All Roads Lead to... Matorca?
Part 2 (First/Prev)
The silk clothier is happy enough to do business with you, at least at first. As personalized work would take time, you're initially directed to robes in the Cathayan style intermixed with vests of a local cut, each stylized to bear the symbol of a particular favored deity. Ranald's symbols are absent for obvious reasons, and Egrimm is annoyed to learn that Sigmar's mark is only available as special order after an incident with some Norscan merchants repurposing the twin-tailed comet as a symbol of the Plotter. It's when Johann asks about the Ancestor Gods that things turn sour, though, as the clothier explains with a remarkably brittle smile that Barak Varr has more than enough silk to mark with the runes of the Ancestor Gods, if they were so inclined, and that the people of Matorca have been taught over the centuries that there's no business success in trying to compete with Barak Varr.
Pressing for further details reveals that most merchants that make the trip to the Black Sea wind up going to Barak Varr rather than a Border Prince port, so the only trade by sea that any of the ports get come from the sorts who wouldn't be welcome to trade in Barak Varr, such as the aforementioned Norscan merchants. This is further complicated by Barak Varr's navy not considering those sorts to be welcome in the Black Sea in general, meaning that what little trade Matorca gets is either by land or by river. With that context, it's actually surprising that the silk business does as well as it appears to be doing, and you say as much.
You manage to get four sashes suited to serve as belts, at prices that aren't extortionate.
It's at this point you ask about the "Cathayan" embroidery on the tabard of the man you soon learn to be a guard captain who'd come to Matorca with the Princess's father, and that the writing had been copied from a random tablet she'd memorized in passing when a caravan came through. It raised questions about the nature of the caravan, but as much as you wish to investigate further you can't think of a way to do so. Thanking the clothier for her time, the four of you make your way toward the evening banquet.
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The party proves more populated than you would've expected, within local business owners in silk robes mingling with mercenaries in silk vests. Amidst such company, a quartet of Imperial Wizards are a major disruption in the normal flow of conversation, and once your interest in the waystone is expressed you're quickly directed toward a red-haired young man wearing spectacles and a gray silk robe. His robe has more Queekish text on it, and that it has the word for "apprentice" sets you at alert, particularly since the mercenary captain's tabard had said "big-round dung pile."
"Hello? Ah, wow! Wizards! Professional ones, too. A pleasure to meet you all." The boy reaches out to shake hands, and you let Johann take the lead while you watch for hidden spellcraft in the gesture. Thankfully, there isn't so much as a mote of
Dhar surrounding him, although his aura is obscured in such a way that you can tell he's hiding
something. You'll still shake his hand when your turn comes around, though. "Well, I hope it's a pleasure, at least. Name's Dominik von Dunkel, apprentice to Matorca's court sorcerer. The Maestro doesn't attend the banquets, if you're here for him."
"Lord Magister Egrimm van Horstmann of the Light Order." You allow yourself a smirk at Dominik's flabberghasted reaction to the title. You'd planned things on the way over, and Egrimm had agreed that it was probably best that he do most of the talking since he was at the least risk of running afoul the local hostility toward all things dwarf. You'd be hesitant to take him for granted, but he seemed eager for the opportunity. "Our priority here is actually assessing the state of the local waystone."
"Ah... and you want me to show you the way to the stone. That's actually a bit politically complicated."
Egrimm smiles indulgently at that. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I've dealt with worse."
"Well, I'm not supposed to let anyone near it without permission from either the Maestro, who's already there, or from Princess Capella. She's technically still under a regency, though, because of how her father got removed, and I don't know
which of her regents would be best to speak to on the matter. Don't want to get the regents mixed up, do I?"
You nod. It won't be necessary to investigate- You perk up as you push out the compulsion, suddenly
intensely curious. "How
did her father get removed?"
"Ah, well, it was before I was born... Have any of you heard of Khypris? Self-styled empire that held most of the territory upriver from us?" The four of you all shake your heads, and Dominik waves a hand dismissively. "It fell back in the early 70s, by Verena's calendar. Which uses the same year as your calendar, if I remember right. Yeah? Well, the reason it fell was because of some plague cult led by an actual daemon. Some locals to Khypris managed to beat the daemon and some of the cultists, but enough came to Matorca looking to regroup and recover that Commander Espiatorio couldn't hide that he was basically their puppet. Memory of the Black Death got the Lichtenberg Legion up in arms, the fighting drew in a band of greenskin mercenaries who'd been passing through, and..."
The boy paused, the excitement that had been building as the story progressed suddenly vanishing. "Well, suffice to say, Princess Capella didn't have any surviving family after we were done with the Pestilent Brotherhood."
He goes on the start explaining how the regency system thwarts efforts at conquest, but your mind latches onto the name of the cult. With all the Queekish you've seen in town, it can't be a coincidence that the cult has the same name as the coalition of the thrall clans of Clan Pestilens. Combine that with your knowledge of the Skaven civil war, and you can't help but suspect that the locals wound up fighting alongside the Clans loyal to Skavenblight during the described coup. It'd certainly explain the cultural influence. It won't be
yes it will. "Dominik?"
"-wind up overruled. No pun intended. I'm sorry, yes, Miss... I didn't get your name?"
"Lord Magister Mathilde Weber of the Grey Order."
"...Oh." Where Egrimm's title inspired surprise, you seem to evoke dread from the apprentice. If you've got name recognition out here, it's likely from Karak Eight Peaks. You resist the temptation to visually sweep the banquet hall for signs of Clan Eshin observers. A part of you had been dreading that the Maestro might be a Grey Seer, but now with Clan Eshin's presence being likely you have to consider the possibility of another one of
their sorcerers. It'd help explain how Dominik was able to conceal his aura, if he was somehow wrangling lessons from Clan Eshin. "What did you want to ask?"
"You mentioned that you didn't know which regent to ask about seeing the waystone?"
"Yes?"
"Would it be safe to assume that the wrong regent would know who the right regent would be?"
Dominik blinked, then frowned as he actually thought about the question for a second. "I guess?"
Egrimm didn't need anywhere near as long to figure out where you were going with this. "So, where's the
nearest regent?"
Dominik looks toward you, presumably in the vain hope that you had something else in mind. Instead, you just smile politely. "If nothing else, it'd be good to learn more about the powers behind the throne here in Matorca."
