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Warhammer Fantasy: Divided Loyalties - an Advisor's Quest

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Jyn Ryvia said:
boneyM was assuming you meant dwarfs without a clan or don't know their clan but are still in good standing.
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I don't think that that's a thing outside of weird exceptions. If a Dwarf is a competent and friendly orphan of some kind then they will quickly get adopted or married in. If they are Clanless due to religious reasons then their Cult takes over Clan-style business when necessary. But if a Dwarf is Clanless because their parents got kicked out then that's clearly a sign of questionable ancestry and if an older adult Dwarf comes out of nowhere with no ancestry to point to then they are a suspicious stranger until they prove otherwise.
 
Rafin said:
I don't think that that's a thing outside of weird exceptions. If a Dwarf is a competent and friendly orphan of some kind then they will quickly get adopted or married in. If they are Clanless due to religious reasons then their Cult takes over Clan-style business when necessary. But if a Dwarf is Clanless because their parents got kicked out then that's clearly a sign of questionable ancestry and if an older adult Dwarf comes out of nowhere with no ancestry to point to then they are a suspicious stranger until they prove otherwise.
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Well I mean... Gotrek was a clanless dwarf who was still in good standing. Relatively good standing; they entrusted him with an important responsibility.
 
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An Apprentice's Adventures in Arcane Academia, Part 1
  • Apocrypha
    • An Apprentice's Adventures in Arcane Academia

    ​
    It's a fine sunny, day. A breeze blowing into the window brings the smell of earth and grain in from the fields around the house, along with the faint whisper of a working song. While your parents and most of your siblings toil outside, working the fields, you remain at home as always, doing the household chores. At least now I have some company, you think, busy chopping herbs for the broth that will be tonight's dinner.

    A wailing cry makes you turn away from the fragrant herbs and towards the latest addition to your siblings. Oskar sits in his crib, face red and scrunched up from his crying. He's probably not hungry, given there's still some milk around his mouth from when you gave him some, and he doesn't smell bad, so it's probably not that. You try and rock the crib to lull him back to sleep, singing softly as you do so, to no avail. Perhaps he disliked your attempt at singing a lullaby. It seems you'll have to turn to your last resort.

    You carefully pick up Herr Pferd from his resting place beside the crib. The toy horse is old, carved by your father when Helena, your eldest sister was born, and needs care. Over the years he has watched over all the Weber children, even you. You have fond memories of lying in bed with him in your arms, as your mother tiredly sings you to sleep. His presence seems to calm Oskar, who ceases his crying, holding his hands up trying to grasp the old warhorse. You smile. You lower Herr Pferd onto Oskar, rocking him as if he was in gallop over your little brother, to the latter's apparent delight. On and on the horse runs across the shaking Oskarfeld, until at last he rears and     neighs...!

    You recoil from the crib and the toy horse. That was... did Herr Pferd just neigh? You approach the crib once more, and... there! You can hear him softly neighing as your little brother gums at one ear.
    ​
    You stand there, in shock at the scene, when the crash of breaking pottery draws you out of your stupor. You turn, towards the door, to see your sister Helena standing there, a shattered pot at her feet, grain strewn across the floor. Your dearest sister, practically a second mother to you, stands there. You try to speak, to explain, but no words come out. You try to walk forward towards her, but your feet remain on the ground, as if rooted to it. You try to close your eyes, to cover your ears, to look away from what you know is going to happen, to no avail. All you can do is watch as her hand rises to point at you, as her mouth opens to scream.

    "Witch!"
    ​
    An instant, and Helena stands alone no longer. Your father and mother are there as well, and the rest of your siblings. Some of them still have their tools with them, hoes and rakes and shovels. Some of them are pointed at you. Your father, always a kind man, looks at you with rage you've never seen before. Your mother, Oskar held in her arms, has betrayal writ upon her face. Between them stands the headman of your village, who'd once given you an apple and a pat on the head. He points at you just as Helena had.

    "Witch!"

    bang​

    Herr Pferd lands on top of the growing pile of wood that will be your pyre, broken in twain. From the light of the torches that emanates from the crowd in the village square, his eyes look almost accusing.

    bang​
    You land atop the pyre painfully. You try to sit up, off of your side, but it is difficult, bound as you are.

    bang bang bang​
    More wood lands on the pyre. Some of it hits you. From the looks on the people's faces, faces that had once borne nothing but kindness for you, it is intentional. From among the crowd the headman steps forward, torch in hand. "Burn the witch!" he calls out. Around you, others step forward as well, bearing their own torches. You seek a friendly face out, but find none, not even the watchman that would have saved you. At last you find one that isn't a mask of hate and rage, though it is all the more painful for that. Helena is a mess of sweat and tears, her eyes red from crying, one cheek marked by a purple bruise. She is being held back by two of your elder brothers, both of whom are bigger and stronger than her. Despite that, she continues to struggle in their grip, her movements becoming more frantic as the first torches are thrown. As they fall one by one at the foot of your pyre, she screams.

    "Mathilde!"​
    You jerk upright in your borrowed bed at the sound of your name, blinded by the tears in your eyes and the hair in your face. For a moment you sit there, panting at the nightmare you've just awoken from, before another knock on there that you just now register as the source of the banging in your dream comes. "Mathilde? Are you awake yet?" the watchman asks, his voice muffled by the door. "It's time."

    You pause to clear your throat and compose yourself before replying. Despite that, your voice still comes with a quaver. "Y-yes, I'm a-wake." Another pause to take a deep breath. This time, your words come out steadier. "I'll be out in a moment."

    The watchman grunts. "I'll set the table then. Make sure to clean yourself up right, tis a big day for you." His piece said, he walks away, his heavy tread audible even on the other side of a door.

    You silently thank him for not asking about your distress. Then again, given how you've behaved for the better—or is it worse?—part of these two weeks, it's possible that he's seen and heard you in worse straits. Thankfully, it's all about to end. The watchman wasn't wrong when he said that you had a big day today. In your opinion, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that this would be the biggest day of your life so far.

    After all, it isn't every day that a girl leaves her home to become an Apprentice of the Colleges of Magic.

    The first thing you do after you rise from bed and straighten it up one last time is throw open the curtains and look out the tiny window. Outside the barest hints of light are emerging from the eastern sky. The crowing of roosters ring out through the mist-covered fields. Once you would have regarded that mist with suspicion, but now you think it's auspicious. Your eyes linger in the distance, wondering for a moment if you might see someone, anyone of your family approaching. When no one appears, you snort to yourself. Of course they wouldn't come. Not even your beloved sister. Not for you. Not anymore. So be it.

    Once you've had your fill of the dawn landscape, you close the curtains once again and begin your morning ablutions. You wash your face with cold water from a bowl, and attempt to untangle your hair with a gap-toothed comb. The dress you change into, as with most of the clothing you've been wearing in your stay here, have been generously lent out by the watchman, drawn from a locked chest that is one of a bare handful of furniture in your temporary room.

    That done, you leave the room and step out into the common area. The watchman is waiting for you at the table, a meal already set out for the both of you. Without a word, and only a bare pause for a prayer of thanks to the gods, you dig in. You idly note that your portion is bigger than his, no doubt a consideration for the journey you're about to make. As you finish off your bread though, a question worms its way out of you. "Is the magister not going to eat with us?"

    The watchman pause mid bite to fix you with a contemplative stare. "He already ate, he said," the man replies at last. "He's out there now, checking the fields. Said I should go make sure you were ready instead."

    You nod in understanding. One of the jobs of the watchman was to go out in the mornings to ensure the fields were safe for the farmers to work in and were free of any dangers. Usually he would have been helped by the village folk, armed with slings and upturned scythes, but his taking you in had put a damper in that relationship, meaning he'd had to do his patrols alone. Another difficulty you'd brought upon him, another punishment for his act of righteousness. It only takes a moment's thought to go over to his side and embrace him. The man stiffens in surprise at your grasp, before relaxing, laying a hand on your head. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion, your eyes growing moist with tears. "I'm sorry... for everything!"

    You feel more than see the watchman shaking his head. "You've nothing to apologize for, girl," he says softly. "I only did what I knew to be right. Anything else that's come from that, you've nothing to do with."

    The rest of the meal continues on in silence after that.

    ********​

    Once your breakfast is done, you finally, for the first time in days, though it felt like years, step outside into the dawn. The watchman follows you out, a pack in hand, supplies for your journey ahead. There, sitting on a stump by the path leading out of Kelham, pipe in hand, is the man you know will be your master. Magister Regimand Speisechrank is the same as he was yesterday: same robes, same pointy hat, same staff, same battered stole made of something that once might have been an animal. Though he gives no sign of noticing you or the watchman, he raises a hand in greeting. "Are you ready to leave then, Mathilde Weber?" he asks, putting away his pipe and rising from his seat.

    Despite your resolve, your eyes flicker away from him, back towards the direction of what was once your home. It takes a moment, an eternity, to turn your eyes away from your past and towards your future. The Magister meets your gaze with one of his own. With a deep breath, you nod. "I'm ready," you say, as much to yourself, as to him.

    The wizard claps his hands once. "Excellent. I assume you've already said your farewells?" You nod again, this time more surely. "Good. Well, we'd best get on with it. Dawn is passing quickly and the mist will be dissipating soon, so the best time to leave is now. We've a lot of ground to cover if we're to get to Wurtbad by noon."

    "Wurtbad?" the watchman asks. "The capital's a hundred and twenty five miles away at least, and that's as the crow flies. On foot it'd be even longer!"

    The Magister grins in response, the first expression of mirth you've seen from the man since you first met him. "Good thing we won't be going by foot then." He turns to you, holding out the hand not holding a staff. Tentatively, you grasp it with yours. His grip is firm, but not crushing. He moves to stand farther from you so both of your arms are stretched parallel to the ground, then, in a single smooth motion, raises his staff and slams it onto the earth.

    For a moment, you feel disoriented, like you've been thrown upwards and landed somewhere higher. Once you recover, you discover that's not too far from the truth. From standing on ground, you're now sat astride a horse, seemingly made of mist. You reach out a hand to stroke its mane and feel nothing but the vapor it's made out of. You hear a neigh beside you and you turn to find Magister Regimand similarly mounted. He smiles at the expression on your face, no doubt one of awe. "Given what you first accomplished with magic," he says slowly, "I thought it appropriate that Shadowsteed be the first real spell you see." He shrugs. "It's not my best spell, but it being dawn and all the mist around makes it easier to cast two. Plus, it'll get us to Wurtbad by noon with time to spare, though I imagine we'll have to make some stops along the way, on account of this no doubt being your first time riding." He frowns, turning to you. "Is it?"

    You swallow down your first attempt to speak, which would no doubt would have come out as a squeal of delight. "Yes, it is." The magister nods.

    "Very well, we'll take it slowly then, at least until we reach the Old Dwarf Road." He turns to the watchman. "Well, we'll be going then. Thank you very much for your hospitality, as well as your good deed in saving this young lady from the pyre." The wizard raises his hat in a salute, which is met by one from the watchman.

    The old soldier turns to you, handing you the pack in his hands, which you gingerly tie to the misty saddle horn after a nod from the magister. "Take care, then, Mathilde Weber."

    "You too..." you pause, as you realize that you haven't thought to ask the man his name in all this time. Before you can ask though, the man shakes his head.

    "Just watchman is enough," he says. He extends a hand to you, which you shake. "When you come back a Journeywoman, perhaps you can ask my name then."

    You smile. "It's a promise then."

    Without a word, both the magister's horse and your own begin walking away, towards the open path to the Old Dwarf Road. Once on the path, Magister Regimand turns to you. "Hold on tight," he says, leaning down on his horse, which you attempt to copy.

    "Hold on tight to what!" you cry out as both horses spring forward, first in a walk, then a trot, a canter, then finally a gallop.

    *********​

    The watchman, now alone once again, lowers his hand from the wave of farewell he'd given. Seeing the two on horseback, though the horses had been made of mist, had reminded him of his time in Stirland's armies, of the cavalry charging at a foe across the field. Unbidden, his fingers form a familiar cross. "Luck be with you, Mathilde," he whispers. The girl would likely need every bit of it she could get, and then some.

    As he turns to go back inside his home, now lonesome once more, he is stopped by a distant call. "Wait!" He turns back around to find a girl, not much older than the one that had just left, a relative if the similarity in their face was to go by. The girl's eyes were red with tears, and the shadows under them spoke of a lack of sleep. Her hair was in disarray, perhaps from running so quickly. She stood there, panting, finally being able to speak. "Mathilde, is she gone?" the girl asked, desperation evident in her voice.

    The watchman shakes his head sadly. "I'm afraid so."

    The girl, who must be Helena, the one who'd first seen Mathilde using magic and, if the latter's murmured cries were anything to go by, once her favorite sister, looked shocked for a moment at the watchman's answer. A moment more and she fell to her knees, erupting into loud sobs. The watchman could only sigh as one despondent girl was replaced by another. As he knelt down to begin comforting the wailing sister, he silently cursed his decision to call upon Ranald. No doubt the god of luck was laughing at him right this moment.


    Part 1
    The Dawn of Mistery
    End

    ​
    Hello there! General Kenobi!

    What exactly is this thing? Well, it's an omake that's the first in a series that I've been crafting for some time now, finally seeing the light of day thanks in large part to the help of @picklepikkl, who is currently serving as my sounding board.

    This series intends to cover Mathilde's time in the Grey College, starting, as you've seen here, from the day she leaves Kelham in the company of her future master Magister Regimand Speisechrank. This won't be an exhaustive coverage though, merely looking in on some important or interesting points of Mathilde's apprentice life, such as her first steps to becoming a Ranaldite, or the circumstances behind the miscast that summoned the Thorned One that is even now locked in a box. The biggest question this series intends to answer is the matter of Mathilde's pre-Stirland friends. Who were they, what was her relationship with them like, and why did a single, albeit smug, letter suffice to break off Mathilde's friendship with them? I'll hopefully answer these and more questions through the course of this series. Out of universe, my hope is that this series will inspire the thread to interact with the Colleges more, which perhaps could lead to a career there once the Waystone business is finished, though at this moment that admittedly seems more like a flight of fancy.

    Well, anyway, I hope you enjoyed this first look at the 4A's (5?), and that you look forward to the next installment in the series. Feel free to ask questions and point out corrections, as well as give critiques and comments.

    Ah, before I forget. A measure of thanks as well to @Glau, whose Soizic and UK8P omakes helped inspire me to make my own. Of course, thanks to @BoneyM as well, whose story and QM statements this series is built on.
     
  • Apocrypha
    • I enjoyed it, thanks. Interesting to see another take on that moment(ous) in time in her dream.
    NuclearConsensus said:
    point out corrections
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    Only because you asked.
    NuclearConsensus said:
    handing you the pack in his hands, which you gingerly tie to the misty saddle horn
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    The Shadowhorse can't carry any cargo, only what the rider can themselves carry. Mathilde herself has carefully packed a backpack "on-screen" (departing for the Expediton). Perhaps Regimand could hand her a small backpack or sling with a knowing smile when the pack she's carrying fails to attach to the shadowhorse pommel.

    And if you care about verisimilitude, 125 miles by lunch is too much for not-Mathilde Mastery shadowriders.
    BoneyM said:
    Shadowsteed: 15 MPH for 6 hours/day. 90 miles/day.
    Mathilde's Shadowsteed: 25 MPH for 10 hours/day. 250 miles/day.
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    Thanks for the comments everyone, I really appreciate it. Not gonna lie, I was a bit nervous how this would be received, so I'm happy it's not a catastrophic failure or something.

    Alliterate said:
    Only because you asked
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    In spoilers for story reasons.

    I admit, the inability to carry stuff slipped my mind, though I guess it could be explained as a mastery of some sort.

    The distance traveled is a fair point, and one I've thought of. It'll be explained in the next segment, unless I forget, but Regimand is fudging stuff here in case someone comes asking questions about his location. Remember, he was in the middle of unspecified (I think) business in Stirland when he came to pick up Mathilde. The two of them aren't actually going straight to Wurtbad on Shadowsteed, and the noon ETA was more of a suggestion than fact. Thanks for pointing it out anyway though.
     
    Ericwinter said:
    How the heck would you re-animate an in-animate object? The Prefixes just don't work.
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    See, as the story notes, Herr Pferd is the Pferd that Mathilde once upon a time made neigh. Since a neigh is made by a horse pushing air out through its facial orifices, we can infer that at the time of neighing Herr Pferd must have had a Breath or, in Old Reikspiel, a Spiritus.

    And since he was holding a Spiritus at the time, we can infer that he must also have been habiting an Animus, which would by neccesity make him animated. Only that he later lost his Spiritus -and by extension his Animus-, which in turns means that he is an inanimate object now and has to be reanimated for this great injustice to be corrected.

    Trust me, I went to a university, and I got a lot of experience talking with the various exanimators there. I even had friends who went through multiple reexanimations, which is one of the reasons I begrudge the Empire's flagrant dismissal of the need for reanimation so much. But that's only tangentially related to the real subject of how we can save Herr Pferd after it's already too late.
     
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    Omegahugger said:
    See, as the story notes, Herr Pferd is the Pferd that Mathilde once upon a time made neigh. Since a neigh is made by a horse pushing air out through it's facial orifices, we can infer that at the time of neighing Herr Pferd must have had a Breath or, in Old Reikspiel, a Spiritus.

    And since he was holding a Spiritus at the time, we can infer that he must also have been habiting an Animus, which would by neccesity make him animated. Only that he later lost his Spiritus -and by extension his Animus-, which in turns means that he is an inanimate object now and has to be reanimated for this great injustice to be corrected.

    Trust me, I went to a university, and I got a lot of experience talking with the various exanimators there. I even had friends who went through multiple reexanimations, which is one of the reasons I begrudge the Empire's flagrant dismissal of the need for reanimation so much. But that's only tangentially related to the real subject of how we can save Herr Pferd after it's already too late.
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    ...Well then. I stand corrected.
     
    Omegahugger said:
    ... Urge to develop Necromancy for inanimate objects rising.

    ;_;
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    Reanimation may, may, be unnecessary, since in the main narrative of the quest Mathilde believes there's a possibility the horse is still around.
    BoneyM said:
    You spend some time looking down the even fainter dirt road leading off the village square, that you knew would lead to a too-small farm and too-busy adults and too many children and, somewhere, maybe, a carved wooden horse that had once been made to neigh.
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    Emphasis mine. So this means it probably wasn't destroyed when the village was going to burn her, unless she's repressed that memory or something.

    Now why she would think that I couldn't even begin to guess, seeing as the villagers were quite willing to burn a living being, let alone an inanimate object now associated with magic.
     
    Perhaps, say through a improbable series of outrageous events, unlikely coincidences and lucky breaks Herr Pferd was pulled from the unlit pyre, repaired by skilled hands and is still to this day settling swaddled kinder- of a different family- in their cribs.

    Or, in my version of events that day, Herr Pferd could have been dropped and overlooked, somewhere along a very faint dirt road leading to the village square.
     
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    ... why is it that it's the toy, not the watchman, or the regretful sister, the toy; that is getting the most emotional response... including me....

    people are weird.
     
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