Work was SORT of packed today.
Fortunately the current plan has everything good I could think of
and a bunch more to boot(of course the proposal is shelved until we find more money somewhere)
[x] [Public Report] Steady Progress, Spotted Issue
[x] [Private Report] He's Long Gone and Other Sundries
[x] [Orders] Magic And Vampire Lore Would Help The Attack Too, You Know
Back in Wurtbad, you organize another round of recruits fresh from the Army. For now, they'll be going through a round of literacy courses, but you also start considering how you'll train them to identify undead. You sketch out the beginnings of a training course, but the real stroke of genius comes when you have the idea to make a series of forms that could be filled out in the field to gather the required information. You'll still teach your attachés to tell their wights from wraiths and ghouls from ghasts, but if they distribute the form to the officers of the unit they're attached to, you could have that many eyes collecting useful information. And they don't need to go through specialized training to fill in a form.
So we'd need more undead research next turn.
But the forms really do make things easier.
Instead of fully educated scholars counting undead and trying to identify one rotten corpse from another, you have barely literate officers going:
-Glowing Eyes: No
-Intact Eyes: Yes
-Number of Eyes: More than a dozen
-Number of Major Limbs: Zero
-Tentacles: Yes
-Claws: No
-Magic: Yes
-What magic: Green killing lights, purple killing lights, red killing lights
-Fangs: Yes
-Number of Fangs: Many
-Skin: Slimy
-Smell: 'orrible
-Size: Bigger than a wagon
-Smart: Maybe?
-Sounds: 'orrible screeching
-Moves in daylight: Dunno
Attache's footnote: That's a goddamned beholder, How'd he even survive seeing it?
You also look in on Julia while your attaché candidates learn written Reikspiel in the next room. With the foundations of an information network in place, she's no longer inserting full-time agents; a handful of shillings here, a gold crown there, the occassional round of drinks, a little encouragement to the newly-hired Special Watchmen to send in reports of local events, and suddenly the influx of information has grown severalfold. Julbach has finally been ensnared, bringing you complete knowledge of goings-on in the County of Wurtbad; a few subtle enquiries later and you learn of a well-off noble from Wurtbad who maintained a house in Julbach and greatly valued his privacy, including, unfortunately, that he hasn't been seen there in several years.
Well now, that's probably where the vampire handler of the castle sleepers went? Long gone, but that'd explain the whole obstructive bureaucracy thing a lot.
And heh, a big source of intel is to encourage old soldiers to tell stories and be heard. But it's true, the major expenses of starting up an intelligence network is the backbone. The relays of messengers, the cyphermasters sitting on the relays to bury important messages in the trivia, and the enormous need for routine traffic to give
context to the exceptional traffic.
Things the spy genre often misses out is how much patterns matter. Even things like how often parties get thrown in a local tavern is a pattern, since that often points to some new source of income going into the local market(which since most burghers don't really HAVE much alternate incomes, tells you somebody is spending large amounts of money in secret), which you can then use to identify if "reclusive person moves into the area" is a significant data point or noise.
On top of that, she's piggy-backed off both the Stirland Watch and her family's merchants to expand the network along the Nuln Road, covering Purgg almost as completely as Wulfbach. You've instructed her to keep a careful eye on the Stirhugel, and the news is worrying - there's been attacks on herds all across the range. Without the full picture, the local leaders attributed it to wolves, but when the reports from Lochen, Purgg and Ohlsdorf are compared, they paint a worrying picture that something is going on in those hills.
...and thats not good. Good thing we covered Purgg for sure. Van Hal's paranoid, but he has excellent instincts, there was a problem and now we probably want to deal with that problem before it hits us while we're on the march.
You will never cease being grateful for Shadowsteed, you reflect as you return once more to Leicheberg to resume your training with Markus. Anyone else would spend weeks travelling to and fro. You've started cutting across the countryside from Halstedt to Leicheberg, your shadowy horse not caring for a moment about the broken terrain, and with that you're leaving Wurtbad at dawn and arriving at Fort Redemption at dusk, and not even that day is wasted because you're so confident on your horse of Ulgu that you spend the ride reading.
You know, once we FINALLY find the time to actually do the enchanter thing to proper mastery? The best enchantments we could make would be Shadowsteed figurines for our fellow councilors and Van Hal.
Especially Van Hal. An Elector Count on whats effectively a motorcycle is a nightmare to everyone else. But especially the other Electors.
Markus is pleased to see you returning to his practice field, but not for long, because it quickly becomes clear that your skills have rusted. So you spend days hacking at dummies with a wooden practice sword once more until he decides your grip and endurance are back an acceptable level, then days more sparring with the youngest member of the Greatswords, who learns to take you seriously after you smack the grin right off his unprotected face. After that you're finally declared ready to pick up where you left off, and Markus starts teaching you personally once more; weeks fly by in a haze of exertion as you learn new techniques, then practice them until they're ingrained bone-deep. More than once you spot Van Hal watching you train, which only spurs your efforts.
Hee...I think we got involved in their hazing of the new guy.
Once you've achieved proficiency, Markus has drilled into you, then you can work on style. For now, your only priority is to swing the sword in such a way that it goes where you want it to, and to be able to do it over and over and over again until your lungs are burning and your muscles aching and then do it some more. Any fool can swing a sword when they're fresh; the mark of a soldier is to be able to keep swinging, no matter the conditions. At one point, a nasty bow slips past your guard and your entire arm ends up bruised from wrist to elbow, but you keep swinging anyway. There may come a time when the blade or claw does much worse to you, Markus instructs, and you need to keep swinging.
And so we're reaching the peak of basic sword skill achievable, and then we can start getting FANCY(which would be next turn) and probably specializing into greatsword tactics.
Maybe start overcoming the low speed of the weapon?
As dusk falls on another day spent entirely in the training yard, you're sparring with Markus for possibly the thousandth time, and you finally think you're holding your own. There's a look of concentration on Markus' face as he counters his swings and returns with his own. You're not pressing him - it'd take years of training until you can make the Champion of Stirland break a sweat - but he's actually having to focus on the fight, and you redouble your efforts. Minutes pass with the clatter of wood on wood, and then "hold," Markus commands suddenly, and the possibility of disobeying doesn't even occur to you.
You step back, breathing hard, and give him a quizzical look; in response, he nods at the sword in your hand. You look down at it, frowning. You're pretty sure it hasn't splintered; granted, it's a little hard to tell through the evening fog, but...
You stop, and look around at a training field utterly bereft of evening fog. And you concentrate, and release a tiny piece of concentration you never even noticed forming, and the fog emanating from the practice blade dissipates in an instant. You flex your fingers, and can feel the energies that are always within you itching to extend through your hand once more.
Hmm.
So remember this bit?
-Any fool can swing a sword when they're fresh; the mark of a soldier is to be able to
keep swinging, no matter the conditions
Turns out for wizards, this applies to their spells too.
While you're neck-deep in the archives, you go through the roster of previous retirees. They're all drawing pensions or they accepted land in lieu, so either way you've got their addresses, and sure enough the majority are living in Western Stirland - it seems that twenty years in the Army left them with an urge to be as physically far from Sylvania as they could.
You spend weeks on the road, tracking down and meeting with dozens of retired soldiers. The initial reaction to you is almost universally suspicion, but that you're offering them more money from Stirland's coffers gets their attention. Half the standard pay of a Watchman is the offer, with all the rights and authorities thereof; they'd spend a month in Wurtbad being trained, then return to their homes and spend a couple of days a week working as Watchmen and the rest of their time enjoying their retirement or working on their land.
A gratifying number accept, and in the end you've got enough to cover the territory, at least until recruitment picks up. And, it occurs to you, having an additional pool of manpower you could draw from in emergencies could prove to be very useful for the Watch...
[Expanding into Wurtbad: Req 40, Stewardship, 22+13=35.]
[Expanding into Purgg: Req 50, Stewardship, 2+13=15.]
[Making it work without the numbers: Roll, Stewardship, 95+13=108.]
The reserves are certainly a fine trick. Also sounds a bit like a start to a Neighborhood Watch of sorts.
With the Watch's numbers expanded again, there's more reason than ever to expand its bureaucracy. But actually achieving that turns out to be more difficult than you expected.
"So," you ask, leaning slightly back in your chair to put some more distance between you and your interviewee. "What makes you think you would be a good fit for the administrative staff of the Stirland Watch?"
The man scratches at his chin as he considers the question, creating a rasping sound, like sandpaper on rock. "Well," he says thoughtfully through a Kislev accent that rendered him barely understandable, "I heard somewhere that if you're in Watch, they cannot arrest you."
You stare at him blankly, and he returns the look just as blankly. He drums his fingers on the table idly; you glance down and take in the tattoos of rings on his fingers, crudely done, each of a different design.
"Can you read and write?"
"I can spell my entire name," he says proudly.
This isn't even the worst candidate you've interviewed today. Either the word 'Stirland' has scared off all the qualified candidates or somehow the Empire has run out of bureaucrats.
[Hiring administrators and clerks from Altdorf and Nuln: Req 30, Stewardship, 6+13=19.]
...this is going to be the new Wizard Chic isn't it?
Days pass in a relaxing blur of books both referential and recreational, including the reference books borrowed from Van Hal's study. They're not as much help as you'd hoped, since most of the Witch Hunter's handbooks are less about identifying and more about burning, but you're gradually building up your general knowledge of the undead.
Good reading regardless. Corpses can be surprisingly difficult to burn, and one does not wish to become the Witch Hunter who learned that setting the zombie on fire just means that you're fighting a flaming zombie.
She frowns, then sighs. "Off managing deals with Worden herders. Hopefully it'll teach them some humility." She sighs again, then falls quiet for a moment, as she considers whether to continue. "I kept my sons well clear of my work with Van Hal," she finally says, "thinking that it was going to lead to an early death for both of us, like it did my husband. Instead, there's all of this. But they've got no loyalty to him. A whiff of a burgher lifestyle and suddenly they see the Hochschilds as the next Great Merchant House and are in a hurry to get there, no matter how many sheep they have to flay in the process. Gods know what they learned at university, because it sure wasn't economics."
And now we know what the argument was about. Wilhelmina's sons wanted to gouge Stirland for all its worth. She disagreed.
As such, while we can be reasonably sure that we aren't being scammed on the investment, part of why she brought us in, along with Marcus, who are two of the people likely to be invested in Van Hal's(and thus Stirland's) well being, we, and especially the younger Mathilde, would be a check against her heirs potentially running amok.
We probably want to brush up on the administration of the EIC one of these days.
That hangs in the air for a while, before she says with forced cheer, "what about you, Mathilde? You ever think of having kids one day?"
Now there was a line of thought you definitely weren't going to make public. "Maybe," is all you answer.
"So you can, then? I mean, I know the Brights and Jades do, and the Golds don't..."
You smile. "There's a joke in the Grey College: the ones that do probably shouldn't, and the ones that don't probably should."
[Undead study: Roll, Learning, 31+16=47.]
[Spending time with Wilhelmina: Roll, 77.]
Read: Mathilde just said that her romance, if any, would be onsidered forbidden love.
Discretionary Income: +200g
Regional informants: -90g
Watch informants: -10g
EIC informants: -20g
Julia: -30g
Townhouse staff: -20g
Literacy lessons: -10g
Attaché program: -60g
---
Net: -40g
Probably should work on the income sources and stick to stuff like personal interventions next turn.
Personal Income: +50g
Estate Profit: +10g
Tithe: -6g
Student Loans: -35g
---
Net: +19g
Our personal piggy bank is stable. Not big, but we never needed it to be big.
Once more the council meeting is in Fort Redemption. This time Anton has managed to make it down, fresh from Ostermark, and is deep in conversation with Van Hal. "Now, Anton," he's saying, "when I said that I was authorizing payment for mercenaries, did you note the plural?"
"Well, technically..." Anton begins.
"A steed doesn't count."
"I think this one does," you murmur. Once more, you look out the window at where an enormous jade-green dragon is being fed whole roast pigs by awed troops, under the watchful eye of an elf clad in bejewelled armour.
Anton you crazy awesome bastard!
How did he ever get past the prickly elflord pride?
- I was going to come up with a generic mercenary unit instead of using the Regiments of Renown, but Anton critted so I rolled a d28 against a list of them, and uh. Yeah.
I think going up to the undead with "Fuck you I have a Dragon" is a winning strategy.
Drawback is that Asarnil of all the mercenaries is probably one of the most likely to consider himself a peer of the Elector, if we want him to follow orders in battle he pretty much has to be in on the war council planning.
...which isn't a bad thing, since he's an elven master of warfare as well and thus a solid source of advice of course.
Greatsword Proficiency: +1 Martial; +3 when wielding greatswords.
Even more killy.
...the funny part is Mathilde still hadn't gotten around to any stealth magic yet.
Skills:
Greatsword (Proficient)
Fitness (Advanced)
Undead Lore (Intermediate)
Surprisingly fit under the robes too.
M / Blessed Weapon: For the next hour, the weapon this is cast upon will count as magical for the purposes of damaging creatures resistant to mundane weapons, such as ghosts.
Mastery - Blessed Hands: You instinctively channel Ulgu along any weapon you wield. Any weapon held by you counts as magical.
This is relatively minor in mechanical benefit. It IS however, incredibly valuable if you're ambushed by horrible gribblies because some ghosts nocliped through a wall and you really don't have the time to enchant your weapon.
So an excellent anti surprise measure.
How about a statewide newspaper / monthly propaganda leaflet for Nobles and burghers? While it would probably be much more expensive than normal newspapers (transport costs), it'll actually be considered a luxury item.
Expensive to produce and not very economical until we drive down the costs of scribes by making literacy more common. Or get enough volume to justify a printing press.