Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

[Glau]

Highly Variable Revelations


She'd heard (from a certain few halfwits in altdorf when she was still trying to decide whether or not to go south to join King Belegar) the fabled Eightpeaks described as the ass end of nowhere. At the time she'd laughed, and made her decision with spite in her heart.

The puckered sphincter of reality stared at her.

"Mathilde," she began, "why...?"

"No, wait, hear me out before you judge, ok?" Her girlfriend's voice, so suited to the registers of snark, smug, and commanding, had dipped concerningly into manic. She glanced at Wolf- he wound close around Mathilde's legs like a cat, tail low and a defensive hunch to his shoulders. Well then.

"So.... I've got this... Stuff. Sort of left over from dealing with that asp I told you about? I'm pretty sure it's the raw stuff of the aether held in liquid form by the surface tension of reality, and I've been able to do some really incredible things with it- remind me to show you my collection of Orbs of Sorcery later. But those were done with pre-existing power stones, and I really wanted to see what would happen if I tried to make a powerstone directly out of it...."

Panoramia drew a deep breath. Then did it again. Mathilde was still building up to something. The casual revelation of NEW ORBS OF SORCERY was just something Mathilde was giving her for context; she could tell from the slightly frantic look in her eye that she just wanted her to not ask questions and let her get to the actual important bits. She drew another breath. WELL THEN.

"And what happened?"

"It collapsed into a liminal realm and-"

"Wait, sorry, you opened a portal to the warp!?"

"No, common misconception. And grey order secret, so... Like the dreaming wood in Laurelorn that we wandered by the entrance of. I told you about that, right?"

"Ok, so not the warp. Just a crazy unreal nightmare inducing forest. That's good, at least."

"-and this greater demon of the plotter pokes his fingers in from the OTHER side of this little realm, like TWO FEET away-"

"WHAT!?!"

"-AND babbles a bunch of gong at me in the seconds it took me to close it all up. Forever. I really hope."

"...do I want to know?"

"No."

"...ok. Ok. Okay, I- can I give you a hug?"

"......please?"

"Always. It's going to be ok..."

 

[Ganurath]

All Roads Lead to... Matorca?

"Looks like the energy is going into one of the side towers of the... Castle? Palace?" You shake your head. Whatever the gaudy edifice is supposed to be, there's too much wood and not enough stone in the construction for you to consider it defensible, especially with how often greenskins menace the region. "The waystone is likely inside."

It won't be necessary to investigate further. Which, in a way, is a mercy. The sprawling town looks as though only half the space inside the wooden exterior walls is populated, if the haphazard way the rooftops are scattered are anything to go by. If it weren't for the river that the town was built at the mouth of, you'd be tempted to lead the four of you around it entirely.

Beside you, Egrimm lets out a disappointed sigh. "Next stop would be... southwest, if it follows the coast?"

A logical guess, considering the likely builders of waystones beyond the reach of the Karaz Ankor would've settled on the coast. Looking more carefully, you see a trickle of energy that verifies his guess. It won't be necessary to investigate further. "Looks like it. No other forks, before anyone asks."

At that, Johann and Max speak up at the same time. "It won't be necessary to..."

The Gold Magisters both start to trail off as you and Egrimm look towards them, and you're careful to school your expression so as to not show the same alarmed curiosity that your traveling companions all have on their faces. You'd noticed the repetition almost immediately after they gave voice to it, and it's likely that they've all had similar realizations. You turn your focus back to the town, looking at the ramshackle citadel within in a new light. Considering the last time you'd encountered that sort of effect, you think it actually will be necessary to investigate further. "Seems that stone is still an excellent insulator of magic. Let's see if we can get an audience with someone important."

---

Once you're inside the walls, you discover that the town is actually denser than it appeared from the outside, thanks to the curve of the river emptying into a cove that hadn't been apparent approaching from the east. Elevated ground separates the river's direct flow from the coast, suggesting that the cove may be artificial. It won't be- No, a deliberate change of elevation may have impacted the positioning of the waystone. You definitely need to have a look, now.

Along the road, though, you start to get the sense of how a town in the Border Princes could thrive as well as it has. While the buildings are made of modest materials, mostly mud brick, the wares on display suggest access to imports from Cathay, more so than the odd token that had been made available in smaller towns. It doesn't take much observation to figure out that in addition to an abundance of salt, the locals enjoy good fishing. This makes it relatively easy for them to supply caravans moving along the Old Silk Road, and the merchants that profit from such sales buy up the cheaper imports before the caravans complete their return to Tilea. It's a bit surprising that they're able to turn around their profits so effectively, but it's not likely to relate to the waystone. It won't be necessary-

Huh. It seemed that whatever was going on wasn't specific to the waystone. Encouraging, even if it made finding the cause a more complicated task.

The four of you head toward what looks to be one of the busier taverns along the roadside, and you find a pair of mercenary bands glaring at one another from opposite sides of the dining area. The barstools look vacant, and the balding barman doesn't seem very relieved to have a distraction from the simmering tensions. "You folks looking for a drink, or a... An audience at court?"

You hear one of the groups of mercenaries stir in their seats at the question, and it isn't hard to parse the euphemism. While well defended against a conventional military threat, at least by local standards, having an economy that relied on being open for trade made it easy for ambitious spellcasters to slip in. It'd only take one of you to seize the city, and all four of you together could easily hold it. Still, it wasn't useful to encourage needless fear. "Just a fact-finding expedition for a research project my colleagues and I are working on. I don't know how easy it is for a visitor to get an audience, but I'm hoping that it's easier when one's plans don't include a hostile takeover."

"Oh, much easier." While the man puts on a jovial smile, you notice that the tension hadn't left his shoulders as he moved to prepare unasked for drinks. You mentally crush the impulse to ignore his odd behavior before it can start putting words in your head, and you get the vague sense that you've experienced a similar dissonance of perception at some point in the past. "Between the trade caravans moving along the Old Silk Road and the local trade upriver, we get plenty of visitors looking to do friendly business. I'd recommend making your visit around sundown if you want to keep things friendly; the Princess likes to throw banquets for the wealthier sorts. Of course, one has to look the part, but judging by the runework on the lady's belt I'm guessing that you lot have some of the wealthiest friends around."

While not strictly wrong, you can't help but notice the hint of anger in the barman's voice at that. Next to you, Egrimm leans forward, drawing the barman's focus in the process.

"While some Wizards of the Empire-" You glance over your shoulder as the other mercenary unit starts to stir. A band of mixed armor quality and uniform vests with livery that you don't... immediately recognize, but you think you saw on one of the older maps in the office of the Chamberlain of the Seal. "-take vows of poverty, not all of us have, and even they allow some room for traveling expenses. What would 'looking the part' entail?"

Rather than the barman, it was someone from the mercenary company that had been the first to stir who spoke up.

"By sampling the wares of our import trade." You turn to look at the man, and your focus quickly shifts to the silk tabard he wears over his breastplate. He smirks, hooking his thumbs under it near the shoulders to better display the black eagle on a yellow field. "It's cheaper to buy the exotic materials and work them locally, no? The people who did this have robes in the Cathayan style, too, if you like."

You nod, then wave a hand toward his left shoulder. "Do they do that embroidery themselves?"

"Yeah, but I'm guessing you can tell it's not actually Cathayan. Most folks out here can't tell the difference, though, and it's enough to tell my tabard from that of my boys, no?"

That the script was vertical was about the only semblance to the Cathayan script worth mentioning, from what you remember from your raid of Clan Eshin in the final hours of Karak Eight Peaks' reclamation. Still, you can't not be curious at this point, especially if you want to get access to the building with the waystone inside it. "How hard would it be to get from here to there and still make it to the Princess's banquet before sundown?"

---

"Okay, we're not being followed. What was so special about his embroidery?"

"How familiar are you with Queekish?"

"...Enough to have a theory as to why investigation gets discouraged."

(Next)

 

[seekingflame]

Mathilde: How do you do, good lady? I am Mathilde, Everchosen of the chaos. Whose chaos lair is that?

Cultist woman: Everchosen of the who?

Mathilde: Of Chaos.

Cultist woman: Who're this "chaos"?

Mathilde: Well, we all are. We're all chaos, and I am your Everchosen.

Cultist woman: Didn't know we had a Everchosen. I thought we were an autonomous collective.

Cultist: You're fooling yourself. We're living in a theocracy! A self-perpetuating theocracy, in which the
cultist working ranks…

Cultist woman: Oh, there you go, bringing ranks into it again.

Cultist: Well, that's what it's all about! If only people would–

Mathilde: Please, please, good heretics, I am in haste. Who lives in that lair?

Cultist woman: No one lives there.

Mathilde: Then who is your chaos champion?

Cultist woman: We don't have a chaos champion.

Mathilde: What?

Cultist: I told you, we're an anarcho-syndicalist cult. We take it in turns to act as sort of executive champion for the week…

Mathilde: Yes…

Cultist: …but all the decisions of that champion have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting…

Mathilde: Yes I see…

Cultist: …by a simple majority in the case of purely internal affairs…

Mathilde: Be quiet!

Cultist: …but by a two thirds majority in the case of more…

Mathilde: Be quiet! I order you to be quiet!

Cultist woman: "Order", eh? Who does she think she is?

Mathilde: I am your Everchosen.

Cultist woman: Well, I didn't vote for you.

Mathilde: You don't vote for Everchosen.

Cultist woman: Well, how'd you become Everchosen, then?

[Demonic music plays…]

Mathilde: A Changer of Ways, his wings clad in the darkest shimmering feathers, Speak to you from beyond the veil of reality, signifying by the dark providence of Tzeentch That I, Mathilde Weber, was to carry U'zuhl, Slayer of Kings, That is why I am your Everchosen.

Cultist: Listen. Strange bird demons laying in aethyric ponds distributing nonsense prophecies is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical Aethyric summoning ceremony.

Mathilde: Be quiet!

Cultist: You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some feathery tart threw some cryptic words at you!

Mathilde: Shut up!

Cultist: I mean, if I went around saying I was an a chaos god just because some birdbrained bint had lobbed a omen at me, they'd put me away!

Mathilde: [grabs the cultist] Shut up! Will you shut up?!

Cultist: Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system!

Mathilde: [shakes cultist] Shut up!

Cultist: Oh! Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help, I'm being repressed!

Mathilde: Bloody cultist!

Cultist: Ooh, what a giveaway! Did you hear that? Did you hear that, eh? That's what I'm on about! Did you see her repressing me? You saw it, didn't you?

 

[Ganurath]

All Roads Lead to... Matorca?
Part 2 (First/Prev)

The silk clothier is happy enough to do business with you, at least at first. As personalized work would take time, you're initially directed to robes in the Cathayan style intermixed with vests of a local cut, each stylized to bear the symbol of a particular favored deity. Ranald's symbols are absent for obvious reasons, and Egrimm is annoyed to learn that Sigmar's mark is only available as special order after an incident with some Norscan merchants repurposing the twin-tailed comet as a symbol of the Plotter. It's when Johann asks about the Ancestor Gods that things turn sour, though, as the clothier explains with a remarkably brittle smile that Barak Varr has more than enough silk to mark with the runes of the Ancestor Gods, if they were so inclined, and that the people of Matorca have been taught over the centuries that there's no business success in trying to compete with Barak Varr.

Pressing for further details reveals that most merchants that make the trip to the Black Sea wind up going to Barak Varr rather than a Border Prince port, so the only trade by sea that any of the ports get come from the sorts who wouldn't be welcome to trade in Barak Varr, such as the aforementioned Norscan merchants. This is further complicated by Barak Varr's navy not considering those sorts to be welcome in the Black Sea in general, meaning that what little trade Matorca gets is either by land or by river. With that context, it's actually surprising that the silk business does as well as it appears to be doing, and you say as much.

You manage to get four sashes suited to serve as belts, at prices that aren't extortionate.

It's at this point you ask about the "Cathayan" embroidery on the tabard of the man you soon learn to be a guard captain who'd come to Matorca with the Princess's father, and that the writing had been copied from a random tablet she'd memorized in passing when a caravan came through. It raised questions about the nature of the caravan, but as much as you wish to investigate further you can't think of a way to do so. Thanking the clothier for her time, the four of you make your way toward the evening banquet.

---

The party proves more populated than you would've expected, within local business owners in silk robes mingling with mercenaries in silk vests. Amidst such company, a quartet of Imperial Wizards are a major disruption in the normal flow of conversation, and once your interest in the waystone is expressed you're quickly directed toward a red-haired young man wearing spectacles and a gray silk robe. His robe has more Queekish text on it, and that it has the word for "apprentice" sets you at alert, particularly since the mercenary captain's tabard had said "big-round dung pile."

"Hello? Ah, wow! Wizards! Professional ones, too. A pleasure to meet you all." The boy reaches out to shake hands, and you let Johann take the lead while you watch for hidden spellcraft in the gesture. Thankfully, there isn't so much as a mote of Dhar surrounding him, although his aura is obscured in such a way that you can tell he's hiding something. You'll still shake his hand when your turn comes around, though. "Well, I hope it's a pleasure, at least. Name's Dominik von Dunkel, apprentice to Matorca's court sorcerer. The Maestro doesn't attend the banquets, if you're here for him."

"Lord Magister Egrimm van Horstmann of the Light Order." You allow yourself a smirk at Dominik's flabberghasted reaction to the title. You'd planned things on the way over, and Egrimm had agreed that it was probably best that he do most of the talking since he was at the least risk of running afoul the local hostility toward all things dwarf. You'd be hesitant to take him for granted, but he seemed eager for the opportunity. "Our priority here is actually assessing the state of the local waystone."

"Ah... and you want me to show you the way to the stone. That's actually a bit politically complicated."

Egrimm smiles indulgently at that. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I've dealt with worse."

"Well, I'm not supposed to let anyone near it without permission from either the Maestro, who's already there, or from Princess Capella. She's technically still under a regency, though, because of how her father got removed, and I don't know which of her regents would be best to speak to on the matter. Don't want to get the regents mixed up, do I?"

You nod. It won't be necessary to investigate- You perk up as you push out the compulsion, suddenly intensely curious. "How did her father get removed?"

"Ah, well, it was before I was born... Have any of you heard of Khypris? Self-styled empire that held most of the territory upriver from us?" The four of you all shake your heads, and Dominik waves a hand dismissively. "It fell back in the early 70s, by Verena's calendar. Which uses the same year as your calendar, if I remember right. Yeah? Well, the reason it fell was because of some plague cult led by an actual daemon. Some locals to Khypris managed to beat the daemon and some of the cultists, but enough came to Matorca looking to regroup and recover that Commander Espiatorio couldn't hide that he was basically their puppet. Memory of the Black Death got the Lichtenberg Legion up in arms, the fighting drew in a band of greenskin mercenaries who'd been passing through, and..."

The boy paused, the excitement that had been building as the story progressed suddenly vanishing. "Well, suffice to say, Princess Capella didn't have any surviving family after we were done with the Pestilent Brotherhood."

He goes on the start explaining how the regency system thwarts efforts at conquest, but your mind latches onto the name of the cult. With all the Queekish you've seen in town, it can't be a coincidence that the cult has the same name as the coalition of the thrall clans of Clan Pestilens. Combine that with your knowledge of the Skaven civil war, and you can't help but suspect that the locals wound up fighting alongside the Clans loyal to Skavenblight during the described coup. It'd certainly explain the cultural influence. It won't be yes it will. "Dominik?"

"-wind up overruled. No pun intended. I'm sorry, yes, Miss... I didn't get your name?"

"Lord Magister Mathilde Weber of the Grey Order."

"...Oh." Where Egrimm's title inspired surprise, you seem to evoke dread from the apprentice. If you've got name recognition out here, it's likely from Karak Eight Peaks. You resist the temptation to visually sweep the banquet hall for signs of Clan Eshin observers. A part of you had been dreading that the Maestro might be a Grey Seer, but now with Clan Eshin's presence being likely you have to consider the possibility of another one of their sorcerers. It'd help explain how Dominik was able to conceal his aura, if he was somehow wrangling lessons from Clan Eshin. "What did you want to ask?"

"You mentioned that you didn't know which regent to ask about seeing the waystone?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be safe to assume that the wrong regent would know who the right regent would be?"

Dominik blinked, then frowned as he actually thought about the question for a second. "I guess?"

Egrimm didn't need anywhere near as long to figure out where you were going with this. "So, where's the nearest regent?"

Dominik looks toward you, presumably in the vain hope that you had something else in mind. Instead, you just smile politely. "If nothing else, it'd be good to learn more about the powers behind the throne here in Matorca."

 

[ReImagined]

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Warhammer Fantasy: Deriving Lore - a Tinkerer's Quest
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
Tags: ck2   deriving lore   fantasy   female protagonist   i cast lightsaber   mountain vietnam   quest   this is maybe a dwarf quest   this is maybe an empire quest   this is not a vampire quest
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User's Choice Winner ⬤ MoneyB	Voting has closed, writing has begun. Tally. Ko-Fi link. MoneyB, Yesterday at 11:16 PM Report #190951 + Quote Reply
Advocate ⬤ oliveolave This is my nerdiest form	A landslide victory, as expected. Edit: You missed the tally, it just says tally. "There's counting your chickens before they hatch, and then there's planning the entire lives of those chickens when you're not even sure if you have any eggs yet." DL - A Brief History of Our Time as Journeywoman & A Brief History of the Burgstaller Family oliveolave, Yesterday at 11:16 PM Report #190952 + Quote Reply
Councilor ⬤ Blueshirt Squadron Elites	Participant: Deriving Lore (WHF) Blueshirt Squadron, Yesterday at 11:19 PM Report #190953 + Quote Reply
⬤ mathmage	Voting has closed, writing has begun. Tally. Click to shrink... I'm excited to see what happens now. mathmage, Yesterday at 11:20 PM Report #190954 + Quote Reply
⬤ UnImagined Verbiage	Article: Across the annals of history, fire is the unifying factor that predicts civilization. Fire in the first torches, to provide light in the darkness. Fire in the first gatherings, to provide sustenance for all who hungered. Fire in the first hearths, to provide protection from the cold. Fire in the first forges, to provide the tools and weapons that are the foundation of everything we do today. Is it any wonder, then, that the Red Wind, what Master Teclis calls Aqshy, what the Elementalists called Fire, drives the most creative force? The Red Wind is flame, and it is passion, and heat and war and courage and warmth, but used properly, it is creation. Source: Collated Remarks of Friedrich Von Tarnus, Magister Patriarch of the Bright Order Dawn comes to Karak Eight Peaks with a splash of colour, painting the slopes of Karag Nar in swathes of gold that slowly encroach upon the twilit domains of its siblings. Below the tower-topped peak, the human denizens of the hold are already stirring, congregating in steadily growing streams of traffic as the morning rush springs to life. Chatter rings out in an assortment of tongues—in Tilean, in Khazalid, in Reikspiel, in Haffennaff—mingling to create an atmosphere as diverse as the sundry groups of travelers going about their business. There are eastbound caravanners with desert scarves, securing their last supply runs. Armoured Stoneheart engineers, debating the merits of airborne artillery. EIC contractors in dirty smocks, escorting trade wagons to the markets. Mootlander adventurers sporting traveler's cloaks, ferrying large stacks of books and papers. Uniformed Undumgi inspectors, performing their rounds. And in the midst of it all, one black-robed wizard in red trim, scowling at her cheerfully whistling walking companion. "We could've had breakfast by now, you know." she complains. "Instead of marching halfway across the valley." "You're marching." comes the retort. "I'm simply having a nice stroll." "Why did I even agree to this? I could be doing literally anything else by now." "And I'm deeply honoured that the most estimable and very busy Magister has elected to spend her time with such a lowly—" Adela punches her grinning brother in the arm. "Ow! Fine, fine. You know, that Flashcook of yours might be useful, but sometimes it pays to sample the local fare." "Aye, and we could've done that at the pastry stall that always sets up by the dorms." "And miss out on authentic halfling cuisine?" "What part of 'Mel Mudfoot's Magnificent Munchies' makes you think it's not run by an authentic halfling?" "Franchising." "It's perfectly good food! Tasty, affordable, and convenient." "You mean overcooked, cheap, and lazy." "You take that back." The two siblings continue their debate on the road, until one particularly fervent declaration settles the matter just as they reach their destination. "Let's have a wager, then. Two silvers on which is better." Much to the dismay of Adela's coin purse, their breakfast is delicious. UnImagined, Yesterday at 11:46 PM Report #190955 + Quote Reply
⬤ ualg	honored honoured Click to shrink... continues continue Click to shrink... beter better Click to shrink... ualg, Yesterday at 11:56 PM Report #190956 + Quote Reply
⬤ Lexicon Steel Chronicler	*snip* Click to shrink... Mathilde's one of my favorite characters, so I'm glad the plan to follow up with her finally won. Lexicon, Today at 12:02 AM Report #190957 + Quote Reply
User's Choice Winner ⬤ MoneyB	Spoiler: Rolls Ko-Fi link. MoneyB, Today at 12:03 AM Report #190958 + Quote Reply
Councilor ⬤ Blueshirt Squadron Elites	Well, then. Participant: Deriving Lore (WHF) Blueshirt Squadron, Today at 12:03 AM Report #190959 + Quote Reply
⬤ towelboy42 Valley Sage of Oddfen	So the question becomes which roll applies to what. towelboy42, Today at 12:07 AM Report #190960 + Quote Reply
⬤ mathmage	I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. mathmage, Today at 12:12 AM Report #190961 + Quote Reply
⬤ UnImagined Verbiage	Typo fixes Click to shrink... Thanks, fixed. Edit: Ooh, rolls. UnImagined, 45 minutes ago Report #190962 + Quote Reply
•••
User's Choice Winner ⬤ MoneyB	Spoiler: Voting Results [*] Plan Blueshirt v3 -[*] [BOOK] Study a topic: Natural Philosophy -[*] [ART] Work on a project: Aqshy Driven Explosive Launch Apparatus Mk.II - Payload (I can't believe it's not Fireball™) --[*] Consult with Loremaster Okri Drakkisson (10DF) -[*] [GUN] The crew's gotten ideas again. Make sure that testing is up to standards. Your standards, which may or may not bear resemblence to Dwarven standards. -[*] [GUN] The needs of the Karag Nar Gunnery School are growing. Assist your aunt in negotiating supply contracts with the EIC. -[*] [FAM] Catch up with one of your newly arrived family members: Brunhilde. -[*] [DUCK] Mathilde's back in town, and requested a meeting. Go and see what she wants. -[*] [DUCK] Free action: Write a letter to Gretel, gloating on how you've surpassed her. Unofficially, you outrank her now. Tally Progress on your masterpiece hadn't gone as well as you'd hoped in Sommerzeit, so as summer turns to autumn you decide to go back to basics and deepen your grasp of Natural Philosophy. You shout a good-bye to your brother after scarfing down a Flashcooked breakfast at the crack of dawn and begin the long trek up the central staircase to Lady Magister Mathilde's personal superweapon library tower home at the top of the mountain. The dawi of the Karaz Ankor are an industrious people, and it is perhaps for that reason that Karak Eight Peaks seems to be in a perpetual state of new construction, even three years after the departure of the Okral. The upgraded facilities of the Karag Nar Gunnery School come to mind first, of course, now that your family's settled in. But they are far from the only new residents enjoying such improvements, as you pass by a bevy of newly opened ventures on the way up—Tilean teashops and Bretonnian hairdressers and Imperial cabinetmakers, all drawn by the promise of dwarven silver. The machinations of Viceroy Caravello have moulded the Karag into a major waystation for the Silk Road, and you've certainly no complaints at the change of pace as you wash down your meal with a jug of mountain tea. Outside the human quarters, the Eastern Valley appears to sprawl just a little more each day as new halfling families put down roots, and you hear that the dwarves are establishing new clan halls in Karags Lhune, Mhonar, and Rhyn. But the most ambitious project of all might be the efforts underway in Kvinn-Wyr, the new location for Lady Magister Mathilde's once personal library. Once personal, because you'd thought something was up when her penthouse had started overflowing with stacks of books last year. But you hadn't quite grasped the scope of her ambitions until just now, as you arrive to find the bookshelves utterly bereft of parchment. Its name is Kron-Azril-Ungol, roughly translated as the Archive of the Silvery Depths, or simply The Library of Karak Eight Peaks. It will encompass the majority of an entire mountain, one of the titular eight peaks, as one of the largest collections of writing in the world. And unfortunately, it isn't quite ready for visitors. [Studying: Learning, 2+20+10(Uncanny Memory)+5(Library: Natural Philosophy) = 37] [Kvinn-Wyr Construction Project revealed: Archive of the Silvery Depths] ----- The hiss of a fireball striking a target is easily drowned out by the roar of cannonfire, so your accuracy drills go relatively unnoticed as you vent some steam of a different kind on the practice ranges. It's not how you'd intended to spend your time, but the repetitive motions help center your mind as you consider alternative avenues to improving the Mk. II. A different alloy, with sturdier materials to better contain the expansion? A different shape for the chambers? A loud bark interrupts your train of thought, and you turn to see Wolf sitting behind you, his posture bringing the large canine down to your eye-level. His grey collar glints in the sun, and you can see the gunnery crews watching curiously from a safe distance. Well, that won't do. "Back to work!" you order, fixing the lollygagging crowd with a stern look. "Wizard business, nothing to see here, move along." You don't let up your glare until the explosions start sounding again. Turning back to the patiently waiting canine, you sigh. "A firey friend is hard at work. And frustrated?" he asks in Praestantia. "Just some roadblocks on my research," you say, giving the dog a headscratch. "Any hints on when the Library will be open again?" The familiar considers your question for a moment, cocking his head to the side. "The structure is completed, but lacks guardians. It will depend on training time." The wolf looks at you askance. "For others. For Journeymanling Adela, just ask." Right. "Panoramia, if you're not around?" "That would be a logical decision. Now come, Mathilde wants to see you." ----- Wolf trots off happily as you enter the tower once again, this time occupied by its Mistress and her familiar. The last time you'd met Lady Magister Mathilde Weber alone, it had been some pointed commentary on your family's influence in the Karag Nar Gunnery School, shortly before she'd gone off on a trip to the Chaos Wastes. You gather that she's found out about your Aunt, so you mentally prepare your arguments. "Adela!" she exclaims, embracing you with a hug. "When did you make Magister?" Maybe she hasn't found out about your Aunt? No, that'd be ridiculous. She's a Grey, she definitely already knows. "I haven't technically, but the Bright Order brevets you according to your association with military units, and the powers that be decided that the Karag Nar Gunnery School counts. After the Chancellor and my aunt got married—" "The Chancellor of the Gunnery School? You mean Oswald?" She asks. "Is your family completely subsuming that institution?" You nod, squaring your shoulders. "Better them than a bunch of strangers, I figure. A lot of Nuln engineers will burn every bridge in the world to nab a secret of Dwarven engineering, they need someone breathing down their necks to keep them in line. My aunt's good at that, she's the one that got me to stop starting fires when I was a kid, back when we thought it was just a personal quirk instead of unrealized metaphysical attunement." [Rolling...] She considers your answer for a while, likely weighing what you've told her against what her information network's reports are saying. With the lack of a negative response, you take the initiative to continue. "Anyway, after the marriage, I became a mostly official go-between for Dwarven and Empire and Undumgi engineers, with an attached rank and salary. So the Bright Order breveted me." She nods. "How's the masterpiece coming along?" You shrug. "The launcher is sound and there's a lot of options for the payload, but it's the sort of thing that's useful to me specifically, rather than something with wider applications. I need to either simplify the steam half of it so that the average Bright Journeyman can use it, or minimize the magical component so that it can be used by non-magical engineers. Either way, I need a better grasp of steam and its workings." She looks at you intently. "About that. You know I've had a Gyrocarriage built for me?" Of course you do. You could probably recite Grandmaster Gotri's speech on it word for word. "Aye, big news. First entirely non-military aircraft the Dwarves have built since the air barges of the Golden Age. Opinion's divided on whether that's a sign of hope or hubris." "Problem is, I can't find a full-time pilot for it, and having to organize my schedule in advance around whoever here needs training hours defeats the purpose of having the thing. I need someone skilled, trustworthy, reliable, and able to handle themselves in a fight, all of which are easy enough to find among the Dwarves, but the sticking point is I need someone who won't spiral into despair if their flying career doesn't involve dropping a single bomb on a single Orc. The Pilot Clans tend to be rather intense about that sort of thing." "To put it lightly." You ponder her intent. Is she really asking... "And you think I'm a good fit for the job?" "You get on with the engineers, you already have a solid grasp of steam, you can handle yourself in a fight, and I already know you. You being a Wizard makes clearance and chain of command a lot simpler. You'd be employed and paid through my branch college at standard rates, and though you'd have to swear oaths of secrecy for a lot of what you'd need to learn to take it on, I'm sure a lot of what you'd learn could be applicable to your inventions. The job will have a lot of downtime that you'll be able to put towards them, but you won't have a lot of control over where that downtime will be - a fair bit of it would be here, but otherwise will be wherever the job takes me. For now a lot of it would likely be at Tor Lithanel, other times it's in major cities like Altdorf or Talabheim or Bechafen, others it's tiny places in the middle of nowhere, like Fort Brachsenbrücke in Reikland or Resvynhaf in southern Kislev." You consider the offer for a while. It'd mean less time for your family and in the Karak, but can you really afford to turn down the secrets of flight? Do you accept the job of being Lady Magister Mathilde Weber's pilot? [ ] [FLY] Yes. [ ] [FLY] No. [ ] [FLY] Delay your decision to consult with your family. I had a whole list of responses and consequences ready. Then the roll happened. Ko-Fi link. MoneyB, 42 minutes ago Report #190971 + Quote Reply
Councilor ⬤ Blueshirt Squadron Elites	I guess we're going to flight school. Participant: Deriving Lore (WHF) Blueshirt Squadron, 41 minutes ago Report #190972 + Quote Reply
⬤ mathmage	Wait, so she didn't care about our Aunt? We spent all that time worrying for nothing? mathmage, 39 minutes ago Report #190973 + Quote Reply
⬤ towelboy42 Valley Sage of Oddfen	Time to add goggles to our outfit! towelboy42, 38 minutes ago Report #190974 + Quote Reply
Advocate ⬤ oliveolave This is my nerdiest form	MoneyB: I see your Flight School meme, and raise you one Flight School. "There's counting your chickens before they hatch, and then there's planning the entire lives of those chickens when you're not even sure if you have any eggs yet." DL - A Brief History of Our Time as Journeywoman & A Brief History of the Burgstaller Family oliveolave, 38 minutes ago Report #190975 + Quote Reply
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Spoiler: Mobile quote-text version

Voting has closed, writing has begun. Tally.

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A landslide victory, as expected.
Edit: You missed the tally, it just says tally.

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Tally Image
154 people have voted for:
[*] Plan Blueshirt v3
-[*] [BOOK] Study a topic: Natural Philosophy
-[*] [ART] Work on a project: Aqshy Driven Explosive Launch Apparatus Mk.II - Payload (I can't believe it's not Fireball™)
--[*] Consult with Loremaster Okri Drakkisson (10DF)
-[*] [GUN] The crew's gotten ideas again. Make sure that testing is up to standards. Your standards, which may or may not bear resemblence to Dwarven standards.
-[*] [GUN] The needs of the Karag Nar Gunnery School are growing. Assist your aunt in negotiating supply contracts with the EIC.
-[*] [FAM] Catch up with one of your newly arrived family members: Brunhilde.
-[*] [DUCK] Mathilde's back in town, and requested a meeting. Go and see what she wants.
-[*] [DUCK] Free action: Write a letter to Gretel, gloating on how you've surpassed her. Unofficially, you outrank her now.

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I'm excited to see what happens now.

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Article:

Across the annals of history, fire is the unifying factor that predicts civilization. Fire in the first torches, to provide light in the darkness. Fire in the first gatherings, to provide sustenance for all who hungered. Fire in the first hearths, to provide protection from the cold. Fire in the first forges, to provide the tools and weapons that are the foundation of everything we do today. Is it any wonder, then, that the Red Wind, what Master Teclis calls Aqshy, what the Elementalists called Fire, drives the most creative force? The Red Wind is flame, and it is passion, and heat and war and courage and warmth, but used properly, it is creation.

Source: Collated Remarks of Friedrich Von Tarnus, Magister Patriarch of the Bright Order

Dawn comes to Karak Eight Peaks with a splash of colour, painting the slopes of Karag Nar in swathes of gold that slowly encroach upon the twilit domains of its siblings. Below the tower-topped peak, the human denizens of the hold are already stirring, congregating in steadily growing streams of traffic as the morning rush springs to life. Chatter rings out in an assortment of tongues—in Tilean, in Khazalid, in Reikspiel, in Haffennaff—mingling to create an atmosphere as diverse as the sundry groups of travelers going about their business. There are eastbound caravanners with desert scarves, securing their last supply runs. Armoured Stoneheart engineers, debating the merits of airborne artillery. EIC contractors in dirty smocks, escorting trade wagons to the markets. Mootlander adventurers sporting traveler's cloaks, ferrying large stacks of books and papers. Uniformed Undumgi inspectors, performing their rounds.

And in the midst of it all, one black-robed wizard in red trim, scowling at her cheerfully whistling walking companion.

"We could've had breakfast by now, you know." she complains. "Instead of marching halfway across the valley."

"You're marching." comes the retort. "I'm simply having a nice stroll."

"Why did I even agree to this? I could be doing literally anything else by now."

"And I'm deeply honoured that the most estimable and very busy Magister has elected to spend her time with such a lowly—"

Adela punches her grinning brother in the arm.

"Ow! Fine, fine. You know, that Flashcook of yours might be useful, but sometimes it pays to sample the local fare."

"Aye, and we could've done that at the pastry stall that always sets up by the dorms."

"And miss out on authentic halfling cuisine?"

"What part of 'Mel Mudfoot's Magnificent Munchies' makes you think it's not run by an authentic halfling?"

"Franchising."

"It's perfectly good food! Tasty, affordable, and convenient."

"You mean overcooked, cheap, and lazy."

"You take that back."

The two siblings continue their debate on the road, until one particularly fervent declaration settles the matter just as they reach their destination.

"Let's have a wager, then. Two silvers on which is better."

Much to the dismay of Adela's coin purse, their breakfast is delicious.

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honored honoured

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continues continue

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beter better

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Mathilde's one of my favorite characters, so I'm glad the plan to follow up with her finally won.

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Spoiler: Rolls

1d100 = 2
1d100 = 100

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Well, then.

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So the question becomes which roll applies to what.

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I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't that.

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Typo fixes

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Thanks, fixed.

Edit: Ooh, rolls.

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Spoiler: Voting Results

[*] Plan Blueshirt v3
-[*] [BOOK] Study a topic: Natural Philosophy
-[*] [ART] Work on a project: Aqshy Driven Explosive Launch Apparatus Mk.II - Payload (I can't believe it's not Fireball™)
--[*] Consult with Loremaster Okri Drakkisson (10DF)
-[*] [GUN] The crew's gotten ideas again. Make sure that testing is up to standards. Your standards, which may or may not bear resemblence to Dwarven standards.
-[*] [GUN] The needs of the Karag Nar Gunnery School are growing. Assist your aunt in negotiating supply contracts with the EIC.
-[*] [FAM] Catch up with one of your newly arrived family members: Brunhilde.
-[*] [DUCK] Mathilde's back in town, and requested a meeting. Go and see what she wants.
-[*] [DUCK] Free action: Write a letter to Gretel, gloating on how you've surpassed her. Unofficially, you outrank her now.
Tally

Progress on your masterpiece hadn't gone as well as you'd hoped in Sommerzeit, so as summer turns to autumn you decide to go back to basics and deepen your grasp of Natural Philosophy. You shout a good-bye to your brother after scarfing down a Flashcooked breakfast at the crack of dawn and begin the long trek up the central staircase to Lady Magister Mathilde's personal superweapon library tower home at the top of the mountain.

The dawi of the Karaz Ankor are an industrious people, and it is perhaps for that reason that Karak Eight Peaks seems to be in a perpetual state of new construction, even three years after the departure of the Okral. The upgraded facilities of the Karag Nar Gunnery School come to mind first, of course, now that your family's settled in. But they are far from the only new residents enjoying such improvements, as you pass by a bevy of newly opened ventures on the way up—Tilean teashops and Bretonnian hairdressers and Imperial cabinetmakers, all drawn by the promise of dwarven silver. The machinations of Viceroy Caravello have moulded the Karag into a major waystation for the Silk Road, and you've certainly no complaints at the change of pace as you wash down your meal with a jug of mountain tea. Outside the human quarters, the Eastern Valley appears to sprawl just a little more each day as new halfling families put down roots, and you hear that the dwarves are establishing new clan halls in Karags Lhune, Mhonar, and Rhyn.

But the most ambitious project of all might be the efforts underway in Kvinn-Wyr, the new location for Lady Magister Mathilde's once personal library. Once personal, because you'd thought something was up when her penthouse had started overflowing with stacks of books last year. But you hadn't quite grasped the scope of her ambitions until just now, as you arrive to find the bookshelves utterly bereft of parchment.

Its name is Kron-Azril-Ungol, roughly translated as the Archive of the Silvery Depths, or simply The Library of Karak Eight Peaks. It will encompass the majority of an entire mountain, one of the titular eight peaks, as one of the largest collections of writing in the world. And unfortunately, it isn't quite ready for visitors.

[Studying: Learning, 2+20+10(Uncanny Memory)+5(Library: Natural Philosophy) = 37]
[Kvinn-Wyr Construction Project revealed: Archive of the Silvery Depths]

-----

The hiss of a fireball striking a target is easily drowned out by the roar of cannonfire, so your accuracy drills go relatively unnoticed as you vent some steam of a different kind on the practice ranges. It's not how you'd intended to spend your time, but the repetitive motions help center your mind as you consider alternative avenues to improving the Mk. II. A different alloy, with sturdier materials to better contain the expansion? A different shape for the chambers?

A loud bark interrupts your train of thought, and you turn to see Wolf sitting behind you, his posture bringing the large canine down to your eye-level. His grey collar glints in the sun, and you can see the gunnery crews watching curiously from a safe distance. Well, that won't do.

"Back to work!" you order, fixing the lollygagging crowd with a stern look. "Wizard business, nothing to see here, move along." You don't let up your glare until the explosions start sounding again. Turning back to the patiently waiting canine, you sigh.

"A firey friend is hard at work. And frustrated?" he asks in Praestantia.

"Just some roadblocks on my research," you say, giving the dog a headscratch. "Any hints on when the Library will be open again?"

The familiar considers your question for a moment, cocking his head to the side. "The structure is completed, but lacks guardians. It will depend on training time." The wolf looks at you askance. "For others. For Journeymanling Adela, just ask."

Right. "Panoramia, if you're not around?"

"That would be a logical decision. Now come, Mathilde wants to see you."

-----

Wolf trots off happily as you enter the tower once again, this time occupied by its Mistress and her familiar.

The last time you'd met Lady Magister Mathilde Weber alone, it had been some pointed commentary on your family's influence in the Karag Nar Gunnery School, shortly before she'd gone off on a trip to the Chaos Wastes. You gather that she's found out about your Aunt, so you mentally prepare your arguments.

"Adela!" she exclaims, embracing you with a hug. "When did you make Magister?"

Maybe she hasn't found out about your Aunt? No, that'd be ridiculous. She's a Grey, she definitely already knows.

"I haven't technically, but the Bright Order brevets you according to your association with military units, and the powers that be decided that the Karag Nar Gunnery School counts. After the Chancellor and my aunt got married—"

"The Chancellor of the Gunnery School? You mean Oswald?" She asks. "Is your family completely subsuming that institution?"

You nod, squaring your shoulders. "Better them than a bunch of strangers, I figure. A lot of Nuln engineers will burn every bridge in the world to nab a secret of Dwarven engineering, they need someone breathing down their necks to keep them in line. My aunt's good at that, she's the one that got me to stop starting fires when I was a kid, back when we thought it was just a personal quirk instead of unrealized metaphysical attunement."

[Rolling...]

She considers your answer for a while, likely weighing what you've told her against what her information network's reports are saying. With the lack of a negative response, you take the initiative to continue.

"Anyway, after the marriage, I became a mostly official go-between for Dwarven and Empire and Undumgi engineers, with an attached rank and salary. So the Bright Order breveted me."

She nods. "How's the masterpiece coming along?"

You shrug. "The launcher is sound and there's a lot of options for the payload, but it's the sort of thing that's useful to me specifically, rather than something with wider applications. I need to either simplify the steam half of it so that the average Bright Journeyman can use it, or minimize the magical component so that it can be used by non-magical engineers. Either way, I need a better grasp of steam and its workings."

She looks at you intently. "About that. You know I've had a Gyrocarriage built for me?"

Of course you do. You could probably recite Grandmaster Gotri's speech on it word for word. "Aye, big news. First entirely non-military aircraft the Dwarves have built since the air barges of the Golden Age. Opinion's divided on whether that's a sign of hope or hubris."

"Problem is, I can't find a full-time pilot for it, and having to organize my schedule in advance around whoever here needs training hours defeats the purpose of having the thing. I need someone skilled, trustworthy, reliable, and able to handle themselves in a fight, all of which are easy enough to find among the Dwarves, but the sticking point is I need someone who won't spiral into despair if their flying career doesn't involve dropping a single bomb on a single Orc. The Pilot Clans tend to be rather intense about that sort of thing."

"To put it lightly." You ponder her intent. Is she really asking... "And you think I'm a good fit for the job?"

"You get on with the engineers, you already have a solid grasp of steam, you can handle yourself in a fight, and I already know you. You being a Wizard makes clearance and chain of command a lot simpler. You'd be employed and paid through my branch college at standard rates, and though you'd have to swear oaths of secrecy for a lot of what you'd need to learn to take it on, I'm sure a lot of what you'd learn could be applicable to your inventions. The job will have a lot of downtime that you'll be able to put towards them, but you won't have a lot of control over where that downtime will be - a fair bit of it would be here, but otherwise will be wherever the job takes me. For now a lot of it would likely be at Tor Lithanel, other times it's in major cities like Altdorf or Talabheim or Bechafen, others it's tiny places in the middle of nowhere, like Fort Brachsenbrücke in Reikland or Resvynhaf in southern Kislev."

You consider the offer for a while. It'd mean less time for your family and in the Karak, but can you really afford to turn down the secrets of flight?

Do you accept the job of being Lady Magister Mathilde Weber's pilot?

[ ] [FLY] Yes.
[ ] [FLY] No.
[ ] [FLY] Delay your decision to consult with your family.

I had a whole list of responses and consequences ready. Then the roll happened.

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I guess we're going to flight school.

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Wait, so she didn't care about our Aunt? We spent all that time worrying for nothing?

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Time to add goggles to our outfit!

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MoneyB: I see your Flight School meme, and raise you one Flight School.

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Next →

 

[Sa'kage]

Algard stared as Mathilde walked out the door. For a couple of minutes his quill scratching paper was the only sound that could be heard, before he finally exhaled in exhaustion, sure that Mathilde was long gone. Slamming his head into the desk "Holy Shit!" That had been so close! He had been so sure Mathilde had somehow aquired knowledge about the fact he had a Lord of Change invite him into being an everchoosen candidate!

He didn't know how Mathilde would aquire that information, but it wouldn't have suprised him, given Tzeentch was involved. He definitely need to keep this a secret from the rest. As if on cue, there as knocking at the door as Starke peaked his head in. "i.." he seemed to hesitate for a moment before "I meet a Lord of Change recently" As Algard, mutely nodded, arm ready to lash out in case Starke had somehow figured out about his everchoosen application.
---
"Why are you mass producing messages to every grey magician in the collages Sarthorael?"
"I originally did it to cause confusion, but have you seen their reactions? This is fucking hillarious"

 

[Dragonofelder]

View: https://youtu.be/k2N5OjudzLw

Behold, less then an hour's worth of effort.

 

[Zedman7054]

Omake
What are the odds?

Mathilde sat in front of Algard's desk, the man himself across from her and his head in his hands. The door, closed when Mathilde had slinked into the office, was open just a crack, just enough for a fraction of the wizards horded outside to peek inside.

"So I have the best kind of news...!" She begins before Algard whips a single finger out upraised. For a mercy it's his index finger.

"No. Just no." His hand comes back to his head, a shuddering breath exhaled, before the Patriarch drags his face up to look Mathilde in her eyes. "Explain."

Mathilde gives a single deep nod, the rim of her hat flopping in response. "I was minding my own business..."

"BULLSHIT!"

"I was!!! Literally! I'm the head librarian of what's going to be the greatest mortal library in the world and I need scribes. So I figured I could settle like, three or four problems at once and recruit orphans from across the Empire and train them and give them jobs working for me. So I figured I'd start with a trial run of 100 random orphans from the provinces."

"And how many of them are currently sitting in the proverbial front yard of the colleges because they have magical potential."

It's not even phrased as a question.

"One-hundred."

Algard's face returns to the comforting darkness of his cupped hands. Maybe it wasn't too late to feign his death and make this someone else's problem. But then it would most likely just curve back onto Mathilde and then she'd do something else ridiculous.

"What are the odds that's even possible?" He mutters.

"Well assuming an average minimum talent is 1 in 10000..."

"That was rhetorical." There's no fire left in his voice. This is it. Forget feigning his death, he could almost feel Morr himself patting him on the shoulder.

"It's not even the fact there's 100 orphans with magic talent, or even that you brought them to the college to be trained. How did you find them!" Oh, there's fire.

Mathilde leans back from the spittle flying from the patriarch's furor. "Our current leading theory is Ranald."

"...I can't even be mad at that. What's the second."

The thought of denying her private second theory crosses her mind. "Well...you remember Eike? And Mandred?"

"You. You think that children develop magical talent by spending time around you."

The idea of it was... was stupid. That's not how magic worked. That wasn't how it worked at all! That wasn't how anything worked!!

"This isn't my problem anymore." He decided. Algard stood up and walked to the door, not even glancing at Mathilde's shocked face.

"Dragomas." He addressed the Supreme Patriarch, who was certainly not hastily standing up by the door alongside his other fellow high wizards. "I believe that Lady Magister Mathilde has proven herself beyond a doubt a credible teacher and leader of wizards, of all the colors of the Winds. I propose that she clean up this mess she's made... I mean, give her what's she's due. I propose an official Branch of the Colleges of Magic be established at Karak-8-Peaks and Lady Magister Mathilde Weber be made headmistress, and the one hundred students she has found," the word was ground out between his clenched teeth, "be the first of a new age of magical education."

Only then did he turn back to the aghast Mathilde, ignoring the uncomfortable talk between his various contemporaries, staring into her very soul as she broke, collapsing to her knees.

"Algard! No! You can't do this! What about my AP! My backlog of research materials! My elfcation!"

Algard showed no mercy, grabbing her by the scruff of her robes at the back of neck and threw her out of his office and slammed the doors shut behind her.

"Just what are the fucking odds?"

In the silence, though he would deny it, he heard the laughter of Ranald echoing.

 

[Sparsebeard]

Thorek had attended many a social gathering in his day, and while he still prefered the brew with the lads and lasses after a hard day of work, in his time, he had dealt with Imperial Dwarves, Kings, Guildmasters, Umgi Lords, Slayers, etc. he liked to think himself a pretty people savvy dwarf.

But as he sipped his wine (which we would never admit out loud tasted pretty good), he still had to admit that he was somehow out of his depth. Even after all his time in this city (which he would never admit looked pretty good even by dawi standards) he still wasn't sure how to interpret all social cues from such a foreign society. How the hell was an honest dwarf supposed to react when he suspected his interlocutors made fun of him with their smirks and wordplays, of course, never something clearcut enough to give him cause cause to complain especially since he didn't completely master Tel-Eldarin yet (not that he'd ever admit the difficulty he faced with the subtilities of a language based on entirely different paradigm than Khazalid or even Reikspeil), but still leaving him with the impression that those damn nobles were playing wordgames around him.

Still, he would carry on, the project was to important both for Karaz Ankor as a whole and for his own damn pride. He had to admit that when the young Mathilde had come to him for help, he didn't realize just how much of an opportunity it was. But in time, he understood better why he was choosen even over ever Kragg the Grim (wasn't that something to brag about when pretenting to grumble), for the Living Ancestor would probably have lost his temper a few times at those slippery elves by now. And he WAS making progress despite it all.

He just was a little lonely for more grounded company is all (not that he'd ever admit it).

 

[Parabola]

Back cover blurb on a feather-covered tome of MAGDA WESSEN: CHOSEN'S BANE, kept well-protected in an unspeakable vault filled with strange fires:

Allowed to return HOME after pleasing her mysterious ELVEN HOSTS in Lornelim, the CUNNING MAGDA WESSEN, great Diplomat-Spy, valiant Knight and Lady Magister of the GREY ORDER, believes she is due for some PEACE. HOWEVER, a strange and alluring WHITE RAVEN appears before her with a DIRE PORTENT: the DREAD POWERS have gathered their FELL ATTENTION yet again upon the world! The UNNAMEABLE ONES desire to obtain a STRONG VESSEL upon which to pour all their malice and awful amusement, to serve as a conduit to DESTROY THE WORLD, and for this purpose they have chosen many PAWNS to fight one another without knowing, so that they may CHOOSE the GREATEST among them!

Unknown to her until now, Magda has already thwarted several of these WOULD-BE CHAMPIONS, and obtained a position in this UNWANTED COMPETITION. Now faced with the prospect of attracting DASHING ROGUES and MYSTERIOUS BEINGS, Magda realizes she cannot return home until these NASCENT THREATS are dealt with. And she cannot deny the TEMPTATION that is upon the SHADOW OF HER HEART, for she knows all-too-well that greatness is in her NATURE.

YET, her mind is AWHIRL with fears and possibilities, not knowing who to TRUST, for the FEARSOME WARNING has told her that one among her close companions may have been, or still is, among the CONTESTANTS. Who could it be...? The charming Von Heartsman, whose confidence is undercut by his MELANCHOLY? Muscled Jürgen, whose lost eyes long for SIGHT? The ever-dutiful Mark, whose PERSONAL GRIEVANCES are well known? Or perhaps her most recent acquaintance, the ritualist Tahlia, whose reputation as a TRADITIONALIST within her Order may hint something?

The few individuals Magda knows are SAFE cannot help her, as the NOBLE King Belegor has POLITICAL DRAMA to keep at bay, and her lover Constance Brew is in the middle of her TESTS OF ARCANE MIGHT, and she knows better than to DISTRACT them!

Traversing the Old World with the aid of the cheerful BRIGHT WIZARD ADELE'S mechanical expertise and strange ROUND-WING machine, Magda and her companions must defeat the FOOLS that may serve the DESTRUCTIVE POWERS. But though her MIGHTY MHORNBLADE rests firmly in her hands and her SHADOW MASTERY banishes fell magics, there are yet HIDDEN PLOTS outside her GRASP!

Now more than ever, her PURE HEART shall sorely be tested!

Spoiler

So I decided to try my hand at one of these, since the panic a few weeks back prevented us from properly doing so and we've calmed down somewhat since.

One of @Glau's comments some days ago made me consider to instead make a MAGDA WESSEN, XIANXIA PROTAGONIST omake, but I think I should reserve something like that until we decide to make a trip to Cathay for books and/or adventure.