And well, someone proposes a wild write-in. The thread immediately erupts in very, uh, frosty discussion. There's over fifty pages of discussion in just the first day. Things go in circles a handful of times, but since there was already a strong movement to starting a civil war any turn now (their Elfcation equivalent), it is accepted as compromise. At this point even the people who love Vladimir have to accept that he's actively hampering the nation. This is reflected in Boris' stoic yet already-grieving demeanor.
Note: I am not going to do the typical Negaverse thing of coming up with alternative handles for users in the thread since a lot of this is going to be panicking and fearmongering. I will be the first to admit I have done both, but I do not want to risk anyone being upset by what is meant to be a bit of harmless play, so with that in mind the handles will be the players in-thread 'affiliations' and with no reference to anyone
Hawk Prime said:
[] Ask Lord Magister Weber to Assassinate your father, once you are Tsar you will be able to give her all the support she needs and pay her in full.
I know this sounds insane guys, but think about it a single knife in the dark, a single death could spare Kislev civil war and in terms of personal anguish for Boris that would be almost as valuable. War is bad enough but there is no war more grim than that between brothers as it were. Not to mention that a trained assassin would be able to kill old Vlad painlessly rather than having to face his son and heir on the battle field or at best be killed in a palace coup.
She is an agent of a foreign power, one that is interested in stability. Do you know how you get more stability in Kislev? By dealing with the prince that wants to openly kill his father. She will spill the beans the moment we even hint at that. Or worse she will blackmail us or how about this she just kills Boris since he is clearly the person destabilizing the realm.
Come on it's not that bad, not like we are gong to tell her that if she does not do this Boris is moving on to coup and civil war. It would be spooky witch's word against ours. Who do you think Vladimir is going to believe at that point?
[] Ask Lord Magister Weber to Assassinate your father, once you are Tsar you will be able to give her all the support she needs and pay her in full. Make it clear that if she does not do the deed you will have to take matters into your hands.
If we are going to do this it's no place for half-messures. When you play the Game of Thrones you win or you die
Listen the White Walkers are coming, to stay in the same register, we cannot afford to be disunited. We can just do this in secret and by the time Vlad notices it will be too late for him to countermand it without looking weak.
Yeah I am going to have to agree with the Right Honorable Fellow up there, we a should not be betting everything on one roll of the dice. This is something we can do the usual way, let winter and hunger do our job for us. It is not like Vlad isn't rolling death dice anyway from all the hunting he does.
Vladimir will indeed look weak if he countermands out command unless he calls Boris to heel at the same time and makes a show of it. Do you think he wouldn't do that? Or that our prestige can tank the hit? The same prestige mind that we need to fight in a civil war since that is what draws nobles and soldiers to our banner once this kicks off.
We can't have it both ways either we subvert the Tsar to get more prep in and hope to Ursum he dies a natural death soon, or we are a good little princeling, take prestige and gold boosters until the war sounds off.
Well maybe some of us do not want civil war just because Boris is so prideful that he is willing to stain his hands with the blood of his father. You guys ever thought about that?
Not this again, we are not corrupted by Chaos. We had four divine visitations this quest, five if you count the Tavern Crawl that Will Not Be Mentioned. How do you think we are tricking the Gods, the Land?
Heh, maybe Boris is secretly the Changeling and we do not know
*compilation of quotes from earlier in the thread involving talks with Mathilde*
Does this woman sound like someone who is going to blackmail us for fun? Who is going to assassinate Boris because he wanted to protect his people from Chaos? She managed to reinvent Geomancy by getting elves and dwarfs to get along. That is like Matrioshka levels of miracle. Do you think this woman will not jump at the chance to spread her work in Kislev?
Ljiljana approached the walls of Kislev City with a steady pace, not at all hurried. Boris was not yet officially crowned as Tzar, for one, and it would not do to be rushed even if he was. A certain amount of dignity needed to be retained for the Ved'ma, even as reduced as they were. Boris was waiting for her by the entrance to the inside of the walls near where the gates are, his 'pets' standing around him three men thick- no surprise, given his father's sudden passing.
"You have certainly been running about since Vladimir's death," Ljiljana commented as they ascended the stairs. "Meetings with Boyars, meetings with Atamans, now meeting with the Ved'ma…"
"Perhaps," Boris responded as they reached the top, "if I move around them quickly enough, the Boyars will be too unsteady to put up a fuss about what Kislev needs. Along with others… this has not reached any beyond a scant few, but I have reason to believe my father did not die of natural causes. He was a fit man, why so suddenly? And the surgeon, when he cut into him, his heart was cut through. It was as though someone reached in with a knife but broke no skin."
"You have suspicions," she said as she looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"Yha. We were making inquiries into Pragg, into the Kalashiniviks. I believe they feared my father would discover they hid some of Kattarin's kind among their number… but they made a mistake when they killed him. I will reach into Pragg and remove the blood-drinkers and all their puppets, and Kislev will be safe from at least one horror."
"And you wish to have our support, the support of the Ved'ma in this?"
"Yha, but that is not the entire reason I requested you come here." They stopped along the battlements at a large cannon, which he gestured at. "Do you know the history of these guns?"
"Nya. Blackpowder and cannons is very far from my understanding. They are loud and dirty and the short folk and Imperinyi are far too fond of them to be healthy."
"These guns have a particular legacy to them. Tsar Alexis commissioned a dozen of these from Nuln before the War, great big Thunderers that can lob enough iron to take out a whole pack of trolls. Most of them were stationed in Pragg, where most of them were destroyed, but they each took their share of the Za with them. Only a few remain, but to the credit of the Imperinyi, they've lasted well. These old Thunderers are the oldest guns we have, and certainly the most storied- not many veterans of the War left to us now."
"A neat bit of history. Very pretty. What do the Ved'ma have to do with these Groms?"
"I wish to take them into battle, to bring them to fight against the Za directly."
"Then I would say you are a great fool indeed. I know nothing of guns, but these great big things? Too heavy by half, whatever pulk you place them in would move at the pace of a snail to not leave them behind."
"I've had thoughts on this. There is a particular spell that Imperinyi Ved'ma Weber cast, that seemed to turn a muddy field into the finest of roads, made out of fog and mist."
"Yha, I am familiar. She spread it around very much when we went with the short folk to look at their missing mountain. You wish me to get her for this?"
"Nya. Now, I have read books on the magic in the world, but I am not so arrogant to think that I could know more about your art than you do. Still, from Weber's spell the thought came to me, and I felt the need to seek an answer- could the Ved'ma put magic into a sled that the cannon could sit upon, and the sled would create ice beneath it so that the gun would slide along as though it were a skater on a frozen lake? Is this a thing your magic could do?"
Ljiljana thought for a minute or so, staring at the cannon and considering. "Yha," she said finally, "it is not apprentice work to do it, but it could be done. It is not enough though, these things are so heavy you would need a team of horses to drag them along. They would still be useless in Raspotitsa or anywhere there is no solid road, which is everywhere."
"Ah," Boris began with a smile, "you have my word. Supply sleds fit to carry them, and I shall supply something capable of dragging these Grom into battle. I think it will do the pulks much good to have a symbol of defiance against the Za among them, roaring thunder once more."
______________________________________________________________________________
And that may-or-may not be the story of how these units get made in Divided Loyalties.
Vladimir Bokkha, Tzar of all the lands and peoples of Kislev, sighed as he changed into his sleepwear. Another day gone. Another day of listening to reports of increased stirrings to the north. Increased raids and incursions on his people. Increased signs and sightings of darker creatures in the night than trolls and goblins. Another day closer to the reckoning of his Realm. The reckoning of his people.
The Za were coming.
Kislev was not ready.
The signs started decades ago, for all that they only grew enough to truly recognise them for what they were in the last few years. They had not wanted to recognise them. It was still far too early; even in two centuries Kislev had not recovered from the Great War.
He had made good work, he thought. He had focused on the stability and prosperity of the land and her people in his life. Kislev was recovering, its land ever more secured, its enemies slain. The people were growing strong again, remembering what they should be. But they were not whole.
The cults remained all but dead. And what of it, he had thought? What uses were places of worship while his people lived in huts, while enemies stalked outside their homes? He had always thought Boris could complete those works, that it would take all of his own reign to restore Kislev to a point where the return of the Gods could be even considered. The Motherlands people were strong. They had survived without the true protection of the Gods for lifetimes now, they could do so for one more. So he had dedicated all he had to what he thought was important, to the land. Homes. Let the Boyars do as they wish, what need has he of wasting time on their politics if that time was taking from the cleansing of the land, the killing of Kislev's enemies? Let them and the people grow into what is reclaimed. Build the foundation for what could come after, so that their children's children could see Kislev whole again.
Shows what a fool he was.
Relations with outsiders were little better. Kislev would always stand alone, but the steel from trade would be useful at the very least. Again though he had thought, what use would access to foreign goods be when his people had not the coin to buy them? A concern for future generations, when their roads had been made safe.
That, at least, was not an insurmountable problem. He did have some influence he could use to push trade, but that wouldn't be enough. Mortal weapons alone would not suffice in what was to come.
Without the Gods, the men of Kislev stood alone against the coming Za, more alone than ever before, weaker than ever before. He believed in the strength of his people, brothers all, but they had barely survived the last war. One of Kislev's great cities forever lost, or at least close enough for mortal men. So long as the land survived, Kislev survived, but now sometimes his mind wondered if even that would remain.
Visions of fire and blood crept upon him, conjured by his dark thoughts. As always he tried to banish them by calling up visions of what was important, the things he loved, what he fought to protect. The beautiful, stark fields and forests that made up his home. His people, marching to defend that home.
His son.
Vladimir sighed again, as that brought back the memory of his last discussion with Boris. The end of it, anyways.
–
"Foreign Witchcraft again?" Vladimir scoffed. They had been talking for some time, he and his son, and things had been going comparatively well for recently. And now again, this. "No. I have told you before Boris, Kislev will not support these projects."
"My Tzar. Father. We need this." Boris pleaded. Oh, nobody else would describe his expression as pleading, but he knew his son. Could see the desperation in his eyes. Damn his fool boy. "Kislev cannot stand alone against what comes, we need friends. Allies. We need people who can match against the magic of the Za. If the Imperinyi will not do, the Ice Court-"
"The fucking Ice Court?" Vladimir sneered. "Fuck the Ice Court. Where were the vaunted Ice Witches when Kislev suffered? Now they come crawling back like vultures, as the people grow strong again, have worth again. Kislev has had enough of parasites for all its history; it has no need for more.
"Nor does it have need of foreigners," he continued on before Boris could speak again. This was not even close to the first time they had had this conversation. He knew what Boris would say next. "The foreigners will come to fight the Za. They will come, as they always have, when it is their land that is threatened. When Kislev has already burned and bled, and those we have always held back are all but ready to march on them, they will come. And not a moment sooner. They will not come to help us.
"Kislev does not need witches. It does not need foreigners. What Kislev absolutely does not need, is foreign fucking witches."
Vladimir stopped, breathing in deep, trying to calm himself before staring into his boy's eyes.
"Kislev, as always, stands alone. I will hear no more of this."
-
He… had been overly harsh, perhaps. He loved his son, by the gods he loved him, but their talks had not gone well for some time, and it had been a hard week. He had hoped, with how well the conversation had gone to that point, well…
It was just so frustrating. His son needed to understand. He would succeed him one day, so long as they could brave what was coming, and he would be a great ruler. He knew it in his heart. But in some things, Boris was still too hopeful, too trusting, idealistic. Naive.
Vladimir had ruled Kislev for many years, had lived in it for more, and had heard much from those that lived before that. When the Za marched and burned Kislev, the south stood by and watched, arguing until it was all but their turn. Only then did their armies arrive. Trade was all well and good, and the return of the dwarf mountain was a stroke of good fortune, but foreigners could not be relied upon to fight when needed. And the witches…
When the Za marched, it was the people who were the ones that fought, the cults all but to their death, while the witches stood by and watched. When a monster ruled atop the throne, the people feasted upon, suffering, it was the people who changed that, as the witches stood by and watched. As the people endured being hunted on their own fractured land for two centuries, and as he and the people bled to take back their home, to piece Kislev back together again, the witches stood by and watched.
But most of all, as sorcery corrupted the land and killed the people, as Praag was infested with Za and traitors, made a bastion of evil in the heart of their lands, the witches, the so called magical authority and protectors of the land, stood by and watched. For two centuries as the very powers they were meant to match reigned terror on Kislev and her people, they, who's purpose, only purpose, was to protect the people against what they could not protect themselves, stood by and watched. They did nothing.
There was no salvation for Kislev in magic.
If only there was a clear salvation at all that he could see.
If the witches could not be trusted to do their duty, whether through cowardice or whatever else, he cared not, they had to turn to the Gods. But he had never planned to restore the cults in his lifetime, hadn't thought he would need to, and now as they appear his only hope he finds himself bound with the very rope he used to pull Kislev back together again.
He wondered what was best for Kislev, how he could best serve her. How best he could prepare his people for the coming storm. Or, the thought lurking in the darker corners of his mind made itself known, if it was even him at all that could best prepare-
The door opened, shaking Vladimir from his thoughts. He managed to force a smile at Mila as she walked into the room, and the two moved towards the bed. Tomorrow awaited with all its troubles, and beyond that the shadow hanging over them all. But tonight, at least, he could rest.
MAGDA WESSEN, widely acclaimed MASTER WIZARD, returns once again to AID her DEAREST ALLIES, the redoubtable DWARFS. After her GREAT SUCCESS in REDISCOVERING THE ELVEN WAYSTONES, many obstacles still BARR THE WAY to SAVING THE OLD WORLD. The SECRETS OF THE GOLDEN AGE have been LOST, and she must REDISCOVER them so the GREAT AIRSHIP GRUNGNI can FLY AGAIN. But no dwarfs still remembers, so she must turn to DARKER SOURCES. Now she will travel across the PLANE OF BONES in her SECRET PERSONA of GABRIELLA VON UMSHADOWHOME to wrest the SECRETS OF THE ANCESTOR GODS from the TYRANNICAL and CRUEL hands of the FIRE DWARFS.
But will the PRESENCE of the DOMIEERING PRIEST OF HASHUT conspire to DRAG HER INTO DARKNESS? She must work with the IRON ORKS and their BRUTAL YET CUNNING LEADER who offer help in RETURN FOR FREEDOM, but will her TRUST be REPAID?
FAR FROM ALLIES, MAGDA WESSEN will FACE DANGERS like she has NEVER BEFORE.
Noon sun through low-lying smoke had that effect sometimes, Belegar supposed, though the last time he'd seen it personally was when the caldera burned. This time he stood on a lower ridge, watching as the largest port in Kislev writhed with flames. An army of demons frolicked through it, the largest barely the size of ants at this distance. It was still too close. He felt his beard bristling at the sight.
"Situation?"
The woman who spoke at the head of the rough table looked grim, lean and certain of her death; almost seeming nostalgic in the feeling. Elector Countess Roswita van Hal had been fifth in command of the soldiers of the empire when the host set out north. The war against the everchosen had not been kind to the Empire either.
The bright wizard to whom she had spoken wasted no time in her reply.
"She says to tell you that she is ready for the plan tomorrow- she'll move on your signal. Empress Heidi will be here with reinforcements from Altdorf with the morning mist, if she makes it at all, and it's the best time for grey wizards anyways. And King Belegar? She asked that you paint it red."
"Thank you Adela, dismissed."
The two ex-employers of one Mathilde Weber, L.M., looked at eachother, then around the table to the assembled commanders, then down to the map and tokens upon it. Roswita continued, after a moment.
"The enemy's main force is occupied for the night. Fortunately, our efforts were not in vain- we bought the time needed to evacuate the city, and the demons that have been summoned will find little to sustain themselves on. This leaves them badly overextended, and thus we have our chance. Get some rest, get your troops rested, pray to your gods. When dawn comes tomorrow, we will strike."
"Countess! Do you really believe this will work? A small group when these abominations have chewed through regiments?"
Roswita just arched an eyebrow. It was Belegar who replied.
"Aye. You've never seen her work before."
*******
Adela was screaming. Hubert was screaming. Johann was screaming. Kadoh was more whooping in exhilaration, but was generally lost in the din.
The gyrocopter was screaming, streaking over the heads of the heads of chaos warriors pressing south, trailing smoke. Adela worked the petals and the stick frantically, desperate to ride the edge between lift and forward speed that would keep the rotors turning, her whole damn engine a casualty of some fuck-off big javelin that came out of nowhere a half a minute ago.
Mathilde calmly leaned over her shoulder and pointed.
"There. Aim for there."
Adela hated her boss sometimes. Sure, technically she knew what she was signing up for when she had agreed to being a pilot all those years ago, but here, now, with the bloody calm that almost wrapped around into smug in her voice, pointing right at the clear spot where the smoke was being blasted away by the sheer concentrated attention of the chaos gods, she had to be honest with herself. Still.
"Yoooooouuu gahhhhhhhhhhht it booooooossssss!"
The hand clapped down on her shoulder.
"Good job Adela. Now it's time for us to do ours."
She loved her boss sometimes.
******
The everchosen, who had been some random drunk before blue-feathered fate has conspired to give him his due, looked up from his rage-filled brooding. The sack had been a disappointment, the sudden attack on his army just after the time his demons started vanishing was a nasty surprise, and the hangover was just the cherry on the cake. Maybe this screaming approaching him meant something fun was finally on the horizon.
His eyes widened as the red-painted wreck of a gyrobomber streaked out of the sky at him, FAST, almost clipping the cool edgy horns spiralling up from his helmet and plowing a trench behind him as it crashed. But his attention was captured by the four figures rising from where they had jumped. He knew the one in front.
"Mathilde Webber. You still think I can't kill you?"
"Pft." She spat. "You should have stayed in that bar."
For nearly 3000 years the Empire has been the closest ally of the Karaz Ankor. Despite all odds and all obstacles, these two polities have maintained their friendship. Emperors both wise and foolish have come and gone, wars of the pennies have been fought between foolish nobles and dawi crafters, but the relationship of the polities as a whole have remained strong. Through the reign of Dieter IV, through the reinvention of ballistic sciences by the Empire's academics and artillerists, through the revolution of steam.
Yet now, finally in the age of information, and the creation the Empire wide web, it seems these relationship two allies are finally fated to crack, through the actions of a single person.
-----
The dawi did not care when the rise of the internet brought man's knowledge to all citizens. The Karaz Ankor was unconcerned when the human's greed and lust for knowledge turned information into a type of property that was constantly stolen.
The Dawi did not care. Until one day, perchance an engineer's guild apprentice logged onto the Empire wide web, and found confidential engineering guild schematics easily and freely accessible to all. Horrified, they ran to the Masters of the guild. The master's checked, the masters looked, and the master's found... everything.
Weaver's guild, Miners guild, and even... greatest horror of all, Brewmaster's guild. Someone had stolen all the secrets of the guilds of the Karaz Ankor and placed them for all the world to see. Created a place specifically to display them. It was called torrent.
Now relations are rapidly worsening, the guilds are out for blood, and the Empire is racing to find the creator of this site and offer up their head on a platter to the Karaz Ankor.
The Dwarf Torrent Crafter.
AN: Heh, "Dwarven torrent". I had this silly thought, so now you all have to as well. The Karaz Ankor guilds would probably not cope well with the idea of the internet. Or internet piracy.
Fritz of House van Haagen nervously pulled at his sleeves, the action thankfully hidden by the crowd. He looked around him at the many foreign notables excitedly mingling with the native Kislevites. He didn't know why he had to be here.
Oh, he knew why someone had to be here. But why did it have to be him?
He remembered years ago when that blasted Black Water Canal opened up and Marienburg's fortunes shifted. He was too young to really comprehend the fullness of what it meant when it was first conceived of, but having grown up in its shadow he had had plenty of time to internalize his elders worries of doom and destitution that it would cause. In retrospect those had been overblown, though it had definitely pushed hard times on his family, not helped by the immediate announcement of the next economic disaster project to Marienburg, this time Kislev edition.
The opening celebration for which he was currently attending.
It wasn't menacing or anything. Won't even be as damaging as the Black Water Canal was, but the sequence of events was still sufficient to push many of the Great Families to worry, which he had absorbed by proximity. No matter that it's announcement right on the Black Water's completion was almost certainly a coincidence. At best one inspired the other, though there was certainly no grand plot to weaken and destroy Marienburg.
Right?
Regardless, the paranoia that had taken root in his family saw him sent here, for peace of mind. Even if those fears were accurate, what did they expect him to do?
He was being silly. The real origin of his uncomfort was the contrast between his own feelings and those of, well, everyone else here. He was pretty much the only attendee who wouldn't be definitely benefitting from this development, even if many of the locals disagreed with the project as an expenditure of resources better spent elsewhere. It was… a somewhat alienating feeling. And the weather certainly didn't help-
There was a commotion near the stage, at the edge of the crowd.
He moved to try and get a better view. That was the Tzar, not his first speech of the day, probably a final one to close off the party proper. He wasn't alone though, by his side was a woman in gray robes. Who was-
Mathilde Weber.
Oh Gods.
The Arch-Enemy of Marienburg, whispered by some. The Black Water Hand. A terrifying shadowmancer of the Empire's Orders of Magic. If you believed what they said, she was the mastermind behind the conspiracy dismantling their fair city. As one of the Founders of the Eastern Imperial Company and a known friend to the Dawi she no doubt had a significant hand in the construction of the Black Water Canal, and from there look at her burgeoning relationship with some of the highest echelons of Kislev's rulership, in the middle of which Kislev's own project was announced right as the Black Water was completed, and right after that her toadying up to their Asur backers, it all had to be a plot to eliminate Marienburg's international influence in preparation for a new Empire invasion. Her goal was nothing less than the death and destruction of all the good burghers of Marienburg held dear.
Or so they said.
Calm down, Fritz. This didn't mean anything yet. Her connections with Kislev were well known and her position in the EIC means it makes sense she would show up here. They had supplied much expertise for the construction of the canal, paid for by Kislev's coin or no. Yes, there was nothing odd about this at all, this was completely normal…
She was climbing the stage.
No.
It couldn't be.
She wasn't the first to speak. Tzar Boris began, thanking the people of Kislev for their hard work in the completing of the Canal and the rest of the crowd for attending the event as appropriate, and Fritz had almost gathered himself enough to begin contemplating what this could mean, when it was 'Atavanka Weber's time to speak.
"People of the Old World, I would also like to thank the many people here for the contributions to this momentous project, and for making the long journey to make it to this event. As many of you know, this isn't just a victory for Kislev, but for the whole Old World."
The shadows begin to shift and writhe.
"Never before has trade between the many good peoples of this continent been so easy, our nations so connected as they will be from this day forth. A new age of prosperity is surely on the horizon. But this is only the start."
The Lady Magister threw out her hands, and a map of the Old World was conjured into the air by way of her sorcerous powers. The Old World… and the East?
"News may not have quite reached all corners of our peoples quite yet, but in the eastern mountains, beyond the Karaz Ankor there have been some significant developments in recent years. The Ogre Kingdoms have come together to form a union of hitherto unprecedented sophistication, and unprecedented willingness to take part in diplomacy and large, national scale projects."
The shadows creeped out from their confines, crawling and digging through reality, tendrils reaching out and through the crowd towards him.
Please no.
"An Ogre is an imposing figure, as I'm sure many of you have seen firsthand, and while that is normally of note only in military matters, when properly harnessed this can allow for construction of truly impressive scale."
She pointed and long line was drawn across the map, from west to east, cutting right through the vast stretch of mountains.
"It is my pleasure to announce. A collaborative project between the Empire of Man, the Karaz Ankor, Kislev, Grand Cathay and the United Ogre Kingdoms."
Please.
"The Old World-Cathay Canal Project!"
The shadows pulled him into their embrace.
"OH BY THE GODS, PLEASE NO-"
—
"-PLEASE NOT THE CANALS!"
Fritz woke up screaming, his heart pounding in his chest.
…
He hated these Gods damned nightmares.
He wiped at his face, and looked out the window. Not dawn, but not far off. He wouldn't be getting anymore sleep today. Might as well get up.
Beginning his morning routine, he grumbled to himself of recent events. Blasted canals.
It had been almost two months since the Black Water had been completed, when his family finally thought things would calm down. In the early stages of its construction, those years ago, he remembered the pall that seemed to hang over them all. As the project came to a close he personally had almost started to feel a sort of relief, and he wasn't alone in that. Sure, Marienburg's monopoly would be ruined, but cooler heads had long since prevailed. So what? They were still well positioned, they would survive, could easily transition to other markets.
The second Canal… it hadn't brought things back to the early days. The doomsaying had been far too paranoid, and with the gift of experience they could ration out the situation better than before. The new canal would be less impactful to them than the first. And besides, they still had Ulthuan on their side.
…well, they're pretty sure they did, anyway.
Last week, the whole lot of the Ulthuan quarter had just… up and left. It was bizarre. And it wasn't just them either, all magic users in the city had seemingly left weeks prior. The Council had been tense with the second Canal's announcement so hadn't noticed until the Asur had left. From what he had heard, when asking them where they were going they had only replied with something about fish.
Weird.
Well, that wasn't important to him. Let the Council figure that out. He had a morning meeting to get to.
He had just stepped out of his door when he felt it. The earth trembled. What was that? Fritz looked around, but could see nothing out of the ordinary.
The earth trembled again. He saw some servants pause, looking around in confusion. He started to feel wary. What was happening?
Abruptly, a great voice seemed to come down from the heavens, seeming to blast from every direction.
"People of Marienburg, this is Lady Magister Mathilde Weber of the Old World Trade Development Council."
What the hell?
The rumbling of the earth increased, and he thought he could hear something in the far distance. He looked to where he thought it came from, towards the east, and saw… a greyish black blur on the horizon? It sat at the top of a hill, and seemed to be growing nearer.
The blur crested the horizon in full, allowing him to see behind it, where a stream of water seemed to follow it?
The water followed behind the black blur, as if a river, and considering the distance…
"As you are probably aware, plans for the development of the outlying regions of the Old World involve the building of a canal route through this area…"
That was a lot of water.
The dark blur grew close enough for Fritz to begin to comprehend the full scale of what he was seeing. It was massive. A twisting shape of gray and black shape, almost painful to look at and easily large enough to tower over all but the greatest buildings in Marienburg, though looking at it half of it seemed to be dragging through the earth. Consuming the earth. Carving it.
"…and unfortunately, your city's location in the way of this ongoing development means that it is scheduled for demolition."
The rumbling increased, shaking the street, buildings shuddering.
The people of the city began to scream.
Fritz screamed.
The orb screamed.
"The process will take slightly less than two minutes. Thank you."
Fritz ran, praying to all the Gods he could think of to save him. It hadn't even been a minute but already the streets were packed, fleeing in every direction as if there were anywhere for any of them to flee to. Fritz chanced a glance behind him, just in time to see the maelstrom of twisting shadows to impact the walls.
"There's no point in acting all surprised about it. The plans have been on display in the night sky for the past fifty days, so you've had plenty of time to lodge formal complaints."
The walls were devoured instantly, and the orb pushed through, devouring not just any buildings in its way but their very foundations… though that paled in comparison to the destruction the water caused, as it followed in its wake. It spread out of the furrow carved by the orb in all directions, immense waves running through the streets. Fleeing crowds and even whole buildings were swept away.
"What do you mean you can't read the stars? Oh, for heaven's sake Marienburg, you don't even need to be a master at magic to read the message. It isn't even encoded! I'm sorry, but if you can't be bothered to take an interest in local affairs that's your own lookout."
Those damn Elves.
Fritz barely had the presence of mind to have the thought before it all got worse. As the orb finally traversed the fullness of the city, leaving a line of devastation running through Marienburg, a great crack seemed to run through the earth, and the city… folded.
The edges of the city that had escaped the destruction thus far went from solidly horizontal to increasingly vertical. Buildings seemed to slide slowly down into the new river… no, not river, canal, running through the center of the city. Fritz held on for dear life, but it was fruitless. His handhold failed him, the whole construction falling with him, down, down towards…
"Apathetic bloody city, I've no sympathy at all. Completing canalisation…"
The canal consumed him.
—
Fritz gasped as he woke up in a cold sweat.
…
These damn dreams could not be natural.
So, uh, not gonna lie, this got a bit away from me. Thought about splitting into two parts, but eh.
Prince Eltharion of Yvresse woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. He sat up, slowly, taking in the room around him. He was in some sort of quaint dwelling. There was a fireplace with a large pot warming up over it, a nearby oak dinner table with a few chairs nearby, and lots of strange decorations. Not elven, he thought, as it was too primitive. Not dwarven, either, as it would be more austere. Human, then.
He did not remember how he arrived to this place.
He took stock of the situation. He noted that he still had his armor on, which was good because he was always most comfortable when he was most protected from physical harm. He also noticed that he was in a warm bed and that his pillow had been soft and cool, which was also good, because most pillows warmed up his helmet too much for when he went to sleep.
All this painted a strange picture.
He got up from the bed (boots still on) and went over to the table. There were several maps of the Old World. It was filled with notes on greenskin-controlled areas, their numbers, difficulties of terrain, and the difficulty of logistics for certain locations. Several notes, in ink, were clearly of his own handwriting.
Yes, he had been... They had been discussing the Old World's so-called Waystone Project, and one thing had led to the other, and...
The door to the room creaked open. An old woman stepped in. Her.
"Oh, dearie, you're already awake. Did you have a good sleep?"
Eltharion nodded automatically, but before he could stop and consider how he would normally never react like this, the woman, Granny Niedzwenka, continued.
"Oh, that's great. I would have hated if our talk yesterday had exhausted you."
"Oh, that could never have happened. But thank you for the concern, Granny," he said. Perhaps if the topic had been anything but greenskins, he would have noticed that he would have never said things like that normally. Not in a thousand years. But it was, so he did not.
"Shall we continue?" She asked, gesturing to the door.
"Of course."
Baba Niedzwenka gave a smile that in a younger woman would be described as predatory. They exited the room, and Eltharion found himself back onto the courtyard of Bohka Palace. They walked back to the room the meeting had started in. The members that had been there yesterday were assembled again.
They were doing their absolute best not to appear bothered by what was happening, but did not dare raise a word.
"So," said Eltharion. "In addition to Yvresse is willing to support Kislev, the Karaz Ankor, the Empire, and Laurelorn with a number of troops to help curb their own greenskin problems..."
There was something strange, he thought distantly, about how surprised the assembled members were. But he had long forgotten to care for the reactions of others, when it came to important things.
This got away from me. Niedzwenka controlling the conversation is too perfect for this.
Also, you cannot convince me that Eltharion doesn't sleep in his armor like Samus does.
To be the Bursar of a college is to hold an unglamorous, yet indisputably important, position within the academic hierarchy. It is your role to ensure that the financial apparatus of the institution runs as smoothly as it can, from corralling graduates over their student loans to ensuring that tenured staff receive the grants they need to pursue their research. Should any of these systems falter, then the ruin of the college will swiftly follow—yet many see you as the greedy coinkeeper, constantly raising an unnecessary fuss over other people's finances.
This is even more true when you are the Bursar of the Grey College, whose students and staff consist of the most duplicitous, dishonest, and devious wizards in all the Empire. Manipulation and trickery are bywords for members of the Grey Order, and it's not just your job to collect the dues they lawfully owe to the College, but also that they don't stray outside the lines defined by the various oaths and vows that enable Shadowmancers to even exist, lest the common people's distrust boils over.
Unglamorous, and unenviable—especially when many of those wizards worship Ranald, God of theft and deception.
And now word has just reached you that one of those wizards—a rather promising young Magister—has just attempted to tithe a wagonload of silver to the college.
Actual silver, or so your assistant says, smelted into ingots and stamped with the personal seal of a Dwarf King.
I have a cunning plan. Let's delay both the book and the orbs until we get 5 more sets of power stones, and then? Then....
Morbin' Curiosity
When he was informed that a Gyrocopter had landed in a seedy back alley, Algard ensured his latest and greatest test was prepared. Whatever she dumped on his lap this time, whether it be yet another Lost Dwarfhold that she tripped over while examining Waystones or Teclis himself with an entire barrel of milk, she would be at least equally shocked by this year's daemon-checker.
It took a few favors, but perhaps this would teach her to leave a written trail. Ulgu may be the Wind of tricksters, but at this point she could waltz in saying that she's become a Grey Dragon and gotten Cathay to expand Dragomas' non-aggression pact into a full-blown mutual defense pact and the only warning they'd have would be a short paper entitled "Dramatic Revelation: Gargantuan Notable Lizard Ulgu-Variety Real."
When she eventually sauntered into his office, he looked up from his stack of papers and raised an eyebrow, "Another full-blown Skaven civil-war?"
She gave him a small smile, "Not quite." Then she started rooting around in her pockets, and frowned. "Hold on," She said distractedly, "I'm sure I put them somewhere..."
As he watched in bemusement, she started pulling things from her pockets and piling them on his desk -- papers, quills, an Ulgu powerstone...
A slightly larger-than-average powerstone.
"Aha!" Mathilde said triumphantly, then groaned. "No, wrong one." An even larger powerstone joined the pile, then another one, then a diagram for some sort of fish-powered Waystone, and then a Ghyran powerstone, the largest powerstone yet, joined the pile.
Mathilde was frowning, and at this point the pile was getting ridiculous, and Algard knew exactly what she was doing. "Hold on," he said, "I think something rolled under the table."
He ducked under his desk, opened a thick lead-and-steel box, and quickly grabbed and threw its contents straight at Mathilde's head. It hit with a satisfying 'thunk', and the 'thunk' his own head received immediately after was worth it.
"Well played," Mathilde said, now holding two Hysh Orbs of Sorcery in her arms.
