Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

[ReImagined]

Article:

Help Wanted!

Adventurers, Drivers, Cooks, Men-at-Arms, Riders, Handymen! The EASTERN IMPERIAL COMPANY is in need of men and women of good character and hard working nature from STIRLAND for travel and trade purposes SOUTH to our DWARVEN FRIENDS at KARAK EIGHT PEAKS. Fair Pay Guaranteed! Army experience a plus. Direct inquiries to your local EIC Branch Office.

Itinerary: Wurtbad Tarshof Worden Potting Vigaun Averheim Heideck Grenzstadt Barak Varr Ulrikadrin Karag Nar

Source: Hiring Advertisements. Wurtbad Market Pamphlet, 12 Sommerzeit 2486, p. 3.

Eike Hochschild was not unhappy, precisely, with her lot in life. And if she were to be questioned on the matter, she could back up the claim with logical rigour.

Point, the first — Eike knew from experience that unhappiness came from such things as growling, empty stomachs, cold, scratchy sheets, and wet feet. Being in possession of none of those things, thank you very much, it followed that she was unable to satisfy the criteria. After all, unhappy people didn't get to eat meat pies every Festag or sleep in sturdy, wool-stuffed beds. And they most certainly didn't wear pretty shoes unstained by muck and leaves.

Point, the second — Eike knew from observation that unhappiness caused such things as drinking at bars and shouting at cats, and Eike did not like to drink at bars to shout at cats. Or was it the other way around? Maybe drunkards shouted at cats to enter bars. People could be weird like that sometimes. Regardless, Eike had little experience in shouting at cats, and less in drinking, especially in bars, unless she counted Sigmartag and other such festivals, and those were supposed to be celebrations anyways.

Point, the third — Eike knew from lessons that unhappiness could be averted by such things as satisfaction in one's work and well-earned praise and kindness and quite possibly most of all, money. For if Wilhelmina Hochschild's progeny could be said to be lacking in any quality, it was not appreciation for the value of coin.

Brass Pennies to pay for baker's bread and dried dates. Silver Queens (or Shillings, if you wanted to be boring like Miss Theismann) for wool and paper and clothes. Gold Crowns for houses and horses and wagons. And as oma insisted, all of this to be carefully recorded, kept track of on lists and ledgers for prices and fees and taxes to be compiled into expenses and budgets to be factored into negotiations and deals. And then there were names to memorize and numbers to slide and terms to learn and routes to assess and a thousand thousand different little things to do and by Verena did she just forget the name for that number?

So, you see, it was for quite inexplicable reasons that the sound of shoes scuffing floorboards and a long sigh could be heard in the workroom across from the first floor stairs of the EIC's Headquarters.

"Is something the matter, Miss Eike?"

Making a face, Eike turned back to her assignment. "No, Miss Hannelore. I just got stuck so I woolgathered a little."

"Well, that's no good. I might just get let go if you stay stuck! Let's step through the problem together, and then we can hone in on the part you're struggling with." Hannelore suggested.

"Fine." Eike reluctantly agreed.

The Purge of the Hunter's Hills began in 2475 under Elector Count Abelhelm Van Hal of Stirland, for whom they are now named. This was a great undertaking by the Army of Stirland, culminating in the Assault on Drakenhof in 2476. Use the figures provided to answer the questions below.

Spoiler: Figure 1 - Campaign map

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Spoiler: Figure 2 - Campaign forces

2nd Division
[ ] Flensburg Spear Regiment
[ ] Franzen Spear Regiment
[ ] Flensburg Sword Regiment
[ ] Blutdorf Crossbow Regiment
[ ] 1st Pistolier Cohort
[ ] 2nd Pistolier Cohort
[ ] Talabeclander Knights

3rd Division
[ ] Steinbachthal Spear Regiment
[ ] Schramleben 1st Spear Regiment
[ ] Halstedt Sword Regiment
[ ] Marburg Crossbow Regiment
[ ] Artillery battery (10 cannon, 10 mortar)
[?] Asarnil the Dragonlord

4th Division
[ ] Schramleben 2nd Spear Regiment
[ ] Sigmaringen Spear Regiment
[ ] Leicheberg Sword Regiment
[ ] Hornau Crossbow Regiment
[ ] Knights of Morr

Click to shrink...

1st Division
Marburg Spear Regiment
Purgg Spear Regiment
Wurtbad Sword Regiment
Wurtbad Crossbow Regiment

Spoiler: Figure 3 - Supplies Needed Table

Unit type	Pounds of supplies per day
Swordsman	5
Spearman	5
Crossbowman	5
Pistolier	25
Knight	25
Cannon	50

1. Use the map in Figure 1 to determine the distance between Leicheberg, where the campaign starts, and Drakenhof, where the campaign ends.
~100 miles

2. The army progresses two miles a week. How long will it take for the Army to reach Drakenhof, assuming no delays? Use the distance from question 1.
~2 miles / 1 week
~20 miles/10 weeks
~100 miles / 50 weeks
~1 year

3. Assume that the army is delayed by fighting, and progress slows to one mile every two weeks. What is the revised estimate?
~1 mile / 2 weeks
~100 miles / 200 weeks
200 weeks x 1 year/50 weeks
~4 years

4. Assume there are 2500 men per Regiment, 500 riders per Cohort, and 1000 knights in each Order. How many men are in the Army of Stirland, and in each Division? Use Figure 2. Ignore groupings below 100.
Division 1: 4 Regiments
4 x 2500
10,000 men
Division 2: 4 Regiments, 2 cohorts, 1 Order
4 x 2500 + 2 x 500 + 1 x 1000
10,000 + 1000 + 1000
12,000 men
Division 3: 4 Regiments
4 x 2500
10,000
10,000 men
Division 4: 4 Regiments, 1 Order
4 x 2500 + 1 x 1000
10,000 + 1000 11,000
Total:
10,000 + 12,000 + 10000 + 11,000
43,000 men

5. How many pounds of supplies will the army consume per day? Use Figure 3. Add your own estimate for Asarnil the Dragonlord.
Men + Horses + Cannon + Asarnil
43,000 x 5 + 1000 x 4 x 20 + 20 x 50 + Asarnil?
21,500 x 10 + 3000 x 20 + 10 x 100 + Asarnil?
215,000 + 60,000 + 1000 + Asarnil?

6. What is the total amount needed to reach Drakenhof?Apply both the ideal and estimated delay numbers from questions 2 and 3.


7. A hundred pounds of supplies costs 3s. What is the total cost of supplies needed to reach Drakenhof? Give your answer as a range.


8. A wagon carries 1200 pounds of supplies on average. How many wagons' worth of supplies are consumed each day, and therefore need to reach the Army of Stirland daily?


9. Each wagon can travel 2 miles per day. Draw a chart showing how long it would take for a wagon to reach the army each week under ideal conditions.


10. One day of travel costs 1p per wagon. What is the total cost of transport? Use the chart from question 9.


11. What is the total cost of supplying the Army of Stirland?

Click to shrink...

"Alright," the tutor began. "You've got your measurements and rounding and arithmetic spot on, good. Those are all correct so far for numbers one through four. I see you're stuck on number six?"

"No, number five!" the girl objected. " I can do the rest, I guess. It's just turning words into math. But how am I supposed to know how much a dragonlord eats?"

"Well, that's why it says to make an estimate." Hannelore explained. "You can't really know how much, but you can guess using what you do know. A dragon is a big and mighty beast, so it's going to eat a lot more than you do, Miss Eike. Or, for that matter, more than a horse. Or maybe even ten horses."

"Wait, Asarnil's an actual dragon?" Eike gasped.

"The elf lord that rides a dragon, but yes." she corrected. "How about this, you finish the rest of the assignment while I go fetch a copy of the Memoirs of Asarnil the Dragonlord, and we can read it together when you're done."

"Won't oma complain?" Eike asked doubtfully.

"Why, I think it's directly relevant to your studies, don't you? Asarnil's a major figure in Stirland's recent history, after all."

"I suppose so, Miss Hannelore!"

The two shared a grin.

 

[seekingflame]

For some reason, nobody's volunteered to go ahead with "yes hello-hello fellow Skaven, I just so happen to have a tail and nose and gland and whisker disorder that prevents me from using any parts of Skaven nonverbal communication, hail-hail the Horned Rat and all that, no food or drink or currency or drugs for me thanks, I'm allergic to warpstone".

Click to shrink...

The fable of little red skaven clan rat.
not fully satisfied with what i wrote, but whatever.



Once upon a time in a certain burrow there lived a clan rat, the ugliest creature who was ever seen. His clawleader was excessively hatful of him and the pack always took whatever chance they had to backstab him and steal his food, for this rat had been born different, his mantle of fur the unnatural color of red, and his size diminutive even compared to his small kins, and so he everyone called him Little Red.

One, night, his clawleader, having recently acquired some warpstone, said to him "Go-leave, you worthless vermin-rat, and bring-take the chieftain this warpstone, he had been most impatient-angry for the shipment for a while."

Little Red set out immediately to go to his chieftain , who lived far away across dark tunnels in another burrow.

As Little Red going through the wood, after only almost dying to ravaging beasts and ambushes thrice, he meet a friendly shadow, who asked him where he was going, the little clanrat, afraid and desperate to run away, merely answered "i go-go to see the big-scary chieftain, kind-scary shadow, please don't eat-kill me!"

"Does he live far off?" ask the shadow.

"Oh yes-yes," answered Little Red "it is beyond that corner you see-see there, at the first hole in the tunnel.", he said, hoping the shadow will eat his chieftain instead.

"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see him too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."

The shadow whisked as fast as he could, teleporting from shadow to shadow , and the little rat took a roundabout way, hoping that the shadow will arrive first and will be satisfied after eating the chieftain, and that he could keep the warpstone to himself.

The shadow arrived into the chieftain fortress, and after passing though the guards with ease, knocked on the doors

"Who disrupt-wake me, worthless minions"

"Your servant-slave, Little Red," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought-give you a warpstone."

The wicked chieftain, who was in bed,unwilling to rise from his nest, and unable to notice the missing visual cues of the communticon from beyond the door, bid him to enter and give him the warpstone.

The shadow pulled the latch, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the wicked chieftain and burn him up in a moment. He then shut the door and got into the chieftain's nest, expecting Little Red , who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.

"Who's there-there?"

Little Red answered, "It is your servant-slave Little Red, who has brought-give you a warpstone, that clawleader promised"

The shadow cried out to him, disguising his voice as much as he could, "Pull the latch, and come-enter."

Little Red pulled the latch, and the door opened.

The shadow,hiding under the stolen rotting bedsheets of the nest, hoping not to get diseases "Put-give the warpstone, and come closer so i can hit-punish you for being so late."

Little Red, coming closer fearing to disobey his chieftain, stopped in his tracks, something was off.

"Chieftain-master, why can't i see-see your tail twitching under the bedsheet with your words-threat?"

"Stop-stop asking stupid-dumb questions, slave-rat"

"Chieftain-master, why do i not smell your scent-smell?"

"your nose is off-off, now come before i rip-tear it off!"

"Chieftain-master, why do you not show me your bared teethes-talons like a proper threat-threat?"

"I'll show-tell you them when i rip-tear your throat, now come!"

"Chieftain-master, why do you shy away-far from the warpstone?"

"That's slave-servants job, not mine!"

"Chieftain-master, why does your shadow danced-run around so?"

"All the better to burn you with.", said a distinctly unskavenlike voice.

And, saying these words, this shadow fell upon Little Red, and burned him all up.

 

[Humbaba]

Academic Misery:

It is shortly after your enlightening conversation with Deathfang that Egrimm van Horstmann finds you, sipping a fine tankard of dwarven ale as you attempt to place the draconic tale into your understanding of the world.
"And what has our vaunted Lady Magister be looking so glum?" He takes a casual seat beside you. "Still worried for what your next great adventure will be?"

"Worse," you reply, taking a solid gulp of ale. "I just had a conversation about Draconic mythology, with an actual Dragon." You sigh.

He looks carefully at you, gauging if you're pulling his leg. Upon concluding you aren't, he blinks at you, befuddled for a moment.

"I.. see..." then he rallies. "What was wrong then? Undecipherable Elvish? Boring? Simply another contradictory creation myth to add to the current set?"
"Worse!" you exclaim. "It's... it's..." you pause to sob into your tankard.
"What.. What?!" he leans forward excitedly, eyes hungry for the truth.
"It's unpublishable!" You wail. Magister Horstmann rocks back in his chair, stunned.
"No! Surely not." He tugs at his chin. "It's a first hand account of Draconic mythology, from an actual dragon!" He becomes more and more strident. "Surely it has to be significant enough to be publishable!" He's shouting now, almost raging.

You shake your head again, morose.
"Completely unpublishable. Unless I manage to get invited to Caledor and get 20 independent draconic corroboration, or find a history of the world that agrees signed by Sigmar's own hand? Entirely unprintable."

"Well..." Egrimm stares vacantly at the wall. "..Damn". He collapses into his chair, joining you in your hell of academic misery.

 

[prince84]

Omake: Ralnald's Recognition

Shallya was surprised when a rather battered yet triumphant Ranald was dropped off at her doorstep. Not so much at his bruised yet smugly smiling face but by who had dropped him off. Their northern cousins have had something of a feud with Ranald for as long as she remembered yet here they were bringing him to her for healing.

While she worked her grumpy bear of an 'Uncle' stayed to "Make sure the rascal behaves himself." and you were able to pry what had happened out of the gruff old furball. It seems that not only has Ranald been making a dedicated effort to repay his debt to their cousins but had been taking direct action against the four themselves.

In fact, it was one such action that brought him to her at this time as he had had a straight-up brawl with 'The One Of Blood And Brass' in support of one of his favoured who was adding one of The Widows' chosen. Hearing the name of Ranalds' favoured Shallya was surprised to find that she had actually heard of this mortal before, as Ranalds' chosen tend to fade into the background, most often in prayers of thanks from various sources.

Setting Ranalds nose Shallya had an idea. If it worked out not only would she be able to repay the mortals' efforts for her people but also tweak Ranalds nose in a way he could not complain about. Actually, if the prayers were right she may be able to get some of her siblings/close family to help as tweaking Ranalds' nose is almost a family past-time at this point.

POV: Elector Countess Roswita Van Hal

Ever since you had taken up the duties of being an Elector Count(ess) there were days you wondered if the world had gone mad or if the insanity had always been there and you had just not been in a position to see the extent of it before. The latest example of this lay before you in the form of a clerical proclamation. While the subject of the proclamation almost made sense the source did not.

POV: Brother Kasmir

You had always known that Sigmar worked in mysterious ways as did the other gods of the empire but you would never have expected this, though in hindsight it did make sense... in a twisted, sideways kind of way... if you looked at it backwards, in a mirror and through a veil of smoke.

Pocking the papers on the table in front of you you consider the advice you had been given in the past in a new light. It might be time to swing by the capital and see how Roswita was handling things.

POV: Magister Regimand Speiseschrank

BWAHAhahahahahaahaha, you had not had a laugh like this in decades and this time no one will be able to blame you for the confusion. You still remember the chores you had to complete after your last 'prank'.

Digging out your cyphers and best parchment you began to write your own congratulations. After all she was your student.

POV: King Belegar Ironhammer

The word from your empire contacts was interesting even if you did not quite understand the full implications. You would have to ask Mathilde to explain once she returned. But what you did know was you were likely to get less grumbling from the long beards for your choice of an advisor than before.

POV: Mathilde Weber

What in Ranalds' name was this?!?!?

You thought the greatest danger to your sanity would present itself in the Chaos Wastes but no this had come only upon your return to the Empire.

Glaring at the letter before you you reread it, of the tenth time, just to make sure you had read it right.

After due consideration and agreement the Cults of Shallya, Morr, Thaal and Wendred do hereby recognize a worthy of the following deeds.

Stealing victory from the hands of the enemies of both Mankind and the Dawi and gifting it back to those same.

Granting respite to the folk of the Empire by weaving a web of Deceit such that the forces of Chaos turn on themselves.

Skulking through danger and corruption untouched to bring warning od impending dangers to those who could prevent them.

Protecting not only the lives and honour of the Empire but that of our allies.

We the clergy of the aforementioned gods do hereby proclaim the acknowledgement of a new Sait. Let it been known to all the pious people of the empire this saint walks among them.

This Saint's name is none other than Dame Mathilde Weber, Lady Magister of the Grey Order, Knight of Stirland, Thane of Karak Eight Peaks, Loremaster of Karak Eight Peaks, Court Wizard of Karak Eight Peaks, The Dämmerlichtreiter, Sängerkritisch, Dawongr, Azrildrekked, the Silver Savage and Dawizhufokri.

Let all now Know that she is a true Saint of her Parton God Ranald.

Could they even do that? Proclaim someone the Saint of another God not their own?

 

[Lonkas]

I got to thinking of how the waystage research may turn out to mesh with the divided loyalties side of the quest and got a bit carried away. Also not sure if hypothetical futures are allowed, so feel free to bonk me if I've crossed a line

A ways down the waystone rabbit hole

Turn 61

[X] Enough testing has been done. Alter the staff of Mistery to the needed design and use it to activate the nexus

Spoiler: Rolling...

1 Unwanted attention
2 Catastrophic containment failure
3 "Your Staff is Broken!"
4 Holding... for now
5 Straining but holding
6 The Master Key

= 5

At long last you've finished the alterations needed for The Staff of Mistery to act as the key. The mix of Eltharin and Khazalid runes carved into the staff seem to spark against each other as they fight for space. just as the warpstone embedded in your mighty staff wars against the belt Kragg forged so many years ago. The nexus as designed by both Dwarves and Elves was never supposed to have a single key. Even in the ages before the enmity between the two races, they knew it was better to trust but verify in cases that could lead to the end of the world. Thus both a runemasters hammer and an archmages staff were supposed to both be required in order to gain access. But with Thorgrims vaults unsealed for your perusal, the Eonir giving their personal assistance and your stolen hunk of Morrslieb giving you the power necessary. Plus of course tutoring from the one person on the planet who could be called an expert in this field. For this one nexus, you may just be able to bypass those ancient security measures.

So slowly your approach the ancient, towering runed Menhir. Greatest of all those in the region and the centerpiece for the local network. Uttering passphrases known only to you and the archmages of Saphery, you watch as the runes begin to crackle and glow with contained energy. Ready and waiting for you to misspeak by only half a syllable, to annihilate you with the ambient energies of nearly a hundred thousand square miles of primordial forest. You however, do not slip and though you close within only a few steps of the ancient structure, the lightning arcs harmlessly around you without so much as pinging the wards bound to your spider silk robes.

In practiced motions you move your staff through the air, the Khazalid runes glowing a gleaming gold, while the Eltharin shine a pale teal. Both however, leave pale tracery through the air as you form the ancient sigils to be granted access to what has become known as the Drakwald network. The lightning for a heartbeat seems to slow for a moment, as if in thought as to whether it will grant you access to its secrets or destroy you on the spot for the attempt.

Spoiler: Rolling...

1d100 + 31(Learning) + 10 (dwarven insights) + 10 (Elven guidelines) + 20 (Teclis's advice) - 15 (?????)
DC 100
= 131 Success

Suddenly the lighting rushes out from the Menhir and onto the staff of Mistery, before entirely enveloping you in burning white,. blinding you for a moment before you mind begins to focus on what is being shown to you on a blazing white field, barren in all directions save for the display directly before you. There, laid out in the runes of both makers species is the Drakwald network. Showing the half dozen active waystones you know of, nearly twenty of the destroyed or "Bok : Incompatable" ones, including a fair few you had never even heard of before this moment. And the seventeen that you and the Eonir have been able to restore with the tools you have available. With a thought you set those to reactivate and then look toward how the energy is being sent through the network. Quickly you see that your adjustments to Laurelorns stones were working correctly. They are funneling the magical energy out of the stones and into the forest itself and you can see how easy it would be to send all of it that way. Of course if you are quiet enough, they may not notice if not every single scrap of energy was directed to their botanical experiments.

-------

As per your agreement, you will send the vast majority of power the way of Laurelorn, to make their forest potentially as magically potent as distant Athel Loren itself. Though the Eonir promise to be in far more control of their realm than the Asrai. However, you are likely the only one barring Teclis himself who would notice if a small measure of that power was slipped elsewhere.

[ ] Send it all to the Eonir. - though they have not always been the most... stalwart of allies. They have given you and thus soon the empire, the knowledge to repair at least in part, the waystone network. They deserve all that you can give despite your missgivings

[ ] Send it to the Dwarves - According to Thorgrim, the dwarves are this close to being able to reactivate the Sentinels of Gazul. Allowing any hold to be defended by the spirits of vengeful dwarven dead, should the need arise and suitable vessels be supplied. Pull the dwarves this tiny bit further from the edge as now their ancestors watch directly over them.

[ ] Send it to the Colleges - Since ascending to the role of magister matriarch, you have become aware of just how many projects are limited by the availability of magical energy. How many Fozzrics would there be in a few years if Altdorf were bathed in just a fraction of the energy you command in this moment

[ ] Send it to Ulthuan - The elves lied to you, the lied to you all. At least in part. Yet despite this, the promise of Caledor Dragontamer was not false. The vortex is the greatest thing stopping the world from sliding toward the abyss of chaos. adding even a small measure of this power gives you more time to ensure that everyone, not just the elves would get to see past this millennium

[ ] The greatest heist yet - Send it to you oldest friend, the one who has always been there for you. After all at the heights of adversity, who was there fighting a Chaos god to protect you in bleakest winter? Who baited the horned rat on a wild goose chase just long enough for you to steal that hunk great hunk of warpstone? It certainly wasn't Sigmar. Pay back the favors you owe him, far more than Mork ever could.

[ ] Yourself - Is now the time? How many conversations have you had with Cython about this topic. About how much energy you would need? All of that was purely theoretical at the time, but now here is this opportunity. Deep within you lies the question, what does it take to become a god?


These are purely hypothetical votes please do not actually vote for them

 

[Humbaba]

Thanks to you, our mutual friend has the opportunity to mend some important bridges in Kislev, and thinks that you'd be perfect for the job. It will let the cat out of the bag in some respects, but what better way to do that than to be named High Priest of Ranald?

Click to shrink...

Hmmm.

despite some people for some strange reason are adamant in saying, even though it is literally Hidi's end game to change it : Ranald is not an official god of the empire.

Click to shrink...

He is. His representatives show up to Grand Conclaves and everything. Even when they aren't invited. Even when they move the Grand Conclave without telling anyone to try to prevent them from showing up.

Click to shrink...

Hmmmmm.

High Priestess Future AU - At the Grand Conclave

The Grand Theogionist was having a wonderful time at the Grand Conclave this year. The wine was quite good, he'd had an easily won but engaging theological argument with a young priest with some entertainingly wrong views on the more obscure aspects of the twin tailed comet as an omen. But most importantly, Ranald's blasted priests hadn't turned up yet.

He'd put a lot of preparation into this year's attempt to keep them out. No less than 5 parties of various size and secrecy had set forth containing the "Grand Theogonist". Three false locations, complete with provisions and fully kitchen and service staff, had been set up across the breadth of the empire. Only the most trusted messengers, highly dedicated priests in their own right, had been used to disseminate the location, which he'd picked at the last second. The location was only shared verbally, when very loud practices with sacred musical instruments was happening nearby. He was quite proud of that, even if the poor messenger to the Al-Ulric had been extremely discomforted by being surrounded by a chorus of howling wolves during his conversation with the Wolf God's chosen.

It had proven quite effective already, three dozen or so cults to minor gods had failed to find the conclave, which was a win all on it's own. So he was quite hopeful that this year Ranald's priests might be delayed by as much as an entire day. They would turn up eventually of course. No matter what the conclave did, Ranald's priests always found it again. But hope sprung eternal, and the major cult heads unofficially awarded a small prize every time someone broke the record for how long they could be kept away. The Grand Thegonist liked his chances.

Yes, so far it had been a very good evening and promised to get better, if the uncomfortable look that the High Priestess of Verena wore whenever someone mentioned Marieburg offhand was any indication. The only blackspot was that the Al-Ulric had been beaming at him all evening. That boded ill, but he was resolved to enjoy himself and let whatever minor victory the Ulrican thought he had secured be tomorrow's problem. Now, to bask in praise for keeping the Ranaldites away for a little longer than usual, or to join in the needling of the Verenaians?

He turned, preparing to go hold the Verenaians' feet to the fire for a spell, and almost fell over a short woman in grey. She was wearing a hat in the style favoured by Sigmar templars, and holding a wineglass which was still rocking from the impact of the collision.
"Harumph" he gave the slightly apologetic grumble indicating that although he had been at fault, an actual apology would not be forthcoming as he was the obvious social superior. He followed it up with a slight sniff aimed in the direction of her hat, as he took in that she had failed to remove it despite being indoors. Still, as he straightened up he was struck by the feeling that something was wrong. Casting a glance around the room, he realised that there were suddenly a number of figures milling about bearing robes decorated with crosses, dice or black cats.

Ranaldites, Sigmar curse it! Another half an hour would have beaten the current record.*

"Ahem." A polite cough drew his attention downward again. This time he properly took in her robes. A wizard! How dare a wizard invade the holy conclave!

"Greetings your Eminence, I am.."
"Dame and Lady Magister Weber." The Al-Uric booms, rapidly approaching from the side and grinning broadly.
"... Mathilde Weber, High Priestess of Ranald."

-----

*Surprisingly, currently held by the Shallyans. Rumor had it that her high priestess had personally delivered several invitations to prominent followers of Ranald, explaining enthusiastically how much they looked forward to speaking to them about the relationship between their respective gods. Fewer of Ranald's faithful than normal had turned up.

================

AN: I struggled mightily to work out how to address the Grand Theogonist. Your Holiness is probably more correct, but it feels wrong because this is a polytheistic society and also because Mathilde might have trouble addressing them that way due to her feelings on Sigmar. So I went with your Eminence, which is apparently what you'd use for a Cardinal. Also I keep wanting to call the Grand Theogonist the Grand Theologianist.

How did Mathilde find out, why was the Al-Ulric grinning? Because Wolf was among the wolves providing the choir when he was learning the location. Mathilde had come to talk about the Eonir situation.

 

[duskrider42]

I demand the ability to scry into alternate timelines, so I may see all of these options play out!

Click to shrink...

On the next episode of Raising Mandred Project:
Female classmates have begun flirting with the imperial heir. It's up to you to find out who is a chaos cultist, a vampire spy, a well disguised rat, or worst of all, a status climbing noble that would break his heart.

Mathilde: Border Princess:
WAAAGH! Go the orcs.
BOOM! Answer your cannons.
It's only the third orc invasion this year. The attack rate has actually slowed down, which means either your efforts at suppressing the orc population have been successful, or there's a much larger WAAGH building in the distance.

Edgelord:Markgraf
Mist billows around you as you ride into battle upon your shadowsteed. There is no time to waste, this enemy is slipperier than the shadows at first dawn.
She is a pale beauty in the moonlight. Finally caught in your machinations the vampire is forced to reveal herself.
Will she fight? Will she attempt to flee?
No, instead she does the unexpected.
"You have unraveled my plots, seized my assets, revealed my spies and forced me into an untenable situation. You have bested me in all ways Countess of Nachthafen."
Bowing low she stretches her fine neck towards you in supplication. "I am yours."

Yes! Chamberlain
"Ambassador, I'm so glad you're here. All other attempts at diplomacy have failed to achieve any approval from the dwarves, just grumbling."
"Ambassador Mathilde is on the case"
Walking into the planning office you see one of the oldest longbeards you have ever seen.
"Greetings Elder"
'Grumble' (mild dissatisfied greeting)
"Which proposal disappoints you the least?"
'Grumble' followed by an eyebrow twitch
"Ah, plan C with the outer layer of plan G"
'Grumble' (mild satisfaction)
"My job here is done."

The Adventures of Meowthilde
The Grand Theologist was having a terrible week. First, some high priest of Ranald had come out of the woodwork claiming the right to vote at the electors meet. Well, he showed her, no chair no vote, those were the rules he made up on the spot.
Then a cat threw up all over his chair. The nice fancy plush one he used for all the important events. It was at the dry cleaners on a rush order to be ready for the vote. And it better be, whosoever sits upon it will get to shape the future of the empire.

Stay out of Swamptown!
The raid was supposed to be easy. A tiny human settlement just south of dark elf lands. A little pick me up before the big event. Now half the fleet was sunk and the rest was in full retreat.
When did the humans get a crazy witch riding a Shadow Carnasaur?

Mathilde: Agent of Wissenland
"Count Konstantin, we finally caught the mad scientist responsible for the atrocities."
"How could a fellow human do such terrible things to another?"
"Well that's simple my lord." You say as you rip the human skin mask off the scientist revealing a horrible rat creature.
"It was never a human to begin with."

 

[Humbaba]

Conversations you can never have

There are some conversations even the greatest of friends dare not have, lest they no longer be friends. It has been almost two years since Kasmir last spoke to Mathilde Weber, but news of her still reaches him. He was extremely pleased to hear of her promotion to Lady Magister when the news reached him last year, but awed whispers of her dragging Karak Vlag back from the warp itself are both inspiring and disturbing.

It has been almost ten years since Count Abelheim van Hal fell in his assault on Drakenhof. Ten years, and Kasmir can still vividly remember the prayers passing his lips, begging Sigmar's aid that his holy radiance might heal the stricken count. Can remember the terrible horror and guilt as Sigmar's light fails to shine. A pistol pointed at his face in grief and rage. Try again. And again. And again. Of Mathilde, hunched and broken beside Abelheim's corpse.

Kasmir had wandered the wilds of Sylvania for three years after Ableheim's death. Cut off from all news of the lands beyond Sylvania's blighted borders, he searched for understanding. A crisis of faith, and yet even when he doubted, Sigmar's power had still answered when more often than not when he prayed. Eventually, he came to an understanding. There was an old belief, originally of Norsca, then Ulric, then Sigmar. It said that if a man was struck by lightning, then his God had urgent need of him. Ableheim had been called, because for all his good work in the world, Sigmar had greater need of him in the realms beyond.

Three years, before he'd seen the face of one of his friends again. A little older, Magister rather than journeywoman, and from her face when you spoke of the resolution to your crisis of faith, with any faith in Sigmar far more damaged than yours. Perhaps it was unsurprising. Between the notorious zealousness of too many witch hunters, Dieter IV's banning of the colleges at the behest of the then Grand Theogogion Wizards had notoriously poor relations with the Church of Sigmar. To his shame Kasmir's own actions and prejudices in earlier years had not helped heal this rift.

When Sigmar's light failed to help one of his most worthy servants, even Kasmir had doubted for a time.

But as the years passed and he began hearing news of the outside again, another suspicion began to build in him. As he heard before she had found him, she was seen approaching the Elector countess with a bodyguard of Dawi hammerers, being granted a gromril sword bearing the finest power of Dawi Runecraft for her part in beginning the reclamation of Karak Eight Peaks.

In 2283 he first heard a dawi merchant (a rare sight still) call her Azrildrekked. For she had completed the reconquest of Karak Eight Peaks.

And now Karak Vlag, lost some two hundred years ago was returned by her hand.

Aid Dwarf folk. Second of Sigmar's strictures.

He still believed Ableheim was a most worthy servant of Sigmar. That he still served Sigmar in the great beyond. Yet, he wondered. Could this have been the future Sigmar saw a decade ago? Might Abelheim have been called to help create this future? He wonders, if Abelheim had been able to see this future, what would he have said. If he could have seen the possibilities, what would he have said?

Kasmir will never speak this idea to Mathilde. Never voice the words that would destroy their friendship and might destroy the woman she had become. But he wondered nonetheless.

Either way, Kasmir was certain that whatever the truth, Abelheim would be smiling at them from the afterlife.

======
AN: A character piece, because for a chosen of Sigmar, doesn't the question of "what if Abelheim lived?" bring about more questions? Hopefully I didn't get Kasmir too far wrong.

 

[Raiseth]

Elector Countess Quest AU: 2487, Mathilde Interrupt

-there was no reply to the letter, which was a little... unexpected. Granted, you've recently found out she'd gone on an expedition halfway across the continent, but. But.

Your sources in Karak Eight Peaks that you're pretty certain Lady Magister Weber tolerantly ignores have informed you of her return nearly a month ago. And nothing since. She might be still recuperating, you tell yourself when you even have time to think of it in-between running Stirland and making sure your army in Sylvania gets fed, clothed, paid, and not turned into undead abominations after an unexpected sally from the besieged cities.

But, more realistically, she's not going to answer. You stifle the feeling of disappointment as much as you can: it seems your relationship hasn't quite recovered ever since that time you fired her and replaced her with a Witch Hunter, despite what you told yourself. After she attended the defense of your thesis, you thought you put your differences firmly behind you. Apparently, you thought wrong.

Still, you expected at least a polite refusal. No matter. You walk up to the doors to your throne room as your guards salute you and hasten to open them before you-

What.

"Elector-Countess, so glad to meet you again!" Mathilde fawns faux-officiously, your father's hat almost falling off her head as she bobs it in a bow performed so courteously and rigidly you are absolutely sure she is teasing you. On your left, your Greatsword bodyguard twitches, his hand already on his blade, before his superior on your right shakes his head and sighs in what you identify as not-quite-fond exasperation, a feeling you wholeheartedly share.

Then you notice a sack lying conspicuously at Mathilde's feet.

"Mathilde," you part-sigh, part-groan-out. "Again?"

"What is it, your Highness?" She smiles without a trace of shame or apology. "Countess Ioanna of Waldenhof heard I was going to your court and practically begged to hitch a ride with me to pay her respects. Why, you could say she literally lost her he-"

"Don't. Say. It." You tell her in your best commanding tone. She quirks her brows in amusement but thankfully complies. Suddenly, you are quite a bit less sure of the 'bright' idea to make her your Markgraf.

"As you wish, your Highness," she says haughtily, before finally switching to a normal voice. "Right. So, the actual reason for this visit is to give you a present and apologize."

"Apologize?" You ask her, already having a suspicion.

"Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to assume the responsibilities of Markgraf," she confirms it. The worst thing is, she does sound very apologetic. You try not to show your dismay and probably fail. "It's just too much responsibility I wouldn't be able to address properly together with my other obligations. However!" She says dramatically, and your heart soars just a little. "I do have enough time to assume a lesser title and come over every few months to help you with this bat infestation you're having."

You smile at that. It's not what you hoped for, but it's much better than what you feared just a few minutes ago. You still have to find someone trustworthy to appoint as a Markgraf, but their and your work just became dramatically easier.

"I was thinking of Nachthafen," Mathilde muses aloud, seemingly unaware of your internal thoughts. "They have a long and proud tradition of being ruled by mysterious women who periodically disappear and return without any explanation."

You chuckle lightly and resolve not to ask under any circumstances. Somehow, something tells you that you don't want to know.

 

[primemountain]

Egrimm's Betrayal (A small favor)

Magister Egrimm van Horstmann found himself in a somewhat smoky backroom, wondering at the speed that his offer had been taken up. He'd indicated that he would be interested in more chances to adventure to the Lady Magister, but he had not truly believed anything would come of it. Now he sat here waiting to here what this was that the Lady Magister had in mind. An adventure unlike any other she'd insinuated, yet one that many went through, though it was rare for Wizards to do so. He wondered what it could be?

...

Some time later, a somewhat drunk Egrimm made his way back to the Light Colledge. It was mad. It was insane. He had not been aware the Lady Magister had taken up a Countship in Sylvania. Or maybe he should call her Mathilde, if they were to go through with this. No matter. Anything, anything to get away from that damn Patriarch and the suffocating grasp he had over Egrimm's life.

So it was that Magister Egrimm van Horstmann delivered his papers for leave and found himself yet again subject to his Masters whims. But this time, THIS TIME!!! Egrimm had ironclad precedent on his side and enough weight of favor and support behind him to roll right over the old bastard! He would not be denied! He would be free!

Sure, he was trading one master for a different kind of obligation. One that would send a Grey Lady Magister after him if he failed, but he was just about desperate for any way to step out of his master's shadow.

So it was, that Magister Egrimm van Horstmann left the Light Colledge over the wishes of the Light Patriarch. After all, when the Emperor commanded that the Lady Magister of the Grey Order, Countess of Tempelhof and favorite of the dwarves was to be done this small favor, it was done. For who would deny a Hero of the Empire, the company of her new Husband?

Egrimm did not imagine that his freedom would come with an attached courtesy noble title, nor the job of house-husband and stay at home dad while Mathilde went gallivanting around the world on her adventures, but at this point, he'd fucking take it. At least Panoramia would be around to help with the brats.

Company, nobility, and the freedom to pursue his own research. Hells, as nobility, no one would be surprised if he took up a lover of his own. The necessity of this whole rigamarole was somewhat irking, but finally things were looking up.