I figured you'd try and rules lawyer it that way. Doesn't matter it turns into the eight winds of magic when exposed to Ulgu and we also used it make quite a lot of Dhar. More than likely would be made under the experiment I want us to run. So yea snake juice is hyper turbo illegal and would get us declared a black magister under the kind of zero tolerance you're viewing what I'm proposing.
If snake juice experiments are totally fine in your view then so would what I'm proposing. It's sophistry to claim otherwise. Snakejuice being a precursor to multiple winds is no shield from that ruling.
You want a citation for the fact that apprentice wizards that dont know how to channel a single wind of magic properly will accidentally create dhar? How about its fundamental to the setting. Unless you are some in a trillion freak of nature like Gelt until you are well versed in the specialised training that the colleges give you cant mono wield a wind of magic it takes training to pull off as it goes against the grain, people can have an affinity to one wind naturally but they dont have an exclusive affinity with out training.
This isn't actually insightful. We have word of god that we're literally safe from the thing that fucked those guys up. They get screwed by dhar exposure and they were also doing something we're NOT proposing doing. They channeled two different winds of magic. That is they ran Ulgu through their soul and then run Ghryan through their soul. That's explicitly what BoneyM posted. With our experiments Mathilde would never run the other wind of magic through her soul known as Channelling. We'd also have the dwarf runic belt burning any incidental dhar that gets near us.
They didn't have this one weird trick. They just thought that channelling other winds would be safe if they had time to detox which wasn't the case.
No other human wizard could juggle warpstone with out mutating into a dabilitated pile of sludge. Mathilde could.
Regardless the start point of the conjecture here is wrong.
Channelling two winds of magic is illegal per best practices in the colleges. Accepted.
Manipulating another wind of magic with your college approved wind. Not illegal. We do it with counter spelling and did so on a massive scale for instance in the Waaghbane trait.
Proposed research fits in under the paradigm that counter spelling is legal. No spells would be cast until permission is obtained to work on that and preliminary research is to simply see if it's possible to refine a technique to reduce incidental dhar creation from touching one wind to another via technique refinement, if no the research is a dead end and can be dropped [Action cost: one]
If yes, then we'd need to see if it's possible to get to the point where no dhar is created. [Action cost: unknown]
Black Magisters do not have to have embraced the Chaos Gods, nor must they have begun studying the arts of Daemonology or Necromancy. All it takes is for them to intentionally and persistently experiment with more than one Wind of Magic at a time. These traitorous acts will earn the Magister the relentless hostility of his prior Order.
Not "use". Not "channel". Experiment.
Boney's WoG was in support of and an expansion of this quote, which is itself from a canonical Warhammer source.
And the tongs method absolutely falls under "experimenting with multiple winds".
And yes, there's a bunch of mitigating factors in our case. In point of fact, I do believe that Mathilde could do the actual experimentation safely.
But it's still on her to provide a convincing case to the Colleges - ideally beforehand, since asking for permission afterwards probably requires an even stronger standard of evidence.
I seem to recall an old WOG that the likely reaction of the colleges to Mathilde applying to work with dark magic to be taking the belt away and never trusting her again. I think that that would also apply to the Ulgu tongs idea, since from their perspective Dhar is likely to result and Mathilde should know that.
I seem to recall an old WOG that the likely reaction of the colleges to Mathilde applying to work with dark magic to be taking the belt away and never trusting her again. I think that that would also apply to the Ulgu tongs idea, since from their perspective Dhar is likely to result and Mathilde should know that.
I've quoted the full Articles of Magic as they apply to Divided Loyalties, straight from Important Information thread mark, and it makes no mention whatsoever of merely experimenting with other winds being ilegal.
The only other info we have is about channeling, which is fundamentally not what's being proposed.
To be fair RoS does have segment that proclaims experimenting with multiple winds is forbidden, I take that to be the writers being loose in terminology because despite the conceit of the book the writers aren't academics trying to adhere to a rigorous standard. It's also if i remember correctly near the section on witches which have the ability to experiment and use spells from multiple winds of magic. They're channelling more than one wind of magic at a time which is completely different from is being proposed.
I seem to recall an old WOG that the likely reaction of the colleges to Mathilde applying to work with dark magic to be taking the belt away and never trusting her again. I think that that would also apply to the Ulgu tongs idea, since from their perspective Dhar is likely to result and Mathilde should know that.
I recall that WoG but iirc it was about us studying dark lore stuff for our own personal use as we'd be safe which isn't the intent here. Obviously we need BoneyM to clarify the situation here.
I seem to recall an old WOG that the likely reaction of the colleges to Mathilde applying to work with dark magic to be taking the belt away and never trusting her again. I think that that would also apply to the Ulgu tongs idea, since from their perspective Dhar is likely to result and Mathilde should know that.
No, it's 'Hey, I can use black magic risk free! Whoo!' that would get the disapproving eyebrows. Using the belt to conduct entirely okay experiments on magic that were only discontinued because nobody could do them safely before is an entirely different thing (as in, they were already condoned, they just stopped trying after a while; these lines of inquiry are something the colleges want to do, they just don't think they can).
Hmm, my thoughts for plans next turn, without consideration for whatever Belegar might assign to us (and if it's nothing immediate, we can hopefully talk about Aethyric Vitae and make that our job):
-Action 1: Scout Clan Moulder (Between driving the Greenskins out of Under-Karagril and making deals with the Crooked Moon, Clan Moulder's been the Invading Clan that's visibly pouring the most investment into Karak Eight Peaks. Maybe Skryre and Eshin are doing the same further away, but this is still worth investigation.)
-Action 2: Powerstone Classes for further Aethyric Vitae Research.
-Action 3: Aethyric Vitae Research
-Action 4: Scout the Lhune Depths (can't help but feel uneasy about the place right below the living quarters of most of the Dwarfs being unscouted) or learn how the We communicates with itself (so that next turn we can write out the We papers with maximum information learned.)
-Max + Tower of Serenity: Dictate two Papers to start clearing up our backlog. Probably the non-Idol Waaagh! papers, though also perhaps the new information on Vampires we got from Alkharad.
-Johann: Depends on whether or not we have Belegar assignments. If not, maybe have him study our pilfered Skaven equipment. Furthers his goal, and clears up more of our research backlog. Alternatively, get him working with Adela, our Bright College Journeywoman with engineer aspirations.
Anyone else have any thoughts on what we should prioritize barring orders from Belegar?
[*] Loremaster: Expert on beekeeping
[*] The best reading chair ever.
[*] Empress 'Heidi', to see if you can snatch a private moment to speak honestly with her.
[*] Roswita, to present her with a copy of the book her late father contributed to.
[*] Karak Kadrin, presenting them with the skull of an old enemy (but not to keep).
[*] Kragg the Grim, who you could likely convince to start gloating.
[*] Try to find Kasmir in Sylvania.
The Loremaster you decided on introduces himself as ɧæð, and after some haggling you manage to talk him down to a somewhat more pronounceable Sjeåth. He spoke to you at length about the way a hive could have quirks and personality, which leads you to hope he won't be completely blindsided by the We. You make the introductions, hang around long enough to ensure there'll be no panic-induced axework, and then leave them to it.
Speaking of the We, you've got plans for their silk after the local artisans manage to master it, but in the meantime you have to settle for linen upholstery in your dragon-skull chair, which absolutely isn't a throne no matter how good 'Empress Mathilde the First' sounds. A group of bemused but obedient Dwarven artisans set up an ingenious system of counterweights and hinges, so that a reader desirous of privacy can close the jaws with minimal effort and even receive snacks and refreshments through a little curtain covering an eye-socket.
---
When you arrived at Karak Kadrin, you weren't quite sure of the reception you would get. The disagreement between High King Thorgrim and King Belegar was quite carefully not a feud, but that didn't necessarily prevent anyone from taking sides in the matter, and if anyone was likely to side against Karak Eight Peaks it was the Slayer Keep. But you brought with you a ticket that you were quite sure would trump any amount of politics to them: the head of an old foe.
Compared to the Great Hall of Karaz-a-Karak, the Slayer's Hall is much more crowded but almost as silent. Nearly everywhere you look are the orange crests that mark a Dwarf as a Slayer, one who has surrendered to despair, forsworn the life they knew, and seek death in battle to wipe clean whatever failure or tragedy has broken them. Many bear bandages from failed attempts at dying, prevented by pride and honour from throwing themselves back into battle until fully healed once more, and some linger near the great doors to the Shrine of Slayers, hoping for rumour that might indicate a worthy enemy somewhere in the Karaz Ankor. Many have already arrived at Eight Peaks, but to be a Trollslayer is the first step in a strange hierarchy of failure: Giantslayers, Dragonslayers, and finally Daemonslayers are the labels given to those that have sought greater and greater foes and found themselves alive afterwards, each convinced that their continued survival is punishment from the Ancestor Gods. The pillars that line the Hall bear the carved names of each Slayer to have taken the Slayer Oath, and unlike usual Dwarven records, these are intended to be obliterated over time as further names are carved atop them. The pillars nearest to the shrine have been worn down to precarious thinness, and you can only hope that they're not load-bearing.
Entry into the Slayer Shrine itself is usually restricted to most humans, with only the most worthy of Dwarf-friends given access. You're not sure if Karak Kadrin would consider you such under normal circumstances, but with a Vampire's head under your arm all politics are forgotten and the doors swing open for you. The Shrine itself is dominated by an enormous statue of a Slayer with two axes, which you presume to be Grimnir himself, atop a runed altar. Each side of the room is lined with the sarcophagi of fallen Slayer Kings, each of whom failed to find a resolution to their mutually exclusive oaths: one to die in battle, and one to protect their subjects. Where there aren't fallen kings, there are racks filled exclusively with axes, each given to earn Grimnir's favour and each available for any Slayer that may need it. The attendants of the Shrine wear unadorned red robes, and one solemnly scrutinizes the head you've brought before sending off word and instructing you to wait, his murmur failing to break the silence that dominates this bleak shrine.
It's some wait, but eventually the Dwarf you were here to meet arrives. King Ungrim bears the orange hair of the Slayer, but also the Slayer Crown and gromril mail instead of the normal bare chest, a clear encapsulation of his twin duties. In his arms, he carries with him the Dammaz Kron of Karak Kadrin, clearly forewarned of your purpose here. "Wizard," he greets you brusquely. "I hear you've dealt with an old foe of ours." He hands the book off to one of the Priests of Grimnir, who carries it over to the altar carefully, and takes the head from you. "Since before I was born, this one has roamed freely through my mountains, seeking beasts for sport and for his army. Many have regained their honour seeking his death, but none managed to set right the Grudges he has accumulated." Behind you, the Slayers in the hall have crowded around the doorway, each craning to see but none setting foot past the doorway. "You'll keep vigil over him?"
"As long as I am able," you reply honestly. "The Order of the Guardians will inherit the responsibility, should I fall."
"Good enough." The word he uses is Dawren; that a word that literally means 'like Dwarves' is used to mean 'seems okay, but hasn't yet proven itself yet' says a lot about their mindset. He frowns down at the face of the Vampire once more, then returns the head to you and approaches the Altar, where the Priest has opened it to one of the pre-prepared bookmarks and is holding out a handaxe obligingly. Without hesitation, the Slayer King runs his palm against the edge of the axe, and takes up a quill. "Ambushing an army returning from battle with the Von Carsteins," he mutters, which carries through the silence so that all can hear. As the scratch of his quill sounds through the hall, the simultaneous exhalation of at least hundreds of Slayers sounds for a moment like a gale. "The death of a team of Rangers that sought to destroy a beast he wanted for himself," and another scratch, and once more the only noise is a thousand far too tightly-wound Slayers relaxing very slightly. This continues in this matter for some time; Alkharad had explored the nearby mountains and travelled through Peak Pass to reach the Dark Lands for centuries, and each time the Dwarves failed to stop him was another Grudge for the book.
Eventually, the most recent Grudge - the ambush of a Dwarven river vessel by an unusually coordinated flock of Fell bats - is crossed through, and the Slayer King binds his palm with a rag. The closing of the book echoes like a gunshot, and after it fades the only sound is the Slayers spreading back out through the Hall. "We do not celebrate the death of foes here," King Ungrim says, turning back to you. "Only the death of Slayers. But that does not mean we are ungrateful. Belegar may be young and impetuous, but victory needs no apologies." Without another word he leaves, his Dammaz Kron tucked back under his arm. When you follow, you can't help but notice the atmosphere in the Slayer Hall has changed; some of the Slayers stare blankly into space, tears fresh on their cheeks, while others have fallen asleep leaned against pillars or curled up against walls.
[+5 Dwarf Favour]
---
One does not easily find enough time in an Empress' schedule to organize a quiet meeting, but that you've yet to be ejected from the premises is a sign that your attempts aren't unwelcome, so you persevere and eventually the Imperial Calendar gains a 'meeting with advisor', marked with an ordinary cross that would likely be meaningless to anyone that wasn't carefully watching for anything that might be a sign from one Ranaldian to another.
When you start inside the building and the guards aren't on alert because they know a drill is happening, it's a great deal easier to gain access to what should be restricted portions of the Palace. A guard on the door is staring intently down the corridor in the way opposite to you, but that he keeps glancing back in your direction and then trying to act like he wasn't makes it clear he's not the most surreptitious sort. You show him mercy and slip through the door he was supposedly watching, and roll your eyes at the sigh of relief as the guard resumes his normal posture where both ends of the corridor are visible to him. The room itself is large, opulent, and has the chemical smell of a probably doomed attempt to ward off moths. At a table that could seat twelve, Empress Heidi sits before a silver tray of tea and biscuits. "So good you could make it," she says with a smile, sipping delicately at her cup.
You observe her very carefully as you approach, with more senses than even most Wizards could boast. Your impression from years earlier is unchanged, she's definitely no Vampire, but there are hints of energies to her that definitely aren't normal. Two types of energies, actually, swirling around each other in a way sure to result in Dhar if they were the Winds you were familiar with. But these are even more exotic; they have the tang of the Divine, one very familiar, one not. "Wouldn't have missed it, your Majesty," you say. "It's been some time since we last crossed paths."
She waves a hand in what most would take to be a dismissive gesture, but you can faintly see the energies radiating off it and encompassing the room. "Back in Nachthafen. Wonderful place, or at least it was for me. If you'll forgive me for mangling a phrase, better to rule in Sylvania than to serve in Reikland."
You take a seat and examine the biscuits. The good kind, if you're any judge, with absolutely no sawdust. "I heard something about that in Teufelheim."
She wrinkles her nose. "From the fellow that talks a big game but when it's time to ante up, he wanders off to play with his pets. Yes, he would be the sort to start talking out of pure spite." She turns her cup in its saucer. "I was running the 'lost heir' caper in Hornau and must have really sold it because instead of hooking the usual burgher twits with more greed than sense, I got a late-night recruitment offer that involves fangs and blood. But she bit off more than she could chew too, and it just so happened that the landlady was the hoarder type and left several wooden stakes and a vial of holy water in the nightstand - or at least, it just so happened after I gave probability a few good kicks in the ribs. Put the body in a crate, put the head in a different crate, dressed myself in her clothes and her face and went from town to town until the gate guards said 'welcome back, Countess'. The rest you can probably guess."
"But that was in '62. You must be..."
She feigns horror. "You ask a lady about her age? How gauche!" She grins. "Literally the oldest trick in the book - or at least, in our book. Do nice things for Shallyans, turn up the charm, and a few miracles later you're back in the flower of your youth. Then again, considering how much I had to do it could be argued that they played me instead of vice versa. Not that I minded terribly much. If you do it right, you can please Shallya and the Protector all at once. Truth be told, I'm glad the conspiracy got kicked apart by Abelhelm's Templar friends. Long cons are all well and good, but thirteen years is a bit much. So I woke up my predecessor just before the doors got kicked in and off I went with thirteen years of taxes, which adds up to a nice sum, even in Sylvania. But that wasn't the only time your story intercepted mine."
She turns the cup again, and then takes a sip. You help yourself to some of the biscuits while she thinks. "He's quite taken with you, our mutual friend. At first because you were entertaining, then because you were interesting. More than a few Grey Wizards direct prayers His way but few actually believe as strongly as you do. So when the conspiracy started paying you more attention, the Sigmarites that Abelhelm had sicced on the Lahmians started having lucky breaks. Then your man up and died and the incomplete list went to the Greys and a whole lot of pyres started burning." She frowns. "Wasn't entirely sure what to do with myself after that. Thirteen years playing the Vampire Countess. Set myself up in Altdorf and started showing my face around town because there's all kinds of capers that start well if high society thinks you're one of them, and next thing I know our mutual friend shows up grinning and bulging with stolen power and saying 'you won't believe what Mathilde did'. So He let it ride. I 'reveal myself' as the lost scion of the Haupt-Anderssens, and act terribly brave about how the lands of my ancestors are denied to me, and just as certain gullible parties are starting to grumble I reassure all the right people by laying aside my claims to Stirland. And it just so happens there was another throne in need of a bum, and gosh isn't this lady who gave up power for the sake of the Empire just the sort to introduce to dear Luitpold? Everything just happened to turn out just right, not least of all that Luitpold is easy on the eyes and charming when he wants to be."
"So what's the plan?" You're not sure you want to know. You don't want to have to weigh your loyalty to the Empire against your loyalty to Ranald. But she's shaking her head.
"If there's anything I've learned in my years, it's that cunning plans fall apart. Just focus on positioning yourself well, and whatever happens you can be in the right spot to profit from it. Maybe I'll just live in comfort for the rest of my days." She pats the swell of her belly. "Maybe I'll raise our likely future ruler to think kindly of our mutual friend. Maybe the Marienburgers will give us an excuse and we'll bring them back into the fold, and as part of peace negotiations we'll give explicit allowance to 'Ranald the Dealer' and start putting up proper Temples everywhere. Who knows what the future will bring?"
---
Roswita runs her hands over the title of the book. It's well-made, too - the Colleges have a standing agreement with the Printers Guild and after the first time they cut corners and a Bright Wizard showed up at their door with a crumbling dissertation and a bad attitude, they learned to give it their best. Her father's name is embossed between yours and Maximilian's. "The Hunter's Hills," she murmurs. "They started calling it that before I arrived. They love him, you know. If he'd lived they would still be grumbling about taxes and land prices, but since he's with Sigmar, they love him. Timber prices are crashing throughout the Empire like falling dominoes and they're still clear-cutting the Ghoul Wood and they'll keep doing it if they start making a loss on every log. The Hills themselves are an entire county's worth of prime grazelands and with the 1st in Drakenhof, the 3rd in Nachthafen, and the 4th in Vanhaldenschlosse they're as safe as Averland, and most of the land-owners are ex-military who swear in Khazalid and get a friendlier reception from Zhufbar Dwarves than I do."
You're sitting on the edge of the keep, watching Roswita as she sits on a stool that's seen better days, having been exposed to sun and rain for half a decade. You're trying to remember what it was you spoke to Abelhelm about up here, six or so years back. Finally, you remember. "'Seven people, responsible for a province'", you quote, and Roswita looks at you quizzically. "Something your father said to me, sitting right where you're sitting now."
"Seven?" she asks with a frown.
"Him, me, Anton, Wilhelmina, Kasmir, Gustav..." you hesitate, trying to remember the name of the last. "And Schultz." You never really got to know the architect.
"Ah. He had better people," she says.
"Did you think it was an accident?" She turns to look at you. "Wilhelmina was his friend. Anton was..." you search for words that won't besmirch your friend. "Unsuited. Kasmir was a spy for the Grand Theogonist. Schultz was loyal to Talabecland. The first Marshal was an embezzler."
"And you?" she says, with an unexpected verbal thrust that would have done her father proud.
"I was a tool of the Lahmians," you say simply, and her eyes widen. "I can't explain Anton, but the rest was all your father's work. He spent years arguing with Kasmir before he finally saw sense. Schultz's loyalty was bought by never touching trade on the northern border. De Verezzo he shot in the head, and if you've ever wondered what that stain on the table of the Council Room is, it's him. And for the entire time I knew him, his contacts in the Witch Hunters were dismantling the conspiracy that had me entrapped." You nod at her hip, where a Dwarf boarding axe hung. "That's your weapon as a warrior. The Council is your weapon as a ruler. If you don't hone it, it will fail you, and you will die." She runs her fingers over her father's name again, weighing your words as you take a flask from your pocket and take a sip from it. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going looking for Kasmir. If you'll have him, I'll point him in your direction. Even if he never comes, I strongly advise you get rid of the slug you've currently got."
You hold out the flask for her, and she doesn't hesitate before taking it, though she's still careful to not let her fingers touch yours. She grimaces from the burn in the same way you used to. "He has powerful friends," she says doubtfully.
"Unless you mean Sigmar or Luitpold, they're at worst no more powerful than you. You're not a Witch Hunter any more. You're an Elector Countess. You have a Runefang. You have an army. And there are nine other Elector Counts that will close ranks if anyone starts trying to mess with you, simply to prevent the precedent. Don't make enemies needlessly, but if you must, you have the power to be the worst and last enemy they'll ever have."
---
You'd infiltrated these towns to spy on their rulers, so infiltrating them to ask about a Priest was no challenge at all. You're not good at convincing people to tell you secrets, but you're very good at making them tell you, and it doesn't take you long to start narrowing down the search. Eventually you find your way to a neglected quarter of Tempelhof, where the house the directions point to makes you pause for a moment to figure out what about its silhouette is bugging you. It doesn't take long for you to realize - the glass of the windows are missing and the usual accoutrements are nowhere to be seen, but this is, or was, a Temple of Sigmar.
The door doesn't budge, but the lock is older than the Colleges and was a substandard model even when it was new, and you could pick it blindfolded in a storm with a twig. The door swings open with a long, mournful creak, and you find yourself scowling at the altar. "Come on in," says a familiar wheeze, and you follow the sound to find a figure lying in a puddle of blood before it.
"Kasmir!" you say and rush to his side, but he pushes you away with surprising strength.
"Leave it," he says, and a faint glow around his hand causes a familiar presence to fill the room, and you refuse to bask in its warmth. Wounds close before your eyes, the way they didn't for Abelhelm. "I was ruminating on the hits he got in," Kasmir explains in a suddenly clear voice, hauling himself upright. "Wouldn't drive the lesson home if I healed it straight away."
"Who's 'he'?" you demand.
"Blood Dragon. Strangest damn ones I've ever seen, bunch of Bretonnian knights doing their best to outdo each other at most hammy villain. Terrible fighters without their horses, but still faster and stronger than you'd expect." He looks you over. "You're looking well. Still working for Stirland?"
"No," you say shortly, skipping past the reasons. "I joined the Expedition to Eight Peaks."
"Ah. Clear your head?"
"Something like that." You take a seat on a pew, and watch him start unclasping his armour, which was heavily battered and dull compared to the immaculate state he used to keep it in. "And you?"
"Spent some time in Drakenhof," he says, muffled by the armour he was struggling to pull over his head. "Rebuilding houses for people that used to live in the Fire District. That's what they're calling it after that Magister blew himself up." He looks at you again. "Speaking of?"
"Yes, graduated in '78."
"Congratulations," he says, and seems to mean it. He looks at you for a long time. "There's an old belief. I think it originally came from Norsca, and was adapted to Ulric, then to Sigmar. It says if a man is struck by lightning and killed, it was because the God needed his assistance urgently."
You try not to scowl, then stop trying. "And you think-" you begin, then stop.
"I have to." He looks at you, and the belief in his eyes isn't the shining rigid belief of the Kasmir you knew, but just as dulled and battered as his armour. "I've spoken to Morrites, but they can't or won't tell me much. I don't know if Abelhelm is sequestered within Morr's realm or if he's by Sigmar's side. But the only possible reason that I can see for him not healing Abelhelm is that he's doing more good there than he could here." You can think of another explanation, but you manage to swallow it down, but your thoughts must have shown on your face. "I have chosen to believe that. I spent some time thinking that Sigmar was either neglectful or uncaring, and perhaps that is the case. But for the past..." He pauses. "Is it '81?"
"'80," you say shortly.
"Three years, then. For the past three years I have walked Sylvania, and Sigmar's power has answered my call more often than not, even when I doubted. And I have seen the good that power has done. Healing wounds, strengthening wills, and defeating the creatures that prey on man. Sigmar did not save Abelhelm, but through me He has saved hundreds since. So either the life of Sylvanian peasants are of greater import than an Elector Count that spent his life fighting, or Sigmar decided Abelhelm's work was finished." He looks at you again. "How is his daughter doing?"
You open your mouth to respond, then close it and consider it. "She's out of her depth, but not doing as terribly as she could. Wilhelmina's EIC basically runs everything west of the Moot while she focuses on Sylvania. I don't know much about her Council except for Gustav and Schultz, but her Priest..."
He closes his eyes, thinking. "If I couldn't be reached, they'd send... well, if they thought she'd be easier to mould than Abelhelm, they'd... oh, him." He opens his eyes, and sighs. "If it's who I'm thinking of, he'd be ideal for, say, Wissenland or Talabecland, where politics mattered more than piety. But here..."
"She'd put you on the Council," you say with more surety than you actually believe. "You can wander Sylvania and save peasants one at a time if that's the height of your ambitions, but we both know you could do more."
"I-" He hesitates, and turns to consider the altar. "I'll consider it."
"Good." You give the altar a scowl while Kasmir isn't looking. You had been half-hoping that he'd finally kicked Sigmar and you could nudge him towards another god, any other god.
---
"So!" you say brightly at your accumulated underlings. "Year's coming to a close. What have we accomplished in 2480?"
Maximilian shrugs. "My teacher's finally let me start on steel instead of iron. Dwarves aren't really fast teachers."
You turn your gaze to Johann, who opens his mouth and then closes it, thinking. "Classified?" he says doubtfully.
"Damn right it is. Good man. Now I don't have to mess with memories." The Ducklings look alarmed, but Panoramia's rolling her eyes. She's caught on to your ways. "Panoramia! How go things with the Halflings?"
She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "Ask me again after Karagril," she says, frowning at the callouses on her hands. "Soil exhaustion is bad on its own, soil exhaustion when your source of nutrients needs to be cleansed of greenskin spores is a nightmare, but water rationing on top of those is torture. If we don't get that tarn, we're going to need to start hauling water from Ulrikadrin, start trusting the local water table, or give up on growing crops altogether."
"Trust me, Karagril isn't going to know what hit it. The rats cut them off from the rest of their tribe in Karak Drazh and they're on the verge of slaughtering each other for us." You turn to the most junior members present. "Gretel's my favourite, so she goes first. The subtext is that you should push yourself harder to compete for teacher's affections. Go."
"I've been working with Priest Gunnars," she says. "He wishes to know Morr." You narrow your eyes suspiciously, but you can't tell if the pun was deliberate. You'll say this for Shyish, it gives you one hell of a poker face.
"Technically outside the remit of the Colleges, but I'm glad someone's doing it. The Dwarves get upset about not doing things properly, and King Belegar is insisting any Undumgi that fall should be properly entombed. Dwarves only bury the dead if they have to, so a typical Garden of Morr would seem wrong to them. Hubert, what about you?"
"I've been preparing for the assault on Karagril, Magister."
"Sword or spell?"
"Sword, Magister."
His reticence catches your attention, and you show no mercy. "Training alone, Journeyman?"
"No, Magister." He hesitates, but it's clear there's no getting out of this. "With Sir Soizic."
"Aha. Is she skilled at dismounted swordplay?"
"Yes, Magister." He's trying not to blush.
"I suppose she'd have to be, since she doesn't have a horse. Well, I certainly can't criticize someone for studying the blade. Adela, lucky last."
"Accuracy, Magister. I've been using the Halfling archery butts."
"Which spell?"
"Fires of U'Zhul."
"Good. If you want to train something trickier, do it somewhere else. They've grown familiar with Wizards, let's not undermine the goodwill with an untimely miscast. I take it the three of you plan on being part of the Karagril assault?" A chorus of yeses. "Alright, we'll work on a plan for that when we're closer for the day. Keep preparing, and make sure you can throw up Aethyric Armour quickly and reliably. Hubert, visit me in my quarters when you've got a minute, I've got some books on Bretonnian swordplay that might help." And a skull chair to show off, is the unspoken part of that sentence.
---
Of the points in favour of Dwarfholds, the most esoteric you've encountered is that the looks you get when walking around with a Vampire head under your arm are impressed, rather than horrified. It takes a lot of asking in Karag Lhune for someone to point you in the direction of Kragg, as Thorek still haunts the Karak muttering profanities. Finally you follow a hunch and return once more to the secondary peak of Karag Lhune, and find the workshop he's set up. Any human artisan would give two legs and an arm to have it, but you're sure Kragg considers it a shoddy rush-job that would be barely adequate for an apprentice. The Dwarf himself is atop the peak, where he previously unleashed the full power of his treasured Anvil, and he's smoking a pipe and gazing over the Karak, the rune on the chamber glowing faintly red. "Utonki," you greet him with scandalous familiarity, and the scowl he shoots you lasts only until he sets eyes on your cargo. A satisfied smile spreads across his face. "Zangunzhufi," you say. "At least 350 years on him. Got most of his apprentices, too."
"How'd it do?" he asks gruffly, trying and failing to hide his curiosity.
"Dawraz," you say, looking Alkharad in the face. "He was damn fast. If it weren't for the Rune of the Unknown, I might have died. If it weren't for the Spellburner Rune, I definitely would have."
"Not a bad bit of work, then," he says with a nod. "What of the other two?"
"The Rune of Superior Skill, I've yet to have an opportunity. Didn't give any of them the chance to empower themselves. But your Rune is fantastic. Just the right amount of force, every time."
"'Course," he says. "Be damn foolish to have it tearing itself out of your hands with every strike. That halfbeard Thorek still lingering like a bad smell?"
"At least until Karagril, but I've got a feeling he'll slink off after that."
"Good. Spent too long cooped up, that one." You refrain from commenting on the centuries that Kragg has spent ensconced in his workshop. "Thinks the world revolves around him. Spends more time on politics than Runecraft, I'd wager. Neither one thing nor t'other." You join him in looking out over the Eastern Valley, which has sprouted a sea of cabbage and turnip as the Halflings eke out a final harvest before winter sets in. "Eight Peaks. It was long lost before I sprouted my first chin whisker. Dreamed of it a thousand times, and not a one was anywhere near this." He turns and looks up at Karag Lhune, at the hexagonal gyrocopter ports that replaced the hangar. "World keeps on changing. It's about bloody time it changed for the better. Zhufbar, Kadrin, Varr, Azul. Norn, Hirn, Izor. And Everpeak. Ever since we lost Dum and Vlag, only eight standing Karaks worthy of being called a Karak in the whole damn Karaz Ankor. Now, once more, there's nine." He scowls in the direction of Karagril. "I'll die choking on my own blood before I let it be eight again."
---
The planned assault on Karagril is rapidly approaching, and after long debates on disruption versus forewarning, King Belegar has declared the twenty-four hours before the assault to be open season for the Rangers, who have itchy trigger fingers after months of scouting greenskin positions without taking a single shot. The debate has moved on to avenues of attack - the obvious choices are through the no-man's-land of the underway under Karagril from Karag Lhune, or overland through the caldera, which is equally unclaimed but utterly deserted, since everything not in range of the Citadel is still easy prey for gyrocopters. The third approach is from Death Pass, scaling the side of the mountain to the towers overlooking Death's Crossing. This approach is certain to be unguarded, but restricting the assault force to those reliably able to climb a mountain is a concerning prospect. Dreng supports the Underway approach, Prince Gotri the caldera, and King Kazador the tower climb. If you weigh in, you're likely to swing the debate.
Then there's the matter of the 24 hours the Rangers have been given to snipe and skirmish to their hearts content. There's a number of ways you could join in, but you'll only have enough time for two.
[ ] SKIRMISH: Attempt to assassinate the Warboss
[ ] SKIRMISH: Quietly pick off any competent Bosses or Big Bosses
[ ] SKIRMISH: Do a once-over for any Shamans, and kill any you find
[ ] SKIRMISH: Be a force of indiscriminate death, spreading fear through the greenskins
[ ] SKIRMISH: Lead your Ducklings on forays into the Karag so they can bloody themselves against Orcs under your supervision
[ ] SKIRMISH: Raid the Orcs from below and attempt to frame the Skaven
[ ] SKIRMISH: Raid the Skaven from above and attempt to frame the Orcs
[ ] SKIRMISH: Other (write in)
- I would like to once more reiterate that social turns will never have mechanical advantages. The Dwarf favour you got while visiting Karak Kadrin, you would have still gotten if you hadn't visited it.
I've quoted the full Articles of Magic as they apply to Divided Loyalties, straight from Important Information thread mark, and it makes no mention whatsoever of merely experimenting with other winds being ilegal.
The only other info we have is about channeling, which is fundamentally not what's being proposed.
No one has ever claimed that the articles said that tho? The rule, if it exists, was established after the fact. Saying that articles don't forbid this is like saying that the IRS wasn't in the original US constitution so you don't have to pay your taxes.
[X] APPROACH: Caldera
[X] SKIRMISH: Raid the Orcs from below and attempt to frame the Skaven
[X] SKIRMISH: Quietly pick off any competent Bosses or Big Bosses
[X] SKIRMISH: Attempt to assassinate the Warboss
[X] SKIRMISH: Do a once-over for any Shamans, and kill any you find
Hmm, the Orcs are noted to be chomping at the bit against their Warboss, which generally doesn't happen unless there hasn't been any good fighting IIRC. Framing the Skaven could be a good answer, and the Warboss might be tempted to lead an attack just to get his would-be conspirators off his back.
@BoneyM Has Anton come through with mercenaries, or will the results of that be shown later?
Rules of thumb for magical experiments in general:
If you didn't know it could result in Dhar but it does, that's a hazard of the job. If you knew it would result in Dhar but do it anyway, that's a burning. If you suspected it might and do it and it does result in Dhar, then the Dhar poisoning that would normally result is considered convincing enough. If you continue that same line of experiments and continue creating Dhar, that's a stern look and a very serious warning and all benefit of the doubt is lost for future experiments. If conventional wisdom is that it would but you didn't do the research to know that and get Dhar, that's pacification because you're clearly a threat to yourself and others. If conventional wisdom is that it would but you manage to find a way that it doesn't, that's fine. Wonderful, even.
Forgot about Karagril when I said that. It'll be when you're about to report to King Belegar, which would normally be at the end of the social turn but this time is after the Battle of Karagril.
She runs her fingers over her father's name again, weighing your words as you take a flask from your pocket and take a sip from it. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going looking for Kasmir. If you'll have him, I'll point him in your direction. Even if he never comes, I strongly advise you get rid of the slug you've currently got."
You hold out the flask for her, and she doesn't hesitate before taking it, though she's still careful to not let her fingers touch yours. She grimaces from the burn in the same way you used to.
I'm having difficulty glossing this. Ut- is we/us/ourselves, onk is "comradely accretion of dirt and grime on a company of Dwarfs who have spent many days underground", and -i is an individual. So... did we call Kragg the Grimm "Hey, fellow person-who-gets-their-hands-dirty"?
[X] APPROACH: Caldera
[X] SKIRMISH: Attempt to assassinate the Warboss
[X] SKIRMISH: Quietly pick off any competent Bosses or Big Bosses
[X] SKIRMISH: Do a once-over for any Shamans, and kill any you find
I hope Mathilde's last words as she left Roswita were her sticking her head around a doorway, yelling 'Oh, the Emperor is sending you a pile of battle wizards. Later!' And running like hell.
I'm having difficulty glossing this. Ut- is we/us/ourselves, onk is "comradely accretion of dirt and grime on a company of Dwarfs who have spent many days underground", and -i is an individual. So... did we call Kragg the Grimm "Hey, fellow person-who-gets-their-hands-dirty"?
I hope Mathilde's last words as she left Roswita were her sticking her head around a doorway, yelling 'Oh, the Emperor is sending you a pile of battle wizards. Later!' And running like hell.
Ioana seems to be the only competent Vampire currently holding parts of Sylvania. Her guards might actually have caught you if divine concealment wasn't as close as the nearest crowded street. She has an on-again, off-again relationship with Mihnea and judging by the different forces that arrive at every 'battle', seems to have a deep well of corpses to draw upon - but you're unable to penetrate the well-guarded catacombs beneath the town. You mark her as the primary threat accordingly, neatly collate the information you've gathered into a report, drop it in to a frazzled but grateful Roswita who's received the 'good news' from Altdorf of her imminent reinforcements, and wish her the best.
[X] SKIRMISH: Attempt to assassinate the Warboss
[X] SKIRMISH: Quietly pick off any competent Bosses or Big Bosses
[X] SKIRMISH: Do a once-over for any Shamans, and kill any you find
