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Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

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Honestly, I've never really cared about the "Nature of Gods" argument. The metaphysics of Warhammer never really come up in the actual quest, but they get some of the lengthiest arguments.
 
picklepikkl said:
Word of Boney seems to contradict this:

It sounds like Boney's take is that Laurelorn elves do not have the agreement with Treemen you mention.
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The agreement between Durthu and the Elf queen extended to all elves fleeing Chaos, not just Athel Loren. They have the same Treemen/Dryad inhabitants:
Inside the forest, the sun is blocked by the lush canopy, providing for a dark atmosphere. Any traveller granted safe passage may hear crashing and thrashing sounds from deep within the forest. They may see arm-like branches beckon to them, or hear phantom calls. Any traveller not granted safe passage will never be seen again
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And have the same MO as Athel Loren:
Unlike Men, who seek to tame the lands in which they live, the Elves of Laurelorn regard the forest and its land as a living thing, something they should live in harmony with, something over which they feel protective.
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But here's what makes them reasonable:
They do, however, recognise that Mankind provides the bulwark of the defence of their lands against Greenskins and Chaos, so they try not to antagonise the surrounding realms of the Empire, unless they try to establish dominion over Laurelorn itself.

By agreement with the Elector Counts of Nordland, the Elves allow Imperials to settle the area between the Rivers Salz and Demst, which enters the Sea of Claws at Hargendorf. The agreement strictly limits numbers, however, and the Elves must approve before any new settlements are made. This they have been loath to do, placing many restrictions on what the settlements may harvest from the forest. The humans chafe under these restrictions (as timber from the Laurelorn commands a high price in Salzenmundbecause of its exquisite grain, lightness, and durability[1e]), and nobles have pressured Grand Baron Theoderic Gausser to demand a renegotiation. Impatient as ever, some humans have made illegal settlements in the area, which the Elves have threatened to remove by force, if need be.
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They are Wood Elves removed from the personal politics and Drama of the named characters of the faction, but they're no less a part of it. You don't walk through what's basically a Warp domain overlapping with reality and come out Ok, or even escort people through said place, unless you have a treaty with the locals who make and ARE the place.

Hence me saying the Treemen kicking them out is a big deal.
 
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Keep in mind that to both Old World humans and Elves, Monotheism is considered heretical. Everyone (outside of possibly Araby) believes that multiple gods exist and should be worshipped when you're doing doing something within their domain. It's just that there are a few Cults that tend to have people who worship their gods as part of everyday life, mainly Ulric, Sigmar, Myrmidia, The Lady, and Taal/Rhya. This largely occurs because these gods have broad areas of applicability, and are seen as patrons of entire regions/cultural groups.

So the Laurelorn Elves converting to Ulricanism could be a political ploy to get Middenland and the Al-Ulric to support their territorial claims, or it could be that they added Ulric as a minor god of their Pantheon, instead of casting aside their gods and going all wolf all the time.

Additionally, the Elf view that gods are emergent properties of their worshippers with some agency and the human view that gods are external entities aren't so incompatible as people in this thread think. Both acknowledge that there are powerful warp entities that worshippers invoke for power, with some degree of agency. So the Laurelorn Elf Theologists deciding that certain emotional states are sacred to Ulric, and a valid part of their worship is a thing that could happen.

Finally, the idea that Elf religion is incredibly alien isn't entirely true. Priests of Vaul exist within the Asur, as do the Witch Cults of the Druchii and the Wardancers of the Asarai.
 
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Mopman43 said:
Honestly, I've never really cared about the "Nature of Gods" argument. The metaphysics of Warhammer never really come up in the actual quest, but they get some of the lengthiest arguments.
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I mean why says gods even have a uniform nature? Given all the differences that can emerge in the physical universe as things are I wouldn't be surprised the nature of deities/other supernaturals is more varied than is given credit.
 
fictionfan said:
So we would likely have to settle for unaimed shadow that the sun will give us.
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Not necessarily. We could also just save up our CF for a bit and then pony up. 4 Powerstones + the 10 favor for a Lord Magister is 30 Favor, and we have 24 CF according to the Character Sheet. The rest would probably be covered by K8P.

pucflek said:
I would bet you that actual golem is somewhere in that weight category.
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I'll take that bet. We know that the main reason Bok is still around is that it reforms from physical damage/dispelling automatically. I don't think most Golems have that kind of self-repair capability, and their runes would be in the physical world rather than in place of a soul making them much more vulnerable to degradation over time.
 
Candesce said:
Those Who Listen to Omegahugger are...?

... Looking down that list, yeah, most of it seems to apply. It's missing something about shipping, but otherwise...

Do you have something to tell us, @Omegahugger?
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First of all, if your shipper is not full of inspiration and bad ideas then they need to get back to training pronto! That poor display might work when all they have to do is manouvre canon ground, but the very second they get into crack ship space they are going to get obliterated. Why, when I was young shipper I had to make my way though tons of Touhou fancontent. Now there was an enviroment filled to the brim with inspiring bad ideas!

Second of all, I have no connection to anything in the Nobilisverse and so I have no idea who you're talking about. He does sound like a handsome fella with great style and greater ideas. He does sound a bit like a filthy AntonXGotri shipper, the pervert.
 
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Turn 25 Social - 2482
  • Threadmarks
    • [+] The Wizards of Karak Eight Peaks (locked in)
    [+] Social interaction initiated by someone else (locked in)
    [*] King Belegar, as he scrambles to deal with having very suddenly accomplished his dream.
    [*] Anton, to see how his firearm factory is going.
    [*] Sir Ruprecht Wulfhart, leader of the frontier town of Ulrikadrin.
    [*] Emperess Heidi and Mandred for Mandreds First Birthday.

    "The gates are only opened to allow the High King's army to march to war."

    A sentence repeated a thousand times by a thousand historians, with only minor changes in phrasing. The gates of Karaz-a-Karak once stood open to all visitors, and that now they only open in times of war is a wonderfully poignant metaphor for the decline of the Karaz Ankor as a whole. All future historians will, however, have to decide for themselves how big an asterisk they will have to place at the end of that sentence.

    Thorgrim Grudgebearer will be remembered by history as never having the opportunity to become involved in the defence of Karak Eight Peaks against Waaagh Birdmuncha, but none will be able to deny the involvement of Karaz-a-Karak in the rebuilding of the newly-reclaimed Karak. The Gates of Karaz-a-Karak swung open once more, and for the first time in four thousand years they did not do so in solemn silence. Tens of thousands of voices rise in song, and not a song of vengeance and glory, but a song of industry and exploration.

    Ai Anar Dawi Un An Âlit A Kur...

    Though each is armed and armoured, for the times are still what they are, the weapon of choice on display is a pick, rather than the perennial favourite of an axe. Wagons do not carry weapons of war, but clever devices of excavation and construction. Those leading the expedition are not Lords or Thanes, but Guildmasters. And nowhere is to be seen the Rune of Grimnir, and instead this expedition courts the favour of Grungni, Valaya, Smednir and Morgrim.

    Some will equivocate, and say that this Throng's mission is merely an indirect approach to warfare. But what none can deny is that the High King has not sent a Throng to destroy, but an Expedition to create.

    Khazukan Ankazadit-ha.

    ---

    "You never sent to Karaz-a-Karak for help," King Belegar says, his voice low and troubled as he looks over the West Gate, where for months a constant flurry of activity has been working to give it a fighting chance of being able to resist any other Waaaghs that might wander this way.

    You consider his words for a long moment before replying, his tone and the guilt on his face telling you the entire story. "As you say," you eventually reply, your voice neutral.

    "If you wish to leave my service, I will give you the strongest of recommendations and-"

    "Belegar," you interrupt, and his face turns to you. "I am a Grey Wizard. I've kept bigger secrets for lesser reasons. I'm not going anywhere."

    He exhales, and a tiny amount of the tension seems to go out of him. "Thank you," he says simply. "The others of the Council have already agreed, but they were merely onlookers. I feared-"

    You smile. "I'll take it as a compliment. My silence is yours. Though I do hope it was expensive."

    He nods down at the work below. "In just under three weeks, every Dawi of the Karak will be able to return to their chosen profession. Karaz-a-Karak is sending a significant portion of their Guild of Stonemasons, the Guild of Miners, the Guild of Prospectors, the Guild of Metalsmiths, the Guild of Toolmakers, and the Guild of Engineers to labour for Karak Eight Peaks at Karaz-a-Karak's expense for the next three and a half years."

    You do a quick mental count. That's about how long it's been since the Expedition gained the initial foothold at the Karak. "Was that duration your idea, or his?"

    "Mine," he says shortly, his voice laced with suppressed anger.

    You nod, and for a long, quiet moment the two of you stand in silence, watching the work below. You think of the Emperor, of Dragomas and Algard, of Abelhelm and Frederick. "Sacrifice," you say eventually. "All worthy rulers sacrifice their time and effort. Some their lives. A few, even their sanity. But the hardest test is when it is their honour they are called on to sacrifice."

    "My honour is my life and without it I am nothing," King Belegar says softly.

    "And yours has taken a few hits because you've had to play politics for the good of the Karak," you say. "But I wouldn't still be here if you were so short on honour that this battering would destroy it."

    King Belegar shakes his head. "Some say humans are Vornari. Perhaps a furrow in the soil can be smoothed over. But Dwarves are Durazi, and stone does not heal." You give him a flat look, and hold it in silence until he turns to face you, and then you turn your gaze to the ancient gates being restored below. He sighs. "Point made."

    ---

    "Right," you say brightly as you accept the mug of ale from Hubert, who's distributing the contents of the keg you keep on your balcony. "I call this august order, to order."

    "We're august?" Adela asks doubtfully, sipping cautiously at the ale.

    "We're an order?" Panoramia asks, looking away from the scrutiny she was giving your Grey Tower.

    "We succeeded," you say simply. "There's pots of glory to go around and don't any of you hesitate before grabbing some for yourself. So yes, we're no mere study group, we're a band of intrepid adventurers and a wonderful symbol of intercollegiate cooperation. And it's retroactive, too." You see exchanged looks and tolerant smiles, and wonder if your ducklings are getting perhaps a little too used to you. "I mean it," you say, your voice firm. "I guarantee you Dragomas was not thinking of Cathayan diplomacy when he walked into the Dark Lands, and if he had been slain there he would have been one example of Journeyman foolishness amongst hundreds. But because he lived, and because of what he accomplished, every step of his journey gets cast in that beneficial light. Every one of you should seize that same benefit for yourselves. You could have pottered around Altdorf doing odd jobs for bored burghers, and instead you risked your lives out here on the edge of civilization."

    "We barely-" Gretel begins.

    "No," you say. "Okay, you know what? Wait here."

    ---

    Ten minutes later, you return to the balcony with your teaching aid. "This," you say brightly, "is Little Franz, the Cooper. Say hi, Franz."

    "Hello," the lad says nervously.

    "Tell the nice Wizards about yourself," you nudge.

    "Um, I'm from Merfeld, between Hochsleben and Karaz Angazhar. I was doing my apprenticeship under Da when some Axedwarves came through on the way to join the Expedition, and I joined them."

    "How many battles have you been in, Franz?"

    "Um, been at seven battles, but I only actually fought at two of them. Me and my friend Big Franz got two Orcs together at the Battle of the Citadel, and I got this," he pulls on the collar of his tunic to reveal a nasty burn covering his upper chest, "at the Battle of Kvinn-Wyr."

    "Thank you, Franz. Okay, any comments about this fellow's contributions to the Expedition?" You get silence as your answer. Your Ducklings quite clearly see the roadblock you've erected in the path of their self-effacement and look very awkward indeed, while Johann is concealing a smile and Panoramia keeps trying to catch your eye so she can roll hers at you. "No? Nothing?"

    "It was very brave of you," Adela says firmly.

    You blink at her exaggeratedly. "Was it? But he only-"

    "Okay, yes, we get it," Hubert interrupts, looking extremely uncomfortable.

    "Harder when it's someone else, isn't it? Thank you, Franz. Wolf will show you out. Take a bottle of something from the shelf as a thankyou." Wolf appears at the door a moment later, wagging his tail at Franz, and leads the thoroughly confused lad away. "Point made, I trust? Be at least as kind to yourself as you would be to Little Franz, the Cooper. Each of you fought in a fair few battles, accounted for your share and then some of foes, and risked your life in doing so - and your soul. Every time we reach into the Aethyr might be the time we pull back a fistful of daemons. So don't downplay your accomplishments. Gods know there'll be enough people to do that for you in life."

    Your ducklings busy themselves with their tankards, and you finally turn your gaze to Panoramia, who sighs and shakes her head and you smile. "With that lesson concluded, let's get on to the meat of things. We won. The decisions must now be made as to where your futures lie. I'm sticking around and I'd quite like to keep all of you, but your futures matter more than my compulsion to collect wizards. So, Johann?"

    "I'm going to at least stick around long enough to wrap up our studies," he says.

    "Thought so. Maximilian?"

    He shrugs. "Dwarven apprenticeships aren't known for brevity. I'm not going anywhere."

    "Panoramia?"

    "I'm very happy working with Halflings, and there's a lot more work here than the Moot."

    "Adela?" You turn your attention to her, a little worried you're about to lose some of your Ducklings.

    "I'm not sure," she admits. "The work with the Engineers has been intriguing, but I don't like being this far from my family."

    "I understand." In theory, anyway. "If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. Hubert?"

    He looks uncomfortable. "I don't know yet. Things are complicated."

    "Ulrican things?" He nods. "Want to talk about it later?" Another nod. "Okay. Gretel?"

    She turns to look at the Citadel far below, one tower of which is hers for the next 98 years. "I'm staying," she says firmly.

    "Is your Order okay with that?"

    "Why wouldn't it be?" she asks, frowning. "Oh, right. They're not like yours. As long as I follow the Articles and pay my Tithe, it's my business where I live and what I do."

    "That's alright, then," you say lightly, quelling the pang of envy. "How about Magister exams? I know Panoramia's putting hers off until the fields are in a good place, but the rest of you..."

    "Not yet," Maximilian says. "Once I'm a little further, I'll start working on mixing Gold Magic with Dwarven blacksmithing techniques, and once that's in a solid place I'll present that as my Masterpiece."

    "My work with the Engineers seems promising," Adela says. "I think there's a Masterpiece somewhere in applications of using Flashcook in steam mechanisms."

    Hubert shrugs. "The Celestial Order doesn't value swordplay very highly," he says, trying and failing to keep dissatisfaction out of his voice. "I don't know what my Masterpiece could be."

    You turn to Gretel, who shrugs too. "Something will turn up," she says vaguely.

    "What about you?" Adela says.

    "Already a Magister," you say with a smile. "That's why I get to boss you guys around."

    "No, when will you go for Lady Magister? Surely that," she waves a hand towards the Eye of Gazul, "qualifies as a Grandmasterpiece."

    "Or the dead Waaagh," Gretel says. "Hard to present, though. Ship a cartload of ash to Altdorf?"

    "It's a little more complicated at the Lord Wizard level," you say with a smile, "though I appreciate your faith in me. Perhaps I'll put my name forward in the next few years."

    ---

    Watching someone ride a Shadowsteed for the first time is one of the finest entertainments you've ever encountered, but Hubert quickly gets a grasp of it, having been trained for the saddle in his youth, and likely been destined for a Knightly Order before magic intervened. You resist the urge to ride literal circles around him with your much stronger grasp of the spell, and instead ride at a relatively sedate pace alongside him. "Okay," you say. "Spit it out. Someone's got to tell me what's with the Ulrican drama so it may as well be you."

    "I'm not privy to the exact nature of the disagreement between the Winter Wolves and-"

    "I can literally see your lies. Stop dancing around the topic and skip right to the part where you tell me what the hell is going on. I'm about to meet with a Grand Master and I've got a meeting with the Ar-Ulric next month, and I'm as ignorant as the first time I heard about Nordland and Middenland griping at each other. If I have to blow my aura of mysterious smugness by walking into these blind I'm not going to be happy."

    He's silent for a long moment. "Okay," he finally says. "I only know the barest details-"

    "That's all I need, I can fake the rest."

    "Fine. Do you know of the Elves of Laurelorn?"

    You shrug. "Vaguely. Less crazy than Athel Loren and less smug than Ulthuan, so they don't really come up much. Why?"

    "They've converted to the worship of Ulric."

    The sound of phantasmal hoofbeats dominates for a long moment. "Bullshit," you eventually say.

    Hubert sighs. "So many believe. Including the Winter Wolves."

    "But the Ar-Ulric says otherwise?"

    "Yes. And the Ar-Ulric..." The word 'supposedly' is very loudly not spoken. "Speaks for Ulric."

    You rack your memory as best you can. "They've always claimed everything west of the Salz. The disappearances in Nordland, they've been enforcing their claims. And Middenland is supporting them."

    "Which is a straightforward decision if they are coreligionists," Hubert says miserably. "But if one doubts their conversion..."

    You exhale. "Fuck." Hubert nods. "This is why you're conflicted?"

    "My family asked me to pass on what information I could," he admits. "I would like to prove to them I serve Ulric. But the more time I spend at Ulrikadrin, the more I wonder if they are His truer servants."

    You nod in understanding, and feel very glad that the God you serve doesn't feel the need for this type of infuriating aloofness.

    ---

    Hubert disappears into the growing community of Ulrikadrin to spend some time with his fellow Ulricans, and you take a deep breath as you approach the Temple of Ulric that is the current headquarters of the Winter Wolves. During your last meeting with Sir Ruprecht Wulfhart he seemed quite nervous about you, but that was on neutral ground when his order was still rootless. Now, his order has won a home, been chosen as the leaders of that home, and established a treaty with Karak Eight Peaks, and on top of that this meeting will take place in his God's church. You doubt he'll still be on the back foot.

    You're kept waiting for a few minutes in the hall of the Temple of Ulric, and find yourself facing the flame on the altar, which had been quite laboriously and carefully carried all the way from the Sacred Flame of Ulric at Middenheim, which the Winter Wolves were once charged with guarding. It is said that the Sacred Flame will not harm a true follower of Ulric, and history tells of Magnus the Pious striding into the flame unharmed to win an alliance with the Ulricans. In modern times, this practice is discouraged, which strikes you as inconvenient. Having someone able to prove they hold Ulric's stamp of approval would simplify matters a great deal. You take the opportunity to give the flame careful scrutiny under Magesight, and though at first you think it's entirely mundane, the fact that you feel colder the closer you get to it and that Wolf has perked up and is staring confusedly through your eyes definitely indicates that something is up.

    "It's tempting," comes the cultivated accent of Middenland nobility behind you, and you turn to see Sir Ruprecht approaching. "It was part of the watch on the flame to keep pilgrims from testing themselves."

    "Any of them pass?"

    "Not in my lifetime," he says. "Which goes a long way to tempering temptation. Perhaps the truly faithful does not test his God." He salutes and you return it, which neatly sidesteps the question of rank - you speak instead as two warriors of the Empire.

    "Ulrikadrin seems to be flourishing," you say, doing your best to start off with a light topic before you get into the matter of religious strife.

    "Largely because of the amount of Dwarven industry," he says wryly. "I must admit we did not expect to be so tied into the Karak's economy, but it has been very much to our benefit, and King Belegar is honourable. I might have preferred we live simpler lives as woodcutters and hunters, but though all here revere Ulric, most of my people have not sworn their lives to him, and they are accustomed to the trappings of civilization."

    "I've heard of worse compromises," you agree. "How goes the planning for your Keep?"

    He sighs, and then laughs. "I've never seen so many grown men getting so much enjoyment out of so many arguments. We've decided on a peak close to the mouth of the valley - the wolves are most comfortable above the snowline, after all - but the details elude us. We've yet to imagine anything that King Belegar's architects haven't said they could manage. Some want a fortress that could stand against any foe, others want a grand temple to rival Middenheim, a third group wants to carve out a high valley for the wolves to run free in, and a fourth wants a series of bridges and tunnels to allow us to travel freely throughout these mountains. It could be that a decision will never be reached within my lifetime, but there is charm in living amongst our people."

    As smooth a segue as you're likely to get. "Speaking of Middenheim," you begin, and Sir Ruprecht tenses up. "The Ar-Ulric has asked to see me."

    "Ah," he says. "And you believe it to be to do with us."

    "It seems likely. I simply want to know where you stand."

    "I could say the same," he replies softly, his eyes fixed on you.

    "I stand with King Belegar," you reply simply. "My service to him has the stamp of approval of the Emperor himself." He said he'd heard good things. That counts, right? "You are King Belegar's ally, just as the Empire is his ally."

    He mulls that over for a time. "That does simplify matters," he finally says. "Very well. Our official position is that we are independent to the Empire's Cult of Ulric, but not opposed to it. We could not in good conscience stay and serve the Ar-Ulric, but nor could we outright oppose him, so we left. We will fight to remain independent if we must, but otherwise we do not wish to raise our swords against any sons of the Empire."

    You consider that, and then nod. "That simplifies matters too," you say. "Would you want an official relationship with the Empire?"

    "We would spill blood to defend it," he says firmly. "But politically, it would be simplest for everyone if we did so through our alliance with King Belegar, and his with the Empire."

    "Keep it unofficial. Got it. I'll have a few words in a few ears."

    He exhales. "Thank you. Between you and Hubert, several amongst us have been made to re-examine our feelings about Wizards."

    You pause, and smile sweetly. "How kind of you to say. Between you and Hubert, I may be led to re-examine mine about Ulricans."

    He smiles, then falters and begins to frown, but you've already turned away and started to leave before he can digest that.

    ---

    "Why," you ask with a frown, "does it have bubbles in it?"

    "No idea," Anton says happily, considering his own glass of wine. "It does add a bit of festiveness to it, though. Just make sure to stick to the stuff in Dwarven-glass bottles, otherwise they have a tendency to explode."

    "Not usefully," gripes Reinhild Gerber, the designer of the firearm this factory is dedicated to, who has become a very close but entirely platonic friend of Anton's since you were last here.

    The room is filled with Stirland notables, some of which you've recognized from your time as Spymistress and several of whom you've exchanged some friendly words with so far. Being a celebration of a long-range firearm, the party could not take place in the late evening as is typical for soirees, but instead in the early afternoon. This hasn't stopped anyone from indulging in the finest wines Blutdorf has to offer as they mill about in the courtyard of Anton's castle. The air buzzes with surprisingly intense conversation, as those present take advantage of one of the few occasions nobles and burghers can mingle without it being seen as gauche to get down to some serious business. You occasionally catch a glimpse of Wilhelmina as she flits through the crowd like a shark on the prowl, no doubt making sure that her dominance of Stirlandian trade continues to grow.

    For your part, you did a single lap of the crowd for politeness' sake and have now taken residence at Anton's side, leaving Wolf to socialize in your place. Having started at smarter than a typical wolf and then gaining the ability to call upon your own mental capacity just as you can his, he's astonishingly successful at convincing each and every person he encounters to feed him tidbits from the buffet tables.

    You've turned from your examination of the Bretonnian bubble-wine to a more serious examination of the rifle in front of you, one of many scattered throughout the party. The revolving mechanism that an early prototype you saw had is at first glance removed, but you quickly realize it's instead been turned sideways. Instead of relying on the multiple barrels like a repeater handgun or the multiple chambers of a Dwarven revolver, the trigger guard revolves forwards and then back to deliver powder and shot into the barrel in a single set of movements while also recocking the gun. If it works the way that Reinhild claims, the rate of fire should be quite astonishing, but from the look of it so too is the level of intricacy required.

    "The 'Stirland Repeater'," you say thoughtfully. "How expensive did the finished model end up being?" you ask, and catch the look that Anton and Reinhild exchange.

    "More than we'd hoped," Anton admits. "Material and labour, eighty crowns."

    You wince. "That's more than a handgun costs to the buyer."

    "Sure," Reinhild says quickly, "we'll not be replacing the handgun at a stroke. But the jump in price and maintenance required is lesser than the jump when the Empire first went from crossbows to handguns, and it delivers a greater increase in firepower."

    "Oh?" you ask neutrally.

    "One shot every two seconds, with a fifteen-round magazine."

    You look back down at the rifle, and turn the trigger guard experimentally. "Reload time?"

    "Fifteen seconds."

    You raise your eyebrows as you calculate that. "Twenty rounds a minute. It can maintain that?"

    "In trials, eight out of ten can manage ten minutes of sustained fire."

    "Impressive. But the cost - has the Countess been told?"

    Anton nods. "I worked out the details with Gustav and Wilhelmina. The whole crossbow thing sat badly with a lot of people - I mean, as you know, right? And now she'll let herself be 'convinced' to reverse that. Instead of a unified force of handgunners, there'll be an elite core with Stirland Repeaters and the rest will have crossbows. Same price, a higher weight of fire, less troubles with the traditionalists."

    "And all of it comes out of Blutdorf," you say thoughtfully, and Anton smiles. "Can I take this one?"

    "Of course," Anton says. "Wanting to add it to your arsenal?"

    "I'm happy with my revolvers, but I might show it around Altdorf while I'm there."

    ---

    Your pigeonhole at the College has been accumulating mail faster than you're accustomed to recently, but most of it is entirely expected, consisting of polite thankyous for your lectures, requests for clarification on one point or another, and notifications that you're being cited in one paper or another. But one note takes you by surprise, both at the title of the sender and the careful, blocky script of the message it contains. You smile, note the date, and slightly rearrange your schedule.

    The next day sees you an hour's ride east of Altdorf, where the Knights of Taal's Fury are encamped. If asked they'd claim to have no chapterhouse but the wild, but the wild does not provide halberds, armour, or heraldry, and when not pursuing the enemies of the Empire they return to this place to rearm, rearmour, reconsecrate their banners, and re-establish contact with the civilization they fight to protect. Some are dedicated enough to Taal that they erect their tents inside the palisade, but most take the opportunity to remember what it's like to sleep under a proper roof, on a proper bed.

    As not only a Grey Wizard, but one that has fought alongside the Knights in the past, you're welcomed into the camp without trouble and find your way through it towards your hosts: Magisters Esbern and Seija, who are more embarrassed to have been caught inhabiting one of the chapterhouse's bedrooms than they are at the state of relative undress you find them in. You politely refrain from commenting as you wait for them to dress, and the three of you go for a walk along the Talabec, with Wolf and two demigryphs for company.

    "The Knights are a convincing sponsor," Esbern chatters as you walk. "And our new partners," he nods at the demigryphs, who are romping ahead with Wolf, "served as Masterpieces, and the Expedition as our Deeds. So we both reached Magister about six months after we returned to the Empire."

    "Didn't change much," Seija says with a shrug.

    "Got full access to spells, which is nice, but apart from that," Esbern shrugs. "Civilization things. Ranks, titles, tithes... rather pointless. Though that might just be the Ghur talking."

    "Ghur has a point," you say with a smile.

    "Apart from that, we've been sticking with the Knights. They see as religious obligation what comes naturally to us, so it usually works out. Mostly been in Ostland, dealing with Norscans from the north and those- what did they call them?"

    "Yhetees."

    "Yhetees from the east. Dragon got most of them, but the rest scattered and a lot of them ended up in Ostland, and we had to stamp them out before they made it to the Middle Mountains. The Knights collected the claws for us, and figuring out what they're good for should keep us busy for a while. Don't usually see their kind this far west, so there's not been much study on them. And then we all came back here to see where we'd be needed next, and since you're in and out of Altdorf lately, we thought we'd ask you to visit. We were curious how the We turned out."

    "And Wolf," Seija says.

    "And Wolf," Esbern says, smiling over at the frolicking puppy and kittybirds.

    "The We are..." you search for the words. "Gradually civilizing themselves. They and the Dwarves have gotten accustomed to each other and their silk is rather valuable, so once they've finished educating themselves they'll be free to choose whether they want to continue as hunters or transition into crafters."

    "I'm surprised the Dwarves allowed them that choice," Esbern says.

    "As for Wolf, leaps and bounds," you say, smiling as you watch him. "We've developed Link of Psyche, so he's as smart as I am when he puts the effort in, and he's wise enough not to bother most of the time so he can leave the work to me and go off and play with Johann's pups. Been meaning to finally teach him Lingua one of these days."

    "Johann has dogs?" Seija says.

    "Gold Johann? Smiles a lot? Metal from the neck down?" Esbern continues.

    "Sort of. Wolf-rats. We found a litter and Johann decided to raise them and see what happens, and it turned out better than expected."

    "Being a feral monster is a bad survival strategy," Esbern says with a nod. "Very few creatures are born that way. Most have to be made that way."

    "Which is a field the Skaven excel in," you say with a sigh.

    You spend most of the day with Esbern and Seija, and apart from having to order Wolf to jump into the Talabec to wash off the scraps and splatter of whatever it is he and the demigryphs found, slaughtered and ate, it's a very pleasant time indeed.

    ---

    The Reiksguard gave the Stirland Repeater a great deal of examination and fired off a good couple of magazines before they were willing to admit it wasn't a convoluted assassination attempt - perhaps they remember the little green tokens - but they did finally agree to pass it on along with your message about the official and unofficial relationships desired by Ulrikadrin. Then you were turned over to an entirely different set of Reiksguard dedicated to the protection of the heir to the Empire, but these ones were entirely under the sway of the Empress and merely paused to give pats to Wolf before waving you into the Empress' wing of the palace.

    Empress Heidi has had ample time and opportunity to solidify her grasp over the population of the palace, and nobody bats an eye at you once more appearing as the preparations for Mandred's first birthday are underway. Ladies in waiting bring drinks and biscuits, and the two of you chatter about current events while they see to things, and smile at Wolf as he snuffles inquisitively at the happily gurgling future Emperor.

    "So," Heidi says as the last of the crowd of helpers finally leaves. "Did you really steal half the taxbase of Stirland?"

    "It was only a third, and we only rented it," you say primly.

    She chuckles. "I wouldn't even have heard of that if I hadn't been making a nuisance of myself to the Steward. It's keeping out of center stage nicely, and with you half a continent away you'll be able to easily sidestep any blowback even if things go wrong."

    "I think you're underestimating the kind of blowback the Grey Order is capable of. But nothing should go wrong. It's an entirely legitimate trading company that knows its interests are aligned with that of the Empire."

    "Fine, keep whatever caper you have planned to yourself," she says, waving a hand airily. "What brings you to Altdorf, anyway?"

    "I am Mandred's secret godmother," you remind her.

    "Don't worry, your position is secure. Even if I was swarming with other mutual friends of our mutual friend, you're the sort of person I want in Mandred's corner in the decades to come."

    "It's not that. I kind of feel like..." You hum, and lean back in thought. "Well, it's the old story, isn't it? A long-wished-for child of a King - well, an Emperor - and in the absence of six good fairies, since the closest thing we have is the Asrai and they're no good at all, it feels like my responsibility to check in, see he's got a good start in life."

    "Beauty, wit, grace? That sort of thing?" She looks to Mandred, who is giggling as he pulls on Wolf's tongue. "Bit early for dance and song."

    "I don't know if I can gift him intangible concepts," you say with a smile, "though, ironically, I could gift him with intangibility itself. Once he's grown up I might end up teaching him or arming him or guarding him or something, but for now my gift is rather more modest." From a pocket, you produce a small, carved piece of wood, and hand it over to Heidi.

    "A little horse," she says, with slightly unsure cheer.

    "Imprint," you say in Lingua Praestantia, and a sliver of Ulgu writhes in confirmation. "Neigh at it."

    She gives you a flat look, then turns back to the horse. "Neigh," she says, and the horse replies with a soft but convincing whinny that brings a smile to your face.

    "It will only respond to you or Mandred," you assure her, "and it's completely safe, there's less magic in it than a dandelion."

    Heidi stares thoughtfully at the horse, and you can faintly feel the reflected radiance of divine attention turning her way. "Do you have a chisel?" she asks, and you summon one. "Carve your Order's sigil onto it, there's a possibility of an irritating misunderstanding about this in six months that it would neatly bypass."

    You raise an eyebrow at her, then shrug to yourself and obey. Heidi then turns the toy over to Mandred, and though she spends quite some time trying and failing to convince him to make a noise approximating to 'neigh', Mandred's happy gnawing of the horse convinces you that he likes his gift anyway.



    - No vote. Next update will be the meeting with the Ar-Ulric.
    - The Stirland Repeater is based on the IRL Kalthoff Repeater, which was made in the 1650s.
    - Part of this update was originally posted     here.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Awww, you took the thread's idea about the horse that neighs. It's adorable.

    ...so, uh, which one was the "social interaction initiated by another party"? Hubert or the Ambers? I can imagine that Hubert might have been rolled into either the Wizard Club or the Ulrikadrin social action, or that the Ambers were rolled into our visit to Heidi.
     
    Awwww. Mandreds cute.

    Also man. Belegar even when he wins he still thinks of it as a loss. Poor guy. Shit just can't be simple for him. Nice to see our Amber buddies after a couple years, they've done well for themselves, and Ulrikadrin is doing well. This business with The Al Ulric is gunna be interesting.

    I wonder it Matty was ever that shy of claiming credit when she was a duckling.
     
    @BoneyM

    I've just started the chapter, and I know I should finish it before posting, but this has grabbed me...

    What does this mean:

    ""In just under three weeks, every Dawi of the Karak will be able to return to their chosen profession. "

    Has Belegar just negotiated the end of the rule that says all Dawi must be warriors?

    That child, who could felt he did not act as a warrior should, who became a slayer in a previous social turn, and as a result, the world will have less art than it would otherwise. This will not help him. An oath is an oath.

    But, does change mean that he would not try to be a warrior, or at least, that he did not have to be one?

    'cuz I'm thinking, if that is a result of the roll of '2'; us surviving the waaagh, and Belegar's silence, then... then that might have been the joint-first best outcome from a critfail I have ever seen.

    [Edit: not the child who became a Slayer, of course, but in the future, from now forward; one very much like him?]
     
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    Can we spend like 30 favoirs for mandereds birthday when he can become a adult. I am thinking a shield that ca pair well with the slector swords or the ghal maraz.
     
    BeepSmile said:
    Has Belegar just negotiated the end of the rule that says all Dawi must be warriors?
    Click to expand...
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    I'm pretty sure he just means that they will no longer require the militia, at least for now. When they aren't needed for war, the craftsdwarfs can go about their professions.


    Who is it that has the page with the changes update-to-update? Something in Mathilde's character sheet changed.
     
    BeepSmile said:
    @BoneyM

    I've just started the chapter, and I know I should finish it before posting, but this has grabbed me...

    What does this mean:

    ""In just under three weeks, every Dawi of the Karak will be able to return to their chosen profession. "

    Has Belegar just negotiated the end of the rule that says all Dawi must be warriors?

    That child, who could felt he did not act as a warrior should, who became a slayer in a previous social turn, and as a result, the world will have less art than it would otherwise. This will not help him. An oath is an oath.

    But, does change mean that he would not try to be a warrior, or at least, that he did not have to be one?

    'cuz I'm thinking, if that is a result of the roll of '2'; us surviving the waaagh, and Belegar's silence, then... then that might have been the joint first critfail I have ever seen.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Sadly not that dramatic, it merely means they'll be doing whatever they'd do if this was any other Karak, instead of all Dwarves being emergency stonemasons building up the defences.

    Mopman43 said:
    Who is it that has the page with the changes update-to-update? Something in Mathilde's character sheet changed.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    The part saying you can't spend favour in Karaz-a-Karak.
     
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    BoneyM said:
    You nod in understanding, and feel very glad that the God you serve doesn't feel the need for this type of infuriating aloofness.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Yeah, that's definitely right. Ranald is not one for grandstanding, he'll talk to you like a random drunk patron at the inn would.

    Granted, you should also trust him about as much as said drunk patron, but that's besides the point.


    BoneyM said:
    Heidi stares thoughtfully at the horse, and you can faintly feel the reflected radiance of divine attention turning her way. "Do you have a chisel?" she asks, and you summon one. "Carve your Order's sigil onto it, there's a possibility of an irritating misunderstanding about this in six months that it would neatly bypass."
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    NOPE, IT'S RIGHT BACK TO DISTRUST FOR ME!

    What are you planning in six months, Ranald!? I know you moved and sacrificed a lot of pieces to create this exact scenario, what is the next step you Abeldamned rival of Tzeentch!?
     
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