also, I don't think we have really leveraged that since, so the hype has probably died down or is about to.
Rebuttal
The tavern was rowdy and celebrating when he got back. Ernst was a soldier of Stirland, he'd stood his watch even with the explosion of noise behind him, but that didn't mean he wasn't mighty curious. The bastard who'd come to relieve him hadn't said anything, so he'd just have to look up what the commotion was himself.
Behind him, the celebration were spreading, in their traditional, subdued Stirlander way. Would be stupid to waste too much time or food celebrating, when the next nasty would be upon them the following morn.
He crossed the tavern floor, filled with tables occupied by the army, before making it to Kine. Kine was the finest rumormonger in the troop and their bookkeeper. Ernst didn't like the look of the man. He was too cheerful. Nothing good came from a cheerful bookie, not when you're a gambling man. And what solider isn't?
Resigned, Ernst sat at the table with a number of other poor souls, most of whom were drowning their losses and sorrows in cheap ale, with a few celebrating their gains with something with a bit more punch.
"Let me have it Kine, how bad is it?"
Kine looked at him over the rim of his spectacles and started leafing through his booklet. "Ernst, wasn't it? From the 4
th?"
Ernst nodded, readying himself for the news. In a world filled with monsters, Ernst was something rare, at least in this gambling: an optimist.
"Now let's see here. You're aware of your previous record." Kine spoke, making Ernst wince. Gambling that they'd have taken Teufelheim within three weeks of the battle of Grim Wood was, looking back, foolish. Nor was it the first such gamble he'd made, but a man could dream?
"Well, it seems it's your luck day, Ernst from the 4
th!" Kine yelled. Ernst blinked. The news caught him flat footed, and as it settled into his belly the relief of it helped him forgive Kine for yelling out his fortune. Now the other boys and girls would demand he share it around. At least the ale here was cheap.
"Which one was it?" Ernst asked, leaning forward on the table.
"Well first, your classic. Our glorious Elector Countess survived another month. Not many bet on that, but she keeps proving them wrong." Kine said with a proud smile. The bookie might not have been born a Stirlander, but he'd made himself one, though blood and guts. That standard bet had kept Ernst afloat through many a foolish one and a small bag of coin appeared on the table.
"Second, the infamous Dämmerlichtreiter did make another appearance before the Countess, re-appearing from the mists she'd disappeared to before disappearing right back." Ernst kept himself from snorting. Now he was just playing it up for the audience. A second bag joined the first, slightly larger.
"AND!" Kine shouted, reaching down and pulling to the table a massive bag of coin, almost as large as his head. So big, that it partially overturned, spilling silver onto the table.
"AND! LESS THAN A MONTH LATER THE SÄNGERKRITISCH SILENCED ANOTHER BLOODSUCKER! THE SORCERER IS DEAD!"
The entire tavern erupted: "DEATH TO THE SUCKERS! DEATH TO SORCERY!"
While Ernst was left totally shocked and frozen in place, his eyes glued to the river of silver spilling all over the table.
"EXCEPT THE GOOD ONES! HOUSE WEBER AND THE COLLEGES!"
Some cries of "HOUSE WEBER" went up, but the response to the rest was a lot more lukewarm and murmured, the zeal doused when speaking of
good sorcery. That still didn't still right with most.
"Eh." Kine shrugged. "They can't all be great. So what do you plan to do with your winnings Ernst?" Kine asked. Before he could think of something two different arms clasped his shoulders, as an entire line from his unit lined up behind him, mugs in hand.
"Yes Ernst, what will you do with all that silver?"
As the party really got going, little did they all know that the colleges were coming much sooner and much closer than most of the crowd ever wanted to be to a wizard.