On the other hand, the elves (Daroir specifically) made it clear that everything a human wizard does is indeed thanks to Teclis and all part of his long term plans.
So i have to wonder if he's been getting negative rep for helping the dwarfs so much.
That wasn't what he was implying at all. For one, he gave us the token that would allow us to basically be welcomed into his home kingdom for 99 days (which is a fairly big deal)--that's a personal reward and recognition that you are worthy of being welcomed into Ulthuan (even temporarily) and serving alongside other elves in mortal peril. In other words: you can be counted on and trusted. Kinda-sorta like being a dawongr for asur.
Secondly, he was, if anything, validating Teclis' esteem and faith in human mages. Teclis setting up the Colleges, gathering all of the human mages in the Empire, and teaching them (plus making enchanted gear for them) was a relatively substantial investment that few asur would have thought worth making. Indeed, if he hadn't been suddenly promoted to top mage of Ulthuan, he was going to remain in the Empire and help the Colleges for years afterwards.
Thus, Daroir's remark was more like, "It seems Teclis was right about you guys: you have significant potential and taking the time and effort to establish your institution was worthwhile", which is genuine praise. It'd be like a dwarven thane remarking to an Empire engineer who had just leveled Castle Drakenhoff with cannonfire how his ancestors made the right call in helping the humans of the Empire get started with engineering and black powder.
Daroir wasn't implying that everything human mages accomplished was due to Teclis; he was implying that Teclis has been proven right that human mages had significant potential.
When you knock on the door of the Pistolier barracks, you're ready to draw your greatsword and jam it in the doorframe if it looks like it's going to be slammed in your face. But instead, you're invited in by the enthusiastic young noble, who apparently is a follower of Wizard Chic and compliments you on how authentic your outfit looks. You assure him that it looks authentic because it damn well is authentic, and he's awestruck.
For some reason, nobody's volunteered to go ahead with "yes hello-hello fellow Skaven, I just so happen to have a tail and nose and gland and whisker disorder that prevents me from using any parts of Skaven nonverbal communication, hail-hail the Horned Rat and all that, no food or drink or currency or drugs for me thanks, I'm allergic to warpstone".
The fable of little red skaven clan rat.
not fully satisfied with what i wrote, but whatever.
Once upon a time in a certain burrow there lived a clan rat, the ugliest creature who was ever seen. His clawleader was excessively hatful of him and the pack always took whatever chance they had to backstab him and steal his food, for this rat had been born different, his mantle of fur the unnatural color of red, and his size diminutive even compared to his small kins, and so he everyone called him Little Red.
One, night, his clawleader, having recently acquired some warpstone, said to him "Go-leave, you worthless vermin-rat, and bring-take the chieftain this warpstone, he had been most impatient-angry for the shipment for a while."
Little Red set out immediately to go to his chieftain , who lived far away across dark tunnels in another burrow.
As Little Red going through the wood, after only almost dying to ravaging beasts and ambushes thrice, he meet a friendly shadow, who asked him where he was going, the little clanrat, afraid and desperate to run away, merely answered "i go-go to see the big-scary chieftain, kind-scary shadow, please don't eat-kill me!"
"Does he live far off?" ask the shadow.
"Oh yes-yes," answered Little Red "it is beyond that corner you see-see there, at the first hole in the tunnel.", he said, hoping the shadow will eat his chieftain instead.
"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see him too. I'll go this way and go you that, and we shall see who will be there first."
The shadow whisked as fast as he could, teleporting from shadow to shadow , and the little rat took a roundabout way, hoping that the shadow will arrive first and will be satisfied after eating the chieftain, and that he could keep the warpstone to himself.
The shadow arrived into the chieftain fortress, and after passing though the guards with ease, knocked on the doors
"Who disrupt-wake me, worthless minions"
"Your servant-slave, Little Red," replied the wolf, counterfeiting her voice; "who has brought-give you a warpstone."
The wicked chieftain, who was in bed,unwilling to rise from his nest, and unable to notice the missing visual cues of the communticon from beyond the door, bid him to enter and give him the warpstone.
The shadow pulled the latch, and the door opened, and then he immediately fell upon the wicked chieftain and burn him up in a moment. He then shut the door and got into the chieftain's nest, expecting Little Red , who came some time afterwards and knocked at the door: tap, tap.
"Who's there-there?"
Little Red answered, "It is your servant-slave Little Red, who has brought-give you a warpstone, that clawleader promised"
The shadow cried out to him, disguising his voice as much as he could, "Pull the latch, and come-enter."
Little Red pulled the latch, and the door opened.
The shadow,hiding under the stolen rotting bedsheets of the nest, hoping not to get diseases "Put-give the warpstone, and come closer so i can hit-punish you for being so late."
Little Red, coming closer fearing to disobey his chieftain, stopped in his tracks, something was off.
"Chieftain-master, why can't i see-see your tail twitching under the bedsheet with your words-threat?"
You know, very random thought before I go to bed, but... the Lights had a bunch of esoteric gear for measuring and recording magic, right? Used it at the Windfalls and everything? I wonder if getting our hands on some of those tools might be useful for trying to make a Seviroscope.
Unless I'm remembering wrong at least. Or they're special Light College patented tools and we would have to rob them or aomething to get access or something. I don't know, I'm too tired to reason out if thiswould be useful or plausible.
Being part of the Secret Police (which seems more like a Mafiya rather than a Mafia thing) and being the boss of the policechief.
She even got the old one removed just so she could install one more corrupt and willing to work with criminals.
We've developed magic mushroom food. Wizard Chic doesn't count, because it's not a knockoff, but the spider silk kind of does. It just that the knock-off is better than the orginal, which is pretty rare.
To do list:
subcategory, head pats:
- Belegar, who sent us on the job.
- King? of Karak Vlag, who is probably ready to admit they have been rescued.
- Thorgrim, who was so impressed he announced Dawification.
- Algard, who promoted us and will be happy we returned with all the Wizards we left with.
To do list:
subcategory, head pats:
- Belegar, who sent us on the job.
- King? of Karak Vlag, who is probably ready to admit they have been rescued.
- Thorgrim, who was so impressed he announced Dawification.
- Algard, who promoted us and will be happy we returned with all the Wizards we left with.
Tally
[*] Citharus, Barbitus, and Timpania
[*] Head Ranger Snorri Farstrider
[*] Preceptor Joerg von Zavstra
[*] Deathfang
You once more find Snorri engaged with his collection of maps, many of which inherited from Gotrek and Borek, but this time he's not studying a future route, he's detailing the past path of the Expedition with the help of a pantograph and a reading stone. "Preparing your memoirs?" you ask lightly.
"I wish," he grumbles. "Only need to write a memoir once, I'm going to have to tell this tale over and over. Karak Kadrin, Zhufbar, Karaz-a-Karak... just make sure you make it back safely or I'll need to tell it to Karak Eight Peaks too."
"So what's the take-away?"
"Speed, surprise, and a show of force," he says immediately. "The original plans were hoping that speed alone would work, but our actual speed turned out slower than what Kurgan could have managed. But the surprise of the steam-wagons, being something that nobody here has encountered anything like before, and the show of force of the carried warriors gave us enough time to be gone before anyone decided to attack. I'm certain that the steam-wagons alone would have been attacked at least by the Iron Wolves if they had a chance to observe them and convince themselves they had a chance, but the Knights kept them off-balance long enough for us to leave their territory."
"You said similar back at Karag Dum," you said with a nod. "That they'd be ready for us if we returned the same way. So you think that the same force would run into more problems a second time?"
"Even apart from the bloody ascent, aye. Word would have spread around the steppes, reports would have been sent to Zharr-Naggrund. If not by now, then at least by next spring, every force east of Karak Vlag would have heard about steam-wagons and will have decided on the best way to assault them if they ever have the chance. I don't think our relative success here can be replicated." He frowns. "At least not here, anyway." He leafs through the maps.
"The Badlands, maybe?" you say, guessing his train of thought.
He shakes his head. "The Dragonback greenskins have put almost as many ships into the water as Sartosa, they'd be familiar enough with our monitors to know how much force it would take to counter." He pulls out a map of the Old World and lays it atop the pile. "Kislev, the Empire, Bretonnia, Estalia, Tilea - the only places you'd need significant force just to get through are places you couldn't get a steam-wagon into. Forest of Shadows, Athel Loren, Massif Orcal, the Zombie Swamps, places like that. The Border Princes are full of rivers and they've all got major Holds at one end or both, so Barak Varr could reach anywhere trivially using their current navies. The Marshes of Madness, no. The deserts of Nehekhara, certainly not... If Karak Azul was still cut off I'd recommend it for the next expedition to there from Karaz-a-Karak, but that's no longer a problem..." He taps the Badlands. "The southern Dark Lands. If there's a possible repeat to be had, it will be there."
You frown down at the map, where only the major features of the area in question are included - the Expedition didn't bring maps of areas half a continent away from where you'd be operating, unfortunately. "The Desolation of Azgorh, the Wolf Lands, the Plain of Bones... Scouts from the Tower of Gorgoth would probably pick it up, but it would have the same problem Uzkulak had - the Chaos Dwarf Navy operates out of Zharr-Naggrund so the necessary expertise wouldn't be at hand... what about Crookback Mountain? Skaven, isn't it?"
"One of the Warlord Clans. Avoiding it would be as simple as not using Mad Dog Pass. And Mount Grey Hag is Night Goblins, they wouldn't be a problem."
"But not any further east," you note. "Black Fortress and Daemon's Stump along the River Ruin, they'd have the know-how and probably the firepower to handle small vessels."
"And I wouldn't want to try to tackle the river itself, it'd eat through anything you try to caulk the steam-wagons with. And the Ogre Kingdoms have taken to buying cannon from the Chaos Dwarves. So you could get anywhere within the Dark Lands themselves, but you couldn't get into the Mountains of Mourn or to Ind or Cathay."
"I can't think of anything that would be worth the effort or the expense," you conclude after a moment of thought. "Not if you couldn't get further east than River Ruin."
"Me neither," he says with a shrug, "so the steam-wagons are most likely bound to be converted into proper River Monitors when they get back to Karak Kadrin. Ancestors know we need all of those we can get, every shipyard and slipway in the Karaz Ankor has been at capacity ever since they broke ground on the canal project. Doubly so, now that Karak Vlag will need reconnecting." He leafs through the maps once more until he finds one of Kislev.
"Here's the Talabec... which of these tributaries is the Brunwasser?" you ask, comparing the map to your own mental one of the Empire.
"Here," he says, pointing, "and the Urskoy splits off the Talabec here, at Zavstra."
"So you could easily get from Karak Kadrin to..." you trace the rivers north. "Vdovya, it looks like."
"It would be just as easy to dock at Kislev and take the road north," he says. "Or you could go up the Lynsk from the Sea of Claws. That's easier said than done, especially with the Marienburg troubles, but that would get you as far as Praag."
"So the only real trouble is the leg from Praag to Karak Vlag."
"The Dukhlys Forest is swarming with Forest Goblins, but traders keep the road cleared and me and the Redbeards will see to the rest. They'll be isolated, but not much more so than Karak Kadrin has been, and Kislev will be glad to have them back."
You smile. "I'm glad. Karak Vlag makes the whole Expedition worthwhile."
He nods firmly. "That it does."
---
With the biting cold of the Frozen Sea behind you, the relative warmth of northern Kislev means that the decks of the steam-wagons have become more popular, and you find the trio of Light Wizards lounging atop the Volans, idly chattering in Tilean while passing a few freshly-written pages back and forth for editing and corrections.
"Good morning, Lady Magister," Timpania says as you approach, wiping ink-stained fingers on a robe that indicates it's far from the first time, and you feel a pang of sympathy for them for being obligated by their Order to always wear white.
"Journeywoman, Journeymen," you reply. "Getting your notes in order?"
"We'll be travelling with the steam-wagons until Kislev City, and then back to Altdorf by river," Barbitus says distractedly as he writes, "and Magister van Horstmann wants to get at least the first drafts written before we get back to the College in case he gets sent somewhere else."
"Hopefully somewhere that needs a three-Wizard choir with proven Battle Magic capabilities," Citharus says with a grin.
"And if not?" you ask curiously.
"We'll have a better idea of the opportunities in Altdorf," Timpania says. "Maybe Sylvania, I've been hearing there's a siege there that's about to get interesting."
"The Lahmians Mihnea and Ioana," you say, after a few moments to rack your memory. "The Elector Countess wouldn't turn away more hands if you decide to turn your attention there. But the Sylvania Decree is still in force, so you might be overshadowed by the Battle Wizards if you head there."
"Told you," Barbitus says.
"I thought it was just for the war," Timpania says.
You shrug. "A lot of them have gone home now that the campaign's at a low burn, but the wording of the Decree has it in effect until there's no more Vampires anywhere in the Empire. When it comes time to take the towns proper, the Battle Wizards will be there."
Citharus sighs in disappointment. "Maybe Drachenfels, then, or Marienburg. Or some new hotspot. There's always something." He looks over at you. "What about Karak Eight Peaks, Lady Magister? Any adventures that way?"
You shake your head. "Not in recent years. There's still enemy strongholds nearby, Iron Rock and Thunder Mountain and Black Crag and the like, but that would be rather overambitious." You give it some thought. "If nothing else is stirring there might be work in southern Stirland, where the Dwarves are building the canal. The Black Water is full of nasties that might be stirred up by the construction, Karak Varn is uncomfortably close, and there's still survivors from the Ghoul Woods in the area. You should be able to pick up some straightforward bounties. Or you could come back out here. Karak Vlag is going to need to rebuild its ties with the greater world, and the Dukhlys Forest is home to a fair number of Forest Goblins, and I'm sure Snorri would be happy to have you helping out the Redbeards."
"Wouldn't mind working with Dwarves again," Barbitus says thoughtfully.
"Good pay and decent food," Citharus agrees. "We'll keep those in mind."
"What about yourself, Lady Magister?" Timpania asks curiously. "Back to Eight Peaks?"
"At least at first. I'll give the matter some more thought while I'm on the road. Like I said, not a lot of adventures left there, which is great for the Karak but it does mean I need to get creative if I want to make myself useful."
They nod in understanding at that. You take a seat with them and look over their notes, and fleshing out some of the parts they're not so sure about turns into a rambling discussion on magical theory. The three of them are fairly sharp and work together well, and you don't find many areas of magical knowledge where at least one of them doesn't have enough knowledge to make up for the other two. You can see why Egrimm would have brought them along, and find yourself hoping that he's able to retain them for whatever his next adventure is.
---
With the lights of Praag glowing on the horizon, you make your way over to the Knights' section of the camp. You exchange nods with a few Knights you vaguely recognize and after asking you're pointed in the direction of their leader, who you find setting up a shrine to Taal. You're not very familiar with the King of the Wilds, not even from your upbringing, as Stirland is mostly free from the forests that blanket the Empire and thus the Cult never gained much influence south of the Stir. But impossible to miss, at least to you, is the strand of Divine energy flowing out of Joerg and taking root as the shrine is very carefully constructed.
"Yes, Lady Magister?" he finally asks, as he finishes the construction and his murmured prayer.
"I didn't realize you were Anointed," you say, nodding towards the shrine.
"I'm not," he says simply. "A Priest may be Anointed, but I have never been Initiated into the Order of the Antler."
You resist the urge to frown. "You can shape the Divine Magic of Taal, is what I mean."
"Taal can act through me, as He can through any of His followers." He faces the shrine and slaps his thigh, chest, and arm, causing a faint jingling of chainmail, then turns back to you. "What is it you wish to discuss?"
You consider and reject a debate about the importance of proper terminology. "A few things," you say. "Firstly, I had hoped you had some more insight to share about what we witnessed at Karag Dum."
He sighs, and you fall into step beside him as he leads the two of you away from the shrine for the Knights waiting nearby to pay their respects to it. "I do know more about the Cloven Ones than most, but all that I do know insists that what we saw was impossible. Even if the Dwarves of Karag Dum had fallen to the worship of the Dark Gods, the Beastmen would not dedicate their lives to defending their home. At most they would fight against a common enemy with them, which is what Asavar Kul managed. Even some Chaos Cults have been destroyed by failed attempts to make common cause with the Beastmen."
"But they were definitely Beastmen," you point out.
"Yes, everything about them except their purpose there was correct." He shrugs. "Some sort of illusion that has convinced the Beastmen that Karag Dum is a Herdstone to be protected is the best guess I can make, except even that doesn't explain the presence of the Shadowgave. No, I don't think I can be any further help to you in this matter." He hesitates. "Except, I have a guess as to how they got here. Have you heard of the Beast-Paths?"
You frown. "The trails in the deep woods that Warherds travel along?"
"In part. And what of the Worldroots?"
Your frown deepens. "I don't believe so. Unless it refers to leylines."
"They might be connected to them in some way. It's a network of underground passages that once connected all the lands of the world, but in modern times many of its branches are sickened or dead, and the Beastmen burrow into the dead Worldroots like woodworms. In this way the Beast-Paths allow Beastherds to reach many parts of the world unseen and unsuspected. It may be how they have reached this place, far from the defiled woods that they usually haunt, and how their population has survived however many years of combat with the Kurgan."
You resist the urge to sigh as the list of things you intend to look up when you return to civilization grows ever longer. In your defence, who would have predicted that you should have read up on Beastmen before travelling to the steppes? "Thank you. I'll investigate the possibility when I have access to the libraries of Altdorf once more. Is this a mystery of Taal or Rhya I should keep to myself?"
He shakes his head. "A curiosity known to those that dedicate themselves to pursuing the Cloven Ones."
"Very well. The second matter I wanted to talk about is how the Knights feel about the results of the Expedition."
He smiles. "There are only two things the Knights of Taal's Fury ever feel upon returning from a campaign: either disappointed that it was less eventful than they expected, or mourning for those that were lost because it was more so. Apart from clashing with the Daemons in the mountains around High Pass, we had only minor skirmishes along the entire journey, and I will cherish the disappointment that this Expedition has left me with."
You can't help but smile. The simplicity of a Knight's perspective reminds you why they exist: because there needs to be those who do not care for politics or puzzles, just that there are enemies to kill. While you are digging through bookshelves trying to figure out what Cor-Dum is doing a continent away from where he should be, the Knights will already be on their way to the next battle. "I can respect that. There was another matter, but it's something I want to ask as a person to one of Taal's faithful, rather than as a Wizard to a Knight."
He looks at you curiously. "Oh?"
"A close friend of mine has something of a family dispute involving worship of the Earth Mother, and whether it should be pursued as they traditionally have done, or whether they should join the Cult of Rhya. I wanted to know if you knew anything of that division."
"Would this family live in Altdorf? In a round house with a very tall wall?"
"It might."
He considers that for a while. "A man once sought to truly understand water, and followed every river he could find to its mouth. His conclusion was that the true nature of water is salty, and he died of thirst."
You consider that for a while, and nod. "Thank you."
---
Deathfang is not the chattiest being you've ever encountered, but some of what little he has said has been rather intriguing, so you resolve to see if he can be convinced to let any more pearls of wisdom drop. One day while Asarnil is dozing in a hammock you're pretty sure he stole or borrowed from Ljiljana, you take the opportunity to sidle up to the Dragon and try to make conversation.
Easier said than done, especially when the Dragon has had to live without pillows for almost two months now.
The flat look he gives you as you approach almost has you forget the opening remark you'd decided upon, and the direct "what do you want?" has you discard it entirely. Eltharin is a very difficult language to be direct in, and having a Dragon manage it in your direction is rather alarming.
"When I've spoken to Asarnil and yourself before, you've made comments that were very interesting. I was hoping you'd make some more."
The look he gives you is long and flat, but eventually he snorts and scratches at his neck, where the scales punctured by the Greater Daemon have grown dull as they prepare to shed. "Very well. I will tell you a variation of a tale I have told my children."
Twenty thousand years ago, though the length of a year was different then, the world was a ball of ice floating in an endless void. It had been for millennia beyond counting, and the crude and limited creatures that had come to live on the thin strip of liquid water and uncovered land at the equator had grown complacent in their eternal stalemate: the Prometheans ruled the seas, the Shartak ruled the mountains, and the Fimir ruled what was between.
How they must have despaired when we graced their world, the sky turning red as the air itself tried fruitlessly to hamper our arrival.
We were led by five, the greatest of our flight: Draugnir, Abraxas, Radixashen, Urmskaladrak, and Kalgalanos. They led us on the long flight through the void, and decided this ball of ice would be adequate for us to rest and grow. The Shartak were the first to encounter us as we claimed the highest peaks and the grandest caves for our own, and we drove them from the heights and slew those that resisted. The Fimir grew maddened at the Shartak invading their lowlands, and tried to unite to make war against us, and they too we shattered utterly. The Prometheans were wise beyond what their forms would suggest, and sank below the waves, only emerging to feed on the battlefields we left in our wake. The world was ours.
Many years passed, and many children were born. They grew into Sun Dragons, who could breach the sky itself and warm themselves in the unobstructed radiance of their namesakes. They grew into Moon Dragons, and would stretch their wings by visiting the white moon, which at that time was the only moon of this world. And at last they grew into Star Dragons, ready to leave to find new worlds to conquer, and many flights did so. But for every Dragon that left this world, one would add their bones to the blown plain of stone that was the only place suitable to die, too far from the mountains to be found by Shartak, too far from rivers to be explored by the Fimir, and too far from the oceans to be fed upon by the Prometheans. The world was large, but so much was unusable that many Dragons grew gaunt and withered without ever growing strong enough to withstand the embrace of the void. Our leaders came together, and the plan they reached was brilliant.
If only our tools had been the equal of our ambitions.
We knew of other beings that plied the void, travelling in silver ships to protect themselves from the radiance we happily bask in. But though their forms were primitive, their cunning was almost sufficient, and we reached an accord with them. The worlds danced in the grip of their magics, and the sun grew larger in the sky as the ice began to melt. We spread across the entirety of the world, from the equator that we had dominated to the poles where the cunning beings made their grand machines. The continents were reshaped into five, and five cities were founded and our five leaders each joined with one. Draugnir with the city of Qt, Abraxas with the city of Iz, Radixashen with the city of Cd, Urmskaladrak with the city of Zl, and Kalgalanos with the city of Cl.
Deathfang pauses, and looks over to the hammock with what almost seems like fondness. "It was Qt that created beings worthy to guard our nests and grow our food. That is almost enough to forgive them for their ultimate failure."
Attracted by the jealous whispers of the Fimir and the broken despair of the Shartak, the Ruinous Powers turned their eyes to this world. After ten thousand years of their insidious scratching, they finally found an opening. The great machines begin to fail and the energies they were supposed to harness began to pour into the world, and the Ruinous Powers began to mould those energies - but the machines were more clever than they expected, as most of the energies were transformed by their passage into the world into forms that followed their own natures, rather than the orders of the Ruinous Powers. But enough remained true to them that they were able to pour their minions into the world. Daemon and Shartak and Fimir fought against Dragon and Elf and the cunning beings and their creations, and we begin to turn the transformed energies of the Ruinous Powers against them.
In the end, the greatest creation of the cunning beings were those they created by accident. With the great machines sealing the world against the Ruinous Powers, the combined beliefs of their creations had accumulated and grown into an entirely new form of life. When the cunning beings finally fled, we fought alongside the Gods instead. To defeat the inrushing of energies at the poles, we and the Gods and the Elves built the Great Vortex, and magic drained back out of the world, and Daemons shattered as the world grew inimical to them. In the end, we were victorious. But Draugnir lay dead, having given all he had to create a terrible blade that had held back the Daemonic legions. Abraxas sent himself into exile. Kalgalanos was never seen again. Radixashen was corrupted and disappeared into the earth. Urmskaladrak died not at the hands of Daemons, but errant creations that he had attempted to recapture.
Those who are true to who we are live beneath the land that was created for us, growing in strength and waiting for the day when even the least of our number is able to depart. But many lost themselves to these new energies that permeated the land, either in desperation during the long war or out of curiosity after it. By embracing the artificial energies that exist nowhere else but here, they doom themselves and all their descendants to die with this world. They live and die without ever knowing the true radiance of stars.
One day, we will leave this world behind to be squabbled over by lesser beings and fallen Dragons. One day, this world will be swallowed by the Ruinous Powers, who will rejoice for a moment or two and then grow bored and turn their backs on it. One day a new sky will turn red as we descend upon an unsuspecting world and make it ours. And one day, we will leave that one too.
Deathfang takes a deep breath, and then turns to look at you once more. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
So er... can we put that bit of Deathfang insight in a paper? It might be common knowledge for the elves but the most humans know about the Old Ones are rumors of rumors and, according to Tome of Corruption, the literal ravings of madmen.
Well. Guess Mathilde got some of her curiosity satisfied. I'm sure she'll be pleased once she gets over the gibbering existential crisis the answers gave her.
