of light and warmth that was his mens' campfire.

It took Aldric several minutes to find his squad but soon he was warming himself while stew simmered and hissed on the fire. It smelled great. Clean meats and vegetables cooked and their aromas reminded him of home on the farm and more innocent times. It was certainly better than the meagre portions they got during the first assaults into these accursed woods. Supplies had stretched thin during those first marches. They had never gone hungry but the thin soups had not been pleasant either. An army would normally forage from the surroundings, and some soldiers did try, but eating anything that lived in the Hunger Woods was risky at best.

As the stew simmered and the light from the fire gamely tried to drive the gloom and shadows away Aldric leaned back on his cloak and let his thoughts wander. Rose was interested in his offer but wasn't willing to marry a soldier on the front. If he could become a senior officer or perhaps…

"Sir?"

"Hmm…" Aldric refocused himself on Matthew who looked at him questioningly. "I am sorry. I didn't hear the question."

"Oh, umm, I was just asking how long you've served in the army sir." Matthew, the newest member of his squad, said. I was just asking everyone that."

Alric sighed. This question always brought back unpleasant memories. "I have marched in Stirland's armies since the push into the Hunter's Hills."

Matthew rocked back a little. "So does that mean you were there?"

Alric grimaced then answered curtly. "If you were asking if I was there at Drakenhof then yes."

Matthew leaned forward, eyes wide. "Did you see it?"

Alric groaned. "Sigmar kid, can't you take a hint? No I didn't see The Hunter Count fall. I also don't want to talk about it." He turned to the rest of his squad, who were trying to avoid his gaze. "We have a busy day tomorrow. Wake me up when the stew is ready."

Alric tried to sleep. Yet sleep eluded him as the sights and sounds of that day years ago emerged in his mind. Of muttered prayers as the Elector count was taken off the battlefield. Of tearful curses and bottomless fear as news spread of the death. The screams of necromancers and the smell of their cooking flesh as they burned on pyres, the wrath of Stirland unquenched by the blood that pooled on Drakenhof's streets. The rolling thunder of great guns that brought judgement upon a mountain.

He had seen worse things since. The great pyres from those caught trying to dredge the Hel Fenn. Forests filled with rotting meat where ghouls clawed and ate each other. The Battle of the Eisig where the rotted blood of beasts and ghouls mixed and flowed with the clean blood of honest Stirlanders and turned the river a putrid color. Yet his memories of streets covered with blood mixed ash were vivid in ways the others weren't.

A foul scream cleared any thoughts from his mind as he wiped his blade free and rolled into a crouch. Two ghouls hissed and howled at them while dancing between the light of the fire and the darkness of the trees. A hand hung by strips of flesh from the jaws of a ghoul was fresher than the rest of the putrid meat covering the ghoul. Aldric recognized the scars on the hand. Those bastards got the lookout.

Around him the rest of the squad had their swords out, or in Otto's case his mace and book, except for Matthew who was petrified and was struggling to prepare for the coming onslaught. The dark gleam of rotten blood was the only warning Aldric had as one of the ghouls surged forward towards him. It's filthy claws swept forward in a raking motion intended to disembowel. Aldric managed to move his sword in between the claws to parry and the weight of the creature caused his sword to slice through two of the beasts fingers. They went spinning away into the fire causing embers to burst from the disturbed wood. Aldric didn't have a chance to appreciate the dancing sparks as the ghoul, unburdened by things like pain, continued forward and bowled into him sending Aldric tumbling to the ground.

The ghoul snapped it's jaw. The scouts hand, hanging by strips of skin, slapped into Aldric's chest. He could see down the beasts throat as it tried again to bite into his neck. His sword dug painfully into his ribs, but by the grace of Sigmar had also trapped the beasts arm against it's chest. The beast tried to lunge forward. It's weight caused the sword to dig deeper into both its arm and Aldric's ribs. Whatever primal intellect existed inside the foul creature had decided to use its other arm to keep steady atop Aldric while it tried to bite into Aldric's exposed neck. The ghoul snapped its jaws again. Again the blade sunk deeper into both of their flesh.

One of Aldric's hands was trapped by his sword's hilt and the ground but he managed to rear his other hand back and smash it into the ghouls face. His boiled leather gloves protected him, mostly, from the boney spikes. Again! And again he smashed his fist into the ghoul's head. After the third strike the ghoul tried to pull his arm across Aldric's body to swat the fist away. Aldric's sword though had sunk in too far for the ghoul's arm to be freed by such a motion. Aldric screamed in pain as the sword shifted on his rib. Aldric punched again!

At this fourth punch the ghoul seemed to have enough. It leapt away from Aldric and peddled backwards. Straight into the campfire. The ghoul howled again as sparks danced around it and stew poured onto the ground. Aldric ripped his sword free from his side and tried to ignore the stars that lit up from the pain. A glint of steel in the quickly dying light caught Aldric's eye. It was Matthew. He had finally freed his sword and entered the fray. The swing was weak. It moved slowly and even wobbled to Aldric's eye. Yet it was enough to cause the ghoul to swing around to the new threat and move backwards again. Aldric thrust his sword straight into the ghoul's knee. The ghoul screamed and its good leg kicked backwards. Aldric released his sword and rolled with the blow despite the pain.

Aldric straightened up by a wood pile as the ghoul turned around again. It limped side to side as it dragged it's dead leg, sword still trapped by its flesh, around. Aldric knelt down and picked up one of the logs set aside for burning. The light in the clearing was nearly gone as the fire was guttering out on the few logs it had held onto when the campfire was scattered. When Aldric knelt the ghoul, no doubt sensing weakness, leapt towards Aldric again. Aldric was ready this time though. How long had it been since he had done this? He remembered as a child he thought that his life would be mastering this one thing. Then the call for adventure came. Yet even now, in the depths of the Hunger Woods, the truth remained. He was born a farmer's son. And a farmer's son quickly learned how to swing a hoe. So, despite the pain flaring in his side Aldric twisted his back and like a hoe was swung down on soil Aldric swung the firewood down on the ghouls head.

The wood splintered under his hand as it hit the ghoul. But it did the job it needed to. With the jarring impact the ghoul slumped down. Its forward momentum burying its face in the ground. It was a target not even Matthew could miss and with only a little wobbling of the blade his sword pierced the back of the ghouls head severing the spine. A small light bobbed up and Aldric could see that the job was finished. The other ghoul had apparently decided eating the organs of the man it had opened up was more important than protecting itself letting Otto cave its skull in.

Aldric coughed in pain and called out for a roll call. Otto responded first before starting the final rites of the slain men. Several others called out as they stepped back into the light provided by the floating orb and finally Matthew, his voice breaking from fear, called out. Aldric grimaced. Both from the pain and the four souls eaten by the eternal hunger of these woods.

"Alright men!" Aldric called out before coughing again. "We survived but we need to haul ass back to base. We're too bloodied to continue patrolling out here. Start gathering branches for stretchers. We won't let any necromancers get our friends." Aldric spat off to the side. Clear, thank Sigmar. Then he started to help make stretchers. The night had just begun and they would need to move fast to make it to safety.

Omake for the Omake throne @BoneyM

Had this thought while thinking about the poor sods tasked with patrolling the Hunger Woods trying to clear it up. I am pretty happy with this piece and this is the first fight scene I actually enjoyed writing. If you have an critiques please share them as they make me a better writer.

 

[Glau]

An excerpt from the journal of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight-

Dear diary,

I reach for you again after weeks of change and settling, that I might capture the strange wistfulness that falls upon me in the aftermath of Karagil's taking. I cannot give a short sense of it, that sense of dreamy disconnect that had been hovering over us for months- it has not broken, but instead has lost the dread that haunted it's corners. Or, rather, the unreality has moved in focus. Now it is the thousands of trolls, and tens of thousands of rats, that feel as if they might shimmer and disappear if you reached for them, a mirage as surely as an oasis in Araby. Once, we had won against all logic and impossible odds; we lived in a cherished pocket of peace preserved only by our enemies' fecklessness and division, a mummer's army playing at being civilians. I knew in my bones the grace upon which that mask depended, but I did not know how many around me feel the same, pretending that a warren of half-cleaned tunnels and a dusty valley were as a walled town within a kingdom. We played at building lives, speaking of homes and farms and the price of bread with a sword-arm free and one eye on the citadel flags. Now?

So tell me dear diary, how does one understand waking up, when one goes from the sleep of reality into a dream of victory? The mask has become real. Two years and change since boots first broke dry bones in Death Pass, almost that long since the golden days when the Lady smiled on our victories, and now it is (again, but more truely this time in a way I could not describe) as if the Karak first draws breath. The dwarves speak with satisfaction about consolidating fronts, and if my grammar is not yet strong enough to parse the sublties completely the change in attitude is clear: the Karak's future had been spoken of as mobile dirt, and now the metaphor is fixed stone. They believe we will survive, they believe what we have now won can be kept forever.

Oh my lady, was I lying to myself, or was I blind, that I had thought I knew what it was to win peace? This feeling of time, long and inevitable and for once not our enemy, it is one I must yet adjust to. Wish me luck!

--------------------------

Dear diary,

I found myself in Ulrikadrin two nights ago drinking with Hubert and my friends among the winter wolves. Our guest that evening was one of the dwarven gyrocopter pilots, traveling on business with the shipyards; we were to all return as a company to the Karak in the morning. I feel some of the more sober stories passed around the table that night deserve transcription, if only because of my admiration for their subject- despite my own growth I feel as far behind Dame Weber now as when a penniless wandering knight first laid eyes on a magister conferring with the generals of our army.

And I am now myself the General of the Undumgi, of Karag Nar reclaimed.

The pilot had recently returned from Sylvania; the Dame Magister had been gone some time to the north, where her interests and heartstrings still tie her. Little was known of her mission save that the King have her leave to hunt vampires, in support of the imperials who had come at his ask, and their liege. (I should say that I approve heartily of the Elector Countess Roswita, and feel that the loyalty Dame Weber has shown to her for the sale of her late father is one of the greatest demonstrations I've ever seen of what it means to be a loyal knight- for the easiest tests are on the hot-blood of the battlefield, but to hold onto that loyalty through personal insult and years of distance, proving herself anew... I am thankful that the Countess send to know and value what she has been given.) But the knowledge of her absence, and her status as the highest-ranked human in the Karak, left us spending time telling stories of what we knew of her previous exploits to mine for clues.

So into the swirl of rumors and speculation did this poor pilot descend.

It began innocently enough, a grumble to follow up upon a grumble, about the beer then about a crick in his neck he'd gotten one mission from holding the controls a bit to the left for hours, unbalanced cargo and the shoddy rush job of securing it and what it meant for his sore shoulders. We, seasoned sellers of secrets spilled in shabby taverns that we were, pounced.

"From where, sir dwarf, and for what cargo did you strain so hard? Surely you can speak of what one might have watched from the East valley, at least!"

And with beer and room we plied him, sure and steady as a drilled advance, one speaking up then the next, forward and fasting so no one human could be said to be rude! He had some experience with drinking away from other dwarves, but we could tell he was mostly bluster and succumbed by the fourth round.

"Aigh, gather round close then, hear?"

From what I remember, he said it was the end of a long week on high alert, right there close to one of the cursed cities that fill the tales when one heard of Sylvania, grim with narrow windows,run by vampires. This, we decided with much popular acclaim, must be what the magister had been dealing with for the Countess. Those of us who had seen her execute her now classic maneuver of walking in the front door and having the enemy fall to pieces all over themselves; we nodded and agreed that such a city was a wonderful spot for another dose of it.

This city, the dwarf tells us, had trash for walls, trash for a keep, but the whole thing was carpeted over with dead stuffed beasts, like a proud Hunter had spent a thousand years taking trophies, and the collection had spilled our of the Hall and even the castle entire, to take the place of guardsmen along the walls for lack of anywhere else to place them.

It was proposed among the company that the vampire of the city was indeed a hunter, and such was his guise amount humans: perhaps some pale youth with long hair and smouldering eyes mounted on a black steed, hounds and bow prepared? Ah! Dear diary, I blush to confess that such was my contribution, though the pilot soon came to my defense. He spoke of the way that the Countess had been attacked by dominated beasts, and it was agreed that a hunter with power over that he hunted was something a vampire could be. I wonder if perhaps he hunted with a company, or if he haunted the woods alone...

But my thoughts run away with me. The pilot, after a solid grumble at the quality of the campsite they were staging from, told us how he was called in to the top of the center keep itself by a flare, whereat the magister met them, immediately loaded them down with books until the whole gyrocopter was full, then produced an entire dragon skull! Ah, dear diary, what a trophy of the hunt that must have been! A vampire and a dragon! Two evil battling titans before whom all good folk give way, in the hopes they kill each other, or perhaps a hunter and his prey, stalked relentlessly with the endless patience of an immortal.

One of the knights, grinning, interjected here that he had seen it carried upwards through Karag Nar, fit to swallow a whole dwarf at a bite!

The pilot snorted. They'd to tie the skull on the side of the craft, and while they could counter balance it with books, the resistence of the wind kept pulling to the side. He told us that he regretted offering to take the thing an hour into the flight; he then swore us never to speak that where the magister might hear, for a good grumble was one thing but this was his pride at stake.

(As for whether the Dame Weber slew the vampire? Well, dear diary, I happened to see her just today, wandering about with its skull under her arm. I don't think I've ever seen her come closer to boasting- so let it be said that humility is also one of her virtues.)

Twas then that Hubert leaned forwards and a new round was poured, and he spoke with a twinkle in his eye.

"Did you see her at the battle of Karagil? She took us in beforehand to be blooded, left us in the ranks for the main push. We thought she was gone, and when we got bogged down in the ninth hall it was looking pretty grim. The journeywomen and I were giving good account of ourselves with spell and blade, but it was only enough to mark us a threat when a Warboss showed himself. Oh, we braced for the charge best we could all right, but just as they're about to hit us the Magister appears from literally nowhere and cuts the Warboss clean in half!"

He lowered his voice. "And I heard, though I didn't see with my own eyes, that they found two other, even bigger Warbosses in pieces when they swept the mountain."

There was some consideration around the table. Most of the winter wolves had only heard rumors of what happened inside the mountain, and Hubert had been doling out bite sized stories all evening. I believe, dear diary, that he was milking it for all it's worth. And this one was worth chewing over.

"You think she cut the vampire in half too?"

And that seemed to sum it up.

There was more to pass the time, stories of Middenheim before the exodus, stories of the border princes and the increasingly ugly tone of the rumors, as it sink in that Eightpeaks was going to steal all of their tolls and trade. I offered some stories of Francesco, Hubert told of a hilarious series of pratfalls involving Gretel, a ratpup, and a stack of halfling pies that miraculously survived the encounter, though at the expense of both dignity and three sausages.

It was a good night, of a type I've grown fond of. So close and yet so different from Brettonia...

My Lady, I pray you continue to watch over us, and bless us with strength of arms and wisdom in peace. Let our fields grow fertile and our enemies turn their faces from us. And let not evil fall on this hold of dwarves and men, for your servants dwell here and hold it fast in their hearts.

 

[Glau]

An excerpt from the journal of Soizic d'Karak, a Questing Knight-

Dear diary,

The music of dwarven industry ring across the mountains! The sounds of picks and cranes reaches me even as far as my perch at Uz-Ungol. Once confined to the tunnels and the fortifications, now the foundations of great works sprawl half-done across the faces of three mountains. On Karagil, a set of sluices cut the edge of the tarn's bank, ready to pour forth the life giving waters. Below, filter stations hard against the mountain and set with watchtowers.Through chance, the new work was at pleasing relation to mine own personal shrine, near enough that the view across the lake towards the peak remains pristine, but far enough that holy isolation is not merely a state of mind.

On Karag Lhune the main work of the aqueduct progresses, building backwards and upwards from the cisterns and feeder ponds. The first of those is high enough to feed into the chiselwards, the second at the top-center of a web of irrigation cannels woven through the halfling farms. The aqueduct will be massive, stretching across the gap between the two mountains, and already the first course of pillars and arches rises- I'm told it will be seven layers deep at the point where it will be furthest from rock to water. I look forward to the completion, for rarely do dwarves turn their attention from the roots of the mountains to the vaults of the skies.

I picture it, dear diary, some evening after the whole is finished and the path along the top has become familiar. I would be in white with only my sword and a torch, followed by a dozen in the same. We would walk in procession, after the sun but under the full light of the rising good moon. The aqueduct gives smooth road for pilgrim feet, climbing to the lake.

I judged it while I marching back from Ulrikadrin, and I think it will be visible from the entrance to the underway. I know it will be seen from the whole of the caldera and east valley. Ah, dear diary, I long to climb from twinkling halfling cottages to the high, cold mirror of the stars that is the tarn! It shall give view of all the span which I defend. And a procession of torches shown to the same shall be my simple act of worship, that I, we, might be as lights in the darkness for this kingdom as the Lady is the light in my darkness.

Perhaps, dear diary, it is true what Hubert tells me: that I love melodrama overmuch? But no! In my heart I know it to be love of those things grand and romantic, the glory and the awe that is the mantle of those greatest amongst us- champions! For who would not wish to be, strive to be, closer to greatness?

To you my diary I will admit- Francesco is not alone in wishing for history to know his name.

The third mountain is Karag Nar, and as if to prove what oddness is afoot in this Karak this project as well reaches for the skies. I hesitated to include it, for two towers already stand on the summit and a third under construction at the order of the Magister, but I heard something interesting: twas not the order of the Magister, but rather of the Loremaster. Now, for those not versed in dwarflore the distinction may not be clear, but while the first just speaks to wizards doing wizard things, the second means the project is for the king. Odd guests have been coming and going and the wizards are in a tizzy because one of them, it's rumored, was the patriarch of the grey order himself. But they come and go by gyrocopter, and if they do wander among the rest of us they did so unseen. Regardless, it is a construction large enough to bend the entire mountain to it's logic, and I heard one of the barkeeps complaining the other day of company of dwarves opening up one of his stockrooms and installing a steel pillar straight through.

Life is not all cutting stone and mysterious wizards though, it continues for me as well. The Undumgi have been fortunate to have suffered few casualties as a unit, but recruitment is tricky for our company's espirit de corps is new-forged and hot still, and requires more of our recruits. We are, I feel I can say without boasting, an elite unit- and with the halflings or winter wolves to screen our flanks and our cannon to counter-battery, I am confident in defeating thrice our number on the open field. Drills have become second nature to the veterans, I begin to challenge them with unexpected reversals like those foolish jumping orcs.

What terrified me, dear diary, is the realization afterwards that if the orcs would have instead waited until the charge from the sides trapped the wolves against the pike, and the pikes were leveled, they could have jumped into the unprotected center of our formation; we would have been massacred by half our number. And so we must be better. Better pike-work, better endurance, better armor and close-quarters training, better maneuvering, better scouting, better stealth.

I consider us elite. But elites die too. Only legends and gods are forever.

Hubert, it seems, feels in a similar way. Our lessons have changed again- dear diary, he came to me not long after the battle for Karagil, and he confessed it his first. I knew, dear diary of course I had known. He was dashing in appearance and skilled with his blade, but when he first came to me, he fought still like each single enemy was his to manage. He fought like a duelist.

And so we spoke of how the battle had played out for him. Each choice, each kill, each order given- the whys and the context and the second guessing and the hindsight. What he did right, what he did wrong. Why he would have died if he had tried to fight the Warboss or even the bodyguards. What he needed to be able to do if he wanted to fight at that level. What it was like to have comrades die next to you in rank. How it felt to have someone die *for* you, giving their life so you will stay alive, and what it meant to feel unworthy of that gift. In the end there was no training that day, or the next- we spoke for hours, and he cried until the pain had passed. I left him in vigil at the shrine of Ulric, in the care of his folk.

Now we train harder. He pushes himself, pushes me, and I find my own skill with a blade advancing again. On breaks he draws MMAPs in the air- trolls, dragons, skaven monstrosities, beastmen. We speak of the strengths and weaknesses, tactics and strategy and the best paths to victory. It is inspiring, but, coming as it does in the wake of the success we have seen, it gives me a grim and forboding feeling. 'Look to the future,' a voice whispers to me every time Hubert grimaces at his own inadequacy, 'the Lady would not have you here should great challenges not still crowd the horizon.'

Not all is dark and grim though! I have made a new friend. Or rather, she decided that we shall be friends and I find myself in bemused agreement.

It began when I sought a new blanket, and perhaps an oil lamp for my quarters, in the newly expanded East Imperial Company store. I write store but it has grown into something like an entire commercial quarter, with dozens of shopfronts for different goods lining both sides of two halls, with alleys between and enough to see that I've lost hours there. The blanket was easy enough to find, but the search for the oil lamp led me to a cheerful painted sign reading 'Luminaries- EIC'. The shopgirl was a new arrival to the Karak, Sarah of Wulfsbach, and she cheerfully admitted (after a whirl of looking through lamps but deciding against, followed by her dragging me to the other stores all the while chatting about what feelings I was looking for from my quarters and what sorts of things I wore when I was off duty and then full heedless gossip of the little people of the Karak over tea) that she had been given orders to listen amongst the Undumgi for rumors and news. But, she interjected with a wink as I digested that, she decided she liked me quickly and wanted some more female friends in the Karak, as it was so thoroughly male. So disoriented from two consecutive blindsides, I could offer no resistance when she asked if I had a man I was 'sweet on' and just blurted out his name.

Dear Lady, I beg of you to strike me down ere I suffer such embarrassment again.

But that, really, was the moment I gave in, and embraced the idea. I really have never had many friends of the fairer sex, and many of those were left behind with my childhood. Those few I have made since have mostly been of the halflings, the same ones who I went to for help after the battle of Karag Lhune. So Sarah was a welcome presence, cheerful and engaging and asking nothing of me save that I enjoy myself around her. I see her now often between patrols- she was horrified to discover that I knew nothing of hair or styles of dress or pleasing choices of color and scent. She had taken it upon herself to educate me, and the sight of her with a bottle of wine and a hairbrush has quickly become a familiar one in my boudoir.

It has been a blessing, of a sort. And Sarah feels she had nothing to hide, so she told me much of the EIC- the emphasis on honest dealing and leaving the empire stronger for their efforts, the way they believe in knowing the people in charge but not in making deals that make future deals harder. (She spoke of it to me in terms of sheers and sheep, not cutting deep enough to harm.) And she spoke of the efforts they were making to listen to the Undumgi and to track the way in Sylvania.

She sounded proud, a merchant girl contributing to the strength and peace of the Karak and the Empire, a part of something bigger than herself that she could believe in. Dear diary, I empathized very much with her in that moment, and I admired her for her conviction that what she was doing was to be proud of. And I liked her for her honesty with me- when I asked who she was gathering the information for, who was pulling the strings of this company? She winked again and explained the company's crest, how ownership started there and flowed out. One third to the dead count, one third to his dead Captain, and one third to the Magister dwelling above us. So thus was the mystery cleared, and thus did Sarah earn my trust.

I find I have much in my days to look forward to. Dear diary, wish me luck!

 

[ReImagined]

Deep within the World's Edge Mountains, a secret war is waged as two vast forces vie for dominance upon a domain of polished stone.

On one side, a mighty multicultural force assembles itself. Built on the solid foundations of free enterprise and increased trade, a radical thane commands halfling scout, dwarven artillery, and battle wizard alike, united in a common cause. All are welcome under the new banner, and each and every soul will be put to good use. As the instruments of war sound out their clarion call, favors are called in and treasuries are emptied. This is no day for half measures. A mountain of metal is forged and reforged, beaten into swords and shields and bolts and bullets. The walls still stand. They'll be ready.

Opposite this mighty host, the enemy general considers the resources and avenues of attack available to him. Tactical Genius. Mortal Terror. Unbound Ambition. These were not unfamiliar concepts for all that they had been lacking in the tenure of his capture. But in this context, they would serve quite nicely, quite nicely indeed.

"I apply Tactical Genius to my Norscan Expedition Fleet. This lets me pay two additional ingots of upkeep in exchange for a reroll in each round of combat for that unit. Now, I know what you're thinking. My treasury is empty. However, as part of the Chaos Faction Ability, all gold costs can be substituted with Favor. I launch a punitive raid on Marienburg." Qrech growls in triumph.

Mathilde glowers as the longship model makes its way across the table, sidestepping her army stack at the border and plopping neatly onto her trade capital's water tile. It was all a feint! The posturing with troop movements, probing attacks and counterattacks, asset developments and all, nothing more than mere smoke and mirrors. The entire trade route would be disrupted, and with that her strategic advantage. How devious! Almost as tricky as sneaking Morr extra scraps after dinner. Child's play, in other words. A smug grin replaces the glower.

"I reveal my Garrison Token, Mercenary Reinforcements! This lets me call on any of the Mercenary Faction units within influence range of the target city to act in defense. And isn't that a dragon and elf on that mountain? Why yes it is! Let's see your boats handle Asarnil and Deathwing."

"You would sacrifice your hoard on a temporary advantage?" Qrech points out hesitantly. If her gambit fails, the last thirty turns of economic development will be squandered for nothing, leaving him with a decisive advantage.

"Worth it if it repulses your assault." She replies, at heart a gambler.

"Hmpfh. We shall see."

The two adversaries grab their dice and roll.

ReImagined threw 2 100-faced dice. Reason: Marienburg Garrison Total: 124

ReImagined threw 2 100-faced dice. Reason: Norscan Expeditionary Fleet Total: 30

 

[Briefvoice]

EDIT: Cross-posted with BoneyM!

Interesting that the Hochlander got the most votes. I mean, I'm not complaining; I voted for him! But it's not what I would have expected if you had asked me to guess the vote's outcome.

I guess "generally competent badass who would have made a fine Grey Wizard except his magic isn't strong enough" was a big appeal. Will be interesting to see how he checks out in person.

Mini-Omake....

The candidate arrived at K8P and there found a note from the Wizard. "Find Me" it read.

The Hochlander conducted a systematic interrogation of the karak's inhabitants, building a picture of the wizard's duties and habits, until eventually from his cunningly concealed observation post he caught sight of Mathilde at a meeting she simply couldn't miss.

The Nordlander sat awake for three days outside the door to Mathilde's tower, confident she would eventually return home and determined to be awake when she did.

The Stirlander showed up within a half hour, accompanied by guilty-looking Wolf. He whined apologetically, then snatched another of his favorite treats offered from the Sitrlander's fingertips.

 

[ReImagined]

Spoiler: We can make Omake out of that

"My King, I request that you find and bring to me a worthy husband!"

Click to shrink...

The council room in Karak Eight Peaks is a place of power, where the fate of millions rests upon the decisions of one dwarf and his trusted advisors. One can be sure that if the room is occupied, then the King is hard at work, addressing matters of great import.

"Are you sure?"

A stone faced nod is the reply.

Belegar stared at the contract in his hand, creasing the parchment with a gauntlet as he held it.

"That's... unusual, to say the least. You're really certain of this venture?"

A fervent nod.

"There's nothing I can say to persuade you otherwise?"

A shake of the head.

"Some rare books?"

Another shake of the head.

"Your very own college campus!"

A tilted head.

"A wizarding Sanctuary?"

"You'll do that for me anyways."

"I could get you a really fancy dreadnought for the fleet--"

"It'll be worth it."

"Well, so be it." The King tapped his fingers on the hard surface of the table, pondering the task at hand. The logistics would be tricky... but ultimately, doable. He cleared his throat. This would be a long, long discussion with the rest of his Council.

---

BY ORDER OF BELEGAR IRONHAMMER, KING OF KARAK EIGHT PEAKS1​

IN CELEBRATION OF THE FINAL RECLAMATION2​ OF THESE MOUNTAINS FIVE YEARS HENCE

IN SERVICE TO THE VENERABLE3​ VALAYA AND A NEW BEGINNING FOR ALL

IN RECOMPENSE FOR THE UNQUESTIONABLY HEROIC DEEDS OF AZRILDREKKED4​

IN HONOR OF THE RANGER GOD5​ RANALD

THANE LOREMASTER MAGISTER DAME MATHILDE WEBER

IS TO MEET IN SACRED MATRIMONY

THE WORTHIEST6​ PARTNER PRESENT IN THIS KARAK

1​ Long may he reign!
2​ As of 2487.
3​ Questionable translation. Did they really mean to call her old?
4​ Uncertain if this is a reference to the title or the book.
5​ May Sigmar forgive us all for printing that.
6​ As determined by the Karak in a series of contests, games, and gambling. As nobody can quite remember what happened with enough detail to put to print, the new adage proves true. What happens in Karagril, stays in Karagril.

Click to shrink...

---
Wolf lounged by the fireplace, ears pricked as he focused on combining his hearing with her magesight for practice as Mathilde announced the news.

"You're what?" Chamon.

"Well, it's not a sure thing yet, but--" Ulgu.

"No, Magister, you can't just spring something like that on us!" Aqshy.

"I thought I would be the one to--" Chamon.

"Oh I'm so happy for you! But..." Ghyran.

"What are the qualifications you're looking for? They can't all be relevant." Shyish.

"Why? Are you interested--" Ulgu? Aqshy?

"Asking for a friend." Shyish.

"By Ulric! And I thought I was the least subtle one here." Hysh.

"Shut up, Hubert." Indeterminate, all of them?

Good boy.

---

"We need to talk."

"Wilhelmina! It's good to see you. How's Eike doing?"

"Well enough, but that's not why I'm here. We need to save her, Anton."

"We need to save Eike?"

"Mathilde! Here, take a look at this pamphlet, Eight Peaks has been sending them throughout the Old World on every trade mission."

Anton took the proffered message.

"Oh. Oh dear."

"It says to find somebody worthy, you understand?"

"I'll make sure of it."
Deep within Morr's Realm, the soul of an Elector Count stirs.

Spoiler: A/N

Well, if yall really want the romance, care to stake a boon on it?

Jokes aside, this is meant to be mutually compatible with a bunch of different game/contest/competition/tournament/trial of worthiness ideas for <your preferred choice>, none of which I have any inspiration for, but if anybody feels the creative juices flowing...

 

[NuclearConsensus]

Spoiler: We can make Omake out of that

The council room in Karak Eight Peaks is a place of power, where the fate of millions rests upon the decisions of one dwarf and his trusted advisors. One can be sure that if the room is occupied, then the King is hard at work, addressing matters of great import.

"Are you sure?"

A stone faced nod is the reply.

Belegar stared at the contract in his hand, creasing the parchment with a gauntlet as he held it.

"That's... unusual, to say the least. You're really certain of this venture?"

A fervent nod.

"There's nothing I can say to persuade you otherwise?"

A shake of the head.

"Some rare books?"

Another shake of the head.

"Your very own college campus!"

A tilted head.

"A wizarding Sanctuary?"

"You'll do that for me anyways."

"I could get you a really fancy dreadnought for the fleet--"

"It'll be worth it."

"Well, so be it." The King tapped his fingers on the hard surface of the table, pondering the task at hand. The logistics would be tricky... but ultimately, doable. He cleared his throat. This would be a long, long discussion with the rest of his Council.

---



---
Wolf lounged by the fireplace, ears pricked as he focused on combining his hearing with her magesight for practice as Mathilde announced the news.

"You're what?" Chamon.

"Well, it's not a sure thing yet, but--" Ulgu.

"No, Magister, you can't just spring something like that on us!" Aqshy.

"I thought I would be the one to--" Chamon.

"Oh I'm so happy for you! But..." Ghyran.

"What are the qualifications you're looking for? They can't all be relevant." Shyish.

"Why? Are you interested--" Ulgu? Aqshy?

"Asking for a friend." Shyish.

"By Ulric! And I thought I was the least subtle one here." Hysh.

"Shut up, Hubert." Indeterminate, all of them?

Good boy.

---

"We need to talk."

"Wilhelmina! It's good to see you. How's Eike doing?"

"Well enough, but that's not why I'm here. We need to save her, Anton."

"We need to save Eike?"

"Mathilde! Here, take a look at this pamphlet, Eight Peaks has been sending them throughout the Old World on every trade mission."

Anton took the proffered message.

"Oh. Oh dear."

"It says to find somebody worthy, you understand?"

"I'll make sure of it."
Deep within Morr's Realm, the soul of an Elector Count stirs.

Click to shrink...

Hundreds of years hence

In a tunnel in Karag Nar, dimly lit by lanterns and a sliver of sunlight peeking in, Matthias Martens, Loremaster of Karak Eight Peaks, walked to his doom.

"Do I have to do this, Dolgi?" Matthias said, turning to one of his Hammerer guards. The guard, one of six, stared back gravely at Matthias before replying.

"It is... Tradition," the dwarf grumbled, emphasizing the final word in a way that communicated the capital letter to Matthias. The wizard frowned.

"Okay then," Matthias grumbled back, facing forward to his doom again, before turning back once more. "Are you sure-" he began, before being interrupted by one of his guards, Brenna.

"For Grimnir's sake, it's only a crowd! You sound like we're going to feed you to trolls or some similar nonsense." Brenna said, her pushing becoming insistent. "You did well when you spoke to the Tower Guards that one time!"

"That wasn't a crowd though!" Matthias shouted, arms waving in the air, both to keep his balance with his guards half-pushing, half-carrying him, and in the vain hope of grabbing onto something as the sunlight ahead grew brighter. Too late though, as he and his guards emerged from the tunnel into the sunlit land beyond.

Their emergence was met with a wall of sound. Cheers and shouts, already deafening before Matthias' arrival, increased in volume, joined by the not-too-distant whirring of gyrocopter blades and capped off by the magnified voice of an announcer.

"To begin the opening ceremonies, here is the Loremaster of Karak Eight Peaks, Magister Matthias Martens of the Grey Order!"

Blinking back spots, Matthias found himself thrust onto a pedestal overlooking a crowd, no, not a crowd, a sea of people. Dwarfs, men, halflings and more, not all from Karak Eight Peaks. Beside the massed studentry of the University were representatives of the Empire. Over there, a company of bewildered Bretonnians rubbed elbows with awed Estalians Above them all, gyrocopters bearing modified Eyes of Grimnir channeled his image to the breadth and width of the Karaz Ankor and beyond. All were here for one thing: The Games.

The damned Games. They were the reason he was here, stood on a pedestal in front of more people than he'd ever seen in his life, with his heart in his throat. Not for the last time, Matthias cursed the very name of Mathilde Weber. Still despite his wish that he'd managed to stay in his room under Karag Lhune, he had a job to do. He straightened up, licked his lips, and shook his arms out of his sleeves before raising them skyward. Before him, the crowd grew quieter, less deafening. Focusing himself using a meditative technique from the Grey College and focusing his gaze on a gyrocopter painted in a charming shade of green, he began to speak, a prepared speech dropping from his lips.

That seems to have gone well, Matthias distantly noted, now I just have to stick the landing. So thinking, he drew back to himself, preparing to give the last couple lines.

"In honor of the 505th anniversary of Karak Eight Peak's retaking, I, Matthias Martens, hereby welcome you to the 50th Games of the Wizard's Wooing!" A pause for effect, eyes down from the lovely gyrocopter to pretend to survey the rapt audience, and then...

"Let the Games begin!"

Spoiler: A/N

505th because of course the first Games wouldn't begin until after the Okral left. Like hell Belegar's letting any of them get their hands on Mathilde, even though none of them likely would have wanted to. Anyway, welcome to the Dwarf Olympics! This one, at least, will not get postponed, to Matthias' chagrin and Mathilde's delight