Taken from the restricted section of the Grey Order library.
According to the translator, the writer was "clearly a bit of a tosser" and "schouldn't use thieves cant if he wants to be fancy".
My first meeting with the Saint sums up her strange wisdom rather well.
My traveling group was hiding from a group of greenskin we had earlier avoided by the grace of the gods. Our Taalite guide claimed credit, and a wise man knows not to argue about who's god caused a man to faceplant.
I was chosen for the scouting party, because I was able to move without either huffing from exhaustion or moaning about old injuries. Or perhaps because the guide did not appreciate his sons taste in men.
We had been tracking the greenskin as they had been tracking us, and things were getting increasingly dire. It would not be much longer until they found the camp, and then a lot of blood would flow.
The following events happened with such rapidity that I struggled to comprehend them, so the following is a list of impression in my attempt at a chronological order. If it is confusing and inexplicable, then I have successfully conveyed what meeting the Saint is like.
- Orks laughing
- A cat shoots out of bushes
- Ork startles, hits another ork
- Shadow horse bursts out of bushes, Saint Mathilde in it
- Orks screaming, striking each other
- Orks screaming, striking at the Saint
- The Saint, unarmed
- The Saint, bisecting two orks in one swing with a sword taller than herself
- A black cat, sitting on the head of living ork
- The Saint, shooting an ork
- The guide, charging the orks
- The rest of use, following a moment later
- A black cat, sitting on the head of a dead ork
- Bashing an ork with a rock, because it kept moving
- Getting kicked in the cup by a pair of ork legs missing everything above the waist
- Finding my dagger returned to me, still stuck in an ork fist
- The Saint grumbling about busy work
- Helping the guide search for his missing teeth
I did not spend much time with the Saint during my stay in Karag Eight Peaks after this. She is both busy and private (and also quite smug), and frankly I had enough to chew on already. If you find me lacking in this, I invite you to make the journey yourself. It won't be wasted in any case; the local temple is quite nice, and if you are a skilled player like myself, you can make quite the fortune.
Now, here is the core of her teachings:
Ranald wants to be entertained
This can mean a daring heist, or a brilliant con. It can also mean puns. She named her greatsword "Moonlight Wit", which I suppose is one way to understand the stricture to live by your wits, not your sword. Being a tiny woman likely helps with this, though the contrast is a lot less funny after you've seen her chop through an ork band with the put-upon air of a housewife finding an unexpected patch of weeds in her garden.
If you look for omens or interventions, look for the embarrassing, inconvenient, or silly. If a cat is involved, you know it was Ranald. The chance of intervention goes up as the outcome becomes increasingly funny. It follows then that if you wish for good luck, you must ensure that the failure of your enemy and your own success are more amusing than the alternative. In the following, I will give you a number of ways to ensure this.
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Taken from a journal in the collective library of the Grand Conclave, from the dust accumulated, it hasn't been read since it was placed there. From the remote corner it was placed in, there's no expectation that will change.
I journeyed to Karag Eight Peaks at the behest of Ranald. I know many shun my choice to worship all the gods of man in this regard especially, yet in dire straits they all turn to him regardless. I simply pay my respect beforehand, and so don't find myself in such circumstances.
The journey itself was mostly uneventful, though still unpleasant since one of the other travelers kept making eyes at my son. I knew the type, and feared he would only break his heart. In this, I was sadly proven correct. I am grateful that by the grace of Ranald, the fool lost most of his traveling funds on gambling, and so he couldn't stay long enough to do true damage, and it taught my son a necessary lesson.
I mention this, because it illustrates the lesson that crystalised for me during my stay:
As the gods of men are family, so are we all. So trust in your brothers and sisters, and if you aid them, they shall smile on you. For all his bad reputation, Ranald is no different in this.
Consider Dame Mathilde: You shall not find a child of Sigmar more well regarded among dwarfs anywhere on this earth. Yet she is a known devotee of Ranald. How could this be, if he is truly the god of thieves and liars? They would not stand for it.
Incidentally, I had the chance to discuss theology with the Dame, and she had great insights, especially into the relationship between Ranald and Shallya. There's some very unfortunate claims there, which the Lady handily and compellingly denied. In fact, she claims that the most favored follower of Ranald she has known also enjoys great regard in the eyes of the Lady of Mercy.
This is once again proves the truth that a true follower of the gods cannot only serve one of them. Instead, we must …
AN: Inspired by the Beatified trait, and me wondering what kind of lessons people may learn from Mathilde. And surprisingly on topic, given the ongoing discussion of theology.