Hiring Another
The Empire has the greatest human wizards of, at least, the Old World. It's something you believe, and not without cause. Volans, Dragomas, Gotthilf, they were educated in the mystic arts in a way you've never seen surpassed. Can't imagine anyone surpassing in point of fact. Volans was so skilled that he could see every strand of magic and wise enough to realize that to the meddle with them would be his end, and laid the foundations of the Colleges. Dragomas, able to journey to distant Cathay and make common cause with the Dragons, and earn a treaty and return with the ability to turn into a celestial dragon. Gotthilf was subtler than those, with few realizing his importance, but he had simplified, redefined and perfected the art of magic, making complicated theory into...well, complicated theory, but less complicated. The difference between paradox and personal enigma.
But the Empire is not the only place in the world that makes (legitimate) wizards, not even counting the elves. There are the Damsels, of course, who can wield three Winds at a time where you can only wield one; but then they could only wield those three, leaving Ulgu, Aqshy, Chamon, Hysh and Shyish behind. There are the Ice Witches, who function powerfully in Kislev; but only to hurt, really. But they both have a pedigree worthy of respect, their own long histories; they are known, respected, and legal in the Empire, with their own knowledge that merits both preservation and protection.
But it might not be enough. And so you turn south, to a land you have not put much thought into over the past decades.
Estalia, a thousand years disunited, was now reunited under a king. And twenty eight years ago that king had offered his clemency and mercy to hedgewizards in his realm as long as they were willing to register themselves, and begin training under his own Loremaster, Alyazra. After three years they had grown powerful enough to take an entire city under his command by themselves, blasting apart the defenders on the city walls of Diamenterra and uniting the peninsula under his rule, and so formed Los Gremios de Cazadores Dellos Vientos; or, the Windseekers Guild. A similar enough story to any member of the Colleges; but by that same token, there was an argument to be made that they were redundant.
Except for the Bronze Windseekers. Wielders of Ghur, aside from the elvish lore Alyazra had taught them it was claimed that they were descended of the Old Families who had inhabited Estalia since before Sigmar and Myrmida, sacrificing humans to the ancient Menhirs to keep them functional. Rich with Ghur and supposedly Altars to Savage Khaine erected by Nagarythians before the Sundering, etc. Etc. And most importantly, they turned Dhar into Ghur; or at least, probably, they would, though the Winds of magic are too weak this far south for really notable quantities to form naturally and prove your hypothesis.
In any case they had better, to make up for all the glares you receive from Silver Windseekers, hiding underneath their masks of silver or porcelain or pewter, featureless except for the eyes--often changed by the Winds--that poke out, glaring at you with just short of naked contempt as they walk through the sparse woods, headed towards the hill. Not that any of the Windseekers are thrilled to see an Imperial here, but there's a certain (one-sided) rivalry between the two of you they seem to be stoking. Many of them have glowing rings, fluttering capes, in one case a bright silver necklace on a woman in the finest dress you've ever seen. Their focuses at a guess: objects of power, according to rumors necessary for them to gather the Winds so far south with any real reliability.
And then you see it properly, the great hollow mound which serves as the Guildhall for the Bronze Windseekers. Though a wooden palisade makes it hard to see properly, there are menhirs here alright and they are thick, fatted even, with the brown wind, placed in mystical, geometric patterns that harness the energies of the wild places; they themselves are carved with what look to be humanish figures, near what appear to be very tiny cows. And on a slab of stone equidistant to all of them there is a statue made of bronze and wolf skulls and sheep bones, which a stag seems to stand guard over.
"Lady Mathilde?" A voice speaking accented Reikspiel interrupts your thinking, and turning you see a man wearing a ram's skull as a mask, one hand wrapped around a belt of leather and the other holding a staff of bronze, otherwise clad in robes--of animal (or at least beast hide), yes, but tailored if more for practicality, even so slightly resembling the local fashion in that the sleeves above the elbow are somewhat baggy, or poofy, while from the elbow down it tightens to grant full control, with what looks to be a Diestro's cape though rather than silk it is made of rat-ogre hide. Somehow his(?) voice comes out perfectly in spite of the mask he wears; you'd guess he's relatively young, but you can't really tell under the mask. "My name is Dragao Diaz, the Optio of the Guild, at least for the moment. Domino Horacio has requested that I escort you if desired, and at least offer you directions."
"Directions will be fine, thank you."
"Well, they're simple enough. Just keep going straight until you reach the pool of lamentations inside the mound, he'll be there, rehafting his axe. He's just gotten back from an expedition in the mountains. I should warn you now he's not...the easiest to get along with; the wild Wind is strong with him."
"Thank you."
"Have a nice day, Lady Magister." He turns away for a moment but then looks back, "oh, and one more thing. There are lit torches at the entrance in case you need them." With that he turns and walks away, headed for the wolves.
Literally. Small pups are watching from the forest's edge.
No way out but through. You walk through the small opening of the mound, taking steps one or two at a time. Carved from the earth and dried under the sun there's a pleasant thump with each step you take, and soon enough you have left behind the light of the sun proper. Near immediately you see carved dormitories. Some are closed by doors made of materials ranging from bone to common wood, but plenty more are open; inside you invariably see a statue of bone with either the focus, a mask of variously bronze or the skull itself, or both laying before it, pointed inward.
Though the halls are dim lights leaking from the fire--where the smoke goes you can only guess--mean you can still see, even ignoring your own magic, and so you make a quick path racing forwards as Dragao instructed, sliding past the wizards who walk through halls towards a thousand rooms they probably don't want you to see. You start to smell mud and getting excited double your pace, and finally after about a ten-minute stroll through the Guildhall you do indeed enter the pool of lamentations, as described.
It is simple, a pool of water which surrounded a simple altar--a bier of stone on carved wood, stained with blood and viscera in a way no amount of water could ever fix. Two people stand in front of it, one a short--not short short, but short-- man with very shaggy hair that falls to his waist, hard and sharp nails, and a stink, a musk you catch immediately, wearing simple brown robes and belt burned with runes. There is a hunting spear and axehead with a broken haft in front of him, all of it splattered with blood, some his and some probably not unless he bleeds yellow. The other is a boy, ten or eleven perhaps, who stands by him, looking at the pool in awe. "Your quarters will be attached to mine, though the bed proper and certain facilities will be split off. There are drawers inside that are locked. If they are, do not even attempt to open them. Understand there are rules that can be bent, and rules that cannot be, and that is one of the latter." He breathes out again. "Now if you will excuse me for a moment, there is an Imperial I need to negotiate with. Go try and clean up."
He turns around, and you see the mask of the Domino Bronce. It is a half-mask of black leather, spikes projecting from about where you imagine the mouth to be. It is strapped at the front, and airholes mean the wearer can both breathe and talk. There is a strap on the front, and it covers from the nose to the jaw. And burning on his neck, bright and bronze, is the rune of Ghur, burnt there by magic. "Lady Magister, welcome to the Bronze Guildhall." He begins to work the strap for a moment until it finally gives and then places the mask, reverently, on the table. "You will have to excuse me. I was out hunting down a witch in the mountains." He shakes his head. "Ghur, Ghyran, Ulgu and Dhar, in roughly that order of prominence. Nasty stuff. But not quite as nasty as a Hydra." His eyes fall, as he sees a splatter of blood that looks human, if dried. "There were at least survivors this time." He turns back around to the table and picks up the axe, fiddling with the broken haft.
"I'm here about the Menhirs, Lord Domino, and about the knowledge you have regarding them."
"Yes, your letter did mention such, though I do appreciate that you were subtle about it." He pulls the broken hunk of wood from the steel head and then kneels down to the pool proper, running it through the water. "Myrmidia's mercy if certain people should learn about it. We have had one invasion, I would not suffer another soon." He seems to finish, gets up and puts the head back, presumably to rehaft it later. He grabs the spear as well, and plants the head in the water to get the blood off, stirring it in the pool and letting it flow overhead. "I know the rumors of Khaine worship, but it has been a very long time indeed since anything we did was to please the Lord of Murder; unless you plan to burn down the homes of Nordland for having Norscan runes carved into them, I dare say you have no grounds on which to threaten us, if that was your plan. But I am not stupid, and in return for promises to speak to certain Gray Wizards who should know better about sticking noses where they don't belong I am quite willing to send a Journeyman, formerly of the Old Families, who knows the Menhirs and the rites certainly at least well enough to write us asking for more if the need is there."
"And yet there is more?"
"There always is." He pulls the spear head out of the water, examines it for a moment and finding it good, puts it back on the altar. "There are several people who may or may not have been in charge of the warriors that eventually took my predecessor's life. Several of them are dead, but several more are not. Knowledge confirming who was in charge of the Plagueclaw Catapults that killed her so appropriate justice may meted out to the Clan responsible would be good, but heads would be even better."
"Is that all?"
"As regards our little vermin friends, yes. We are also afflicted, at the moment, with a cult dedicated to the Changer, which needs dealing with as soon as possible, and I'm not too proud to ask for help." Lastly he pulls what looks to be a crude facsimile of a man from his robes, though where he hid it you don't know. "Finally, the witch I dealt with riddled these in her forest. There is an enchantment of Ghur, yes, but also Ulgu and Ghyran. I do not detect Dhar myself, but need someone to help me work through the thread of the Ulgu enchantment to make sure of it on that end."
"Indeed. And what would I get in return?"
"Quite simply, really. For at least the promise of speaking to certain people who need a talking to, a journeyman educated in the Menhirs. For any one of the above, a full Windseeker, since my manpower will be less spread. Two, and I can convince one of the Old Families proper to take one for the team. Three and the Optio himself can go; there are people who know the Old Rites better, and there are people who know raw Ghur better, but the people who know the Rites better don't know Ghur, and the people who know Ghur don't have the rites."
"Understood, thank you much for your time."
Now, exactly what to do...
(Omake, do not actually vote)
[O] Only lean on various members of the Gray College
[O] Deal with one problem.
-[O] Skaven
-[O] Cult
-[O] Examine the enchantment
[O] Set aside time to deal with two.
-[O] Skaven
-[O] Cult
-[O] Creepy enchantment
[O] Set aside time to deal with all three
Just an omake crossing over my quest and this.
As it says above, do not actually vote (but please, feel free to tell me what you think and suggest). I don't know if there will be more.
