Gotri's a prince, so it's unlikely we'll get the chance to meet his family—they're all fairly important people.
On the materials side of things, we can get better components, but that would make everything cost more, and that tanks the idea of mass production. I still believe training up some of the Gunnery School crowd with some influence expenditure is our best bet for getting something sustainable, with the added bonus of also satisfying Family Demands for a few more turns.
""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 11:01 PMReport
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MoneyB
Edit: Well, then.
Ko-Fi link.
MoneyB, Today at 12:27 AMReport
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soulbleh
The Box is Lava
soulbleh, 52 minutes agoReport
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hyperbola
Deriving Lore Librarian
Oh dear. Okral 2: Electric Boogaloo incoming?
hyperbola, 50 minutes agoReport
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MoneyB
The Dwarven city of Zhufbar is in a rare celebratory mood with the formal completion of the Black Water Canal, an impressive feat of engineering that promises to tie the Karaz Ankor and the Empire ever closer together. While on the face of things this would seem only to significantly affect Zhufbar and Stirland, the new juncture represents a viable connection between the Reik River basin and the Black Gulf, a fact which has led to interest from parties across the Old World. As a result, the festivities command a very high profile guest list: An Elector Count, several Dwarven Kings, the Chancellor of the Imperial Treasury, Marienburg's High Priest of Manaan, the Markgraf of Sylvania, and many more lords, councilors, triumvirs, knights, doges, officers, representatives, associates, family members, and otherwise notable persons.
And, of course, one Lady Magister Mathilde Weber and pilot, who may or may not have her own opportunities to seek in the capital of Dwarven Engineering.
You find yourself in a very good mood as you fly above the busy waterway, humming an old Wissenlander army tune to the rhythm of the motor. Perhaps some inspiration from the foremost engineers in the Karaz Ankor is just what you need to finally finish your Masterpiece.
You are Adela Burgstaller, beloved daughter, adaptable mechanic, (brevet) master pryomancer, gunnery school liaison, and certified gyrocarriage operator.
You reckon that last bit might be up for review, though, as you stare down your goggles at the crew of clucking dwarfs circumambulating about the engineering bay, their diagnostic tools clenched tightly with barely restrained... enthusiasm. Your erstwhile employer has already fled the scene with typical Grey Order treachery, abandoning her brave and leal pilot to the tender mercies of the Zhufbar Engineering Guild's Gyrocopter Division.
"Baldor! Check the rotor!"
"Make sure that wazzock down in Eight Peaks hasn't been skimping on maintenance!"
"Zeryl, you fool of a beardling, that's the wrong toolkit! This is a 'carriage, not a 'copter!"
"Tam, measure wind resistance!"
"Norrin, measure Wind resistance!"
At least, you hope that last moniker remains true, because it would become very awkward for your sightseeing plans (and your job) if you lost your license to fly.
How do you resolve the concerns of these overzealous engineers?
[ ] Grab a drink and talk shop. This isn't anything a good ale can't smooth over, and you have enough experience with Gotri's habits to make a good show of it with his old guild. (Roll Diplomacy)
[ ] Demonstrate your competence and involve yourself with the maintenance. You've no slouch when it comes to engineering skills, and by Morgrim you can prove it. (Roll Learning)
[ ] Let them tinker, and be close at hand to helpfully answer any questions. This is just another opportunity to learn and observe. (Roll Intrigue) [ ] Fireball. (Roll Martial)
[ ] Write in.
- There will be a six hour moratorium
- Consider carefully which of your traits you want to leverage, and which may be a hindrance.
- Regular turn voting will resume in the next update... assuming you manage to get yourself out of this mess.
Ko-Fi link.
MoneyB, 6 minutes agoReport
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MoneyB said:
That's the Kislev City arc wrapped up. Now, where in the world is Mathilde going next?
Gotri's a prince, so it's unlikely we'll get the chance to meet his family—they're all fairly important people.
On the materials side of things, we can get better components, but that would make everything cost more, and that tanks the idea of mass production. I still believe training up some of the Gunnery School crowd with some influence expenditure is our best bet for getting something sustainable, with the added bonus of also satisfying Family Demands for a few more turns.
The Dwarven city of Zhufbar is in a rare celebratory mood with the formal completion of the Black Water Canal, an impressive feat of engineering that promises to tie the Karaz Ankor and the Empire ever closer together. While on the face of things this would seem only to significantly affect Zhufbar and Stirland, the new juncture represents a viable connection between the Reik River basin and the Black Gulf, a fact which has led to interest from parties across the Old World. As a result, the festivities command a very high profile guest list: An Elector Count, several Dwarven Kings, the Chancellor of the Imperial Treasury, Marienburg's High Priest of Manaan, the Markgraf of Sylvania, and many more lords, councilors, triumvirs, knights, doges, officers, representatives, associates, family members, and otherwise notable persons.
And, of course, one Lady Magister Mathilde Weber and pilot, who may or may not have her own opportunities to seek in the capital of Dwarven Engineering.
You find yourself in a very good mood as you fly above the busy waterway, humming an old Wissenlander army tune to the rhythm of the motor. Perhaps some inspiration from the foremost engineers in the Karaz Ankor is just what you need to finally finish your Masterpiece.
You are Adela Burgstaller, beloved daughter, adaptable mechanic, (brevet) master pryomancer, gunnery school liaison, and certified gyrocarriage operator.
You reckon that last bit might be up for review, though, as you stare down your goggles at the crew of clucking dwarfs circumambulating about the engineering bay, their diagnostic tools clenched tightly with barely restrained... enthusiasm. Your erstwhile employer has already fled the scene with typical Grey Order treachery, abandoning her brave and leal pilot to the tender mercies of the Zhufbar Engineering Guild's Gyrocopter Division.
"Baldor! Check the rotor!"
"Make sure that wazzock down in Eight Peaks hasn't been skimping on maintenance!"
"Zeryl, you fool of a beardling, that's the wrong toolkit! This is a 'carriage, not a 'copter!"
"Tam, measure wind resistance!"
"Norrin, measure Wind resistance!"
At least, you hope that last moniker remains true, because it would become very awkward for your sightseeing plans (and your job) if you lost your license to fly.
How do you resolve the concerns of these overzealous engineers?
[ ] Grab a drink and talk shop. This isn't anything a good ale can't smooth over, and you have enough experience with Gotri's habits to make a good show of it with his old guild. (Roll Diplomacy)
[ ] Demonstrate your competence and involve yourself with the maintenance. You've no slouch when it comes to engineering skills, and by Morgrim you can prove it. (Roll Learning)
[ ] Let them tinker, and be close at hand to helpfully answer any questions. This is just another opportunity to learn and observe. (Roll Intrigue) [ ] Fireball. (Roll Martial)
[ ] Write in.
- There will be a six hour moratorium.
- Consider carefully which of your traits you want to leverage, and which may be a hindrance.
- Regular turn voting will resume in the next update... assuming you manage to get yourself out of this mess.
Martin Brunter was not having a very good day. The bright haired young manager of the Golden Drake was coming down with something and kept having coughing fits. It was drizzling outside. The damn Baronette was jerking him around about 'special' guests again. And there was a man in his office with an uncertain smile as he asked for more money.
"Let me get this straight. It has been eighteen months. I have paid to file claim at the tax office. I have paid to get a magistrate to enforce my father's will. I have paid for the advocate through claim, counterclaim, and appeal as that bloody lord disputes it. Now I must pay more? Tell me, how much more bloody money do I have to spend before this damn business is concluded? My bloody father built this hall with his own damn hands and taught me to run it, how much money can it possibly take for me to inherit it as he wrote in his own damned will!?! WELL?"
The dark haired man''s uncertain smile fixed into a rictus and his eyes darted about the office as he refused to meet Martin's stare.
The office itself was quite well put together. Dark wood paneling with tapestries and a woven green rug on the floor, a fireplace on one wall and a window with glass on another. A bookcase behind the desk, and a pair of doors that had shiny brass fittings, one closed, one half-open to a dark room beyond.
"Well, sir, you know how these things are? The magistrates in Altdorf have so very little time for the small businessman, and this Lord Falrot has a good enough forger to really muddle the waters! But! If I can hire an investigator to hunt down and arrest this forger then no one will be able to contest your claim!"
Martin slumped back into his chair, suddenly feeling exhausted.
"A good forger? Maybe just bribing the judge. I suppose you'd better look into that too... Damn! And there's no other way?"
The rictus softened into something near akin to sympathetic.
"Until you can win the case you can't get the tax records updated, and until you own the Golden Drake in the eyes of the law then the profits stay in the escrow account. I wish I could give you better news."
"And until I have access to the escrow account I need to pay you out of my own personal funds. Argh! That damn lord can go shove the two tails of the comet up his nostrils! And it's not just him. Swallowvale is coming by again tonight with a few friends and is telling me to give them a thousand chips a piece."
At this the smile turned truly sympathetic.
"And he says he's good for it, I'm sure. So you think he's going to force you to do a third auction of whatever bric-a-brac he can drag to your doorstep before the year ends? Or after?"
"Don't even start with that. At least he's backing me on the inheritance. Hmf. The merchants and ship captains who keep joking at me for the last two will be happy. Maybe I can convince a few of them to take their winnings in kind? Bah! I need a drink."
"Of course sir. And perhaps to stop by the counting room? The sooner I can return to Altdorf..."
Martin stood up with a heavy sigh, and ushered him out the door to the hallway, following him out and closing the door behind them.
For a moment, the rising noise of a gambling house getting ready to open downstairs could be heard.
A few minutes later Eike ghosted out of the other door and came to a stop behind the desk, glancing down at the papers and murmuring to herself.
"Special guests... Well that was certainly lucky. Guess I'll have to pet the next cat I see..."
With quick hands she copied down the details of the lawsuit they had been talking about; there were several pages scattered across the desk and she noted names, seals, and dates, keeping a wary ear for any footsteps.
By the time anyone did return, the only evidence she had ever been there was a bit of water on the inside of the windowsill.
*********************
Rally point seven, in the somewhat clunky jargon the hochlander had used, was the upstream end of the wharf, where a fisherman could cast a line and watch the ships coming in to tie off for the night. Or fisherwoman, as it happened. Eike had two trout and some sort of gelatinous sand fish by the time the hochlander showed up in late evening.
Of course he made it a test, but not a hard one. She had seen him in the polished spoon of a spare lure a good five seconds before he coughed beside her.
"Papa!"
He rolled his eyes.
"No trouble then?"
"Nope! Got what I was hoping for and something of a mystery too," she said, gesturing vaguely at the bucket holding her catch.
"About the same on my end. Come on, pack it up, let's eat up before anything else."
As it turned out, the hochlander had spent his day well. He led her towards the most delicious whiffs of smells, to what looked like a house rather than a tavern, around the back and to a low table at the edge of a vegetable garden, one of a few, lit by soft lanterns. A trio of halflings chatted quietly at one of the others, and a matron popped up almost as soon as they were seated.
"Oh Mr. Hoch! Just who I was hoping to see. And who is this?" She asked as she slid a plate of bread and butter onto the table, followed swiftly by two flagons.
"This is Miss Eike, and thank you Mary. Two of the daily specials if you please, and a spot of quiet is all we are looking for tonight."
She smiled and bobbed a curtsy, heading back to the kitchen. Eike narrowed her eyes at him.
"Mr. Hoch? Mary? We rode into this town last night, how did you even find this place? Did you do any scouting at all today?"
He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "One thing I've learned after all my years of traveling. First thing you do is you find the halfling cooking. Small towns like this? It's usually hidden down alleyways instead of the main square.
"As for the scouting, oh yes of little faith, I did. Found a back trail up to the knob Swallowvale's castle sits on, followed it back to a hidden inlet with a dock. Practically tripped over a few men headed the other direction so I think there were ships that left just before."
He took a long pull from the flagon. She waited patiently.
"Didn't see them go into the castle, but I did see another. Dark haired, weird grin on his face. Went in the front door just as I was headed back to town."
"Weird grin? Wait, did he have a charcoal doublet and a red scarf?"
"Yes. You also saw him?"
"He was the lawyer I overheard speaking to the son of the old owner. Martin, from the oversized brass nameplate he had on his desk; Hoeth only knows why he picked that up. They did mention the Baronette backing Martin in a lawsuit- apparently the reason the tax records haven't been updated is there is a Lord disputing the will? So there may be an innocent explanation? But at the end he mentioned giving the Baronette's guests a thousand chips a piece, and implied that was how Swallowvale runs up his debts. I am almost entirely sure he doesn't know the goods he's been auctioning are from river pirates, and that says patsy to me. I think the Baronette might be our guy."
She pulled out her notes and passed them across.
"Mmmmph. Seems we need eyes on the Baronette's guests for the next few days, and to follow up on this lawsuit in Altdorf."
He paused, weighing options.
"If you take a riverboat tomorrow morning you could be in Altdorf by midday the next. Assume a day for paperwork chase and a bit shorter trip back, and I'll aim to meet you here for dinner in four days?"
Eike nodded. "I may have to learn on grandmother's name a bit to get passage on such short notice but it should be possible. Do you have a name in the magistrates I should start with?"
He frowned, scanning through her notes again with a finger, coming to a stop about halfway.
"I know this one. I'll give you an address and a letter of introduction."
Their conversation finished (neither too early nor too late, for they were wizards) and the food arrived. Eike took one bite of the chicken pot pie and audibly moaned.
"It's so good! It's like being back in the East Valley!"
And at this, Mary, who had been hovering nearby awaiting their reactions, perked up.
"The East Valley? You mean the colony down south? I've got kin down there! How do you know east valley food?"
Eike froze, and blushed, realizing her error. The hochlander smiled indulgently and leaned back, leaving her to figure out how to deal with the suddenly very chatty halfling woman, who was even now calling for her husband in the house.
"It's a bit of a long story, but... I've got one I heard down there" from Magister Panoramia "that I could tell you? It's about the Pie Contest, and the time the Lady Magister judged it, and the duel of the bakers that night?"
A/N: thanks to the wonderful omake just above I was inspired to get this out the door! Happy Fourth of July to those who celebrate, my city is being kind to us and not doing official fireworks this year so the booms are less. Plenty of private mortars about still though, so my friends dogs are still hiding.
Here is something I made, I really like the Sonningwiese visits so decided to write this, please enjoy!!
Unseen, But Not Unfelt
Mandred was perplexed, he didn't consider himself a particularly clever man, satisfied with his sheep, little aroused his interest. To consider deeply was against his nature, content as he was. Yet he was perplexed, he had heard Rolf mutter it to himself when going over the books. He wasn't too sure about the words' meaning but it sounded nice. Sonningwiese wasn't important, but they were content in that unimportance. Easy pleasures, simple pleasures but even that was changing. Sigvald the blacksmith had married and his children helped in the forge. Rolf had gotten his letterin' and taken an assistant. That's what made him officially name Rolf the headman, Mandred liked his sheep more than the duties anyway.
Yet his home wasn't the same, more trade flowed into the highlands, wagons became commonplace rolling down the hills along the nice and even road that the Dame had ordered made. They departed filled with wool and wagon's of cheese, returning full of the tools that made life easier, along with the pleasures of civilization. Proper weapons, stout tools and professional goods from as far as Altdorf! Ale and wine came in dribs and drabs drawing interest in having regular access to more alcohol. An enterprising local named Arnulf set himself up with brewers down near Sonningwiese, and had first rights on any alcohol that passed through the highlands. With this deal in place he built a tavern with a loan from the treasury. Flint's Wool, he thought himself clever despite everyone rolling their eyes behind his back. That pissed Johann off to no end, Rolf ended up sitting them both down after Johann got caught testing how his hooch burned. Arnulf came out with a black eye, a steady stream of hooch and a wife. Johann was happy to have the work and a good future for his daughter.
Mandred had stayed by the simple rules his father and every Headman had followed since the beginning. Don't go poking around nobles or merchants, keep everything quiet and enjoy the peace. Dame Weber wasn't around much but her motto carved into the wall of the keep's hall still rang true. He'd talked to her perhaps a dozen times over the past years? She was better than the merchants, putting the taxes back in to help the area. The cheese was nice, same with the well and granary. Made life a bit safer, a bit easier, knowing someone was watching out for them.
His eldest son was still making him proud, being named steward, especially raising the keep. The Grey Lady as it was called by Gretel's youngest grandson, everyone told him that it was a foolish name but soon realized they didn't have anything better. Then the sheep he brought up! He was happy to see them, traveled from lands he didn't know much about but sounded real different. Nice and thick wool, but the brains in those beauties! Mandred had lost enough sheep and goats to ragwort. Ludwig had nearly lost everything a decade ago, saved only by the flint mine being opened. His son made sure everyone was organized when breeding time came, all of us together and each season more and more of our herds got smarter with their wool thicker and finer. The other sheep were delicate, too delicate for the highlands. Rolf told him that the plan was to breed them into the herds, get more milk flowing. He was happy enough with the answer and left the worries that came with that to Rolf.
Wool was always needed in the Empire and soon after the first dozen loads rolled down to Sonningwiese a young widow from Leicheberg set herself and her daughters up near the estate. Built herself a little workshop working looms with her family. Within the year she was hiring girls from the area to help when they weren't needed at home. Cloth was abundant for the first time in great amounts, tents were made for the shepherds. Warm blankets, his son even got them to make some banners for the keep and atop the new gatehouse. Then he went and ordered 50 gambesons in case trouble ever came calling. Enough for nearly every man that lived near the keep, should they need them.
Markus's wife Brunhile got together with the widow soon after she declared her intent to settle, and explained that she was the woman to see about dying in the area. The dye she made for the carvings wouldn't cut it for this amount of material, so she set up some proper vats in town. With the need for stirring she hired a couple hands and told the shepherds that roamed the hills what she was looking for, even set herself with some traders who brought her the materials needed when they fell short. She ended up talking to old Gretel and got the recipe for the woad that our ancestors used to put on, this amazing bright blue.
Wasn't long before everyone had some bright clothing that wasn't reserved for feast days and celebrations. Rolf looked downright noble in his new red cloak! Sigvald kept complainin' about how hard it was to keep his new green jerkin clean from soot, but everyone knew he only did it so he could keep talking about how nice it looked. Even he had to get in on it. Mandred felt pride in his new tunic, as bright blue as the war paint that once covered his ancestor's chest.
When Rolf told him Lady Weber was going to hire a Jade wizard to help with the sheep, Mandred thought his son was playing a prank, getting back at him for making him headman. He damn near fell out of his chair when that funny looking fella came strolling up the road. Man was covered in glowing green tattoos up and down his arms. Introduced himself to Rolf with a letter stating that he heard reliable work was needed with some tupping.
Jerryk was a large man, young too, his arms were thick enough to arouse interest despite the tattoos. His hair was thick and wild, with a beard that made a number of young men ask how to grow beard hair as thick as his. He set himself up right quick with a tent pitched out in the middle of the herds and the sheep following him along and downright introducing themselves to him. The East Westerland breed were delicate little things, even the local ewes were bigger by no small margin. Jerryk spent a week among the flock before he said to gather the herds. He stood among them and chanted in some mystical tongue, observed from a safe distance in the keep, as it offered a fine view. The rams swelled, taking some larger form and mounted a great number of ewes, the other rams defeated in shows of force to earn the right to breed.
A number of young women who had homes built now that they worked the looms full time were suddenly very interested in the young man from Talabecland and his knowledge of fertility. He was bashful but admitted later in the tavern with several of the fathers (not that he knew) of those self same girls plying him with beer that he enjoyed the attention but was more of a settle down than roll in the hay kind of man. Apparently most people took one look at him and decided he wasn't welcome unless escorted by armed men. When the tale was told later everyone was a bit confused. Those people had seen what he could with sheep, right?
In the following years the ewes produced enough milk that a number of young lads talked Johann into running his still full time. He ended up moving into a new building he and Arnulf made behind the tavern. Johann still liked to complain about the man but no one believed him, he liked his grandsons too much. Soon even Johann was forced to accept the need for help in the distillery, and ended up teaching the recipe to his daughter Felica and Arnulf. Forced him to register as a distillery though. Rolf had to step in for it after they kept rejecting the applications. Had a word with the local EIC branch in Sonningweise and the man's license was issued right quick, one of them even came up and put the logo on the tavern, said his name was Rudiger from Hochland, gave Johann some proper distillery equipment, turned his hooch proper called it kumis in exchange for a piece of the place. Man was nice enough, not around much. Reminded him of Lady Weber in a way.
That is when it got real strange, Rolf started frowning a lot this past year. Soon he was seen with a stranger from Wurtbad wearing the EIC logo on a short cape walking the perimeter of the small heart of industry that had developed in the highlands. A dairy, overflowing with milk had spawned a dozen houses clustered as men who worked there married and built homes closer, with smaller herds focused on milk production. The Looms had expanded, and now had an adjacent warehouse. A short distance away a cluster of matriarchal houses grew. Matron Eliesse's daughters had married well. Nearby another building's framework rose, Markus and Brunhile working together to build a new home closer to the dye works. The smokehouse grew, the tavern and Johann's distillery were the most important in Mandred's opinion. Not more than 100 people with perhaps 2 scores of children scrambling underfoot.
It was the largest beacon of humanity within the hills of Sonningwiese, this area made hard living and forced men to range far from each other. Families gathered and regular contact was maintained as sons and daughters ranged together as the flocks intermixed under the weather eye of their elders. Homes were private affairs, rarely seen by non-family members except at business negotiations or welcoming a new family member to the fold. Now over thirty homes sat clustered around the estate and their places of employment. The older folk not directly involved were bewildered by their wayward children and the homes they inhabited. Often of equal or better make than their own and all within spitting distance of non-blood relations!?!? They were quieted down with gifts and headed home with their small hand carts full of provisions to help with the next lean times, proud that the children had found their footing in the world.
Soon tax season was upon the highlands, the call went out that labor would be an option over taxes this year. The small cluster of souls swelled by dozens as a great movement of men and women eager to work once more to spare their families the tax burden with sweat. They quickly assembled lean-to's and tents to house themselves, knowing food would be provided in abundance for their effort. It took some doing for Rolf to get the overeager youngin's from sinking pits without direction.
The EIC man came back within a day once everyone was gathered, at his son's nod he started bawling out instructions. Measurements were taken and spades handed out, soon a great trench surrounded the estate and the new settlement. The material and a great deal more brought from the Ghoul woods sat in a loose pile behind the trench, men speculatively mused at the question. Why keep a bunch of dirt and ship in more? The EIC man's name was Oswin, a master architect from Wurtbad who was providing a simple start for his apprentice to build on, he negotiated the contract on behalf of the EIC, but his apprentice who would arrive soon was in charge from now on. Mandred wasn't too happy about that, a master architect was here but an apprentice was doing the plans? Rolf just nodded though, explaining to him later that it meant a discount on the work.
A new EIC man came mounted on a fine Averland stallion at the head of a convoy of wagons pulled by hefty oxen, filled with shaped stone, great logs and planks. Abelhiem Colter introduced himself as a young man from Wurtbad, named for the late count and apprenticed to his uncle in the field of architecture. This was his proof of mastery he declared, something for future generations to build upon the back of his work. The men saw the wisdom of the preparations of back breaking work to make this moment easy. The log's were treated in the smokehouse, hardened in the fires and sharpened, soon they filled the trench in great numbers. This was followed with buckets of mortar, to fill the gaps and make sure this palisade could last generations. The loose soil and left overs from the baileys work was stomped into a slope approaching the top. Soon a palisade ten feet tall formed around them, the slopes inside allowing the defenders to engage from a safe height should trouble come. Great doors of weathered oak were made over the three paths that meandered out to the highlands and one over the path leading down to Sonningwiese.
Soon the work crews on stomping duty diminished as they flattened the peak, more hands headed towards the center of the estate. Eager to lend their strength to the construction of the new bailey. They quickly pulled down the old twelve foot palisade and stacked it neatly where instructed. The old logs were quickly hauled off by the stomping crews eager to reinforce the weakest point of the palisade. Logs were quickly placed on the sides of the gates. No foe that forced entry would be able to climb to the top of the walls, instead they would be forced down a narrow tunnel, no more than four abreast could fit through. Easily blocked by spears or shields to leave them prey to the men above them.
At the Bailey four skilled masons and their apprentices supervised the men and women working guiding stone into place. The many hands of the work crews made light work as the shaped stone was laid with skill the structure rose, two feet thick and six feet high the base of the new palisade was formed. A wide gap was left for the future gatehouse. chisels were pushed into the hands of the crew's drills and chisels applied to freshly laid stone, carving slots for the rest of the palisade. Before the grumblings about the seeming futility of the act could reach a crescendo a small feast was made and a great deal of alcohol given to the crew, averting a work stoppage so close to the finish.
Then the planks of hardened and treated cedar were put to use. They were varnished and strange looking to the eyes of the locals, more used to the rough and hand-worn look. Abelhiem was quick to explain to worried locals, that the wood was treated to be hardened, the varnish was there to prevent rot and lessen the chance of fire. The wood rose another 8 feet planted firmly into the stone base slotted by the earlier work.
Behind them followed the carpenter and his team of journeymen, having come in to oversee the formation of the gates of the palisade; this is where they shined. The man was mad, crowing on and on about the ultimate proof of his new varnish but he directed the young men to work. A scaffolding arose for the masons to work upon the future gatehouse. He laid a walkway along the interior leaving a gap around the gatehouse, it was sturdy and true. A fine advantage for the defenders. The man was quick to draw Markus into conversations, delighted to meet a fellow woodworker.
Tupping season saw most of the young men and women disperse, heading home to help with the flocks and herds. Near a score decided on a different path and accepted the offer of coin to continue the work on the final piece, the gate house. Most of these youths were regular sights at the flint mining pit. Few enjoyed the work but they needed to help their families somehow.
The unskilled hand's were guided by the four masons and their apprentices, stone and mortar applied with great gusto. It rose quickly, the plans the young man laid out guiding them through with little stopping of work. 20 feet the tower rose its base 8 feet thick. Arrow slits ran the upper floor; it was quickly connected to the wall walk of the bailey. The roof was thick enough for a half score of men to stand atop to throw rocks and fire arrows at any intruder. A small room on the left side provided ground access to the tower, and also a convenient place to take an enemy in the back should they gain the bailey's courtyard. Murder holes peered down upon the gate tunnel, ready for any manner of things to be dropped on unwelcome guests. The gate was stout Drakwald oak, aged, treated and banded with iron. When it finished nearly all the people in the highlands gathered. It was the greatest gathering outside of festival days and breeding season in living memory. The mood was merry as Dame Weber's banner was thrown over the top of the gate house for the first time, a proud symbol to hang over the gate. As the merry making began and ale began to flow the next generation was *ahem* worked into being.
Abelhiem was beaming as Rolf put his mark along with a written statement that the estate was satisfied with the work done. He led an ambling group of men, the masons and the carpenter, apprentices and journeymen in tow. Some new faces among them as sons and daughters were interested in the work. These young pups would have departed to the lowlands in lean times, likely never to be seen again. Instead they go to a prosperous trade, calling back to sweethearts and parents that they will return.
Markus had watched them leave with a certain bitterness. Mandred had a quiet word with Rolf, who had a quiet word with Brunhile, who soon chased the fool out of the house. He was too worried about leaving his family to go and learn woodworking proper. She had to remind him that they owned the dyeworks and when that didn't work she just threatened him with a smile that made him almost forget to pack. Idiot still got a big kiss on the way out and a pouch of coin waiting for him alongside his new teacher in Sonningwiese.
Mandred's curiosity was rarely aroused anymore. He enjoyed being able to sit by a fire and watch his son solve disputes in their Liege Ladies name. He might not think his corner of the world is important, but there are people who did and he was ok with being important to someone.
This place belonged to the Dämmerlichtreiter, they were loyal to her. Her shadow may rarely fall on them, but none could deny its presence.
Rolf Grosherde, Headsman and Steward of the Weber estate
Rolf Grosherde was rarely called such these days, he still felt awkward being called headsman or Steward. Lately he wasn't even called that, every traveler just kept calling him the Reeve. His father happily faded from the public eye, directing all concerns to the keep. He found these new duties heavy but enjoyed it nonetheless. He was quite used to his father's view of most people, keep them far away, at least you always knew where you stood with sheep.
He was just entering manhood when the Dame came. He remembered how quickly she managed to fix the worst of living in the highlands. The things that made life better, the blacksmith, the well and the granary simple things that were never done! When he was named steward he thought of those things when he was told to use some of the taxes to improve the village. He worried greatly in those early years and when she came back the last time he had to finally ask in a roundabout way how much was he allowed to invest? Not only did she give her permission she promised to get a Jade wizard out here to speed things up for them! Dame Mathilde Weber had his loyalty, as was her right as his liege. After that he swore he would rather die than betray that loyalty as his people grew richer and happier. It was returned by her in the simplest way, trust.
Rolf didn't consider himself smart, but he knew enough, the connections formed as he took his morning walk. Dairies, granaries, loom works, a Tavern! Important places had these things. Important places get attacked, He had better look into that. He spoke with the Roadwardens, the captain in the area was an older grizzled veteran by the name of Gregor. He spoke darkly of his days patrolling the frontiers of the wilderness in Middenland, hard villages that knew they were surviving on luck. Towns that had given up trying to grow beyond the initial founding. Every time they expanded, Gregor explained, something wiped out the new industry and its workers, the expanded works unable to reside within the limited space behind the walls.
Theodrick, Markus's boy, got his pension delivered with the weekly ale, despite his missing arm he remained a merry man. It helped that he could still fight better than every man in the highlands and most of them in Sonningwiese as well. He spoke of the villages in the frontiers of Eastern Stirland, even the lowest of them having a thin wall to keep out the roaming threats of that grim land. The bailey and keep would survive anything short of a full beast herd or raiding party to the men's more experienced eye. The burgeoning village likely wouldn't.
That thought sent a shiver of horror down his spine. The last threat that could kill more than a couple people in the area was last spoken of as a dim and distant tale by his grandfather, best guess of the time frame was at least 300 years ago. He would not make his people survive on luck. He sent a runner down to the EIC office and not two weeks later a man came hiking up and asked to see him. He introduced himself as Oswin and asked plainly what he wanted. Rolf spoke in halting words, despite being a rather well educated man by local standard he was aware the man in front of him could make his simple numbers in lines dance to create wonders to a man like him.
"I need a message sent to Dame Weber, for permission but I pray she will accept the need. This land hasn't… been rich ever, now we got a bit thanks to her, and I thank Sigmar every day that she came up here. But the land… it ain't got a lot, what little we have is all right here." he flapped his hand towards the cluster of buildings that have spread in the shadow of the bailey and keep. "One thing goes wrong out there." Rolf waved back towards the surrounding area, hills, small copses of trees in the shallow valleys and crisscrossing it all streams that dry as quickly as they form. His hand dropped towards the small cluster of buildings. "This goes away, maybe we don't have the money to rebuild. Maybe the Dame is killed saving the world and it all goes away. I don't want my people's things lost by laziness." Oswin was quiet for a bit and then started talking fast, he and his family did work with the EIC, his nephew needed a proof of mastery piece, for using a non master a 5% discount was extended. He took Rolf's letter, scratched out as best he could and said he'd see it to the EIC office.
Months later with no word back through the EIC he decided that he would follow her original instructions and invested as he saw fit. In this case fortifications, better to build it when they had the time, he figured, then need it when they don't. Sinking in a good deal of money he gave the order to begin construction.
He was proud of his people, and their work. A sturdy palisade now surrounded the cluster of houses and buildings that surrounded the keep. Where once a simple bailey stood a new one stood, partially built of stone and a sturdy gatehouse made entirely of it. The banner of Dame Weber had yet to stand atop the gatehouse, to signify she was in residence. Instead the men had tied it off atop the gatehouse, dangling down towards the gate. Despite this it was still one of the tallest buildings around and provided a good landmark for the shepherds to navigate from.
Some had wanted to rebuild the keep in stone, but that gave him chills down his back, didn't he explain how expensive good stone was? He had managed to get most of the grumbling down by setting aside some of the tax money to pay Theodrick and a dozen youths as guards. Every man in the highlands followed the militia law without hesitation, but a semi-permanent force that trained and patrolled set a great many minds at ease. Theodrick ended up hiring two old army friends, a pot-bellied man named Walter who claimed to have been a handgunner before a misfire took two fingers and his right eye. As well as a twitchy man with a crossbow by the name of Henkel. The two of them proved a solid team, stationed in the Gatehouse. They were also the only permanent men outside of Theodrick. The others stood guard no more than once a week, their training at least 12 hours a week under the "gentle" hands of Sergeant Henkel and Walter.
Theo did end up getting on some nerves when he started swanning around like a prized ram as "captain of the Guard" for a couple weeks. One glare from Johann and the threat of no more kumis saw the airs be put down. A brutal dressing down by his mother saw him apologizing to the people for being an ass. Rolf had a quick word with Elrisse who saw to another 25 gambesons being made, these ones not undyed like the armories stock, rather they were a nice grey, just like the Dame's robes. Each man of the guard stood a little taller wearing it, their pride in their lady stiffened spines and sharpened their eyes. After another year passed and Dame Weber didn't descend from the sky in one of them flying machines he figured that this was alright.
Even better was the Roadwarden's now decided that the estate could be an outpost! Rolf was ecstatic, it meant a break on taxes as long as the village provided a reinforced building to house at least a dozen men, their mounts and provide them with supplies. Captain Gregor was happy to have a place to rest in the hills for when they had to make sure a threat didn't come back or pursue the smugglers who hid among the wide expanses. He also confided in Rolf and Theodrick that if something ever did bubble over to hit the area Theo and his boys were the only force in the area capable of stiffening a militia line. As such the estate was quietly added to a number of lists for the authorities, some of these lists ended up in quite high hands indeed. Most had the same reaction as the reports were filed away, better to have one more fortified base should the worst come to pass…
Jerryk had even brought him these little nuts that tasted good and he said that he planted them a small grove of the trees nearby in thanks for welcoming him. He called them chestnuts and they kept quite well, good to hold onto for winter. Jerryk spun a yarn in the tavern later (not that Rolf would admit he was snooping) said they were grown in places like here in Estalia and Brettonnia. Areas that didn't grow regular crops well. Rolf was quite happy that they could grow here, they provided shade and he could swear that the air was cooler around them even outside the shade. Sheep and goats roamed easy beneath their boughs, foraging for the dropped nuts that were missed. A wonderful thing to see and just one more thing that would have never been seen without the Dame coming up all those years ago. Now if only he could get his daughter to stop flirting with the oblivious wizard!
He worried over the months as he took on more and more duties, overseeing disputes between the dairy manager and the Looms owner Matron Elrisse, no longer did he oversee breeding's or simple disputes over dowry, but laws, judgments and competing interests between merchants. Yet Rolf never would waver in his Liege's interest, she had earned that with her trust in him. He felt a wellspring of pride every time he looked to her words carved into the wall of the keep. Whispers of her deeds circled back as trade increased, she was doing great deeds. Lady Mathilde had trusted him to act in her name and he would prove worthy of that trust. Let them come and try to take the heart of his people, she trusted them to see to themselves and they would not be found wanting.
Jerryk
This was an odd estate, the hinterlands of the hinterlands of the province and strangely welcoming for Stirlanders. He was moving through Altdorf, having helped his master finish some research into the metaphysical echo of the Drakwald wood and how to begin to cleanse that area of taint. He saw the announcement and the reward was substantial enough to risk traveling to such an area. HIs visible arcane mark caused many to shun him, the last noble he had helped with his failing vineyard refused to shake his hand. He was soon climbing the road to the estate, it was well made, if not especially well traveled.
Ghyran was quick and transient in these lands, little sign of the pools that sustained life yet it was diffused throughout the area allowing a shallow pool but wide indeed. The Steward and his father stared at him quite a bit but didn't appear ready to marshall up a mob. When he made his introductions the steward Rolf shook his hand with only a moment's hesitation, saying if he needed anything don't hesitate to ask. He preferred the outdoors but was happy to hear a room was prepared in the keep for him to use, meals included. With the pleasantries with the local authorities done. Jerryk was eager to set out into the herds to get them ready to become one big herd.
It took him only a week to get to know the disparate herds and the newcomers that they wanted to breed in. The sheep were almost ready, when he was young the Amber and Jade colleges argued greatly about where he belonged. In the end he was too skilled in dowsing and the elemental side of Ghyran for his obvious connection to animals to win out. He hummed an ancient tune, keeping in rhythm as he got to know the two herds. Soon to become one, he picked the strands of Ghyran of desirable traits, those that will make life thrive and flourish in this place. He saw a number of curious faces watching from the keep as the swirling magic filled the herds, enabling a quick crossbreeding of desirable traits, the work was started, a solid base to build upon. It would only take one to two more seasons provided he isn't run off.
The birthing that followed was talked about a great deal, numerous young women approached him as the small crowd of field hands made quick work of the births among the sheep.
"Don't suppose you do that type of work to people?" One comely lass, her hair bright red asked.
"What?"
"Got an aunt down in Sonningwiese, wants a kid but can't seem to make the seed quicken. Herb's ain't working, seemed to work on the sheep."
"Err, yeah I can meet with her, see if something can be done."
That was the start of it, for the first time in his life he was popular where he worked. Jerryk was rather bemused by it all, women were asking on behalf of relatives, who soon were shooting back asking his own marital status causing him to be glad his beard and wild hair hid his burning red face. At the tavern a number of men cornered him and got him drunk. It was the first time he spoke of the feelings he had of isolation. He spoke of how many villages that he answered their call for aid saw him as a danger. They treated him as a dangerous if useful beast, to be kept at a distance.
Despite his feelings towards their treatment of him, he wanted to be the best wizard he could. So he fulfilled his oaths and refilled granaries, made crops grow and water flow. The next day he was mortified and sure he would be driven out. Instead he was greeted with open arms as the shearing began, many hand claps and some bemused staring as he allowed a number of people to poke at his glowing tattoos. This place wasn't so bad. They judged him based on the worth of his work and they found it fine indeed. He was happy to have another stop along his wanderings in the area, especially one that didn't treat him like a threat.
In thanks Jerryk started planting chestnut trees. He was honestly surprised they hadn't been imported before considering the terrain was just what they liked. He found a nice little stretch around one of the smaller streams, it was fairly regular and didn't already have one of the small coppices the people used for wood. With magic and skill he brought the area to life and soon had a thriving grove of small chestnut trees. With time and patience these trees could provide a steady stream of income and food to the people here.
Every Festag that he was here he gathered with the locals. He had been making excuses to stay in the area and found plenty in Stirland to keep him busy and paid. This area treated him the best out of any on his route, plus Mathilde was quite nice and curious about Jerryk and magic in general. Mandred cackled a great deal as he watched his granddaughter flirt with the magical newcomer, he crossed his fingers as any herdsman did when they saw a storm on the horizon. It could destroy the land and scatter your herds, but it also swelled the streams and brightened the grass…
Rolf saw all this and frowned a great deal even as he enjoyed the kumis that had some tradesmen asking if they could sell it elsewhere. Rolf then looked at the strong new walls and growing little village that was founded in the shadow of a shrine of Ranald and his devotee. The statue had been tucked away for some time as more and more people traveled to get the best prices on raw wool and the brilliant blue bolts of wool fabric that recently found their way to the market. They left speaking of the delightful goat and sheep cheese's the area offered, along with a strong spirit called kumis. The shrine to Ranald had been hidden for nearly a year now. He doubted that would change with the amount of traffic coming up to the highlands. This place would need a name soon he realized, but that would be a decision for Lady Weber. Rolf prayed to Sigmar but whenever he thought of the little wolf shaped shrine tucked away he couldn't help but feel the dealer was stacking the deck for their little corner of the world.
As the last door slams shut in the Obsidian Hall, you continue to sit quietly, appearing for all the world perfectly calm and collected. It would take a better eye than even those possessed by your fellow Grey Wizard Lords to discern how nervous you are, how tempted to keep your seat and not issue your planned challenge. But you've had long practice in the art of following through on your decisions once they'd been made. Your peers are relaxed in truth -- and why wouldn't they be? Nobody expects anything to happen today; holding it was just a formality required by law. The defeat of the Thirteenth Everchosen a mere three years ago had both culled the ranks of potential challengers and solidified support behind the incumbent. Nobody wanted to rock the boat.
For that matter, you don't want to rock the boat. It had been a close-fought thing, when you decided that you would be issuing a challenge today. But... you have to know. Despite the victories you've claimed over the years, something inside you would never rest easy until you tested yourself against this particular measuring stick. The one that feels the most real. The one that matters.
The Magister Patriarchs of the Colleges finish their introductions. Silence reigns in the Obsidian Hall; as expected, nobody rushes to challenge. But before enough time could elapse to declare victory through no contest, you let out the breath you were holding and stand. Your peers have too much dignity and poise for murmurs and whispers to rise behind you in your alcove, but their external control didn't matter to your Windsight; you can feel the Ulgu seething in your wake as easily and naturally as someone might feel a breeze blowing behind them.
"Eike Hochschild of the Grey Order challenges Mathilde Weber of the Grey Order."
The challenger, of course, stands in front of their Order's alcove, so custom dictates that, to begin with the Staff between them both, the challenged party move to the one opposite. This gives you plenty of time to watch as your former Master crosses the room to stand in front of the Lights. You know her to be in her mid-seventies, but the touch of Ulgu upon her soul and body gives her an ageless, timeless quality, similar to but distinct from the elves you had spent your Apprenticeship among: from the fog-grey hair and eyes, to the unnaturally lean build, to the face your mind insists is different every time you look at her.
As she takes her position, you adjust your collar, a gesture that will mean nothing except to the two of you. Her gaze flicks to your neck, and her expression flickers not one whit at what she sees -- or, rather, doesn't. She set aside her runed items during her title challenge and subsequent defenses, and so, in keeping with her example, the necklace wrought for you by Thorek Ironbrow currently sits hidden in your storage dimension. You wanted as pure a test of skill against skill as was possible to have, both for the sake of what the position meant and for your own pride. You don't need to say anything; you know she understands.
She completes her circuit of the chamber. You are both in position, now. You let out a breath. The Staff of Volans shivers, and your soul thrums as the Grey Wind billows unchallenged in the Obsidian Hall.
It's time.
[Initial clash: Martial, 54+24=78 vs 49+28=77.]
With matched speed, you and the Supreme Matriarch weave Ulgu into your Shadeblades, shadowy greatswords forming in your hands as you each teleport to the plinth at the center of the arena, blades already in the motions of stroke and counter-stroke. Without word or gesture, the robes you each wear pulse and Aethyric Armours snap into place around each of you, protecting you from the weapon of your foes and preventing fatigue from touching you. You had followed your Master's example in this, as in many things, and you were both fit to degrees that would not be out of place in the standing armies of Reikland -- but with the blessing of the Mastery she developed and then taught as your first Lesser Magic, you could fight at full force for long enough to leave even a Greatsword blown and trembling.
For a full half-minute -- an eternity in a mundane duel -- the two of you do battle, each unable to gain advantage over the other. Matched weapons clash in a duel possible for none but the Greys: empty hands twist in the air before a sword materializes within them, is parried, and then vanishes again as you adjust your grip and angle. The forms of Branarhune were different when adapted to the Shadeblades, to compensate for the lack of Kragg's Master Rune. With Branulhune she would have had an overwhelming advantage, needing to travel far less distance to land a telling blow, but the Shadeblades require momentum to cut, and in the time that required it was possible to react. Your greater size gives you longer reach, but she can press inside your guard to counter it. It evens out.
Even. It's even. You have practiced that style from its inception, when the Shadeblade was first invented. Here, before the assembled Wizard Lords of the Colleges of Magic, you prove yourself your Master's equal in every exchange of blows.
[Trying again: Martial, 31+24=55 vs 30+28=58.]
[Breaking the stalemate: Learning, 26+30=56 vs 49+32=81.]
Too equal. It must be very confusing for the audience to watch: two forms wrapped in Ulgu and dueling with identical swords around the Staff of Volans, practically mirror-images of one another. But you can't just be a mirror image of her: she's had a lot more experience being herself. You need a way to break the stalemate. Both of you know better than to risk trying to unleash your Nightbringers against the other -- you both understand the bindings well enough to slip in a nasty counter and turn it against its owner -- and Battle Magics would require enough concentration to give your opponent a perfect opening. But lesser spells in your repertoire may still prove decisive, if intelligently applied.
In the back of your mind, you weave Ulgu in a practiced pattern, and then with a shouted incantation your Illusion comes forth, a dozen shadow-wrought duplicates of yourself. Mastered, they mimic your actions and follow your intents without needing further concentration, and you tied in a Smoke and Mirrors to put you amidst the throng. Thirteen Shadeblades lash forward, the true one indiscernible from the false even to Windsight as keen as hers, and she could only parry one.
The Supreme Matriarch's solution, of course, is to reject the dilemma entirely.
Her mutable face takes on a terrifying cast as her shadow surges forth in all directions around her in orgiastic violence. Your shadow clones are countered by tendrils, by spears, and by her flickering blade. Your attack comes close to landing, but even you are not immune to her Dread Aspect, and your moment of hesitation is enough for her to deflect it into a glancing blow on her enhanced robes. She didn't bother teleporting away from your attack, and you see why as her own Shadeblade swings in from an angle you weren't expecting and lands the first clean hit of the fight: a long shallow cut on your left thigh.
The equilibrium has broken; what was previously an equal exchange is now a furious defense. Your sword flickers back and forth, meeting the followup attacks, but in a fight previously as evenly matched as this one, the slow loss of blood will eventually take its toll. You are at a steadily growing disadvantage now, and will need to do something drastic to make up ground.
Just according to plan. Well, more or less; you didn't know what would put you in a corner, but that you would wind up in one felt obvious, given who you were challenging. Your training to master both Ulgu and the EIC has taught you this: the best way to scam someone is to show them exactly what they expect to see. So you break contact, falling back with Shadeblade dismissed, and begin to weave Ulgu into the strongest Battle Magic you know: Penumbral Pendulum. If she takes the opportunity to seize the Staff, she leaves herself open.
[Does she buy it: Intrigue vs Learning, 70+29+15(Magical Mimic)=114 vs 25+32+10(Windsage)=67.]
This is the part you had identified as most dangerous, when you planned this out: if she just pounced on you with her sword, you were ruined. But that was such an obvious opening that surely you had something ready for it, you thought she'd think, in the prediction and counter-prediction of two masters of the Grey Wind. So, as you had expected but mostly hoped, instead she readies herself to snuff out your spell, trusting in the runic enhancements to the hall to prevent any miscast from turning truly catastrophic, leaving her able to claim the Staff in the aftermath.
But you know something she doesn't know. And, while much of her career was built on the back of studying other magic and adapting its principles, you have taken that and gone even farther with it, and your skill at imitating magic is second to none. Such as, for instance, Battle Magic.
You can't help your smile, and her eyes widen, but it's too late: in the precise moment she commits to countering your spell, you take the magic you had been pretending was a half-formed spell and instead complete the reappearance cantrip of the Shadeblade.
And teleport.
[Telefrag (True Strike nullifies Martial to defend): Martial, 91+24-5(Wounded)=110 vs 38.]
You reappear behind her, already swinging, and only her well-trained reflexes save her from losing the fight right there. Your blow almost, but not quite, severs one of her plaits as she ducks under it -- but does knock her hat off, to a shocked silence from the crowd. But you take no time to savor that, because you're in motion again and again, as you appear and disappear with your own Shadeblade, slashing at her over and over, every angle an unexpected one because she doesn't know where you'll be.
Your Mastery, developed on the battlefields of Kislev, lets you weave Smoke and Mirrors, not just into the initial casting of the Shadeblade, but into every use of the minor spells that banish and rematerialize it. Your Mastery: an insight all your own, and something the inventor of the spell would never be able to replicate. And it's working here just as well as it worked against the daemons you cut down years ago. Soon, the Supreme Matriarch takes a wound, and then another, and then another. All minor, but the momentum is yours. You see the realization that you're going to win enter her eyes, though this final release of your strength.
[Any secret cards to play: DC 100, 85+20(???)=105.]
And she smiles. Not the "proud Master" smile you know so well; the other one. You've seen it a thousand thousand times, and you wore it yourself not long ago.
She knows something you don't know.
[What's she got: 4, Smoke and Mirrors Mastery.]
[Uno reverse: Martial, 3-5(Wounded)=-2 vs 71+28-15(Badly wounded)=84.]
While you're in the timeless moment between moments in the space outside space, something goes wrong. You reappear, but not where you were meant to. You are not behind her; instead, she is behind you.
And her Shadeblade takes you through the lung.
You think she says something, but you can't hear what: the crowd is tumultuous again, and besides which your concentration is on walling off the pain long enough to send up the Marsh Lights that signal your concession. Then the sword impaling you disappears, and you let yourself collapse to the floor.
You have lost.
[Mastery revealed! Baleful Transposition: Redirect other teleportation within the vicinity. Must be cast as Battle Magic; not compatible with being incorporated into other spells.]
"Don't know what she was thinking," Pan fumes in the recovery room, fussing over you. Magical healing meant you'd be back on your feet very soon, but she had been slow and cautious in her application of it, not wanting to create Dhar unnecessarily by simply flooding your body with a foreign Wind. "She could have just dropped you at the edge of the room and grabbed the Staff while you were out of position! She didn't have to stab you."
"Perhaps she got caught up in the competition of it all?" Sidrofissa asks. Your familiar perches on the headboard of your bed, peering down at you with concern. From the floor beside you, Wolf sneezes, and the parrot wheels on him. "Yes, I know, but I don't hear you offering a better explanation." Wolf responds with a chuff that is his equivalent of laughter and resumes licking your hand companionably.
You lie there, content to let activity swirl around you, but know that if you don't say something Pan will start thinking that you're sulking. Which you're not. You're not sure what you are, but it's not that, and your long accord with the Grey Wind makes you comfortable with the ambiguity of your feelings. So you clear your throat. "You knew about this trick of hers?"
"Oh yes. Saw it in action when some dark elves came to assassinate her, back before the war. They tried to dart around keep her on the back foot, but she dropped them into each other's attacks as neat as you please."
From the entranceway, a voice: "You give me too much credit. I dropped them into your attacks, too." The tap of a staff, and a short woman with a Witch Hunter's hat back on her head walks into the room.
The Supreme Matriarch has come to visit.
Her human partner strides over to her, lips pursed in a half-frown. The canine partner stays where he is, which you appreciate. "You took longer than I expected," she says.
Your former master reaches out a hand and intercepts hers with the ease of knowing exactly where it will be, as automatically and naturally as for Branulhune. "After Eike's strong showing, a few others decided that, now that the ice had been broken, they felt comfortable taking a swing at me themselves. Nothing serious, you understand; just young bucks seeking to measure themselves against the old lady." She smirks. "Mandred was one of them. I suspect he'll be making a habit of it. But right now, I have other priorities." She turns from Pan, and she looks at you. "And how are you doing, Lady Magister?" she asks.
Her stormcloud eyes seem to pierce straight to the back of your head. You look back at her. You don't know what she's looking for; you don't know whether she's finding it. You know what you want, though. See me, you silently implore. Not the little girl my grandmother surprised you with. Not the future partner you brought to Karak Eight Peaks on a lark. Not the Apprentice, nor the Journeyman, nor the Magister, nor even the Lady Magister who fought by your side in the war. Me. Your grandmother began the shaping of you, when she needed an heir and you seemed like adequate raw material for one. Then her frightening silent partner picked you up, when she noticed you perceiving magic, and continued the work after her own fashion. And since then it's been up to you to take over, now that your fate was in your own hands, and be both crafter and craft. Did I use my time well? How have I done? Is it good enough?
Is this what you wanted?
You don't know if she sees any of that. You don't know any of what she sees with Ulgu's eyes. But she leans back, her mouth now set in a slight smile you've only witnessed rarely, but would recognize on any of her faces. "Doing well, I see. I'm glad. Recover quickly; I'll feel much better for knowing that you're here to cover my back." She glances to the third wizard in the room. "I have to attend the Empress. I'll see you for dinner at the palace?" Pan nods, and one kiss later, Mathilde leaves. Pan returns to checking up on you, but then ultimately departs, with stern words (directed to the familiars rather to you) that you aren't to get up for another hour or use any magic for another two, to give the healing time to knit you together and fade away.
And you lie back and close your eyes, victorious.
This omake brought to you by the confluence of a few thoughts about the fighting style Mathilde has been working on and by my musings about the psychology of our Apprentice. Mathilde's formative experience as a child was being betrayed by everyone who claimed to love her and saved only by the law of the Empire and someone with the integrity to stand for it; Eike's formative experience was being discarded by her mother and picked up by a succession of people who thought she showed great promise for accomplishing things they cared about. The latter is clearly better, but it's going to leave its own kind of Mark on the soul. I've been working on this, on and off, for over a year, but the SV Summerfest Omake contest gave me the push I needed to finally finish it. People who read my now-finished quest will know how much I tried to avoid writing fight scenes, but the very premise of this omake required it. Joke's on me!
The title was one of the last things to come together: my frontrunners for a while were "Successor" and "Succession", and I was unable to decide until finally I hit upon "Success*." For those unfamiliar, * is the wildcard character in many scripting languages: it means "what follows this can be any character or set of characters," and so it encompasses "Successor" "Succession" "Success" and even "Success?" all at once, which is a level of ambiguity that I find delightfully Ulgu-y.
In deference to thread memes, I tried to sneakily work in a lot of references to the sorts of things Eike is a protagonist of. See how many you can catch, there's one I will be very impressed by because I think it makes sense only to me.
Gratitude to @Derpmind and @Mopman43, who looked over the intro last September and helped me tweak it.
Fifteen years ago, Lutz Schaefer was a Sergeant of the Hornau Crossbow Regiment in his late twenties with a single child. After Stirland's crossbow regiments were disbanded as the new Elector Countess attempted to modernize her military, he and his squad joined the Karak Eight Peaks Expedition in the hopes of earning enough money to buy some land or purchase a commission in order to secure an income for his nascent family. The Expedition proved successful beyond most expectations, and instead of returning home with gold, he brought his wife and child down and established himself as an officer of the Undumgi. Today, Lutz Schaefer is a Lieutenant and a father of five.
The only part you know of this initially is his rank, because he's currently dressed in his ceremonial best as he very insistently batters at your door at a time in the morning that is only seconds after the point where it would have been rude to be battering at your door.
With your unplaited hair tied up in a hasty bun and hidden away under your hat, and your nightwear securely tucked away under your robes, you have the man brief you as you make your way down the stairs towards his residence. "Some of the children like to fossick in the lower levels," Lutz says to you, slightly out of breath. "Usually they only find a few bits and pieces, and the Dwarves humour them and give them fair value. But the lad has been finding a lot more than anyone else, enough that the Dwarves had started to take notice, and yesterday he dug his way through to what the Dwarves said is a..." He frowns and thinks. "'Dramatic upthrust of sheared selvage that was overlooked during the founding excavation', they said. But they also said that to their eyes, there was nothing to indicate it was there at all. He beelined straight towards it in a little tunnel he dug over weeks, saying the whole time he was sure there was something there, and he was right."
You carefully don't frown as you consider that. "He could have a Minor Talent for detecting metals - there are dowsers out there able to do that or something similar that make a very tidy living from it. But it could also be a subconscious expression of magical ability. If it is, that's a dangerous sort of thing to be doing without any instruction."
"That's what we thought," he confirms. "But he'd be able to learn to do it safely, right?"
"It's possible," you say cautiously as you try to decipher his tone. It takes you a moment not because it's especially cryptic, but because you're not used to the idea of a father being excited to learn that his son might one day be a Wizard. You adjust the planned arc of this conversation. "If he goes to the Colleges, his level of ability would be measured and he'll be given the level of training appropriate for his capabilities, as long as he's willing to learn. From what you've told me, it sounds like he could have a strong affinity for the Wind of Metal, that we call Chamon. If that is the case, he could one day become a Gold Wizard, like Johann and Maximillian."
"That's great news," he says with complete sincerity, and you very deliberately prevent yourself from lingering on how rare that reaction is, and how much more welcome it might have been for some than what they actually got. When you were one Apprentice among many, you'd heard many of the stories of your fellows awakening to their magical ability, and the reactions of their families. Some had stories that rivalled your own for traumatic experiences, but the most common version was of a family reacting with muted despair, as if being told that their child was crippled or dying. The only positive receptions you've heard of previously was among magical families like Panoramia's, or among those who had grown up in orphanages or on the streets.
Okay, maybe you weren't fully successful in keeping yourself from lingering on it.
"What was that?" you say to Lutz, who had just asked you something.
"Is a Wizarding education expensive?" he asks again. "We have some savings, but I don't know if that's, well, Wizard levels of money, you see..."
"I can say with confidence that it will be within your ability to pay," you respond, "and there are other options if you don't have the money on hand."
He seems more reassured by that than perhaps he should be. It's a complicated topic, the fees that students of the Colleges are charged and can sometimes accumulate over the length of their education. The Colleges would theoretically be able to sustain themselves from funding from the Emperor, tithes from their members and the various income streams specific to each College, but they charge Apprentices varying but always significant amounts for their education anyway. The amount is carefully calculated to be burdensome but not crippling for the student's family. If the family pays it, the theory goes, then they are made materially invested in the student's success and are less likely to get cold feet about it years later, when an Apprentice has been ensconced within the College for years and finally emerges with strange new quirks and physical properties. If the family does not pay, then it drives a wedge between the Apprentice and their family early on, bringing the matter to a head immediately instead of allowing an influence opposed to a magical education to linger in that Apprentice's life for years or decades. In either case, when the Apprentice becomes a Journeyman, they are more encouraged than they would otherwise be to pursue the more profitable paths available to them, and in doing so they not only repay the debt to the College or their family, but also have a larger income for the College to take its tithe from. The College may not directly prohibit someone with the potential to become a Magister from spending the rest of their life making a very safe living keeping a forge burning for a blacksmith or something, but it will give a nudge or two to try to prevent it.
You're not sure if you're entirely convinced by this logic. You suspect it may have come about in a time when the Colleges were less established and more in need of funding, and that it continues on at least partly because the Wizards making this decision had to deal with student debt in their youth, so they feel affronted at the idea that future students will not have to. Undoubtedly there are those that would argue it builds character.
Your musings on the topic last until you arrive at the family's dwelling, where you are introduced to a wife and an array of successively smaller children. Your attention goes straight to the boy whose feat had brought you here today, who very clearly doesn't know what he should be doing with himself, and he's fiddling with what you take to be a chunk of silver-bearing ore taken out of the deposit he discovered. You only need a glance to spot the ambient Chamon within the ore stirring at his touch. It takes a longer look to determine that the stirrings only partially correlate with the boy's movements, so it can't just be a natural physical affinity for the Yellow Wind - there must be an unseen variable exerting force upon the Winds, and the most likely candidate is the boy's will.
Right now, it's harmless. He can move it around, but without instruction it would take years for that to develop into enough grasp over it to twist it into the form of a spell. No, the actual danger is that his receptivity to Chamon will not necessarily remain restricted to Chamon. All it would take is some sort of meaningful event to give him even a small level of affinity for one of the other Winds - a nasty burn or beast attack, or the death of a loved one awakening his awareness of mortality, or something else along those lines - and he'll be inadvertently juggling two Winds within his soul, Winds that will have additional speed and turbulence for being within the soul of a nascent Wizard, propelled to and fro by the emotional turmoil of youth. That would put him on a gradual but inexorable path towards Dhar poisoning.
You explain as much to the parents, and while they're certainly concerned to hear it, they seem accepting of the reality of the matter - perhaps not unexpectedly, considering his most likely trajectory had been to follow his father into professional soldiering. You'd expected to face resistance when you explained that it would be best to get him into the mono-Wind environment of the Gold College as soon as possible, and that a delay might be fine but might also be disastrous, but they agree with it immediately. You're not sure whether you were especially convincing, or whether they just want to leap on what they see as a great opportunity for their son as quickly as possible. So you give them the rest of the day to say their farewells and prepare the boy to uproot his life.
---
That evening, you, the child, and Max board your Gyrocarriage to set off to Altdorf. Johann might have gotten along with the child more easily, but his example of Alchemical Thaumaturgy is perhaps a bit intense to be a child's first example of their future.
After some hesitance and awkwardness - not least of which because of the necessity of having to speak quite loudly to be heard over the sound of the engine - the two settle into a discussion about the theorized origins of mountains, from the passé 'the Gods did it' to the outré 'enough stone in one place causes gravity to reverse'. The two spend quite some time mocking the fringe belief in simple physical forces shaping the world over millions of years. The child perks up as the conversation touches on the relation between stone and Chamon, when he says something that causes you to turn your full attention to the conversation.
"The opposite of water?" you ask, prompting him to elaborate on his theory.
He blinks up at you. "Water likes to flow around on the surface, but if it can't do that it'll start sinking into what it's on. The looser it is, the easier it sinks in and moves around, and that's where you get well water. But it'll still sink into stone, just slower. The energy is the other way around - it'll sink into stone if it can, and if it can't then it'll sink slower into soil if the soil doesn't already have another energy in it, and only if there's nothing else for it to do does it flow around on the surface. The opposite of water." He smiles proudly at his theory, and looks closely at you for a reaction as you consider it.
The child is clearly only familiar with Chamon out of the Winds, which for his current circumstances is for the best. Once he's taught a more rounded understanding of them, 'water' could be easily replaced with Ghyran, which flows either like water or with water - the exact cause and effect there is debated. And from there you have an alternative theory of Wind cardinality, one where Chamon and Ghyran are cardinally opposed. The mainstream theory puts Chamon across from Shyish and Ghyran from Aqshy, putting the permanence of metal against the finality of death and the growth of life across from the consumption of fire, but while this depiction can be found in many places in the Colleges, it is far from unassailable, and other theories tend to find a ready audience. An alternate cardinality theory around the way the Winds interact with and flow through the physical world would be an intriguing beginning to a Wizard's career - it's very unlikely to one day rival the Elemental-Mystical-Cardinal triune that currently dominated Collegiate magical theory, but it could very well join the ranks of the numerous other models that have all kinds of niche uses in specific areas.
"That's a very interesting way of thinking about it," you say to the child. "You should keep it in mind, and develop it as you learn how the other Winds work."
From the expression on his face you feel confident that he'll do everything within his power to do so, and you smile. Despite the lack of an extended family, the child shows no evidence of the precocious maturity of an older child of a large family that has had to serve as an additional parent to his juniors. That speaks well of the support structures within the Undumgi - or, you hedge, at least the formerly Stirlandian portion of it. You'd say he has a better chance than most of taking well to the sudden change of environment into the alien structure of the Gold College.
You make a mental note to try to remember his name so you can follow his career with interest.
---
When you delivered a substantial bounty of Ithilmar, a metal with only one known source in the entire world, you were offered several methods of payment that would have made you fabulously wealthy. Each and every one of them has been spurned in favour of feeding the endless appetite of your beloved and growing library. The Queen has formalized your previous means of securing a trickle of Elvish wisdom and employed vast swathes of Tor Lithanel's comfortably bored underclass in churning out a copy of almost the entirety of the Library of Mournings. While you're kept quite busy organizing the incoming flood of Eltharin instruction into some semblance of proper organization, you're not so busy that you can't spot what is missing, and it turns out to be substantially less than you expected. While most books on strategy are notable for their absence, tomes talking about combat at smaller scale are numerous. Books on magical concepts are present but generally low-level, which you're mostly sure is a reflection of Laurelorn's power dynamics rather than a deliberate choice - the greatest understanding of magic belongs to the Grey Lords, and the penultimate tier to the local Temples of Hoeth and Hekarti and the Houses that dominate them.
It all amounts to a bounty of knowledge you could spend a lifetime perusing, and that you intend to spend a lifetime at least leafing through. You suspect that in your future, there will be very little you put your mind to that won't be assisted by some measure of Elvish insight.
While your library's security, having been constructed by Dwarven architects and residing within a Dwarven Karak, was judged as good enough for most purposes, there was one part of the Library of Mournings that requires a greater dedication to security, including a failsafe to destroy the contents should the vault that will contain them be forcibly breached. The scrolls in question are the largest you've ever seen, and covered with carefully-copied diagrams and notes in a language that seems entirely alien, even after you catch a glimpse of both Eltharin and Khazalid in its patterns. You get the impression that mere ink and vellum should be entirely incapable of containing the message within, and that it condescends to be contained in a merely mortal medium as an act of generous benevolence. It is beyond the peoples of the current era to even measure how many steps they are removed from the original lessons of the Old Ones, those that joined forces with the Dragons to shape this world and held back the onslaught of Chaos for long enough for life as you know it today to grow strong enough to take up the fight themselves.
In a letter to the Grey College, you briefly summarize the bounty of knowledge that you have acquired, and leave to them the titanic task of figuring out who in the Empire deserves to know about the secrets that have become available to anyone willing to make the journey to the edge of the continent.
Library Purchases:
[ ] [LIBRARY] Colleges of Magic
Name four magical, non-divine topics to acquire all available Empire books on.
[ ] [LIBRARY] Barak Varr booksellers
Name three public topics to acquire all available Empire and Dwarven books on. [ ] [LIBRARY] Library of Mournings
Name two non-magical topics to hire Cityborn scribes to copy all available Laurelorn books on.
[ ] [LIBRARY] Back-fill.
Instead of seeking books on specific topics, give a very broad direction and have your bookselling contacts grab everything on it that you don't already have, with special attention to existing but incomplete topics. Possible categories: Dwarven religion, human religion, geography, war and combat, social science, natural science, applied science.
Dwarf Favour Purchases
Aethyric Vitae can be spent instead of favour at an exchange rate of 3 favour per gallon; for Rune-related purchases, this will also guarantee the cooperation of Runelords who may otherwise be disinterested. To use this, simply add 'paid by Vitae' or similar to an item you are voting for.
[ ] [DWARF] No purchase.
[ ] [DWARF] Write-in.
College Favour Purchases
[ ] [COLLEGE] No purchase.
[ ] [COLLEGE] Write-in.
Other Purchases
[ ] [PURCHASE] No purchase.
[ ] [PURCHASE] Write-in.
- There will be a fourteen hour moratorium.
- Despite the magical children that keep happening around Mathilde, the typical age for magical abilities to awaken in someone is 15 to 20. This kid rolled a 2 on a d100. Mathilde just keeps getting surrounded by outliers.
- The initiate's natural affinity for magic was rolled here.
- The library as it currently stands can be found under the Organizations threadmark. I have not constructed a list of what was acquired because doing so would have meant this would have taken even longer to be written. If someone is willing to perform the hard work and/or apply the technological know-how to derive said list, I'll be posting the current library and the library as it stood before the most recent additions shortly after this post. The list of new additions can be found in posts further down this page, with many thanks to @Abby Normal and @picklepikkl .
- Some of the Eonir-sourced books are listed as Eonir where they have developed significant unique insights of their own, and Asur where they have merely retained the knowledge they brought with them from Ulthuan. Undoubtedly there will be topics that should be present that I've overlooked, and if you think you've identified one, let me know.
That was adorable and I love that we gave the soon to be apprentice a reason to come back: the library here is great if he's going to really push his theory.
"...and as We come to be increasingly aware of the myriad not-We of the four-legged not-food, the differences in perspective become increasingly apparent in a way that We, being the only eight-legged not-food in the known reaches who may echo the four-legs, are best placed to identify and analyze, perhaps even speculate upon.
"Take for example the simple matter of directions. To those with two eyes and two grasping legs, the division into before the eyes and hidden from the eyes is simple and intuitive. The two grasping limbs perpendicular to this distinction serve to then separate the directions into four: front, back, left, and right. The wood-echoes of the not-food routes even pretend as though they are a four-legged not-food, such that the directions remain the same but are given different names that they be known as the facings of a wood-echoes. For those more detailed wood echoes, half-way between two directions are also noted, and gradations of increasingly fine divisions of two as needed.
"The simplistic determination of primary direction by where it's eyes point is characteristic of species that is self-contained within one body and therefore need only reference itself when orienting. Furthermore, the implicit assumption of navigation on a flat surface indicates a species that has grown on the surface, where differences in the vertical may be resolved largely through horizontal perambulation.
"We, therefore, naturally have a more complex and comprehensive vocabulary of orientation. As many-We may be looking in many directions, there is no subjective reference point that equals the 'eyes forwards' of a four-legged not-food. Instead, We rely on the only universal direction constant across all We: down. Past this, the implicit assumption is that all bodies are looking at each other, and all are oriented perpendicular to down, but directions are given from the current body echoing to the listener, as listeners may be many or few. This has caused confusion among the bearded four-legged not-food, as their 'forward' is not directly 'behind' the listener as ours is, but rather in the shared direction of facing.
"In naming, We rely on our biology in a similar manner to four-legs, although eight legs allows for a more refined base eight instead of base four. 'Forward' thus becomes 'grasping-arms-clasped-fully extended'.
"Let us (Us! Such a wonderfully short word for all-We in transient many-food) examine this more closely. Each leg of a We is named, and is used to indicate the direction in which it is most prominent. The half-point between two legs is indicated by the modifier 'clasping' or 'touching', another minor difference, as the 'primary' directions are offset by 12.5⁰ from those used by the four-legs. Furthermore, the degree of extension naturally provides a vertical component, with fully extended being horizontal and fully curled pointing down.
"A dwarf facing the same direction as a We (on the 'right' side) and telling us that something is ahead, a bit to the right, and up thirty degrees would therefore be understood by the We to mean seventh-leg one-third anti-curled, but would be phrased as third-leg one-third anti-curled were the dwarf to be giving the directions in the manner of the We...
Understanding Arachnid Directions, as dictated to Bron Dustylocs by We hunter Silverchip.
The Pillar had been smashed. The council slain. The rats scattered and hunted. It was said that the Reborn Goddess did the deed, as she fought the horned rat- both as big as clouds across the sky! For fourteen days and fourteen nights they waged war as Gods once did at the dawn of the world, until she broke his power and cast him down. In the many years since, a new deep water port has grown up along the edge of the bay that was once a marsh.
Without the supernatural hand balancing treachery and reward, the rest of the empire almost immediately ate itself alive, and offered next to no resistance as their many enemies moved in for the kill.
It has been a hundred years since a skaven has been seen alive. The grudges, oh so very many grudges, have been struck out, and a celebration announced across the Karaz Ankor. Even now the merrymaking continues.
In the early morning sunlight, a bundled and hunched figure climbs towards the western gate of Karak Eightpeaks. The dwarven gatewarden, eyes bloodshot but not bleary, meets it a hundred paces from the closed gates. (Pre-sighted canon meant that with small numbers of unknown entities, getting them to stop in the right place was a greater challenge than protecting the dwarf.)
"Hail traveler! By the edict of King Belegar the Refounder, all those without grudge against them may enter upon swearing an oath of peace and stating their business. Remove your hood and swear."
The bundle bowed it's head and reached forward, slowly drawing it's hood back and down. First revealed was a nose, black and twitching. A snout, furred. Two beady eyes. And last, a pair of round, fuzzy ears that flipped down nervously.
The gatewarden rubbed his eyes, then reached for his ax.
The skaven drew a deep breath.
"I am Chirit, of no clan-lineage, and I swear that I shall stay-dwell peacefully and without offering offense-threat for as long as I am permitted-allowed. I hear that there are no longer grudges against-upon those of my kind, and so I come to seek-beg entrance."
At this the warden paused his swing.
"Aye, you speak the truth about grudges rat, but that was only because you were all dead. What in the ancestors names possessed you to just openly walk up here?"
"Almost all ARE gone-dead. I know nothing of those who schemed-existed before me, save the few sneak-rats who bore and taught-raised me, and they knew nothing either. We cannot even read the old language. But I hear-listen of those who hunted us, and their forgiveness-release, and the vast stores of knowledge they hold-guard behind their gates, about every thing that has ever been.
"So my business-quest, oh stern-fierce guardian, is to seek to know who-what we were, and what we made-did, and why the world hated us."
The warden slowly holsters his ax. The rat looks at him. He imagines it to have an air of resigned fatalism, whiskers twitching.
"We have no grudges against you, aye. You swore the oath, aye. There is at least one partial precedent, I suppose. And your goal is solid, the knowledge you seek exists within the Library. But you are skaven. This decision is one for the king. Wait here."
A/N- in which Mathilde's library becomes a way for skaven to claw their way back.
As you sit and ponder the newly-constructed Waystone, you consider the nature of firsts. This Waystone is certainly a first of some kind, but it takes a carefully-constructed array of qualifiers to correctly identify what. Certainly not the first constructed in the Old World, considering the partnership between Elves and Dwarves was forged here. Not even the first since the breakdown of that alliance, as the Belthani, the Nehekharans, the Scythians, and possibly others have left behind additions to the network. Not even the first in the Empire's history, as it is very likely that Belthani remnants lingered in corners of the Reik Basin until the Drive to the Frontiers brought its entirety under Imperial rule; that, and who knows what the Bretonni were getting up to west of the Grey Mountains in the era before the Royarchs and the Lady came to rule those lands. It might be as little as fifteen centuries since the last Waystone was constructed in the Old World.
All that said, it is still quite the accomplishment. This Waystone is the first of many, and it will mark a turning point in the history of whichever land it is planted in. The question of which land that will be hangs heavy in the air, and maps of the rivers of the Old World have come under close scrutiny in recent weeks. In Kislev, this Waystone placed along the Tobol would halt the spread of Troll Country, or along the Kalti Delta to turn a Norscan stronghold into Kislevite territory, or along the uppermost reaches of the Lynsk could cut Praag off from the Chaos Wastes and start to reverse almost two centuries of corruption. In the Empire, Mordheim could be ringed with Waystones to drain away almost five centuries of accumulated corruption, or the Waystone could be placed along the Drak to drive a stake into the heart of Sylvania, or along the Black Run to fortify the barrier between Stirland or Sylvania. Or the newly-established trade crossroad of the Black Water could be ringed with Waystones to begin to counter whatever font of corruption lies deep below the surface.
The decision would be life-changing to those living in or near the affected area, but perhaps more important would be the statement of intent that the decision would be taken for. Rightly or wrongly, the world will be paying attention to who the first major beneficiary of the Waystone Project will be.
---
You have five action points (AP) you can apply without engaging in overwork. For every two AP spent across all members of WEB-MAT, including recruiting new members, you can spend one 'free' additional AP with any member of WEB-MAT. WEB-MAT actions are performed by Mathilde alongside that person when possible, such as studying something alongside that person, cowriting a paper together, one teaching the other, both of them learning something new, et cetera.
Current overwork status: [ ] [ ] [ ] Each box will be filled by one action of overwork, and will take the two turns after that to fade as you recover. The first box incurs no penalty. The second will give a -10 penalty to all actions during the first turn of recovery. The third will give a -20 penalty to all actions on both turns of recovery.
Overwork incurs no penalties on the turns taken, only on the turns recovering from it. You can take as many actions of overwork as you have unfilled boxes.
When you use overwork it fills the left-most empty box, so [-][ ][ ] becomes [-][+][ ], not [+][-][ ]. All boxes recover in parallel and independent from one another, but second and third apply maluses on your actions during that cooldown period.
WEB-MAT: Magister Maximilian de Gaynesford, Gold Wizard
[ ] MAX: Learning: specify what and from who. You may pay for a trainer.
[ ] MAX: Study an artefact: specify which.
[ ] MAX: Receive dictation: specify which two papers or one book will be written.
WEB-MAT: Magister Johann, Gold Wizard
[ ] JOHANN: Learning: specify what and from who. You may pay for a trainer.
[ ] JOHANN: Study an artefact: specify which.
[ ] JOHANN: Write a paper: specify which.
WEB-MAT: Lord Magister Egrimm van Horstmann, Light Wizard
[ ] EGRIMM: Introduce Egrimm to Cython with hopes of some sort of information exchange (NEW)
[ ] EGRIMM: Attempt a Windherder enchantment with Egrimm (specify what)
[ ] EGRIMM: Learning: specify what from who. You may pay for a trainer.
[ ] EGRIMM: Study an artefact: specify which.
[ ] EGRIMM: Write a paper: specify which.
WEB-MAT: Other
[ ] WEB-MAT: Hunt an apparition with a member of WEB-MAT (specify who and which)
[ ] WEB-MAT: Attempt to recruit someone to WEB-MAT (specify who)
[ ] WEB-MAT: Enchant or otherwise modify your Gyrocarriage (specify how)
The Waystone Project, Recruitment
[ ] Attempt to bring an Order into the Waystone Project (specify which)
[ ] Attempt to bring a non-Order magical tradition into the Waystone Project (specify which)
[ ] Attempt to bring a human Cult into the Waystone Project (specify which)
[ ] Attempt to bring a Major House or Ward into the Waystone Project (specify which)
[ ] Attempt to bring a Karak's Runesmiths into the Waystone Project (specify which)
The Waystone Project, Research
[ ] Waystone: Build a Waystone There will be a subvote for which components it will be made of. You can take this multiple times to create multiple Waystone designs in parallel.
[ ] Waystone: Attempt to secure a supply of Titan-metal Specify source: Ogres, Cathay.
[ ] Waystone: Experiment with alternatives to the Waystone Rune
[ ] Waystone: Negotiate with Ulthuan for details of how to create a Nexus (NEW)
[ ] Waystone: Nexuses Specify which: Marienburg (Almshoven and Fort Solace), Forest of Shadows (Brass Keep, Blood Fane, Tower of Melkhior), Mordheim, Los Cabos, Bugman's Brewery.
[ ] Waystone: Tributaries Specify which type: Scythian, Lornalim.
[ ] Waystone: Mapping Specify two of: Bretonnia, Tilea, Estalia, Araby, Badlands.
[ ] Waystone: Other Networks Specify which: Karaz Ankor, Kislev, Laurelorn, Athel Loren, Nehekhara.
The Waystone Project, Development
[ ] Waystone: Tributary Design (select one or multiple: Ranaldian, Druidic, Ice Witch, Runesmith, Teclisean)
[-] Waystone: Tributary Prototype (no untested designs available)
[ ] Waystone: Leyline Prototype (select transmission medium: Air, Material, Road)
[ ] Waystone: Negotiate with Ulthuan to re-erect Barak Varr's Nexus (NEW)
[ ] Waystone: Seek the lost Black Fire Pass Nexus (NEW)
The Waystone Project, Deployment
[ ] Waystone: Deploy in Kislev (specify which: Praag Region, Troll Country, Kalti Delta)
[ ] Waystone: Deploy in the Empire (specify which: Sylvania, Stirland, Mordheim)
[ ] Waystone: Deploy in the Karaz Ankor (Black Water)
[ ] Waystone: Other (specify where) The current Waystone model has specific strengths and weaknesses, but these can be disregarded to start deploying them somewhere less suitable.
[ ] Tributary: Haléthan (specify province) Roots of Stone requires a Nordland or Ostland Hedgewise caster to be used outside of Nordland, Ostland, or Ostermark.
[ ] Tributary: Dreaming Wood (specify province) Liminal Germination requires the caster to spend a significant amount of time in the local Dreaming Wood. This is safe-ish in Nordland, Reikland, Hochland, and Talabecland, dangerous in Middenland, Ostland, and Ostermark, and impossible in other provinces.
[ ] Tributary: Water Spirit (specify province) Aethyric Impluvium requires the presence of a Water Spirit, the easiest source of which would be cooperation with the Cult of Taal and Rhya, the Elementalists, or Hag Witches.
[ ] Tributary: International (specify country) Share information and expertise on how and where to create the tributaries to supplement existing Waystone networks.
For the above options, remember to also state who you will be researching or performing this with. You can specify as many or as few members of the Project as you please, as well as bringing in people from outside the Project if you pay for their services or convince them in some other way. If the only ones involved are members of WEB-MAT the action can count as a WEB-MAT action. In general the fastest progress will be made by involving only those with the most applicable knowledge, but also keep in mind how each individual might feel about being included or excluded in a particular investigation. For the Tributary actions, the details of how exactly it is pursued will be the subject of a subvote after Mathilde investigates the options and possibilities, but will generally involve getting the okay of local authorities, then finding, recruiting, or striking deals with people with the ability and inclination to spend the next several years creating tributaries.
Lovely Laurelorn
[ ] Explore one of the Wards of Laurelorn (specify which: Storm, Rain, Frost)
Self-Improvement:
[ ] Receive training: specify who and what. (acquaintances may train you for free, or you can hire someone with money or favours)
[ ] Attempt to learn Battle Magic at the Grey College. (1 College Favour per attempt)
[ ] Attempt to gain control of one of your Arcane Marks (specify which)
[ ] Try to see through Pall of Darkness with your improved magical senses.
[ ] Practice shooting while invisible. (applies to Substance of Shadow and Invisibility)
[ ] Attempt to finish off the Grey College spellbook by learning Shadow of Death, Cloak Activity, and the MAPP.
Research and Publishing:
[ ] Study the Waystone foundation enchantment for enchanting technique insights (NEW)
[ ] Study an artefact: select which.
[ ] Write a paper: select which.
[ ] Write something else: write in.
Once per turn, you can write a paper or write a 'something else' without spending an action thanks to your Tower of Serenity.
[ ] The Second Secret of Dhar teaches how to collapse it upon itself. Practice upon local Dhar taint, and very cautiously see if this works with Warpstone.
Aethyric Vitae (12 gallons):
[-] Create Orbs of Sorcery solo (requires one of each Power Stone) Mathilde will have full control over what happens with the resultant Orbs, including the option of presenting the full collection as a shockingly impressive fait accompli. Any Power Stones Mathilde does not have will be acquired for 5 CF each.
[ ] Create Orbs of Sorcery with College buy-in (no cost) Mathilde will not have to source her own materials, but will have to negotiate in advance what happens with the resultant Orbs.
[ ] Create a liminal realm (specify size, location, and purpose, 6m³ per gallon)
Enchantment and Spell Creation:
[ ] Codify the spell Knightbringer
[ ] Enchant an item: specify what and how (current skill level allows for Fiendishly Complex spells and lower; you may use Windherder to attempt to enchant something with spells from different Winds)
[ ] Attempt to create a spell (see Approved Spells threadmark)
[ ] Attempt to capture an Apparition (specify which)
[ ] Turn a staff (specify for whom) (optional: specify from what)
Foreign Relations:
[ ] Enter into negotiations with the Druchii delegation to Laurelorn The Druchii have proffered magical knowledge and advance information on Karond Kar corsair movements in exchange for information on and samples of interesting creatures and phenomena of the Old World, but all kinds of other deals could be negotiated.
[ ] Involve yourself in current affairs: specify what and how.
Current examples: Eastern Stirland pacification, Marienburg affair, Cult of Ulric schism
[ ] [ ] [ ] Travel to Nagarythe at the invitation of Ambassador Daroir, and join their eternal war against Naggarothi invaders for three months.
Personal Relations:
[ ] Spend time assisting or ingratiating yourself with someone else: specify who and how.
[ ] Spend time investigating a character without their knowledge: specify who.
[ ] Teach Eike (specify what)
[ ] Wolf is fully grown, very smart, and a Very Good Boy. Train him further. (specify what he will be taught)
[ ] Wolf is fully grown and very magical. Deepen your familiar bond. (may unlock a new familiar ability; risks obsession)
The Eastern Imperial Company Your share of EIC profits: 250 crowns / turn
Current Focus of the EIC: Preparing for the Zhanyka Canal
EIC Handler: The Hochlander The first AP spent in this category is free. Any additional choices cost 1 AP.
[ ] EIC: Completely hand over management of the EIC intelligence apparatus to the Hochlander.
[ ] EIC: Found an auditors division, to make sure the ledgers are in order.
[ ] EIC: Insert agents into a particular province, cult, company, or institution to start gathering their secrets. (specify who)
[ ] EIC: Reach out to Roswita, and have the EIC start passing on tips about any tax evasion or other naughtiness by the EIC's rivals.
[ ] EIC: Improve and expand the EIC's paramilitary river navy. (optional: specify how)
[ ] EIC: Have the EIC keep tabs on mercenaries so that they can be more easily hired if needed.
[ ] EIC: Attempt to establish a trade route with the Eonir (pick one: ore)
[ ] EIC: Assist in the creation of the magical route through the Schadensumpf, both personally and with the EIC's influence and resources Estimated completion without Mathilde's assistance: late 2493.
Kron-Azril-Ungol
Status: Being colonized by a new We, training and recruiting human and Halfling scribes from Karak Eight Peaks, open to braver members of the general public. The first AP spent in this category is free. Any additional choices cost 1 AP.
[ ] Begin copying the full corpus of a Partner Library. (specify which) Current options: Aquila Academy of Nuln, Imperial School of Engineers, Imperial Gunnery School, Minor Colleges of Nuln, The Mootland Genealogical Library
[ ] Hire educators to teach a language or group of languages to your scribes (specify which) Some package options: Eltharin (Ulthuan's Tar-Eltharin and Laurelorn's Yen-Eltharin dialects), Academic Languages (Classical and Old Reikspiel)
[ ] Seek the publishing contacts to start acquiring large amounts of books from a nearby realm (specify which: Bretonnia, Kislev, Tilea/Estalia, Araby) Gives wide and easy access within a language, but is subject to local restrictions and is a less efficient use of the Library's acquisition budget than other methods.
[ ] Seek an exchange arrangement with another Library or a Karak's archives to be able to make copies of their corpus (specify which, eg: Great Library of Marienburg, Great Library of Altdorf, Ancient Library of Carroburg, Karaz-a-Karak Archives, Karak Vlag Archives) Difficulty will depend on the size, prestige, and disposition of the library in question, and the relative impressiveness of Kron-Azril-Ungol.
[ ] Seek an agreement with a Cult to have access to their libraries (specify which, eg: Verenans, Myrmidians, Sigmarites) Difficulty will vary heavily depending on the Cult in question, but can allow access to rare tomes and esoteric subjects.
[ ] Set up a no-questions-asked bounty system for books within the Cult of Ranald Results will be unreliable and depending on what is sought may result in blowback, but this may allow you to acquire books that would otherwise be entirely inaccessible.
Traits:
Grey Wizard: She has the ability and education to wield the winds of Ulgu, the grey magic of shadow and illusion.
Apprentice: She has reached the level of training where she is able to begin learning the simplest of spells. Her Master is Lady Magister Mathilde Weber.
In Awe of Mathilde: Every story Eike grew up hearing about Mathilde has convinced her to make the most of the opportunity to learn from her directly. This will be replaced by one of Mathilde's traits at some point during her Apprenticeship.
Seen, Not Heard: Eike learned at a very young age that there are few benefits and many drawbacks to drawing attention to herself, an instinct that serves her very well in some ways but holds her back in others. +3 Intrigue, +1 Piety, -2 Diplomacy
Keep The Wagons Rolling: Eike believes implicitly that logistical efficiency is absolutely essential for the continued survival of the Empire and its allies. +2 Learning, +3 Stewardship
Mark of Ulgu: She bears the Mark of Ulgu upon her right arm, signifying the claim that the Wind has laid on her soul. +1 Magic.
Diplomacy:
Colleges of Magic (1/3)
Empire of Man: Under the tutelage of her grandmother, she has achieved a solid understanding of the provinces of the Empire. +1 Diplomacy
Eonir of Laurelorn: A period of immersion in Tor Lithanel during her teenage years gave her a solid understanding of the Eonir. +1 Diplomacy
Karaz Ankor: Her Apprenticeship to a Thane and Loremaster of Karak Eight Peaks made her a part of Dwarven culture almost by default, and she learned to operate within it early. +1 Diplomacy
Nobility: Her upbringing gave her a deep understanding of the realities of nobility. +1 Diplomacy
Politicking (1/3)
Martial:
Equestrianism (2/3)
Fitness: Beneath her robes lies the muscle of a warrior rather than the soft flesh of a typical wizard. +2 Martial
Greatsword: Eike has developed a basic understanding of the Tilean spadone style, with a few Imperial flourishes. +1 Martial
Greatsword, Advanced (1/3)
Naval Tactics: She has a fascination with the many historical sea battles in the Sea of Claws. +1 Martial
Naval Tactics - The Empire (1/3)
Pistols: She was taught to wield her grandmother's weapon of choice from a young age. +1 Martial
Intrigue:
Infiltration: She has a very good grasp of how to be seen but not noticed. +1 Intrigue
Advanced Infiltration (2/3)
Stewardship:
Accounting: As heir apparent of the EIC, she has been taught the arcane art of double-entry bookkeeping. +1 Stewardship
Advanced Accounting (1/3)
Trade: She has a basic understanding of the endless flow of goods and gold that keeps civilization running. +1 Stewardship
Piety:
Old World Pantheon (Northern) (1/3)
Old World Pantheon (Southern): Having grown up in the softer corners of the Empire, she is familiar with the more civilized of the Empire's Gods.
Shallya (1/3)
Languages:
Reikspiel
Lingua Praestantia
Tar-Eltharin (Eonir accent)
Magic: Natural Alchemist: Eike has both an intuitive grasp and a solid grounding in the theory of the way the Aethyric Winds interact with mundane matter, and vice versa. Skills that rely on this, such as Alchemy, Enchanting, Potions, and Turning, are one step easier to learn and advance (eg: Basic Alchemy requires 2/2 instead of 3/3 to learn).
Enchantment (1/2)
Materials: Eike is able to quickly and precisely evaluate how conductive a material is to various forms of magical energy, and how to compensate for or take advantage of that conductivity. +1 Learning, Advanced will give +1 Magic
Specify which of the above actions Eike will be present for and (hopefully) learning from, as well as what she will be directed to study when she's not doing so. Her study may involve lessons you pay for, or tutoring from your employees and allies. These do not cost AP.
[ ] Eike Actions:
[ ] Eike Study:
Ranald's Coin - specify which face it will be set to
[ ] The Gambler: specify an action this will apply to. A +20 bonus to up to two dice rolls resulting from a single chosen action.
[ ] The Night Prowler As long as you are outside of private property and within a town or city, nobody will question your presence and nobody will be able to find you if you do not wish them to.
[ ] The Deceiver: specify how this will be used. Lies you have developed beforehand will be delivered perfectly. The listener may believe you to be mistaken, but they will never believe that you are lying. Cannot be used to tell truths.
[ ] The Protector When you act in a way that defends an individual or group from a danger that you did not cause, they will become aware of what you have done and will believe you acted selflessly in doing so. Rule of thumb: if you have to explain why this might apply, it probably doesn't.
[ ] The Father Ranald's daughters, and Their followers, will recognize you as being worthy of trust and faith.
Ranald's Coin (note from Ranald: don't)
Vampire skulls
Branulhune - investigate the odd flash when it is desummoned underwater
The Vampire Prophecies of W'Soran
Vlad von Carstein's study notes of the Carstein Ring
Kurgan Shrine to Mannslieb
Kurgan enchanted weapons
Note: Fresh and Refreshed papers confer a +10 bonus; faded ones a -10 malus.
Papers get one step less 'fresh' each turn: Fresh; Fading; Mostly Faded: Faded. Only the first and last have an effect on the diceroll.
Linguistic Drift in Lizardmen Glyphs (FADING)
The Polyphenic Theory of Lizardmen Society (FADING)
Seviroscope (large, based on glass and alchemical inks) (TIMELESS)
Preliminary paper on Aethyric Vitae (TIMELESS)
Coins of Nehekhara's Fifth Dynasty (TIMELESS)
You can literally write the book on a topic for the same amount of effort as two papers; this can be split over multiple turns. You don't need to have all the pieces to do so, but it would be more efficient and impressive if you did.
Aethyric Vitae (1/2)
Branarhune
The Currency of Strygos
The Currency of Tylos
Coins of Nehekhara's Fourth Dynasty
Coins of Nehekhara's Sixth Dynasty
- There will be a 24-hour moratorium. Voting will be in plan format.
- The current Waystone model is best suited to countering deeply unpleasant places upriver of a nexus, and the options given have been chosen with that in mind. However, if you really want to you could start deploying them just about anywhere.
- You can deploy in multiple places per turn, but if you do, specify which one will be the 'first' in your plan.
- Mathilde's part in Waystone deployment will be sorting out the politics and logistics of making it happen, and then handing it off to others to handle the years of rote work involved.
Is there anyone who could EVEN TOUCH Caledor Dragontamer?
Let alone defeat him.
And I'm not talking about the mage Caledor Dragontamer. I'm not talking about Archmage Caledor Dragontamer, master of the True Magic of Qhaysh either. Hell, I'm not even talking about Caledor Dragontamer, known as Kalamn-Kavannaen ("Great Lord") among the dragons, able to control all eight winds of magic, including the White Wind Hysh, the Lore of Light; the Yellow Wind Chamon, the Lore of Metal; the Green Wind Ghyran, the Lore of Life; the Blue Wind Azyr, the Lore of Heavens; the Grey Wind Ulgu, the Lore of Shadow; the Purple Wind Shyish, the Lore of Death; the Red Wind Aqshy, the Lore of Fire; and the Brown Wind Ghur, the Lore of Beasts, as well as using all eight of the Winds of Magic in harmony and unison, allowing him to channel and cast some of the most powerful spells known, beyond the ken of Human minds to master and the ability of Men to cast.
I'm also not talking about Great Vortex Caledor, accompanied by the greatest archmages of the time, working in concert with all of the Dragons who have acknowledged him as a Great Lord, including Aragnir, Deathfang, Draukhain, Galrauch, Gordinar, Indraugnir, Kalamemnon, Lamoureux, Maedrethnir, Minaithnir, Nightfang, Rilgaur, Symiel, Vranesh, and Ymwrath, using his control of all eight winds of magic, as well as the True Magic of Qhaysh and the Dark Magic of Dhar, with ten thousand years of constant practice and refinement, holding Bagdelredner, a powerful Dwarf rune amulet created by the Ancestor God Grimnir himself and given to Caledor Dragontamer as a token of the alliance between Elf and Dwarf, as well as the Crystal of Fire, a powerful Elven artefact of Caledor's own making considered by the Dwarfs to be of equal potency to the work of the Ancestor Gods, standing at the center of a vast magical maelstrom at the heart of the island-continent of Ulthuan, siphoning the concentrated magic of the entire mortal world through a complex network of towering rune-carved menhirs that channel and redirect the Winds of Magic to the Isle of the Dead, a realm beyond time and space.
I'm definitely NOT Talking about Ascended Endtimes Caledor, wielding the Widowmaker (the Godslayer, Doom of Worlds, the finest weapon ever created by Vaul, empowered with the hatred of Khaine as the physical manifestation of death and violence), accompanied by every Dragon to have ever lived (including all the Dragons of Cathay), commanding the White Tower of Hoeth and the Colleges of Magic, with the blessing of Hoeth, the God of Knowledge, Learning and Wisdom, Lord of Wisdom and embodiment of erudition, working with every Runesmith to ever live (including the Ancestors), having absorbed all the skill and knowledge of Nagash (darkness and unreasoning hatred given form, the father and creator of the foul art of necromancy and lord of all Vampires and other Undead) and all the secret wisdom of the Slaan of the First Spawning (original and favoured servants of the Old Ones), all bent towards a singular purpose and wielding all of the magic that the Great Vortex ever drained across millenia.
I'm talking about Ultimate Supreme Calador, wielding the Widowmaker, Ghal Maraz, and the Fellblade, wearing the Nemesis Crown, having absorbed the Emperor of Mankind in his prime and all his psychic power (absolute Omega-Plus psychic power) and sitting on the Golden Throne, commanding every mortal faction from Warhammer Fantasy as well as every single Space Marine legion at its peak, empowered by every god in both the Elven and Aelderi pantheons, cooperating with the Necrons at their peak (including both Trazyn the Infinite and Orikan the Diviner). Also he has all of Madara's powers, and I'm not talking about Edo Tensei Uchiha Madara. I'm not talking about Gedou Rinne Tensei Uchiha Madara either.
I don´t really think i have the chops to do the idea justice, but the thought would just not leave me, so like. Here.
________
You do not know when you are born, for your first memory with any clarity is from when you were two months old. You were playing then, a game with your brothers. Simple wrassling. Only your brothers. You do not know where your sisters went. You do not know if you had any, but you feel as if you did.
You do not have a mother, but your second memory is of a rat who you thought was your father, telling you he is not your father. Not-father teaches you all you know. That you have thirteen Fathers. Twelve who must be obeyed and protected, and thirteenth, The Under-Father, for whom simple obedience above everyone else would do. They love you and you must love them back. You accept this. You will learn how to fight and protect them with your life. You accept this too.
By the third month, many of your smaller brothers disappear. Any that did not reach your shoulder were winnowed. Not-father tells you they were unsuited for your calling, and shall instead be scribes for the Fathers. You do not know if you believe this. You pray to Under-Father to tell you, but he does not answer. You miss them. You learn that you have many brothers but they are not-brothers. They do not love your Fathers as you do, and might do them harm. You must strike them down if they ever attempt to do so. You are not sure you understand, but your not-father says so, so this too, you accept.
By the sixth month, you are a warrior with few peers. In the sparring ring, you defeat your brothers nine times out of ten. When they bring Eshin-brothers, you win less, but with each spar the margin of error lessens. Not-Father tells you that your ability to recognize when they are about to strike is commendable. The Warrior Father says the same. You preen with pride.
You are a year old and swear an oath before a grand pillar. You will never speak again.
You are a year and a half and you guard an important son of the Warrior Father in Festerpike. There is a commotion, rising panic as brother turns on brother. A rebel claimant comes. You fulfil your orders, and guard the kin of Warrior Father because you were entrusted with his safety. All the same, you feel sadness. You cannot tell anyone.
You are two years old and Father of Disease and Warrior Father rise up to strike against rest of the Fathers. You do not know what to do. You pray to Under-Father to give you clarity, for only he can in this time of divided loyalties but he does not answer. You protect the kin of Warrior, because it is the last order you were given. Surely this must be what was intended.
You are four years old and all you know is pain. They call you traitor, supporter of traitor kin. How were you to know which Father to obey? Warrior Father´s kin left you to guard his escape and now your not-brothers caught you and they´ve tortured you and you see now that there is no love anywhere. Only pain and hate. You feel it too. There is a human woman in the next cell over. She does not speak much, for they break her as much as they break you, and you feel she does not trust you besides. But she does tell you of the Land of Bretonnia. There is no Under-Father there. Brother does not kill Brother, and only sometimes not-brother. You think you would´ve liked seeing such a place.
You are five years old and you will escape. Once more does another rebel claimant rise to usurp the position of current leader of Festerpike. In the chaos, you snap the neck of the not-brother that tended to you non-so gently and steal the keys to other cells. You open Juliette´s first, and it is at this moment that you feel Under-Father for the first time. You thought it would be a joyous occasion in your first years, but the only thing you feel is pain as your very life feels like its being torn from your body, pulled sideways and up. Then Juliette touches you with prayer on her lips and the feeling settles. You see light in her eyes as you never have before and feel it fill you.
You are eight years old, and on the morrow you will slay dragon. You ride in full armour, and that you ride is the only reason you can bear the unfamiliar shape of the greaves you must wear so that none of the men that you protect know what you are. As the evening approaches, you break the camp for you and Juliette. She´s been your guide this far and never led you wrong. It is through her that you have gotten arms and armour, and it is through her that you found new purpose. You join her in the last prayer of the day, and for all that you know the task ahead is a daunting one, you feel no fear. When you fall asleep, you dream of a grail, blazing beyond horizon.
